#an ADULT thinking Adult Things about ANOTHER Adult

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Fawn Instinct.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Implied Dub/Con, Kidnapping, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, and No Actual Incest, But Boy If Those Freaks Aren't Trying. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

If it’d only been Bruce, you might’ve been able to live with it.

You didn’t love him, but you could imagine a world where you tried to. Most of it was circumstance; as upset as you were about the whole kidnapping thing, it wasn’t exactly a Herculean feat to endear yourself to the idea of being a handsome vigilante millionaire’s stay-at-home captive-spouse. You had no room in your heart for the stoic, reclusive, untouchable Bruce Wayne, but you could remember the adoration you’d once held for your masked hometown hero, the pride that’d once given you the force of will to all-but carry a half-conscious man in a torn cowl and a familiar suit into your apartment and lie to the cops when they came knocking. If the conditions had been different, if he’d spent a little more time as something more intimate than a stranger and a little less damning than a captor, then maybe, you could convince yourself to love him. Or, convince yourself to try, at least.

But, the conditions weren’t different, and you’d never quite had the time you would’ve needed to align Bruce Wayne with his more heroic alter ego. It’d been doomed from the start – Icarus jumping from his tower, already knowing his wings were destined to fall apart.

That aside, though, there was the more glaring issue: all his fucking kids.

Calling them kids might’ve been too generous, actually. Only Damian and Duke were younger than eighteen, and as far as you were concerned, they were your saving graces – Duke for meeting the bare minimum requirements for human decency and Damian for adamantly denying you were anything but an unwanted burden on his father. The rest were more-or-less adults, as little as you wanted to acknowledge the nonexistent age-gap between you and your gaggle of stepchildren. They were grown. They should’ve known better.

Tim, for example. He had to be… what? Nineteen? It wasn’t the pinnacle of maturity, sure, but he should’ve known you’d be able to hear your own sheets rustling through the bedroom door, should’ve assumed that you’d know he’d know Bruce would be out on patrol until sunrise. He should’ve known to wait until you were in another wing of the sprawling Wayne estate, somewhere far away from the master bedroom, or better yet, skipped rummaging through your things entirely. You knew better than to dream, though.

The door was still shut, but what was happening behind it and who was responsible were both foregone conclusions.  It was Tim, because of course it was Tim, and he going through your meager possessions, because what else would he wait until Bruce was gone to do? Cringing, you rested your shoulder against the steady wood and knocked gingerly. “…Drake? Are you in there?”

Immediately, the rustling stopped. You went on. “I think Bruce is out, if you need him. Is there something you’re trying to find?”

It was a good out. An easy out. Thankfully, he was smart enough to take the bait. A few seconds later, the door cracked, a disheveled Tim emerging with a dark blush spread over his pale cheeks and his hands shoved conspicuously deep into the pockets of his hoodie. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d come out with his dick still in his hand.

Your cheeks ached as you put on your dozenth unstrained, unworried, everything’s-fine-because-why-wouldn’t-it-be smile of the day and moved aside to let him out. “I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he gets home,” you assured, like you couldn’t see the way his bright eyes were fixed to the carpeting. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. You all are just so heroic – it’s still a little hard to believe I’m a part of this at all.”

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, and you pretended not to hear him, cocking your head to the side. When he corrected himself, his voice was a bit louder, a bit clearer. “Don’t worry, I… I found what I was looking for. You don’t have to bother Bruce.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He’s so proud of you and your siblings, after all – it’s practically all he talks about.” A lie, but a fair one to tell. There was no reason Tim should have to know Bruce spent the majority of your time alone with his teeth buried somewhere in your neck, muttering paranoid fantasies about how many different ways you could be killed, mutilated, or otherwise indisposed by the members of his rouges gallery. “Honestly, sometimes, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been here for years, rather than just a couple of months.”

You only realized your mistake when those bright eyes shot to you, suddenly wide and blown out with desperation. A hand darted towards you, and you stumbled out of the way, but not quickly enough to avoid Tim’s vice-grip on your forearm, to spare yourself the feeling of something cold and wet sinking into your sleeve. “You’re leaving?” The words seemed to slur together, spilling out too quickly to be restrained or refined. “You can’t leave. Bruce won’t be able to handle it, and Steph, she’ll—I mean, security-wise, we won’t be able to make sure you’re—”

Internally, you were keeping up a steady mantra of ‘Thisissogrossthisissogrossthisissogross.’

Externally, by some miracle, your smile never wavered, only growing sweeter as you cut him off with a chirping laugh. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, and then, after a slight lapse, “Would you mind letting go of me? It’s—uh, it’s kind of starting to hurt.”

As if on a switch, he let go of you entirely, pulling away as abruptly as he lashed out. There was a mumbled ‘I’m sorry’, and he made a swift retreat, disappearing around the next corner before you could so much as think about bringing up Bruce, again. You watched him go, only letting your expression fall once you were sure he was out of sight.

Without further caution, you slipped into your bedroom, glazing over the mess of pulled-out drawers, overturned clothes and scattered dirty laundry in favor of falling into bed, rolling onto your chest, and screaming into your pillow as loudly and for as long as your lungs would allow.

~

You tried your best never to be alone. It was a little draining, to be honest – having to keep a running chart in the back of your mind of who you could trust and who you couldn’t, constantly trying to guess whether it’d be safer to be alone with someone or if you were better off taking your chances on your own – but you’d learned your lesson the first time you’d fallen asleep in the Wayne’s at-home movie theater and woken up to Cassandra spread over you like a human weighted blanket, staring unblinkingly at your face and playing half-consciously with your hair. You tried not to leave yourself unguarded, after that.

Alfred was your first choice, Barbra your second, with Bruce as a distant third. Sometimes, you could get away with loitering near Damian (something you hated nearly as much as he did – you could only stand to be addressed as his father’s “jezebel lover” so many times), but Bruce was at one of Damian’s school events, leaving them both conveniently unavailable, and Alfred would be locked inside of his underground shooting range for another hour and a half, an activity you knew better than to interrupt. Meaning, you were on your own.

Meaning, you’d picked a very bad time to need something to drink.

The kitchen was deathly quiet, but you still made an effort to keep your head on a swivel as you made your way carefully to a corner cabinet, like stepping on the wrong tile would trigger a pit trap, or a flurry of arrows, or one of another million terrible things you hadn’t thought were possible before Bruce dedicated himself so entirely to proving you wrong. Mentally, you reviewed your haphazardly assembled schedule as you fumbled with the wood paneling and reached for a mug from the highest shelf. Tim was definitely out, touring local colleges on Bruce’s behest, Step was supposed to be in class, and Dick—

Your fingertips made contact with cool ceramic half a second before another, larger palm wrapped around yours, a broad chest pressing into your back as your mug was stolen out of your hand. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

And Dick was on bed rest with three broken ribs. Right. Of course.

You really shouldn’t have bothered leaving your room at all. Suddenly, dehydration didn’t sound like such a bad way to go.

“Let me get that, baby bird.” You cringed at the petname, but nodded, letting Dick confiscate your mug and with it, your ability to make a swift exit from a conversation you’d rather not have. “Green tea, right? I know it’s your favorite.”

“On the mark as always, Dick.” There was just enough enthusiasm in your voice to overshadow the despair. You waited until you heard the muted click of an electric kettle before turning around and settling against the counter. “I wish you wouldn’t dote on me, though. I already feel useless enough as it is.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ve been going stir-crazy all week.” He flashed you a quick smile – tooth and beaming – before pulling open the silverware drawer and rummaging through it, like Alfred would keep his teabags with his cutlery. He was topless, wearing the same pair of black sweatpants he must’ve slept in. He didn’t plan to go out, clearly, and it wasn’t like you had much of an alternative. “This is just the basics, too. For a while there, I had your breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack preferences memorized.”

You forced yourself to smile, albeit, not as brightly as him. “…did you, now?”

“Mhm. B had us running in-person surveillance before he finally bit the bullet and brought you home, and—” He cut himself off with a sudden laugh, shaking his head. “And, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part. Oops.”

Mercifully, the kettle whistled before you could start to consider the implications, and you reached behind you, fishing two bags out of a teacup-shaped jar. It was easy enough to edge him out of the way, but not having to worry about pretending he’d ever made himself a cup of tea meant he could devote more of his energy to talking, so you still managed to lose, in the end. “He’s stingier with the surveillance footage, now. I’ve never seen him so jealous.”

“He can definitely be a little overprotective.”

You tried to keep your tone even, polite, but Dick was like his siblings – quick to action and slow to take a hint. A hand curled around the counter next to you, and you dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into the darkening water. “It’s just us in the manor, right?”

Another spoonful, just to be safe. “I think Alfred is—”

“Out for the day. Wayne Enterprise emergency – I let him know as soon as he finished down in the range.” In your peripheral, you watched his other hand come to rest on your opposite side, caging you in. “I wouldn’t mind the company, if you were starting to get lonely.”

Another spoonful. It’d be too sweet to drink, but anything not to have to look at him. “I’m afraid wouldn’t be a lot of fun, Grayson. Honestly, I was just planning on getting a little sle—”

“That’s perfect,” he cut in, too eager to wait his turn. “I’m a great cuddler.”

You curled your hand around your mug, hoping the warmth would be enough to ground you. Instead, it only burnt your palm, and for a second, you could imagine a world where your teeth weren’t buried in the plush of your cheek, where you didn’t have to remind yourself that turning around and splashing boiling-hot water on an all-but superhero’s face wasn’t a good idea. For a second, you genuinely considered it.

And then, a sound not totally dissimilar to thunder filled the kitchen; loud enough to leave your ears ringing and your adrenaline spiked. You flinched into yourself, but it only took a moment for fear to shift to relief as you noticed the bullet lodged into the wood less than an inch from your head. Your expression lit up just as Dick’s fell.

Without waiting for him to let you go, you slipped away – sprinting across the kitchen and throwing yourself into Jason’s – brave, bold, beautiful Jason – chest. He caught you one hand and finished re-holstering his handgun with the other, laughing as you hugged him as tightly as you could manage. Dick huffed, playful offense failing to mask real agitation, and you felt Jason brace against you. “Jerk off and shut the fuck up, Oedipus.”

Dick’s smile turned uneasy. “It’s good to see you too, man.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” he snapped, as short-tempered with his siblings as you wished you could be. He looked down, holding you that much tighter. “How’s my best girl holding up?”

“I’m just fine, Jason. I do think we have to have a talk about how you treat your brother, though.” You glanced over your shoulder to Dick. “A little privacy? You really ought to be staying off your feet, too.”

Reluctantly, Dick slinked out of the kitchen, hesitant to go but eager to nurse his wounds. You only went on once you were sure he was gone.

“It’s been awful. I found another hidden camera in my bedroom, and I think Tim’s tapping my—”

“I’ll do a sweep.”

He let you go, but you caught his arm. “Please, I know it’s important, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. It was irrational – the way you let your guard down so quickly around Jason. The mask never slipped around anyone else, whether you were afraid of them or they were one of your rare, precious exceptions. Jason existed outside of the Wayne family, though, outside of Bruce’s corrupting influence. He wasn’t going to hurt you. More importantly, he wasn’t going to let anyone else hurt you, either.

“But I really don’t want to think about that, right now,” you finished. “Just… just for a little while, alright? I don’t want to constantly feel like I’m walking on eggshells, at least not while you’re here.”

Jason stood strong for all of three seconds. With the fourth, he sighed, buckled, and shook his head, his exasperation brimming with affection. “How long until Bruce gets home?”

“Six more hours. He’s not due to check-in for another three.”

“I’ve got my bike out front. How do you think he’d feel about a joy ride?”

And just like that, you lit up. “It’d give him a heart attack.”

Jason pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Perfect.”

~

Unfortunately, Jason’s visits were few and far between. You had to find ways of fending for yourself, in the downtime.

“I miss the city.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, gaze flickering over you before returning to the buttons of his dress-shirt. You sunk that much deeper into the mess of sheets and pillows, taking some small amount of solace in the way the cool silk felt against your warm skin.

(Sex wasn’t something Bruce came to you for often, but when he did, you gave it to him willingly, albeit with no more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary. You rarely enjoyed it and always regretted everything you did or said during the act, but it was better than the alternative. Part of you trusted him, trusted Batman, enough to believe that he’d take your refusal for what it was, that you wouldn’t have to say anything more than ‘no’. The remaining overwhelming majority was able to look around you, to remember the way he’d held you down as he forced a needle stocked with medical-grade sedatives into your throat, and recognize that your opinion probably didn’t mean very much to him. Still, you couldn’t let things get that bad. Even if you had to surrender every other facet of your being, you couldn’t let things get that bad.)

“You hated the city. You said your landlord was a tyrant and that even the criminals were living paycheck-to-paycheck.” And then, after a second of thought, “And that there were more rats in Gotham than people.”

“Well, he was, they are, and you know I love animals.” You pushed yourself up, keeping a sheet bunched against your chest as you slumped against the headboard. “I was tired and overworked – you could see that. But, things would be different if I was staying with, say, my wealthy trillionaire boyfriend in one of the penthouse apartments that I know he has because his youngest son got in trouble for bragging about them in school last week?”

Bringing up his kids was a dirty tactic – the fastest way to get Bruce’s undivided attention. This time, when his eyes shifted in your direction, they stayed there, and he made his way back to your side of the bed. He collapsed next to you and, with no resistance on your end, pulled you into his lap. He didn’t seem to care whether or not his immaculately tailored, freshly pressed suit was creased in the process, but you did your best not to squirm. “You want to leave the manor?”

