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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FOUR: CASTLES CRUMBLING

AND HERE I SIT ALONE, BEHIND WALLS OF REGRET. FALLING DOWN LIKE PROMISES I NEVER KEPT.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, mentions of RUMORS of workplace sex scandal, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.4K+

☆ A/N: if you would like to listen to the song that eddie is recording at the end - it is an actual, real life song. :-) it is called "blood sport" by sleep token (one of my favorite bands i get to see live next week!!), and i highly recommend listening to it during your reading. especially the latter half of this chapter.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“Alright, so – anyone care to fill me in on what the Hell that was?”

Matt stands like a disapproving father figure as the band lines up opposite of him just outside the building. Eddie had hoped nothing would be mentioned until they were in the car, but the driver was clearly running a few minutes late.

Three of the boys glance at each other, worried expressions immediately giving up the hoax even as Eddie only shrugs and says, “What do you mean?”

“Cut the shit, Munson,” Matt had never appeared so livid, so undone by irritation. His usual patience with Eddie is nonexistent, “What’s going on between you and that girl? Is she a past groupie?”

The insinuation gets a scoff out of Gareth. Jeff side-eyes him in warning, but Eddie couldn’t care less, “No, she’s not a past groupie. This was the first time I’d ever-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Matt points an accusatory finger at Eddie, narrowing his eyes, “I am your manager. If you have any unsavory connections with that girl, I need to know so I can decide if we need someone else to organize the event. We are not having another repeat of the Lewinsky scandal.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew you called it that, too!” Gareth cheers, but he’s quieted by one look from their furious manager.

The Lewinsky scandal had been their code-word for when the tabloids had become convinced that Eddie was fucking an assistant at the label. A girl had even come forward and claimed to have had sexual relations with Eddie, and he had taken heat for it for a full month before the buzzing novelty worn off.

Eddie had only spoken three words to the girl. No, thank you when she’d offered him a mug of coffee during a late night at the studio. He wishes now he’d been less polite.

And he also finds himself wishing that’s all this was. He wishes you were just another scandal, another terrible rumor spread around. If all the accusations between you two were false, if all the hatred was based on misconstrued circumstances, it would be so much easier. He can talk himself out of that. He can confess to those sins and get off with no more than the order of one hail mary from Matt.

But you? The reality of all that had happened, both all those years ago and just thirty minutes ago? He can’t find the words. They choke him up, unwilling to leave the cavern of his chest and enter the world, just like all the songs gathering dust as demos.

“It’s not going to be another Lewinsky scandal,” Eddie scowls, feet shuffling against the concrete below him. Can’t be another Lewinsky scandal if she wants nothing to do with me anymore, “Maybe she just doesn’t like me. I am allegedly a very polarizing public figu-”

The car pulls up, and Matt is quick to grab Eddie’s shoulder before glaring at the boys, “Get in, I’m not finished with our polarizing public figure yet.”

Grant and Gareth only let out low whistles, following instruction without lingering as they clamber into the back row of seats in the SUV. Jeff takes his time, though, going as far to pause beside Eddie and place a hand on his back.

“Just tell him the truth, Eds.”

It’s the final nail in his coffin. Eddie is cursing Jeff’s retreating figure as he climbs into the vehicle and shuts the door, leaving him alone with Matt.

“Explain,” Matt demands, “Now.”

Eddie’s eyes focus on a gaping crack in the sidewalk, jagged and uneven, right down the center.

He has two options. He could continue to lie, insist he knows nothing about you until Matt just gets bored of not being offered the truth. Or he could admit it all, reveal the muse behind the art he had been fiercely protecting over these last few months. Every line, every chord, every broken note that had left his lungs during those witching hours in the studio.

On one hand, it’ll rip away the opportunity that has been offered to him on a silver platter – the opportunity for closure. Selfish, bloody closure that neither of you had gotten, it seemed. But on the other hand, it might grant him some sympathy. Matt, the label, the producers – they had all grown tired of the dance Eddie led them in every time they’d inquire about the music. But if Matt knew-

It’s a dead end trail of thought. He knows he won’t admit to the worst of his atrocities he’s committed. No scandal, no late night ending with him in handcuffs, no fraudulent headline is going to compare to what he did to you. What you did to him.

It’s a little too late for damage control, anyways.

“I went to high school with her,” the lie works well enough, easing some of Matt’s frustration, “I was just shocked to see her. All of us were shocked to see her. No big deal.”

Eddie knows the people around him have come to learn that they must pick and choose the battles they engage in with him. And he can see that decision flash across Matt’s face as he decides that this is not a battle necessary to the war.

“Alright. But if you’re lying to me-“

“I’m not lying.”

“If you are, that’ll be one of my last straws, Munson.”

It won’t be. Eddie knows it won’t be. Everyone, every single goddamn person in this world it seems, is capable of giving Eddie Munson unlimited chances — except you. You, it seemed, were the only person who had come to their senses.

You always were smarter than people gave you credit for.

—

“Run the track again.”

They’d spent a few hours in the studio already. It was an odd hour for them to be haunting the space, more used to visiting in the dead of night rather than the middle of a weekday, but it was down to the wire now. Vocals needed to be recorded, instrumentals fine-tuned, tracks properly mastered. Eddie could no longer hide in the night when it came to recording the haunting melodies stained with the blood of his past — no matter how wrong it felt to see a sliver of sunlight breaking through one of the windows, just through the top of the blackout curtains.

“I really think that was the one, man-“ the producer starts, probably just tired after repeatedly running in circles with Eddie’s perfectionism.

He doesn’t care. He’s paying them, they can stand to let him re-record as many times as necessary to satisfy Eddie, “Run it again.”

The silence only continues to buzz in Eddie’s headphones. He’s ready to cuss out the producer as he angrily shoves them down, off his ears and hanging loosely around his neck, the wire a leash as he whips to face the one-way glass wall. The lights are off at the main board, guaranteeing that they can see Eddie but Eddie can’t see them.

Until suddenly, the light comes back on, and the reason for the absence of the repeated track Eddie had requested becomes obvious.

Gareth.

He stands at the center of it all, a few paces from the seated producer with a deep scowl on his face.

“What the fuck?” Eddie says, mouth just close enough to the mic for them to catch his overflowing annoyance, “I said-“

“We heard what you said, Eddie,” Gareth interrupts, his voice just loud enough to be faintly heard even as the headphones curl around the nape of Eddie’s neck, “But I need to talk to you.”

