#and having 'coworkers'/peers who also have only this experience

[plusultraetc]

Thinking a lot about pro heroes who became pros after All Might's debut but then had to witness his final fight and adjust amidst the fall out of that. 'Uh oh! The defining pillar of your life, career, and society is gone' kind of thoughts

[bigtedbear]

" 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 "

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐥𝐮𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

content warnings: gay relationship, descriptions of grevious bodily injury, implied self-mutilation/self-harm, male reader, monster x human relationship, hurt/comfort writing, hey this starts out really dark please take care of your mental health, arguments, misunderstood feelings, mermaid courtship, alternate universe where luocha is a traveling doctor who's studying biology and anatomy across the universe blah blah blah, luocha is pretty genuine in this even though i know he is in fact a snake let me idealize for a moment okay, luocha puts a ring on it without realizing he is literally putting a ring on it

full admittance you'll probably find parallels with @/havanilla's merventurine au at the start of this cause it was one of the last things I read on my old tumblr account before it died on me and i fear i DO have brainrot

to add to my earlier warning about this chapter beginning out dark, there will be a marker for the cuter, mermaid courtship section of the fic!! look for a marker like the one below VV

" welcome back caller 🪷! connecting your line as we speak! "

" new contact noted! caller luocha has been added to your phonebook - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

A pained scream ripped through the air.  

It was a shame it couldn’t be distinguished from the sound of other yells and shouting from all over the deck.  In fact, it seemed the anguish was completely drowned out by the noise of an older man beginning to bark orders from the side of the fishing boat.  Gravelly with age and experience, sets and more sets of hands seemed to jump to action, rushing over to that specific side of the deck.  

In the crew’s haste, they didn’t seem to notice they had also woken up the residential cabin.  Things were more than hectic; the experienced crew themselves were in a frenzy.  There was something that demanded urgent attention and it seemed none of the regular passengers were privy to what exactly it was. 

Still, in the curious sea of civilian passengers renting their rooms in the bowels of the ship, a tall blonde head of hair peered over the crowd straight to the source of the fuss.  Over the sea of yellow rain jackets adorning the working fishermen, he caught sight of some kind of reflective surface… what many wrote off as an oversized fish, Luocha continued to strain his eyes at.

Should he have been anyone else, perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed.  But Luocha was a doctor, he was more than familiar with noises of distress; with the scent of blood.  Something in the very core of his body shook with each of the pained and weak motions of an equally pained, weak patient.  The vibrations crept up his spine from the wooden boards of the ship, whispering into his ears. 

Something was wrong. 

Something was terribly wrong. 

Despite the protests of one of the tour guides, urging him to go back to sleep, he rushed towards the scene.  The same pained screams; the sounds of the body on the deck; the reflection of the “oversized fish”, they became clearer and clearer the closer he closed in.

Before he could make it into the crowd of men at work, he was caught by one of their coworkers.  Clad in a yellow raincoat, shadow cast across his face in the rain, the obviously displeased grimace all over his face only further sent Luocha into a state of panic.  A tense grip on his elbow, the man spoke in a language he didn’t understand.  Even if he didn’t understand the words themselves, Luocha was more than smart enough to understand the message the worker was trying to convey.  Before he could be pulled away, he made one last attempt to see what exactly was going on. 

When he did manage to catch a glimpse, he froze. 

Perfect, round tears running down flushed, red cheeks. 

The skin was pulled taut in another scream.  Based on the shaking motion of the face, he could only really come to the conclusion the body was being jerked in every direction possible. 

“Stop… STOP!”  He yanked his elbow out of the man’s grasp, crashing directly into the back of another worker.  In his haste, he shoved the man out of the way only to find his path blocked by even more yellow raincoats.  “You’re only going to worsen the injuries! I’m a doctor!” 

Despite not considering himself to be very physically fit, something about the situation discarded that reality entirely.  An unknown strength washed over him as he forced his way through the clusterfuck of workers trying to wrestle the screamer into place. 

He didn’t understand, Luocha didn’t understand. 

There was an injured crew member on the deck, screaming–what kind of idiot would continue to pull and stress the skin around the wound? Was that why the team leader seemed to screaming with such vigor?  Was he equally concerned about one of his staff suddenly being sent into debilitating agony? 

But no, not even in the slightest.  

Through the crowd, a wet mop of hair thrashing against the backdrop of a barbed fishing net came into view.  The urgency only further sent Luocha wrestling through the crowd of men, all but screaming himself as he watched the injured man on the ground contort his facial muscles in abject horror.  

“Stop it, you’re hurting him!” 

 He could hear his own vocal chords start to tear as he shrieked for the poor victim.  With each passing moment, fear and anxiety seized the doctor in his entirety before he finally managed to part the crowd like the red sea. 

In the end,

he wasn’t faced with a crew member. 

...

A merman. 

Something he’d only heard of in the planet’s folklore. 

It seemed well-known the small surviving population hardly ever ventured out of protected waters for fear of predators. 

What was this one doing so far out…?

With the opportunity making itself known, the unknown merman continued to thrash but harder, lips curling upwards as another shrill cry of agony streaked the night air.  From up close, the doctor could only watch the formerly smooth, unmarred skin become tainted with red.  Washed with your own blood, you looked more similar to some kind of horror movie monster than a person. 

But even in the face of monstrosity, his inner doctor only saw the blown out pupils, the senseless aggression, the fear written all over his patient’s face in their own claret stain.

“You’ll end up killing him, stop, STOP!” 

He completely ignored his own pain as the barbs in the net ripped into the fabric of his pajamas, cutting open his knees when he threw his body on top of yours.  His hands flew around carelessly in an attempt to unlatch the hands that seemed determined to pull at you from every direction.  

At the loss of the hands all over your body, your screams died down into pitiful hyperventilation, curling in on yourself in an attempt to cover the wounds weeping crimson all over the formerly white net.  

Instead of relief, instead of some kind of graditude, it seemed he was only met with friction.

“Oy, blondie, paws off, do you understand how much money you’ve got your hands on right now?” 

The thick accent confused him at first, then the words themselves didn’t seem to compute. 

“Excuse me?” 

You yelped again when one of the men pulled at the net.   The cold metal tore sore flesh in chunks.

“Mermaid scales are priceless.  So are the pearls they cry, we caught the bastard fair and square so. Step. Off.” 

His mind scrambled to understand the sentence, thoughts muddling together in a blender of pain and panic.  “I- I-” 

“You?”  Another crew member chimed in, crossing his arms, “You’ll what, doctor?  You can either get off of him and wrap up your cuts yourself or we’ll drag you off and the barbs can teach you to keep your nose out of other people’s business.” 

“I-”  his breathing picked up drastically, suddenly confronted with such a terrible moral dilemma. 

When prying hands began to make grabby motions for the edges of the ropes, he choked out his final answer.

“I'll pay for him!"

“...”

“...”

“...”

He swept his rain-soaked bangs out of his face, his voice shaking, “You were planning on selling him, right?”  He fumbled with his sleeves, “I make good money, I swear, I-,” he swallowed, “I can afford it.  Just take as much as you want out of the account I used to pay for my cabin.”

“...” 

“...”

Things were a little bit awkward, to say the least. 

Despite an attempt being made to cooperate while you were awake, it seemed the pressure and the mounting stress of nearly dying made it unable for you to accept the fact that Luocha was not, in fact, going to hurt you. 

The attempt to deal with the various injuries littered all over formerly smooth, silky skin was unproductive at best.  In fact, it only created more problems.  Trying to operate while you were largely unreceptive to anything he was saying was by far the worst decision he could’ve made given the circumstances. 

Point blank, he needed to get the barbed hooks out of your skin.  If he didn’t, the wounds would be at increased risk of infection.  After all, based on the cruel treatment he’d seen on deck, he knew the metal was most likely unsanitized.  Doing this while you were awake was easily the worst decision he could've made.

Promising not to hurt you while continually yanking pieces of metal out of your tender flesh was not a good way to build trust. 

"..."

"..."

You poked at the “strange” bowl that’d been set in front of you.  It was some kind of clam-fish hybrid soup. I mean, Luocha was trying to be considerate of your regular diet.  Surely, since you were living out in open waters, you were pretty used to eating fish right?

He, however, failed to realize you weren’t exactly in a spot to ever enjoy the luxuries of cooked food… or soup.  He’d laid out some utensils for you to use on top of that; it was a shame you didn’t know how to use them. 

"..."

"..."

You realized pretty early on that he’d saved you from becoming a victim to death by blood loss.  After all, when you were dropped in a holding tank until the ship arrived at the port, the water went cloudy from the dirt, debris, and blood all over your body.  In your little waist-high tank, he’d done his best to make sure you’d actually survive through the night.

Despite your reservations about him, you did your best not to scream while you were confined to a glorified holding cell.  Nails digging into the glass, biting down hard enough on the towel to tear, you tried your best to stay still while he fished countless little hooks from your back, arms, and chest.  

Removing the large hook in your shoulder was the most painful part of the process for the both of you.  You, for obvious reasons.  The hook made a clean cut through the muscle--scraping up against the bone--by the time you were awake enough to realize you were wrapped up in a barbed net.  Luocha, on the other hand, was the one that had to deal with the struggle while trying to complete a very tricky operation.  

Eventually, the problem dealt with itself when you passed out.  Really, he should’ve sedated you to start with, and he cursed at himself for not thinking of it sooner.  After you went out, he did his best to stitch everything up–hell, he wrapped you up in enough bandages to look like a mummy. 

But, since the two of you actually arrived on the island, there wasn’t so much as a word shared from either party. 

You woke up in a little bathtub, in a little bathroom, feeling like your arms were falling off and you couldn’t breathe because of how tight all of the bandages were wrapped around you. Eventually the giant bandages changed to smaller ones attached with some medical tape.  The only bulky one left was the one wrapped around your shoulder. 

"..."

"..."

With some trepidation, you grabbed at one of the fishtails sticking out of the mystery liquid, digging a finger in between the meat and the ribs to peel it off the bone.  Carefully, you used one of your freshly trimmed nails to remove the thick, scaly skin, then biting off a chunk to chew and swallow.  

The longer you stared at the bowl, the more confused you became. 

Yes, you knew how to eat a fish. 

Yes, you knew how to eat a mussel. 

No, you didn’t know what to do with whatever else was in the bowl.  

You paused eating when the man sitting across from the bathtub cleared his throat.  He made a vague gesture towards your lap, “Would you…?”

‘...mind if I showed you how to eat a bowl of soup?’ 

Without much hesitation, you offered up your meal again, much more interested in the chunk of fish in your hand.  Biting off another piece, you drank in the pleasant familiarity in just having some tilapia for once.  

He picked up the spoon. Deciding not to embarrass you further, he decided to taste test the food himself instead of trying to feed you. He let the silver spoon clatter back into the bowl, passing it over to you again. Despite the clear demonstration he’d given you, you opted to pick at one of the mussels hiding underneath the broth. 

“...”

“...”

He cleared his throat again, seemingly averting eye contact as he stared at the tiled walls. 

You diverted your attention from your bowl back to the blonde doctor. 

“I don’t mean to be rude or pry in any way,” he swallowed, “but what exactly were you doing so far from protected waters?"

You didn’t seem surprised in the slightest by his question, grabbing at the other fish tail in the bowl, “Smuggling and poaching.”  

He tilted his head curiously.

“Protective waters have attendants to track general pod health, they have the authority to temporarily remove merfolk from the water to do routine health checks."  You finally wrapped your hand around the spoon awkwardly, bringing some broth up to your lips. "Smugglers get jobs as attendants cause only tagged mermaids are considered protected.” You wiggled one of your finned ears, your left ear. Notably, there was a small tear in one of the fins. “It only takes a couple minutes for an attendant to catch a mermaid, sedate them, get them into a vehicle, remove their tag and throw them out into the right spots for a couple grand.” 

“I see.” 

You hummed, finally bringing the soup up to your lips, “Speaking of, how much did you end up having to pay for me?”

"..."

"..."

“Excuse me?” Luocha’s hands rested in his lap. 

“How much did you end up paying for me?”  You picked up another mussel, “I’m pretty good about keeping up with the price of scales and pearls.  I know you bought me as some kind of pity project, but I'm pretty eager to go back out to open waters.  Just name your price and I can start trying to pay off the debt.” 

The doctor blinked a couple times. “Oh… oh my god, absolutely not!”  He shook his head, bringing his hands up in front of his chest defensively, “There is no need to pay me back in the slightest.  Please, just rest well and remain healthy.  That would be the best payment.”

“What’s this?” 

He rolled the small iridescent pearl between his gloved fingers. 

“It’s a pearl.” 

He cracked a smile at that. It was gone as quick as it arrived as he brought the little treasure to his face to take a closer look.  “Well yes, but where did you get this? Did you have it stashed on you somewhere?”

You twirled your finger in a circle on the surface of the water. “No,” absentmindedly you observed the little whirlpool it made, “I made it.” 

He blinked a couple of times, hand dropping back to his side. “Pardon?” 

You finally looked up from the surface of the water, “I made it.” 

He cocked his head to the side, “You… made a pearl?” 

You looked at him, bored, “Well, yeah, did you not know mermaids make pearls?”

He looked from you, to the pearl, and then back at you.  “No… I’m afraid I didn’t know.”  His palm closed into a fist around the pearl, “How?” 

“...hm?”

He gestured towards his closed hand, “How did you make it?” 

You gave a huff, “Well, you’ve seen me make them before.”  

He frowned, “I… have?”

‘-and I didn’t notice?’

You nodded, shifting around in the bathtub to try and stretch your long tail out a little bit.  "The night I got caught on the boat-" Your jaw tensed, a sudden pang of soreness shooting up from your extremities. "-they were all over the deck, there were a bunch in the little tank they had me in.” 

His frown only deepened as he did his best to recall, “I don’t think I remember seeing them…? Does your blood crystalize into them or something of the sort?” 

You rested your head on the porcelain of the tub, bringing your arms up to cushion your cranium.  “Tears,” you murmured, “Merfolk tears turn into pearls.” 

‘Ah… so that’s why you mentioned there being so many on the ship.’

But then it hit him. 

“Why were you crying?” 

You shrugged, “Most mermaids in protected waters can cry on command.  We get a lot of tourists that give us gifts, sometimes if we’re interested we’ll give them a pearl in return.” 

He nodded like he understood, but suddenly the beautiful gem felt heavy in his fist.  He opened his hand and offered it back, “As beautiful as it is, I don’t wish to see you shedding any tears while you’re under my care.” 

You pushed his outstretched hand away, “Well, I already made it.  There’s no use trying to return it.” 

“Still, I feel terrible receiving a gift with such painful origins,” he sat down on the stool that’d become his usual spot.  “I’m a doctor. My goal is to make sure you’re in the least amount of pain possible.” 

“You should feel honored, you’re really the first person I’ve ever given a pearl to,” you raised your head from its spot on your arms, “I usually only gave them to little kids that didn’t bring me gifts so I’d give them something.”  You sank further into the water in the shallow tub.

“My concern is why you believe you should be giving me gifts in the first place,” he crossed his left leg over his right, scooting in closer, “I’ve already told you that taking care of you has always been of my own volition.  It is quite literally my job.  If you’re giving this to me as a gift and not repayment, I might be more inclined to accept it.” 

You huffed,  “Well, I guess you caught me.” 

His brows furrowed, “So I was right, you’re trying to pay back a debt again.” 

“...”

“...”

“...”

This time, he sighed.  “I’ve already told you, your health and wellbeing are both priceless.  I would never ask a patient I forced into care to pay me any sum of money-”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” The water rippled when you sat up suddenly, “Why don’t you want to accept any kind of payment? I’m tired of talking to you as property and owner.  You bought ownership, legally I’m your property. I don’t want to be your property.” 

“You aren’t my property-” He quipped, expression growing displeased.

“But I am,” you cut him off.  “You signed paperwork, you exchanged a certain sum of money.  Even if you thought I couldn’t hear you doesn’t mean I didn’t.” You crossed your arms across your chest, “I still heard the captain of the ship talking about sale prices with you.  I know I was considered a higher quality product, I know I was expensive.”

The doctor opened his mouth; and closed it and opened it again.  He struggled to find the correct words to use. “I didn’t consider that an exchange for ownership of you, I considered that to be the price of your wellbeing.  I’ve never considered you to be anything but an equal to me.” 

You drew your lips into a tight line, “Well, if I was an equal, you’d let me contribute to the cost somehow.  You wouldn’t treat me like some helpless baby.”  You gestured to his closed palm, “The pearl in your hand is priceless, sealing a handful of them would recuperate the money you wasted-”

Luocha held up his hand, “Stop-”

But you insisted, “Hell, if I ripped a couple of scales out you could more than pay for me.  You’d have enough money to buy another sorry sack of shit to take care of-”

“Don’t EVER-” he cut you off aggressively, “EVER, suggest such ludacris things to me again.  I refuse to even think about it.” 

“..."

Luocha shook his head, getting his gloves wet when he reached into the water to hold your hands in his own, “I would never ask you to do something like that to yourself.  I would never ask you to hurt yourself to please me and I would never ask you to hurt yourself because you needed my help.”  He gave your palms a gentle squeeze, “You did not ask to be put in the position you’re in now,  I am the one that chose to do this and I will be the one to set the price on my help; that price-” he paused, making sure you were looking him in the eyes, “-will always be no price at all.”   He pushed the pearl back into your hands.  “Give this pearl to one of the children that visit the waters after you’ve healed up in my stead, yes?” 

