#or is it supposed to be a sign of the timeline getting fucked

[garbagequeer]

catching up on doctor who (evergreen sentence) and im having fun but why does the scrip of space babies go something like this:

bridgerton's own queen charlotte (in disguise): the bogeyman is so so scary far too scary by far #nobogeyman #iknowaboutthebogeyman

bridgerton's own queen charlotte (out of disguise): what the hell is that thing. "who the fuck are you" — me when i see a bogeyman

ruby sunday: we're bloody shagged right now

the doctor (more gaily than before): what's up with this ugly ass guy fr.. equality though

bridgerton's own queen charlotte: i first saw the bogeyman 6 years ago on my cameras #soscary #iknowaboutthebogeymanagain #noexplanation

[themyscirah]

This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

[galactic-magick]

Maybe in Another Universe, You're Still the Man I Love: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You get sent to the same alternate timeline with Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you find out just how wonderful your life could've been.

Words: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Yeah so that finale sent me into deep grief and writing is the only way I can heal I fear. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of what Viktor could be doing in the alternate timeline.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Your vision comes into focus, though your head is still pounding. You’re extremely nauseous, feeling like your body is not your own as you become aware of the all-too-familiar voice that just spoke to you.

You’re sitting on a desk in an Academy classroom, journals and various papers surrounding you. The sun is shining through the windows, cascading gold onto the other desks and tables. It’s a peaceful, simple sight. Something that feels so wrong for precisely that reason.

“I don’t have another class for a while, you can talk to me,” Viktor says, brushing his fingers against your face. “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?”

You suppose you look like you’ve seen a ghost, which isn’t so far from the truth. You must be dreaming—maybe hallucinating—anything to explain how this isn’t real.

“I…” you start, failing to find the words to say.

-

You storm into the lab, locking your eyes on the empty hexcore cocoon, then at Jayce.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know!” Jayce fires back at you, clearly just as distraught as you are. “He woke up and told me he needed to leave me and this place. I have no idea where he went!”

“Why didn’t you follow him?” you scream, your mind spinning. Who knows how the hexcore changed him, he could literally be anywhere.

“He didn’t want me to! What don’t you understand?” Jayce slumps back into his chair, his face in his hands. As soon as he notices a tear fall down your cheek, his tone softens. “Look, I...we both know he’s been different since he started messing with the hexcore. He had told me to destroy it...but I couldn’t. And now he’s even more different. I’m so sorry,”

“Jayce…” you walk towards him. “I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. He’s been pushing both of us away for a long time. I guess...I just thought maybe when he woke up he’d love me again like he used to. Did he even ask about me?”

Jayce shakes his head, and your heart sinks even further.

-

“I think I’m dreaming,” you finally say, and Viktor tilts his head. “This...this isn’t real. We’re not like this, we haven’t been like this in a long time. You’re not...what are you here, a professor?”

He cups your face and kisses your forehead, “Darling, I don’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep, you’re talking nonsense,”

“No, no, no,” you jump off the desk and pace around the room. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I? Some sort of other reality?”

“You mean to say you believe...this is not your world?” Viktor takes in your words intently.

“Well in my world, you fell out of love with me in favor of your work, and then you nearly died and got severely mutated by the hexcore. So yeah, I’d say things are pretty different,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hex...core?”

“You don’t have that here?”

“Seemingly not,”

You sigh, perching yourself back on the desk, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I...I have theorized the possibility of alternate universes before, but I never thought I would come face to face with it in my lifetime,” he starts writing on the wall chalkboard. “I see no reason not to believe you. After all, my wife of this universe would probably not be saying these things,”

“We’re married?”

“Of course. Now tell me, what else is different in your universe?”

-

You’ve tried to find him everywhere—going all the secret places the two of you would go in the past, and asking people if they’ve seen him both topside and bottom. There’s no signs, not even a clue. He doesn’t want to be found.

You make your way back to Jayce’s lab, surprised to see Heimerdinger and a young man you don’t recognize with him. They fill you in on their concern about wild runes showing up around the city, and their plan to check on the hexgates. You’re desperate for anything to get your mind off Viktor, so you go along with them.

You’ve never been to the source of the hexgates before, and it’s even more grand than you imagined. One thing could go wrong and the entire thing would explode, but it’s precisely the potential of destruction that makes it all the more fascinating.

That is, until it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Your surroundings change at the blink of an eye—warped visuals and sounds you can’t make out. You scream for the others, but no one can hear.

-

You do your best to describe all the important events and details of your timeline, while Viktor takes notes on the chalkboard and compares what you say to his timeline. He seems particularly interested in his inventions in your timeline, and his partnership with Jayce—who’s no longer alive in his timeline.

“He died in an explosion here at the academy several years ago, it was a tragic accident that also killed a young girl from the undercity. He was a friend and a brilliant mind,” he pauses. “We...actually named our son after him.”

Your eyes widen, overwhelmed by this possibility of what could’ve been, “We have a son?”

“We do. And he’s perfect,” Viktor smiles softly. “You really are from a different time, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying to hold back tears. Why does this reality’s version of you get to be happy? Why does this Viktor get to dodge corruption and the hands of hubris?

Viktor gazes once again on the chalkboard notes, looking for patterns and causes for the differences in your timelines. Would he have reached the same fate if Jayce was still alive? What caused the Undercity to heal and thrive in his timeline but not in yours? Was this hextech you speak of really so destructive?

You are the same person he fell in love with, there’s no doubt in his mind about that, but you’ve been significantly more hurt than the Y/N he knows.

He steps close to you again, wiping the tears from your face and pulling you into him, “I’m so sorry your version of me has taken a different path.”

You sob into his chest, gripping his clothes. He runs his fingers through your hair and rubs your back, soothing you as if you’re his own.

But you’re not his. This isn’t your life.

You pull away, taking a deep breath, “As much as I want to stay here, I can’t keep taking over the consciousness of the me in this world. I need to find the others,”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get back,” he says. “You say you got here through hextech, and that was never invented here.”

“We’ll find a way,” you run to the window, looking out to get a gauge of where you are. Heimerdinger might have landed somewhere here in the Academy too, and Ekko probably went back to the Undercity. But Jayce—if he’s dead in this universe—where would he be?

“Before you go,” Viktor places a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to meet our son?”

Anxiety washes over you, your body going numb from the prospect. Would it only hurt you more to see a life that you could’ve created?

“Don’t you have more classes to teach, professor?” you smile, trying to turn your nervousness into something lighthearted.

“I’ll cancel for today. It’s about the time you usually pick him up from school anyway,”

He grabs his cane with one hand and takes your hand with the other, posting a quick note on his door as you leave.

-

You sit on a bench outside the elementary school, your heart pounding. This child is going to run out that building any minute, eager to see the mother he’s always known.

But you’re not her. You didn’t carry him, birth him, or raise him. You don’t have the same memories and experiences.

But you must pretend that you do.

You know which one he is immediately. He’s a perfect combination of yours and Viktor’s features, just like you’d imagined. His smile is contagious, and he wastes no time jumping into your arms.

“Look what I made at school today, Mommy!” he puts a crafty contraption in front of your face, a colorful collection of sticks and paper glued together.

“That’s so creative, honey, I love it,” but your attention is solely focused on him, his sweet face glowing with pride and joy.

“Quite the little inventor, aren’t you?” Viktor applauds him. “What else did you learn today?”

“We did reading and spelling. I can spell family now. F-A-M-I-L-E!”

“Close, sweetheart. There’s a ‘Y’ at the end,” you laugh,

“Are you sure about that?” he says, wincing his adorable face in thought. “Whatever. I learned how to spell brother and sister too, but I don’t have any of those. How do I get one of those?”

Viktor chuckles, “I’ll talk about it with your Mommy, how about that?”

“Okay!” he jumps up and starts walking home with the two of you.

-

What if I stayed? You wonder.

You’re playing with your son on the living room floor, with toys mostly made by Viktor himself. The house is small but cozy, a home you wish was really yours. What if you just stay in this dream reality forever?

What if you never find the others? What if there really is no way to get back?

But no, that wouldn’t be fair to the you of this reality. She’s the one who has this life, not you. Besides, Viktor and his son deserve their wife and mother back.

You hear a knock on the door, and Viktor goes to open it.

“Oh, Viktor, it is so good to see you.”

Your head swivels instantly towards the yordle in the entryway, “Heimerdinger! You found me!” you join Viktor at the door, “Where’s Ekko and Jayce?”

“I have not found Jayce as of yet, but I did find Ekko and sent him back to his timeline about a week ago. We found some hextech fragments and were able to use them to jump through time and space.”

“So...I can get home too?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We built the machine in a young girl’s lab in the Undercity,” he looks between you, then Viktor, and finally your son. His attitude of urgency dissipates as he begins to understand. “But...I could not blame you if you want to stay longer.”

Your son Jayce comes running to join you, grabbing onto your leg, “Who’s this guy, Mommy?”

“This is Professor Heimerdinger, he used to work at the Academy,” you pat his head, “Your dad used to be his assistant.”

“I’m sure you already have a brilliant mind, my boy,” Heimerdinger says. “Your parents must be proud.”

Little Jayce giggles.

“Actually, I would very much like to see this new invention you’ve built, Professor,” Viktor speaks up. “I’m now quite intrigued by the prospect of other universes.”

“I have no rule against you observing, Viktor, but I’m sure you understand I must destroy it after we all get back. It is too dangerous to be left here unsupervised,” Heimerdinger’s tone becomes more serious. “I’m sure Y/N has told you of the destruction hextech caused in our universe, especially to you.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand.”

-

You’ve never seen the Undercity look this beautiful.

It seems that the other version of you comes here often, so many people wave to you and little Jayce automatically runs off with some kids his age to play.

You meet a blue-haired young lady named Powder, who helped Heimerdinger and Ekko in their experiments. She looks so familiar to you, but you can’t place where you’ve seen her in your reality.

Heimerdinger explains how it works, and both you and Viktor listen intently. With everything up and running, you could go back this instant.

The pull to go back is strong, like an obligation to return to your rightful place in the universe. But the pull to stay is equally strong, as you gaze into your husband’s beautiful amber eyes that you want to find solace in forever.

“It’s your choice, my love,” Viktor says, as if reading your mind.

“I know I need to go back…” you exhale, tears welling in your eyes once again. “But I don’t know what I’m going back to,”

“I don’t know either,” he caresses your face, “But I do know you are strong in every universe,”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, “Not without you.”

“Don’t say that,” his thumbs smooth across your cheeks.

You nod, turning towards the device.

“Could you…could you kiss me one last time?” you ask.

Viktor wastes no time honoring your request, crashing his lips to yours with lasting passion. He pulls away only as you back into the circle, leaving you with one last affectionate whisper:

“I’m so fortunate to have met another version of you, my love.”

[lucca-stateofmind]

When all those shadows almost killed your light - T*!Bucky Barnes/Reader

- timeline : getting dragged into the Void - words : 1310 - lyric title from 'Safe and Sound' by Taylor Swift (so stucky coded) - tags : unrequired love but not really (they're too scared to confess); angst with a happy ending; Bucky is a sweetheart that deserved more screen time - Trigger Warnings : Hydra (murder, adbuction, violence, implied sa); The Winter Soldier (attempt murder) --- @icybarness

You

You weren't sure what happened after the Void consumed you. All you could recall was Bucky's terrified face as you got forcefully dragged to the darkness, John fucking Walker on his side to get him to stop reaching for you. It was too late. Now the air was cold, goosebumps running on your skin as panic made your heart beat faster in your ears.

You felt anxiety within your bones, every thought leading to Bucky was followed by a sharp inhale and broken step. You rapidly recognized the signs: lightheaded and overwhelmed at the same time, breathing burning your lungs and shaky hands. This messed up situation was giving you a panic attack.