It’s the strictest tone that Gareth has used on their lead singer in an unfathomably measure of time. Probably because it’s the most words he’s said to Eddie in a very long time, as well.

Eddie finally removes the headphones, hanging them carelessly on the mic stand and moving towards the door — surprisingly, without putting up a resistance.

The control room is warmer than the fairly large area that served as a ‘booth’. Smaller, as well. Cramped with a low couch and one too many chairs available to trip over, the control board spanses the entire wall that holds the oversized window into the recording room. A plethora of small lights twinkle like stars, and numerous switches that Eddie had come to know better than the back of his hand alternate positions to guarantee the clearest sound. Only Gareth and the producer occupy the room, the rest of the band having taken off around the fifth time Eddie had requested a redo of his vocal tracking.

“This better be good,” Eddie complains, furrowing his brows, agitated at the interruption.

But Gareth shows no remorse, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“We need to talk,” Gareth repeats, eyes flickering to the poor soul still seated at the controls, “Alone.”

Eddie hardly has to open his mouth, the man jumping out of his seat the moment the lead singer flicks his wrist to signal for him to leave.

Whatever Gareth was about to say had to be important, and it’s that thought rather than the difference in temperatures that has sweat building on Eddie’s brows.

Is he about to quit the band? Is he about to tell me he’s had enough? Maybe he’s done with my bullshit — I would be.

“Speak, Emerson,” Eddie flatly insists, grabbing a small water bottle out of one of the mini fridges in the room before he throws himself onto the worn leather of the couch, “And make it quick. We’re on a time limit, you kno-“

“We’ve gotta talk about her, man.”

Her as in you.

For a moment, Gareth sounds like a friend again. He’s dropped all the persistent perturbation he’s taken to defending himself with when it comes to Eddie, his voice pleading as he stands before the distant man. All the rueful power plays that had developed over the last year vanish. It’s just Eddie and Gareth, bandmates who started out in the latter’s garage in some small Indiana town. Not Eddie Munson, infamous rockstar with a chip on his shoulder. Not Gareth Emerson, passionate drummer overshadowed by the ego of his lead singer. Just Eddie and Gareth.

“We all know you didn’t tell Matt the truth.”

“I did tell him the truth-“

“Not the whole truth, then. There’s no way he’d let it slide if he knew that she was your ex-girlfriend.”

The defiance vacates Eddie’s body quickly. He doesn’t even attempt to prowl his mind for a quick quip in response. All he does at the words is drop his shoulders, the defeat creeping up on him as he deflates.

Ex-girlfriend. The title feels so pitiful to truly describe what you were to him.

But to be fair, even when he had been in your good graces, girlfriend had also never felt significant enough.

“Did-“ Gareth starts after a beat of silence, noting the way Eddie couldn’t quite hide his wounds on the topic, “What did you guys talk about? When you went after her, what did she say?”

“Nothing important.”

Eddie turns into a shell, a zombie as he stares straight ahead and tries to compartmentalize. That always worked; with meetings, with arguments, with lectures. Even before the fame, it worked.

It doesn’t work quite as quickly when it comes to you. His brain, it seems, is incapable of uncrossing all the wires you twist within his brain.

“You two were alone for, what, ten minutes? And you’re telling me she didn’t say anything important?”

“What the fuck is there to say?” Eddie laughs soullessly, “Oh, hey, stranger! Remember me? The guy you up and left without a word?”

“Yes!” Gareth shouts unexpectedly, “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done! She left. Not just you, but all of us. We never even really knew why. And now- what? Are we just supposed to pretend we don’t know her?”

Eddie knew why. She’d never had to say it, and that was the issue. He always thought about all the answers he swore he craved, and always let every question he claimed to have haunt him during the waking hours. But when the day turned to night, when he was left to nothing but his own devices in a dark and empty apartment during the witching hours, he knew. The question of why had been answered since the first phone call cut short with you during that goddamn tour.

The songs knew, too. He supposes it had been an arrogant assumption to believe the band had read into his lyrics and put the pieces together.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Eddie nearly whispers, throat tightening and fighting him on the words. It’s the opposite of what he wants and needs — but it’s what you want and what you need. And so he plays the messenger, even as it kills him, “We are going to completely disregard my past with her. We are going to treat this entire situation as professionally as possible. I’m talking the full nine yards: you will not mention the fact that we know her, you will not question her about anything from the past, and you will not, under any circumstances, ask her why.”

His own set of rules he’d privately set for himself in his own mind during the car ride over.

Gareth squints his eyes in disbelief, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you serious?”

“Deathly so.”

“This isn’t just about your past with her,” the boy nearly passes, starts to reach up to tug on his hair before he thinks better of it, “This is about the way she left all of us. Not just you. She was a friend to all of us. She was the one who taught me how to tape my drums when I’d bust a hole in them, she was the one who helped us design our first merch, she was the only person any of us would let be in the room during practices. And not just the band stuff, either,” Eddie watches tears form in Gareth’s eyes, “She was the only one who had the patience to help me with my fucking math homework back in school, man. She was the one who nearly curb stomped Jason Carver the week he sent Grant home with a black eye. She was the first person Jeff called when his parents broke news of their divorce, for fucks sake. Not me, not you, not any of us — her,” Gareth’s breaths come out as pants as he stops his pacing and stands before Eddie. The tears continue to lace his bottom lash line as he heaved silently at the end of his rant, his pained expression completely unexpected to Eddie.

This is the part Eddie chooses to forget. He’ll let himself swim in the memory of you late at night, he’ll indulge in vices that always amplify his pain rather than succeeding in his attempt to numb it, he’ll stare down the mirror each morning and curse the reflection he finds with all the blame in the world he is capable of holding in the palms of his hands. But in all the ruptures of his own old scars, he fails to consider that he is not the only one burdened with loss.

They all lost you. When Eddie lost you, so did the band. You’d become a ghost to more than just your abandoned lover — you’d become a tired haunt to boys you’d known, boys you’d befriended and burrowed your way into the lives of, just as well.

“She was our friend,” Gareth chokes out, fists curling at his sides, “Jesus Christ, I- I get it. She was everything to you. Whatever. But she meant a lot to the rest of us, too. Whatever happened wasn’t just some isolated event — you two didn’t just hurt each other. You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that.”

