#ambiguous presence of the upside down

[formosusiniquis]

diana prince and stevie h.: variations on a theme

Inspired by this post by @secondconcussion cause I saw it earlier this week and couldn't stop turning it around in my mind

also on ao3 for easier reading

It's not Eddie's fault he got lost.

That's the first thing he wants to get out of the way. He'll take his lumps if he has to, Uncle Wayne can be a surly fucker when he's woken up before his alarm, "Not all those who wander are lost, Ed, isn't that what you said. Just wander your way back home." But Eddie's heart is gonna wait to be warmed that Wayne loves him enough to quote Lord of the Rings until after he's back in the part of Hawkins he recognizes.

"It's the ‘not all’ that I need you to wrap your head around old man, cause I, your dearest nephew, am very lost."

"Your my only nephew, and gettin' less dear by the second," Wayne lied like a liar.

He wasn't above begging, not when he'd already walked fuck knows how far to fuck knows where. "Please, Wayne!"

He hears a grumbled sigh and knows he's won, "Where are ya?"

"Um, woods?" He can hear the thunk of the phone being slammed against something hard, but at least Wayne doesn't hang up.

Hawkins is a small town, by Eddie's standards, but it expands in strange ways. Every summer he spent with Wayne it seemed to unfurl in different directions, a flower blooming a little different each year. It was not the gridded out cityscape he'd grown up in.

So when Eddie came down from Indy every summer to escape parents who managed to toe the line of awful just well enough that CPS kept their noses out of the Munson’s business, he would wander but never far. Just far enough to find the park and the playground that Wayne hadn't thought to mention. Far enough to find a corner store where he can pocket the extra candy bar he couldn't afford with the spare change he had -- and he wasn't going to put back the magazine he was buying, Wayne had nothing good to read and he couldn't make a library card yet. Far enough to find an abandoned picnic bench to smoke up at so his borrowed bedroom didn't smell like weed. Far enough to make some friends.

Only now that he's twenty, and some change. Now that he's graduated high school, third time lucky. Now that he’s decided to leave the trouble he could feel stirring in the city for someplace that always felt more like home. Now that he is an official Hawkins resident, he's wandered a little too far.

And it's not his fault, but he's not gonna tell Wayne that.

Cause the thing is, Eddie has always thought better when his feet were moving. After an hour of pacing around his trailer, still full with half unpacked boxes of things he hadn't realized he'd collected -- boxes that make him feel like a caged animal, that he'll be living out of for the next two months at least -- he has to leave. His first mistake, trusting that his feet will lead him around the parts of Hawkins he knows.

His mind twists plot hooks and campaign NPCs around his head, determined to get ready for when his friends come around later that afternoon with the pack of freshmen, now sophomores, that they'd adopted. He won't apologize for wanting to impress a new group of kids and wanting to convince Jeff he wouldn’t be sorry about passing off his DM mantle to a guy they used to only see two months out of the year. As he's thinking about a sect of female warriors -- a mix of barbarians and rangers, buff and leveled way above where the party will be -- and whether it'll just come across as horny the way the DILF-y elven mages he'd tried to include last year did, he sees her. Notices her, more like; a nymph, a dryad, a goddess sprung fully formed from his imaginings.

She crosses his path at a light jog. The shortest green athletic shorts he's ever seen clinging to the shape of an ass he could bounce a quarter off of. He can see the way her broad and muscled shoulders shift beneath the white sports bra she's wearing. It's the cool down portion of her workout, he guesses, from the way he can mostly maintain the small distance between them and the way sweat runs in rivulets down her back and trim waist. He wants to lick it off of her. She looks like she was built to fire a bow or break him in half, a Kinsey Five, it's the women who could kill him that always capture his attention.

He trails behind her, mind still turning over his session prep for the day and maybe thinking a little bit about whether she had a boyfriend. Hindsight will grant him that it's weird, the way he trailed behind her like a stray dog like this. But then, as he's sitting in the cab of Wayne's truck, he'll remember the way her thick, muscled thighs moved, how she bounced on the balls of her toes. He'll remember the way her ponytail swished over her shoulder as she glanced back at him, his first look at the lady's fair face, the way she'd smirked at him before bounding off of the roadside into the woods.

So totally not his fault he got lost. It probably happens all the time. The payphone on the opposite side of the road for sorry suckers like him who fall into her snare. Shit, maybe he should have stayed put, he hadn’t been thinking about why she might have a snare.

Wayne found him eventually, even if he spent the drive back to Forest Hills muttering about how Eddie had even found his way over to that side of town. How next time he aimed to get lost he should bring a map or a compass or a dog, and find his own way back. So he doesn’t ask his uncle about the mystery girl that could snap him over her knee like a dry twig, cause in the mood he’s in right now Wayne might go find her and embarrass the hell out of him.

Later, when Jeff and Gareth and Joey have piled onto the broken in couch that Wayne had given him. When the first teen that he doesn’t know knocks a little too quietly on his door, but grins wide enough to split his face that they’ve got a new campaign and a place to play over the summer. When they’re waiting for the last one to arrive, Eddie thinks about asking about her. She had to have overlapped with them in high school for at least a year or two.

Eddie knows already though that he won’t. Plus there’s a chance they’ll tell him anyway. He’s been on the receiving end of enough ‘Is that supposed to be Ronnie James Dio’s’ and ‘Wait are you describing Sigourney Weaver’s’ to hope that once he starts describing the Amazonian warrior who will hopefully be haunting his dreams he’ll get a ‘Doesn’t that sound just like…’

And yeah, maybe he’s starting to get a little impatient. But with the way he’s got the campaign laid out it will be at least two hours in before he gets a chance to describe her. At least, and he has to know who she is tonight.

“Dude,” Gareth starts, probably sick of the way Eddie’s bouncing his leg, “where’s Dustin?”

Will, the quietest so far of the new recruits looks almost too concerned, “He knows where it is right? Has anyone-”

Sinclair, he thinks the group arrived in mass and he’s not sure he’s partnered faces with the rush of names correctly just yet, pulls a walkie talkie with bells and whistles he didn’t even know you could attach from a backpack on the floor. “Dustin, come in, what’s your ETA?”

The tension in their corner of the room ratchets up enough to have Eddie’s palms start to sweat. Will brings his thumbnail up to his mouth, worrying it enough that it’s sure to start bleeding soon. “I’m sure it’s-” Sinclair starts to say, interrupted by a clattering outside then a bang to his door that yanks on the frayed edges of Eddie’s nerves.

He feels a little like a squirrel trying to cross a highway, the way the babies about to join the party are watching him with the knowing terror you watch something about to die.

Except the thing at his door is not Jason or Freddy, it’s a half-pint with a white hat pulled low over his head. The missing Dustin, who has no problem bullying his way through Eddie’s now open door.

“Ew, dude, why are you sweaty?”

"Because, Michael, I had to bike all the way across town." Eddie, and it looks like half the group, is about to ask some variation on why when Dustin holds up a hand shutting them all up masterfully "Because," he stresses each letter like they're what's wronged him, "five minutes before we were supposed to leave mom catches Stevie gossiping with Robin and she totally flips out about how she didn't take Stevie in just to watch her get herself killed. And then when I asked who was taking me here, Ma said she 'didn't buy me that bike just to have it sit in the garage!'"

The kid is incensed so it doesn't feel like the time to ask what the fuck is going on. Not when everyone else snorts and snickers at Dustin's expense. "Damn Stevie really fucked up if Dustybun got sent out on his own," Gareth jeers.

"Your mom does know what Stevie keeps in her trunk right? And she ruptured Preston's balls when he grabbed her ass last year," Lucas points out.

Hawkins, Eddie is learning, might just be full of girls to fall in love with.

"Stop saying that like it's hot, that's my sister you're talking about. I'll tell Max."

"Max still thinks Stevie's hot, dude."

"Are we gonna have to walk home just because Stevie's done something stupid again?" Mike complains.

"You didn't care about Stevie doing something dumb when she climbed that tree in heels to get you down after you got drunk at winter formal. Or when she took her bat to those… things." Lucas shares a sly grin with Will, who looks torn between feeling awkward at the inclusion and the teenage bloodlust for giving your friends a hard time. "You can just admit you feel weird about having the same taste as your-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin shouts cutting Lucas off and sending the room, Eddie included into a burst of snorting laughter. "Dustin Henderson," Eddie gets himself under control enough to accept the offered hand, "excited to have a DM who isn't a total asshole."

"Eddie, sorry about your hot sister. Not sorry for being a new kind of asshole Dungeon Master. Let’s see them character sheets, kiddies, this ain’t your mommy’s book club, we aren’t just here to gossip.”

Things go off pretty well, for a seven person table where he barely knows half the players. Lucas has an impressive tactical mind, Mike is a passionate role player, Will has a character built so well it’s basically an art form, and Dustin is a wild card who can’t decide whether he wants to win or to walk into the obvious trap just to see what will happen. It’s not hard to adjust, even if the way Jeff keeps looking at him when he describes new NPC's is throwing him off his game a little bit. He can duck behind his DM screen and recollect himself, but seriously what the fuck.

“She stands taller than the tallest of you, bronzed skin and hair, imperious, she looks at you, Sir Jeffrey, and offers you a deal, ‘Best our strongest warrior and you can take him back with you. Fail and his impunity will be punished by death.’” He lets the threat hang heavy in the air, all eyes on him and desperately hanging on to every word. Minus Jeff who was giving him that look again. “And that’s where we’ll end things this week, boys.” Cause he really, really hadn’t expected any of them to just straight up steal the enchanted bow of the Amazons that they needed to fell the dragon; and he really, really hadn’t planned for the botched stealth rolls.

Everyone grumbles as they pack up their things, it’s music to his ears. A four hour session -- if he didn’t count the hour they riffed about character builds and backstory once Eddie had his hands on their sheets -- and they’re still itching for more. It’s almost enough to have him just call a dinner break, so he can hole up in his room and churn something out. But someone is beating out shave and a haircut on his front door before he can change his mind.

“It’s probably Wayne getting revenge,” Eddie says, “woke him up early this afternoon.” He taps back his two bits, swinging open the door, expecting to see Wayne’s smug looking face grinning back at him. He’ll take his ‘Don’t feel too good getting interrupted in the middle a something, does it?’ with grace.

Only instead of an old man with two days of scruff, the door opens on his modern day Aphrodite. A worn, grey athletic shirt bragging about being a 1985 Hawkins Swim Team Region Champ has covered the white sports bra, cropped it shows off a distracting sliver of toned stomach above a short green tennis skirt, and her perky ponytail is down in loose waves around a mole kissed face.

And he’s gaping like a fucking idiot at her.

“Dust, wanna introduce me to your new friend?” she asks, voice bourbon smooth as molten eyes rake down his body from the doorway.

“Eddie, this is my sister.”

Like her brother before her, Stevie has no problem shouldering her way through the door. Where Dustin had slipped through on a size difference technicality like a halfling, she places a warm hand against his shoulder and gently pushes until his feet and brain get it together enough to move with her. Even then they’re still screaming, god he’s positive she could have just picked him up. He really wants her to pick him up, maybe push him against the wall a little.

“Hi Eddie,” she says. Still in the doorway they’re hedged in by boxes marked ‘Kitchen Shit’ and ‘Unpack this first asshole’ breathing the same air almost, all because Eddie in his genius had dropped the last load of stuff from the back of the van right by the door. “Are we going to be seeing more of you around?”

“Obviously,” Dustin cuts in, “we only just finished the start of a totally epic campaign.”

“Obviously,” Stevie repeats, with a mocking tilt to her gorgeous smile. One he recognizes from this morning.

Jeff is still watching him, a set of eyes boring hard into the side of his face. “Eddie just moved to Hawkins, just spent summers here before.”

Something about that softens her. Her expression, her posture, easing into something a little less coiled to pounce but no less flirtatious. “To Hawkins?”

Shit, and she’s looking at him like he’s an idiot; but like a cute idiot that she’ll maybe want to put down on his knees. “Well the best band I ever played with is still in high school here, and a success story always sounds better coming out of a small town.”

“You’re in a band, huh?”

Dustin wrestles himself in the middle again, and it says a lot about his tenacity that he’s managed to rock Stevie back against the cardboard. “Whatever this is, I don’t like it and it needs to stop.”

“Load your bike up in the trunk then, shithead, and you won’t have to see it,” she fires back. He does push past her out the door, trying to let it slam shut behind him when she catches it in lightning fast reflex, “Scratch the paint cause you’re being a dick and your ass is grass!”

The rest of the sophomores are slow to pack up their remaining things, valuing gossip more than trying to comfort their friend on losing another soldier in the war of ‘thinks his big sister is the babest babe to ever hit Hawkins.’ 

“You should come to practice some time, band practice, for the um band."

Somebody behind him snorts, hears a whispered, "For the um band," that's probably meant to be a mimicry of him.

"Eddie's lead guitar," Jeff says, from a place of true friendship or pity. It's hard to tell.

Her eyes light up with a mischief, hair swinging as she cocks her head, and he can hear the requisite, ‘wow you must be so good with your hands,’ as clearly as if she had said it. Instead she says, “Gremlins, go get in the car. Tell Dustin, Ma’s pissed he didn't take his helmet and he should know first hand the dangers of head trauma.” It’s an inside joke, an unfunny one, from the way she grins as they grumble and groan and tell her to fuck off. Trooping out the door between him and Stevie they each let her pat them on the back or ruffle their hair, a little attendance check on the way to the car.

The trailer door shuts behind them with a slam, maybe not an attitude issue then and something to add to his to do list, but Stevie hasn’t left with them. “If you’re interested in what Hawkins has to offer, I could show you around.” She says casually. Conversationally. A comment for the room at large before she leans into Eddie’s space, warm breath against the side of his face making him shiver as she whispers, “I take the same run through town every day, and I always wanted a puppy to follow me home.”

Eddie is lost. In visions of the girl who just twirled out of his place on her heel after completely rocking his world. Has lost. His mind, his heart, and hopefully his status as single. But there are worse things he can think of than being lost in Hawkins.

[rae-writes]

all for you...

Dazai x twin!reader

wc : 1.k

warnings : angst, ambiguous ending, major character death [not reader or Dazai], blood, implied prior emotional/physical/[light] sexual abuse

synopsis : "I don't want to play this part but I do, all for you"

a/n : I...apologize for this

“Well now…this is quite the mess to clean up…” 

The splattered blood on the wall had begun to drip, sliding down the wood slowly and splashing onto the floor with faint ‘pit, pit’ echoes. There was an eerie, ringing, silence to the air and a tension that felt suffocating.

