#so yeah. no coherent thoughts in here i’m afraid

[gojooooo]

thinking about sukuna feeding yuuji’s finger to megumi and… it’s time to go right? this is what he wanted, isn’t it? he’s been waiting for so long. he’s been so patient. and now the cage is finally open. he’s free, he can leave. except he can’t. he can’t bring himself to leave yuuji. he should move but he’s frozen in place instead, panicking, resisting the feeling of slipping away.

[miirohs]

all I want is you now [l.h.m]

pairing: Mob Boss!Lewis Hamilton x GN!Reader wc: 0.9k cw: n/a an: i wrote a majority of this the night before my learners license test EL EM AY OH and i passed btw! i need lewis hamilton in a way beyond the comprehension of the average man.... Also I’m super tired so if this isn’t coherent I’m sorry </3

It seemed like all you could breathe was the earthy smell of expensive cologne in Lewis’s office, twisting around you in an almost pervasive manner as you curled up against the armrest of the couch. 

He was still working on vacation, the sounds of pen scratching against paper quietly filling the air. The frame of his reading glasses glinting in the lamplight, washing the room over with an almost drowsy sort of atmosphere. 

You’d tried everything to stay awake. Only, the book you were reading seemed to further disengage you rather than keep you active, drooping slightly before jolting back to look around. The words blurred together, refusing to hold your attention for a moment more.

Lewis remained unengaged with you. You were sure if he had seen even a moment of drowsiness, he’d have kicked you out immediately, claiming that you needed your rest more than he did. 

Still, you couldn’t help but watch him, letting your stare linger for a few moments longer than you intended to.

"Enjoying the view?" Lewis finally spoke, voice low and raspy from a lack of use, continuing on without sparing you a glance. 

You felt a warmth creep up your neck, embarrassment registering in your brain moments later.

"I didn't mean to stare," you muttered indignantly, quickly lowering your gaze back down. The fright he gave you made your heart race, though you were sure that wasn’t the only reason.

“You’ve been doing it a lot for the last hour or two, clearly you didn’t think I’d notice. ‘S there something you want from me, baby?” he humored you, a teasing look in his eyes as he stared at you.

"I was just curious," you managed to blurt out, voice keening slightly towards the end. "It's just… interesting to watch. You always look so focused."

“You sure that’s all?” He questioned, cocking his head at you. He could read you, clear as day, and you let him piece you apart once again.

Lewis glanced at you, a thoughtful look gracing his face. "You know," he began, "that’s always been the thing with you." You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in stop. "What do you mean?" you asked cautiously.

“You won’t ask,” he said, leaning back in his chair, a playful grin on his face. "It’s like you’re afraid of me or something babe. Even if it kills you, you wouldn’t ask until I pester you for an answer, yeah?"

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still locked onto yours, a playful glint in them. "Come here," he said softly, patting his thigh.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as you replayed his words in your head, unsure if you had heard him correctly. The invitation was still clear as day in the way he looked at you, swallowing the doubt at the sound of his laughter.

"Come on," he coaxed, low and inviting. "I don't bite."

Slowly, you pushed yourself up from the couch, cringing internally as you awkwardly approached him. He left no room for hesitation, gently pulling you into his lap.

"See? Not so bad," he teased, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back.

You were pressed up against him, fingertips brushing against his back as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. For a moment, the smell of his perfume disappeared from your senses, tracing the tattoos on the back of his neck and downward from memory, the feeling of soft cotton running against your fingertips.

"You're always so tense," he murmured, his hands moving in soothing circles on your back. "Just relax."

Your hands hit the small of his back, brushing up against metal hidden against his spine. He didn’t seem to mind as you pulled it out, pointing it to the opposing window before dropping your hands.

“That’s coming from you, Lew.” You said dolefully, pushing away from him to look him dead in the eyes. “How many times have you been out on doing god knows what in recent days instead… instead of being here? With me?” 

He only hummed quietly, a disappointment of sorts blooming in your chest when he responded a heartbeat later. “So that’s what you wanted to tell me, wasn’t it baby?” 

You could only stare at him juggling between what possible emotions you were going to feel next.

At the look on your face, he shook his head, slipping the gun away from your hands as he leaned in for a kiss.

Despite the anger and disappointment simmering inside of you, it only seemed to melt away at the feeling of the kiss, pressing into it.

He always tried to kiss it better, thought you weren’t entirely sure he knew what he was doing right now.

“Gotta tell me in your words what you want me to do to make it right, baby.” He said, slightly breathless as he looked at you, earnest in his attempt.

“Well, then could you drop this?” You grabbed the gun from his hands again, throwing it onto the desk as you grabbed him gently by the tie. “And please, please just come back to bed? I miss you.”

He didn’t seem phased by your demands, nodding along easily as if a puppet being pulled by strings.

“I can do that, yeah, ‘s there anything else you want from me though?” You leaned into him again, allowing him to press a kiss to your ear.

“No, I just want you to come back, just once.”  You replied, earning a nod from him as he pressed a question kiss to your neck.

You allowed it, holding one of his hands as he kissed down your neck, as if a silent promise to you, full of love.

[stevebabey]

part one. the same cw applies as part one (cw: past sexual coercion is implied) thank u for any & all kind comments <3 hopin to deliver on the angsty hurt/comfort front >:/

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not exactly how he planned to start his whole apology speech but it’s as good a start as any. Steve is glad he says it. Eddie’s entire character softens just a bit hearing it, his shoulders relaxing to sit a little lower, like maybe, he was afraid Steve had come by to argue some more.

For a moment, they stare at each other until Eddie seems to realise he’s blocking the entrance. He jolts just a bit and side steps, beckoning Steve to come inside.

Good start. Steve steps forward and the subsequent rustle from behind his back reminds him of what’s in his hands. He pulls them out from their hiding spot and offers them out with only a marginally awkward cough. “Uh, first, these are for you.”

In his hands are blue hydrangeas, 3 of them, and the bag containing a mixtape and a multitude of Eddie’s favourite candies.

Eddie’s reaction isn’t… quite the usual. He doesn’t swoon or snap up the gifts out of Steve’s hands like Tilly and other girlfriends had. He doesn’t smile either, just eyes then silently. Steve feels a roll of worry tangle up his stomach.

After a moment, Eddie takes them. Steve follows him, taking the trailer stairs two at a time to keep watch on what Eddie will do. It’s a surprise then to watch them get placed to the side, flowers and gift bag dumped down on the Munson’s cluttered dining table. Eddie doesn’t even attempt a peek into the bag, which, well, for Eddie says a lot.

Moving his gaze from their discarded state to Eddie, Steve finds himself pinned down by Eddie’s waiting stare, his arms crossed tight over his chest. He’s waiting for Steve to speak. Right, it’s time to face the music.

Steve chances a quick glance down at the smudged bullet points on his palm. It suddenly feels too wooden for what Steve really wants to say, too constructed, too much what he thought Eddie wanted to hear.

And besides, Eddie hadn’t reacted as expected in the first instance, the forgotten gifts put to the side. Steve shoves his hand deep in his pocket and goes instead with exactly what he’s feeling.

“Okay, um. Look, I didn’t mean what I said. I- I know that was, I— my parents came home that night.”

None of it is coming out right, stammers on every word. Steve curses himself under his breath and wills himself to continue. Knows if it was Eddie apologising it would be poetic and sweet, all the right words in all the right order.

“I’m not— It’s not an excuse,” Steve shakes his head, tries to string together one single coherent fucking sentence. “I’m sorry. Sorry that I didn’t pick you up. And- and I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. Really, it’s- I don’t think that of you. I’m sorry if I made you think I did.”

Eddie nods, though his clenched jaw gives away he’s not entirely peachy just yet.

“Robin told me about your parents being home. And yeah, it wasn’t cool what you said.” He agrees and Steve’s stomach turns. “But I wasn’t exactly fair either, getting all up in your face about it, so I’m sorry for that.”

Steve blinks, surprised; an apology was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth.

“I’m still a bit hurt,” Eddie admits, arms folding across his chest in a defensive motion. Steve hates how he seems to be curling in on himself, so obviously hating to admit aloud that Steve’s words had cut so deep. “But y’know, I know now that you were wound up from your parents being home. So, you’re, like, forgiven I guess.”

...Huh, okay. Usually, forgiveness comes after the grovelling, Steve thinks. Not as easily granted as Eddie is seemingly giving him now.

“Okay, uh,” Steve says warily, not quite sure where to go from here. Eddie isn’t really moving, still standing a bit tense. Waiting for Steve to break the ice.

Steve’s eyes dart to the dining table — the resting hydrangeas and abandoned candy. Steve tries to put two and two together, sure, so sure he’s missing something. It’s never this easy.

Eddie hadn’t acknowledged the flowers, hadn’t wanted the gifts. Steve may be forgiven but he still hasn’t shown Eddie how sorry he is.

Steve steps closer and sinks to his knees.

Eddie’s eyes widen in an instant and he takes half a step back, his hands raising up. It doesn’t feel good to watch Eddie put distance between them. Something curls up in Steve’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks. His voice is a bit scratchy and he clears his throat, not moving closer but not moving further away.

Fine. He wants Steve to spell it out. Steve wishes Eddie would just let him apologise in the way he knows — he was hoping Eddie wouldn’t make him drag out his apologies like his father did. But Eddie did love his theatrics so it’s not all that surprising.

“I’m… still apologising?” It’s not meant to come out as a question but half way through the sentence, Steve clocks Eddie’s body language. It’s giving very different vibes than expected. Steve’s confused.

The confusion only hikes up when anger flares in Eddie’s eyes, his jaw tightening just a bit. “You’re—? This isn’t gonna make what you said hurt any less, Steve. Is that what the…”

Eddie trails off, his own gaze tracking over to the dining table. He seems even more ticked off then, fixing his gaze back on to Steve.

“Are you trying to— Did you think you buying me stuff and sucking my dick is some completely fucked way to fast-track an apology?”

Steve feels his own eyes widen, each word twisting his confusion up so tightly it hurts in his chest. Eddie sounds angry.

“No,” Steve insists weakly, because he knows that’s what Eddie wants to hear. Even if that sort of is what he was expecting. He shakes his head, tries to get a read on Eddie’s body language beyond his annoyance. What does he want? “No, I just…”

Eddie’s anger seems to wane a little, seeing the confusion shudder across Steve’s features. Steve suddenly feels incredibly stupid being on his knees— but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Maybe Eddie doesn’t want him in this way right now.

“I was,” Steve starts, clearing his throat and willing away his flushed cheeks. “I’m proving it to you.” His voice is a little stronger now, more sure. “I want to prove that I’m sorry.”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment and just when Steve thinks he’ll concede and reach for his belt, he surprises Steve and sinks to his knees too. He sits atop his boots, now face to face with his boyfriend, and reaches out gingerly to place a hand on Steve’s knee.

Steve eyes it for a moment. Is this the come on?

“Steve,” Eddie says gently. It reminds Steve of the tone one might have with an easily spooked animal, all comforting and soothing. “Do you even… want this? To have sex right now?”

It’s a strange question, Steve thinks. He frowns. This blowjob isn’t about him. “I think I’m confused,” He admits, forcing a chuckle to make it a little more casual. Then repeats the sentiment from earlier again. “I want to apologise.”