The first half of a frown tugged at the corner of your lips. “That’s not what I—”

“Elevated pulse, avoidant eye-contact,” he muttered. “Something’s bothering you.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t wrong, either, but still. You would’ve preferred to be asked.

“…it’s your family,” you admitted, feigning guilt. “They’re all—” Horny, depressed, creepy little orphans. “—great kids, but it’s just been so much so quickly, and I think it… I think it might’ve been too much too quickly. For them and for me.”

“They adore you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dick was close to moving back in when I decided it was too dangerous to leave you to your own devices.”

You melted into his chest, sighing. Reflexively, he curled around you – a good thing, if a bit claustrophobic. Bruce liked feeling like a shield between you and harm, between you and the world he couldn’t control. Hopefully, eventually, he’d realize he had more to shield you from than greedy landlords and villains who always seemed to be just out of sight. “It’s not that easy. It’s just been such a rocky adjustment period, and…” You curled your hand around his wrist and squeezed, hoping the force would be enough to communicate what you couldn’t put a word to. “I’m really afraid something bad might happen, Bruce.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. There was a kiss to your shoulder, solemn and lingering, then another to your cheek, more fleeting. “I’ll talk to them. They’ll give you space, if they’re told to.”

If he told them to. You doubted you held much authority, here. “And the apartment in the city? On the highest floor, tall enough to see from Gotham to New York?”

Bruce smiled, and your heart soared.

Then, he started talking, and it crashed back down, dying upon impact. “Once I know it’s safe for you, sweetheart.”

There was another kiss, this one to the nape of your neck, then another, lower down on your spine. A calloused hand slipped underneath the sheet still hugged against your chest, and you allowed it to.

Honestly, it would’ve been kinder if he’d cut you into pieces and fed you to the wolves himself.

~

You made a run for it as soon as the arguing started.

Arguing, not yelling – the distinction was minor, but significant. Yelling would’ve meant an injury, or a mission gone wrong, or something else that signaled a sudden complication that couldn’t be smoothed over with sugar-sweet sentimentality or orders issues with an ice-cold strictness. Yelling would’ve meant Bruce didn’t mind letting you overhear, which usually meant you didn’t need to be involved. Arguing, all hushed whispers and hissed explanations and vague warnings, was different. Arguing meant, more often than not, that they were arguing about you.

It was Tim’s fault, as far as you could tell. Barbara had been the one to find the conspicuously encrypted file on one of Dick’s civilian devices, the one to mention it to Stephanie as a point of concern who went to Tim within the hour, but it was still his fault. He’d gotten Bruce involved, let his need for approval tip the tenuously balanced scales that kept his family whole and you safe. He’d talked them all into waiting until Dick was close enough to confront in-person, stopping by for his weekly equipment pick-up and check-in. He was the reason you’d gotten close enough to hear something about ‘pictures’ and ‘inappropriate use of reconnaissance material’ before fleeing to the mansion’s foyer – the only part of the house you could be sure wasn’t occupied. If you were lucky, you’d only be there for half an hour or so, enough time for them to compromise on some non-solution and return to your carefully maintained status quo. If you weren’t, you’d spend the early hours of the morning—

Something small but forceful hit the nearest window, shortly followed by another projectile, then another. The glass was too thick and the world outside too dark to make anything out, but you didn’t need to see anything to know who’d come to your rescue.

Jason.

You rushed to the door, then hesitated. Jason would only get a slap on the wrist for luring you out of the estate, and Bruce could never bring himself to be that strict with you, but now might’ve been a bad time. Tensions were already running high. Your little disappearing act wouldn’t—

A sudden rush of footsteps clattering through the ceiling from the floor above you, hushed voices raised just to the point of audibility. None of it was entirely coherent, but Dick’s came the closest. You managed to make out a half-choked “If you’d just let me—” before someone cut him off.

With your better judgement reduced to buzzing static, you pried open the closer of a pair of huge, mahogany doors and slipped out of the estate entirely.

Of course, Jason was waiting outside, a small stock of pebbles still in his left hand and, of course, you threw yourself at him, letting him catch and spin you twice before setting you back onto your feet with an airy laugh. A pitch-black sports car was waiting at the end of the driveway, the engine purring loudly enough to drown the rest of the world out. “Rough night?”

“You have no fucking idea,” you muttered, breathless. “I don’t care where we go, just get me out of here.”

There was a reason Jason was your favorite. There was no argument, no prying, just his arm around your waist as he herded you into the passenger seat. Fifteen minutes and a little over fifty miles later, the mansion was little more than a dull glow on the horizon, and you could pretend you’d stopped thinking about Bruce entirely.

There was no effort to make conversation, as bad as you felt about pulling Jason into your prolonged tryst with self-pity. Instead, you sunk into the leather of his seat and fixed your gaze on the passing landscape, clinging to any detail you were able to latch onto as it flew by. It was possible, between the subways and boarded-over windows and perpetually overcast skies, to go days without seeing the sun in Gotham. Still, your life had felt brighter there than it ever did in Bruce’s estate.

Jason turned down a road you didn’t recognize, and you managed to find your voice. “Are we going into the city?”

“Even better.” He flashed you a smile, the engine purring as he accelerated. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just sit tight.”

As if you had much of a choice.

Road gave way to forest, forest to empty plains, and empty plains to the dilapidated remains of what you could only label as a long-abandoned amusement park – like Disney World if there’d been some terrible, possibly nuclear accident followed by twenty or so years of absolute neglect. Jason’s car glided past the rusted remains of an iron gate, past the corpses of rides buckled under their own weight, and came to a stop in front of a paint-stripped merry-go-round almost entirely sheeted be vines and weeds and overgrowth. You let out a low whistle as he threw the gear shift into park and, for the first time in any vehicle you’d ever shared with him, pulled his keys out of the ignition. He’d always left the engine running while visiting the mansion, but then again, you’d always been pretty eager to make a hasty escape, too.

“I love it, Jason. I’ve always wanted to get tetanus from a broken down carnival.”

“A fair, actually,” he corrected, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket. Like he expected you to try and steal them while his back was turned, or something. “My parents used to take me here, before I met B. There weren’t a lot of Ferris wheels after that.”

There was a short lapse, the sound of lips moving against teeth. You made the mistake of humming, of glancing over to him, of leaving yourself open for another question, and Jason, as nice as he was, was more than happy to take advantage of you. “So, when did you and B start…”

He trailed off, drumming his fingers against the wheel. You filled in the rest with a breathy chuckle. “When did I start sleeping with your dad?”

He jabbed an elbow into your side. “First of all, you can admit you’re fucking him or call him my dad, but you’ve gotta pick one.” You opened your mouth, already ready to spit out some dumb joke about what Bruce would’ve preferred to be called, but Jason cut in, sniping your stupid joke out of the air. “Secondly, answer the question. I get enough of your diversions back at home.”

“Being a buzzkill must run in family,” you sighed, but gave in quickly enough. “It happened once before the whole kidnapping thing, when he was staying at my apartment and sleeping off a broken leg. I hadn’t even seen him without his mask on at that point, but I figured it was a sign – destiny, or something.” You did your best to smile, slumping against the door. “It was dumb. He gave me a couple weeks after bringing me to the estate, mostly because of the crying and stuff, but things started up again pretty quickly.”

“Do you… like it?”

“Do you like asking about your dad’s sex life?” He flinched back, and laughing, you went on. “I guess I don’t care. There’s not a lot else to do.” You swallowed. “Would it matter if I didn’t?”

For someone with so many questions, he didn’t leave a lot of time for yours, the hypocrite. Moving on swiftly, he asked, “And the others, have they…?”

“No.” And then, after a beat, “Not yet.”

He seemed to relax, at that. His back was still straight, his shoulders still squared, but his grip on the wheel loosened, his jaw unclenching ever so slightly. You tried the handle – locked. Obviously. As if you’d ever get that lucky.

His voice was soft, sweet. The kind of tone you’d use on a child, or an animal, or a doll. “This would probably be easier in the backseat, right?”

“Let me out.”

“So you can go where,baby? It’s just us out here.” He laughed, resting a hand on your thigh. You slammed your shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. “Hey, hey, this doesn’t need to get rough. I’m not going to be like Dick. The others – they’ll do it wrong, treat you like a cut of meat they have to get to before anybody else. I just need to make sure you get out of this in one piece.”

Nails embedded in leather, body crammed as far from him as you could force it be. You weren’t hyperventilating, but only because you’d stopped breathing entirely. “Let me out, Jason.”

“I love the way you say my name. It’s pretty, and delicate – just like you.” He sighed, shook his head. “I know you don’t get it, but I’m just trying to take care of you, like you’ve been taking care of me for the past few—”

“Stop acting like I’m your mom.” A sob fractured the final syllable, another bubbling up from deep in your chest a moment later. Your body was beyond the point of rationality, but the soft, preservational part of your mind wasn’t so beyond the point of seeking refuge. There was a way out of this, as ghoulish as it seemed. You couldn’t stop it from happening, but you could make it better. You’d regret it in an hour, when it came time to explain yourself to Bruce, but what happened in an hour didn’t matter, not if you couldn’t survive the next few minutes.

You might’ve done it, too – or, you might’ve tried, at least. You wanted to. You planned to. And yet, when you opened your mouth, there was only one thing you could seem to say. “I don’t want to do this, Jason.”

His nails bit into your thigh, his smile easing at the corners. For a second, you almost thought he’d pull away. For a second, you almost thought he’d sigh, straighten back up, and admit this was all part of some cruel, unfunny joke that the two of you would remember fondly, later on.

Then, he laughed and leaned forward, lips brushing against the top of your head. You felt him speak before you heard his voice, but the cloying reverberation alone was enough to tell you that you would’ve been better off never saying anything at all.

“Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Unwanted Wingman | LN4

⋆☃︎⛸️✧˖°❅🕯️༘⋆𐙚 summary ━━━━━━━ At a Christmas party, Y/N is encouraged to confess her feelings to Ed, but Lando interrupts, admitting that he likes her.

⋆☃︎⛸️✧˖°❅🕯️༘⋆𐙚 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⋆☃︎⛸️✧˖°❅🕯️༘⋆𐙚 word count ━━━━━━━ 2.1k

London’s winter air carried the crisp chill of December, painting the streets with a blend of frosty mist and holiday cheer. Fairy lights twinkled from shop windows. Inside a warm and festively decorated flat in South Kensington, Y/N found herself amid the buzz of a Christmas party that swayed between cozy and chaotic. She had agreed to come last minute, swayed by the promise of mulled wine and a chance to see old friends.

The host, Max Fewtrell, had outdone himself. The room was decked out with garlands, a towering Christmas tree glittering with baubles, and enough food and drinks to cater a small army. It was packed with familiar faces, some she hadn't seen in years, and others who still graced her day-to-day life.

One of those faces was Lando Norris.

Lando, the golden boy of Formula 1, had a charisma that was impossible to ignore. He was dressed casually yet effortlessly stylish, his laughter echoing through the room as he animatedly told a story to a group of friends. Though he lived in Monaco now, his visits to the UK were frequent, as his close-knit circle and family remained rooted here.

Y/N and Lando weren’t strangers. In fact, they’d been part of the same extended friend group for years. He was the type to make everyone feel at ease, his boyish charm and wit drawing people to him like moths to a flame. They were friendly, but not close—at least, not in the way where they’d share secrets or seek each other out in a crowded room. Still, there was an undeniable comfort in his presence, like he was a part of the furniture in the tapestry of her life.

At that moment, though, Y/N wasn’t thinking about Lando. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of mulled wine in hand, talking to her best friend, Pietra.

“Okay, you have to tell him tonight,” Pietra whispered, her tone conspiratorial.

“Tell who what?” Y/N asked, feigning innocence but failing miserably.

Pietra rolled her eyes. “You know who. Ed. You’ve been crushing on him for months. You can’t keep staring at him from across the room like a lovesick teenager.”

Y/N groaned, her eyes darting to where Jamie stood near the Christmas tree, laughing at something another friend said. He looked annoyingly good in his navy jumper, the kind of effortlessly handsome that made her palms sweat.

“I can’t just tell him,” Y/N protested. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Or worse, what if he does, and then it gets weird?”

Pietra gave her a pointed look. “You’re overthinking it. Just talk to him. You’re both adults. It’s not that deep.”

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Lando had walked into the kitchen just in time to catch the tail end of their conversation. He wasn’t eavesdropping—at least, not intentionally—but the mention of Ed’s name caught his attention.

Ed? Y/N liked Ed?

Lando frowned, a pang of annoyance flashing through him. It wasn’t like he had a reason to feel that way. He and Y/N weren’t a thing. They weren’t even close friends. But the thought of her liking someone else, someone as boringly predictable as Ed, didn’t sit well with him.

Without thinking, Lando decided to intervene.

He sauntered up to the counter, his smile wide and mischievous. “What are we gossiping about, ladies?”

Y/N jumped slightly, her cheeks flushing. “Nothing. Just... stuff.”

“Stuff?” Lando teased, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously vague.”

Pietra smirked, catching on to Lando’s nosiness. “Y/N was just saying she has a crush on someone at the party.”

“Pietra!” Y/N hissed, her face heating up.

