#brick | punch the initiative

[kitkatscabinet]

Always been you

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! childhood friend reader

Summary: From the moment you first smiled at him as children Simon knew it would always be you.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: some nsfw content so minors keep scrolling

It starts like this, he’s 9 years old feet listlessly guiding himself to the rundown park desperate to be somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t the oppressive confines of home. The weather, as was typical of Manchester, wasn’t exactly cooperating. A dreary grey drizzle that served to keep most of the general populace indoors. Few parents were willing to stand outside and supervise their rowdy children. 

That’s not to say the area was completely devoid of activity and for a while Simon was content to sit idly on the swing set and people watch. Trying desperately to ignore the clench in his chest and the sting of tears in the corner of his eyes as he watched the loving interactions between child and parent. Bitterness and wanting in equal parts threatened to consume him. 

A voice from the side quickly pulls him from the harrowing thoughts, though he quickly thinks maybe they’d be easier to deal with. It’s a boy, around his age, maybe a little older and he’s boring like Simon’s deeply offended him. 

“Get off the swing, I want a turn.” The demand leaves Simon more than a little flabbergasted. Apparently, he takes too long to not follow the sudden command as the boy's face twists in even more displeasure. 

“I said, move!” He’s taller, and maybe it's because Simon had already been scared by Tommy that morning but he freezes. 

Or maybe it’s just because he’s pathetic, his father’s voice whispers traitorously in his mind. 

Thankfully, the thought doesn’t get to stick around for long as a new voice enters the fray. “Hey! Fuck off!” Both boys whirl around with wide eyes at the newcomer, neither sure how to respond to the loudly swearing girl. However, when the boy responds with what Simon assumes to be your name it becomes clear that you already know each other. 

“I don’t have to listen a girl.” That proves to be exactly the wrong thing to say, Righteous indignation lights up your face and before Simon can even blink the would-be bully is on the ground, clutching his nose with a cry. You’d punched him, hard enough that Simon could see the blood spilling out from over the crying boy’s hands and down his chin. Not wanting to suffer the same fate, Simon had let you pull on his hand, keeping it in a deceptively strong grip as you marched the two of them away. When you make it far enough from the crime scene you turn to him with a toothy grin, introducing yourself and promptly claiming the title of his new best friend. 

It’s not quite love at first sight, but years down the line Simon will recognise it as something close. 

The fourth time you meet at the park, not even two weeks from the initial greeting, you ask after his parents. It wasn’t unusual that Simon didn’t talk much, content to listen to you chatter away but you must have noticed something different in that instance of silence. You were alarmingly perceptive like that when it came to him, your eyes feeling as if they were staring directly into his soul, seeing all the shattered hurt he tried to hide. Nodding to yourself you grabbed his hand, an occurrence that he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet - your gentle touch, and tugged him along. You walk him all the way to your house, open the door with an excited bang and march straight up to your parents. 

“This is my best friend, Simon, he’s gonna sleep over tonight!” Your parents are rightfully not amused but their protests quickly die down. He has no idea what convinced them in the end, but from then on he’d somehow become a permanent fixture in your home. Dinners became a regular thing which often became sleepovers as you attempted to keep him out of the house that had caused him so much fear and pain. It was about as subtle as a brick to the face but Simon never complained, especially if it meant you’d pull him into your bed as often as possible to sleep. 

He hadn’t minded the first two ‘boyfriends’, they had been nothing serious, silly childhood infatuations. Because at the end of the day, it was always him that you returned to. Crawling through his window late at night and pouting that you couldn’t sleep without your favourite pillow, because somehow, despite his protests you always wrestled him into being the little spoon. 

No, it isn’t until he’s 17 and more than aware of how painfully in love with you he is that the boyfriends finally become a problem. Simon wasn’t a violent person, didn’t want to be, not like his father was. But as he holds you in his arms after you’d climbed through the window in tears, cuddling up to him under the blanket covering his bed that he swears for the first time in his life he could kill somebody. He offers too, you simply laugh and tell him he’s the best friend you could ever have. You think he’s joking, Simon’s not entirely sure he is. 

You’re his first kiss, something that had only occurred at your aghast knowledge that he’d never kissed anyone at all. He’s not sure why you’re surprised, you’re the only person he ever lets near him let alone touch him. It’s simultaneously the best and worst moment of his life because now he actually knows what it feels like to kiss you. Knows that nobody will ever live up to you. 

It’s then he realises that you’re his first everything really, first friend, first crush, first and only love. 

He reads some of your smutty books, the ones you giggle at, a secret he’ll take to the grave, just to learn what you like. It comes about after a drunken confession on your part, liquor loosening your lips just a tad too much as you detail how much your last boyfriend sucked in bed. It’s a mistake, because now every time he looks at you he can’t help but imagine the way you’d taste. How you’d sound begging so prettily for him. 

His decision to join the military was not made lightly, you’d gotten accepted into some fancy university and it’s then Simon starts to realise just how much his entire life has started to revolve around you. As much as he wants to follow, he knows that life isn’t for him, and he knows how much you want him to flourish in whatever path he chooses. 

Training isn’t easy, but it’s far from the hardest thing he’d ever done. That title was reserved for telling you about his chosen career path. 

“Promise me you’ll always come back home to me” you demand, parting just slightly from your hug to look into his eyes. Simon knows he shouldn’t, after all there’s never any guarantee that he will, but as has been the case since you were both 12 he can’t bare to say no to you. 

“I promise love” it’s barely a whisper but you still hear it, your fingers clutching at the back of his shirt starting to shake a little. 

He wants to kiss you, he always does, but standing before him now, eyes glassy from the tears you’re trying to hold back, Simon swears you’ve never looked more ethereal. As much as he wants to lean down and finally taste your lips he doesn’t, it wouldn’t be fair. Not to you or to him, so instead he presses a soft kiss to your hairline, keeping you held tightly against him. 

You send him more care packages than he can count, photos, letters and little trinkets he kept tucked safely away in his bunk or on his person when he could get away with it. He gets teased for it but Simon couldn’t give less of a fuck about their poorly hidden jealousy, not when you cared for him so deeply. Not when he gets to fall asleep with your words in his head and faint scent rubbing off on him. 

He’d thought that perhaps the distance would do him some good, would finally douse the blazing flames of his love for you. He really should have known better because as the day's drone on you start to consume his every thought both waking and asleep. His life becomes a series of training and missions that only serve as a way to pass the time until he gets to see you again. Because no matter how much blood stains his hands he knows you’ll always be there to wash it away. He’s aware how selfish it is, to place the brunt of his longing and emotional baggage that only continues to grow in your careful hands, but Simon’s never claimed to be a good man. 

Some of the darkness slips out one night, after his brother's wedding, after the revelry had died down and it was just the two of you lying on the grass and looking up at the stars at your insistence. He’ll forever blame it on the alcohol, descriptions of the violence he’d tried so desperately to keep from you pouring from his lips in confession. He can’t bear to look at you, heart roaring in his ears as he waits for the moment you’ll run, the moment you’ll finally realise what a monster he is. That moment never comes, instead, you ensnare him in your protective grip, hands cradling him far more softly than he deserves. It’s that moment that finally cements the fact that you’re never leaving in his mind. You’re never leaving so it’s up to him to pull away before he tarnishes your light, but Simon is weak and so he stays. 

It happens after his third tour, the one where he’d had too close a call, the one he’d thought for a few moments he wasn’t coming home from. In those moments he’d thought of you, of your smile and god he regretted. He regretted never telling you how he felt. 

It feels like he’s barely off the plane, eyes searching desperately for you before he hears the shout of his name. He spins just in time for you to launch yourself at his chest, gripping desperately onto him. You’ve always tried to keep your affection for him private, knowing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with people staring. Neither of you cared in that moment though and Simon’s already dropped his bags, engulfing you in a near-crushing grip. 

It’s an eternity before you pull away, but it’s still too soon. He briefly glimpses the tears in your eyes before he leans down and kisses you. Something in the back of his mind is screaming at him, but he doesn’t really care to listen. At first, you don’t respond and Simon finally panics as the consequences of his actions set in. You don’t give him the chance to run away though, hands grasping his face and keeping him in place. 

When you pull away you don’t say anything, simply taking his hand in yours and tugging him out to your car. The drive to your apartment is silent, but not uncomfortable. It isn’t until you’ve pulled him into your bed, in a mirror image of your younger years that you finally break the silence. 

“I never thought you felt the same.” The same? The implications of your words seared into the forefront of his mind. 

“Silly girl, why would I ever even look at somebody else when you exist?” You let out an adorably embarrassed squawk at his words, lightly hitting him on the chest as you bury your burning face against his neck.“It’s always been you” he murmurs, the confession settling over you like a wave. 

For a split second, he fears your relapse into silence means he’d pushed too far too fast. Years of pining bubbling up and over the surface at the slightest bit of reciprocation. You’re quick to shut down his internal spiral with another earth-shattering kiss, pulling away and resting your chin on his chest. 

“Yeah, you’ve always been it for me too Si. From the moment I pulled you from that swing." It's a little embarrassing, how fast his heart races at the confession. Tears build in the corners of his eyes as he finally, finally lets himself fully succumb to your love. You're quick to wipe them away though, because you would always take care of your Simon.

[pradabambie]

Hi, I don't know if you're taking any requests but I decided to throw it in nonetheless.

Could you write like an angsty fic where the reader and Rafe have a fight and Rafe, as usual, gets crazy, angry, irritated etc like he usually does, but the reader actually stands up for herself instead of just crying about it.

You absolutely don't have to write this if you don't want to.

loved this request! we all love sub reader but i agree it's time she stands up for herself hehe

hope u like it! lmk if you'd like a part two 🫶🏻

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you knew, going into this relationship, that rafe had issues—his dysfunctional family, his drug habits, his questionable new “friends”. 

you couldn't entirely blame him when he first showed some toxic personality traits: controlling, jealous, paranoid, and untrusting.  

despite his flaws, you'd always supported him, helping him turn his life around, standing by him even when others turned their backs on him. 

he had come a long way since you started dating, but his jealousy never ceased.  

initially, you brushed it off, reminding yourself he was just upset, that his words didn't truly reflect his feelings. 

but today was the breaking point. 

he was screaming at you for simply picking up your phone that had fallen at the golf course, bending down in your skirt, in front of his friends. 

"it's not my fault it fell, okay, rafe?" you felt your anger rising. why was he yelling at you over such a small and stupid thing? 

"shut up, you brat!" he grabbed your arm so hard you were sure it was going to leave a bruise. "you're such a slut. trying to get my rich friends’ attention, yeah? what a whore" his eyes glaring at you as he spat the venomous words in your face. 

his words cut deeper than ever before. 

you pushed him away with all your strength, but he barely budged. 

"fuck you, rafe! you call me names and push me away when i'm the only one who's been there for you?" tears blurred your vision. "i'm done. i need some time away from you. i-i can't take this anymore." 

realization hit rafe like a ton of bricks. he called your name desperately as you stormed out, but you didn't turn back. 

alone in the room, he ran his hands through his hair before punching the wall in frustration. he fucked up badly, and he knew it. 

a concerned sarah arrived shortly after your call, listening as you recounted the fight with her brother. 

"he's an asshole, okay?" she wiped a tear from your cheek. "he doesn't deserve you. i don't even know why you're with him." 

"i-i love him," you whispered brokenly, "but i can't handle the jealousy and accusations anymore." 

sarah decided to distract you. 

"let's get some ice cream, okay? then we'll go to the beach, and jj can cheer you up. he always makes you laugh," she offered with a comforting smile. 

"thank you, s. i'd love that." 

[meguwumibear]

Purged Without Exception

A quick trip to the store gets you into some trouble. Suo is there to bail you out.

thank you @/acidbeats for commissioning this piece for the @ficsforgaza collaboration.

cw: attempted sexual assault and minor injury

You’re not supposed to be out this late. You know this. You know better. The streets of Makochi are unsafe for a lone woman like you, for a woman without any sort of fighting prowess. They used to be, anyway, before the Bofurin boys took it upon themselves to bloody their knuckles to keep the place clean.

The initiative has been going on for quite a few years now, and crime has been on a steady decline ever since. The students have made it their mission to protect your humble little town from all sorts of illicit activity, violent or otherwise. Whether they’re responding to petty theft or physical assault, the Bofurin boys handle each and every job with a violent sort of grace. It’s been some time since a random street thug could stand a chance against the gang of delinquents.

Perhaps that’s why you felt so comfortable running to the store at this hour. The odds of any sort of crime of late are slim to none. Violent crimes in particular are less popular than ever. Who’d risk provoking the ire of any of the current Bofurin students, let alone the alumn? An idiot maybe, or someone suicidal.

You didn’t think to grab anything other than your phone and wallet for the outing. All you needed was to restock on toilet paper, and the market is only a few blocks from your shithole apartment. Four years ago, you would never have ventured out without some sort of self defense aid on you. The protection of the Bofurin boys has made everyone so careless.

That’s why you aren’t prepared to fight off the first pair of hands that wrap themselves around your wrist and yank you into a dank, dark alleyway. There are three men in total hiding out in the shadows, and soon there are hands wrapped around your forearm, your neck, your waist. The attack is uncoordinated; the men trip over themselves trying to grope at you. You do what little you can to fend them off.

Untrained. Defenseless. Your head throbs and it connects with warm brick. Skin splits at the contact, cleaved open by the abrasive clay. There’s a strong grip on the nape of your neck preventing you from moving. Cold, calloused hands hold your face flat against the wall.  

Despite your earlier lapse in judgment, you are not in fact stupid. You know what kind of attack this is. You understand its purpose and goals of the hands that bind you.

It’s hard to hear much over the roaring in your ears, but you’re just lucid enough to pick out an eerily calm voice.

“Excuse me,” the man asks almost cheerfully. “Have I interrupted something?”

The hands attempting to undress you stall.

“Fuck off, eyepatch. Four’s a crowd.”

The grip on you loosens a smidge, and you turn your head to survey the scene.

The guy with the eyepatch is standing with his hands held in mock surrender, a coy smile on his face. There’s something familiar about him. You’ve seen him around town before. He pals around with a few of the Bofurin graduates. Which means…

“Easy,” he says, “I just want to escort the lady home.”

“You deaf?” one of your attackers asks. “We said fuck off.”

The man moves so fast your brain hardly registers it. One moment he’s standing at the edge of the alley, the next he’s flipped the man pinning you to the wall over his shoulder. The dude lands with a harsh thud on his back. From the way he’s flopping around, you venture the impact punched the air from his lungs.

The fingers of the remaining two clench into fists, but they seem hesitant to assist their friend. They sway unsteadily back and forth on the balls of their feet, looking at you, their friend, and finally at your rescuer.

“Run along, now,” your savior smiles. The corners of his mouth are pulled tight, sharp like a knife. “I just had this shirt pressed and I’d hate to sully it.”