“It’s not exactly how I remember it.” 

You squirmed against the sensation of the water, arms still looped around Luocha’s neck.  

“Any discomfort?” The doctor asked, “Tell me if anything hurts.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” You shuffled around to try and make yourself comfortable.  You did your best to find the familiar rhythm of the waves, but your tail felt as useless as it had the entire time you’d been confined to the bathtub.  “It’s… cold.” 

Luocha nodded... even though he couldn't quite understand.  “If you aren’t straining any of your injuries, you can hang on for as long as you need to.”

You mumbled, trying to draw your elbows closer to your chest, “I’m not.” 

“...”

“...”

It’d only been a week since the last time you’d tried to repay your imaginary debt to Luocha.  Things got… less tense between the two of you. 

You didn’t put up a fuss when he put some ointment on the scars that formed all over your skin.  You didn’t squirm when he unwrapped your shoulder bandage.  You’d usually bide your time silently in the bathtub.  Mostly, you’d nap.  But that got old quickly, especially since a bathtub isn’t the most convenient spot for sleeping. 

Luocha could tell you were bored out of your mind all on your lonesome. To satiate this, he’d usually sit with you in the bathroom and try to teach you things like how to play cards.  You were a little apprehensive with him, like you always were, but it seemed you opened up to him a lot more towards the end of your stay in his temporary residence.

You’d become a pretty competent blackjack player all things considered.

You opened up more and more about your life down below.  Usually, you’d be afraid to tell anyone about that information.  Smugglers often targeted specific pods if one of the products happened to be particularly pricy.  But Luocha wasn't at any risk, was he? 

“...”

“...”

Eventually, as the water started to feel more natural on your skin, you let your grip loosen from around his neck.  As the welcoming embrace of the ocean seemed to envelop more and more of your body, you could feel the former tension in your muscles start to melt away. 

You laid yourself horizontal to the surface of the water, tentatively starting to create your own ripples in the vast expanses of blue.  Maybe it didn’t feel exactly as you remembered, but the gentle pressure of the cool, cool sea against your skin felt like home. 

Your arms splayed out in the waves like an angel, basking in the familiarity of it all.  “You can let go now.” 

Slowly, surely, pale arms lowered you into the arms of the same waters you’d been in a little over two months ago.  You shocked yourself when you chased after his hands. Still, as slick as an eel, you slid away from him into the open ocean, finding a boyish glee in the pure ecstasy of true freedom.  

You took off like a little jet, head first into the deep end. 

Luocha could only really watch with a small smile while you explored the vast array of little treasures hidden beneath the horizon line.  

It felt like only fifteen minutes had passed when you re-emerged from beneath the ocean blue, but to your shock, the sun was starting to set and Luocha was off on dry land, wringing the water out of his hair.  

In all of your fun, it seemed you’d forgotten about that man who’d made all of this possible for you. 

“...”

You pursued him onto the sand, watching him characteristically tilt his head to the side to express his curiosity.  You pushed your own wet mop of hair out of your face with your hand, suddenly feeling a little less confident in your choices.  Despite your trepidation, you felt you at least owed him this much. 

That didn't make it any easier.

“I-” you swallowed, curling in on yourself, “What if I wanted to give you a gift? If it wasn’t some kind of repayment?” 

He smiled, flipping a soaked lock of hair over his shoulder, “As long as you aren’t lying to me about repayment, then I would gladly accept.”

You suddenly felt a new wave of confidence wash over you, your chest puffing up a little bit, “Well, I have a gift for you.” Even though you failed to notice your little finned ears wiggling in excitement, Luocha did not. 

You reached up to your right ear, unhooking the beautiful golden earring that’d you'd been wearing since you’d been thrown out of protective waters.

His eyes widened.   

“It-” You offered the hoop to him, “It was my mom’s.”

Luocha blinked a couple times, staring at the bangle before looking back up at your face instead.  

“Well?  You said you’d accept it if it was a gift.”  You pushed it into his face, feeling a red hot flush wash over your features, “This is a gift; from me to you, no strings attached.” 

He carefully took the thin gold loop in his fingers.  He noticed the signs of oxidation and the water damage. 

It was already far less valuable than the pearl you’d tried to offer him.

Yet its sentimental value was unrivaled. 

“...”

“...”

“Did... your mother like jewelry?”

You shrugged, looking away from him, “Yeah, she had a lot of it from my dad.” 

Luocha nodded.  “Well, did she have a favorite kind of jewelry?” 

At this, you paused.  “I mean… I guess she did.  She wore a lot of rings… why?” 

“Well, since this is a gift I won’t refuse it,- Luocha slid one of the golden bands wrapped around his fingers off,  “-but if you can’t have her earring anymore, then you can at least have a piece of jewelry your mother would’ve liked to wear.”

You felt your face transition from an embarrassed pink to a much deeper red.  “You… you know what you’re offering me, r-right?” 

He didn’t respond in the way you expected.  Instead of his usual confusion, he pushed the ring towards you again with one hand.  The other went to work, looping the clasp of the earring through a piercing that was just a little bit too close to closing.  

It felt like your brain was melting.

‘Is he… flirting with me?’ 

You took the golden ring between your fingers, watching him use his newly freed hand to further force the earring through the piercing hole. You could only feel the heat creep up your neck to your ears; fuck, it felt like you were going to burn alive on the sand. 

When he finally got it in, he flipped a chunk of wet hair over his shoulder.  He framed the golden hoop with his palm.  Playfully, he asked, “How does it look?” 

‘...’

‘He’s definitely flirting.’ 

You immediately ripped your gaze from his face to the ring that suddenly felt like a hundred pounds in your palm. 

‘...What fingers do humans usually put the ring on again?’

Shakily you slid the golden ring onto your left hand, examining the way it glinted in the light of the sunset.  

‘...holy shit, did I just get married?’ 

“[name]?” 

You blinked a couple times, suddenly ripping your gaze away from the shiny metal.  “Sorry, sorry.” 

He chuckled at your expense, enjoying the little fluttering of your ears everytime he seemed to catch your attention again.  “Thank you for the gift, I’ll cherish it dearly.” 

You nodded. 

“...”

“...”

The silence was interrupted with a quiet sniffle. 

“...[name]?”

You aggressively wiped the tear off your face, watching the consequent pearl roll across the grains of sand.  “H-Hey, you can’t just give me this ring and leave-” You took a deep breath, “-That’s not fair, that’s not fair at all.” 

He was a little taken aback at the sudden resurgence of emotion, “Would…” he paused.  He thought it over before tentatively putting a hand on your shoulder, “Would it help if I stayed a little longer?” 

You shook your head, putting your hand over the one on your shoulder to hold it between both of your own hands.  “You have to promise to visit me a lot.  It’s going to take me a long time to find my family, so if you don’t visit I’m going to be lonely.” 

He, once again caught off guard, nodded, “O-Of course!” His own cheeks tinted a pale pink. 

“You promise?” 

He nodded again, this time using his other hand to clasp your hand in both of his.  “I promise I’ll visit.”

a side note for this upcoming section: i did a lot of world-building for this fic behind the scenes, the current planet they're on is largely submerged beneath the waters and they live on a bunch of island nations. To link up with that idea, my idea of the mermaid smuggling industry is to do with the concept of foreigners coming in and destroying local ecosystems. (Colonization)

Long story short, the planet is loosely based on Polynesian Islands so I chose Māori names for our supporting cast but keep in mind I am FAR from an expert and I mean literally no disrespect at all to anyone at all. Only the names are Māori in nature because I feel like no matter how much research I do, I would be unable to capture the essence of the rich culture of New Zealand. I'm a little gay fanfic writer I have not done nearly enough research to claim I know ANYTHING, I just thought it'd be cool and help with world-building in case people want a part-two or something

“What’s got you so worked up?” 

“Shut the fuck up Iarere, this is like the seventh time in the same hour.” 

Your younger brother held his hands up defensively, “Well, things got boring around here without you!”  He let himself fall towards the ground next to the boulder you’d splayed out all the little pieces of gold you’d managed to scrounge up.  “You manage to make it back from outside of protective waters and instead of hating everything and everyone, you’re suddenly getting all buddy buddy with the tourists trying to get some trinkets.  I know you’re old but are you really getting that desperate?” 

You frowned, “I’m not that old.” 

Iarere rested his face on the cool surface of the rock, prodding at one of the particularly flashy necklaces.  “You’re old to me.”  

Your frown deepened. Not just because your brother was calling you old, but because Luocha’s weekly visit was coming up and you hadn’t managed to gather up nearly as much as you would’ve wanted.   For your kind, caring, doctor husband who was already well off, a few necklaces and a handful of rings and earrings wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to woo him.  “I guess I am getting towards the end of the usual age people get married at.” 

The younger man nodded, humming, “Yeah, so do you have anyone in mind?” 

You bit your lip.  

I mean, yes, you were married. 

But it felt inauthentic if you didn’t present your husband with some kind of dowry first. 

Yes, Luocha only presented you with one of his old rings, but he also paid a hefty sum to rescue you from certain doom.  He also nursed you back to good health, refused to take any payment for any of the medical treatments or the food that’d been wasted making sure you’d retain your strength throughout your recovery. 

In your mind, maybe human dowries were just a little bit different. 

Despite opening your mouth to voice your dissent, your little brother jumped up at the opportunity to tease you.  “So you do have someone you’re thinking about!” 

“I-” 

“What are they like?” Iarere gripped your shoulders, tearing your attention away from your inner dilemma.  “What do they look like? Do I know them?”  He gasped, shaking you back and forth and he demanded to know, “Did you meet them while you were outside?!” 

You gripped at his shoulders in return, “I didn’t say I had anyone in mind!” 

“...”

“...”

He pursed his lips, “Yeah, I’m not buying it.” 

You groaned, bringing your hands up to your face.

He only got more excited, leaning in way too close for comfort as he squealed, “So I was right?!” 

“Right about what?” 

Your eyes darted over to the side, watching one of the few friends you’d managed to retain at your grown age.  “Thank the gods, Akahata, get Iarere off me before he gives me whiplash.” 

He hummed, “Well, I’m more interested in what exactly you guys were talking about before.”  You watched as his eyes flitted from you and your brother to all the precious metal and gems you’d laid out.  “Actually don’t tell me, let me guess.”  He pointed at the rock, “You’re setting up a dowry, but you’re upset because you know no amount of jewelry would ever get anyone in the pod to consider settling down with your ugly mug.”

“HAH!” 

Your ears fluttered in irritation.  “That’s a horrible guess.” 

Akahata shrugged, “Well, I mean, your mug’s only ugly cause you frown all the time.  If you actually made an effort to smile more, you’d probably have a lot more people that’d be willing to accept you with no dowry.” 

Your frown tugged at the corners of your lips as you massaged your temples, “For your information, I’m making a dowry cause I already got married.” 

“...”

“...’

“...”

“You WHAT?!” 

Iarere’s fists clenched even tighter around your biceps, “You told me you lost mom’s earring, not that you got married-” 

“It’s a long story-” You started, 

“Not long enough to not tell either of us!” Your best friend screamed in abject horror.  “The moment Ngaio and I started courting each other I told you immediately-”  You grimaced when he pushed your brother out of the way to be the one to shake you back and forth, “-and you get married and you don’t tell me until afterwards?!” 

“It wasn’t planned! I didn’t even realize he was courting me until he gave me his ring-” You countered, face lighting up pink.

“So it’s a him…” Iarere mumbled, putting his hand to his chin.  His expression lit up as the pieces started clicking together in his head.  “Is that where you’re going tomorrow?!” 

“YOU’RE GOING TO MEET HIM TOMORROW?!” 

You were growing more overwhelmed by the minute, averting eye contact.  “Yeah, so what? We’ve been meeting up every week while I was looking for you guys.  Is it weird for husbands to spend time together?” 

Akahata abruptly let go of you, leaving red imprints of his hands on your arms.  “That’s not that problem, that problem-” he paused for dramatic effect, “-is that you’re planning on meeting up with him after returning and you’re not even telling us who he is!” 

Iarere put a hand over his heart, feigning his disappointment as he let himself sink into the sand below.  “I think I’m going to faint.” 

You sighed, “Well-”

Akahata jabbed an accusatory finger in your chest again, “Is he even good looking enough for you? Is he any good at providing? What was his dowry like?  What pod is he even from?!”

“He’s not from a pod-”

Your brother hummed, “So is he a lone wanderer out beyond the boundaries of protected waters saving pretty mermen he wants to marry?” 

Your face twisted into one of disgust, “Keep your fantasies to yourself.” 

Iarere huffed, “Well, what else am I supposed to think when you say he’s not from a pod?  He obviously has so be some kind of lone wolf, PLUS you got married before you made it back.” 

Akahata put a contemplative hand under his chin, “I mean he has a point.” 

You shook your head, “He’s a human.” 

“...” 

“...” 

“...”

“You’re joking.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re joking…” 

You held up your hand, gesturing towards the ring on your finger. 

“Oh my god, you’re not actually joking.” 

Your younger brother squealed, “Oh my god this is like something out of all those movies on the surface! Tell me all about it!” 

You frowned, pushing through both your peers to make it back to your makeshift table top.  “He’s… a doctor, but he was working as a trader on a big ship.   He was there the night I got caught and he ended up buying me off the boat and he patched me up and released me.” 

Your best friend sighed, “Only you can make a story that romantic sound like a business deal.” 

Iarere furrowed his brows, “Wait, wait, wait, when did he propose?” 

“Well-” You fumbled over your words, “I caught feelings and I thought I might as well start the courtship process-” 

“YOU made the first move?!” 

“Shut up!” You pushed your overly eager younger brother’s face away, “I didn’t know if he even knew about mermaid courting so if I was going to start courting him, I had to do it then.”

“...go on.”

You sighed, “I gave him mom’s old earring, but instead of just taking it, he gave me one of the rings he was wearing.” You covered your face, feeling another wave of crimson wash everywhere from your neck to the tips of your ears.  You still couldn’t get the memory of him showing off the earring out of your fucking head. “I mean- I- I even asked if he knew what offering me his ring meant and he just put it in my hand.” 

Your younger brother kicked around on the sand eagerly, waving his hands around excitedly.  “That is actually one of THE most romantic proposals I’ve ever heard of!” 

Akahata crossed his arms, “Damn, I feel like mine was lacking.” 

You huffed, “Well, Ngaio is still your wife.” 

“And whatever his face is still managed to wife you--of all people--up.”

“Touche.”

“Oh wow, you brought more than you usually do.” 

Luocha chuckled behind his hand, his own little bag of purchased trinkets hanging loosely at his side. 

You hummed, thumbing over the beautiful glistening stone of a diamond necklace you’d managed to get off of a rather infamous regular.  “You’re one to talk.” 

He gave a small grunt of exertion as he sat next to you on the sand, letting the bag fall to the side, “You’ve got me there.”  He couldn’t help the pleasant swell of warmth in his face as you gestured for him to turn around. 

I mean, maybe you weren’t the best at communicating what you were feeling or what you wanted from him, but you’d been getting better.  Instead of just grunting a yes or no to the questions he’d ask, you’d actually make time for some conversation with him.  Be it from your annoying younger brother to the changes in the pod since you’d returned, it seemed you shared what little woes you had with Luocha.  

You also seemed to share endless amounts of little golden treasures with him.  From old, worn gold, oxidized iron, anything really that you could find, you provided it to him and put it on him with the most delicate touch your rough, scarred hands could muster.  Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was something.  He couldn’t control the way his heart sped up whenever you leaned in to help him put on a new pair of earrings you’d gifted him.  He surmised gift giving was some kind of love language that was common among merfolk.  Perhaps you’d also enjoy it if he brought you gifts of equal value! 

Still, the pounding in his heart was not helped when you’d started smiling at him. 

Everytime he managed to catch one of the rare glimpses of your smile–even worse when you’d laugh–he almost felt like he was looking at something forbidden.  Something he wasn’t worthy of, right in front of him.  For someone who had been through so much, you really opened up to him remarkably quickly after you’d been released.  Perhaps before release you’d been scared of being sold off? The familiar feeling of the waters must’ve don wonders to make you relax this much. 

Even worse when the physical affection began.  It started as simple as reaching out to the side of his face to brush the hair away from his ear so you could catch sight of the golden hoop he’d taken to wearing.   It transitioned to taking his gloves off so you could look at the rings you ended up gifting him.   Before he could really process how quickly the two of you were moving, you were pressed up against him at every opportunity.  

He knew it was natural for merfolk to not wear clothing, but did you have to have such a muscular chest? 

Even now, as you fumbled with the clasp of the absolutely beautiful diamond necklace, you wrapped an equally muscular aquatic tail around his leg.  He didn’t exactly know if this was normal between merfamily-could he call them that?--, being overly affectionate.   Even if it felt like a little more than just normal bonding, he did his best to still the pounding of his heart when your fingers brushed his hair out of the way so you could make sure the gem was oriented correctly.  

Trying his hardest to quell the tide of warmth surging up to the tips of his ears, he put a hand over his erratic heartbeat.  He prayed to the Aeons above you couldn’t feel it as your chest pressed against his back.  

You wrapped your arms snug around his torso, pulling him further into your stomach.  Resting your chin on top of his blonde hair, you found the gloved hand resting over his heart to hold in your own.   The two of you let the silence hang in the air for a moment. 

“...”

“...”

You gave a quiet huff before you moved your chin from on top of his head to bury itself into the crook of his neck.  As his fingers interlocked with yours, he found himself looking at all the gold rings he’d adorned your fingers with.  Each and every one, he could put a time and day to. 