Something shifted when Mori turned to look at the two children who just witnessed the murder— they were no older than fourteen. 

“You twins are my witnesses…from now on, I will be the new boss of the Port Mafia, and the two of you…will stay by my side.”

Fukuzawa Yukichi and Mori Ogai sat at a small, cherry-wood table that was decorated with a glass china set for the tea they were talking over; it would’ve been a rather amusing sight, if the conversation topic hadn’t been so serious. 

While they both performed their positions as head of their respective organizations diligently- and extremely well- it was no secret that they were each getting higher up in their years. They thought it best to discuss who would potentially be taking over once they were retired together, as it would help maintain their mutual agreement between said organizations. 

“Your best candidate is Doppo Kunikida, is it not? I was fairly certain it was him who was acting in your stead whenever you could not.”

You and Chuuya stood directly behind Mori, with a small handful of your subordinates a couple of feet away; similarly, Fukuzawa had Kunikida and Dazai behind him, with the rest of the agency’s core members on standby. The two heads didn’t really need them here, as they could very well handle themselves against one another, however by this point, it was more or less a tradition. 

“That is correct. What about you? Surely you’re going to pick from your pool of executives, aren’t you?” 

There it was. That nauseous dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. It sunk into your bones, forcing a cold sweat to the surface of your skin as, instinctively, your flight or fight response tried to take over. 

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The sounds around you grow muffled so suddenly it makes your head spin and the scenery melts down into a memory of the executive meeting held a week ago.

“Do not mistake my words. I will continue as the Port Mafia’s head until it is apparent I am no longer able to fulfill my role; even then, my presence will not just disappear. This is my home and the organization I’ve dedicated my life to. I’m simply implying that we will need a suitable replacement when that time comes.” 

Rae glanced at Chuuya, finding him to be exactly who Mori was looking for. There was no one else in the room, or even the entire Port Mafia for that matter, who would be better suited to take over the position as boss. 

“And Dazai Osamu shall be just the person to do so.” 

No matter how sickening the feeling of fear and dread can be, anger will always be the secondary emotion. Even if that anger doesn’t last, it festers somewhere deep inside someone and builds until it’s crawling throughout their whole body— and suddenly it’s controlling them. It’s what takes over their mind like a parasite until it’s moving their legs, their fingers, their hands; until it acts on all those…scenarios in a person’s mind that were never meant to be born- that were only supposed to stay as impulsive thoughts. It’s then that the entire world a person experiences can be flipped upside down and drowned in the raging tides their anger brought. 

It was that anger that had your body moving on autopilot while you just…watched. Like you were a prisoner in your own mind, watching something on the tv screen. 

Your feet took a few steps forward before your hand was reaching for Mori’s teacup and slamming it on the edge of the table, shattering the glass. It left one big shard in your grasp. Your free hand had come up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the long strands of black hair before yanking, forcing him to look at you with an exposed neck. 

When his red-purple hues met yours, your movements became your own. A gasp tore from your throat as you took in the sight in front of you, ragged breathing making you tremble. It was now that you were able to consciously think about your actions. 

And you thought about Osamu. 

You thought about everything he had to go through— everything Mori forced him to go through. 

You thought about that shine he had in his eyes that dulled over the years, only returning when he’d escaped Mori and the Port Mafia. You thought about the night he left, the way he cried over Odasaku and the way he cried about not wanting to leave you; you’d never seen him cry before. You thought about the hope in his eyes as you helped him leave and the genuine smile he’d given you two years later when you saw him again in the Agency. 

You thought about Mori’s sick, twisted version of affection— or ‘love’ as he called it sometimes. About the way he treated the two of you. The way he talked, manipulated, used, touched the two of you. 

As you gazed into the eyes of your tormentor- the man who was planning to drag your brother back to the darkness that had already consumed you- all that was swimming in those devil eyes was some warped version of pride; of satisfaction. 

His voice echoed in your mind, words he didn’t even need to voice aloud because he’d engrained them into you, seeping disgustingly- permanently- into your core. 

‘If I cannot have Osamu, I will gladly have you instead, my precious Y/n.’ 

With steady hands, though a trembling heart, you forced the broken piece of china into the flesh of Mori’s neck. And with a chilling cry, you dragged it across the entire expanse of his throat; his blood was now coating your face. 

It would’ve been a rather amusing sight- the horror plastered across everyone’s faces…if the situation hadn’t been so serious. 

“He…he was going to ask Osamu to be the next boss…and I couldn’t— I wouldn’t let him. Not you, Osamu.” Your voice cracked as you looked over at your brother, heart clenching when he looked at you with such…mortification. “Anyone but you.” 

And Osamu thought back to you. 

He thought back to all those times your eyes darkened in rage whenever Mori did something to him. He thought back to how you’d always yell at Mori for hurting him, whether physically or mentally. He thought back to the nights you promised him you’d help him shove down that darkness Mori festered in him. He thought about the promise you made him when he left the mafia: the promise that you’d be the one to kill Mori for what he’d done to the two of you. 

As he gazed into the eyes of his twin sibling- standing with blood on their face after just repeating the cycle, all for him- he could see the fear of what you’d just done. The determination to be better than Mori...and the love. Love for him. 

He should’ve known, his heart screams. He should’ve known this would happen, that you’d snap. He should’ve stopped you, he should’ve talked to you, he should’ve been there for you, because now—

. . .

After a haunting moment of ringing silence, the only person who dares to move is Chuuya Nakahara; the redhead kneels, sliding his hat off as he bows his head, “All hail the new Port Mafia boss, Dazai Y/n.”

[nocturnesmoon]

And no room for error (1/2)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader Word count: 5.6k Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Happy ending, Established throuple, polyamory, military inaccuracies, Mental instability, Ambiguous reader CW: Kidnapping, Human trafficking, Torture, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, canon typical violence, Allusions to unhealthy habits A/N: Forever holding these two close in my heart. Can be read as a standalone but might do a part two i dont know yet (Part 2) (Read on Ao3) -They come home to an empty apartment-

Johnny feels sick.

As he stares at the open door at the end of the hallway, he feels sick. The one he spotted when he wasn't even fully up the stairs and made him sprint the last few steps only to stand frozen when it's in full view.

He feels the worry gnaw the insides of his stomach, all the excitement that was eating him alive only moments prior, now transformed into a wretched beast of anxiety. The clutch on his duffel bag tightens, the string underneath his palm cutting uncomfortably against his skin.

He doesn't even need to be all the way there to see that the door is halfway off its hinges, or the hole that's been punched through it. It’s all types of wrong, something that shouldn't ever be, not on their apartment, not with you in it.

It’s as if a part of him fully blacks out, no thoughts, no feelings, only one purpose. He walks the short distance like a man possessed, dropping the duffel just outside the broken entrance before marching through it.

He calls out your name and finds no answer. His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable as your name falls from his lips again, over and over again in a desperate prayer. He moves like a jittery animal through the apartment, he doesn't take notice of its state, he doesn't spend extra time investigating, seeing the damage, he doesn't have to.

He knows what it means, the horrible implications and the terrible outcomes. He flays open the door to the bathroom, nothing, he opens the door to the home office with his shoulder, nothing, he carefully opens the door to your shared bedroom, terrified at the emptiness. The lack of your presence was something he never wanted to feel, something in his heart reaching out to you and failing to find you.

He stops, standing in the middle of the room that's in shambles. He sees the dresser that has its contents flipped upside down, some of your favorite clothing pieces torn to shreds on the wooden flooring.

He sees the splintered wood on the bedframe, a place that they had spent so many orange mornings with you in, the sheets now ruffled and unkempt void of a morning glow. He sees the broken mirror, the same one you insisted on having when the three of you moved in, you said you'd use it, but you never really do.

He sees the damage; he sees the sign of struggle.

The evident feeling of what happened here makes his muscles stiffen, his joints feels like they're about to snap. His head blacks out, fills up with an angry fog, tears prickling at his eyes and cold shame bleeding through his back.

It's a horrible feeling that makes him want to puke up his emotions, a habit they coaxed you out of after extensive support. He wants to think better thoughts, that you are at your friend’s house, and this happened while you weren't here.

But as he feels the looming presence behind him and hears the duffel bag crash against the ground out of shock, he knows this is happening and it's the most terrified he's ever been.

Where were you? Who were you with? Are you hurt? Are you even still alive?

Questions of horror plague Simon's mind as he paces the living room of disarray. The place had been completely ransacked, not only were you gone, but everything they had of sentimental, or material value had been destroyed, not taken, destroyed.

A nightmare come true, no, something worse than. It made Simon's skin crawl, his stomach doing twists in hopes of finding a better feeling. He felt freezing cold, the apartment was frosty, the heater you loved to sit in front of on cold winter mornings hadn't been used in too long.

How long have you been gone? How long has it been since they took you?

He hadn't felt fear like this in a long time, something that came to compare with a certain unspoken Christmas. A fear that kept him from getting too attached to anyone, not until he met Johnny who tore down his defenses, or you who phased right through his walls of reinforced steel.

Now it creeped its way back into his senses, reminding him that they failed to conceal you, they failed to keep you out of view, they did not keep you safe, and you were suffering the consequences of it.

Simon called the cops as soon as he got out of his own shock, he called Price immediately after knowing which of the two would be faster. Price had always been fond of you since the day they introduced you to him. Various holidays spent with Price and his family since they didn't live far, and you clearly enjoyed his cooking just a tad more than Johnny's, even if you didn't want to admit it to their faces.

Simon was still holding the phone to his ear long after Price had hung up with the promise of being right there. The phone was still warm against his skin, making him want to not pull it away and feel the eerie chill that the apartment shouldn't have.

He looks towards Johnny who's sitting on the couch, even more eerie than the apartment itself. He's too quiet for any of this, Simon had halfheartedly expected him to go off the rails in this type of situation, but no. He's completely quiet, staring down at a pair of dog tags in his hands, clutched tightly like they might disintegrate if he lets them go.

It's the dog tags they gave you, the fake ones they got made with each of their names since you were so fixated on their actual ones. Despite how much they adored the look of you with nothing but their tags, they would still need them in the field when they went out. To remedy it, they got you your own, one with Simon’s name and one with Johnny's, a mark to claim you as theirs.

You never went anywhere without it after you first laid eyes on them. You'd always have them dangling around your neck if you went out, or if the outfit called for something else, you'd have them wrapped around your wrist, or safely tucked in your pocket.

It was your piece of them, something to hold close whenever they weren't home. A testament to the fact that they still had their own, that they were not gone forever and would come back to you. You weren't wearing them now; you didn't have them with you.

"Who do ye think it was?" Johnny's voice interrupts the cold dread silence that filled a living room that was supposed to be warm and safe.

Simon's head snaps up, the muscles in his arms finally relenting and letting him take the phone away from his ear. "What?" much like Johnny's, his voice had that constant tinge of fear ever since they entered the apartment.

"Ye know how many enemies we've made" Johnny sighs, his head bowing down to rest his forehead against his knuckles, "Which of the sick bastards do ye think took 'em." It makes Simon sick to even consider, but it’s becoming blaringly obvious that it was what happened to you.

Nothing else would make sense in their heads, this was no ordinary break in. If you were staying somewhere else, you'd answered their dozen calls, and their 50 messages. There was no reason for you leave, no reason for you to ghost them and leave the apartment like this.

"We must've been made a mistake somewhere, left a trail, led them right to here," Johnny continues, going down a spiral road that promises a fall to every turn. "Right to them" he tries to conceal the crack in his voice, biting down on his tongue to stop the rising panic in his chest.

It’s no use, there's no getting past Simons observant gaze, not a feeling to be hid when his eyes flickers over you and brings out every little thought you've ever had. "I called Price," Simon's voice becomes a tether between them, something to bind them together and hold the uncontrollable explosions in their chests at bay.

He pockets his phone and moves over to where his lover is sitting. Every step feels like his legs are full buckets of water, sludgy movement accompanied by a certain lightheadedness. He has to stay strong for the both of them, for you, wherever you are now.

He positions himself between Johnny's legs to take his attention away from your dog tags. His roughened hands gently glide over the stubble on Johnny's cheek, guiding his eyesight upwards and bringing him into an encompassing hug. One to keep him tugged away from the scene, away from the reality. A hug to compress them both together, to stop them from falling apart in your absence.

Simon doesn't view himself as a religious man, spiritual or anything of the sort, but right now he prays. He prays to any god that will hear him, any entity that will look upon his bloodied soul and carry pity for him. He prays for your return, your life, your being, that when they find you, and they will find you, that you won't be hurt, that you will still be you.

Price comes first, as expected, the police shortly after. When he first saw Simon's number pop up on his phone, he felt confused. There was no fear in him yet just confusion because Simon doesn't call ever, unless it's important.

When he found out the reason, he felt the claws of fear himself. A situation everyone in the 141 grapples with, when they have the knowledge of loved ones at home. Knowing it was you only made the fear worsen.

Though skeptical, he had been happy when the boys had introduced you to him, happy that they found something to care for and trust other than themselves. He had multiple times admitted to himself how well the three of you fit together, each of you completing something that the other would be missing.

The paternal or brotherly instinct in him that he held for his boys in the 141 quickly translated over to you as well. Much like for anyone else in his family or the 141, he'd go to great lengths for you. In fact, he's pretty sure he broke a traffic law or two to get here so fast.

He watches from afar by the staircase, Simon was talking to one of the police officers that came by his body rigid ever so tense. He knows that this is something that could destroy these two to a new level, a level Price would not have seen before.

He knew Simon better than Johnny, and while Simon prided himself in looking like he had it all together, he had seen the man in his worst times, and it was destructive. A place he could barely pull the man out of once he sunk down to it.

Johnny had placed himself on the staircase, unable to face the direction of what was once a home of warmth and safety. He was quietly talking to Kyle on the phone, informing him and of what they knew and what they didn't, in a sense helping each other calm down while preparing what needs to be done.

Kyle had offered to come over there asap, sounded practically halfway out the door but Johnny managed to talk him out of it. Price was already here, along with him and Simon and the police it was already a crowd that didn't need more attention than necessary.

Price had stopped listening a while ago, trusting any other finer details for Johnny to deliver. He was focused solely on Simon and the officers. They looked almost bored as they listened to Simon explain the needed details, their general lack of respect firing irritation into his veins.