Eddie nods, harsh enough a curl untucks itself from behind his ear. “Yeah, sweetheart, you already did that. You apologised and I forgave you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that all these extra things, the gifts and flowers, made him question the genuineness in Steve’s apology at first. Something tells him to dig a little deeper. Steve isn’t smarmy or cocky, he’s not sure that’ll be forgiven, he’s… confused.

But Steve nods. He’s following Eddie’s words so far. Something glitters inside him that he’s already back to sweetheart so soon. He hesitantly lays his own hand atop of Eddie’s, resting them both on his knee. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even know what to say. 

“So, I guess what I’m asking is… what is this?” Eddie waves his hand over Steve’s kneeled form.

The way he says it is still so concerned, which is so far from the usual eagerness Steve has come to know from him normally in these types of situations. Suddenly, knowing Eddie’s definitely not in the mood makes the whole thing a lot more embarrassing now.

“Christ, I wish I had known you wouldn’t want that now,” Steve forces another laugh, quiet, as he ducks his head down. Eddie doesn’t join in, just waits patiently.

“I was— y’know,” Steve waves a hand, gesturing to nothing. “Proving I was sorry. Making it up to you. Guess sex was the wrong idea there, sorry.”

He grimaces a bit, squeezes Eddie’s hand. Steve wonders how he’ll end up making it up to Eddie, if not this way. It’s always been this way.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just stares at Steve with a perturbed expression on his face. If Steve had to guess, he’d say he almost— almost looks a bit sad.

“Stevie,” Eddie says, nudging closer. Both their knees are touching now. “You already apologised. I forgave you.”

He’s repeating things Steve already knows, so Steve nods. Then repeats the thing he’s heard a hundred times over, “Yeah, I know and now I need to prove how sorry I am.”

Eddie’s face crumples a bit, the frown line between his brows deepening. He seems to have hit some understanding, shuffling even closer to Steve. Any annoyance from a minute ago has leaked out of his body. He’s all comfort now, every soft part that Steve adores so much.

“No, you don’t.” Eddie says simply, words strong and sure. “I know that you’re sorry. You said so. That’s proof enough for me, sweetheart.”

Oh. That’s all there is to it, apparently.

Steve’s acutely aware that the emotion streaking through his chest is relief — relief that he doesn’t have to jump through hoops to gain anything back. Doesn’t have to open his mouth or spread his legs just to earn back his partners affections for a heat of the moment mistake.

He said he was sorry and Eddie forgave him. That’s it. That’s all it took. Like an ill-weighted scale, all the relief slides down into a strange hot shame. Oh god, he’s just come in and then— and Eddie hadn’t even— and Steve had thought—

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, that must’ve—“ Steve reels back, the embarrassment from earlier rearing up inside him close to pure mortification. He pulls his hand from Eddie’s grip, all of it suddenly wrong, so so wrong. “I’m sorry, that was so weird of me to offer—“

“Hey, hey, hey, no.” Eddie’s cutting in before Steve gets very far, firmly planting both hands onto Steve’s shoulders to keep him from receding any further. “Don’t apologise for that. That’s… Steve, will you look at me please?”

Nope, a small voice inside him answer, with a quiver. Looking at the trailer floor is so much easier than what Eddie’s asking.

There’s been many times where Steve has felt a bit dumb but this? This feels like a special kind of stupid. The word throbs in his chest painfully as he wonders how he’d got so turned around. He wants to apologise again.

“Stevie?” Eddie says his name again, a soft coo. One of the hands on Steve’s shoulders shifts, hesitating for a moment, before gingerly cradling his jaw. Steve lets Eddie tilt his face up, reluctantly dragging his gaze up to his boyfriend’s face.

Eddie is all sweetness, eyes soft and smile encouraging. It’s his tenderness that makes Steve exhale, a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and he can’t help the way he sags just a bit and leans into Eddie’s hold.

Eddie gives a quiet hum. “No more apologies, okay?”

Steve nods, the motion a bit slow. It sort of feels as though it’s a little harder to move against gravity, like the air is thick molasses. He’s tired. Why is he so tired? He wonders if it’s the mountainous relief that’s still trickling out his body.

“We- we’ll need to talk about that later,” Eddie nods along to his words, voice all tender. The way he says it lets Steve know it’s not a bad thing. “But for now I think I’d just rather hold you. Can I do that?”

How backwards. Steve had come here to apologise, to make it up to Eddie, and now he’s the one being comforted. And yet, his nod comes much easier this time. It’s probably a bit too eager but Steve’s just about drowned in his embarrassment tonight so what’s some more?

Eddie’s hands move and grip Steve’s hands in his lap, giving a comforting squeeze— then waits, doesn’t move until Steve gives another squeeze back.

Then Eddie’s rising, standing up and pulling Steve up with him. It’s quiet, Steve hiding the tiny shake in his hands by squeezing Eddie’s hand so tight he won’t notice — til Eddie’s knees crack, terribly loud in the silence, and he whispers a loud, “Ow, fuck.”

Steve can’t help it, he laughs, the sound bursting out of him. Fuck, his boyfriend is an old man sometimes.

Then Eddie laughs too, that glorious sound that Steve could bottle and get drunk on and then they’re both laughing — and Eddie is tugging Steve into his bedroom, both of them collapsing into the creaky bed. The springs whine under their weight but it goes unheard.

Eddie does his best to bundle Steve in his arms, accidentally sticking his elbow into Steve’s side but it doesn’t even matter. Eddie cuddles are a fuckin’ delicacy as far Steve’s concerned— when he’s happy with the way he’s wrapped himself around Steve, full Koala style, he squeeezes.

It forces a pathetic sounding wheeze out from Steve, quickly spiralling into another laugh because who has ever loved him this way? This well? Between the threads of relief that pluck on his heartstrings is white hot love.

Steve already knows what’s coming next, what is always the second step in Eddie cuddles. Instead of hiding his face away into Eddie’s chest, like he’s done a thousand times before, he sticks his face out. Chin jutted out, face exposed, and ready for kisses.

Eddie doesn’t deny him. It’s a wet smush of quick kisses, on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids — Eddie lets out little ‘mwahs’ as he goes, in a sickly sweet voice that Steve adores.

Faintly, inside his chest Steve’s heart sighs. Because no apology, no forgiveness, has ever been like this, this simple, this easy. Equal comfort — like Eddie was aware Steve had been suffering on the other end of the silent treatment, at regretting his own words.

Steve silently hopes it’ll always be this way, even though another part deeper down knows it’ll be. That arguments with Eddie might involve childish silent treatment, tongues poked out and boots stamped — but that apologies would never be a test. Never more than an honest admittance of regret in the form of words.

In the way Eddie presses a particularly slimy kiss against his cheek, hard enough it makes Steve’s cheek squish, he thinks he might not have to worry much at all.

tags: @disorganisedbee @estrellami-1 @moonshadows-13 @qubert18 @fxndom-hoe @nelotegreitic @justforthedead89 @avacrebs @yikes-a-bee @just-a-tiny-void @stevesbipanic @penny-lane-bitch @clarakeanen @weeennussy

[princesskenny1998]

Diary Of A Wimpy Kid | Rodrick Heffley x confident!grungy!f!reader ~ New In Town

You sit in the corner booth of a dingy diner, stirring your coffee absentmindedly as you take in the sights of your new town. The place is small, suffocating even, but it has a strange charm that keeps you from completely hating it. Outside, the streets are quiet, the afternoon sun casting long shadows through the windows. The greasy smell of burgers and fries clings to the air, mixing with the low hum of conversations from the other patrons.

You’ve only been here a week, and already you’re getting the familiar looks. People don’t seem to know what to make of you — the ripped jeans, the band tee, the old, worn-out combat boots you’ve had forever. In a town this small, the fact that you dress in anything other than pastel skirts or varsity jackets is enough to draw attention.

Not that you care. You’ve always liked standing out, always been the one to push buttons. It’s kind of your thing.

As you take another sip of your coffee, you hear the bell above the diner’s door jingle. Your eyes flick lazily to the entrance, and that’s when you see him.

A lanky guy in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, shaggy dark hair falling into his eyes. He’s got a bit of a slouch to his posture, and his hands are stuffed deep in his pockets as he saunters over to the counter. For a moment, you think he’s just another grungy kid in town like you — someone who doesn’t quite fit in.

But then you notice how his eyes keep darting toward you, like he’s trying to be sneaky about it but failing miserably. His gaze flickers in your direction every few seconds, like he’s afraid you might catch him, but also like he can’t help himself.

Oh, you think, stifling a grin. This is going to be fun.

You lean back in your seat, watching him with a knowing smirk. He’s clearly trying to act casual, like he doesn’t notice you at all, but the fact that he’s so bad at it makes it even more obvious. It’s kind of cute, really.

When he finally places his order, he steals one last glance in your direction, and this time, you meet his eyes. He freezes for a split second, like a deer caught in headlights, before quickly looking away, his ears turning red.

You raise an eyebrow. Seriously?

Amused, you decide to push it a little. Sliding out of the booth, you grab your coffee and make your way toward the counter. You can practically feel his nervous energy as you walk past him, deliberately brushing your arm against his as you go.

“Oops,” you say, flashing him a sly smile. “Didn’t mean to bump into you.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he just stares at you like he’s not sure what to say. Then he blinks, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts.

“N-no problem,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His voice is deeper than you expected, with a bit of a rasp to it, and you can’t help but find it kind of attractive. But you’re not about to let him know that.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your staring, either,” you add, a playful lilt in your voice.

His face turns beet red, and he opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out. Instead, he just stammers something unintelligible, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

You laugh, leaning against the counter next to him. “Relax, dude. I’m just messing with you.”

He swallows, looking like he’s trying to figure out how to form a coherent sentence. “Uh, yeah… Sorry, I wasn’t— I mean, I didn’t mean to—"

“You’re really bad at this, aren’t you?” you interrupt, still smirking. “It’s kind of cute.”

He looks at you, startled, and then his eyes narrow slightly. “Wait… you’re teasing me.”

You grin. “Obviously.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but then the waitress hands him his order — a milkshake and fries. He takes the tray, holding it awkwardly as if he’s not sure what to do with his hands now.

“So,” you continue, eyeing him up and down. “Do you always check out new girls in town, or am I just special?”

He scoffs, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

You shrug, sipping your coffee. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong, am I?”

He glances away, his cheeks still a little flushed. “You’re definitely something,” he mutters under his breath.

You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, taking a sip of his milkshake as if to hide behind it.

You chuckle, leaning in slightly. “C’mon, what’s your deal? You’ve been staring at me since you walked in. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

He looks at you for a long moment, like he’s weighing his options. Then, finally, he shrugs. “Alright, fine. You wanna know? Yeah, I think you’re cute. Happy now?”

You blink, taken aback for just a second. You didn’t expect him to be so direct. But then again, you were the one who pushed him.

Still, his bluntness catches you off guard, and for a split second, you find yourself blushing. But you quickly recover, grinning at him.

“Well, at least you’re honest,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “I’ll give you that.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint smile on his face now. “Yeah, well, you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Oh? How so?”

