#especially if i think discussions are running in circles

[dyketennant]

idk i think i should start masking again 🤠 (i mean the autism i already wear a face mask)

[misswynters]

short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must’ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

[riordanness]

bed chem — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 1.4K

warnings: the morning after, alcohol, discussions about sex/loss of virginity. no smut.

Sun shines through the blinds, my bed as comfortable, warm, and cozy as ever… until I roll over, only to see him.

The one person I’d always promised myself I wouldn't spend a night with.

Percy Jackson.

I sit up abruptly with a gasp, staring down in horrified realisation at my enemy. The enemy who is currently asleep beside me.

Percy's head is tilted to the side, his messy dark hair falling in his face, mouth open slightly, drooling onto the pillow. The covers were half on him, clearly pushed down from sleep. His tanned torso is on display, and I force my eyes away.

Oh gods, I think. He's naked. I'm naked.

Percy begins stirring, mumbling in his sleep before his eyes flutter open, those seagreen ones that make girls (not me) swoon. He looks up at me, blinking a few times as he processes the situation.

"Morning," is the first thing out of his mouth, his voice rough.

I'm still staring at him, open-mouthed.

He smirks as he realises I’m staring at his chest, and props himself up on his forearms.

"See something you like?" he teases, his eyes glittering mischievously.

I blink, forcing myself out of my horrified stupor. "What the hell is going on?" I manage, my voice slightly shaky.

He chuckles sleepily, sitting up a bit more and running a hand through his messy hair. He looks just as dishevelled as I feel.

"Well," he drawls, his grin widening, a stupid twinkle in his eyes. "Looks like we had a bit of fun last night, huh?"

I groan, pulling my knees to my chest and burying my face in them, making sure to hold the sheets tight to my chest.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his smirk drops into a small smile. He reaches out and rubs my back gently, his touch surprisingly tender. For Percy.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs. "We don't have to talk about it right now, if you don't want to."

"I don't ever want to talk to you again," I say immediately, my voice muffled by the navy blue sheets, which makes me realise we’re in his cabin, not mine. Which makes this situation even worse.

He lets out a soft sigh, his hand still rubbing circles on my upper back, which feels awful on my bare skin, and I want to shrink away, but I don’t.

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" he asks quietly. "Look, I know we have our... issues, but we clearly spent the night together for a reason."

"Yeah, alcohol."

He can't help but chuckle a bit at that. "Alright, fair enough, alcohol was involved."

He moves his hand from my back to lightly tug at the sheets, trying to see my face. "But that doesn't explain why it was me in your bed, and not someone else."

"Well, I'm putting that on you," I say hatefully. "Because I wouldn't be in bed with you willingly."

Percy's smile fades a bit at my harsh words, his expression turning serious.

"Hey," he says firmly. "That's not fair, and you know it." He runs a hand through his messy hair again, sighing heavily. "I don't like you, y'know. I never have. But I wouldn't... I wouldn't have done that without your consent."

I slowly lift my head. "You promise?"

He nods, his sea-green eyes locking with mine.

"I promise," he says sincerely. "You might think I'm a jerk, but I'd never take advantage of someone like that. Especially not you."

"Well, it was a mistake." I have a bitter taste in my mouth, and part of me wants to cry.

Percy's expression fades at the tone in my voice, his eyes turning more serious again.

"Hey," he says softly, his thumb rubbing gently against my knee. "Don't say that. It wasn't a mistake. We both had a good time, didn't we?"

"Don't count on it."

His sea green eyes tighten. "So that's it, huh?" he asks quietly. "You're just going to brush last night off as a drunken mistake and go back to hating my guts?"

"Yep," I say roughly.

He frowns again, his hand tightening slightly around your knee.

"That doesn't seem very fair," he says bitterly. "When it was clearly consensual."

I sigh, lean back against the headboard. Pull the sheets as tightly around me as I can. "You don't get it."

He looks at me more closely, studying my face.

"Then make me understand," he says, his voice softer now. "What do I not get?"

I sigh, look down.

"Talk to me," he prompts gently, his hand moving up to lightly touch my chin, trying to get me to look at him.

"It's not for you to know," I snap. I’m lying. He should know. Out of anyone, he deserves to know it the most.

"Why are you being like this?" he asks, his voice low. "We clearly shared something last night, and now you're shutting me out completely."

"We didn't share anything!" I don't think I meant to yell.

He looks at me in bewilderment, clearly taken aback by my outburst.

"We definitely did something," he retorts, his own voice rising slightly. "And I thought we actually—" he stops himself, realising he was about to say too much.

“What?”

He looks away, his jaw clenching slightly.

"Nevermind," he mutters, his hand falling from my knee. "Forget I said anything."

I close my eyes, let out a breath. “Percy?”

He glances back at me, his expression a mix of hurt and irritation.

"What?" he snaps, his eyes defiant.

I close my eyes tighter. "I'm about to tell you something and you can never ever tell anyone else in the world. I hate you and I'd never tell you if it wasn't for last night, understand?"

"I understand," he says quietly. "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

I relax slightly, but I still have my eyes shut. "I gave you my virginity last night."

His eyes go wide in shock, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form a response. He seems stunned, completely speechless for a change.

Finally he finds his voice, his words a hoarse whisper.

"You... I was your first?"

“Yeah.” My eyes open.

His expression softens, the previous anger and pain melting away as he processes my words.

He swallows hard, his hand reaching out to tentatively touch my arm. "Why didn't you tell me? After I said—“ he falters, clearing his throat. "After what we did... why didn't you say something?"

"Probably because we were drunk," I say.

He cringes at the mention of alcohol, shaking his head slightly.

"Yeah, I guess that's fair," he mutters. "But still... you should've said, I would've never..."

He looks at me sheepishly, his hand still resting on my arm. "I know we have our differences, but I wouldn't have done that if I'd known. I'm not that much of a jerk, y'know."

I glance at him in surprise. "What?"

He sighs, running his free hand through his messy hair again.

"I mean, last night was... well, it was fun. In the moment..." He shrugs awkwardly. "But if I'd known that I was your first... I would've, I dunno, I would have slowed down. Made it... special. For you."

I blink, stunned in silence. All I can do is stare at him. "You would'e done that? For me?"

He looks at me almost tenderly, his eyes roaming my face.

"Yeah, I would have," he says quietly. "I know we hate each other, but... this was your first time. It should've been special. Not something you regret waking up to."

I look away, feeling weird all over. I don't know what I think anymore.

He lifts my chin gently with his fingers, making me look back at him. But the motion doesn’t make me want to jerk away.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft. "Look at me. Please."

And for some reason, I do.

He runs his thumb gently over my bottom lip, a small smile playing on his own.

"I mean what I said," he says sincerely. "Last night—it was amazing, don't get me wrong. But if I'd known... I would've been more gentle. Treated you better."

“I hardly remember it,” I admit softly.

"I wish you did," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "It was... incredible. I'm not exaggerating when I say you look beautiful when you—" He cuts himself off, his face reddening as he realises what he was about to say.

I feel myself flush too, and I look away again.

"You're not exactly making this easy for me, y'know," he mutters. "You're not supposed to be...cute. You're supposed to be a pain in my ass."

“I am a pain in your ass,” I retort, but it’s almost a joke.

He laughs, and the sound is gentle, soft. “Maybe,” he almost whispers, “but maybe something has changed now.”

And he was right. Maybe something had.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Good Luck Charm

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: At a Dodgers game, you meet Tim Bradford, who thinks you're a good luck charm for the Dodgers.

Warnings: pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: @bradleybeachbabe inspired me to write this (as well as Eric Winter posting about the Dodgers)! I hope you enjoy the game you're going to soon, Rachel!!!💙

Today’s date has been circled on your calendar for months. The Dodgers are playing at home in LA, and you got tickets behind home base. Since scoring the tickets, you’ve been counting down the moments, using this game to get you through tough days and long nights. Now that it’s finally here, you can forget about everything else for the evening and enjoy the game, hoping for another exciting evening like the tiebreaking two-run homer you watched on TV last week. Dressed in your favorite Dodgers shirt, you leave for Dodgers Stadium happier than you’ve been in weeks. Something in the Los Angeles air makes you think it will be a great night.

“Lucy, if I had an extra ticket, I’d sell it,” Tim sighs as he parks at Dodgers Stadium. “If you want to be at this game so badly, ask Thorsen. If anyone can get you a last-minute ticket, it’s him.”

“But he’s already at the game,” Lucy laments over the phone.

“So am I!”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How is that-��� Tim stops and shakes his head. “Lucy, I hope you can figure something out. If not, I’ll tell you all about the game at work.”

“Ugh, you’re such a man.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Tim ends the call before Lucy can explain that she did not mean that as a compliment. It’s been a tough week at the Mid-Wilshire station, and Tim wants to watch a good game, cheer for his team, and unwind.

Tim smiles as he makes his way to his seat: an unexpected but highly appreciated upgrade to home base. Coming into Dodgers Stadium feels like coming home, and Tim thinks tonight will be a good game. At least until he sees that the seat beside him, which he expected to be empty, is occupied by a woman scrolling on her phone rather than enjoying the pre-game activities. He ignores his disappointment at being in the section with a disinterested neighbor as he watches warmups.

You look up from the detailed roster file you keep on your phone. Gavin Lux, an infielder who is a left-hand batter and right-hand thrower, is wearing his glove on his right hand for warmups. As you scroll through your newest notes, glancing up at the team every few swipes, someone sits beside you.

“Left, right,” you murmur to yourself.

“Excuse me?” the man asks.

You lift your gaze from your phone, then freeze when you see the attractive man occupying the seat to your right.

“Sorry, I’m talking to myself. Lux is just… never mind, sorry.”

As you turn back toward the field, he asks, “Lux is?”

“He’s warming up with his glove on his throwing hand.”

The man looks out into the field, locates Lux, and nods. “He is. Any idea why?”

You shake your head. “I thought maybe I was remembering his stats wrong, but I double-checked and he’s warming up opposite.”

“Interesting. Think we can win with him off his game?”

Pursing your lips, you shrug. “I don’t think he’s the player that makes or breaks a game. Unless he tries to bat right-handed, we should be okay.”

“I’m Tim,” he introduces, offering his hand.

You shake his hand as you tell him your name, surprised by how he holds your hand in his just a moment longer than is usually acceptable. You don’t mind, especially when he smiles and asks if you’ve noticed anything else.

“Is this your usual seat?” you inquire after a few minutes of discussing the players and their techniques.

“No, my season pass gets me over first base,” Tim answers. “You?”

“One-night only. I’d love to get a season pass someday.”

“If we win tonight, they should give you one on principle.”

You laugh as you ask, “Why?”

“If we win tonight after that tenth inning save last week, with our infielders off their game, and you just happen to be in the crowd? You’d have to be good luck.”

“Maybe it’s just a good day,” you counter softly.

Tim smiles as he agrees, “Maybe.”

“Stop letting the ball play you!” someone behind you yells. “This is why they should have left you in the minors!”

You stifle a laugh at their enthusiasm but agree with them. Tim sighs beside you and checks the score.

“Just one can of corn, is that too much to ask?” Tim grumbles.

“Wow,” you exclaim. “You really just used that term.”

“You disagree?”

“Not at all, just haven’t heard someone younger than Babe Ruth call it that.”

“Then, what do we do? We’re going to lose at this rate.”

You shrug and offer, “Guess I’m not very good luck, after all.”

Tim wants to disagree but decides that it’s not his place. If the Dodgers win, then he’ll tell you that he’s impressed by you, drawn to you, but otherwise, you’ll go your separate ways, never to see one another again.

“I don’t want to watch this, Tim,” you say with a pout.