Lando’s smile faltered for a split second before he quickly recovered. “A crush, huh? Well, you’ve come to the right person. I’m an expert in these matters.”

“An expert in what? Meddling?” Y/N shot back, trying to deflect.

“Helping,” Lando corrected, his grin returning. “And lucky for you, I happen to be an excellent wingman.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “I don’t need a wingman.”

“Of course, you don’t,” Lando said smoothly. “But imagine how much faster things could move along with my help.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Lando had already decided he was going to wingman her—whether she wanted him to or not.

Lando’s first attempt at “helping” came not long after. Ed had moved to the makeshift bar in the corner of the living room, and Y/N had finally gathered enough courage to approach him. She was halfway across the room when Lando intercepted her path.

“Hey, Y/N!” he said, stepping directly in front of her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to sidestep him.

“Just checking in,” he said innocently. “You looked like you were on a mission.”

“I was,” she replied, trying not to sound annoyed. “I was going to talk to Ed.”

Lando’s eyes twinkled with mock concern. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, he’s... well, he’s kind of boring, isn’t he?”

Y/N blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about? Ed’s not boring.”

“I don’t know,” Lando said, shrugging. “He just doesn’t seem like your type.”

“And what exactly is my type?” she challenged, crossing her arms.

Lando opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, seemingly at a loss. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “But it’s definitely not him.”

Y/N sighed, brushing past him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Lando’s next attempt was less direct but no less effective. Y/N had finally managed to corner Ed near the dessert table, and they were chatting amiably about holiday plans when Lando swooped in.

“Ed!” Lando exclaimed, clapping him on the back. “How’s it going, mate?”

Ed smiled, though he looked slightly confused by Lando’s sudden enthusiasm. “Good, thanks. You?”

“Oh, you know, living the dream,” Lando said breezily. “Hey, did you know Y/N here is absolutely terrified of eggnog? Like, she won’t even go near it.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s not—”

“Is that true?” Jamie asked, amused.

“No!” Y/N said firmly, shooting Lando a glare. “He’s making that up.”

“Am I?” Lando said, feigning innocence. “Remember that time at Pietra’s party last year? You practically bolted when someone brought out a pitcher of eggnog.”

“That didn’t happen!” Y/N snapped, her cheeks burning.

Ed chuckled, clearly entertained by the exchange. “Well, I’ll make sure to keep any eggnog far away from you, just in case.''

Y/N groaned inwardly as Lando grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

By the end of the night, Y/N was frustrated beyond belief. Every time she’d tried to make progress with Ed, Lando had been there, either distracting her or derailing the conversation. It wasn’t until she caught him smirking after yet another failed attempt that it clicked.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” she said, cornering him in the hallway.

Lando looked at her, feigning confusion. “Doing what?”

“Sabotaging me,” she accused. “Every time I try to talk to Ed, you show up and ruin it.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his playful demeanor fading slightly. “Maybe I am,” he admitted finally.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you with him,” Lando said simply.

The admission hung in the air between them, heavy and unexpected.

“Why not?” Y/N asked, her voice quieter now.

Lando hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t think he deserves you,” he said finally. “And maybe because I don’t want you with anyone else.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last thing she’d expected.

“That’s completely unfair,” she said softly, though her tone lacked conviction.

“Maybe,” Lando said, stepping closer. “But I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the noise of the party fading into the background. Then, before she could overthink it, Y/N closed the distance between them, her lips brushing against his.

Lando froze, then quickly recovered, kissing her back with a mixture of surprise and relief.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N looked up at him, her cheeks flushed. “You’re still the worst wingman ever.”

Lando grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe, but I’m the best at this.”

And for once, Y/N couldn’t argue with him.

The hallway suddenly felt quieter than it should have, given the lively party still going on in the next room. Lando leaned against the wall, his grin softening into something more thoughtful as he looked at Y/N. She crossed her arms, both as a way to steady herself and to process what had just happened.

“So, what happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tilted his head, his expression turning serious. “That depends. Are you going to keep pretending you like Ed, or are we going to talk about what’s actually going on here?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks still warm. “First of all, I wasn’t pretending to like Ed. He’s genuinely nice, and—”

“And completely not your type,” Lando interrupted, his smirk returning.

“Oh, so you’re the expert on my type now?” she shot back.

“Obviously,” he said, leaning a little closer. “Your type is witty, charming, and—oh—probably a racing driver who lives in Monaco.”

She scoffed, though she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist, apparently,” he quipped, gesturing between them.

“Lando...” Her tone shifted, her expression sobering. “Are you serious about what you said earlier? About not wanting me with anyone else?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if considering how much of himself he was willing to put out there. Then, with a deep breath, he nodded. “Yeah, I am. I didn’t realize it until tonight, but the thought of you with someone else—it just... didn’t feel right.”

Her heart skipped a beat, his honesty catching her off guard. “You’re not just saying that because of some weird possessive thing, are you? Because I’m not interested in being anyone’s... I don’t know, territory or whatever.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, it’s not like that. I just... I’ve liked you for a while, I think. I didn’t realize it until I thought I might lose my chance.”

Y/N studied him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. She found none. Instead, she saw the same boyish charm she’d always known, but now layered with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before.

“And what exactly are you proposing?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m proposing,” he said, stepping closer, “that you give me a chance to prove I’m worth more than just being the worst wingman ever.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his earnestness, her heart softening despite her best efforts to remain skeptical. “You know, for someone who lives in Monaco, you’re making this pretty inconvenient for me.”

“Good thing I’m in the UK a lot, then,” he replied smoothly.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “That’s just typical of you,” she said with a playful eye roll.

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he teased, his voice low.

“Debatable,” she countered, though the smile on her face gave her away.

“So, is that a yes?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

She pretended to think about it, drawing out the silence just long enough to make him sweat. Finally, she nodded. “It’s a yes. But if you sabotage me like that again, I’m out.”

Lando grinned, looking like he’d just won pole position. “Deal. No more sabotaging. Unless it’s for a really good reason.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but let him pull her into another kiss, the noise of the party melting away once more.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to a flurry of texts from Pietra.

Pietra: “OMG, what happened with Ed?? Did you tell him?!”

Pietra: “Wait, I saw you talking to Lando later. What was that about?”

Pietra: “Y/N, ANSWER ME. I NEED DETAILS.”

Y/N groaned, pulling the duvet over her head. The events of the previous night came rushing back, and she felt equal parts exhilarated and nervous.

Before she could respond to Pietra, her phone buzzed with another notification. This time, it was from Lando.

Lando: “Morning :) Just checking if you’re still cool with me being the worst wingman ever. Also, breakfast? My treat.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she typed back a quick reply.

Y/N: “You’re still the worst, but fine. Breakfast sounds good.”

Moments later, another message popped up.

Lando: “Great. Pick you up in an hour. Wear something warm. And no eggnog jokes, I promise.”

Shaking her head, Y/N climbed out of bed, a small smile playing on her lips. As much as she hadn’t seen it coming, there was something about Lando—something about them—that just felt... right.

For the first time in a long while, she felt excited about what might come next. And maybe, just maybe, being wing manned by the worst wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[the-raindeer-king]

Part 1

Part 2 to teen! Ghost (reader is mentioned to being smaller than the others, but is otherwise gender neutral. minor mention of child abuse.)

This has to be some kind of joke. Maybe Ghost has a kid, and didn't know how to tell you. Maybe it's some elaborate prank, and Ghost is in his room, decompressing.

But... Price wouldn't joke around about something like this, especially not when it comes to Ghost. The looks on Soap and Gaz's face only further confirm the truth, and the pit in your stomach only widens.

It's the way this kid - Ghost, Simon, - stares at you that makes you want to throw up. You knew Ghost didn't have a good childhood, that there's no family for him to go home to anymore. But to see the haunted look of fresh trauma in this poor kid's eyes, it makes you hate the world. He's just a kid.

Wiping your hands on your pants, you give him a small smile. "Hey, kiddo. You're not in any trouble," you say, voice soft and gentle as you approach. You crouch down by the chair Simon's sitting in, making yourself smaller in an attempt to make him feel better.

It's weird, seeing just how small Ghost used to be. You've only ever know him as the brick powerhouse Lieutenant, tall and wide, the biggest man in the room. It's feels wrong, seeing him as nothing more than a scared child, barely taller than you are.

"Are you going to call my dad?" he asks, and the undertone of terror in his voice makes you want to cry. It makes you want to find whatever shithole Mr. Riley has called home and kill the old bastard with your bare hands.

Instead, you shake your head, answering softly, "No, Simon. We're not going to call your father."

He relaxes at that, shoulders sagging in relief. You could honestly cry, heart aching for this poor kid who's been dealt such a shitty hand. Somehow you don't.

"I need to ask you a couple of questions, sweetheart. I just need you to be honest with your answers, okay?" you tell him.

"O-okay," Simon agrees, glancing towards the door, where Soap and Gaz are standing. Gaz has a look on concern on his face, eyebrows pinched together and mouth downturned. Soap, on the other hand, is staring so intensely at Simon you'd think he was trying to kill him with his eyes.

While you know that's not the case, if anything he's probably trying to figure out how to help, you can see why Simon looks so nervous. Trapped in a room with four adults, three of whom are burly men, it's a miracle he hasn't had a panic attack.

"MacTavish," you call, and Soap's eyes fly to you. "Run to the mess. Bring back a water and a pudding cup, yeah? Vanilla preferably, butterscotch if they're out."

With Soap gone, Simon seems to relax a little more, his gaze returning to you. You give him another smile, and the ache in your heart eases a little when you notice the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in response.

"Am I right to assume that you don't recognize anyone in the room?" you ask.

Simon nods his head in confirmation.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Simon's quiet for a moment, hands fidgeting together. You've never seen Ghost do that before, and you're not sure if it's a good or bad sign, but you don't call him out on it.

"Tommy and I went to bed, and... and I woke in that building, with the men with guns," Simon explains. He pauses, gesturing over to Gaz, "And then he came in and rescued me, and... then we rode in a helicopter back here."

You glance towards Gaz, who nods his head in confirmation. But that doesn't explain how Ghost suddenly became a teenager again. And if teen Simon is here, where's Ghost? All the variables make your head spin, and you need to be focused on what you can control right now.

It's Simon that brings you out of your spiraling thoughts. "Can I call my mom?" he asks meekly.

"No," Price answers, gruff and authoritative.

The sharpness in Price's tone makes Simon flinch, and you reach out to gently take Simon's hands in yours.

"You're going to have to sit tight, buddy, while we figure out how you got there. But I'll call your mom and let her know you're okay," you lie. The guilt hits immediately, but you can't bring yourself to deny him this small comfort, even if it's a lie.

"I can't talk to her?"

Simon's hands tighten around yours, when Price beats you to answer. "No. Enough questions."

[featureenvyproductions]

This post touched on physical media for drawing which is good but I want to add my ramblings about physical drawings as well because these days there's a lot of emphasis on drawing digitally, to the point where I think it's been an actual decade since I've come across a tutorial where someone has drawn things physically on paper....Like, don't underestimate the power of drawing on paper and learning to use physical media. Yeah it's not going to do anything in terms of your popularity 👀👀💧 but at the moment, you've also got an extra layer of protection between you and AI since the best physical art AI could probably do with current technology is something akin to "printing" out a picture with a writing utensil of some sort since mimicking real physical technique from photos of paintings or drawings is quite a bit harder than weighting pixels and outputting them into a file.

I'm also telling you this for corporate reasons. The way the world is going, there's going to come a day when there are no free programs for drawing, and certainly tablets and computers won't be free or cheap, and they're going to demand all your personal information to even boot up. You'll be locked into selling all your data and locking yourself into subscriptions just to have some artistic expression. Do you want that? Adobe and apple can do a lot but they can't fucking take away your paper and pencil. You should learn to use them if only to take back power from corporations. It's why even though I do use digital tools a lot for comic color because it's faster and I'm just one person, I still do almost everything else physically (ink/pencil/layouts/etc). I have a box the size of a large coffin with all the comic book pages I've drawn in my adult life, and the only way Adobe is getting their hands on them or removing my access to them is by banging down my front door or burning my house down.

Sure, technology makes our lives easier, but if you learn to use physical mediums, no one can ever take art away from you or keep you from creating it (at least not EASILY without some seriously oppressive changes) and it's going to be a very long time (maybe not even in our lifetimes) that the corporate ability to do so is finally nerfed.

And yeah you don't need fancy shit. I do all my rough sketching on printer paper with a mechanical pencil, or with a cheap ass sketch book I carry around. Especially if it's just for you practicing and no one is going to see it, you do not need fancy things. Your ancestors ground stuff up and dipped their hands in it and smacked a cave wall. This is your RIGHT to make shit by whatever means necessary whether you think it's instagram worthy or not. (I even outlined what you can use for animation from dollar tree if you're broke in a series of posts if that's a thing you want to do https://www.tumblr.com/featureenvyproductions/752966738522619904/my-thoughts-on-how-to-do-basically-kinda-cel?source=share)

And that's another thing too, don't worry if it sucks. I promise it doesn't, because you made something. And also even if you think it does because you're not meeting your goal or whatever, you have to shake the 10000 bad drawings out of your wrist before you get to the good stuff. Even someone like me who's been drawing [seriously anyway] for 25+ years has to warm up a bit before churning out something serious. Just do it I promise it's fine. (And also if you have the ability to take a figure drawing and/or life drawing class do that because in my experience it helps)

(Also not that I'm that great at art still compared to a lot of artists, I have been at it for a long long time, so if anyone who sees my stuff ever wants to know how I did something, please ask me, I will tell you free tips, I love info dumping, there is no such thing as a stupid question,,,,the greatest compliment is being asked how I did something,,,you do not understand,,,,to me democratizing art means ensuring YOU no matter who you are, can make some of it)

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard)

Aaron Rutten (free)

BoroCG (free)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates)

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, ect Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Libresprite (free, for pixel art)

Those are the ones I can recall.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 1]

The first time Tim sees him, he is seven, standing by his Father's side, and bored out of his mind.

