#loved watching blues clues so much as a kid

[little-pup-pip]

i love the blog theme!! bluey is something i love to watch when little :33

Thank you!! I really like this theme too, which is why I'm so hesitant to change it up! Also yeah bluey is the best!! It's my favorite kids show and it's so fun to watch when I'm little and even when I'm not!

[pricetagged]

butcher paper

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[slxt4chriss]

Route 66

Flat tire… *Blowjob, swearing, Nicknames (darlin’. Etc.), cum swallowing, Oral (M)*

•Thank you to @ariestrxsh for helping me with this, I love you to the moon, your the absolute sweetest•

"Damn!" You exclaimed when you got out of your old, red mustang to find that your left front tire was flat while you were in the middle of nowhere on Route 66. You reached into the pocket of your Daisy Duke cutoff shorts to retrieve your phone, which of course, had no service. You started rummaging through the trunk of your car, hoping to find the tools you needed to change it even though you hadn't the first clue on how to do so.

Right as you were about to give up, a Chevy whose blue paint was peeling off the frame pulled off in front of you, the tires kicking up the dry dust as it stopped. "Hey, little lady. You got car trouble?" The blue-eyed man asked as he got out of his pickup truck, a toothpick dangling from his lips. You were traveling alone on a long stretch of road where there was nothing but dirt for several miles, so you were relieved to see another person.

"Yeah, I've got a flat," you pouted. "Don't worry, kid. I can change it for ya, the man responded with a smile and a wink. "You'd do that for me?" You asked, batting your eyelashes in his direction. "Only if you tell me your name, darlin', he replied, his voice sounding sweet and inviting like warm honey as he reached into the back of his pickup truck for his jack. You told him your name. "What's yours?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. "I'm Matt,' he told you, extending his arm. You placed your hand in his, giving him a dainty handshake.

"Thanks, Matt, you answered, your gaze lingering on his. You found yourself holding your breath as he took off his flannel and tossed it over his shoulder, revealing his strong, tattooed arms underneath. He started to loosen each bolt, his eyebrows furrowed into a concentrated expression while he toyed with the toothpick in his mouth. He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead before he started to jack up your car. You watched intently as he took the bolts off.

"Hold these for me, will ya?" He politely requested, handing you all five bolts to your tire. You reached out and took them from him, feeling the slight heat on the metal from the hot sun beating down overhead. You admired the definition in his bicep muscles as he pulled the tire off the axle with a grunt that made your stomach flutter. He wandered around to your trunk to retrieve the spare. "Still got those bolts on ya, baby?" He asked, gesturing for you come here with his fingers after he propped your spare in your wheel well. You swooned at him calling you baby. You nodded and sauntered over towards him with the bolts in hand. He half-tightened each individual one, lowered the jack, and finished securing the bolts once your tire was back on the ground. He put back his tools and threw your busted tire in the bed of his pickup truck. "I'll take care of that for ya," Matt replied, tipping his hat in your direction. It took him all of ten minutes to do something you didn't know how to.

"You have a nice day, darlin'. I'm glad I could help you out." He started to walk back off towards his truck. "Wait!" You called after him. He spun around, taking the toothpick from between his lips and pinching it between his two fingers. "Yeah?" He asked, flashing you his gorgeous smile. "Thanks again. I don't know what I would have done without you," you responded, nibbling on your lip. "Oh, shucks. You did the hard part. I'm always misplacing my bolts and screws, he winked at you before  turning away to get back into his truck. "Wait!" You called after him once more. He turned around with a smirk tugging on his lip. "Yeah?"

"I'd love to repay you, Seriously. You saved me so much time and money, and you just did it out of the kindness of your heart, you said, reaching for your wallet to realize all you had were some crumpled up $1 bills and some loose change in your cupholder. "Exactly, kid. Kindness of my heart. I don't need anything in return, he declined your offer.

"Well, I wanna do something out of the kindness of my heart for you," you replied, taking a few steps closer to him. "Like what?" He wondered, raising an eyebrow as he placed the toothpick back between his lips. "Somethin' that might be a little harder to say no to," you told him, falling to your knees in front of him. "Oh, baby. You don't have to," he murmured but he didn't stop you as you started to fiddle with his belt buckle. "It would be my pleasure, Matt," you seductively responded, flicking your eyes up to meet his as you slowly undid his zipper and his button.

The ground was hot and dusty, but you didn't mind. The only thing that mattered to you was the way Matt looked down at you with a softening expression and lust in his eyes. You reached into his boxers and pulled out his pretty cock that was already starting to harden as you gently stroked it. You wrapped your lips around his swollen tip, gently running your tongue along the underside as you started suckling on it.

His eyes fluttered into the back of his head, and he leaned back up against his truck as you worked your mouth on all his sensitive nerve endings. His hands flew up to your head as he started smoothing down your soft hair in a sweet and loving manner. His touch was so gentle, like everything else about him. You slowly moved your lips down his length, listening to pretty sounds he made. You pumped his cock back and forth in your head and repeated the same motion with your mouth, watching his intoxicating reactions. "Oh, that's it, baby. Such a good girl for me, aren't you?" He cooed, gently moving his hips back and forth and urging you to take a little more.

You gave him what he wanted, taking more of him behind your soft lips until his tip was in the back of your throat, eliciting a faint gagging sound. Your eyes started to water, but you kept going, bobbing your head up and down a bit faster. "You look so pretty, baby," Matt complimented you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face and caressing your cheek with his thumb as he watched the way your lips stretched around his cock.

You loved the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, and the way he tenderly touched you. His grip on your hair grew tighter as he screwed his eyes shut in a look of pleasure, a slew of moans spilling from his pretty lips. His body tightened as he filled your mouth with his sticky, white substance, his cock twitching against your tongue as he finished.

You graciously swallowed and pulled him out from behind your lips with a quiet pop. His eyes fluttered open, and his gaze darted back down to you, still on your knees as you wiped a bit of cum from the corner of your smile. "My goodness, darlin'. You'll never have to pay for car trouble again with a mouth like that."

[©Slxt4chriss 2025 - You do not under any circumstance have the permission to copy the work I put out and must give credit if taken Inspo]

[corroded-hellfire]

Time For Toys and Time For Cheer - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Collaboration with the El to my Max, @munson-blurbs

Summary: When Brittany’s Christmas presents for the boys come in, it’s evident that “it’s the thought that counts” doesn’t apply.

Note: Jingle bells, Brittany smells, please enjoy this fic today!

Warnings: mild violence, Eddie being a perv, Brittany being Brittany

Words: 2.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.”

Eddie lets the scissors drop down onto his mattress as you peer into the box he just opened. Seeing Brittany’s name on a box when you picked up the mail for your boyfriend was enough to irk you for the rest of the day—especially since Eddie wouldn’t open it until after the kids were in bed because it’s probably their Christmas gifts. The silver lining though, was that you saw Brittany is going by her maiden name again. You hope to God she changed it legally; she doesn’t deserve to be a Munson. 

The box did contain gifts for the boys but as you look inside you see what pissed your boyfriend off. You reach in and pick up a box of Legos that were made for a kid half Ryan’s age. The Blue’s Clues coloring book that Eddie takes out is just as insulting. Should she get credit for knowing Ryan likes Legos and Luke likes coloring books? Not in your opinion. Not when she lived with them for most of their lives. Not when she gave birth to them and should know how old they are and that these presents are not age appropriate. 

“Is this really a bunch of Lego kids on a bus? Oh look, they’re soccer players on a bus.” You scoff and roll your eyes as you set the gift back in the box it was shipped in. “Yeah, ‘cause Ryan loves sports so much.” Eddie’s eldest was in agreement with his father that sports are stupid. You think his mother would’ve known that. Then again, his mother is Brittany. 

“He’d put that together in less than five minutes,” Eddie says, nodding towards the Lego set. He sets the coloring books back inside as well and pulls out a small white paper that got stuck to the bottom of the box. “Looks like they’re from Wal-Mart. Nice of her to send a gift receipt. Almost as if she knew her presents were shit.” 

Any irritation you feel for Brittany doesn’t come close to the love you have for Luke and Ryan, and you’d do everything in your power to make sure they have a wonderful Christmas. 

“Think Wayne will watch them for a few hours after dinner one night?” you ask, eyes scanning over the gift receipt before meeting Eddie’s deep brown ones. 

“If we buy him a mug, he might watch them for the whole weekend.” Eddie puts the gift receipt back in the box and closes it. He looks over at you and an adoring grin grows on his face. “I fucking love you, babe.” He takes your face in his hands and presses a wet, smacking kiss to your forehead. 

Eddie falls a little bit deeper in love with you every time you do something for the boys without any hesitation. And since it’s a frequent occurrence, it’s safe to say that he’s head-over-heels for you. 

A few nights later, Eddie brings the car to a stop in front of his uncle’s trailer. He puts it in park and looks over his shoulder at his sons in the backseat. Ryan doesn’t seem bothered one bit that he’s being dropped off at his grandfather’s. Luke, on the other hand, looks like you and Eddie just told him he’ll never be able to eat another cookie again in his life. 

When Eddie’s eyes meet Luke’s blue ones, the little boy groans and drops his head back against his seat, curls smooshing around his head like a halo. 

“Why can’t we go with you?” he whines. 

“Luke,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “You hate clothes shopping for yourself. Let alone anyone else.”

“Yeah,” you say as you turn to face him as well. “And I can take forever in dressing rooms. I can never decide what I like better.”

“Plus,” Eddie adds with a smirk, knowing a foolproof way to get the boys out of the car, “you really wanna come with us and watch us kiss the whole night?” 

The moment Eddie leans in towards you, both boys groan and Ryan slaps his hand over his eyes. Checkmate. 

Luke is quick to scramble out of the car, his older brother right behind him. 

“Go!” Luke practically shouts. “Take your time! Make sure you get a nice dress.”

“Yeah,” Ryan adds. “Has to look nice for your work party.”

It’s hard for both you and Eddie to keep a lid on your laughter while the boys are all but pushing your car down the road to get you away from them. 

“Be good,” Eddie calls out the open window. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Luke mumbles as he trudges up the front steps of the trailer. Ryan follows behind him and gives you and Eddie a wave before they head inside the house. 

The moment they’re inside, Eddie turns to you and raises his eyebrows. 

“Can we buy you a new dress?” he asks. 

“Why?” you ask with a laugh. “You’ll want me to buy a sexy one, then not want me to wear it out anywhere and let people see me in it.”

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbles as he puts the car in drive. 

“Maybe after we return the baby-fied toys that are in the trunk and get the new ones, we can look at some lingerie, though?” you tease.

“Deal.”

The Wal-Mart parking lot is a madhouse; Eddie circles it three times before finally snagging a spot all the way at the back. He scoops the presents from the trunk and the two of you make a beeline for the return counter, with you holding onto his jacket sleeve to avoid losing him in the crowd. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, once you’ve secured the gift card that contains the store credit. He looks at you with sheer determination. “We gotta divide and conquer. You shop for Ryan, and I’ll shop for Luke.”

You make your way to the Lego aisle; Brittany had the right idea, but the wrong execution. After perusing the shelves for something more age-appropriate, your gaze lands on a kit to build a Statue of Liberty replica. 

Just as you grab it, you feel someone tugging on the other side. “Um, sorry, I’m taking this one,” you try to explain, willing your voice not to waver as it often does during confrontation. 

The man who’d reached for it as well scowls at you. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He yanks it from your grasp triumphantly. There’s a nasty sneer on his face as he looks down his nose at you. He’s around Eddie’s height, bald as a cue ball, and has a beer belly that’s larger than most pregnant women’s bumps.

“Hey! What the hell’s your problem?” The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them. 

The man smirks menacingly. “What’re you even doing in this aisle? The Easy Bake Ovens are down that way.”

When he points to his left and lets his guard down, you seize the opportunity to pull the Lego set from him. 

“What d’you think you’re doing, bitch?” He reaches out a meaty hand to snatch it back, but he’s jerked back by his collar. 

“You calling my wife a ‘bitch’?” Eddie growls, eyes blazing with fury. You can’t remember the last time you saw him this angry. He shoves the man, now wide-eyed and fearful, into a display of Tonka trucks, which catches the attention of a security guard. 

He marches over to the men, waving his hands and shouting. “Hey, break it up!” The guard pulls Eddie away from the man. “You two,” he looks between Eddie and the guy, “get outta here!”