The Dodgers are tied in the bottom of the ninth in a concerning parallel to their previous game. You don’t trust them to get the ball where it needs to be to win, not after their lackluster performance in the first few innings.

“Wish them luck,” Tim encourages, standing beside you as the crowd roars. “C’mon, give into the superstition once. What’s the worst that happens?”

“We lose, and my night of relaxation becomes me wondering if you put a curse of the team by saying good luck in these sacred walls.”

“I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but it’s a baseball game. It’s not that serious.”

You try to ignore Tim, but the smile on his face is too hard to look away from. To appease him and partially because you love hearing him say you are good luck, you whisper a wish of good luck, boys through the net separating you from foul balls.

And, somehow, between when you speak and when the stadium silences, Mookie Betts hits a homerun that echoes throughout Los Angeles, and the Dodgers perform another walk-off.

“You did it!” Tim yells as the crowd erupts into cheers.

He pulls you into his arms, completely forgetting his prior hesitance to tell you how much you affected him, and you throw your arms over his shoulders as he spins you. When your feet are on the ground again, you cup Tim’s jaw and smile.

“We won!” you cheer as fireworks boom overhead.

“You really are good luck,” Tim replies.

“Maybe you’re the good luck."

Tim shakes his head and leans closer to you. The stadium around you is completely forgotten, entirely focused on the man before you. His hands are on your waist, yours are framing his face, and you can’t wait to hear what he says next.

“Will you go out with me? I think we could both use some more good luck,” he proposes.

Your smile widens as you nod. “I’d love to.”

Tim pulls you against his side, his arm warm and steady over your shoulders as you cheer for your home team and yourself.

Bonus:

“So, how was the game, Tim?” Lucy asks before roll call.

“It was great, after we caught up, at least,” Tim answers. “Did you watch it?”

“Yeah, Aaron pulled through and got me a ticket. Over the outfield but still better than anything I could’ve gotten on my own.”

Tim nods, but she doesn’t move out of the doorway so he can walk inside.

“What?” he asks.

“I saw something else at the game. Someone made it onto the jumbotron,” Lucy sing-songs. “You’re trending on ClipTok. Everyone’s talking about the mystery couple who celebrated the win.”

Tim narrows his gaze at Lucy, who shrugs and invites him to check for himself before she enters the roll call room. He pulls his phone from his pocket, surprised to see a text from you.

We’re trending. I don’t know if I should be more upset by all the people shamelessly looking for us or that they’re calling you ‘gorgeous’ and I’m ‘that girl hugging him.’

Tim rolls his eyes and answers:

Wait until they find out why we won.

You don’t acknowledge the implication that he’ll tell someone (Lucy, who will undoubtedly put it on ClipTok); instead, you tell him you’re looking forward to dinner tonight. What was supposed to be a relaxing evening at a baseball game for you and Tim turned into something so much more. If that’s not good luck, you don’t know what is.

[camillelespanayesbtch]

Seven Devils All Around Me (18+)

Summary: It isn't your fault you like the feeling of power, the sensation was addictive, and although it never worked out well for those around you, it certainly worked well for you. You weren't to blame that people seldom survived attacking you, it was their fault after all. But you can only run for so long before your misdeeds catch up to you, and where will you be left after? It's dangerous to walk certain paths alone as a young witch.

Content: Eventual smut, graphic depictions of murder and violence, character death, power imbalance, manipulation, addiction, grief, discussion of sexual violence (r receiving) (I will add more as I think of them)

Word Count: 4690

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

I will block minors and ageless bios

Chapter One

You hum to yourself as you follow the marks you carved into the trees, a hidden path you had created that left those who follow you believing you were the perfect victim, blissfully unaware of the danger that followed you. You could hear the boys talking among themselves, their gleeful snickering as they think about all the things they could do to you now that they had you alone and unaware. Like most evenings, the forest was a cacophony of sound, there wasn’t an inch of space where there was silence, every crevasse had sound, even the ants clicked to one another to inform the other of the crumbs of bread that were left abandoned on the floor of the community hall that hosted giants. The leaves crunch underfoot, small twigs snapping as you step on them, continuing to hum the tune until you come to a clearing in the forest.

There was a space where no leaves were, a perfect circle that had been made over years of the same trick, black as the night sky is dark. “Look boys,” Douglas says with a grin, “She’s made a spot for fucking, just for us.” He moves closer to you, the others surrounding you as well, all of them giving each other encouraging looks. They didn’t believe the stories about boys going missing because every coven had tales like that, even the girls were told tales about their powers being taken when lured to walk the witch’s road, but everyone believed that it was just the danger of the road and not one of their own doing it. “I wonder if her tits are as big as her top makes them look,” Douglas says, advancing on you quickly, his hands twitching by his side as he thinks about tearing your shirt from your body.

“I’ve seen them through her window when she changes,” Clint says, “They’re small, no bigger than a handful, but at least they’re perky.” He cracks his knuckles, his eyes glinting dangerously. This wasn’t his first time taking what he wanted, and it wouldn’t be his last, just like the other boys he was with- if he sees something he wants, he takes it. His mother did raise him to be respectful towards women, especially those in the coven, but she always spoke about you as being the exception. You were the freak of the group, the one people whispered about, warned the kids to stay away from least you corrupt them. So, really, what he and his friends were about to do wasn’t a bad thing, it was deserved. “We should take pictures and add them to the wall.”

“We should take pictures and add them to the wall,” you mimic, turning to face them. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to keep trophies? Or was that too much for your tiny little boy-brains to comprehend?” You run your fingers through your hair, letting out a sigh as you shake a few knots loose. You were hungry, and these boys would be enough to last you a few weeks. Sure, they weren’t as powerful as the elders, too jumped up on the testosterone coursing through their bodies to focus on mastering the craft, instead relying on brute force to get things done. “Didn’t mommy teach you better? Or even your fathers? No, I suppose not. No, daddy left you boys behind, didn’t he? Went off to go fuck some young maiden the next town over,” you make a vulgar gesture, thrusting your hips before laughing when you see the group clench their fists in anger. “Oh no, did I hurt your feelings? What’re you gonna do? Blast me?”

It would only take one. It only ever takes one, but they didn’t know that. Of course they didn’t know that they barely knew how to groom themselves let alone see the signs of a trap, to even see that sometimes there is truth in the tales they have been told since childhood. You mightn’t have believed the ones about the Purple Witch, but you wouldn’t deny that there is something alluring about her. The ability to take someone’s powers? You wondered what it felt like, if it was as addictive as watching people burn, using their own powers to cause their deaths. “Lucas and Clint, hold her down,” Douglas orders, his eyes burning into yours.

The two boys he orders raise their hands, their magic shooting from their hands and wrapping around your wrists. They both were smirking until they see the lopsided grin on your face, a darkness settling into your eyes. You breathe in deep through your nose, tilting your head back up to the sky as your eyes drift shut, feeling the warmth starting to spread through your body and bloom out from your palms, “Oh boys,” you exhale. “Silly, stupid, little boys.” Your head rolls forward and you open your eyes to look at them, a fire burning in your eyes that makes them take a step back. “Didn’t you hear the stories? Didn’t your mother tell you not to go into the woods at night?”

“She’s just- She’s just bluffing,” Douglas stutters, “She’s just trying to scare us.” He puffs his chest out in false bravado before moving closer to you, his hands coming up to tear the front of your blouse open, but he hisses in pain, pulling his hands back. Your body had grown hot to the touch, as though he had just put his hands over the hot embers of a campfire, “What trickery is this?”

“You haven’t figured it out, have you?” You yank your hands free of Clint and Lucas’ magic, grabbing a handful of Douglas’ shirt, and pulling him so his body was against yours, a feral grin spreading across your face. “Smell that?” You lean in, taking a deep breath as the scent of burning fabric starts to fill the air, “Maybe you can feel it. It’s getting hot, isn’t it? I wonder if I’ll see eyes explode this time like popcorn.” You stare at him intensely, your hands glowing like magma as you start to cook him from the inside out, feeling his energy seeping out of him and into you. You let out a content sigh a the sensation, watching as his eyes go wide, his skin turning a deep red before starting to melt from his muscles and bones. He cries out in agony, trying to get away from you, to put the fire out inside of him but it was of no use, and soon he falls to the ground, his body quickly going up in flames. “Now,” you smile and turn to look at the other boys who were looking on in horror, “Who’s next?”

“You’re a monster,” Clint says, clenching his fists, “He didn’t even do anything to you! We were just playing!” He was quick to attack you, seemingly forgetting what he had just witnessed you do to his friend. You eagerly drink his energy up, your body glowing like a reactor before his body turns into barbecue. He claws at his clothes, trying to remove the flaming fabric from his body as he writhes on the ground, his screams drowning out the music of songbirds. You wonder if the woods would muffle the sound so it didn’t carry to the houses that lived along the edge of it, that the neighbors wouldn’t have their windows open to let the warm spring breeze in. Then again, if you didn’t want them to hear, you simply shouldn’t be doing what you are, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You enjoy it too much. You enjoy luring men into the woods, using their own powers to burn them alive as some sort of penance for all the women burned before you because their power was seen as a threat.

You take a few breaths to calm yourself, looking at your hands, they were turning black, tendrils creeping up your forearm and tickling your inner-elbow. This happened every time, the only evidence of your crimes. They were easy to hide though, you wore long-sleeves, and had a pair of gloves that your mother gave you to protect you from the judgmental gaze of your coven. Your mother wasn’t consciously aware of what you were doing, thinking you were just going into the woods to practice your craft, but she couldn’t deny it was suspicious that boys kept going missing whenever you did.

The remaining boys fall quickly, you wave your hands, letting out a hot blast of fire that turns their remains to ash. You knew the rain would disperse the ashes, returning them to the earth and helping to keep the forest alive, although your circle never grew back- the grass has remained dead and black for years. You were in your twenties now, and you had been doing this since you were sixteen. You do the buttons back up on your blouse then pull your sleeves down, doing the cuff buttons up so the sleeves wouldn’t go out of place. You flick your hair from your face, a smile settling on your features as you start to head back, humming to yourself once more.

As you walk, you stop occasionally to pick some flowers for your mom, making a bouquet for her. Your father wasn’t around to do this for her, not that he had done such thoughtful things when he was alive, that had always been your thing. You loved making your mom smile because it meant she wasn’t worrying about anything which had become her normal. If she wasn’t worrying about you getting in trouble, she was worrying about the coven being run out of town, and if she wasn’t worrying about that, she was worrying about taxes which only seemed to go up every year. It’s not that you couldn’t afford the taxes, she had been around for centuries, she had more than enough money to cover them, but it was still an unnecessary stress in her life that she simply did not need. If you could get away with it, you would burn the tax collector alive, maybe even roast him over a fire like you would toast a marshmallow.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” A familiar voice asks, disappointment evident in her tone. “I tell them- I tell them every meeting that it isn’t you, that my daughter would never bring harm to her coven, and every time you go out and prove me wrong.”

You look up from the flowers you were examining, your features falling, “Mama… I- They attacked me,” you explain. “I was just coming here to practice, like you always want me to. And they followed me, taunting me, telling me all the horrible things they were going to do to me.” You turn your head slightly, just enough to see the open area out the corner of your eye that was a few hundred feet away by now before looking back at your mom. You try to smile, holding the sad looking bouquet out for her, “I picked you flowers. Your favorites. I know you like having fresh flowers in the house because you like when the bees-“

“Enough,” she cuts you off, “Enough,” she repeats, softer this time. She walks closer to you, a sadness on her face as she gently takes your free hand in hers- your skin was like charcoal, and still hot to the touch like the furnace in winter. Her heart aches painfully in her chest, why was her only child like this? Had she done something wrong? Those questions hurt her; how could she think so poorly of you? She loves you dearly, she would do anything for you, absolutely anything for you, why couldn’t you do this one thing for her? Her touch was soft, cooling your burning skin as she runs her fingers over it, your skin slowly turning back to your normal shade. She turns your hand over so your palm was facing her, running her finger in a circle on your palm, a small smile tugging on her lips, “Round and round the garden,” she whispers, “Went the teddy bear, one step,” she walks her finger up your forearm, healing as she goes, “two step,” another step onto your bicep, “Tickle you under there,” she says and gently tickles your underarm, a soft giggle escaping her. “You used to squeal whenever I did that to you as a toddler.”