So you ran. Ran as fast as you could. As far as your wobbly legs could get you. Your only motivation being Bucky. Seeing him, touching him. When was the last time you two hugged? When was the last time you two joked about random couples on the street only to be wishing to yourself that you two could have what they had?

At some point, you reached buildings. You brought your hands to your upper arms, trying to gain some solace in the dead end street that was forming around you. If you recognized the number on one of the door, you didn't actually believe its implication until you passed through the wooden door and blueberry reached your nostrils.

Blueberry and blood.

A sea of crimson red tainting the floor, coloring the walls and your seven years old self, standing at the cheap door between the living room and the bedroom. You came across the unforgiving, going against your father's order not to peak an eye, and you were to pay the price. You tried to stand between your young self and the Hydra soldiers, muttering 'no' under your breath but it was no replay.

You were going through the hardest part of your life and feared what was coming next. The soldier's hand reached your own the same way brutality met innocence and your heart dropped, seeking escape.

As the scenery went dark, you screamed Bucky's name, thinking he found a way to save you but you were faced with something else instead; Moscow's Institute for Wilderness Young-lings. If you couldn't get inside, you peered through the windows and felt your skin tearing apart as you watched yourself receive a Lesson. Eat or be eaten. Be the best recrue or get beaten to the top. Tears already fell down your face, frozen on the memories you were not only forced to watch but to relive.

After one last and scarring burn in Hell, you were in the sky; but not looking from Heaven. In fact, it was worse. Hydra and its Red Room initiative needed guinea-pigs, the useless and defenseless orphan you were was going to be part of their experiment.

It was supposed to kill you. A slow, disastrous torture while your genetic code was being modified. It almost made you regret Mrs. Nebroska's sharp whip, at least you weren't hearing the others screaming hysterically to death from the room afar. Much to everyone's surprise, you weren't the one. If it modified your genetic code whith you surviving, you didn't earn abnormal skills afterwards. It was only fair they tortured you before leaving you to the dead.

Dance. All day. Everyday.

You never learned to dance, they made you acquire this skill with brain memory from another guinea-pig, that's all you were. Animals, violent, dangerous, useless. Useless. Ballet-ting with your hands behind your back, a meal taken away each time you were falling. You had the talent but your body wasn't designed for it, your bones were burning but you knew you could never stop by yourself. That was asking for it. Rebelling. And nobody wanted to be tamed. Nobody wanted hands teaching them their bodies weren't theirs, that they had no right to speak, no right to think, to scream.

Bucky

Witnessing you getting away from his grip, his security, the only arms you were allowing yourself to cry to, was too much. He didn't care about what the others were shouting at him, he didn't care that he told Alexei not to go after Yelena for the same reason he was going after you, he didn't care about all of it. Just because it was you.

And you deserved his shoulder to sob on every time you knocked on his door at 2am to cry. He wasn't saying anything, just letting you hold onto him, casually rubbing your back when sobs were struggling to get out. Because you made him feel fucking human and he felt like he didn't deserve you when he thought of all the times you perceived him as he was before the second world war. Before hydra. Before his brain got so fucked up he forgot he had humanity and a soul.

He never dared put a hand on you, knowing everything he touched was doomed to misery. He'd say he'd be happy for you if you were to find some kind finance guy to marry then shallow whole the gut-wrenching feeling in his bile.

As he was, too, in his own Void, he ignored his own demons no matter how hard they were affecting him at the moment. He was only focused the sound of your voice as you screamed his name. When he finally got to you, even him had to let out a strangled breath, one that you didn't have because he was trying to drown you. Or rather the Winter Soldier was.

He always tried not to think of this mission. He was sent after an infiltrated spy, by Pierce's words. You had supposedly betrayed the system with crucial information and needed to be deleted. He found out later on that you did have information but not the one he thought. And that you never left the system but kicked out as everyone thought you were dead.

It didn't matter to him. All thought went to you as he rushed to your side, cupping your terrified face in his hands as he made you look away from the scene, making it face your back so you were solely focused on him. “Hey, doll.” He slowly murmured, his hands going to your ear, making your forget about the sound of water leaving the bathtub as you fought for it. “I need you to only focus on me and only me, alright?”

Your hands went to his, as if debating if that was really him. He pressed his forehead against yours, waiting for the scene to be over, for you to fake -once again - your death. He was tempted to kiss you right now but he felt it wouldn't be appropriated, you would even reject him, he was the dumbest guy in the universe to think you could actually have feelings for him.

"It's not real." He continued. “You lived it but that's long gone. You went through it and you're here, you survived everything. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart, and you can be too.”

Your sobs were growing quieter and he opened his eyes to have you looking at him like he's the fucking Garden of Babylon with those soft eyes he would trade all he has only keep them for himself. “You- You came here for me? Despite everything?”

"I'd give up forever to touch you," he said, quoting your favourite song. But you both had no time reacting to what just slipped out of his mouth as the room changed for a portal connecting them to the rest of the group. He reluctantly let go of you, dragging you toward it with a firm yet gentle touch on your wrist, not noticing the smile appearing on your lips as your played his words over and over again in your head.

[adinafay]

I like to think Bhaal spends the entire timeline of BG3 just so incredibly confused and absolutely pissy about why he can't convince anyone - even his most special, Chosen, purest of Bhaalspawn- to murder for simple murder's sake.

Not that Bhaal doesn't appreciate murder more generally, but also how in the hells is he supposed to achieve global-genocide when everyone, even his own idiot kids, keeps using his precious murder as a mere tool, a means to their own ends, ya know?

He has to be a helicopter-parent to Durge about it:

Pre-tadpole Durge is so in-want of connection that they have to be under constant supervision by their specially-assigned butler to try and keep them on task. ("Stop bitching and let me live vicariously through you like all the other sport-parents!")

Then, even that isn't enough to stop them from connecting with Bane's lil shit "Gortash" and eventually starting in with the crown/Absolute plan ("Why in the hells are we using MY MURDER to help fucking Bane with his fucking tyranny?!")

Shortly after that Durge goes and gets merc'd and tadpoled by the other one... ("Have I taught my children nothing!? Orin really should know well by now that it's not 'murder' if they survive...")

... And then - clearly still prone to frivolous connection - they fucking gang up with a bunch of weirdos only to head home with other, new bad habits like "thinking for themselves" and "the apparent intent to entirely trash the plan they insisted on making with Gortash!" ("If you didn't want to play you shouldn't have had me sign you up for the team! Get your ass back in the game! You already got your Deathstalker uniform and everything! Now stop embarrassing me and maybe I'll even give you a slayer form.")

And, while Durge is being a rebellious lil Bhaalspawn, Bhaal also has to contend with:

His cultists, who are apparently killing mostly just for notoriety and/or safety amongst themselves. ("Quit playing around! I assure you I do not give a single fuck which one of you did it or how clean it was so long as the murder(s) did happen.")

Orin, who is playing at being an artist and completely absorbed in her exploration of murder and maiming as novel media to express her innumerable daddy issues ("Yes, I DO still like your lobotomized bloodkin more; at least they never wasted my time asking me to put all their shitty artwork up on the fridge.")

And Bane and Myrkul, who are presumably laughing their godly asses off and/or absolutely raging at Bhaal's inability to keep anyone at heel and how it's interfering with their mutual plan.

TL;DR: Life is hard when you're The God of Murder and neither your employees or your children properly respect the family business and your frenemies mock you for it.

[steddie-island]

Broken

Written for day one of @steddie-week | Prompt: Secret relationship Rating: T | WC: 1,757 | Tags: Hurt/ Comfort, secret relationship, (referenced) canon-typical violence, coming out, slightly altered timeline ao3 | divider credit

No one was answering the phone at the Harrington house. There were no cars were in the driveway. There was a light on in the pool house, but Eddie knew that Steve left everything by the pool lit up as much as he could, though Steve had never explained why, and Eddie hadn't asked.

Eddie was starting to panic. No, that wasn't right, because he'd passed starting to the second day Steve hadn't shown up at school.

By day three, the radio silence had him chain smoking as he drove around town, looking for any sign that Steve still existed.

The fucked up thing was that Eddie wasn't supposed to notice. He wasn't supposed to care whether recently dethroned King Steve was okay, or whether he'd fucked off out of town. They weren't supposed to know each other beyond picnic table transactions while Hagan tried to get Eddie to give him a discount.

No one knew about the detentions they shared. They didn't know about Steve pulling up beside him when his car wouldn't start, didn't know about the hour they'd spent together figuring out what the fuck was going on. Or about the Saturday Steve volunteered to help him actually fix it.

They didn't know about the lunches spent in the back of Eddie's van, about the nights they watched the stars together through the open back doors.

They didn't know how soft Steve's voice had been when he'd whispered Eddie's name before they'd shared their first, and then their second, kiss.

Now the beautiful boy he cared about had fucking disappeared, without a goddamn trace, and Eddie was losing his mind.

One more sweep. One more sweep, and then I'm going to the police. Not like they hadn't ran into each other plenty, only maybe this time Eddie wouldn't end up in handcuffs.

The sound he let out at seeing Steve's car in the driveway was between a laugh and a sob. He barely had time to park the car before he was tripping over his feet all the way to the door.

"Steve! Steve, let me in!" His palm pounded on the door, and he knew Steve would yell at him for not even trying to be discreet when he'd warned about nosy neighbors more than once. "Ste—" The door opened, and Eddie stopped in his tracks. 

Steve's face was swollen and turning several varying shades of yellow and green, purple and red. Eddie's stomach dropped.

He'd expected a lot of things, was ready to be angry for being ignored for three whole days. There was anger, but it wasn't directed at Steve.

"Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart." Eddie slipped inside, closed the door, took Steve's face carefully into his hands. "Who did this to you?"

Steve winced as Eddie's thumb brushed against a fading bruise on his jaw. "This is really not a good time," he murmured. He meant to pull away, but he couldn't. Not now that Eddie was here, holding him, tugging him closer and tucking Steve so carefully against his chest. "Are you okay?" Eddie whispered. "I've been so worried, tried calling but no one answered…" "I've been staying with the Hendersons," Steve murmured. "Dustin's mom is a nurse, she was taking care of me. I haven't been home long." He turned his head to kiss Eddie's palm. "You should go, I'm okay now. I'm—" "I'm not leaving you." Eddie tipped Steve's head up and hissed softly at the discoloration on Steve's eye, where the white wasn't so white anymore. "Who did this, Stevie?" "Eddie, stop. Doesn't matter, it's been handled. It's fine. I'm fine. I don't have a concussion anymore. Claudia wouldn't let me leave until she was sure of that. I just need to sleep some more." Steve folded his fingers around Eddie's. "Go home. I'll call you in a couple of days." "No." Eddie pulled Steve in with an arm around his waist. "You're hurt, I'm not leaving you." He oh so carefully pressed their foreheads together before kissing the good corner of Steve's mouth. "I'm not going anywhere." "Dingus, you said it would be a second, but it's been— what the fuck—" Eddie looked up, his eyes wide. A girl Eddie had seen around school stood in the entryway to the living room with her arms over her chest. Her face was red, her mouth an open o of surprise.

Oh.

Oh.

Eddie's heart sank. This thing couldn't have lasted, he should have known that. Steve had someone else here, someone else taking care of him, why would Steve have called when he wasn't needed? When he wasn't wanted?

Before Eddie could drop his hands from Steve's face, though, Steve was gripping his wrists. "Eddie, wait, it's not like that. Robin's—" "Oh my god!" The girl— Robin— had both hands in her hair. "Steven, if you were not coming off of the assbeating of a lifetime I would give you another one. You made fun of my crush, but you didn't tell me you're screwing around with Eddie fucking Munson?"