Eddie sputters. “Wha—no, he called my wife a bitch!” he tries to protest, but the guard just pushes him toward the exit. “This is bullshit!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you can’t help but feel butterflies at the way he said, “my wife.” It has a much better ring to it than just, “my girlfriend” or even “my fiancée.”

Your awestruck demeanor vanishes as you stare at the back of Eddie’s head in disbelief while the security guard leads him away. You’re left hanging in limbo, unsure if you should follow him out or buy the toy—he is going through a lot of trouble for it, and you’d hate for his efforts to be for naught. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie looks over his shoulder and gives you a wink. “You know what Luke likes, baby,” he calls out. 

You can only nod as you hold onto the Lego box for Ryan. 

“Meet you in the car,” Eddie says before turning back around, wincing when the guard shoves him out the door. 

It’s hard to shake off the fact that Eddie just got kicked out of the store and proceed to shop as though nothing has happened, but you know you need to find something for Luke. Something that isn’t made for a preschool demographic. 

“Okay, Legos for Ryan. Luke still likes coloring books. Just not Winnie the Pooh ones.” Brittany was at least on the right track with her gifts for the boys—just a good number of years behind.

The coloring books are a few aisles over and you chew on your bottom lip as you check out the collection. There are lots of Disney ones full of princesses and mice, but Luke only really enjoys the movies made by The Mouse, not any toys or games.

Scooby Doo catches your eye and as soon as you pick that one up, you see a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles book.

“Hmm…” you hum, but then chuckle to yourself. Of course he gets more than one.

You cradle those two books in your arm with the Lego set and also grab Pokémon and a monster truck one.

You’re welcome, Brittany, you think. You sent three but now he’s going to think you sent him four. None of this is for Brittany’s sake—both you and Eddie know that. The boys would be the ones disappointed, not their mother. There will come a day when they recognize her absence and carelessness, but you don’t want to help point it out; you just want to show them love and support.

On the way to the register, you do a double take when you see a mostly empty shelf of wrapping paper. Brittany didn’t bother to wrap the presents before she sent them, but that’s something else the kids don’t need to know. 

Making sure to get a paper that’s very different from any of the ones back at the apartment, you add a Frosty the Snowman roll to the pile in your arms. This way, they’ll differentiate these from the presents left by Santa. 

Most of the registers are crowded, which makes you huff, but you’ve had your share of fighting for the evening. Instead, you wait silently until the woman behind you in line starts speaking to you. “Last minute shopping for your kids, too?” she says with a laugh. 

You nod. “Yeah, it’s been quite the adventure,” you offer, not wanting to relay the near-WWE match that occurred in the toy section. 

“I’ll bet,” she chuckles, hoisting a toy Batmobile. “Boys or girls?”

The question catches you off-guard for a moment. “Boys. Two of them.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine having two sons. I have one, and he’s a menace.”

You smile. “Yeah, but they’re my menaces.”

On Christmas morning you’re not entirely sure what’s up first: the sun or the boys. Eddie looks like a zombie as the two of you initially follow the boys out to the living room. Once they see the tree and the mountain of presents scattered about, their joy and excitement are almost as good as a cup of coffee in waking you and your boyfriend up. 

Heaps of wrapping paper pile up as they tear open their gifts: action figures and Hot Wheels for Luke, books and science kits for Ryan, and a handful of VHS tapes for them to share. 

Once the heap of presents begins to dwindle down to the last handful, Eddie stands up.

“Don’t wanna forget the gifts from Mom.”

The boys instinctively glance at you before they realize that their dad is referring to Brittany. 

Eddie hands them the carefully wrapped packages, assessing their expressions to gauge their excitement. 

“No way, this is the Lego set I wanted!” Ryan cheers, beaming at the toy. 

Luke is equally impressed with his gift. “Yes! New coloring books!” He stands up and does a little happy dance that looks very reminiscent of something you’d see one of The Peanuts characters doing. 

Eddie smiles, knowing all the bullshit of dealing with Brittany, in the past, present, or future, is worth it to keep his boys happy. 

“You guys wanna call Mom and thank her?” Eddie asks.

They nod, racing each other to the phone so they can get back to playing as soon as possible. There’s a part of you—a petty part—that hopes their phone call wakes Brittany up from a peaceful sleep. Just because you play nice for the kids doesn’t mean you can’t have small moments of joy at the thought of that woman being inconvenienced. 

“Your kids are crazy,” Eddie says to you, plopping back onto the couch and flinging his arm over your shoulder. “You should really rein them in.”

You give an exaggerated sigh and shake your head. “I’ve tried, but their father is even worse. Just enables the insanity.”

Eddie laughs, kissing your cheek before tilting your chin towards him so he can press his lips to yours. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

[ollieneedstherapy]

D.A.M.N crew head cannons

-As a kid Damien would stay up late and read under the covers

-Huxley’s moms names are Jade and Ruby, both are earth elementals

-Gavin’s go to slushee is Pinà Colada and blue raspberry

-Freelancer’s loves reading, they’re the kind of person who has a new book every few days

-Gavin loves to have freelancer sleep on his left side and have Caelum on his chest, he sleeps on the right side of the bed which is the closest to the door

-every night for years Lasko would text all his friends good morning and good night texts, he only stopped after the intervention

-Huxley is one of the people who can do the Alphabet backwards, he did it so much as a kid, he struggles to sing it forward

-Damien had seen basically every studio Ghibli film, after a hard day he’d make sure no one else was home and cry while watching Howls moving Castle

-Huxley can carry everyone in the easily (is this one cannon??)

-Freelancer owns a plush for everyone in the group, Damien’s is Calcifer, Lakso’s is a d20, Huxley is a cactus, Gavin’s is a dick, Gavin’s is a slushee cup

-Caelum, when he can’t sleep will check on all of his charges four or five times to make sure they’re safe

-Freelancer loves to sing ‘Freeze your Brain’ to Gavin, he has no clue what it’s from or the meaning but he’s happy his Deviant is happy

-Gavins super allergic to pollen, during the spring this guys dying

-Lakso can and will rap old English for his students, he can not rap in normal English

-Huxley got everyone in the group Stanley’s for Christmas because he knows none of them drink enough water, and they’d feel bad if they didn’t use the gift

-Gavin, in his true form, has strips on his back and thighs, when Freelancer and him have…fun, they like to trace them

-Lakso drinks enough caffeine to kill a horse, some of his students keep track of how many energy drinks he drinks in their class alone (The most is 4 and a half)

-Damien has owned 4 cats, 3 dogs, 17 gold fish, and 6 Guinea pigs before he started high school

-He was also homes schooled till he started year 8

-Freelancer and Lakso meet up twice a month, just them, to watch shitty K-dramas

-Caelum doesn’t understand popcorn, when Gavin and freelancer have a movie night with him, he spends like ten minutes just asking about how popcorn works

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Here's a funny kinda nostalgic post for commenting on.

In Husbandry Warhammer what media normally designed more for kids do Space Marines enjoy? (Aka what media are they latching onto because it is healing their traumatized inner child?)

I'm gonna go through some of my totally unbiased opinions. And if you're favorite legion isn't on here...

Comment it with your thoughts!

Thousand Sons - Take your damn pick there's so much magic based media but of course the Owl House is up there for recent examples.

...some of the Loyalist Thousands Sons do get a bit...existential when the plot line of the tyrannical Emperor Belos gets expanded upon.

Ironically despite its fictional nature Thousand Son or other psycher space marines use certain scenes in it almost like training videos for their offspring.

Ultramarines - You can't Tell me these guys wouldn't like Bob the Builder, and Thomas the Tank Engine. The main characters are Blue and so much of trains and building is logistics! And Cyberspace! Logistics is mostly math so Cyberspace is in there too.

Death Gaurd - Zoboomafo, the focus on flora and fauna is quite enjoyable for marines literally in tune with the cycle of life. Children's shows in general often use simpler language which is easier to understand or translate for Marines still coming to grasp with ancient terran languages. The similarly enjoy The Wild Thornberries

Nightlords - Goosebumps. They LOVE Goosebumps and 'Are you afraid of the Dark?' No I will not explain it.

Blood Angels - Art Attack! Never watched the show myself but Damn it looks fun! And perfect for craft inclined Blood Angels.

Alpha Legion - The animated Carmen Sandiego cartoon! Deception, mystery and most importantly disguises! What more could a hydra want? And Blue Clues...because.

Salamanders - Dragon Tails. Love watching it with their family or kids. The show has a big focus on family itself and giant lizards it's practically made for them! Would probably also like Dinosaur Train.

Emerperors Children - Steven Universe. The art, the music, the messy drama of the characters that makes them weep and the existential dread of being similarly tied to a parent or family that is...complicated.

They find a lot of comfort and catharsis in it.

Black Templars - Veggie Tales. Okay JK kinda they would like that just swap out God for God Emperor. Also...Winnie the Pooh.

Is it just because Pooh is Yellow like their gene father? That's not entirely it but they approve of the little yellow bear who isn't the brightest but he does his Best Okay!

I could also see them using it as another weird allegory for the God Emperor loving and protecting because in quite a few episodes of "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh," Christopher Robin shows up to help Pooh and Friends out of their predicaments.

Iron Warriors - Reboot! My sister loved this show as a kid, and given its focus on computers/a digital world I could see them enjoying it! Also they like Cyber Space because Math. And...Chip and Dale rescue rangers But! They like it specifically for the scenes with Gadget because she makes cool things and they also want to make cool things/find a way to make them work.

See a video on AstartikTok about an Iron Warrior making a remote controlled roller skate and putting the families pet rat on it.

The rat is unharmed and even seems to enjoy the ride.

Dark Angels - Redwall. God that series gave me Nightmares but it Was still technically a kids show....technically. Also Jane and the Dragon, they like the medical aesthetic.

Space Wolves - No I'm not saying paw patrol. Blue Clues and Bluey! But All the legions have Marines who like Bluey! There's hardly a demographic on this planet that doesn't have a legion of Bluey Fans!

Also the old Tarzan Disney animated series because it was actually pretty damn hot shit! And full of cool action scenes fighting giant frightening animals.

White Scars - My Little Pony Friendship is Magic. Yes because horses, and yes because it espouses the values of community and collaboration and it has a kicking soundtrack. And White Scars are one of the few legions who both accept psychers but also acknowledge their inherent danger. They have a big focus on meditation and not becoming lost to the power you wield and finding support in those around you. They appreciate the similar messaging in the show.

War Hounds and World Eaters - Lazy Town. Because all of them want to become as strong as Sportacus and be able to lift a fuckin pyramid with a grappling hook from an airship!

Please stop them, the Pyramids of Giza need to stay where they are. Don't let them cause an international incident.

Ravengaurd - Ruby Gloom. They enjoy the macabre atmosphere merged with the cheerful main character. Plus the music isn't half bad.

Some tags for ya'll if you wanna jump in! And don't hesitate to comment about legions already mentioned if you've got more ideas about shows they'd like.

@egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bleedingichorhearts @barn-anon

@kit-williams @bispecsual @angronsjewelbeetle @virozero @sleepyfan-blog @passionofthesith

@beckyninja @felinisnoctis

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

pleeeeaaaasee do more shane x reader (preferably gender neutral). Your writing is so good and the "After everything we've been through, you still don't think that I love you?" one broke me. You're a hurt/comfort master

HAH you've given me another idea from this ask alone (insp by my farmer getting alex's 8 heart event while married to shane)

Sorry gang I swear fluffier stuff with Shane is coming

.....

It was just a few days into summer, and Shane already had plans to change up his usual routine once again.

Ever since moving onto your farmland, he found himself getting more motivated to take longer walks. This morning, he planned on doing so after ensuring the crops were watered and the animals were well-fed.

He greeted the cows, rabbit, pigs, and chickens as they filed out of the coop and barn one-by-one, not letting any of them miss their daily pets. Seeing the ostrich and little green dinosaur emerge didn't faze him as much as it did the first time he saw them--he still had no clue how you acquired their eggs (especially one from the skull caverns), but you didn't treat them any differently.

They were both lovable creatures. Just like the blue chickens he introduced you to several months ago.

Knowing you raised some and kept them on the farm made him beam with pride, glad he got to stay here and help run things in your steed.

He wouldn't trade it for the world.

You set off for the beach earlier than usual today, having left a note on the table, and Shane opted to just hang back and repair some of the fences that were looking a bit worn out.

According to the TV, it was a "good luck day", and you hoped to find fortune in the form of a rainbow shell washed up on the coast. You certainly loved foraging them, but even if there weren't any around, you figured you'd go fishing.