But then, his eyes landed on your ring finger. 

“Oh, you still wear that old thing?”

“...hm?”

You glanced down at your hand, raising a brow.  His finger was tracing over the ring he’d exchanged when he was releasing you back into the open water.

“You still wear the same earring I gave you,” you murmured, flicking it with your freehand.  “I’ve given you countless pairs of earrings since, yet even when you wear one stud, you’ll always wear the same one every time I see you.” 

His chest rumbled with a bout of laughter, “I suppose you’re right.”  He perked up suddenly, “Oh, that reminds me, speaking of this earring…” He reached towards the rather large bag of gifts he’d brought with him.  He threw a few of the boxes of gold ornaments he’d purchased before finally fishing the box he was looking for out of the bottom.  “I went shopping and when I saw this pair, I simply knew you’d love it.” 

You hummed, looking at the little navy blue box in his hand.

He made quick work of the bow wrapped around the holding case, nimble fingers peeling open the little box before he presented you with his gift on their signature velvet cushion. It looked like… 

…a replica of your mother’s earrings. 

He offered them up to you with a bashful smile, watching in silent amusement when your ears flicked back and forth in some kind of excitement. 

Delicately, gently, you picked up one of the hoops and twirled it around your fingers. 

“...”

“...”

“...Well? Do you like it?”

You didn’t respond, reaching up to your right ear to remove the little stud you’d chosen to wear to this outing.  Fidgeting with the clasp of the loop, you threaded it with a calculated ease through your piercing.   

“I like it.” 

He clasped his hands together, “Good, I’m more than glad.” 

“...”

“...”

“She would’ve loved to meet you.” 

“Hm?”

You paused, “My mother, I mean,” Your thumb fidgeted with the back of the earring.  “She always wanted to see her sons get married, but she passed before she could.” 

Luocha blinked.  

“Pardon?” 

You tilted your head to the side, “My mother; she would’ve loved to meet you.” 

“No, no,” Luocha could feel the deep claret paint his face a messy red as he scooted to face you, “What did you mean by seeing her sons get married?”

“...

…Did you not know?” 

Luocha blinked. 

“We’re married.” 

Another blink. 

“You… Is that why…?” He gestured towards the gifts strewn across the sand.  He looked back towards his own bag of gifts. 

‘Oh for crying out loud-’

“I-” he cleared his throat, “I apologize, I seem to have… entered this marriage under false pretenses.”  He put his hands on his temples, “How- Where- When exactly did this happen?”

You hummed, “When you let me back out into the water.  When I gifted you my mother’s earring, that was the signal I wanted to start courting you.  When you gift something back, that’s an officiation of marriage.” 

He coughed into his hand, trying to think through this situation logically. 

Okay, so he accidentally got married.

What the fuck. 

The train of thought seemed to end there. 

…

He was, however, plagued with another train of thought. 

‘Well, you have been making eyes at him for a few months now.’ 

…

Those thoughts were not helping.  

“...”

“...”

“If you want to end the marriage, it’s as simple as saying so,” you added, “I thought you knew what my intentions were-”

“NO!”

Luocha covered the bottom half of his mouth.  “I’m fine with the arrangement as is, but it appears human marriage and merfolk marriage are officiated in very different ways.” 

Your brows furrowed. 

“...”

“...”

“...Are you saying you want to officiate the marriage as humans would?”

The tips of Luocha’s ears burned with embarrassment.  “I-” 

You held one of his hands in yours, eyes seemingly boring holes into his face,  “Whatever it is, as long as you want to do it, I will do it to the best of my ability.” 

Any complaints were silenced when he was confronted with such sincerity.  “Well…”

You waited patiently, folding your hands in your lap.  

Finally, it seemed your “husband” made up his mind.  

“Close your eyes.” 

You paused, seemingly surprised, but nonetheless your eyes fluttered shut moments after. 

Luocha urged himself to breathe, flexing and unflexing his hands.  

He leaned forward, closing his eyes as he…

…planted an innocent peck on your lips.

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" idk how to describe it but now being on the other side of this, i'm feeling something similar to post nut clarity "

first post since losing literally everything on my first account yay !!

yes guys, luocha and his mermaid husband were openly cuddling on the beach for months and he's wondering "is he into me or am i bro-zoned"

that being said, losing my tumblr has now forced me to realize how many people genuinely like my writing hey guys I went scrolling through user kamisatoelogy's blog to look for their modern ayato fic and i found out someone dedicated time and effort into archiving my works???? and you guys went looks for me????

i fr feel like getting on my hands and knees and thanking everyone for all their support and love over this process and apologizing for scaring you guys so bad

you guys are so sweet and so many of you have been so helpful in getting my blog back up and running again :((

i started drafting my fics in google docs to make sure it isn't all GONE if i get shit on again so this chapter is brought to you by font: unica one, it was 27 pages total (i am insane)

shout out to Chappell Roan cause she really put me in my tunnel vision work zone while i was writing this

if u guys r looking for a writing hack, i trained myself like a sleeper agent to start writing when i play songs on hour loop it puts me in a work rut

- love, operator t-19

[strawbeerossi]

All Hallows Eve

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan x Luke Alvez

Description: You and your three very attractive coworkers get to talking about sex and kinks whenever you are left alone at David’s Halloween party.

Content/Warnings: Alcohol mention/consumption, kink discussion, just a pinch of peer pressure when it comes to Spencer opening up, some germaphobic mentions, MMMF foursome, oral (f + m rec), face fucking, anal fingering (f rec) , double penetration, cum play (various types including: creampie and cum swapping), unprotected sex, some nice Spencer aftercare.

Word Count: 5.6K

Kinktober Day Thirty One: Foursome

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

This one is fucking filthy. Thank you all for coming on this Kinktober adventure with me!

Halloween parties were typically held at Dave’s house. It just made sense considering how big the place was and the amount of space he had not only in the house but also in the backyard. Besides, David Rossi would never turn down hosting a party at his place. He enjoyed throwing any kind of event right in his own backyard. That also meant a few extra guest rooms for the wasted adults that would be at said event.

It was Halloween night, everyone gathered at their coworker’s house and settled in the backyard, enjoying the heat of a fire that the guys had all set up. JJ and Matt were absent, spending the night at home with their children to celebrate the spookiest holiday of the year. Drinks were flowing, Spencer even partaking in just one drink for the night as opposed to his normal sober status, allowing himself to join in the festivity that he was normally left out of. However, he could argue that he liked being sober on nights like this. There was always something comical about someone in the team getting inebriated to the point that they act like an absolute menace to society.

Thankfully, tonight wasn’t too bad. Despite Emily and Penelope indulging in the liquor that their host never seemed to run out of. It had gotten to a point later that night where you had to wrestle both women into bed in one of the many guest rooms already set up for the adults staying over. You’d managed to get the two plastered women settled into bed — Mainly because you laid horizontally over both of their bodies to keep them in place. It took about twenty minutes, however it wasn’t long until you’d heard the soft snores of Emily while Penelope was sleeping soundly while snuggled up under the sheets.

You had to lay there for a moment to collect yourself before pushing yourself out of bed, heading out of the room while gently pulling the door shut. Last thing you needed was to make too much racket and have to chase those two around again. “I feel like you all owe me for that.” You commented as you’d pulled open the back door, Spencer’s head lifting up from a book in his hand. “Better you than us.” He commented, which had the other men outside laughing. “Rossi turned in early. It’s just us.” Luke informed you, the absence of Dave being noticed. “Fun. What are you three doing?” You asked, heading to the chair closest to Spencer as you were sitting down.

“Nothing really. Derek and I were just talking while Spencer is too interested in,” Luke paused and leaned over the table to inspect the book cover. “Quantum Physics..” He crinkled his nose. There was never a dull book choice with Spencer, that was for sure. “Most guys would probably be talking about their sexual experiences by now. But our lovely Spencer Reid is reading about physics.” You teased, all in good fun as you teased the male sitting beside you.

“I prefer not to talk about sexual experiences.”

“Because he hasn’t had any.”

“Derek!”

The table had erupted into laughter minus Spencer who had the look of a kicked puppy. “I’ve had sex before.” He grumbled while putting his face back in his book. “You have? Really?” You asked while letting your eyebrow raise. “Why is that a surprise?!” He asked, suddenly taking offense as he was closing the book. “No! I’m not saying it’s a surprise but you just don’t look like the type!”

“How does one look like a virgin?” He quizzed you, hazel eyes narrowed as he stared at you, head tilted to the side slightly. He had you there. What were you supposed to say? You cleared your throat as you lifted up your nearly forgotten glass of wine, swirling the red liquid around the glass. “I’m not sure how to answer that.” You admitted, making the genius smile triumphantly. “Exactly. You don’t know.”

“Okay, Casanova. Tell us about it.” Derek was intrigued as he leaned against the table. Spencer wasn’t one to share his personal life as often, so maybe that one drink he had in the night could’ve loosened him up even just a little bit to talk about it. “What?” The curly headed male squeaked, now looking between the three of you as you all seemingly waited patiently for a story.

“I’ve had sex more than once.” He huffed.

“Okay. So pick a good experience to tell us about then.” Luke chuckled as he raised an eyebrow, elbows propped up on the table.

With pursed lips, Spencer was crossing his arms. “I have to?” He asked while you nodded. “Oh yeah, you definitely have to. You’ve got some secrets that we need to know right now.” You giggle. Even with his apprehension, the brunette took in a breath. “Okay.. I guess I could share it. I mean, I have been wanting to get out of my comfort zone so maybe this will be good?” You highly doubted that he’d jump from being nervous like this to being able to talk about sex explicitly. It would take him a bit.

“Come on, pretty boy. I'm bored to death.” Derek sighed dramatically while you were punching his shoulder with a loud, “Shush!!”

“You remember Max, I’m sure.” Which yes, everyone did. His short-term girlfriend who had her family taken hostage a while ago. “We do, go on.” You urged him on, arms crossed on the table top. “I think you’re a little too into this,” Luke commented, the commentary being met with a swift kick to his leg under the table.

“I really don’t know how to describe it? Like, sex is sex, right?”

“Any interesting kinks? Come on, kid. We know you aren’t as innocent as you think you are.”

“Interesting? Not really. I mean, I am a fan of face sitting but I think that is standard, right?” The words escaping his mouth had Spencer’s face bright red as he leaned back against the chair behind him. There were wolf whistles at the admission. “Doesn’t matter if it’s standard or not.” Luke chuckled while holding his glass up as if he were toasting to him while chuckling.

“Well, what’s not considered normal?” Now Spencer was curious as he looked between the three of you. He wasn’t a big kinkster, as anyone would imagine. The question had you, Derek and Luke exchanging looks. “Well. Mixopholia isn’t common, I don’t think. Which that’s enjoying watching yourself have sex. Could be in front of a mirror, recording it, anything like that. It can be really fun, in all honesty. Especially if you record and play it back.” You responded, only raising an eyebrow at the gaped mouths of your male coworkers. “What? You’ve never done that? Derek, come on. You can’t lie.”

“No, mama. I never had that idea.” He chuckled while shaking his head. “It’s good to know now, I’m gonna need to try it.” He added while Luke was too busy thinking of things he liked. “It’s probably not abnormal but I really like thighs. I feel like that would be the body part I’m most obsessed with, especially when it comes to thigh fucking. It can be better than penetration.” He hummed. Which, they were pretty standard things to be sexually aroused by, even if Spencer would’ve never thought of the two ideas.

“I think I like group sex. I don’t have it a lot, however it can be pretty great when you have the right group. I know it’s nonconventional. I’ve had all sorts of sex but I think I’ll always go back to that.” Derek spoke up while shrugging his shoulders. “A group?? Do you know many germs are exchanged in encounters like that?” Spencer asked, dumbfounded while the man in front of him waved him off. “It’s a good time. If you don’t believe it, then I highly suggest you at least try it before denying,” He chuckled.

Judging by Spencer’s look of morbid curiosity, he was considering it. “How does one even do that? I feel like you need to have connections..” Was Spencer really considering it? “You just have to find people you’re comfortable with.” Derek shrugged while tapping his hand against the table. There were a few moments of silence while Spencer’s brain was working overtime, you could swear smoke was coming out of his ears.

“I trust all of you.”

The words had your throat running dry. “Is that supposed to be an invitation?” You asked, your own curiosity shining through. You’d always considered Derek, Luke and Spencer as attractive, however you never considered having sex with all three of them. You had to admit, you really did enjoy the idea of getting passed around by some of the most attractive men on the team. The idea was enough to cause goosebumps to spread across your body. Surely it would be a bad idea to have sex with a coworker, much less three of them.

Spencer’s face was bright red as he put his hands up in self defense. “You don’t have to say yes but I would say that I wouldn’t mind sharing.. Germs..? With you guys.” He shrugged while shyly looking away. What a compliment from Spencer Walter Reid. The man who wouldn’t even give handshakes was willing to throw away his typical formula for three coworkers. “I am just saying!” He rambled on, now feeling self conscious at his admission.

“Now hold on. I think this idea could be beneficial.” Luke spoke up while chuckling. “I mean. We are all grown ups, right?” Your head nodded immediately after Luke put in his own two cents. “I agree with Luke. I mean, where’s the harm?! We are all friends anyway, I couldn’t imagine this being awkward for us.” Realistically, there were many issues with the idea of having sex with coworkers. You didn’t even care about them right now.

“Are you guys serious?” Derek asked, wide eyes from shock. “Why not? You mean to tell me that you’re gonna pass up sex?” You asked curiously while raising an eyebrow. “Well, no. I just.. Damn, I didn’t know tonight would end like this, that’s all.” He explained, being so flabbergasted at the idea of a foursome with his coworkers. “Might I suggest we move inside? I mean, the last thing we need is Rossi looking out the window and seeing us out here.” Luke began while nodding towards the window overlooking the backyard.

So, you did.

You had never been this excited before, your body buzzing with arousal and excitement. This was a sexual bucket list type thing for you, not something you could imagine doing regularly. Plus, having it be with Derek, Spencer and Luke just made it twenty times better. The minute you were closed in the guest room furthest from everyone else in the house, there was a bit of awkwardness as the four of you looked between each other. How does somebody kick something like this off? With strangers, it would be different but you all worked together.

This was a lot harder to start than you thought it would be.

“How about we ease ourselves into this?” Derek suggested, now looking between the other three people in the room. “Why don’t you give us a show?” He hummed while looking in your direction, your face flushed. “Like a strip tease?” The nod of his head solidified your suspicions, your head nodding as you watched the three men sit on the edge of the bed to face you. The intense gaze of three men was intimidating as all hell, especially when they had the look of hunger and desire burning holes through your skin.

Your movements were slow as you pushed the Halloween sweater up your body, tugging it over your head before tossing it somewhere else in the room. You hadn’t planned for this so you couldn’t get too dressed up, however the Halloween themed bra and panty set was cute and got the job done. Next was your leggings, which were slowly being pushed down your thighs as you were revealing the thin panties, a nice wet patch darkening the cotton. You liked this attention. You liked the idea of being ravished by three men who wanted to use you for their own pleasure.

It was exhilarating.

“Come here.” Derek was the first to speak up, his finger making a gesture to get you to come closer. You obliged, only letting out a squeak of surprise when you were being tugged in the man’s lap. You could feel the bulge in his pants pressed against your ass, brain clouded with arousal as you were letting your arms wrap around Derek’s shoulders. His hands were gripping your ass, eyes scanning over your body as he let out a low groan. There were no words exchanged, the man mesmerized by your nearly fully exposed body, his hands running up your hips before cupping your clothed breasts.

You let his hands continue to caress and explore every inch of skin, face hot as you were rocking your hips against his strained cock in his jeans. “You like this, don’t you? Like the attention of your friends and coworkers?” He questioned while an eyebrow raised, your head nodding as you let out a shaky breath from the friction of his jeans against your clothed clit, the roughness of his pants felt like heaven through the thin fabric of your underwear. “Who knew you’d be a whore? You want us to record this? Give you something to look back on whenever that little pussy of yours is desperate to be stuffed?” The words elicited a moan, your head nodding. “Fuck. Yeah.” You whined.

Luke was the one who was getting his phone, setting up the device on a lamp on the bedside table to get a clear view of the bed. You were caught off guard though when you were quickly pushed to the mattress, your back hitting the smooth sheets. Using your elbows to prop yourself up, you watched as Derek was patting Spencer’s shoulder. The brunette was already overwhelmed seeing you in your underwear, his face bright red as he could feel the tight constriction of his boxers around his cock.

“Go on, kid. You wanted to try this, didn’t you? Only fair you get to go first.” Derek commented while nodding his head to urge him on. The awkward male was clearing his throat as he was approaching the bed, your legs wrapping around his waist to welcome him as your hands then gripped his arm, gently tugging his lanky frame closer to you as you let your lips press against his. The sudden action had him taken aback, however the shock wore off rather quickly as his lips slotted with your own.

It was calm at first, until the desperation set in as the male above you. That was when the kids had grown messy, your fingers tangled in his brunette curls as his hips were grinding against you. Spencer would be the first to say that he was going to drink in the moment, to enjoy this while you allowed him to touch you in any way he pleased. It was no secret that the awkward, shy genius had a small crush on you, his behavior making it apparent more often than he realized. That was why he was taking his time, his tongue in your mouth as the germaphobe was surprising himself with his loss of apprehension to swap spit with you.