The pink that flooded into Steve's face added to the rainbow painting the rest of his skin already. "God, you're as loud as Henderson." He shook his head, hissed when that made the world spin, then caught Eddie's fingers instead of his wrist. "Guess the cat's outta the bag." "Don't you mean you're out of the closet?" Eddie joked. He was staring at Robin, who didn't look pissed, or disgusted, or jealous.

Okay, maybe she was pissed, but not because he'd been kissing Steve.

"Is this why you kept asking for the phone?" Robin demanded. Even with sounding annoyed there was still a softness in the way Robin spoke to Steve as she adjusted the couch pillows for him. Eddie guided Steve directly to the spot Robin had made for him before sitting pressed tight against his side. There was a bag of frozen vegetables on the coffee table that Robin picked up and pressed into Steve's hand, meaning for him to cover his face again.

"I couldn't out Eddie to you," Steve pointed out. "But… yeah." He looked at Eddie. "I'm really sorry, but… I couldn't remember your phone number?"

"Concussions do that." Robin folded herself on Steve's other side and pressed the bag of vegetables into his hand, clearly ordering him to put them back on his face. "And this isn't his first one. I'm Robin, by the way. Buckley. I'm in band."

"Munson. I'm in a band." Eddie scratched lightly through Steve's hair, as if searching for any other places he was hurt that all that hair was hiding. "What the fuck happened?"

"Nothing," Steve said at the same time as Robin said, "Billy."

"Billy." Eddie looked at Steve and felt his stomach twist. "Fucking Hargrove did this to you?"

"Eddie, it doesn't matter," Steve said. He could feel an Eddie rant coming on— or worse, he knew Eddie, knew he didn't like fighting but he would fight for the people he loved. And he couldn't let Eddie get hurt on his behalf. "It's been taken care of."

"Taken care of. By the sheriff?" Eddie demanded. He looked at Robin, clearly expecting for her to answer as the person who didn't have the concussion.

"Max almost took out the Hargrove family line with Steve's bat," Robin said. At Eddie's confusion she made a swinging motion that landed between her own knees.

"Max is his little sister," Steve explained. "She stole my car, too."

"Hey, she did a better job than I would have," Robin pointed out.

Eddie shook his head— none of this made a damn bit of sense. "Why was Max driving your car?"

"Because I was in the backseat with Steve, trying to make sure he didn't die," Robin explained. She winced and reached out to take Steve's hand. "Billy broke a plate over his head."

"Jesus Christ." Eddie pulled Steve closer, kissed his temple gently. "How the fuck are you alive right now?"

"Spite?" Steve joked weakly.

"It was bad," Robin murmured. "Like… really bad. I didn't think Steve was going to wake up, and when he did wake up he kept getting sick…" She turned slightly green at the memory. "Claudia— Mrs. Henderson— she barely let him leave the bed for two days. He refused to get a CAT scan, but he listened to that much, at least. Stubborn asshole."

"Wouldn't have helped." Steve rested his head against Eddie's shoulder and closed his eyes. "We knew what happened, and we could guess how bad it was."

"Stubborn asshole," Robin said, waving at Steve with one hand while looking at Eddie as if to ask what to do with him.

"Claudia says you're okay?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Steve looked up at him with his one good eye. "I just… have to be really careful. No more concussions or I might not be so fine next time."

Once again Robin held on to his hand tightly, like they were anchoring each other together, keeping the Billy Hargroves of the world away by pure force of will.

"How long has this been going on?" Robin asked suddenly. "The two of you I mean."

"Few months," Eddie said, like he didn't have the date circled on his calendar, like he wasn't ready to get it tattooed over his heart.

Robin lightly punched Steve's thigh. "You could've told me," she said. "You can tell the rest of your kids, too, you know. They love you, too."

Steve smiled softly. "Maybe I wasn't ready before," he said. "But after seeing Red go after Billy… there's nothing those little shits can't handle."

"I need to know what happened," Eddie said. "There's still so much that isn't adding up."

Steve winced as he sat back up. "It is a… really, really long story. And it's not a pretty one. I'll tell you, but… maybe later? For now, can we just put on a movie and… and you two hold me?"

"Whatever you need," Robin said without any hesitation. She jumped up to grab the remote and to push the table closer to the couch.

"You'll tell me later?" Eddie asked.

"Promise." Steve kissed Eddie's cheek gently, then snuggled to him so Robin could take her place, too.

Anyone who looked at Steve could figure out this was a sad story, an angry story. It was a fucking horror story.

As the opening credits of Grease started playing, Eddie promised himself that he was going to make damn sure Steve got a happy ending out of it.

[ghost-askblog]

(Please read <3)

hey everyone! its been a bit hasn't it...

i've still been popping in here and there and i'm honestly so glad this whole hate train fiasco has finally come to a much needed close (for the most part) and watching all of these new ask blogs flourish since then has been so insanely heart warming for me. i'm so glad to see you all doing well!

during my break i've come to terms with just how much i really needed it and feeling the weight of everything off my shoulders whether it being the overwhelming feeling of obligation to get to everyone's asks and make everyone happy really got to me in the long run more than i'd like to admit. story of a people-pleaser's life, i suppose.

it makes me so happy and honestly fucking gobsmacked to this day to be reminded that this amazing community got revived by just a weird cod obsessed freshly turned 18 year old highschooler that simply wanted to have fun and make friends with people of a like interest. crazy how life works, innit?

during this period of taking time to myself and reflecting off of what really happened i've decided not to continue this blog for the sake of myself and my own mental health. in spite of this i'm still so insanely grateful of how much love and support i have been getting even during my hiatus and for that i love you all sooo so much <33

i'm not going to completely disappear, and i certainly won't stop using tumblr (for the foreseeable future, anyways.) and i highly encourage you to have fun and interact with many of the other ghost ask blogs that came to be during my break, or just any new blogs in general that decided to join this silly little community of like-minded individuals that just want to have fun role playing their favorite characters in the cod community.

if you'd still like to interact with me, then please feel more than welcome to do so. i won't be tagging my main outright but just know if you find it, it's there for you.

most importantly, i want to thank all of the original ask blogs that derived from mine, especially after my spike in popularity that honestly shocked me as well. damn near 1k followers in a span of 2 months is baffling already as it is, especially to someone like me that didn't have much of an internet presence as it is.

and with that said, hi! i'm francis, better known as fran, and i'm the young fella behind this blog! i recently turned 18 in october and i'm finishing my final year of high school. i love my friends so so so much and honestly i wouldn't even be nearly where i am if it wasn't for them. i'm currently involved in a dual-enrollment program to get my associates degree in criminal psychology and my favorite color is red! i am a huge video game and movie geek, having rewatched the entire marvel timeline more times than i can count, as well as having a love for indie and thriller/horror elemented story games. (fnaf, tlou, mouthwashing, resident evil, silent hill, just to name a few)

this has been so much fun, and i thank you all for staying with me this long. i'm eternally grateful❤️

—this was fran, signing off with a brand new video game in hand and a good long exhale of relief.

go follow these guys they're fucking awesome

@askthemactav @shadow-5-05 @shadow-2-08 @itsvargen @krueger-acc @brav0six @ask-private-141 @konigisking @justradiospirit @ask-corporaltwins-141 @verytiredmedic @callsign-king @shadow5-7 @captain-after-dark @lieutenant-banks @b1gm0n3yb1gg3rc4n3 @callsign-cups @alejandro-ask @el-perro-rabiosa @callsign-kits @price-askblog @keegan-askblog @generalshepherd-askblog @gaz-askblog @ask-alex-keller @valera-askblog @ask-roachsanderson @jeanzoriley-cod @ask-gaz @ask-soapmactavish @ask-phillip-graves @johnprice-asks @ask-philgraves @ask-lieutriley

oh, and to all of these rp blog tags? allow me the grace of being your 🧟‍♀️ anon (iykyk)

[featguler]

it made us restless ────── my god, this reminds me of when we were young.

lewis hamilton is seen reconnecting with an old lover.

⌗ pairing : lewis hamilton x reader ⌗ tags : reader is female, and her faceclaim is established. reader is a singer. not proofread, possibly shitty. ⌗ notes : this is my 200 followers special!! a different sports!! i haven't done a 100 followers special because i'm technically supposed to write for a football athlete that is not from real madrid, but i haven't decided who i wanna do for that so... you get this first :3 also i tried doing something different with the header!!! title and description is from 'when we were young' by adele ♡ masterlist.

FACECLAIM 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ yura yunita ( instagram )

DISCLAIMER 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ 𐙚 i am not affiliated with yura yunita, lewis hamilton, or anyone mentioned in this fic 𐙚 any similarities in name, time, and place is purely coincidental 𐙚 do not mind the time stamps 𐙚 click on the pictures if it seems blurry

ynusername

liked by hamiltonsource, ynluvr, lewishamilton, and others

ynusername some of that ldt (long distance tennis) 🤪 @.lewishamilton tagged lewishamilton view all comments

lewishamilton <33 ❤️ by author

ynusername <33

username okay so anyone else got recommended this post on their timeline... seven years later...

username let me tell you about the heart attack i got... username i fr thought they were getting back together

lewishamilton i totally beat you though ❤️ by author

ynusername liar liar pants on fire → lewishamilton my pants aren't on fire?? → ynusername i wouldn't know you're half the world away → lewishamilton aw sorry pretty baby :( <33 username oh... this relationship wasn't a hoax... → username ??? 😭😭😭 username they were CUTE cute huh..

username i love you my mother and my father please adopt me

username wow seeing my comment from 7 years ago here is crazy... → username 😭😭😭

username this must be a sign from the universe huh...??? HUH???

username it's literally just the instagram algorithm fucking things up again calm down username REAL i'm not even following y/n

yourfriend cutiessss! ❤️ by author

ynusername i love you! 🥺

ynsource

liked by ynfanaccount, ynluvr, hamiltonsource, and others

ynsource my sources say that y/n is rekindling with an old lover 🤭 tagged ynusername view all comments

username and what sources are these

ynsource trust me → username LITERALLY "trust me bro" SOURCE???

username creating unnecessary drama

username i feel like it's been a few months ❤️ by author

ynsource 🫣

hamiltonsource wait can u tell me ❤️ by author

ynsource ofc baby username not the ship going so strong that their fan accounts are also in a love affair

username that's a dinner for TWO...

username she's allowed to have friends you know → username or other men idk → username no other men → username ?????

ynusername

liked by ynsource, lewishamilton, and others

ynusername some fresh air before the tour 🤝 which dates will you be going? :-) <33 view all comments

username oh she's teasing us

username guys.......... they're obviously talking again right

ynusername i'll see you all!!!

username I'LL SEE YOU I LOVE YOU username SEE YOU SEE YOU SEE YOU username vitamin SEE YOU!!! ❤️ by author → ynusername ohh that's cute → username WAIT ILY THANK YOU FOR REPLYING → ynusername <33

username I'M GOING TO THE ARLINGTON SHOW QUEEN ❤️ by author

ynsource work those hamstrings 😍

username i feel like i'm in a cult

hamiltonsource we will... be seeing you <33

ynusername which dates? xo <33 ynsource HOW DID YOU GET A REPLY BUT NOT ME??? @.hamiltonsource → hamiltonsource i'm just better baby

username london 2nd night! <33 ❤️ by author

username she's fucking with us right

georgerussell63 monaco date ❤️ by author

ynusername which obviously exists → georgerussell63 🤣 ❤️ by author username great now we have both of *****' ex interacting with one another

username why are we so afraid to say the word lewis

username SHHHH THAT'S FORBIDDEN AROUND HERE → username wtf??? i'll @ him idc @.lewishamilton → username real → username @.lewishamilton

ynusername

liked by ynsource, ynluvr, yniloveu others

ynusername found some gems for a couple of years ago 🥰 view all comments

username were you getting married 😹

ynusername 🤫

ynsource to WHO!?!?!?!?

username happy bday queen

username it's not her bday yet 😭

ynluvr oh you are GORGEOUS gorgeous ❤️ by author

ynusername <33

username white is fr her colour

username whoever is going to marry her will be so lucky to see her walking down the aisle... 🥺

lewishamilton

liked by ynusername, hamiltonsource, and others

lewishamilton First paddock birthday in a while 🎂🥳 <33 tagged ynusername view all comments

ynusername happy birthday to me!!! ❤️ by author

lewishamilton Birthday girl! → ynusername :-)

username HARDLAUNCH?????

username me when the world didn't end in 2015

username my mom thinks i'm insane for tossing my phone across the room after seeing this

hamiltonsource happy birthday mom @.ynusername

ynsource go away that's MY mom??? → hamiltonsource OUR mom 🥰

username HEEELLLLLLOOOOO??

username OMG.....

username wait why am i emotional

username seeing lewis post y/n gave me such intense whiplash i think i was transported back to 2011

username i have no one to send this to

[moosemann404]

Fuck you Ena-fies your Doug Ratttman (click for better quality)

Here are the sides. Originally, one side (painter) was going to have a beard, but my beards already look horrible, and half of one looked even worse. That other foot was also going to be like… a full foot, before I gave up and now it’s just shapes.