Your husband wasn't the best at either skill, although a few hours after you left, he felt a little bored and decided to go visit the beach. Maybe you could use his moral support since other people--mainly Willy and Elliot-mentioned hearing you curse like a sailor when you were wrestling with a fish...or when said fish escaped your line.

He could be there to cheer you up, or teasingly bet on how many joja cola cans you'll fish out of the ocean.

That would be pretty funny, he thought.

So he headed off on his usual walking route, but instead of going to Cindersap Forest or stopping by Pelican Town's river, he ventured towards the beach, greeting whoever said "hello" to him.

Upon arrival, however, Shane stopped in his tracks as he noticed you weren't entirely alone on the beach.

It wasn't Willy, Elliot, Leah, nor that parrot kid you rescued from Ginger Island, but Alex.

He wouldn't have minded that so much....if not for the fact that you two were sitting awfully close together on the coast, overlooking the foamy waves. You were totally oblivious to his presence, so he hung back with suspicion.

Of course, he knew you were growing more sociable with the rest of the villagers, and he didn't want your marriage to be the reason you stopped talking to people.

Even so..something didn't feel right about this, especially as he watched you move closer to Alex, putting an arm around him. And when the younger male put his head on your shoulder, Shane's heart dropped.

You were talking, but obviously he couldn't make out what you were saying thanks to the noisy waves and annoying seagulls.

At this point, however, it became clear what was going on.

And it made him feel utterly sick to his stomach, his mind constantly circling back to one conclusion. Only one explanation as to why you'd ever be that close to Alex, and perhaps why you've been frequently leaving the farm earlier than normal:

You were seeing him behind his back, thinking he'd never find out.

He didn't know how else to interpret that. How else could he?

But of everybody in this town, why did it have to be the guy who reminded him of his youthful days in gridball?

The guy who radiated positivity and was always in high spirits?

The guy who wasn't old and weak and depressed...like him?

'I knew it..they finally got bored of me. But why would they do this?' Scowling, he felt like storming over and saying something, but he couldn't will himself to freak out here and now.

No.

Why bother?

Instead he decided to turn on his heel and storm back to the farm, nearly tripping over a rainbow shell as he did so. The saloon was closed, so he couldn't escape there...but he'll settle for rotting in bed until you come home.

You'll be back, and he'll confront you then.

.......

Coming back to the farmland around noon, you frowned a bit as you didn't see Shane anywhere outside. He wasn't at the mini coop like he normally was, and poor Charlie was looking for him.

"Where did he go, Charles? Hm?" With a soft coo, you kneeled down to pet the chicken. She clucked, her beak pointing towards the cabin, and you thanked her with a small handful of corn before continuing inside.

However, as soon as you stepped into a rather quiet house, all the excitement sapped out of you. You'd normally hear him playing video games or watching a Tunneler's game, but as you entered your shared bedroom...you found him just laying down, his back turned to you.

"Hey, honey." You sighed, relieved as you sat down on the mattress. "All that farmwork got tiring, huh? I understand. Thank you for doing it."

"........."

"..Shane? You still asleep?"

There was a long silence, only for it to be broken by a quiet sniffle, and your heart sunk, wondering what happened. "Hey, what's wrong-?"

As you put a hand on his shoulder, Shane flinched and rolled over to face you, his eyes red and watery, and his expression full of disgust...as though you did something wrong.

You've never seen him get this angry at you. Not since your first meeting with him. "Baby-?"

"No. Enough petnames, [y/n]." He huffed, sitting up and staring at you with contempt. "You don't get to act like everything's fine. Like I don't know what's really going on."

"...what?"

"Why were you with Alex today? Did he convince you I wasn't good enough for you anymore? That I'm past my prime?"

You blinked in bewilderment, wondering how on earth he knew that and why he was getting so upset. "Wha..you were at the beach? Why didn't you tell me?"

"That's..not important." He grumbled. "If you love him more, fine. Just tell me. I was ready for the day you'd finally get sick of me. But..to do that behind my back...I just..." Fresh tears brimmed his eyes as he clutched the mermaid pendant with a shaky hand. "I thought you were different..but I was wrong."

Now you were totally lost, heart racing as you tried to wrack your brain for any reason he'd assume that you were cheating on him with Alex. You knew he had some major jealousy issues, and he's been actively working through them with his therapist, but it was never this bad.

"Listen, I promise that what you saw isn't what it-"

"You don't have to lie. I get it. He's young, better looking...he's everything I used to be. So why don't I just go and you can have him live on this farm with you? At least he won't be a burden. At least he won't-"

"Shane just stop. Stop." You raised your voice, growing infuriated. "What in the hell made you think I wanna be with Alex when we're married?! When I've been nothing but there for you since I moved to town?! If you let me finish, I'll explain everyth-"

"Oh I'm sure you have a "perfect" explanation already lined up." He rolled his eyes. "Unless you can tell me why you were that close to him, I don't see why I'm even-"

"Today's the anniversary of his mom's death."

Shane blinked once.

Then twice.

Then three times.

"Wha..?"

"She passed away 12 years ago." Frowning slightly, you watched his expression shift wildly. "Alex was sitting there, crying his eyes out, and I just...wanted to comfort him. Like any friend would do. That's all."

At this moment, Shane felt like the biggest piece of shit in the valley, and his shoulders sagged. He didn't know what to say.

"We just hugged, and he told me about the good memories they had," you continued, moving closer to put a hand over his own. "Cross my heart, absolutely nothing was going on between us, honey. You really think I'd do that to you? To the man I love?"

"....I....I didn't know he lost his mom.." He mumbled, still at a loss for words.

"Well it's not exactly something he'd share with the whole town. And I was gonna keep it between us, but you wouldn't let me explain myself." You reminded him with a small huff, and he looked down in guilt.

As quickly as your anger rose, however, it was quick to disappear as you watched him. He seemed very torn up and ashamed for accusing you of cheating, but you could understand his perspective and why he saw it in that light.

You would've been suspicious, too.

"Look..I know it did look like something else was going on. And I'm really sorry-"

"No, no..I should be sorry for acting like a total dickhead." Shane gazed back up at you, and his face tore your heart to shreds. "I didn't mean to freak and accuse you of anything. You were just comforting a kid who lost his mom and...I got angry for no reason. Without hearing your side. I shouldn't be like this..yet I feel like some bitter old man.."

"Hey, you're not old." You shook your head, cupping both sides of his cheeks and giving him a gentle kiss. "You're barely 30."

"Still..my body feels that way." He lightly chuckled, enveloping you in a tight hug. "And again, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, [y/n]...I promise I'm working on these stupid jealousy issues."

"I know you are, and I forgive you." Smiling, you squeezed him tight. "We're gonna be okay."

"Mhm..also..um..I found something for you." He let you go and dug into his jacket pocket for an unknown item, and when he presented it to you, the grin on your face was infectious.

"Oh my god..you found one for me?!!" Your eyes lit up, as you now held a beautiful rainbow shell in your hands.

Shane nodded. "Iridium quality."

"You're the best. I love you." Laughing, you brought him back into a hug, giving him a few more kisses. "And you said you sucked at foraging, huh?"

"Ah, well..just the "chopping trees" part. Picking stuff off the ground is easy." He shrugged, his smile bashful. "Glad you like it, sweetheart. Take it as my apology for that..um..misunderstanding."

"I forgive you a thousand times over. Now..I think I'll display this beauty in our aquarium. What do you think, Shane?"

"I think I'll go with and see."

You both hopped out of bed and headed over to where you kept the aquarium tanks, with Shane in better spirits than he was before.

He still felt guilty for acting that way towards you, but your everlasting patience and persistence with him prevails.

He's glad he picked up that rainbow shell for you.

[autisticfaun420]

My life with level 2 (part 1)

I'm making this post to share some things about my life and give an idea about what my support needs are

1. Every morning I wake up sealed in my cubby bed, an enclosed bed that keep me trapped inside so I dont wander and hurt myself or roll out and have a meltdown (common things that happen with me and regular beds). It's also soft so I don't potentially bang my head against something hard. you're probably wondering well how do I go to the bathroom at night. That brings me to my next point.

2. Every morning after opening up my cubby bed either my mom, dad, caregiver, or occasional close friend takes me to my changing station in my room and begins to change my diaper. Thats right I was NEVER able to potty train and due to EXTREME sensory issues I am unable to change myself. This means I need constant super vision as I always need someone to change me, also calm me down if meltdown, etc. I simply have no way to tell I need to go, 1 or 2, till its much too late. So yeah diapers are an all day thing not just at night.

3. I'm older then 20 and my parents are l now my legal guardians for life, and if they can't do it I have friends that will step up. I'm not sure exactly what this means legally but I take it to mean Im basically still a kid to them on like, every level. They respect my intelligence but they still set the rules. One that always kind of gets people mad but then they understand is the fact that I have child safety internet settings on my tablet and phone, I can't access most social media websites and I'm not alliowed YouTube only YouTube Kids. This is because my parents and close friends agree that these teenage boys from a nearby town were trying to make me an "lol cow", basicallly a target for online harassment and bullying and trolling me because I was special needs and active on social media. Tumblr with my parents having the username and password and log ins and they check it every day is all I get. My friends and parents show me things from TikTok and Youtube that they think i'll like so I don't miss out. Oh yeah and I would binge watch horror and terror content on youtube, something that a lot of autistic people do apparently, however I mentally can't handle it. I wake up and freak out and hit myself all night and lose sleep for a week and end up in a mental hospital cause I'm hurting myself and not sleeping. Not fun... at all. I had unrestricted internet access as a teenager and I'm glad that part of my life is over. My parents do however let me eat cannabis edibles every day so its not like they're over protective, just protective in the way I need.

4. My parents are my emotional coregulators and I rely on them heavily, a lot of the time just to know how I'm feeling. I break down emotionally frequently and if my parents or a select few of my friends aren't there to cuddle me and rub my back the right way, I FREAK out and start hitting myself cause my brain is a bit nutty I guess. I'm needy with those I love to a rediculous degree. I'm a lot better, still not great, at self soothing. Self soothing is an oxymoron for me. I kinda need to be with somebody to be told to calm down, encouraged to come out my shell, praised when I do something good, and just having a hand to hold. My mom is rubbing my back encouraging me to write this out like I said I wanted to do.

5. I need to stim, constantly. I'm always rocking, fidget toy and plushie in hand chewing on my chewing laynyard, you get the idea. I also need audio and visual stims which I get in the form of watching bright colorful little kid shows on my tablet like Blues Clues and Daniel Tiger. I think this is why people don't think I'm smart but its just who I am and what my needs are.

I think this is a good starting point, I'll make a part 2 later.

[carolmunson]

it's like sugar sometimes.

(older!modern!dad!eddie)

welcome back to the: orange colored sky setlist a/n: this can be read as a stand alone, give or take some references. but as a pre-cursor: you and eddie are about twelve years apart, meeting in late twenties early thirties, his late thirties early forties. you're deeply in love and we're fast forwarding a bit and now you have a kid. shout out to my nephew because without countless videos of him being the same age as the baby in this fic i would not now how babies baby. cw: pure fluff. pure dad eddie goodness. pretty tame. some mild arguing and swearing. some saucy kisses at the end. a new entry for the fall frenzy extravaganza. this fall frenzy is in honor of @jo-harrington who said i could do whatever, so here we are lmao.

songspiration: how sweet it is (to be loved by you) | james taylor

The ride to the orchard is going much better than you were expecting after such a rough morning. Tears from the moment Gwen came into your room just before four in the morning because she had a bad dream. Then it was too hot for her in bed with both of you, then she was too cold, then Ed’s snoring kept you both awake until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Then there was the kicking and stretching and rolling around. Aren’t they supposed to sleep like logs? She just turned three. Ed woke up refreshed, frowning when he turned over to see you sitting up against the headboard reading with puffy tired eyes. “Hey,” he says softly as to not wake Gwen who was curled up into his side, “She come in last night?” “Another bad dream,” you shrug, looking at him over your book, “I don’t know if she’s really having them or if she’s just starting to have a little regression period. Maybe we can get her a new night light or something.” “Why don’t you try to go back to sleep for a little and I’ll get her ready,” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep, “I’ll just take her into the shower with me.” You smile lazily at him and nod, looking over at the clock on his night stand – a little past six. Maybe an extra forty-five would do you some good before you went to the orchards upstate. Gwen’s eyes open up to her dad awake, her face contorting when she sees him. “Had a bad dweam,” she sniffles, reaching her arms out. “Poor Gwen, you had a bad dream?” Eddie coos, pulling her up out of bed with him, “Tell me all about it, angel.” Her babbles echo down the hall even after Ed closes the door behind them.