Much to both of your dismay, he was pulling out of the kiss. He made up for it though as his hands were coming up to cup your bra-clad breasts. A low groan left his lips as he kneaded at your soft, plush tits. One hand was slipping under you, his fingers quickly unclasping the article of clothing in his way and throwing it off to the side. He groaned, eyes fixated on your bare breasts. “You’re so pretty.” His voice came out in a pitiful whine, head dipping down to take your right nipple in his mouth.

The warmth of his tongue swiping over your hardened nub had your eyes fluttering shut, the man sucking and nipping at your sensitive nipple while his other hand was working to massage your other breast, nipple rolling between his fingers to give it the equal attention that it deserved. As he’d done his best to alternate, it wasn’t long until your chest was glistening with the remanent spit from his attack on your tits.

With his hungry eyes trailing down your body now, he was leaning down to press a few warm and wet open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your fingers were quick to tangle in his soft brunette curls, head tilting back as his tongue trailed slowly down your stomach, nipping at your skin to leave a nice and big purple mark on your hip. The other men in the room had not been forgotten about however, your head tilting to the side to look at both Luke and Derek, the two men watching the scene play out in front of them, eyes blown out with lust and desire.

In a way, you felt like a gazelle in the presence of three starving lions, one already making his pounce onto you while the other two had calculated plans of their own. Spencer was blowing cool air on your glistening pussy, a satisfied hum leaving his lips as you clenched around nothing from sheer desperation. “Hold on,” Luke spoke up, his silence being short lived as Spencer was letting out a whine from his spot between your thighs. You didn’t expect Spencer to actually listen, however you weren’t able to question it as the other male was approaching the bed. “I have an idea. No need to get all teary eyed, Reid.” He spoke with a chuckle, the male between your thighs huffing as he backed away momentarily in order for Luke to throw you into a position.

The stark contrast between Spencer and Luke was something you were gracious for. The genius had a since of desperation, everything about him screaming that he wanted to drink in your essence and bask in the warmth coursing through his veins. The other had a clear motive in mind, the confidence to pick you up and move you into a position that he wanted you to be in. Both so different and yet so alike in the fashion of your thighs being sticky with your own arousal. With your body being turned horizontal, your head was now hanging off the bed which left very little to the imagination of what was coming next.

What you weren’t expecting though was Luke to nudge Spencer to the side when he was between your legs again, your left leg hanging off Spencer’s shoulder while your right was hanging off Luke’s. “Let’s put your germaphobia to the test.” Alvez just had to tease Spencer, a chuckle leaving his lips as he was leaning closer to your aching core. His tongue licked a fat stripe up your slit, a soft breath falling from your lips. You’d never thought of two men licking your pussy at once but the idea of it had butterflies going crazy in your belly.

Spencer was hesitant, looking at the spit mixed with your arousal. Before he could talk himself out of this idea and hide in the corner, he was leaning forward to lick the same spot the other man did. The comfortability was soon setting in as Spencer let his tongue flick over your clit, a sharp breath leaving your lips as you let a hand tangle in the mop of curls. Whenever the male began to suck and toy with your clit, Luke was bringing a hand to his mouth as he sucked at his fingers, eventually getting them settled at your entrance before pushing one of the digits inside of your desperate cunt, eliciting a moan as your head tilted back, still hanging over the edge of the bed.

As the two men between your legs alternated between licking at your weeping pussy or fingering you, Derek got a little bored of watching. While your head was tossed back, eyes fluttered shut as both skilled tongues were licking and sucking at your sensitive center, Derek worked on unbuttoning his pants as he approached where your head was hanging off the bed. “Alright, pretty girl. We are gonna put that mouth to good use.” He spoke, voice low and husky as he was retrieving his hard cock out of his pants.

Your mouth was practically watering as you took in the sight of the leaking tip of his cock, the shaft glistening from the beads of precum that were dripping from his slit. There was a lot going through your mind, however your body worked as if it was going off muscle memory.

As your desperate pussy clenched around someone’s fingers, your mouth was falling open to give the male above you the access that he needed. “That’s what I thought. Who would’ve known that you’d be such a whore?” He asked, an eyebrow raising as his hand tugged at his cock, slipping his cock past the threshold of your lips while his hand was running over your chest.

You were on cloud nine, even through the gagging on your coworkers cock to the point tears were brimming your eyes. There was a lot going on, so much that you couldn’t focus on everything at once. That was what prompted Derek to take control. With his body leaning at a certain angle, he didn’t hesitate before thrusting into your mouth to elicit a moan as your eyes were screwed shut.

The thrusts were rough and precise, the male abusing your throat and surely rubbing it raw as he used your mouth like a fleshlight. “She’s gonna cum. Do we let her do it, doc?” Luke’s voice spoke up, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as your walls fluttered around the three fingers pistoning in your swollen, desperate cunt. Spencer was all for it, pulling off of your throbbing clit with a ‘pop’. “I think she’s been good enough to deserve it.” He confirmed, watching as Luke pulled his fingers out of your pussy, eliciting a whine from your lips being muffled around Derek’s cock. Luke was gripping the back of Spencer’s hair, catching the man by surprise.

The next movements were quick, Spencer having his face pushed into your pussy once more while Luke kept an eye on your mannerisms. With Spencer licking and sucking at your sweetness and Luke practically jerking his head in different ways to take control himself, it wasn’t long until your legs were shaking. With your orgasm building and Spencer sensing you were close, he didn’t need Luke's guidance to push his face further in your warmth, the sinful sounds of slurping and sucking filling the room.

“Fuck. Cum on his tongue, make a mess of his face.” Derek growled as he glanced down at you, his cock twitching in your mouth. Whenever you were hitting your orgasm, the man fucking your throat followed right behind. You did your best to swallow what you could, however he was tapping your cheek after his cock was pulled from the warmth of your mouth.

“Hold on, keep some of it.” He spoke, which had you nodding slowly as you pushed yourself to sit up while glancing at the men between your legs. “Why don’t you share with Spencer?” He asked, arms crossed as Spencer looked at the man with wide eyes. “Huh?!” you were following the instruction, your hands cupping Spencer’s cheeks before you were pressing your lips against his. In the process of the male getting comfortable enough with the idea, you were pushing the remnants of Derek’s cum into the brunette’s mouth, slowly pulling out of the kiss while wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

Spencer wasn’t really fond of it, however he knew this was for the sake of experimentation and he wouldn’t have to do it again. Luke was the first one to stand up as he worked on getting his clothes off, not being able to stand being fully clothed and constricted any longer. “Come here.” He mumbled, now moving to sit on the edge of the bed while tugging your body into his lap, his cock against your wet cunt as you weren’t hesitating to roll your hips slowly. “Fuck.” You breathed, feeling the hardness of his cock slotting between your slick pussy lips as you were grinding against his lap.

“That’s right.” Luke purred while his hands were reaching behind to grip your ass, a soft hum leaving his lips as he squeezed the plushy skin into his hands with a bruising grip. With one of your hands reaching between the both of you, you were positioning the bulbous tip with your leaking hole, you were sucking in a breath as you were slowly sinking down on his hard cock. Much like Derek’s, Luke had a good amount of length and girth, his fat cock stretching out your walls with a pleasurable burn.

His hands were gently guiding your hips, starting the process of working out what was most pleasurable for the both of you. The movements were slow, your hands holding his shoulders in order to brace yourself as you surrendered control to Luke for the time being. “Ah!” You squeaked, a certain angle making him hit the perfect spot. “There it is.” He smirked, the next thrust being a rough snap of his hips that had your body bouncing in his lap, a drawn out moan falling from your lips. Your hands rested gently against his broad chest, nudging him to lay back as you got into a more comfortable position. With your hair falling over your shoulder, your head was tilting forward as your hips were rocking at a steady pace while the large hands were now moving up your torso to fondle your breasts in his hands. While his fingers pinched and stimulated your sensitive nipples, you were reduced to a whining mess as your hips picked up their pace in sloppy movements.

The sensitivity from your previous orgasm had you feeling overwhelmed, just the feel of every ridge and curve of Luke’s cock had your body with satisfaction. Of course, he had learned your tell when it came to you about to cum, the way your greedy pussy tried pulling more of his cock even though he gave you everything you could take. Right whenever your second orgasm was in your sights though, you were stopped. The firm grip on your hips weren’t Luke’s, no, they were Derek’s. He’d managed to get on the bed behind you at some point. “I feel like Spencer has been completely neglected.” He tsked, his head shaking. “I think I know how you can make it up to him though.” He mused.

You were confused and deprived of an orgasm, a whine leaning your lips as you were pushed forward, your bare chest smashed against Luke’s as your ass was in the air, giving the other two men a tasteful view of your pussy stuffed with Luke’s cock. Derek took initiative, reaching around your body as he was pushing three fingers into your mouth. You weren’t really aware of what the game plan was, however you were happy to suck and lube up his fingers for whatever he had planned. With one lubed up digit tracing the ring of your other hole, you were letting out a gasp of surprise. “Think you can handle it?” Derek asked.

It was the bare minimum, however you appreciated the search for consent before he went any further. “I-I think so? What’s the harm in trying?” You were pushing your ass back against Derek’s fingers more, anticipating how this was going to go. You’d experimented plenty, however you’d never thought to try anal. With everyone trying all sorts of new things tonight, you figured it would be fun.

You were holding tightly to Luke’s arms whenever the other man’s finger was gently pushing into your ring of muscle, a few tears being wiped away from his hand as he helped soothe you from the foreign intrusion. “Doing such a good job.” Derek’s voice spoke up, Spencer’s gaze being all too fixated on the way his finger was being tightly gripped. It made his cock twitch in his pants, his hands working to quickly get them off for after Derek got you fully prepared.

One finger turned to two, then two turned to three. You wouldn’t lie, you never expected to like the aspect of anal sex this much. Especially while being stuffed full of cock in one hole and getting fingers in another. It made you feel like a cock hungry whore, something that had your pussy clenching tight around Luke’s cock.

When you were considered prepared enough, Derek’s fingers were gently being pulled out of your hole. “Alright, Reid. Go for it. Think she’s ready to have both of her holes stuffed.” He chuckled, watching the brunette quickly getting on his knees on the mattress behind you when Derek moved. “You’re sure this is okay?” His voice was shaky as he asked the question, his dick throbbing from being neglected for the past few activities. “It’s okay. Please.” Your voice was in the form of a whine, feeling a whole new level of intoxication as soon as his slick tip was coming into contact with your asshole.

Spencer was groaning as he watched the way the hole was embracing the tip of his cock, his head tilting forward to send a string of spit to your desperate asshole. It was an action you hardly expected but you were embracing it as soon as you felt his cock pushing into you, a cry leaving your lips as a pool of drool was falling from the corner of your mouth and on Luke’s chest. This was too much, however you didn’t want it to end.

The two men had to come to an agreement, setting a pace where they wouldn’t rip you in half. Spencer’s large hands were gripping tight to your hips, nails digging into your flesh and surely leaving crescent indents in your soft skin. That was when Derek was retrieving the phone on the bedside table, approaching the bed as he played cameraman. “Look at her taking two cocks at the same time. Can you believe how much of a whore she is?” His voice was cold, yet not enough to be outright hurtful.

As Spencer was thrusting, your body was moving slightly as you were pretty much reduced to a little fuck doll that both Luke and Spencer were using for their own gratification. Your body was reduced to a pile of malleable clay in their hands, both men working out a system where they could reduce you to a crying and whining mess. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you were whining and moaning with each rough thrust. “You look like an angel. So pretty when you’re fucked out.” Derek cooed, the phone being moved to reveal your wet chin from drool, your eyes glossed over from the tears from overstimulation, even the way you laid all your weight on Luke’s chest as you were reaching your orgasm, walls clamping down onto the male’s cock.

There were a few more thrusts from Luke before you could feel a fish of warmth, his cum filling your spent pussy as you were shivering from the sensation. Spencer was the next one to reach his orgasm, spilling his seed into your tight hole as he was letting out a guttural groan. It was something that didn’t even sound like Spencer. You were so blissed out that you didn’t even remember whenever Luke gently lifted you off or his softening dick, laying you back on the mattress while your head was resting against the fluffy pillow that Spencer propped it up with.

“We should get you cleaned up.” Spencer cooed, his hands moving to gently rub your inner thighs to help relax your aching muscles from the new position you were just put into. Derek was nodding as he was getting himself dressed again. “We can run her a bath and help her get cleaned up. The bathroom is just next door.”

Spencer was the one to head out, reaching the bathroom and getting the bathtub ready with some bubble bath he found in one of the bathroom cabinets. Derek and Luke were both helping you stand and walking with you to the bathroom since you were still quite out of it. “Do you want all of us to stay here with you?” Luke asked while lowering you into the water once your bath was ready. For the first time in ten minutes, you were looking up at the three men with the same fucked out look in your eyes. “Spencer.” You whined gently, while the other two men were patting the brunette’s back before heading out of the bathroom to get the room cleaned up.

“Get in.” You slurred, the man not having to be told twice as he was stripping himself down once more and gently lifting you in order to get into the water before letting you lean back against his chest. “Thank you.” You yawned, feeling the warmth of his hands as he was massaging your body to help relax you even further. “You don’t have to thank me, silly. I’m here to help.” He assured you while pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good. Hopefully we can relive this night in the future. Just the two of us.”

[nihilnovisubsole]

Because of your latest post: not sure if you’ve answered this before, but how does someone even entertain the idea of writing for the game dev industry? Did you start out on indie games or just write before and show them your work? Since it’s such a subjective field etc

if i have, it bears repeating! here's a rough timeline of what i did. never discount the value of luck and the kindness of friends

2016: i was doing a random freelance transcription job when i saw @theivorytowercrumbles post about writing for voltage. they reblogged the studio's open casting call for new writers. since it was so lenient - no experience, fanfic samples allowed - i applied. they hired me for their new project, but let me go after a trial period, citing that the tone of my writing was a bad fit for that game. i foundered for a while after that. i don't take rejection well. i started dangerous crowns to try to make money from writing some other way.

2017: one of voltage's producers reached out to me and said they'd started another project that i was a good fit for. she felt letting me go was a mistake and wanted to snap me back up. i said yes, i mean, are you kidding? so i started on reiner's route.

2018-2019: i kept at it. i took on diego's route. it occurred to me that i wasn't making very much money, but i liked my coworkers, and i was building my portfolio, so who cared? i also finished dangerous crowns, and a handful of people bought it, but certainly not enough to support myself or anything.

early 2020: between the pay and creative differences with voltage's team, it started to sink in that i needed to find other work. i applied to the few open game writer jobs i could find, but with only mobile romance in my portfolio, i got nowhere. i threw in dangerous crowns samples. i tried to network on twitter. i still never made it to the interview phase. i foundered for a while again.

late 2020: the voltage writers went on strike. i gave a statement to a journalist that one of obsidian's narrative designers noticed. we became acquaintances over it. another old friend of mine threw me a life raft in the form of a different contract, better paying, on a non-romance indie game. i took it gladly. i added a twine game to my portfolio, too. i kept applying. i got a few interviews, but something still didn't click.

2021: i finally accepted that i needed formal help. i did a portfolio workshop. i got resume coaching. the coach passed my name to a writer on the company of heroes team. they liked me! they also paid me more money than i'd ever seen in my life. at the same time, obsidian advertised a narrative job opening. i applied on a lark and let my ND pal know i was doing so. why not, right? college-new-vegas-fan me would want me to. they rejected me, but not before i passed their writing test and two interviews. i had nothing to lose at that point, so i told my ND pal that i was bummed. she gave me a golden piece of advice: "you came really close. try again."

2022: obsidian had another narrative opening. i threw myself at it. i was now going to annoy them into hiring me. since i was a known quantity from applying six months before, they had no qualms about interviewing me again. this time, it worked out, and i've been there ever since.

what's the common denominator here? i met people who thought i was all right and gave me a hand up when i needed it. the standard advice is to work with a community of your peers instead of trying to get your heroes to senpai-notice you. it's not that they don't care - they just have their own thing going on, and your peers could be the heroes of tomorrow if the right project comes along. i also found the portfolio was the end-all-be-all when it came to job hunting. i went through a grieving process with that! i'm not afraid to admit it. i wish studios had held my degree or dangerous crowns in higher regard, but i just had to make games in a wider variety of genres, and that was that.

one caveat: narrative is a really saturated field right now. a lot of people want to write, and there aren't many openings. it's not uncommon for big studios to get hundreds of applicants. larian probably got over a thousand for the job they posted recently. i feel awful saying that, because i don't want to discourage you, but i'd feel worse if i didn't let you know what you were getting into. if it's something you want, you should try! keep an open mind about the random projects you may find. you never know where they'll take you.

[cainsign]

it feels craaazy transitioning in an exclusively male workplace. even the guys who are okay with me transitioning and even see me as male (or male-lite) are constantly like This Is What Men Do, you must do this now that you are a man. it does feel kind of affirming because they see me as one of the guys! but it's also like. yeah we have to talk about your sex life and objectify women now that you're on t. what do you mean you don't want to do that. idk it just serves as a reminder to me that being ftm DOES afford you with male privilege & you're often pushed to conform and participate in misogyny to affirm your identity "as a man." if anything, you're encouraged to participate more, because you have to prove your masculinity to your peers if you want to be accepted.

most of all, it proves to me that so-called transandrophobia is absolutely bullshit. there is nothing unique about the way i'm being pushed to socialize with my male peers as i transition, the only difference is that i'm being pushed into it later in life than a cis man would have been. my male coworkers, who probably consider themselves my allies, are trying to teach me how best to punch down at women and other minorities as proof of my masculinity. i can't speak to a transfeminine experience, but i assume that a part of the social aspect of transition is the exact inverse of this. but for me, i'm essentially able to move past the oppressive system of misogyny, as long as i agree to benefit from it.