He knew that he cared for them in a way no superior technically should, this wasn't just about keeping his soldiers in one piece so he could have use of their skills in the field, it was about the bond they shared, the traces of family between them all. It brought them together when needed, they could trust each other to see things through, and help when things seemed hopeless.

That trust extended to you too, a heart full of so much emotion you never failed to surprise Price with your range. He had met so many different people in his time, and rarely did he ever find someone like you, a personality of range so raw it repelled the wrong people and drew in the ones that could handle you.

He looks towards the door that creeks open, red fiery curls, that you had described one time over tea, poking out along with a set of curious eyes. A nosy neighbor you had particular disdain for, finally now looking to see what all the noise is about.

He gives them eyes sharp like daggers, promising blood, and vengeance if they didn't kindly close the door again. It often fell into topic during your teatime with him, petty gossip shared between the two of you. You had called them creepy, perverse, gross, eyes that stared too long at you when you passed in the hallway, and words drawn out as if you keep you close longer whenever you talked.

Price already had plenty of reason to distrust and dislike them, but even more so now because of their plain ignorance. Even if they didn't know how long ago the deed was done, the damage is noticeable, the noise it must have made when it was done isn't something you just miss.

No, your neighbors had deliberately ignored the obvious signs. Walked past it thinking someone else will call it in, someone else will help, but nobody ever did. The red curls disappeared again, most likely got bored with the lack of a scene to watch now that the police were searching the home.

"You think they will find anything?" Price's attention was promptly brought back to Johnny, who had seemingly finished his phone call. Now looking up to him with worry and fear, occasionally glancing back at the open door and wincing at the reminder.

He wants to assure him, to tell Johnny that yes, they will find everything they can, they'll build a case, your sweetheart will be safe and sound within the morning, but Price doesn't like to lie to them when it doesn't benefit them.

"No…" Price answers with a sigh, his arms coming to cross over his chest, "But we will find something."

He can already feel it in the way the officers halfheartedly take on the case, the disinterested stares, their overworked faces. They won't find anything, and they certainly won't find you. Even if they wanted to it's more likely that this is beyond them.

This isn't something simple, it’s something that could go way back. A deliberate hit on the two of them, revenge maybe, or a message. Time would reveal which one, only one thing was certain right now, you were their top priority.

The first few days back on base are like hell for Simon and Johnny. Having to go back to work with the knowledge of your absence makes both of them go a little mad. They know Price is doing everything he can to speed it along, to find out something about your whereabouts, but it takes time.

Meanwhile they're left with nothing to do except work and wait. They both know they can't return back to their apartment with the intent to live there anymore, but the task of looking for a new place is all too daunting. Not to mention it would feel wrong without your input, with your acceptance of their new flat, a big decision they didn't want to make without you.

They have different coping mechanisms in your absence. Johnny is a lot more withdrawn, in his own head all too much thinking about you and what state you could be in now. He draws but its barely an escape anymore, it doesn't help him unwind like it used to, so he goes to the gym, he works out, he punches the bag imagining it’s your captors face whatever they might look like.

Simon swamps himself with paperwork, taking on way more than he can handle, because if a single thought of you presses into his head, he might not be able to keep his composure. He's barely keeping afloat as is, holding Johnny close every night calming each other down the best they can.

Even so there is a definite distance between them, the lack of overlap in their activities and work putting them at bay from each other during the day. The constant separation in the morning and the sleepless nights take a toll on them both.

One that Simon only truly realizes when he opens the door to his room and sees Johnny broken down into a heave of sobs. He wasn't unfamiliar with panic attacks, having them himself on an annoying basis, but he knew they didn't plague Johnny as much as they did now.

Johnny felt sick ever since the apartment, he hadn't been eating properly because how could he when you might not have food, he hadn't been resting because how could he when you might not be rested, he couldn't do anything unless it was to further the task of finding you. Every time he tried, he was filled with an unbridled shame that bled into his bones, and made it infinitely harder to do.

Simon softly closes the door, making his presence known but still being quiet as to not startle him on either end. He walks over, watching his partners state of panic, kneeling to take him in his arms and hold him close.

"Breathe…" he whispers against Johnny's scalp; he's still crying and gasping for air but he melts against Simon like he's always meant to be there. Johnny shifts, pressing fully against him and burying his face into his chest.

"I need you to breathe love…"

Johnny tried gasping for air again, tried to focus on the steady heartbeat in Simon’s chest but it felt futile. "I..I can't…" his voice broke over midway "What…what if we never find them Si….what if they're not even ali-"

"Stop."

Simon pressed his partner even closer, halfway into his lap at this point in an attempt to soothe him. He knew how many times he must've gone there by now, entertaining the thought that there will be nothing to find anymore, that what they're looking for is no longer a thing. He doesn't want to go there, he refuses to believe it as a possibility, because Simon isn't sure what he is going to do with himself if that turns out to be the case. 

He might crumble fully this time, fall with nothing to catch him. He desperately wants to be there for his partner no matter what, but losing either of you would destroy him, and he knows this as a fact.

"What if…what if they think we're not coming" Johnny tightens his hold against Simon’s shirt, "They know that right…they can't think we're abandoning them…they can't."

"We're going to find them Johnny," He promises him, "We're bringing them home" he promises him something he isn't sure if he can keep.

Slowly but surely, they get moved onto the bed, not bothering with removing any layer of clothing. As much as the skin on skin might help, Johnny would still be too out of it. Right now, he needs a steady hand, something to rest against as he cries himself dry.

Simon pulls him against his chest as they lay down, barely even separating at all. Their legs tangling, heartbeats together, Johnny begins to calm down. His sobs become quieter, but the pain in his heart is still at large.

Simon can feel it in his own, from Johnny's, all around them. He doesn't let it be known, nor does he do it loud, but a few tears escape from the corner of his eyes, falling down his cheeks. It makes him hug Johnny tighter, to keep the one thing he still has left close in his arms, because if he lets this go now, he will truly be lost.

Crack

Johnny winces as he hears another finger snap, watching it bend the wrong way and eliciting another broken scream from the guy in the chair.

They've been at it for an hour by now, the fifth guy they've managed to bring in this week alone. It didn't take long before they started finding potential leads of your whereabouts, bringing in blokes who might have even the tiniest clue.

Price was technically supposed to be here as well but had conveniently left them alone with the poor guy, for better or for worse. It was one thing Price knew he could do nothing about, if he didn't help the two bring them in, they'd do it on their own anyway and with a much higher chance at getting themselves killed before they even find you.

Another crack and pop.

Johnny lets out a sigh as he watches his partner interrogate the terrified fella. It almost looked intimate, with how close Simon was in the guy’s face, tapping his hands over the man's hands before snapping another finger. Fortunately, Johnny did know better than that, there was nothing intimate about this, the things said in low threatening voices were things whispered with pure malice, a promise of revenge against the people that took their love.

He was getting a bit dejected however, this guy’s wasn't the first and certainly wouldn't be the last. They hadn't found a single thing about your location; they had a slight idea of the people that took you, but it didn't add up with other evidence they had. Every new thing they learned was either a lie or well-orchestrated plan, something that put them back to square one.

"No no no! Not that anything but that!" The man screamed trying to squirm away from Simon. There had always been something terrifying about the way Simon did his work in here, it made Johnny incredibly grateful to be on the same side as him, to not be the guy in the chair on the receiving end of all that.

"Johnny, do you mind?"

"Not at all LT" There was a certain venom in both of their voices, a danger whispered into the chords. It made them move as one, the same thoughts flowing through two brains almost like telepathy, one goal in mind.

Johnny moved over to the steel table, moving a bloodied wrench out of the way. He pitied whoever was going to clean this up, because it likely wasn't going to be them. They were still counting that this guy had some sort of information. In truth he did give them all sorts of info that they will catalogue and report later, but nothing about you.

He picks up the jumper cables and moves it all closer, onto the tray with squeaky wheels that Price promised to get changed months ago. He looks at the skull mask that’s now faced towards him, he sees behind it, the brown eyes a little duller and not as full of life.

He knows that Simon could go all night if it meant that he would finally get your location, but he was tired, not just physically but mentally as well. They could both use a break, a long one, the type that could give their very souls the needed rest, but neither of them stopped, it wasn't an option.

Johnny rolled the small table over to Simon, letting him do his thing. He lets out a sigh as he listens to the pathetic pleading from the guy in the chair as Simon hovers the cables near his crotch. With a heavy sigh Johnny excuses himself, having had enough of the whining and moaning, and feeling a headache come on.

He closes the door behind him to the room just in time, the muffled screaming from inside combined with Simon's incessant yelling quickly drowned out. He feels the cold breeze on his face, letting the feeling of fresh air fall over him. The warm stench that always got into a room during the torture finally washing away from his nostrils.

It's cold out, he notices as he feels the goosebumps ride up his arms. If you were here, you'd be chewing him out about going outside without a jacket, telling him that he can't get a cold, because if he gets a cold then you'll get a cold, and you really don't want to be sick. He'd ruffle your hair, much to your annoyance, and tell you that he wouldn't get sick, but of course he would a few days later, and even then, you'd be taking care of him so sweetly, despite complaining before it.

But you aren't here.

He takes a few deep breaths and tries really hard to keep the panic looming in his body concealed. He had to stay tactical, calm, and in control, but they had hit too many dead ends. Their first thought was that they somehow had let you be known to their enemies, and that some had come to take you as leverage but the chilling realization that nobody they had tried knew anything about you became an uncomfortable itch.

Maybe that was what was the scariest thing about this situation, it having nothing to do with them and everything to do with you.

The moment they get a proper lead on a location is when things start to go fast. Not even 2 hours after the briefing are they on the plane and landing on a base that would be close by the revealed location. It doesn't take a lot of convincing to have Price agree to the mission, perhaps just as eager himself to finally put an end to the madness.

Was it logical? Not all the way, smart? Fuck no, but it was hope, and Price knew at this point that if he didn't find a way to make it happen fast, then Johnny and Simon would just steal a plane and go on their own, Gaz would likely join them too if they asked.

But the fact remained, someone had finally cracked, who it was, Simon barely even remembers. The past week or so he's been avoiding thinking about you like were you a vicious disease that spread whenever someone mentioned its name, but now you were the only thing that consumed his thoughts, along with a overwhelming brooding rage.

He's not even sure you're going to be there, a human trafficking ring, their supposed base of operations revealed to them. If it wasn't for the anger boiling in his veins, he'd feel sick upon learning the knowledge of all the kidnappings that had been happening in your area.

You hadn't ever said anything, but he didn't doubt that you knew, you just also knew that they would worry too much and wouldn't go do their jobs if they knew. He wants to scream at himself, yell at a mirror for being so stupid and careless, if he had just stayed up to date then maybe he could've prevented all of this.

You might still be at home, waiting for them to join you in bed, the three of you cuddling together in your favorite position. If only he could go back and change his mistake. He knows he can't, he knows he can't change what he did or didn't do, but he will correct it now, and get you back in their arms.

The place is massive, but he barely even registers it, nothing feels real as he pursues anything and everything that could lead his way to you. He's mauling people down with scary precision, unleashing his rage on them while somehow still keeping them covert. He can feel that Johnny is behind him, watching his back, but he never actually turns around to confirm.

They've passed several rooms, or cells more like with plenty of victims, but none of them had you among them. After securing the victims safety, they left it to the other soldiers behind them to get them out of there while they continue to comb through the building.

Johnny starts losing hope once they've nearly been everywhere, all enemies neutralized, and victims secured. Though they have a few rooms left, they've seen no sign of you or anything that might've belonged to you.

And of course, that's when it happens, when they turn the handle on the last door, the last of their hope almost extinguishing, only to spike in their throats from the scene revealed to them.

The room is bigger than expected, at first hand it seemed more or less like another one of the rooms they kept their poor victims holed up in, but there was only one person in there. A body in the corner, naked, bruised, dirty, with unmistakable features that they used to caress at night within the safety of their own bed.

Once again Johnny feels sick, almost bends forward to wretch everything up right then and there as well but he has to keep it together. He wants to scream and cry, rip the person who did this to shreds, but it's likely Simon already did that unknowingly out there.

His partner doesn't stand frozen beside him for long, but likely going through a similar round of emotional turmoil. They both sprint to your side, trying to check your state both for injuries and your awareness.

Cuts and scrapes litter your body like a fucked-up pattern, your naked skin covered in dirt, dust and perhaps even mud. Your eyes are barely open, void and tired, they can practically see the redness and the crust from your crying stained onto your face.

Johnny smoothes a hand over your thigh to check a wound but flinches away when he hears you whimper. They feel a crack in their hearts as they watch you spur a little to life, pathetically trying to inch away from them but having no more energy to do so.

"No no…Sweetheart it's okay…it's us" Johnny tries to be soothing, not forcing touch on you but still trying to guide your vision in his direction. He almost can't bear to look at what they've done to you, inhumane things and then just to leave you here in a room by yourself.

When your eyes finally meet his, he chokes back on a wretched noise, your terrified look is something he never wants to see directed at him or Simon. Not from you. He gently guides you hand up to his hair, in the moment he doesn't care about the blood or the dirt, all he wants to do is remind you. He helps your fingers tangle through like you've done so many times before, hoping to kickstart your memory.

At first, you're stiff, unwilling, but slowly your hands start squeezing at his hair out of your own volition. A little more clarity in your eyes as you choke out his name, and when he hears he nods rapidly. His hold on your hand tightening as he looks down at you with tears in his eyes.

He wants to hold you, crush you against him, but he knows he has to be careful. Along with your visible injuries, they have no idea if you have broken bones or worse going on inside. "Yes, love…it's me….we're here…we found you…" he nods and brings your weak hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

They have to move you, and get you out of here with the rest, but Simon is afraid to touch. Scared that one motion from him could make everything infinitely worse. He's been sitting paralyzed next to Johnny and you, watching as Johnny brings part of you back to reality instead of the mental prison you've no doubt locked yourself in.

He looks away from your hand and back to your face, almost horrified to see that you're now staring up at him. He missed you greatly, but right now, he almost can't bear to have you look at him. He reaches his own hand up, wincing when he sees the blood on it but continuing regardless to pull his mask off.

He sees the tears forming in your eyes as you see him again, his hand gently cupping your face and wiping away the falling tears. "It hurts…" you sob quietly, and all Simon can do is nod, because he knows, he knows all too well about the pain you're in.