This is the part where Eddie should apologize. This is the part where, once upon a blissful time, he would have said his repentance.

He doesn’t.

“I don’t care how hurt anyone is,” he lowly responds, eyes unable to meet Gareth’s any longer, “I’ve told you the rules, we’re going to follow them. End of discussion.”

Gareth throws back his head, and Eddie winces at his scoff, “She’s not your fucking property, Eddie! She isn’t solely yours to keep or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing!”

Eddie can’t even deny the action of keeping you. All the demos, all the songs laid to the grave because he couldn’t stomach the thought of releasing them for others to experience.

But that’s not what this was. This, the cataclysm that was sending Gareth to finally release all this pent up frustration, was him following your rules. You’d made your wishes for this project very clear, and he needed to at least try to respect them. They all did.

So he takes on the role of the bad guy. He lets them paint him as the villain if it means no red will stain your ledger.

“Oh, I think she’s made it very clear that she isn’t mine,” the mask slips on far too easily for Eddie. Cool demeanor, compartmentalizing. Not you, but his emotions towards his friends, if he could even still call them that. His bandmates that he had once seen as brothers. “Doesn’t change what I said. Don’t push it, Emerson, or there’ll be Hell to pay.”

“What are you going to do? Disappear on us?” Eddie finally looks back up to meet Gareth’s fiery gaze as he spits out hateful words, “Hate to break it to you, but you already left this band behind two years ago. And if you ask me, you should start leaving the vanishing act to her. At least she doesn’t make us pay for her mistakes.”

Eddie is by no means done with the conversation, more than willing to continue fighting with Gareth, but the other boy clearly feels differently. He leaves his words hanging in the air as he spins away, storming out of the door, the air in the studio now several degrees hotter now with the irate fuel of the fight.

It was all a blood sport. All of it. It didn’t matter if Eddie was fighting with the band, the management, with you. It was all bloody and fruitless, and it all left him the same awful type of hollow in the end.

He stares blankly at the wall as he makes a silent decision.

By the time the producer has timidly returned to the room, Eddie has already set up his laptop to connect to the studio's system, prepped so that any recording would automatically copy into his personal hard drive. A way for him to listen and ruminate in the privacy of his own apartment.

The sheet music torn from his notebook already lays at the table besides the entrance to the booth.

“Do you… want to run the track again?” the man, the stranger, asks. He clearly heard the fight. Eddie and Gareth hadn’t been exactly quiet in their screaming match. At least, Gareth hadn’t been.

Is it really a screaming match if only one side fights back?

“I want to lay a new track,” Eddie’s voice is deadpan as he clicks a few buttons, finalizing everything. He only needs the man to click record, “A raw piano and vocal demo. We can add the rest of the band later.”

“I-“

One look from Eddie, hardly passed over his shoulder with a glimmer of unbridled determination, and the man quiets as he takes his seat.

Eddie storms into the booth without another word, fist curled around the page of lyrics and terribly hand-drawn music clefts.

She isn’t yours to keep.

Eddie was aware of that. Painfully, painfully aware. But it had never been about his claim to you.

Gareth was right. Eddie never wanted to own you. Keeping you, however, had been something he should have taken more care with.

The chill of the small room to record in does little to lessen the flames eating Eddie up as he bypasses the assembly of various instruments all crowded in the space. Gareth’s drum set, Jeff’s guitar, Grant’s bass — he storms right past them, eyes locked on the grand piano in the fair corner. It took up the most space, far too large to have been forced to be contained within this compact room.

Eddie drags the mic from where it had been stationed previously with him, quickly and recklessly resetting it at the piano.

Once he’s seated on the bench, crumpled pages thrown up onto the music desk of the piano and headphones snug over his ears again, the producer finally clicks on his mic to speak.

“Hey, uh… Does this demo have a name by chance? Or do you just want to label it as an unknown for now?”

It certainly does have a name.

“Blood Sport,” Eddie spits out. “Just name the file Blood Sport.”

The hum that would indicate to Eddie when those on the other side of that glass window were speaking clicks off, and he takes it as his cue.

He’d written the song a while before. There were some gaps in the lyrics, some notes he’d played with on his personal piano scribbled over and never replaced. He’d never played it in its entirety before.

It starts slow. His fingers hold the ivory keys delicately, arranging for the first opening notes as if he were slotting his knuckles against your own for the first time over again.

She isn’t yours to solely keep.

Were you ever his to keep, ever?

Even the ivory keys of the Steinway are more solid than you ever were. You were nothing more than water, than blood, destined to slip between Eddie’s fingers. He never stood a chance in having you, in holding you, in keeping you.

Not just now, but before all the blood shed, as well. He should have recognized Cassandra’s curse the first day he looked into your eyes. He should have known the twist in his stomach was only Fate sinking its claws into the two of you.

A tale fit for a Shakespearean stage — a tragedy always meant to be.

“I want to roll the numbers, I want to feel my stars align again.”

Eddie’s voice is soft to match the steady beat of piano notes that emit from the crooked curl of his hand against the keys. A soft thump, a gentle lull. And instead of losing himself in the music, he finds himself wrapped up in one of the many memories he’d chosen to lock away for the last two years.

Something was off.

Eddie’s stomach had twisted with anxiety of something being wrong for weeks. You stopped answering his calls, his texts, every form of connection with him. But as he stood in front of the door to your shared apartment, the bile rose even higher in his throat.

He smelt the decay of what he had done before his key had even entered the lock.

“Would you invite me again? Won’t you pay for your arrogance? Won’t you show me your weakness?”

You were never his to keep.

His voice nearly cracks as he approaches the first chorus, not finding the strength behind the vocals he’d always envisioned for the song.

The click of the door opening echoed through the apartment. It felt empty the moment he’d crossed the threshold – you could have just been tucked away in the bedroom, or even in the bathroom, but he knew.

You hadn’t been returning his phone calls. You hadn’t been returning his texts. He knew something had happened, something had changed. Irreversible damage had been done, and he would now have to face the mess he’d created to return home to.

“I made loving you a blood sport.”

He repeats the line until it rings in his head, over and over. Until he swears the words could crack his bones, and the stars that will show in the night sky will do nothing but mock him for the self-inflicted pain.