You can’t help the quiet giggle you let out, unaware of the tears spilling from your eyes, “Mama,” you whisper back, “I’m not a little kid anymore.” She gives your arm a squeeze at that, looking pained by the reminder. You rest your hand over hers, looking remorseful immediately, “I know- I know I’m still your little girl. You still make my boo boo’s better.” You look down at your hands, they were no longer black as tar, and you could see the blue and purple of your veins on the backs of them instead of a deep red that glowed against the black. You felt a knot form in your stomach, “They’re gonna kill me, aren’t they, mama?” You ask her quietly, a waver in your voice. “For what I’ve done- They’re gonna burn me.”

Your mom blinks back tears but it was futile, the salty liquid running down her cheeks, “When they find out,” she replies softly, “Yes. They will.” She raises her hand to tenderly stroke your cheek, and as always, you lean into her touch. Her thumb brushes against your rosy skin, wiping away any tear that dared to fall. She didn’t know how long you would both have together, whether she could wash your hair and braid flowers into it, or whether now was the only time you two would get. “Why couldn’t you stop?”

“I can’t help it, mama, you know that,” you answer, your eyes closing as you relax into her touch. Her hands never caused the same pain and suffering that yours have, they have always healed and protected. There was never a moment where she didn’t help someone, where she turned them away when they showed up to the door pleading for her to make their sick child better. There was always a spare bed for the child or adult to recover, your mother watching over them during the night to ensure their condition didn’t worsen. You. You had always been the one to hurt, to harm, to inflict suffering and pain. Your mother, try as she might to get you to do things for the betterment of the coven such as burning the fields to return the nutrients to the earth, or helping start the bonfires for when there was a community barbecue, even trying to get you to take out the wolves that threatened the farm animals, but it never satiated you.

It wasn’t until you turned sixteen did it become a problem, but she brushed it off because you had been terribly bullied, she kept brushing it off when the first group of boys went missing. She had moved you both after that, found another coven. Six months of peace before it happened again. Every time, you would come home with blackened skin and a bouquet of flowers. She never had to worry about running out of dried flowers for her potions, the basement was full of them, your peace offerings to her. You always were so sincere in your apologies, and she believed you every time, why wouldn’t she? “They deserved it,” you add, “They were going to hurt me.”

“Not every single boy was out to hurt you, surely, sweetheart. What about Tommy? He was always so kind to you, he tutored you. You were friends.”

Tommy had been your friend two moves ago, you two had bonded over being excluded from most of the college class you were enrolled in, even the lecturer refused to acknowledge you in class. You both were good students, handing your assignments in on time and not once even asking for an extension. You thought you were just friends, you told him you only liked women, and he told you he was okay with it. You had gone over to his house one afternoon to study for an upcoming exam, the two of you were in his room on his bed reading notes when he had asked you if you’d ever kissed anyone before. The question made your skin crawl, “No,” you had answered, “I haven’t.” He got this look in his eyes at that answer, his hand had come up to turn your head to face him before he leaned in to kiss you, his tongue forced its way into your mouth, pocking and prodding your throat. You had frozen; your eyes wide as he assaulted you. It wasn’t until he had pulled back did the anger kick in. You don’t really remember much of what happened, only running out of the house as the fire department showed up to extinguish the flames, two of the firefighters checking over you for injuries. You had told your mother what happened, what he did, and she had brushed it off, saying it was just how it was done- nobody needed to ask for permission to kiss, it was spontaneous. You had cried in your room that night, you didn’t understand why your mom didn’t see why it was wrong of him to do that to you. She knew you liked women, why on earth would you ever want some man to kiss you?

“We- You know what he did to me, mama. He hurt me. He hurt me,” you tell her, more tears falling onto your cheeks, “He knew I didn’t like him like that. Every single one of them deserved it.” That wasn’t true, there had been a couple of groups you took out because you enjoyed the thrill of it, the screams, the feeling of power that filled your system. Even thinking about it now made you giddy, your pupils dilating as though a drug was coursing its way through your system. “You have to believe me, mama, please.”

Her hand falls from your face, “We should head back. You need a shower, and I’d like to braid your hair.” Her voice was cold, the older woman turning her back on you, not even taking the flowers from your hand. She usually hummed with you, the same song she sang to you as a child, but tonight the only sound was the owls hooting in the forest. You wipe your eyes on your sleeve, holding the flowers close to you as you follow along behind her. You hum quietly to yourself, looking up into the trees to see the glowing eyes of birds watching you. There was something comforting about them being so attentive, like they were looking out for the inhabitants that called the woods their home, even as they swoop on the mice that scamper across the leafy floor. It was the balance of things, and even as they eat the mice, they too would return to the earth and continue the cycle anew.

When you get home, your mother sits on a chair and has you sit on the floor between her legs as she starts to braid your hair, her fingers working deftly. She carefully takes the dried flowers and works them into your hair, willing the protection to keep you safe when the leaders come knocking. Only now does she hum, the strands of gold that hold the flowers in place starting to glow. She new deep down this day would come, that moving towns, cities, states would only get you so far because the tales that were told about a witch of destruction would catch up to you, that one coven was going to be smart enough to figure things out and realize it is one of their own. “You’ve always had such beautiful hair,” she murmurs, adding another flower to the braid and tying it into place, “Ever since you left my body, you had a mop of hair on your head. Whenever you woke in the morning, your hair was all over the place, and it would take so much water to tame it.”

“I’ve seen the photos,” you reply with a giggle, your eyes closed as you relax, enjoying the calming sensation of your mom braiding your hair. There had been times she had yelled at you for not brushing your hair, threatening to cut it all off if you didn’t want to take care of it. She had always apologized afterwards though, blaming her anger on something that had been said in a coven meeting as she carefully brushed the knots and tangles from your hair. “How long do we have?”

Your mother doesn’t look up from your hair, the wards she had set around the house were starting to crumble, only meant to slow them down, “Not long, my dear,” she picks the hairtie up and ties the braid off, securing a crystal in with it. “There,” she says, running her hand lightly over her work before you turn to look at her, your eyes holding the light of a thousand flames, “My beautiful girl. If you survive, you know you must never return.” Her hand caresses your cheek, her eyes held the river of life which you always loved looking into because you could feel the cool refreshing water wash over you, keeping you calm.

“I can’t leave you behind, mama. I can’t- I promised you that I would look after you,” you rest your hand over hers, they were the perfect balance. It always made you laugh how whenever her hands were cold, yours were burning hot, and on the rare occasion hers were warm, yours were colder than the glacier high in the mountains. You didn’t want to leave her behind, she would be an outcast unless she participated in your execution which she was unlikely to do because despite everything you have put her through, she still loves you and you knew there was nothing stronger than a mother’s love. “I can’t go without you.”

“You have to, sweetheart. You must find your own path, in a coven that will understand you,” she pulls back from you when the front door flies open, standing up she calls out to them. “She’s in here!”  She looks at you, pain visible in her eyes, “She killed them! I saw it with my own eyes. No daughter of mine shall harm our coven.”

You felt your spirit break, unable to realize she was doing this for a reason, to keep herself safe, to keep you safe from seeing her harmed. “Mama-“ You start, struggling against the witches as they bind you with their magic, “Mama, please,” you beg, “Please don’t let them do this to me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do it, mama.” The women haul you to your feet, the magic tightening around your wrists behind your back, cutting off the circulation to your hands.

“I saw the look in your eyes, Yn. You enjoyed it.” She follows the other women out of the house, the path to the stake lined with other members of the coven holding burning torches. “I’ll bind her to the stake,” your mother tells the women, “To make up for what I have done. I have let this coven down too many times before, I won’t let it happen again.” Her magic felt different this time as it wraps itself around you, your hands pulled taut behind the stake, the cold no longer soothing, instead it felt icy, the frost burning your skin. She couldn’t look you in the eyes, she didn’t want you to see how much this was hurting her, and she didn’t want to see how betrayed you looked as she prepared to watch her daughter burn.

“I never thought I’d see the day, Theodora,” the elder-witch comments, “Preparing to burn your own flesh and blood after so long of defending her. Had this evening turned out differently, you would be on that stake along with her, there is no doubt about that.” She gestures for the others to surround you, a group of six women all part of the higher counsel, and every single one of them deeming you guilty. There was no room in their coven for someone like you, someone so dangerous, someone without remorse. Were they unbiased in their judgement? Four of them were not, all having lost a son to you. The other two had daughters, but even they feared that one day your hatred would spread to women. Although whenever their daughters had caught a glimpse of you, their cheeks turned as red as a rose, and a carefree giggle escaped them which they thought was arguably worse. “Get into position, Theodora. It’s time.”

“Mama please,” you beg, “Please. I didn’t mean to. I can’t control it. Please.” You look at her, desperate for her to believe you one last time, “Please, mama. Tell them. Tell them that I didn’t know what I was doing. That I didn’t mean to. That they hurt me too.”

Your mother wanted to stroke your cheek one last time, to wipe your tears away but she couldn’t do that, not anymore. She breathes you in, inhaling the floral scent of the shampoo you used before stepping down from the platform and joining the other women encircling you. “I should have let you burn the first time,” is all she says.

The elder-witch gives a nod, everyone raising their hands in preparation, “Begin!” She commands, their powers shooting out of their hands and hitting you full force, a pained scream tearing itself from your throat. It felt like your insides were being roasted, your skin prickling from the heat. It was agony, you had never felt anything like this before and you wanted it to stop.

“Please!” You scream, your head falling back against the stake, “Stop! I can’t-“ You could feel that familiar sensation starting to build in your stomach, and it wouldn’t be long until it broke free. “Mama- Mama run!” Your face was wet with tears, your head tipping forward, your eyes making contact with your mom’s. She couldn’t run, you both knew this, but you hoped this last time she would break the rules for you. The binding around your wrist starts falter, the women behind you noticing it.

“Elder- Her bindings! She’s going to break free!” One of them exclaims yet she does not stop her attack on you, none of them do because they hoped that if they continued, you would finally burn.

The elder-witch encourages them to push through it, “She is glowing! We are close! Keep going!” Your mother knew what was about to happen, finally she meets your eyes, mouthing an apology to you before the blast happens, all the women letting out agonizing screams as the fall to the ground ablaze. You slump somewhat against the wooden stake, your hair blowing in the draft created from the fires, your skin flush a deep red and your hands glowing brighter than the sun. You didn’t want to hurt them. You didn’t mean to, you begged for them not to do this. You warned them you couldn’t control it. You were going to wallow in that feeling until you remembered your mother. You look around frantically, counting the bodies: seven. Your mother-

“Mama-“ You jump down from the pedestal and rush over to where she had last been, sinking to your knees as you desperately try and put out the flames. She was unrecognizable, her skin blackened and burned. “Mama, I’m sorry,” you sob, cradling her burnt body close to you. She was the only person to look out for you, the only one to have stood by your side, and you had repaid her by killing her. Your tears drip from your chin and onto her corpse, the tears evaporating before they even touch her skin. You look down at her, “I’m sorry.”