"I know love…I know…" He lets out a shaky sigh, giving an affirming glance to Johnny before moving around. They need to get going, and they need to get you to safety. He gently hoists you up, tries to not think of your desperate whimpers of both fear and pain.

He holds you close to his chest, Johnny's hands tugging your matted hair away, so it didn't get stuck on any gear. Simon's grip on you is fierce, a grounding touch you've needed for so long, and with Johnny's warm voice softly assuring you, you start to settle away from your panic.

They keep you close the entire time, assuring you, holding you, keeping you tugged away from the gore and the defiling monsters that lay dead on the ground. They keep you close, closer than ever before, and they won't let you go, not again, not ever. They'll carry you through the recovery, they'll get you back on your own feet again, back to yourself again.

They will never let any of this happen again.

[serenescribe]

For the 3 sentence prompt...

Silver makes flower crowns for Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek. People are confused as to why they're all wearing them in class, but they refuse to take them off.

(Lilia had to put a spell on his so it wouldn't fall off when he was upside down, I'm sure.)

[✐] ficlet frenzy

“I can sense your curiosity, Trey,” Lilia says, grinning as he turns towards the boy in question. He’d felt a pair of eyes continuously drifting towards him during class — or rather, several pairs of eyes boring holes into him. But he knew Trey a little better than the others, given both their statuses as vice-housewardens, so it was him he called out as soon as class concluded.

Trey laughs. “Guilty as charged,” he says. Adjusting his spectacles, he peers a little closer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the flower crown today?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Lilia says cheerily, reaching up to adjust the wreath of wildflowers crowning his head. “Just a gift from someone rather close to me. Can you truly fault me for wearing it to class?”

“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be my thing, but…” Trey smiles. “It does suit you better than it would me.”

“Kufufu, how kind of you to say so!”

“IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME, HUMAN, YOU BEST SPIT IT OUT RIGHT NOW!”

Sebek twists his lips into a smirk at the way his classmates flinch, their cheeks flushing red, utterly chastised by his grandiose voice. It serves them right! They’d been whispering to each other all throughout the lesson, pointing not-so-subtle fingers in his direction. It had been so distracting, even more so than that blasted cat who sits on Professor Trein’s table during all his classes, its mewling nothing but a hindrance to everyone trying to study!

One of his classmates, a particularly bold soul, speaks up. “W-Well, we’re just wondering about the…” They frown, gesturing ambiguously at his head.

Sebek scoffs. “Pathetic, the lot of you! How do you not even know what a flower crown is?”

“We know what it is, we’re just wondering why you’re wearing it!”

“WHY NOT?!” Sebek yells, yet again outraged by their impotence.

“W-Well, it doesn’t seem like you, that’s all!”

It’s true that Sebek had turned his nose up at the thought at first. But upon seeing the way Lord Malleus and Master Lilia had gratefully donned their crowns, he, too, had jumped to put on his own, keen to be matching them. So to his classmate’s impudent remarks, he simply scoffs. “You humans know not the glory of wearing matching wreaths with your liege!”

Malleus wonders why he’s attracting a fair few more stares than usual.

He’s well aware of the fact that his presence typically draws a muted commotion — students whispering to each other, sneaking stares at him, though they never approach him. Even so, there seems to be more inquisitorial eyes turned in his direction today, furrowed eyebrows and creased foreheads accompanying their expressions.

He can only wonder why. It isn’t as though he’s doing anything different today. He had shown up to class, taking his same seat at the back with both sides unoccupied, tuning in to the lessons as he normally does.

After the bell rings, Malleus does try to reach out to a nearby classmate to peruse the matter… but the skittish Pomefiore student jolts away, stuttering out an excuse before making a break for the door.

Hm, Malleus thinks, rubbing a finger against his chin. How interesting.

Silver can only stare at the three of them when he finally arrives back at Diasomnia’s lounge, having endured a long day of gossip about the peculiar, matching accessories three notable Diasomnia students happened to be wearing.

“Did you all wear my flower crowns to class…?”

Lilia only laughs. “Why not?”

[grabtherain]

Let's Trauma Together (Steddie Fanfiction)

Summary: Eddie is pining hard for Steve after his near death experience in the Upside Down. Steve is well- pining hard for Eddie after carrying a bleeding Eddie out of the Upside down. Valentines Day rolls around and Steve shows up at Eddies door- awkwardness and all. Flirting ensues. Pining ensues. Does anything really resolve itself?

Disclaimer: There's a possibility that I turn this into something bigger on AO3- I haven't really decided. Another thing- I am very much angry that Wayne and Eddie never interact on the show so I self indulged in writing my own uncle-nephew dynamic. I am aware that the ending is ambiguous, again there might be more in the future.

CW: brief mentions of death, contemplation of life

"Eddie I will not allow you to sit and sulk in my presence today." Wayne chuckled at his nephew, a tired smile falling onto his lips. "I got three more hours before I head to work- so either cheer up or,"

"I'm gonna stop you right there!" Eddie interrupted as he jumped up from his spot on the couch. "I know you are not gonna recommend such a thing." Eddie could read his uncle like a book, and it seemed the power was mutual. It was Valentines day and Wayne knew his nephew was sulking. Sulking- yet still a ball of energy. He didn't know how Eddie did it sometimes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about Kid." Wayne teased in bemusement, taking a sip of his beer slowly. He had to admit that he had been spending too much time with Eddie since- the incident. He showed his emotions way more, teased the boy as much as he could, and he woke up early just to sit with him before work. Though Wayne wouldn't admit too much to enjoying the times together with his nephew- they avoided feelings most time. After a moment Wayne caved, "All I'm saying is- you never know if you don't try."

Eddie's face contorted into an immediate scowl- though he was entertaining Wayne just as he was entertaining Eddie. "Steve Harrington isn't something you just try Wayne." Eddie huffed out as he sat his restless body down on the couch. "Pretty sure once you're in... you're in for life." The two sat in silence for a mere two seconds before Eddie let out a gag at his own wording. "Not like that!" The two men began to laugh at one another's antics that led to this point.

Though- leave it to Wayne to bring the seriousness of a situation out. "C'mon Kid, I see him here almost every week. I don't think you have too much to worry about." Eddie, if he wasn't in a bubble, would most likely notice the tone of Wayne's voice. The tone older generations use when they know something a younger person doesn't- the wise man gruff. However, Eddie at this point was in so much denial that he barely heard Wayne after the first sentence.

"Steve is only here to pick the kids up from our DnD campaigns Wayne! He is forced to come near me!" Eddie's hands raised to play with his hair- twisting a miscellaneous curl in between his ringed fingers. Wincing at one point- cursing his calluses for catching a knot. "Plus, he is probably having a movie night with Robin today." Eddie whispered softly, his eyes dilating as he seemed to completely leave the conversation. Wayne sighed as he watched the boy he loved the most in this cruel world, the boy who survived the worst thing this world had to offer- sulk over a boy. A boy who from Wayne's knowledge, ruined Eddie in their earlier years. However, Wayne didn't bring that up. In fact, Wayne and Eddie stopped speaking soon after that- simply basking in each others presence as they watched TV. When it was time for Wayne to go, he put a weighted hand on Eddie's knee as he stood. Eddie's head lifted as if it was the heaviest thing on Earth- his lips pulling into a small smile that seemed just as weighted. With a pat on the knee and a playful head butt to the Oldman's gut as he tried to ruffle Eddie's hair- Eddie was left all alone.

Hours went by, Eddie remaining the same criss cross position on the new couch. He sat there just contemplating what had happened to him in the past year. Senior year. Dustin. All the kids. Vecna. Death. A shiver ran up Eddie's spine- seemingly snapping him into a more appropriate posture. His eyes remained completely zoned out- focusing on brand new carpet. The brand new carpet- in this brand new apartment. Gifted by some secret agency who wanted Wayne and Eddie to stay as quiet as possible about what almost killed Eddie- well what had killed Eddie. Eddie remembers showing up to graduation after being labeled officially dead by the news- he compares it to how Will might have felt. Within the comparison, he begins to think of all the fond memories he has with the kids now that he is alive. Well, as alive as his brain will let him think he is.

Suddenly a knock is heard at the front door, though it seemed as though Eddie would never react. Fifteen seconds after the sound had reverberated off the door- Eddie jumped in his upright position on the couch. Confusion finally began to settle onto his now present features- and his hands began to nervously sweat at who it could possibly be at the door. Five seconds after his reaction- there was another knock on the door. Eddie found himself self consciously counting how much time everything took to happen. Less than a millisecond after the second knock occurred, Eddie was pushing himself off the couch to make his way to the oak door. I'll be it- unwillingly- but you must give credit where credit is due. You don't deal with a secret agency once and not be terrified of them showing up again to kill you and take everything away. However, you also don't go through what Eddie did and not develop paranoia. Eddie's brain stopped counting once he was right in front of the door- it was too busy worrying about the what ifs. "I told Wayne we need a peep hole." Eddie cursed under his breath as he grasped the door handle. "If I die, I die."He thought out loud as he swung the door open into his chest- not wanting to open it all the way in case he could save himself.

"Woah woah Munson. No one's dying tonight." The voice of Steve Harrington flooded all of Eddie's sense. His eyes noticeably widening in complete shock at not only the sound but the sight in front of him. There stood Steve Harrington - all alone- with a stack of VHS tapes and a tote bag slung over his shoulder. "They say death is at its lowest on Valentines Day," Steve began to fumble with his own joke. Noticing Eddies already huge brown eyes- having grown wider in his presence. "Something about love healing and all that." His confidence disintegrated into a mere mumble as he began to shift back and forth on his heels.

"Something like that." Eddie mimicked as his eyes trailed up and down Steve's formed, still outrageously confused about what was going on. However, he had manners and half a brain to let the poor boy in. "Well Harrington, please invite yourself over to the Munson residence." Eddie had to tease the other for coming over unannounced- though he couldn't help but like it (a lot)- he knew it would look suspicious if he didn't say anything. With foe confidence pushing a smirk onto Eddie's puppy dog features, his arms pushed the door open wider for his visitor. "Though- I welcome you with open arms." Eddie began to step deeper into the apartment to make sure he gave Steve enough room to comfortably walk in without feeling hovered over. Though Eddie couldn't help but exaggerate his lean to see what was in the tote bag.

"Hey! Eyes away!" Steve said suddenly as his arm holding the tape went to cover the slight opening of the tote bag. "They are surprises for letting me invade." Steve joked as he laughed softly at his own embarrassment, he knew Eddie would notice him not calling to come over. He couldn't help it- it truly was a last minute sort of ordeal.

Eddie let out a loud snort as stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. "How do I know you aren't going to whip a nail bat out at me?" He paused for greater affect, "I've heard the stories Harrington, Dustin knows how to make man sound like a badass with a piece of wood." Eddie would inwardly cringe at his wording- taking note how that's the second innuendo he's accidentally made while talking about Steve. If Steve's cheeks were anything to go by, he definitely got the insinuation to.

"W-Well," Fuck now he was stuttering? Get it together Harrington. "You'll have to trust that my bat is way too big for this bag to handle." Now the boys were in their natural mode of "flirting without acknowledging that it was sexual pining." Perfect.

Like a switch, the boys were doubled over laughing and beginning to set the VHS tapes all over the carpet to pick the order they wanted to watch each one. Eddie had questions. In fact, he had tons of them. From- "Where's Robin?" to "What's in the bag?" and even "Do you know this is making me fall even more in love with you?". The last one was the biggest one in his mind though- it was the one he ignored the most. "Tell me Harrington, what are you really doing here?" Wow- that question wasn't one of his top three. Brain what are you doing? Though Eddie watched in interest as Steve stopped dead in his tracks- still gripping one of the tapes loosely.

Gulp. Suddenly, his grip on the poor film was tighter than before. Whether it was the genuine tone that Eddie had used- or how Eddie had stared up at him with those big eyes as he said it, Steve was locked in place. "I can't come watch a couple movies with a friend?" Steve breathed out, just wanting to get something out so Eddie wouldn't think his heart had stopped beating. In reality, it was beating faster than ever before.

Eddie wasn't going to let Steve go that easily, "You definitely can, though I believe Robin is usually the movie friend. Me? I'm the pick up the kids friend." He hadn't meant for the last part to sound so self deprecating, he clawed at some sort of distraction. "So where's Robin hiding?" He looked around jokingly, knowing that the blonde would never be able to stay hidden for this long. To be fair, neither could Eddie.

"She's not here." A frown had set itself firmly on Steve's lips- his eyebrows furrowing in concern as his embarrassment was long forgotten. It's as if his mom mode had kicked in. Though he didn't see Eddie as one of the kids- his self deprecation wasn't lost on the other man. "And you're not just a 'pick up the kids' friend. You're a 'pick up the kids and watch a movie together after' friend." Steve let himself loosen up with a joke at the end of his reassurance. He knew Eddie wasn't a kid who needed to be told how to comprehend other's interactions with him. He just sometimes need a reminder and a little joke. Steve could do that for him. Steve could always do that for him.

Eddie chuckled softly as his own posture relaxed with the reassuring message. A genuine smile pressing onto his features as he looked up at Steve through his eyelashes. The teasing game between the two was back on- "Oh? I have an after title? We've taken a few steps in our relationship since I last checked." Eddie's voice was light- yet smooth just like his movements. He and Steve had been sitting beside one another as they sorted tapes- however, between them was a reasonable 8 inches or so. With the conversation turning every which way, Eddie found himself being magnetized towards Steve to feel grounded. Or to just feel.

The two boy's eyes never met- instead they looked all over each others features before studying what the other was doing movement wise. Eddie had officially closed the 8 inches, effectively sitting his knee right on top of Steve's has he turned back towards the carpet. "So- My Blood Valentine first right?"