At first, he convinced himself you just weren’t home. You’d gone to the store or to see friends. You’d be home soon enough and then, the two of you could scream at each other all you wanted. You were angry with him, rightfully so, but he’d rather you yell and scrap with him than the alternative. He didn’t care. Because he was here, back in the flesh and willing to take any and all cruel words you had sharpened for him. The two of you would fight, yes, but at least that meant there was still something there worth fighting for.

After the first three hours, he realized with a sinking stomach that the alternative might just be his reality.

“I want to be forgiven.”

He recalls the look on your face when you’d first seen him today. The fall of your act, the discarding of grace and composure.

The look that told him that he can want all he’s capable of. He can want, he can crave, he can yearn, he can tear himself apart bit by bit with his feeble yet shattering cravings — it won’t change a thing.

You were never his to keep.

After the clock struck the fifth hour of his return, he started his calling.

Over and over and over, he was met with your voicemail. Endless messages spoken and sent alike. Every single one trying to be gentle as they inquired where you were. Letting you know he was back. Going as far as to ask you if the two of you could talk.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to fight, because it meant you still saw something worthy within him.

But even more than Eddie wanted a fight, he wanted you to come home. He wanted you to be there, to welcome him into your safety and remind him he was human again. It was selfish – he was so goddamn selfish – but he needed to feel your skin against his and remind him that he was still a person beneath it all. Beneath the demand, beneath the unwarranted adoration from strangers, beneath all the fractures the sudden traction had left him with – he was still a breathing, living person. He was still your person.

Eddie’s fingers begin to slam against the keys with increasing urgency as his chest heaves out with every syllable. Repeating, and repeating, and repeating the chorus as if it changes a single thing. He loses himself in it all; in the music ringing in his ears and the memories now drowning him as he confesses all his sins to the microphone.

You never came home.

There was no fight, and after the hours reached double digits right along with his ignored phone calls, he had to accept the truth.

You weren’t just at a friend’s, or the store. You were gone. Truly, truly gone.

The drawers once filled with your belongings were vacant. The smell of your perfume was nothing more than a whisper across the pillows. Eddie scoured the entire apartment for signs of you, turning every single piece of furniture over looking for clues. He never thought to check the counter until he’d already ruined the space, terrorizing it in a frenzy before his eyes landed on the letter and the key.

He had approached them both hesitantly. All his denial drained from his body, like the blood pumping through his veins, as his fingers pinched that silver key so gingerly.

A past he can never return to. A home he will never hold the key to again.

The joints of his fingers ache and his lungs begin to burn for all that he lost — all that they all lost — because of him. His own foolishness, his own downfall. He did this.

The aftermath is blurry.

He read the first few words of your letter before promptly crumbling it with his tortured fist, knowing exactly what it said without needing to fully swallow all the words just yet.

He never fully read the letter. He skimmed it, a week later, but not that night.

Then came the flashes of the pain. The way he’d swung his fists at air and menial objects alike. A vase holding wilted carnations met its demise on the kitchen floor, a hole in the wall appeared that he later had to patch up, one of the coffee tables ended up across the living room with a leg splintered half off.

He never dropped the key.

Even as he dropped to his knees in the center of the broken glass, bleeding shins to match his bruising knuckles, he still held that small piece of silver fiercely. He pressed it so tightly, dug it so deeply into his palm that it later left a scar. And not even the way he had grabbed at the broken glass surrounding him had the capability to mar it away as he let it slice his skin, crying out, hopeless and devastated.

You were gone. He had lost you, and he had been arrogant enough to never even notice it.

“You say it doesn’t matter.”

The headphones had long since slipped off his head, and he makes no move to adjust them. He hadn’t even noticed that his body had begun to fall forward and curl into the piano until he’s weakly choking out the final lyric that he hadn’t even written down onto the page.

He hadn’t noticed the tears falling, either.

What were meant to be gasps for air as his fingers fly across the keys in a haunting melody are only sobs. Cries of pain as he no longer can see mere inches ahead of him, a scar of the center of his palm stinging as if brand new, his heart and head pounding in sync. He isn’t even sure if the producer he’s forgotten the name of is still recording. He lets the sobs slip out as he continues to play.

He can’t quite end the song yet. The moment he does, he’s terrified of the version of him that he will have to face once more. All those surface blemishes from the beginning of the end had run deeper beneath his skin. He was nothing more than rubble and fractures now, splintered every which way until he had become unrecognizable. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was a creature of destruction.

“You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that,” Gareth’s voice echoes in the silence beginning to gather between the notes.

Another wrecked sob leaves Eddie as he finally finishes off the melody, playing entirely unaffected up until that point. Reality crashes down. His body shakes, shoulders hunched as his forehead connects against the freezing wood of the piano and he pinches his eyes shut tightly enough to be left in total blackness.

He couldn’t play another note if his life depended upon it.

The memory fades with the final note before his head rattles with a new image. The smile, the grimace, you had offered him before you two parted ways today. An effort at professionalism that Eddie had seen right through.

Pain. That’s what had twitched in the corners of your mouth. The same pain, if not worse, as the one that now radiated through every atom of Eddie’s broken figure on the piano bench.

He can’t fix it. Not your pain, not Gareth’s pain, not his own pain. The time for damage control, for sincere apologies and any reconciliation has passed. Just like watered-down blood through his fingertips.

Eddie hopes that the producer has had half the mind to stop the recording when he stands and slams the drumset behind him into the wall. Destructive, just as he had been the night he returned to an empty apartment. Just as he had been when he’d been the one to rot and wither away all that you two had once held between you.

They can replace the drum set. Surely, he has a person for that.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

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#ghost's writing #eddie munson #maroon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #finally long enough tag lists to separate lol #voila! corroded coffin is sleep token! wahoo!#i recommend everyone listen to the discography of that band #just sayin #(dial tone is the only non sleep token song that is canon here)#i just can't let go of the death grip i have on that song when it comes to this fic #it was either gonna be catch your breath sleep token or bad omens #and sleep token captures the yearning #Spotify

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waveridden · 6 days

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Rules: Make a poll of your favorite female characters (no limits - as many or as little as you want) and see which your followers like the most!

stealing this from @sarsaparillia bc it looked fun... not tagging anyone but if you do it you gotta tag me bc i want to see

#waveridden.txt #vote. for my girls :)#it was a lot of fun coming up with this list #sara if you see this i voted usagi in yours. gideon close second but tb and i are watching sailor moon for my first time so i went w/ usagi #doing a Long Poll so i can schedule reblogs and jumpscare everyone. so you'd better vote.#woman poll tag

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truegoist · 3 months

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⌗⌗ IN A TRANCE !

where a strange guy decides to interrupt your mid-lecture nap..??