The two still on their feet exchange a final glance at one another and decide to cut their losses. They back out of the alley quickly, clearly afraid your rescuer may change his mind about dirtying his freshly pressed shirt. The third staggers after them, limping along, wheezing for breath.

Once he’s certain you’re alone, the man bends over to pick something off the ground: the toilet paper that started the whole ordeal. He approaches you slowly, like he’s nervous one wrong move will scare you off. When he’s close enough, he offers the roll to you.

“I hate guys like that,” the man offers conversationally. The smile he flashes you now is warm and inviting. “Some people just never grow up. A bunch of petulant kids. It’s hard for them to imagine themselves in your position. I enjoy helping them broaden their minds.”

The hand that reaches for the toilet paper is shaky. The palm is red with blood. His eyes don’t miss the tiny droplets that spill onto the plastic packaging.

“That looks like it hurts,” he says, features schooled into a calm grin. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He leads you back to the convenience store. The lady at the front recognizes him immediately—even calls him by his name—which isn’t unusual; the Bofurin boys are a bit like celebrities around these parts.

Suo exchanges pleasantries with the worker and attempts to purchase some first aid supplies, but the woman insists he takes what he needs, on the house. There are perks, it would seem, to purging the town of those who would cause it harm.

The bathroom of the shop is small and poorly lit. A lone, fluorescent light flickers above you as Suo gently dabs an antiseptic wipe along your palms. The disinfectant bites. The wounds sting despite Suo’s tenderness. You fight your instinct to flinch and fail.

“The cut isn’t deep,” Suo notes once he’s certain the lesions have been properly sterilized. He drops your palm to brush a tendril of loose hair out of your face. “I’m more worried about this.”

You wince as he touches a fresh antibacterial wipe to your forehead. Fresh tears pool in the corners of your eyes. You try to blink them away, but they insist on falling. They slide down the slope of your cheek bones and pool underneath your chin.

“I can walk you to the nearest clinic,” he offers. “Just as an extra precaution.”

You shake your head and immediately regret it. The motion aggravates the injury, and your vision blurs from the pain.

“Can’t afford it,” you tell him.

He frowns as he continues to see to the wound. His movements are slow, precise, like he’s used to treating these types of injuries. You watch his face as he tends to you. His features are knit in quiet contemplation.

“It looks like you hit your head pretty hard. I’m no doctor, but I’m worried they may have given you a concussion.”

You shrug as he pulls his hand away. “I’m tougher than I look. My friends always say I have a thick skull.”

He hands you an ice pack from the pile of first aid supplies he’s brought. “For the swelling,” he says. Then, once you’ve pressed the cold pack against the growing bump, “You should take better care of yourself. If not for you then for your friends. I’m sure they’d hate if something were to happen to you.”

You let out a long, slow breath. Suo isn’t wrong. Your friends would be devastated if you got yourself into some sort of trouble.

“Bofurin boys are good for more than just fighting,” you say, pondering his advice and admiring his first aid.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he smirks, lips full of promise. “You have no idea.”

[veritas-scribblings]

safe - @jegulus-microfic - words: 736

James finds himself shoved up against a wall so suddenly his head hits the stone bricks. Startled for a moment, he is breathless from running, from trying not to laugh, from trying not to fall as he was pulled along by one intrepid Regulus Black who is much bolder, much braver and much more rebellious than James had initially thought.

At present, Regulus has a hand over James’s mouth and is hushing him with promises of much pain and suffering if James does not stop making so much noise. For all James tries, it’s hard to take Regulus seriously, though, because Regulus's cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink, his hair is deliciously mussed like someone (namely James) has been running their fingers through it, and his lips are kiss-swollen.

‘Shut. Up,’ Regulus hisses when James struggles and tries to say something.

It’s fine, James wants to say. It’s fine. We’re safe. Sirius didn’t see us, didn’t follow us, doesn’t know. We’re okay, we can keep doing this, kiss me again, please. But Regulus is practically smothering him with the hand he has over James’s mouth. James thinks he might die like this; a blissful death floating on a cloud of euphoria because he’s kissed Regulus Black. He’s kissed him thoroughly, filthily. He’s tasted him. Felt him. He’s had his hands all over him. They were chest-to-chest. And James is a lucky, lucky bastard who has been to heaven and back.

But he can’t say this, no matter how much he wants to. So instead he sucks on, licks, Regulus’s palm and earns himself a hard whack. ‘That’s disgusting. Will you shut up?’

James nods and Regulus removes his hand, wipes it on James’s robe. ‘Sirius didn’t see us,’ he whispers. ‘He’s gone back to the dorms…where he’ll probably expect me to be, actually…’

Regulus rolls his eyes. ‘Not Sirius, dumbass, Filch was there. Didn’t you see Mrs. Norris?’

No, James didn’t see Mrs. Norris. James had been too distracted by Regulus’s tongue in his mouth and Regulus’s hands in his hair and Regulus’s hip pressing against a place that made James feel way, way, way too good. And all those delicious noises that Regulus was making that James wants to hear again.

And, on second thought, maybe it isn’t wise to give Regulus Black the power to absolutely cripple James because Regulus Black is far too clever and cunning for his own good. Too perceptive. Because he knows and notices things that James doesn’t, and it’s a little bit scary, if James is honest.

Regulus is close to him again, presses his lips just below James’s ear, sucks gently at his skin and it feels too good. The feeling washes straight through James’s body in tingles, shivers, and James gasps. At first it’s a gasp of pleasure. His hand goes straight to the back of Regulus’s head, tangles in Regulus’s curls.

And then it’s a gasp of realisation. That Sirius is going back to the dorms.

The dormitory that they share.

Together.

With Peter. And Remus.

And the Marauder’s Map.

‘Shit!’ James gasps. ‘Shit.’

Regulus looks up from where he’d been carefully attending to James’s neck, arches an eyebrow. In response, by way of explanation, James just grimaces. He wants to stay here in the little nook they found in the corridor by the library, but he can’t because if Sirius wonders where he is, he’ll go to the Map. And if he goes to the Map, then he’ll see James with Regulus and he’ll have a million questions and James will have to explain that he was there in the middle of the night because he was busy snogging Sirius’s little brother. And James will get himself punched or hexed, because he knows how Sirius feels about Regulus, how protective Sirius is, how simply nobody is good enough for Regulus. How Sirius believes that Regulus is his responsibility to care for and keep safe from hurt, no matter how disdainful Regulus is of that idea. 

‘Well,’ James starts, falters. He doesn’t know how to continue, doesn’t know how to explain that he needs to rush off unexpectedly without explanation. Because Regulus is so beautiful, so thoroughly messy where he’s normally so clean-cut and elegant and turned out. And James is responsible, and proudly so, for that messiness.

Clearing his throat, James tries again, ‘Well…’ and then when he cannot find the words, he just smiles, tips his head to the side, tries to look sexy and seductive and smooth.

[1800gotspook]

Only Yourself to Blame

This is for the 2024 Invisobang! Artwork by @duchi-nesten (HERE) and @fablepatron (HERE)! (links to be added)

Big thanks to @armed-with-knitting-needles for beta reading.

Summary: Valerie first meets Phantom under different circumstances– she's already the Red Huntress, and she has no blame to put on him for her current circumstances. She's still working for Vlad Masters, though, and he wants Phantom captured. After almost capturing him, she quickly realizes that he's not like the other ghosts. But she quickly loses any chance of gaining his trust, as she has to appease her boss. She quickly becomes stuck between two circumstances: risking her job to stand up to Vlad, or capturing Phantom. She doesn't like either of those options.

[AO3]

Chapter 1:

"Any last words, Ghost?" She pressed the blaster to his chest.

She had him backed into an alley. There was nowhere for him to go. Her heart raced. Her breath finally caught up with her.

This ghost was far more clever than any she had encountered before.

"Uh, yeah," the ghost said. He paused, heaving in deep breaths. His neon eyes darted down to the gun and back up at her. Probably a messy, last-ditch effort to find a way out. Unfortunately for him, he was up against a wall. Literally. "It was... nice to meet you," he said.

Before she could react, he faded from her vision and sunk into the brick wall.

Shit. She forgot they could do that.

She slapped the brick wall with her hand, the pin hold on him lost. And this was going to be her most impressive catch yet! Mr. Masters would have been so proud; likely would even pay her a hefty bonus if this was the same white-haired "scoundrel" he'd been rattling on about.

She released the trigger of her gun. It reabsorbed the built-up charge and powered down into standby mode.

She grunted and kicked the wall. Her solid metal boot barely made a thump. According to her wrist tracker, he was long gone.

After a few heavy breaths, she summoned her board and launched back into the air.

~

Valerie started to spot him more often around the school. He seemed to always show up, and even fight the other ghosts.

Phantom. His name was Phantom. That name was seriously lacking in theme compared to most ghosts she had captured. And he seemed so young! So much smaller than the others.

This time, some lunch lady ghost was in the cafeteria when he showed up.

So, Valerie decided to sit back and watch, instead of transforming and jumping into the fight.

He punched, dodged, and blasted ectoplasm at the opposing ghost. His enthusiasm and adaptability was really quite impressive… for a ghost.

And then the most peculiar thing happened.

Phantom pulled out a Catcher.

A swirling vortex of green erupted from it, and as the lunch lady ghost was sucked inside, she emitted a typical roar of defeat.

Valerie’s mind erupted into a slew of questions. Why was he fighting other ghosts? Why was he catching them? Where did he get a Catcher from? What was he gonna do with the captured ghosts?

This Phantom made absolutely no sense. And it seemed dangerous to leave a ghost in the hands of another ghost.

So she decided to confiscate his Catcher.

Running into the nearest utility closet, Valerie issued the mental command to summon her suit. She could already feel it brimming under her skin before she shut the door. And before she knew it, she was flying back out on her board.

"Phantom!" she shouted, making a break for him back in the cafeteria.

He was waving to some students, hovering over the wreck of the fight. Lunch tables were overturned, food strewn about the whole room. He was preparing to leave the scene.

"Wait!" She leaned even more sharply on her board, forcing it to move faster.

When he saw her approaching, his eyes widened, and he faded from the visual plane.

She skidded to a stop in front of where he had been hovering. She tapped the side of her helmet, initiating the thermal camera. Spinning in a circle she took in the whole cafeteria. Looking for just a single cold spot.

It was no use. He was gone.

Hopefully he knew what he was doing with that Catcher.

~

As instructed, Valerie flew through the open upper-window of Mr. Masters' mansion, making sure not to be seen.

After landing in the small side-room, she retracted her hoverboard and helmet, and she clomped her way across the hardwood floor. She was sure Mr. Masters was already aware of her arrival.

She made her way down the hall to his main office. The heavy wooden door into the room was closed.

She raised an arm to knock, but didn't get within a foot of the door before she heard Mr. Masters from the other side: "Come in, dear." He always spoke with strange pet-names. It felt like it was supposed to dispel all formalities and make Valerie feel more endeared to him, but for some reason it just came off as more formal. More outdated. It always felt a little off.

Valerie inched the heavy door open, feeling like she was intruding on some private affair. Why did he keep the door to his office closed when there was nobody else in his mansion? Was there somebody else here?

The door swung to a view of Mr. Masters, pristine white hair pulled back into a low, long ponytail down his back. His typical grey two-piece suit, adorned with a silky red ascot. His enormous wooden desk was directly squared across from the doorway, but he sat in his chair at an angle. Leaning back, legs crossed. Side glancing at her entry. Okay mister academic edgelord.

"And what brings my most esteemed hunter to my doorstep?" he leaned forward, his right hand hovering at his temple.

Valerie supposed he was talking about her. That was supposed to be a compliment.

"Well firstly, I brought some recent catches for you to handle," she pulled the nearly-full Catcher from her belt and held it in both hands, feeling its weight. She raised it slightly in front of her.

He made no move to accept the device from her. He did slightly tilt his head back, though.

Valerie gave up trying to offer the device, and readjusted her grip on the Catcher's cylindrical form. With one hand bearing its weight, her other hand found itself tracing its intricate texture. A half-circle up the side, and then back down the bumpy buttons. Up and around. Down.

"Also," she began, "I've been running into this ghost lately– Phantom." She paused to see if he would give her any cue.

She wondered if it was just her imagination, or if his eyes tightened just slightly.

She continued.

"He– he was difficult to catch. I mean– I didn't catch him." Valerie opted to stop looking at Mr. Masters and directed her attention to his bookshelf on the left. The assorted books and little trinkets scattered across the shelves seemed to soothe her restlessness.

"He was different from any other ghost I've seen. Didn't seem to fight back."

Her eyes fell on a strange little wooden figure: a man wearing a top hat and eye patch.

"Didn't seem to want to cause trouble at all. I just–" Valerie looked back at Masters' still unmoving figure, "Is that the ghost you were talking about? With the white hair? Was there a reason he needed to be caught?"

"Oh dear," he sighed, leaning back. "My dear little viper, you have only been under my wing for a month–"

As if he'd actually taught her anything himself.

"–so you do not yet understand the deviousness of ghosts. This– what did you call him? This Phantom– likely knows that you are a serious threat, so he is doing his best to hide his true nature from you."

That was difficult to swallow. Protecting the town from dangerous ghosts by catching and re-releasing them was one thing. Chasing down a creature that wanted nothing but to be left alone… it felt wrong.

"In fact," Mr. Masters stood from his desk chair, "if this ghost's behavior is as abnormal as you say, well that means it is likely very strong. And dangerous enough to manipulate people like yourself."

Like herself?

Masters circled around the desk to stand directly in front of Valerie. "Not to say you're easy to manipulate, my dear. But since you aren't, and this ghost managed to stir doubt in you this much," he reached forward, his index and thumb clamping around the thermos in her hand.

"Then it sounds like this ghost should be your highest priority." He slid the Catcher out of her grip.

Valerie didn't need elaboration to know that this was an order.

Wordlessly, she nodded. Before she could process her own actions, she had already made her way down the hallway, through the window, and out of the mansion.

[astupidweeb69]

hello!! I am kinda nervous to write this bc I absolutely love your writing and the way you portray Toby is just so real. I love how you make him both a loser and a force of nature, like just bc he has no rizz doesn't mean he can't do anything lol. But I was lowkey thinking about your stories the other day and like, what if Y/N also had some screws loose? Like he pops up at her house covered in the blood of some guy who wouldn't leave her alone and instead of calling the police like a smart person she's just like: " 😳 omg you did this for me??" I know it's unrealistic and silly but it's also kind of interesting???

Ticci Toby x Violent! Reader

Toby with an unhinged reader? Well - there's a recipe for disaster lmao.