Worker was originally called Scientist, but I changed it because it’s supposed to be his ‘work face’ (aka playing nice and holding his tongue and shit. Basically a customer service face). I would have changed painter but I couldn’t think of a descriptor for it proper and ‘passionate’ didn’t feel right. It’s the side that’s more honest and prefers doing things that aren’t work or that he finds fulfilling.

The more extreme faces are extensions of this. Worker getting so worked up that it progresses to full on paranoia, desperate to keep his job + the idea that people are trying to take it away from him in the first place. Catatonic is a state of Painter failing to do its job. Either the creations are no longer fulfilling or there are so many tasks to do to complete them that he shuts down. Or people keep trying to distract him or take him away from what he’s doing.

(Also the raise lower thing on Paranoid is like the Fuzzies from Mario)

And bonus: Concept that was Wheatley!!

…you know at some point

Yeah this doesn’t look much like him but. We ball. I’ve been informed by a friend as well as my brother that sexypedia woulda gone crazy over this.

Originally I was going off the way he was a Big Screen through chapter 8 and part of chapter 9, you know, big old god face. And then something grabbed me by the throat and whispered ‘experiment with your style’ so now we have this thing as a result. I had a lot of fun doing the sort of pseudo-rubber hose style. Close ups below along with some details.

The base design I had. I never had a tv with an antenna (though I have had a thick ass bubble tv) so I looked at a bajillion references. Given that Wheatley is a certified Yapper, I went for a more talk show set background. The style of the furniture is all Retro Future when they used eye bleed orange and had big egg chairs because Aperture had a small bit of that aesthetic in the first underground section (or second??? I struggle to remember timelines). I struggled to find any actual retro future ceiling lamps because the first 30 images were ai generated. Hate to see it. Resorted to looking at eBay.

The dials and buttons are meant to be copper, since most of the TVs I saw had gold accents and it just didn’t really work out when I applied it here. I think I’m just shit at coloring metals. I would have put ‘The Wheatley Show’ on the sign but my handwriting/cursive is too dog water.

The second design I did. I tried some squash and stretch here, and I’m quite proud of it. The antenna are being tugged down, so I know there probably should be a picture but shhh, I can do what I want. I was more interested in making it look like he was pulling his hair.

I couldn’t name this one properly. It’s also closer to a shut down, but things like dread and emotional drain fit too. I debated on doing this whole thing in black and white, as early TVs didn’t have color, but after consulting some people I decided to only do it for certain expressions. He also desaturates when unsure/uncomfortable.

This one was the one I was most excited to get to. The hands can do more than just mess with the antenna, they can change the channel and click the buttons (they’re volume buttons even though I don’t think TVs had those at least not like this). There’s a number of different backgrounds that can pop up when being fiddled with, like a weather broadcast, a nature documentary, a cooking show, pretty much anything, as long as it falls into that 60-70s approach I had.

Oh right yeah there’s a guy in there.

I wanted to make him simultaneously more and less details than the guy in the screen. More detail in the bow tie and the arms, but lacking the suit detail. This one veered closer to doctor Seuss in terms of style I fear. The white side of the face is supposed to look more like a mask, which is why the iris is a different style and the smile doesn’t line up.

Bonus funny

[invinciblevariant]

in your hour of need , i'll be there . . . [ mark / rex ] .

a lovely anon known as "glass" requested a fic of markrex hurt/comfort , and i'm here to deliver ! i really hope you (and those others reading this) enjoy !

synopsis ; a particularly nasty battle with yet another monster attacking earth leaves rex bloodied and bruised . there is nothing new about this , except the person who comes to see him afterwards , which may or may not spark some ... feelings . pairing ; mark x rex . timeline / changes to series ; set toward the beginning of s3 . mark confessed his love for eve , but she rejected him ( and she and amber began dating bC IM THE AUTHOR OF THIS STORY DAMMIT ) . trigger / content warning(s) ; blood , gore mention .

this is such bullshit .

rex knew he was signing up to get his ass kicked when cecil reported of unusually hostile activity in the southern region of chicago . he also suspected that it would be an alien creature , but what he didn't suspect was that this alien would be damn near impossible to take down , even with the rest of the guardians' help .

this is certainly nothing like taking on the flaxans , but fortunately , not like fighting viltrumites , but still , this monster-looking fuck is stronger than it seems .

" can't we call someone else to come help ?! " monster girl yells as she attempts to put the alien in a headlock , getting easily tossed into robot . rex throws explosive after explosive to try and distract it , but it doesn't even react .

then , he realizes something ... not only is this creature strong as all hell , it's also blind .

" hey , guys , i have a - ! "

before rex is able to finish , the creature grabs him and slams him into the wall of a building , almost sending the whole thing down on top of him . as rex is getting back up , it pounces on him and digs its claws into his sides .

the scream he lets out can most likely be heard around the entire world .

after the creature is kicked off him by bulletproof , rex surveys his injuries . fuck , he's not supposed to be able to see his innards ...

after staring for what feels like hours in horror and shock , the world goes black and he collapses against the debris .

rex awakens in a hospital room in the gda's medical facility , his sides bandaged up and an iv drip in his arm . nothing he's not used to at this point .

" man , " he yelps slightly as he hears the voice beside him chuckle , " you look like shit . "

... mark ?? huh ... this is new . he thought for sure that it would be rae sitting beside him , waiting for him to wake up .

oh , god , rex hopes mark can't see the way his face flushes red ... or the raging boner he's starting to get .

" yeah , well , you would know about looking like shit after a fight , wouldn't you ? " he bites back , though there's absolutely no hostility in his tone .

mark laughs at that - dammit , why are there butterflies in his stomach ? - and gets up from the chair , strolling across the small space to stand beside the bed .

" well , " he says , " eve texted to come check up on you since she and amber are looking at apartments across from the college . "

" oh , so you're not here out of concern for your best friend ? you're doing so because my ex-girlfriend and your former unrequited lover told you to ? "

now it's mark's turn for his face to flush red , and he rubs the back of his neck . " n-no , i came because , when i saw the text ... i ... " he looks rex in the eyes . " i was concerned for you ... you'd never been that badly hurt before , and ... i was ... "

rex gets a knowing look on his face before smirking teasingly . " you were that worried about me that you stuck by me the minute you saw the text , weren't you ? "

he swears that he's never seen the shade of red that mark's face turns shortly after that , and he sputters . " sh-shut the hell up , man !! "

" awwwww , " rex continues to tease , reaching over to poke at the viltrumite teen's side , loving the way mark squirms and hides his face in his hands afterward , " you were as concerned as eve would've been . y'know , she would've shut me up by now by kissing m = "

mark's lips pressing deeply against his shut him up , and rex absolutely melts into the gesture . he feels a hand cup his cheek , very much like eve would've done , and mark climbs onto the bed to straddle the injured superhero .

thank fuck for the morphine the gda gives ...

minutes feel like hours before the door swishes open and mark scrambles off of rex's bed , almost tripping over the iv stand . cecil enters the room , seeming oblivious to the position the two men were just in mere moments before , and informs rex that he can leave the hospital in a few days before heading out just as quickly as he came in , talking through his earpiece to some agent .

" don't mention this to anyone , " mark states when he sees the smirk on rex's face , though his tone indicates no seriousness whatsoever .

rex only chuckles and grabs his arm , pulling mark back onto the bed so he can lay beside him .

he's totally telling the rest of the team about this later ...

[nocreativityfornames]

After finally seeing the way Solomon's pact with Asmo was made, I'm thinking this man is SO lucky to be immortal. Because with how protective the brothers are over each other ( especially Lucifer ), I can perfectly imagine them getting together to go straight up murder him after Asmo tells them what happened.

It's no wonder Lucifer despises this man, his first introduction to Solomon ( in the og timeline ) was probably Asmo telling him and the brothers that he had gotten a pact with him while completely drunk and out of his mind. Or in other words, he had been manipulated into giving someone complete control over him while not even being in a state where he could give proper consent.

And going back to what Lucifer told us when Solomon first made an appearance in omswd, you can see his clear resentment towards him:

What he's basically saying is that Solomon is the type who'll do ANYTHING to get into a pact with a demon if he has the opportunity to do so.

And remember, this is one of the dialogues you get when you give Lucifer a certain item in the PRESENT ( sure, he says "before" and we don't know how long ago it was, but it was for sure after the whole thing with Asmo ).

( the credits to this image go to @boozye, by the way )

And that combined with his behavior when telling this story of how he met Asmo on two separate occasions, you can see he feels no remorse at all, to the point where he's laughing at Asmo's reaction to waking up and finding out he had basically signed away his freedom to a random stranger.

And when we show disapproval over this, he basically brushes it off as: "that's the way you're usually supposed to treat demons"?? Like... WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, SOLOMON???

And the way he says this feels so icky, he's talking about demons like they're nothing but toys, something he can use and do whatever he wants with it.

And maybe I'm reaching by bringing this up, but this is literally how the devs chose to describe the way Solomon views the brothers:

( credits to the image: @enbyobeyme )

And going back to the Lucifer thing, I wonder how he feels about Solomon being the only one who was able to follow MC into the past. Because as much as he has grown more tolerating of Solomon over the course of the game, I sure as hell wouldn't consider them friends.

follow-up post to this

[pureureunn]

“Fuck fate.”

Prologue

pairing : ot7 x reader/oc

genre : fluff, angst, reverse harem, reincarnation!au, idol!au, novel!au, sub!bts x dom!reader/oc, actress!reader, model!reader, idol!bts, villainess!reader/oc

notes : jungkook is a simp. Lots of cursing. The timeline for this will be messy, I’ll try not to make it that messy though :(

summary : in which jungkook goes down the rabbit hole that’s Valentina Lee.

Jeon Jungkook adores you.

He didn’t really expect it, honestly. He saw you maybe a few times as a trainee (you were everywhere—posters, signs, and even in his social media feed) and even before they toured the world with their album—Wings. No, he saw you much earlier than that. Maybe saw you in a few billboards, posters hanging on walls, saw your name go trending in twitter a couple of times, heard your name here and there. He knows you. Who wouldn’t? You were bigtime famous. Anyone would know you.

