#brevity who i don't know her

[hekateinhell]

Hi! Why do you think Armand never believed Daniel loved him? And did some part of Daniel believe Armand loved him? What do you think they would have needed to feel loved? Or was it a lost cause?

Hi! ❤️

So right out the gate with this one, huh?

I don't think Armand or Daniel thought that the other didn't love them per se. It was more an issue of questioning the depths and/or motives behind that love.

Armand would've easily been able to read mortal Daniel's thoughts and know what he felt (even when Daniel didn't realize it himself). And remember that Armand hasn't been in a relationship with a human since he himself was human (or ever had a proper relationship at all, really).

At this point (from Armand's POV), he's used to being rejected (Lestat), abandoned (Marius), and discarded (Louis). There's nothing in his history that indicates his relationship with Daniel can endure, that Daniel would choose to stay with him once he's been given what he wants from Armand over everything else. Furthermore, Armand has no frame of reference (that we're told of) for a functional, loving maker/fledgling relationship.

He has so much trauma with and from his own maker to work through, and all he's seen from Lestat's fledglings is that they've come to hate him, abandon him, and even try to kill him.

And from Daniel's perspective, it's more like, "How can you say you love me if you're willing to watch me die?" He doesn't have any knowledge of Armand's history at this point to understand why he's so utterly resistant to the idea. All Daniel knows about Armand's past is what Louis told him in the interview, and I think these two passages would've stood out to him in particular:

“‘Love?’ I asked. ‘There was love between you and the vampire who made you?’ I leaned forward. “‘Yes,’ he [Armand] said. ‘A love so strong he couldn’t allow me to grow old and die. [...]’”

It is for you [Louis] that I’ve been waiting at the Théâtre des Vampires. If I knew a mortal of that sensitivity, that pain, that focus, I would make him a vampire in an instant. But such can rarely be done.

Whether or not Armand meant what he said when he said these things to Louis, it must have been such a painful struggle for Daniel to reconcile that knowledge with all the worldly goods and expressions of love Armand bestowed upon him. QotD says they never discussed the contents of IWTV, so I have to wonder whether this ever came up, because how could it not?

I think Armand turning Daniel was what proved to Daniel that Armand truly did love him as much as he professed to. But already, as soon as he's lost that mental link, Armand starts questioning him:

"I love you," Daniel said. "Are you certain?" Armand answered.

Armand can no longer be certain; he has to take Daniel at his word, and doing so puts him in an extremely vulnerable position.

Even in the beautiful image of the garden he projects for Daniel during his turning, Armand still depicts himself in it being dressed as the ruthless, dusty, forgotten coven master. Which I think illustrates everything we need to know about Armand's sense of self-worth here. He sees himself being the person he was at the worst period of his life, and he can't accept that Daniel would come to see him any differently.

In my opinion, The Story of Daniel & Armand, Part One couldn't have ended any differently. Armand needed to be able to heal first and to prove to himself that he was capable of breaking the cycle of failed relationships (which he did with Louis, and I also think seeing Louis work to mend his relationship with his own maker helped drive the point home as well).

They did live happily ever after, so we have that at least?

[kiwi-bitchez]

Double Down, Triple Threat 

Summary: insecure!Eddie x bartender!Reader

Eddie is constantly flirting with you after his Corroded Coffin sets at the Hideout, and you have the bad habit of flirting back. What happens when you overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for you? Maybe you’ve had the wrong idea about the cocky metalhead who negs you for free drinks. Now you need to take it into your own hands to resolve some built up tension. 

Smut, as always, with a touch of angst but generally fluff/happy ending. 

Word count: 18k (eek! in retrospect I maybe should have split this into multiple parts but...fuck it, brevity has never been my strong suit LOL) Buckle up for a doozy.

Content warnings: smut, afab reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol consumption, smoking, the devil’s lettuce, mention of Eddie's scars and sustained injuries (slightly canon divergent obviously because our boy is ALIVE here, but the events of season 4 generally stand otherwise), also Eddie does some negative self talk where he refers to himself as mutilated but everything is happy in the end I promise, and scars are nothing to be insecure about he's just down in the dumps you feel me?, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected PIV sex (plz use protection irl), pet names, reader and Eddie shower together

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted a fic on here, but I hope all y’all who are still riding the Eddie Munson thirst train enjoy this :) I’m trying to regain the motivation to write more, so hopefully more fics to come soon (no promises though lol) (maybe some Steve? Steddie x Reader? Let me know what y’all want to see.) I

"I'll have the usual," his hoarse voice and boisterous presence cut through what few other customers sat at your bar, forcing your attention his way.

"Yeah, and what would that be?" you try to give him your best deadpan voice, unsure yet if you were in the mood for his antics. 

"Come on, like I ever order anything other than a whiskey and coke," his curly dark hair stuck slightly to his damp forehead, not having bothered to wipe the sweat from his brow in between the stage and the bar. If you could even call it a stage. It was more of a sad corner with an extension cable and a few amps that his grunting bandmates were lugging back into their truck while he very helpfully came over and tried to flirt with the bartender. You were the only bartender. On Friday nights anyways. 

"That's because you're unoriginal," his drink was already half made as you flick your eyes up through your lashes at him, knowing he was watching you intently, not that he was particular about how his drink was made by any stretch. "You're actually going to pay for it this time," you slid the glass over to him, "I'm not joking."

"You wound me," he tries his best to give you puppy dog eyes, "but I'm pretty sure Randy mentioned something about drink tickets when we negotiated our new Friday slot."

"That's not a thing," you make up menial tasks behind the bar to keep your hands and eyes busy while he relentlessly chats with you, "never has been. Plus if I keep giving you free drinks you'll get the idea that I like you or something." 

Fuck, you told yourself you should stop flirting back with him. Your first excuse had been professionalism, which didn't make a lick of sense considering you were a bar back at this hole in the wall that paid local bands in drink tickets, apparently. Your second excuse had been that as fun as Eddie was to chat with, you hardly knew anything about him other than his loud band and his drink order. 

Unfortunately he liked to chat and sooner than later you knew more about him than you wanted to. Your newest excuse? If you kept flirting back with him he might get the idea that he could see you outside of this dingy bar, and you liked the comfort and safety of the three feet of wood separating you, it kept you from doing something you might regret. 

"Don't act like you didn't like our set," he threw the rest of his drink back, "I saw you watchin' from over here."

"Yeah, well you're kind of hard to ignore, you know, with the volume and all," your voice had a too-playful tone that you mentally noted to dial back on. 

If you were being honest, Corroded Coffin was one of the weekly acts that you didn't entirely mind. Most were groups of middle aged men trying to relive the glory days by booking a weeknight at the Hideout, instruments barely tuned and a setlist that was decades out of style. While Eddie's band certainly wasn't everyone's cup of tea, you found yourself tapping your foot along with their songs more often than not. At least they were original, you’d give them that. 

He held his glass up to signal a request for another. "Go help your friends carry all your shit," you swiped the cup from his hand, hating that you focused on how your fingers briefly touched his, "and then I'll make you another. And I'm charging you for both."

"Whatever you say, babe" he spun around three or four times on the bar stool before sauntering off and finally assisting with moving the amps and drum kit. You rolled your eyes, not that he was watching you anymore, but more to keep yourself from checking out how his shirt clung to his torso. His black t-shirt was always a size too small, revealing his tattoo covered arms that you never allowed yourself to stare long enough at to make out what any of them were. 

Eddie was nice. As much as you liked to push each other's buttons and joke around, he was a lot more respectful than most patrons that tried their hand at flirting with you. He never said anything gross or disrespectful, not something you could say about most men who've had more than a few beers. 

But you didn't want to risk pushing any boundaries with him, because you work here, and his band plays here weekly, religiously. You didn't want things to get weird, and as much as you learned how to avoid certain patrons, there was only so much space between the 'stage' and your station behind the bar. 

Despite this, you have his second drink made before he finishes putting his stuff away, and you haven't started a tab for either of them. A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he notices his already-made drink set by his stool as he walks over from the back door. You couldn't help but feel a tiny smile creep up on your face as well. 

"Really made me work for this one, huh?" he takes the first sip while still standing before setting back into his seat, "truly amazing service, best I've ever had, really." You glare at him while cleaning some cups absentmindedly with a rag. "Not sure if you can tip on a drink ticket though..."

"Fuck off," you giggle and throw the wet towel at him, "you can't charm your way into TWO free drinks you ass."

"Aww you think I'm charming?" the flirtations between you were always edged with sarcasm, which you both found a lot easier than admitting 'hey you need to stop looking at me like that or else I'm going to keep thinking about pinning you against this countertop.'

"No, I don't, which is why you're PAYING for both those drinks," a lie followed by another lie, and you both knew it. "Where'd your band go?"

"Why? 'm I boring you?" he didn't mind taking up all your attention when the other bar patrons were either too drunk to stand or too old to even notice that a metal band had performed for the past hour. "No one's ever accused Gareth of being more interesting than yours truly. Plus he doesn't drink anyways, so your venture capitalist instincts wont work on him." He raised his drink to punctuate his joke before taking another long swig. 

"Ha ha," you don't give him the satisfaction of a real laugh, "I just wanted to make sure you had a ride home in case you try and swindle me into making you a third drink."

"Oh no, I told them all to scram, that I had a hot date with you and my unsettled tab," he leaned over the bar, trying to eliminate as much space between himself and you, "plus I've got a friend coming by to pick me up in a bit. So if you wanted to make me that third drink in exchange for me keeping you company while you close up, I certainly don't have any reason to turn you down."

"Fine," you point at him with a stern finger, "but this one'll be more coke than whiskey."

"Deal," he pointed his finger back at you, moving carefully in so the tips of your pointers touched. This made you genuinely laugh, unable to keep up a wall for too long around him. 

He finished his second drink while you ordered last call, and settled up with crumpled cash and mumbled thank you’s from the few remaining drunks. After closing up the cash register you make him that more-coke-than-whiskey drink as promised, and get to wiping down every sticky surface. 

"What's your drink?" he asks.

"Hmm?" you glance over from your hunched over position, trying to get the wet rag across the underside of the bar where someone had clearly spilt what appeared to be an entire pint of light beer. 

"You know my drink order, I wanna know yours." you stand up straight and look at him. 

You consider pushing back and demanding why he wanted to know, but it was late and you only had so many quips left in you, "Gin and tonic with extra lime." You get back to soaking up the spilt mess.

"Woooooow," his drink was finished and he took it upon himself to grab the broom from behind the bar and start sweeping up the bottle caps and tracked in dirt, "and you had the nerve to call me unoriginal."

"I'm not some creative rock and roll guitar guy like you, I don't need to be original, I'm just a bartender," you let him keep sweeping and start checking off other tasks from your closing list.

"You aren't just a bartender, give yourself more credit than that babe," he held up the dustpan full of crap, silently asking where to put it and you hold open a mostly full garbage bag for him to dump it into before tying it off, "judging by your drink order I would also guess that you're, hmmmm, an 85 year old man."

"Oh my god," you slap him on the arm with another half dirty hand towel, "in that case, you're doing voluntary manual labor just to flirt with this 85 year old man, so maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

He takes a few steps forward, not quite caging you against the bar, but nearly there. "And how am I doing? Is it working?" He's the closest he's ever been to you, jokingly sliding the broom around your feet, pretending to sweep while maintaining searing eye contact.

As the which-one-of-us-is-going-to-learn-in-first question buzzes around you, an irritating light flickers through the big front window, indicating someone had pulled their car right up to the curb with their high beams on. Eddie scrunches his nose up, and your urge to kiss him somehow grows despite his annoyed expression. "That's my ride."

You give him a small nod, turning your head to try and squint to see who could possibly be picking him up at this hour, but not making out much through the foggy glass. "I suppose I can manage the rest without you," you grab the broom from him, fingers touching for the second time tonight, "see you next week, rockstar."

Eddie wants to do something smooth, a wink or a clever line, but instead nervously gives you a nod and is out the front door before he can give it a second thought. The minute the door closes behind him you let out all the air you had been holding in your chest, both frustrated and slightly relieved. Eddie on the other hand- was bursting with regret and frustration, immediately running his hands through his hair and pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. 

"Absolutely not," Steve craned his neck out of his car that always looked like it had just gotten a fresh wax and detail, "at least five feet away from the beemer if you're going to light that." 

Eddie rolled his eyes, considering putting the cigarette back into the carton and getting the fuck away from this bar, but ultimately gave in and pivoted on his heel storming back towards the brick exterior and slumping against it as he flicked his lighter and took an aggressively deep pull. 

"What's your damage?" Steve moved out of the expensive car, keeping a bit of distance from Eddie but close enough that the two could talk, "That bartender you like wasn't on or something?"

"She's inside closing up now, so keep your fuckin' voice down" he gave Steve a glare and then immediately an apologetic look for being so prickly, "I'm just bad at this shit, man."

"You can't be that bad at it, Gareth and Jeff said the two of you eye fuck across the room every Friday night," Steve shrugs, understanding Eddie's drawback but knowing his friend rarely gives himself the benefit of the doubt. 

"Yeah, well, that's not the hard part," Eddie rips his cigarette and presses his wild hair deeper into the brick behind him, exhaling upwards. 

You had taken note that Eddie's ride hadn't left yet, so you busied yourself for a minute before deciding who cares if you had to give him an awkward wave on your way across the parking lot, so you locked up and grabbed the trash to take to the dumpster out back before leaving for the night. 

You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but as soon as the back door clicked you heard their muffled conversation from around the corner. Rather than give away your presence with the clanging of the trash you gently set it against the wall and moved forward silently, staying out of sight but well within earshot. 

"Flirting is the easy part, she's fuckin' easy to talk to, man" Eddie's voice carried, and you felt guilty but continued to listen, "I don't want to just fuck her though, I want to like, date...her."

"Oh," Steve's voice dropped knowingly, "well that's... good, I guess, that you like her like that."

"Well even if I didn't like her like that and was only looking to fuck her," he sighs out, and you carefully listen while furrowing your eyebrows, trying to make sense of their conversation, "she's gorgeous, and no girl that hot- scratch that no girl at all want's to fuck some mutilated freak."

"Don't call yourself a freak," Steve's voice seems apprehensive. 

"Yeah, sure, but you can't say I'm not mutilated." There was a beat of silence, and you didn't have time to think too much about his words before he went off again, voice laced with thick sarcasm, "Oh hey babe, so glad you were able to look past that I live in a trailer park and all my neighbors think I'm a satan worshiping murderer, but I hope you can be cool with my singular nipple and weird lumpy scar tissue, I know it's super hot, you're gonna have to get in line." His voice carried easily far past your hiding spot. 

"You're not giving her much credit dude," Steve was still apprehensive to respond, knowing how Eddie got when he started to spiral, "Maybe she's not that shallow."

"It's not that," Eddie's voice started to calm, "I'd just rather take my twenty minutes of flirting after our Friday gigs than risk it and have her look at me like she's sorry for me or something." 

With that he snubbed out his cigarette butt with the toe of his combat boots, let out a big sigh, and moved to get into the passenger side of Steve's car. You take a few slow, careful steps back towards the slumped garbage bag and wait until you hear the engine start and see the lights pull out onto the opposite side of the road. 

Fuck. Part of you felt incredibly guilty for listening to what was obviously meant to be a private conversation, especially a private conversation about you. But your gears were turning far too fast to get hung up on guilt. 

You always felt apprehensive about Eddie because you figured he was a flirt, a player, the kind of guy who talks to all bartenders like that, and you just happened to be the one he flirted with after his Corroded Coffin shows. You never wanted to get too invested in making him smile or waiting around for him to chat you up, because you know how most guys are, especially guys who carry themselves with that much confidence. And you were fucking wrong. 

Now fully realizing that the ball is in your court, you need to plan your first move. You decided, Eddie was worth taking the risk. 

It was truly a shot in the dark, but if your intuition ended up being a bust then no one would know about your wasted afternoon other than yourself. The following afternoon you drove aimlessly up and down the unpaved residential streets of the trailer park. There were two in town but you had a pretty good feeling that this was the one. 

You only started to feel stupid when you got some confused and slightly angry looks from people going about their business, hanging laundry or smoking on their porches, scrunching their noses and trying to make out the unfamiliar car driving in circles around their neighborhood. 

Aha! There it was. You knew that your gut could only fail you so many times when it came to Eddie. Exactly what you had been looking for, a big black and blue 1971 Chevrolet van strewn with dents, patches of rust, and, your telltale sign, a homemade Corroded Coffin sticker crookedly placed on the faded chrome of the bumper. 

Step one, complete. Step two was contingent on Eddie even being home. The presence of his van had you feeling hopeful. 

You attempt to rid yourself of lingering nerves with a deep breath and silent pep talk. You park adjacent to his van and hop out before your legs can convince you not to, and suddenly you've rung the doorbell and are standing with your hands clasped nervously in front of his door. 

"Just a minute," you hear him yell from inside, step two, complete, "What're you here for? Cuz I only got weed right now so if you're..." his hollering voice trails off from inside as he catches a glimpse of you through the screen. "Y/n? What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Jeez, hello to you too," you try to lace your voice with the same flirty edge that you always took with Eddie, but you didn't have the comfortable barrier of the bar or the security of being the person serving him his drinks. 

"How the fuck do you know where I live?" His tone wasn't quite angry, but it was bordering on more pointed than just confused. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to drop by totally unexpected," you suddenly felt vulnerable, regretting this whole stupid plan, "I can go." 

You start to scurry back to your car and hide your face forever, but he cuts you off with, "No, no, just, why are you here?" He softened his voice, and came down the stoop to hover over you on the last step. 

"Well," here goes nothing, "last night I felt like we sort of got interrupted." You pause, trying to gauge his reaction, "And I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I didn’t want to wait a whole week to see you again."

"Oh," his face and reaction didn't give you much of a clue as to what he was thinking. 

"And," you started filling the empty air with words, as you often did out of anxiety, "I know where you live because I've heard you sing 'fuck everyone in the trailer park, I'll play my music and curse your existance' probably a thousand times, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out where you live." 

He let out a chuckle, despite being deep in the throws of processing your earlier statement of feeling cut off. Of course he wanted to see you outside the confines of the musty bar, he just hadn't expected it to be like this, so sudden. "Well that's fair. I’ll give you double points for perception."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your Saturday," you began to reel again, "just wanted to tell you I'd like to hang out with you sometime, preferably not at The Hideout."

"Can sometime be now?" he hopped down from the last step and gave you an inquisitive smile, nose slightly scrunched and giving you butterflies. 

"Yeah, sometime can be now. You promise I'm not interrupting anything?" you felt a wave of relief, his energy had fully shifted from confusion to your comfortable flirty banter.

"Just a packed bong and have some laundry I probably wasn't going to do anyways," he suddenly realized he either had to invite you inside, which would be slightly embarrassing given the current state of his trailer, or suggest a secondary location, "you hungry? We can grab lunch or something?" 

He offered to drive, and you suggested sandwiches and beer to go for a backseat van picnic. He was relieved that you were down with doing something so casual, no stuffy cafes or overpriced food. If you were more than happy to suggest eating deli counter sandwiches in the back of his clunky van then maybe he had less to worry about than he thought. 

The passing moments between you had him realizing he truly didn't know much about you. Your job, how you had no problem snapping back at rude customers, and most recently your favorite drink. He wanted to know more, and quickly did as you had a 'regular' sandwich order and gave him directions to a side street that looked out onto a small lake, explaining that you'd eat lunch out here sometimes when the weather was nice. He parked the van in reverse, letting the back doors swing open, giving you the perfect bench looking out to the scenery to sit back and eat. 

"All my years living 'round here, I've never been to this spot," he noted through bites of sandwich wrapped in white paper.

"Yeah, most people know the spot across the lake with the rope swing and all that," you gesture across to where there was a popular jumping rock littered with empty beer cans, "too crowded for me though, it's more peaceful over here." 

"Sorry if I was a bit rude earlier," he started, but you quickly cut him off before he could finish his apology.

"No, no," you move your hand over to gently grab his mid gesture, "don't apologize, your reaction was incredibly reasonable."

"I just-' he started but you gave his hand a squeeze, "I really am happy you decided to come by, I didn't want you to think otherwise."

"I'm happy you chose lunch with me over a bong and laundry, that was some tough competition I had," he rolled his eyes at you.

"Don't make fun of me," he nudged your side, "I'm usually pretty wiped from Friday's show and trying to think of clever things to keep up with you, so my Saturday's are usually pretty lazy," your shoulders rubbed against each other, "being a washed up wannabe rockstar and flirting with a girl way out of my league can really do a number on me."

You share a soft giggle but reassure him that playing live music, even if it is only for you and a crowd of five drunks is still pretty cool. "Plus I like that you dress like this all the time, it's not just an act, this is just how you are," you gesture to his ripped jeans and ring clad fingers.

"What did you expect, babe? Surprise me at my trailer to find me in a polo and khakis?" the suggestion alone had the two of you laughing, brainstorming an alternate universe where Eddie was an accountant by day and only let his rocker side loose on Friday nights. 

"If you aren't secretly an accountant, what do you do when you're not playing music, if I may ask," you realize this was really one of the first personal questions you'd exchanged, keeping things punchy and surface level until this point.

"Ah, well," he scratches the back of his head, "although I wish the drink tickets we make at The Hideout were enough to cover rent, I work down at the body shop, you know the one down the street from the grocery store? My uncle knew some guys there and hooked me up with a job fixing cars after high school, and it's not too bad, I'm not half bad at it either, so that's where I'm at."

"You just really keep getting better and better, huh?" at first he wonders if your comment is sarcastic, but you continue "So what I'm hearing is you'll look at my rattling engine for free? I know nothing about cars and am always worried the people at the body shop are going to overcharge me."

"I only charge in sandwich dates and drink tickets, so you're in luck," he responds quickly without giving it much of a thought. 