I know I said I'm not taking requests but this ended up becoming a scenario. I just had some inspo - hope this is what you were looking for! Because the reader isn't submissive? Idk

Y/N has some messed-up thoughts and there are mentions of violence under the cut!:

The reader I imagine in this case would have only seen how cringey Toby is - thinking he was just a creepy guy who's taken a liking to them and would avoid him at all costs. Probably up until this point assume that he's a wimp (Toby would initially try his best to seem weaker and unassuming when he approaches the person he likes)

The scenario I imagine is that Y/N grew up around conflict, and is fully comfortable around violence, even throwing a few punches themselves here and there. Maybe ended up in Juvie when they were younger and now works in some retail job - something where they regularly interact with the general public.

A customer tries to hit on Y/N when Toby's there - big mistake.

But Toby doesn't say anything at first.

He doesn't have to.

Y/N immediately shuts the customer down. But the guy doesn't let up. Curses are thrown back and forth, Y/N's wrist is grabbed.

He touched you.

Toby doesn't like that. Not one bit.

You get reprimanded by your boss after you punched the unruly customer in the face.

Luckily they didn't press charges.

You had a bit of an edge, from your surly demeanor and fucked sense of humor, but Toby had no idea you'd do that.

Kind of turned him on. He knew he picked you for a reason.

But alas, that was the extent of your revenge. You already had a record of aggravated assault and you didn't need another one added to the list.

Luckily for you that scrawny, lanky boy who always stared at you when he came in had a plan in motion.

Late at night, a knock on the door wakes you up from a nap on the couch. Of course, you look through the peephole first before answering.

Red.

Everything is red.

Only until you hear a familiar voice pipe up do you realize who it is.

Toby.

The blood covered so much of his face it was hard to point out who he was at first.

He speaks to you through the door, somehow already knowing you're there.

And he tells you what he did.

It takes a moment for you to process all the grizzly details, the way he followed the man, cornered him in an alley, and beat him so hard he'd pretty sure he cracked his skull on the brick wall.

He sounded giddy about it. Gleeful.

He was far from the loser you thought he was.

And you liked it.

Liked that he did that for you.

After all, in your head, hurting someone for someone else was the greatest form of love. It was the kind of devotion you'd always dreamed of from a partner.

You open the door.

Toby is surprised, but soon sees a look on your face he recognized. The kind of expression of sick joy and arousal that comes with blood lust.

You're blushing too. Blushing for him.

Everything was finally coming together perfectly, and once you let him into your home, he's never going to leave.

The relationship would start right off the bat. Toby is one to rush things.

It's all to claim you. Both mentally and physically. So you're attached to the hip pretty much. Expect a lot of PDA (Toby does not care who sees lol)

And a reader who's fully on board?

Yeah you're going to bring out the worst in each other. He'll encourage you to do more crimes, to get bloodier, to join him.

It would be a very bad situation for everyone involved.

But especially for anyone unfortunate enough to cross the paths of you two lovebirds.

[theycalledhimastar]

I demand your take on ABO 141 with a male reader PLEASE, there's never any good male stuff

Bestie do NOT give me this kind of brainrot, but also I accept the gift graciously-

Also, I had no idea what you wanted the male reader to be so there's a bit of everything so everyone's happy :) They come off a little oc-ish to me, the way I did the reader but oh well, I like it.

Forgive me for anything I got wrong, I'm not an A/B/O master guys. This was way longer than I initially planned, lol. Enjoy!

Omegaverse!141 x Male reader!!!

I'm not the most bright brained alright, I agree with literally everyone else and I think Price and Ghost would both be Alphas with Gaz and Soap being betas, it just makes sense in my mind. The two Alphas need the cool-headed inbetweens to keep them from toppling everything and/or butting heads from too much hormones going around.

They're all fairly skeptical about yet another person joining them for any given reason, four people is plenty and having yet another person in the fray, while it might be helpful sometimes, is a bit of a balancing act to fit into their already perfect schedule. Changing things to accommodate you, while not the worst thing, isn't the most easy feat for everyone. Especially depending on what you are...

☄. *.

You were an Alpha, purebred, built like a brick wall and about as stubborn as one too. Although you weren't loud about it, you weren't going to let people forget tat you were not to be messed with. Raised with a bit of an ego as most purebred Alphas were, you knew you were destined for greatness from the moment you presented. Started physical and mental training as soon as you were old enough, the goal had always been the military for you, no doubts about it. But you had never imagined, in all your wildest dreams, that you would be a part of the task force.

Most people, upon first glance, would likely assume you fit right in, but shoehorning you in with two other alphas was way harder than anticipated, seeing as you immediately began trying to prove yourself before you had gotten settled in. Which, would have been adorable if you weren't so damn stubborn about it.

Ghost is working out? You join him without a second thought, attempting to lift twice as much as what he's doing. Of course, his numbers were already nothing to scoff at, so all you truly succeeded in, was nearly dropping the weight on your foot and damaging your precious alpha pride. "You alright there tough guy?" Ghost seemed amused by your ambitious failure.

"Shut up." Was all you growled in retaliation, storming off to go sulk elsewhere.

Soap is practicing at the range with Gaz? You grab a pistol and try to show off just how capable you are with it, easy right? Not really. You fumble in a way you weren't even sure you understood, and to put it simply, you missed the target significantly and blew an entire round trying to make amends. By the time you had finished it, the sergeants were trying not to lose their composure and die laughing at your cockiness despite it all. Damnit, you could normally do this all so easy, what the hell was wrong!? You set down the weapon with a nearly frightening calmness despite the seething rage in your chest that demanded respect as an alpha. Your self-righteous upbringing had done you no good now as you stormed off to go beat the shit out of the next inanimate object that pissed you off.

"How exactly did he make it here?" "Eh, cap says he's good. Let 'im cool off, I'm sure he knows what he's doin."

There was no cooling off, of course, as you ended up nearly punching a hole in the wall as you had graciously slammed into the doorway in your blind rage, smacking yourself square in the nose and nearly toppling over in pain. That was, quite honestly, the last straw for your dignity as you snarled something ferocious. Not caring that it had been rather close to the Captain's office until you were unceremoniously yanked back by your scruff, held face-to-face with the unamused John Price. Although you were an alpha, even you couldn't quite deny the effect his scent had on you now. Not one of anger, but certainly not a playful one either. He was projecting his authority, silently telling you to quiet down a little and stop being such a loudmouth showoff. Shame and something akin to an excited fear sparked briefly in the pit of your stomach before you cleared your throat and swallowed hard.

"Captain." You nodded shortly, not missing the way his hand tightened around the back of your neck.

"Heard you've been causing a bit of a ruckus for the others, been busy?" He raised a thick brow, making you swallow back your nerves. You attempted to shoot back some of your own alpha scent, but it felt puny and overpowered entirely by his.

"Not intentionally, sir."

"Let's settle down a little, you've barely been here a week, quit causing trouble or I'll have to take care of your behavior myself. Got it?" He leans close, you could swear he was breathing on the back of your neck now and you know for a fact your heart is racing for reasons you don't think are fear.

Not wanting to find out what he means by that just yet, you give a quick nod that seems to satisfy him enough to let you go. Allowing you to scamper back to your room, the adrenaline cushioning what was going to be a very hurt ego when it settled in that you had been grabbed by the collar and scolded like a child. Damnit, you would prove yourself one way or another...

☄. *.

You were a Beta, always being told you were unremarkable, nearly always forgotten in the squabble between Alphas and Omegas. So, in an effort to at least be something impressive to yourself, you took to bulking up. Genetics and luck both seemed to favor you as you certainly bulked up. To the point where you were constantly mistaken for an Alpha by anyone that didn't truly know you. If they did, they would know that you were far more of the beta disposition in reality. Laid back, cheerful, extroverted enough to make friends, but not gratingly so. The perfect addition to the task force at first glance...

Minus the fact that you were both clumsy, and a little bit ditsy from time to time.

Sure, you weren't incapable, you could definitely hold your own in battle. But it seemed that when the adrenaline wasn't pumping through your veins, you were a tangle of long limbs and jumbled thoughts. It was obvious that you weren't trying to be a mess, but the others seemed to assume you were up to something. Surely, a mountain of a man like you, such a capable Beta on the battlefield, can't be such a... dolt in real life, right?

The same man they had witnessed absolutely nail a small squadron all by his lonesome, had momentarily forgotten how to lace his boots after unlacing them entirely to replace them. And had practically tied his feet together.

"You think he knows he's doin' it wrong?" "Oh he has to by now... right?" "Guys, did I get it? I'm so confused, why is this so weird!?"

Not to say you were entirely unaware of yourself, you knew you were scatterbrained at times. But you didn't know that they had assumed you were taking them for a fool sometimes. The sergeants decided to confront you about it, with Soap cornering you after a particularly amusing incident.

"Mate, ye know we've seen ye on the field right?" He sighed, running his fingers through his overgrown curls. "uhh, yeah?" You kind of stared between the two of them, completely confused as to where the conversation was going. Gaz snuck behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder in a friendly manner. "Right, so you don't have to act like a total numpty off the field, you aren't foolin' anyone anymore." He chuckled, nudging your head with his playfully. It would have been a comforting thing, except for the fact that you had no clue what they were on about. "What do you mean?" "Stop acting like such a hare-brained dingus. Just be yourself, mate." He shook your shoulders gently, the two staring at you so earnestly, just trying to convince you to just be yourself around them. "Oh... About that..."

Of course after that, they both felt really bad and you had to explain for over an hour that no, it wasn't on purpose, yes, you were that messy sometimes, and no, you weren't mad for their assumption. Although Ghost certainly seemed to find it hilarious that you were such a gentle giant, and a total hot mess express. Not that he told you that, truth be told, he didn't feel the need to talk to you much off of the field. Not because he didn't like you, he simply felt you fit in so well with the betas and he didn't want to throw off things. Although he did want to know how you had gotten so huge naturally.

Price thinks you're downright precious with the stark contrast between on and off duty with you. It's like you become a completely different person and he can't help but smell the scent of a content beta every time he tells you that you've done him good. He was certain that everyone could tell just how excited you were when he referred to you as "his good lad". It was a simple nickname, rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, but you nearly lit up in elation. So now not only him, but everyone else makes an attempt to give you subtle little praises like that just to see you get all giddy, and to this date you have yet to notice, or at least say anything about it.

☄. *.

You were an omega, not what any of them expected when they were told that someone would be joining them, as omega were notoriously... well... Violence avoidant to put it simply. But you were not the type that wanted to feed into stereotypes. You wanted any excuse to not become some boring old stay-at-home omega that took care of children and housework. The parts of the world you had grown up in were very traditional and expected just that of you. "Settle down with a nice Alpha, have babies, live the peaceful life." Yeah right, it was like they didn't even know what you wanted.

So, in an effort to escape that life, you decided to enlist, and it turned out that you were... actually kinda good at it despite it all. Your fight or flight chose to flee more often than not, but that meant you were quick on your feet despite the stomach churning levels of anxiety that pulsed through your veins at any given moment. Your adrenaline raced and kept you moving before you could chicken out, and that made you a damn good soldier.

Off field was a different story but that didn't really matter seeing as you liked minding your own business and having your own space more often than not.

When you first met all of them, the aura of two alphas was quite a lot, especially as it seemed at least Ghost was projecting a little bit more than he needed to, getting across the point that there was an order to the way things were and you needed to not ruin that. (He's just nervous having an omega around as he isn't used to it and he isn't sure exactly how to act around you.)

Gaz is rather quick to step in and soothe you with his beta scent, like warm coffee and vanilla and something distinct that you hadn't ever smelled before. But it soothed your racing nerves and made you feel a little less alienated. Although with a nudge from John, Ghost realized he was only successfully scaring you, and he cut it out just as quickly.

Johnny is excited to have an omega around, although he doesn't really treat you any different than Gaz. It's the equivalent of short people acting different when they're around someone shorter than them, yknow? Like he doesn't see you as beneath him, he just knows you're different than anything he's been around and he's nosey about absolutely everything.

"Do all Alphas scare you?" "No... why would they?" "I dunno, it seemed like every omega I met before was either addicted to Alphas or terrified of em." "Uh, no, I think you just knew weird people before."

Another thing, is that Price seems to view you as a sort of stray cat. Skittish if anyone approached you a little too loudly or excitedly, but plenty sweet if they got to know you. At least, that was how it was in his head. In reality, you were just an introverted guy who wanted to at least get along with his teammates and they thought you were the cutest thing ever. Sometimes, John would call you into his office just to tell you that he noticed your hard work and he was proud of you. He loved the way your cheeks flushed whenever he got close or projected his scent a little extra, filling the room with the scent of expensive cigars and warm, woody cologne. It made you a little fuzzy int eh head and he could tell, so he avoided using it. But the face you made when you got all spacey and distracted during meetings because you were sandwiched between him and Ghost, it was just too good to resist.

"You alright there sergeant?" "Yes sir, all-all good." "You look a little flushed, you sure you're not coming down with something?" He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, trying not to smile wider when your eyes widened just slightly. "Positive, Captain..." You squeaked.

[99solaris]

forgotten • droid

pairing: elasticdroid x gn!reader wc: 4k warnings: angst, frustrated arguements, mentions of death scare (no actual injury or death happens), no resolve song pairing: slow dancing in a burning room by john mayer a/n: brick was kissed before i threw it at your head <3

You don't know how long you have been staring at the front door. You could probably point out every flaw of it, the dents, the scratches, anything. By now, it might as well be imprinted onto the inside of your eyelids. Eyes flicking from door to the handle, you feel as if its mocking you, your own brain conjuring up phantom movements paired with imaginary sounds of the clinking of keys. Hoping it will open soon and stop the plague upon your mind - but it never happens. 

From the dinner table, you keep your eyes on the door. Your friends at the table have noticed your absence from the conversations flourishing an hour ago but they kept it going, not wanting to make it worse for you, and yet;

Someone from the friend group sighs loudly, hands up in defence and decides to take initiative to speak up: ''If you stare harder, you might burn a hole in the middle of it,'' a comment that earned a small snicker around the table before they spoke up again, ‘’I don’t think he’s coming.’’

All turn their attention to them, the person next to them elbows them in their side muttering a just audible ‘’don’t be rude’’. It's a statement that has been on everyone's mind for while now. It’s quiet around the table, eyes scanning the company, switching back forth to the person opposite them to then you. Looking for any response but you can’t even bear to pry your eyes away from the front door and look them in the eye. Picking at the skin around your fingernails, playing with the table decor with the other hand - anything to keep you from meeting their gaze.

‘’He will be here any minute,’’ you manage to get out, a slight quiver in your voice that, with a weak attempt, try to hide with a quick smile that falters as fast as it was put on. Shoulders slumping as your eyes go warm and tears pricking at the corners. ‘’I know he will.’’ 