[razzledazzlebeach]

Daryl Dixon took awhile to age mentally

As I read more and more analysis about Daryl and rewatch some of the earlier seasons, I wonder if it was intended for his character to have some kind of age regression issue. (I didn't do, like, extensive research, I just looked into some CPTSD and age regression signs on a few different sites, so this is just an idea I'm tossing out in hopes of hearing some other perspectives!)

The first situation that really catches my attention is his reaction to Merle being left in Atlanta. Now, obviously, this would be an incredibly emotional time for anyone and it's not entirely out of place to just say he was very distraught over the news and anyone could have reacted the same way he did. I just think that the specific way he did might have some signs. If you think about a grown man, especially one who was raised in a very macho household, you would assume that their reaction might be to storm out or yell at someone. Although Daryl did yell, he also started crying and pacing. It seemed almost as if he was having a full-on meltdown. Some signs of age regression are meltdowns (Ranting, shouting, insulting others, threatening others, whining, angry tears, or getting physically violent) that ring any bells?

I couldn't find a gifs of that exact moment :(

It probably didn't help that the entirety of the camp was staring at him as all of this happened. Temper tantrums can happen because someone is scared/ashamed and can't regulate themselves. (Like sensory overload.)

Another thing that I want to kind of address is the way Rick responds to Daryl when he's having these sorts of meltdowns. Throughout the series, and in the third episode, we see Rick bending down almost horizontally just so he can make eye contact with Daryl. He speaks to him like he's a child, and instead of feeling insulted, Daryl actually takes comfort in it and calms down!

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic, do you think we can manage that?"

What is age regression?

We all know that Daryl was abused as a child, and trauma like that can sort of freeze the brain. This is a quote I really like that explains it: “It doesn’t necessarily make you stuck at a certain age, but instead, [you are] acting out the emotional wounding that happened at that age,” Lapides adds." People may start to regress because they are triggered or feel threatened, and an apocalypse seems like it would cause a constant trigger. Daryl might be reverting back to childlike behaviors as a trauma response. (honorable mention being the nail biting, but that's a bit of a reach) Shane being the way that he was could have also been a trigger for him.

One of the symptoms of age regression is overly clingy behavior. And you are probably thinking, "well, if there's anything Daryl has, it's not clingy behavior. He's a loner." I disregarded this too for awhile before I really thought about it. He is highly independent when he's doing things he's comfortable in, like being in the woods or going for runs. But when it comes to making decisions or being social, Daryl immediately clings to someone who he knows will do it for him. Most of his life he had Mere to hide behind. The most outgoing and shameless person alive. I don't think Merle ever asked Daryl his opinion on anything. He would decide, and Daryl would follow, and I think Daryl took a lot of comfort in that. So when Merle was gone, he latched onto Rick because he was the best choice. He knew Rick was a very righteous man who had plenty of leadership qualities. He knew Rick would make decisions for him, and give him directions.

Carol and Rick's mothering

Circling back to the way Rick would react to Daryl's outbursts, carol sometimes did the same thing. I know some people ship them, but honestly, at least in the earlier seaons, I got major mother/son vibes from the two of them. Especially when Beth died and she was trying to teach him how to grieve. The forehead kisses, the pookie nickname, all of it seemed to point in that direction. There was also another time Rick pulled the "Can we manage that?" move, and it was during Aiden and Glenn's fight in S5. He made sure to get low enough to make eye contact, and block his pacing. He kept telling Daryl that "We can't do this now." It all just looks a lot like he and carol are parenting Daryl, if only in moments where he is feeling intense stress and that trauma triggers.

Anyways, this was just a few ideas I was tossing around, and very clearly this in my first analysis lol, any thoughts?

[adverbally]

Stunned By the Whiplash

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Where were you?’” | wc: 858 | rated: T | cw: car accident aftermath, hospital | tags: minor injuries, some discussion of death | title from “Spellbound” by AC/DC | follow up to I’m a Victim of a Bad Crash

———

When Steve wakes up in the emergency room at Hawkins Memorial, Eddie is nowhere to be found.

He blinks into awareness slowly, noting the empty chair at his bedside before he begins taking stock of how he feels. First and foremost, he is no longer upside down. Thank God. His chest still hurts, though he’s breathing easier. His neck is a little sore and his headache is almost gone. He’s in a curtained-off bed in the corner of the ER, so he must not be doing too badly.

Despite these positive signs, Eddie’s absence is glaring. He must have been successful in getting help, at least. Maybe he just hadn’t made it back to the car before emergency services, or maybe they wouldn’t let him ride in the ambulance. The part of Steve’s brain that tends to catastrophize wants to panic but it feels very far away. They must have given him some good medication.

It makes him sleepy, too, so he dozes for a few minutes before the grating noise of metal wakes him again.

Eddie looks exhausted as he pulls the curtain shut behind him with a wince at the sound of the rings scraping through the track. He has butterfly bandages over a couple of the deeper cuts on his forehead and cheek, but there are no other signs of injury. Steve is almost lightheaded with relief at the sight of him.

“Where were you?” Steve croaks.

Eddie jumps a little. When he realizes Steve is awake and talking to him, he looks instantly lighter, like the weight of worry has been lifted from him. “Payphones,” he explains. “Wayne’s shift finished a little while ago and I thought he would want to know why I wasn’t home.”

“Oh.” Just like that, it’s easy to relax back into the bed and forget what he was even worried about. Especially when Eddie comes to sit next to him and brushes his hair away from his forehead.

“How are you feeling?”

Steve shrugs. “Okay, I think? My chest still hurts when I breathe too deep.”

“If that’s your biggest complaint, I think we got off pretty easy.” Eddie leans back in his seat. The dark circles under his eyes are exaggerated by the harsh lights overhead.

Steve feels a stab of remorse for being the source of his fatigue. He reaches out, wiggling his fingers insistently until Eddie takes hold of his hand. “I’m sorry,” Steve tells him sincerely.

“It’s not like you did it on purpose,” Eddie chastises. “It was an accident, don’t apologize for that.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s knuckles.

“Still sorry I scared you.”

Eddie lets out a long sigh. “I’m just glad you’re okay. We were lucky that your lung didn’t collapse. Apparently that can happen with broken ribs? The doctor didn’t think you needed to be admitted, but she wanted to wait for you to wake up so they could make sure you don’t have brain damage.”

Steve raps his knuckles against the side of his head. “No more than usual.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh. His face is completely blank as he stares up at the ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights. “You know, I had to wait for them to get there? It felt like forever. I was trying to talk to you and you weren’t responding.” He bites his lip. “Then I stood there and watched them cut you out of your seat belt. You were, like, completely limp, no reaction at all, even when they bumped your ribs against the edge of the door.”

Understanding sinks like a stone in Steve’s stomach.

Eddie continues, “For about fifteen minutes, I was sure you were dead. I was already thinking about how to tell Robin and the kids, your parents…” He runs a hand over his face as he trails off with a shaky breath.

“Eddie, I’m so–”

“No, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, o-or, like, make it about me, I get the whole ‘dark humor as a coping mechanism’ thing. But I can’t joke about it yet.” When he looks back to Steve, his eyes are wet.

Steve squeezes his hand. “Okay, then. No jokes.” Like how Eddie doesn’t joke about the lights flickering or make fun of him for not using the pool in his backyard. It’s no sacrifice to make sure Eddie

“Thanks.” Eddie sniffs. “Now hit your call button so the doctor can check you out and we can get out of here.”

“In a sec.” Steve uses his grip on Eddie to pull them closer together until they meet in the middle and Steve can kiss him. It’s just a chaste press of lips, since they’re in public and neither of them is feeling up to anything more strenuous, but it lingers. Eddie’s other hand is on his jaw and they’re both okay. It settles something in Steve’s chest that has been uneasy since he woke up.

Steve pulls away when the strain on his ribs is too much to ignore. Eddie looks more relaxed already; he needed that moment, too. “Okay, I’m good now,” Steve announces.

“Okay.” Eddie’s smile is small but genuine.

———

Thanks to those of you who encouraged me to write this follow up to I’m a Victim of a Bad Crash!

@grtwdsmwhr @alwaysurvalentine @flustratedcas @shesnotthatserious @novacorpsrecruit

[morehotch]

[7:23 AM]

aaron x gn + bau! reader, reader taking care of sick aaron

you knew when jack caught a stomach bug from school last week that inevitably either you or aaron would get sick afterwards. but you were especially worried about aaron; he already rarely lets himself rest or slow down. he's stubborn and even though you both saw his early symptoms of fatigue and headaches, aaron ignored it and pushed through for a few days as you both focused on taking care of jack.

but this morning, when he wakes up groggy and sweaty after being restless all night and it’s official; your incredibly lovely but intense and determined and dedicated husband was sick.

you thought it went without saying aaron now needed- deserved, some old fashioned tlc and chicken noodle soup. but you should’ve known better, you walk into the bathroom and catch aaron attempting to button up his white collared shirt, turning to look for a tie, trying to get ready for work.

he looks pale and the dark circles under his eyes make you walk quickly into the closet, standing between him and his impressively large tie collection.

"no," you say sternly, still with a small pout.

"honey," aaron says weakly with a sigh and you shake your head, now equally determined as your husband.

"honey," you repeat, “please, you're sick. you need to take care of yourself."

as expected, aaron looks incredibly unconvinced as you cross your arms over your chest, "you would never let me go into work like this, why can't you give yourself the same care and compassion?" you run a hand up and down his arm, hating how warm his skin felt.

he frowns, eyebrows furrowed like he's trying to think of a rebuttal but you continue, “i'll take jack to school and call the team. we both can stay home.”

aaron’s frown only deepens, “no, no don't stay home because of me."

"you would do the same for me,” you argue, knowing aaron would immediately call out of work at the slightest aliment you faced; proven by a few months ago when you sprained your ankle and aaron insisted on you propping your leg up in bed and waiting on you, tenderly nursing your not very injured leg back to health.

you smile at the memory as you hear the soft footsteps of jack. "daddy," he calls, wandering into your room, poking his head into the bathroom.

aaron smiles immediately at the site of his son in his adorable dinosaur pajamas- his recent obsession and your most recent purchase. jack finally felt better after a few days of you, aaron, and jess took turns to care for him.

"i'm sorry i got you sick," he mumbles sadly, struggling to wrap his arms gently around aaron's legs.

he looks down, running a hand gently through jack’s bed head, "oh buddy, this isn't your fault.“

“the mean stomach bug just found a way into our house, but we're going to get rid of him,” you promise and jack giggles at your explanation before running off to get ready for school, excited with your promise of discussing dinosaurs with you in the car on the way there.

by now, aaron seems to have accepted his not so bad fate of being taken care of by you today as he slowly unbuttons his collared shirt, turning to find a simple t-shirt.

“can we at least video conference in at some point?” he sighs and you laugh knowingly, considering aaron, you decide that's a pretty good comrpomise.

“deal,” you smile, coming into the closet, hugging him from behind and kissing his bare shoulder gently. “go back to bed,” you murmur, “i’ll be back soon.”

when you come back from dropping jack off, you find case files perched precariously on his nightstand and aaron back in his pajamas, flipping through crime scene photos for your current case.

you place your sick day essentials on your nightstand; a bottle of gatorade, mutiple medicines, and a thermometer- that when you run it over aaron's forehead, reads a considerably high fever.

"no crime scene photos allowed when you have a fever, new house rule," you smile at aaron’s small pout, trading the gruesome photos for some tylenol.

you settle back into bed with him after calling penelope and explaining the situation, passing the phone over and letting aaron weakly give an agenda for today.

you kiss his forehead, running your hand through his hair that's getting a little longer- to your own secret excitement. you get comfortable, and instead of settling in your usual spot with your back against your chest; you pull aaron gently into your own, throwing an arm across his waist, rubbing up and down soothingly.