You take a second, "What about dinner dates? Maybe movie dates too? Are those acceptable payments for your mechanic expertise?" 

"Not usually, but I'll make an exception for you," he responds after a few beats, realizing you wanted to see him again, and not just at the bar. 

You both are looking out at the lake, the buzzing energy around you making you nervous to look at each other. So you just tilt your head sideways to rest on his shoulder, "Phew, that's a relief, because I have a lot more of these planned."

"Oh yeah?" he shifts his body towards you, lifting your head from his shoulder and finally meeting his gaze, a stupid grin plastered across his face, he couldn't help it. "Which one of these dates do I finally get to kiss you?" You let out a breathy laugh, half amused by his corny line and half surprised he was being so forward. 

"Hmmm, I'm not sure," you pretend to think it over, stringing this out was killing both of you, but you couldn't help but push his buttons a bit more, "I'd say I'm kind of a third date kind of gal."

"Three? As in three from now or three including this one?" He seemed genuinely concerned, causing a genuine laugh to slip through the act you were putting on. 

You move your hand to his chest, faces closer than they had ever been. You had always been sucked into his big brown eyes, but now you saw flecks of honey and deep browns that bordered on black in them, faded freckles dotted across his cheeks, a chapped patch on his lower lip that had clearly been the victim of some anxious chewing. "I'll make an exception this time, for you."

He let you make the first move, leaning in and gently pressing your lips to his, soft and slow. You could feel his breath catch in his throat, prompting you to pull back and look at him through fluttered lashes, as your mouth parted slightly to ask him if that was okay, his big ring clad hands cupped the sides of your cheeks and pulled you right back into him, kissing you like he was afraid you'd evaporate if he ever stopped. 

The wind was knocked out of you. You couldn't be bothered to breathe when your attention was solely focused on his lips, his tongue, the sharp intake air he sucked in between slotting your top lip down to your swollen bottom one, nipping with teeth and holding your face so close. 

After a minute of soft whimpers and exploring the new intimacy you pull back to finally catch your breath, fully ready to ignore the need for oxygen and lean back in when you see his face, rosy and buzzing with excited energy. 

"Sorry, if that was kind of a lot," he realized you had given the sweetest peck and he proceeded to practically shove his tongue down your throat. 

You however, were already brushing his apology off and leaning in for more, missing the feeling of his big hands cradling your face, sending tingling shockwaves down your body. Before you could lunge back at him and take more of what you wanted, he takes your chin in between his fingers and tilts your head up to his.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm sort of crazy about you. And I really don't want to fuck this up, but I've wanted to do that for a really long time.” 

He could tell by your pout that you were begging for another kiss, and he couldn't refuse you. You were completely lost in it. Learning that he let out a little gasp when you ran your fingers up into his hair, that he would catch your bottom lip in between his teeth when you started to pull away and he needed more, that you were already completely wrecked for him. You weren't even conscious of the fact that you were now fully seated in his lap, sandwich wrappers and empty cans long pushed aside. 

Part of you wanted to wait, to let things build up organically over time and get physically intimate when the moment felt right. But fuck it, the moment felt right now. 

Any apprehension or worry of scaring him off dissipated when his thumb ran across your cheekbone, his other strong arm holding you steadily against him, you don't think you could wiggle away if you tried. Swirling in your apprehension you also fought the urge to press your hips down into his and grind against him harder. You wanted to let him take things at his pace and not rush anything, but fuck you could feel his cock getting hard between your legs and it was driving you insane. 

He dragged the knuckle of his middle finger up your neck along the curve of your jaw, speaking softly into your kiss, "can I kiss you here?" pressing his touch into the side of your neck.

"You can do anything you want to me," you pant back, slightly embarrassed at how desperately horny that came out.

"Fuck," he groaned out, cock noticeably twitching against his black jeans and into your thigh, "you can't say shit like that to me."

"Sorry, sorry," you try to gain your composure and lift off him slightly, “I-"

He took a hold of your waist and pulled your back down into his lap, diving into the side of your neck and nipping and sucking until he found the spot that made you squeeze your thighs slightly around him. "Anything I want requires a lot more time and space than we have right now, pretty girl." He mumbled into your neck in between kisses, his words making your back arch slightly more into him. "Plus I need to be a gentleman," you rolled your eyes at this. 

"Since when have you ever worried about that," you tug his hair back to force him to look at you.

"You really want to know what I want, right now?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Really, really," you let your weight sink down onto his lap a touch more, feeling the stiff length under his jeans slot between your thighs a bit deeper, making his breath hitch before he could respond. 

"I want you to lay back on those blankets up there," he nodded towards the few crumpled up blankets he had shoved behind the driver's seat, "and let me eat your pretty pussy until you're screaming loud enough for the people across the lake to hear."

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that. 

This unexpected burst of sexual confidence threw you for a loop, as you were fully prepared to be the one making all the big moves. Your mouth hung open slightly, struggling to form a response when all that was swarming through your mind was holy fuck, holy fuck, that was so hot, what the fuck do I say. 

Rather than respond with words you just roll off his lap and start moving deeper into the back of his van, propping your torso up on bent arms and sending him back a suggestively raised eyebrow. He swung his legs up over the ledge and took one of the doors with him, sliding into the van and quickly shutting the other as well. 

It took a second for your eyes to adjust, the previous sunlight coming in from across the lake was cut off, and the light source now was only coming from the front windows, making things darker but not invisible. You quickly had no trouble making out Eddie's slender form shuffling around and getting situated in between your bent knees, urging you to lay back a bit more and relax as much as your body would allow against the lumpy blanket pile. 

"This is okay?" he asks while leaning down to pick up where you had left off a moment ago. 

"Yes, fuck," you wiggle up into his form, wanting as much contact as he would allow, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into your lips. 

It all had moved faster than you were used to but fuck if it didn't feel so right. Why did you feel more comfortable with this person you hardly knew than you had with your past few long term relationships? He just had this way of taking your nerves and throwing them out the nearest window. 

After sucking on your lower lip until it was puffy and slick he dips his chin into the crook of your neck, dragging his perfect nose up your jugular and nestling into the junction of your neck and ear, licking a stripe all the way. You wanted to desperately buck your hips up into his, but only allowed yourself half the satisfaction of lifting your thigh slightly to give him more space to sink deeper into your slumped form. 

When Eddie’s life flashed before his eyes, on more than one occasion- actually- he wasn’t particularly satisfied with what he saw. In the moments before what he assumed was death, his brain searched for the best moments to accumulate and reminisce on before his body succumbed to the untimely demise he was facing. It wasn’t much. 

He wished he had more than smiling moments with his D&D club, a few killer performances at the Hideout, no killer audiences, some nights of revelry with his friends, and a few forgettable hookups in dingy bar bathrooms. That couldn’t be it, right?

In the wake of his life flashing, fading, and flashing again, he made more space for good things. After his shows now he let himself think about you, and how much he liked you, let himself try his hand at flirting. Because if he was going to come anywhere that close to death again, he needed more to show for it than a few trysts with nameless girls and an unnerving amount of scar tissue. 

So he wasn’t about to fuck this up. If someone came at him with an axe tomorrow, at least he’d have the memory of you splayed out beneath him in the back of his van, lips shiny and cheeks rosy. If his life were to flash before his eyes again it wouldn’t be as bad.  

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he mumbled into your neck, his denim clad thigh pressing perfectly in between your legs. You could only hum back as if to say, “no, tell me.”

“I think you do know,” his teeth grazed upon your earlobe, sending a jolt through your hips and finding solace in the friction between your thighs with his.

“Yeah, I know,” you breathe out, arching your neck down to nudge the tip of his nose with yours, “do you?”

“I didn’t have a clue,” he mumbled into your lips before slipping his tongue against yours, sickly sweet and laced with all the regret of not asking you out sooner. 

You let your ankles hook around one another, locking your hips together and earning a deep rumble of a moan from the man trapped. “I recall you mentioning something about the people across the lake hearing me…” you playfully trail off, equal parts confidently flirty and deeply desperate for him to act on his earlier promise. 

He had nudged his way down into the neckline of your shirt, licking and nipping at as much of your breasts as he could find, fingertips grazing the waistline of your pants. Part of you wanted to just lay here and let him have his way with you, but the conscious part of your brain recognized the insecurities he expressed in that conversation you weren't supposed to hear, and signaled you to be as forward with him as you could be. 

“Fuck,” you struggled to pry your hands between your pressed bodies to reach your jeans button, “Eddie can I take these off, I want to feel you.” 

With your hands moved south, you managed to undo the clasps of your jeans while also running your hands upwards towards his shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath. 

It was subtle, but impossible for you to miss, when your fingertips grazed his lower stomach and trailed up his t-shirt his body shifted into a tense state for just a moment. You could have easily missed it. It took all of a millisecond for him to subtly jerk away from you and redirect the attention to your now unbuttoned pants. His hands were dragging the material down your thighs before you had a moment to register the way he averted your touch. 

He playfully tossed your bunched up pants over his shoulder, as if they had anywhere else to go other than the three feet of van between him and the doors. After that flashed moment of shyness, you noticed nothing but a playful smirk on his face, smile crinkled at the corners of his cheeks and eyes full of wild mischief. 

His hands spread against your thighs, digging his fingertips into as much skin as the width of his palms would allow. 

“So fucking perfect,” he drank you in, hardly noticing the moment you pulled your shirt and bra over yourself, but dumbstruck as soon as his eyes caught sight of your reveal.

Knowing he had yet to put his money where his mouth was, he adjusted downwards and let his flushed cheek make contact with your thigh. In that moment he vowed to let the sight of the little damp patch in the center of your cotton panties stay forever in his mind. 

He didn’t let a single thought register in his brain before he leaned forward and let his tongue lick a fat strip up the middle of your clothed center, adding dampness to the apparent arousal already there. 

“Jesus,” you were slightly taken aback at his action, letting your head fall back, while still lowering your gaze down to where his hooded lids and pink tongue sat in between your thighs.

He reveled in the feeling of being between your thighs, letting his tongue play around the center of your panties for a few strokes before the twitching in your legs signaled that you had had enough of his teasing. 

Taking a blissful moment to hook his finger through the crotch piece of your underwear and pull it to the side to reveal your slick center, he simply couldn’t help himself. He pulled back and drank the sight of you in, panties wet with your arousal and his spit pulled to the side and your perfect cunt finally in his sights. 

The groan he let out only tripled your level of neediness for him. You let your chest puff up and hips gyrate forward at nothing to signal that you needed him, like, now.

Before you could even think of something snarky to say to get him to get on with it, his entire face was fully buried in you. An involuntary ahhh escaped you as he let his entire tongue press as far into you as space would allow. 

“Ohmygod,” all coming out in one breath, “fuckeddie.” 

He groaned deeply into you at the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, your taste, how your hips twitched slightly when his nose pressed against your clit. He didn’t even think about all those drunken chats with the boys or stupid cosmo articles he couldn't help but read, eating your pussy didn’t require any thought, he could only feel. 

Your sighs were like a song to him, every sharp inhale and subtle whimper, he caught it all and it was the most beautiful music. He let his tongue swirl faster when he heard your breath hitch, gripped your thigh tighter when you let out that beautiful exhale. 

“So fucking good for me,” he mumbled into your inner thigh in between licks, fully pussy drunk and ready to stay here forever, “fucking perfect.”

After some selfish exploration, he settled on a steady rhythm against your clit, making your back arch and whines jump an octave. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you groaned, feeling embarrassed how needy your voice already sounded, “can you use your fingers too, please.” Desperate. That’s how you felt, and you couldn't help but be self conscious for any more than a moment, as he immediately headed your request. 

Guitar fingers. You fucking knew it. You always found him attractive and charming, but immediately scolded yourself the moment you started speculating about those damn fingers. If he could learn Metallica solos in private, what else could he do?

Curling upwards in that magically delicious motion that had you already seeing stars, he glanced up at you upon entering and was met with the glorious sight of your mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut. 

You simply couldn’t be bothered by the rickety van floor beneath you, the sad lumpy pillow propped under your head, or the stagnant, vaguely cigarette scented air around you. Nope. No thoughts other than the tightening knot in your stomach and how those pretty brown eyes peered up through too-perfect lashes at you in between sinful strokes. 

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you hardly recognized your voice as your own, “please don’t stop, Eddie, please…”

And there it was, euphoric bliss found in the back of a pot dealing metalhead’s van. Your thighs quivered and your brain lost all capacity for thought. All you could feel was the sudden wash of pleasure, the pulsing between your legs, and the tongue and fingers fucking into you as if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Writhing, trying to keep your moans down despite his verbalized promise for them to be heard far and wide, you try to control the jerk of your hips and grip on his hair. You rode out your orgasm, far sooner than you would have liked. You wanted to revel in it. 

After months of relentless flirting and suppressing your attraction to him, you wish you could have held your orgasm off a while longer. You simply couldn't allow yourself to bask in the velvet of his tongue or the tickle of his bangs on your thighs. You needed it too badly to hold off. 

Coming down from your orgasm, a broken moan cracked from you and let him know to slow his roll. In between catching your breath you catch a view of him sucking your release off of his slick fingers, and almost throw yourself at him, beg him to jump your bones. But all you can do is let out a breathy laugh and find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You come?” he asks, slight snark to his voice.

You muster up the energy to bop him upside the head and ruffle his hair along the way. “Fuck off,” you respond, still breathless, “you know I did.”

“I know,” he cocks his head, still admiring your form, your flushed face and rise and fall of every breath, “It’s polite to ask, though.”

“Ah yes, Eddie Munson, most polite man I know,” you flop back onto the mismatched pillows.

“Hey!” he pretends to sound offended but only manages to tug at your heartstrings, “I’ll have you know, that I am a delight.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” you reach down to feel your dripping folds before hunching forward to search for your underwear, which haven't traveled too far from his knees on the van floor.  

You wanted to return the favor, do more than return the favor, but something about his shift in demeanor and the way he angled his body away from yours slightly to adjust his hard cock in his pants and keep up the too-casual post-orgasm conversation had you thinking it was more than him being too polite to accept your advances. 

“Shit, what time is it,” he begins to shuffle towards the front of the van to check the time while you awkwardly gathered your clothes and redressed, fully assessing that whatever fooling around in the back of this van you were doing was officially over. 

“I, uh, have a few errands to run,” he sounded apologetic, not like he was making some excuse to get you out of his hair, “I can drop you off, or you can come along for the ride…”

There is was, your affirmation that he was just as desperate to hang onto this moment together as you were. 

“I actually have a shift starting pretty soon,” you regrettably admit, “and as much as I’d love to ditch it and be your passenger princess, the Saturday tips are usually the bulk of my rent money so…” 

He understood, he hated how much he understood. 

“What time do you get off?” He didn’t even try to hide how eager he was to see you again, again in ten minutes, again later tonight, again tomorrow, again as many times as you’d let him. 

“Get off? Pretty sure I did that like three minutes ago…” you joke and appreciate his huff of a laugh, “Um, I’m closing, so probably not until like two or three. Don’t worry though, I can give you my number and we can do this again when we’re both free.”

“I’m free later… at two,” his expression was dead serious, “or three, or four, or whenever.” He noticed your brows shoot up and words start to form in your mouth, before you could speak he cuts in, “If you won’t be too tired or anything. I can pick you up?”

“It’ll be pretty late Eds,” you were falling into the trap of his puppy dog eyes, “you don’t need to wait up for me like that, I promise we can see each other again, tomorrow even…”

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy,” he took your hand in his and mindlessly stroked circles into it with his thumb, “but I’m sort of a night owl, not big on the whole sleeping thing anyways, and I’d love to pick you up from work later.”

“Okay,” you agree, the soft earnestness of his voice snared you, and considered the magic he had just worked between your legs, who were you to say no. The glimmer in his eye and quirked smile at your response had you wishing you had said more than ‘okay,’ wondering what kind of look you would have gotten from a ‘yes, please,’ or ‘I’d love that.’

He drove you back to his trailer, not letting go of your hand during the ride, not even to turn up the music at his favorite parts. He offers to follow you back to your place, insisting that waiting for you to shower and change into work clothes and then drop you off at the Hideout was “on the way” to these supposed errands he had to run. 

You roll your eyes but start to accept that this is the kind of guy Eddie is, insincerity undetectable when he makes these offers. You invite him in, but he opts to wait outside with a cigarette, pacing a bit and then forcing his legs and mind to still by waiting in the drivers seat. 

“Hey hot stuff,” he wolf whistles as you exit your apartment, dressed in your usual black shirt and jeans for work, apron balled up in your bag to put on once you arrive. 

He’s sweet, and sincere. As much as you liked the jab banter between the two of you at the bar, you think you might prefer his sarcastic jokes mixed with sweet compliments and longing gazes more. Not that you weren’t getting that from him at the bar before, there were plenty of longing gazes there too, but now the shared glances are heavy with the knowledge of what his tongue feels like on your cunt. 

A sloppy, exaggerated kiss on the cheek and a ‘go get ‘em tiger’ sends you off into the bar, where your hands will be pouring cheap liquor for the next several hours but your mind will be solely occupied with what your post-work date with Eddie entails. 

The drink special of the night was a mix of anxious anticipation and lustful yearning, shaken too aggressively and served with sunsteady hands. Luckily the Saturday rush kept you mostly focused on vodka sodas and Guinness pours, wiping down sticky surfaces and making change for impatient customers. 

You had assistance behind the bar, and that also meant assistance closing up, finally allowing yourself to start peeking through the window to see if Eddie held up on his promise. Of course he had. He’d been waiting in the lot, scoring a few sales from exiting patrons who knew him previous deals, since long before the bar closed. 

You wipe your sweaty palms onto your apron and ball it up into your bag before bounding across the parking lot towards Eddie, who always seems to have this effortless charisma buzzing around him, a cigarette dangled from his pretty lower lip and posture just slouched enough to still be sexy. Maybe you were biased at this point. 

He pulls you in by your waist, angling his chin up to blow the smoke up into the sky rather in your direction. 

“How was work?” Your cheeks were already starting to grow hot at the feeling of his pinky finger landing on the strip of skin between your shirt and jeans, “Miss me?”

“Bartending’s a lot easier when I don’t have your nosy ass pestering me for free drinks,” you cock your head at him, silently asking for a drag of his cigarette, which he immediately understands and complies, “wasn’t too bad though, happy it’s over,” you exhale. 

“If you’e hungry there’s some fries and a milkshake by the passenger’s seat,” he let you slip from his grasp to spin around towards the van door.

“For me?” you peek through the window, realizing he didn’t just mean extras from his dinner earlier, he had gone out of his way to pick you up a post-work snack.

“Unless you aren’t hungry,” he moves to hop in the drivers side, “In which case you can practice tossing fries into my open mouth while I drive.”

You let a few fries fly across the car seat in his general direction, feeding him the occasional one directly, but inhaling most of them shortly after you peeled out of the parking lot. 

“D’you want me to bring you home, or…” you knew where he was headed with this, a nervous edge to his voice. 

“We can hang out back at your trailer if that’s okay,” you say mid-fry, “as long as I can take a quick shower I don’t mind chilling there.”

He grins like a giddy schoolgirl and grips the steering wheel just a touch tighter, and drives just a bit faster back to the trailer park. As anxious as you felt during your shift, you can’t be bothered to overthink with Eddie leaning towards you with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, making googly eyes at the shake you were downing as his way of asking you for a sip. 

He put the van into park before the wheels had even come to a complete stop, hustling around the front to make sure he was the one to open your door. He had spent some of the time you were away straightening up his trailer for the first time in a good long while. Empty beer cans were cleared and he even changed the bed sheets. It still wasn’t the Ritz or anything, but at least he can say he tried.

He tried to busy himself with locking the door behind you after entering, not wanting to see if your eyes drifted over to the mess of records and smoking pariphenelia that cluttered the coffee table, or the chance that the mixture of heavy metal and nerdy posters strewn about would draw a judgmental reaction. 

When he let his gaze drift back to you, you weren’t looking at any of that. You were looking right back at him, already leaning up on your toes and asking, “Can I kiss you again?” 

A mumbled “of course” had you wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his touch, finding his lips already on yours before you could go in for the kill. 

The kiss started off French-fry-and-strawberry-shake flavored, smiling into his lips as the anticipation of seeing him again after only a few short hours slips away. 

“Thank’s for spending so much time with me today,” you whisper in between sticky sweet kisses, “and for the fries and-“

He took your cheeks in his hands and smushed your lips into his mid-sentence, pulling back to see the puckered fish face he held between his hands. 

“You’re welcome,” his big button eyes bore straight through you, as if he saw all of you and more, “but you don’t have to thank me, I like being with you, and I ended up eating most of the fries anyways,” he trails off, cheeks rosy and lips slick from your claim on them.

“You wanted to shower?” He cuts himself off, and feels stupid for it. He knew he could keep kissing you and kissing you and kissing you, and the only thing holding him back was his anxious brain and big mouth. 

“Oh, yeah,” you were a little surprised that he remembered, and chose to bring it up now, “if you don’t mind. I always feel a little sticky after work, you know, with the Hideout’s C health rating and all.”

With a smile that nearly knocked the air out of you, he took a deep bow like some silly court jester and motioned down the trailer’s only hallway. You took your lead and followed his outstretched arm, figuring there were only so may doors that could possibly lead to a bathroom. 

“Oh, shit, wait,” you hear him scramble behind you, shuffling past into the door you assume to he his bedroom, emerging milliseconds later with a crumpled towel in his balled up hand, “you’re gonna want this.”

“Thank you,” you’re slow with your movements, wondering how he was acting so squirrelly, like a middle school boy around the girl he wanted to take to the dance, even though he had you fully spread out begging for him in the back of his van only hours earlier, “is the shower big enough for two?”