Somewhere, Jaime, to others known as Droid, is at Puffer’s house filming content for the podcast and extra material for Patreon, ultimately deciding to stay longer after Puffer requests they could order out and eat dinner together. He hasn’t been looking at his phone for hours, completely obvious to the messages and calls from you and your friends. When they finally wrap it up it’s 10:51pm. As he grabs his jacket he sighs, knowing he’s getting way later than he had promised. He pulls out his phone that’s been in his back pocket on Do Not Disturb, so as to not ruin filming, he notices the many notifications. Emails, Instagram, 20 calls, 15 messages. All messages following the same pattern: ‘’Dude, where the fuck are you?’’ and ‘’Hey asshole, are you really trying to win the title of worst boyfriend of the year? Cuz you might win it.’’

He’s about to text them back about what they mean by all that, seeing as he didn’t believe he had done anything wrong - maybe it was a prank? A stupid one at that, he points out to himself, since he always prides himself in the role of being someone’s partner. But as he goes to answer, he sees your name pop up under unread messages:

4:34pm - Mi Amor: Hope filming is going good but don’t have too much fun without me (like that is possible!!!) I’ve decorated the place to the best of my abilities, ready for the guests to arrive!! [2 images attached]

5:19pm - Mi Amor: Guests are coming soon.. are you running late? I can probably delay food till you get here. Let me know!

6:54pm - Mi Amor: Honey, are you alright? Can you text me anything so I know you’re alive? You are scaring me..

Reading the texts feels like a punch to the gut. He feels sick to his stomach as he stares at the pictures: A ‘’Happy Birthday!’’ banner, confetti hanging from the ceiling, a table decorated - all the stuff you had dragged through the door in multiple bags, pulling out every item beaming with pride and grinning ear to ear about how excited you were to use the new decor for the occassion. The second picture, you standing in front of the banner, striking a pose between number balloons. His face drops and a chill runs up his though his body feels like it's burning. Fuck. Shit. One hand running through his hair, tugging at the ends, the other clutching his phone. Your birthday. It’s your fucking birthday.

‘’Hey man, you good? You’ve been standing there for like a solid 10 minutes just freaking out, dude,’’ the voice of Grizzy from behind him makes him jump. His eyes leave his phone screen and Grizzy is quick to notice the glazed over eyes. ’’Whoa, hey, what’s wrong dud-’’ ‘’I’m a fucking asshole,’’ he cuts him off quick, ‘’It’s my girl’s birthday.’’ His voice breaks, knowing the judgement he could be facing from his friends and most importantly, you. Grizzy's mouth forms an ‘o’ and eyes widen, ‘’Fuck dude, it’s late!’’ he exclaims, earning the attention of the rest of the crew, poking their heads out in the hallway. Jaime rubs his face, ruffling his hair with a heavy sigh putting his phone in his pocket again. ‘’You better go home now, she’s for sure pissed at you.’’ Jaime doesn’t respond but throws on his jacket, shoving his feet into his shoes and half-assed tying them, putting on his helmet and running out the door. 

At home, the guests started leaving the house around 9pm. Despite the situation, you had tried to make the most of it, even though the energy wasn’t really there for you, or anyone even, to try and make it anything other than what it was. You had attempted to join in on the conversations, had the chances of snickering to a few of the jokes cracked and even with a dampened appetite, ate the food you had spent precious hours and valiant effort to make. When it got to saying your goodbyes to the guests, all of them saying their farewells followed by heartfelt yet empty apologies of how sorry they felt by your boyfriend’s actions on your day, you were unbelievably tired. From keeping your hopes up about Jaime coming home or your friend’s endless support, you didn’t know. You couldn’t hate them though. They were only trying their best to help you but it only irked you, every time being reminded of the longing you had for Jaime to be here at that very minute. His arm slung around your shoulders as he fires off the last jokes he had left in him of the evening, the sound of his laughter vibrating in chest and bounces off the walls, the both of you waving goodbye. But he isn’t there. It’s just you, alone at the door, hug after hug, reassuring arm squeezes, soft, small back rubs from your friends. 

‘’When he gets here,’’ a friend starts while putting their shoes on, ‘’you tell him to do better than this shit show.’’ You nod meekly watching them get ready and as they finish up, give your cheek a friendly small peck and walk out the door. You watch as they back out of the drive-way and drive off, standing there for a good minute, just in case he decides to turn up at the last second. Still nothing. You close the door reluctantly, lock it and turn around to face the empty, silent house. Walking towards the living room, you see how the confetti is giving up its hold on the ceiling and falls to the floor. You give a half-hearted snort to how absurd it is, somehow seeing yourself reflected in the action. There is food left in respective pots and pans, half filled glasses of different coloured liquids. You look at the two plates of food you had saved for Jaime, something you’ve always done for him, knowing how bad he can be with scheduling his own time. 

So, you occupy yourself. You start cleaning up. Washing dishes, glassware, utensils, empty pots. Removing table decor. Pulling at the leftover confetti on the ceiling, deflating the balloons for good, tugging at the banner from the wall, feeling a frustration bubble in your chest. You gather it all and throw it all into a trash can, noticing how your chest is heaving. In the trash can is all the time and effort you had spent on making today special. A collection of the money that has been wasted on not having used its full potential. And it hurts. It hurts so much, you feel your knees buckle beneath you, sinking to the floor. The tears are building up, tears shake in the dam of your eyes, blurring your vision. It all feels too much and the silence in the house feels so loud in your ears. You clutch at the fabric of your clothes as you can feel it all building in your throat. You want to hold it back but you can’t. The sob tumbles out from your mouth and it doesn’t stop. Sobs are racking your body and you feel like your head is going to implode from the sheer volume of it. The tears are falling freely and they feel hot on your cheeks. You feverishly wipe at your face, hand on your chest trying to regulate your breathing but it’s all to no avail. Curled up, on the floor, you sit there and let it all out, grief of the events and the uncertainty of your boyfriend’s fate.

When Jaime finally gets back to the house it’s 11:24pm. He’s nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek, fumbling with the key to unlock the door. Shaky hands try to steady themselves as he unlocks it, cautiously pulling at the handle, his eyes pressed shut awaiting the outburst. But when he walks in and closes the door behind him, it’s eerily quiet. He opens his eyes to a dimly lit house where you wouldn’t have guessed a birthday had been held. He carefully pulls off his jacket and shoes, placing his helmet on the shelf before he moves further into the house. ‘’Amor?’’ he calls out softly as he scans the house for your figure. He notices the saran wrapped plates of food on the kitchen table, a clear sign of you having been waiting out for him. His heart was already heavy but this surely added even more weight that it felt like he could sink into the floor right then and there.

He turns around towards the living room and notices a lump on the couch. You, sleeping on the couch. Somehow having managed to crawl from the floor onto a softer surface and passed out. He maneuvers around the room and around the couch to squat down next to you, taking in your peaceful state of soft snores, always finding it so endearing to watch you. He slowly reaches a hand up to gently place on your cheek, thumb rubbing the soft skin beneath. 

‘’Babe?’’ he whispers, noticing the slight change in breathing. He calls again, just a bit louder, which manages to wake you up. Eyes fluttering open but not fully, the dim light of the room enough to make you squint. With furrowed eyebrows you try to make out the figure in front of you, eyes sore from the amount of crying you had done earlier. It’s first when you register the gentle caress on your cheek and the familiar smell of cologne it connects in your head and the knot in your chest returns.

‘’I don’t want to talk to you,’’ you croak out and Jaime notices it instantly, hitting himself over and over in his head because if there is anything he never wanted to happen, it’s you crying over something he had done.

‘’Babe, please,’’ he says as you move to sit up, groaning slightly from the ache in your body of a mixture of laying on the floor, sleeping position and how overworked your chest has been. He carefully places his hands on your knees, nearly hovering over the fabric, ‘’please, I am sorry.’’ He sounds so sincere and it aches but it is replaced by annoyance.

‘’Sorry?’’ you reply through gritted teeth, swatting at his hands that he nearly loses his balance. You stand up from the couch and he follows suit, your faces mere inches away from each other. ‘’You’re sorry?’’ you repeat, pushing at his chest, ‘’a sorry is not going to cut it, Jaime.’’ Your skin feels hot and there’s a prickly feeling in your hands. You shook your head as you turned away from him and moved a small distance away from him. ‘’Recording extended over time and Puffer asked if I wanted to stay for dinner and-’’ he tried explaining himself but was cut off by you. ‘’Stay for dinner? Oh! So, my birthday dinner wasn’t good enough or what?’’ your voice has raised a fair bit, edging on yelling but you don’t want to go there. A promise to yourself that yelling doesn’t solve any issues. 

‘’You know that’s not what I meant,’’ he says, hands hanging by his side in defeat, ‘’I just thought I might as well since we were having fun and I was there-’’ ‘’You promised you would be here today, Jaime!’’ you say, voice cracking a bit at the end of the sentence, ‘’It is, or at this point, it was my birthday!’’. You wrap your arms around yourself, grounding yourself as much as you can, finding it hard when the issue of the uncomfort is standing in front of you. ‘’You promised this morning,’’ you say, taking a deep breath before continuing, ‘’I sent you messages hours before just to make sure, even our friends did, no one heard from you! You basically ignored me the whole day,’’ you pick up speed, everything tumbling out as your voice starts to tremble, ‘’And worse is, you could’ve been in a horrible crash or even dead for all I know!’’. His heart skips a beat at the anguish he had put you through, knowing how you’ve made it clear to him, nearly swear on his life, that you want him to text whenever he’s going for a ride and when he’s safe at the location. ‘’And all you can say… is that you’re sorry?’’ you end with another well of tears teetering on spilling, near burning your eyes from soreness.

Jaime knows you’re angry and rightfully so, he gets it completely but it also pisses him off how you’re picking at him and you won’t let him utter a word into the conversation, so without much thinking, he decides to speak: ‘’I forgot, okay?’’.

And right then and there, he knew he fucked up. He sees how your whole figure slump, the arms that once held your frame falling to your sides, how your face twists from annoyance to hurt. He sees the tears welling up in your eyes, how you start picking at the skin around your nails, he knows that your brain is in alarm mode. And that’s when your lips start to quiver and the tears start falling as you raise your hand to cover your mouth. He hears a cry that shatters his heart, escaping your lips and takes a step forward towards you, but you take a step back with the other hand reaching out in front of you to tell him to keep his distance. You feel as if the whole room is spinning and your heartbeat is thumping loud in your ears. 

‘’N-no, baby, babe, hey,’’ he sputters, stumbling over his words, ‘’I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t mean to say that, fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that-’’ ‘’You forgot?’’ you choke out, ‘’do you even care about me?’’. He’s quiet, dumbstruck, thinking of how he can get himself out of this hole he has dug himself into. It feels like ages as you two stand there in the living room, only accompanied by the sound of Oso’s yawning and the low buzz of the lit lamps. You are about to leave, saying that tonight is enough and you just want to sleep but his voice stops you. 

‘’I do,’’ he manages to utter, ‘’I do care,’’ a lump forming in his throat as his eyes glaze over for the second time that day. Jaime places his hands on his chest, calming his own breathing and the thumping of his heart. He can not afford to lose you, not now. ‘’Listen, okay, you’re so important to me,’’ he starts, ‘’there’s barely a minute where I don’t think of you-’’ ‘’But you forgot me today,’’ you interrupt and he sighs, looking up at the ceiling before locking eyes with you again. ‘’Yes, I forgot today and I know that it makes me a giant asshole,’’ he continues. ‘’Oh really?’’ you sarcastically mention and he could say something back, but he chooses to leave it there and keeps going: ‘’I was too caught up in recording and I didn’t have my phone on me and I know these are bad excuses but you have to believe I would never mean to hurt you and especially not like this.’’

Your eyes are closed, head turned away from him, the tears drying on your cheeks. You know he’s telling the truth and you want to believe, but how it looks right now, it’s getting harder to trust it. ‘’You are barely here,’’ it comes out as a whisper, faltering at using any power left in your voice as you voice the concern that has been harbouring in your chest, ‘’I mean, you are here, but you aren’t here, with me.’’ You wipe the already dry tears away, brushing the hair out of your face, ‘’If you aren’t recording something at Puffer’s house, then you’re in the office recording or spending hours on streaming,’’ you sniffle, ‘’and I know that it’s your job and you love your job,’’ you explain and it pains you to admit it, ‘’and I knew what I got into when I agreed to be yours and move in but,’’ you sigh, turning your head to face finally face him but not daring to make eye contact, not yet, so you suffice with looking at the wall behind him, ‘’sometimes, I just wish that I was as important to you as your job is.’’

He’s listening intently, nodding along to your words, knowing all that you’re saying is true – he’s just been too blind to see it lately. His hands lift from his chest and his arms open in an open invitation to a hug. It’s an attempt at most, since he’s not even sure it will work and he does notice how you hesitate. You haven’t forgiven him, yet, your body moves as if you are like two magnets. The steps towards him feel so heavy. Stopping just right in front of him, you can feel the body heat radiate off of him and from here, you can see how red his eyes are from the tears that have fallen from his eyes. It’s like looking into your own eyes, who might as well be as puffy and red as yours. ‘’Don’t take this as an apology,’’ you say and he nods. He knows. 

You lean in, wrapping your arms around his waist as he engulfs you in his, holding on to you as if you are his only life line. You hide your face in his chest, taking in the comforting smell of him as he rubs his hand up and down your spine. ‘’I really am sorry,’’ he mumbles into your hair, ‘’I am such an idiot.’’ His hold on you tightens slightly, placing a kiss on the top of your head as he completely lets go. His body goes against his own will as his chest starts to rise and fall at a faster speed, hiccups getting caught in his throat. You know he’s holding back. ‘’It’s okay,’’ you murmur against the fabric of his hoodie. Not an acceptance of his actions but a confirmation that he can let go. And he does. 

His head falls from the top of your head, burrowing itself into your neck as he weeps, whining half-intelligible apologies mixed with continuous ‘’I love you’s’’. Hands grabbing whatever they can as if to make sure you wouldn’t leave him. When he has calmed himself enough, you slowly move your hands to take a hold of his head, placing two careful hands on either side of his face and you take it all in. The red eyes and nose, the tear stained cheeks, his hair completely disheveled. He’s biting down on his lip, haltering the tremble that’s coursing through his body as he awaits your next action. He looks crushed, absolutely ruined and absolutely beautiful. Your heart softens a bit seeing the man in front of you. You slowly brush away the hair from his forehead, placing a gentle kiss to it and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, a stray tear falling. Despite it all, he is still the man you fell in love with. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ he whispers, lip quivering and it sounds so earnest it’s painful. 

‘’I’ll try to be better,’’ he says, reaching his own hands up to cover yours, ‘’I mean it, I’ll do anything, really, like, I can set up a couch close to my set-up so you can be there next to me when streaming or, uh, I can dial it down, ya' know? Less streaming and all that.’’ You shake your head at his efforts, trying to give him the slightest of smiles you could muster. ‘’I can’t tell you what the solution is,’’ you say softly, studying his eyes for any reaction, ‘’not right now, at least, but we will figure something out.’’ His mouth forms a thin line as he nods, not quite satisfied with the response, wanting to fix this issue more than ever. Neither of you say much after that, taking in the silence around you and looking at each other, exchanging minor smiles as he rubs his thumb on your hands, still pressed against his face.