[deceptive-daydreams]

Cheese Dust

Bus Driver!Eddie x Teacher!Reader

8.2K Words

 A/N - I saw this post and had to do something with it so here it is 🥴 also, somewhat proofread but not fully, lmk what y'all think

Masterlist

High pitched childish screams and laughter filled the hallways decorated in various school projects, some with copious amounts of glitter and others with feathers hanging on by a thread of dried hot glue.  The beginning of the school year was always tiresome yet exciting, new groups of personalities filled your classroom abundantly.  In the past few weeks you’d identified the students who would give you a difficult time, those who would participate willingly, and those who were shy and would take a minute to come out of their shell.  Each one was welcome with open arms in your book, teaching was something you’d wanted to do for the sake of kids who didn’t have such great school experiences.  Your mission was to turn that around and make school a place where your students would look forward to coming every day, a safe space where they would never have to fear being judged for not knowing as much as some of their peers.  Not having the best luck with teachers and your academic life yourself, it was your priority to at least be the voice of the slightest bit of change.  Even if you were the only one trying and every other teacher in the school saw you as weird.  

Summer was ending and Fall was on the cusp of taking over, a slight breeze blew in through the metal doors into the building as students rushed out, hurrying home.  Your dress would’ve gone up with the breeze had it not been for your hands tugging at the bottom in a quick move to save your dignity.  Being known as the teacher that’s flashed everyone would be your nightmare especially since your coworkers already had some kind of disdain for you.  Maybe it was because you were younger?  All of them were over forty, the majority being older than fifty.  Being in your twenties may leave them with a sour taste in their mouth, a side effect of being old and bitter towards the youth of America.  The exact problem you were trying to combat as a teacher yourself since all you had experienced throughout school were old as hell teachers who had no patience for children or teens.  Why they chose a profession working with them, you’ll never understand.  

Keys clutched in between your fingers, you exited through the heavy door, the sudden wind taking your breath away momentarily before you basked in the lovely afternoon sun you had yet to become acquainted with all day, being lodged in your classroom for eight hours save for the fifteen minutes of recess.  But even then you were condemned to the shade at the picnic tables near the building to finish grading a few assignments, not being able to enjoy the warmth of the sun against your skin.  Eyes squinting at the brightness, you held a hand above your eyebrows to provide your retinas with some relief although your body thanked you for the vitamin D.  

It was your first day of bus duty, the rotation was still being figured out the past few weeks but they seemed to have sorted it out which meant it was your turn.  Strolling over to the bus loop, giant yellow school buses lined up around it, you stationed yourself toward the very end where no other teachers seemed to be.  Three of them were chatting in the middle of the sidewalk, paying no mind to the students sprinting around them to get to their designated bus.  Catching a glimpse of you at the end of the loop, they sneered, one of them, an older gentleman with a greasy brown combover peppered with gray, a mustache, and very beady blue eyes obviously gesturing toward you, not ashamed to let you see.  Your gaze shifted toward a crack in the pavement, humiliation flushing through your body.  You shouldn’t give him the satisfaction, you know, but there’s something so sinister about singling someone out and finding joy in making them feel so small.  

Letting a puff of air out of your cheeks, you fumble with your keys in between your fingers, twirling them around while you shuffle your feet back and forth, avoiding the stares of your colleagues.  “What the fuck is their problem?” a voice, smooth with a tinge of rasp, speaks.  Tilting your head up ever so slightly toward the bus in which the voice originated from, a man with brunette curls, wild and a bit frizzy lazily walks down the bus steps and places himself next to you, eyeing the individuals in which he was referring to.  His torso is adorned in some kind of a band shirt underneath a denim vest littered with patches and pins, the back displaying ‘DIO’ from what you can see as he stands beside you.  He wears some ripped up black jeans with a chain dangling at his side, finished off with a handcuff belt buckle.  In one of his back pockets is a bandana and in the other is what you can assume to be his neon vest that all bus drivers were supposed to be wearing.  At his words you only shake your head, staring back at the ground.  The mysterious guy points his finger, his hand showing off three chunky rings, pointing at your coworker who had humiliated you seconds ago.  “He looks like a perv.  He even allowed this close to the school?”  The older teacher catches the guy pointing at him, snarling his way, his fellow bullies, two other middle aged women sporting the same disgust.  At this you can’t suppress your laugh, your hand coming to cover your mouth to hide your joy.

Kids ignore every adult’s presence as they hurry onto the buses, some running past you at lightning speed, no doubt hoping to score the very back seat that everyone fights over.  The man next to you has no shame in calling out the foul behavior of your coworkers.  “What’re you lookin’ at porn stache?” he shouts through cupped hands.  A playful shove is given by you and you catch a sparkle in his huge brown eyes, forcing you to linger your gaze on them a little longer as the molten chocolate buttons encompass you.  You don’t even notice the way ‘porn stache’ clutches his chest in astonishment.  “Stop!”  you whisper, embarrassed but satisfied.  A gentle smirk rests on his pink lips as he turns his attention to you.  “What?  I call it like I see it.”  he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the bus and crossing his ankles.  A student approaches the bus, her dress is blue and she sports a high ponytail in her dark hair, scrunchy matching, bangs ruffled from the school day.  She looks too old to be in elementary school so you conclude that she must be a middle schooler as Hawkins Middle shared the bus loop with Hawkins Elementary.  “Sinclair.”  The bus driver’s dimples are on full display as he greets her.  Her eyes roll while she begins stepping onto the bus.  “I don’t know you at school, remember?” She scolds him.  “Yes ma'am.”  He puts on a southern drawl, snapping his fingers before pointing at her as she makes her way onto the bus.  

You’re in awe of him, he’s so care free and different from everyone else.  So effortlessly himself and you don’t even know him.  “Listen, if that guy ever gives you a hard time, say the word and I’ll give him something to be embarrassed about.”  His chin tilts toward the still chattering teachers.  “Them too.”  He points out the other two women.  You’d never learned their names come to think of it, you were on your own island within the school.  “Oh, that’s not necessary.”  Waving him off, your fingers toy with a loose thread at the end of your dress.  “I’m used to it.”  You tell him truthfully.  A nod is offered as he contemplates his next words, biting into his lip thoughtfully.  “Shouldn’t have to be.”  The words are simple yet reasonable.  You dodge them anyway.  “Sorry, what was your name?”  Attempting to change the subject, you remember to pay attention to your surroundings as your sole job was bus duty which entailed making sure students got on the buses safely and no one was left behind.  “Eddie”  He answers as he checks his watch, the last thing he wanted was to be late.  A single pissed off parent and he’d be written up.  One write up for him actually meant getting fired due to his reputation.

Your posture straightens, a way to appear more professional and authoritative not just among the students but mainly the other teachers that thought less of you.  A girl could try but ultimately your aura was more welcoming than intimidating which only gave them more ammo more often than not.  “Are you not going to give me yours?”  Eddie asks with a raised brow.  Now you were distracted between talking to this random bus driver and trying to prove that your colleagues didn’t get to you.  Glancing across the bus loop at them, you give him your name although you’re only halfway involved in the conversation now.  “Why do you give them the time of day?”  His sudden inquiry catches you off guard, your focus darting to the metal head leaning his weight against the bus, eyes squinting in the sun.  Who was this guy?  You weren’t sure how to process him, his edgy looks and his attitude were something you’d never been faced with before, coming from another small town yourself.  

Hawkins became your new home when the district transferred you a year ago for a higher salary to replace one of their teachers who had retired.  You couldn’t refuse since you were basically being paid crumbs at that point.  In the past year, you’d never come across him despite the population being so small, it only made you more curious.  “Excuse me?”  You answer, a hint of offense laced in your tone.  This so-called Eddie guy pushes his weight off of the bus and straightens out, lengthy legs stepping closer to you.  “I’m just saying, if you stop caring what they think you’ll be untouchable.  It’s kinda my thing.”  His hand motions in front of him as if presenting himself to you.  Opting to ignore his advice, you continue involuntarily keeping your peripherals on the snobby teachers.  “Not really an option.”  You mumble, pulling at a hangnail anxiously.  A scoff escapes Eddie, his tattooed arms coming to cross over his chest again as he stands in your view of the other teachers, forcing you to look into his large coffee colored eyes.  “It’s the only option.  Otherwise you’ll go insane.  Trust me, I would know.”  There’s a detection of sympathy within his features, eyebrows slightly knitting together and a barely there frown.  

The hint of confusion on your face indicates to him that you have no idea who he is or what his status among the Hawkins social ladder is.  And he doesn’t have the faintest concept of yours either though if he were to gauge it off of your physical appearance he would conclude that you had a doting husband at home, were more than likely settled in Loch Nora with a nice two story home and a pristine lawn, belonged to the local country club, and all in all, were too good to even be talking to him.  In fact, he couldn’t comprehend why you hadn’t told him off yet until your features communicated to him that you were oblivious to the hierarchy that plagued Hawkins.  Before you can provide a response he’s piping up again.  “How long have you been in Hawkins?  If you don’t mind me asking.”  He asks the question as if he’s trying to put a puzzle together.  Looking him up and down, you decide that you don’t want to give up the information seeing as you’d just met the guy and there was no way to know of his intentions.  “I’m sorry, why is that any of your business?”  Your tone is standoffish.  Buses began to let off that puff of air you hear when you know they’re about to leave, Eddie glancing around as he steps closer to his bus.  Shaking his head, curls dancing along with the motion, he apologizes.  “No-I-I didn’t.  I’m sorry, it's just—I’ve never seen you before and you don’t seem to know–who I am?”  He ends his sentence with a sigh, eyes closing in defeat.  Now he just sounds like an asshole, berating you because you don’t know him but the truth behind it is the exact opposite of what it looks like and what you think.  Eyes widening at him as if to say how dare you?, you begin taking a few steps back.  “Oh, did I miss the memo or something?  I’m sorry, I must have skipped over you on the brochure.”  You sarcastically chide.  He’s frantically waving his hands in front of him, face burning bright red as he tries to undo the interaction.  “No, no, no.  That’s not what I mean!”  Eyes bulging out of his skull, he glances behind him into the bus then to his watch.  “Fuck!”  He whispers under his breath.  “Okay–I really need to get these kids home but–”  Looking less than impressed, you cut him off mid sentence.  “Uh huh.  You don’t need to make an excuse, just go.”  You offer through clenched teeth.  With one last groan, he rushes up the bus steps, boots stomping behind him as he quickly shuts the door.  Through the open bus windows you hear him shout “Alright, sit the hell down or you might end up in the windshield!”  If you had any friends, there was no way to rationally explain what just occurred to them.  

–

Your work life and home life remained the same, bland.  It was hard to make friends in your twenties as a teacher in a town that was densely populated with older folks.  When you did attempt to go out and meet people your age, they really paid you no mind, already set in their ways with no incentive for a change.  Lonely was the best way to describe how you felt.  Neglected by those around you who you’d attempted to at least mingle with but no one would bite.  It was a tedious game of trying to appear more confident than you were at work and appearing nonchalant outside of work in hopes to attract some friends.  A hopeless back and forth that left you starving for attention, the kind of attention that was gratifying and that went both ways.  

Your students were of course the light of your life and each one of them brought an undeniable warmth into the shadows of your existence.  There was only so much that could provide to you though, they were all eleven and it probably wasn’t healthy to have the only positive attention in your life come from kids.  Kids that weren’t even yours nonetheless.  They loved you, absolutely loved you.  Each morning a majority of them would squeeze you in a hug or at least ask for a high five.  It was fulfilling to know that at least your mission in making the school system the tiniest bit better was playing out.  The class was always excited to come in and learn, something that should automatically just be a given but unfortunately wasn’t in the grand scheme of things since the entire system was broken.  At least you could sleep peacefully with the knowledge that your students appreciated you the same way you appreciate them.

As the next week came to an end, you were elected for bus duty again, clutching your keys in your palm as always and leisurely making your way out to the front of the school.  The kids were extra excited since you’d begun a unit on plants and organisms.  They each got to take home a clay pot with a seed they planted and watered in class.  Over the weekend they were instructed to leave it in sunlight and talk to it about anything under the sun so that it would have encouragement to grow.  You’d let them know that plants that had a friend to talk to were more likely to grow bigger and stronger than plants that had no one at all.  When little Samantha asked if she could decorate her pot, you were elated and urged the rest of your class to also do something creative and told them that you would all do a little showcase on Monday.  Now each of your students were quickly but carefully making their way out of the front of the school while carrying their soon to be plants, huge grins plastered on their faces.  

Heading toward your selected spot for bus duty, away from the rest of the grumpy teachers, you stood alone and took in each child that passed.  Each had an insane amount of energy, a buzz from the idea of the weekend just starting.  You’d come to learn that the older teacher just across the way from you, ‘porn stache’ was actually named Mr. Wilson at a recent staff meeting.  His reputation among students was less than satisfactory, they even go as far as saying he’s the worst teacher in the entire school.  The other two women you were still unsure of but you figured you’d get an impression sooner than later.  You would think that since you’ve worked at the school since last year, you would have been enlightened, however you remember how hostile the environment is and it makes sense. 

Bus number eighty six pulls up in front of you, the exhaust letting out air as it breaks.  A couple of students waiting nearby eagerly now stand in front of the bus door before it opens.  Once it does, they’re racing to the back of the bus, screeching at each other and shoving one another playfully.  Down the steps, clunky black combat boots step one at a time before big doe eyes meet your gaze.  You’d forgotten that his bus would probably occupy the same parking space next to the curb so really it was your fault that you were met with him again.  As his eyes land on you, he’s retreating back into the bus and slumping into his driver seat once again.  Avoidance.  Who were you to care though?  The guy had some kind of an ego, saying you didn’t know who he was.  Who did he even think he was?  Some kind of king of Hawkins?  You’d never even heard of him a day in your life and he was a bus driver for crying out loud.  Not that there was anything wrong with the job but there was no need for him to be on his high horse.  

The sudden chirp of one of your students, Jill, caught your attention as she ran up to you with a few of her friends, one being from your class, a boy named Harry and the other kids you didn’t recognize which meant they were from another class.  She explained to you how excited she was for the new unit on plants, her own pot held in between her small hands.  Jill goes on and on telling you about how no other teacher has ever done something like this, at least in all the years leading up to fifth grade.  Harry chimes in to say that he can’t wait to come into class on Monday to see how everyone decorates their own pots.  Your heart feels gooey, the fact that your students are comfortable with telling you that they’re actually looking forward to coming back to school is the biggest reward in your eyes.  The way they banter and joke with you has the other teachers scowling your way, Mr. Wilson included.  Instead of paying any mind to them, you continue to focus all of your energy on your students as they so deserve.  You learn about Jill’s new puppy her dad surprised her with and you request that she brings in a picture as soon as she’s able to, enthusiasm dripping from your voice.  Another student that isn’t in your class speaks up saying “I wish you were my teacher!” with a whine.  At this you offer a small smile.  “Well, I’m sure your teacher is just amazing!”  You respond graciously.  They all grumble in disagreement.

From his driver’s seat, taking in the scene of you on the sidewalk with your students, Eddie can’t fight the slightest upturn of his lips while you interact with them so sweetly.  At the moment he only wishes he had someone like you when he was that age.  Instead he was always met with harsh threats of being kicked out and sent to juvie for things that weren’t even worth that kind of punishment.  His teachers couldn’t give less of a shit about him, he even believed they would hold him back just to cause him embarrassment and not cause he failed his classes.  If that were the case, summer school should’ve been offered to him to up his grades but it never was.  When his Uncle asked about summer school being an option for him back in middle school, the school administration simply told him they were full.  

Eddie hated teachers with every fiber of his being and he had reason to, each one he ever had was always ready to set him up for failure and kick him to the curb.  He was only a kid and the adults who were in charge of teaching him and helping him only caused more mental abuse in addition to the physical and emotional abuse he experienced at home before moving in with his Uncle.  But he got over it and it made him hopeful that you seemed to treat the kids well and indulge in their child-like behaviors rather than disciplining them every time they raised their voice a bit higher than necessary.  You seemed genuine in your facial expressions and the way you would make sure each child received equal attention from you as they put their two cents into the conversation.  

Your smile faded as a fed up Mr. Wilson approached you and the students, his face feigning irritability as he cleared his throat, breaking up the fun you were having.  The way you shrunk down on yourself had Eddie leaning forward in his seat to catch every detail of the dispute he knew was about to happen.  Mr. Wilson addressed you by your name sternly before completing his thought.  “You must know that our students need to get home in a timely manner, we can’t have you holding them up with all the chit chat.”  The condescending voice of an older out of touch man has you internally cringing.  He talked to you as if you were stupid, as if you were some little girl he didn’t deem worthy of his time and that he could simply get rid of with a snap of his fingers.  Your students scurry off, frightened and you scold yourself for stuttering in your response.  “M-Mr. Wilson we have plenty of time still.  Bus duty doesn’t end until everyone is on the buses and as you can see, we still have a lot of kids left.”  You point out the groups of students still littering the front of the school.  “And it’s Friday.  They’re just excited and I think it’s my job as their teacher to let them express that!”  You defend yourself, voice still somewhat shaky which you could just kick yourself for but nonetheless you are standing your ground.  A scoff is earned from the old man before he begins reprimanding you again.  “I think it’d be wise for you to listen to those with more experience than you.  As a man, I think it's my job to keep our ladies in line.”  He spits, the words hitting you in the face.  Eddie, still watching from his spot, determines whether he should step in or not.  On one hand he could tell the guy off however he feels that would go against the whole point since he would also be a man stepping in.  On another hand, gender doesn’t even matter, he’s always had it out for that motherfucker from the day he confronted him about not wearing his neon vest and expressed his distaste for his tattoos while also bringing up that he was living up to that Munson name.  He should’ve punched him right there but thought better of it seeing as it would only add to the things people could say about him.