The 'party' is numbingly dull, full of adults, sparkling flutes of champagne, tiny sandwiches, and fake twinkling laughter. Tim doesn't understand how his parents find any of it interesting; in his opinion, nothing about just talking to people for hours and hours straight sounds as exciting as they make it look.

He wishes he could just go home already. Not that his time in the Drake estate gets any more exciting than bothering house elves or spending his day in the library, but it's still better than this.

Or, Tim thought so until he heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering on the floor.

He turns around, and there are yelps and screams of surprise and angry swearing. It takes Tim a few seconds to realize what's going on - a few people are holding their hands to their faces, like trying to hide them, and he gets a glimpse of an elephant trunk peeking through the palms of one old lady.

And then, there's a sound of loud, delighted laughter ringing through the room, and the sound of footsteps, and-

"DANIEL!" Tim hears Mr. Masters, the host of the event, yell at the top of his lungs.

A moment later, Tim sees a boy zooming past him, elbowing the adults on his way to push through the crowd and still cackling like a madman. Tim doesn't get a good look at him, what with the boy running so fast he almost trips, but he does notice the messy black hair and the large, knitted blue sweater that looks too big on the boy's body.

"Daniel Jackson Fenton, come back this instant!" Mr. Masters calls again, his thunderous steps louder than all the yelling around them.

The boy doesn't even deign him with a look over his shoulder. Instead, he darts towards the nearest window, opens it with what seems to be practiced ease, and climbs on the windowsill. Only then does he look back to the chaos he created in the room full of respectable guests, and grins.

Tim blinks. He's never seen anyone smile like this, all teeth and mischief, and cheeky excitement.

"What, too old to catch me, Vlad?" He sticks his tongue at Mr. Masters, and just for a moment, Tim is scared the man is going to lunge at him. Yet, right as Mr. Masters gets close enough, the boy pushes off and jumps out the window, his laughter echoing through the night.

Mr. Masters looks like he is about to follow - and Tim is, for once, curious to see if he would - but stops himself short, only leaning out the window.

"Don't bother coming back, you little badger, you are grounded!" The man yells. The only response he gets is another fit of distant cackling from the gardens.

"That is sure a way to entertain the crowd," Father says quietly, and the tall, dark-skinned woman he's been talking to before the whole mess happened snorts a short laugh.

Tim looks back to the few people who are still sporting elephant trunks for their noses.

It's the first time he thinks a party full of adults in stuffy robes can be more fun than he expected.

—☆—☆—☆—

Some visuals for v i b e s

The room where the scene took place:

Tim's drawing after he was back home from the party (house elves helped):

[Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

I have the vaguest possible idea of where I'm going, but this is definitely going to be a multichapter thing.

A few notes I've got pinned down so far:

Drakes are a mostly pureblood family, not filthy rich and straight up focused on the whole purity thing, but keeping their reputation clean and nice, and their income stable. Both Jack and Janet have attended Hogwarts, and they were both Ravenclaws while they were at it. Janet might have some relation to Blacks, but it's so distant that she doesn't bother keeping it in mind.

Vladimir Masters is, technically, a pureblood wizard, but his family has been in England for only two or so generations. His grandma (who is still very much alive) came from Russia after falling madly in love with Vlad's grandpa (who is now deceased and, as the rumor goes, his wife had a hand in it). He also attended Hogwarts and has been a Ravenclaw in the same year as Madeline Fenton nee Walker. Hence, Daniel Fenton is his godson and, unofficially, as of right now, heir to Masters family.

[sy-on-boy]

Some SxF Ch 108 thoughts! (a bit scattered)

(In response to Damian making fun of Anya holding hands with Yor) Anya really is a kind and empathetic character— earlier in the story she probably would be offended and maybe even hurt (esp after Ewen's comment that Yor's not her real mom), but now she feels comfortable enough to take off her mask and reassure Damian about something she fears (feeling unloved by parents). And this is coming after Anya read Melinda's mind and she literally thought "how I wish Damian would just go away!" (among other contradictory things).

Anya doesn't snark at Damian like she might usually do. The sparks show us she's reading his mind, and it's probably something like "my mom doesn't love me". I love the detail of Anya taking off her mask. To me, it feels like a direct parallel to the school dance when she told him she can read minds. Anya is hiding from everyone, but she lets it slip for Damian. Despite everything, she trusts him with her deepest secret. She puts it back on after the moment of vulnerability.

Damian is surprised and flustered that Anya knew what he was thinking. And Anya, instead of deflecting, tells him "believe me, I know." Damian clearly thinks of mind reading as a joke, which should be Anya's way out if she wants to keep it a secret, but it doesn't seem like she wants to hide it from Damian. Or she thinks it's more important to tell him than to keep her powers a secret.

"Take off that stupid mask already!" could mean for "just tell me the truth!" but Anya literally did. She took off the mask to tell Damian what she perceives as the truth (that Melinda loves him). She told him the truth before— she can read minds. And having Yor back Anya up makes Anya seem more "legit".

"Sy-on mom is being bullied too?" is such an innocent way for Anya to describe the psychological distress Melinda is in due to Donovan. She's concerned about Damian's family not getting along, because her own family is precious to her. And while (in the English translation) she uses the same term "bully" to describe what Damian does to her, Anya's facial expression tells us she knows it's a different and more severe ("grown up") form. Her and Damian are bickering kids, but Melinda is an adult dealing with adult stuff and is under great distress due to another adult. You can see it in her eyes. She's shaken by what she learns from reading Melinda's mind.

As for Anya's "This feeling... I think I've felt it before", I'm not sure what she's referring to, but it could be Melinda picking up Damian post bus hijacking, since she similarly cares for Damian in spite of Donovan. Melinda is strange to Anya, but at least she seems consistent in that she wants to care for Damian even though she can't really express it. So Anya decides to express it to Damian on Melinda's behalf.

Also, mention of telepathy. Either a set up for the Desmond family being involved in the experimentation done on Anya, or a red herring. I noticed Melinda's hand was on her ear when she mentioned telepathy, which reminds me of Melinda's earrings (note: jewellery/hair accessories are important in SxF— Loid and Fiona both wear WISE merch, Becky's hair clip is a bomb in reference to her family's business). I've never noticed if she wears a wedding ring, but this chapter she seems to only wear rings on the middle finger.

This chapter was delicious in a lot of ways. The melancholy felt by Loid and Anya, Melinda's whole deal, the ending gives us a lot of fun implications, tarot cards, possible foreshadowing with the telepathy/occult, ominous Grim Reaper/Yor parallels, follow up on "Anya tells Damian she can read minds", etc. I'm surprised by how packed this chapter is yet it leaves questions without answers that we likely won't know ("What feeling did Anya feel before?" "What did Damian secretly think?").

The gentleness of the Forger family stood out to me. Yor was very kind to Melinda and persuaded her to seek help. Anya was kind to Damian despite him insulting her. And while Loid has less screentime, the flashback to his childhood makes me think he genuinely had a fun time hanging out with the caretakers (while trying to get intel because he never stops working). He also stayed because Anya wanted to (and they got Anya that strange mask). Maybe it's intentional in a chapter about Melinda— as the two major families, the Forgers and Desmonds are heavily contrasted. Melinda seems genuinely fond of Yor, and it's due to Yor's own personality/sincere kindness/efforts that she unintentionally gave Loid one of his biggest opportunities (at least, we would assume so). Yor is the only one out of the Forgers who's clueless to Operation Strix, so she isn't trying to manipulate Melinda. Maybe that's why Melinda finds her refreshing. She was also seemingly amused/happy when Anya said Damian bullies her but she still wants to be friends with him. We know a lot of Damian's peers suck up to him, but Anya doesn't. She's not exactly honest, but at least she admits Damian's faults instead of blindly following him.

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (6/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: After the events of the hot spring you take to avoiding Sylus. It goes well until your accidentally wander somewhere you shouldn't have been.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Read on AO3

“I am going to hurl myself off the mountain.” you muttered into your pillow. “I’m really gonna do it. I can’t go back out there and face him now. My only option is death now.”

You had been hiding back in your bedroom since that morning. You knew you technically had duties but you could not bring yourself to leave the room. When you thought about what happened back in the hot spring your entire body got heated.

It was one thing to have your own little forbidden fantasies that confused you but it was another to actually live them! You couldn’t act like Sylus wasn’t attractive. He was. If he were human then you probably wouldn’t be feeling so conflicted about it. But he is at least part dragon and while it looked like the only differences were cosmetic ones, you had not taken into account that there would be biological differences too!

He could really smell when you were aroused! That was beyond unfair! Now what were you supposed to do? Apparently if you got aroused you stunk up the entire mountain! You would reek and he’d know and how were you  meant to go about your normal duties knowing that at any moment you could have a sudden fleeting desire and he’d pick up on it like a hunting dog tracking a rabbit!

Then his offer to help! Dear gods above, you were going to get aroused again if you thought of the implications.

Maybe it would be fine. You could survive this. Knowing what you knew now the lust would eventually fade and things could go back to normal. He’d get bored of teasing you and--

No. He would not get bored of teasing you. It was stupid to think otherwise. But he may at least stop making blatant comments about it at some point.

With that in mind you decided to be brave and go back to your work. You were just going to do your best to avoid Sylus until you felt that you could be normal about this again. And avoid him you did. You crept through the tunnels like you were a thief in the night. The moment you heard him you darted in the other direction.

When it came to preparing meals you cooked them, shouted that the food was ready, and took off again. And you knew that Sylus could tell that you were avoiding him. If he really wanted to he would come seek you out wherever you were. For whatever reason he was letting you play this out. Perhaps he found it humorous or maybe he understood why you were doing it and was giving you that space. It was impossible to say which was correct.

All you knew was that the thought of seeing him made your skin alight and your legs tremble. Honestly, knowing that he could sniff out your desire made you feel aroused more often now. It was like when your foot was itchy but you didn’t realise it was itchy until you thought about it. If he had never said anything you probably would have been fine.

You didn’t know how long you could keep this up. Something had to give.

Then one day you were walking about the mountain when you heard Sylus coming down the same hall. You panicked and ducked into the closest room to you. At the time you hadn’t noticed the X carved over the archway.

You ducked inside, pressing yourself into the shadows waiting for him to pass. You stared into the darkness of the room and slowly your eyes adjusted. It looked like an empty spacious room. The only thing you could make out was the glint of metal further in.

Your curiosity got the better of you, no longer worried about Sylus coming down the hall and got closer. In the wane light you were able to make out what was there. It was an old chest. No shiny adornments on it or anything, just plain wood and iron.

Why was this in here all by itself? You glanced back at the doorway. You didn’t hear Sylus. He must have passed by.

Slowly you hefted the lid, the hinges creaked loudly as if they had not been moved in years. Perhaps they hadn’t. You had to squint and angle the chest towards the light from the doorway but you could make out a few things inside. Most of it was some old books and clothes but there were two things that caught your eye. One was a large piece of what looked to be an eggshell and the other was a shining gold pendant. Pendant was the wrong word. The disc you held in your hands was as wide as a dinner plate on a chain as thick as a rope.

It was dazzling. It almost seemed to glow in the darkness, a thin shine of red coming off of it. The design on the face was simple but masterfully done. Swirling designs crisscrossed the surface into some looping star shape.

Why would Sylus keep something like this in here and not the hoard room?

“Are you done snooping?”

Shit!

You froze, dropping the pendant back in the chest and closing the lid. Sylus was standing behind you, silhouetted in the door. You couldn’t see his face against the shadows but the ice in his voice was indicator enough that he was pissed. “I told you not to come in here.”

“Sorry.” you blurted out. “It was an accident.”

“And was it an accident when you went through my things?” he stalked further into the room.

“No…I just saw the chest and my curiosity got the best of me. I’m sorry. Really I am.”

“Well, I hope it was worth it. Now get out.”

In all the time that you had been here, this was the only time you had heard him genuinely angry. Your heart clenched and you held your arms close to your chest.

“Yes, master.” you squeaked out and fled the room as fast as your feet could carry you.

You did not see Sylus for the rest of the day and this time it wasn’t because you were avoiding him. He had disappeared from the mountain again. The room, when you walked past it later, had been blocked off with a mountain of rubble. Whatever that room was, whatever was in that chest meant, it was clear that Sylus did not want you in there again.

You felt guilty about looking through his things. There was no excusing your actions and if you had been smarter about it you would have never touched that chest. You would have recognized you were in a room you shouldn’t have been in and left the moment you were sure Sylus was gone. But now he was angry with you and you did not know how that would affect things between you.

This was arguably worse than the whole masturbation debacle. At least you knew where you stood with him regarding that. Now, you were scared. Not of him. You didn’t think he would hurt you. But you were worried that he would put you at a distance now. What if all you ever were to him from here on out was a servant? What if he decided he didn’t want you around anymore? Would he send you back to the village?