‘’Will you hate me if I say it again,’’ he questions, trying to make a crack at the tension and it works, enough to make you do a small laugh and he smiles from hearing it, having missed the sound. ‘’I am sorry,’’ he repeated, taking a hold of your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. ‘’I know,’’ you respond with a nod. No one says anything but like a silent question hanging in the air you both know the answer to, you both start moving to the bedroom with your hands still linked to each other. At the bed, you both get rid of the worn clothes and climb under the covers. You scoot closer to him, intertwining your legs with his. With cautious movements, he raises his arm to let you lay flush against each other. You get as close as possible, his arm wrapping around your frame and pulling you even closer. Your arm maneuvers its way under covers and the weight of his arm, placing a hand under his shirt on the small of his back. He hums low at the contact, nuzzling his nose against your head and places a kiss along your hairline.

There you lay, chest to chest, limbs intertwined, listening to each other’s breath, feeling the heat radiating off of each other. Something that is so comforting that you could fall asleep in an instant, but before you get the chance, you hear him trying to clear his throat, followed by a hushed but audible: ‘’I love you.’’ You don’t respond immediately, taking the chance to move your head from his chest to look up at him. His eyes are closed but not asleep. You lean up, to the best of your capabilities from your current position, brushing your lips against his. Soft, careful, attentive. He’s wary but responds with the same motion. ‘’I love you too, honey,’’ you murmur against his lips before returning to your previous position, finally feeling a somewhat sense of relief. The exhaustion rolled over both of you quickly, falling asleep in each other's arms.

You'll figure it out. You always do.

[taetr4ck]

Not a request but WHICH SKZ/NCT MEMBER WOULD YOU FIGHT GO!

a/n : i just opened my tumblr after a good whole week and this is what i first read FUCK IT WE BALL ! doing all of them because i feel a bit silly today

contents under the cut

STRAY KIDS

BANG CHAN - no. this is self explanatory tbh. i would straight up ask him to marry me

LEE KNOW - i would. but in return he would tell me how much my parents wrecked my whole being so i'll end up tearing up in the corner

CHANGBIN - one slap from this man and i'm already out of this world. he can literally slap me and the next second i'm already in the fifth dimension. no words needed. i would not fight him.

HYUNJIN - i would and then fall in love in the process

HAN - how could i fight this man ? RUTHLESS.

FELIX - i don't have the heart to tbh. i'll cry before i even land my first hit

SEUNGMIN - big yes tbh. i feel like he's the perfect person to pick a fight with. our competitive ass won't give up so easily unless one of us isn't breathing anymore LMFAO

JEONGIN - this man would stab me before i even know it

NCT 127

TAEIL - one glare from this man and i'm already shivering. 50/50.

JOHNNY - i should be punished for forgetting to put him here. what was i thinking !!!! anyway !! i feel like he would be the one to initiate the fight LMFAO he would straight up come to me and just do a ‘let’s do a square’ ‘aight bet’ kind of interaction tbh he would be the funniest person to pick a fight with. i would fight him. he’d be my sparring buddy afterwards

TAEYONG - bro he's about to do his military service leave him alone 😭🙏🏻 poor bubu i would not fight him

MARK - i would. then we will start throwing rap verses (special mention to jopping) like we didn't almost stabbed each other earlier

JAEHYUN - one punch and my skull is already cracked in half. nope

YUTA - i would just straight up kiss him tbh i would not last for five seconds looking at him

DOYOUNG - he would verbal abuse me tbh that's enough to wreck me

HAECHAN - one michael jackson merch for him and he's wrecked so easily. i would fight him.

JUNGWOO - boy this man would bring a baseball bat even though we agreed to have a fist fight. cheater. i would fight him

NCT DREAM

RENJUN - his glare is enough to kill me. 50/50.

JENO - man idc this is jeno we are talking about !!!! he can punch me in the face and i would not bulge !!!!

CHENLE - man he is the worst person to fight. one word from him and i’m already having a mental breakdown. he would unwrap every inch of my traumas from childhood to present. i won't risk it 🫡

JAEMIN - no because we will have our silly little tea party while talking about cute and pretty things

JISUNG - the idea itself makes us both want to cry

WAYV

KUN - he's too good to pick a fight with. my conscience could never

TEN - big yes. put those slutty muscles to work boy !

HENDERY - we would have a fight in valorant and i'd lose. can't risk my reputation for that smh (kidding)

XIAOJUN - this man would straight up launch at me like a fuckin dog. i would fight him (affectionately)

WINWIN - no. i would ask him to be his gf. no explanation needed

YANGYANG - we would have a pillow fight and the next second he's already holding a brick. i said let's have a pillow fight not give me a fucking concussion 😭🙏🏻

should i add my taglist here omg

⋆ taetr4ck, est may 2023. / requests open

[bellofthemeadow]

Harrington!reader, Steve’s little sister. Popular, a cheerleader, first time senior and Chrissy’s best friend. But she has a secret that only her best friend knows. She’s had a crush on Eddie Munson since middle school. She’s afraid to tell him, thinking there’s no way he’d be into her. Until one day in the cafeteria, Jason Carver calls Eddie a freak. She confronts him, and punches him in the face, breaking or spraining her hand/wrist. Guess her little secret is out, and she may never be popular again.

OF COURSE MY DEAR ANON! I am so sorry it took forever to address this request! I have just started my final year of Uni, and with four seminars and graduate applications, I have not had any time to write consistently! But this idea was too enticing to pass up, so thank you very much for sharing it! For those waiting on other fics, I am slowly but surely getting back into the groove of writing more consistently so it should all come out sooner rather than later (hopefully) and I always welcome more fics or one shot ideas! Thank you to y'all for bearing with me, I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU SO SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️

No warnings excpet for some violence (against Jason Carver so thats fine I think) and some heavy make out session

Word Count: 5.3K

Masterlist

Hit Me Baby One More Time

You had gotten your first taste of popularity on your very first day of middle school, a couple of years ago. That entire week leading up to it had been filled with fear and stress about what people would think of you. Overwhelmed, you had spent the last few days of your summer agonizing over your outfit choice, turning your daily fashion show into a reluctant performance for your big brother, Steve. Despite his huffs and puffs, he had reassured you that everything would go smoothly, but you couldn't help to worry. Eventually, you ended up settling on a cute white dress that reached just above your knees, paired with a soft baby pink cardigan. You had hoped it would be enough to get some of the right kind of attention that Steve always talked about.

In hindsight, you realized that you might have been a tad dramatic as when lunchtime had rolled around, a group of girls had approached you, giggling with excitement. "Are you Steve Harrington's sister?" they had asked-whispered with bright envious eyes. You slowly nodded, and with elated giggles, they ushered you over to their table, where the popular crowd was hanging out. It turned out your brother had quite the reputation, and while you knew he was popular, you hadn't fully grasped the extent to which the name Harrington would impact your social life. For you, Steve was just the idiot older brother who used Farah Fawcet's hairspray to keep his dumb hair in place – But to everyone else, it seemed that Steve was a pretty big deal. So, you were, it seemed, a legacy, and the rest, as they say, was history. And that very day, you also ended up meeting your future best friend, Chrissy Cunningham, who you would grow to love with all your heart.

Five years had come and gone, and now, you were finally well-established into your senior year, ready to graduate in the spring. And while it was true that your older brother might have facilitated your initial entry into the realm of popularity, you had since etched out a distinctive name for yourself. As your brother moved on to new chapters in his life (namely an underpaid job at family video), your own journey through high school took a markedly different path. In fact, your popularity had continued to ascend, like a rising star in the night sky.

Though the Harrington name may have laid the foundation, you had meticulously built upon it, brick by brick. You had cultivated your own unique persona, and it had become a force to be reckoned with in the hallways of your school. No longer living in the shadow of your brother's glory days, you had emerged as a charismatic figure in your own right.

You had become The Harrington sibling who truly counted, especially after the dramatic showdown between Steve and Billy Hargrove during his own senior year. In the aftermath of that clash, your brother's social standing had taken a considerable hit, with much of his social credit being seized by the mullet-wearing bad-boy. The Harrington name, which had once been associated with Steve's swagger, now conjured images of a radiant, saccharine smile, cheerleading outfits, and a personality as pinky-sweet as bubblegum.

While Chrissy indisputably reigned as the queen of Hawkins High, some believed it was only because you had no desire to claim that throne—a belief rooted in truth as you had no interest of being the queen of anything, especially Hawkins High as beyond Chrissy, you harboured little affection for the other members of the popular clique. Whether it was Jason Carver and his cronies or the remainder of the cheer squad, you couldn't help but find them increasingly vapid.

Nestled at the popular table right in the heart of the bustling cafeteria, always donning Hawkins’ green cheer outfit, a nagging sensation of inauthenticity always clung to you. Hitching deep into your soul, making you feel like the fraud you’ve always believed yourself to be as although your elevated social status had smoothed your journey through high school, ensuring a constant stream of party invitations, a steadfast companion, and even a few favors from teachers who were drawn to your preppy smile and sunny disposition, it all felt like a facade, far removed from your true self.

You’ve always known how deep inside, there were facets of who you really were that you couldn't openly share with anyone but Chrissy. She alone knew of your profound love for fantasy and science fiction novels. Nothing brought you more joy than retreating home to dive headlong into the mystical realms crafted by H.P. Lovecraft or to lose yourself once more in the pages of your well-worn copy of "Frankenstein." Yet, these passions remained concealed beneath the veneer you projected: the princess of Hawkins High, painted in shades of pink, sweet, and deceptively perfect.

The idea of letting those hidden, nerdy passions of yours see the light of day felt like a risky bet, one that could potentially leave you feeling incredibly alone at Hawkins High. The thought of losing friends and having nowhere to sit during lunch was a constant source of worry. You had faith in Chrissy's unwavering support, regardless of your social standing, but you couldn't bear the idea of burdening her. She was just so kind, always forgiving even to those who didn't deserve it, and you didn't want to be the one responsible for pulling her down.

As a result, the decision to keep these aspects of your identity hidden weighed heavily on your heart. It felt like an unspoken loneliness, a sacrifice you were making to preserve the fragile balance of the life you'd carefully constructed in high school. Hawkins High had its own intricate ecosystem, and you were very much a part of it. Your place within that system was delicate, and you couldn't afford to disrupt it, fearing that it might set off a chain reaction that could destabilize everything. You had no intention of being the one to upset the frail high school biome of Hawkins High.

Now, however, your situation was far from ideal as you found yourself sandwiched between Carly and Tina during lunch, and today, they were even more exasperating than usual. There seemed to be some sort of fallout from Tina's last party, something involving a boy, and now the two girls communicated exclusively through snarky remarks, making the tension rise with every snip from either girl. A brewing headache was beginning to claw at your temples as you were waiting for the explosion to erupt sooner rather than later.

What was happening in front of you wasn’t any better as you were given a front-row seat to the somewhat uncomfortable sight of Jason Carver deeply engrossed in a passionate kiss with Chrissy. She appeared to be on the brink of embarrassment, her attempts to gently push Jason away carried out with shy reluctance. "Jason, please," she implored, her manicured hand finding its way to his chest, a plea in her eyes. "Not in front of everyone..."

In response, Jason merely rolled his eyes dismissively. "Come on, baby," he insisted, his voice low and unconcerned. "No one's even paying attention to us."

You couldn't help but scowl, unhappiness etching your delicate features as you watched the uncomfortable display unfold before you. Finally, you couldn't take it any longer. You cleared your throat and loudly exclaimed, "Hey, Chrissy?" All eyes turned to you, and you continued, "Do you think we could slip away from lunch a bit early to go over the routine we've been practicing for the upcoming game? I really want to make sure I've got it down perfectly before tonight's match."

Chrissy's sigh of relief was almost audible, and you could sense her gratitude. In contrast, Jason huffed unhappily, clearly irritated by the interruption. He muttered something about leaving you girls to your conversation before he got up and headed to chat with one of his buddies at the far end of the table.

You and Chrissy shared a quick, wordless girl-to-girl conversation. All the words you needed were conveyed through a bombastic side-eye from you and a subtle nod of your head toward Jason. Chrissy responded with a playful roll of her eyes and a slight shake of her shoulder, silently agreeing with your sentiment.

As your eyes shifted away from Chrissy, they unexpectedly locked onto the deep brown ones of Eddie Munson. Two distinct emotions surged from deep within you. One was a rush of excitement as the warmth of your crush enveloped you, causing your face to flush as red as a ripe apple under his gaze. But in an instant, that crush felt almost crushing when you realized that it wasn't you that Eddie was looking at, but rather Chrissy's high ponytail that had captured his attention.

Eddie and Chrissy. Chrissy and Eddie. ChrissyandEddie. It was an undeniable fact that the guy you had the most enormous crush on happened to be utterly smitten with your best friend. It felt almost tragically comical, if you were being honest with yourself. Throughout high school, countless guys had mustered the courage to ask you out, but you had dismissed them all without a second thought. Football jocks, band nerds, potheads, music fanatics – none of them could hold a candle to Eddie Munson in your eyes.From the very moment you first crossed paths with Eddie during your freshman year, your heart had been irreversibly, completely, and utterly captivated by the charismatic and outspoken boy. You were utterly unprepared for it, not like you were out there seeking Cupid's arrow to pierce your heart. You had simply been an unsuspecting victim of one of its whims, but the exquisite pain that followed was worth it. At least, you hoped so.

Thanks to Eddie's recurring attempts at redoing his senior year and your placement in advanced classes, your worlds intersected more than once. One particularly unforgettable encounter unfolded in Mrs. Allen's math class, where the teacher had a peculiar notion that pairing the class's worst student (Eddie) with its best (you) would somehow work magic. You were left a bit shy and entirely tongue-tied in his presence, but Eddie had an uncanny talent for leaning in close and delivering a barrage of side-splitting, utterly inappropriate observations about Mrs. Allen that left you snorting with laughter. For a glorious three months, Eddie was your math partner in crime, and during that time, you dared to believe that something more could evolve from your interactions. If only you could string together coherent sentences without tripping over your words.

However, as fate would have it, the teacher eventually grew tired of her seating arrangement, deciding it was high time to shake things up. This twist in your high school narrative resulted in you and Eddie being separated, an alteration you weren't particularly thrilled about. The new arrangement effectively put a damper on your burgeoning connection.

It was in the midst of this seating shuffle that Eddie tossed a rather loaded question your way, catching you off guard. "Your friend Chrissy," he began, as you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. "Is she still with that Carver douche?" Your gaze faltered as you met his, a nod escaping your lips as a wave of disappointment surged within you. Inwardly grappling with the sting of unspoken heartache, you found yourself clutching the hem of your cheer skirt almost desperately. Without another word, you retreated to your newly assigned seat, a sense of melancholy lingering like a shadow and bitter disappointment coating your tongue.