Piercing sobs woke you up instead of your alarm, though that went off right after to remind you that there’s a whole day you have to start. You rub your eyes and groan, sliding out of bed and stepping into your slippers. You grab your robe, shrugging it on as you leave the bedroom and wincing while another cry pours out of your toddler and goes straight to your chest. “I know, honey, I know,” you hear Eddie soothe, “But we’re gonna go do something so fun. You wanna go pick a pumpkin, right?” “No pumpki-i-in,” she sobs, deep and guttural. You open the door to her room slowly, a very teary Gwen stands in the corner, hair wet in a new set of pajamas. You look at Eddie, pulling out an outfit for her and laying it on her toddler bed. “What’s goin’ on, in here?” you ask gently. “Gwen doesn’t wanna get dressed to go apple picking,” Eddie says quietly, “She wants to watch Blue’s Clues.” “Wan’ see Bl-blue, mommy,” she sobs, “Pwease.” “Hey, hey,” you try your best to settle her, “Thank you for saying please, honey. We can still see Blue but daddy has to get you dressed first.” “Did she eat?” you ask, pulling Gwen up to your hip while she cries into your shoulder. “Yeah, she had some mini waffles and a banana,” he opens her closet and fishes out a tiny pair of Chuck’s to go with her outfit – a little black sweatshirt screen printed with the Halloween movie poster paired with a set of leggings meant to look like jeans. “Did you eat?” you smile, coming over to him to plant a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, her leftovers,” he laughs, “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter.” “Thank you,” you nudge him, feeling Gwen squirm and whine while she tries to shimmy down from your hip, “Okay, okay.” “Gwen, please,” Eddie begs with a twinge of frustration in his voice when she makes it to the door, on her tiptoes to reach the handle, “Let’s just get you dressed and you can watch Blue’s Clues while we do your hair.” She stomps, wet curls bouncing with her when she does, “Wanna watch now, pwease!” “Thank you for asking nicely Gwen, but that doesn’t always mean you get your way,” he explains. She shrieks, loud enough that your eyes squint, stomping again onto the fluffy white carpet below her, “I wanna watch Blue’s Cwue’s!” “Why don’t you take a deep breath for me, huh?” Eddie asks her, he pats your lower back on the way to the door. A silent way of letting you know to just go get yourself ready, he can handle the rest, “Do we need to take a time out?” “No time out,” she starts to cry again when you slip out of the room. More frustrated whines and wails boom down the hall, dissipating while you make it down the metal staircase to the coffee on the counter. Your heart swells when you notice that he already emptied and reloaded the dishwasher. 

After you’ve packed some snacks for later and gotten yourself dressed, you make your way back upstairs. You approach the bathroom with your coffee in hand, Gwen’s sippy cup full of water in the other. Her bubbly squeals respond back to whoever is talking to her, barely looking up from Eddie’s phone to look at you when you open the door. 

“Who’re you talking to, miss girl?” you ask, putting her sippy cup next to her on the bathroom counter. “Steeb,” she says, eyes glued to the screen, much happier than she was before. “She’s watching 90s Blue’s Clues?” you laugh at your husband who’s busy splitting her Gwen’s hair into a middle part, looking in the mirror that she’s sat in front of. “No, she’s FaceTiming with Steve,” he shakes his head, pulling one section back into a high pigtail. “Hi peach!” Steve’s voice rings from the phone, he lowers it back down to parentese to address Gwen, “Is that mommy? Can you say hi to her for me?”  “Steeb say hi,” Gwen says, lifting the phone up, showing the screen to the ceiling of the bathroom. You take the phone for a second, seeing Steve’s annoyed face in the frame. 

“You’re on thin ice,” he says, his fiancee’s laugh ringing out of frame, “I can’t believe you’re going this week when we’ll be there in two. You always go before we come to visit.” “There will be plenty of apple picking trips to do together when we move, I promise,” you assure, “She starts gymnastics and swimming next weekend, we won’t have another time to do it.” 

“Gymnastics?” he asks, “Does she have tights? Leotards? What can I get her?” 

“She has like, I don’t know Steve – forty leotards? She’s gonna grow out of half of them in six weeks,” you explain, “Don’t worry, your husband got it covered.” Eddie snickers, wrapping an elastic around one of the ponytails in his fingers. “Well if she’s gonna grow out of them then she’ll need more,” he scoffs, “I’ll get some sent over.” 

“You’re impossible,” your eye roll is something Steve is just as used to as Eddie is. Gwen whines again, reaching for the phone with grabby hands, a quiet ‘Steeby’ escaping her. “I can hear her asking for me, gimme back to my girl,” he sighs. You hand the phone back to Gwen who giggles when Steve makes a funny face at her through the screen. “Look how pretty those ponytails are. Daddy did such a good job,” Steve coos at her. “We payin’ be-yoo-dee sawon,” Gwen explains. Eddie looks up at you, whispering ‘Can you grab her bows for me?’ You nod, reaching into the bottom drawer to snatch a basket full of bows, holding them out to him while he picks. 

“Beauty salon,” Eddie corrects softly, “Orange or black bows?”  “Bwack,” she says, waving him off like you do when you’re busy, “I’m on da phone, daddy.” “Yeah,” you say, meeting her sass, “She’s on the phone, daddy.”

He lets a ‘pfff’ push out of his lips while he grabs two black bows from last halloween, little sparkly spider webs parked in the center. You leave them to it, heading down to get the car packed up and make sure you have Gwen’s bag set up before you leave. 

Despite the dramatics, the ride is going well. Gwen happily eats an apple sauce packet in her carseat while the two of you sip on coffees and eat breakfast sandwiches from a drive thru off the highway. It’s nice to get out of the city for a while and get Gwen used to the idea of not being in it anymore. The drive consists mostly of James Taylor’s greatest hits because Gwen is her Grandpa Wayne’s baby before she’s anyone else’s. She hums along to Carolina and sings only the chorus of Mexico. Her favorite song is Mockingbird even though it’s Carly Simon featuring James Taylor. The two of you throw it on the record player every other day to sing it to her, even if she doesn’t ask for it. It’s selfishly your favorite song, too, just ‘cause you get to see your husband play along with you. “And if that better way ain't so, I'll ride with the tide and go with the flow, And that's why, I keep on shoutin' in your ear, Saying (yeah, yeah) whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-oh.” You lean your head back on the passenger’s side to make eye contact with Gwen through the visor mirror who giggles back at you. She mimics your ‘whoa-whoa-whoa’, shimmying in her carseat with her shoulders. Gwen’s no stranger to shimmying, always finding some way to dance off beat to Ed’s music when he plays at a venue she can be at or practices at home. His number one fan. 

“Oh-wange twees, mommy,” Gwen says, tiny finger pointing out the window at the foliage lining the road. “I see them, aren’t they pretty Gwen?” you nod back at her. Eddie’s head turns slightly to watch her watch the trees, eyes shining at each change of color hits her. His heart beats a little quicker knowing she’s able to make those distinctions between orange, red, and yellow – too smart, getting too big. “Daddy’s git-tah,” she yelps, pointing hard at a tree covered in dark red leaves while Eddie slowly turns down the entrance of the orchard. Gwen lets out a tiny ‘woah’ when the car jostles that makes him laugh, he wishes she’d stay this little forever. “Yeah, that’s the same color as daddy’s guitar, good job sweetheart,” he smiles back at her, “Are you ready to pick some apples so we can make Uncle Stevie a pie for when he visits?” “Ya!” She nods, happy and excited. She doesn’t know what he said, but whenever he talks to her with a smile she’ll do whatever he asks and vice versa. Still ‘sort of rockstar’, definitely ‘meant to be father’. Parking is less of a nightmare than expected since it’s early in the day – most families come after the first morning nap, at least that’s what the mom groups told you on Facebook. Gwen hardly naps anymore, but you won’t be surprised if she knocks out earlier than usual tonight. Eddie gets the backpack full of Gwen’s essentials and you grab the baby. “I have to carry you through the parking lot, babe,” you say when she starts to bounce in your arms, eager to run on the grass in her sneakers. “Wanna walk, please,” she begs, her hands on your cheeks while you make your way towards the entrance. “You can walk when we get inside but there’s lots of cars out here and no stop lights,” you say, batting her hand out of your hair when she reaches for it, “I’ll put you down in a little bit.” “You think we should take the stroller?” Ed asks from the trunk. “They have wagons, we can just pull her around,” you shrug, “I don’t think the back up stroller is good for this kind of place, we’d need the one at home.” Eddie shrugs, joining you on your walk to the entrance to get your empty bag and your wagon, putting Gwen at the back as you get to the trees. “Walk, please,” she begs again. You hesitate, it’s just too big of a place and she’s a runner, “Honey, I would love it if you–” “Let her walk,” Eddie says, “She’ll get bored after a few minutes and wanna watch anyway, just let her walk.” “Come here Gwen, hold my hand,” he says, offering a tattooed hand to her pudgy one. She clumsily crawls out of the wagon, bouncing over to her dad to put her hand in his. He pulls her up once, making her squeal and giggle as she floats next to him. “More, more!” she laughs, letting Eddie swing her ahead a few more times while you all make your way through the trees. 

She likes apple picking more than you expected, arms up constantly to be lifted onto the branches to grab some off of every few trees. Gwen had a good eye, better than you and Eddie, for super crisp ones – pointing up and jumping to get at them. If she was a little bigger you wouldn’t be surprised if she climbed up the trees with the ease of a jungle cat. Your husband encouraged it, climbing up the branches like he was still twenty – sitting with his legs dangling off and having you pass your toddler to him. “Please be careful,” you warn, passing her up to him. “Babe, I know what I’m doing,” he scowls, a hint annoyed before changing his expression for Gwen when he helps her onto the low branch with him. “You don’t have to be a jerk, I just want her to be safe,” you snap back. “And I’m keeping her safe,” he says with a smile as to keep your daughter none-the-wiser. Still looking at Gwen while she reaches for another apple. She hands it to Eddie who hands it to you, your fingers brush. “Sorry,” he says, looking down at you, “I’ll be careful. We’re not very high, but you’re right. I’ll be careful.” “Thank you,” you nod, taking the apple and pressing a ghost of a kiss to his knuckles. He blushes red, red, red. Red like the leaves, red like his guitar. “Why s’pink, daddy?” Gwen asks, passing him another apple. “I just love mommy very much, honey,” he smiles, pressing a kiss into her hair, “She makes me turn pink like a heart.” “Like on da phone,” she says, clinging to him like a koala when he slides down off the low branch with her. “Yes, like on the phone,” he nods. You’re not Peach 🍑 in his phone anymore. You’re The Wife 💗. Right now he’s Gwen’s Dad in your phone because you got in an argument two months ago and haven’t changed it back to Rockstar Husband 🎸❣️because ‘Gwen’s Dad’ makes you laugh too much. He hates it. “How you like them apples, G?” you ask when Eddie puts her down in the wagon, she looks up at you confused and shrugs; brown curly pigtails bouncing at she does. “Kids today,” you shake your head at Eddie while you press onward, “No culture.” 

“No culture,” he agrees enthusiastically. 

You peruse, the bags you bought are filled to the brim with apples. Some red, some green, a few yellow so Gwen can try them and see if she likes them. It’s a calming walk, the chatter of other families, the squeaky roll of the wagon, the rustle of the trees when the early autumn wind catches them. Eddie holds your hand loosely, always needing to keep touching you in some way, always wanting to keep you close to him. You look back, Gwen going between looking around at the other families and playing with her V-Tech phone. Eddie goes from walking slow to speeding up to make the wagon jostle just to hear Gwen’s giggles peal through the trees. After about an hour of walking and picking, you’re about as pooped as your toddler should be. Once you get to the tree line you see the farm and market down at the base of the hill, a little relieved that you’ve all made it to the end of the road unscathed. 

That is, until Gwen climbs out of the wagon when it comes to a stop and without warning, books it towards the edge. 