“Damn it.” you sighed. “I have to talk to him.”

You searched the mountain but like you had suspected earlier, he was missing. Probably gone on another flight. You went to the entrance and sat down. He’d come back at some point and you’d be waiting.

~~~

Sylus had been trying to give you the space you so desperately wanted after what happened in the hot spring. You were embarrassed and nervous, he expected that. But he had been sure you would get over it in time. So he let you hide and run, partly amused by how nervous you were.

Then he had caught you in that room. There were few places he didn’t want you treading, most of them were for safety reasons. The room that you went into though trying to hide from him was one that he had marked off for personal reasons. What he kept in there was for his eyes only. At least it was until you opened that chest.

He had seen what you were holding and all he wanted was for you to drop it. Forget everything you had seen.

When you looked at him…what he saw…what he smelled even. You were scared. Scared of him. The sour stench followed you out of the room. He didn’t want that. You were never supposed to be scared of him.

He went to the chest, checking the contents inside and slammed the lid shut once more. He then blocked up the entrance so no one could enter again. There was no reason for anyone to be going in there. Never again.

That sour stench of your fear was still in the hall. “Damn it.” he didn’t want to be here when the mountain smelled like this. It only reminded him of that terrified look you had thrown at him. You had looked so helpless, so small. The only time he had seen you look half as scared was when you first came to the mountain in that ridiculously extravagant dress and the makeup that had sweated off your face. But then, that fear had never been directed at him. You had always been so strong and so brave about everything that happened to you.

With one look he was scared that he had destroyed the trust you had put in him. What if you wanted to return to the village now? If you were truly that unhappy he would let you go in an instant. But the mountain would be so quiet without you. He needed to correct this before you were too far gone. But he also needed to clear his own head first.

He stayed out in the sky, flying without direction. He hadn’t noticed how long he had been gone until the sun started to set in the sky. He immediately turned back, hoping that he could catch you before you went to sleep.

It was dark when he returned. The mountain no longer smelled of your fear. And to his surprise, there you were.

You were at the mouth of entrance, propped against the stone wall, eyes closed as you slept. Had you been waiting for him?

“You didn’t need to wait out here,” he murmured to your sleeping face. He shook his head and gently scooped you up into his arms to take you back to the bedroom.

He had just gotten you back to the bedroom when you started to rouse, your eyes opened and squinted up at him. “Sylus? Where did you go?” you said through a yawn.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m back.” he set you on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” you rolled over to keep looking at him.

“I know you are. Go back to sleep.” he pulled the blankets up around you. He turned to leave but you caught him by his hand. “What is it?”

“I really am sorry. I don’t know what it was about that room or that chest that you didn’t want me to see but I do feel bad about going through it. I just…” your hand gripped his tighter, “I guess part of me looked through it because I wanted to know more about you.”

Sylus had not been expecting this. “What do you mean?” he asked, kneeling next to the bed so you were eye level.

“For as long as I’ve been here the most I feel I know about you is your name.” you said. “I don’t feel like I know anything else.”

“You wish to know my past?”

“Not even that.” you sighed, “I just want to know you. If I am to spend the rest of my life here, I may as well know the only person I may ever get to talk to.”

The rest of your life…

You weren’t asking to go back to the village. That’s all that mattered to him.

“That is fair enough.” Sylus said. “You may ask as many questions as you want, in the morning though. Then we can both get to know one another better.”

You smiled, it was sleepy and small but you had smiled at him. “Good.” your eyes closed again.

He looked down and saw your hand was still curled around his claw as you drifted on back to sleep. “What a strange little human you are.”

[kyrumption]

🍉💚 follow @eslammsaidd 💚🍉

Today I learned that Gilmore Girls is one of Eslam’s favourite shows. Another thing we have in common! She’s a teenager in Gaza, I’m a 20-something in New Zealand; but despite the physical distance, and all the privileges I have grown up with that she has never known, she is like a sister to me. I’m reminded of my decade and a half of friendship with my beloved Alyssa @tilyoutryit who was (and still is, I’m just no longer a teenager 👵🏼) like a big sister to me, during my angsty teenage years. Alyssa and I finally met IRL after several years of talking online. I am so hopeful that I can meet Eslam one day, but it’s obviously a far more complicated situation. Even if the crossing were to open tomorrow, Eslam and her family would be unable to escape. Any money they have raised so far has been spent on rent, food, medicine and blankets, aka SURVIVAL.

Eslam’s family is safe from eviction for another month 🙏🏻 this is basically a miracle; but here I am asking for another one! Because they are forced to pay $2000/month in rent, this makes it impossible to save any money for evacuation fees. the cut-off age for ‘adult’ fees is 16. this means they need to raise almost $50,000 to pay the necessary evacuation fees. I have been talking to Eslam about making a tumblr, she loves photography and making videos, I think she would love this community, unfortunately her phone has been broken for weeks, which leaves her having to borrow her sisters phone, to share her campaign on Twitter/X, and talk to me and her other friends and family. Today she is going to try downloading the app on her sisters phone, and sharing her story with you beautiful people who support Palestine 🇵🇸

Please give her a follow❤️💚

[sirxlla]

Past Misunderstandings

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

Warnings: use of Y/N, Angst, a bit of fluff at the end.

Prompt: Tyler and you had a misunderstanding in highschool which led you to be distant from him

Notes: gender of reader, italics are actions and thoughts. i'm a new writer, so i'm trying to do what might be good layout? pls Imk what you think of the story or anything really in the comments, i'd really appreciate it

-With that said it's all under the cut-

So the night was young, your little brother had somehow dragged to the rodeo. 'For old times sake' he called it. He had just gotten back into town about half a year ago and this was the first rodeo he was sure he was ready compete in. He had left for a few years to go to college but it was just like stepping back into his favorite cowboy boots, it was second nature. To your displeasure you went just for the sake of his happiness over yours.

It had been years since you got on a horse for reasons you'd rather not think about. Moonshine was a gunsmoke grey with an almost ashy mane, You were a kid when you named him. You had thought your dad and his friends were talking about the shine of the moon, not the drink. An innocent meaning to a not so innocent name but overtime you grew to love it, somehow in someway it just fit him perfectly.

You shook the memory from your brain to help focus on helping make sure your brothers saddle is secure on his horse. Her name was Cantalope, he named her when he was just a boy just as you named yours. She's a blue eyed spotted beauty, Dad did everything to make the two of you happy. He had even offered to buy you another horse after what happened to yours but somehow getting another horse felt like spitting on Moonshine's memory.

You and your dad sat in the bleachers watching all the cowboys in the rodeo ring, the smell of barbecue and nachos wafting through the air. Of course with your brother being as reckless as he was he wanted to do bullriding, he had done it all his life much to your mother's distaste. But now? Now he did it in her memory.

It was about half an hour before the bullriding section of the night would commence. A tan Stetson, a white fitted shirt and blue levis passed your vision which was normal out here during the rodeo and you wouldn't've thought twice about it even in a million years, that was if until such a distinct smell interrupted the smell of meat and cheese. It was a definitive cologne smell of sandalwood, whiskey and black pepper, Tyler James Owens. You felt your body tense, you hadn't seen him since highschool. Tyler had walked you to the barn behind his dads house during a party, the two of you laid on a flannel blanket draped over the scratchy hay. One thing let to another and...

You had given him your virginity that night cause like any teenager, you think every guy that shows interest in you wants you, not your body. Tyler had claimed it wasnt like that even after your brother had found your name next to Tyler's in that stupid book the football players had. 'The harder she is to get, the more point you earn.' It had said as the title.

'Y/N L/N. 80 point for Tyler Owens.'

After that you wanted nothing to do with Tyler. You had given him your virginity and he had told everyone on the football team just for some stupid points in a degrading game?!

Tyler's eyes had found yours, his eyes filled with an apologetic haze as he realized who he was looking at. Of course it had been years, back then you were a scrawny slightly underdeveloped teenager and now a fully grown mostly attractive adult. He hesistantly came closer.

"Y/N-" He stuttered out your name.

"Tyler..." You responded back, your voice wasnt mean, it really wasnt anything other than acknowledgement.

"Tornado Wrangler!" You dad shouted with glee, he was a huge fan of Tyler's storm chasing on Youtube. He even had merch which always made you roll your eyes slightly when he'd wear it. Naturally he never understood why you pulled away from Tyler like you did, your brother had vowed not to tell your dad. Tyler's dad and yours had been thick as thieves as kids and that friendship lasted even to this day so of course you and Tyler grew up practically side by side.

Your dad had pulled Tyler's attention from you but the silent apology in Tyler's mind was banging around in his skull like a ping pong ball. Of course since your dad was like an uncle to Tyler he had to at least yield to your fathers welcome.

"Hey, Unc." Tyler greeted your dad, their voices completely faded into the background of your mind.

A while passes of them talking about Tyler chasing and the dangers/thrills of it all before Tyler gently taps your shoulder.

"Hey, I was hoping we could talk." He asked with a kind and apologetic smile. He was taller, tanner and he had filled out in those areas an eighteen year old had that was still very awkward in. He was handsome and definitely still charming as ever but your brain reminded you what he had done.

"What do you want, Tyler?" Resentment slipping into your voice as you tried to break your eyes from his olive gaze. His eyes were always your weakness, thankfully in the darkness of the evening where the large overhead lights gleamed his eyes didn't shine like they would in the naturality of the sun.

"TT..." He called you by the nickname his dad and yours gave you years ago which meant "tiny' in general but also 'Tiny Tex' cause neither his father nor yours could get you away from the horses, you loved them and everything to do with them. Tyler always meant it in a kind way. It was never said in any sort of rude context except a harmless joke or two.

"What?!" You asked as your paitence was already running low, you wanted him to get to the point so we could part ways again hopefull cause you knew that sharp silver tongue of his can dig it's claw into you so deeply you cant even begin to change your mind.

"I promise." He states before he notices you almost trying to make a break for it so he gently grabs your hand.

"Hey...Let me explain, don't I at least get that?" Worry in his eyes as he almost begs like a puppy with that look.

"Okay, explain." You let out a sigh as your between a rock in a hard place on holding to resentment or falling into the abyss that were his virent eyes.

"They caught us when we were putting our clothes back on, they thought I wanted to play their stupid degrading game but I promise you it wasnt nothing but a game to me." He admits with a sincere apologetic tone the secret he's known for years as he feels the ache in his chest widen by the look of betrayl that crosses your features.

"And you didn't mean to tell me that?!"

"Listen, Tiny...Hey, I couldn't. I ready didnt want your dad finding out cause I knew you didnt as well. I was scared they'd pull a fast one on me or some shit and so I didn't tell you. The only reason your brother found your name was cause they kept the stupid game going yeat after year in that same stupid book."

You so badly wanted to disbelieve him and to push the blame onto him that he was the asshole but your resolve was slipping as you sank into those apple pie eyes.

"Okay." You state almost suprising him but no ones more suprised more than you. You had spent so long hating him, why now that he was infront of you your resentment faded.

"Okay?" He asks as if he's unsure he heard you right. Now you couldnt back out so you doubled down.

"Okay ." The more you said it, the more the acceptance filled you.

"Okay." He repeats to himself as he feels the tension in the air that lingered between the two of you evaporate like water on a scalding car hood.

You find yourself hugging him before you even realize it, you had missed your best friend and this misunderstanding and anger you've hsd for years was just hiding pain and the love you had for him.

Lmk if y'all want a Part 2. 😊

"Oh, God. I missed you, Ty." You almost shake in his arms, your voice breaking as you breathe in that signature scent of sandalwood, black pepper and whiskey. His arms wrapped around your mid torso, his hands rubbing against your back as he squeezed with relief in having the most important person in his life back.

Masterlist

[thekirammanjinx]

Some of yall just talking to try and get your two cents in now aren't yall because this post was a wild ride. First off, to write off everything caitlyn has been through and just say "okay she's upset". No she's not just upset. She's been traumatized by jinx, harassed by jinx, her mother murdered by jinx, on top of that the memorial was literally attacked.(as a viewer you can decide that to be whatever you want, but in the scheme of the show that is a sign of battle, no matter how you feel about piltover, it was a literal attack).

Second of all ambessa instates martial law, those words come out of her mouth and none of the leaders questions her(which is another thing. People love to just hate and rag on caitlyn, a body of 1, but can yall look at how the entire system is corrupted. How all those adults just stand there and let ambessa wrap her claws around cait. Like yall really forgot about the word "systemic".)

"Cait is insane" wildest shit i ever did hear. I'm starting to think i hallucinated ambessa as part of the plot because some of yall never bring her up.

[lonestardust]

re your tags on the names of Marjan's family. So Marjan's name is not a Lebanese name?

Also I'm curious to your takes on her getting engaged/introducing Joe to her parents 👀

nope. and neither is Marwani actually. Marjan is persian Iranian and Marwani (and it's actually often Almarwani) is Algerian and Saudi Arabian.

i'm curious actually but there aren't certain positive expectations I'm waiting for here with this storyline. the inaccuracy of the name thing alone was something i immediately rolled my eyes at lol. I mean lucky the pilot was so good in every way I was hooked from the jump because otherwise if i had to think twice about Marjan's disastrous praying I'd have been turned off.