He gives you a deadpan look. “You’re literally one of the only people in this town who dress like that.”

You glance down at your ripped jeans and band tee, shrugging. “Guess that makes me special, huh?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, something like that.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the teasing banter fading into something more comfortable. You find yourself relaxing around him, despite the fact that you’ve only just met. There’s something about him — maybe it’s the way he’s not trying too hard, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s so adorably awkward — that makes you feel at ease.

“So,” you say after a pause, “what’s your name, anyway?”

“Rodrick,” he replies, taking another sip of his milkshake.

You raise an eyebrow. “Rodrick, huh? Sounds like a name from a bad 80s rock band.”

He smirks. “Yeah, well, I happen to be in a band, so…”

You laugh. “Of course you are. Let me guess — you play guitar, right?”

“Drums, actually,” he corrects, a hint of pride in his voice.

You nod, pretending to be impressed. “Nice. I always did have a thing for drummers."

He grins, clearly enjoying the compliment. “Oh yeah?”

You shrug, giving him a playful smile. “Maybe.”

Rodrick leans against the counter, his confidence growing now that the initial awkwardness has faded. “So, what’s your deal? You new in town?”

You nod. “Yeah, just moved here last week. It’s… different.”

“Different good or different bad?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You think about it for a moment before answering. “Different… boring, mostly. Not much to do around here.”

Rodrick chuckles. “Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. This place is pretty dead. But hey, we’ve got a decent music scene. You should come to one of my shows sometime.”

You tilt your head, considering. “Maybe I will.”

He watches you for a moment, and you can tell he’s trying to think of something else to say. There’s a pause, and then he clears his throat, looking a little more serious.

“So, uh… about earlier,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I was just—”

“Relax,” you interrupt, smiling at him. “I’m not mad. You’re kind of cute when you’re all flustered, you know?”

He blinks, surprised by your response, and then a slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? Well, you’re not so bad yourself.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re smooth, Rodrick. I’ll give you that.”

He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “I try.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you reach into your pocket, pulling out a pen and a scrap of paper. “Here,” you say, scribbling down your number. “Call me sometime, drummer boy.”

Rodrick’s eyes widen slightly as you hand him the paper, and for a second, he just stares at it like he can’t believe his luck. Then he looks up at you, a crooked smile on his face.

“Seriously?” he asks, sounding a little disbelieving.

You nod, smirking. “Yeah. But don’t get too cocky. I still plan on making fun of you.”

He laughs, folding the paper and tucking it into his pocket. “Deal.”

With that, you turn to leave, but not before giving him one last teasing smile over your shoulder. “See you around, Rodrick.”

As you walk out of the diner, you can’t help but feel a little satisfied. Rodrick Heffley may have had an instant crush on you, but now you’ve got him right where you want him. And honestly? You kind of like it.

After all, teasing boys like him is just too much fun.

[1whore1gang]

It’s the little things 🤍

This is part 9!!

Catch up HERE!! :)

I just want to reiterate that although most of my work isn’t coherently inappropriate I do recommend you be 18+ to interact with my blog/read content I put MDNI warnings on. I do not wish to offend anybody nor make any uncomfortable with my work, so I apologize if I have.

Warnings: cursing, angst, a mental breakdown, some fluff in the end, mentions of being in the hospital, mentions of mental health/SA

LMK if i missed any!

Taglist: @gaymistakeboi @batw3nch @thedevillovesflowers @almightywdm @ghostslittlegf @sketchyfandomgirl @under-the-dirt @clear-your-mind-and-dream @darkangel4121 @vreselia @llemes @stargaliz @rockcollector3000 @nottrosax @azu21 @kaoyamamegami @vicktorfan @ghost-is-my-bbg

(i still don’t understand taglists so i’m so sorry if it didn’t work always just yell at me and i’ll do my best to fix it!! )

Enjoy friends!! :)))

Your eyes opened and you stretched, feeling the wrinkles in your bedsheets. Wait- your bedsheets…they weren’t this soft? Sitting up, you realized you were in Simon’s room.

Quickly, panic set in as you frantically looked around for him, cooing his name, hoping he was just hiding and playing a trick on you.

But one question still loomed in the back of your head: how the hell did you end up here?! “Yeah? You okay?”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. That voice…it was…”Simon?” Slowly turning, you were met with your Simon. He was leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom in his famous sweatpants, the steam from the shower still fresh on his chest. The crushing feeling in your chest was numbing, your ears ringing. “Is it really you?”

“Of course it is? What’re you on about?” He chuckled a little as he adjusted his posture.

Quickly you realized he must not remember anything. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I had a weird dream.” You laughed it off as you took the sight of him in again.

Drinking in his presence, you felt tears prick your eyes. “Oh hey, darling no.” He quickly approached you as he saw the glisten in your eyes begin to form. His arms swooped around you as he pulled you into him. “Shh…whatever dream you had wasn’t real. I’m here, you’re okay.” His voice was soothing and gentle, a tone saved only for you.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You wiped your tears and couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. “It was a stupid dream.”

“Whatever it was, is gone. And don’t apologize to me, we’ve been over this. You don’t have to be afraid to feel your emotions, this is a safe space doll.” Simon walked to go grab some clothes, throwing them to you. “Throw these on and we can go meet Johnny for training.”

JOHNNY!

Dropping the clothes to the floor, you make a break for the door, needing to be sure that all of the boys were back to themselves. Oh your Johnny, you needed him right now.

Your hand landed on the doorknob and it wouldn’t turn. “How do you unlock this Simon? Is your door broken?”

Looking up, Simon was now gone, nowhere to be found and nowhere he could’ve went. “No…Simon?!” Your voice echoed. “Nonononono….”

Trying the door again, it still wouldn’t budge. You felt yourself collapse to the ground, defeated.

A gasp left your mouth as you woke up and sat up quickly. It was all a dream… You slammed back down into your pillows as you ran your hands over your face. “Fuck!” It came out louder than you thought, resulting in you to sit right back up and look over at the little playpen that held Simon.

He grunted at you, almost to say ‘watch your language’. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up honey.”

Walking over, you pick him and bring him back to your bed to snuggle with you, the only form of comfort you both have right now.

Simon was your sword, always ready to protect you with such a feral and vicious tactic. He swore to you years ago that he’d do whatever it took to keep you safe, always ready to go to bat for you.

The other side to Simon was soft and tender, always gentle with you when you were fragile, handling you with caution and care. But that came with a sharper side than his protective nature. That tenderness was only behind closed doors. As soon as you were in the eyes of your coworkers, he wasn’t one to step up to give you that affection you craved from him.

Hence, he was a double edged sword.

But you were always willing to feel the rath in order to get the soul that was deep inside of him. Simon was always there for you, even in the darkest of times. There were many nights that you’d spent in his room, the only reason being you both needed the company.

You both found refuge in the other. Simon gave you a safe place, a shoulder to cry on. He gave you the love and support you needed from your team. Simon knew well how Price treated you and when he failed to pick you up, Simon stepped up to help put the pieces back together of a person he didn’t break.

Simon was well aware that a Captain should be someone their soldiers find safety in, solice in. Captains are meant to not only push, but also help their soldiers. They are not meant to degrade them and make them crumble, leaving someone else to pick up the mess. You couldn’t find comfort in the man you were supposed to receive it from, so Simon made it his life’s mission to fill that void.

Your knuckles rapped on the door. It was nearly 4 am, and you had only been home a week since your last mission and someone you’d ended up at Room 256 every night since your feet landed on base.

Simon answered the door, his mask on. “It’s you.” He sighs in relief. “Get in here, you’ll freeze in that.”

You were in shorts and a compression shirt, the only clean clothes you owned at the moment. This mission had caused you to fall into a deep depression, and Simon knew the reason all too well, he saw the papers. When you told him, his heart broke twice as much as when he read it, and it felt like he was finding out for the first time all over again.

“Here, please.” Simon removed his mask and threw you a hoodie all too large for you. “Please…” He was begging you to take care of yourself despite what happened.

Throwing the hoodie over your dishelved frame, you looked at him and held your arms out. “Happy?”

“No. I’m not.” Your joke had gone serious now. “I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself. What happened in Dubai is horrible, and I won’t stop until you get justice, but please.” His voice was quiet on the ‘please’. “I am begging you. You have to take care of yourself. I can’t stand to watch you sit alone and pick at your food during dinners. I can’t let you go another day in training without water. It’s breaking me to see you turn into a shell of the girl I love.”

Somewhere in that, his hands had ended up on your arms, holding them. “If not for yourself, for me. I need you here Y/N. If you leave me, I won’t know what to do.”

You began to cry softly at his words and he quickly began to shush you, bringing you into his chest. “No man will ever touch you like that again. I promise.”

He promised.

And yet here you were laying in a hospital bed recovering from wounds a man inflicted. Looking down at Simon, he was staring up at you with teary eyes. He pointed to his blocks, and you groaned as you reached to your side table to grab them.

Sitting him down in front of you, you sprawled the blocks out on the bed. “Go ahead Si.”

He sniffled a little as he grabbed an ‘S’. “You?”

He grunts. “What about you honey?” He lets out a little cry and it breaks your heart. It seems as if he’s having a hard time with this, even at his little age. “It’s okay, you don’t have-“

A little ‘b’ and little ‘p’ land in your lap as he puts his hands on your knee. “Si, it’s not your fault.” He grunts at you. “You didn’t break your promise. There wasn’t anything you could do.” He takes the blocks from you and hands you a heart block, and the ‘S’ block. “I know you’re sorry, but it’s not your fault. It’s mine.” He grunts, handing you a ‘P’ block. “Price?”

He grunts. “It’s his fault? How?” Simon lets out another little cry and you fight the urge to pick him up and shush him. His eyes scan the little letters as he picks up the letter ‘t’. “Tia? She doesn’t have anything to do with what Snyder did.”

Simon sighs and hands you an ‘e’. “E?” You look at him confused. “I’m going to need more.” You watch hun search around until he hands you an ‘l’. “LE? Left early? I know he did.”

He grunts, putting his little hands on the ‘P’ and ‘t’ blocks. “He left early because of her? Did something happen with you boys?”

He grunts and you set the blocks he gave you down. He hands you a little ‘S’. “You?” Silence. “Soap?” He grunts.

“What happened to Johnny?” Panic settled into your bones, your mind racing through possibilities.

Simon hands you three numbered blocks: 3,7,2. “Is this a room number?”

Simon grunts. Running through possibilities, you knew it wasn’t his barracks room. “Is it a hotel?” Nothing. “Apartment?” Nothing.

“Simon…what happened?” Simon hands you an ‘H’.

“House?” Silence. “Oh God…no. Is it a hospital room?!

Simon grunts, and when he does, your whole world begins to spin. You didn’t even hear Laswell come in. She enters the room and Simon turns and begins to crawl to her, making little worried babbles. “Hey, what’s going on?” She swoops him up and comes to sit by you. “Y/N, look at me. You’re okay, what’s going on?”

Your eyes meet and the words leave your lips too fast. “We need to go to room 372. Now. Please!”

Laswell looks at you like you’re crazy, until Simon hands her the ‘S’ block. “It’s Johnny.” You cry. She sighs and looks at you.