[gremlynslemyns]

interestingly what I thought was a very obvious theme of skinamarink was the idea of a broken home, but I don't really see anyone else talking about it so I'm gonna try and relay my thoughts here (just watched the film).

the only line of dialogue from the dad before shit started happening was him calling who is presumably their mum to tell her that Kevin fell. when the dad disappears, Kaylee wonders if he went where their mum did, and Kevin says he doesn't want to talk about her. it's clear to me from this that their mum left (recently?) & they're living in a broken home. the camera is always focused on blank spaces. the focus is not on what is there, but what is missing.

there's a throughline of perception. the broken dad tells Kaylee to look under the bed though there's nothing there. the broken mum tells her to close her eyes. Kaylee sees something upstairs that she's not supposed to. it's left ambiguous, but my immediate thought was her mum cheating on her dad (the mum says 'someone's there' to someone else in the room with her). the presence in the house tells Kevin to put a knife in his eye. parents going through a messy breakup will often hide a lot of it from their kids. they'll tell them to go away, they'll distract them, misdirect them from what's happening. they view it as protecting the kids, even though the kids know that something is very wrong, they just don't know what it is. everything's fine. look away.

the laws of nature in the house begin to break. the doors and windows disappear, objects no longer obey gravity. when you're a young kid you take it as a fundamental truth that your parents will always be together and you will be with them. when the home is broken, it feels like the world has broken, like everything has turned inside-out and upside-down.

the parents are distant, confusing. the stress of separation leads many to emotionally neglect their children because they're so focused on their own needs. in the film they become twisted, just hollow shells for the presence to speak through. there is no love or care from them anymore. Kaylee, though originally together with Kevin, starts to become distant after what she sees upstairs. is she unable to handle it? or is it that once she knows what's going on, she becomes as distant as the parents, unable to tell Kevin what she's seen and therefore does not tell him anything. either way she changes, becoming subsumed by the horror. when a home becomes broken, all the people in it are affected, becoming other than themselves.

the home moves further away. everything dissolves.

to a young child, a broken home feels like some malignant, incomprehensible force has trapped you in a situation where everyone becomes distorted and disappears, where the fundamental truths of your life are shattered, where your former life is replaced by something entirely horrific, and you are completely powerless to stop it or escape. this is your new normal, and all you want is to watch something happy.

[audiofictionuk]

New Fiction Podcasts - 15th September

Shadow of the Badge New Audio Drama! "Shadows of the Badge" is a gripping 10-episode fiction series that delves into the moral gray areas of law enforcement. The story follows Detective Daniel Morgan, a respected and decorated officer with the city's police force. To the public, he is a hero, but behind the scenes, he leads a double life as a crooked cop involved in shady dealings. Each episode unravels a layer of deceit, as Detective Morgan's actions become increasingly complex and morally ambiguous. https://rss.com/podcasts/shadowsofthebadge https://media.rss.com/shadowsofthebadge/feed.xml

Gravity Box New Audio Book! Welcome to Gravity Box with Mahi yashra and Tanushree sinha. Join us every weekend to get cold feet. Spotlights focussing on the parallel world and real incidents, this is the perfect podcast to listen anytime anywhere with all 3D virtual hearing effects Fear isn't everyone's cup of tea. Horror podcasts may help us satisfy our curiosity about the dark side of human psyche. https://hubhopper.com/podcast/gravity-box/431806 https://feeds.hubhopper.com/b3137d8c7eeb24a7c85663661727a2d1.rss

Abandon Post New Audio Drama! We design stories for entertainment! Abandon Post is our first project. https://rss.com/podcasts/abandonpost https://media.rss.com/abandonpost/feed.xml

LetsDoThisDungeonThing New Audio RPG! LetsDoThisDungeonThing is a Dungeons & Dragons podcast set in the real world based around three strangers who have to travel through time to save their timeline from chaos and big change. Thank you to my lovely players Aidan (Drake Reddmen), Liz (Gerald Bebop), and Calamari (Valentin cel Frumos aka Vlad The Handsome) and the DM of the campaign me, Corbin. https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/letsdothisdungeonthing https://anchor.fm/s/dd63c9f4/podcast/rss

THE SOURCE New Audio Book! This Source is about a group of witches who belong to a coven, who's been living in peace for centuries. They have managed to ward off any threats that come their way. However, their peace is shattered when they sense an ominous presence of The Demon Source. These short stories will have you filled with excitement, as they shift from town to town. As the battle with The Demon Source intensifies, and new theats arrive. The wiches have to come up with new strategies to fight for thier survival. https://www.spreaker.com/show/the-source_6 https://www.spreaker.com/show/3411087/episodes/feed

When The Magic Comes Naturally New Audio Book! Keyra is courted by a vampire queen for a power she doesn't know she has. Now she must navigate a world where magic is real and it's something people can steal. Check in Wednesday for a new chapter. https://www.buzzsprout.com/2238594 https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/2238594.rss

Stories of Jazzy Jerome Jackalope New Audio Drama! Follow along on the wild adventures of Jazzy Jerome with these original radio plays. Fun for all ages. https://storiesofjazzyjeromejackalope.podbean.com https://feed.podbean.com/storiesofjazzyjeromejackalope/feed.xml

Iluka Springs New Audio RPG! A group of teenagers are about to discover that their seemingly idyllic home is hiding a dark secret that spans for centuries. https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/rina- https://anchor.fm/s/e7427290/podcast/rss

Podcast of the ZugarouX New Audio Book! An ordinary existence is turned upside down for Abby, our unlikely heroine, when she is taken on an adventure of a lifetime... https://zugaroux.podbean.com https://feed.podbean.com/zugaroux/feed.xmlhttps://assets.blubrry.com/coverart/orig/2931375-700721.jpg Alasdair Kent's Erotic Tales New Audio Book! Dirty, sexy, twisted, intelligent erotica that you definitely won't want your kids to hear. http://blubrry.com/2931375/ https://feeds.blubrry.com/feeds/2931375.xml

Good Morning Murderer New Audio Drama! This is a fiction podcast where you will hear all about the murders and odd classes that take place at Wilkerson High as you listen to their morning announcements. https://subscribepage.io/GMMpod https://anchor.fm/s/e6507bfc/podcast/rss

Improv Madness New Audio RPG! Welcome to Improv Madness, A Dungeons and Dragons 5e actual play podcast where no one knows what's happening until it does! Join us every other Thursday for some improvised D&D shenanigans. https://improvmadness.transistor.fm/ https://feeds.transistor.fm/improv-madness

Worlds Away New Audio RPG! Worlds Away is an actual-play storytelling podcast where five close friends use games to create adventures together as a collective. Find us on social media @worldsawaypod and online at worldsawaypod.com. https://www.worldsawaypod.com https://feeds.redcircle.com/d895681d-28be-42eb-8b2f-67b25d8c25d6

RED ODYSSEY New Audio Drama! The year is 1983. The threat of war simmers between the Soviet Union and the US. The moon watches the Earth like a slowly blinking eye, and within the black depths of the cosmos... something watches the moon. Cosmonaut Ilia Zakharov (award-winner PETER WICKS) sits in a dark room in Moscow; a broken man with the soul of a poet. He controls a lunar rover called FANTOM IX (ALLISON COSSITT), the newest model in a series of machines designed to explore the surface of the moon. Together they uncover secrets that could determine the fate of all life on Earth and form a bond that transcends space and barriers. East and West stand at the brink of nuclear war. And yet, something far, far worse is coming. Something the human race is not ready to greet. Something unknowable. Something malevolent. Make no mistake, this eldritch horror story isn't your usual sci-fi. Be prepared to be led on a journey where the stakes are larger than life itself. You'll never look at the night sky the same again. And whatever you do—don't let IT see you. https://denouncermedia.com https://feeds.captivate.fm/red-odyssey/

Vanishment New Audio Drama! Between life and death, there and gone. Mystery & adventure stories about the things that disappear and the dangers of finding them. Full-cast audio drama. https://Vanishment.podbean.com https://feed.podbean.com/Vanishment/feed.xml

[blue-opossum]

Dreams Unlike (and Unrelated to) Real Life Part 01-B

        Dreams Unlike (and Unrelated to) Real Life Part 01-B

        Sunday morning, 16 April 2023.

        2 minutes and 30 seconds to read.

        In part 01-A, I wrote a little about indoor-outdoor ambiguity, but ultimately, dream state ambiguity is the foundation of dreams - as dream content is often as wrong as possible to prevent mental corruption and confusion with real-world elements and presence (sans modes of liminality).

        In some dreams, my mind confuses the ceiling with the sky, an astounding and amusing lack of real-world awareness. In several recent dream experiences, I went into the backyard and saw the "sky" as a low-set tiled ceiling, thinking nothing of it. In another dream, the "sky" was a motherboard (upside-down) high above tall buildings. In another, the "sky" was an upside-down landscape, where the "trees" were "clouds" that were also like broccoli.

        Some people never mention this fundamental attribute of dream content, which is baffling until I remember some people do not want to imply what is genuine about causality or that navigating the dream state is wholly different from (and unrelated to) navigating consciousness. Another example is when I see my dream self as physically present apart from "me," though this mainly only happened in childhood despite the bizarre inference that this is how all dreams are for everyone - that a film I saw in middle school claimed (but, like most dream lore people blather on about, is demonstrably false - not to mention pointless, as all falsehoods are).

        Someone in high school implied that if you do not "see yourself" in a dream, it is like you are not there. I have no idea how anyone could think this way. If I am not physically present in my "dream body" and am only watching my dream's "other me," then that is more like "not being there," the opposite of what my schoolmate implied. My vestibular and kinesthetic response to REM sleep (from variations in REM atonia) is predominant throughout every sleep cycle. Many people claim they never experience (or become aware of) cortical responses to sleep (other than imagery and the falling sensation of a sleep start). Others pretend the vestibular system variations during REM atonia are "astral projection" - an idea I find so ridiculous it is offensive (but many people are offended by anything honest or legitimate, which is baffling - comic books and movies solely for entertainment are "fun" in some ways but a far cry from anything worthy of real-world contemplation).

        The two A.I. images in this entry are variations of the same seed but with different integral weights. Technically, a series would demonstrate changes similar to hypnagogia, but I do not have the time to produce movies of that nature. I have found it interesting how A.I. is good at creating surreal distortions and errors like dreams do - not from "intelligence" but from the lack of viable intelligence (as with dreams).

        Vestibular dream content is separate from somatosensory (as is auditory and other incidental responses to REM sleep), though when coincidentally integrating, they result in the most vivid dream content because of more mental processes being active.

        I have often written of somatosensory responses, my most common being the summoning of coins (because of the finger-to-thumb physiological association while sleeping), which has occurred a few times every week since childhood. A less common narrative is an animal nibbling my fingers.

        Another dream theme I have read about and have experienced is having a pet (sometimes a rabbit or guinea pig in a cardboard box in my bedroom) that I suddenly falsely realize I had not fed for years and wonder if it is still alive. This narrative is recurring with some people and factors into the circadian rhythm and the lack of real-world temporality in sleep cycle transitions. It was more common in my teenage years before I developed a more intuitive (spontaneous) command of dream state modes.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

Do you remember the shot from the sneak peek with El and the two agents in the desert? What do you think they were looking at? And were they Brenner’s men?

I assume you mean these men? I believe this takes place after the truck is intercepted by the cars along the desert road.

Those cars are driving very fast, so I do not believe they are part of an escort. They very clearly seem to be trying to get ahead of, or surround, the van. I don't know who the men are, but they do not seem pleased at this turn of events. As for who intercepts them, well...

It's probably whoever this is. Maybe she's a higher-up the men don't like, or maybe she's someone they were explicitly trying to get El away from. Whoever it is, I think she's directly responsible for El ending up at the desert base where all hell breaks loose.

So, what do I think happens?

El's powers, or something like it, manifest (possibly at the skating rink), putting the Byers and whoever is handling them (Owens?). I can't imagine they'd be able to leave Hawkins without some sort of oversight. They're able to mostly lie low due to a Witness Protection Program type of relocation, but the supernatural events tip off someone, probably Brenner, as to El's location. It's likely Brenner had been trying to track her for some time, but was unable to pinpoint it.

The men in the van are likely working for Owens, possibly plants in the Lenora Hills PD. They're clearly meant to have the same sort of ambiguously menacing presence as the men who, ahem, "escort" Jonathan and Nancy to the Lab in season 2 after disabling their car. These men are also seen watching over a diner in the teaser.

I don't know that we're meant to see them as villains, per se, but they seem to have a similar modus operandi as other Lab agents, particularly those who worked for Owens. They're intimidating and have a presence, but they're not outwardly aggressive or threatening. This is why I don't think they're straight-up villains. I also think a third agent is in the Byers home when the military shows up.

He ends up attempting to repel the attack, possibly sacrificing himself so the others can get away. We don't see El in the house in that scene, but she might actually be there. Perhaps she is spirited away by the other two men while the third distracts the military.

So, really, I think we're dealing with three different factions here.

First we have Owens' men. They're as close as we have to good guys, depending on how you view the Lab even under Owens' control. They're trying to keep El's location a secret, but are probably still surveilling the Byers without their knowledge.

Second, we have Brenner's team. They operate out of a secret desert base, possibly as a coincidental reassignment for Brenner after his failure in Hawkins, but also possibly because he figured out that El was somewhere in that area. He tries to abduct El, possibly after her powers (or something like it) manifests and gets his attention.

Finally, we have Colonel Sullivan's men. I believe we see them in the attack on the desert base. They are out to defeat and destroy everything related to or responsible for the Upside Down. Their attack on the base might be what helps El escape from Brenner's men.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Answers

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: The Old Guard

Pairing(s): Immortal Husbands / JoeNicky

Summary: He had once hoped that death may fix the problem. That the right blow to the head might undo whatever’s gone wrong, but, as they’ve learned with all else, that which existed before immortality, remains.

Notes: This is for a k!nk meme fill, which just asked for Joe reading to dyslexic Nicky, while Nicky has his head on Joe's chest. Some Nile & Nicky bonding slipped in. (Link in the comments!)

Btw, I’m doing a writing / fic giveaway! Check out this post to see how to enter. Goes until 8.25.21!

Oh, also! Nile mentions dysgraphia, but dysgraphia has more to do with writing than reading. I left the details of her research afterwards a little ambiguous, so I just want to clarify that here to avoid misinformation.

-

There’s always been a hope in Nicky that reading would somehow become a viable option. It’s not that he’s entirely illiterate, but it’s a damn near thing with the length of time it takes him to work through a single sentence and the accompanying headache that often follows the disproportionate effort.

He knows that reading isn’t supposed to be difficult. He’s watched people skim pages of words in the time it takes him to get through a paragraph, and he knows that Joe inhales words the way he does air. If there’s a love that comes close to how Joe feels for Nicky, then it’s for his love of the written word, yet Nicky languishes with the evolution of language. His mother tongue no longer the preferred word of his region means that he can barely find texts that once were at least partially compatible with whatever’s gone wrong in his brain.

He had once hoped that death may fix the problem. That the right blow to the head might undo whatever’s gone wrong, but, as they’ve learned with all else, that which existed before immortality, remains.