"you're gonna get sick," he murmurs but you smile into the crook of his neck. "worth it,” you whisper, “i love taking care of you.”

after lunch, he finally falls asleep as you hold him loosely, finally looking relaxed and peaceful.

when you have to leave to get jack from school and he’s still sleeping, you decide to let him sleep and not wake him up. aaron rarely gets enough sleep, ever. you think he definitely deserves this.

however, that means the afternoon video conference that aaron mentioned to an unconvinced penelope doesn’t happen.

but aaron doesn’t wake up mad, blinking as he discovers jack nestled in his side, grinning when he realizes his dad is awake, thrusting a bright get well card he made at school today into his hands.

aaron handles it with such care as he turns to look for you, smiling when you walk into your bedroom.

“sorry i didn’t wake you up for that afternoon meeting, you looked so comfortable,” you explain sheepishly and aaron only shrugs, tugging a giggling jack into his arms.

“oh yeah, don’t worry honey, i didn’t feel up to that anyway,” he smiles and you can’t help your immediate grin as aaron continues with so much sincerity that even after so many years together he still makes your cheeks flush, “thanks for encouraging me today, thank you for being you, baby.”

[bloomeng]

I feel like something a lot of people miss when discussing DC canon is context.

(Warning: Mentions of canon sexual assault scenes)

So today I saw a discussion about Alfred's fanon perception versus canon reality. I wouldn't say op was criticizing people for thinking of him as a sweet old man, merely just pointing out that he's canonly not so innocent and it goes unaddressed. He was the one who nudged Tim into the Robin mantle and he was the one who stripped it from him and gave it to Damian without asking. There's a whole plotline about how he had a daughter that he abandoned. He was the one who put up the "soldier" plaque memorial. All of these things are true, however, I don't think it was the writers' intentions to paint a lot (not all) of his actions as negative. In fact, the writing often goes out of its way to paint Alfred as a martyr. That doesn't make his actions right, nor does it mean that someone is wrong for being upset with him, but it also means that people aren't stupid or wrong for interpreting his character as this beacon of virtue. It's also notable that most people are probably more acquainted with his animated and film adaptations where he hasn't done any of the things I've listed.

Context is always important when analyzing media, but it is ESPECIALLY important when discussing DC because of the sheer volume of authors writing for a single character.

This is why there are so many arguements about whether or not Bruce is a bad father. When you have so many authors writing a character for close to a century, you're going to have inconsistencies and their takes on the character will contradict. We can go in circles bringing up issues that prove either side, but it's futile. Everyone is entitled to their feelings towards things that happen in canon, but I don't think it's fair to pass ultimate judgement based on something that was often written by one shitty writer.

Now disregarding DC canon is something the fandom is selectively good at, but the curtesy is not extended evenly. Going back to Alfred for a moment. A legit criticism of the writing is that he abandoned his daughter and that isn't really addressed outside of the issue that introduced it. And I think the reality is that DC often recognizes their mistakes after the fact and isn't equipped to handle the conversations they start so they quietly retcon. Which isn't great, but I also think it's a silent mercy. See not addressing something is bad, but putting out offensive media is more detrimental IN MY OPINION.

This is even more evident when it comes to DC's history with depicting sexual assault. They constantly back themselves into corners. I really appreciated that Gail Simone's Batgirl run retconned the Joker's sexual assault against Barbara. SA is something that is important to talk about but it's also something that needs to be treated with care. What happened to Barbara was not a productive conversation. There were so many gross undertones of the Joker specifically sexually assaulting her. Same with Talia sexually assaulting Bruce. There are very real racist undertones. There is a time and place to discuss male victims and the way male rape victims are written off, but the story is not concerned with having that conversation. So now we’re not only not having that conversation but we’re also stereotyping and villainizing POC women which also has real world consequences.

Now this next part might get me boos from the audience but to me this also extends to Dick and Tarantula. I know a lot of people want DC to acknowledge what happened, but to that I'm like why? Devin Grayson is a notably bad writer when it comes to Dick. There are racist undertones to having Tarantula sexually assault Dick. Devin is literally known for making Dick Roma for fetish reasons. Before this Dick Grayson was a white character, who was already written to be flirty and sexual. These are all important things to consider about the context of the writing. I think it would actually be best if DC did what Gail Simone did with Batgirl. I think it’s unfair to not give these WOC characters the same treatment of understanding when their actions are shitty because of shit authors.

Real world context is vital for understanding these fictional stories. Batman can't kill because that would mean they would have had to be constantly introducing new villains and it would be less child friendly. Robin was introduced to the story because they were trying to market to children. Batman continuing to recruit children is about marketing to kids. The hyper-focus on Dick's romantic life was in part an effort to fight gay allegations. These are all important factors to consider if you're discussing DC critically.

Like realistically yeah it sucks so bad that Alfred and Bruce allowed children to fight crime. But it's also notable to mention that Dick forced Bruce's hand, Bruce was really trying to stop this kid from murdering a man. It was a compromise. Alfred and Dick may have pushed Tim to become Robin but he was already one foot out the door. Damian and Cass were trained by assassins. None of these kids are realistic depictions of children, even if they are relatable. When you read a superhero comic you are suspending a certain level of disbelief and I don't think it's the hot take people think it is to criticize Batman for allowing kids to fight.

Like cool, then we don't have a story. Nothing about superheroes are realistic. Why is this the line we draw in the sand?

I didn't know when to bring this up, so I'm going to awkwardly tack it on at the end. So the "Nothing Butt Nightwing" webcomic... Yeah it looks not good, but a lot of people are calling it out for sexualizing Dick, which once again to me fails to understand the outside context. There is a difference between sexualizing and sexualization of an ethnicity. As I mentioned, for most of Dick's run he was a white character who was written to be flirty. Devin was fetishizing him, but allowing Dick to remain a flirty character is not an act of fetish based sexualization. Personally I think it’s more harmful to get rid of core aspects of his character now that he is canonly Romani. Not to mention that if we address the SA with his character we are now back in this place of stereotyping and bad undertones. So until DC is ready to tell a legitimate story about male SA victims I'd rather the Dick Grayson thing be left silently in the past. I'm so hyper aware that I'm in the minority though. I agree it could be really powerful to have one of those stories be told but consider how harmful it would be to continue to imply these things about WOC.

[stylespresleyhearted]

what’s the secret project you posted 👀

oh gosh i keep meaning to answer this and then i keep forgetting or pushing it back for reasons unknown to me i think im just unaccustomed to having any asks lol but anyways this is something that actually started because of a certain thing me and marina yell about when it comes to austin and then as our love for callum grew it came to something else grand and beautiful. now it’s only something that has been discussed in the chat, it has no doc or nothing official to it, it may never even come to fruition (marina is already gifting us with so much goodness in the fic worlds she dabbles in)

but i will share some of it and feel free to come further talk about it if it interests you 😘

Warnings: nsfw below the cut, open relationship, threesome, guy x guy, guy x guy x girl

So we’re all aware of how Austin put his blood, sweat, tears, and soul into his Elvis role. This man gave it his all and I’m truly so grateful to him for it because in my opinion (and most importantly in Lisa Marie’s opinion) he did Elvis Presley justice.

• Bree is a famous and highly esteemed guitarist, singer, and lyricist. She’s won multiple Grammies and written for and with Lana Del Rey, Arctic Monkeys, etc., that’s more her vibe. Baz hires her on during the making of Elvis movie so she could help him modernize the soundtrack and help with the choosing of songs. Maybe she’s even there when Austin gathers all the people from the record label and has them ridicule Austin after his first run through.

• But she’s there before filming and she’s there during filming and her and Austin even shack up together for a while during the first COVID lockdown, spending time with him in his apartment and staying up at all hours of the night to help him get certain scenes right. The bed sheets are tangled, kisses are shared, breakfast is eaten in bed not in the kitchen and there are multiple walks on the beach taken together.

• Bree tries her best to be there for him through all of it. She can sense he’s about to sky rocket and rightfully so, she doesn’t think anyone around can currently measure for his talent. She tries to be a soundboard and a friend and a girlfriend of sorts and a co worker and he’s got her playing all these different roles to keep up with him but keep in mind he never asked her to do any of that. She’s doing it because she loves him, maybe she isn’t in love with him or if she is she isn’t aware of it yet but she does love and care for him.

• And he’s going through his shit. He isn’t sure where Austin begins and Elvis ends and he isn’t in the headspace for a relationship, especially with Bree who deserves the world so when he’s sick as a dog and bed ridden before heading to London he makes sure to have the conversation with her. They were never official. Never went public or had rumors swirl. It’s better to end it on a good note and leave it how it is.

• So consider his surprise when a few months into filming MOTA, Bree shows up on Callum’s arm being introduced as his girlfriend. It’s supposed to be a lads night and Barry dragged him out and now someone who he calls one of his closest friends is introducing Bree as his current girlfriend. A close friend who he goes on walks in the parks with, who places kisses on his cheek after a few drinks, who places his hand on the small of Austin’s back when he approaches him, who pinches his cheeks and welcomed him with open arms. Dating someone who was there at his worst and gave him her heart and stayed up entire nights talking him down when his anxiety was too high and made him do self care when he forgot he was supposed to be his own person.

• and see, Callum and Bree are both Brits so they run in semi same circles and they knew of each other and were friends but Callum was with Vanessa Kirby and they were in love and for a while Bree was with Alex Turner and them afterwards there was Austin. So Callum and Bree were already friends and when they run into each other at a record shop and then head to lunch after and maybe Callum gave her a kiss goodbye when they went separate ways - it all just grew from there.

• so maybe Austin feels a green jealous monster growing inside his chest but who he’s jealous of he’s unsure and a larger part of him is actually happy for both of them. They’re good people, they love each other and both deserve each other.

• they’re suddenly everywhere. She accompanies Callum on set and it’s clear to everyone how in love they are and one time when they’re filming the POW scenes and everyone’s on lunch Austin is looking for peace and quiet so he wanders into their “bunks” but there right in front of him - Callum holding Bree up against the wood panel walls, pounding into her as she moans his name so prettily, his sheepskin jacket still on and making him sweaty. Callum’s eyes open and he catches Austin walking, Austin who trips over his own feet to back away but Callum just smiles and winks at him.

• and later Callum approaches Austin with a high five and a cheeky, “see how good I was giving it to her, mate?”

• and fuck, Austin gets hard thinking about it. Gets hard thinking about Bree’s moans and Callum’s grunt and his sweat and her breasts bouncing against his chest.

• then filming wraps and Austin’s free of them. Doesn’t have to be in there presence every day anymore and he meets someone, a nepo baby who’s beautiful and kind and he’s in a place where he feels he can be with someone so he goes for it and he falls in love.

• and MOTA press isn’t until 2024 so it’s two years of only a handful of run ins with them but then press starts and news break: Callum and Bree are engaged. And the entire cast and crew are happy and they all celebrate.

• She didn’t join Elvis press because she was touring.

• so now Austin is around his engaged friends and he has mixed feelings regarding both of them. See he’s happy and he loves his girlfriend and his career is good but if he’s being honest something is missing and when he wants to torture himself he admits he knows exactly what it is. And he’s doing interviews and Bree is backstage and Callum’s always so touchy and so kind in his words in regard to Austin and one day Callum admits Bree told him what went down between Bree and Austin and Callum’s a confident guy, he assures Austin it’s all fine.