Even now, your gaze would involuntarily flicker to Eddie whenever you found yourself in the same room. Often, he'd be engrossed in conversations with his bandmates or his D&D group, leaving you on the outside looking in. It was a conflicting sensation, feeling his presence so near yet so far away. If only you could gather the nerve to strike up a conversation with him, but you hesitated. After all, you were the popular girl, the one who played by the rules, and good girls weren't supposed to mix with people like Eddie, no matter how much you desperately longed for it. Perhaps during math class today, you thought, you might find a plausible excuse to approach him. Maybe something as simple as asking about the homework or...

"And what the hell do you think you're staring at, Freak!?" The sudden hush that swept over the cafeteria was palpable as every head turned toward Jason, who had abandoned your table and was now striding purposefully toward the one where Eddie and his friends were seated. A chill coursed through your veins, causing your face to pale. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the unfolding drama as Eddie rose from his seat. While he appeared outwardly confident, the telltale clenching and unclenching of his hand betrayed the nervousness bubbling beneath the surface. It was clear to you that what he was displaying might just be a facade of bravado.

"Did you dribble that orange ball a few too many times, Carver?" Eddie sarcastically chimed in. His words hung in the air, an open challenge that seemed to stoke the flames of Jason's anger. In a fit of rage, Jason lunged forward, grabbing Eddie by the front of his well-worn jeans jacket. The cafeteria held its breath, anticipation hanging heavy in.

 A gasp escaped your lips, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath as the dramatic confrontation unfolded before your eyes. Abruptly, you shot up from your seat, causing Chrissy to turn around in surprise. She sent you an uncertain look as you started to stride toward the two boys. It was as if you were possessed by a force stronger than yourself, you couldn’t let whatever was happening continue – you had to do something!

"Don't try to bullshit me, freak!" Jason's voice reverberated through the cafeteria, anger and scorn dripping from his words. "I saw you looking at Chrissy. You think you can just lay your eyes on her, you freak? She isn't yours; you're nothing but trailer trash! Don't you ever dare to look at her again, alright? Or I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!" Jason was so close to Eddie's face that his spittle sprayed across the other boy's features. He shoved Eddie backward, and it was at that moment, as you were making your way between the mass of students that had clustered around Jason and Eddie that you felt a surge of red-hot anger like nothing you had ever felt before.

"Do I make myself clear, freak?" Jason continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Or do I need to send my boys to deal with you and your pathetic group of losers?" Eddie looked incensed, but he cowered under Jason's menacing threat.

"I...wasn't...looking," Eddie enunciated each word through gritted teeth, avoiding Jason's eyes. Jason burst into fake laughter, glancing around at the onlookers.

"Does the freak have a crush?" he taunted, his voice cruel and derisive. "That's hilarious. You honestly think you'd have a chance with Chrissy? Be realistic, freak. What is it now, twice repeating your senior year?" Eddie's face turned a deep shade of pink, shame washing over him as Jason's taunts struck at his insecurities. His shoulders sagged with each insult, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Everyone knows anyway that the only way a freak like you could ever get close to a girl is when you and your little cult of Satan practice some sacrifices," Jason continued, his words laced with venom. "I'm even surprised they let people like you in here. Everyone knows what kind of trash your dad was, it ain't surprising that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree…”

You pushed your way through the crowd, determination propelling you forward. Without a second thought, you strode purposefully toward the back of Jason. Eddie's surprised gaze locked onto you as you confidently approached them.

You extended your arm and lightly tapped Jason on the shoulder, effectively cutting off his rant mid-sentence. The abruptness of your action prompted Jason to whirl around to face you, his typically handsome features now contorted into a repulsive mask of anger. It was a stark contrast to the carefully cultivated "cool-guy" image he often projected. But deep down, you knew this enraged countenance was his true face, hidden behind the facade. In fight or flight mode, you recalled your brother Steve's advice about fighting, which you had stored away in your memory, "Sis," Steve's voice echoed in your mind, "when you throw a punch, put your entire body behind it."

And that's precisely what you did. With every ounce of your body weight, you thrust your fist forward directly into Jason's face. The cafeteria was filled with a sharp crack, echoing through the room, followed by a collective gasp from everyone present. An eerie silence descended upon the cafeteria.

Jason lay sprawled on the floor, a violent stream of blood gushing from his nose, while you clutched your hand close to your chest. Tears welled up at the corners of your eyes. No one had ever warned you that hitting someone would hurt like an absolute nightmare! It ] wasn’t like that in the movies!

Your gaze landed on Eddie, and you noticed a peculiar expression take over the young metalhead’s face –  His brown gaze held something unfamiliar, a look you had never seen throughout the time you had been admiring him from afar. I was as though he were seeing you – like he was attempting to decipher the mechanics of your very being. It caught you off guard, this intensity in his stare, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

“YOU BITCH! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!” Jason roared from his sprawled position on the ground.

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from Eddie, you redirected it toward the fallen boy who cut a rather pathetic figure at your feet. Curling your lip in disdain, you adopted your most haughty tone and huffed, "You, Jason Carver, are the problem here!"

Jason, still sprawled on the floor with a nosebleed, glared up at you, his anger palpable, "You little—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off with a stern gesture. "Save it, Jason. You had this coming."

A stunned silence blanketed the cafeteria, every eye fixed on the unfolding confrontation. It was as if time had frozen, and the entire room held its breath in rapt attention as Hawkins' princess unleashed her verbal assault on the school's reigning king.

In that moment, you felt like you had the entire cafeteria in a chokehold, and you were determined not to let this opportunity slip away, not after what Jason had put Eddie through. Gathering your resolve, you continued, your voice dripping with disdain, "Do you honestly believe you can bully and belittle people just because they don't conform to your narrow definition of 'normal'? Well, I've had enough of your toxic attitude! You, my dear Jason, are the most insufferable idiot I've ever had the displeasure of encountering in my entire life! And I am done catering to whatever you and your dumb friends say!”

Jason struggled to get up, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Turning back to Jason, you crossed your arms and delivered your final message with authority. "Consider this a warning, Jason. Mess with Eddie or anyone else again, and you'll have me to answer to."

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" Principal Higgins' thunderous voice pierced through the otherwise eerily silent cafeteria. In an instant, your confidence evaporated, leaving you feeling pale and exposed. You were caught off guard, unable to process what to do or say.

Before you could even react, a familiar, warm hand firmly grabbed yours, yanking you along as they sprinted in the opposite direction, forcefully pushing people out of the way. It was a grip you knew well, and you didn't hesitate to follow Eddie as he practically dragged you toward the exit of the cafeteria.

The scene you left behind was nothing short of chaotic. The entire school stood in a collective stupor, mouths agape in disbelief. Jason Carver, his face an alarming shade of red, appeared on the brink of an aneurysm as he struggled to regain his composure. Principal Higgins, in his authoritative fury, barked orders at the bewildered students, demanding answers and an immediate end to the commotion.

As you reached the exit and the clamor of the cafeteria began to fade, you couldn't help but let out a giggle of exhilaration. Eddie continued to lead you, now behind the school building and into the dense woods that bordered the campus. The farther you ventured into the secluded forest, the more you appreciated the sudden escape from the madness. Eventually, Eddie brought you to a worn-out picnic table, the wood weathered by years of exposure to the elements. Eddie finally managed to catch his breath. He exhaled heavily and asked, "What the hell... hfff... was that?!"

You leaned against the picnic table, still catching your own breath, and grinned at Eddie. "That, Eddie, was me finally giving Jason Carver a taste of his own medicine. That douchebag had it coming!"

Eddie let out a loud surprised laugh while still trying to catch his breath, his eyes still wide from the unexpected turn of events. "Well, I've gotta say, sweetheart, that was quite the show back there. You really let him have it, you got a mean hook princess." A warm flush of pride swept over you as you soaked in Eddie's praises. How long had you waited to hear him say something like that—to acknowledge you and gaze at you as if you were the most wonderful girl in the world? It was a feeling you had been yearning for so long, and if you were to die right now, you would die happy!

Eddie's warm, chocolate-coloured gaze landed on you, and it felt as though it softly swept over every inch of your being. He spoke, his voice filled with curiosity, "I don't think anyone was expecting Hawkins' princess to come to the defence of the 'freak.' You know they won't let you forget this, right? Why would you risk all that for little old me, Harrington?"

You let out a sigh, the weight of his inquisitive gaze pressing on you. As you closed your eyes briefly, you grappled with the emotions that had been swirling within you since the first time you had laid eyes on Eddie. A small smile crept onto your lips as you slowly opened your eyes, fixing them on the boy of your dreams. "You're worth it, Munson."

Eddie drew in a sharp breath, taking three steps closer to you. His large, warm hands, bearing tiny scars from playing the guitar, gently swept across your cheeks as he gazed intently into your eyes. "Do you mean that, Harrington? Because there's no going back if I kiss you right now—it's you and me, the princess and the 'freak.' You won’t climb back from that fall.”

You glanced at your right hand, the knuckles scraped and the skin raw, with a slight swelling on your wrist. "I think it's a little too late for that anyway," you sheepishly admitted. Eddie smiled warmly, his eyes filled with admiration, before gently taking your hand in his two larger ones. He slowly brought your bruised knuckles to his mouth, planting a soft kiss on each of them, causing your breath to hitch.

"Who knew that the princess of Hawkins High was Indiana’s future boxing champion," Eddie softly joked, his voice laced with affection. "I just feel bad for this pretty, soft hand – all bruised and battered to protect me, like the prettiest knight in pink armor coming to my rescue." You couldn't help but swoon at his words as Eddie continued to softly kiss your hand, his gaze slowly lifting to meet yours, his eyes filled with… Love? Tenderness? A girl could dream.

A warm smile curved across Eddie's lips, and he leaned in, capturing your mouth with his in a searing kiss. As you both savored each other, Eddie's hand slowly wrapped around the base of your neck, holding you close to him. As you were trying not to faint from the sheer pleasure this moment was bringing you, a flash of remembrance rushed through you, snapping you back from your trance and causing you to break the kiss and catch your breath. You whispered softly against Eddie's lips, "What about Chrissy?"

Eddie nuzzled your face with his nose, his lips brushing lightly against your skin. "What about her?" he retorted playfully. "I mean... I thought... I thought you had a thing for her," you admitted meekly.

Eddie smirked against your cheek. "If I did, I wouldn't be kissing you right now, right?" His voice held a teasing edge as he continued to shower your neck with tender kisses.

You closed your eyes, feeling a mix of contradicting emotions – wanting to keep going to feel more of him, wishing him to stop playing with your heart because you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. "I mean it, Eddie... I don't want to be your second choice."

Eddie stopped his ministrations and returned to your face, holding your gaze with his. "You were always my first choice, Eddie," you confessed, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. "And I don't think I could handle being your backup plan."

Eddie's whispers were tender as he wiped away the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks. "Nononono, sweetheart. Don't cry, please," he implored softly. "You were always my first choice." His words held a reassuring sincerity that began to soothe your racing heart. But you wouldn’t be so easily swayed, as much as you loathed Jason Carver, you had witnessed first hand how Eddie seemed enraptured with Chrissy.

You huffed in disbelief, but Eddie insisted, urging you to meet his gaze. "No, it's true. Hey, look at me," he gently encouraged. "I never thought I would ever have a chance with a girl like you. You know, you're like my dream girl, right?" You gave him an uncertain look, still wrestling with your doubts. "You always stare at Chrissy, though. And you did ask me if she was still with Jason, remember?"

Eddie released your cheeks and took a step back, embarrassment tinging his cheeks as he used a piece of his shaggy hair to shield himself from you. "I wasn't looking at Chrissy. You're always with Chrissy, so I was looking at you," he admitted, his voice tinged with shyness. "And I only asked you that because I panicked. I was going to ask you out, but the guys had been teasing me for weeks, telling me I was too much of a coward to do it. I guess they were right because I chickened out."

As Eddie continued, his embarrassment grew, and he took another step back. He held the piece of hair in front of his face, as if to hide himself from you. "I've actually had a crush on you since last year," he confessed, his words shocking you.

"Are you joking?!" you blurted out, astonished.

He shook his head, his warm brown eyes holding your gaze. "Not at all, princess," he began with a soft smile. "It was last year. You were on your way back from cheer practice, and you were in a hurry, holding a huge backpack. It happened so fast that you didn't even realize a book had fallen out."

His eyes sparkled as he continued, his tone becoming more animated. "I saw it lying there, and curiosity got the best of me – I picked it up, and to my surprise, it was a copy of 'The Hobbit.’” He grinned as if sharing a secret. "I was planning to return it to you, honestly, but then, when I opened it, I saw that there was a bunch of notes in the margins." Eddie started grinning even more as he continued “All there in the margins, notes, thoughts, musings. It was like reading your mind with every turn of the page. Your insights, your emotions, your laughter, and even your frustrations were all there in the margins. I knew I had stumbled upon the most precious treasure in the universe – it was a private window into you."

Your breath hitched at his words, and as Eddie spoke, you felt a warmth spreading through you, "It felt like we were close," Eddie continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "I couldn't put the book down. It was like having a conversation with you, even when you weren't around. I realized how much we had in common, how you saw the world, and it fascinated me.”

The thought that Eddie had held onto that copy of 'The Hobbit,' with your notes and thoughts, all this time was both surprising and heartwarming. Damn, he was perfect.

"Fuck, I sound so creepy," Eddie confessed, breaking your reverie. He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish.

But you weren’t creeped out, far from it. For the first time in your life, you felt completely understood by someone – inside and out. "No, Eddie," you whispered softly, your heart swelling with love. "You don't sound creepy at all. You sound... perfect." A sweet cocky grin got etched on Eddie’s lips “Perfect, eh?”

Getting overwhelmed by his stare, you tried to play it cool and diverted his question by teasingly asking, "So you’ve had a big fat crush on me for a while, right?"

Eddie chuckled, taking a step closer to you, his gaze locked on yours. "Don't get too high and mighty, princess," he said with a warm smile, his voice laced with adoration. "From the looks of it, you've got a pretty big crush on little old me too…"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling a delightful warmth in the pit of your stomach. "I can neither confirm nor deny that," you replied in a sing-song voice, your eyes never leaving his.

Eddie's smile deepened, his gaze filled with affection. With a tender touch, he placed his hands on your waist, and before you knew it, he had spun you around. You couldn't help but let out a joyful squeak as you twirled together in a sweet, romantic dance. As he gently lowered you back to the ground, his strong arms remained securely wrapped around your back, pulling you close.

In that intimate moment, it felt as though the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you entwined in each other's embrace. Your breaths synchronized, and you lost yourselves in each other's eyes, the unspoken promise of a beautiful future passing between you.