Producers would sing your name, brands would be eager to collab with you, every video of you trending, a mere appearance of you sending the social media in a frenzy

(Jungkook remembers seeing his twitter crash, eyes blinking before restarting the app and seeing that it just won’t open. It lasted for a whole day.)

But that doesn’t mean that he knows know you.

Until he watched a video of you. It was just a simple compilation really. It was after their first day during the World Tour of Wings. He was just laying down, can’t seem to sleep and Jungkook thought that he might as well watch something. And he came across you. In his recommended videos. With the title,

“Valentina being the most cracked up unhinged (sweetest) person on earth”

And Jeon Jungkook, bored out of his mind—who can’t sleep at the ungodly hour of 2am. Watched it.

And oh god, Jungkook watched you.

It was just one video. It was just supposed to be one video. Just one.

Until one turned to two, two turned to three, three turned to four—and the next thing Jungkook knows it’s already morning with his alarm blearing through his phone and he blinked owlishly.

Oh, he thought. It’s already morning.

Strangely enough, he didn’t feel tired despite not getting any sleep. Energetic even. He looked down on his phone, seeing the ongoing video of you on his screen.

It was a compilation of you on stage. With knee-high boots, a sparkly top that Jungkook knows made you uncomfortable, a mini skirt, wavy long hair, and a simple makeup that suited your features.

“Times when Valentina made me straight (I’m gay)”

Jungkook paused the screen and exited the app, making a mental reminder to listen to your songs later on.

It was glaringly obvious that day how Jungkook had loads of energy to spare like a little kid on a sugar rush. He would run—not jog, but run. During soundcheck, he would giggle and jump and run almost everywhere. They wondered what it was, but nonetheless happy for their maknae.

Later that day, Jeon Jungkook went through every album—every song you had. And it was safe to say that was all that was in his mind for well, an indefinite time.

On the next few days, Jeon Jungkook finished half of your movies. Even when they had practice, even when he knew he had to sleep because they had a flight tomorrow morning, even when Jungkook knew they were busy.

Jeon Jungkook made sure he finished every movie you had.

The week following that, Jungkook finished every movie starring you. Wether you were a side character, or even just a small cameo. Jungkook made sure to watch them.

And in less than a month, Jeon Jungkook fell into a rabbit hole called Valentina Lee.

-

Somehow, Jungkook’s more… energetic?

His hyungs noticed. Not that it was bad per se, they were happy that he’s having fun but they did wonder where this sudden spur of energy come from. Ever since their first day in their tour, Jungkook was more lively. More energetic. He was always humming something and he’s usually watching something on his phone.

Kim Namjoon watched Jungkook from the corner of his eyes, noting his gleeful smile as he joked around with Jin. The hyungs were worried of the maknae for this tour, concerned that Jungkook would be too hard on himself as they know that he tends to push himself too hard. But he’s doing okay, Namjoon thought. Namjoon didn’t know what spurred this on, but he buried it at the back of his mind. As long as he’s happy and well.

—

“He has a crush.”

“What?” Namjoon teared his eyes away from Jungkook as he faced Yoongi, “A crush? On who?”

“Valentina Lee.” Oh

Kim Namjoon knows you, of course he does. Anyone would. You’re bigtime famous of course, even people who didn’t know you, knows you.

“Ah,” He chuckled, “Was that why he seems extra.. lively? The past few weeks.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi replied, a soft smile curling his lips as he remembers when Jungkook talked about you. “He really idolize her.” He added, “He kept on mentioning her songs and I always see him watching videos of her on his phone.” Yoongi smiled.

Namjoon chuckled as he looks at Jungkook, “Well, as long as he’s happy.”

Yoongi couldn’t agree more.

It was safe to say that the next day, everyone knew of Jungkook’s crush to you. Not that he minded though, he was proud of it. You were an amazing woman and your achievements was something he’d always be proud of.

Well maybe Jimin’s relentless teasing sometimes makes him embarrassed.

—

“I didn’t think you’d understand me~” Jungkook hummed as he exits the shower, “How could you ever even try?~” His english wasn’t perfect yet, but he’s working on it. As Jungkook hums, he circled around the bed in search for his phone. Opening the app, he begins to watch videos of you. Again.

“It’s his bedtime story.” Jin laughs as he slapped Hoseok’s arm. “Aish Hyung!” said man complained while rubbing his arm. Meanwhile, Jungkook just wore a grin as his hyungs teased him.

Chuckling at the memory, Jungkook laid down on his bed as he started watching another compilation video of you.

“Valentina Lee makes me wanna bark.”

Jungkook lightly laughs at the title, but it wasn’t long before his entire world revolved around you. You you you you. Your voice, your laugh, your smile—Jungkook immersed himself to you. He's been watching you—admiring you for months now. Listening to your songs, watching videos of you, he was tuned in. Tuned in to you. And Jungkook would proudly say that you were one of the major people that made him enjoy this tour a lot more.

So despite the numerous times he didn’t sleep because he liked watching you, there were also times where he fell asleep because he likes watching you.

And this was just another one of those days.

As Jungkook drifted off, he couldn’t help but let out a small smile. After all, Jeon Jungkook really does adore you.

So imagine his dumbfounded face and doe wide eyes, exactly as he stared at the article showing in his phone as soon as he woke up.

“What the fuck?!”

Now, Jungkook didn’t curse a lot. His hyungs (despite him being in legal age) made it a point between themselves to not curse that much in front of their maknae. Something about raising him. And when he does—when they do curse, it’s usually because of something that shocks them. Or because of a situation that deserved to be cursed.

And this? Jungkook definitely thinks this situation is cursed, because why the fuck is this happening?

And there it was, in big, red, capital letters displayed on his phone.

“THE DOWNFALL OF VALENTINA LEE?” — Valentina Lee, or more known as VAL, was recently caught in a scandal with a rising actor..

Honestly, Jeon Jungkook knew of that guy. He never really approved of him, which was quite ridiculous to say as he never met the person and Namjoon-hyung and his other hyungs taught him that it’s not wise to judge someone but Jungkook couldn’t help it.

He watched you.

Through the countless videos of you two, the instagram lives, the pictures, and the numerous articles.

And he knows that guy is just not good.

As Jungkook read the article, he can’t help but curse even more.

VAL allegedly approached the actor with inappropriate intentions as..

Approached?! Inappropriate??!!!

Furthermore, following to the actor’s statement; “She suddenly forced herself to me that night, she was drunk and she smelled of cigarettes. And-‘

The fuck? Drunk?? Cigarettes???

Jungkook blinked once, twice. And suddenly let out a string of curses. Val-noona would never do that! She doesn’t even drink! And cigarettes?? She hates the smell of that!

What the fuck is this fucking asshole saying aish-

Anastasia, his girlfriend had a statement regarding the situation. “I just don’t know why she would do that you know?” She cried, “I’ve been her fan for as long as I can remember so this is really heartbreaking to me-“

Heartbreaking my ass, Jungkook rolled his eye.

“She always moved closer to me.” The actor states, “I’d move away of course, especially when she gets touchy but she doesn’t really get it.” He added.

Gritting his teeth, Jungkook scrolled down to the comments with a frown.

: she’s such a slut lol

: dang he has a girlfriend dude. What a homewrecker

: drunk? I aint even gonna be surprised if she’s high as fuck and doin drugs lmao

: lololol rightt

: I don’t believe this!

: yeah, tf is this asshole saying? VAL-unnie hates the smell of cigarettes.

: ikr? Why tf would she be drunk and smell of cigarettes?

: lmao, idc that’s just a facade she put.

: lololol cant accept the fact that she’s such a whore? Lmaooo the proof is right here

: I’ve been her stan but.. can’t believe she’s like this

: i know right..

Jungkook huffed as he sat up, a frown on his face with his eyebrows furrowed. Biting his bottom lip, he can’t help but be worried for you. He knows you’re not like that. Call him delusional or something, but he knows. Even if he just knows you for only a few months and perhaps he was quite a young fan now—but that doesn’t make him any less of a fan.

Remembering the article on his phone, Jungkook clenched his jaw and ruffled his hair.

“Aish! That fucking bastard-“

A knock, and then a voice. “Jungkookie? Are you okay?”

Hobi-hyung. Jungkook realized, and with a huff. Jungkook treads towards the door, eyes burning with hatred as his mouth opens.

He opens the door, “Hobi-hyung! Can you believe this bastard did this to Val-noona?!” He shoved the phone screen in his face.

Hoseok blinks.

“What?”

Hoseok blinked at Jungkook—who’s currently glaring at his screen like it just stole his favorite shirt. “Alright Jungkook-ah, you should get ready for today.” Hoseok gently pushed Jungkook in and lead him in the middle.

Jungkook didn’t say anything and just continued glaring at his screen before huffing and storming to the bathroom, muttering a bunch of words Hoseok can’t hear but by the murderous look in his eyes he knows it’s not good.

Jeon Jungkook may be young and some people may call him naive for judging the basta—actor, right away but he doesn’t regret it.

Jeon Jungkook knows you. He watched you.

And Jungkook will never forgive that man.

Not when Jeon Jungkook adores you.

[touringtanuki]

Holy FUCK that Upd8 was good.

Rose kept Yiffy a secret because she wanted to make Kanaya mad in 15 years? So that she could feel catharsis after her inevitable foreseen death? That is INSANE, and re-contextualizes everything. Though I wonder: Did her motive to make Kanaya hate her come before or after her inability to care about what's happening on this seemingly pointless timeline? Is this just her way of justifying her apathy regarding the actions she felt the need to take? At this point, I'd say that the Yiffy plotline is somehow almost fully acceptable.

Jade & Rose's conversation. Their dynamic is so interesting. Jade sitting there claiming that she wants to face her mistakes while trying to desperately hide them. Rose choosing to ignore everything that's gone wrong because she's too disconnected from this reality to fully care, while still having to fight the last hints of her feelings on the inside. Pretty similar to what another light player has been feeling for a long while.

And... oogh. That's not a good sign.

Awesome panel btw. I wonder, is it intentional that the dead Rose (whom Kanaya is supposed to despise) is the same color as rage?

Jane & Jake. Yeah. 'Nuff said. Raw, hype, whatever. You see what's in front of you.

Also. A lot to unpack here. That button has the crockertier insignia, serving as some further implication that her childhood mind control is part of her acting this way. And look at that picture. That's Tavvy wearing a red sweater. He normally wears a purple sweater. Thus implying that he wears the color of whichever guardian he's closest to… And that you can visibly see him growing apart from Jane with age… Also. The flash. Considering the 'we want to hit one of the funny numbers' and the 'this is unfortunately going to get delayed' I'm betting it was planned for 4/13 and may be pushed to 6/12. I was going to say 10/25, but then I realized how close that is. Man, does time fly.

P.S. I KNEW IT WOULD BE A 10/8 UPD8 FUCK YEAH I WAS RIGHT

[avelera]

I am never going to be over what the movies did with Steve and Tony's dynamic, because- listen, listen. The reason Civil War was (supposed to, it was kind of a hot mess) hit so hard in the comics was that these two were *best friends* and had been for decades of comic time. In the movies, they never are friends, so Civil War is just two colleagues who never really got on, and not the devastating tearing apart of a long-established friendship group.

Dude I literally burst out into like... outraged, furious laughter in the theater when Tony said, "I thought I was your friend?" because, umm, footage not fucking found?

I completely get and respect the comic readers here for whom Steve & Tony and Steve/Tony were, in fact, the best of friends! But the MCU never ever actually showed it.