It's clear that Natacha did not get the assistance she needed to give Marjan what she needs. not as simple as guiding her on how to properly pray. But are we surprised that the american TV's portrayal of Arabs falls short in many ways due to lack of cultural competence in writers' rooms/ lack of research and guidance from diaspora Arab Muslim creatives? I mean their first thought about Marjan was like hmm how can we introduce this veiled woman in a storyline that portrays her well without trying to objectify her? oh let's take that veil off and see her hair! I don't hate this storyline but it just doesn't fully sit right with me either. especially as an intro.

so I don't know how they're going to go about this whole thing with Joe but I for one really hated the arranged marriage storyline. Yes it's so normal here for family & friends to try to set up adults. but i just can't stand watching the portrayal of I've-been-engaged-since-I-was-12 and playing it into "love is something you grow into" as a commonplace in muslim Arab culture and not something so questionable and rather a fucked up constraint on people (that has been fought against for decades). not even considering the class, ethnic and national difference that plays into it, given how underage arranged marriage or forced marriage is an actual piled up generational struggle rooted in gender inequality and exacerbated by colonial violence and wars. being cut off from the access to education, the creation of extreme poverty that makes families (especially displaced ones) struggle to provide for their kids and fear for their safety and future and so some come to the conclusion that marriage somehow could protect their kids from harm while providing them with a level of financial stability or facilitating moving in and out of besieged areas/cities and crossing boards etc.

And so it's clear that no one of Marjan's class/background in diaspora or back home would consider this to be the norm. so it's weird to me that this was welcomed normally. The writers just took a bunch of stereotypes about Muslims at large with no regard to national/ethnic or class background differences and turned them on their head.

another inconsistency is the chaperone/Mehrem (family member) thing. because first, actually once you're in public you don't need that during a date. second, someone like Marjan with her lifestyle, background, worldview/character and being a diaspora lebanese muslim in her 20s, would not follow an old Mehrem fatwa (the Islamic laws that change according time, place, people, and other prevailing conditions) unless she actually wants that out of having company.

I just don't think the writers engage with Marjan's background in a consistent realistic or authentic way. I didn't really see anything especially Lebanese about Marjan. beside what the mention of cuisines?

anyway i hate the idea of 'representation' in American media either way. It feels like an oxymoron. and the idea of seeing representation as an ultimate goal is even more dangerous. I find it counterproductive more often than not. this is an industry that perpetuates and financially aid violence and defamation narratives against said people that they pat themselves on the back for including and so it's naive to consider that they'll ever get it right. they tiptoe around certain people and tokenize them more than anything. Literally for every one good bare minimum representation there are dozens of American entertainment-military complex propaganda movies/tv shows/video games doing the exact opposite and taking it to extremes. I just always end up asking myself 'how is this exactly helpful? Yes it's entertaining i love watching it, i love this show but the things that plays into the bigger picture are still parts of the objective reality, what should I do about it?'

[dontcallpanic]

I love these points SO, So much! I was sat here going yes, yes, exactly! Yes!

Poor Derek not knowing how to get a house or a safe space - that really got me actually and I was wondering if it was also linked to not wanting to have too many good things. So if he has a house or a space he likes, when he inevitably looses it (in his mind) that feels so much worse than somewhere he doesn't care about so much being destroyed. Imagine getting to the point where he restored the Hale House and then it got torn down again... Ffffddd

Also Fuji your point about him having to take out Peter to protect Scott makes so much sense! But also oh god imagine having to be in that position where you have to kill your last remaining family member (from his perspective) to protect this guy that keeps getting you arrested and blaming you for literally everything! I was also wondering about it becoming one of those goals you get fixated on. Like yeah if I can only just get through X or if I can just get more powerful, if I can get stronger, if I can get better, then I can fix it all, then the problem will go away, then I can protect everyone.

Oh also - did you know there are more F's to the trauma response list - some of which I think also fit Derek. They're Fight, Flight, Freeze, Fuck, Friend and Flop. It's to take into account how we often have to play nice, or fuck or play along with perpetrators just to survive. To account for the fact that behaviour can externally look like one thing but internally the motivations are /extremely/ different. And again we don't get a choice in what our brain will select. It's just whatever it decides is our best chance of survival. And again it's definitely not going to look well adjusted, because it's not exactly a well adjusted situation. It's already deeply fucked up.

Oh and Derek having to show that he's useful just to be allowed to exist always breaks my heart. You put this SO Well. Being useful I would guess feels safe to him. You can also see him doing the needing people/pack but being so terrified of loosing them or hurting them that he pushes them away first pattern that you would totally do if you had been through all that. And then throws his own body and life around like some kind of wrecking ball because neither things are of high value in his mind.

Also your line about pleading with Stiles and Scott to stay alive by saying how useful he is totally broke me. You're spot on with that and it's just tragic.

I'm genuinely staggered by the lack of empathy and understanding but I was also thinking about what Pdxtrent said about him being one of the best representations of trauma in media (and I totally agree) and in a really awful way it kind of makes sense that he wouldn't get a lot of empathy or sympathy because real life survivors get treated this way all the time too. His response feels so True to life, it garners a true to life response from many people. Especially because he doesn't play the victim (and I love that for him) most people/survivors dont - actually! Again, you can't always tell motivations just by watching someone's outward behaviour - although you can obviously get a good idea, but there's also a whole internal world driving that behaviour that you can't see. I feel that this is where Derek is at - and at least past of the reason why he's deeply misunderstood.

There's also something there about the extreme expectations placed on young adults but that might be for another time!

Derek Hale has PTSD. I think people tend to forget that he wasn't an ass for the hell of it. He put up a rough asshole front to protect himself. He has the ugly symptoms of PTSD. Does it excuse some of his actions? No. But he does deserve some understanding and empathy.

No matter what age you see him as, he just isn't a 'grown ass man'. He had no idea how to take care of himself. He was still mentally that 15 year old who lost everything and was traumatized beyond reason.

Derek continuously kept being kicked while he was down. The poor guy couldn't catch a break. Like have a heart y'all. He was never a villain. An antagonist at one point, yes. Villain, no.

Trauma literally rewires your brain, and that poor kid got enough trauma before the first episode. Derek needed lots of therapy, he needed friends, and he needed a pack.

Derek could literally trust no one. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. He tried his best with what he had, which wasn't much, and he fucked up at times. But he kept trying to do and be better.

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter VIV: Want This Like a Cigarette

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev | diaries coming soon

songs for this chapter: colorblind by movements (acoustic), guilty pleasure by chappell roan, grudges by paramore

chapter tags: yearning, angst, missed opportunities, miscommunication, all the fun stuff! drinking, smoking (weed, cigarettes), adult language and scenarios | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

summary: you continue to piece together the mystery of your brother's sentence, learning little by little exactly what happened.

a/n: act I of god knows how many is coming to a close! things are about to get.... well. I don't wanna spoil anything. disregard!

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Please reblog and comment to support the author!

--

You arrive at Steve and Robin’s a few hours before you’re supposed to leave for the concert. You feel the giddiness in your chest, the looming excitement of finally seeing one of your favorite artists live. That feeling quickly fades when you see the van parked outside of your friends’ place.

Inside the apartment, Steve pours four shots, one for each of you, and Eddie who’s lounging on the couch with a beer in his hand. You try not to stare, but it’s difficult to look away from the display; Eddie dressed in leather pants and a cropped t-shirt, his battle vest draped over the arm of the couch. His hair is tied into a low ponytail, revealing a dangly earring swinging against his neck. You clear your throat, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. 

“Bee! Come in! Have a shot, I call it the Pink Pony.” Steve gestures dramatically to the kitchen island.

You laugh, reaching to strip your jacket from your shoulders. “What exactly is a Pink Pony shot?” You humor him, knowing you’ll probably regret it.

“It’s vodka, pink lemonade, and glitter.” Robin deadpans, plucking one of the glasses from the lineup. “Steve found this drinkable glitter shit online. To me it just looks like Edward Cullen pissed in here.” She closes one eye, inspecting the drink, but ultimately decides it’s worth the risk and downs it in one gulp. Her face scrunches as if she’s in pain, and she shakes her head wildly. “Delish.” She gives an extremely unconvincing thumbs up, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. Here,” He hands another glass to you, “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

You gesture the glass to your friends before throwing it down your throat, trying desperately not to wince as it burns in your stomach. “This is…”

“Gasoline.” Eddie adds from the couch. “Jet fuel, even.”

You nod. “He’s right. Steve, where the fuck did you buy this shit?”

“I dunno! I got an ad on TikTok.”

There's a collective groan from the three of you, followed by various exclamations of Steve’s naive purchase. “It might actually be vampire piss!” You joke, earning a giggle from Eddie that makes your stomach flutter. 

“You guys suck.” Steve pouts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Steve, baby, you’re good at so many things. Making drinks just isn’t one of them.” Robin gives her roommate a loving pat on the shoulder, and he surrenders. 

“It is not that bad.” He takes his own shot, and fails miserably to hide his disgust. “Fine, I digress. Bee, you wanna make the next round?”

You sigh, approaching your friends in the kitchen, and feeling Eddie rise from the couch behind you. “You know I’m not working tonight, right?”

Robin juts her lip out. “Please, Bee? We can’t suffer through another round of Pink Pony farts.”

Steve gasps, but you throw your head back with laughter. “Alright, fine. If it means saving the lives of my friends, I guess I’ll do it for free. Just this once, though.” You snatch the glitter from Steve’s hand. “None of this shit, though.” And you dump it down the sink while Robin holds Steve back from lunging at you.

Once the damage is done, you turn to where Steve keeps his alcohol, on the rack by the fireplace. You peek through his half empty bottles, returning with a few you can use. “This, friends and Eddie, is the Bazooka Joe.” You place the Irish cream, banana liqueur, and blue curacao on the counter. “It’s supposed to taste like bubblegum.” You eyeball the measurements, filling each shot glass with the liquids, creating a milky teal color. Your friends each take one, throwing them down quickly. Their reactions are mixtures of shock and pleasant surprise.  

Eddie is the next to speak. “I don’t have any drink recipes to offer, but if anyone would like to join me on the balcony for a joint,” He pulls one from behind his ear, “speak now or forever hold your peace.” His eyes meet yours then, and you can’t dismiss it as an accident. He’s asking you to come out.

“I’m good,” Robin says, narrowing her eyes at Eddie. “Don’t like to smoke before going out in public.” 

Steve starts, “Ooh, I’ll—,” but stops short when Robin shoves her elbow into his side. “I’m good,” he coughs, “You guys go ‘head.”

You frown. He knows your rule, but he makes that stupid pouty face at you anyway. “C’mon, Bee. Don’t make me smoke alone.”

Rolling your eyes, you secede. “Fine. I’ll make a one time exception to the rule. On one condition.”

“What's that?”

“No talking.”

—

He lasts all of five minutes. “This is stupid.” You shake your head, refusing to indulge. “That’s fine. I’ll talk. You can keep not-talking.” He hands you the joint, and you take it, inhaling sweet smoke as Eddie continues, disregarding your agreement. “I wanna apologize. For a lot of things, actually. Last night, that wasn’t cool. I shouldn’t have sunk to his level, I don’t know what came over me.” You sense him staring at you, but fight the urge to look at him. Instead you keep your eyes forward, staring into the darkness of your neighborhood. He sighs, and continues, “And I’m so, so sorry about everything with your brother. It wasn’t easy for me either, y'know. Chris and I were best friends. But I couldn’t not listen to him. He did it to save my stupid ass.”

You finally look at him, passing him the joint as you try to read his face. “What do you mean by saving your ass?” The riddles are tired, and you can’t stand the thought of never getting the whole story. 

He inhales before responding, “The cops already had it out for me. Since the second I turned eighteen, they waited for me to screw up. Pretty sure they had a bet on when I’d get arrested.” His tone is light, but you can see the sadness on his face as he recalls it. “I begged Chris not to tell you. He told me he wouldn’t, but only because he wanted me to. He made me promise to take care of you, and I broke that promise. You already hated me so much when you found out I snitched, you couldn’t even look at me. We stopped talking. I didn’t think telling you would change anything.” 

The information sinks into your skin, and you have to focus on a tree in the distance to stop the world around you from spinning. You cycle through the stages of grief on a loop, getting emotional whiplash each time you try to make sense of what Eddie’s just said to you. Finally, you land on anger and stay there. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “What?”

“Eddie, if you had just told me all of this six years ago–”

“I couldn’t, Bee. I wanted more than anything to tell you, but I couldn’t get out of my own way.”

The buzzing in your head is loud, disorienting. “So you ran away instead?”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed in concentration. “Bee, listen–” 

“Eddie, please. Stop talking.” This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. You slide the screen door open, returning to the warmth of inside, trying not to let your friends read the shock and pain written plainly on your face. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

–

Lining up for concerts used to be one of your favorite hobbies. If a show had general admission, you’d park yourself outside the venue for hours, holding your spot in the hopes that the artist would sweat on you. As you’ve gotten older, you’ve realized it is definitely not worth the hassle of waiting outside all day, sitting on the concrete until your butt falls asleep. When you and your friends arrive at the venue, the doors are already open, and a bouncer is leading you to the VIP lounge, where you give them your names. It earns you a few glares from people in the general admission line.