“I can go check with the-“

“No! We need to go now! I need to make sure my boy is okay.” You we’re frantic to see Johnny and make sure he was alive and well. If the room was empty or filled with another patient, you could rest. “Please…”

Laswell eventually gave in and took Simon on her hip, her other arm wrapped up in yours to help give you some walking support.

You both made your way to the third floor and followed the signs to Room 372. Turning the corner, you asked Laswell to let you go alone, and she reluctantly stayed a few doors down. When you began to enter the doorframe, you saw Price and your heart dropped.

His arms were wrapped around Tia. One was around her waist, the other underneath her chin leading her into a kiss. “The fuck?!”

The both snapped to attention at the sound of your voice and you watched Price’s eyes widen in fear at the sight of you. “What’re you doing here?” His breathing quickened as he saw you hooked up to a rolling IV and in a hospital gown. “What happened?! You’re not supposed to be home until tomorrow. I-“

“Enough. What the fuck is going on here?” Your voice was firm, trying to hold back the tears that burnt your ducts, begging to break free.

“It’s not what it looks like, I promise.” Tia spoke up and you looked at her appalled. “Please let me explain-“

“No! What else could this be except that you were cheating?” Your eyes met Price’s again and his were filled with horror, fear, heartbreak, and sadness. “To think I trusted you.”

Before you were about to go walk away, a whine hit your ears and you looked back over your shoulder to see Johnny on the hospital bed with Gaz. Johnny had a little oxygen tube in his nose. Gaz was mindlessly playing with airplanes. Your eyes widened, Simon was right. “What is he doing here?!” You walked over to the bed, limping and barely moving.

Price reached out to help you but you shoved him off of you. “What happened to you?” You brushed your hand over his head, shushing his crying. He was trying to grab at you, seemingly wanting to come with you.

“He’s about to get discharged, he had a weird episode in his sleep and stopped breathing. Tia rushed him here and called me. I-“

“That’s enough.” I sigh as I look to Tia. “As mad as I am at you, thank you.”

She shyly smiles, chewing on her bottom lip. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Did you put him under an alias?” I ask.

She nods. “Kian Price, John’s nephew. Just like you told me to.”

You were livid with her right now, barely able to look at her. “You did good.” You say. “Can he come with me?”

“No, he has to be under supervision. They said he has some sort of sleeping disorder that causes babies to hold their breath in their sleep when stressed. In your state-“

“In my state?!” You stumble to your feet. “I’m perfectly capable to take care of him. At least I didn’t forget a kid!”

Price looked at you confused. “You really don’t know?” You scoffed. “You left Simon in your room. Laswell found him with a pink bra on his face.” His face dropped.

“I can explain. Tia and I were in such a rush and got busy and distracted and-“

“I don’t wanna hear it Price.” The use of his last name made his eyes go wide. “Once I’m discharged, we’re figuring out custody of these boys and we’re not speaking again.”

“Y/N-“ He tried to grab onto you, but you pulled away, causing you to knock into Tia as you both tumbled to the floor. You cried out in pain as Laswell came bounding around the corner.

You watched in slow motion as Price reached for Tia, picking her up and holding her to ask if she was okay. Laswell helped you to your feet, calling for a nurse. Your eyes couldn’t leave the sight in front of you.

The way their eyes met, the way they held each other.

His gaze didn’t even spare you a passing glance.

Laswell and a nurse began to walk you back to your room as you watched Price and Tia dissapear from your line of sight.

No sound was hitting your ears, time moved in slow motion as the weight of the situation fell on you.

The next few days were a blur, you had been discharged and told to attend physical therapy to regain your strength. You were sitting in your room alone, staring at the empty space where the playpen used to sit. Price had Soap and Gaz still and Laswell had taken Simon to let you heal, but little did she know Simon would help you heal.

You had been alone for almost a week, not even leaving the confines of your walls. You didn’t dare to run the risk of running into anyone. You’d perfer to be a hermit.

Therapy had called you multiple times wondering why you weren’t there and stressed the importance of attendance, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You really couldn’t do much of anything. In such a state of heartbreak that you couldn’t even move from your place on the floor leaned against the foot of your bed.

You had lost everything, your boys, the love of your life, even Laswell has yet to talk to you since your discharge. For the first time since you joined this team, you were on your own…and you were failing yourself.

You’d always had someone to help you, stand by your side during hard times. Not this time, it was all you and you didn’t know what to do.

Without Simon’s comforting arms or Johnny’s smile. Without Simon’s soothing voice, ears empty of Johnny’s laugh. Lacking the strength of your sword and shield.

You remembered the day they found out about the incident in Dubai, the man who had assaulted you.

Simon, Johnny and yourself were all hanging out in the common area when Johnny surprised you and jumped you, planting himself over you as he played his usually prank on you and tickled you. He knew how much you hated it and loved to watch you squirm under him as you laughed.

This time, you screamed, you froze and stared up at him in fear. He immediately held his hands up and froze himself.

It didn’t take long for you to bolt to your room, locking the door behind you.

The two men were close on your heels as the softly knocked on the door, quietly begging you to let them in, not only to your room but your head.

“Tell us what happened out there Y/N, please.” Johnny begged you through the door, worried about you.

Simon coaxed you into opening up and they stepped into your room, Simon shutting the door slowly as to not spook you. “Hey doll, you okay?”

As soon as ‘doll’ fell from Simon’s mouth, you spilled. The words were flying through your lips before you could even comprehend what you were saying.

Every little detail of what had happened hit their ears. Simon knew from the papers hitting his desk, but he felt his heart break twice as hard hearing it from you.

The way your eyes shrunched or you looked at the ceiling to prevent tears from falling. He noticed your expressions and body language and he realized just how much damage this had caused. The papers he read didn’t do you justice, downplaying the situation tenfold.

As soon as you finished, you took in a big breath and began to sob as the flood gates broke open. Johnny was the first to swoop you into his arms and began swearing up and down that he’ll kill anyone that even thinks about touching you like that. He swore to be your shield, to protect you from any harms the world may threaten you with. “You let me take the pain okay? You let me handle the problem, you let me hurt.”

Simon swore to be your sword, vowing to stop anything before it can hit you. He’ll fight for you and always be right by your side. While Johnny would deflect any dangers that come to you, Simon would kill them off before you would notice the imminent threat. “I will always be here for you, always be in your side and fight not only for you but with you. If anyone’s giving you a hard time, send them to me. I will forever swear to protect you and help you trudge through the waters when they get rocky.”

Since that day, they were like guard dogs. They never let you be alone. You all spent more time in the others rooms than your own rooms. Simon would be quick on the jump to defend you in even the littlest situations, and Johnny was always there when you needed him in and out of the field. He’d cover you in enemy fire so you could get out before him, or he’d pull you away when Price came into a room to avoid a fight between you two.

Now here you are, needing them more than ever and you can’t have their comfort.

You lift your head from your knees as you hear your door creak open slightly. A little grunt enters the air, the door openly a little more. You had cursed yourself for not shutting it all the way, or locking it.

A little Simon crawls into your view, plopping onto his butt as soon as he gets past the doorframe. He stares at you and doesn’t move or make any noise, almost letting you come to him when you were ready.

And you did. You leaned forward to pick him up and held him close to you. His head fell into the crook of your neck and his little arms tried to wrap around you.

You squeezed him tight, but safely as to not hurt his little frame. He let out a deep breath, as if he felt relieved to finally be here for you.

After a couple minutes, you expected Laswell to follow by the thuds coming down the hall towards your room, but they became erratic, followed by giggles and excited babbles.

You stood up and opened your door to peak into the hallway to see a dopey smiling Soap. He huffed excitedly and noisily crawled over to your feet, sitting down and making grabby hands at you.

You picked him up and placed him on your other hip, taking both boys back into your room and sitting on your bed.

They both laid on your chest as you slightly leaned back. Simon was nuzzled into your shoulder like before, and Soap was sitting up by your hip babbling at you like he was telling you a story.

You gave him little “yeah?” “really??” “no she didn’t!” and other comments to keep him going. He got so excited when you reacted, his little arms flailing or his baby talk getting louder, or he’d breath quickly in excitement.

You three sat like that for a better part of 2 hours before you finally laid back and fell asleep.

What you didn’t see was Johnny crawl up to you when he noticed your eyes close and cozy up to your side and drift off himself.

It amazed you that even as babies, your boys came to you. They’re natural instinct telling them you needed their comfort, their help.

Although it didn’t bring the same feeling as when they’re adults, you couldn’t help but feel some warmth begin to radiate inside of you having them to help you heal emotionally and physically.

And you couldn’t be more grateful for that.

[piratefishmama]

Forgiven not Forgotten | Part 6

Matchmaking would unfortunately have to wait. As much as the parents wanted to dive right in, meddle a little, be insufferable, it was well overdue after all, there were more pressing concerns. Eddie was awake. He was awake, coherent, sure he’d been initially a little loopy loo on the drugs, but he was able to answer questions, simple questions. Sort of.

“What year is it?”

“I mean, I thought it was 1986 but I seem to be missing a couple of years so, pretty sure it’s 1988 now. So much for graduating.”

“Who’s the president?”

“Man I dunno, how would I know? I just told you I’m missing a couple of years. Reagan? Is it still Reagan?”

“It’s still Reagan, Eds, election isn’t for another few months.”

“Thanks, Stevie.” Eddie turned back to the doctor “Reagan then.”

“Don’t help the patient, Mr Harrington.” Steve mouthed a sorry but didn’t actually look sorry. Eddie just smiled at him. A conspiratorial little grin shared between them, like an inside joke they’d never had the moment to create. It continued on like that for a good half an hour, boring step by step questions to ascertain just how much of Eddie’s memory was simply not there.

It turned out, he remembered nothing from after he took his seemingly last breath, to waking up in that room. Or at least that was what he was sticking to. Until the doctors left and everyone decided to leave Steve on his own in that room with him. The Harringtons gently guiding Dustin out as well, offering to get him something from the vending machines as their sandwiches had been distributed already to those sitting in with Max, Will, and Eleven via Robin.

Stinson had already collected the documents and was likely off to do whatever she had to do to fulfil her promises.

“I do remember some stuff.” Eddie finally broke the silence that seemed to fall over them the second everyone left the room. Steve’s eyes shot to him, wide, fearful? Why was he afraid? He held up a hand quickly, then got up out of his chair. Eddie watched in confused silence as Steve rummaged around the room, checking around things, the flowers people had left, the plant in the corner of the room, the TV that hadn’t been turned on, each of the little machines, he even checked the lights, and only when apparently satisfied, his search coming up empty-handed, did he finally turn back to Eddie.

“What do you remember, Eddie?”

“Nothing out here I guess.” He wasn’t going to ask why Steve ransacked the room, it didn’t really matter. “The real world I mean. It was like… a void. This big, dark space. It felt like I was stuck in limbo, but I could like… make stuff appear if I thought about it hard enough.” Steve’s continued silence only prompted him to talk more “like—like my bedroom back at the trailer? I could make that appear, everything in it, crystal clear, I could use stuff in it like my guitar, or my yo-yo! I could make the picnic table behind the school appear, I could even make Red’s living room appear if I thought about it hard enough… it was like… like I was stuck in my own brain or something, it was only places I’d been too. Time didn’t really… move there, y’know? I thought I’d only been gone a few days.”