You meant it equally suggestive and genuine, knowing full well that not all showers are built for partner bathing. However, the fear stricken look that washed across his face for a millisecond before scrunching up and setting to neutral had you thinking you had just asked if there was a built in hot tub or something like that. His mouth hung open and for a moment that conversation you weren’t supposed to hear replayed in your mind, maybe you had to take this slower than he was willing to let on. 

“Just looking for someone to massage my scalp, that’s all,” you try to jokingly play it off, keeping your invitation open but concealing it with a joke to double back on just in case.

“Yeah, it’s- uhhh,” Eddie, who was always quick with a comeback was suddenly lost for words, “It’s the size of a normal shower, yeah.” It’s not like he could lie, all you had to do was turn around and size it up for yourself. 

You take the towel from his white knuckled grip and pivoted towards the door that was close to having burn holes from where his laser focused eyes were shot. You give him a wink over your shoulder, figuring that was enough of an invitation and vague enough of an excuse for him to leave depending on what he wanted. You hated this line you were towing, knowing more than you should- yet still feeling so in the dark. 

He was right, it was a normal sized shower. A bathtub with a sliding door and a detachable shower head with only one working setting. There was a rack with three-in-one and a bar of dove soap, which should have annoyed you but made you giggle instead. You let a quarter sized drop of the generic body wash slash shampoo slash conditioner lather into your hands when you heard the bathroom door creek open, purposefully left unlocked. 

“Hey, is it okay I’m in here?” He sounded so genuine in his concern, unknowing you were on the verge of begging him to get in the shower with you. 

“Yeah,” you borderline shout over the running water, “here to help massage my scalp?” You let your tone stay light and joking despite being deadly serious. 

“Wow I didn’t realize your hands were really that delicate and incapable,” he tried to match your energy, but an anxious edge remained present. 

“I mean,” you searched for your words, “I’ve seen you play Metallica, I know those fingers could surely get this pine scented crap deep into my roots.” You let the suggestive comment linger, nervous after a beat of silence passed. 

“If you really need my help,” you heard him shuffling around , “who am I to turn a damsel in distress away?”

You felt your cheeks get rosy and shoulders wiggle with excitement as you caught the shower door jerk open. Your face was towards the shower head, and you only turned a quarter of the way around before Eddie stepped in behind you and those guitar-string-calloused-hands gripped your shoulders and twisted you back towards your view of the water stream. 

“I’m gonna make you a deal,” his voice was coated with as much charisma as he could muster, his worries only poking through enough for you to notice, “I’ll give you the full treatment, but you can’t turn around.”

You were willing to play along with about any game he suggested. If he asked you to bend over backwards you’d extend your spine as far as it could go. 

You stood with your front as straight towards the shower head as you could, only feeling his presence behind you and his gentle hands lay on your shoulders to assure you wouldn’t turn around. 

“Just let me take care of you,” he edged closer, letting you feel his naked body enter your space, his face craning over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, “Just stay like this and let me feel you.”

It was less of a question and more of a plea, the only thing more pathetic sounding was the whimper that slipped out of you when you felt his body press against your back, warm and hesitant to press all the way into you, but close enough for you to feel his skin. 

“Okay,” you let your head lull back onto the space between his collar bone and shoulder, keeping your eyes closed, not that you could see anything from this angle anyways, “I’ll stay just like this, promise.”

“I just-“ you could hear his walls come up, suddenly trying to find the words to explain himself to you, “I’m not-“

“Eddie,” you whisper, eyes fluttering open to glance up at him as much as you could, “it’s okay. I’ll stay just like this, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You gently found his hands resting at your hips and guided them up to your soapy scalp, “We both know the real reason I called you in here anyways,” you joked, and angled your head straight forward so he could run the pads of his fingers all through your 3-in-1 coated hair.

He let out a light chuckle at your joke, nearly feeling it catch in his throat as all the passed time of insecurity and locking his feelings away welled up and shattered with the intimacy of washing your hair. What did he do to deserve having you like this? For you to understand and want him to stay anyways? 

As much as his emotions clouded his vision and stunted his breathing, the rush of blood in between his legs broke his internal monologue. As overwhelmed as his mind was, his body couldn’t be convinced to focus on anything other than the sudsy girl pressed up against him, letting out little noises of satisfaction as he let his fingers absentmindedly massage away. 

“This’s nice,” you lean back into him a bit, “it’s like masturbating, you know? Always feels better when someone else does it for you.” You didn’t feel too guilty about the sexually charged comment, considering the fat rod that was pushing into your lower back. 

He let out a short chuckle, but his breathing was rapidly turning heavy as the air clouded with steam and your wet body rubbed against him, fully arching into his erection as if you wanted to get a better feel. 

“Can I wash the rest of you?” his request is polite, but his voice is lust filled and bordering on begging. 

You hum in agreement and lift your arms to let him slip his hands around you, one crossing your chest and the other reaching around to get more gel, “It technically is shampoo and body wash, and I was promised the full treatment here.” 

As much as you wanted to keep joking with him, finding silly things to comment on to break the tension, your resolve was quickly going down the drain as his big hands lathered you up. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is just audible over the rushing of the shower water, “I’ve always thought so, but now I fucking know it.” 

His warm breath against your ear manages to cut through the heat of the steam, making you shiver despite it all. “Eddie,” you whine, his hands running up and down your torso, spending more time on your chest than the rest, but surely showering you in as much attention as his hands could reach.

Knowing that tone from earlier, already committing to knowing your body as intimately as you’ll allow him to, he immediately gives in and touches you exactly where you want him most. 

Most of the bubbles had dissipated, and he held you close to him, with one hand splayed across the center of your chest and the other dipping down to run two fingers through your now parting legs. 

He could feel the slick of your folds, standing out from the water cascading down your body, so warm and wet in a different way. 

“Fucking hell,” he groans out, letting his hips roll forwards slightly to find some friction against your backside, sliding his fingers from your hole up to your clit a few experimental times before letting his middle and ring fingers dip into you. 

When he had gone to town on you earlier in his van, which somehow felt like a million light years ago, you had taken a keen interest to the way his metal rings brushed up against your inner thighs and lower lips when he slipped his digits into you. As much as you had reveled in that new sensation, he had taken all his jewelry off along with the rest of his clothes and reservations before joining you in the shower. And now you could grind down onto his hand until he was completely buried to the hilt of his knuckles, no demon heads or upside down crosses in your way.

You wanted to wiggle and writhe around, feeling a bit week in the knees and desperate to buck your hips down against his pumping fingers. He pressed your chest tighter against him, lips pressed up against your ear, “I thought you promised to be good and stay still for me.”

He could feel your pussy clench at that, letting out a satisfied chuckle and  plunging his fingers right back into your cunt, letting the meat of his palm massage your clit in perfect time. 

“S’ this what you wanted,” his voice had the full bodied confidence of a man who didn’t just ask you to not turnaround to see him without a shirt on, “for me to be all sweet and wash your hair, then make you cum on my fingers like the dirty girl I know you are?” 

The smallest fraction of you wanted to be a brat and joke back at his silly use of shower innuendo, but your mind was almost entirely committed to the feeling of his hands on you and his dick rutting Into the meat of your ass.

“Eddie,” you could barely squeak his name out, “Eddie, can I touch you too, please? Please?” While his voice had been pleading before, you were literally begging to get your hands on him. 

“Like this,” you manage to open your eyes, head still resting against his shoulder and your hand snaking back to where his cock pressed into you, not fully grabbing it but motioning towards it with your hand. 

He snatches your wrist up with the hand not occupied with your tightening pussy, and for a second you fear that you had crossed a boundary. 

As much as you were willing to comply with not looking, you were bursting at the seams to touch him, make him feel good, show him how much you wanted to be right here with him and nowhere else. 

Before your mind could race any further, come to a screeching halt and apologize, he guides your hand up underneath your chin and demands “Spit.”

Your short circuiting brain dashes from his fingers, remaining crooked inside of you, his request, and the tone of voice he used to ask. You were fucked. Drool leaks from your lips before you even have the chance to process his words other than the immediate feeling of oh fuck yes. 

He brings your spit coated hand back to reach around, allowing you to wiggle it in between your wet bodies and find his eager cock already arching into your touch. 

He only faltered for a moment, the consistent dizzying pace of his fingers inside you stuttered the moment he felt your slick palm take an experimental stroke. The moan he let out was involuntary, along with a breathy “Oh, shit.”

Obviously you couldn’t size him up visually, but the weight of him in your palm was enough to have your mouth watering and thighs squeezing his wrist a bit tighter. Uncut? Maybe? With a pretty patch of curls to match his mop top? 

“Just like that, please,” you whine out into the steamy air, the two of you finding a joint rhythm between your hands and subtly rolling hips. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, so warm and tight for me,” every other word slurred into the curve of your neck. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you try and match his increasing speed with your hand, “Eddie, please don’t stop, I’m-“

“Shhhh,” he was getting lost in it too, “I’ve got you.”

Your legs turn to jelly, but he keeps you steadily upright with his support on your chest, focusing entirely on you despite the welling orgasm of his own rapidly approaching. 

It’s the crack in your voice that pushes him forward, the high pitched breathy moans crumbling and releasing the noises of pleasure from deep within your chest. His name  mixed in with ahhhs and uhhhs as if his name is the only word you know in this moment. 

“That’s right,” a sense of confidence welled in him as your limp body twitched against his and your cunt squeezed his relentless fingers, “cum all over my hand, doing so good for me.”

Despite your orgasm wracking your brain and body succumbing completely to whatever Eddie was willing to give you, the thought of collapsing into the shower floor never crossed your mind. He held you so close and steady against his chest, it crosses your mind that you may not be putting any weight onto your feet at all by this point. 

Rather than catch your breath as you come down from your quaking orgasm, you slip deeper into the throws of pleasure, biting your lip and craning your neck backwards so he can see the fucked out expression on your face. A few more steady, enthusiastic pumps mixed with a desperate kiss, wet and at an awkward angle, breathless and needy, perfect and dizzying, sends Eddie over the edge with you.

The deep rumble of his chest against your back as he groans into your open mouth, encourages you to keep your pace as he gently fucks himself into your hand. He’s spilling into your hand and halting his wiggling fingers buried inside you, letting the momentum that the two of you had built up come to a pulsing end. 

The two of you stay tangled in each other for a moment, hands sticky and brows dewy with sweat despite the running water, which had long lost its heat and now settled at a less than comfortable lukewarm. Neither one of you wanted to move. Eddie would have stayed there until his legs cramped and the shower turned ice cold. 

His eyes were screwed shut, head tilted back, still holding you close until you wiggled from his iron grip to bring your cum covered fingers up to your lips to suck two of them clean. 

“Jesus Christ,” he was thankful that he had opened eyes in enough time to witness that, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

You let out a mischievous giggle with his cum coated fingers still in your mouth, glancing over your shoulder to catch the look on his face. Equal parts hungry to pick you up and fuck you against the shower wall right now, and melting down to nothing and slipping away down the drain, unable to even start comprehending what had just transpired between you two. 

You let your fingers go with a pop and turn back around, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to do the same,” you let the chilling water hit your face, focusing on anything other than turning around and lunging at him, wrapping your body around his and letting your skin melt into his. 

He gives into temptation and lets his pruny fingers meet his tongue. He knew what you tasted like from your escapade in his van eaierler, but he’d seize any change he got to take in as much of you as he could. 

“That was,” he started, unsure how to sum how he felt, good, great, perfect, none of those words felt correct, “fuck, yeah- that,”

“Me too,” you press your back into his again, “Thank you Eddie.”

Before he can stumble over his words any more, you ask if he’s okay for you to shut the water off, and you ask if he’d be willing to spare some sleep clothes for you to borrow. You curiously stay in the shower while he takes your excuse for him to leave unseen. 

After toweling off and slipping into the old t-shirt and boxers he left folded up on the counter for you, you found him already dressed and in bed, set criss cross and packing a bong. 

“Post-shower-orgasm smoke, cuddle, then sleep?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you get cozy among the pillows and let the swirling smoke and easy conversation lull you into a comforting half sleep. 

An easy energy settled between the two of you, a silent understanding that you weren’t going to ask him questions, and a building comfort that made him almost ready to show you. 

You slept tucked into his side, and didn’t even mind his snoring or tossing in the night. Every time he rolled over, your sleeping form just found a new way to mold into him. It was the best he had slept in months. 

A steady stream of sunlight blazing directly through the blinds and into your eyes pulled you from your slumber, gorging your groggy eyes to open and crunched up limbs to search for room to stretch. The involuntary fluttering of your eyes and long extension of your libs was far beyond your control. 

“Oh!” You whisper out to yourself once your brain manages to catch up with your waking body, realizing the somewhat compromising position the night had thrown you into, your leg hiked up and clinging to Eddie’s waist, with both your arms scrunching up his t-shirt and leaving a strip of stomach exposed. 

A negligible, unnoticeable few inches between where his sweatpants hung low on his hips and where your gripping arms had balled up his hole-ridden t-shirt stood before your gaze. 

You didn’t mean to stare, and the moment you caught yourself doing so, you quickly and quietly removed your tangled limbs from his and repositioned yourself so that he was half spooning you, eyes facing far away from his unintentionally exposed scar tissue. 

You knew it was probably going to be worse than you were expecting. You hadn’t dedicated much thought to what it could be, or what maybe had happened. You just knew it made him feel like he wasn’t worth your time, and you needed to make him feel seen and safe enough to know that that couldn’t be true. 

Everyone has insecurities, sure. There are surely parts of yourself you weren’t eager to share with the world, let alone someone you’re romantically interested in. You had moved past being astonished that someone who wore gaudy costume jewelry and sang boisterous music for a bar of twelve patrons with the energy of someone who had sold out Madison Square Garden would ever shrink into their shell the way you had seen Eddie. Now, laying in his bed and knowing that whatever it was, the scars were more than what was on his skin.

“Mfffmmm,” he groans and shifts behind you, wiggling beneath the sheets and snaking his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close into him, “This is nice.”

His morning voice was scratchy and barely above a whisper. 

“I think you just like that my butt is all pressed up on you,” you joke, dodging admiring that you’d rather be here than anywhere in the world in this moment. 

“Yeah, I’m not complaining,” he digs his nose into the side of your neck, “But you smell nice too, ’s nice to wake up to.”

“That 3-in-1’s really doing it for ya?”

“No, you do smell like that a little, but more just like yourself. Girl smell.”

“I’ll get started on that perfume line right away. Girl Smell. Might be a million dollar business venture.”

“I just woke up,” the sleep in his voice melted away and his hands running up and down your sides were more deliberate, “Don’t make fun of me. Plus I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed making me all nervous.”

“Anyone with magic fingers like you has nothing to be worried about,” you keep the conversation playful but allow the unspoken truth, that he truly has nothing to worry about with you, be spoken.

“You just like ‘em cuz I washed your hair so well,” he plays with a strand, letting his finger pads dig into your scalp and scratch away, massaging a bit harder after you let out a satisfied groan.

“You must have lots of practice,” you reach an arm back blindly and half smack the side of his shoulder before finding his messy bedhead, staying resolutely facing the poster-covered wall. 

“You’ve got really pretty hair for a boy,” you let your finger wrap around a curl. 

“For a boy?! Excuse me, I have pretty hair period.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true” you giggle at his joking defensiveness, “It’s incredible that it’s this nice considering you use the same thing to condition your hair as you do to wash your balls.”

“If you show me what kind of shower products you like I’ll replace the three in one,” he nuzzles his face into the hand playing with your hair, “but maybe the three in one is what’s keeping it so luscious.”

“I wanna wash your hair next time,” you say absentmindedly, meaning it wholeheartedly, with little anxiety after that you had implied a next time. 

“Yeah maybe next time,” his voice trailed off, still soft and flirty but edging on a tone that let you know this conversation was just about over. 

“Eddie,” it came out as hardly more than a whisper. You wait for him to respond but the gravity of the silence between you quickly became unbearable and you needed to break whatever tension this was. 

“I meant it yesterday when I said I wanted to go on more dates with you. You know that right?”

“Mhmm” he mumbles into your shoulder, still holding you against him.

“We have a lot of fun at the bar and stuff,” you search to find your words, “But I want you to know that I don’t just like you cuz you make me laugh and have magic guitar fingers. I like pretty much everything about you so far, and I want to know you more if you’ll let me.”

Your voice wavers, and your message is perhaps more vague than you would have liked, but the deep exhale he lets out conveys that he hears you loud and clear. 

“I know I’ve been…” he starts, “It’s just that I…”

“It’s okay Eddie,” you flip around, rolling so that your chests are pressed together and noses are almost touching, “I don’t want to push it. You can tell me when you’re ready, I just want you to know that I like you a whole lot and I don’t think there’s much that could change that right now.”

His eyelashes flutter shut, forehead touching yours, “Thank you.” 

“Unless you have a huge chest tattoo of something wildly offensive, or like a tramp stamp that says ‘I heart Ronald Regan.” He appreciates your natural ability to make him laugh even in situations like this. 

“Nah,” he pulls back and gives you a serious look, “Fuck Ronald Regan.” 

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, rolling deeper into the sheets and settling into a comfortable cuddle again, with your head on his chest, face angled up to his and legs all tangled up.

Coming down from the beginnings of the conversation that had been lingering above both of your heads, you place a few reassuring kisses up his jaw and find your way up to his parted lips. 

“Mmmm,” he hums into the deepening kiss to signal you to stop, “I probably have mega morning breath,” he huffs into a cupped hand which makes you laugh and flop your head back into his chest.

“It’s okay, if you do then I do too and didn’t notice,” you peek back up at him, “But if you want to brush teeth and get your day started I won’t stop you.”

“No, no,” he grabs your cheeks and pulls you back up for a smushed kiss, “I wanna stay here all day with you, if you’ll let me. Our second date, we can order a pizza and watch movies here, won’t even have to put pants on.”

“That sounds really nice, I don’t have work today so I’m all yours.”

“All mine,” his grin reaches the apples of his cheeks, “I will go brush my teeth though, cuz I think this second date involves a lot of kissing.”

“Got a spare I could use?” you shuffle out of bed before situating yourself  on the edge of the bed, “Or do you brush with three in one too?”

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, “you with the three in one. After today I promise there will be three separate shower products stocked and ready for your use.”

He manages to find a spare toothbrush in the closet and keeps you wrapped in his arms while both of you take turns spitting into the sink. Looking at the two of you, eyes still crusty from sleep, in the scratched up bathroom mirror, a weird sense of domesticity washes over the two of you. 

Eddie realizes that less than 48 hours ago he was too nervous to make a move to kiss you, and now he was already thinking about making room for your toiletries in his bathroom. 

As comforting and easy it was to do normal everyday things with you at his side, he couldn’t help but notice your nipples poking through his oversized t-shirt you slept in and the way your toothpaste full mouth was framed by your perfect, spit slicked lips. 

“You got a spit kink or something?” You half joke, pressing your ass into the growing rod you could feel nudging against your side.

“Sue me,” he spits and wipes the corners of his mouth, pulling you by the waist into a minty kiss. “Bed? All day?”

“Mhmm,” you agree and lean in to kiss him again, standing on your toes and letting out a shriek of surprise when he scoops you up bridal style and travels the short distance to his bedroom. 

“Eddie!” You yelp out as he gently tosses you back into the pile of sheets. 

“I know I’m no Hulk Hogan, but moving guitar amps is pretty good strength and conditioning.”

“Shut up, you never help your friends carry the equipment.” You think of all the times you watched his poor bandmates lug their equipment after a show while he seamlessly flirted with you. 

“Not when you’re around, you’ve got me there.”

As promised the two of you laze around all morning, bowls of cereal in bed and a bowl of weed to accompany it, switching between fits of giggles and tangled in the sheets while a B horror movie plays on the little TV set propped up near the end of Eddie’s bed. 

He tells you about how he used to live with his Uncle in a trailer down the street until he saved up enough to start renting his own, the three attempts to finish high school and the relief when the local mechanic shop hired him despite his reputation around town as a satan worshiper. He talks a bit about his friends, some who’ve stayed in town and others who’ve long moved away. 

You listen attently, taking in every spared detail. In return he asks you about where you’re from, why the hell you had moved to a bumfuck town in Indiana to be a bartender. He assures you that you wouldn’t have liked him if you had known each other in high school and you laugh and tell him you were far from popular yourself. 

After inhaling a large pizza and running out of VHS tapes you demand a “post pizza bloated cuddle” to which he happily obliges.

“Wish we could do this every day,” he pulls you into him.

“Then we’d need a much bigger movie selection, and maybe body doubles to go do our jobs,” you don’t disagree, although lazy and uneventful the day felt perfect. 

“Don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” he whines, holding you a little tighter.

“Me either, but we can’t be in this lazy cuddle bubble forever,” his hands came up to massage and scratch your scalp, which he now knew you loved, “but next time we’re both free maybe we can have that third date.”

“If I remember correctly, date three is when I finally get to kiss you,” he jokingly smooches behind your ear and down your neck. 

“Only if you behave,” you reply sarcastically, “you’ve been such a gentleman lately, but you’ve been pushing it mister.” 

“I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman before,” his voice trails off as he buries his nose into your neck, “Will you let me be a gentleman now, make you feel good?” His tone was suddenly dripping with lust, sending a rush of arousal through your already so-relaxed body. 

“Mhmm,” you agree and let your body mold back into his a bit more, pressing yourself against him and letting his hands start to wander.

You arch your neck around from your spooning position and search for his lips, your kiss starting out gentle but not staying that way for very long. 

“You’re just somethin’ else,” he breathes out in between heated kisses, his eyes big and round, earnest, making your heart swell.

“Can I make you feel good too?” you roll your hips into his erection, your breath catching in your throat when you feel it pulsing under his boxers and pressing into the space between your legs. 

You flip around to straddle him, not hiding your intention to grind yourself down onto his covered cock, moans from both of you interrupting the hungry exchange of tongues and lips.