To cram that line, which felt lifted from the comics, into the MCU was genuinely laughable. How could Tony possibly think he compares to what we've seen of Steve and Bucky's relationship, since childhood even if you don't ship them, as the only person Steve has left from his entire life pre-WWII? How could Tony possibly think he compares except through the lens of a galaxy sized ego and being totally self-involved to the exclusion of all else? How could any work colleague, since that's what they are at best when not outright antagonists to each other in the MCU, think they'd compare to a childhood friend in danger, that Tony is actively putting in danger? Who Tony is blaming for the death of his father despite the fact they've got piles of evidence that Bucky was a mind-controlled prisoner of war being actively tortured at the time?

It's literally staggering, it beggars belief that this line was uttered. And wildly enough, it's not even my least favorite line in Civil War. (That one goes to Vision's stupid fucking comment about how strength invites challenge, basically victim-blaming the superheroes for having villains, which only possibly makes any sense if you ignore Thor, the greater galaxy, all of the infinity stones, and basically every other part of the MCU timeline before Steve Rogers got the serum, Christ that line makes me mad.

Oh, and the line about Tony just handwaving signing the accords because their lawyers can fix it later as the most boneheaded line of insane privilege I've ever heard. Kids, never fucking sign something just because you can supposedly fix it later, christ it's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.)

ANYWAY, I have major beef with Civil War's logic. It never should have happened where it did in the MCU. Cap 3 should have been dedicated to its original plot before they found out RDJ was staying on in the MCU and they had the pieces to make Civil War (the original was the hunt for Bucky and an examination of Captain America's legacy through the lens of Bucky killing off the pretenders the US government set up to be him over the years, and I still weep that we never got it) But I do honestly, deeply, have sympathy for comic fans and why they're mad about the Steve and Tony friendship never actually appearing on screen in any meaningful way.

Civil War shouldn't have happened then. Civil War is a plot you run now, when you've got the rights to the X-Men and too many damn characters running amok. Civil War would be perfect now for pairing down some of the ballooning MCU nonsense. The cast was literally not big enough circa Cap 3 to make Civil War. And I'm eternally bitter that they pivoted away from the smaller-scale Cap-centric movie we should have had and instead made another Avengers movie in its name.

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

I have been binging analog horror again so semi-modern timeline where Meng Yao is a low-ranking agent of his father's company who has just gotten a big contract, but it's out in this kind of podunk-looking town. Whatever, it might still earn him some recognition, so he goes.

The place is weird from the moment he arrives. A lot of new, but empty buildings, as if the employees meant to fill them either abandoned their jobs or never arrived. The houses are all much older. There's something about those that he can't put his finger on. There are also a lot of signs about with curfews and mentions of weather phenomena that can't possibly be real.

He can't find the hotel he's supposed to be staying at, but there's an inn that looks about the same age as the houses. He considers going there to check in, then finds somehow time has gotten away from him and he has to get to work instead.

Nobody at the office building his father owns talks to him much, and he can't help but wonder if they... know.

The audits and stuff he was supposed to do on that first day take way longer than they should have. By the time he's done, it's well past dark.

Past the curfew.

Well, the worst is that the police get on his case for being out, right?

He steps out of the office building and hears the door lock behind him.

Then the street light above his head goes purple, and the temperature drops and a sudden sense of overwhelming panic floods him to the point he almost drops to his knees before freeze turns to flight and he books it away from whatever the fuck hits the ground where he'd been standing.

All the buildings are empty. All the houses are locked up tight. Except for the streetlights that turn purple as he runs under them, everything is dark.

Until he sees that the light over the inn's front door is also still on and puts the last of his endurance into making it to that one potential place of safety.

(He will later find out that his father intentionally sent him to this town in the hopes he'd get killed by the local Entity the townsfolk have structured their survival around, but for now, the Nies will catch him when he falls through the door of their family inn and look after him.)

[spencewalterreid]

American Teenager

part 1. part 2.

Summary: Ethel deals with the death of her father and her sexuality while Spencer grapples with how to address her crumbling mental health.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Ethel Cain (p)

Category: Angst, hurt/comfort (come on y'all know the routine by now)

Warning: discussion of war, house parties, witnessed makeout session by a third party, teenagers being drunk, dry humping, dubious consent (not sex, but like. heavy petting), suicide attempt!! you have been warned. forced gagging/throwing up unrelated to an ed. Please see master list for overall warnings for the whole series.

Word Count: 6.4k

Author's Note: I absolutely flew through this one. Enjoy the long chapter, because next week will likely be much shorter. It'll be setting up for Spencer's FBI career, the beginnings of joining the BAU. Ignore the timeline please:) I'm not gonna fuck with trying to make him one of the founders. just preteeeeend that they had all the technology they have now back in the 80s<3 it's fanFICTION for a reason xoxoxo. It'll be less of Ethel's pov except maybe some meandering daydreaming. Mostly Spencer-centric before we pull away from him for a while for Western Nights. I think that's all<3 enjoy!

PLEASE NOTE: reblogging is the only way to promote fics on tumblr!! if you enjoyed this PLEASE reblog and let me know!

September 3, 1976

It’s uncharacteristically cold for September; a crisp 36 degrees. Fitting, given the setting.

Last night, Daddy died. That’s it. There’s no other way to put it. There’s no way to say it in which wouldn’t sound like a lie; too soft to be honest. Mama won’t tell Ethel how it happened, and her older sisters have remained eerily silent. They haven’t spoken at all.

Allison found Mama, or so she assumed from the scream last night. She knows it was in the bathroom, because when she scrambled out of her threadbare twin-sized bed and down the hall to investigate, Hope, Allison, Joanna, and Mom were gathered around the doorway. When Ethel asked what was going on with tears in her voice, Mom turned around and grabbed her by the wrist, dragged her down the hall.

“You’re hurting me!” she’d shouted, but it hit deaf ears. She’d cried harder at the purple she knew was colouring her arm.

Mama tossed her back into her bedroom and locked the door from the outside. Joanna came in the next morning to let her out; they were going to the schoolhouse so Ethel could get enrolled. She’d never been to school before.

The building was concrete and empty. It was bigger than it needed to be, bigger than what was warranted with the amount of students it had to hold. It was laced with something desolate, as though anyone who passed through its hallways would be stung with a desperate loneliness. She felt it when she pressed the front doors open, and she saw it on Joanna’s face, but she wasn’t sure if the expression was there before they left the house, so she couldn’t be sure it was caused by the school.

Joanna signed papers that Ethel was sure were meant for Mama, and nary a word was spoken aside from an introduction delivered by the older sister. They were there for maybe half an hour as Joanna scribbled in silence, only broken by the turn of a page. When she was finished, she laid the stack down on the front desk and mumbled thanks before leaving without checking if Ethel was following. She was.

Anyway, that was yesterday and this is now, as much as Ethel wishes it weren’t. Mama dressed her in thick, black tights and a long, black dress with shiny, black shoes. She wonders why funerals are supposed to be black. Black is the devil’s colour, she thinks absently, rear end going numb from the outdated bench under her in this stuffy old church. The same one Daddy did his sermons in. Not anymore, she reminds herself.  If Daddy’s supposed to go to Heaven, shouldn’t everything be white? She wonders if Daddy would go to Heaven after all. He must, she’s sure. After all, he spoke His word at every chance he got. Especially when he came to her bedroom when Hope was sleeping on the twin-sized mattress on the other side of the bedroom. The Bible says you are mine to do with as I please, he’d whisper near her ear, so be quiet. Later, when she’d ask him why her and why not Hope or Allison or Joanna, he’d tell her, it’s because you’re my favourite. You’re the littlest one, God’s gift to me. And she was the favourite. Daddy would hold her hand when they were in public, he’d keep his hand on her thigh in private, or sometimes her chest, or sometimes her butt. He was always touching her somewhere, making sure she knew she was safe. He was protecting her. He never did that for her older sisters, even though they were so much prettier. They were lucky to look so much like Mama. Ethel looked more like her father and she always has.

The only person that speaks to Ethel all day is Hope, the sister closest to her in age. Only 9 months older. When they were lowering the casket, Hope had squeezed Ethel’s hand and said, “He’s finally gone.” At that, Ethel had ripped her hand away and shuffled closer to Mama. Why would she say that? Daddy was never anything but good to them. Even when he was hurting them, it was for their own good. He only ever once broke skin on each of them, and it was when he gave them their Mark of the Lord when they turned 10. He’d given them cross tattoos with his pocket knife, right at their hairline. It was always covered by bangs, of course, because otherwise the Heathens would want to hurt them for their faith, but Ethel was grateful for the gift. Daddy said it would keep evil away, keep the demons from possessing them. She’d let him do it without fighting, and she only cried a little bit.

Mama hadn’t let Spencer come to the funeral, so once everyone has gone to sleep, Ethel tries to climb out her window. She slides the wooden frame up without a sound, glancing over at Hope every few seconds to make sure she doesn’t wake up. She puts one foot out the window then the next, but as she wasn’t looking where she was stepping, her foot slipped and she fell, scraping her leg before she found purchase on the windowsill.

She supposes the sound woke Mama up, because she hears stomps down the hallway. Desperate, Ethel tries to pull herself back up, but she isn’t strong enough. A delicate hand wraps around her wrist, yanking her up back through the window. She hits her head on the way.

“What the devil are you thinking?” Mom yells. Once Ethel is safely back in her room, Mama rears back and smacks her across the face. “Stupid girl,” she continues. “Just because Joseph is gone, you think you can sneak out?” Mama’s fingers tangle in Ethel’s hair, yanking hard. “I asked you a question! Answer me!”

“I’m sorry!” Ethel sobs. “I don’t-” a hiccup. “I don’t know!” She turns her head as much as she can to try to see Hope out of her peripheral vision. She can’t see Hope’s expression, but she notices that her sister is sitting bolt-upright in her bed.

“Oh, you don’t know, huh?” Mama keeps hold of Ethel’s hair, dragging her toward the bedroom door. Ethel topples over at the change, but Mama doesn’t let go to let her get back up. They continue like that down the hallway, and when they approach the door to the basement. Mama finally lets go of her hair but stands behind her with her arms crossed. “Open the door.”

With shaking hands, Ethel does as told, and Mama pushes her down the stairs. Ethel cries out as she feels a crunch, her shoulder hitting the corner of one of the steps.

“Maybe you’ll figure out what you were trying to accomplish after a couple of days down here. Stupid whore.” Mama shakes her head, slamming the door behind her daughter and locking the door with a dull click.

Are you listening? Ethel prays, shaking with tears. I need guidance. I’m sorry to bother you, I know it’s late and you probably have better things to do, but my shoulder really hurts. Can you help me?

She sighs, turning on her good side. Daddy died today. I’m sure you know that, you’re probably with him now. Can you tell him I miss him? I’ve been bad, Father. I’m sorry. I tried to go see Spencer. I know you probably don’t like him, but he’s really nice. If you knew him better, you might get along. He tries to pray. I don’t know if it works because he doesn’t go to church very much anymore, but he does try every night. He told me he prays mostly about his mom. Is she really possessed? She’s been nice every time I’ve talked to her, but maybe that’s because of the Snake’s deception.

Ethel sobs when another sharp pain hits her shoulder. 

I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking about him. Please help my shoulder, and make my mom feel better about Daddy. I know she misses him too. Amen.

***

September 6, 1976

“Ethel?”

Soft footsteps on the concrete rouse Ethel before her name does. She looks up, trying to support herself with her elbow before she remembers her injury with a sharp, tearless sob. She sits up using her abdomen, then pushes herself with her feet toward the wall, careful not to let her bloody back touch it. “Please! Please, don’t-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” comes a soft, sweet voice. “It’s okay. It’s just me.” Once she steps out of the stairwell and into the fluorescent light, Ethel finds Allison’s face, pinched with worry. “Are you okay?”

Ethel replies with a whimper, her good hand finding her sling. “It hurts.”