"Hey, Eddie," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath but filled with affection and longing.

Eddie's gaze softened even more, his eyes filled with tenderness as he held you close. "Yeah, princess?"

With a radiant smile, you leaned in closer to him, your heart singing with love. "I've got a big fat crush on you too."

A soft, contented sigh escaped Eddie's lips, and he held you even tighter as if he never wanted to let you go. "Good." And without another word, he pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. Nothing ever tasted sweeter.

“You gonna be alright sitting with the freaks now?” “As long as I sit with you Eddie, I could not care less.”

The fallen princess and the freak," you thought contentedly, "that has the ringing of a love story for the ages.” And all it took was that punch you threw at Jason Carver's face for you and Eddie to find your way to each other.

[ladyjenise]

Thoughts on why Ganondorf makes "that face" in Tears of the Kingdom

I'm several months late, but I didn't want to post spoiler stuff when the game was fresh and, frankly, I had quite a whack summer. So here we are.

Anyway, onto the meta: my thoughts on why Ganondorf makes "that face" in Tears of the Kingdom.

Yes, this face:

One of the first things I want to do is credit some rad metas that helped me along in my thought process:

-Discussion of Ganondorf's facial design from a technical and creative standpoint

-Discussion of Ganondorf's outfit

And now to the actual meta! Will include spoilers for Tears of the Kingdom.

When the screenshots of Ganondorf making "that face" first hit the internet, there was a lot of lol and wtf, which was fair. Most people weren't that far in the game yet. Actually, not sure it was even out yet (there was an early leaked ROM floating around at some point pre-release). I don't want to dwell much on people's initial reactions as I think if you're here reading you've already processed your initial feelings on seeing it. And your initial reaction of LOL WTF is fine. Out of context, it probably made little sense.

But let's talk about context: Ganondorf makes this face after killing Sonia for her Secret Stone. He's literally laughing over her dead body as Zelda calls out vainly to the fallen queen. It's a very heinous, dramatic act. And I think, in context, that confused people even more because his face, on first glance, feels over the top and silly for such a serious moment. However, it's not there because Nintendo's devs don't know what they're doing. At least, that's what I'm trying to argue here.

Let's discuss the build up to this scene in the story chronology: Ganondorf tries to use moldugas to attack the fledgling kingdom of Hyrule. It goes badly because Rauru, alongside Sonia and Zelda, are able to use Secret Stones of the Zonai to fend off the attack. It's a very lopsided victory.

Ganondorf takes a moment to pout before observing the Secret Stones. Ganondorf correctly observes that brute force will not be enough. Not one to sit back on his failures, Ganondorf is clearly already hatching a new plan. End of scene.

We next see Ganondorf at the court of Rauru and Sonia, bending the knee in what we know is a false act of fealty. Of course, this scene is a reference to the plot of Ocarina of Time (where we spy on Ganondorf through a window as he bends the knee to the King of Hyrule, who is out of the shot). it's also a glimpse of Ganondorf the schemer.

If you had not met Ganondorf before playing Tears of the Kingdom, you might actually think Ganondorf is just a mindlessly violent guy (and he is that too, don't get me wrong). You might not have expected this dude to roll up to the court of Hyrule and start playing the political game. His character design looks like the exact kind of guy who could punch your head clean off your body. Just look at him:

He's a brick wall. He looks like a big tough guy, and maybe he's just some big dummy who only understands violence. It's a stereotype Nintendo has subverted again and again with his character. And there Ganondorf is at the court of Rauru serving backhanded compliments like a pro. And while Rauru assures Zelda that he knows Ganondorf is up to shit, he's really got Rauru convinced that he can handle him. As we shall see, Rauru was mistaken. But that's Ganondorf for you. His character is about subverting expectations. This is what makes him so very fun.

Even his costume, with the reversible robe, tells you a lot about who he is. On the outside, a calm, clever, cultured man. On the inside, he's ready to fuck your shit up. I love it.

Back to the scene.

After assuring Rauru he simply wants to play nice and have the protection of Hyrule, Ganondorf serves some cunty lines implying Rauru is an interloper and an outsider etc before leaving. And it's at this point I noticed that when Ganondorf takes his leave, he makes this really flourishing move with his arm that made me stop and think.

You can probably find the scene online somewhere, but here's a screenshot of what I mean:

And note that he also uses his sleeved arm, creating that extra diva flourish as he goes. We also get a real good fast look at how colourful and different his sleeve is. He's turned his back to Rauru and the others after swearing his fealty. His changeable nature is displayed to the player. It's a nice wink and nod to Ganondorf's later betrayal. Only Zelda has a real inkling that he's really, really bad news and probably shouldn't even be there. But if you've played Ocarina of Time, you understand that Zelda isn't listened to until it's too late.

Returning to the flourish itself: Ganondorf didn't have to do this. And Nintendo didn't have to waste animation time having him do this. But they did. And they did it again when he laughs over Sonia's body. And they do it again when he swallows his Secret Stone. They just. keep. doing. it.

Why?

Why do all this extra dramatic animation for Ganondorf?

Those familiar with kabuki (a classical form of Japanese theatre) are probably screaming KABUKI, and I would agree. I didn't immediately get there at first only because my background was in another form of classical theatre: Greek (ask me about my unversity minor lol). I'm not going into a deep dive on either classical Greek theatre nor kabuki because that's a lot, I'm not really an expert or super familiar with the details, and I also think their Wikipedia pages will probably give you a decent summary of what you might want to learn details on. However, classic Greek theatre is old as shit and has a lot of great stories with characters you'll recognize. I recommend.

What I need you, dear reader, to understand about classic and ancient forms of theatre is their emphasis ON emphasis. It's a lot of what we might think of as exaggerated elements, over-the-top forms, and straight up spelling shit out to the audience. Real archaic shit. Because the world we are watching in these memories IS archaic to Link. There's 10,000 years between the memories we see and Link's time. It's like we, as Link, are viewing a kabuki play or a Greek play about stuff that happened then. It makes perfect sense to have Ganondorf act like he's in an ancient play. And that's how you get shit like this:

This is all theatre.

But why is ancient theatre so weird? It's not. We think it looks weird because it's unfamiliar to us. Most of us don't grow up watching ancient plays. Even those of use who read Shakespeare in school are usually sweating through the now-archaic English (it was only 400-ish years ago!) You're not equipped, and that's cool.

And honestly, if you are familiar with Ganondorf, he truly is a creature of theatre. Just look at this castle he builds in Ocarina of Time:

He destroyed Hyrule Castle to build this giant fucking castle levitating over a pit of lava. Like why? Because he CAN. Because he can't do anything in halves.

Also, his outfits. Look at this shit. He can't tone it down. I don't think he could if he tried.

Coming back to Ganondorf's face when he kills Sonia: when Ganondorf's face contorts and he starts to laugh evilly, we are told in very certain terms that he's made a critical choice. If you weren't sure before, you're being told now: He's evil. There's no going back from this. And he's embracing it. There is zero remorse. Killing her was the act he needed to move from man to monster. It's very important that you, the player, understand this. It's a moral thing. And I don't mean like "If you like this character after you are a bad person" type of thing. That's not what I mean here (and what people who have weird obsessions on the internet often misunderstand just so they can start fights over dumb shit). What I mean is that the storytellers need you need to understand your character's motivations for wanting to fight this guy.

And the next scene plainly shows what I'm talking about: Ganondorf takes the Secret Stone and literally turns into a demon king. He's no longer a man. He's this other, immoral being now. Bye bye, human Ganondorf, hello monster Ganondorf! That's it.

Going back to his eating of the Secret Stone, which changes Ganondorf from good ol' demon king to the for realsies demon dragon, he says some lines about giving up his "body" and "mind" and, frankly "everything", just so he can win. But also it's a desperate last attempt at keeping hold of the power that has so horribly blinded him to the truth.

That last part is ironic for Ganondorf, a man who was clever enough to get into the heart of Hyrule, steal their powerful relic, kill the queen and ALMOST become king. Because that's his ultimate failing. He's smart, clever, and his wins get the better of him. His addiction to power means he never stops to consider he might have weaknesses he cannot yet see, or that, as Rauru warns him, his arrogance and blind faith in his own abilities and talents might be his downfall.

In a way, the story is just as much about Link searching for Zelda and Zelda trying to figure out her role in the world as it is about the fall of a powerful man. Is it tragic that Ganondorf let himself become so corrupted by power that it would slowly transform him from man to demon? I guess it depends on who you ask, really. (I think it's fucking cool)

[ariemfox]

who is more repressed: park vs adams

- for park

sexual repression. extreme comphet vibes. it's off the charts

she managed to explain away an acid-induced hallucination of kissing adams & adams doing a sexy catwalk for her as normal heterosexual behaviour

always making gay jokes about adams ("you want me to wear them (shoes adams got for her in the gift prank war) while you masturbate?", *takes a picture of adams' cleavage before proceeding to suggest she should just drop to her knees if she wants to suck up to house*, *about hepatitis c* "she [adams] got it from me 😉"... i could probably go on). she also believes this is normal heterosexual behaviour

that lesbian haircut <3. i see u park (:

"i've tapped over 30 guys and never wanted to see most of them again". park, sweetie. babe. do you even listen to yourself speak

going on a date with that guitarist micah (patrick stump from fob. wild.) who she doesn't even know, to make adams jealous - taub's words, not mine.

her whole obsessive thing with chase could deffo be read as 'i'm jealous of the concept of adams & chase together so therefore i want to be with chase' even though she wants to be with adams

she tells adams "you can't have sex with chase" out-of-nowhere. she tells that to adams, & not vice-versa to chase. i feel like it's significant that she only wants to control adams' sex life, and not chase's. and yet she's still chasing chase!! comphet!!

repression regarding her family. her strong family values & cultural pride makes her feel iffy about even speaking a word against them. she's repressed her personal development so much for them, to the point where she is still living with her parents throughout most of s8 & her dad makes her packed lunches to bring to work

her outbursts of anger also speak for a whole lot of repression. honestly, most of the time i think she uses house as her personal punching bag. she's always snapping at him lol

s8e14: a rare shot where park momentarily breaks out of her metaphorical cloud of repression to realise that having a sexy acid-induced hallucination of her co-worker is probably not normal heterosexual behaviour. this is a mere second before she manages to find a heterosexual explanation. repression manifest.

- for adams

she has a whole lot of repressed anger. constantly snapping and losing control of her emotions, projecting hard on to patients, especially in terms of ethics and personal issues. see: callie from runaways.

that scene where house lets her use the diagnostics office as a rage room & adams fucking beats up that model skeleton. yeah. that is what i mean by repressed anger.

she didn't talk to anyone about her husband cheating on her and their divorce for an entire fucking year. repression is her thing.

she literally ran away from her problems (home) at 16

she is also so fucking repressed about how badly her parents screwed her up, she doesn't even believe they screwed her up (they did. a brick wall can tell that they clearly did) even when they caused her to run away from home as a kid

like the whole romanticising her friends being screwed up by their families?? wishing she was screwed up by hers so that it would explain why she feels so screwed up?? poor girl.

even house (repression personified) acknowledges this when he says "it's normal to be screwed up, it's really screwed up to romanticize it."

and throughout all of this she thinks she is normal. at least park somewhat acknowledges she is weird lol

definitely not as sexually-repressed as park but still makes gay sex jokes (e.g. "how about all five of us live together and the $7,000 sex doll? it'll solve all our hang-ups")

also, adams is the one who initiates the infamous gift prank war in their first episode together (in case you haven't watched house md & are somehow reading this, prank wars in house md are a form of flirting). in this she gets park coffee, expensive shoes that 'happened' to be in a 2 for 1 sale, a spa certificate, and pays thousands of pounds for her car to be fixed. and this was all 'for a prank', which she does because she was 'curious' to see how far park would retaliate. yeah i bet u were bicurious adams. ffs.

s8e4: a rare scene where adams lets out her repressed anger in a healthy, controlled manner by beating up all the people whoever hurt her, including her parents and ex-husband, via a model skeleton. this is before next episode, where she goes back to projecting on to patients, pretending she is normal, and having random outbursts of anger. repression manifest.

they have very different brands of repression going on, but jesus christ. they're both absolute basket cases of individuals, i love them.

[chimchiri]

Poll Adventure: Rarijack Dinner

Index | [prev] - Part 02 - [next] Special thanks to @babydarkstar for major support with the writing

Previous Poll:

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Minutes pass and Applejack still has no idea what to say. She’s drafted a few starters, but none of them feel right, or even like something a normal person would say to initiate conversation.

[You. Me. Saturday. Dinner?-] Delete, delete, delete…  [Hey Rarity, do you have any pla-] Delete, delete, delete…  [So Big Mac’s plannin to smoke some BBQ this weeken-] Delete, delete, DELETE.

Frustration builds—right in her chest all the way up to her ears. She can’t find the right words, and she’s usually so good at that—in her own way. 

This should be easy! It’s not a profession of undying love. 

Yet progress is a stick in the mud when it comes to her feelings for Rarity.

The legs of the chair squeak across the worn hardwood as AJ gets up and starts pacing around the kitchen, talking to herself. She takes her hat off, ruffs her fingers through her bangs, puts her hat back, runs a hand down her face. A huge, frustrated sigh escapes her when she throws her hands up.

“It’s Rarity. How goddamn hard can it be to ask her for somethin’?!”

That’s it. 

Tired of her own inaction, she slams her thumb on the call button.

Ring…

…ring…

With each ring the reality of her actions washes over her, and by the third ring she is fully aware of what she’s about to do. Her frustration morphs into panic and doubt, soaking her in dread. 

Is she actually doing this? Like…following through instead of letting her ideas fizzle out? 

This is happening, the phone is ringing, it’s sending the signal to Rarity’s device and she’s gonna grab it and answer and—

No, it’s too soon, they’ve only known each other for forever—

Before she can cancel the call, she hears a click—

“Applejack, darling!”

AJ’s gut leaps at the sound of that silky voice, clear elation in its tone and excitement at the chance to answer her call.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

AJ can feel her heart pounding up to her throat. Why is her mouth so dry all of a sudden? 

“Uhhh…howdy.”

Not her brightest greeting, but this isn’t the first time she’s acted without thinking it through. She doesn’t even know where to start.

The weight of reality makes her feel awkward, like a bull in a china shop. Too big for her britches indeed.

Silence rings in her ears.

Why is she freezing up at a time like this?

“Applejack…? Are you still there?” chimes Rarity on the other line, but she might as well be talking to a brick wall. 

It takes a few seconds of blank thought before AJ realizes it’s her turn to speak. 

“Agh! Sorry, I just—I thought I’d give you a call. See how you’re doing…make sure you—and the business o’course—make sure it’s goin’ ok and whatnot.”

She wants to smack herself upside the head. 

The business?