• But maybe it’s the first screening of MOTA, and Callum and Bree are tired of Austin’s sad puppy dog eyes every time they catch him watching them so Bree corners Austin backstage. Gets close and starts palming him through his pants, assuring him Callum wouldn’t mind, in fact Callum has been purposely teasing Austin during interviews trying to get him to cave.

• Callum and Bree both decided if they all wanted it how could it be wrong? Why not go for it?

• And Bree’s falling to her knees and taking Austin in her mouth, pretty pouty lips wrapped around him as she takes him all the way in and suddenly Callum is there, watching them, talking her through it.

• “Isn’t she phenomenal, mate? Had to work with her to get rid of that gag reflex and now she can deep throat me.”

• and Callum waits until Austin mewls his name and calls him over, begging him to be a part of this somehow, to please hold him. So Callum is joining them, Bree so pretty on her knees between them and Callum is flicking Austin’s nipple and letting Austin let his moans out in his neck.

That’s all we have more to come soon if ya’ll wish 🌚

• oh yeah there’s a scene where Bree holds Austin’s hand the first time Callum fucks him because she’s aware of the pain of how large Callum is.

@precious-little-scoundrel

[starbluekindo]

Vampire Vic x Werewolf reader

Fun plot point is that its like forbidden lovers (you know vampires and werewolves hate eachother bla bla bla) and so the reader and Vic try to keep that shit hidden from the public because they both have high standing within their supernatural community

so i was really excited writing this, but i was also a little unsure about what to do and how to do it since i've never written anything like this (and it wasn't as easy as i thought it would be), BUT if you - and the other readers- like this i can try to turn it into a small series.

warnings: au, a little angst i guess, mentions of blood, mentions of the boys (butcher more specifically), dead humans, a little homophobic and sexist if you squint, reader just wanting to love victoria in peace - i don't think i forgot anything.

the night was restless. the full moon shone high in the sky, its lights bathing the dense forest that separated the werewolf and vampire territories. you patrolled the borders with your pack, but a dark foreboding grew in your chest.

something wasn't right.

the silence was too dense, suffocating. the night seemed to announce that something bad was coming - and bloody hell, you always feared the worst. suddenly, the silence was broken by a high-pitched scream, unmistakably human.

and then, the smell of blood hit you like a punch.

“vampire” you heard one of your companions spit in disgust and then a large giant wolf ran past you quickly, not bothering to ask your permission or wait for the rest of the group.

“fuck! follow him!” that would be a bloodshed. you knew the temperament of your group, especially butcher's - he never respected your authority.

when you came to clarity, the scenario unfolding before your eyes was a nightmare. one of the vampires, practically a child, had crossed the border to hunt, something unthinkable. three human bodies lay on the ground, brutally torn apart, blood still running through the dry leaves. butcher had his claws stuck in the vampire's neck, trying to rip his head off.

“release him, butcher” you ordered when you saw what he was trying to do, that would only make the situation even worse and put your pack in a war with the vampires. "now".

"he crossed the damn border and killed under our noses!" he roared, his eyes blazing with anger. “this is an insult, a declaration of war!”

“war will start if you don't release this vampire now” your voice was firm, the situation wasn't the best but you knew that acting on impulse would only make everything worse.

your hands shook. this couldn't be happening. you knew that if this was exposed, the fragile peace between vampires and werewolves would shatter. and worse, it would put victoria—and the relationship you shared—at risk. your eyes fixed on the vampire, the invader, as the chaos in your mind screamed for control. how did this happen?

“summon the council and don’t let this get out of here, that’s an order.”

the pack meeting was called hastily, with only the closest and most trusted members — the upper echelon, the wolves with experience and power to influence the direction of leadership. the small group was gathered in a circle, under the shelter of tall trees that blocked the light of the full moon, with the smell of damp earth in the air. the atmosphere was tense, heavy with the expectation of action.

you were in the center of the circle, feeling the heavy gazes on you. everyone was waiting for a decision. the massacre on the border had deeply shaken the trust among the wolves, and now, everyone wanted justice.

butcher, as always, was the first to break the silence.

"there's nothing to discuss here," he began, his voice firm and full of hate. "that bastard crossed the border and killed humans. we already know what has to be done." he crossed his arms, his muscles bulging with pent-up fury, and his eyes glittered with mischief. "we want his head."

a murmur of agreement passed through the others present. one of the older wolves, known for his coldness and prudence, took the floor soon after.

"butcher is right. we can't ignore this. if we don't take action now, we will look weak. this isn't just an offense — it's a breach of the treaty. it's a direct affront."

you felt the weight of those words. i knew the situation was delicate, that tensions between vampires and werewolves were always a powder keg ready to explode. but at the same time, you knew that giving in to demands for revenge would only bring more blood and a conflict that could be devastating for both sides.

“i understand what you’re saying,” you began, keeping your voice controlled even as the pressure grew by the second. "but taking his head won't solve the problem. it'll just burn everything down."

butcher took a step forward, his eyes fixed on yours, as if he was waiting for that answer. "burn everything down?" he growled. "do you think this place isn't already on fire? they've already crossed the line. they've already killed innocent people. and you want to let it go? we need to act with strength, show that we are not weak!”

you took a deep breath, feeling the heat of butcher's fury radiate. "i know you're angry. i am too. but we need to be strategic. if we kill this vampire now, we will be declaring war. are you prepared for that? a war that could end us all?"

butcher laughed, a short, bitter sound. "and since when have we been afraid of a good war? let them come. let's cut each of them down and see if they're still as brave without their fucking fangs." his eyes glittered with the desire for violence, and you knew he was ready to dive head first into any conflict that came his way. “or are you afraid of hurting someone in particular?”

butcher's insinuations did not go unnoticed. some of those present exchanged quick glances with each other, and you felt your stomach sink. he was playing dirty, planting seeds of doubt about your loyalty.

“this has nothing to do with fear,” you snapped, voice firmer. “this is about survival. if we act without thinking, we will all pay the bill.”

another member, a woman with sharp eyes and known for her wit, intervened. "so what's the plan? are we just going to let this go? how are we going to explain to the humans what happened? and more importantly, how are we going to keep the pack under control? they're demanding an answer. if you don't do anything, you're going to lose the support from many.”

she was right, and you knew it. the pack was restless, on the verge of revolt. they needed action, justice. but the justice they sought was immediate and brutal, something that would only worsen the situation. you needed a solution, and fast.

“i’m not saying there won’t be consequences,” you replied, aware of the eyes fixed on you. "but let's do this the right way. i'll talk to victoria. she has control over her territory, and we'll make sure this vampire is punished — their way. if he crossed the line, they'll take care of it. but let's not we will be the ones to ignite this war."

butcher let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "do you really think you can trust them? that they'll take care of this? don't fool yourself. she'll protect him. this vampire will come out unscathed, and we'll look foolish— weak."

“that’s not going to happen,” you said, more to yourself than him. “if there is no justice, then we will reconsider. but until then, we need to remain calm.”

you needed to see her

hours later, you met victoria in the secret hideaway where you always meet, away from any prying eyes. but today, the environment carried a suffocating weight. victoria was already waiting, dressed in her usual elegant attire, the usual coldness in her eyes. but you knew something was out of place. she looked paler than usual, her lips tight.

“this is going to spread, and fast,” you begin, voice hard and controlled, but anger bubbling beneath the surface. "one of yours invaded our territory, victoria. he broke the treaty and killed humans. if this isn't resolved immediately, there will be no going back."

victoria stares at you, but doesn't back down. she crosses her arms, maintaining a rigid posture, while her mind works overtime. “i did not authorize this attack.” she said calmly, so calmly that it bothered you.

“but it happened” you replied through gritted teeth, taking a step closer to the brunette “and innocent people were hurt… do you realize the seriousness of the situation?”

“no one needs to know what really happened”

"this isn't simple, vicky!" the anger finally escapes your voice, the words sharp as knives. "you think you can just hide the shit that happens in your territory and everything will work itself out? if my pack finds out that i let this go without fighting back… it will be the end of me. the end of us.”

you see the pain flash in her eyes, but only for an instant. victoria approaches you, her cold fingers gently touching your hand in an attempt to calm the growing storm inside you. "i promise you," she says, her voice softer, almost pleading. "i'll make sure this never happens again. but you need to trust me, like you always have."

your hands shake, not just from anger, but from a deep sadness that nestled in his chest. the weight of what you are — vampire and werewolf, enemy races — felt unbearable now. the fear of losing victoria, the only person who truly understood you, was suffocating.

"if this goes wrong..." you whisper, voice almost breaking, "there are no more secrets. everyone will know what we are. who we are."

victoria stops, her eyes fixed on yours. “then i’ll make it work. i won’t lose you.”

the tension between you remained, an invisible wall, built by years of hatred between your races, but now reinforced by the fear of losing each other. silence hovered, thick as the dark clouds that gathered in the sky. the weight of victoria's words echoed in your mind, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was lurking, something that even she couldn't control.

“it’s not just my pack we have to worry about,” you said, turning your face to the sky, smelling the approaching rain. "other packs are already watching. if they see the slightest sign of weakness, they will attack. and if that happens..." you hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat. "i'll have to choose."

victoria remained silent, her face impassive, but you knew she understood the gravity of what was being said. the choice between her and your family, between love and duty to your people, was a decision victoria never wanted you to face. but now, it seemed inevitable.

“hey, look at me” her hands cupped your face, making you look at her again “i’ll fix the situation… just trust me, please darling”

you wanted, you really wanted to believe that it would be resolved, but even if your promise was kept, you knew that the trust between the races would be broken. however, you didn't say anything, just tilted your head and let the brunette's lips meet yours in a passionate kiss full of care and longing.

back on their home turf, things are also tense. the pack leaders questioned your decision not to retaliate immediately. suspicious gazes follow you every step. you feel the weight of the silent betrayal, the secret you carry in your heart.

that night, alone under the starry sky, you look at the full moon. the silver glow brings comfort, but today, it seemed like just another reminder of the gulf that separated you and victoria.

the feeling that your relationship was hanging by a thread is almost suffocating. how long until someone finds out? how long until this falls apart?

you were a good leader, at least you considered yourself one, but at that moment you didn't want to have that weight on your shoulders. you wanted to have victoria, you wanted to love her and be loved in return.

honestly, your desires seemed more distant and impossible every day.

[chocodile]

Inspired by the hauntings and curses question from before as well as the upcoming spooky season, does lycanthropy and vampirism exist in the Amaranthine setting or are they considered fictional? I absolutely love the setting that you and Kwillow created, the world building is absolutely amazing as well as the characters in there.

Like ghosts, vampires and werewolves would also be only creatures of legend! Here are the myths associated with them:

The closest parallel to "werewolves" would be rural Western Kingdom superstitions about people regressing to a bestial state. As has been mentioned before, the Western Kingdom sees Animals (bipedal, thinking, capable of speech) and animals (dumb, feral beasts) as wholly different, unrelated creatures. Therefore, when a rural village finds itself tormented by an animal that seems a little bigger and smarter and stranger than the average beast, they might start wondering if it truly is a mere animal. Surely no mere animal could have broken into our chicken coop? That gate was bolted closed! Could an animal have unlocked it? Surely not! Old Agatha says she saw a wolf that was on fire and had glowing eyes. A mere animal couldn't use magic, could it? Magic is the domain of the evolved, thinking man… the Animals.

The closest parallel to "vampires" would be Eastern Kingdom tales of secret blood-drinking cults. As previously discussed, the Eastern Kingdom considers animals and Animals to be close cousins. Eating the flesh of a creature so spiritually and physically similar to yourself is seen as a vile, immoral act, so Eastern Kingdom cuisine skews vegetarian (pescatarian at most).