Formulating a reply in your mind, you attempt to physically appear unbothered even though emotionally you could never understand the thought process of a man under the influence of a power trip.  “I think it's none of your business what I do, personally, Mr. Wilson.  Have a great weekend.”  You dismiss him as he would you, turning to face the buses in front of you and pretending he no longer existed.  An attempt is made by him to pursue the argument however you ignore him and start slowly pacing around as if on patrol while waving to a few students.  He gives up, staring at you like you had just murdered his family and then eventually making his way back to his clique of older teachers.

For a brief second you glance over to ensure he’s gone when a smirk appears on your face at your small victory.  That’s when a familiar voice graces your ears.  “That was metal as fuck.”  Eddie.  He’s no longer afraid to step out of his bus, maneuvering around a student he nearly ran over accidentally before moving aside and bowing as he gestures to the door dramatically for them to enter.  Standing in front of you, he has a grin on his face.  You shrug at his praise, offering no words.  “No, seriously.  Next time you shouldn’t hold back, just fully let ‘em have it.”  A slight joke to lighten the mood as he punches the air with his fist but he means it.  You breathe out a laugh as you stare at the weeds growing in the cracks of the sidewalk.  “If I don’t hold back he could probably get me fired.  I bet he’s even trying to find a way to have me fired for what I just said to him but it won’t really hold up since I was nice.”  A frown makes its way across his soft features, his boot crunching a pebble beneath it as he thinks.  “Welp.  I’m in your corner.  Don’t know how much good that’ll do you but I’ve hated that motherfucker since the day I met him.”  He flashes you a smile while blinking his dark lashes at you.  You hum in appreciation.  “Even though I don’t know who you are?”  You mock his words from last week, trying to hide the smile that's tugging at your lips.  A look of sadness emerges on his face before being buried again by his charisma.  “Sweetheart…”  The word rolls off his tongue so effortlessly and before you can even protest the nickname he’s further explaining his stance.  “I didn’t ask if you knew who I was because I’m some cocky asshole with a god complex.  It’s quite the opposite actually.”  He lets the anticipation build while you raise a brow for him to continue, him pacing around the sidewalk in a joking manner, almost like he had to go to the bathroom.  “I’m the town satanist, didn’t you hear?”  Now flashing jazz hands at you, his composure somewhat gives away a weakness.  Amusement paints your expression and a laugh escapes your lungs, he couldn’t be serious.  And he wasn’t as he began to go into a few details to aid in your confusion.  “At least, that’s what they’re all so sure of.”  His bitter tone gives you some insight on the situation as he shrugs.  “I’m not.  But because I look like me, talk like me, y’know…they just assume shit.  Cause I play DND, they think I’m a cult leader.”  Eddie fidgets with his rings but keeps his tone lighter as if this didn’t bother him.  Shock takes over as you listen to him, your jaw drops.  “And I probably just scared you, so I’ll just be on my bus.”  He uses his thumb to point behind him while sticking his other hand in his back pocket that was stuffed with his neon vest.  “No!”  You’re surprised at your involuntary reaction but he stops short of the bus door and waits, arm braced on the frame.  “I-I’m not scared.  I just…wow.  Those are the stupidest reasons to start a rumor like that.”  You offer a sympathetic smile and he gladly takes it.  “Honestly, I just use it to my advantage.  People don’t mess with you if they’re scared of you.  Has its perks.”  An optimistic viewpoint on such a fucked up situation but it only draws you to him more.  The last students saunter up to the bus and Eddie checks the time as he backs up onto the first step.  “I gotta go.”  Voice now soft, maybe even timid?  His face reflects a tenderness and his irises hold some kind of promise in them.  Nodding, you wave gently and with that he’s off with a final wave and a genuine smile that you hadn’t seen on him yet.  It was enchanting.

–

Eddie the bus driver tampered with your mind all weekend and suddenly you were more than happy to take over bus duty if any of the other teachers requested.  His gentle nature packaged in a rugged demeanor lured you in, the thoughts about him just kept manifesting in your mind–his deep dimpled grin, crazy curls, tattoos that now that you think about it made him that much more attractive, and of course those eyes–ugh those eyes would be the death of you if you ever had to look into them again.  Which you were planning to do of course which meant you were plotting your own demise.  Deep molasses pools that warmed you from the inside out, they were as addicting as the soda fountain at the gas station down the street from your house that you stopped at every day after work.  They even replicated the syrupy cola color and you felt as though you could become hooked if you weren’t careful.  So chocolatey almost like brownie batter that you couldn’t resist dipping your finger into, so sweet and so fulfilling.  Even in the sun they were this deep, rich, cocoa brown that you’d never had the pleasure of seeing before you met him.  

The scraping of a metal chair against the tiled floor of the teacher’s lounge snapped you out of your visions.  Suddenly you were faced with the reality of your now cold leftover pasta staining your tupperware container as it sat atop the wooden table, a few teachers chattering while some headed off to catch up on some grading.  What you would give to just continue drowning in those eyes rather than sitting in a room with a bunch of older adults.

Around two weeks later you still hadn’t ended up with bus duty, much to your disappointment.  You were growing impatient, the only thing you were looking forward to was those big brown eyes and the charming man who possessed them.  On the bright side, your students’ plants had just begun to sprout which left them overjoyed.  Each individualized pot held in it a tiny sprout, a new little life that they were responsible for.  It only pushed them to want to learn more and the way you taught it definitely helped ease a lot of the more boring aspects of the lesson.  

A week later, you were finally approached with taking over bus duty for one of the other teachers who needed to take off early to pick up their own child who had gotten sick.  Although you wouldn’t wish sickness upon anyone, you were ecstatic to hear that you’d been assigned to take over, trying to hide the upturn of your lips.

Once 3:15PM rolled around and the bell rang, your students threw their backpacks over their shoulders and bolted out the door, shouting a goodbye to you as you yelled back at them to walk while laughing at their antics.  Giddiness fills your bloodstream on the way to the bus loop and your hands get shaky with anticipation.  He shouldn’t have this much power over you however you feel that he’s probably the only guy in Hawkins you’d met that you would allow that power to.  Something about your previous interaction with him had you yearning.

Reaching your selected spot, you wait patiently for bus eighty six to pull up.  And when it does, the muffled riff of some metal song is blasting, growing even louder once the door opens.  The music stills as he saunters off the bus in his typical uniform of a band shirt, denim vest, and ripped up black jeans.  As his eyes meet yours while he steps onto the sidewalk, a little grin adorns his face, dimples on full display for you.  “Hey, you haven’t been around for a while.”  he mentions, fighting to get the door all the way open as it was beginning to close on its own halfway, slamming his bodyweight into it which seems to do the trick.  “I’ve got my own things to do.”  You banter with him, a hand on your hip.  He fakes offense as he brings a hand up to his chest with a gasp.  “Things other than babysitting the bus drivers?”  His eyes crinkle at the corner in the cutest way.  “I’m shocked.”  He says in monotone before you both erupt in a fit of giggles.  “I see you got the radio on full volume today.”  You tease, referring to the booming music from earlier.  “Oh yeah, I had to tinker with it but I finally figured it out.  Really sick setup, it’s a pair of pliers holding the wires together.”  He shoves both hands in his back pockets, something you’re starting to pick up on as a nervous habit.  “Don’t tell anyone.”  He whispers playfully with a hand covering one side of his mouth to shield from the other teachers.  You laugh while staring at him in wonder.  Stepping closer to you, just inches away, he raises his eyebrows while lowering his voice.  “No seriously, I could probably get into a lot of trouble if you rat me out.  They’ll be too stupid to figure out exactly what I did but y’know as a satanist and all…they’ll pin somethin’ on me.”  You can’t help the cackle that escapes you, the ugliest sound you could’ve let out.  It only makes him put on bigger dimples for you.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re serious.  It’s just so ridiculous.”  You tell him through breathy laughs.  He nods his head in agreement and chuckles along.  This is the closest he’s ever stood to you and you’re now noticing the spice of his cologne and the scent of tobacco which strangely comforts you.  “I am serious, but it is funny.  I’ll know if you rat me out though.”  He warns, his face adorably stern.  “What?  The teacher that no one talks to is gonna rat out the only person that actually will?”  You give him a blank stare as he clicks his tongue.  “Okay, that’s fair.”  He decides.  The two of you are still going back and forth, deep smiles embedded into your features as if no one else existed when the party comes to an end.  

Mr. Wilson abruptly ends the conversation you and Eddie had been engaged in by clearing his throat in that annoying way he does.  “Munson, I see you’re not wearing your vest again.”  He talks down to him.  Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, not at all hiding it from the man.  “I can assure you, it’s right here.”  He slightly turns and points to his back pocket where the bright vest is hanging.  “Well I would think you’d be wearing it where everyone could see that you’re in fact a bus driver and definitely not some predator.”  Mr. Wilson’s words are laced with venom, you can pick up on the vendetta he has against Eddie–he certainly doesn’t care about the vest, he’s just using it to pick a fight.  “Listen, man–”  Before Eddie can continue, you step in.  “--Mr. Wilson I don’t know if I would be talking when you’re the one dress coding all these girls every single day.  Are you purposely looking?”  Eddie is taken back by your forwardness but also he can’t help the smirk as he takes in Mr. Wilson’s reaction.  His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, stunned.  You await an answer patiently but nothing comes as Mr. Wilson scurries away like a frightened cat.  It seemed he wasn’t able to handle when others would throw his own flaws back in his face.  “Well, fuck.”  Eddie sounds impressed, watching the man hurry into the building.  

–

Over the course of a month you and Eddie continued to have harmless conversations that would sometimes leave you flustered, he was just so handsome and he was by far the funniest guy you’d met.  You clicked with him, something you’d never experienced before, there was an undeniable chemistry.  Even some of your students would make kissy faces behind Eddie as you talked with him, causing a rush of blood to heat your face.  

On a Tuesday in late October, you had been filling in your grade book after school, working at your desk in the front corner of the classroom with most of the lights off to ease your eyes.  The room was starting to fill out nicely with many projects you and your students had done throughout the last few months.  Their plants had grown significantly and sprouted some leaves.  Each one made its home on the shelf toward the back window of the room and every weekend students were free to take theirs home.  They even had names, a piece of masking tape stuck to the front of every pot with them written in everyone’s handwriting.  

Your train of thought was interrupted while you jotted down some notes to assist a student with a subject they were struggling in.  A figure at the door had you glancing up only to be met with disappointment as you realized it was one of the teachers that would always gossip about you.  You’d never heard what they said but you were smart enough to understand that looking in your direction and pointing every so often definitely meant you were the main subject.  Her blonde hair was cut in a bob and she wore red rimmed glasses, perched at the edge of her nose.  The dress she wore was covered in these ugly flowers that looked like puke.  She had to be around sixty.  You didn’t even know her name but you had the slightest inclination that she was going to tell you.  Sure enough as she greeted you, she introduced herself as Mrs. Perry, another standard name.  Making the air uncomfortable, she sat herself on top of the corner of your desk like she owned it.  “I wanted to talk to you about something that myself and the other teachers have noticed.”  She announces.  All you wanted to do was roll your eyes but you refrained.  This was about to turn into some kind of lecture about how you did your job wrong in their eyes.  This conversation had happened before only with another teacher named Mrs. Dennis, who seemed fairly friendly at first but really  just proved that she was like everyone else by letting you know that your ways of teaching were too progressive for their school.  

You acknowledged Mrs. Perry with a hum for her to continue, signaling that you were listening to whatever nonsense she was about to bless you with.  Her lipstick was way too bright for her complexion, that you could see even in the dim lighting of the room.  “We were all worried…” she trails off vaguely.  “Worried about what?”  You ask, now a smidge curious.  They were never worried, they were always at most concerned.  Usually with your teaching techniques.  “Well you see, we’ve noticed that Munson boy has been bothering you at bus duty.  Now I know you probably were too afraid to say anything but—"”—Excuse me?”  You cut in, a tone containing bitterness.  “Dear, we all know who he is, what he’s done.  You know he’s a cult leader, don’t you?”  She looks at you with sympathy, as if to tell you that’s okay, little girl, you didn’t know any better.  It made you want to absolutely vomit.  You’re unable to grasp onto any words, a heavy and shaky sigh leaving you.  “He listens to all that satanic music too, god what awful noise.  It must’ve been terrifying having to face him all this time, you need to be careful.  He might try to exploit you, if you understand what I’m trying to say…”  “Okay, enough!  You know what I don’t understand?  I don’t understand how you people get to go off and judge anyone who is even the slightest bit different than you!  You do it to him and you do it to me!  And you wanna know something?  Eddie is a hundred times the man than all the lowlife ones that work in this very school!  Do you know that every one of them cheats on their wife or has some kind of a creepy problem with staring?”  Your rant temporarily ends and she begins chiming in again.  “I’m assuming you don’t know about his criminal background.  How he’s an accomplice to his dad’s life of crime?  He’s just like him and you’re going to end up like his mother if you don’t get out now.”  Her voice is full of malice, trying to shred any sliver of purity you saw in Eddie.

You have no knowledge of Eddie’s past but based on your experience with the people of Hawkins, you had no intention of listening to any of the things they said about him.  “I’m sorry, I can’t listen to any more of this.  You people really don’t know how to mind your own business. Have you personally ever talked with Eddie?”  You ask with a fire in your eyes.  The woman is rendered speechless for a moment and then speaks back up.  “No, but—“  “—No, nothing.”  You finish, slamming your grade book shut and shoving it into your bag, heading for the door and gesturing for Mrs. Perry to exit your classroom so you can lock up.  She attempts to reason with you some more but you won’t have it, holding a hand up in front of you to stop her as you storm down the hallway.  Eddie Munson was the sweetest man you’d ever come across and you’d be damned if you were going to let everyone talk so lowly of him solely because of rumors and a bunch of hearsay.

—

The next time you have bus duty it comes up in conversation that Mrs. Perry tried to sway you away from him and advised that you get out while you can.  “No fucking way.”  Eddie has an amused smile plastered on his face as he munches on a bag of chips you’d grabbed from the vending machine.  Nacho Cheese Doritos, his favorite.  “Yeah, she just kept saying things.  Was calling you a criminal, and even if it’s true it’s none of her business!”  He can’t help but feel his heart swell three times the size his chest is capable of holding.  Even if he were a criminal, you would still talk to him.  That’s what he heard.  While the rest of the population avoided him like the plague, you flocked to him willingly even if you weren’t sure whether it was true or not.  You were giving him a fighting chance and that’s all he could ever ask of anyone ever, a luxury he never really was granted.  “And then she said I’m gonna end up like your mom and that your dad—“  Immediately you stop talking as his breath hitches, his Doritos falling to the ground and his eyes void of emotion while he seems to be in another realm. 

You're left without a clue as to what to do as he completely checks out of reality.  “Eddie?”  You softly whisper.  “Eddie?  Did I—I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have, I was just going on and on and—“  “Don’t be.”  Suddenly he’s back with you, grabbing his chips from the ground and crumpling the remaining snack in his hands, the foil bag crinkling loudly.  “People uh, people like to—bring up my mom.  My dad.  They like to compare me to him.”  His composure wavers for a second as he squeezes the noisy bag in his fist.  He regains it and straightens himself out, looking directly into your eyes intently.  “I don’t wanna get into it but, I’m not like him.  Never will be.  If you wanna stop talking I get it.”  Your heart shatters as he lets a slice of vulnerability shine through.  How could he think that because of one thing a woman said to you that she didn’t even have the slightest idea about, that it would send you running?  Maybe other people had done so before you?  If that was the case you wanted to personally ruin their lives and avenge whatever broken parts of Eddie’s soul they left behind in pieces.  “Eddie, why would I want that?”  You question sincerely.  