If she could go dig a hole outside and lay in it while the seasons change, she would; but she’s got a family to take care of and a farm to run. Surely this isn’t the worst moment of her life. Surely. But she doesn’t need to see Rarity’s face to feel the effect of her clunky greeting.

This is not like her. This is getting worse by the second, she doesn’t have a clue what to say, and she’s kicking herself for even calling. 

Why can’t she have even an ounce of the romantic charm that her parents had? Why is she so bad at flirting, especially when it comes to Rarity? When she tries to be intentional, it’s like she doesn’t know up from down; she stutters and fumbles like a bumbling buffoon. All this romance stuff seems so easy when she doesn’t care.

After a moment she hears Rarity give a little laugh, a sound like a sparkling stream running through fields of green. It makes AJ’s knees weak, a one-two punch to her joints. Elegance, grace, poise. When Rarity laughs, it’s flower petals dancing in the breeze; it’s birds chirping after a summer rain; it’s the shimmer of quartz shining in a dusty path.

“Oh, I’m spectacular, darling. Just putting the final touches on some designs for next month. I’m confident about my next line, but as always—I have too many ideas. You know me.”

AJ grins at that. “Yeah, I do. Knowin’ you, you’ve got at least a dozen too many.”

The chaotic, unrelenting artist inside Rarity used to annoy the hell outta AJ when they first met. Now she can’t help but find it endearing.

“Quiet, you,” Rarity says coyly, and AJ can hear the smile in her voice before she switches the topic, “How’ve you been, darling? You sound positively stressed.”

There it is again. The feeling of her nerves tying themselves to knots.

“I…uh…I’m doin’ fine. I just-”

“Is everything alright, dear? Anything I can do? I’m glad to offer my assistance—though nothing that could ruin my manicure; I just got a fresh coat. It’s a new formula…supposed to be hard as diamonds. Of course, I don’t believe such ridiculous claims until I try it myself…though I’d hate to push them too hard after I just had them done—Oh, but darling, please. Do tell me if everything is okay with you…?” Despite her rambling, Rarity sounds concerned. Great. And normally AJ would roll her eyes at the manicure excuse, but her nerves are shot, and that’s NOT what this is about.

“No! I mean—yes…I’m alright. Just—you know how it is. Farm and all. Exhausted,” AJ tries to give a lame excuse, though she can hear her voice break in between, and prays Rarity won’t notice. She clears her throat.

With the way it’s pounding between her own ears, AJ’s sure everyone and their mother can hear her heart beating in her chest, running like a wild horse. But that’s just what Rarity does to her.

“Oh, I do know, darling. Work can be a chore, especially for you. Ooh, we should go to the spa—it has been far too long since you spent a day pampering yourself! They have a new treatment that I just know you’ll love...”

“Yeah…yeah, that sounds nice,” AJ says distractedly, chewing on her thumb as Rarity raves about the newest spa services.

She’s blowing it.

She’s. Blowing. It.

Partly because now, she’s thinking about all that beautiful, smooth, creamy skin put on display next to her at the spa, all while she tries not to stare too much or say something stupid. It’s hard for AJ to admit to herself that part of the reason she finally took Rarity’s initial offer of a spa day was because of the promise of seeing her in way less clothing than usual. She got used to it eventually, but—did she really? Is it ever boring to see Rarity, in all her grace and glory, wrapped in nothing more than a towel? She’s all soft curves, and smooth skin, and pretty hair piled up on her head and held together with a big clip. With her hair up like that, it’s easier to see the cute little mole on the curve of her neck, one she probably forgets she even has. If AJ could, she’d lean over and press a kiss right there, feel her tremble under her lips—

“…but Applejack, really—are you alright? You don’t sound a bit like your usual sunny self.”

Fuck. Okay. Moment of truth. C’mon AJ. Stop stalling. Stop fantasizing when you could have it for real.

“Rarity, I’m callin’ ‘cause I—…well, I—“

AJ could ask her for a date, plain and simple. Which would almost surely be a confession. Something about dressing nice and holding doors (which she does anyways). It’s the most unambiguous choice for sure, but…is that what she wants? She’s never been in this situation before, wanting to change the dynamic between her and a close friend to something closer to the heart. She values her dynamic with Rarity, whether it’s romantic or not.

AJ could also just ask if Rarity wants to have dinner, no mention of a date in sight. There’s no obligation there, no real pressure to “get it right.” She knows she’s playing it safe this way, but maybe she should test the waters and make sure she doesn’t completely ruin her friendship with Rarity by confessing right away.

Either way, this means too much for her to blow it off again. She has to decide now.

Tag List: @mrrrpmeow @babydarkstar

[roachesbf]

Spiderman Noir With a Superman Anomaly Reader

Stumbling into Noirs universe was a complete accident. You were doing some simple patrolling when you stumbled upon a weird portal, of course you did the responsible thing and reported in to Bruce. Telling him about your findings and from his mic you could pick up your uncle Kal, yelling about no matter what, don't go messing around with it until they arrive to check it out. You tease him a little about it, saying how you’re not that stupid to mess with something you know nothing about by yourself. Of course you’re above simple mistakes…such as tripping on your own cape, managing to get sucked into said other wordly portal. 

It’s very easy for Noir to spot you because of the weird getup you’ve got going on. I honestly think one of his first instincts would be to web you and investigate what/who you are. But upon being webbed you manage to break them, brushing them off as you concerningly ask what the fuck was that. He’s a bit perplexed after that because there’s no way you got out of his webs that easily. You don't seem like an initial threat at first but he keeps his guard up in case. You explain your situation with the whole portal, of course skipping out on the tripping part because he doesn’t need to know that. After his whole ordeal with being in another dimension he knows your telling the truth and loosens up a little. 

The two of you are sitting on top of a building ledge as the both of you exchange different information about each other's universes. He admires that the symbol on your chest stands for justice and truth, happy that the people in the universe have heroes like you to protect them. Noir probably also makes a comment about how you don’t wear a mask and he truly feels your dedication to being a hero to others when you say you want people to trust you. Noir finds your attitude interesting, considering how bright and fun you contrast to his monochromatic world. He’s 100% amazed by what you can do, comic books are barely becoming a thing in his time and age but you’re exactly what he imagined they’d be like. He’s really curious as to what you can do, and doesn’t believe half of them. He’s a little suspicious when you say you have laser vision but he’s not willing to take the risk of you showing him, simply brushing it off by saying “Okay okay I believe ya, now put those eyes away before someone gets hurt.” Once he knew you could fly and had super strength he let the best get to him and asked if you could lift him. 

Of course always eager to show off you flew up and picked him up by his underarms. He knew it was coming but seeing you actually fly and lift him up is still something that could startle anyone. He lets you have your fun for a little bit before asking to be put down and you agree, fixing his hat on his head. Noir eventually asks you if there’s any way for you to get hope and you simply pop out with a nope. He murmurs to himself for a bit to see if there was a way for him to help you, so far your circumstances were different that his, and he was sure there was no one in his dimension trying to open any other dimension portals so this just must’ve been a fluke of nature. 

He invites you to stay with him until you somehow get home, in return all he asks is that you help with his crime fighting. He totally admires you even more once the two of you get down to business, throwing in a few compliments on your form here and there as he lands a punch. After a while of getting to know each other he’ll help you blend in properly by letting you borrow his own things since this motherfucker is built like a brick. He’ll have you wear his coat + hat when you’re out in public. Sometimes he’ll catch himself staring too much at you in his clothes but in my head he resembles that one joke that's  “I’m probably nonbinary but I have a job so idrc about that rn” except how he’s totally gay for you. 

Once Bruce finally manages to get you back, you were out doing normal things with Noir before you get dragged into an alleyway. Of course Noir senses this and follows behind. Seeing a man who looks like you along with a man in a batlike costume. He ask if this means you're finally going home, Bruce says its where you belong and hurries for you to follow along through the portal. You ask him if he wants his coat back but he insists that you keep it, saying that it'll be a memory of the two of you.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"I don't know."

[smytherines]

I love One Step Ahead for all the obvious reasons (gay angst), but also because it is so packed with little storytelling moments. Also it just seems exhausting. So much happens in that song:

1. Motorcycle chase (with office chairs)

2. Boat chase

3. Staff fight

4. Sword fight

5. Vigorous musket loading

6. Run up the staircase

7. Hang glider chase

8. Fistfight

9. Run halfway down the stairs again

And the entire time they are doing all of this, they're belting out a vocally demanding song. I mean, no wonder Curt Mega had to take a breath during that final note. That's a feat of endurance. I simply would've passed out and died.

One Step Ahead is one of my favorite setpieces of all time. In anything. Ever. It is so impressive, and it is even more impressive when you realize this was done by a tiny little independent company with the theatre budget equivalent of $1.50. Unreal. It should not be possible.

And the thing is, One Step Ahead is the perfect narrative counterweight to A1P1 (Spies Are Forever). The amount of thought they put into this is just stunning. Because here's the thing: A1P1 is also incredibly physical. For most of the song Curt and Owen are on the move, they're going up the ladder, they're fighting goons, they're going down the staircase, they're running.

But more importantly, Curt and Owen are touching a lot in A1P1. And yeah, that's fun in a swoony curtwen vibes way, but its also incredibly important to the narrative. They are touching a lot, and when they aren't touching they are standing just a little bit too close together. Its subtle enough that you initially dismiss it as a stylistic choice, but once you have the full context it is remarkably intimate.

Those are important details- like the way Owen has his arm around Curt and is literally holding his hand when they're talking to Cynthia. Its meant to tell us that they are together. In the romantic way, yes, but also they're just aligned, working together, on the same page. They are partners here. They literally have each other's backs.

And that's down to Curt Mega and Joey Richter selling the absolute shit out of these roles, and genius choreography by Lauren Lopez, and Corey Lubowich being the director of all time.

The digital download BTS has a part with Joey and Curt rehearsing the bit where they do the hug, and right after that they're trying to figure out what cool action poses to move into and Corey says that he wants to see something with them "connected," which is just... yeah, that's the perfect word to describe what is going on in A1P1. These two are connected.

So then we get to One Step Ahead. At the very beginning, Curt does the arm clasp with Tatiana. The first time they did this, Curt had a flashback of Owen. Owen was still his partner in his heart. But this time that bond is severed. Curt thinks of Tatiana as his partner now.

We get into the action of the song, and Curt and Owen do not touch. Even when they are very physically close together, there are weapons between them. In A1P1 they had lots of moments with their backs turned to each other, trusting each other, working perfectly in sync. In One Step Ahead they are facing each other head on. They are literally and figuratively fighting. They are breaking up.

The only moment during this sequence where they are actually touching each other is when Owen slaps Curt, Curt punches Owen twice, and they do that lock up move. They're only touching to hurt each other now.

And its so subtle and well executed that you don't really think about the parallels between these two scenes the first time you watch them. But you feel it on an emotional level. They had about ten minutes to establish the relationship between these two, and they used that ten minutes so effectively that the staircase scene ends up hitting like a ton of bricks.

Just. I love this show. I love how much TCB and Curt Mega and the rest of the cast care about this show. I'm so grateful they keep coming back to it. I cannot wait to see what they do with these scenes for Spy Another Day.

[howlingday]

Only Survivor Jaune: Jaune was questioning if becoming a Huntsman was even worth it anymore. First was the guilt of how a fraud like him was the only one that survived. The grief of the family members of those who died. The look of his peers when he attended class. Then there's the harassment of the people who blamed him. Could things get any worse?

Today had been exhausting, but it was nice to get his mind off... Well, you know. He'd been tasked with helping with the collection and the delivery of red sap from the Forever Fall. Professor Goodwitch acted as chaperone and helped him by gathering the jars he collected. He got a bit of a scare from rapier wasp but was able to swipe it away with his sword.

As he watched it fade away, he felt a sort of... power. Like he was able to take control of his life again. Granted, it was against something as small and insignificant as a single rapier wasp, but it was still more than he'd felt since making it into Beacon. Now he just had to survive bigger things, like... He shook his head. Baby steps.

Like the baby steps he was taking pushing this heavy cart of sap to the cafeteria. Professor Goodwitch had other, more important things to take care of with Professor Ozpin. What those things were, she didn't say, but they had to have been important if she left him alone. Right?

"Need some help?"

"Huh?" Jaune looked to his left and saw that rabbit-eared girl again. What was her name?

"You were pushing this so hard, your knuckles were turning white."

"Oh, uh, yeah." He stepped aside to give her room. "Thanks."

"No problem." She smiled, pushing the cart with him. "You're going to the cafeteria, right?"

"Yeah."

"How have you been enjoying Beacon? I noticed you haven't been to our classes recently."

"Oh, yeah, um..." He suddenly felt clammy between his fingers. "I had to be pulled from classes. I, uh..." He gulped. "I- I mean, they, like, the school thought I was- That the thing was-"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain anything to me." She said, not dropping her smile. "After what you went through, it's normal to not be ready for classes yet."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Wait, how did you know what happened?"

"Oh, well..." Her smile pulled back a little. "Beacon has this tradition of watching first years go through their initiation. But when a student... you know, the screen switches to a different student. After about the sixth student, all the screens went dark, and students weren't permitted to see anymore. But you made it through, right?"

"You... You saw..." Suddenly, the world got duller around him. There was a screeching in his ears and a distant mumble could barely be heard over it. Suddenly, he was back in the Emerald Forest, and everything was happening all at once. Limp bodies swayed in front of him, screams heard going over cliffs until his vision became dark and he saw her for a brief moment before an explosion blinded him. Then, something in the darkness grabbed him, pulled at him.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" He swung hard at the darkness.

A yelp was the response the darkness gave.

The world came back into view for him. Suddenly, he was standing over the rabbit-eared girl and she was covering her eye. He blinked as he noticed a slight pain in his hand, like he punched something hard. Suddenly, he remembered a blur that slowed down to reveal himself punching her.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorr-"

"Get the hell away from her!" Another blur happened, this time in the present, as something big and heavy crashed into his face. He rolled across the carpeted floor for a few feet, then looked up to see a girl with dark sunglasses and a beret snarling down at him. "What, you think you can just pick on her because she's alone now? Well, she's not, asshole! Now you've gotta deal with me!"

"Coco, stop!" The rabbit-eared girl called.

"No way, Vel! I'm letting this creep get another swing at you!" She held out her handbag, then dropped it. Jaune didn't know what she was packing inside but must have been bricks since he was out of breath when it crushed his chest. "Be grateful this is my normal purse, or I else you wouldn't be hearing me tell you to stay away from my friend!"

The handbag was lifted from his chest, and Jaune was left in pain on the floor. He looked up and saw the two girls walking around the corner. His eyes were too blurry from the tears to make out anything more distinct than their shapes. Then another shape came running towards him.

"Jaune?! Jaune, are you alright?!" Professor Goodwitch called.

"No." He groaned out. "No, I'm not."