“Swanky!” Robin exclaims when she enters the green room, which is actually pretty lackluster. The dressing room holds a long fold out table filled full of snacks and drinks, parallel to an old couch with garish print that you’re sure probably hasn't been cleaned in decades. 

“Sure, if that’s how you wanna put it.” The giggling comes from behind you, where Macy is leaning against the doorframe. “Hi, guys! Really glad you could make it.” She approaches you first, pulling you into an unexpected embrace. “Hi, doll! So nice to see you.” Something about her disposition puts you off, her smile looks plastic. 

Macy makes her rounds, greeting each of your friends with a hug before turning to her boyfriend. “Hi, honey.” She stands on her tiptoes to daintily plant a kiss on his cheek, and the grin he wears is wide. You squint at the couple, trying to read them. “Make yourselves at home, we go on in half an hour. See you out there!” She gives a wave in the general direction of the room, and exits back to what you assume is her dressing room.

“This is so cool. Eddie, hold on to this one, yeah?” Steve plucks a cookie from the plate, and Robin gives him an expression of disbelief. “What?” He asks, mouth full. She just shakes her head. 

–

The lights dim a few minutes after eight p.m., and the incoming crowd cheers with excitement. You and your friends are lined up across the barricade, off to one side to avoid the screaming teenagers only here for Chappell. You’re between Eddie and Robin, Steve on Robin’s other side yelling something in her ear you can’t make out. 

A backing track fades in as the band takes the stage, and Macy approaches the mic stand. “Welcome to the show, everyone! We are Statuesque Dolls, from Hawkins, Indiana!” Zoe clicks her drumsticks together, and they start in on what you can only describe as a pop rock power ballad. Macy’s voice is stunning, you have to admit, reaching octaves you could only ever dream of reaching. The audience gets into it, swaying and dancing along to the rhythm, heads nodding to the beat. Some kids in the front are even singing, never missing a word Macy sings, and she points them out with a beaming grin on her face. Though you try, you can’t bring yourself to enjoy the set. The music is right up your alley of taste, and the band’s stage presence is nothing short of incredible, but the feeling of Eddie’s shoulder rubbing against yours as he belts out the words makes your chest tight, and every time Macy smiles at him you feel a throbbing in your temples.

Finally, they end their set, waving to the crowd before stepping off stage. Eddie announces he’s getting a drink, and nudges you. “Come with me?”

You glance at Robin, and swear you see her nod, as if giving you permission. “Okay.” You follow Eddie out of the crowd, over to the bar where a mass of people have gathered to attempt getting a drink.

“That was good, huh?” You ask feebly, trying to make small talk.

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, they’re really good.” His tone is flat, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“What’s up with you?”

He shakes his head, causing his already frizzy curls to fly around his face. “We uh, broke up. Me and Macy, I mean.”

You can’t help but drop your jaw, quickly shutting it when, even in the dim room, you see him blush with embarrassment. “Oh, shit. Eddie. I’m sorry. Wait, but she kissed you like, an hour ago?”

“Yeah, it was pretty amicable. I’m not, like, hurting over it. The band is going on tour after this, and I have, like, no interest in a long distance relationship.”

For some reason, it pisses you off. “But you still love her?”

“Whoa, Bee. Who said anything about love? I told you, it was pretty casual to begin with. What’s got you freakin’ out?” You think you sense teasing in his voice.

“I’m not freaking out, I guess I’m confused. You don’t think she’s worth the effort?” 

He chuckles lightly as you approach the bar, ordering a cider for yourself and a beer for Eddie. “Of course she is. I’m not, though. She deserves better than that. Does it bother you?” 

You roll your eyes, handing the bartender far too much cash for just two drinks. “You just said it wasn’t that serious, why would you care what I had to say about it?”

“Do you have something to say about it?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he sounded hopeful.

You pretend to ponder his question, then deadpan, “No. Believe it or not, I don’t give a shit about what you do with your dating life. You might break Steve’s heart if you tell him, though.”

Eddie visibly deflates as you hand him his drink. “Fuck, you’re right. You tell him.”

“No! I’m not doing your dirty work for you, Munson. Time to grow a pair.” With that, you breeze past him, back into the crowd. 

–

“Thank you, Indy, I have been Chappell Roan!” The redhead onstage is a dream, absolutely stunning in a sparkly, pink, and complicated outfit. The fan blows her curly locks around, and you’d been so mesmerized that you’re only now registering the show is almost over. 

She ends with pink Pony Club, causing Robin and Steve to jump around, screaming their voices hoarse, and you join them. By the end, you’re sweating bullets, makeup practically sliding down your face.

When she leaves the stage, you feel the relief of the crowd leaving, their weight that had been pressed to your back for hours finally fading. “That was insane. She’s incredible. Ethereal, really.” Steve is raving as you follow your friends out of the venue and into the cold of the night. “Eddie, man, you gotta go on tour.”

Eddie shrugs shyly. “Yeah, I’m workin’ on it, man.”

“No, man! With Macy, be the tour wife! You’ll get to see her all the time, and Macy! Her band is awesome, I can’t believe–”

“Steve, Macy and I broke up.”

He stops in his tracks. “What? Why? What did you do?”

“Why do you always think I did something?”

“Because you always do something. Remember in high school when you wanted to ask-”

“Okay! Enough. For your information, I didn’t do anything. I just don’t want anything serious right now.”

It barely satisfies Steve, but he backs off with a huffed “Okay, whatever!” You look from the boys to Robin, who’s already staring at you, seemingly studying your reaction.

“What?” You ask her, and she shakes her head. 

“Anyone want food? I’m buying.” Steve offers, earning collective nods and mumbles of affirmation. Eventually, you end up at a late night diner, and Eddie holds the door open for the rest of you. 

–

You arrive home past midnight, eyes and limbs heavy with sleep. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right Bee?” Robin asks. You nod, only just now remembering you promised to help Steve set up his and Robin’s new entertainment center. “Okay, cool. I’ll get us coffee!” Your friends and Eddie all say goodbye, and the car pulls away as you enter your house, foregoing the shower you’re definitely going to need in favor of sleeping longer. 

When you’re finally cozied up in bed, your phone buzzes.

Eddie (block later): Thx for listening. Gn bee.

You decide against a real reply, instead tapping the Thumbs Up reaction, and locking your phone before rolling over. Sleep doesn’t come, though, despite how physically tired you are. Your brain is wired, thoughts racing by too quickly to focus on. Every thought you’ve shoved aside, rushing at you at once. Most of them are questions you can’t answer on your own; Why did Eddie tell you about his breakup? Why is he suddenly being so fucking nice to you? Has he always been this goddamn pretty?

You groan, shoving your face into your pillow to stifle the noise. Unfortunately, that telepathy you share with your brother hasn’t gone away, even after six years apart.

“Hey,” Your bedroom door cracks open to reveal Chris’s forehead, illuminated by the hall light behind him. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head before remembering you’re in the dark. “No. You?”

“Nah.” He opens the door fully, stepping into the dark of your room. “How was your night?”

“Really… good?”

“You sound unsure.” He throws himself down on the end of your bed, bouncing you up and down with the mattress. “What happened?”

You pause, unsure of how much Chris needs to know. Ultimately, you know you can’t hide anything from him, even though he’d spent the last six years pretty much conspiring with Eddie against you. “Nothing, really. We went to the show, it was fantastic. I had a really good time.”

“And…?”

“And nothing!”

“Then why are you groaning into your pillow like a child throwing a tantrum?” He snickers, and you whack his arm. “C’mon, something’s bugging you.”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna sound stupid.”

“You’re my little sister, everything you say sounds stupid.”

“Wow, Chris. Thanks, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.” You sit up, tucking your comforter into your waist. “Seriously, you’re gonna think I’m insane.”

“Well, I already do, so you got nothing to lose.”

“It’s something Eddie told me.” He doesn’t speak, waiting for you to continue. “He said you told him to rat you out. That’s not true, is it?”

Your brother sighs, bringing his legs up onto your bed to mirror you. “Would it change anything if I said yes?” You huff, waiting for him to continue. “Bee,” Chris flops onto his stomach. “You ‘hate’ Eddie for something I told him to do. You iced him out because of me. I know you probably don’t want to admit it to yourself, but I am the reason you and Eddie don’t get along. I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d up and leave you, I never would have expected that from him. He lo–” He stops himself short, then continues instead, “He cares about you so much, kid. I feel awful for ruining that.”

It hurts your brain, hearing Chris confirm that gnawing feeling you’ve had for days, since Eddie blurted out the same truth in a fit of anger. Now it washes over you like a tidal wave, suffocating you under its weight. “It’s not too late to fix things with him, Bee. I know he’s been a little weird lately, but I can understand why. Just, give him a chance to redeem himself. For me?”

“Chris, why the fuck would I do anything for you after you told me all that? You basically just admitted to ruining one of the closest friendships I have ever had, and six fucking years too late. I can’t just pretend that didn’t happen! Eddie fucking left because of it! I thought he’d betrayed you!”

“In all fairness, I told him to tell you, begged him even. I figured he had, until I got out. I had no idea he’d kept that part from you. I told you that.” He argues. 

It’s too much at once, you can feel your skin burning. “Get out, Chris. Please.”

He doesn’t argue, rising from your bed and walking to the door before turning. “I can take the heat, I’ve been getting it from you my whole life, but the kid did nothing wrong. It was stupid of him to run instead of telling you, but he didn’t screw me like you’d thought for so long. Don’t hold that grudge, Bee, it’s not worth it.” Before you can respond, Chris closes the door behind him, leaving you to be swallowed by the dark of your room.

[wastemee]

i think that i would die

jimmy grant (?) + fem reader

content warning . noncon/dubcon , toxic relationship , painal , barely legal reader

note: very unedited!!!! I’m lazy this is bad

When your eighteenth birthday has finally come , you had never been happier. You’re an adult (in the eyes of the law , at least)! Late night clubbing and cigarettes , here you come. Although you don’t have much friends , at least you have your trusty ID on you and your car (which is really your parents). College is definitely an option , your parents would provide you the money if you asked. But for now , you’re just working at some job that’s mundane and boring. The only reason you go is because your parents have connections , got you a job so you can buy all the stuff you could ever want. Given it’s in your paycheck budget.

Nothing or anybody interesting happened to catch your eye during your shift , until a few months ago. Your now boyfriend , Jimmy. He’s tall , handsome , and although he’s a bit dark , he’s yours. If your wish was to get an extremely morally gray boyfriend who definitely has personal issues , you won the lottery.

Your family doesn’t approve , but who would? He has very.. “controversial” opinions and strange comments on modern things that he claimed , “I didn’t have in my day”. His thoughts on feminism are bleh. Whenever you ask for him to elaborate , his response is always something like , “This word has gone to shit” or “Women think they have so much power”. He has very traditional beliefs about women , he still thinks that the only place women are needed is the kitchen and on their male partners dick. And honestly thinks you’re an idiot for still dating him.

Dating is a funny word to him. He wouldn’t consider your relationship ‘dating’ , he just likes you because you’re young , conventionally attractive , and a little bit naive. If he told you the roof said gullible on it , you’d look up because you trust him that much. Fresh meat. That’s what you are. You’re barely legal , what more is there to like?

He has you tag along with him to get togethers with his former coworkers , people he was working with in space! Amazing. He went from working in space to fucking and dumping girls from eighteen to twenty. When he first told you about his former job , you couldn’t believe him. He’s a sleaze , a sleazy astronaut.

Curly , his best friend , is chatting it up with him in his dirty apartment. Stubble frames his nice skin , lips curled up into a grin. He’s cute. But in a dog kind of way , not like a grown man. He has nice , blonde hair and his eyes are full of promise and kindness , unlike his best friend. Anya’s a young lady with sad looking eyes and a shaggy haircut , who for some reason , seems a bit uncomfortable with Jimmy. She doesn’t say much , Jimmy told you that. He also said she was extremely incompetent and utterly incapable of doing anything on the ship , but he says that about a lot of people. Then there’s Daisuke , who is just a ball of joy. Jimmy seems irritated by his painfully optimistic behavior whenever he interjects in conversation or talks.

Any idiot knows that if someone talks to you about another , then obviously they’ll talk about you as well. Unfortunately , you don’t. Nothing could’ve prepared you for all the things you found out Jimmy says about you when snooping through his phone , and his little friend doesn’t even say anything. Usually if someone were to call their girlfriend an idiot , or ‘meat’ , the average person would feel disturbed. But Curly shrugs it off with no reprimands for your boyfriend’s icky comments.

And of course , when Jimmy found out about your sneaky little habit , he was pissed for sure. A quick slap to your face , or shoving his dick down your throat when you definitely don’t want it , obviously does nothing for your behavior. Instead of forcing your head down on him , maybe fucking you so hard you feel like your guts will fall out could fix your behavioral issues.

He’s really pushing the limits of his flimsy bed frame with the way he thrusts into your ass , one hand on the headboard and the other gripping your already bruised hips. Pained moans slip out of your throat and into his hot room’s space , stubby nails scratching against the cheap wood. “Jim— Jimmy—“ you barely manage to gasp , tears pricking at your eyes and your stomach churning from both the pain and the unfamiliar feeling of him tearing into your body. He ignores your pleas , only pressing your face into the headboard harshly.

He groans under his breath , gritting his teeth and burying himself into you , chest pressed against your back like he’s trying to merge your sweaty bodies together. All he can think about is the way you clench around him and squirm like a wounded animal , and it’s the only thing keeping him going. The thought of molding you into what he wants and dumping you on the side of the street back at your house after he loses all interest in you makes his head spin and his dick hard.