You catch a panicked shift in his eyes as they move from left to right, he’s unsure of where to go from here.  “If I like you I’m not going to stop talking to you because these people can’t handle anything other than their set in stone suburban lifestyle.”  Your voice is gentle and you even venture to step closer to him, just barely grazing your fingertips against his only to realize his fingers were still dusted with nacho cheese.  “Your fingers are still dusty.”  You joke in a voice quiet enough only the two of you can hear.  At this he cracks a smile, pulling one of his curls over his face in a bashful manner.  “You like me?”  He asks with rosy cheeks however his tone is teasing.  “Mhm.”  You hum back with a bite to your lip and a nod.  “How much are we talkin’?  Cause if I ask you out right now and make a complete dick of myself I’ll never recover.”  He’s still twisting one of his curls around his finger, his opposite arm tucked under his bicep in a shy stance.  A step closer to him and you’re breathing in each other's air.  The kids around the bus loop are all too occupied in getting home to notice the flirtation happening among them which you were thankful for.  “If you don’t ask me out, I may never recover either.”  You eye his entire face, taking in the way his lashes dust over his cheeks while he gazes down at you, the hint of stubble threatening to break through his skin, and his pillowy pink lips that you’d hope to taste one day soon.  “Are you busy Friday night?” He asks, bringing the hand that wasn’t layered in cheese dust to brush against your knuckles.  Or so he thought.  “Eddie!”  You scoff, cringing at the gritty texture against your skin.  “Sorry, sorry.  Let me try again.”  He holds his contaminated hand behind his back while allowing his other to brush his thumb over yours.  “Will you go out with me Friday night?  No Doritos, I promise.”  He crosses his fingers in front of his face with a boyish smile.  “Although you’re the one who gave them to me—“  “Eddie!”  “Sorry, moment ruined again.  Let’s go from the top.”  He takes a deep breath but before he knows it, you press a kiss to his heated cheek, smiling up at him with a shy grin and your hands clasped in front of you, swaying from side to side as if this were a movie.  He was really starting to think he was, there’s no way you were real.  “Pick me up at seven?”  You bat your lashes at him and he swears he could die happy then and there.  “Yeah.”  He whispers like it’s a secret among the two of you.  “Wanna kiss you so bad right now.”  He says hushed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  “I think they’d tack on a sex offender charge though if I tried since we're in front of a school so you’ll have to wait.”  He smirks jokingly, you laughing with him.  A series of woops and yells are heard from Eddie’s bus, a few of your students and some others not in your class cheering you both on, leaving you a flustered mess as Eddie just waves at them, nacho dust still coating his fingertips.  

Quickly before he has to leave, you pull out a pen from your pocket where you’d always kept one just in case during school hours, jotting your number on his inner arm.  “Call me.”  You tell him with a close mouthed smile, attempting to contain all of your happiness.  “You know I will, sweetness.”  He purrs, offering you a scrunched up nose with a grin.  

~end~

Masterlist

[spacepillar-neo]

I made these pics for TikTok but I'll just post them here too bc why not? I spent time making them.

Text version of Backstory under Read More, last 3 slides in reblog:

The Fujiwara family is descended from one of the first Hashira and later some practitioners in onmyōdō. They were reintroduced to the Corps after being rescued by them and devoting themselves to them.

They originally wanted to aid the Ubayashiki clan with divinations but their skills in that regard paled in comparison the Ubayashiki's foresight so they would not only perform warding rituals and make wisteria charms for the corps, but also have 1-2 members of their family become slayers. Her family's technique, Celestial Breathing, is an offshoot of Stone Breathing that pulls inspiration and aspects from Onmyōdō.

Shiho is the 3rd of four children with her mother would die after giving birth to her. Her oldest brother, Azama, was a Hashira in the Meiji period along with the likes of Shinjuro Rengoku, Sakonji Urokodaki, and Jigoro Kuwajima. He trained her with a sword, naginata and the family breathing techniques preparing her for the day she'd be a slayer after their 2nd brother showed no talent for being a slayer. For a time her brother was aloof and emotionally constipated due to the absence of their Slayer father and this would affect Shiho in some ways. For example: as a young girl Shiho seemed only interested in honing her skills with a blade, improving her warding spells. She seemingly took after her brother in aloof and awkwardness making it hard for her to make friends her age and relate to other girls. That was until Azama got married and his wife entered the picture and she was then introduced to many things young girls her age did. Essentially doing damage control at the right time in her life to stop her from becoming emotionally stunted like her brother. Allowing her the many experiences young girls have.

But despite this she still wanted the praise of her big brother who she looked up to, wanting to make him proud. When the time came she'd pass her Final Selection with flying colors but that week and her following missions became an eye opener for the young girl. Between her brother's warnings and seeing the work of demon's first hand, her motives as a slayer shifted from wanting to make her brother proud to genuinely wanting to help others and serve the corps. Eventually she'd become a sort of role model to other slayer, particularly what few female slayers were around. 

Despite her brother still being a Hashira in the early stages of her career as a slayer, he would not make her his Tsuguko. In fact not long into her time as a slayer, their father would die while on a mission and a noticeable shift happened within her brother. He'd retire from the corps and tell Shiho that by a certain point she should too. A few years pass and Shiho gets paired with the newly appointed Stone Hashira, Gyomei Himejima, for a mission. The two work well and get the job done quickly but soon get paired together enough to become acquainted with one other. When she notices this Shiho attempts to reach out to her peer and is mostly met with friendly response but underlying unease from the man.

As their time together continued the two would get closer to each other and becoming friends. Bonding over things such as similar religious views and such. Shiho would develop a crush on her peer/coworker in their time together but attempt to push it aside as it seemed inappropriate. While Gyomei started to feel the same as well and push his feelings away for similar reasons but the added layer of not wanting to get close to another again and lose them.

Their romance is a sort of slow burn with Shiho experiencing new emotions, desires and sensations she'd never felt before. Thinking back to her brother's marriage and wanting that with Gyomei. While Gyomei eventually found himself  opening up to her and Shiho and finding comfort in her. By this point, the two are aware that they have feelings for each other but are unsure how to go about it. Until one day Shiho decides she needs to confess so the two arrange a meeting one sunset and she officially confesses. Even if she's not expecting him to return them for reasons such as their occupation. But to her surprise, he sticks a pin in her hair and says he would mind trying to make things work between them.

So the two date for a few years before they get married in the 2-3 years before Tanjiro becomes a slayer. Azama however begins to nag the two about when they plan to retire and officially settle down. By this point, Shiho is ready for the two of them to retire, wants to be a housewife, and is ready for children but understands that Gyomei can't just do that. So she has her own conflictions and frustrations about their situation but never blames Gyomei for anything and just chalks it up to bad luck. To stop her brother from breathing down her neck, Shiho retires weeks before the Hashira Training Arc but will give assistance and tips to any slayers she spots having a hard time during Gyomei's training.

Shiho can be described as an earnest person. Hardworking and skilled as slayer, even motherly to some. Those just meeting her will say she resembles a fox, but those who know her will compare her to a cat. Which is true. When she cares for you she is very affectionate and somewhat doting. But came and will show hostility if your vibes seem off to her or if warranted. Gyomei, Genya, and her family are all too familiar with this.

MANGA SPOILERS

Tw: for self harm and suicide

After the events of Infinity Castle, Shiho hears of Gyomei's death via his crow moving directly to her. Excited upon first seeing him think Gyomei was on way home early but a wave of dread washed over her before approaching the crow.

In seconds that felt like hours of her approaching Zekka (Gyomei's Crow) when he finally uttered the words of Gyomei and Genya's passing Shiho immediately went for a kitchen knife and cut deep into her wrist before collapsing to the ground and passing out. Gyomei who made it feel as though he had given her life further meaning, and Genya who she loved as if he were her son were now gone.

Zekka would then alert the closest person to the Himejima estate of an injured person. When Shiho rew-awoken she was back home with her family and a doctor close by. Everyone worried for her but clearly seeing she was unwell and ready to give up on life once more until the doctor told her that she was to be expecting a child. Though still overtaken with sadness and grief, Shiho knew she couldn't end things here and had to carry and raise her to be twins. Though she wanted to do this with Gyomei she would make due in tell the children stories of him.

The twins would be boys named Genki and Yamato, being named after and pulling characters from Genya's name. I will get into them another time though.

Thank goodness I'm delusion and made an AU where that doesn’t happen. Lololol Thanks for reading! Hope you like Shiho and we can be friends.

[system-of-a-feather]

Man is it insane how far we've come honestly. For context, we are working on an inpatient crisis unit as a "bachelors level clinician" with like a total of like 20-30 staff members (depending on if you count the admissions team as part of our unit) and save for the admissions team, all of my peers are people who have had at least 3 years in the behavioral health field, a lot of them having leadership positions in their roles before getting the job I have, and a lot of them having several years of experience in post-masters work and like... everyone is honest to god AMAZING individuals - like I have never been MORE confident in a group of people / coworkers / peers in a workspace than I have now.

The only issue is, the manager of the entire unit really uses toxic management tactics and frequently treats a lot of the staff like they are people filling slots rather than these amazing and experienced people who have dedicated years of work to specifically working with children with behavioral issues who are just trying to understand exactly how things will be done and are going to be done when we open up. And combining the general stress of being a brand new program with a lot of staff having literally just been onboarded within the past month or two and a lot of things still being up in the air with the toxic leadership, there is a LARGE atmosphere of tension, frustration, dissatisfaction and just anxiety / burn out despite almost everyone I've talked to very much agreeing that the overall company's work culture and policy is amazing and that basically every OTHER coworker is amazing and one of the main reasons they are staying despite each individual's mental health going down lately

Honestly, until recently, I've been doing okay, arguably really good cause I guess I'm just incredibly hard to stress out and I've really mastered a lot of the ACT DBT concepts that just allow me to really acknowledge whats in my circle of control and also feel confident in my ability to navigate situations as they come up with people that I feel confident and trust and all that. Recently though, a LOT of my peers are kind of boiling over with how poorly managed we are and how a lot of toxicity is thrown our way by our manager and it actually kind of managed to get me off my very calm and regulated pedestal a bit and I honestly had to reign my focus back in

But I've realized in a group of therapists, I'm kind of being the calming and recentering / reframing force to just kind of remind people that despite the person with most power being the most toxic and bringing the entire unit down, we have a work place that is like 95% made up of LITERALLY the best coworkers we've ever had and we all have a good working relationship with one another and we have a really good sense of supporting one another, so as far as things go, we can really decide what we want to make the atmosphere be and we all have a SHIT ton of experience in acknowledging and managing our emotional responses from our SHIT ton of experience previously.

Because at a certain point, venting our frustrations over and over and feeding one another's anxieties and angers is not going to really make us feel better even if it makes us feel not alone. We can acknowledge the frustration, issue, and stress of the emotional mind while also bringing in the problem solving and awareness of what the next steps are from the logical mind and progress forward in our wise mind to make decisions that best address the situation without causing as much riot around us. We can make a plan to properly, formally, and professionally air our grievances to the appropriate channels and work on that - in the meanwhile, we can just accept the feelings, accept what we cannot control, and commit to making the unit and work atmosphere what we want it to be with what we CAN control; ie the energy and support we bring to one another

Things will be fine and since I see we are all heated and stressed, lets go outside and UNIRONICALLY sit in the grass and engage in some mindfulness and remember that things are okay. Then when we come back from our days off, we can come back with a recentered and renewed intent and dedication to the reason we are here while the issues are sorted out over time.

And I'm honestly just like... kind of proud of the ability to de-escalate a group and get at least the majority of the people who were riling one another up back into a productive and forward facing mental place after I honestly noticed it was just stressing me out and disengaging for a moment.

But like, yesterday night, today and some of tomorrow are solely going to be for self care and listening to my body / mind, the next day will be dedicated to having fun and relaxing (not that the two are mutually exclusive as there is a lot of overlap, but those are the themes of the day).

But like man, I literally went from being 16 and having daily crisises and melting down and having DID / C-PTSD flaring out of control to being in my early 20s and being one of the people in a group of literal amazing and experienced therapists kind of reminding people of their resources, coping skills, and providing a really calming and productive energy to the group and I'm just.... like DAMN son.

It's also kind of wild because historically the Riku-brain has always been more of the toxic positivity end than not and its been known and memed about, but genuinely lately my peers have been complimenting me on my ability to both be really calm and positive and helping counterbalance a lot of stress and its just wild seeing the often-unhealthily positive energy redirected back into being this like... sustainable positive and helpful energy.

I'm honestly just like, I guess really happy to be able to do my part among a group of such fucking AMAZING, skilled and experienced people because honestly, I'm probably one of the "least" qualified people in this group - at least in formal experience and what not - so its just really nice to be able to use a lot of my personal lived experience and see that it absolutely has its aid in a group of people with a lot more professional experience.

Either way, I'm extremely proud and happy to have the peers I do and to be able to help as something of a calming stone

And yeah I know its not my job / responsibility to manage it, which is why I'm explicitly taking time to relax and turn my brain off and not think about work after I finish this post, but with the current stressors in the environment and a lot of people taking on roles they shouldnt due to poor management, I absolutely am fine filing in some of the lack of ironically mental health and emotional support in the environment while a more long term and appropriate solution is being navigated.

[my-hyperfixation-hell]

being yukio okumura must be a lonely nightmare

OK disclaimer to start: I've only watched the anime, not read the manga, so if this comes up in the manga forgive me for I do not know (also no spoilers please <3 I'm picking it up soon) HOWEVER

Yukio being so young and yet an exorcist must be the most gutwrenchingly lonely experience, like... going through his different positions with his three core social groups;

As an exorcist: He has his coworkers, but they're all adults. He's a 16 year old boy. As much as they include him, respect him, acknowledge his experience and skill, there's always going to be the part of them as grown ass adults that sees him as a 16 year old. That gap will always be there, and it'll probably also manifest itself Yukio being excluded from some general parts of adult life, and probably looked down upon, even subconsciously by those who do respect them. He'll always be the "little brother" friend. It's no wonder Yukio isn't very social. What is he going to do, watch all the adults slowly get drunk at a work party? Whoo. (Sure, Shura would probably give him a beer, and I'm sure the others would be willing to look the other way, but Yukio himself probably wouldn't take it.)

Not only that, but he doesn't have the same liberty as other teenagers his age to be dumb teenagers. If Rin or Shima or whoever else messes up- okay, impulsive, but they have the grace of being in training. Yukio, on the other hand, has to be professional. He has to act older than his age, or it's proof that he's not ready to be where he's at. It must be so frustrating whenever he works with a new exorcist- "Yes, I'm young for my position. No, that won't make me more difficult to work with. No, I don't need you to explain this concept to me, I already understand it, I graduated too-"

As a teacher: He has his students, all the same age as him. Hell, even if they have issues, Rin is his brother. But there's a power dynamic in the fact that he is their teacher and they are his students. There's also a duty Yukio has as the more experienced exorcist and their teacher to look after their safety, especially on field trips and the like. When they're fooling around in class, he has to be the killjoy who brings them back around on topic, and this isn't some math class they'll forget as soon as they graduate; he's teaching them information their lives are going to depend on.

It's also pretty hard to maintain a friendship with the same people you gave detention last week, or that you had to fail on a test.

As a student: Yukio also attends classes at True Cross that aren't at all related to exorcism, but I feel like even there he'd struggle connecting with his peers. Yukio's busy with teaching and exorcisms; that's a lot of time. Then his homework and classes- where exactly is he left to fit in a social life?

The anime suggests he's popular for girls to crush on. but being the crush of someone you barely know in high school isn't a friendship. Yukio seems like he'd be the typical introverted kid who goes mostly unnoticed. Even if he makes friends, what happens when he's had one too many last minute call ins for exorcisms, and has to ditch yet another hangout? How many medical leaves does he have to take in such an injury-prone job, not to mention mental health? It'd be easy to gain a reputation as a flaky and uninterested friend.

Then there's the issue of adjusting to a 'normal' life. How does one do that? How do you sit there and listen to your friends talk about homework and video games and whatever else they did last night, meanwhile what you did last night was risk your life slaying a demon, but if you even tried to tell them, you'd sound insane because most people in this world don't know demons are real at all. Not to mention he couldn't talk about his teaching job, either. Oh, also, "how was your vacation?" "My biological dad who is also Satan killed my adoptive dad who was an exorcist". To a teenager, it must feel impossible to find a way to relate regardless.

I think this has overall been a pretty sad post. I do think as Yukio grows up, he'll find his place. Once Rin and the others graduate, the wall of teacher-student between them will also be removed, though he'll still probably outrank them, at least for a while. As he grows up, too, the age gap between him and his peers will lessen, and he'll gain new coworkers who've only know him as an adult.

It will get better, just takes time.

[fans4wga]

To any newcomer joining the industry after they graduated college or just getting into the field, what is your advice on what they should do? Like if they are in LA/NYC or not in LA/NYC, what can they do?

Sorry if this is left field!

That's a huge question with a lot of variables, but fortunately our mods are also newcomers in the industry and have been through this ourselves so hopefully this is helpful :)

A couple things you can do to prepare yourself:

Unpaid internships, though clearly and obviously exploitative of vulnerable populations, are sometimes (UGH) the only or best way to get in the door and have something legit on your resume. (The paid internships are unfortunately so much more competitive, but definitely apply if you can!) A lot of internships and jobs are posted regularly on LinkedIn. This is a good Linkedin group to see job postings for young people working in entertainment.

How do you even make a resume for Hollywood internship/entry-level positions? Great question. Highlight any media experience (yearbook, newspaper, journalism, graphic design) and leadership experience. (Unless it's like, from middle school. That's too far back.) If you have the chance to submit a cover letter, focus less on trying desperately to prove yourself and more on who you are as a person: someone who is determined, yes, but would also be a good, solid coworker; any stories that reveal your talent for narrative and showcase your skills.

If unpaid internships aren't possible for you, consider checking out adjacent jobs in podcasts or journalism or other media, which would still be good on your resume before you make the switch to film/TV.

Get a nice, recent headshot (doesn't have to be a professional shoot, you just want to look professional in your social media and email profile pics.)

Join the picket lines in LA/NY if possible (WGA has the locations here). Everyone out on the picket line is supporting the future of the entire industry. It's not only the current workers on strike, but you and your peers too, who depend on the outcome of these negotiations. Also, if you consider yourself "pre-WGA" (interested in being a writer/WGA member in the future), there are a handful of groups organizing strike support for pre-WGA folks! Get plugged in with them.

Read the trade publications daily, or at least a couple times a week, to stay on top of what's going on in Hollywood. The typical places are Deadline Hollywood, Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, and I also like IndieWire and the NYT movies section personally for their profiles and reviews. Basically you just want to be someone who knows what's going on in your own industry and can talk intelligently about the state of things.