Some carnivores find this difficult to deal with. Historically, most have managed alright, but at some point, some Eastern Kingdom carnivores began meeting in secret, holding illicit dinners where they dined on red meat. These "blood dinners" became in vogue among the wealthy for a time, though they were probably not nearly as wide-spread as the rumors made them out to be. The rumors further mutated--now it wasn't animal meat they were eating, it was Animal meat. I heard they drink blood as an initiation ritual. Maybe it's the blood of virgins? I heard there was a naked woman on the floor with a ritualistic circle drawn around her in blood and she had an apple in the mouth and the local senator (who I'm coincidentally running against) was pouring gravy all over her!

Whatever it is, partaking in such a heinous act surely corrupts them forever, turning them into twisted creatures who must continue to drink blood to maintain their unnatural dark powers.

Hyden, with his weird fondness for red meat, wound up with vampire rumors attached to him, especially after his crimes against the Eastern Kingdom during the war. Surely such a bloodthirsty man would also literally be blood thirsty, right? (They're not wrong.) Hyden finds the rumor amusing, of course.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Stolas: A Gradual Descent to the Bottom of the Bottle

This post analyzes Stolas's situation with alcohol and discusses whether the show effectively represents this systemic issue, and what it implies about real life.

The take is certainly not unique, but I decided to post it anyway to spread awareness about how subtle, seemingly harmless, occasional drinking can seamlessly turn into a full-blown addiction over time.

TW: substance abuse, addiction, alcoholism

Is Stolas an alcoholic?

The answer seems obvious at first. You look at him—all posh, intelligent, and articulate—and you might think, "He doesn’t look like one." You won’t find him, Satan forbid, somewhere under a porch, or truly dependent on the bottle, like drinking during the day—or not absinthe, anyway.

Sure, he drinks sometimes, but it’s fine . . . right? Everyone drinks sometimes. Everyone deserves to feel a bit happier after something bad happens once.

Or twice.

Or thrice . . .

. . . Oh.

Not so obvious anymore, eh?

The real issue here is that the answer is kind of between 'yes' and 'no.' My TL;DR is that the show makes it pretty clear his drinking is becoming problematic, but it’s not quite there yet. And it will become alcoholism soon enough if nothing changes.

I think what we see happening to Stolas right now is an excellent, textbook example of how people end up there. So let’s get into his head, explore where he stands, and what it means for us and for him.

It starts easy

It doesn’t happen in one day. It's not like you get up early one especially glum morning and decide, "Hey, that's a good day to ruin my life!"

It's a vulnerability that makes you susceptible to drinking. Constant pressure. Anxiety. Depression. Trauma.

And you might find yourself wanting to do everything, anything, to get it out of your brain. Not think about it for one evening. Forget.

What a pathetic fucking man!

Her attacking you, whether physically, verbally, in public or private. You, having no one to turn to, having no way to mend it, having to keep up appearances for your kid.

We all have bad days. Bad situations. It’s not to say that one wild night is inevitably going to turn you into an alcoholic. But when you allow the bottle to be your crutch for life, when it becomes a habit to avoid uncomfortable, traumatic events, then . . .

Then it turns into a coping mechanism

You know, it’s . . . it’s simpler. It’s comfortable. Soothing.

You can’t kick her out of the house. You can’t make the man you love love you back. You can’t get a support network because she ostracized you from royal social circles and made a laughing stock out of you.

But you can forget. Forget that one excruciatingly humiliating night. Where not only was all your dirty laundry thrown out on the dance floor for everyone to see, but also, that said romantic interest made it clear it’s only about sex.

You used to have a smoking wife, a kid, you had it all! I hope you didn't give it up so you and him could get it up

Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time.

Forget well enough to fall asleep drunk on the floor among the only living beings who didn't run from you yet. Maybe only just because they are in pots and don't have legs.

And it spirals out of control

Things get gradually worse. Your only lifeline—your . . . uh, romantic interest and daughter—fall out of reach. He finds every reason to avoid you. She hasn't visited you since that LA incident.

Your only power move with a divorce request turns into a lengthy, exhausting proceeding and leads to an assassination attempt. Your—what are you even anymore?—romantic interest pretty much ignores your distress call, or so you think.

You go with a showdown. You can't stand the ambiguity anymore. You want to know whether there's something behind your transactional thing. It's either 'yes' or 'no,' and . . .

It doesn't end too well.

Lastly, you go to a party to try to unwind (or at least be polite, because it's rude to ignore invitations). But your ex's (???) ex acts cruelly, and you don't feel comfortable there. And the wound is still fresh, bleeding . . .

Fuck it, the absinthe won't cut it. Beelzejuice it is then.

And here we are, back to our starting question

Stolas wears a functional alcoholism guise. Or dangerously close to it. Because that's what I believe is going on.

He is still a functional member of society, but he is shown not being capable of processing his trauma without the bottle in hand. And, as things get worse for him, we see the bottle or the glass or any other alcohol container more often on the screen.

For now, he's hanging on, but it's just a matter of a flip switch—the moment when every second of his life will start to feel unbearable without alcohol, simply because there are no other ways to cope.

It's worth noting, though, that Stolas isn't the only character depicted struggling with the urge to drink away his problems.

The most obvious example is Verosika, who is a severe case of alcoholism. We won't delve deep into her character since I want to focus on gradual decline rather than the end result, but we rarely see her without a bottle. There are a couple of scenes where she doesn't hold one, but these moments are situational. She's also been to rehab at least once and only got out because of her reputation.

But there is another character I'd like to dissect, because this will answer the lingering question, "Is there a way out?"

Blitzø, and why he didn't fall victim to this

We saw Blitzø drinking too, at the Bee’s party. To a rather disturbing degree, actually.

But why does no one say he has an alcohol problem, even though he did use alcohol as a coping mechanism? 

Because Blitzø is an example of how the addiction might be prevented and what ultimately makes a difference, a turning point.

To start off, we first see him not in the bar. We see him at home with a pint of melting ice-cream. Dude sugar-bombed himself to sleep . . . after the already mentioned disastrous date with Stolas at Ozzie's, that is.

And then he gets a call from Loona, who asks to pick her up from the party. He has no plans to stay there whatsoever.

But what changed his mind? Pressure did. 

He was pressured by both Loona and an old acquaintance to stop by. (I stress that no one is wrong for this, by the way—he still had the agency to turn the invitation down.) He reluctantly agreed to one drink . . . which we know how ended.

It's much harder to keep it to just one drink when you're sad and alcohol makes you feel better. Nobody wants to be sad.

But with all that said, Blitzø is extremely resilient. In contrast to Stolas—who is strong in his own way but slipping despite all the privilege, magic, and immortality that Blitzø thinks make him invincible—Blitzø never let that one drinking occasion become a habit.

Because he has a support network. However closed off he is, he has his business to take care of, Loona, and M&M. He has things he likes to do and he has people he cares about.

Stolas has all the money in the world, but no friends or activities he could look forward to. He doesn't seem happy with his royal life at all, referring to himself as an owl in a gilded cage.

So the difference is, essentially, this: Blitzø has alternatives and doesn't see alcohol as an outlet. There is a wonderful post from @warblogs17282 which has similar points I make, but also, it shows another angle of Blitzø's relationship with alcohol—his, unfortunately, long history with addiction in family. So that contributes, too.

Is Stolas a lost cause?

Gods, no. But it’s definitely a problem by this point. 

Is he an active alcoholic? Maybe not yet. He isn't Verosika yet. But he is getting there, which I think is the point the show makes.

Alcohol might be a one-time patch on especially rough days, and you might wake up the next day strong and aware enough not to make a habit of it. But the problem is, Stolas already has a habit, and he doesn't have anything to replace it. 

To solve it, he needs just that—a replacement for the bottle. Someone who cares. My hope is that one particular red lizard will share his pint of ice cream and his love. And maybe then, grim days won't be as grim anymore, even when the absinthe stays in the store, or wherever these royals get their alcohol.

Closing note. Why it’s important to talk about this in real life context

Warning: Extreme TMI

I had an alcoholic in the family, and this topic triggers me because, for him, it also started as "no biggie."

He was still functional for years, coming to work regularly. But he was slipping. He drank more, skipped work, and eventually became unbearable for his family—my family, even if not immediate. His wife requested a divorce. He got isolated. He drank even more. Eventually, he got fired because it's not appropriate for a director to skip work and reek of ethanol. The smell was so strong that people couldn't be in the same room with him. He tried other jobs. He aced interviews thanks to 30 years of experience and a solid background. But he got fired again because he couldn't live up to his legacy anymore. At the end, he descended into what you would call full-blown alcoholism.

So, you followed his story, and my question is: Did it start here, when he couldn't help it anymore? Or did it start a couple of years before that, when alcohol became too comfortable as an outlet for struggles?

I've had rough months too—with the war in Ukraine and everything happening with my family—when I realized it became comfortable for me to drink my problems away. Because it works. Because it’s pleasant not to deal with anything, to force your brain to shut up and be happy for one evening.

And it's terrifying to realize I had (thankfully, I don't have anymore for a long time by now) those patterns of thinking: "Jeez, I just want to drink and forget this happened."

Because I saw where it leads. And the farther you go, the harder it becomes to say 'no.'

So please, pay attention to the ones you care about. Pay attention to yourself.

[thebowieconstricker]

Head Over Heels - Prolouge

(The Creature x Reader)

A Lisa Frankenstein (2024) fic

masterlist link

Alright, monster lovers, I’m gonna try something a little more ambitious: an actual fic. Constructive criticism welcome! Please be kind because I have no proof reader and I’m still learning how to write good stories lol. I’m also gonna be fleshing out some characters to better fit the narrative I have in mind for this story. I hope you enjoy the prologue!

Warnings: slight language, my best attempt at worldbuilding, and our gender neutral reader is an orphan, so discussion of that. Also, (N/N) stands for nickname!

~~~

1986, Brookview, Indiana

“Oh. My. GOODNESS, (Y/N)! You have to try a face mask! It’ll help you with those dark circles under your eyes!”

“But (Y/NNNN), pink is totally your color! Just give it a chance, your nails would look SO pretty!”

“You didn’t even jump! It’s like you’re built for these movies, (N/N)!”

Comments like these had already gotten old around- you checked your watch- two hours ago. You considered yourself a survivor of some ancient teenage girl ceremony. Saying polite “no thank you”s to Taffy and the rest of her much too perky friends was becoming quite the laborious task. Some may say you were being too stubborn, as they had treated you with nothing but kindness since you came to town, to which you’d argue that Tricia certainly seemed like she had a bone to pick with you. Along with her, you had unfortunately seen enough of the world to understand one of the most important rules of high school:

The popular girls were mean, and these girls were certainly popular.

You had no idea why Taffy had run up to you on your first day of school and excitedly introduced herself, her gaggle of friends confusedly following after her. You figured this was some kind of territorial power move, checking out the fresh meat before inevitably deciding to kill.

But then Taffy kept hanging out with you. And complementing you. And begging you to hang out with her group of gals.

You took it as some kind of elaborate bit, but hey, they were nice.

At least they didn’t look at you like you were a rotten corpse walking down the halls.

Your thoughts snapped back to your current situation at Taffy’s house. Her mother, Janet, had actually sneered at you when you walked in, but other than that, the night was shaping up to be your average “new girls first sleepover”. Grease had taught you well. That was, until the truth or dare game started.

Lori had brought it up, and it started pretty normal.

“Who’s your crush?”

“OMG, I’m not telling!”

“Come on, Misty! We won’t tell! Right, (Y/N)?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, no.” You mentally cursed yourself.

This is how it continued for a while before you finally perked up.

“I dare you to go to the Bachelors Cemetary Grove.”

“WHAT??? No way, Tricia! There’s no way in hell-“

Your eyes widened in intrigue and you blurted out without thinking, “There’s a bachelors cemetery?”

The girls turned to look at you.

Tricia raised one of her perfect eyebrows.

“You haven’t heard about it? It’s like- uber haunted.”

That piqued your interest. Life in the foster care system had caused you to grow accustomed to the darker sides of life, and you had always had a special interest in the dead. Your own parents had died in a mysterious fire when you were just a baby, leaving you with no real memories of them. You believed that everyone deserved to be remembered, especially the average, unremarkable person.

(Mainly because you knew that’s how you would turn out, and you’d like to be remembered.)

Enough of that, though, because everyone is still looking at you, so you cleared your throat.

“Would I have to go tonight? Or like, right now?”

Tricia rolled her eyes. “I mean, I didn’t ask you-“

“Oh, shush, Tricia! She’s participating!” Taffy smiled widely at you.

Tricia shot you a look.

“Fine. Yes, tonight. And you’d have to bring back a vine to show that you actually went there. The place is full of them, so it should be easy for you.”

You detected a hint of challenge in Tricia’s tone, but ignored it. You wanted to do this to quench the thirst of curiosity that was bubbling in your brain. This seemed like the first interesting thing you had heard about in this boring town.

You stood.

“I’ll do it.”

Taffy cheered and Lori looked at you in amazement. Misty immediately began to try to talk you out of it, worrying about your safety, while Tricia went silent.

Your mind was set, though. Time to see what all the hooplah was about.