Steve was looking down at the floor, brows furrowed, eyes flicking as if searching for answers in his own mind, working through theory after theory in silence. “Was it just you in there?”

“Mhm yeah, I mean… sorta. I think so. I mean, the mirror in my room always freaked me out a little bit but… I dunno, it was me just—”

“Not you.”

“Yeah. How’d you—"

“Don’t talk about this. At all, with anyone else. Okay? Nobody else. Not even the kids. This cannot leave this room, alright?” Eddie’s eyes flicked to the door, before he nodded “you stick to your story, you don’t remember anything. Nothing. You got ate, you woke up here. Nothing in between. Not the void. Nothing. That’s the story you stick to. Got it?”

“…Steve… what happened?” Steve sat back down beside his bed.

“Nothing good, nothing good happened these past two years okay? But as long as you don’t remember, and with what we know, I don’t think there’s anything out there that could jog that memory, you’ll be fine.” Eddie let his eyes drop to his lap, fingers fiddling with the blankets, full of nervous, uncertain energy. He was missing something. He was missing a lot of somethings, but Steve was right. It wasn’t like there was a fog in his mind where memories should have been, he remembered dying, the void, and then waking up. Nothing was missing there. He didn’t even feel like he was missing something. “I’m not going to tell you what happened, Eddie so don’t ask. There are things that you don’t need to know, things that you wouldn’t want to know. Just be grateful that you don’t remember them, and that you’re here, alright?”

“…I still don’t know how I’m here.”

“You don’t need to, just… be glad you are. We all are.”

“…All of you?”

“All of us, Munson.”

They fell into silence again, not uncomfortable, Steve seemed content where he was, a little troubled maybe, there were lines on his face that weren’t there before, stress and worry having etched permanent lines into his skin the past two years, but he was content. “Steve I—”

The door bursting open cut off anything Eddie would have said, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say, he didn't have a plan but Steve was staying so he had to say something even if it would have been dumb... so he was sort of glad it happened.

He was glad Robin burst in and immediately took to reaching for the TV with a “you have to see this shit.” As her explanation as a news channel, the screen split between two women quickly came into view. one in a news studio, one backed by a horrorscape the people in the room unfortunately recognised.

“—he closest we’ve been allowed to get to Hawkins Indiana in the last two years, after a 7.4 magnitude earthquake rocked this quaint town 80 miles outside of Indianapolis. This town, once struck by tragedy, after tragedy, now lays desolate, a wasteland, and although the government remains tight lipped as to the exact cause of the decay which has steadily overcome this town for the last two years, government operatives who have been slowly picking through the wreckage of this disaster looking for more survivors, have assured us that it is a contained and isolated incident.”

“And this decay… I’m sure towns nearby will be worried, it can’t spread further, right?” The anchor prompted.

“No Judy, we have been assured that, while it remains classified, the cause has been located, and destroyed by a combined herculean effort from both civilian, and government forces.”

“Is there any further information on the murders that took place just before this disaster struck? If you recall some were claiming these disasters were tied to satanism and caused by ritualistic sacrifices at work?”

“Unfortunately the losses sustained in this catastrophe include the majority of the police force investigating this heinous crime, however our sources have revealed the true identity of the perpetrator, to be none other than a Mr Henry Creel, brought to justice by the very man he framed for the murders of Chrissy Cunningham, Patrick McKinney, Fredrick Benson, and the attempted murder of Maxine Mayfield. Eyewitnesses have come forward to reveal Edward Munson was seen alongside several other civilians who will remain nameless, heroically subduing the man in his attempt to flee a second thankfully unsuccessful attempt on miss Mayfields life. His reign of terror over this small town, finally ended by the very people he tormented.”

“I have here that Henry Creel was presumed deceased several years ago, is that correct?”

It was so scripted, everything about it, nothing felt real but… they were at least pinning it on the actual guilty party.

Creel’s human face revealed on screen in between the two video feeds, a blurry ID photo with no discernible origin used as the picture. It disappeared again shortly after, the two feeds growing larger once more to fill the split screen.

“Yes. Perhaps that is what gave him the freedom to enact this terrible crime without suspicion. He was being held in a private psychiatric facility which cares for mentally traumatised youths, pronounced deceased to protect him from association with his father, Victor Creel. He escaped spring of '86 under the name Peter Ballard, and immediately took to live up to his fathers’ terrible legacy.”

“And what can you tell us about the survivors of this catastrophe?”

“Once a population of just under 15,000, survivors have been spread across just four hospitals in Roane County. The death toll…” the reporter appeared to breathe, she looked down for a moment, clearly emotional “unfathomable. This will surely go down in history as one of the worst natural disasters The United States has ever experienced.”

“Thank you, Harriet.” The second feed was cut, the anchor taking up the entirety of the screen once more. “Government officials have stated that the names and current locations of identified survivors will be made available at this free to call automated line.” A number flashed up on the screen. It stayed there for just long enough to write it down “it will be shown over the course of the following weeks until all survivors are claimed by family or friends.”

The camera switched to another anchor, a man. “In lighter news, Washin—” Robin turned off the TV. Screw lighter news.

Steve stared at the now blank screen, mouth hanging open, “Did they just—”

“Pin the blame on the actual guy who did it while giving Eddie the credit for taking his ass down? Haha, yeah. Stinson didn’t fuck around.”

“Holy shit. That was like, an hour. Maximum.”

“Stinson, didn’t fuck around. Also your parents have been calling estate agents in Bloomington.”

“Huh?”

Eddie needed a nap.

Part 8

[drewsbuzzcut]

Something For The Pain And Something So I Sleep

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses blurb

warnings: slight angst, tito getting traded

You were barely finishing washing your face when you heard the rapid, loud knocks on your front door. You weren’t expecting anyone over and it was late at night, so you really had no clue who it could be. Quickly drying your face, you hurry to the door and when you open it, you’re surprised to see a distressed mat. He immediately walks in once the door is opened and starts pacing. His hands are buried in his hair, his face is flushed, and his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. You see him shut his eyes tightly while his mouth keeps opening and closing, but before you could ask what was wrong, he was already ranting, “tito is leaving!”

You can tell that his breathing is heavy just by the way his chest is rapidly rising and falling. His eyes are watery; he was about to start crying. You were extremely confused because he hadn’t called you before he made his way over- not that it mattered, and when you talked to him earlier today, he seemed perfectly fine. You walk up to him and place your hands on his cheeks, trying to get him to calm down by having him focus on your face.

“Tito is gone! I don’t even know how to process this! I- I- I don’t know what to do,” he keeps blurting out.

“Barzy,” you try to get his attention.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” he says.

“Barzy!” You try again.

“He’s my best friend! It’s going to feel so weird now,” he continues.

“Maty!” You finally get him attention.

His breathing is erratic and his face is even more red. The tears that were once filling his eyes are now flowing down his cheeks. The tear tracks left behind are enough to break your heart. You have never seen mat so upset, and you have never even seen him cry. This was new to you. Hell, all of this was new. You had only been dating for a little over a month, so you really didn’t know how to handle this situation. All you knew you needed to do was give him a hug. A hug that hopefully dulled out any of the pain he was feeling. When you pull back from the hug, he has his eyes closed like he’s afraid of you seeing him cry.

“Babe,” you say while guiding his head to lean on your chest, holding onto him for dear life.

“I’m sorry for just showing up,” he apologizes.

“No need to be sorry. You know you can come over at anytime.”

You can still tell that he has a lot more that he needs to get off his chest, so you drag him to your restroom and sit him on the closed toilet, letting him have the chance to rant while you finished up your nighttime skincare routine.

“Start from the beginning and tell me everything because I’m really confused,” you tell him as you start applying your serums and moisturizers.

“Beau got traded,” he mumble dejectedly.

You freeze. You were not expecting that, but mat’s mumbles from your entry way make a lot more sense now. You turn to face mat and he looks so sad. You let your hand rub his head, hoping to soothe him.

“He’s going to Vancouver, and I don’t know this just doesn’t feel real,” he adds.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe that. That’s insane,” you give your thoughts.

“Yeah. He still had like a year left in his contract with the isles. I don’t know how they could just trade him,” he’s starting to get bothered rather than sad.

“I’m sorry, babe. I know it sucks, but it’s business and I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I need you to know that these things happen,” you say as coherent as possible as you’re brushing your teeth.

“It’s a shit business. He has to pick up his whole life in one day. It’s not fair.” He blurts.

“I’ve spent so much time with him. We’ve gone through so many milestones and lessons together; I don’t know how to adjust to him not being here. It sounds silly, but it’s how I feel,” he finishes.

You nod your head, silently agreeing with how he feels. You know there’s not much you can say, so you just reassure him.

“It’s not silly. Your feelings are valid, and I’m thankful that you’re comfortable enough to share them with me,” you state as you finish off your routine with some lip balm. You then move to stand in front of mat; his hands going straight to rub the backs of your thighs while yours caress his cheeks.

“Thank you for listening. I hope I didn’t ruin your night,” mat says with his head down, feeling bad that he just barged in without warning.

“I already told you, I don’t care that you’re here. I’m glad, actually,” you let him know before you start applying lip balm to his own lips. He sometimes forgets to use lip balm, and the way he was biting his lips in nervousness was even more of a reason for him to be wearing some.

“How about… you stay with me tonight,” you offer hesitantly. Like you said, everything was still fresh in this relationship. You didn’t want to push any boundaries and make him uncomfortable. If he did end up spending the night, this would be the first time you slept together.

“Are you sure? Don’t feel like you have to because I came over in a bad state,” he says.

You shake your head and lean down to kiss his lips.

“Stay the night, please,” you beg. You want him to know that you’re there for him, always.

He nods his head and stands up, waiting for you to guide him into your room.

“Is it okay if I sleep in my underwear since… I don’t have any clothes?” He questions, cheeks blushing.

You let out a small giggle at his bashfulness and tell him that it was fine.

You go around your apartment making sure everything was shut down and that your cat had food and water for the night. When you got back to your room, mat was already tucked under the sheets, blanket all the way up to his chin. He looked childlike. The moment your body hit the bed, he was reaching for your hand to leave kisses on your knuckles. You both laid side by side, letting the dark and silent space bring you down from the long day you’ve both had.

“Did you get to say goodbye?” You ask the question that you had been wondering about the answer to.

“Yeah. Briefly,” he mumbles. You just nod in response.

You let a few minutes pass and then you tell him to turn on his side so that his back is facing you, and you spoon him. You feel his body melt like all his worries and fears evaporated into the air. You press kiss after kiss onto the back of his neck. You just wanted to be close to him. Your hand strokes up and down his chest, and when you feel his breath even out, you’re finally at peace. It doesn’t take you long for your body to get heavy and for sleep to pull you under. One last peck to mat’s bare shoulder blade, and you’re out for the night. 