“Gwendolyn Rose!” Eddie’s call is rough and loud out of fear, but it sounds like anger. Gwen stops short, startled, falling backwards onto the seat of her leggings. Like clockwork the first whine starts, building up into a needy, sad wail. You know they’re crocodile tears so you keep your pace with the wagon behind you. Your husband however, despite the constant reminder that she knows he’s easy, rushes forward without a second thought. “Oh no, my baby girl, shh, shh. I’m sorry,” he coos, reaching down to hoist her up onto his hip, “I didn’t mean to yell, sugar. You just got daddy scared is all. I’m not mad.” Gwen wipes her face, pushing away tears that never fell, sniffling and hiding her face in his neck. He rubs her back while she settles, guilt tugging on the lines between his brows. 

“No baby girl,” Gwen pouts, “I’m big girl.” 

“Oh that’s right, you’re my big girl,” Eddie grins, kissing her cheek. She’s not amused, frowning down at him while she pushes up against his shoulder to squirm out of his hold. “That’s a very grumpy face, Gwenny,” you giggle.  “Hey, are you mad at me?” he asks up at her before popping her back down onto her feet at the edge of the tree line, “Why’re you lookin’ so mad?” 

“I’m big,” she announces, little foot stomping on the grass below her. Eddie lets a sigh out through his nose and kneels down to her level. She takes several deep breaths and you both know it’s the beginning of what could be a very long second tantrum of the day. “I know, you’re a very big girl,” he nods, “But what do mommy and daddy say you have to do when we don’t have you in the stroller?” “Hode hands,” she repeats back in a whine. “That’s right, we hold hands – and if we’re not holding your hand you’re supposed to stay close, right?” He watches her nod, tucking a finger under her chin to make sure she’s absorbing what he’s saying. Her lower lip juts out, cheeks puffing while her shoulders sulk. “I walk by - by mysewf,” she urges, sniffling, “Pwease.” “Not today, sugar. I’m sorry,” he sighs, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I have a fun idea, do you wanna get on daddy’s shoulders and you can tell us how far we are from the farm?” She brightens up a little, giggling when he reaches down to tickle her sides before scooping her up to lift over his shoulders. He groans the way old men groan when they lift something and you stifle a laugh, smiling up at Gwen when she smiles down at you. “Hi mommy,” she beams, waving her tiny hand.  “Hi baby,” wave back lazily, the shoddy sleep you had last night starting to settle into your eyes. “Do you see the farm, Gwenny?” Eddie asks, she nods enthusiastically, “Maybe we can go get you a donut, how does that sound? Will that make you happy?”

“Ed,” you click your tongue, “She’s never gonna get to sleep later.” “We’re making memories, babe,” Eddie says, reaching up to hold Gwen’s hands to keep her steady, “Some extra sugar won’t hurt her.” 

“Yeah, you love extra sugar, don’t you?” you laugh. 

“Matter of fact, I do,” he smirks, shooting you a wink. He laughs when he sees two of those twelve foot Home Depot skeletons posed outside the front of the market, promoting their haunted hayride with signs and other silly decor, “Shit, that’s fuckin’ metal – s’ridiculous.” 

“S’dic-yoo-liss,” Gwen repeats. “S’ridiculous, Gwennifer!” Eddie repeats back in concurrence. “Sss’tick-you-luss,” she bounces, laughing when he laughs. They have the same one, though his has years on hers, gruff with age, with cigarette stains. 

Pumpkins get picked, warm donuts devoured, the morning finally feels like it’s coming to a close. You park Gwen down at a picnic table while Eddie goes to get the goods, hanging out with your threenager who can barely keep her eyes open. You’re thankful you still have the wagon because there was no way you’d be able to carry all of it back to the car. Caramel apples, cider donuts, three gallons of apple cider, honey sticks, pumpkin pie, and anything else Eddie thought was good enough to bring home for the season weight heavy in the brown paper bags in his arms. He comes back sheepishly, biting his lower lip when you look at the bags and then at him. 

“Hm,” you hum pointedly. 

“I just really like fall flavors, peach,” he shrugs, “And the old lady at the front was so sweet telling me about the deals I couldn’t not get everything.” “You’re such a sucker,” you laugh with a roll of your eyes, “You ready to head out?” He nods, ticking his forehead at Gwen whose cheek is smushed against your chest, eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, “Looks like this pumpkin’s ready to go.” 

“She’s out,” you say softly, brushing her hair away from her face, “Lasted five minutes on my lap.” 

“Let me get a picture to send to Steve,” he says low enough that it doesn’t wake her, “The background is perfect.” “Ed you have a thousand pictures of her from today,” you complain. “Shh, shh, come on,” he smiles, taking out his phone – you know he’s only snapping Gwen by the way he lowers the camera to your lap. He puts the bags in the wagon while you slowly stand with her wrapped around your front. You wait at the entrance for him to pull the car around, leaving the wagon behind. She doesn’t wake up when you pop her back in the car seat, slowly rolling out of the parking lot with the rest of the afternoon in your wake. 

“I got her a little gourd painting kit, somewhere in those bags,” he says, “She can make some decorations.”  “Oh she’ll love that,” you nod, peeking at her sleeping face in the visor mirror again, “I’ll do it with her before dinner.”

He pulls in slowly at a stop sign, hand reaching out to snake into yours, pulling it to his lips to bless you with soft kisses on the back of your hand.

“Thanks for such a good day, baby,” he murmurs.

“You’re very welcome.” 

Later on, just before dinner, Eddie hears a tiny knock on his office door paired with two giggles from his favorite girls. 

“Yes?” he calls out. The door creeps open and he hears you whisper, ‘Ask ‘Are you busy, daddy?’ 

“You busy, daddy?” Gwen pipes up. He shuts his computer, moving away from the two additional screens. “No, honey, never too busy for you,” he smiles, creases by his eyes showing up through his glasses, “Do you have something to show me?” 

“Yeah,” she nods, pulling on your hand to pull you into the room. He uses the same candles he always has, deep spice, like his cologne. Warm like the way he holds you. Still in his hunter green Dickie’s overalls from this morning. 

You give Gwen her little pumpkin that she painted to present to her dad, beaming with excitement while he looks it over. 

“Such a good job, Gwenny,” he coos, “Are these –” 

“I did bats,” she grins, finger touching the sparkly black sort of bats adorning the outside. Covered in glitter and sequins, falling onto his office floor. 

“You did bats? For Halloween?” he asks. You shake your head no, smiling big when Gwen goes on to explain. 

“No cause, daddy, cause you have bats,” she hurriedly explains, “Issa daddy pum-kin.” She reaches to his left arm, pointing at the bat tattoos on the inside when he was a kid. She runs her finger over them, “See, bats like daddy.” 

“That’s so sweet, honey,” he coos, “Is it for me?” “Yeah,” she squeaks, “For here.” “For your office,” you say for her, trying not to giggle when his eyes shine with tears. She could give him a piece of trash and he’d cry over it, “‘Cause you have so many Halloween decorations in here.” He laughs, looking around at all the tour posters he has from bands he’s seen over the years – to a three year old they probably are a little scary. “And what did you say it was when you were done, Gwen?” you ask, “What did you say daddy would think the pumpkin was?” “Fucking med-oh,” she giggles. “Oh my god,” he sighs, thumb and forefinger immediately going to temples. “Fucking metal,” you repeat back him, knowingly, “Wonder where she got that.”

He tries not to laugh when he looks down at Gwen, “Don’t say that word, baby, that’s a bad word.” “Sowwy,” she whispers. “It’s okay, you didn’t know,” he grins, pulling her in to kiss her all over. She shrieks the way babies shriek when they’re excited and runs out of the office toward her bedroom at the end of the hall. You turn to go after her before feeling Eddie’s hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” he says quietly in your ear, you shiver, “Remember when you said I like a little extra sugar?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, turning to him, “I do.” He leans in slow, lips capturing yours in a way that they only do when you both get to be alone, “Don’t forget to keep givin’ me some.” “I won’t,” you murmur back, letting him kiss you deeply one more time before pressing a slow kiss to your favorite place under the hinge of your jaw, “You’re bold, Munson.” He shrugs, breaking away, “Needed somethin’ sweet.” 

As if he isn't sweet enough. Eddie spends the rest of the night looking up ways to preserve a painted gourd. 

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[queen-simia]

now that ep 4 is live to the public, I can finally post what I've been sitting (and spinning) on for like a week, wheeee!

Major Monkey Wrench spoilers abound, so putting below a cut if you haven't yet seen the latest episode. And if you haven't seen it (or the rest of the series), you can do so here:

now ON TO THE INFODUMP

Shrike's status

so, since the beginning, I've been putting all my money on Shrike being an artificial being. Not in the sense of robotics/cyborgs and the like, but in the sense of a one-of-a-kind bioengineered creature. Since he was confirmed as an endling (as opposed to just hinted at in past episodes), I'm choosing to take that as a bit of reinforcement; his species is still marked as "unknown" by LAW, and if no one knows what you are and you're the only one they've ever seen, it's safe to assume they assume you're the last of whatever you are.

now, in a leap on my part, I'm further going to postulate that Shrike is actually an engineered squid. As in an honest-to-god Earth cephalopod, albeit in the same sense you can call a human a monkey. I think that maybe our boy Shrike is the end result of years-long genetic modification and breeding programs to create something closer to human shape and intelligence, but with whatever attributes his human creators wanted from squid...

...maybe attributes like producing ink.

"that's stupid, what makes you think that?" Glad you asked, Strawman! Here's what I'm drawing from:

Scratch's nicknames for Shrike

As much as these can be considered throwaways, Zeurel and Ash have been very good about sneaking in foreshadowing in dialogue. I don't fully think Scratch is calling Shrike "squidhead" just to be antagonistic (though in-universe, he certainly is; I doubt the character himself in canon has that kind of insight); I'm choosing to believe it may be a bit of a Chekhov's gun.

Shrike's design inspiration

In Tumblr ask replies, Zeurel's confirmed Shrike's design is based heavily on Humboldt squid, and he finds cephalopods and deep-sea life in general interesting. It's going into meta rather than narrative precedent, but I think for these reasons, having Shrike actually be an ascended squid wouldn't be that far out of the blue.

Shrike's terran connections

It's been established that Earth no longer exists, and what humans remain are persona non grata in LAW space. They're the reason behind the Cataclysm/the creation of Secondary Green, and what artifacts remain are traded on the black market (as implied by Scratch and Jaw Bone dealing in them, neither of whom are exactly upstanding citizens).

Yet somehow, Shrike speaks primarily in a canonically dead Earth language—Latin Spanish—and thinks highly of terrans/terran culture. He apparently is the only being in LAW space who does both. One could argue he picked up Spanish through exposure to contraband as a LAW officer, but even his translated speech is Spanish-accented. That to me is a clue it's his native language, as opposed to one picked up later in life. Maybe he doesn't speak it all that well, but it's what he learned as he grew up.

I believe that Shrike's interest in terran artifacts isn't so much fannish as it is nostalgic, though he doesn't realize it (yet). Remember, we don't know his true age—he's only estimated to be in his mid- to late 20s. He could very well be several decades or even 800+ years old, and for reasons yet unknown he isn't aware of it. Hell, he knows what VHS tapes are and how to watch them, something present-day kids are unfamiliar with right now. Even if he was treated as only a scientific specimen in his youth, something about Earth/its people may have been warm and familiar enough to endear terran mementos to him. But it's now too far gone in the past for him to remember why exactly he loves them so much.

Shrike got no dick

(originally posted to Twitter before the Shittening)

Canonically, the boy is Ken-doll smooth both front and back. Even though he has a gender (Questionably Masc™), he has no sex. Maybe his species could reproduce asexually, but it's pretty unusual for complex bipedal critters to do that. Plus, there's the fact that no peehole and no butthole also mean no bodily waste excretion, which is pretty much a death sentence for most life forms that run on metabolic processes. Therefore, I'm taking all these as artifacts of Shrike's artificial creation (and not just so it's more difficult to make show-accurate porn of him).

The Primaries, LAW, and Secondary Green

So there are three godlike beings that ostensibly also serve as the basis for government, referred to as the Primaries. Only one has been directly referenced as active in LAW government—Primary Red—but given the colors of the three LAW divisions, one can safely assume there must be a Primary Yellow and Primary Blue (whether they also govern, are off doing something else, or are AWOL is a mystery for now). It also just so happens that interstellar travel takes place in subspace pathways in the same colors as the Primaries (with varying speed depending on color), and spacecraft is fueled by "ink" in those corresponding primary colors.