There had been a period of shame, too. When he had been too afraid to express to Yusuf that his struggles with books had only worsened. That, despite his best efforts, he’s only seemed to lose more of the ability to grasp the lines and shapes on the pages until they’ve become all but meaningless. He can still remember how his love reacted. How quickly he had adjusted to the news, and how Yusuf was more than delighted to read to Nicky. To fill in that void that Nicky hadn’t realized was growing. And that’s how things remained.

Technology began to evolve at an absurd rate, and, with it, language. One did not advance without the other, which meant that Nicky had no chance of catching up the way he had once again hoped.

Yusuf had again insisted that he did not mind. That he enjoyed their moments together, with Nicky resting against his chest, equal parts listening to the words coming from Joe’s lips and the beat of Joe’s heart. Books are no longer the bane of his existence; he’s long given up on ever being able to read with any kind of efficiency, but these moments will never cease to be something that he cherishes.

It’s Nile that puts a name to his centuries long struggles. She puts the pieces together one day upon noticing Nicky squinting at a splay of papers on the dining room table.

“You doing okay?” She asks with a concerned frown.

Nicky smiles at her despite the growing pressure between his eyes. It wraps around his temples and threatens to put him out of commission for the day, but he’s nothing if not determined. “I am,” he motions toward the pages. “A bit frustrated with these is all.”

“Oh,” Nile leans over his shoulder with her hands braced on the back of Nicky’s chair. She glances over the pages with understanding developing in her features. It pangs jealousy in his heart, despite his reconciliation with reality. There are times he can’t help his own frustration. When he feels inept and lacking, both in intelligence and in something that has become fundamental.

“What part are you struggling with?” Nile’s tone is uncertain. She doesn’t understand.

Nicky gives a sigh as he thinks of how best to describe his predicament. “The words dance,” he says before he can overthink it too much. “My eyes cannot keep up.”

“Oh,” Nile’s face screws up into something complicated, but then she smiles, warm and soft. “You mean like- moving, right? Do the letters look backwards or upside down?”

Nicky frowns, but he looks back at the pages and squints at them again. “They look wrong,” he says in a non-answer. He supposes that she may be right, but, truthfully, the letters mean very little to him. None ever seem to keep their shape, and the ones that do often appear in places that he can only assume aren’t quite right. And the lines never hold their place. They move oddly. And constantly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you might be dyslexic? Or uh- maybe dysgraphic?” Nile asks with an uncertainty lingering. She shifts from one foot to the next, and it’s then that he realizes that she thinks that she’ll offend him. Ordinarily, he would reassure her, but he’s caught on the words, though he couldn’t repeat them for the life of him. They’re distant memories of syllables in his head now. A mess of sounds, but he tries to grasp onto them.

“Nicky?”

“Sorry,” Nicky scrubs a hand over his face and tries to clear his mind, “What were those words?”

“Dyslexic? And dysgraphic? They’re disorders. In the brain. With dyslexia, words and letters can get mixed up, or you can drop them all together, and dysgraphia is, I think,” she frowns as she seems to lose herself in thought, “It might have something more to do with writing, but I think that’s also the problem you’re having with the lines staying even. I need to look it again up to be sure.”

“Oh,” Nicky blinks at her, then at the pages. He’s not sure what to do with this new information. It feels like everything and nothing all at once. Answers for questions that he’s had for hundreds of years, yet- does it matter? Should it matter?

“Here,” Nile pulls her phone from her pocket and pulls up a chair beside him. “We’ll figure out the difference. And I bet they have a screening quiz online.”

The next several hours pass in a frenzy of information. Thankfully, Nile is more than happy to be the go-between for Nicky and the internet. She reads off the important parts of articles and makes sure to word them in ways that he can follow, given the sudden influx in new information. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating all at once, and he practically stumbles into his and Joe’s bedroom. His mind is elsewhere to the point that he doesn’t immediately notice his husband’s presence.

“Nicolò?”

The worried inflexion makes Nicky all too aware of the fact that Yusuf has already attempted to get his attention at least once before.

“Sorry, tesero,” Nicky says and looks to find Joe, relaxed and in bed with a book in hand. He takes a moment to change from his jeans to a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms before sliding into bed. Without thinking, he curls close to his husband, with his head resting on Joe’s chest and an arm slung over his waist. “I learned something today.”

“From Nile?”

Nicky hums with an amused smile on his face. Nile is often the one schooling them in various bits and pieces of information. It’s made them more aware of how much they’ve missed out on, despite their efforts. “Indeed,” he confirms after a beat of silence, “She thinks I might have something called ‘dyslexia’.”

“Ah,” Joe takes in the information, rolls it around in his mind, and gives a nod. “That- I suppose I’ll have to read into that a bit more.” His tone is a touch tight at the end, and Nicky glances up to see Joe’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“It really only became known in the- 1940’s, I believe,” though it had been discovered earlier. It had taken a study on children for the public to be made more aware of the disability (and how odd to think of himself as having such a thing. That all this time, he had not been too lazy or too slow. There had been a reason from the very beginning.)

“Ah, well, that would explain a lot,” Yusuf says, relaxing once more underneath Nicky. “We were a bit busy.”

Nicky snorts. “‘A bit’,” he echoes. That’s an understatement if ever he’s heard one.

There’s a brief lull in the conversation, where Nicky gets caught up in his own thoughts-- processing the immense amount of information he’s learned--, and Joe flips through the pages of his book until he comes to a stop and, with some hesitation, speaks up again,

“Would you like it if I read to you now?”

“Always, habibi.”

[lord-explosion-baku]

Opia

Vampire!Shinsou x fem!reader

warnings: none yet. swearing. (Shinsou probably gets a little obsessive or possessive because of how vampires can be)

A/N: Oh boy here I got throwing a fic out here while I definitely have other shit I need to work on. I just love... vampires. Manipulation and bloodlust and shit. Can’t get better than a good ol’ fashioned vampire story in my book. I’m stoked. (This might have a little Kirishima action eventually. It might even have a little KamiSero action. I’m a mess and I love these boys)

Opia: The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable. 

Night One

Him. 

You could feel all the molecules in your body vibrating—pulling you before your brain could even register that you were moving towards the center of the room where you first laid eyes on him. 

He sat on the loveseat Kaminari got for fifty bucks at a garage sale and glanced up at you with mesmerizing, indigo irises that nearly glowed in stark contrast to the bruise-like shadows underneath his eyes. Ropes of wooden beaded necklaces hung off his neck and fell into a loose bastion shirt that exposed sharp, impressive collarbones. He looked like someone ripped out of time and placed at this musky party full of hormonal hoodrats and masculine menaces. He was a prince among men: pale, handsome, and perfect in a sort of haven’t-slept-in-one-hundred-years sort of way. 

He raised one neatly cut eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up when he caught you blushing after you realized you were staring, and at once, everything in your mind went blank aside from one simple command: 

‘Come here.’

Your feet took two automatic steps towards the couch as you stared bashfully at the man smirking up at you. He spread his thighs apart, his long legs making it so there was no way you could comfortably sit next to him, but in that moment, you didn’t want to be next to him; his lap seemed a little too inviting and you wanted to be on top of him. You thought for a moment that after his hand slid over the top of his lap, you saw his ringed thumb tap down on himself. An invitation. 

‘Closer.’

The voice inside your head dripped like honey: enticing, sweet, and irresistible. You could tell that your hands were sweaty when you reached up to nervously pull at your jacket strings. Your natural instincts were telling you to turn on your heel and leave, maybe even go home, but the voice flooded you with warmth and reassurance; it told you that you were not in any danger. And why would you be? You were at a party, surrounded by people, and all you were doing was approaching a cute boy sitting alone on a couch. 

Your knees were now a hair away from purple-haired-couch-kid’s and you felt stupid for not being able to say anything to him, but the only thing your mind was telling you to do was to climb into his lap! You scrambled to recall the normal way people greet people, and it only got harder when the guy looked you up and down like you were something to be eaten. 

You clutched down on your plastic cup and gulped harshly. “Hel-!”

“Looks like you could use more beer!” Came the friendly bark from Eijirou Kirishima, one of the kids who was renting a room in the house you were in. He tipped his bottle into your cup, filling it halfway full. He didn’t have any nasty intentions in doing so; Kirishima was just the kind of guy that would want to satiate a friend if he saw that they were thirsty. 

“Thanks,” you said, cheeks burning as you took a step away from the couch-kid. You were a bit peeved by Kirishima’s interruption, but it wasn’t like there was anything to interrupt to begin with. You couldn’t choke out a simple ‘hello’ to the stranger. 

Stealing a glance back down to him, you saw that the purple-haired guy didn’t look too pleased about Kirishima being there either. Kirishima didn’t seem to even notice him sitting there while he rolled an arm around your shoulders. 

“Hey, have you seen Sero?” Kirishima asked, walking you towards a wall where the two of you could better hear each other over the thumping music that shook beneath your toes. 

“Um, yeah.” The last time you’d seen Hanta Sero, he was duct-taping another tenant, Denki Kaminari, to a rolling table so Kaminari could drink from a tap upside down. “He’s with Denki.” 

Kirishima’s brows knitted together. “Behaving?” 

“What do you think?” You laughed, resisting the urge to look over Kirishima’s shoulder to see the couch. You didn’t want to make it too obvious that your interests were somewhere else entirely. Kirishima was a good guy who deserved your attention.

“Aw, man… We’re really trying to keep this party tame. We don’t want the cops called on us again.”

Just then, a crash sounded in the backyard followed by the tinkling of shattered glass. Kirishima cursed under his breath and then covered his mouth, ashamed to be using foul language in front of you. You shook your head. 

“You doin’ alright, Kiri?” 

“‘m fine. Just a little stressed is all. Kaminari promised he’d be better at keeping order around here. I didn’t even wanna have a party. Well, no, that’s a lie, but-“

Another crash came from the room where Sero had Kaminari taped up. Hoots and guffaws told you that they thought that whatever they were breaking was a riot- the wincing Kirishima apparently thought otherwise. 

“Do you need help?” You offered. 

“No… I couldn’t ask you to do anything around here. It’s Kami’s job.” 

“I’ll tell you what. Let me clean up outside and you can bring Denki out to see me doing his chores. I promise I can make myself look extra solemn over it, too.” 

Kirishima pursed his lips, looking like a puppy with a treat dangling over his head. “You don’t… have to,” he sided unconvincingly. 

You grinned. “Let me clean and in return, you can introduce me to the hottie with the purple hair.” 

Kirishima scratched his head. “Jirou?” 

You rolled your eyes and hit his shoulder. He snickered and bounded off into the other room. 

After gathering a broom and dustpan, you made your way to the backyard, trying unsuccessfully to peek through the window to see if the purple-haired-couch-kid was still on the couch, but people filed into the house to see what all the ruckus Sero and Kaminari caused was about. You thought yourself stupid for thinking too hard about this random guy, but you found that the more his sleep-ridden eyes whirled around your head, the more you wanted to see them again. This rarely happened. You didn’t go to parties to hookup... anymore. Hell, you hardly ever went to parties at all anymore. You just wanted to see and catch up with a few friends, and from what you could tell, they were just as disastrous as usual. You weren’t counting on becoming so drawn to another human being, but it seemed as if you were beyond all help. 

Kirishima towed Kaminari out to the back just as you were sweeping the last of the many glass shards that were strewn across the patio floor. You put on your very best going-out-of-my-way-because-I-care-for-you-not-because-I-want-to face, wiped theatrically at your forehead, and let out an over-dramatic sigh. Kaminari bought your act immediately. 

“Babe, you didn’t have to do that!” The drunken blonde rushed to take the broom out of your hands and swept at nothing but dust. “I’m real sorry about this. Lemme clean the rest!”

Sero slumped behind Kirishima, throwing an arm around the redhead while he took a swig from his drink. He said, “she wouldn’t have to clean up messes for ya if you weren’t busy dicking around on the table.”

“You put me there!” Kaminari complained, as if he didn’t suggest that Sero tape him up in the first place. 

“Excuses, excuses!” Sero tutted back and took another long gulp of his beer, emptying the bottle. 

“He’s right,” Kirishima said to Sero, “you’re lucky I don’t throw both of your asses out on the street- I wouldn’t do that in the presence of an angel.” Kirishima sent you a wink. 

You snorted. “I’m far from angelic. I’m exchanging hard labor for boys.” 

Sero raised his bottle, a blush apparent on his cheeks. “I’m a boy.” 

With his broom still in hand, Kaminari snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you against him. “I, too, am a boy.” 

Sero clicked his tongue. 

Kirishima, your knight in shining armor, grabbed your hand and ushered you away from Kaminari’s advances. “And I am a man that happens to know that this lil’ lady has no interest in either of you numbskulls.”

“Ha!” Kaminari pointed a wobbly finger at Sero. “He called you a numbskull!” 

“He called you a numbskull, too, jaggoff,” Sero muttered under his breath as you and Kirishima slid past him. 

While Kirishima pulled you in through the thrum of partygoers, you could feel your pulse quicken in anticipation. It was a ludicrous concept—getting this excited about seeing a guy who you didn’t even know never made you this anxious in the past, but there was something about the way he looked at you. It was like he wanted you, but he wanted… more than what you could offer, too. The thought made you want to give everything to him. What in the raging hell was wrong with you? 

“C’mon, show me who you were talkin’ about,” Kirishima prompted, interrupting your train of thought. You were about to point at the kid on the couch, but when you saw him again, your heart fell. 

There was a girl in front of him. By the look of her pretty, sleek-black hair, you could tell that it was something-something Kodai. You didn’t know her well, but you knew that guys found her hot. Hell, you thought she was, too, but in that moment, you couldn’t focus on how hot Yui Kodai was—you were all-consumed by a sharp, raging jealousy you didn’t think you’d ever experienced before. 

Purple-haired-couch-kid peered up at her with disinterest, a good sign, but he had his hands on her hips, the worst sign! You felt your cheeks burn as you watched Yui sink into his lap, her hands pressed up against his ivory chest.

And then those indigo irises landed on you. 

‘Too bad,’ that sultry voice drawled out in your head with mock-sympathy. ‘You snooze, you lose.’

When he pulled the back of Kodai’s hand to his lips, you had to force yourself to look away. 

“You good?” Kirishima asked, not seeming to notice the two people getting a little too intimate in the middle of the room. 