[ottiliere]

hello! ur posts on the vagus nerve and its connections to digestions have encouraged me to do a lil mini dissertation thingy kinda focused on it/around it, ur big thread on PVT and everything really piqued my interest when i read it and i just held onto it for like a year or smthing until like last week when i started the project. Ik u said recently in one of ur posts i believe that ur not going to post the big dirk PVT post and im not here to be like yo post it because i also think u said that ur kinda moving away from like hs/dirky stuff rn ?? (im forgetting if i saw that sorry) but yeah i just wanted to say thank u etc etc, like ive never done an ask before so sorry if this is phrased weirdly but ur blog is just like one of those blogs that fundamentally changed how i view certain things in life for the better lol, like whether its ur beautiful representations / depictions of mental health in like just beautifully painted art (seriously the way u make it look like idk how to word it cartoony/really 2d but then it stands out against the background + if u zoom in and see the tiny pixel details == it makes me mad) or just like the huggeee long form posts that i like to chew on and save cuz theres so many details that AFFAAT like the way you talk abt the topics u portray has made me concious of how i would want to do so in the same way ig u get me. anyway this got really long and idk if i come across coherently, but ur just a random person on the internet whos art and written thoughts that u decide to share makes me happy when i see it == makes me pace around my room and distract me from this fat essay lmao so tldr: i really appreciate what u do + i hope like that ur doing well and that u keep arting and thoughting no matter what it is that u choose to focus on

(uve made me comitted to reading jthm, playing psychonauts and giving jjba w/ dio another go lmao) 🫶🫶

Hello! I’m sorry this reply is coming so late, this ask in particular is very sweet and has stuck out to me.

I’m really happy to have introduced you to PVT, this is something I’ve heard from a few different people on here and it’s very sweet… I did my thesis on it in college and the time really flew by while working on it, things you don't think could possibly attributed to "nerve issues" being nerve issues is always an eye-opener, isn't it? being able to research things that interest you & access information in general really is a privilege in this day and age.

“The topics [I] portray” are very important to me, so it’s heartening when others take interest in spite of the obvious deterrents. A lot of what I love making art about is unpalatable to most, and while I do understand the reasons for that on principle, it can make things feel a little insular. I genuinely believe there’s a lot of value in depicting tableaus of misery.

The last year has brought a lot of very unforeseen changes, and my life is quite different from when I initially made this blog to post about him! That’s also part of why I’ve been so sparse here…though I’m working to change that quite soon. I love sharing my work, and I’ve had the privilege of meeting some truly wonderful people through this website. That said…with where I’m at now, I’m not sure I’ll be posting the Dirk essay anytime soon, I’m afraid.

I’ve undertaken a few ongoing projects, one of which in particular is an original project I plan on sharing publicly here hopefully within the next month or so. I hope it’s something you & anyone else who’s stuck around with me here will enjoy, but failing that, I’ve really enjoyed working on it thus far.

Thank you for the sweet ask, take care, and good luck with your project!

[captcutshaw]

That thing you said about Bruce Robinson stating that Withnail and Marwood not having girlfriends, because they are poor. That’s really funny and it does make sense! However, it’s really noticeable, if you’re used to forced heterosexual references in buddy films, that women as a whole are never mentioned by the two, never mind attraction to them. The closest we get to this are pictures of women in their walls, but most of these are press photos of actresses. As Withnail and Marwood are thespians, it looks like their interest is an artistic, rather than sexual. And as you pointed out, the only sort of attraction referenced is homosexual. As you rightfully said, Marwood comes across as almost absurdly afraid of it, but interestingly never asserts heterosexuality to compensate, as many characters in similar films do. I’m a big dummy when it come to reading films properly, but it’s interesting that while none of these things alone make Withnail and Marwood explicitly queer (gay, bisexual, asexual, etc), there is absolutely zero effort spent on trying to convince you they are straight. If it took an interview to bring it up, Bruce Robinson probably just did not think it relevant. Again, the relationship between them is treated with greater importance. Of course, we are not sure by the end that it is completely platonic, and I don’t know how intentional that was (definitely was on the part of Richard E. Grant) but the point still stands. Sorry, this is such a long message, I hope it makes sense!

Absolutely! Thank you so much for sending me this, you've given me an excuse to go off on a rant. I've put some of my own ramblings and scattered thoughts under the cut. Sorry in advance for a complete lack of coherence.

Totally agree that it's unusual for a buddy film to have Marwood simply deny he's homosexual, then not show any interest in women to prove his point. No aggressive assertions of heterosexuality or forced female love interest, hell, no mention of women whatsoever (Mrs Parkin doesn't count)

I know he's essentially Bruce Robinson's self insert, hence Marwood being sexually harassed by Monty, who was based on Franco Zeffirelli, the director who sexually harassed Bruce Robinson (sorry if I'm just saying stuff you already know here). But yeah, Marwood isn't an aggressively heterosexual character, which makes him very inviting for a queer reading, among the various other reasons. I mean....look at him. Tboy swag off the charts.

I could list all the queer codings and references in the film but we would be here forever. Don't even get me started on all the ways Withnail is easy to read as queer. But yeah, in summary, I agree with your point that the complete lack of heterosexual attraction in the film can support that queer interpretation.

That's a good point that the photos of women/actresses in their flat could be purely for aesthetic reasons because they're thespians.

As for Bruce Robinson's intentions.... There was an interview where someone asked if Withnail was gay, which Bruce Robinson and Richard E. Grant refuted (timestamp about 21:09). Here Robinson actually jokingly (?) says he thinks Withnail is asexual because he only loves himself.... asexuality isn't caused by narcissism, but hot take!

So, Withnail was never intended to be homosexual. Which is crazy to me, what with... Withnail being Withnail. There is no possible heterosexual explanation for that man's behaviour!! And it's telling that so many people have seen the film and thought he was gay. But good news! Paul McGann has made a lot of comments about Marwood and Withnail being "young marrieds" in his commentary of the film. Also, in this interview (timestamp 6:58) he says Withnail was probably in love with Marwood. Big win for the gays. Overall, Bruce Robinson did not intend for Withnail and Marwood to be read as queer, but everyone say thank you to Paul McGann. Thank you Paul McGann

(Goes without saying, the creator's intentions don't prevent people from interpreting the film the way they want to. Death to the author etc etc. I've always liked to see Marwood and Withnail as queer because that adds another layer of meaning and just....makes sense if you ask me. Their relationship is compelling, platonic or otherwise. I personally found that it doesn't make sense for either of them to be 100% heterosexual, and asexual or bisexual readings are really cool as well.)

(On that note, not sure if it's worth mentioning... I read here that Vivian MacKerrell, the man Withnail was based on, was bisexual. So. There's that. Bisexual Withnail 2023)

[voltrixz]

heyg (hold out microphone) i want your hank jimble thoughts (if u have any)

(equivalent exchange or some shit i dunnoe i cant read)

ok tough one actually. Sorta. My mind is like zero-d in on Phobos And auditor all the time but every now and then hank is in there so hm..

I guess first point is I like to think that hank is just some guy. I think you mentioned how it’s interesting to see people give hank a backstory that explains more of their deal but you prefer that he’s just some guy. Which yeah 100% agree with that. Just some guy who made one implsuive move and got into this big mess and now has to live up to the huge name they ended up making for themselves. Like they had interests and stuff before but a lot of that gets overshadowed by the violent tendencies they have now. And I like to think hank still does have those interests but isn’t as engrossed in them as he gives in further and further into the violent habits they;ve developed. Just further leaning into that sort of thing, because it’s what people expect of him and it’s what they need in order to survive out here.

And also I like to think the sq crew (doc, Deimos and Sanford) is what kinda reminds him of simpler times. Like sorta reminding him of their own humanity again? Like that connection. I do think there is some apathy towards Sanford and Deimos but he does deep down care for them. He just has a lot of trouble showing that. And they know that how they act sometimes scares off the 2 so they don’t bother often. And with doc it’s different, because no matter what Doc is never afraid of him. Doc knows how dangerous he is and he’s seen how bad they can get but still doesn’t run off. There’s a certain trust between the 2 that in a way almsot scares or I guess more confuses Hank because he isn’t used to people keeping calm around him.

Uhhhh idk if this is even coherent, I’m just kinda speaking like right off my tongue here. Idk hank is just some guy who got into this mess, realized that the role had to play suited him well despite the nobody he was before, and jsut stuck to it. Not exactly happy about it but not exactly distressed about it. Just meh. A guy just rolling with what he’s got I guess (But shit is definitely hitting the fan for them later)

I have no idea what I’m saying acutally but yeah from the top of my head that’s what I got

[kickassfu]

For the siken mini fic ask! 💜

" you’re in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him that you love him. "

thank you so much for the prompt 😭😭 you're an angel! Too kind! (look out for some gore, also happy ending, don't be afraid lol)

Also on AO3.

20. you’re in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him that you love him.

Steve’s beautiful. The way his hair flops over his eyes, just soft and perfect, and god Eddie wants to touch it, pull it, bite it. Is obsessed with it. And his eyes, oh his eyes, that beautiful brown that shines just so when the sun hits them, Eddie loses all his words every time. Including now, as Steve drives the car, fast, fast, fast and Eddie can’t do anything but look at him, stare, fall in love even deeper still.

It hurts. So fucking much it’s beyond pain, to the point maybe it doesn’t hurt at all. It fucks with his senses to the point that he either feels everything or nothing at all. Even as he tries to keep all his insides, y’know, inside him. He’s sure that if he looked down, all he’d see is blood everywhere, inside, outside; he’s probably ruining Steve’s upholstery and what a fucking sin that is. There’s probably bites (and sadly not of the sexy variety) and gashes all over his body. Torn flesh, missing skin, and still he can’t look away from Steve.

He wonders how long it takes to fall in love.

Beautiful, perfectly imperfect Steve, that’s grabbing onto the steering wheel so hard his knuckles crack under the force. Going faster and faster, trying to outrun death, Eddie thinks. And Eddie doesn’t want to die, he’s crying for a reason after all (even though he can no longer feel his tears), but dying here, next to Steve, watching him, listening to him, is a nicer death he ever thought he might get.

He feels his eyes drooping, just wants to hold on a little while longer, to reach out his hand and touch Steve one last time but his strength has left him so long ago now and all he can do is let himself be pulled into the darkness, slowly and silently.

“EDDIE! Do not fucking close your eyes, man. Don’t fucking do that to me. Just- just hold on. We’re almost there. Eddie!” Steve yells and screams, plucking Eddie right back out of the darkness for just one more moment. 

What a sight it is, to open his eyes and see Steve look at him as he’s the only thing in the world that matters, with the intensity of a thousand stars; Eddie can’t help but smile.

As if Steve’s able to read his mind, he grabs Eddie’s hand, squeezing it over and over again, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “Come on, Eddie. Talk to me.”

“You’re beautiful.” Because what else can he say now? That’s all that’s rushing through his dying brain, and he doesn’t think people tell Steve that enough. That he’s appreciated. That he’s loved.

“Oh that’s bad, you’re going delirious. Fuck. What the fuck do I do now?”

Laughing hurts more than getting bit by those fucking bats, but Eddie can’t help himself, feels his brain clear a little more now, “I thought- oh fuck this hurts. I thought I was the drama queen here. Can’t handle a compliment?”

“They’re rarely honest, so no, I guess I can’t. And you don’t seem very coherent at the moment, so I’m sorry if I find it a bit hard to believe.”