A shaky breath grabs your attention and he finds the air to exhale out, “Can I fuck you?”

You bring your hands to his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss, continuing to rock your hips against him, giving him words as well you mumble a “Fuck yes, please, please Eddie.”

He finds the hem of your shirt and slips it over your shoulders, the momentary break in kissing makes you whine. He immediately makes it up to you by paying delightful attention to your exposed chest, leaving sloppy wet kisses on every inch of skin he had access to, “fuck”s and “so perfect” breaking them up. 

You instinctively reach down in between the two of you to take his hard cock into your hand, still pressing your core against it, but taking the rest into your hand to stroke him over his boxers, the choked out moan that escapes him is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You’re losing yourself in the feeling of his weight in your palm, sitting up to see his gorgeous fucked out expression, pinched eyebrows and flushed cheeks.

He swore he’d died and gone to heaven, despite all his sins, with you above him, lip tucked in between your grinning teeth as you rubbed up on him. Fuck, there was no going back after this.

You lean down to resume making out for a moment, missing the feeling of his nose pressed into the side of yours and his too-perfect eyelashes brushing the tops of your cheeks. 

“We can, um-“ you catch your breath, hips stuttering as you find your words, “I can turn around. Or we can make a blindfold or something.” 

His heart swelled at the thought that amidst fucking yourself against his lap you still had the courtesy to think of his comfort, his obvious insecurity, the elephant in the room that he was so desperately trying to shoo away. 

“I want you,” his voice strangely steady, “and I’ll let you have me, no stipulations.” 

You nod with a “Please.”

“Only because, I plan on fucking you every chance I get,” his tone makes you clench your thighs, “So we might as well rip this bandaid off now, because if you’re going to be my girlfriend I don’t want you worrying that I’m hiding something from you.”

He flips you over so you’re now laying beneath him, eyes still glassy with lust and mind swirling with the words he’s just let out.

“I’m gonna take off my shirt now, and I don’t want you to pretend like everything is fine, or that you don’t notice anything, because that’ll be a thousand times worse, okay? I know it’s bad. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but I know it’s not easy to look at.”

With that he pull this black t-shirt off by the back neck collar, and bares his soul to you. You can tell he’s examining your face for a reaction, very carefully managing your facial expressions for his benefit. 

He was right, it wasn’t easy to look at. Only because it made you wonder what horrible thing had happened to leave half of his torso, hip, thigh, and what you could only assume traveled onto his back as well, left entirely torn away and scarred. 

“And-“ he cut off your wandering eyes with his words, “Don’t ask what happened. I’ll tell you eventually I just- We can’t have that discussion if we’re about to have sex.” 

You nodded with understanding, you knew better than to ask. 

You think that your snooping and seed of knowledge helped hide some of your shock, his comment about missing a nipple dampening your realization that he was telling the truth, the scar tissue running so deep that his entire pec was covered in a jagged pink , slightly mishapen scar tissue, and leaving his opposite nipple to stand alone on his chest. 

The one thing that did leave you in a bit of shock was half of a tattoo on his hip that abruptly ended where the scar tissue started. Some sort of zombie head, the black ink lines all coming to a halt when’re his skin had been injured.

You let a tentative hand come up, fearing he’ll flinch away, but he doesn’t. You touch his chest, feeling the textural difference as you let your palm run across his chest and down to his hip. 

“You know, I still think you’re super hot, right?” You try to assure him, but he only lets out a dry chuckle. 

“I mean it,” you sit up a bit, pulling your hand from its exploration of his skin and bringing it to your own chest, using three fingers to cover your left nipple, “you’d still like me, right?” 

The softness in his face almost made you jump up to wrap him into a hug, you wanted him to know that everything was okay and he was safe with you, whatever happened was in the past and he didn’t have to worry. Although the moment was emotionally charged, neither of you could ignore the fact that you were both ravenously horny for each other. 

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide this from me,” you pull his face down to yours, “but I’m glad you showed me, because I’m so fucking ready for you to ruin me.”

He lurches forward and lets his body weight collapse down onto you, your legs widening to wrap around his hips, arm and legs locking him against you. 

Feeling his bare chest pressed against yours, lips on your neck and hips rutting into your spread legs, has your head spinning. 

“Please Eddie,” you whine, “let me feel you.”

Without missing a beat he shoves the waistband of his boxers down just enough to reach his thighs, hard dick springing free in the little space in between you, and he snatches your wrist and shoves it in between your bodies without unlatching his lips from your collar bone. 

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t see what you were grasping, just like in the shower, but you didn’t dare push him off of you to catch a glimpse. He was all over you, hands tangled in your hair, groans and whimpers hardly making their way out in between the wet sloppy kisses he spread across your neck and chest. 

He slips a hand down your body, gracing your ribcage with his fingertips, a stark contrast to how they suddenly part your lips and rub the pool of slick from your hole up to your clit. 

“So wet, this for me?” He quirks and eyebrow and sinks a digit into you, causing your mouth to open and hips to wiggle up to ask for more.

“Yes ’s for you,” you breathe out, wanting to give him some pushback, wipe the smug look off his face, but not finding an ounce of courage to do so. You just let your head lull back and eyelids flutter shut as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you. “All for you.”

You use your free hand to push your underwear as far down your hips as this position will allow, not wanting to shift your focus from the feeling of him on your lips, his pulsing cock in your hand. 

“Need you,” you gasp out, partially at the feeling of his knuckle deep fingers buried inside of you, and equally the fucked out look on his face looming over yours, eyes blown wide and mouth parted on the verge of begging for more, “Eddie, need you to fuck me, please.”

He sits up and removes his fingers from you, earning a wince and a whine. He helps crunch your legs up to remove your panties, leaving your legs raised and crossed over one of his shoulders. He takes a moment to kiss your ankle and tenderly run his hands down the length of your leg. He took the moment to take off his own boxers, leaving you both bare in front of each other for the first time. 

“You’ve got a pretty cock,” you complement him earnestly, it was pretty. He gave you a halfhearted scoff and an eyeball in return. “No Eds, I mean it. It’s big too, good thing you got me ready with your fingers. That and I’ve been soaking wet for you for like 48 hours now, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” you giggle. His shy smile tells you he’s willing to take the compliment. 

You let your legs fall from their perch on his shoulder and fall to either side of his hips, opening yourself up to him. He’s staring, mouth half agape. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but to have you laid out like this before him, fully ready to give yourself over to him and wanting him wholly in return, how couldn’t he stare. 

You let your hand stroke up his cock, bringing his attention back to where the two of you nearly met. You angle him closer to you, you’re slowly pumping fist brushing against your own center. He snaps out of his trance and nudges your hand away, using his own grip to tap his thick cock against your opening. 

Tap, tap tap. His head meets your slick folds, hips jerking slightly with every tap.

“Don’t tease me Eds,” you push your hips forward and are only met with him rubbing his dick into the outside of your pussy, “want you inside, need it so bad.”

He want’s to be a bother and continue his teasing, watching your writhe and squirm, but he can’t find it in him to deny you, so he presses the tip in and gauges your face for a reaction, only finding babbling bliss and pleas for more. 

He’s sinking into you at an agonizing pace, craning down from his kneeling position above you to frame your head with bent arms and his lips on yours as you moan into each other’s mouths, him filling you more and more. 

Your hands are in his hair, keeping your foreheads anchored together, breathing in tandem. He finally sinks all the way down and you can feel it in your lungs. You wrap your ankles around his back and squeeze him into you tighter, not wanting him to move just yet, wanting to just feel how deep he filled you up for the first time. 

He lets out a shaky exhale and squeezes his eyes shut, “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he punctuates this with a subtle roll forward of his hips, lips falling into yours as if they had nowhere else to go. 

You let your legs fall back, unclasping his hips, and move your hands from his wild hair down to his thighs, pushing him to start fucking you. 

“Feel’s so fucking good,” you whisper into his mouth, your hands hardly assisting him anymore as he pumps in and out of your slick cunt, almost knocking the air out of you each time. 

He grabs your chin with the hand that’s not propping himself up, “look at me,” his pace doesn’t falter and your mind nearly turns to mush, “you’re mine now, yeah?”

“Yes Eddie,” it comes out as a broken sob, your eyes barely able to focus on him with how close he was, “all yours, only yours.” Your mind had barely made the decision to say the words before they had escaped your lips, a dumbfounded truth serum setting over you in your cock drunk state. 

You knew it to be true though, there was no going back after this, and you were willing to give yourself over fully, and accept anything he would give you. 

“Ahh, fuck” you let out after a particularly harsh thrust, fists now dripping the sheets beneath you. 

“So fucking good for me,” his hands now found purchase on your hips, setting a rhythm between you that only a musician could. 

Through glassy eyes you admire him. Curly bangs stuck to his forehead, frantically thrusting torso making his tattoos look like stop motion cartoons, and through it all the scars are hardly noticeable. If anything, they’re just another part of him, the person between your legs that you found incredibly sexy, insecurities and all. 

His perfect hands slid from your hips to your shoulders, now using the weight of your torso as leverage to fuck into you harder. His eyes bore into yours, searching for eye contact and finding your reassuring gaze that told him this was everything you wanted and more. 

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you babble out. His little grunts and whimpers send volts of electricity to your core and fog your mind with lust and desire.

He moves a hand down to meet your center, palm splaying across your abdomen and keeping you pinned to the bed, thumb methodically catching your clit with each thrust. He didn’t have to ask if it felt good, the rolling back of your eyes and mouth so wide he could see your molars were enough of an indication that he was headed in the right direction.

“Mhmmmm,” you could hardly form words, but smiled up through your fucked out gaze at him, wide beam and lust fulled eyes telling him that he couldn’t possibly be making you feel any better than you do right now. 

He leans back a bit, balancing himself on his thighs keeping his pace, thumb on your clit and eyes locked into yours. Through a groan he brings his unoccupied hand up to his face, biting down on the knuckle of his pointer finger, trying not to blow his load at the feeling of you squeezing around him. 

Of course, this only made him look hotter to you, and thus you flexed around his cock even tighter. 

Unexpectedly, he pulls out of you completely and before you can muster up the breath to complain, he’s dipped his lapping tongue against you. He fully buries himself into your cunt, cutting off the rhythm, of his cock with the somehow perfectly timed pulsing of his hungry tongue. 

You can’t help but cry out, arch your hips, and send a hand flying to his hair to ground yourself. Through frantic panting and wet slurping sounds you think you can make out a “just had to taste you.”

Completely breathless, you can hardly conjure a response before he’s plunging into you again, fucking into you deeply and capturing your parted lips into a passionate kiss.

Something takes over you, and you’re suddenly wrapping your legs around his hips and using some found momentum to flip the two of your over. Suddenly, you’re on top of him, his curls splayed around his pretty face and body laid flat beneath you. 

Before you had a moment to question yourself, you anchor your hands onto his shoulders and try your best to pick up the pace he had set earlier. Hips rolling and wet slapping sounds coming from between you. 

“Jesus- fuck,” he stuttered in his movements, unsure if he wanted his hands on your face or your tits or your hips or… they landed on your ass and he wouldn’t argue with his first instincts. 

“Eddie, I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” your words were breathy and mixed with lustful gasps, “always wanted to have you like this.”

“We could have done this a long time ago, huh?” He tries not to think about all the time wasted, and instead fantasies about all the making up for lost time you’ll do in the near future. 

“You were always giving me those eyes while you played with your band,” you looked angelic to him, face hovering above him, framed only be the poor overhead lighting and flickering VHS menu of the last film you’d finished, “I always wanted you, just wasn’t sure you wanted me like this too.”

Your statement was simple enough, but he knew what you meant. You wanted him more than a fuck, and that’s what he had been worried about all along. Now, to have you sunk down on his cock like this, telling him that you had been scared in the same way as he had, only made him roll his hops up into you and pull your cheeks down for a sloppy kiss to seal the deal. You were finally on the same page. 

Switching from a bounce of your hips, you lean back slowly and shift to more of a roll, keeping his cock buried deep inside of you while you gyrate your hips. Your arm extends back in between his spread legs to keep you stable, your torso finding its own rhythm in the midst of pleasure and fucking yourself onto his cock. 

“So fucking perfect,” he gasps out, hardly able to take in the sight of your body writhing and rolling above him. He manages to find bait of sense in his brain and brings his hand back to your lower stomach, thumb flicking over your clit with every thrust of your hips. 

“Oh,eddieohmygosh,” it came out as one breathy syllable, “pleasedon’tstopthat.”

He gently fucks himself up into you, matching your movements and not throwing you off of the sinful rhythm you’ve set, just managing too punctuate each bounce with the raise of his hips into yours and the increased pressure of his thumb on your clit. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he loves the way each breathy word out of your lips is matched with the beautiful bounce of your tits, “Eddie, you’re gonna-“

He doesn’t change a thing, the pressure on your clit, the arch of his hips, he would sooner die than rob you of pleasure or ruin this moment. Every moment he get’s to look at you, he thinks it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever looked, but he knows for sure that this one takes the cake. 

“Ahhh, I’m-“ you don’t  have to finish your statement for him to know you’re cumming on his cock, the pulsing squeeze of your walls and intense concentration from him not to bust on the spot, and rather to focus on the parting of your lips and the twitching of your hips on his. 

“That’s it,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, but lets up on the pressure as soon as he feels you jerk against him, “that’s my girl.”

You lurch down and wrangle him into a kiss, only wanting to feel his lips on yours as you come down from your orgasm. You’re still slowly rolling your hips against his, but focused more on the feeling of his cheeks under your palms and his lips on yours. 

“You okay?” He asks in between tongue tied kisses. 

“Yes, perfect, thank you,” you arch your back into him a bit, “ready for more.” 

Although you were fully prepared to bounce on his cock until he came, you were pleasantly surprised when his large hands surrounded your waist and hoisted you up off the bed. He wanted to try and keep his cock inside you, but accepted defeat as he managed to situate on the edge of the bed.

He shifted around you and situated himself in between your legs. You laid out, everything below the knees hanging off the edge of his hand-me-down mattress. He stood above you and lowered himself to land a few wet kisses on your breasts, his hard cock pressing into your needy center. 

He jerked you up by the underside of your knees, pressing your thighs into your chest and sinking down into your open pussy, causing a deep groan to emit from both of you.

Here he was, scars and all, standing above you and thrusting into you as if it was the last thing he would ever do, and he looked like an angel to you. 

More thoughtful than you may have initially given him credit for, his thumb finds your clit again and he politely, yet breathlessly asks, “Can you come again for me, pretty girl?”

How could you say no to that. You dumbly nod and throw your head back against the sheets, your hands balled up at your sides as he thrusted into you, grunting and moaning your name. 

“So fucking good Eddie,” you manage to squeak out, “You make me feel so fucking good.”

“Ah fuck, yeah, yes,” his voice nearly jumped an octive, signaling his release. “Where should I-“ he began to ask.

“Inside,” it came out as two syllables in-between breaths, “It’s okay you can come-“

“Fuuuuuck,” a strangled moan and a collapse of his arms, along with the delicious pulse of his cock inside you signaled his release. 

Before you could eve catch your breath, regain consciousness of the situation, he was reeling back and replacing his softening cock with two fingers. He latched his lips to your clit and began to suck in time with his finger’s replication of his cock’s earlier movements. 

“Oh my god,” you were truly taken aback, his face buried in your cunt and setting you back on track to your building orgasm. 

It didn’t take more than a minute and a half of him slurping your mixed releases from your cunt and bullying your g-spot with those damn magic fingers to send you hurdling towards orgasm number two, shaking and crying out his name. 

It wasn’t until your legs were truly shaking and your hand was searching for his forehead to push him away from overstimulation that he finally let up and let up of your pussy with a wet pop and a smug look.

“You come?” He asks again, just as he had in the back of his van. 

You don’t have the energy to respond, only roll your eyes and flip him the bird as you flop back down onto his bedsheets. 

He managed to get you a warm rag and a cold glass of water, stroking your har and asking if you felt alright.

“Feel perfect Eddie,” you say after a long gulp, “you took such good care of me, you always do.”

He stroked your hair and positioned the two of you back comfortably beneath his sheets. “Thank you,” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“No, thank you,” you kiss him again, “for trusting me.” The look in your eyes could nearly make him melt. “You’re really something special Eddie, I mean it.”

“Special enough for a fourth date?”

You smack his chest and bury your head into his neck. “I don’t think we have to count dates if I’m your girlfriend now…”

Those dimples you adore perk up on his cheeks, and he bear hugs you, scarred chest and all. 

“What time should I set the alarm for tomorrow?” He asks with a sorrow in his voice. 

“How about never,” you roll over to trample him with another kiss, smothering his body in yours, knowing you’d be luck enough to have many moments like this soon to come. 

A/N: I'm sorry I have long lost the tracking of a taglist (crying emoji) don't want to bother anyone who asked to be added the last time I wrote a pic ten thousand years ago, so I hope this reaches everyone it needs to <3

[fight-for-what-you-love]

♪ Worldwide - Big Time Rush

I'm gonna be honest- these episodes kind of fell apart while I was making this. The more I re-wrote the story for it's second draft the less this version made sense and the less interested I was to work on it. I have not much else to say except sorry this part is kinda iffy and sorry it took so long. I promise you I'll make up for this in the next episode I PROMISE

Notes on both episodes under the cut!

Sweden Sour

* (I think it’d be really funny if Cody just doesn’t talk at all this episode. Not a word. Just nods and head shakes and depressed faces.)

* Cody’s incredibly depressed after Noah’s elimination. Sierra’s over the moon, though. She sees Cody depressed and gives him a tight side hug, petting his head. She tries consoling him with “I know you’re sad, but it’s ok! At least I’m still here~.” Cody starts sobbing, head in hands. Heather is sick of this already.

* The teams get their “ibuilda” pieces and the Amazons argue on what it’s supposed to be. Cody stares at the pieces for a few seconds before the light briefly re enters his eyes. He starts building. Courtney tells him to stop but Heather tells her he’s obviously got it, so let him work. They start helping him build… something.

* Once the Amazons are done, Heather, Sierra and Courtney take a step back to see what they’ve built. It’s a giant wooden Noah head. Their faces drop. Heather is filled with murderous rage.

* We built Noah’s face (We’re gonna take first place) Cause we built Noah’s faaaace

* Tyler’s jumper would be white.

* Cody doesn’t sing in this number. Chris notices and stares at him threateningly. He reluctantly hums the chorus and Chris takes what he can get.

* (Alejandro takes off his shirt to pull the boat like a freak. Duncan is unfazed and Tyler will deny it if you ask him if he blushed.)

* Sierra hits Noah’s Head hard enough it falls over on its side and suggests sawing off the side to ride in him like a boat. Heather and Courtney agree to this. Cody has no comment.

* Duncan and Alejandro don't bother bending over backwards to please Tyler. Duncan makes himself captain and no one argues.

* When the Amazons go to pick a captain, Courtney grabs the hat and declares herself captain without input. Heather tries to argue but Courtney argues back- Cody is in no condition, no one trusts Sierra and Heather took control the last challenge so this time she’s in charge. Heather reluctantly backs down.

* Amazons catch up to team Chris in the water. Alejandro sees them approach and makes note of Cody’s face, making fun of him for being so upset about “the Noah thing”. Cody furrows his eyebrows and points furiously at Chris’s boat. Courtney agrees that yes, they should shoot their boat.

* It doesn’t matter who wins the challenge since it’s a non elimination round, but I want to say the Amazons persevere. The massage helps Cody enough that he’s not stone faced next episode at least.

Aftermath III (Aftermath Aftermayhem)

* Gwen, Owen and Noah are introduced together. Gwen walks out first and Owen, hugging Noah to the point of lifting him off the ground, walks behind her.

* Geoff asks what all that’s about and Gwen responds that Owen refused to let him go until Noah “understood just how sorry he was”. Noah insists he forgives him, but Owen still won’t let him go.

* The Owen square is replaced by the Tyler square. The prompt is survive. (The hosts throw a bunch of debris at the contestant for thirty seconds and if they dodge everything they move on.)

* (For brevity’s sake, assume all of the contestants that participated in the board game in the original episode participated here [with the exception of Tyler, who is replaced with Owen]. They all get eliminated the same way as well, Noah getting got by aliens, Owen falling down the booby trap square and Beth making it to the final question.)

* When Beth gets stumped on the last question (What was Duncan's band called) Noah yells at her, frustrated: “Oh my- It’s Der Schnitzel Kickers, Beth!!” Confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling.

* (He knows this because Cody had mentioned it in a conversation after the London challenge.)

* Noah initially complains about winning the game, but Owen reminds him that he gets to see Cody again and he shuts up immediately.

* “Noah wins!” “Wasn’t he disquali-” “NOAH WINS!! Let’s wrap it up. We’re done here.”

[tarysande]

Mass Effect 2: The Case for the Heroine's Journey

I have a theory. And I think it's something others--especially other storytellers--might find interesting. It explains why some people absolutely adore Mass Effect 2 while others (not as many, in my experience!) think dealing with all the companions and their personal quests is boring or irrelevant.

What it boils down to is the difference between the Hero's Journey and the Heroine's Journey. There a couple of takes on the Heroine's Journey (ranging from more philosophical and psychoanalytical to more story-based), and I'm going to be pulling hard from the story-based iteration, which author Gail Carriger has written a fabulous book about. I highly recommend it.

One thing I want to mention right off the bat: the gender, sex, or sexuality of your protagonist has nothing to do with whether they're a hero or a heroine.

Everyone and their dog knows the Hero's Journey. A literal ton of writing advice refers to the Hero's Journey as if it's the be-all and end-all of narrative (thanks Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell, and Christopher Vogler); it ain't called the monomyth for nothing.