“Yeah. Fine,” you lied, not understanding why you had to lie to begin with. You couldn’t help the pessimism from crawling across your skin while you tried and failed not to think about how this whole scenario could have been avoided. You battled the concept that if you had just said hello to him from the start—

No. Screw that. 

You had to think better for yourself. The thought of fighting for a guy’s attention was repulsive. 

“You sure?” Kirishima frowned at you, and honestly, bless him. Most people wouldn’t be as attentive as he was.

“Yeah,” you assured, “I just decided that I didn’t wanna waste my night on boys.”

“Smart move,” Kirishima chuckled, once again throwing his arm around your shoulders. “And besides, who needs boys when you’re in the presence of a man?” 

“You’re right-“ you leaned into him. “Who needs ‘em?” 

‘Need and want can be vastly dissimilar concepts.’

That loquacious purring reverberated inside your head had your skin prickling. You fought the urge to turn back to him with Yui Kodai sitting in his lap. You weren’t so much of a voyeur as you were strictly curious... or burning with envy. Who’s to say you weren’t just some rapidly jealous pervert? You hummed and Kirishima took that as an invitation to slip his hand down to the small of your back. 

‘He’s not who you want.’

Kirishima’s cheeks were dusted in pink when you looked up to him. He grinned, covered his sharp teeth, looked away, and looked back at you. He was sweet, handsome, and you always enjoyed hanging around him, but you were clouded with guilt. You didn’t want to be around him at the moment. You didn’t want to be around anybody, really. 

‘To be fair, I don’t want this little lady, either. Her aroma is very… plain.’

The voice was getting too weird to ignore. This wasn’t just your long-repressed, touch-starved imagination. This wasn’t you at all. It was him. It had to be him.  

‘But we all must endure some more unpalatable necessities to survive, right?’

No, no, that was crazy. Throwing your dignity out the window, you decided to look back—just for a moment—just to see him. Once you could get over your sudden and assertive heartache and move on, you’d be cured of your swiftly acclimating insanity. 

You couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Because the moment you turned to face Kaminari’s ugly garage sale couch was the moment you saw purple-haired-couch-kid bite into Yui Kodai’s wrist.

Night Two

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING: @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter @unboundbnha@rizamendoza1987, @rubycubix @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @zellllyyyy@sarcastictextstuck@kpanime @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten@captain-sin-allmight-queen @psionicsnow@wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn@im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai@eggpienutbuttercroissant@usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello 

[edith-moonshadow]

Can we get an abo fic where Steve and Billy are together when season 3 happens and Steve witnesses Billy dying and grieves with max

Anon why you gotta break my heart like this?

Are they bonded in this story?

So you could do a story that would be very angsty but would be a character study of Steve and Max. Out of everyone in Hawkins or possibly even the world, they are the only two people who truly knew him and cared about him and even though they are in pain having someone else to grieve with would help them come to terms with their grief and hopefully move on.

If they were bonded the breaking of the bond with Billy's death would probably drive Steve to the brink of death or make his heartache almost unbearable so it would be a story where Max takes care of Steve until he stabilises again. Maybe their bonding was kept on the down-low and Max knows that the bond with Steve was the most important thing in Billy's life, it was the one thing keeping him going before his unfortunate death.

So with a bond, you could make that a way that Billy could return. Maybe Steve can still feel him due to the bond and he becomes determined to travel to where he can feel his presence the most, maybe at the place where Billy first encountered the mind flyer. I imagine that Steve trying to find the upside-down wouldn't be encouraged by anyone else; they may even think that it's a side effect of a broken bond and try to stop him.

Max would be sceptical at first but Steve would finally convince her, maybe he tells her something that only Billy knows (maybe she was close to him when he died and he said something to her that she kept to herself as she felt guilt over what happened) so she helps him and they find him. Billy wouldn't be the same at first, he's been alone, he suffers from unbearable guilt, maybe he's physically hurt but between Steve and Max, they help him recover so it could become a story about the two important bonds in Billy's life.

So I think that this is a story that can be angsty with a sad or hopeful ending (or you could go ambiguous with Steve starting to feel Billy's presence and leave that up to the reader as to whether that's Steve moving past his grief or not.) Regardless of how it ends, it could be a really interesting exploration of grief, the bonds that you build with other people both familial and through friendship, I imagine that they would grief differently but they wouldn't want other people to see their pain so they'd be alone in their grief at first, but then Max would come to Steve because she knew how important he was to Billy.

At first, Steve would want to be alone but realising how much they have in common with regards to Billy he lets her in and they form an important bond in one of their darkest times.

I personally love stories that feature a friendship between Steve and Max, it can be explored in so many different ways, Max could learn about Billy's crush and use it to get Billy to take her to the arcade. She subtly pushes them together because she thinks Steve is good for Billy, tells him embarrassing things about Billy to make him laugh and get an upper hand on Billy.

Steve could form a friendship with her through the party which gives Billy an excuse to speak to Steve when he turns up early to collect Max, maybe she sees the spark between them but realises that Billy is going about getting Steve all wrong so helps him because she knows him better.

I don’t know if this is what you were looking for, it’s an interesting concept if a potentially devasting one but anything that explores a friendship between Steve and Max is always going to be great.

[michaelbogild]

Quotes written April 17 2021

I felt you beneath my skin as I broke and broke

Love is now enslavement, a cage made of memories.

I held her hand, I held a new world.

The sorcerous chant of her moon-married beauty.

I could never break the spell of her beauty. I was all surrender, a tide so very easily pulled.

My skies were endless and you were their cerulean beauty.

The bloodshot eyes of this dream still calls our your name in the howling night.

I am convinced now that love is a black sea.

The sum of my soul could never buy her love.

The blood moon is her unholy love-child.

The blood of foolish love, how we savored its taste, desperate vampires that we are.

You didn't come from a rib, you came from the devil.

It is hard to sleep when your absence keeps knocking on the door of my heart.

You broke our golden chain, you said goodbye to the dreams you spun yourself.

You understood all of my worlds.

The stretch of our love though short were graced with eternal flowers.

The dusk is thick with your memory.

The poisonous honey of her Machiavellian beauty.

He was a beast of passion, a thunderstroke of unholy lust.

This ghostly moonlight...how it knows me.

The lesions of my love still screams your name through the bloodied mouth of disappointment.

There are only shadows here, shadows as black as your name.

You were the brightest and the blackest hour of my soul.

He used to the count the stars of her eyes.

I wander through the timeless dream of her, the pilgrim of a thousand passions.

I watched her dance, I gazed at a swirling heaven.

In this star-blessed love...my spirit is reborn.

You made it rain in my soul, now tell me, does it ever stop?

Autumnal rain, the twin of my soul, the nature of my being.

I will sing one more song for the moon...and then never again.

You loved a black chasm, you gave your heart to a thousand impossibilities.

Our shadows were dancing before we ever did.

the cosmic journey of loving you

I could never reach the ocean in her.

Her sugar-spun sweetness, her kisses that turn me upside down.

She is strongly anchored in the thunder of a raw defiance.

We met in astral spheres, we watched an eclipse as our hands met.

His heart became one continual ode to her beauty.

he spoke to the lone marigold of her heart

They did not offer each other love as much as offering each other wings.

They threw themselves into the flames of young love.

anchored in each others hearts, devotedly

The starry ornateness of her Venus-like grace.

Tonight I yearn in ink.

He liberated her beautiful songs, set free the fearful bird of her heart.

And now that I have seen her...I am back in the ancient cage of desire.

I love how tenderly she colours my emotions

the charming butterflies of her feminine glances

her heart is a tongue heavy with godless verses

the silken spells of her spring-born graces

Unbridle your burning beauty, undress yourself for the eternal night in me.

I was for a moment part of her celestial spirit.

When I think of her...I see a rose.

She reached the Nirvana of letting go.

her heart is like the ambiguous twilight, a pendulum of mass confusion

her velvet invitations, her eyes that summon lust

You were never as eloquent as when you were lying.

She was the star-spangled sky of my enchanted dreams.

There is no escape from her beauty's gravity, from what is essentially pre-written.

I was married, for a moment, with all the magic of her bouncy personality.

Pour the night-wine of your beauty into my cup of midsummer dreams.

We made love with the fullness of heaven.

You were no lover, you were but a weaver of layered illusions.

How and why did you set all my churches into flames?

Her eyes are orbs of ancient witchcraft.

Her beauty was surely different, like an expression of black art.

These twilight roses, how they suggest the sorcery of her beauty.

we were always butterflies, we were always drifting, always dreaming

You were a soulful verse in the true song of God.

I wooed with a far-dreaming heart the beauty of all her majestic stars

I am locked into the greyness of your eternal absence

You are the flames of my abyss

the rich poetry of her otherworldly charms

the crumbling colours of her fleeing love

I can feel her rotting in my soul.

She struck the richest strain of his soul.

I sailed into the chorus of the moon, I felt the waves of dark mysteries.

My reality, now touched by your beauty, is giving off sparks.

There are no stars in my reality, but in my dreams there is nothing else.

I think I will always worship the magic of what we had.

Marry me on the moon of this golden moment.

The spiritual blaze of her liberated eyes.

She is the goddess of my infinite inspiration.

Running through our veins is the blood of summer.

A roseate poem that sings her beauty with the devotion of a saint.

I live in a church of sorrow.

the bewildering blaze of her summery grace

He followed the butterflies of her charms.

This heart of roses, roses of pain.

I have swallowed the tides, no gravity shall rule me.

He covered her scars with a love unending.

They married their twilights to each other.

Suspended in the sphere of her celestial love.

We explored the soul of love in a summer that felt endless.

She hid her midnights in the shrine of his love.

Suspended in the sphere of her celestial love.

We explored the soul of love in a summer that felt endless.

She hid her midnights in the shrine of his love.

She summons with a kiss all the colours of his love and lust.

Her beauty wrote the lyrics of my heart.

Her heart of sad butterflies, her heart of absent rainbows.

His tender love sings for the mournful rose of her heart.

They danced with the darkness of each others hearts.

You were the chorus of my life's most glorious summer.

The oscillating magic of this enigmatical love.

She colours and scents his truest lyrics, she dreams in his odes of endless devotion.

My moonlight seductresses, my angel of sweet oblivion.

They wove their flowering worlds into a garland of grace and truth.

Circling then broken heaven of his own heart, wandering through the ruins of a dream that died too soon.

She shines through the syllables of his soul's deepest lyrics.

He wrote the wildness of her heart, turned her mysteries into burning verse.

Their eyes were radiant with a felicitous destiny.

she weaves his amazing beauty into the poetry of her roseate dreams

His beauty shines in her oceanic songs of sweet devotion.

The lyrical charms of her love-kindled soul.

The darkness is rich with her spiritual presence.

the oldest poem of the ocean beckons our hearts

His poems are the embers of their mystic flames.

The shadow-dances of her elusive heart.

She is the softest whisper of the dark ocean of love.

Her oceans were born to swallow angels.

After her, only verses of pain.

She opens to his heart her shrine of heavenly nights.

Her lovesome eyes, constellations of the mystic soul of astral beauty.

[asthesamcroflies]

REQUEST: Shattered

So, I had a request come in via messages, which is fine by the way, I can just post the details of it in order to reply publicly - I have to confess it’s something different for me, but I decided to give it a go to challenge myself. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything with that Son-on-Son vibe before, not for any particular reason, I just tend to have stuck closer to canon. Hopefully it’s not terrible lol - I did end up not going down the smut route, just cause I thought that slightly ambiguous, unspoken feel worked for this. I did kinda get all up in my own feels lol, so fingers crossed you guys like it...

Here’s the request details: Chibs, Tig, Juice (mentioned. Post series.) - Sad, Romantic, Smutty (if you want, it's not required) - 18, 15, 21 Past Chibs/Juice. Prez/VP dynamic. Chibs is shattered, he needs love, he needs peace of mind. Tiggy sees clearly this.

Prompt 18: “Please don’t do this.” 15: “Do you still think about her/him?” 21: “Would a kiss help?”

Shattered

It was late. Or early depending on how you wanted to look at it.

For once though, the Samcro clubhouse lay quiet and deserted. Almost. The new, eager-to-please prospect had tried to stay on to clear up, but had probably been barked at to get the hell out. That was an end to the night that was becoming more and more common – Sons, hangers-on and croweaters slipping away in the face of their stern president’s glare.

His vice president sighed heavily at that, wiping a hand over his face as he leaned in the doorway and took in the slumped shoulders and reaper on the back of the man he’d vowed to support come hell or high water. He could remember a time when the brash Scotsman was the life and rowdy soul of every fucking party.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, huh?

Tig knew, perhaps better than most, what it was to carry guilt, remorse, self-loathing. He’d been there for the near-apocalyptic series of clusterfucks that had torn right to the heart of their club and all but destroyed it, so he knew the burden Chibs now had to bear in trying to see what could be salvaged from the ashes – all while desperately trying not to ignite any simmering embers that could flare up and burn them all to the ground all over again.

But it never got any easier to see him struggle under that weight.

He was about to speak, to make his presence known, when Chibs downed whatever was left in his glass and slammed it down on the bar, before stumbling to his feet and crossing the room to stand in front of the framed mugshots of members past and present, those honoured and those who now hung upside down, crossed out, disgraced and a warning to those who may come after them not to stray too far from the club’s rules, spoken and unspoken.

Tig knew from his own reaction to that wall, once a source of pride, how deep it cut Chibs to see it now. In both their minds, Jax Teller still deserved better than to be remembered solely as having brought shame on the patch. Their young president had lost his way, had made mistakes – catastrophic mistakes at that – but he had suffered for it enough and, at the last, had owned his part in his own downfall. Those he had left behind couldn’t help but cling to their love for their young president, or else what had it all been for?

But they had to put up a façade to appease Packer and the other club presidents. They knew the enormity of Jax’s crimes and the price that had to be paid. It didn’t mean they had to like it.

But as Chibs’ hand reached out for a different photo, touching it lightly before his fingers curled into a tight fist, Tig knew there was a fate that was even more complicated for the Scot to come to terms with. He had loved Jax like a brother, like a son even. Juice … Juice had been something else.

That fist lashed out, shattering glass that bit into flesh and drew a hiss of pain, even through what was undoubtedly an alcohol-induced fog. But despite lifting the hand to examine the damage, despite seeing the shard of glass still embedded in it, Chibs only slowly clenched that fist again, forcing it deeper as blood seeped from the ragged wound.

Tig was the one who winced.

“Please don’t do this,” he blurted out, unable to witness any more of this without intervening.