Likewise, podcasts. If you're going into TV writing, I can't recommend Children of Tendu enough. If that's not your specific field, search around for what other people in your field are listening to!

I hate having to say this, but... Twitter. Lots of WGA members, directors, actors, and industry people are active on Twitter, despite the, er, problems with the platform. Look for both pre-WGA and WGA people, connect with them, start building a community, maybe join a writing feedback group. (Again, since I'm a writer, that kinda applies to just writers, but I'm sure you can find other departments there too!)

On a similar note: You've probably heard a lot about the importance of networking—getting to know people in the industry who might be your coworkers in the future. That's important advice, but even better advice than that is to network horizontally, not vertically. Translation: Don't always seek out people who are in more advanced stages of their career than you: they're probably very busy and their lack of interest in lower-level people could be discouraging, even if it's just a reflection on their lack of time and not on you. Instead, network with people at the same stage as you—people who are new in LA/NY/the industry, people who are coming up and have similar passions and goals as you, people who are your coworkers and peers. I'm coming up with a lot of really cool people and it's very likely we'll all be in a position to help or hire each other 10, 20 years from now.

That said, you could also try to find a mentor who knows more than you do, but that's tricky territory because again... Hollywood. People are busy. But if you do get the chance to apply for a formal mentorship program, or if someone you know shows interest, having a mentor to go to for questions/advice is super valuable!

Acquire skills. Microsoft Excel skills. Standard screenplay formatting skills. Final Draft skills. Graphic design skills. Website building skills. A lot of people start in the industry at the assistant level, and these things are invaluable on your resume.

For writers specifically, I've heard the advice that you need to get 5+ shitty scripts out of your system before writing something decent. And from personal experience, that adage holds true. You need to write a significant amount of crap before you find your voice and get a handle on script formatting. Online classes and writing groups can help a lot with this.

Also for writers: You should not be trying to start your career as a professional writer without 3+ SOLID, GOOD SCRIPTS in your portfolio that match your voice as a writer, fit your (ugh) writer "brand", and have been revised based on feedback from writers you trust. If you have any doubt about the state of your sample scripts, go back to the drawing board and write a new pilot script.

If you want to be a creator, watch stuff extensively! Old stuff, new stuff, award-winning stuff, stuff that you'd want to write/direct/act in someday. Pick a director and watch everything they've made (or the same for writer/actor/costume designer/cinematographer.) You need to be decently fluent in what has come before you. This industry is only 100 years old, so it's very possible with time to become someone who knows the art form inside and out. Don't watch shallowly, either; watch deeply for analysis and critical thought.

Some final words from someone who cares deeply about the overall wellness of young people in the industry. This industry terrorizes people, and there are a lot of stories of abuse and breakdowns. (Oh, another recommendation, though pace yourself because it's a difficult book with a lot of potential triggers: Burn it Down by Maureen Ryan talks about industry abuse, written by a journalist who's tackled a lot of breaking news about abuse in Hollywood. Essential reading for people going into the industry.)

So prioritize taking care of yourself, and not just in the uwu self-care way, but the bone-deep "know thyself", "if you don't take care of yourself, you will literally cease to function" way. Love yourself enough to know when to step back and take time off. Love yourself to gain good time management skills so you can live a less stressful life. Love yourself enough to build a community of people who will look out for each other.

Wishing you the best of luck. If any pre-WGA/early career folks in the industry want to continue this conversation, this mod's main is @captaincrais.

[goshdangronpa]

When I'm not writing Danganronpa fan fiction, I moonlight as a professional content/copywriter. All the fresh discourse about plagiarism is reminding me of some formative experiences in my work life, and certain people I've met ...

My first job was with a fast-paced marketing company. The in-house writing team maintained weekly blogs for a bunch of clients, and each writer had to write two 1000-word blog posts a day. That's tough, especially for someone who was still pretty fresh in the field. We were salaried rather than hourly (!), so there was no incentive to staying late ... but that also meant the company didn't have to fret about overtime pay, so we could stay late if we needed it. I'd regularly be the last one in the office, still pumping out words in the struggle to meet deadlines.

Much of my time was spent on research. I knew little about the subjects at hand, which were sometimes highly technical, so I couldn't just BS my way through assignments. I even requested and received permission to take one client's worker education course, just so I could know what the heck I was writing about. It didn't seem at all remarkable to me. It was a job. My job. Although I could've been better, or at least faster, I simply did what needed to be done.

I learned that others took a ... different approach.

One supervisor was on sabbatical for the first couple of months I worked there. I respected them as my superior. Then I was assigned to peer-edit one of their articles, something we did with everything we wrote. One uncited claim led me to Google ... where I found a nearly identical article already published. Supervisor did the ol' switcheroo of amending sentence structures and swapping words for poorly chosen synonyms. I brought it up with them, saying I wouldn't report the incident but urged them to not do that. I can't recall what happened next, other than not trusting Supervisor anymore.

After three months passed, I was up for employee review. The bosses liked what they've read - yay! And then they said, "Here's why we're not giving you a raise." My stomach dropped. Apparently, they checked how many articles everyone wrote. I was behind on a quota I knew nothing about. If I wanted more money, I should take a page from the writer in the lead. Champ had somehow written 60 articles in the past month. Amazing! My employer set a goal much humbler than what my work friend had surpassed. If Champ could do that much, surely I could do this little.

Reader, I did my best. I stayed at the office later and later, especially as the date of my next employee review drew near. Due to my salaried status, I wasn't even paid for that overtime, but I put in the time anyway. It was all for nothing. Just a week before the next meeting, where they would've decided whether I deserved a raise or not, they laid off virtually the entire writing department. Apparently, underpaying freelancers who don't get benefits was easier.

Only one person from the crew stayed. If it was gonna be anybody, it was golden goose Champ, who maintained their insane pace. I wished them well.

Anyone wanna guess the secret behind Champ's prodigious output? It's the same reason they got fired just a few weeks later.

The reveal was a betrayal. We were friends, Champ and I, getting each other through the grind of the content mill with sarcastic humor and deep conversations. They encouraged and motivated me to keep up, all the while hiding some dirty tricks that eventually helped them stay in the race while I spun out. I was shocked to discover that I had zero empathy for them. But they deserved none, the filthy plagiarist. Haven't spoken to them since finding out.

This may not be as sordid as everything H. Bomberguy discusses in his brilliant new video. My coworkers and I were literally anonymous, with no clout to speak of, let alone abuse. Our clients were small businesses with little platform, which is why they contracted a marketing agency in the first place. Still, it hurt the hell out of me, and I wasn't even the one being copied! Plagiarism is a curse word in my household, lowest of the low (without getting into, like, actual atrocity).

And you know what? Years later, what I wrote for that company still holds up in my eyes. Those old blog posts aren't exactly the Great American Novel, or even on par with what I'd write as I gained more experience, but I put the effort into writing high-quality and original stuff. I worked hard. I still work hard. As self-deprecating and even self-loathing as I can be, I'll always pride myself on this. May you writers out there be able to pride yourselves on this, too.

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

One of the most fucked up things about peer bullying is how without intervention, even years later it will make you look at an unrelated group of people that you sympathise with and want to be a part of a little too much, and it will still make you feel sick to your stomach because How could I even approach them? Literally what would that entail? How do I belong to something without giving up my entire sense of self? What does a healthy friendship look like, in practice, for me? Because I don't come from a particularly tragic background in general, but I never had that. Now when talking directly to people, I just melt away into a mirror. I disappear, even from myself.

Forget romantic heartbreak, I need songs and stories that give platonic relationships their due, cause this shit can fuck you up just as bad if not in even more fundamental ways. Because you need to be able to at least form sustained if shallow relationships with people in your immediate surroundings to like. function? Survive? With employers, coworkers, neighbours, doctors, etc., even if you don't have any friends. Especially in a society built around the ideal of Every Person for Themselves. Independence and freedom are great and all, but we very much do still need to lean on each other for support when we stumble in order to keep everything going.

So you'll forgive me if I don't see the joke in "they should have been bullied more in school", because having lived that reality it didn't make me normal, it made me fear myself and admitting any connection to other people like me. Which only made me act stranger and more erratic, because I lost my beacon. And now trying to hold onto or even look at it, or someone, burns, because I've been living in the cold and dark for too long. It's baby steps emerging from Plato's cave, trying to learn in my mid-20s what most people figured out in their early teens. This process has also introduced me to an entirely new realm of shame that I must learn to cope with at the same time. As a fresh experience, getting better isolates you in entirely new and not-so-exciting ways from peers who already got over this. I fucking hate it.

But the only way out is through, and one day I will be out. Because at least now I have something to fight for. I just wish I could have spent all this time loving it, instead of running away, hollow, simply trying to survive.

[dykelawlight]

2. job headcanon

for mikami or light?? so interested in ur law experience here!

Oh love this!! I think Mikami is exceptionally good at his job and probably a good guy to have as a coworker. Passionate about the work, keeps his head down, in it because he genuinely wants change (which is about as good as you can ask for from a prosecutor, even though the "change" isn't reform lmfao 🙄) etc. etc. He's on the young end for an attorney, having passed the bar right out of college (though I believe it's more common in Japan to go directly to law school from college rather than returning as an adult, since many people don't go at all and rather take the preliminary qualifying exam for the bar, which does not require a law degree ⁠— Mikami may or may not [depending on whether you go by the manga or anime timeline] have attended law school as a graduate program anyway bc the law school system was not instituted in Japan until 2004), which means he might have to work a little harder to be respected by his colleagues as a whippersnapper fresh out of the year-long prosecutor training program. However, I think his colleagues probably admire his work ethic, even if he's unlikely to join the rest of the office for drinks ⁠— so, respected and liked well enough by the people he works with, but still kind of socially unpopular just because of his own standoffish tendencies. He maybe has freaked somebody out individually by saying some surprisingly aggressive shit about the nature of good and evil and how evil deeds should be punished but frankly dudes like that are a dime a dozen in prosecutorial and police offices so it's probably whatever.

He's a total fucking pit bull in court and imo probably really good at telling a compelling story to the judge since his passion for obtaining what he views as justice for victims is so real and close to his heart. I imagine him as a real firebrand who almost transforms from this solemn, mild-mannered guy to this vibrant, angry advocate who's very capable of swaying a jury and really demonstrates the emotional basis for his Kira fanaticism. But he's not purely an emotional performer ⁠— his arguments are airtight from a legal perspective, even though his written voice is probably kind of dry and lacking in any particular linguistic flair. People who have only met him in a courtroom context are often surprised at what he's like in his day-to-day life, but they wouldn't be if they'd ever read his legal briefs, lmao.

I like to imagine Light in a non- or post-Kira AU going on to join a Japanese intelligence agency like the Public Security Bureau of either the NPA or the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, specifically in a line of work like the TMPD PSB's Fourth Foreign Affairs Division handling global counterterrorism efforts. I imagine this because I think it would be funny. I also think he would be well-qualified for a role of that type (The Global Terrorism Is Coming From Inside The House) and would have the nepotism bonus from his dad lmfao, and would additionally probably really enjoy it when it was exciting and politely tolerate the boring parts. I think he'd be well-liked and admired by his peers, as usual ⁠— we can see the way the task force treats him for evidence of this. He's a hard, competent worker and a friendly guy, so I imagine he moves up the ranks relatively quickly. (Also, the PSB building is right by the Tokyo Public Prosecutors Office, so if Mikami ever moves out of Kyoto and gets a job over there, I know they're making out in the courtyard and shit.)

[destructrice]

It’s a rant but I do find it very alienating when radblr lesbians state that you have to be a goldstar in order to be a real lesbian, because “if we could avoid having dated men you could have avoided too” and as a late bloomer lesbian (not that late, I’m in my 20s I don’t have an ex husband, and even when I thought I was I bi I only dated women because I didn’t feel attracted to men until I dated 01 guy and it lasted 2 months and I went “nope” as soon as we got together [it was online dating until then]) and while I do get the point that some women were able to navigate the world without giving in to the peer, religious and conservative pressure to at least “give men a chance” and are goldstars, and I wish I was one of them, labeling all late bloomer lesbians as frustrated bisexuals is just… incorrect? Maybe some really are bisexuals temporarily frustrated by bad relationships with men, but that’s not what all of us went through? Like, when I talk to bi friends they all say “well I am really attracted to men, wanna sleep with them, I am romantically available to date men, may marry a man someday, that’s the bi experience” and straight women say “nope I don’t feel attracted to women, don’t wanna have sex with them, wouldn’t date or marry any women, that’s the straight experience”, so our experience as women who have “given men a chance” even when we didn’t really wanted is also rejected by bi and straight communities, what do goldstars that don’t believe in late bloomers propose, like a fourth sexuality? Because the other two don’t really encompass our experiences, attractions and lifestyles. Not trying to be hostile here and I get that sometimes it is true that bi women fake being lesbians for internet points, but it’s not really fair with all late bloomers to think we’re all like that, and it’s not even internet clout, like I live with women, I am open about my sexual orientation to my family and coworkers, it’s not a tumblr performance, it’s a real life experience with all the vulnerabilities that come with it. I think it’s pretty reasonable if goldstars only wanna date other goldstars and wanna form a safe place community to share experiences but it’s not only unfair but incorrect and inconsiderate to frame this as the only possible lesbian experience. Feel free to argue but politely please.

[fee-exilee]

(this might be kind of a sad topic for some people, so keep that in mind! if you don’t want to read anything sad please scroll by <3 also light n.sfw talk)

a few days ago I wrote down “having to be the pet every time I had to play charades awakened something in me fr” in my diary. and, while it was meant to be funny, it also kind of… isn’t. whenever I start to think about it, I feel sad more than anything. I feel sad knowing that, even amongst human peers, they see me as lesser.

it’s a well known phenomenon among quiet people, especially autistic quiet people, that people around us tend to treat us like we’re not people. they treat us like pets, or cardboard cutouts with no thoughts or feelings of our own. and it doesn’t end when you get out of school. it follows you, because unfortunately, a lot of people don’t change past those days they had in school. bullies will follow you everywhere and they always know what you are, even if you don’t. (I found out I was autistic through getting bullied, can you tell?)

do I wish I just had a petplay kink? yeah. I wish I could just say that me having trauma over not being treated as an actual person wasn’t real. that it didn’t actually affect me. I wish I could laugh it off and act like it doesn’t matter.

but present me feels bad for that 6 year old that got dehumanized and told to make animal noises and get on their hands and knees as a “joke” for a game. for that 10 year old that got bullied for being quiet and sensitive. for the 15 year old that had absolutely no friends, and got laughed at when they walked around school. for the 18 year old who had shitty coworkers who would constantly ask “why are you so quiet?” and talk to them like they’re a stupid child who can’t do anything.

and I feel bad for the me now, who desperately wants to be treated as just a human being, but was neglected so much that they wish they could experience the same kind of unconditional love that only a pet gets. if that’s considered being into petplay, then yeah… I am.

[strawberyslut]

I know that by saying this, I am essentially alienating all of my followers, but I have grown so tired of men and their near constant condescension. Like I understand that you were raised to see yourself and other men as the smartest people in the world, but talking to me like I'm fucking stupid is getting really old. You treat me and every other woman around you as stupid, unfunny, hysterical, emotional things that are below you, lesser. Not as peers, colleagues, partners, or even equals; in some cases, I feel you see us more as commodities or property. Something you can flaunt and show off at the work Christmas party while you pretend to be a loving or supportive husband, then immediately behind closed doors, you'll go back to treating us and our passions as silly and insignificant. We always talk about the 50s housewife who was expected to vacuum the house in heels every day, raise the children, and still have dinner ready by the time her husband got home from his "stressful" office 9 to 5, the thing is that we haven't really seemed to get past that, so much as it has just adapted to a modern world. Women will work the same as a man, get paid less, (so he may pay more in rent or mortgage, just so that he can feel superior or like breadwinner but she's still working) and is then expected to do the laundry, clean, take the majority of child care chores, make appointments, do paperwork and generally keep things functioning while the man gets to relax after work, or god forbid, maybe do some handy work. Yet all of that work will be diminished because that's what women have been raised to do for decades. When men are asked to step up and do those things, they throw a complete fit because they see it as "women's work" or beneath them. It's so commonplace that so many women don't see it or make excuses for it. My coworker was telling me about how her husband threw a fit the other day because she had plans with her friends for the evening, which meant he had to watch their son AND cook dinner for him. He just couldn't believe that she hadn't made dinner that morning for him to heat up. Mind you, this woman has a full time job and he's a farmer (not to say that's easier work, but this is in the middle of summer, they aren't planting or harvesting right now) and he had the fucking balls to suggest that she should have just made dinner in the morning (whilst getting their child and herself ready). And when I pointed out how absolutely ridiculous that was and said that she should talk to him about it, she laughed and said, "Oh, you know how hard things like that are for guys." I just sat there thinking that they only act like that because no one has knocked them on their ass and showed them how wrong it is. If you are a man reading this, I ask you to really evaluate the things you think, say and do around women because you do things like this without even realizing. You are always so quick you argue that not all men are like that and by doing so you are proving my point. You are arguing that I am wrong and generalizing all men or that I'm simply foolish enough to believe that every single man on earth is like that, but by arguing that you are taking my words in bad faith and showing that you really do believe I am dumber than you. I am not less intelligent than you, I'm also not smarter. We need to realize that every single person on earth is just as smart, but has simply learned from experiences other than are own and trying to act better than just makes you look like an ass.