“Oh Stevie. You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.” Eddie doesn’t know if the courage is coming from the fact that he thinks he’s already dead, no way out, or just from how much of a tragedy Steve thinking himself unloved is.

Steve looks at him curiously, as if he’s trying to decipher the truth of his words, unable to hide the concern that falls heavy on his face as he looks down at Eddie’s body, “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

Maybe Eddie really is dead, because Steve Goddamn Harrington is flirting with him.

Once more, Eddie finds himself dumbstruck in his presence, will wonders never cease?

“Guess you’re not too great at taking compliments yourself, huh?” Steve smiles and Eddie’s heart stops beating for one long, tortuous second.

Eddie wants to kiss him. Wants to eat him alive. To keep Steve inside him forever, tucked away beneath his cracked ribs, safe and warm. But darkness can’t be fought for long, and Eddie can’t keep himself afloat any longer, the last bit of his strength sapped right out of him. 

He’s just sad he couldn’t tell Steve he loved him before death came calling.

-

Opening his eyes is hard, almost impossible, against all that bright, artificial light. But he fights against it, wants to know who’s holding his hand so fucking hard his fingers are numb.

Oh, he’s opening his eyes. He isn’t…dead.

Steve is holding his hand, his cracked lips against Eddie’s knuckles, just resting there. Eddie lets himself watch for a bit, tries to flex his empty hand, to check for strength before he makes the effort of reaching towards Steve’s hair, to pet his head softly.

“Hey baby.” And well, fuck. He’s probably pumped full of drugs huh? There’s a reason he can’t feel much pain, after all. But it doesn’t really matter, when Steve tilts his head up so fast to look back at him (and Eddie’s so scared he’ll break his neck that his hand drops to it, thumbing gently at his Adam’s apple), sad smile on his face, tear tracks making a mess of his pretty skin. 

“Hi. Glad you finally decided to wake up, had a nice sleep? I hope so. I now have a crick in my neck because of you.”

“Why are you the cranky one? I was the one brought from the brink of death.” Eddie pouts, bottom lip pushed out and everything. And if Steve’s eyes wander to his lips at that, Eddie will not call him out on it, right now. He will later. Because holy shit, Steve is looking at his lips.

He should try to die more often.

“Yeah.”

Eddie still feels so tired, feels his eyelids droop over and over again, unable to keep them open for more than a second. He almost lets himself fall asleep until he remembers his last regret before death. Refusing to close his eyes again without letting Steve know, “I love you, Stevie. Just wanted you to know that.” 

Patting his hair one last time, Eddie yawns and lets himself drift off.

The last thing he hears is Steve’s choked up laughter, “Yeah, Eddie. Yeah, I- yeah. Rest up now.”

[pippeebottom]

Confession but sometimes I feel like a bad baby… I’m so deep in the scene and really enjoy the fantasy but I’ve never really had the funds or privacy to enjoy my little time irl. Does that make me a bad little? I’ve only ever worn 2 or so diapers, and I don’t have any other abdl gear or anything

Plus, I’m always terrified of anyone irl finding out about me

i’ve only been actively wearing for about 8 months, so i might not be the best person to answer this but i relate to your feelings so much and i don’t think anyone deserves to feel bad for doing things they enjoy, so i’ll do my best to give you some coherent thoughts

especially being a part of this community, seeing all of these cuties around you seemingly living their best diapered lives, it can be really easy to get caught up in what being little should look like and feel bad for not living up to that. i can promise you i feel like that at least twice a week, but it’s helped me to be reminded and remind myself that what we see on tumblr is just a part of people’s life (and not always completely real, there’s a level of fantasy to a lot of it as well!)

there’s nothing wrong with not being able to afford fancy abdl items, even if the only thing you’re buying is diapers, it adds up and can be really costly! i’ve been lucky enough to have some pretty amazing people in my life gift me a lot of the stuff i have, but i also opt for cheaper options on things i can (like my sippies, bottles, utensils) i may not be the best person to tell you where you can/can’t cut corners but i also came onto tumblr with zero knowledge of how to actually practice abdl outside of a fantasy. i learned everything from reading posts on here, on reddit, from talking to other littles and doms, asking so so so many questions, and i never stop learning new things about this community, this kink and myself. it comes with a lot of mixed feelings and sometimes it can be frustrating but i always try to focus on the joy i experience when im able to regress

talking to people and being willing to experiment can help a lot, so can knowing when you need to take a step away from tumblr. if I’m scrolling and feel myself comparing my journey to everyone else i see and being upset with that, it’s time to take a step away from the screen and color a pretty picture or drink some strawberry milk or watch some carebears or pee your pants or whatever it is that makes you feel small and babyish. focus on that feeling, focus on the things you find in your life that make you smile and giggle and kick your feet in the air. your ability to find that despite all the stress and doom in the world surrounding you is what makes you a good baby, not how many onesies you have or how often you’re padded. and you are a good baby, you’re a good little.

as far as being afraid people irl will find out….yeah, its scary! its hard not to be afraid, but as long as you aren’t flashing it around to everyone, at least in my experience, most people won’t notice. and if there are people in your life that are really close to you that care about you, they might not mind!! don’t let that fear stop you from being happy. keep your chin up!! <3

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #8: Tape IV (Killswitch)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, vivisection, blood/gore, organ stuff, mention of body weight/starvation

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Another benefit of the freezer would be its numbing properties. Ether wasn’t cheap to come by, and neither was chloroform. Giving him another concussion was risky. Heather didn’t know the long-term effects of all these injuries. She would rather not put Jackie in a coma, even if he was a petulant little prick. 

Besides, she was curious. How long before his body gave way? Would it ever? How much could she remove before it proved fatal? Was there a limit to his pain? Was there any mechanism hidden in that biology to numb him, something like a killswitch in his nerves? Or would he feel it all indefinitely? Like a perpetual motion machine, sustained by his own kinetic energy. An automaton of infinite force, a system that would never stop. 

And, all these reasons aside, there was one glaring benefit. If nothing else, the pain would teach him a lesson. Teach him to think before he acted.

She wondered what he thought about all this. If Heather was immortal, she’d be thrilled. Then again, Heather was not being held captive as someone else’s guinea pig. Perhaps he didn’t find any of this as fascinating as she did. Not that she was going to ask him, of course. That information was irrelevant. Nothing but a distraction.

 “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” She tore the blanket off him and let it fall to the ground. “It’s a new day and we don’t have any time to waste. Get up.”

He suppressed a yawn. “Hello.” His eyelashes were coated in frost, she noticed. So were his lips, and the joints of his hands. The curls and coils in his hair had gone stiff.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Fine.” The corners of his mouth tilted in what could almost be called a smile. “How are you?”

“We have no time for such pleasantries.” The recorder clicked to life. “Tape four, I think. Jackie over here has been in a deep freezer for well over seven hours. How do you feel, Jackie?”

“Oh, I’m okay. Cold, I guess. Thanks for the blanket, by the way.” 

She ignored that last comment. “Subject has not gone unconscious, evidently. Meaning he is immune to asphyxiation and hypothermia. How many fingers am I holding up, Jackie?” 

He studied her hands. “Five?”

“Great. And how would you rate your pain, on a scale of one to ten? One being nothing at all, ten being unbearable agony.”

“Like, a four? Everything sort of hurts.” He laughed softly. “Sleeping helped.” 

“Yes, rest is important. I expect you to take care of your basic needs. I won’t have a test subject who’s too tired to be coherent. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sat up in the freezer, letting one hand rest on the ledge. “Can I get out of here, then?”

“Not yet. Just wait a few minutes.”

Keeping him calm would be crucial. Keeping him from moving, or lashing out. Or panicking. Something like this would be distressing, for sure. Heather had considered giving up, but she was not a coward. She wasn’t afraid of a little blood. Jackie would be fine. If he was upset, he’d get over it. If he was angry, he could wallow in his own rage. That was fine with her. It would be fine. Better to rip the bandage off now.

“Jackie.” She leaned in a little. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?” His brows furrowed slightly. The corners of his mouth went tense, less of a smile and more the start of a frown.

“Relax. Don’t look so worried.” She cupped his face in her hands. His eyes went wide at the sudden motion. “Jackie, I need you to look at me. Can you do that? No,” she said as his gaze flicked behind her. “Look at me. Don’t look down.”

“Okay? Why?” He held her gaze, though there was a degree of uneasiness in the depth of his pupils, the way they seemed to tremble. 

“That doesn’t matter.” She let go of his face. “Lay down."

He shifted, though she could tell he was reluctant. Ice crackled beneath his weight. Though his legs did not fit comfortably in the freezer, his torso lay flat. One hand was placed on the freezer ledge, and the other was curved up against the polystyrene wall.

"Thank you," Heather said. "Take off your shirt, please."

“Shirt? What?” 

“Well, I suppose you can keep it on. I’ll clean it off later.” She retrieved two zip-ties from her pocket. Heavy-duty zip-ties, the hardware employee had assured. Thick, made of rigid plastic, difficult to break. 

A couple hours earlier, she had secured two hooks on the outside rims of the freezer. Restraints were necessary for certain procedures—even under anesthetics, the sudden reflexes of an injured body could interfere with a surgeon’s work. Restraints were necessary for a patient’s safety. And the hooks were low enough to be comfortable. They stuck out only a few inches above his shoulders. That would, at the very least, be a comfort.

“This is just to ensure you won’t move,” she said. “It’s distracting, you know, if you start moving around. That’s all.” She began securing his wrists as she spoke, pulling the plastic straps up, ensuring that nothing could slip out. Jackie regarded these motions with an expression that was decidedly not calm, but he remained silent. 

“There you go.” She finished the second zip-tie up and brushed her hands off. “How are your wrists? Is the plastic too rough?”

He shook his head.

“Good.” Heather began pulling on her rubber gloves. She had brought in another table earlier, longer and made of plastic, where she’d arranged her tools. The scalpel, the pair of scissors, the bone saw, the many jars, her pistol—one never knew when things would go sideways—and a variety of forceps and clamps. “Close your eyes if you need to. Oh, and try not to make too much noise. I’ll be done in a moment.”

“What are you—” He attempted to look over her shoulder. 

Heather tilted his head back towards her, clasping his jaw gently in her hand. “Stop asking questions.”

He asked nothing else, if only because she refused to answer. With the scalpel held behind her back, she lifted his shirt. The fabric bunched just above his collarbones. His chest was now visible. The scars above his heart had completely disappeared after the fire, like nothing more than a line drawn in the sand. She observed the steady movements of his lungs beneath the skin and bones, with as much clinical detachment as she could muster. He really needed to eat more. Another week of hunger and his ribs would be visible through the skin. 

She brought the scalpel to his chest. He tensed beneath the blade. As she dragged it through his skin, he gasped. She opened him up all the way from the start of the collarbone to the section of skin above the hips, in a double-sided Y pattern. 

It wasn’t all too different from dissecting a frog or cat. She had also worked on human cadavers before, in her university years. It never failed to amaze her how similar all bodies were. Those organic structures were an endless source of fascination. All people, whatever their worth or power or beauty, could be reduced to nothing more than blood and bones with only a blade and a couple of well-placed cuts.