But if a part of you grits your teeth every time it gets trotted out as The One Right Way to tell a story that sells or a story people love, you may have your mind blown by the concept of the Heroine's Journey. Every single one of you who tingles with excitement at the very thought of found family (or romance, for that matter)? Yeah, strap in, we're going for a ride.

I don't want to go into a lot of detail about the Hero's Journey; it's everywhere. You know it even if you don't realize you know it. So for brevity's sake, I'll give you wikipedia's one-sentence description: a hero goes on an adventure, is victorious in a decisive crisis, and comes home changed or transformed. Luke Skywalker. Everyone always talks about Luke Skywalker. And on the surface, Mass Effect could seem like a Hero's Journey, right?

According to Gail, a Hero's Journey boils down to

A repeated pattern of withdrawal and return, and those withdrawals are voluntary, as voluntary withdrawal and increased isolation yields self-reliant strength.

Victory is in isolation and asking for help is bad.

But looking at it (especially ME2) through the lens of the Heroine's Journey is where it gets interesting.

This is the infographic Gail created and supplies on her website:

In her book, Gail notes that not every element has to be present to qualify a story as a Hero/Heroine's Journey and the events don't have to happen specifically in this order.

In the Heroine's Journey

The heroine's withdrawal is involuntary; something is broken and she must abdicate the power she had in order to rebuild, retrieve, or reunite with what was taken or broken.

Victory is a group effort; asking for help is a sign of strength; and the protagonist realizes that while she can't do everything herself, she has surrounded herself with people whose skills she can effectively deploy.

In the Heroine's Journey, the DESCENT is involuntary. Something is done to her or taken from her, and it breaks her familial network.

In ME2, obviously, uh, the thing that's taken from Shepard is her own life. Of course, instead of that being the end of the story, it's the inciting incident that leads to the involuntary withdrawal from her found family on the Normandy, her connection to the Alliance, and her Spectre status. Her home is literally destroyed. And then, kinda hilariously, she wakes up in the literal underworld. You know. Cerberus, dog that guards the gates of Hades?

I play a very Paragon Shepard and haven't played Renegade, so I can't speak to that. However, I can tell you that my Paragon Shep wakes up working for Cerberus and promptly proceeds to gain more Renegade points in the first couple of missions--hell, the first couple of conversations with Miranda, Jacob, and TIM--than she got in all of ME1.

Jacob: Do you trust me, Shepard? Shepard: NO, omg.

I've probably played ME2 five or six times with this Shepard, and she always strikes me as a bit off, a bit manic even, until she sees Tali. And she doesn't really start to settle or feel like herself until Archangel takes off his helmet, believes she is who she says she is, and without hesitation agrees to follow her into hell.

(As the protagonist in his own story, Garrus is also a heroine on a Heroine's Journey, by the by. Shepard's death breaks his network; C-Sec and the Council's denial of the Reapers leads to his abdication of power in the hunt for justice. His underworld is Omega. He puts together a surrogate family to fight injustice; he learns to delegate; he doesn't do it for glory... And then Sidonis's betrayal breaks the new family and sends him on another cycle. My theory, however, is that if you let him kill Sidonis, his journey takes on the revenge aspect of a Hero's Journey instead of the family and reunification structure of a Heroine's Journey.)

In ME2, the arc of recruiting an ally, earning their loyalty, and deploying their suggestions to improve the entire team's chances of survival is repeated over and over; this is the SEARCH of the cycle. And anyone who's ever tried to race their way through ME2 without doing all those loyalty missions or without scanning all those planets for resources finds out pretty quick why they're important.

So, while you potentially could race through ME1 without even recruiting several teammates (did you even know you can play that game without recruiting Garrus???), thereby making it much more of a Hero's Journey of the Strength of the Individual, you really can't do that in ME2 without massive casualties. You need the people around you. You need to build relationships. And you need to learn to delegate well, or things will absolutely fall apart during the end run.

Even the stated mission of ME2 is more Heroine's Journey. You're not fighting for glory; in fact, most of the people who used to be in awe of you now think you're a crazy terrorist. You're fighting to stop what's happening to human colonists.

The end run is so satisfying specifically because it leans in to the Heroine's Journey of information gathering and network building. You cannot beat the game as a solitary soldier. You cannot achieve a good outcome--minimal deaths, etc.--without having spent a lot of time and effort gaining the loyalty of your crew and then knowing how to deploy them to best serve the whole team.

ME2 is a story about finding and building a family after the last one is broken.

And though it's a whole other can of worms, I actually think the reason why the ending of ME3 was ultimately so unsatisfying for so many (again, not all) is because the majority of the game is once again a Heroine's Journey--team building and information gathering across the galaxy--but the endgame pulls the expected narrative out from under you. Instead of actually using the resources you've so carefully built, you're quite literally beamed up into complete isolation (weakness) and left to make a choice in isolation. It breaks the narrative promise that's been set up since the beginning of the game. And, whether you realize it or not, that's a huge part of why that lonely choice feels so hollow. Instead of a structured reunion and a rebuilt network, it's actually the broken family and involuntary descent that heralds the beginning of a new Heroine's Journey--not the the end of a successful one.

Also, incidentally? It's Heroine's Journeys that usually get satisfying instead of distracting-the-hero-from-his-real-mission romance, banter, fully realized side characters, and humor.

[hillbillyoracle]

So you can't get out of bed...

This is a resource list for all those who are having trouble getting out of bed. Whether that's because of injury, disability, or mental health, this collection of resources should help address some of the common pain points I've experienced over the years. Some will require modification if truly bedbound but my hope is this sparks ideas and gives you a place to start.

A warning: this is a *long* post. I went for thoroughness over brevity so people had options where possible.

Food

This video from Sarah McGlory of Adaptive Cleaning details her system.

It is excellent. I have a similar bin to her first in my room for high pain and low mood days. Prioritize high fiber and high protein shelf stable foods. Make sure electrolytes and water are within easy reach.

If grocery trips are too much, it's worth looking into pick up or delivery. In my experience, the delivery services through stores are better than Instacart and the like. The retailer who must not be named also has a great snack selections that hold up pretty well in transit.

Fruit + veggie pouches, baked chips, and RXBars are some of my favorites to keep on hand.

Clean Space

This video from KC Davis of Struggle Care details her "Five Things Tidying Method".

If you can't tidy your whole space, focus on the walkways. Make sure you have a walkway to your bedroom door, to your front door (or other way to leave your house), to the bathroom, and to the kitchen or where you store food.

Another tip from KC Davis - if you're struggling to get your plates back to the kitchen before they stick or attract bugs, get gallon sized plastic bags and seal the plates inside of them. You can always wash and reuse them once you've delivered it safely to your sink or dishwasher. When you're just surviving, it's just as okay to toss them after.

Bonus: This no-mess method of decluttering from Dana K. White is low energy friendly. You can stop whenever and your space is still better.

Hygiene

This post details my care kit that I use.

If you're unable to shower regularly, I'd add in some baby wipes. Yours probably won't look exactly like mine but I hope it can be a jumping off point. If I could only pick two items, it'd be the disposable toothbrushes and a good facial lotion (since it can also be used on the body). If you can't bare to change your clothes, just change your underwear. This helps prevent health issues down the road.

Movement

Arm Workout in Bed: [3 Min] [5 Min] [10 min]

Core Workout in Bed: [3 Min] [5 Min] [10 Min]

Leg Workout in Bed: [3 Min] [5 Min] [10 Min]

Yoga in Bed: [Morning] [Anytime] [Evening]

Stretching: [5 Min] [10 Min]

If you're able to stand + move but not up for leaving your room, then Rick Bhullar's walking workouts are great in a small space.

For a long time, I thought that you could only get exercise by getting dressed in specific clothes and going outside or to a gym. Now I know that there are lots of options for getting a little movement in bed. Even a short 3 min workout a day can help decrease muscle atrophy. Don't let perfect be the enemy of good enough.

Bonus: I also just walk laps around my room/apartment. You don't have to go outside. It can get a little boring sure. But quick 5-10 min walking breaks through out the day add up.

Spirituality

This is ultimately going to be specific to you and your tradition. Even if you are not religious at all taking a moment to think about your bigger picture values is important. Since my core spiritual path is Buddhism, here are some recommendations in that vein. I could not find good links for all of these. I don't necessarily do all of these everyday but I try to do a few.

Three Refuges by Plum Village

The Five Precepts by Access to Insight

The Five Remembrances on Wikipedia

Chanting Om Mani Padme Hum

Chanting Namo'valokiteshvara

Reciting the Heart Sutra

Bonus: A pagan practice I enjoy is reciting the hymns to the planet of the day. Offering water and incense is great but optional. Praying to and thanking ancestors and land spirits is also a great practice.

Alternatives to Social Media

It's easy to get stuck in the black hole of scrolling. It's good to have something enjoyable to pivot to.

Cozy Games

My favorites are Stardew Valley, Wingspan, and Animal Crossing. The first two aren't terribly expensive. A lower cost alternative to Animal Crossing would be Cozy Grove which regularly goes on sale. Sims can be cozy as well - minus any pool shenanigans.

Slowly

This is an app that allows you to send messages but delivers them on a delay based on how far away you are from someone. It makes it fairly easy to find penpals though, as with anything, it can be hit or miss. I've even convinced a few of my irl friends to try it and write them little letters on there. The delay makes receiving them more special. It's a great way to play letter writing rpgs with friends. I'm currently using it to play Grandpa's Farm with my partner.

750 Words

Ever wished you could do morning pages digitally? That's what 750 words started out as being but you can ultimately use it however you want. Some people use it to hit word counts on their writing projects. I'm a fan of using it to brain dump and then micro journal. It does cost a small fee after 30 days but it's by far been worth it to me.

FeederWatch

Getting outside - even if it's just for 5 minutes - once a day is a great goal. But if you can't, take a break and watch one of these feeder streams for a while. Even just seeing images of the outdoors, is calming. I sometime throw this up on one screen while I'm playing a cozy game or doing some non-screen activities.

Screen Breaks

We all know it's important to take screen breaks - but it's extra important to do it when you're in bed and you're screens are a big part of how you spend your day. Below are some of my favorite ways to take a break. 10 minutes every two hours or 20 minutes every three hours can make a big difference.

Postcrossing or writing letters to friends

Solo RPGs - here are some of mine, here's a D&D example

Free adult coloring pages

Read a Book - reading challenge, get personalized recommendations

Play a solitaire card game - there are so damn many now

Walk around for 5-10 minutes, bonus if it's outside.

Volunteer

One of the big feelings that come up for me when I'm mostly in bed is that I feel like a burden to others. Rather than trying to "be productive" I've found it's much better to try to positively contribute to others even if it's in small ways - sending a text to someone remembering/thanking them for something kind they did for me, ordering a little present for someone I know who's had a rough time, sending a card to someone who has a birthday coming up. The little stuff really helps people.

If you don't have many people in your life like that to help or you'd like to help some strangers too here are some other options.

Sigma Phi Eta

This is a 100% online and free greek service org I'm trying to get off the ground. 3 hours of service to become a pledge which count towards the 10 needed to become a member. 10 hours each year to stay active. We maintain an updated list of online/distanced volunteer opportunities as we find them. We have service awards for those who want to go above and beyond. Plus once you're a member you can wear our letters.

We're small right now but if you want a group of people to talk service and grow with - come join us!

Letters Against Isolation

LAI is probably my favorite charity I volunteer for. Volunteers write cards and letters to people in nursing homes, assisted living, and those connected to senior centers through Meals on Wheels and other programs. They're always adding new facilities so the need is always growing. They have facilities in multiple countries they write to and could use people who speak another language especially.

Warm Up America

Mostly for crocheters and knitters - this org accepts donations of all kinds of patterns and distributes them to smaller projects and charities who otherwise wouldn't be able to access these kind of goods at scale. I've made a few things for them - simple hats - and greatly enjoyed the process. Great use for your cheaper acrylic yarns.

7 Cups

I've had a mixed experience with 7 Cups. I really have enjoyed my experiences chatting with people on there but it can be really hit or miss as to whether I feel like I've helped people. There's also the usual people who try to use any chat service for sex. That aside, I still think their training is pretty good and it can feel meaningful when you're able to connect with someone who's not doing so hot.

Checklist

Have you cleaned yourself + changed clothes? [ ]

Have you tended to your spirituality? [ ]

Have you fed yourself? [ ] [ ] [ ]

Have you tended to your space? [ ]

Have you gotten some movement in? [ ]

Have you taken a social media break? [ ] [ ] [ ]

Have you taken a screen break? [ ] [ ] [ ]

Have you volunteered or done something nice for another person? [ ]

[hayatheauthor]

Crafting Character Voices And Distinct Dialogue

A well-crafted character voice can breathe life into your narrative, making readers feel as if they're eavesdropping on real people. Each character's dialogue should be as distinctive as their fingerprints, reflecting their personality, background, and motivations. 

Creating distinctive character voices is one of the first things I learned in my creative writing lessons. Whether you're a seasoned writer or just starting, understanding how to create authentic and unique character voices is a crucial skill. So, here’s my guide on how to personalise your dialogue. 

Understanding Your Characters

To craft dialogue that resonates, you must first get to know your characters inside and out. Dive deep into their psyche, exploring their backgrounds, beliefs, values, and desires. What drives them? What keeps them up at night? Understanding these intricacies is the foundation upon which you'll build their unique voices.

Additionally, consider their primary language or dialect. A character from Italy, for example, might have a different vocabulary and speech patterns than someone from India. For instance, an Italian character may use phrases or expressions unique to their culture, adding depth and authenticity to their voice. This not only provides cultural richness but also enhances the character's individuality.

Creating Distinctive Speech Patterns

Once you've delved into your characters' backgrounds and cultural influences, it's time to work on their speech patterns. Think of this as giving each character their own linguistic fingerprint. Here are some key elements to consider:

Unique Vocabulary: Each character should have a vocabulary that reflects their education, interests, and experiences. A well-read character might use more complex words, while a simpler character may prefer everyday language.

Sentence Structures: Pay attention to how characters structure their sentences. Some may favor long, flowing sentences, while others opt for brevity. This reflects their thought processes and personality.

Idioms and Colloquialisms: Characters from specific regions or backgrounds might use regional idioms or colloquial expressions. For example, a Texan character might say, "fixin' to" instead of "intending to."

Influences from Native Language: If your character speaks more than one language, consider how their native language influences their speech in another language. They might occasionally switch to their native language for emphasis or use idiomatic expressions from that language.

Accents and Pronunciation: If your character has a distinct accent, consider how this affects their pronunciation of words. You can subtly convey accents through dialogue without overdoing it, using phonetic spelling sparingly.

Tone Tags: Incorporating tone tags (e.g., nervously, confidently, sarcastically) can convey the character's emotions and attitudes during a conversation. These tags help readers understand the subtext of the dialogue.

Imagine a character named Maria, who hails from Mexico. She might use Spanish phrases when speaking English to emphasize her cultural background. Her speech could be peppered with warmth and expressions of hospitality, reflecting her upbringing.

Dialogue Tags and Character Expressions

Dialogue tags and character expressions are invaluable tools for conveying the nuances of character voices. They add layers to your characters' speech, giving readers insight into their emotions, intentions, and personalities.

While "said" is often your best friend because it's unobtrusive, don't hesitate to mix in other tags to convey mood and tone. For instance, instead of always using "said," consider alternatives like "whispered," "shouted," "murmured," or "replied." Choose tags that align with the character's demeanor and the context of the conversation.

Character expressions and actions:

Non-Verbal Communication

Beyond dialogue tags, describe how characters express themselves physically while speaking. Actions, gestures, and facial expressions can reveal a lot about a character's emotional state or their intentions. If a character nervously tugs at their collar while speaking, it conveys anxiety. If another character smirks while delivering a line, it hints at their amusement or mischief.

Using tone tags:

Incorporate tone tags like "nervously," "confidently," "sarcastically," or "gently" to clarify the character's tone of voice. These adverbs provide crucial context to the dialogue, helping readers understand the character's emotional state.

Social Influence

Remember that a character's social background can significantly influence their speech. For instance, a character from a wealthy background might use more formal language and have a refined way of speaking. They might avoid slang or contractions. In contrast, a character from a less privileged background might use colloquialisms, contractions, and have a more relaxed speech style.

Balancing character expressions and tags can breathe life into your dialogues, making them engaging and memorable for readers. Use them strategically to punctuate and emphasize key moments in your characters' conversations.

Balancing Consistency and Evolution

As you craft your characters' dialogue, it's crucial to strike a balance between consistency and evolution. Characters should maintain their unique voices throughout the story, but they can also grow and change. 

Consistency is key to character integrity. Readers should be able to recognize a character's voice from the beginning to the end of your story.

To achieve this create a character profile that includes detailed notes on their speech patterns, vocabulary, and idiosyncrasies. Refer back to your character profile whenever writing dialogue to ensure you stay true to their voice.

However, characters, like real people, can evolve and change over time. Events, experiences, and personal growth can influence how they speak. To reflect this evolution gradually introduce changes in their speech as they undergo character development. You can also use dialogue to convey their changing perspectives, priorities, or emotions.

For example, a shy character might start using more assertive language as they gain confidence throughout the story. Their evolution should feel natural and in line with their character arc.

By maintaining consistency while allowing for evolution, you can create dynamic and believable character voices that resonate with your readers.

Dialogue Exercises and Practice

First things first, get to know your characters like you're catching up with an old friend. Dive into their quirks, fears, what makes them tick, and what ticks them off. Once you've got a handle on that, it's time to let them speak their minds. Ever heard of character monologues? It's like giving your characters a stage to shine. Let them ramble, vent, or reminisce—it's like therapy for both you and your character.

Now, let's talk duets. Imagine pairing up two characters from different walks of life for a conversation. It's like a linguistic showdown, and you're the ringmaster. See how they bounce off each other, and you'll bring out their unique voices like a pro.

Last but not least, voice journals. Think of it as a diary for your characters. Let them jot down their innermost thoughts and feelings. It's like having a backstage pass to their minds.

Remember, mastering character dialogue is a journey, not a sprint. Your characters will evolve, and so will your knack for making their voices stand out.

Avoiding Stereotypes and Clichés

When creating character voices it's important to avoid those clichéd, overused character stereotypes. We've all seen them: the tough-as-nails detective with a whiskey habit, or the ditzy cheerleader who cares more about lipstick than world affairs.

As writers, our mission is to create characters that feel fresh, real, and relatable. So, let's steer clear of the tired old tropes and explore the vast spectrum of humanity.

Instead of falling into the trap of predictable character traits, dig deeper. Ask yourself: What makes your character tick? What are their quirks and passions? Sure, your character might be a brilliant scientist, but what sets them apart from every other lab coat-wearing genius out there?

Diversity is your friend here. Embrace the rich tapestry of human experiences and backgrounds. Give your characters unique voices that reflect their individuality, and you'll create characters that resonate with readers on a whole new level.

I hope this blog on Crafting Character Voices will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[fluentmoviequoter]

Me or the Ring

Requested by @diavolosbaby! Thanks for the amazing idea and my first Hal req!!

Pairing: Hal Jordan x fem!reader

Summary: When the Guardians suspect you, a woman from earth, of working with the Star Sapphires to commit mass murder, Hal Jordan volunteers to find evidence. He accidentally falls for you in the process, but you find out why he let you get so close and pull away.

Warnings: some fluff, and then a bunch of angst! Ignore the fact that Hal, Kyle, and Guy are Green Lanterns at the same time in this, I needed more drama

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

A/N: This is my first attempt writing for Hal, so I apologize if he's OOC! I don't specify which Hal this is about, but I imagined Ryan Reynolds' and GLTAS characterizations while creating this! I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!!💚

Picture from Pinterest

“Ow!” Hal yells, looking over at Kilowog as he holds his side. Lowering his voice, he asks, “What is your problem, man?”

Kilowog points toward the Guardians, and Hal reluctantly begins paying attention to the meeting. The Guardians of the Universe are known for many things, but brevity is not one of them.

“… in Sector 2814. The woman is believed to be working with the Star Sapphires, responsible for the deaths of several Lanterns, and Green Lantern Hal Jordan’s kind alike,” Sayd announces.

“We’re called men, humans, homo sapiens. We’ll even answer to ‘bro’ if you catch us at the right time,” Hal replies.

“Green Lantern Jordan, if you’d allow us to finish,” Ganthet grumbles. “We have allowed the Star Sapphires to remain peacefully, provided they did not return to their old ways. Based on the evidence we have, that is no longer the case. The Guardians and I have elected to send someone to Earth in Sector 2814 to investigate the woman, get to know her, and gather any proof you can find. The Intergalactic Court, operating under Tribune of the High Court of Rimbor, needs proof or this woman and the Star Sapphires will be allowed to continue their murderous tirade across the sectors.”

“Did he take a breath or was that all in one go?” Hal mutters.

“This is the target,” Sayd calls.

A holographic picture appears behind him, your face smiling over the Green Lantern Corps.

“Uh, Ganthet!” Hal calls. “Since it’s my sector, and I am, well, my kind. Wouldn’t it make the most sense for me to go home and get to know this beautiful woman?”

“We no longer trust you when the Star Sapphires are involved,” Sayd answers. “I’m sure you recall the incident with Carol Ferris?”

“That was one time! C’mon, guys, I’m quite literally the only man for the job. I can get to know her, and if there’s anything to find, I’ll find it.”

“You could say that again,” Kilowog adds with a chuckle.

“Not like that,” Hal replies, sending a pleading look to Kilowog. “This won’t be like last time. If she’s working with the Sapphires to murder my kind, I want to know, too. Whoever this is needs to pay for their crimes.”

Ganthet and Sayd turn toward the other Guardians, arguing quietly as the rest of the Green Lantern Corp watches. Hal looks around, but he can’t find another Lantern who has any chance of blending in on Earth. Even with the willpower of the rings, creating a disguise for extended amounts of time is unreliable and dangerous.