It's also revealed in a news chyron in ep 4 that an intergalactic-capable drive had been in development (and had been stalled by bureaucracy) for at least 20 years, and is now ready to deploy. It's referred to as a Trinity drive, and required Primary Red's approval before it could officially launch. I think it's pretty safe to assume it's a form of propulsion that combines all 3 colors, however the in-universe physics work in that case. At the moment, it's been shown that using the wrong type of ink in a color drive will cause an explosion and a tear in space at best (at worst, we don't know yet), so whatever science went into developing a drive that combines colors must have been fairly dangerous (or potentially threatens to weaken whatever power the Primaries hold over LAW citizens).

Secondary Green

Background details are vital lore sources in Monkey Wrench. If you paid close attention near the beginning of ep 1 (and can easily read backwards text), you already know what's in the box the boys pick up in ep 2: something called "Secondary Green." It was evidently once in Chester's possession, but by the time Kara caught up to him, he'd already sent it on its way to LAW.

The second and third episodes refer to the Cataclysm being caused by terrans. The third episode explains the green corruption's effect on life forms, and LAW subsequently quarantining it to prevent its spread. It also shows Secondary Green corrupting the bit of Them that gets too close into the horrific black-green monster that overtakes the Bucket. The fourth ep has Jaw Bone directly refer to the terrans' "false idol" in reference to the Cataclysm.

While I was typing later paragraphs, I hit upon a possibility I hadn't even considered for what Secondary Green could be. So now, I've got 2 potential reads:

1. Secondary Green was the humans' attempt at recreating the Primaries' power for themselves. Whether this was to undermine LAW or to try to join the galactic stage at the Primaries' level has yet to be seen, but either way, it ended up biting humanity in the ass. Secondary Green and/or a byproduct of it/its creation ended up destroying Earth and a good chunk of its neighboring Milky Way space, and landed whatever humans remain squarely on LAW's shit list.

Now, those of you who remember me from pre-2018 Tumblr also know I'm pretty heavily into Mass Effect. That universe's version of the Milky Way also was governed by an alien-run coalition: the Citadel, which tightly controlled the means to interstellar travel (although the Citadel species did not create these means, they just found and activated them first). Thus, the similarities to the idea of a three-pronged alien government holding the keys to interstellar travel and commerce and forcing you to play nice if you want in have been resonating in the back of my mind whenever I watch Monkey Wrench.

The similarities end in that MW's answer to the Protheans are still very much alive and active, and are directly overseeing galactic travel, commerce, and government. There aren't established mass relays, but every ship contains its own "relay" in the form of ink drives. These can open portals into respective colors of subspace to get from one side of the galaxy to another faster than conventional propulsion (so far, red is the fastest, and blue seems to be the median speed everyday schmoes like our boys can access). And, most importantly, the means of this travel are less an external technological development and more appear to be tied to the nature of the Primaries themselves; these beings are not just obeyed, but worshiped (see Scratch's oaths in ep 3 and the red officer greeting Shrike and Armstrong exchange in ep 4).

However, there are still two very important similarities between these two settings that I think should be kept in mind:

i. Trouble started when humans started sticking their fingers into the galactic government's pie. In Mass Effect, it was shoehorning Shepard into the Spectre program and wriggling humanity's way into the Citadel Council. In Monkey Wrench, it was messing with fundamental forces it didn't yet understand and (maybe) creating human-made Great Value primaries, which resulted in at least one: Secondary Green.

ii. Control over interstellar travel—specifically, access to subspace—is a cornerstone of power. In Mass Effect, you need a specific form of reactor in order to engage the mass relays and "cheat" your way to FTL travel. These relays are heavily guarded and regulated by the Citadel; humanity famously learned this when it activated Relay 314 near Pluto and got a knock-knock from the police in the form of a turian armada. In Monkey Wrench, you need to equip specific color drives and fuel up at ink stations, which presumably are subject to LAW regulation and pricing.

In both settings, Earth appears to have taken a look at the galaxy already being run by someone else and immediately thought, "but how do I get around this?"

Engineering Secondary Green was MW Earth's answer to this question. Unfortunately, it backfired and drove humanity to (functional) extinction and criminal status.

2. Secondary Green is an unintended fusion of Primaries Yellow and Blue. This would explain their current-day absence (provided they don't directly appear in later episodes), and the subsequent fall of LAW enforcement into disorder that Armstrong alludes to in ep 4. Humanity was up to something that attracted the Primaries' attention—perhaps tapping into pocket dimensions, like the one embedded in Shrike's head?—and maybe things went awry. One way or another, Primaries Yellow and Blue's intervention ended in them fusing into a new anti-entity, Secondary Green. Instead of fostering life, their combined and imbalanced power corrupted it.

Left to their own devices (and likely hawkish methods, given Red oversees enforcement), Primary Red sealed off Earth's part of the galaxy and declared humanity LAW's enemy. The quarantine for justifiable safety/life preservation reasons, the outlawing likely to create the narrative that humanity was entirely to blame and not at all any fault of Primary interference (and maybe some vengeance for losing their comrades).

Or maybe, Red is covering their tracks.

LAW and Order

So the League of Aligned Worlds (LAW—yes, it's an acronym) is the current empire ruling civilized space in the Milky Way galaxy, under direct command of the Primaries (or at least Primary Red). There are three established branches: enforcement/military (red, which Shrike was once and has since defected from), science (yellow, which Dr. Agness impersonated), and commerce (blue, as represented by Killix and Sixty-Two, who appear to be led by an as-yet unseen Commander Tezzoree).

Being a centralized civilization, LAW has certain cultural and legal standards it expects its citizens to observe. Commerce and community are enabled by way of implanted universal translators á là Star Trek, but with one specific caveat: swearing is not allowed. It's so not allowed that it's physically punishable through painful translator auditory feedback—interestingly, people in earshot get punished this way as well just for hearing it.

Maybe it's a form of socialization, in that LAW hopes you're nice enough not to want to hurt your fellow citizens by swearing? Or that your fellow citizens, having had pain inflicted on them, will browbeat you into compliance? Either way, it's a window into current LAW space being severely authoritarian in both the moral and legal senses.

This extreme authoritarian approach doesn't prevent corruption, however. Corporate lobbyists exist, as demonstrated by Chester in ep 1, and LAW officials patronizing vice industries like sex work (see the end of ep 3) is not unusual. And current LAW is disorganized to the point of each division being largely ignorant of what's going on in the others: Neither Killix nor Sixty-Two were aware Shrike is a defector, nor do they bat an eye at him admitting as such. Armstrong is able to impersonate a red officer with either stolen or purchased equipment, and even he's astonished that LAW keeps such loose tabs on itself that they still have Shrike registered as an active officer. Dr. Agness is able to get away with impersonating a LAW scientist, and the LAW representatives who collect her don't appear especially ruffled by it.

It's possible that this rigid adherence to authority and subsequent breakdown in the ability to enforce it is due to Primary Red being the only Primary left. The harder you clench your fist, the more sand slips through your fingers, and all that. However it happened, Red is at the moment the only one at the wheel, and they don't seem to be able to keep it together on their own.

aight, so where's this leave us

so for now, I think these are where we may be headed:

a: Shrike was genetically engineered to be in the running as a peer to/defense against the Primaries, but aligned with Earth. He has a means to access a pocket dimension/subspace, could possibly be a source of ink (either as secretion or in the form of his blood), is an exceptional marksman, and possesses anthropomorphic form and (allegedly) intellect. The problem is, he turned out anti-authoritarian, impulsive, and kinda stupid. He was disposed of at some point and now wanders space as the only one of his kind.

b: The same program that produced Shrike also created Secondary Green. Unfortunately, something happened—whether through accident or external manipulation—that turned it into a rampaging force of destruction. We have yet to see whether humans really did just monumentally fuck up, or if LAW is rewriting history.

c: LAW is on its way to collapse through Primary Red's mismanagement. Whether said mismanagement is through the other Primaries going missing on their own, or through a power grab on Red's part is the main mystery.

hooray done for now oh god

[lexithwrites]

my first ever lil bakudeku so go easy on me (teacher midoriya x pro hero bakugo)

"Okay, I think that's a good place to finish on for now. Oh! And don't forget your hero costumes guys, you have training at Ground Beta with some of the pros next, so please behave and show them respect!" Izuku smiled as his students started to pack up in front of him, ready to get out and use their Quirks after sitting through yet another one of his long, detailed ramblings. 1-B loved their homeroom teacher, they really did, but he didn't always know when to slow down and breathe when he got talking. Plus, they'd get in trouble if he took too much time and kept on talking after the first bell.

"Thank you Mr. Midoriya." A slight girl with deep green skin and a shock of blue hair said to him, standing up from her seat in the first row. Izuku blushed a little, still not entirely used to the compliments he received as a teacher, and nodded at her in thanks.

"O-Of course! Have a good day, Aiko." She nodded back at him then hurried off with her hero costume case to join her friends. Izuku watched them all head out, smiling and waving as they filtered out into the busy corridor, then slumped into his chair with a deep sigh, tugging at his tie a little. He still got anxious that he wasn't doing his best at UA as a teacher, even though Mr. Aizawa always gave him nothing but praise. Well, Izuku supposed it was just Shota now, since they were no longer student and teacher themselves but now colleagues.

Izuku tilted his head to look at where his hand was laid flat on his desk. He flexed it, watching his scars gently move as he did so, and chewed on his lower lip. He missed it, that little crackle of energy in his veins from One For All. Sometimes...sometimes he wished he could see that green lightning again, but he'd shake his head and try to forget. He couldn't focus on that anymore, he had much more important things to do. Like grade papers. He groaned, loudly. "How did Mr. Aizawa do this every day?"

"No clue, since he had me to deal with." Izuku jumped in his seat and turned his head towards that oh so familiar voice. Katsuki, or Pro Hero Dynamight since he was currently wearing the costume, was leaning on his shoulder in the doorway of the classroom; arms folded and a smirk on his lips. Izuku's eyes widened and he rushed over to him, tugging him inside before hastily shutting the door.

"What are you doing here?! Did the kids see you?"

"Nah, they'd probably beg for my autograph if they did. Or run in the opposite direction." Katsuki smiled and Izuku relaxed a little. "Aizawa asked me, I'm training with them, Mirko and Jeanist today."

"You didn't tell me that!" Izuku huffed, poking Katsuki's shoulder with a frown. "Why not?"

"Thought I'd surprise you, and I'm glad I did. You look tense as hell. Bad homeroom?"

"No." Izuku sighed and walked over to his desk again to lean on the edge. "I just...I was talking too much again."

"You say that like you hate talking, I usually can't get you to shut up." Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "Did one of the kids say something?"

"No." There was a pause. "I could tell they were bored."

"Who cares? We were bored during most of Aizawa's shitty presentations and he knew that, don't take any notice of 'em. They're idiots."

"Kacchan, they're teenagers."

"Exactly, we were idiots at their age too." Katsuki snorted and walked over to where Izuku was leaning, a hand going to his waist on instinct. Once he realised what was happening, Izuku peered over Katsuki's broad shoulders to the door and swallowed.

"No one saw you?" He asked again and Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Kacchan."

"I was quiet as a mouse, like I always am." He teased, squeezing Izuku's hip in a way that made him shiver. Izuku cleared his throat.

"Training isn't for another hour or so, you came early."

"Mhm." Katsuki's eyes weren't on Izuku's, they were lower down. Focused on his lips.

"You were lucky you didn't get seen by the students, they'd freak out if they saw a top five hero at UA just walking around."

"I didn't just come here for them, dumbass." Katsuki leaned a little closer, trapping Izuku between him and the desk. Naturally, Izuku spread his legs to accommodate him, and Katsuki hummed. "You'll come watch me train them, right?"

"Course I will. I wouldn't miss it." His hands went to Katsuki's biceps, resisting the urge to squeeze them, feel the muscle under his fingers. "We barely have an hour—"

"There's a lot we can do in an hour." Katsuki whispered, nose brushing Izuku's before moving to his cheek, then his jaw. "Thought this was one of your freaky fantasies?"

"I—" Izuku stumbled with his words, feeling Katsuki grin against his flushed, burning hot skin. "I was drunk when I said that! I didn't mean it!"

"Sure you didn't." He snorted and then gently grazed his lips over Izuku's pulse point. "No one's gonna come in here, are they? They're all getting ready. Come on, we have a little time."

Izuku pushed on his chest so he could see his face, and noticed how hot and bothered Katsuki looked. Izuku felt his chest bloom with emotion, with love, and he smiled. Knowing he could make Katsuki feel good, even just from this, made him feel proud. "Just kissing." Katsuki groaned but Izuku poked his cheek. "Just kissing."