1.5k words. sendo shuto x gn.reader, reader is kind of mean& sendo is sendo. uni/collage au.

You lean back onto the plush of the chair, getting ready for yet another lecture. Honestly, you’d rather spend your 8 a.m. doing literally anything else. You curse your past self for thinking this was a good idea. your spot is perfect in a sense, right next to a colon. Not too far on behind, but perfectly hidden. Letting your body go limp, you get ready for a nap that your neck will hate you for later.

A few minutes of comfort pass, then you feel something, more like someone, weight to your left. You can feel the slight heat radiating from their skin; their arm is on your armrest.

However, starting a fight over an armrest seems stupid, at least for now, to you, and you decide to focus on your well deserved rest instead.

And for about 5 minutes, you do exactly that, drifting in the blissful arms of sleep, but whoever is next to you cannot sit still, whether it be bouncing a leg or shifting in their seat for the 10th time.

You can't enjoy one thing in peace, can you? With an audible sigh, you hope they hear it and feel bad. You open your eyes to meet your intruder.

"Oh, hello, good seeing you here." In front of you is a man, one you don’t really recognize; surely you would remember the salmon hair color, but the expectant look in his matching-colored eyes puts you in doubt. The tone of his voice, which he probably thinks is charming, just sounds rehearsed.

“You were the one who sat next to me.” You don't exactly mean to deadpan, yet you do. He winces at your words.

"Yeah, right, right, right...” He quiets down for a moment and then immediately shots right back up, “Sendo shuto, nice to meet you.”

You look down at the hand directed towards you, then back at the pink eyes. A moment later, you hesitantly shake back "name.”

His hand is warm—not the sweaty type of warmth you’d have expected from such a man, but a rather soft warmth that radiates from his gentle hold on your hand. The male doesn’t even squeeze back, just softly holding your hand in his. Even through the obvious tenderness of his touch, you can feel his strength. The tense muscles make it hard not to.

Sendo is reluctant to pull back, very much obviously. A moment or two passes before he quickly shuffles away.

A sorry and chuckle is all that gets out of him as his fingers drum on his thighs. His gaze that was fixated on you not long ago now seems to look anywhere but you.

This is the first time you get a proper look at him, without the sleep or annoyance clouding your vision. His bangs are asymmetrically cut, with the left side being longer while the right has an undercut. His eyelashes are long, with plump, soft lips. Perhaps not handsome in a traditional sense, but the man sure is pretty.

Only after you come to your conclusion do you realize that you've been examining him for a while now, and he too is aware of it, albeit either too polite or embarrassed to remain glancing between you and the ground.

With a soft huff, you turn your attention back at the professor. Now that you’re awake, you might as well do what you're supposed to and learn.

Sendo next to you also seems to be listening to the lecture, miming your sitting position, although it is almost comically tense.

“So...” and there he starts again. “You come here often?”

“My lecture? Yes, pretty often, I guess.” You snicker. You first took it as a joke, but looking at his face, you're not too sure, he looks like he’s in a mix of emotions, none very positive, as he stammers over his words.

“Yeah, um, I know that. I was just joking, yeah, joking...” Despite his convincing words, even he doesn’t seem to be sure of what he’s saying.

“On that note,” you start, sparing him some grace and changing the subject. “I should be asking you that, I have never seen you here before.”

You were just messing around, but his reaction catches your attention: unbelievably guilty.

Now that you think of it...

The participant size of this lecture is nowhere small, but you’re pretty sure you’d have at least noticed such a guy before. You're not that blind to your surroundings, even if you sleep through most of the lecture.

"Well, I-" he starts. You’re not sure how this is possible, but he’s talking even faster now. “I just enrolled.”

God, he is a bad liar.

“The term is about to end,” you say with a smile, the playful kind, to him. “Come on, you can do better than that; what are you actually here for?”

Sendo takes a few moments to answer, “I do go here though,” just not this lecture. He doesn’t have to say it, though that much is obvious.

Even though seeing him like this is mildly entertaining in the least, you decide to drop it. Mostly because the guy in front of you keeps giving weird looks to both of you.

Some time goes by, with you too busy taking notes to care for Sendo. The time you shift your attention back to him again, he is staring at you like he's in some kind of trance.

Soft pink in his cheeks compliments the lips that are slightly parted in deep concentration, formed in to a dazed smile.

Eyes, deep hazelnut that seems to be alive, swirling and tousling around in an intensity you haven’t seen in a human before.

Adoration... no. devotion.

Taking all of you in, it’s almost too intense. For the first time during your small talk, you're the one who can't catch his eye. It's too much. Even for you. Even if he's the weird guy who decided to bother you mid-nap by sitting next to you,.

Shuffling away, you try to focus on the professor once again. What was she saying again? Something about the upcoming finals...

"I'm on the football team, y'know." He speaks up again. "Second striker. Pretty cool, right?" His expression tells you you're supposed to be impressed, but you're not sure if you are.

Probably in response to the blank expression on your face, he babbles on, "It's basically like a striker, but more important, we are the ones carrying the game, actually." For the next minute or so, he rambles on about how important he is to the team, about his teammates, and about football in general.

You don't particularly care about the sport, but it is kind of cute to see him so passionate about something.

"I'd like to see you play sometime." You don't know why you said that, you're not particularly into football or anything, but you mean it. Perhaps it's just to see the way his face lights up at that, which he does; his whole demeanor opens up at the words—the brightest smile you've seen on a man. You do not know him, but somehow you're sure this is the look he has on when he wins a game.

"Great! We have one next Friday; I'll tell the guys at the front so you can sit in the front." Even Sendo seems to realize he's getting ahead of himself, his voice lowering down until it's just barely above a whisper. "Benches...only if you'd like to..." He looks up at you. He is a fairly tall man, yet right now he looks like he's six feet underground—he probably wants to be, looking up at you.

"Do you want to?"

You could say no. Something inside you wants to say so—not that you'd mean it, just to see how he'd crumble down. But you keep from it. Perhaps during these very awkward forty-something minutes of your life, you've developed a soft spot for this man. You just can't bring yourself to say no.