Ganthet sighs as he turns around. “Hal Jordan, Green Lantern of Sector 2814, the Guardians have chosen you to complete this mission.”

Hal pumps a fist in victory, lowering it quickly when Sayd adds, “At the first sign of error, or your usual activities, we will pull you from your own sector and send another Lantern to gather the information we require.”

“Usual activities? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Hal answers, an easy, innocent smile on his face.

“You do. May I be the first to remind you that your duty is to the ring, to Oa, and to the people you protect.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a date- mission! A mission to prepare for.”

Hal flies over the crowd of Lanterns, leaving Oa behind.

“Good luck, kid,” Kilowog whispers after him. “Don’t make anybody regret it… poozer.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Hal has been following you around town for two days. Just as he begins feeling too much like a stalker, you finally give him a chance. When you walk into a coffee shop, Hal waits a few minutes before entering after you. He orders the first thing he sees on the menu, grateful for a busy day. There’s an open seat beside you, and he puts on his best Hal Jordan-charm as he approaches you.

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but d’ya mind if I sit here?” Hal asks, pointing to the seat across from you.

You lean to the side, noticing most of the seats are taken. Nodding, you return your attention to the newspaper sitting before you.

“Any idea who leaked the information about this one? It’s impossible to find a quiet coffee shop here and it seems we’ve lost another one,” Hal adds.

Furrowing your brows, you glance over the top of the paper. “Well, it’s a city of caffeine addicts and people who don’t want to stay home alone.”

“Do you fit into that demographic?”

“I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine,” you offer, laying the paper on the table and smoothing your hand over the cover.

“Shoot,” Hal answers, smiling.

“Do you flirt with every girl you run into in coffee shops? I only ask because you seem to be a bit of an expert.”

“On coffee shops or flirting with pretty girls?”

You roll your eyes, smiling as you lean back in your seat. “The latter.”

“Okay,” Hal relents, chuckling. “I only flirt with the really, very pretty ones.”

“Lots of those in Coast City.”

“Not as many as you’d think.” Hal takes a drink of his overpriced coffee before noticing the disinterested look on your face. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not that there aren’t beautiful women here, just that you’re one of the prettiest, and I- I should probably just stop talking now.”

“Might be wise.” Your smile returns as you muse, “You’re still no Bruce Wayne.”

Hal’s brows furrow at the mention of Bruce, and you tap your finger on the copy of Gotham Gazette. He reads the headline about Bruce appearing with an unknown woman, the seventh date in as many weeks, and rolls his eyes.

“Can’t believe people think that guy is Batman.”

“You seem like a Batman fan,” you reply, tilting your head to the side. “No, wait, Wonder Woman, right?”

“Well, she is the definition of girl power, but I’m more of a Flash fan myself.”

“Central City,” you murmur, raising your cup to your lips. “Interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Answer for an answer?” Hal wastes no time nodding, so you ask, “Why are you really flirting with me?”

“Because I want to.”

You purse your lips before shrugging. “It just means I thought you’d be Coast City or bust. Didn’t expect you to make a choice that wasn’t…”

“Misogynistic?” Hal provides.

“Obvious,” you determine.

“Well, I’m full of surprises.”

“And lies,” you accuse.

Hal’s chin drops, his eyes wide as he asks, “What?” 

Fiddling with his ring under the table, he begins to fear the worst. If he can’t get to know you, find what he hopes is a complete absence of proof, and take the information back to Oa, they’ll send a Lantern trained in getting answers rather than creating relationships.

“There’s an empty table right behind you. I’ve known since you asked to sit that you had an ulterior motive.”

Hal sighs, and you stand.

“I’d recommend the story on page four,” you whisper, picking up your cup and walking past Hal.

He turns to watch you exit, and when you wink at him, he pulls the paper toward him quickly, nearly ripping it in half as he opens to page four. Your name and number are scribbled at the bottom, and Hal sits back in relief.

He almost misses the story about Green Lantern on the next page and murmurs, “I’m in trouble.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hal?” you ask.

“Hey,” he answers, sitting across from you. “You didn’t answer my text.”

“You didn’t send me a text,” you reply, pulling your phone from your pocket. There is an unread text received less than two minutes ago. “'Did you get prettier?'” you read.

“No, but I think you did.”

Hal’s smile is contagious, and as you try to hide yours from him, you wonder how he did it, how he's consumed your every thought. He’s been on your mind nonstop since your first meeting, and even when he’s sitting in front of you, you want more.

“That’s all I get?” you ask. “More flirting, no invitation to dinner or private jet flight?”

“Private jet?”

You point to the plane pin on Hal’s leather jacket, and he nods to himself.

“I was a pilot in the Air Force, then I started doing test flights,” he explains.

“Didn’t answer my question, though, flyboy.”

“Flyboy?” Hal repeats, unable to decide if he’s amused or offended.

“No answers ‘til I get one.”

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“Nope,” you answer quickly. “And you’re a boy who flies, so… flyboy.”

Hal looks at you, and you sigh.

“I don’t know you, Hal. Sure, you can flirt, but that’s not a reason to go out with you.”

“Then go with me as new acquaintances. If you meet me, not the me that flirts in coffee shops, and want to go on a date with me, then that’s great. If not, I’ll leave you alone.”

You lean over the table to ask, “Are you going to make it worth it?”

Hal copies your position, nearly bumping his nose into yours as he answers, “More than worth it. Because you are.”

“You’re the cheesiest man I’ve ever met, flyboy.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you enter the restaurant, Hal forgets why he’s back in his hometown. You smile as you join him, and for once in his life, Hal Jordan is speechless.

Kilowog will never believe me about this, he thinks.

“You alright, flyboy?” you ask kindly. “Is the outfit too much? Because I couldn’t-“

“No, no,” he blurts out. “You look amazing, beautiful, all the good words.”

Biting your bottom lip, you nod your thanks before lifting the menu. With each moment spent with Hal, the actual Hal, you fall a little more for him. Sure, you thought he was attractive and kind when he approached you in the coffee shop, but this side of him is different. He tells you about his past as a pilot and his hobbies but asks about you, too, hanging onto your every word.

After dinner and dessert have been cleared from your table, someone tells you that the restaurant is closing, and you need to leave. Hal chuckles, apologizing to the waiter as he stands, offering his hand to you, clutching it as you exit.

Once you’re outside, you shiver against the night air, and Hal removes his jacket.

“Hal, no,” you begin, quieting when he drapes it over your shoulders.

“Hal, yes,” he replies as he takes your hand again. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“I- I don’t want it to be over,” you admit quietly.

“It doesn’t have to.”

You stop, pulling Hal with you as you look at him, feeling like you are the only people in the world. His free hand raises to your shoulder, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck as his thumb brushes behind your ear.

“One more chance?” he murmurs.

“Take as many as you want, flyboy.”

Hal smiles, stepping to you as he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. Your skin surges with emotions and what can only be described as sparks, shivering for a whole new reason as Hal releases your hand, sliding his arm between your back and his jacket to pull you closer. You raise your hands to his sides, sliding them around his back to rest between his shoulder blades. Something buzzes, and Hal pulls back quickly.

“I’m so sorry, it’s a work thing,” he apologizes, rubbing his thumb under your bottom lip to fix your lip gloss. “I will call you tomorrow. Take you up on those other chances?”

“You better, flyboy.”

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

You nod, watching Hal jog down the sidewalk. You turn away, tugging his jacket closer to your chest and smiling. He left it, giving him a reason to call again. Despite your initial thoughts about Hal Jordan, you’re falling for the flyboy, Flash fan, world-class flirter, and his softer side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What?” Hal asks, raising his hand to expose the hologram playing from his ring.

“Have you made any progress with the suspect?” Ganthet asks.

Hal bristles at the term ‘suspect,’ but hides it as he replies, “Yes. I’ve gotten close but there’s no evidence so far. I will keep you updated, Ganthet. Got that? I will keep you updated, not the other way around, or you will blow my cover!”

“Touchy,” Ganthet mumbles as he ends the call.

Sirens echo in the distance, and Hal sighs as his Green Lantern suit forms around him. He wants to find you and feel you rather than sheer willpower, but he has a mission, a job to complete.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hello?” you greet tiredly.

 “Now, don’t get too excited,” Hal chides playfully. “What’s going on, pretty girl?”

Glad he can’t see your smile, you reply, “I thought you moved on, flyboy.”

“Sorry; work got crazy, but I couldn’t forget about you if I had amnesia.”

“That’s literally the definition of amnesia, Hal.”

“Stop giving me dictionary lessons and get dressed.”

“For what?”

“Care to go for a private flight?”

“That better not be a double entendre,” you answer, standing to get dressed.

“It’s not,” Hal answers with a loud laugh. “Just get dressed and come outside.”

“Are you here?”

“Babe, listen carefully: get dressed and come outside.”

“Fine, fine. Someone’s bossy today,” you say as you end the call.

Five minutes later, you walk onto the sidewalk and are pulled into a hug.

“I thought I told you to stop getting prettier,” Hal says against your shoulder.

You shrug, returning his hug before settling against his side as he leads you to his car. The drive to Ferris Air is filled with easy conversation as Hal becomes more convinced that you are not the killer the Guardians think you are. Unfortunately, he has no evidence to prove that you did or did not. If you’re working with the Star Sapphires, they’d cover for you, but Hal can't see you doing anything with people like them.

“Alright, let’s go,” Hal says, opening your door and offering his hand. 

He leads you into a building and up several flights of stairs before entering an office.

“Are we breaking and entering?” you whisper as he opens the door to a balcony.

“Not strictly speaking,” he answers.

Once you’re on the balcony, the view takes your breath away. There’s nothing in sight, just the beauty of Coast City. Hal moves behind you, letting you lean against his chest as his arms circle your waist.

“Thanks, flyboy,” you say, turning toward him.

“It’s almost as pretty as you,” he flirts.

Hal moves one hand away from you as his ring buzzes.

“Enjoy the view for a minute, I’ll be right back.”

As you nod, Hal kisses your neck before walking inside. A streak of green light moves across the sky, and you shake your head.

“Flash is better,” you murmur, leaning against the rail to watch the sunset.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Hal hasn’t returned in nearly ten minutes, you wander inside, looking around the office. You hear Hal’s voice, a harsh whisper, and tiptoe toward the door. Cracking it open, you see Coast City’s Green Lantern whisper-yelling at his hand.

“She didn’t do it!” he insists.

“Hal?” you ask, stepping into the hallway, your hand gripping the doorknob tightly.

As he turns toward you, his green mask disappears, and you see a small, round creature above his ring briefly, but it is gone before you can get a better look.

“You’re the Green Lantern?” you ask, stepping back to keep room between yourself and Hal.

His suit disappears, wearing his clothes from earlier again as he raises his hands, an apologetic look on his face.

Another creature appears on Hal’s ring (green ring, you notice). It says, “If you are unable to find any evidence, regardless of your position on the case, then we will send someone else who will do their job rather than court a suspect of an intergalactic murder spree!”

Pressing your lips together, you wait for Hal to speak.

“I can explain,” he begins.

He doesn’t continue, so you ask, “That is why you started dating me? Because you think I’m guilty of an ‘intergalactic’ crime?”

“No,” he answers firmly. “That’s why I approached you the first time, but my intentions were never-“

“No, Hal, you made your intentions perfectly clear,” you interrupt, ignoring the tear rolling over your cheek. “I’m glad that ring means so much to you because it is the only thing you will ever manage to keep close.”

“Please, just let me tell you why I did it,” Hal begs.

“Let me guess,” you snap. “It’s your job or your duty, and you never believed that I was capable of it, but you had to be sure. I don’t know what is going on or who you really are, but I’m done, Hal. Stay away from me.”

You storm out of the building, beginning the long walk back home. Wrapping your arms around yourself, memories of the last few weeks play in your mind. The questions that seemed like Hal was trying to get to know you were a ploy to get information, and finding you wasn’t serendipitous; it was an assignment from space creatures.

Hal lands before you, once again dressed as the Green Lantern. “Don’t do this, please. I get that you’re mad, but- at least let me take you home.”

“I think you’ve done more than enough, Green Lantern.”

“Please,” Hal whispers.

“Did you even consider how this would affect me? Or were you just too busy doing your job to think about anyone other than yourself?”

“That’s not fair.”

“You used me, Hal. Find someone else to increase your arrest record or whatever it is you do.”

You walk around Hal, and he sighs before calling, “You still have my jacket.”

“I’ll leave it at the coffee shop,” you yell. “Wear it the next time you pretend to care about someone for your own gain!”

Hal clenches his jaw, exhaling as he rips his ring off his finger. As he prepares to throw it, he remembers what the Guardians said.

Hal failed, so they’ll send someone else. Following you in the shadows, Hal becomes your protector rather than your friend or your flyboy. He tries to ignore how hard you’re crying as you leave him behind, but he wants nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and tell you everything.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Green Lantern Kilowog, your recruit failed his mission,” Ganthet announces.

“Sorry, kid,” Kilowog mutters to his ring.

“Would you like to pick up where he left off?”

“I don’t think any earthen homo sapien is gonna wanna talk to me.”

“I see. Well then, we have Green Lantern Guy Gardner and Green Lantern Kyle Rayner. The goal of this mission, as I hope you remember, is to find evidence that this woman is working with the Star Sapphires.”

“Ganthet, are you sure this is a good idea?” Kilowog interjects. “Hal said there was no evidence. She’s going to get suspicious.”

“I can distract her, Kilowog,” Kyle promises. “She won’t even know what hit her.”

“Then it’s decided. Green Lantern Kyle Rayner will take the lead on this mission, and Guy Gardner will provide backup as needed,” Ganthet declares.

Kilowog leaves the meeting early, calling Hal and begging him to answer.

“What do you want?” Hal greets.

“They’re sendin’ Rayner and Gardner to get intel on your girl,” Kilowog explains quickly.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Kilowog, this woman is innocent. I’m gonna need some help proving it.”

“I’ll be there, kid,” Kilowog assures. “But for now, you need to keep her safe from them.”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

“What happened?”

Hal gives him a condensed version of the story and Kilowog sighs before saying, “You messed up, poozer.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“But you can fix it.”

“How? She doesn’t need a hero, Kilowog.”

“Then don’t be a hero, be whatever she needs you to be. That includes being honest, kid.”

“I’ll try. Get here as soon as you can, and don’t tell the Guardians that I’m on earth for her. They think it’s for the wildfires.”

“I’m on your team,” Kilowog reminds Hal before ending the call. “Even if you are a poozer.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Hal and Kilowog are watching from a roof as Kyle Rayner approaches you. You’re more standoffish than you were with Hal, and that’s enough to remind him of what you said the last time you spoke to him. He broke your heart, destroyed your trust, and ensured he’d never have another chance with you, but he’s still here for you.

“He’s trying to get her to talk about her past,” Kilowog says.

Hal only watches you, so Kilowog has taken to keeping an eye on Kyle. Neither Hal nor Kilowog trusts Kyle completely, but now they’re on opposite sides of this case.

“Hal,” Kilowog grunts. “He’s taking her somewhere.”

Kyle has a hand around your arm, and you’re pulling back against him.

“C’mon, you’re my girl,” Hal murmurs. “You know what to do. Don’t trust him.”

Kilowog glances over at Hal, and when Hal’s eyes widen suddenly, he turns quickly. You, Kyle, Hal, and Kilowog are all staring at the sapphire circle opening in the air.

“Hal,” you whisper, pressing a button on your phone a moment before his phone rings.

[hier--soir]

may + june + july reads

the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde by r. l. stevenson [★★★★]

"Though so profound a double-dealer, I was in no sense a hypocrite; both sides of me were in dead earnest; I was no more myself when I laid aside restraint and plunged in shame, than when I laboured, in the eye of day, at the furtherance of knowledge or the relief of sorrow and suffering."

: ̗̀➛ a london lawyer, mr utterson, investigates strange occurrences between his old friend dr henry jekyll, and the evil edward hyde.

: ̗̀➛ a horror classic! coming in at a sweet 96-pages, it was easy to smash out in an evening. and despite the brevity of the text and the fact that it's over a century old, i found it insanely compelling and indeed pretty chilling at multiple points.

: ̗̀➛ there are some ridiculously funny lines in this. i believe he named the evil character hyde just so he could drop this banger: "'If he be Mr. Hyde,' he had thought, 'I shall be Mr. Seek.'"

: ̗̀➛ henry jekyll my sweet summer child, you flew way too close to the sun with this shit.

: ̗̀➛ "You must suffer me to go my own dark way." BARS.

babel: an arcane history by r. f. kuang [★★★★★]

"The poet runs untrammelled across the meadow. The translator dances in shackles."

: ̗̀➛ opening in the year 1828, a young boy from canton is orphaned by cholera and brought to london by a mysterious professor. he is trained in latin, ancient greek, and chinese, in preparation for the day he will attend oxford university's royal institute of translation - babel. the tower is the world's center for translation and silver-working, the magical craft that has so far brought unrivalled power to the british and supports the empire's ongoing colonisation of the world. but what happens when it is discovered that britain is pursuing an unjust war against china, and robin realises that serving babel means betraying his motherland.

: ̗̀➛ this book left me absolutely speechless. upon starting it i was immediately ashamed at how long it had taken me to pick this up considering all the hype. serious thanks to @seventeenpins for recommending this to me recently, you are the best for putting me onto this.

: ̗̀➛ beautifully crafted, incredibly intelligent, great central characters. i don't even know how to put into words what i felt about this one. and as someone who consumes a fair amount of translated literature [see: my love of ancient greek and roman classics] it tickled my interest around the biases and intricacy of translation so perfectly. you need to read it. please.

: ̗̀➛ have to include: "It should have been distressing. In truth, Robin found it was actually quite easy to put up with any degree of social unrest, as long as one got used to looking away."

: ̗̀➛ have to include #2: "So then where does that leave us? How can we conclude, except by acknowledging that an act of translation is then necessarily always an act of betrayal?"

: ̗̀➛ and absolutely cannot not include this iconic PBS diss: "He greatly enjoyed Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, though he could not say the same of the poems by her less talented husband, whom he found overly dramatic."

paradise rot by jenny hval [★★★★]

"But my dreams are full of apples, and in the dark my body slowly transforms into fruit: tonsils shrinking to seeds and lungs to cores. I dream of white flowers blossoming under my nails, as if under ice. Then my nails break, opening up like clams and in the finger flesh there are little sticky fruit pearls."

: ̗̀➛ jo is in a strange new country for university, living in a house with no walls, a roommate with no boundaries, and a home that seems increasingly more and more alive.

: ̗̀➛ so much piss in this one folks.

: ̗̀➛ jenny hval is a norwegian musician and this was her debut novel, and it was bizarre and haunting and disgusting and made me cringe and feel squeamish at many points, and yet i read it in one fell swoop. it grips you for 120-odd pages and when you're done it feels like you've been spit out disoriented.

mrs s by k. patrick [★★★]

"When she is not around, I invent her. When she is around, I invent her. It is not her fault."

: ̗̀➛ an australian butch lesbian travels to england to work in an elite boarding school, where she meets mrs s, the headmaster's wife. over a hot, restless summer, the two engage in an affair.

: ̗̀➛ i enjoyed this one decently enough. the writing style grew a bit tiresome, and the storyline seemed quite laissez-faire, but overall yes i enjoyed it. what can also grow tiresome for me is the woman-on-woman affair when one of them is married to a man - but maybe i've just read too much queer lit with no foreseeable happy ending lately, idk.

: ̗̀➛ the way the dialogue was structured [or perhaps, unstructured to a painful extent] was not my cup of tea at all.

: ̗̀➛ i was really tickled by her living in an annexe so close to the school nurse, who is very religious. the dynamic gave way to great passages like this: "I imagine her, at night, sending prayers my way, so sweet as to be malicious. In each of our interactions there is always the feeling that I would do better under her God. I don't mind her God, so tangible. The sexy Jesus in her bedroom. His body I too would die to have. Not just the chest but the legs, a footballer's legs, complex with muscle. Even those sad, raised palms. Brazen in their injuries. Such glamour." like hello??? incredible.

grey dog by elliott gish [★★★★]

"You called me a dirty little beast, and I have become as dirty and beastly a woman as there ever was."

"What is that quote from Othello, what Emilia says about men? They are all but stomachs, and we all but food; They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, they belch us."

: ̗̀➛ a 'literary horror novel' set in 1901 about the unmarried and almost 30 'spinster' ada byrd who accepts a teaching post in a small isolated town. she wants to be rid of her past, one 'riddled with grief and shame', but upon witnessing strange and grisly sights, ada begins to believe that something ancient and beastly is behind all the peculiarities in this little town. her confusion deepens, and ada's grip on what is reality, delusion, or traumatic memory, begins to blur and fail.

: ̗̀➛ body horror, gore, the horrors of being a woman, witchy business, descent into madness, women longing for women.

: ̗̀➛ because the entire text is written in first person diary entries, i found that it sometimes failed to establish a creepy atmosphere. although this issue was more prominent for me in the first half, while in the second half the diary entries acted as a great insight as to how unhinged she was becoming. slay.

: ̗̀➛ imo this is simply what happens to a woman when she is raised by a heinous father and ends up an adult surrounded by too many sexy older women!

the sleepwalkers by scarlett thomas [★★★]

"How many eyes can one storm have?"

: ̗̀➛ still reeling from the chaos of their wedding, evelyn and richard arrive on a tiny greek island for their honeymoon. it's the end of the season and a storm is brewing on the horizon. they check into the villa rosa, which has a peculiar owner named isabella, and everyone wants to talk about the famous sleepwalkers, a couple who stayed at the hotel recently and drowned.

: ̗̀➛ saw a tagline that coined this as 'patricia highsmith meets white lotus' and i'd agree. good mystery thriller with some action.