"Fine. What about on your lunch break later?"

"You're insatiable!"

"I've got you," Katsuki scoffed, as if it were obvious. "Of course I am." Izuku just smiled and pulled him down against his lips.

Maybe a little more than kissing wouldn't hurt...

[deuce-t-agere]

X-Men: Evolution CG Storm and Regressor Wolverine headcanons

When Logan comes back from a solo mission he always tries not to let himself regress because he worries the kids will see, he likes to keep his regression as private as possible and doesn’t want to lose the kids’ respect

Ororo will meet him after missions to see how he is doing, if he’s trying not to regress, she’ll use subtle language to help him slip into headspace and then walk with him back to one of their rooms for some baby time, if he’ll let her

Ororo will whisper ask Logan if he went potty before they leave because he might have an accident if he slips

Ororo tries to convince Logan to wear a pull-up when they go out while he’s between headspaces, Logan begrudgingly agrees most of the time because it’s slightly less embarrassing than an accident

Kitty saw Ororo leave Logan’s room early one morning after she spent the night helping him regress, a rumor started about them dating that same day, they were extra careful for a while bc they didn’t want anyone accidentally finding out while trying catch them doing coupley things

Logan doesn’t like to eat his veggies, but he always wants whatever Ororo is eating, so Ororo has a system. O: “Do you want any veggies, Little One?” L: “No!” O: “Okay.” *Gives herself extra vegetables* L: “Mama, I have some, please?” Much easier than arguing about how he needs to eat his vegetables

Ororo has to carry a bag with her everywhere they go, not just for Logan’s baby stuff like changing supplies, sippy cup, etc, but to hold all the rocks and sticks he gives her while they’re outside

Logan has “mastered” secretly regressing, sitting silently at the breakfast table, pretending to read a news paper while playing Blue’s Clues songs in him head, most of the kids already try not to bother his so early in the morning so might as well take advantage of it if he slips

Ororo keeps little snacks and small toys on her for when Logan slips, so she can make sure he eats and give him something to do subtly until they can get somewhere safe and/or private for him to properly regress

Lots of nature walks while the kids are at school and they don’t have any x-men business to take care of

Logan love to run around the ground and climb trees

Ororo watches him play and sometimes will indulge him in making it rain so he can play in the mud and stomp in puddles

Logan and Ororo will snuggle and watch movies in the common areas sometime while the kids are at school. They don’t do it often because sometimes the kids are still in and out of the house through out the day anyway

The only other people who know are Charles and Hank. They’ve had close calls with Jean and have suspected that maybe she knows but hasn’t said anything

[suzukiblu]

Beginning of an old YJ animated WIP that I decided to dig back up and revisit. Cut for length and also Clark getting very belatedly hit with a clue-by-four.

There's some kind of fuss going on around the kids, although Clark isn't sure what. He overhears Ollie and Dinah bickering about something to do with Artemis and Speedy–Red Arrow, although “Speedy” is still a much stronger memory–but they don't go into detail. Something about mad science and a mission gone wrong and . . . Lunchables?

Clark very rarely mishears things, but that he is absolutely certain he did.

It isn't his business, though, so he doesn't ask for clarification. If the League needs his help, they'll ask him; otherwise it has nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, then Bruce actually asks for his help.

There's no excuse good enough to get by Batman, and so Clark finds himself materializing inside a Mount Justice zeta tube with the halfhearted hope that they just need something improbably heavy moved–anything that will just take a moment, in and out. Oddly, there's no one waiting to meet him, although he can hear arguing and laughter and running water and a dozen other sounds of life from different corners of the mountain.

Closer, and more concerning, he can hear crying. 

Clark ignores the other voices and Bruce's distant, Kevlar-muffled heartbeat to follow the tiny little hitched breaths he’s hearing down the hall. He doesn't have to go far. 

There's a little boy curled up in a shadowed hallway alcove not even big enough to be a broom closet, five years old if he's a day and wearing a black T-shirt and cargo pants and oddly heavy-looking boots. His face is buried in his folded arms, but he looks wounded and small and brokenhearted from the lie of his shoulders alone. 

Clark stares down at him in bemusement for a moment–a child this young in Mount Justice?–but another muffled sob takes immediate precedence and he drops into a crouch just outside the boy's personal space, making himself smaller and nonthreatening out of habit. He’s familiar with finding heartbroken children left all alone, after all. 

“Are you alright?” he asks gently, and the boy jumps in surprise and jerks his head up. He has the most enormous blue eyes Clark thinks he's ever seen, and also the most horrified.

“I wasn't crying!” the boy blurts, still crying, and scrubs the tears away frantically.

“It's fine if you were,” Clark tells him, gentling his voice even more, and the boy looks at him like the world just ended. Blue eyes, black hair, broken heart; he remembers Dick four years ago, remembers what happened to make Dick Robin. Wonders where Bruce is, exactly, and if this is what he’s supposed to be helping with. 

“You wouldn't,” the boy says, hiccuping around another sob, and Clark just smiles reassuringly at him.

“Everyone does,” he says, and fresh tears well in the boy's eyes and he turns his face towards the farthest corner of the alcove, huddled up so small it actually hurts to see. Clark is used to misery and has seen more of it than he can stand to remember, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch. 

He could ask what happened–what’s so upsetting–but doesn't want the boy to have to think about what's making him cry like that, so devastated and lonely in a place full of people. So instead he reaches out and rests a very careful hand on his shoulder, and just barely squeezes it. The boy freezes, sobs and breath and heart all stopping, and Clark lightens the contact, but doesn't quite withdraw it. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks with all the gentleness he’d usually reserve for restraining the full scope of Superman's strength down into catching a falling body, embracing a victim, kissing a loved one. The boy shudders and starts back up again, tears falling faster and his attempts to respond all breaking up too much to finish. Finally he just shakes his head, hard, and buries his face back in his arms. 

He’s just so small. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Clark tries, and the boy just cries harder, somehow. He's getting concerned now, because how can every attempt to do something for the boy make him that much more upset? 

All the power in the world means nothing when he can't help a person who's in pieces. 

There's a shriek somewhere in the base, loud and childish and startlingly giddy in comparison to this moment, and Clark startles slightly and looks towards it, automatically dropping the hand on the boy's shoulder to touch his earpiece, meaning to call Bruce and ask what, exactly, is going on here–but then the boy whimpers. 

No. “Whimper” isn’t enough of a word. “Whimper” can’t possibly contain the pain and despair in that sound, the way it tears out of the boy and through Clark worse than any other kind of hit, worse than almost anything. 

“It's alright,” he says quickly, forgetting about the communicator altogether and reaching out again. “Shhh, it's alright, it's alright, son–” 

The boy sobs.

Clark thinks he’s never heard a worse sound in his life than that sob. 

Something like panic flits through him, he doesn't even know where from, and he barely keeps himself from grabbing the boy and yanking him to his chest. But it’d be too much, too sudden and frightening for an already distraught child. The moment it takes him to force down the driving need to is literally painful, though, and when it passes it still doesn't really pass. 

Clark takes off his cape as carefully as he can and wraps the boy up in it–hides him in it, he admits to himself, but it's not hard to admit when the boy himself seems to welcome the idea of vanishing inside its folds. He picks him up in one arm, cradles him in the crook of it, and the boy curls up as tight as if he really could disappear. The sobbing dies down into almost-silence, barely more than hitched breaths again, and Clark holds him close and heads towards the closest sounds of life in the base. He can't help if he doesn't know what's wrong, and the boy's clearly in no condition to explain what's happened to him for himself. 

He thinks of plenty of awful possibilities on the way, but doesn't get halfway there before a sudden blur of black and red and yellow tears down the hall and skids to a stop in front of him, solidifying into two more small boys, although not as small as the one in his arms.

Infinitely more recognizable, though. 

Clark blinks, and looks down at a brightly grinning nine-year old Robin riding piggyback on a beaming Kid Flash . . . that is Kid Flash, isn't it, he thinks, except he can't be a day past nine himself, and Kid Flash definitely never wore that suit or ran like that when he was nine.

Neither of them should be nine. 

“What . . .” he starts, slowly, and the boy in his arms peers out from underneath his cape and sniffles, once.

“Found him!” Kid Flash yells back down the hall, and Robin throws both hands up in the air with a crow of triumph, falling off Kid Flash's back into an effortless back walkover in the process.

“We win!” he says gleefully. “Go Team Batflash, suck it, Team Aquamartian and Double-Arrow!”

“'Birdflash'? Why isn't it Flashbird?” Kid Flash demands indignantly, and Robin just laughs condescendingly and reaches up to give his head a smug little pat. 

“Oh please, it is so Birdflash,” he says with a smirk. Clark stares down at both of them with a certain sinking feeling, and the boy in his arms scrubs at his tear-streaked face again. 

And the cape around him slips lower, and for the first time Clark sees the front of his shirt.

Sees the symbol on the front of his shirt.

[sheerfreesia007]

Connections

Title: Connections

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007​

Words: 1,110

Warnings: Mention of crime scene photos

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo, @athalien

The whiteboard stared back at him as he leaned against his desk with one arm crossed over his stomach and the other resting on top while his fist covered his mouth. He stared at the board pensively trying to make sense of all the connections to the victim, red string linked each character in this story to the victim and none of it was making any sense to him. Sighing deeply he frowned and stood from his spot before walking around his desk to stare down at his notepad that had all of his notes and thoughts about the case in it. Picking it up he walked back around his desk towards the whiteboard trying to make it all make sense to his brain.

The cold case had laid dormant for so long that he had nearly given up hope on it, but suddenly there was an influx of tips rolling in since the second anniversary of the case and there was now so much more information that he had to sift through and apply to the case. He was surprised by it all but very grateful and happy that there was new information coming to light and he felt excitement rush through him at the thought that he could finally close another case. 

You knocked on his office door softly before slowly opening it and peeking your head around the door, a smile slowly forming on your face as you spotted him standing in front of his large cluttered whiteboard holding and reviewing his notebook. Shifting the bag of take out in your hand you quietly slipped into the office and shut the door behind you with a soft click that he obviously didn’t hear as he stayed sentry in front of the board while muttering softly to himself. Setting the bag down on the only free space of his desk you turned and leaned back against his desk to watch him work in silence, you always loved watching his mind work out all the clues that he found during his cases it was absolutely mesmerizing to see how he worked.

Your eyes darted over his form and felt yourself silently swoon over him, he was so handsome. With his pressed white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons unbuttoned to his form fitting dark blue slacks he was the epitome of gorgeous and you couldn’t get enough of just staring at him. Curling your fingers around the edge of his desk you tried to resist the urge to touch him as much as you could. 

Just then he turned around and jolted when he spotted you as his eyes widened before wrinkling at the sides as a fond smile slipped onto his face. He took the few steps to reach you quickly before he set his notebook on his desk and caged you against it.

“Hey pretty girl.” he said softly with a sparkle dancing in his eyes before he pecked your lips swiftly. You hummed softly at him before wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his in a soft lingering kiss. He whimpered quietly against your mouth as he pressed his body flush with yours while your mouths moved together in sync. You let one of your hands trail down from his neck to press against his chest softly causing him to pull away from you with a concerned look on his face.

“As much as getting freaky with you over your desk is hot, I don’t want to mess up all of your paperwork. Plus it’s lunchtime.” you told him softly and he chuckled fondly at your words.

“Having sex on my desk would be hot?” he asked curiously and you raised your eyebrows at his genuine question.

“Detective Han, do you own a mirror?” you asked him sarcastically and he let out a delighted chuckle before burying his face in your neck.

“Don’t tease me. Just tell me you think I’m handsome and want to have my babies.” he whined out against your skin causing you to gasp softly before grinning at the man. You pulled back and cupped his round face in both of your hands making him focus on you with his dark chestnut eyes that shone with love.

“I think you’re the most handsomest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing and I want to have your babies.” you cooed at him sweetly and he whined softly before crashing his lips to yours hungrily. You allowed the kiss to go for a few moments before you pulled away again and smiled at his still pursed lips. “C’mon you gotta eat Detective so that you have enough energy to close this case.” you said softly and he grumbled quietly at you. He then grabbed your hand before leading you around his desk to his desk chair where he sat down and pulled you into his lap wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

“Feed me then sweetheart.” he cooed softly at you and you chuckled softly while shaking your head at him. You pulled the styrofoam container closer to you before opening it and snagging some food on the provided fork. Turning to face him you held your hand underneath the fork before offering it up to him as he obediently opened his mouth letting you slip the food and fork into his mouth. He hummed happily as he began to chew and you smiled warmly at him before snagging another forkful of food for him.