“Please,” you whimper , pained tears rolling down your face and soaking into his dirty sheets. Your teary eyes squeeze shut , because if you look at him , you might just hurl all over yourself *and* the pillows. His hand moves from your hip and to your warm face , nails digging into your puffy cheeks and forcing your face to his. He doesn’t even need you to open your eyes and see his face when he’s fucking you like an animal , rough and hard.

“It’ll be over,” Jimmy mutters , hot breath making contact with your face and making your nose scrunch up instinctively. Cigarettes and booze , it sickens you. “ ‘cause you’ll shut up and take it , right? Let me cum in you without a word?” His words are harsh and teasing in a way. Teasing you because he knows you’ll never say no , teasing you because no matter what your friends and family say , you’ll let him do whatever he wishes.

Callously hands drift down to your tight throat , squeezing lightly. Not enough to kill you , but enough to make you feel light headed and sick to your stomach. Your hand overlaps his , urging him to take his rough hand from your windpipe. Listening to you is the last thing he’ll ever do.

All of this banging you against was practically foreplay , and his orgasm is the main event of his rape-y affection. He moans through his gritted teeth , hips meeting yours and spewing his seed into you , not bothering to pull out or check up on you with a simple , “You okay?”.

Just because you’re used to it , doesn’t mean you like. It definitely doesn’t mean that.

Jimmy’s hands slowly fall from your neck , lips pressed against your temple and his lips curled up into a cruel smirk. “Shit,” he murmurs into your ear , knocking against your head with his fist. “Think I’ve emptied you all of you’ve got. Don’t think there’s anything in here”. He chuckles , voice just as condescending as ever. You’re starting to think he’s right. Maybe there isn’t anything in your head , not anymore , you wouldn’t doubt it. From hopeful and optimistic , to drained all in the span of a few weeks.

You’ve made your bed , and now you must lie in it. For however long Jimmy deems fit.

[hrizantemy]

me when i hear people defend feyre attacking the lady of autumn by saying she didn’t mean to/beron was her intended target: … how … how is that better?

like okay we all hate beron but he’s still a high lord, still someone you invited to form an alliance/negotiate with diplomatically. in a court where you are a guest might i add. you are a child they all saw practically naked two days ago, now playing house with a man (sorry, male) who willingly or otherwise tormented them for the better part of half a century .. because he gave you a pretty crown? how does one expect these old ass fae to not be condescending or reluctant? i’d have asked her to let the adults do the talking if she was piping in every two seconds telling me what to think and how to act.

the high lords’ meeting is my roman empire because it’s one of those instances where you have to let your jaw hit the floor because in what world - except one where sjm expects everyone to love her blorbo’s for all their correct opinions and positions - did any of that work?? with no consequences?? in fact they’re rewarded for their behaviour: tarquin rescinds the blood rubies, everyone’s chiming in about how they knew rhysand was the good guy all along, no one cares about the high lord who is why they’re all free rn (okay feyre broke the curse — tamlin’s curse. tamlin killed amarantha. he is why rhysand is free to rewrite history and the others have a future) i’m surprised there wasn’t a scene where the lady of autumn apologises to feyre for being in the way of her attack smh

This is one of the reasons I cannot like Feyre. The justification that she “didn’t mean to” attack the Lady of Autumn or that “Beron was her intended target” makes absolutely no sense and, frankly, makes the situation worse. How is it any better that her recklessness and inability to control her powers led to an innocent woman nearly being killed? The Lady of Autumn was already a victim of Beron’s abuse and violence, and Feyre—who should, of all people, understand the trauma of being hurt or manipulated by powerful individuals—just becomes another threat to her. How is that defensible in any way?

Even if Beron was her intended target, that doesn’t excuse the collateral damage of almost killing someone who was completely uninvolved in the fight. Feyre’s powers are vast, yes, but she constantly wields them with this mix of entitlement and carelessness that makes her more of a liability than a hero. It’s one thing to make mistakes; it’s another to make catastrophic ones and have people excuse them as if the consequences don’t matter.

And let’s be real—Feyre is never held accountable for these actions. The narrative either brushes it off or turns it into another moment for someone to coddle her and tell her how amazing she is. Meanwhile, the Lady of Autumn is left to fend for herself, as usual, trapped in her abusive marriage, and probably now terrified of Feyre as well. The complete lack of responsibility Feyre takes—or is made to take—for her actions is one of the biggest reasons I can’t root for her. She’s not a savior; she’s a wrecking ball with a savior complex.

The entire High Lords meeting was, without question, a complete disaster. It was supposed to be this grand gathering where the courts would come together to ally against Hybern, but instead, it devolved into petty squabbles, veiled insults, and outright hostility. Rhysand, for all his posturing as the most “progressive” High Lord, walked into the meeting with an attitude so smug it practically dared the others to disagree with him. Tamlin, true to form, took the bait and immediately turned the whole thing into a personal grievance fest. Beron was his usual insufferable self, Helion was flirting, and everyone else seemed more interested in holding grudges than actually saving the world.

Nobody trusted anyone, and honestly, who could blame them? These are the same people who’ve been at each other’s throats for centuries, and now they’re supposed to just shake hands and work together? Rhysand’s attempts at diplomacy mostly amounted to thinly veiled threats, Feyre’s speeches did little to inspire confidence, and Amren just sat there looking like she wanted to kill someone. It was all spiraling into chaos.

And then came Nesta.

Nesta, who was barely even acknowledged as part of the delegation. Nesta, who didn’t care about politics, alliances, or playing nice. Nesta, who was so angry, so filled with righteous fury, that her words cut through the nonsense like a blade. When she stood up and spoke about what Hybern had done, about what they would do if the High Lords didn’t put aside their differences and act, she commanded the room. She didn’t appeal to their egos or try to manipulate them; she just told the truth in the most raw, unflinching way possible.

Her speech wasn’t about Rhysand’s court, or Tamlin’s grudges, or Beron’s smug indifference. It was about the people who would suffer and die if they didn’t unite. It was about the horrors she had witnessed and endured. It was about the cost of their pride and their inaction. And for the first time in the entire meeting, there was silence.

That speech was the turning point. It was the reason the High Lords agreed to set aside their centuries of animosity and work together. Not because of Feyre’s attempts to “inspire” them, not because of Rhysand’s threats, but because Nesta Archeron reminded them of what was at stake.

And here’s the kicker: even after she was the one who secured the alliances they needed, the credit still went elsewhere. Feyre, Rhysand, and their crew walked away looking like the saviors, while Nesta was left on the sidelines again. The meeting may have been a mess, but Nesta was the only reason it wasn’t an outright failure.

Bonus mention: My man Thesan was the only unproblematic one at that entire meeting. He showed up, minding his own business, probably thinking, “I am a healer, not a referee for this soap opera.” While everyone else was busy airing centuries of dirty laundry, Thesan was out here like, “So… about that war threatening all our lives?”

He didn’t come for the drama, didn’t throw unnecessary shade, and managed to keep his court from looking like an absolute circus. Honestly, if I were him, I would’ve been this close to kicking the entire Night Court delegation out.

If anyone deserved to walk out of that meeting with dignity, it was Thesan. The man probably, sat down with a glass of wine after, and said, “Never again.”

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Sugar Babe

Finally got around to finishing this, first published fic on this account, who cheered?! (pls gimme feedback/requests)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Plus Sized/AFAB Reader ★ Established Relationship

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, mentions of ADD lol

WC: 1.3k

*Alternate timeline: a few years after the events of season 4 (spoiler: he lived)*

Inspired by the 1971 song 'Sugar Babe' by Stephen Stills

You were an outlier; you and Eddie both were for an endless number of reasons. One of the most prominent ones to oblivious outsiders looking in was the fact that you were only in your early twenties but you behaved like a couple who’d been married for at least a decade. It grossed the kids out, it warmed older adults’ hearts, and it made your friends of the same age a little envious. Neither of you really saw it as abnormal because it just felt normal; not forced, not overdramatized, not rushed, none of that. It was just natural, good old fashioned love as Wayne liked to describe it.

Now, don’t get anything twisted, the both of you certainly weren’t the perfect couple but you were perfect for one another and that was what mattered. You had plans to get married but not for awhile; 25 at least as you’d said whenever a family member brought it up since you’d been together for a few years already. There were times, however, when Eddie considered just full sending things because of how overwhelmed with love he felt: pawning a ring from the shop just outside town, taking you out some place nice, and proposing even if it threw you for a loop, even if neither of you had more than a few hundred bucks at a time. But he knew that wasn’t how either of you wanted things to play out so he practiced restraint, even on nights like tonight. 

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“You can do whatever you want to do, you can be who you want to be. Just remember that me and you ain’t all there is to bein’ free.” Your singing was soft and clearly zoned out while you stood at the stove in Eddie and Wayne’s kitchen, eyes honed in on the pot that crackled and popped with searing oil and slivers of potato. Your boyfriend watched you from the opposing counter where he was supposed to be working on a tattoo for someone who’d paid him to design something; a simple sword with song lyrics wrapped around it that resembled vines. It was good money and something he loved to do, but he loved you more. 

“People need love. People need trust. People need one another and that means us. My sugar babe. Believe me, sugar babe.” You didn’t notice him slip off the countertop nor did you seem to hear him slink towards you. If you did, you made no efforts to turn towards him or to ask what he was up to so he continued onwards, sly as a fox. 

“Everyone knows it ain't easy when you get it all together in your heart. It's the easiest thing to do to be pleasin'. Folks ain't made to live apart.” You smiled and hummed as you felt the familiar embrace of Eddie’s arms wrapping around your midsection, his chin settled on your right shoulder so he could see what you were seeing. 

“People need love. People need trust. People need one another and that means us. My sugar babe. Believe me, sugar babe. I'm on your side, sugar babe.” He husked the words with you like they were a prayer and you gushed as you kept an eye on the fries. This was your song, at least one of them, and he called you Sugar Babe as often as he could because it got the biggest smile on your face; prettier than the stars. 

“Let yourself be open, honey, learn to bend. Remember, everyone gets scared, but I'm still your best friend…” He stole a kiss to the side of your head right above the temple and you turned this time, giving him the invitation to grab your hips with a little jig in his stride. 

“When you forget about yourself and think of things to do to make me happy, then you love me girl, like I love you, oh-oh-oh…” He turned the charm up to 100 by tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, keeping his warm hand there since it always made you soften. You gave him that sarcastic smirk he loved and he began to lean in, going for the kill. Your eyes fluttered shut when he got close enough for your noses to bump but then a sharp gasp left you as the pot began to sputter a little louder. 

“Oh, shit! Gotta turn ‘em.” You spun around like a top to do as you said, the edge of your elbow brushing across Eddie’s chest; a punch to the heart. You were lucky you were cute. An audible noise that sounded like a mix of irritation and adoration left Eddie so you furrowed your brows while you watched the golden fries bubbling inside the amber colored oil. 

“What?” You asked in question, side eyeing him. He snorted and waited until you’d turned all of the fries over; having set the big spoon you were using back down.The moment it clattered against the spoon rest, he let out a long chuckle and grabbed at your waist once more. 

“Nothing, ‘s nothing, Y/N.” He paused and met your eye as you cocked your head towards him; there’s those pretty blues. “Your ADD is just going ham right now.” You frowned and geared up to give him a sassy defense but he finally gave into his temptation (one of them, at least) and chased your lips with his own; shutting you up mid–sentence with a hungry hold. You gasped into the kiss but melted all the same, similar to putty in his hands and in turn, you held his face with gentle palms that he swore could heal. Your lips finally parted for the sake of air and you clicked your tongue at him once you caught your own breath. 

“You interrupted me.” You said with an accusatory tone, unable to help the giggle that fell through when he started tickling at your ribs. Asshat. 

“That I did, Sugar Babe.” 

“Ass.” He rolled his eyes at you like a diva. He even did the hair flip for fuck’s sake. Drama queen. 

“Oh, whatever. You liked that.”

“Says who?” You challenged it though it was true; this was part of your dynamic with Eddie, after all. 

“Says the pink in your cheeks, Sugar Babe.” You fumed at that and he snickered since you turned an even deeper shade of pink, causing you to grimace at him with a saucy wiggle back towards the pot. Another eye roll came from him even though he knew you couldn’t see him and he sighed with a nonchalant lean forwards, grabbing you and hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing. 

“Eds.” You groaned out of irritance though you made no efforts to stop him; not even any squirming when he had you comfortably settled over his shoulder.

“What?” He whined back in mockery of you, earning a light slap to the middle of his back. 

“Put me down. It’s not good for your back, ya know.” He disregarded your words with a grunt that may as well have said ‘oh, as if’ and he kicked the door to his room open before gently flopping you down onto the center of his bed. 

“Good one, babe. You should try standup.” He toed back to shut the door with his butt and he pulled his shirt off of himself, finding you with a confused gaze that amused him in some odd way. He tilted his head at you inquisitively and climbed on the bed, reaching for you with protective arms. 

“What about the fries?” You asked him shyly. Even after all these years, you still got a little meek during these moments of intensity where all of his attention was on you and you only. He grinned with a shaking head and held your face, squishing at your cheeks just lightly enough to get a low noise of annoyance out of your mouth. God, he loved annoying you. 

“Honestly, sweetheart?” He paused for a moment to kiss you; a long and hungry embrace of battling tongues, clashing teeth, and racing hearts. Butterflies filled both of your stomachs and this time it was his cheeks that turned a deep shade of fuchsia.

“Fuck the fries.”