: ̗̀➛ this one was a touch slow at first [it's told in letters, dictated audio recordings, from different perspectives, etc] but ultimately gripped me and i thoroughly enjoyed the drama and mystery. newlyweds that hate each other's guts? yeah, bestie, i need to know why.

: ̗̀➛ i really got into some of the takes showing how evelyn and richard viewed each other. this really stuck with me: "I read infrequently, partly because every book change me, right down the level of my DNA. I didn't want to be changed so often. But you were able to hoover up contemporary culture without so much as a little belch afterwards. You just carried on being you."

: ̗̀➛ also let me fucking tell you, there was a line in this book that made me drop my kindle and GUFFAW in shock. page 88, HELLO. evelyn girl you kill me.

the drift by c. j. tudor [★★★]

"These days death had been laid bare for what it really was. An ending. Often brutal, seldom fair, rarely kind."

: ̗̀➛ a thriller-esque, horror-esque book about a deadly infectious virus, and the attempted survival of three seperate groups trapped in isolated circumstances in the icy wilderness. [this one is so hard to describe sorry]

: ̗̀➛ the book is told through three different pov's. i normally despise this but i actually didn't hate it in this case, although i did have favourites.

: ̗̀➛ boyfriend asked me to read this when he finished it and then watched me from across the room the almost whole time, pretending not to be staring whenever i looked up. and he was right, it was fast-paced, had some good twists and turns, and was enjoyable, albeit very different from what i normally read.

what have i done? an honest memoir about surviving post-natal mental illness by laura dockrill [★★★★]

"Put me out of my misery. I feel like a killer on the loose. I need to turn myself in."

"Or the one of New Mum having champagne and cake with the girls. Another doing 'date night' two weeks before her six-week check, like, 'Yes, we still have sex!' Mum is fitting back into her clothes; Mum is making papier-mâché piggy banks; drinking enough water; shaving her armpits; reading a bedtime story; going to a gig; playing peekaboo. Mum is keeping up with her favourite TV shows; reading the Booker longlist; being a good friend; making a healthy yet tasty cost-effective-probably-vegan meal; recycling; giving baby massage; sterilising. Mum is getting rid of her pregnancy knickers when they are the only knickers she truly likes; doing her taxes; walking the dog; donating to charity; freezing bananas; learning Japanese because why not? ... Oh look! Mum is abseiling down the Shard and still finding the time to express and write a blog about the whole experience."

: ̗̀➛ a memoir about a first-time mum's experience with post-partum psychosis, and her survival.

: ̗̀➛ this book was a heart-ache of a read. honest and raw and devastating and uplifting. often very very funny -- "People told Hugo, 'Don't go down the goal end, mate; it's like watching your favourite pub burn down.' Oh ha. Ha. Ha." -- i couldn't put it down.

: ̗̀➛ the end did start to feel a touch self-helpy which isn't necessarily my bag of tricks when it comes to non-fiction, but those inclusions felt warranted and fair after such an in-depth depiction of everything laura had gone through.

: ̗̀➛ serious mental health trigger warnings for this one. there is plenty of humour, but it gets very dark.

the death of jane lawrence by caitlin starling [★★]

"She dreamed of tearing out a rotted pit inside of him where his martyrdom resided."

: ̗̀➛ in an alternate version of victorian-era britain, jane shoringfield is seeking a marriage of convenience that will allow her to continue working, with all the benefits of being a married woman, and she finds this in dr augustine lawrence. however, he has one condition - she can never visit lindridge hall, his family manor outside of town, where he himself will sleep each and every night. but on their wedding night, an accident strands jane at the door in a rainstorm, and in place of her husband she finds a terrified, paranoid man who cannot tell reality from nightmare. by morning he is himself again, but jane knows something is terribly wrong at lindridge hall.

: ̗̀➛ i picked this up looking for a fun, spooky little read, but am sad to say that i absolutely did not like it. the characters were fickle, the plot twists were unsurprising and revealed poorly, and the storyline was all over the place. sadge!

: ̗̀➛ sold itself as a gothic ghost horror, but didn't live up to that at all [for me!] heavily inspired by crimson peak, and it doesn't care if you know it.

: ̗̀➛ also - when your 'independent strong female' mc marries a guy who lies constantly and makes up bullshit and every time she confronts him he boo-hoos so she forgives him immediately cause he really is a nice man?? womp womp.

: ̗̀➛ also also - way more cocaine in this than i expected.

my book rating system is as follows:

★ = i felt pure contempt the entire time

★★ = yeah it's a book

★★★ = i liked it!

★★★★ = good fucking book, damn

★★★★★ = blew my dick clean off and i'll throw a tantrum if everyone i know doesn't also read it and love it

if you want to share a book you love with me, please do! i am always looking out for new recs.

[demonslayedher]

Checking fic details means I was spending more time back in the Infinity Fortress and ahaha unnnnngggghh it hurrrrrttttssss but these movies are gonna be soooo goooood

So anyway a thought

You know how we have a "Song of Kamado Tanjiro" and "Song of Kamado Nezuko"? What if we get a "Song of Agatsuma Zenitsu" and a "Song of Hashibira Inosuke"?

Pacing-wise it might be hard to fit them in if they are as long and slow as Tanjiro's and Nezuko's, but a little bit of lyrics would be nice. I wonder how they'll incorporate a pinky promise song, or up the drama of Zenitsu's Thunder Breath BGM?

I'm really not ready to hear what new arrangements we'll get of older theme music. Waaaaaaaah. Anyway, playing with more thoughts about the movie adaptations:

Here's how I would break up the movies:

First off, Sunrise Countdown is getting its own that doesn't get announced until after these three air. There's just too much content to picture all of it squeezing into three movies.

First movie:

Takes a little time on set-up and exposition--they will have to assume some people are watching and don't know the backstory, or only watched Mugen Ressha. Not a full backstory, but enough to remind us of the Kagaya and Muzan encounter and everybody dropping in. The manga has us checking in Hashira upset over Kagaya's death, after all.

Gives us Douma's back story

Shinobu's last stand, probably with a very sad spin on her theme music

Builds up Zenitsu vs Kaigaku as the climax (and if it's treated as the climax, that's an excuse for a special intro song)

Ends with Tanjiro battling Akaza, Akaza affirming that Tanjiro has gotten stronger and Tanjiro reaffirming Rengoku's worldview

Movie 2

Exposition to remind us all where everybody is (poor Kanao has been battling Douma in the background of a volume's worth of manga and is already bloody by the time we check in on how she's doing after the Akaza, after all--Douma crying about Akaza finally GAVE HER A BREAK)

Full on Akaza battle, starting with Giyuu attaining a mark (and this also gives us some set-uo for Inosuke's role in this film since Tanjiro has him in flashbacks)

Akaza flashback

Kanao and Inosuke finish Douma off, with Shinobu coming back in for the climax of this film.

Although Inosuke's glory is shared with Kanao and Shinobu, giving him a special insert would balance his role with that of Zenitsu's in the first film.

Leave off with a reminder of what everybody else is up to, especially Tamayo running out of time with Muzan

Movie 3

Tanjiro is more of a framing device in this one rather than actively involved, it starts with him getting Senjuro's letter, so we already have Sun Breath on the brain

Bam, it's Koku vs everybody

Bam, the Nakime battle for some brevity

Baaaaam, it's Koku's backstory (I got this idea years ago, and I still would love to see his backstory staged as Shin-Kabuki)

Baaaaazzzzammm, more characters are dying and we are in paaaaainn, but Koku's defeat is well-earned climax shared among Genya + Hashira

OHHHH HELLLL NAAAAH IT'S MUZAN AND THE CORP MEMBERS ARE GETTING SLAUGHTERED

Maybe or maybe not ends with Yushiro crashing the fortress, maybe or maybe not ends with Tanjirou looking like he's died of Muzan-blood

It'll at least include Tanjiro getting pissed off at Muzan and then Ufotable announcing they are still gonna get more movie moneybout of us the following year because the hype train in infinite.

Also, through--maybe they'll slip in more of the excessive Taisho Secret details that Gotouge had no room for, like details about Hakuji's rival who poisoned the well, or Kaigaku rejecting Jiichan's haori,or Tamayo's efforts to avoid consuming human blood? How long will the run time on these things be, anyway??? My butt is ready for marathon movies, Ufotable.

Anyway. Man, I've had a day. This arc is wild and it's going to make for phenomenal animated scenes. Not only pain!! There will be coolness beyond the pain! But dang it, there will be SO MUCH PAIN

[nattikay]

All Known Minor Omatikaya Characters

for the purposes of this list, "minor character" is defined as either a.) a character who exists in the comics but is not mentioned in the movies, and/or b.) a character who is named in the movies but does not have a speaking role.

SYLWANIN* Neytiri's older sister. We don't know exactly how much older she was, but based on the art in the Adapt or Die comics it appears to be at least 3-4 years. The RDA pursued her to Grace's schoolhouse and killed her after she and a few friends set a bulldozer on fire to protest the clearcutting, which event caused the school to get shut down. She was the original tsakarem (tsahìk-in-training) as well as Tsu'tey's true love and his original betrothed. Neytiri inherited both her position as tsakarem and engagement to Tsu'tey after her death.

.

NEYTEP and ANUK Sylwanin's friends, who were also killed in the schoolhouse incident. Their names are mentioned briefly in the Tsutey's Path comics, but we don't know much else about them, nor have any known images of them.

.

TAKUK One of the group of young warriors Tsu'tey is training throughout the Tsu'tey's Path comics, which I will refer to from here on out as "Tsu'tey's apprentices" for brevity's sake. He appears to be the top student among the group, as Tsu'tey is often asking him to take the lead.

.

KA'ANI Initially introduced as one of Tsu'tey's apprentices in Tsu'tey's Path, and one of the two who completes his Iknimaya alongside Jake. He's seen again in The Next Shadow comics and seems to be a good friend of Jake's (cheers him on during their Iknimaya in A1; defends him against Ateyo and Artsut in The Next Shadow).

.

SAEYLA One of Tsu'tey's apprentices, and one of the two who completes her Iknimaya alongside Jake. Has a crush on Tsu'tey, but he rejects her. (her hairstyle is different between the comic and the movie scene, but Tsu'tey specifically names her and Ka'ani as the two who are doing Iknimaya with Jake).

.

MARU One of Tsu'tey's apprentices. Talks Saeyla out of trying to pursue Tsu'tey further; refers to her as "child" which might imply that she's a bit older than the others, though it could've also just been her making a jab at Saeyla's behavior.

.

ATAN One of Tsu'tey's apprentices. Died in the attack on Hometree. (I know the hairstyles do not match between the two panels (based on the stripes I'm actually wondering if the left one was a mislabeled Takuk/the designs got mixed up), but the character is directly addressed as "Atan" in both panels so...let's say he just got a haircut ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

.

NEKAWN A child from the clan during the events of A1, who Grace addresses briefly by name during Tsu'tey's Path. Would be an adult by the main timeline of A2.

.

ATEYO and ARTSUT Tsu'tey's parents. After the events of A1, they attempt to assassinate Jake by convincing their other son, Arvok, to challenge him to ritualistic combat, and then secretly poisoning Arvok's blade. When Jake survives the attempt, they are exiled from the Omatikaya as punishment, after which they seek to join the Mangkwan** clan. Artsut in particular also apparently has some sort of long-standing beef with Mo'at, though we don't get the details on what caused it.

.

ARVOK Tsu'tey's younger brother. He is first briefly mentioned in the Tsu'tey's Path comics, then plays a much larger role in The Next Shadow. He looks like an adult in The Next Shadow (which takes place two weeks after the end of A1) but is referred to by Tsu'tey as "a child" in Tsu'tey's Path (which is concurrent with A1), so he is probably actually a teenager. His parents manipulated him into challenging Jake to non-lethal ritualistic combat to contest his claim to the olo'eyktan title, but Ateyo and Artsut secretly poisoned his knife (Arvok himself had no intention of killing Jake and his parents knew he wouldn't go through with the plot if he'd known). Ateyo and Artsut go on to frame a confused and startled Arvok for the attempted murder when the blade nicks Jake and he faints. The truth is brought to light in the end, but Arvok feels complicit anyways, and wants to be included in the punishment--in fact, he is the one who suggests exile. The three of them leave the clan together, but later that night Arvok abandons his parents to forge his own path (good for him honestly they're toxic as heck). His current whereabouts are unknown.

.

YEYONGO A mother who reluctantly allows her injured child to be treated by the human scientists in The Next Shadow.

.

NINAT A woman from the clan, who Neytiri briefly describes as being a good singer.

.

PEYRAL A woman from the clan, who Neytiri briefly describes as being a good hunter. We don't have any images of her as far as I know.

.

TARSEM Jake's successor as olo'eyktan when the Sully family flees the clan.

. ENTU and RALU Lived thousands of years before A1. Entu was the first Toruk Makto; Ralu was his best friend and adoptive brother after Entu's parents were killed by a thanator. Their story is told in the Cirque du Soleil show Toruk: The First Flight.

-

*this spelling actually breaks Na'vi language rules as y is not supposed to act like a vowel; presumably it was decided on before language was fully developed. That said, "Sylwanin" is technically still the "official" spelling and likely will never be "corrected" in canon material...but if we're going by the language rules it should really be "Sìlwanìn" ("Sìlwanin" would also be a valid spelling but the way they pronounce that last syllable in the movie sounds more like nìn than nin to me).

**the name of this clan also breaks currently-known Na'vi syllable rules, as "kw" is an invalid consonant cluster; it should be something like Mangkìwan. I suppose it's possible that the "Mangkwan" have their own dialect where kw is allowed, but I think it's more likely just an error on the writer's part (wouldn't be the only time the comics have made a little slip with the language--The High Ground spells "skxawng" as "skwang" 🙃)

[muses-with-afp]

In terms of Bleachy things that I am never not thinking about given my particular sort of brainrot, it would have to be Chapter 179, Confession in the Twilight. Today, I want to overthink long and hard about assumptions fandom often makes about Hisana. Some of these assumptions are not well-supported by the canon. Other of these assumptions likely stem from material added by the anime and/or the movie Fade to Black.

Because I'm sort of "meh" on the supplementary material from the anime and pretty "blah" on the Bleach movies overall, I will stick to the manga. (I am also a simple creature with only two brain cells to rub together now-a-days so... there's that, too.) I am sure there are more assumptions one could pick apart and torture to death, but for the sake of brevity (I write cackling because when am I ever brief?) below are my top three.

1. Assumption One: Hisana had no spiritual power/pressure

This one is odd to me because we, the audience, do not have a whole lot of evidence to base this assumption off of. Byakuya never says anything of this sort to Rukia during the confession:

Although, it is possible that Hisana was spiritually weak, and what made it difficult for her to survive was taking care of a baby with significant spiritual pressure/power. This explanation is entirely possible, but, based on the English translation, it is not the only interpretation one could draw.

Honing in on the"[b]ut it was hard for her to survive there while caring for you..." bit, this could suggest that Hisana, in fact, needed more than vibes and water to survive herself. We get a sense in Bleach that siblings often have similar capacities in terms of spiritual power and pressure, and we know Rukia is spiritually gifted. Accordingly, one could make the leap that Hisana, too, had some spiritual capacity. Now, I think the case for sibling similarities in spiritual talents is probably strongest for the souls born in SS since they presumably are most "genetically" related (or whatever concept passes for "genetic" relationships in SS), one assumes. This, of course, also assumes you buy the idea that Hisana and Rukia were just ordinary souls who passed from the WOTL to SS. KT, however, has thrown a wrench into this explanation by suggesting that Rukia is a secret... eighth thing/potential hybrid. (At least, I think we are up to eight soul "ecotypes" now .... Maybe it's nine if we add in the lore from Burn the Witch.) Perhaps this secret variation/hybrid is specific to Rukia, or maybe it applies to both sisters equally.

Other evidence that could support Hisana as having some spiritual capacity (beyond being a spiritual dandelion) includes:

According to Renji, the only way to escape Inuzuri was to attend the Academy/become a shinigami. It's possible that Renji was speaking only in terms of "legality" (i.e., the only legal way to leave your assigned district/town/placement is to gain admittance to the Academy) since we know Kenpachi and crew exist. Could Hisana have gotten out of Inuzuri using the Academy loophole? Sure! Why not? Was Hisana a bloody tank like Kenpachi and fought her way out of the city? Maybe but probably not, since she felt driven to abandon her sister, which doesn't seem very warlord-like of her. Maybe Hisana never actually left Inuzuri after the abandonment. The "[a]bandoned you and ran" (emphasis mine) part of the story makes it sound like she left the city, but maybe she just ran away from Rukia and went to another part of Inuzuri or the district.

Rukia somehow managed to survive (i.e., maybe it wasn't the demands (or just the demands) of a spiritually needy baby that drove Hisana to abandon her). We don't know much/anything about the period of Rukia's life between the abandonment and meeting Renji, so it's hard to say how needy she was as a soul baby.

Hisana hung out with/lived with Byakuya, who we know (a) has a metric ton of spiritual power and pressure, and (b) lives in a city full of similarly situated souls. Canonically, weaker souls seem greatly affected by the spiritual pressure of the more spiritually capable souls in Bleach, which could suggest that she had enough to withstand living in Seireitei and being married to someone with a lot of the stuff.

Depending on whether you think Rukia is anywhere near the ballpark in terms of her age vis-à-vis Ichigo (150 years, by the way), Hisana's life span would have been about 100 years in SS, which isn't particularly short. It seems that souls with some spiritual power/pressure tend to live longer than souls without it.

As Byakuya continues with his confession to Rukia, he says that Hisana "searched for [Rukia] almost every day for the next five years." If you take this literally, it sounds like Hisana went out into the slums regularly, which is pretty far away from Kuchiki manor. Without some sort of fast travel option (the Kuchiki are rich so maybe one exists...), it seems that she would have needed to learn a pretty good flash-step to make that trek anyway feasible. Although, it is possible that Byakuya meant Hisana searched for Rukia in a more abstract sense since, as a noble, she would finally have resources (beyond her physically trekking out there) to conduct a search. It could also be both.

2. Assumption Two: Hisana was (or was not) doing XYZ before marriage

This assumption likely piggybacks off the one above. Since we are given no indication as to what Hisana was doing before marriage, if you assume she was a spiritually weak being, it makes sense for the years between abandonment and marriage to be full of scrounging and hiding from scary beings/thugs/monsters/take-your-pick. And, true, the reckless noble/prince taking an unwashed but kindly peasant girl as a wife is an oldie goldie in terms of romance tropes.

But, as noted above, Hisana could have been literally anything. Shinigami? Sure! Secret agent/informant? Why not!? In CFYOW, Yourichi gets pretty annoyed at Tokinada for speaking ill of Hisana. It's possible that she's irritated with him because he's trying to goad Byakuya into an altercation and is using Byakuya's dead wife as the ammo (which, yeah, is a pretty gross thing to do). Alternatively, there could be a personal connection between the two women (which may provide further color on Rukia being chosen as a vessel for the orb, don't mind me just out here speculating). We know the higher districts are rough, and, at least according to Renji, Inuzuri is full of criminals and bastards of all stripes. Hisana could've been a crime lord, a lackey to a crime lord, a thief, a prostitute, a hustling gambler, a bookie, basically anything. The vagueness is glorious!!!

3. Assumption Three: Hisana died of ghost consumption a respiratory illness

This assumption likely arises from the anime (although forgive me if I'm wrong about this since it has been a while since I've watched the anime) and Fade to Black, which has a scene where Hisana has a coughing fit. The manga, however, gives no indication:

All Byakuya says is he "lost his wife." To what? Who knows?! Be more specific, Byakuya!

We also don't get a whole lot of evidence to indicate what killed her during the confession scene.

Hisana isn't sweating, and her futon is white as is the bit of clothing we see, so it doesn't look like she's necessarily suffered a physical attack/assault. She's also, notably, not coughing....

For reference, below are Byakuya's bludgeoned panels because we have a lot of parallels between her deathbed request and Byakuya's confession to Rukia:

To be fair, Byakuya's blanket and pad aren't bloody either, but his captain's coat sure is, and, goodness, is he sweaty! Although, perhaps Byakuya's memory of Hisana strips away the gory and gruesome bits (e.g., blood, sweat, coughing, gasping, gurgling death rattles, anguished groaning, etc.) since... well... no one actually dies pretty.

Based on the manga retelling of Hisana's expiration, the cause of death was... literally anything. Okay, I kid. I kid.

Sort of.

Maybe her COD wasn't literally anything. She was at least in a bed ready for death and had enough time to call upon her husband. (Although, so is Byakuya here, and he was stabbed like thirty minutes ago and is giving similar sorts of vibes to poor Rukia.) My guess is that whatever Hisana had, she succumbed to it over a period of time, which rules out causes of death that come fast, but a lot of deaths aren't immediate (unfortunately). Maybe she sustained internal injuries that took her, which would parallel nicely with Byakuya in these panels. Maybe she had "beautiful wife consumption," which is an oldie goldie trope for doomed lovers. Maybe she had whatever soul flu or illness afflicted Byakuya's dad. Maybe she had some sort of soul cancer. If you're doing the math (or a version of the math since time in Bleach is wobbly), Byakuya and Hisana married a year or so after WWII. It's not a pleasant thought, but cancer (leukemia and solid) rates went up five+ years later for obvious reasons, and perhaps this is an abstract/unconscious nod to that of sorts.

But, who can say??? Not me, that's for damn sure!

From a practical story-telling perspective, I imagine that KT leaves a lot of wiggle room around this period to avoid caging himself in for whatever reveal he had/has in store regarding Rukia's backstory/heritage/why Urahara picked her to put the orb into/etc.