Plus, a small part of you says you should go and see him play. Get to know him better.

"Sure" You smile, this time not a smirk or teasing like the ones you've had in the earlier part of your conversation. A genuine one matching the one he had previously. "Guess I'll see you there, huh?"

Sendo looks like he can combust right there and now. He doesn't; instead, he takes a moment to process. "Yeah...See me..." It's as if he has to convince himself that, yes, this is, in fact, real. And as it clicks, he springs from his seat, giving you a shaky wave and stumbling his way out of the lecture.

His grand departure leaves many people (including your professor) staring behind him and then towards you, forcing you to hide behind the column once again, away from the eyes on you.

But for some reason, you can't bring yourself to care. And for some reason, you have a smile tugging at your lips.

#;; typing #sendo shuto #sendo shuto x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x gender neutral reader #not going to do the whole long tags stuff sorry #tag list coming when I wake up

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jeanmoreaue · 8 days

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No it’s a good thing Jean gets bored and stops paying attention. If he paid any more attention, he’d realize finally THAT’S what Kevin’s tiny goalkeeper was calling him that first time they met (and that it wasn’t an American butchering the name “Jean Moreau” out of ignorance). And then he’d probably hate Le Mis out of spite.

(context post) lmaooo i feel like that didn’t even register as an insult to Jean initially and so he doesn’t even remember Andrew saying that to him, but if he did he’d be like ? why does everyone have to call me everything except my actual name?

Andrew: hey, Jean. Jean Valjean

Jean:

#jean coming to evermore day one like ‘bonjour je sui jean-yves’#and everyone was like no actually #love this long list of nicknames for a character that are not affectionate in any way #johnny #jean #jean valjean #it’s like here’s a nickname /derogatory #ask tag #aftg #tsc #jean moreau

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funsize-cenobites · 2 months

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Mihawk-Brain-Eating-Syndrome has seized me with such a gorilla grip I am losing my fucking mind so I guess we're doing this.

The post that started this whole train of thought came from @manofbeskar who's Mihawk thoughts, Mishanks heartwrenchers, and absolutely gorgeous art are so inspiring I feel chewing-on-the-doorframe feral every time I check their blog.

So.. thoughts of the day that Im just tossing into the void to get it out of me because otherwise it will fester inside me and make me ill:

Mihawk has a complicated relationship with vivre cards. Despite his best efforts to keep the world and everyone in it at arm and Yoru length he does manage to keep collecting bits of them though.

Not many nowadays of course, its a rather intimate affair after all; to have someone give you a literal piece of their life so that you may always find them no matter where in the wide seas you may be and that you'll be the first to know should they leave that world entirely. Far too intimate. It feels too obvious, too heavy handed, too much like handing him your heart and asking him to carry it. Such a thing is heavier than any blade and all the bloody deeds he can never truly wipe from the steel.

Its gentle and vulnerable and human, all the things hes convinced he can play at but never truly be again.

But I imagine at the start of his journey he was a touch more open, perhaps accepting his first from a mentor as a parting of ways. Though he didn't yet have one of his own to offer in return. Strange how a simple piece of card in his palm could feel like an open door. Always there, inviting him home. Always there, until it wasn't.

He will never forget the first time he felt one burning away into nothing in his hands. It went up so quick.. he had no idea it could take less than a minute to burn a home.

Then perhaps he found a crew, a more tangible place to nest and he suddenly had more vivre cards than he could tuck away on his person in a timely manner. Perhaps it became a ritual of sorts each morning, a part of his routine to tuck each one away. The captain, vice captain, and the rest of the specialists lining the inner band of his hat while the rest of the crew were individually squirreled away. A meditation, grounding and quiet. He would use it to remind himself of his role as the crew's swordsman, as their protector.

How could he forget the sharp sear of each individual card burning away, stuck close to his skin by waterlogged clothing as he dragged himself ashore gasping and choking on sea and blood and smoke. Having been left by marines that assumed he would drown because- perhaps pointed out by one that had deceived him, made Mihawk believe they were his friend to be led back to his family:

"No freak like that could exist without having eaten the devil's fruit."

How could he forget the embers escaping, dancing in the evening gloam like fireflies swarming around him? There were so many.. now there are none and gods he's been so empty since. How could such a small piece of paper take so much of him? To kill a man with a blade, even butchering him inelegantly, would be a greater mercy so long as he was dead.

Nowadays Mihawk knows better. Knows better than to trust or be trusted. That blades might chip and tarnish but they dont burn, never completely.

Yoru hums and sings in his hands as he wields her and she does not feel like home.. but she feels solid and eternal and cold. She will never burn. Her weight is bearable.

Impersonal.

Professional.

Yoru makes death an art in his hands. She is the brush not the paper, spattering fireflies over a night sky.

. . .

For years after, he kept far from others. Deciding to never get so close to anyone ever again. Safe in the knowledge he would never feel the burning sting of loss nor the cold cut of betrayal so acutely. Trust was a double edged blade, perhaps the only one he truly couldn't handle.

He was no protector.. so he wouldn't try to be.

Instead Mihawk would hunt. Chasing the marines mercilessly. Cutting a bloody path through their ranks and burning their fucking fortresses to the ground. At first they spoke of him as an insane lone swordsman, then a one man army, then a monster, a demon. The relentless yellow eyed freak that stalked the seas and nightmares of future vice admirals.

He systematically killed all those that harmed him. A shadow over the shore, a rogue wave swallowing their ships, a curse of vengeance come to reap. He destroyed all the records of his crew that he could get his hands on. If he must be cursed to slowly forget them over time, then the world government didnt deserve their memory either.

And so on it went for a time. Long enough for the hunt to lose its luster. Slaughtering sheep by the herd in search of a rare wolf.

Mihawk had almost forcibly forgotten about Vivre cards as a concept. His own remained untouched, never moving from where he hid it. He had no friends, no family, no nakama. Only a dwindling list of worthy foes to test himself against.

Until the day the king of pirates died. Until their golden age truly began.

Until he met Shanks, who held out a hand and asked him to step out of the monochrome past and into a thousand possible vibrant futures. Ones of lush reds and glittering golds, of polished onyx black and the purest, deepest blue.

"Here," Shanks said suddenly one night, holding out a small scrap of paper. The both of them were perched atop the ruins of a high sea wall on some remote island, enjoying the cold breeze from the north after a hard fought duel.