Not long after you finished feeding him and he fed you your own food as well he turned you in his lap so that your back was to his chest with his arms wrapped low around your waist as his chin rested over your shoulder. You knew he was gazing at his whiteboard again but this time he was quiet as his eyes darted over everything he had pinned up there.

“Thank you for lunch.” he said softly before pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck.

“You’re welcome.” you respond just as softly as you rub one of your hands along his forearms. “I gotta head back to work though, only get an hour for lunch.” she told him regretfully and he groaned low in his throat.

“Just a little more time, please.” he pleaded with her. “I always think the best when you’re with me.” he whispered in her ear causing her shiver slightly against him before letting your body relax back against his as his arms tightened around her and he pressed another kiss to her neck. 

[libraryofloveletters]

The Lights Shining Down On You

Ruben Dias x Fem!Reader

Warnings: ruben knows his lady needs his attention, sweetness from ruben, christmas lights on christmas lights, ruben is part time photographer for you.

Word Count: 565

Author's Note: now I had googled to see if I could find actual drive through light shows in manchester to make it accurate but google was being useless so just imagine it lol - big shocker but this one's for pookie and her ain't shit baby daddy lmaoooo @themandaloriansdiaries

--

The people of Manchester love Christmas, just as much as you do. Ruben makes it his mission to ensure that you get to see every single Christmas display there is to see.

Christmas was your favourite time of the year; the decorations, the lights, the gifts, the holiday spirit.

You found yourself going all out for the two months. Your boyfriend, Ruben, knew as much. He had been gone for a weekend as they had an away game and when he returned, you had turned the house into a winter wonderland.

Ruben had been a bit preoccupied with the matches, and the training and the final push in preparation for the club world cup but now that you were back home in Manchester and you'd have time for the holidays and yourself, your boyfriend had his mind set on spending time with you and only you for the next week before you're off again.

He had told you to get dressed, given you no clues as to where you were going and gotten into the car with you.

"You're seriously not going to tell me where we're going?" You looked over at your boyfriend and the man shook his head, a smile on his face as he drove.

You hummed along to the music, waiting patiently to see what your destination would be. Imagine your surprise when you realize your boyfriend has taken you to see the Christmas light show you had been telling him about all month.

"You didn't!" You looked over at him, a big grin on your face.

Ruben nods, winding down the window to pay the entrance fee. His free hand rests on your thigh as he drives slowly through the path, letting you take it all in.

This one was winter wonderland themed, much like your apartment, it focused on snowflakes, ice and sparkles with all different shades of white and blue.

You reached over, holding his hand as he drove, you took your photos and off you went again. The two of you were off to dinner, Ruben decided to feed you before you became cranky, which despite his sweet gesture, does happen more often than not.

After dinner, you assumed you were headed home but then Ruben turned up a different street, leading down an empty stretch of road.

"It'd be rather tragic for you to kidnap me before Christmas."

Ruben laughs, "I'm not kidnapping you, babe." He turns into the driveway, following it down to the Disney Christmas lights.

"You didn't!" You shouted at him, squeezing his hand. "This one is always booked! How'd you get tickets?"

"Well Phil took the kids and he knows the owner, he pulled some strings." Ruben tells you as he parks.

You get out of the car, holding his hand as you two walk through the park, Ruben lets you pull him around, showing him all the different characters. You took a million photos, Ruben patiently waiting for you to fix your outfits, change your poses as he took your pictures.

The two of you had made the rounds, holding hands as you wandered about now. "What's with all the sudden Christmas spirit, babe? I know you liked Christmas but 2 Christmas activities in one night? A bit odd for you." You laughed.

Ruben shrugged. "We practically live at the Etihad during the season and I figured we should spend some time together, doing something you'd enjoy."

"I do enjoy watching you play, Rubes." You squeezed his hand, smiling.. "But thank you, this was.. perfect." You turn to him, giving him a kiss.

[attapullman]

The Boys Are Back / Whodunit? Origin Story

Summary: When best friends and childhood sleuths Bob Floyd and Mickey Garcia grow up, everything seems less fun. Thankfully things are about to completely change for these two hometown goofs.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+ as always, language, 80s inaccuracies, sci-fi opinions do not reflect that of the author

A Note From Mo: As would be the only appropriate gift for providing the inspiration for Whodunit?, happy birthday @bobgasm! Thank you for loving these two as much as me and helping make their story as fun as it is. Wishing you the best birthday on New Zealand time (we'll be celebrating America time as well, don't worry 😉)

origin story / prologue / whodunit? masterlist

“Are you really trying to convince me that Return of the Jedi is better than The Wrath of Khan?” Mickey couldn’t wipe the look of disgust off his face at this zit-faced teenager at the counter. The two fairly recent box office hits were a common disagreement, and this kid came in thinking he knew all that and a bag of chips.

“Force lightning? Luke trying to redeem his father? Dude, George Lucas made the last two movies true masterpieces, cinematic perfection!” 

Rolling his eyes, aware that this knucklehead has no clue who he’s going against (all the best film geeks in town knew to not go against Fanboy Garcia and his sci-fi knowledge), Mickey dropped the copy of Raiders of the Lost Ark into a plastic bag along with the receipt.

“The Wrath of Khan brought people to tears. Invested us deeper into the characters we’ve loved for years, grown up with. Spock’s death shocked an entire nation, no doubt about it. And don’t be stupid, Vulcan nerve pinch defeats Force lightning every time.” He slides the bag across the counter with a scoff. “Movie is due back Tuesday. Come back with some real ammunition next time, airhead.”

Cheeks red, the teen grabs his bag and scuttles out of the Blockbuster. The bell chimes and suddenly the shop is empty. 

While the access to new releases and movies in the break room were great perks, Mickey was so over this job. The blunderhead teens with their gnarly opinions, the bratty moms who always complain about the return dates. It’s just renting a movie for a week, not that complicated. When was his cousin going to get back to him about that maintenance gig at city hall? The sci-fi fan slumped against the counter and continued watching the copy of Legend they just got in.

Across town, Bob was also struggling with his work day. When was everyone going to realize he didn’t set the price of parts? He wasn’t even really a mechanic, just a guy who needed a summer job in high school and never stopped coming in. A star employee, he enjoyed the puzzle of putting components together and the purr of a perfectly oiled engine. 

It may not have been his dream job, but the free parts for his ’65 Mustang and the content silence he and his uncle worked in wasn’t horrible.

Two more customers come in and try the haggle the price. Neither are impressed with the calm way Bob explains the cost of labor and parts, rubbing his greasy palms impatiently on his coveralls as he breaks down why he doesn’t work for free. And when he asks if they’d like him to undo the work to cut the cost, pocketbooks are pulled out and he’s got money in his pocket for beers later.

His uncle is long gone by the time Bob locks up the shop with a heavy padlock on the garage door. His boots scuff in the dirt as he makes his way to the Mustang, her blue paint shining in the late summer sun. She was stunning.

The breeze whipped through his hair - too long for his mother’s liking - as he drove across town. Mickey was just opening the door to The Alibi as he parked on the street. The best friends tip their heads in greeting.

“Bobby.”

“Fanboy.”

The two slap their hands together. Palms first, then two slaps from the back, before looping around to fist bump. A handshake from elementary school that somehow has carried on twenty years. After a few drinks a shimmy will make its way into the mix.

They take up residence at the bar, the same spot they’ve occupied a few nights a week since they walked out of that Navy enlistment meeting and never looked back. The bartender always knows to hand out whatever’s cheapest unless they’re holding paychecks.

“How many people confuse Star Wars and Star Trek today?” The cutting glare Mickey gives him says it all. Probably not the best time to make a Darth Khan joke.

Lost in the clatter and whoops of the bar, the best friends mull over their meaningless hourly jobs and contemplate the meaning of ‘the man’. Bob’s leather jacket hangs off the stool back, the sticky air of the bar clinging to the twentysomethings’ skin. One beer becomes two, two becomes three as the weekend arrives.

A loose curl hanging over his forehead, Mickey makes eyes contact with a babe across the room. He’d happily spend the evening with those beautiful eyes. The only perk of this dingy bar is it’s the only one in town, and a mix of old classmates and new-in-towns keep the dating game fresh.

Bob himself does a quick look around at the night’s prospects, doing a double take. No, it couldn’t be. When did the police captain’s daughter get back into town? She shoots an amiable smile and nod back before turning to her own drink and friends. 

Mickey raises his eyebrows at his bud. Bob shoves him off his stool on the way to the bathroom.

As the night progresses, only the young and the young at heart (and alcoholics) are still in their seats at The Alibi. The best friends are a handful of beers deep, leaning across the bar to chat with Mickey’s childhood neighbor, Tom - a gruff guy with a beer gut and a penchant for belching when he laughs. They love making him laugh.

“I tell you two about the rocks that keep showing up on my doorstep?”

Mysterious rocks? The boys lean in closer, their light denim-clad pelvises nearly over the bar top. Shaking their heads, all ears, they urge Tom for more information.

“Been happenin’ for months now. At first I didn’t think anything of it. Animals maybe? But they keep getting bigger and bigger. Tripped over one the size of a melon yesterday, stupid fucking rock. Belchhhh.” The boys snicker into their beers. “Can’t figure out who’s doing it. Gonna end up breaking my front step with a mountain one of these days.”

The boys exchange a look as they contemplate the conundrum. Who would just leave rocks on Tom’s doorstep? Wouldn’t it get old after a few weeks? And rocks of all things?

“It’s not that big of town. Who could it be?” Mickey cocks his head to the side. Tom has always been a nice guy. A little oblivious, but harmless. “Your ex-wife back in town?”

The bearded man shakes his head, scratching the underside of his belly as he realizes it’s time to call it a night. 

As Tom goes to pay his tab, Phil, who’s been manning the bar at The Alibi since before LBJ was in office, spoke up. “You two solved mysteries as kids, yeah?” 

The young men give him a perturbed look, confused why he’d bring up their silly sleuthing games from decades before. Hesitant, Bob nods. Who could forget the years spent hunched in random hiding spots, notebooks and binoculars at the ready. Mickey still had a scar from falling out of the second floor stairwell in the community center.

Tom is delighted, his drunken eyes lighting up. “Any chance you two could take a whack at figuring out who’s leaving all these fucking rocks on my doorstep? There’s a twenty in it for ya.”

It’s been…years since they last solved anything. Petty crimes from other classmates, some neighborhood drama, but that was before puberty. Did they still have the gift?

“Sure man, why not?” Shoulders are shrugged, hands are shook tipsily. They’d stop by in the morning before their shifts. Natural curiosity has them dying to see the assortment of rocks.

Tom heads out and the boys clink the necks of their bottles together, enjoying the last sip of the night. Who knew where this was going, but they were always up for a challenge.

A week later, the two returning sleuths are hunched over behind a bush with a pack of pretzels and a six-pack, mud caking Mickey’s new Air Forces. There’s cigarette stubs in the dirt and they’ve been arguing over the best flavor of Fanta for an hour.

In the wee hours of the morning Tom’s next door neighbor sneaks into his garden to place a rock roughly the size of a pumpkin on the front step. The shared fence issue Tom thought to be resolved? Definitely not. 

Another neighborhood drama solved. Twenty dollars in their pocket.

But with the solve comes a burning itch that Mickey can’t scratch. Keeps him up at night, lives in the corner of his brain while he rents movies to bored-face teens. A blazing fire that can only be tended, not extinguished.

“What if we started our own detective agency?”

Bob spat out his ginger ale on Mrs. Garcia’s freshly cleaned granite countertop. Was Fanboy tripping?

“C’mon man, why not? Put up some flyers and solve whatever rinky dink shit comes up in our free time? Make some extra cash? We might actually be able to move out on our own. Don’t you want freedom?” 

They’d been bitching about it for months, wanting to get out of their childhood bedrooms and actually do something with their lives. So the Navy wasn’t for them, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t serve their community in other ways. Maybe this was the answer to their unsure futures.

Bob grabbed his best friend’s hand, the decade-old handshake turning into a brotherly hug. “Just promise me we won’t get into anything too crazy. I like my Sundays on the couch.”

In six months they’d raised the cash for their own apartment, a small two bed in the dusky pink modular building off Main Street. In a year the amateur sleuths had been in the local paper twice. And two years and several police case assistances later, they stood across from the police captain’s daughter, not a smile in sight.

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