~~~

The walk to the gravesite had been much more peaceful than you thought it would be.

Taffy’s house was constant noise, light, color, total overstimulation. However, the cool mist that danced across your skin along with the eerie silence of the woods soothed you. It helped you clear your head.

After walking through the woods for what seemed like hours, you finally came across the old rusted iron gate that sadly displayed the text, “Bachelors Cemetery Grove”. You frowned, finding the disrepair of the cite pitiful. This place should be filled with respect, not to be forgotten by vines and leaves.

Speaking of, holy shit, Tricia was right about the vines everywhere.

Thick, bright green foliage covered every inch of the area, graves poking out here and there to display faded names. It was enchanting to see so much life growing in a place of death. You could have snapped off a vine and booked it out of there, but you were drawn to this cemetery. Careful steps led you deeper and deeper into its heart as you swerved this way and that to try and make out the occasional name.

Then, through a beam of moonlight that shone through a break in the trees, your eyes caught on a specific grave.

You walked closer and came face to face with the stoic expression of a handsome young man, carved in the same stone his grave was made of. He had a strong nose, with beautifully curved lips and hair that flipped upwards on the ends. He was looking slightly downwards, his eyebrows painfully curved upwards, as if to express a dramatic feeling of grief. Resting beside his bust was an arm and a hand, attached to nothing and slightly curled. He looked like a man that would recite beautiful poetry, professing his deepest desires and most intimate thoughts.

Your mouth was slightly agape as you admired him. Despite your more logical thoughts, you brought a hand up to gently caress his cheek, finding a raised texture chiseled there that suggested sideburns. A sigh escaped your lips as you realized the romantic-ness of it all. A man who seemed perfect, a lover, full of life and emotion, condemned to a permanent fixture in a buried world.

You could say it was love at first sight.

[bullet-prooflove]

Honesty: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @mia1653 @kimbergoldess @cortmac1989

Companion piece to:

Roses - A bouquet of roses sparks an act of revenge.

Punishment (NSFW) - Terry decides to punish you when you misbehave.

Inspiration - Terry helps you find inspiration after you run into your ex.

Mine (NSFW) - Terry needs you to remember exactly who you belong to.

The Red Room - Terry takes care of a threat.

Poison - Terry takes action when he discovers there's a nude painting of you.

JP does not learn his lesson about contacting you. Terry finds that out one morning when he’s sipping his coffee in the kitchen, reading the news on his tablet and you appear in front of him, holding up your phone with that expression on your face, the one that tells him you’re extremely pissed off.

“What did you do?” You ask him as he takes it to study the DMs JP’s been sending you over Instagram.

“I sent a message.” He tells you bluntly, leaning back in his seat.

“Oh I can see that.” You say, your thumb scrolling over the screen to the pictures. “He had to see  a plastic surgeon about the nose.”

Terry tilts his face away, his lips pursing together before he sighs.

“He sent a message to your phone inviting you to The Red Room.” Terry tells you before meeting your gaze. “I know what happened there the first time and I didn’t want you to have to go back there-” He taps his temple. “-in here, so I confronted him.”

“You beat the shit out of him.” You state frankly, placing a hand on your hip.

“I did.” Terry informs you with a ferocity he feels in the depth of his bones. “Because he was planning to do it again Georgia and I don’t think a ‘no’ would have sufficed this time.”

There it is laid out into the space between the two of you, the real reason he snapped that night. He remembers that sensation when he stepped into that room back in the sex club, the way JP was testing those restraints. He even knows what the plan was, he found the GHB in JP’s pockets after he’d beaten the man half to death.

Meet you at the bar to discuss leaving you alone, slip you something, take you downstairs…

He’s lucky Terry didn’t kill him.

“I won’t apologise for protecting you.” He tells you, his gaze unflinching. “I take that part of my vows very seriously.”

“I’m not asking you to apologise.” You say to his surprise before you situate yourself in his lap. “I just want to know why you lied to me about it. When I asked you about the split knuckles, you told me you went too hard during training.”

Terry’s hands coming to rest on waist, his thumbs lightly caressing small circles through the tank top you’re wearing.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me.” He tells you honestly. “Seeing that violence, knowing what I’m capable of…”

“What I’ve always known you were capable of.” You remind him because Terry’s been pretty upfront about his past, his addiction issues, his PTSD, all of it. “And I could never be scared of you because I know you would never hurt me like that. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to keep secrets from me, especially ones that actually concern me.”

You amaze him, truly you do. The faith you have in him, your surety it sustains him. There have been so many times he could have fallen right back into the person he used to be but you’re always there, a constant reminder of the man that he can be, the better one, the happier one.

“Alright my love.” Terry murmurs as his arms wrap around you drawing you close. “If we’re being completely honest then I need to tell you what I did about his painting.”

“What painting?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing into a frown.

“The naked one.” Terry tells you, his fingertips tucking a stray strand of hair back behind your ear. “The one he did of you.”

Love Terry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[vienssunshine]

Comfortable?

pairing: Maki Zenin x Reader nsfw word count: 1k content warning: suggestive physical touch/speech, alcohol/drunkenness author’s note: Rewatching season one to prepare for the pain of season two. At least there's Maki!

A layer of haze separates you from the lively party that's taken over Panda’s dorm room. You sway along with the music, basking in the delightful, buzzing warmth that fills your chest. 

However, when the glass bottle centered in the circle of your sorcerer friends spins and stills pointed in your direction, you sober up.

Nobara squeals, clapping her hands together. “Yes! It hasn’t been their turn in forever!”

“I don’t think they’ve gone once,” Megumi comments, taking a sip from his drink. 

"So what will it be?" Nobara asks you, "Truth? Or dare?” 

The first-years are great, but it’s hard to have high expectations for the truths or the dares they’ll ask of you, especially when this is their first party ever. You finish what's left of your seltzer. “Easy, dare.”

“Salmon.” Toge gives an approving nod. 

“What’re you gonna dare ‘em to do?” Itadori exclaims, leaning over Megumi to face Nobara, his eyes wide. 

“I don’t know! What do you think?” she responds with an enthusiastic grin. 

“Calm down, you’re gonna spill my drink,” Megumi groans, pushing a too-eager Itadori out of his personal space.

“This dare better not be as lame as the last ones,” Maki says, sitting back on her hands.

“You might be asking too much,” you say, and she returns the grin you give her, sending a flash of heat through your body.

“Fine,” Nobara scowls, “We’ll come up with a good one.” 

Itadori and Nobara crawl behind Megumi and begin to furiously whisper to each other. So much talking and they’ll probably just ask you to prank call Gojo or chug the rest of your drink. You’d be fine with anything, as long as it doesn't involve her. 

Your eyes run over Maki, she’s leaning back on her palms with a beer by her side. There’s a pink flush spread across her elegant features, no doubt from the impressive amount of alcohol she’s consumed tonight. She looks more entertained than usual as she watches Nobara and Itadori wrap up their debate. You realize you’ve been staring when her golden eyes catch yours, so you divert your gaze, instead looking over to the scheming first-years. When you do, the evil smiles spread across their faces make you question your selection of 'dare'.

The warning glare you give Nobara does nothing to stop her from gleefully announcing the product of their discussion: “Your dare is to sit in Maki’s lap for the rest of the game!” 

To anyone else, the dare is mild, only a little more scandalous than the ones they’ve given so far, and yet, it sends a panicked thrum of your heart splintering through your body. You quickly strangle the sensation; you’re in front of everyone—in front of Maki—so you have to play it cool. With a roll of your eyes, you respond, “C’mon, that was the best you could come up with?” like the request was as boring as heading to the kitchen and grabbing someone another drink. 

“Yep. It’s the dare we chose,” Nobara responds, too smug for your liking.

Pushing down a retort—it would only raise suspicion—you cross the circle of your jeering peers over to Maki. She's sitting on the floor with her legs spread wide and watching you move closer, her gaze piercing. You stop right in front of her; you’re not sure how to go about this.

The smirk that’s been present since the dare was revealed hasn’t wavered. “Go on, you can sit down,” she says.

“You got it!” Panda cheers.

“Shouldn’t be hard, right?” Nobara chimes in.

“Not hard at all,” you respond. You press your lips together, turn, and lower yourself to the ground between Maki’s thighs, sitting cross-legged. Satisfied, the onlookers turn their attention to the next victim of the bottle, Panda. 

Unlike them, you can’t just move on from the dare, you’re required to sit in Maki’s lap for the rest of the game which, though you worked hard to not betray it, is a lot for you. 

Already you’re having so much trouble. You’re in shorts, so you can feel the fabric of Maki’s cargo pants on your knee. And through that fabric, you can feel the thick muscle of Maki’s thighs. Worse, if you move back any further you’d-

Maki takes the weight off her hands and sits up, pressing her chest to your back. Your eyes widen as her hands thread underneath your arms so they’re resting in your lap, fingertips just barely grazing the exposed skin of your thighs.

“Comfortable?” Maki whispers the words centimeters from your ear. You tighten up, overwhelmed by her sudden closeness. It feels like her body is surrounding yours. 

Thankfully, after a second, you remember how to breathe, and then how to talk. “Yeah, I’m fine. Uh, is this okay for you?” 

“More than okay,” she responds. 

Your mind is spinning, but, at the same time, there’s a tingly, giddy sensation filling your stomach, a reminder of how you’ve wanted this, wanted her. 

“Then, is it okay”—you cover her hand with yours, committing it to your thigh and guiding it closer to the space between your legs—“if I do this?”

With her mouth so close to your ear, you can hear her breath hitch at your daring. 

“You’re teasing me, pretty girl,” she purrs.

“Like you haven’t done the same to me?” you retort, looking over your shoulder with a smirk. You note that the flush on Maki’s face has deepened despite her not having drank anything more. 

“Alright, then let’s settle this,” she challenges.

“Fine, let’s,” you agree before turning back to the group, saying, “I’ll be right back."

"You're not copping out on the dare, are you?" Nobara frowns.

"Nope, just going to the bathroom.” 

You untangle yourself from Maki’s arms, get up from the floor, and head down the hall. When you glance behind you, heat twists in your stomach as you see that Maki has excused herself from the party as well and is following you to the bathroom, her cat-like eyes hungry for more.