Mihawk, for all his composure, blanched. "What is that?" He knew and he did not take it.

"What do you think it is? Its a piece of my card." He said it so simply. Like it barely occured to him how precious such a thing was. Shanks didn't drop his arm, even as the silence stretched out between them.

"No."

"Come on, Takanome- Dont be like that! We're nak--"

"Rivals." He cut the younger man off abruptly. His chest felt too hot and too tight, burning and burning and, "We are rivals, Akagami."

Shanks must've been pouting, he could hear it in his voice, "Even more reason for you to take it. We could duel every day if you could always find me~ Come on.. Please? I want you to have it."

"...."

Hawkeyes glanced at his best friend rival and immediately regretted it. Shank's face was always full of so much hope, so much faith in... something.. It made Mihawk's heart catch in his throat every time to see those big earnest eyes staring at him almost as if, for a moment, it was faith in him.

"I don't know if I can give you mine.." He murmured. Shanks smiled soft, a little sad, and infuriatingly understanding without needing to know anything.

"I dont need it. I know you'll always find me." He pressed his heart, his home the scrap into Mihawk's palm and closed the swordsman's fingers over it. "And if I need to find you.. I'll just ask the wind."

#dracule mihawk #Mishanks #Akataka #Listen. Im quite literally losing my mind.#This is hugely rushed and only briefly edited from the messy discord messages I feverishly wrote this morning #red haired shanks #Also like dont come for me ok? Be gentle. Im not arguing with anyone about theories of Mihawk's past #It honestly doesnt matter to me. I just like the various what ifs #I like picking characters apart and trying to puzzle out why they might be Like That #And god he fucking compels me. His relationship with Shanks COMPELS ME #This can also be taken however you like #Platonic Mishanks or not. Just know I see them as deeply disgustingly tragically yearningly in love.#I have more thoughts on him and vivre cards #Like whos he has now and who has his which is not a long list in either direction. But im not writing all that #Technically im at work lmao.#Anyway go check out manofbeskar their work haunts me #OP posting #Not putting that in the main tag lmao im insane not am idiot

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dork-a-doodle · 6 months

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This post by @mangletangle was asking for Jeremy and Michael designs and I will NEVER turn down a reason to draw the sillies!

#it’s been FAR TOO LONG since I last drew them #and I’ve been meaning to tweak their designs any how #cw gore #cw blood #cw injury #tw gore #tw blood #tw injury #(gotta love the List of warning tags that come with any post-scoop Mike drawing lmao)#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #jeremy fitzgerald #jeremike #the dork doodles

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soul-of-a-ghost · 5 months

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🤍 Shuffle Playlist Game 🤍

ty for the tag @fleshmaid!! Finally got a chance to get to this lol

(I just have one giant playlist over the years that I drop music into, so the genre is slightly all over the place)

Rules: you can tell a lot about a person by the music they listen to. Put a playlist on shuffle, list the first 10 songs and then tag people!

Colors - Halsey

Bye bye baby blue - Glass Animals

Maniac - Conan Gray

Hellfire - Barns Courtney

Needed You - Illenium

Lilith - Halsey, SUGA

Burning Alive - 8 Graves

Staying Up - The Neighbourhood

Another Way Out - Hollywood Undead

Preach - Saint Motel

tagging everyone whom i have the tumblo parasocial friendship with until i run out of space /j (no pressure to do this) @crabjest @muriruart @lettucefather @spookyvance @v2isfuckingdead @crowcryptid @toosillyformyowngood @saints-of-graves @onirupture @whenimgod @rose-above-dark @friendofthecrows @timetravelonion

(and also anyone else ofc! i am spiritually tagging every single one of my mutuals & followers & buds on discord)

#only reason why im not tagging more ppl is bc i am scared of tumlr coming to personally kill me for being annoying but my list is so long #if u r thinking 'oh im not tagged' just know that i am spiritually tagging u so hard it's the boop-apocalypse all over again

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kakusu-shipping · 9 months

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Agere List

To me Carer/Regressor dynamics are different than your typical Romantic/Platonic/Familial type of realationships, so I've decided to make a separate list for F/Os who are my Caregivers, or who I Caregive for.

This is very different from a headcanon list of characters who I think are Caregivers/Regressors, this is characters I personally have this relationship with. I am also only a Caregiver in a Fictional space, and cannot CG a real regressor in the real world.

Thankyou for your attention, list below the cut.

Caregivers

Alder - Pokemon BW - Grandpa

Darmanitan - Pokemon BW - Babysitter

Whimsicott - Pokemon BW - Babysitter

Maractus - Pokemon BW - Big Sister

Molayne - Pokemon SuMo - Big Brother

Hassel - Pokemon SV - Daddy

Salvatore - Pokemon SV - Trainer

Stoutland - Pokemon BW2 - Companion

Chesnaught - Pokemon XY - Knight

Bloodmoon Ursaluna - Pokemon Scarlet/Violet - Mommy/Yandere

Beware - Pokemon Anime - Mommy

Doctor Mario - Super Mario Series - Doctor/Yandere

Craig Cuttlefish + Octavio - Splatoon - Grandpas

Callie + Marie - Splatoon - Big Sisters

Agent 7 (Eight) - Splatoon OC - Babysitter

C.Q. Cumber - Splatoon 2 - Boss/Yandere

Mr. Grizz - Splatoon 3 - Boss/Papa

Papyrus - Undertale - Babysitter

Chara - Undertale - Chaotic/Babysitter

Swatchlings - Deltarune - Butlers

Gaster - Deltarune - Father/Eldritch

Enderman - Minecraft - Companion

Winston - Overwatch - Teacher

Moira O'Deorain - Overwatch - Doctor/Babysitter

Siebren de Kuiper (Sigma) - Overwatch - Grandpa

Sombra - Overwatch - Big Sister

Maugaloa Malosi - Overwatch - Chaotic/Big Brother

Teruteru Hanamura - Danganronpa 2 - Babysitter

Genocide Syo/Jack/Jill - Danganronpa UDG - Chaotic/Yandere

Shirokuma - Danganronpa UDG - Daddy/Yandere

Toy Freddy - Five Nights at Freddy's - Big Brother

Nightmare Fredbear - Five nights at Freddy's - Guardian

Huggy Wuggy - Poppy Playtime - Babysitter

Mommy Long Legs - Poppy Playtime - Mommy

Wally Darling - Welcome Home - Yandere/Neighbor

The Doctor - Little Nightmares - Doctor

Morgo - Little Misfortune - Eldritch/Yandere

Anna (The Huntress) - Dead by Daylight - Mommy/Yandere

Chzo - Chzo Mythos - Eldritch/Father

Kyle + Brett - Drive Time Radio - Chaotic/Eldritch

The Narrator - Stanley Parable - Eldritch/Guardian

Micheal Bleak - Wayward Children - Guardian (former)