“I know, honey, I’m sorry.” Allison sets down a plate of food Ethel hadn’t noticed until now. It looks like cut up chicken with mashed potatoes and corn. “I made you dinner. Mama’s at church.”

At the new information, Ethel tucks into the meal with her hand on her good arm and murmurs a thank you through the food.

“I need to tell you something,” she says gently. Ethel nods to spur her on but doesn’t look up. Allison shifts uncomfortably. She chews on her words for a moment, then: “Joanna left.”

Ethel chokes and tears fill her eyes. She sits up, resting her potato-covered hand in the air, forearm on her bent knee. “What?”

“I’m sorry. She, uh… She left a note.” Allison digs in her jean pocket, pulling a crumpled, folded-up paper out and smoothing it. “Here.” She offers it, but changes her mind when she remembers her sister’s condition. “I’ve gone to the west coast. I’m okay, I’m safe. I just can’t stay in Alabama. I can’t stay in this house. I love you all. May blessings follow you wherever you go. Love, Joanna.” 

Ethel stares at her sister in shock, cheeks dripping with tears. “I’d like to be alone, please,” she croaks, quiet and wet. “Please go. Thank you for the food.”

Allison nods, placing a shaky hand on Ethel’s cheek, wiping it with her thumb. “I love you, you know that?”

She’s gone as quickly as she came.

***

June 10, 1978

Spencer’s nimble fingers trail through Ethel’s long, dark hair, his third attempt at learning how to french braid. “I know, I agree, but… I don’t know, I just think there’s more to people than that.”

“Not really. People make their own decisions, yeah, but at the end of the day, they’re either good or bad.” Ethel studies one of the paintings on Spencer’s bedroom wall; a Rembrandt. She can never remember the name of it.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” he replies, trying to tame a particularly difficult knot, “but I wanna know what makes people make the decisions they make. I want to know what makes them tick.”

Ethel tugs at one of her fingers, attempting to pop her knuckle. “Spence, that’s a dark road. Studying serial killers… it’s evil. True evil. Not like your Mom-”

“My mom isn’t evil.” Spencer’s hands still.

“No, I know, but I mean… You know, Daddy used to say-”

“Your father is dead,” he interrupts, voice tight. He ties off her hair and scoots back on the bed, folding his arms and glaring down at her, cross-legged on the hardwood floor. She turns around to look at him.

“I know,” she says, calm and slow. “My point is, serial killers aren’t just…” She chooses her words carefully, mindful of Spencer’s hard stare. “Troubled. They’re purposefully evil and do evil things. That’ll sink into you, eventually. I don’t want that for you.” She reaches up and offers her hand, but when he doesn’t take it, she sighs and puts it back in her lap.

“Everyone deserves empathy. Even the people you so flippantly label as evil. You know, there are some people that would call Joseph evil.”

Ethel swallows the lump in her throat that forms at her father’s first name. “You’re close to blasphemy,” she whispers, eyes on her hands, clasped together atop her ankles. “My father was a messenger of God.”

“Your father molested you,” Spencer replies, softening. “Your father abused you, your mother, and I think it’s safe to assume he abused Vera. He hurt me, too. And it isn’t your fault,” he adds, an afterthought. An unnecessary one. She didn’t assume it was, or at least she doesn’t think she did. “He was, as you put it, troubled.”

“Daddy was a good man, Spencer. He loved me, and he loved his family. You didn’t know him. He did what he did because God told him to.”

Ethel doesn’t address why God would tell him to do the things he did. She doesn’t address how scared she is that one day God would tell her to do that, too. She doesn’t even attempt to consider how ashamed she would be if she one day hurt someone else, whether it was directions from the Lord or not. Above all, she very importantly did not mention that she was, in a distant part of her mind she kept far away from her prayers, angry at God for telling her father to do those things.

Instead, she repeats, “He loved me.”

Spencer moves off the bed to sit next to his friend, back against the side of his bed. He pulls her into him, tucking her under his arm. “I know,” he mutters. “I know he did.”

God loves her, too, she’s sure. God loved her, but not enough to save her.

They fall asleep like that, and are awoken by a sob from downstairs. “Stay here,” Spencer demands, shifting Ethel off of him to investigate.

He’s greeted by his mother crumpled by the open entry door, hands over her mouth. There’s a stranger in uniform at the door with a sleek black box in his hands. He looks conflicted, like he isn’t sure if he should comfort her or not. She hears Spencer at the stairs and looks up, holding her arms out to her sides. She calls for him, and with bated breath, he approaches.

Diana pulls her son into her; tight, bony arms suffocating. “What happened? Who is that?” His questions are muffled by her bosom, his face held tight against her chest.

“Your uncle Reggie,” she sobbed, hot breath dampening his hair. “He- oh, my God.”

Oh. His uncle Reggie, who was fighting in the war.

Unbeknownst to the Reids and the man still standing awkwardly at the door, Ethel was watching the entire thing go down at the top of the stairs.

Spencer told her about his uncle just a couple weeks ago, and they’d discussed the moral implications of joining a war. Today’s conversation was almost a continuation of that; they’d decided, or at least Ethel had decided, that those who die at war deserved to. To make the choice of killing people at the word of a superior would be asking for God to strike them down. Thou shalt not kill, regardless of whether or not one thinks it is just. She has a hard time feeling bad for the man. He was patriotic, a firm believer that America always had the moral high ground as it was a Godly country. She wonders how God gets twisted and pulled in so many directions; God gives children wholly to their parents, so when a father beds his daughter, it is not adultery, but if a father beds someone else’s daughter, it is. If someone commits murder, they are a murderer plain and simple, unless they’re killing someone who’d done wrong. How is it that Christians are meant to know how to live their lives if there are so many rules, and so many exceptions?

Ethel elects to go back to Spencer’s room and pretend she hadn’t heard. When he comes back with red eyes and a red nose, she doesn’t comment on it, and she lets him hold her, even though she’s too hot and she has to pee and she was supposed to be home for supper twenty minutes ago according to the clock on his wall. She’ll pay for that, she knows, but for now she needs to comfort her friend.

***

August 28, 1981

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Ethel slurs, clinging onto Spencer’s sweater-clad arm. “He’ll be there,” she sings with a grin.

“If you’re referring to Will, I have far less interest in seeing him than you do, and less so if you’re going to be hanging off of him all night,” Spencer huffs, pulling his arm away from the young woman and crossing it with the other across his chest. Ethel pouts.

“I won’t be hanging off of him, I’ll be hanging on him.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, good grief,” he groans. “You’re already drunk, why don’t you just go to his house? What do you need to go to a party for?”

Ethel rolls her eyes. “Game first, then party. Also, it isn’t just a party, it’s the homecoming dance. You haven’t gone to a single one yet. You have to go.”

“Actually, it’s freshman year,” Spencer corrects. “I just finished senior year.”

“Yeah, but that’s college. You’re senior-age.”

With a huff, Spencer rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Ethel beams, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

She drags him into a crushing hug, giggling like a kid. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She reeks of whiskey.

***

Spencer is curled up with a book under the bleachers, about 30 feet away from Ethel and Willoughby. What a stupid name, he thinks bitterly. He’s about halfway through Jane Eyre, and though he’s reading slowly, he suspects he’ll be done in 20 minutes tops, and he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to tolerate the moans and groans wafting from his left when he’s done. They’ve been making out since he started his book, which he picked up after Ethel cut their conversation short for favour of her shiny new boyfriend. They’ve been spending pretty much every waking moment together since Vera took sick last year. The only time Ethel isn’t drunk is Sunday mornings, and even they’re hit or miss. The church been through preacher after preacher for the last half-decade, each one quitting or dying off. Due to old age or suicide, Spencer isn’t sure. Regardless, the congregation liked Joseph so much that they elected for Ethel to take over sermons. Not a great idea to ask a 17-year-old girl to be a preacher in the first place, let alone a drunk, but no one ever asks Spencer’s opinion on these things. Whatever.

As expected, Spencer is done with his book in about a quarter of an hour, and slams it shut with a huff, turning his attention to the undulating heap that is Ethel atop Will. “I’m bored, E.” She ignores him. “E.” Silence. “Ethel!”

She whines and reluctantly pulls away from her partner, looking at Spencer. Will continues conducting an assault on her jaw and neck. “What?”

“I’m bored,” he repeats, shoulders slumped.

“Baby,” she coos, glancing down at Will again. “Can you get a soda for me, baby?”

Spencer cringes at the gooey nickname.

Willoughby grunts. “You know what, I think I’m just gonna go home.” He shoots a pissed-off glare to Spencer, who tries valiantly to hold back a chuckle. He succeeds, thank fuck.

“What? No, we still have to go to the dance,” Ethel whines, holding his face in her hands and kissing him sweetly. “Please don’t go. Please?”

“Whatever. I’ll see you there.” Will pushes her off his lap carefully, and dusting himself off, stalks away.

She feels like she’s been punched, like she got the air knocked out of her. Tears well up in her eyes as she watches him leave, and she just feels so fucking angry. Who does he think he is?

“See what you did?” Ethel snaps, throwing her arms up to gesture behind her, glaring daggers at Spencer. “All because you were bored. Why didn’t you just read your book like you said you were going to?”

“I did!” He waves his book in the air. “I finished it. I told you it wouldn’t last me that long. You’re being a dick.”

“You made my boyfriend leave just because you were jealous!”

Spencer closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t think it’s fair that you begged me to come to this and I did, and you’re not even talking to me.”

“Yeah, okay, Spence. Just… come on.” She offers him her hand, pulling him up off the concrete. 

“Where are we going?”

“To get drunk.”

Spencer gawks. “I thought you said we were going to go to the homecoming dance, though?”

“I changed my mind. We’re going to go to an honest-to-God high school party.” Ethel shouts, moving expertly through the dispersing crowd, abandoning a finished football game.

He considers arguing but thinks better of it.

***

“You look pretty,” Ethel drawls, pressed tight against Spencer’s side.

“And you’re drunk,” he says gently, trying to remove her. Admittedly, his heart isn’t in it, and he gives up. Maybe it’s nice to feel her against him. Sue me. “Where’s Will? I thought he was going to meet us here.”

“Went home, I guess,” she shrugs, shoving her face in Spencer’s neck.

He shivers at her breath on the sensitive skin. He crosses his legs at the ankle. They’d found a bathroom to set up camp in when Ethel got nauseous. She puked for a while, hair pulled neatly into Spencer’s hands, and now they’re sitting with their backs against the bathtub, vibrations from the music bouncing through their spines.

“Why are you asking about him? Why do you care?”

“E, you’re drunk,” he repeats, not having a good answer. Because if you don’t get out of my space soon, I’m going to lose my mind. Because the urge to kiss you is getting strong enough it’s getting hard to fight, and I will not kiss you while you’re drunk. Because you being all over another man is less unbearable than you being all over me.

“I’m sober as a judge,” she giggles, then presses one hand to his jaw, turning his face toward her. “You’re tense.”

The light of the bathroom is harsh against her sharp features, but Spencer is a firm believer that she’s as beautiful as she’s always been, and gets moreso every day. He pushes a stray hair out of her face and behind her ear. His eyes linger on her cross-shaped scar on her forehead, to the point where it's raised and white. He doesn't comment on it no matter how much he'd like to. He really fucking hates Joseph Cain. 

Brave, Ethel lifts herself up and settles on his lap. His hands instinctively go to her hips, and as much as he knows he should move them, he doesn’t. This is wrong, he tells himself, but he’s frozen in place. He just hopes she doesn’t notice his burgeoning erection.

“I might know a way to relax you,” she mumbles, hands going to tangle in Spencer’s curly hair.

“Stop,” he whispers, eyes shut tight when she tugs experimentally.

“Oh, you liked that,” she grins. “You want me to do it again?”