Chibs slowly uncurled his fingers, never turning around. “Go home, Tiggy,” he murmured, the words slurred and his accent thicker than ever.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m gonna leave you in this fucking state,” his VP scoffed, finally galvanised into action and snatching up what he hoped was a clean cloth as he strode across the clubhouse to take charge. “Lemme see this mess. Jesus…”

He had to force himself to be less gentle than he’d have liked, for reasons he didn’t care to fully explore, but he was still careful as he examined the bloody hand Chibs had been left nursing, tutting over the shard of glass before slowly working it out and pressing the cloth to the wound to stem the bleeding. It looked worse than it was, but it was still bad enough.

“You might get away without stitches,” Tig decided. “So you wanna thank your lucky stars, brother, because I can’t sew for shit.”

“Lucky,” Chibs echoed dully, with a bitter little laugh. “Aye, that’s me – real fucking lucky. I need a damn drink…”

“No, you fucking don’t,” Tig insisted, grabbing him by the shoulders to steer him away from the bar and into a seat.

“Just leave me be, Tigger,” the weary president sighed, raking his uninjured hand through the salt and pepper of his hair. “I ain’t exactly good company right now.”

“What’s new?” Tig snarked, but there was nothing but sympathy and concern in those sharp blue eyes as he sat down opposite his closest of brothers. “You can’t go on like this, man. Ain’t right.”

“Got a choice, do I?” Chibs demanded, the raw agony in his voice and in his brown eyes making even his battle-hardened VP flinch. “Want me to throw up a rope and have done wi’ it? Like… Like Juice.”

Tig stood up so fast his chair overturned with a crash and he jabbed a furious finger in his friend’s face. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he seethed. “Don’t you fucking dare! Tell me that’s bullshit. Tell me you wouldn’t. Tell me!”

“Aye, aye, fine,” Chibs reneged, taken aback even through his haze by the strength of the response to his flippant suggestion. “Fuck, I … I ain’t taking that way out. I ain’t, brother. Sit the fuck down.”

Still furious, Tig glared at him the whole time he was righting his chair and banging it back into place, before sitting down opposite him again. “Asshole,” he snapped, his glare only intensifying when Chibs actually managed a little laugh, wiping his hand over his face.

“Ah, Tigger,” he sighed. “Good to know ya care, brother.”

“Course I fucking care, shithead,” came the heated response. “You think I stuck around for the good of my fucking health? I said I’d always have your back and I damn well meant it. So you don’t get to punk out on me like a little bitch.”

“Your TLC could use some work…”

“Fuck you.”

Chibs chuckled humourlessly. “Love you too, Tigger. You gonna at least let me have one wee drink now me hand’s stinging like a motherfucker?”

“You’ve already had the better part of one wee bottle, by the looks of things,” Tig grimaced, before relenting and getting up to retrieve a couple of glasses and the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, pouring them both a drink and downing his swiftly. He figured he had a lot of catching up to do.

Seeing Chibs’ gaze land somewhere over his shoulder, Tig looked around to follow it back to the photos on the wall and specifically to the one that now hung behind shattered glass. And not for the first time.

“Do you still think about him?”

It was a stupid question, Tig knew that. The answer couldn’t be more obvious. But it was actually the only way he could think to even broach the subject of something deeper.

“I let that lad down,” Chibs mumbled, taking another swig of his drink. “I coulda done somethin’, stopped it ever gettin’ that far.”

“He was a rat,” Tig reminded him, although not unkindly. “That’s on him.”

“He was an easy target,” Chibs shook his head. “He tried to come to me wi’ it. I didn’t hear him out. Not properly. We were all he had and I didn’t listen, didn’t see what was goin’ on in front o’ me own bloody nose.”

For a long moment, his VP could only sit in silence, musing on all the mistakes he’d made in his own life. The hurt he’d caused, to himself and his family, to others caught in his crossfire. He knew what it was to bear that burden. He didn’t want that for Chibs.

“What’s done is done,” he said finally. “Can’t change it, any of it. Can only learn from it. But you gotta let go, brother. You gotta let go or this is gonna eat you up from the inside out.”

“Easier said than done,” Chibs said quietly, his forced smile wry. “You know that.”

“I do,” Tig nodded, after a pause. “But I had you. And you’ve got me. So don’t forget that, you prick. You’ve got me. And I fucking need you. I can’t do any of this shit without you.”

Chibs looked up at the crack in his VP’s voice to find Tig was the one with his head down now. Slowly, he reached out to let his fingers trail through those wild dark curls.

“Oi,” he said roughly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, you hear me?”

“Didn’t sound like that,” Tig mumbled. “Never does when you start talking like that.”

“Look at me,” Chibs demanded, finally trying to pull himself together at the realisation of what he’d done. “Look at me, Tigger. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I promise you, my brother.”

“How do I know you ain’t just bullshitting me again?”

“When have I ever lied to you? About anything serious?” Chibs demanded, albeit with a swift amendment to account for the creative ways he had been known to get around his VP when he had to.

“You said you’d stop blaming yourself.”

The hurt beneath the accusatory tone stopped the Scotsman dead and he reached out to rest a hand on his VP’s shoulder. “I am trying, brother.”

“I know,” Tig sighed, covering the hand with his own ringed fingers. “I know.”

Chibs pulled him close. “Would a kiss help?” he murmured, already planting a firm kiss on the other man’s cheek.

“You ain’t getting off that light, asshole.”

Chibs could only laugh at that despite himself, his lips grazing skin again. “Ah, Tigger, last two standing… Never thought it would be us.”

“As long as it ain’t just me,” came the quiet, yet fervent response.

It was a sentiment that both warmed and broke Chibs’ heart.

[siren1song]

Dawn of Day

Me? Writing a fic inspired by art again? More likely than you think!! Memes aside, I wrote this for this beautiful scene practice by @just-a-little-bit-gay-oops It was only supposed to be a one shot, but it’s gonna be multichapter, and the chapters have titles, which is why this post has a Title title, because that’s the name of the fic sdkfjgh

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Get Thee Away

He’d been running for hours, days, weeks. Time was no longer something he could decipher, the trees were starting to blur together, and he’s forgotten what it feels like to not have aching muscles.

There was a reason he was running, but he was so focused on his need that he couldn’t be bothered to remember what that was. He was so thirsty and tired and hungry it was honestly a feat that he’d come as far as he had.

Virgil stumbled over a tree root and slowed to a stop, his breathing heavy as he finally looked at his surroundings.

He couldn’t tell the time with his fatigue, but there was light streaming through trees, something magical in the air that made his surroundings tinted pale purples and blues and greens. There was a tranquil feeling, and Virgil’s shoulders relaxed a bit even as he panted.

Continuing to look around, Virgil admired the forest for its beauty and he started moving again. This time it was a leisure walk (ignoring how his knees almost wobbled under him the first few steps) so he could take everything in.

The longer he walked, the more pronounced the magic in the air became. He wasn’t new to magic, even had a bit of his own, so it’s presence didn’t concern him in the slightest.

That didn’t mean he didn’t jump when the fae dropped from a branch in a tree just a few feet away from him.

They stared at each other for several moments, the fae upside down so their dark hair was hanging towards the ground and their shirt scrunched over their chest instead of covering their torso. Virgil held his arms close to his chest, one hand wrapped protectively around the charm he had around his neck at all times.

“Hello. What is your name?”

Virgil frowned, his brows furrowing at just how direct this fae was. Everything he learned about the faeries went against that, his very own best friend (who he wasn’t sure even to this day if he felt the same) told him that the fae preferred to be underhanded and ambiguous with their goals and intentions.

“...You may call me Ann,” he answered, cautious and slow.

The name was an old one, one he hated to use but it was what he could come up with quick enough to not seem rude.

Being rude to a fae was seldom a good idea.

The fae hummed, then lifted their torso and grabbed the branch they had been hanging on so they could swing to the ground, their back to Virgil (though he guessed they had ways of keeping an eye on him even when their eyes weren’t on him) as they brushed off their shirt and fixed their breeches.

“And you may call me Acker,” they spoke, turning to face Virgil with a pleasant, inquiring smile that had Virgil’s face heating up.

Dee had been attractive too, weren’t fae supposed to resemble animals and look inhuman?

“A pleasure to meet you Acker,” Virgil said softly, tucking the charm into his own shirt and dropping his hands to his sides as he watched the fae dust themself off.

“The pleasure is mine, Ann, but might I ask what you’re doing in my forest?” they asked, turning to Virgil with a curious tilt of his head, glasses appearing in his hand from nowhere before he settled them over his eyes.

Virgil licked his lips before biting the lower one and glancing away from Acker as he tried to figure out how to answer without giving away too much information.

“...No reason beyond somewhere away from where I was,” he finally said, looking back to the fae and earning a nod.

“I see, and the charm you are hiding from me is for?”

Paling, Virgil lifted his hand to where the moon made of milky crystal was settled under his shirt. He took a step back, the respect he had for Acker and his fae nature turning to fear and suspicion.

“That is information I do not owe you,” he replied carefully, the same response he’d given Dee every single time he’d asked.

Acker nodded again, adjusting his glasses over his face as he looked Virgil over. The silence was tense, though Virgil doubted the fae felt it with how relaxed he remained, and he couldn’t help but get the desire to run again, a different direction this time.

Neither mage hunters nor seemingly omnipotent fae were things he wanted to deal with.

“I understand, why don’t you rest a while? I find this particular area of the forest is quite calming, and it’s magic soothes a tired mind.”

Virgil had noticed that, even in his fear, his shoulders hadn’t tensed, and the longer he stood with Acker, the more he wanted to sit and rest and regain his strength for further travel.

He really should do that anyway, but the risks involved with sleeping with a fae nearby…

“I mean no offense when I tell you I would rather move on,” he said, taking another step back, though Acker had yet to move from the spot he’d been in since he swung down from the branch.

Acker hummed, looking at Virgil with a different type of curiosity. Instead of mild interest, there seemed to be more of a desire to figure him out. Like he was a puzzle the fae wanted to solve.

“You’re very well versed in how to speak to fae, Ann. More than even humans who have come looking for me.”

Virgil didn’t like that observation, but he saw no way to get around it that wasn’t outright ignoring him, and that wasn’t something he wanted to brave right now.

“I’ve had a… I’ve met another fae. We’ve spoken a few times.”

Acker’s brows shot up at Virgil’s slip-up.

Virgil immediately regretted not going the other route. What was he to do if Acker asked a question and Virgil couldn’t get out of answering it without being rude?

He wasn’t one to swear on a regular basis, but… Fuck.

“Is that so? And those few times were enough for you to learn your way around talking to a fae without insulting them?” he asked, and Virgil swallowed, his hand wrapping around the subtle lump the charm made in his shirt.

“It was only the one fae, so I wouldn’t say I’m the most experienced, but yes. I try, at the very least.”

Acker did something then that Virgil wasn’t expecting. He backed up suddenly, and Virgil tensed, expecting something bad, only for the fae to lower himself to the ground, cross his legs and lean back against the tree he’d settled in front of.

Virgil couldn’t help but feel a little foolish that Acker simply taking a seat had caused him alarm.

Foolish or not, Virgil was a little bewildered by the action. It showed a carefree attitude, something that he’d never seen a fae to have (though he supposed he shouldn’t judge, he’d only met one fae in person).

Maybe this fae had no ill intentions towards him? He wouldn’t relax, not yet, but it didn’t hurt to hope.

“Didn’t you say you would rather move on, Ann?” Acker spoke up, and Virgil nodded slowly, looking around the forest again.

“I did say that, yes. Are you letting me leave, then?”

“I had no intention of making you stay,” was the answer Virgil received, and though it confused him, he couldn’t help but relax just that little bit more that he didn’t have to figure out how to let the fae release him from his conversation.

“Then I bid you well,” he said, and turned on his heel in a random direction that wasn’t the way he’d come and walked out of sight.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Don’t Breathe 2 (2021)

When Don’t Breathe left itself open for a sequel - if that’s what you think it was doing - I certainly didn’t expect an action revenge thriller follow-up. I also didn’t foresee the movie turning its monster into a hero… but crazier things have happened. It could work. All you’d need is a good story, which, unfortunately, Don’t Breathe 2 does not have.

Eight years after the events of the first film (which sets this in 2024?) the blind man (Stephen Lang) lives with 11-year-old Phoenix (Madelyn Grace), who he rescued after her home burned down. On a rare outing outside, the young girl encounters a gangster (Brendan Sexton III). He and his thugs follow her home and lay siege to the house.

Early in, there’s some not-so-subtle exposition that tells us organ trafficking has been on the rise in the area. The cooler we see in the truck that holds the thugs (played by Adam Young, Bobby Schofield, Rocci Williams, Christian Zagi, and Diaana Babnicova) basically confirms they're connected. If this makes you question the film’s quality, hold on. That tie isn’t all it seems and there are much bigger issues to worry about.

In what is either an attempt to make us cheer for someone we previously feared or a demonstration that taking care of Phoenix - essentially the replacement daughter he was asking for - has softened him up, the blind man has changed in significant ways. Not physically mind you. This movie often feels like it’s the villains from Green Room going up against a slightly mellowed-out Jason Voorhees. When the blind man tears into someone, it gets way violent and gory, practically a necessity when every villain is as cartoonish as these thugs. On the upside, seeing tiny Madelyn Grace do her best to evade the intruders is tense. Seeing her protected without any remorse is satisfying.

And then, the film leaves the house and degenerates into absurdity. Skilled as he may be the blind man is still blind. We believed him tracking down and kidnapping that girl in 2016 but only because it happened off-screen. In this movie, he basically turns into Daredevil, only inconvenience by his blindness for brief seconds before he proceeds to turn his opponents into deli meat. What goes on in this film is straight-up impossible. I’d have a hard enough time believing a normal person - military training or not - pulling these moves. With their eyes closed? No way. And the bad guys get in on that bandwagon too. Their plan makes NO SENSE, which does make the film tonally consistent and therefore watchable in a disposable way… but come on.

Don’t Breathe 2 is a major step down from the moral ambiguity and uncertainty of the first. This is a joke by comparison, with over-the-top villains whose motivations are unbelievable, and a final act filled with as much blood as questions it doesn’t answer. Stephen Lang might be convincing in the role, he may be an imposing presence, but the humanity they give him is wasted. If you are curious nonetheless, stick around for the end credits. There’s a scene mid-way you won’t want to miss. (September 19, 2021)