Jill Wolcott - Wayward Children - Guardian

Aziraphale - Good Omens - Guardian/Knight

Crowley - Good Omens - Chaotic/Guardian

Edgar + Alan + Poe - Ruby Gloom - Babysitters

Scardy Bat - Ruby Gloom - Big Brother

Beetlejuice - Beetlejuice the Animated Series - Chaotic/Papa

Mashirao Ojiro - My Hero Academia - Babysitter

Mei Hatsume - My Hero Academia - Chaotic/Big Sister

Pantherlily - Fairy Tail - Knight/Papa

Shiro Ashiya (Aciel) - The Devil is a Part-Timer - Stern/Papa

Watanuki + Domeki - xxxHolic - Daddies

Chieko - Princess Jellyfish - Mother

Mayaya - Princess Jellyfish - Chaotic/Big Sister

Muta - The Cat Returns - Companion

Baron Humbert Gon Gikkingen - The Cat Returns - Royal/Babysitter

The Beldam - Coraline - Yandere/Mother

Anger - Inside Out - Protective/Dada

Sadness - Inside Out - Mama

The Storyteller - OC - Eldritch/Guardian

Regressors

Cyrus - Pokemon Platinum - Permaregressed

Arven - Pokemon SV - Kid

Giacomo - Pokemon SV - Involuntary/Toddler

Saguaro - Pokemon SV - Dreamer/Baby

Hydreigon - Pokemon BW2 - Trauma/New Born/Baby

Smeargle - Monster Mind - Dreamer/Puppy

Princess Peach - Super Mario Series - Baby/Princess

Genji Shimada - Overwatch - Dreamer/Kid

Mako Rutledge (Roadhog) - Overwatch - Trauma/Baby

Toko Fukawa - Danganronpa 1 - Involuntary/Baby

Celestia Ludenburg - Danganronpa 1 - Dreamer/Gothic/Kid

Kyle Klim (K) - Virtue's Last Reward - Kid

Kazuaki Nanaki - Hatoful Boyfriend - Dreamer/Baby

Hitori Uzune - Hatoful Boyfriend - Trauma/Involuntary/Toddler

The Little King - Hatoful Boyfriend - Baby/Toddler/Prince

P03 - Inscryption - Involuntary/Bratty/Baby

Lapis Lazuli - Steven Universe - Trauma/Ageless

Nezu - My Hero Academia - Trauma/Involuntary

Tomura Shigiraki - My Hero Academia - Newborn/Baby

Dabi - My Hero Academia - Involuntary/Bratty/Kid

Himiko Toga - My Hero Academia - Dreamer/Toddler

Jin Bubaigawa (Twice) - My Hero Academia - Trauma/Toddler/Kid

Erza Scarlet - Fairy Tail - Involuntary/Big Sister

Juvia Lockser - Fairy Tail - Permaregressed/Toddler/Kid

Gajeel Redfox - Fairy Tail - Involuntary/Big Brother

Toma E. Fiore - Fairy Tail - Involuntary/Prince

Tamaki Souh - Ouran Highschool Host Club - Involuntary/Prince

Takashi Morinozuka - Ouran Highschool Host Club - Baby

Makoto Katai - Komi Can't Communicate - Baby

Embarrassment - Inside Out - Baby/Toddler

Micheal Myers - Halloween - Permaregressed/Evil/Kid

Jason Voorhees - Friday the 13th - Trauma/Baby

Brahms Heelshire - The Boy - Permaregressed/Toddler/Kid

Beetlejuice - Beetlejuice the Musical - Spooky/Horror/Baby

Playmates

N - Pokemon BW - Permaregressed/Baby/Toddler

Jacq - Pokemon SV - Dreamer/Big Brother

Miriam - Pokemon SV - Dreamer/Nurse

Kieran - Pokemon SV - Evil/Pokemon

Gooigi - Super Mario Series - Big Sister

Kirby - Kirby series - Toddler/Big Brother

Flowey - Undertale - Trauma/Big Brother

Vulkin - Undertale - Pet

Ralsei - Deltarune - Prince/Big Brother

Viktor Humphries - Slime Rancher - Kid

Pheonix Wright - Ace Attorney - Involuntary/Teen

Monokuma - Danganronpa - Dreamer/Object

Kazuichi Soda - Danganronpa 2 - Involuntary/Toddler

Moon - FNaF Help Wanted 2 - Baby/Toddler (former)

Kissy Missy - Poppy Playtime - Trauma/Kid

Boxy Boo - Poppy Playtime - Permaregressed/Object

CatNap - Poppy Playtime - Trauma/Cat

Grendan Highforge - Drawtectives - Dreamer/Old Dog

Rosé - Drawtectives - Pre-Teen

York - Drawtectives - Dreamer/Little Brother

Muriel - Good Omens - New Born/Ageless

Frank + Len - Ruby Gloom - Teen/Toddler

Katsuki Bakugo - My Hero Academia - Toddler/Little Brother

Banba - Princess Jellyfish - Hyperfixation/Kid

Joy - Inside Out - Bratty/Big Sister/Kid

Fear - Inside Out - Protective/Big Brother

#Age Regression #Proship Selfship #Proselfship #Proship Agere #Oh that's probably a tag that's not used a lot kfdgjfdk #Selfship Agere #Agere Selfship #Crush list coming soon #I have a LOT more Regression headcanons than this btw #I cannot stress enough this is NOT a list of characters I Headcanon as CGs/Regressors #It's just guys I have connections to.. as a CG/Regressor #In fiction #PLEASE ask about the dynamics btw #I didn't want the post to get long sense it's a LIST so I just #Gave everyone a basic type/age-ish range next to their names #There is a lot more to a lot of the dynamics #Anyway.#Thankyou very much for reading and everyone who voted telling me I should make this list #Hopefully.

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