[journey-to-the-attic]

Pspspspspsps do you have any HCs for IK babysitting the little guys

okay keep in mind i don't actually know what happened in that kid pop quiz, so this is the literal premise of "these got turned into little primary school boys".

how i imagine this happening: satan + solomon are brewing some dastardly potion and asmo + simeon come in to chat with/ask them about what's going on. lucifer walks in, gets highly suspicious and tries to intervene, solomon accidentally drops something into the cauldron, and then it's hiss, BANG, child

i'll put the boys at around 7 years old both physically and mentally - they retain their usual memories, but they're kind of vague and hand-wavey about what exactly they remember - so they recognise everyone they're meant to but don't know why in particular

the potion going BANG happens at the rad and prof baal is down the hall, so they (attracted by the sound of explosions, their one true love) quickly show up

when they open the door there are five little boys sitting around in various states of shock. solomon turns around and sees this crazy-looking adult in with big glowing goggles and spiky hair, and also has the distinct feeling he's done something wrong, and subsequently starts crying

this sets asmo off, which sets simeon off, which makes satan angry so now he's loudly scolding them for crying for no reason

lucifer just sits there silently, apparently trying to process everything in his now significantly smaller brain

prof baal can only do one thing. leave

and call diavolo

who calls ik because he can't get the boys to stop crying, and when asked for help barbatos just inadvertently made solomon cry more

eventually ik, reeling somewhat, gets them all calmed down and ascertains what happened

unfortunately the two main guys who would be able to figure out a reverse potion are little boys now. so diavolo takes the issue to wiz and ik continues to hang out with the kids

it's. fun?? it's also incredibly jarring

big news! wiz is going to need at least a weekend to analyse the remains of the potion and reverse engineer its effects! the kids are going to have to stay at the castle in the mean time!

so let's get to know them:

lucifer: very serious and earnest - tries to act mature and rein the others in, which is mostly ineffective. likes having his hand held but won't admit it. very particular about keeping himself neat and gets annoyed when he feels he's being talked down to. spends most of his time quietly following ik around.

satan: closer to 6yo and very energetic - runs around exploring things, crawls into whatever spaces he can fit into to. his lucifer-grudge manifests in one of those kiddie rivalries where he has to prove he's the COOLEST one. likes to be read to when he's calm, dislikes it heavily when lucifer is praised in front of him

simeon: just the sweetest little guy... very smiley and bright, seeks approval to an almost worrying degree, kind of clumsy. a little shy around the other boys but super outgoing with the grown-ups (and ik + luke), tries to help out even when he doesn't know what he's doing, and consequently breaks things

solomon: also very energetic, very loudly curious, asks a lot of questions but is moving too fast to actually hear the answers. one of those kids with grabby hands and very little sense of personal space. also keeps having magic accidents because he's not great at controlling his powers in this state

asmo: cheerful but also very blunt and honest with his words. cries quite easily but is also easily consoled; enjoys playing make-believe and dress-up, but very insistent that you do it HIS way. likes being carried around and gets a little crabby if he doesn't get attention for too long

the others are involved in looking after the boys as well but i'm just going to focus on ik for brevity's sake

ik has at least three of the kids surrounding her at all times

at any given moment, at least one of them wants to be carried. another one has something cool to give her. another one wants her to follow them and look at something. lucifer is probably still clinging to her hand the entire time.

the other boys play. lucifer reads a little bit, tries to tell them off, then spends the rest of his time walking around and looking for ik so that she will hold his hand. nevertheless he will look away when asked about this and insist it's nothing

solomon spends a not insignificant amount of time trying to cause as much trouble for barbatos as possible - he's clearly conspiring with some of the little ds as well - and forces ik to go on constant tours around the castle with him so that he can ask her questions at a billion miles per hour

he keeps pointing at things and accidentally making them explode or erupt into flames, or trying to conjure pretty lights and instead summoning bats

he walks into the kitchen with a massive rat in his hands and barbatos almost bodily hurls him out of the window

satan can sprint around the entire castle (including up and down the towers) before he exhausts himself, and he is the bane of lucifer's seven year old life because he will not stop BOTHERING him

satan can theoretically still read at his usual level but he 1. can't sit still long enough do so and 2. now lacks the neural power to comprehend super complex paragraphs, so when he tuckers himself out, he makes ik read him super morbid history books from the castle library

(lucifer is there too, sitting cross-legged and listening solemnly. when satan gets squeamish or spooked he looks at lucifer and reminds himself that he MUST get a better grade in scary stories than him)

(inevitably satan falls asleep and ik will let lucifer pick a book to switch to. when satan wakes up he is inevitably very mad about this)

asmo REFUSES to exert his little legs on the castle steps, so ik has to carry him, never mind the fact that she is also not very well equipped to be taking those stairs

ik plays house with him and pretends to be a little old grandpa, which delights asmo to no end

ik brushes out his hair and he insists on returning the favour, and then tangles a bunch of ornaments in her hair because he thinks it'll look pretty

sometimes he walks into things and cries even if it didn't hurt at all because he likes being fussed over

simeon's just happy to be here!

he tries to help the little ds with chores but mostly just undos their progress (and trips himself down the stairs in the process)

he likes being doted on but doesn't know how to express that, so instead he'll follow ik around, looking at her with these really big hopeful eyes

the boys like to play tag or hide-n-seek in the castle gardens, though the grounds are so extensive that they will inevitably get lost

lucifer has a knack for finding them - he'll silently slip off while ik and barbatos are wondering what to do, and come back with everyone in tow like a border collie herding sheep

when he's finally persuaded into joining their games, satan pushes him into a pond and then immediately tattles on himself because he feels bad

ik gets them to hold hands until they've made up (and barbatos takes a picture that both satan and lucifer will hunt him down for once they're back to normal)

they make fairy cakes together and asmo's decorations are 1. a flower, 2. himself, 3. a cat, 4. himself again, and 5. someone getting their head chopped off????

[fucookies]

Prediction for what will happen in BSD after Chapter 114.5 (SPOILERS BELOW)

HEAR ME OUT... because I'm pretty sure Verlaine is gonna debut, and I know what happens to Fukuchi. These things are related.

As someone who overanalyzed Asagiri's past LN Storm Bringer, I want to bring some things to attention in light of BSD chapter 114.5 which introduces a tripolar singularity

Singularities played a huge role in Storm Bringer.

They are what gave both Chuuya and Verlaine the near-indestructible abilities to channel and even be taken over by Arahabaki and Guivre. In essence, the two of them became singularities.

IMPORTANT excerpts from SB explaining singularities, and how they relate to Chuuya and Verlaine:

There's some more in there that I left out for brevity, including a reference to an ability to amplify one's own ability, but perhaps you see where I'm going with this...

In the official reference, Fukuchi's mysterious new form is given the title 神人 (shinjin), meaning "a divine or godly person," consisting of the kanji for "god" and "man."

Both Arahabaki and the demonic beast Guivre are referred to as gods. They take control of Chuuya and Verlaine and mass destruction ensues. I believe this is what will happen with Fukuchi as "shinjin."

Where will the "god" in question come from? His sword, Ame-no-gozen.

Whatever god is dwelling in there may be Fukuchi's Arahabaki/Guivre equivalent, or perhaps it's all three of the components because:

Fukuchi, Ame no gozen, and the Holy Sword Soluz Levni each contain a consciousness that is absorbed into the tripolar singularity, represented by the 3-part symbol on Fukuchi's new form

The "holy cross sword" was made from someone unknown, which I suspect will be relevant later, as they will also be absorbed into the singularity... Note similar design elements on Fukuchi's new form (blade-like legs, torn cloth, circular symbol with spikes in it)

Regardless, I'm certain the SB parallels are no coincidence.

This happens once every blue moon!

I think this also means we'll get to see Verlaine finally appear. By god this has been a "storm" if there ever was one, and the contents of SB will only get more and more relevant. Don't forget that Agatha Christie was teased and we know Verlaine assassinated members of her Order of the Clock Tower.

TL;DR, Fukuchi's singularity makes him like Chuuya and Verlaine, that's why he's not himself and is going to wreak havoc, and also why I think Verlaine will finally show up in the main plot

As for what can stop him, we'll have to look back to SB, but I'm taking a break before I take up that task

[creaturecosmo]

On Curly's Culpability For The Crash

Something I haven't seen anyone bring up yet on TikTok or Tumblr is Curly's on-screen culpability for the crash of the Tulpar. The scene is actually extremely revealing of who Curly is as a character.

This is a ~2k word essay analyzing Curly as a character, as well as his relationship to his crew, his job, and the player - and how it all gets turned on its head by one scene. Curly can be seen as so much darker than this game lets on, and this twist is so beautifully pulled off.

Major spoilers for Mouthwashing, mentions of rape/sexual violence/sexual assault, mentions of abuse. Reader discretion advised.

Please note that this does not show the full extent of my feelings/thoughts on Curly's culpability as a bystander and/or enabler in Anya's story; that will be a separate post. This essay only intends to analyze Curly's role in the ship crash and how that changes the player's view of him as a character.

Throughout Mouthwashing, we are seeing the story through two perspectives: Jimmy and Curly. Jimmy tells the story of what happens after the crash, while Curly tells the story of the week leading up to the crash. We are viewing these events through a first-person point of view in every scene except for one: the moment right before Jimmy goes into the cockpit and crashes the Tulpar into the asteroid. To understand why this is moment is paramount to understanding Curly, Jimmy, and their relationship to each other, we have to look at the last two events in the chronological timeline.

The day before the crash, Curly is frantically searching for the missing gun but is unable to find it. He returns to the cockpit where is Anya is curled up on the floor, and he demands she tell him what happened to the gun. This is when Anya reveals to Curly that she is pregnant and Jimmy is responsible. It's revealed to the player Curly was aware of Jimmy's implied act of sexual violence, and Curly tells Anya to let him talk to Jimmy and fix this situation. She tells Curly she has hidden the gun in an effort to keep herself safe from Jimmy. This is the same scene where you can view the reading printed out stating there is something in the path of the ship that may require evasive maneuvers. The scene ends here, with no further possible dialogue from Anya or significant action to be taken.

The next day, the day of the crash, we open the scene to find Anya on her knees in the medical bay. She is rocking herself, distraught. Engaging with her prompts her to reveal that she told Jimmy she's pregnant. Curly seems panicked at this, asking about Jimmy's reaction and rushing off when Anya says he just walked away. He notably cuts off Anya telling him "Curly, I don't want him in here anymore–" to go fine Jimmy. Attempting to interact with any doors besides the cockpit or Jimmy prompts the text "I need to go to the cockpit."

Here's where things start becoming near-explicitly shady on Curly's part. For the sake of brevity, I will include screenshots of my transcription of their dialogue with relevant "stage notes." Clicking on the screenshots will give better resolution and full text. The text will also be copied into the photo ID.

Let's first acknowledge that Curly's opening statement is not asking how Jimmy is feeling. Curly knows that Jimmy is angry, and is jumping first to placating and calming him with the promise of "fixing" the situation. When Jimmy cuts back with the rhetorical question of what Curly thinks will happen when they land on Earth, Curly reiterates his attempt to calm Jim with the promise "We can figure all of this out. You and me." That last part is a notable difference to what he's been promising Anya. He's been promising that he and Anya will figure out this problem, telling her he'll deal with Jimmy. This establishes two opposing sides: Anya and Curly vs. Jimmy or Jimmy and Curly vs. Anya and the pregnancy. It sets up the question of who is Curly being honest to here?

If we pause the game here and consider what we've seen of pre-crash Curly, the answer is pretty up in the air. He shows care and concern for his crew and his responsibility towards them. He reveals that his position as pilot is tiring to Jimmy during the psych eval, a scene dedicated to showing a few of Jimmy's red flags and establishing a better idea of just how strong/long-standing Curly and Jimmy's relationship is. He goes against the instruction of Pony Express to tell his crew the reality of their situation far earlier than he should have. The crew threw him a surprise birthday party. But it's also implied by Anya's scene involving the gun that there was a gross mishandling of Jimmy's sexual violence towards her. These things, and the little interaction between him and his crew along the way, paint Curly to be a Captain that cares for his crew and tries his best to make the right decisions but his biases can get in the way and he can seriously drop the ball to a dangerous extent. Arguably more importantly, all of this humanizes Curly. We see a side to Curly that we aren't getting in the post-crash timeline told through Jimmy's perspective.

Up to this point, you can say that Jimmy is a Captain trying his best to do right by his crew and his friend; unfortunately it's to the extent that one of his vulnerable crew members is raped, impregnated, and made to feel so unsafe she believes she can't trust Curly not to give the abuser one of three weapons on the ship that holds a position of power over her as a co-pilot. All of this while struggling with own feelings of being stuck in his place in life and wanting something more despite what he's worked so hard to accomplish. He is a human being influenced by his connections and responsibilities, just like the average player.

If the story ended here, I would consider agreeing with this. Unfortunately, it doesn't end here.

Jimmy points out people think very highly of Curly as a leader and Captain, then poses the question "What do you think will happen now when we get back?" He is setting up the reality that Curly failed as a Captain to an egregious degree, proceeding to leverage all the hard work and accomplishments Curly and Jimmy went through and how none of it will matter when Anya reveals the truth after they land. Curly's response to this, using "you've" instead of "we've", shows that he is aware of how Jimmy will look. It also implies that he has been aware this entire time that Jimmy has at the very least been accused of actions worse than sexual violence leading to pregnancy, at most actually done these things.

Jimmy counters with the obvious culpability Curly will be handed. He says, "It's not just me, is it? You were supposed to have everything under control. You said so yourself. The ship, this crew, everything that's happened here... This was your responsibility, Captain. That is what you'll be hearing the rest of your life." Not only is Jimmy suggesting that the company and the media will automatically place blame upon him, but this could also imply that Jimmy is willing to pull Curly down with him. It's almost read like a threat when Jimmy follows with, "Or this can all be remembered as a tragedy. Despite what must have been the best efforts of its acclaimed captain. The Tulpar crew was never found. No one survived to tell the tale."

Jimmy is handing Curly two options here: return to Earth and face his reputation being ruined and being held culpable as he goes down with Jimmy, or end the story here as a tragedy where his reputation remains intact as an esteemed Captain involved in a fatal accident that ended his and his crew's lives.

Take responsibility for his hand in Anya's tragic story and Jimmy's violent actions. Take care of the situation off the record by leaving no survivors to contradict his reputation as a wonderful leader.

The screen flashes with the text "TAKE CARE OF IT" and "TAKE RESPONSIBILITY" and when it comes back, the camera angle is no longer in a first-person point of view. It's third-person, showing the two men standing across from each other.

Jimmy references their conversation during the psych eval scene as he says, "You're standing at the top. Feet in cement. I get it now. Right?"

Curly is quiet for a moment before he responds, "...Right."

There's a silent moment where Jimmy puts his hand on Curly's arm, almost comfortingly. The screen flashes with the text "TAKE CARE OF IT" and "KILLS" and "NINETY NINE PERCENT" before it shows Jimmy dropping his hand and heading towards the cockpit as he says he'll take care of it. The last thing we see before the scene ends is a close up of Curly's face.

Now, we've been handed a new perspective, both literally and figuratively. This is one of few times we are given third-person perspective. One could argue that this is a way of saying "what happens here is not influenced by the unreliability of the first-person perspective, it is objective and factual." Another could argue it is just a stylistic choice. Either way, the literal change in perspective is used to emphasize the scene and it's importance. On the surface, the importance here is the reveal that Jimmy has been lying to entire crew and he is the one who actually crashed the Tulpar, thus explicitly establishing that Jimmy was an unreliable narrator the entire time we played as him. Reading more closely reveals another levels of importance: Curly's inability to take responsibility and placing his own reputation above the lives of five human beings, including his own.

There is not a feasible explanation for why Curly would misinterpret Jimmy's proposal. His understanding is shown in his hesitation of agreement and the somber comforting of Jimmy placing his hand on Curly's arm. Jimmy's manipulation of Curly through the thinly-veiled threat aside, Curly still knowingly and intentionally allowed Jimmy to enter the cockpit with the intent to crash the Tulpar and end the lives of the entire crew. It is only after the emergency lights kick on and the crash is imminent, that Curly rushes into the hallway towards the cockpit. It is only once he sees Jimmy curled up silently on the floor outside that he expresses panic and regret. His dialogue, "Jim, t-tell me you didn't. I should have... I didn't– What the fuck did you do?!" cannot be taken with the idea that he was blind-sided by this. The conversation and the crashing of the ship are only seconds to a minute apart, seeing as Jimmy scene loads with him just entering the cockpit and Curly's loads with him standing in exactly the same spot where he had been when Jimmy walked away. It's more likely he was in a state of shock as the reality of his choice hit him like a ton of bricks.

This scene paints his interactions with Anya and Jimmy in a newly tinted light. Curly's allusion to Jimmy "struggling back on Earth" after making a point to keep it off the record of his psych evaluation gains new meaning when you discover Jimmy was accused of, if not guilty of, previous violent crime that was possibly sexual in nature as well. Curly bringing him onto the crew and placing him in a position of power as a co-pilot seems like a much bigger deal, especially when he admits he wasn't sure Jimmy would do very well. Curly's inaction and promises to Anya that he'll handle Jimmy have a much more unsettling context when you see his conversation with Jimmy and the dichotomy of loyalty it creates: loyalty to his friend and reputation or loyalty to his crew and responsibilities.

This titular scene re-contextualizes Curly in such a distinct and unsettling manner that is so hard to pull off in a believable way. I give massive brownie points to the devs on being able to pull this off these massive twists and beautiful mind-fucks.

[jamethinks]

Saw another reference to my least favourtie fan theory (Donovan r*ped Melinda), and for the sake of brevity, here are just a few vague reasons why I hate it so much

1. It's lazy.

2. It's a very basic case of attractiveness bias. Ie Melinda is pretty therefore she is good and automatically a pure victim. Obviously, Donovan is a terrible and ugly person, and I wouldn't put it past him to do that buy again, ask yourself why that's your first conclusion. Explaining this would require a whole dissertation that I don't think sxf is worth

3. This over victimization and infatilization of women who are associated with powerful and terrible men. Think of Melinda Trump or Eva Peron, etc. A sort of faux feminist approach to understanding abuse where you strip women of all autonomy to sort of frame them as a perfect victim. It's not beneficial to women or victims of dv as they're not always innocent or unautonomous in their lives. Abuse is complicated, and how that manifests is also complicated, and again, sxf is not worth it.

4. Sometimes women hate their children, doesn't always mean there's a case of abuse or r*pe. Again, very complicated idea for a rebuttal to a fan theory, but oh my god, natalism strikes again. Motherhood is a complicated (say it again girl) thing, and lots of things can affect a woman's (or person's) experience. Melinda mixed feelings are very likely for a woman who is being abused, but that doesn't mean the child was born from said abuse. we don't know a whole lot about Melinda, and I think it's a bit unfair to her (and mothers in general) to assume something awful happened in order to rationalize her feelings. And yes, people can have consensual sexual relationships with their abusers (to an extent, obviously, consent gets murky when manipulation is involved). Don't fall for the perfect victim idea.

5. Please leave Damian alone. His life is already miserable enough. Why would you put that burden on his soul? Why would you want to taint his existence like that? Donovan is evil enough, as is my god. Like, please stop, let my boy be happy. Please. I like giving people miserable back stories too, but my god. His canon story is awful enough to leave him alone.

If you want further elaboration on any point, just ask. Maybe I'll answer. It's 1am. I need to go to bed. Just please stop burdening my mind. Please. It's killing me on so many levels.

[liminalmemories21]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @screamlet (who I've been reading since at least 2010). Thank you!

1. How many works do you have an AO3? 48

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 711,517

3. What fandoms do you write for? 911 LS, and 911

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Long Story Short (series) - LS A home isn't always the house we live in - LS It came without ribbons! - LS Always Wear Your Invisible Crown - LS Awful quiet here since love fell asleep - 911

5. Do you respond to comments? I really try to, sometimes I think they get lost in my inbox, but I do try.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? uh, none of them? I don't think I've written anything that doesn't have a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? hmmm, maybe It came without ribbons?, or Knave 4 (The Knave of Clubs ... swears he'll take her part). They both end in marriage proposals.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Just a few on Knave 4, which I expected and mostly ignored.

9. Do you write smut? more often than I ever imagined I would

10. Do you write crossovers? I love a good crossover. Haven't written one yet, but would enjoy it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of. Let's keep it that way. (finger's crossed)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yup! All the 911 stuff with @cecilyv - nothing better.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Well, I don't publish WIPs, not because I have an ethical stance on it, but because I'm usually still changing things at the beginning right up until I hit post and I don't understand how people post things as they write them. Not my process.

That being said, there's a LS kidfic that I'd like to finish some day, but every time I look at it I can't figure out where it's going.

16. What are your writing strengths? I feel like this is a thing other people need to tell me? Dialogue? Plot (apparently? or so 200,000 words of Knave-verse would like me to believe).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? brevity

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'd like to do more of it, because I have characters I write who I think probably do think in another language, but it's not a language I speak, so I don't.

19. First fandom you wrote for? published? Lonestar. unpublished? there's a Merlin story @cecilyv and I wrote for years that is mostly not great, but has it's moments.

20. Favorite fics you've written? ooh, okay:

There were a bunch I wrote early for LS that are kind of character studies that I love - A home isn't always the house we live in (Judd), Stitched with its color (TK & 9/11), and through same of am through haves of give (Enzo)

And, I'd be lying if I didn't say Knave-verse, because I think Knave 2 and Knave 4 are the best things I've ever written - and there is just so much of me in the way TK thinks about art.

And then Baggage That Goes with Mine - because there isn't necessarily me in there, but there is a lot of my history in fandom and the huge cultural shift that I have seen happen since I started reading fic in Tommy's story. Also, I do love me a split timeline narrative.

tagging @walkinginland, @rmd-writes, @alchemistc, @rcmclachlan, and @three-drink-amy