Yes. Please, for the love of- Yes, please.

“Ethel, cut it out. This isn’t funny.”

“I know,” she replies, voice suddenly stern. He opens his eyes and sees her eyebrows furrowed, head tilted down and lips pursed. “God, you’re so serious,” she smiles, the facade breaking. “I won’t bite.” She tugs again. “Unless you ask me to.”

Spencer swallows thickly and tries to convince himself to ask her to stop again. She rolls her hips against his, and though the movement is astoundingly uncoordinated, it feels heavenly.

Ha, he thinks. Heaven is not, and has never been, in this room.

She’s drunk. She’s inebriated, and she’s taken. Stop. You need to push her off of you. Tell her you don’t like it. Go on, tell her. Tell her. Tell-

Some very considerate partygoer bangs on the bathroom door. “Are you about done in there? I need to shit!” 

Ethel scrambles off of Spencer’s lap and he huffs out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Saved by the bell.

***

November 23, 1981

“Be honest!” Ethel shouts, shoving at Spencer’s chest. 

“E, you’re being impossible! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

She’s hitting him. She has never done that before. What the hell? She’s been yelling at him for probably an hour now, spouting nonsense about why he doesn’t love her. Of course he loves her. He’s told her he loved her their whole lives. Why is she freaking out about this now?

“Stop– Stop lying to me,” she demands, crying now. “Please just be honest for once.”

“Lying about what?” asks for the thousandth time, exasperated. “I do love you. I’ve never not loved you.”

Ethel sobs. “You are the only man I have ever met who didn’t want to fuck me.”

What? Since when does she swear?

“I- Where is this coming from?”

He does not tell her how badly he has wanted to do just that since he learned what sex was. The first time he ever heard of it, he remembers very clearly thinking, the only person I would want to make love to is Ethel. He isn’t sure why Ethel never calls it sex anymore; every time the topic would come up, she’d use the more vulgar term. He has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with her ever-increasingly active sex life since she was, like, 13.

“It doesn’t matter where it’s coming from! Just answer me! What is it, do you not think I’m pretty? Are you not into girls? What is your problem? I mean, whatever the reason is, I can take it. I don’t care what you say, but say something! Just– I’m so tired of you being so damn calm all the time. Hurt me, or yell at me, but just don’t be so-”

“Why are you asking me about this? You have a boyfr-”

“Will killed himself,” Ethel cries, and she’s a goner. She’s all gasps and wails, and damn near falls to her knees. Spencer is right in front of her in a couple strides, arms around her waist in case she gets too unsteady.

“Okay,” he says, not sure what the protocol is. He guesses that was acceptable, because she doesn’t reply except for with more of the same. Her hands ball themselves into fists, entangled with his white button-up dress shirt. They stay like that until he guides her to her bed, laying down next to her. He shushes her gently, kisses the top of her head, and cards his hand through her pin-straight hair.

There are a million thoughts in his head. How did he do it? What preceded this? Did they get in a fight she didn’t tell me about? When did she find out? Why was I her first thought? None of them are pressing enough to address, at least not right now. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to ask them, if she’ll ever be comfortable enough with the topic to truly discuss it. Soft whimpers and sniffles keep him awake for hours, long after Ethel falls asleep. He’s sweaty, and his arm is asleep, pins and needles all up and down his right side, and he is horribly thirsty, but he stays there until morning light. He wonders absently whether her mother even noticed she was gone. His mother thinks he’s gone even when he’s just in the next room.

She’s gotten worse while he’s been in college. He just got a PhD for mathematics, and in his absence, she’s falling apart. He sent someone to take care of her while he’s at school and visits as often as he can, but he’s getting emails every other day about some new ailment she has. The idea of putting her in a home is the last thing he wants to pursue, but it’s getting more and more pressing. It’s looking like his only option.

Hours pass by before he’s pulled out of his thoughts by Ethel stirring. Here we go again.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he smiles, dragging his hand away from her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

She groans, rolling onto her back and stretching her arms out above her head. “What time is it?”

“7:06,” he replies, the smile stubborn on his lips. He does not look at the skin that her stretch reveals at her lower stomach, thank you very much.

“I feel better,” she tells him, bunching her arms up under her head, turning on her side to look at him. “I’m not sure what all I said last night, but… whatever it was, I know it wasn’t good, and I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” How much did she remember?

“I think I’m gonna go home. Mom is probably pissed,” Ethel chuckles, grin radiant.

It’s good to see her happy, it doesn’t happen often anymore.

“I’ll check on you later,” Spencer says, not being able to convince himself to move. Ethel doesn’t, either. They just look at each other for a little while, memorizing. Eventually, she sits up with a vigor.

“Okay, I really have to leave. I’ll see you later, Spence.” With a squeeze of the knee, Ethel is off the bed and leaving.

***

Spencer promised to check on her, and he did. Just a few hours later, he drags a coat over his shoulders and traipses down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Diana calls from the couch in the living room.

He stops, turns around, and approaches her. “Just going to see Ethel, Mom.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“Didn’t you just get back?” she frowns, placing a hand over his affectionately.

“No, Mom. She left a while ago.”

Diana looks sad, but she nods. “Okay. Be safe, come back soon, okay? I want you back before dark.” She presses pursed lips to his hand, and with a pathetic smile, waves him off.

Despite the early hour, most of the windows at the Cain house are dark. On the second floor, two are on that he can see; he recognizes them to be Allison and Hope’s rooms. Ethel got to have the attic bedroom when her father died, luckily for her. That light isn’t on.

Spencer opens the front door as quietly as he can and comes across Allison in the dining room, sitting at the table and scribbling in a notebook. “Hey, Allison,” he smiles.

Allison looks up from her paper with a grin and closes it at the sight of him. “Oh, hi! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Spencer rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, she’s been coming over more lately. I’ve needed some extra help with Mom,” he lies. The truth is, Ethel just didn’t want to be at home with her mother, even if she’s been pretty much bedridden. I can feel her, she’d told him. It’s like a ghost, a chill on my spine.

“Yeah, I get that. Sorry she’s not feeling well.”

Spencer nods a thanks, eager to be done with the awkward conversation, and trudges up the creaky old stairs. More than anywhere else in the house, the hallways always smell like mildew and dust. It made him sneeze when he was younger, but he’s pretty-well used to it now. He knocks on the door to the attic and gets no response. Perhaps she’s in the bathroom? He knocks on that door, too, but to no avail. Turning back around, he returns to the attic and opens the door this time. Turning to his right, he finds Ethel asleep in bed.

“Hey, are you-” He touches her shoulder and pulls his hand away as if burned. He hadn’t noticed the blood at first. Upon closer investigation, he realizes she’s trembling, and a glance at her face reveals foam at her mouth. He looks around frantically and finds exactly what he expected to find; an empty pill bottle. He turns her onto her back, then on her side facing him. 

“Ethel!” He hardly ever calls her by her full name, but he figures this circumstance warrants it. “Fuck! Wake up!”

Gritting his teeth, he rears back and hits her across the face. That one worked. She stirs minimally, groaning, but not replying. “Fuck, what did you take?” He pulls her hands out from where they were curled under her chin and finds gashes down both forearms, two each, crossed in the visage of a crucifix. “Shit, shit, shit. E, you need to- you need to get up. Come on, wake up, please?”

He takes off his coat and tears off each sleeve, surprised at his own strength, then ties them firmly around her wounds. Just as he does that, his hands are covered in vomit. He cringes, but he’s relieved at her movement. He fights to urge to run to the sink and scrub himself clean.

“Are you with me? You need to get up. Come on, let’s go.”

“Leave me alone,” she whimpers, trembling like a leaf. “I don’t need you, I don’t need anybody’s help. Just go.”

“No. Nope. We’re not doing that. Come on.” Spencer wipes his hands off on the mattress and puts an arm under her shoulders, dragging her upward. “What did you take, E? Talk to me. Tell me what you took. You need to walk, okay? Work with me.”

Her head lolls back against her shoulders when she’s pulled off the bed. “It was…” Her speech is slurred and her eyes fall shut. Spencer manages to get her all the way to the bathroom and set her down on the tile. This is gonna fucking suck. 

He gets her mouth open and, ignoring the lurch of his own stomach, his fingers creep into her mouth. She gags once, twice, and vomits in the direction of the toilet bowl. Most of it managed to land in the commode. He does that a few more times until all that’s coming up is acid.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “Okay.” He leans her against the bathtub and finally goes to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean. He tries to move quickly while still being as thorough as possible. Deciding he’s as clean as he’s going to get, he dries them off on a hand towel and returns to Ethel. “You’re gonna be alright, E. I need to dress your arms, is that okay?”

Barely cognizant, she shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs, tears still falling from her eyes due to the gagging. “Please, Spence. Just leave me alone.”

He bites his lip. “We’re gonna do this. You don’t get to kill yourself, E. Not now. You got me?”

Ethel doesn’t reply, just sniffles and hiccups against the white porcelain. Examining her wrists, he finally realizes just how fucking scary this is. There’s blood everywhere; on her clothes, his clothes, all over his hands and the floor. He never realized just how much the arms bleed before. He didn’t think he’d have to know that, at least not yet.

With a bone-deep sigh, he lets go of her to dig through the cabinet under the sink. He locates a first-aid kit and dumps hydrogen peroxide over her arms. She’s so far gone she doesn’t even react.

“This is really not my year, you know?” she slurs, a bitter smirk on her face. “I mean, shit. Dad died. Will died. Joanna’s probably dead by now. Mom’s as good as dead, and so are my sisters, as much as they talk to me. Fuck, why not me?”

Spencer feels himself get choked up, but he encourages her anyway. At least she’s talking.

“I mean, Daddy was years ago, but… I needed him, you know? He made me feel like I fucking meant something to somebody, for once in my pathetic life,” she scoffs. Spencer doesn’t mention how much he cares about her, or how much it hurt to hear her imply she didn’t mean anything to him. He just applies ointment and wraps arm number one.

“Dude,” she continues, “I’ve been drunk since freshman year, and no one notices. Either that or they just don’t give a damn. And God,” she snorts, “Definitely doesn’t give a damn. He hasn’t even been in this fucking town since I was little. If he’s here…” Ethel lets out a dry sob, and Spencer assumes she’s too dehydrated to cry. “If he’s here, I can’t feel him anymore. I used to. Sometimes. Like… Like that morning on the roof, you remember?”

“I remember, E. Tell me about it. Tell me about that night,” he says, picking up her other arm to apply more ointment. She lets him.

“When Will and I fucked, when I lost my virginity,” she says, opening her eyes to watch Spencer for the first time since he sat her down. “I felt God, then. I heard him in my head, screaming at me. He told me I was a whore. That wasn’t very Godly, was it?”

He can’t fight it anymore and a lone tear falls out of his eye, but he very pointedly is not crying. Go him.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“He’s supposed to be there all the time, but I just feel so damn alone. I always have, even when I knew he was there, like at church.” She shifts her weight, flinching when Spencer presses too hard with the gauze.

“Sorry. Go on?”

“I felt him, though, and it was good. Kinda fun. It was like…” She hold up the middle finger on the hand Spencer already finished with. “Like, screw you, dude! I can fuck whoever I want to. Not just my daddy,” she chuckles. Spencer’s stomach lurches and he feels like he’s gonna throw up, too. “But I’m good, though,” she declares, nodding her head sloppily, eyes shut tight and lips pursed. “I’m all good out here.”

“I know you are,” he says, but he doesn’t. He has never been less sure she was ‘good’, and given the current circumstance, he thinks he gets the right to be worried. He only left her alone for a couple of hours and she tried to kill herself. She almost succeeded. All this over a boy she’s known for about a year. Good Lord, if you’re listening, please keep a better eye on her.

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