Jackie’s insides were normal. A few pulls of the scalpel later, she could see all the central organs laid out before her. Blood glittered between the tissues, glazing every surface. Stomach, lungs, liver, intestines… nothing out of the ordinary. His heart was beating abnormally fast, however. Wrought with spasms, possessed by a waterfalling panic. His lungs, too, worked quickly. A beautiful system of muscles and tissues and blood. Nothing was damaged or mutated. Nothing indicated the source of his immortality.

“Subject is biologically typical,” Heather informed the recorder. “No abnormalities, as far as I can see. I’ll start dissecting the organs and go from there, I think.”

His head tilted to one side, so that it rested on the ice. “Heather.”

“Shh.” She placed a hand on his cheek, without looking up, before realizing that her gloves were smudged with blood. A line of red painted his face. “Oh. Sorry about that. Everything is okay. Calm down.”

“Heather,” he repeated, a little more insistently. His voice was low, barely louder than a whisper, and heavy with emotion. “Stop.”

His nails were digging into his palms. An anchor to keep him steady. His knuckles were going pale from holding on. His eyes had glassed over. His pupils went out of focus. His lips were trembling, with all the delicate subtlety of a butterfly crawling out of its chrysalis. His arm shifted, as if to fight the restraints, but he could only shudder and sink further into the ice.

“Don’t move,” she warned. “Don’t even try. Not while I’m working. Your insides will fall out, and that won’t be pleasant for either of us. And stay quiet. I'll gag you if I have to.”

His gaze was fixed on her, but he ventured a single glance down—this did nothing to calm him. His breathing came in short, shallow bursts. 

Heather grasped his jaw much harder this time, forcing his head up. “I told you to look at me. Don’t move again. Don't think about it.” 

She let go. With the bone saw she broke a few ribs open—he flinched hard, jerked his wrists against the zip-ties—then she dug the scalpel into an exposed artery. With a hand to stem the blood flow, she sawed it off from the body. Much to her surprise, the tissue was healing faster now. Within seconds, the artery grew back, sewing the gap shut. His body was learning, it seemed. Or it was trying to keep him conscious.

After three more attempts, she ceased her sawing and moved on to removing the liver. The organ was of regular color and size, being large and reddish-brown. It was cut out with comparative ease. 

Jackie swallowed. “Is that mine?” 

“Let me check the label.” She laughed at her own joke. “Aren’t you something special? How are you doing any of this?”

He shivered. He was no longer looking right at Heather, but in fact someplace behind her. He didn’t seem to be listening anymore.

“I’m not done yet,” she said. “Hang on. Give me five more minutes.” 

Heather moved on to his intestines. First, she had to reopen his skin—compared to the heart, it healed extremely slowly, but it still healed. Then, using the scissors, she cut the small intestines away from the ligaments holding them together. She lifted them out of the body. 

“Fascinating.” She inspected the organ in the light, tilting it this way and that. “Does this hurt?”

He nodded fervently. 

“Are you sorry?”

He waited a second too long to answer. She crushed the intestines in her fist.

He was pierced by a shuddering gasp. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please, stop. Don’t.” The muscles in his shoulders tensed up, as she let go of the organ. “Please, don’t do that again.”

“It looks like you’ve finally learned some manners. Remember this feeling, Jackie. I want you to remember this the next time you even think of escaping.”

“I—” Another deep gasp, a longer one. Tears glistened in his eyes. He coughed. He coughed again, harder, a sound that would leave his throat sore. Blood dripped from his lips. “Ow.”

“Well, you can still speak, so it can’t hurt that much.” She wiped the blood off his mouth with a gloved finger. “I’ll finish up in a few more minutes. I’d like to take a souvenir or two, first.”

"A souvenir.”  His breath hitched. “Like this is the fucking Eiffel t—tower." 

She pressed her nails down, watched him squirm. "You're not being very polite, Jackie."

"I’m sorry. St—stop.  I'm sorry.”

Heather was fascinated by his compliance. She could do anything to him now. She had power over him. He could beg all he wanted, but she didn’t have to stop. She…

…felt a slight twinge of pity. He was obviously upset. Close to a panic attack, if he wasn’t already there. Who wouldn't be? Heather couldn't blame him for trying to escape, or for acting a little rude. She didn’t like it, of course, but it was to be expected. He’d been torn out of his old life like nothing more than a flower from the earth. It would take some time to get used to this, no matter how kind Heather was. She was a reasonable person. All things considered, she was actually a nice person. And he was so helpless, so fragile beneath the cold metal of her instruments, that she felt something close to sympathy. 

“Okay.” She put the intestines back in his body, eliciting yet another soft gasp. “Close your eyes, Jack.”

She retrieved an injection from the table, filling it with the anesthetic drug. Once she had measured the correct amount, she pressed the needle into the base of his neck. He did not struggle—he knew not to, or he had lost too much blood to care. His eyes lowered, then closed. He fell unconscious some time after. His body relaxed, and his head slumped over the edge of the freezer. Those fleeting, shallow breaths began to slow. 

“Well." Heather turned to the recorder with a slightly embarrassed smile, even though she was alone. "That was… that was definitely...”

After a moment of deliberation, she put the injection away and returned to her subject. “Subject’s pain receptors function as normal. Immortality doesn’t account for that. Good to know, I suppose.” She severed the small intestine entirely from his body, then placed it on a sheet of wax paper.

 “There’s one thing I’ve noticed,” Heather continued as she worked the scalpel. “Certain tissues heal slower than others. My hypothesis is that the vital organs, like the heart, take priority over the less essential ones. It takes a toll on the body, I assume. Making all those new parts. Skin and hair heals the slowest. That’s only an educated guess, however. I’ll need to run a few more tests before I’m certain.” 

She cut a section from his large intestine. “I’ve not the slightest clue how or why this is happening. Perhaps a biopsy will reveal something…“ She placed the section in an open jar. “I’d love to examine his skeletal structure. His muscles, as well. All of him, really.”

By the time she was done, all the jars had been filled with Jackie’s organs and tissues. Some of the smaller jars held his blood. She had managed to remove a section of his ribs as well, though it had taken a significant amount of force to saw off. In the end, she had quite the collection. The only problem would be fitting it all in her spare freezer. She could dispose of some of the parakeet hearts and dog brains, Heather supposed. This was much more important. 

This changed things.

[gffa]

Buncha scattered thoughts about trying out some different TV shows and whether or not I’d recommend them so far: - The Last of Us, with only a basic understanding of the plot of the games, I’m otherwise going in basically blind on this one and I’ve been enjoying the HBO adaptation a ton so far!  Very much at the top of the “if you’re looking for a show to binge and don’t mind horror and sad stories, TO WATCH” list!  The chemistry of the characters and the stunning scenery and well-paced scenes makes it thoroughly watchable. - Shrinking, I’ll give pretty much anything Bill Lawrence produces a shot (Scrubs, Cougar Town, Ted Lasso) and I’m charmed from the first episode.  You’ll always get fun banter and funny dialogue, but I’m already engaged with the characters because he has a way of writing snarky characters who still have a ton of heart.  The therapist’s hot mess of a life is offset by how genuinely he cares about his patients, openly and honestly.  I am a sucker for people who banter but aren’t afraid to put their heart on their sleeve. - The Light in the Hall, which I can’t talk about without spoiling the ending, but I wound up disappointed by this one.  The story is fairly predictable and the acting is top-notch, but I was frustrated by [redacted] being the only [redacted] and of course they end up being the murderer, all in service of making a woobie out of the [redacted].  It left a bad taste in what was otherwise a strong show. - Poker Face, I am not Rian Johnson’s biggest fan, but I like his work a lot more when he seems to be writing a love letter to a genre that he wants to pay homage to, to build a tribute to it, rather than subvert it.  I like that it’s quirky but keeps a lid on the amount of it, it feels like it’s having fun with the concept of this version of Columbo, and it knows that you’re here to watch Natasha Lyonne do her thing and it loves watching Natasha Lyonne do her thing, too. - His Dark Materials, which I love the adaptation, having never read the books it still feels like you can tell they were adapted with love and it works as a coherent storyline.  The actors are incredible, each of them are great on their own, but then having fantastic chemistry with each other, and I’m very taken with the themes of the story, around religion and knowledge and free will and independent thought.  Sprinkle in that the main character gets to be an angry, often messy, often very loud about her feelings character, and I’m in. - The Price of Glee, I went into this one hoping that it would at least be something of a tell-all about what went on behind the scenes, because I bet that would be fucking wild, given what we already know.  But after the first episode and skimming the later ones, it seems to be focused more on (as the title suggests) how much it cost these people to be part of it.  Which, you know, fair.  But not quite what I was looking for, so I’ve set it aside for now. - The Owl House, 10/10 no notes.  It’s been so satisfying to see a lot of character arcs come to fruition, even if the season has been massively truncated.  Luz’s struggle between which world she wants to stay in, the maturation of her relationship with Amity, the reconnection with her mother, all of that is fantastic.  The acknowledgement of Willow’s feelings and the support she gets from her friends, Hunter’s willingness to open up about his own feelings, also so much good.  Worldbuilding bits and pieces with the Collector and that I’m already engaged with wanting that poor kid to have better influences, yeah, that’s the stuff. - Three Pines, which I mostly picked up because I like Alfred Molina and he is indeed very charismatic and warm in this series, which has some pretty scenery and a very cozy feeling.  I’ve never read the books this is based on, but it feels like the show very much knew that it wanted to be a charming little murder mystery series with a connective throughline and it was exactly that.  I wouldn’t call it light-hearted, it has some lovely emotional weight, it has characters who very openly care about others, but I would still say it was a very warm show. - Avenue 5, which got off to a bit of a rocky start in its second season for me, but by the end of it, I was enjoying the absolute flaming trainwreck the whole thing is and how, when you lean into the chaos along with the show, it’s pretty hilarious.  I love the characters and I want to know where it’s going from here, I’m going to be so pissed if HBO doesn’t renew it for a third season. - The Sex Lives of College Girls, I enjoyed the first season of the show enough to binge the whole thing and I liked the girls’ friendships with each other and it felt like there was a lot of heart here.  I don’t know what happened with the second season, if it’s me or the show but nothing felt like it was clicking anymore and I finally had to drop it.  First season is adorable, totally worth watching as a stand-alone show!  Second season, idk maybe others liked it more than I did! - Criminal Mind Evolution, I was willing to pick this show back up again because I still have fondness for the actors and the characters, but after two episodes I had to rage quit.  The writing just isn’t working for me, its leaning into everything I grew to be frustrated with or outright hate about the original and even a character like Garcia’s warmth feels forced and unearned.  Dropped and will not be going back.

[jackiebrackettt]

okay so a little lore dump thing for my bitb lab au ^_^ I want to mention that this Will include spoilers (and so i’m putting it under a cut) but please note that I have no current plans to write this fic out more than what you’ve already seen - certainly not to the level where it’s a coherent story at all

however! i am kinda encouraging ppl to write their own versions of it if they want. and if anyone Does do that -> how much they stick with this bit of lore/backstory is up to them

(Tagging @alkalineleak , @kasperconvergence and @transatos bc u guys seemed interested in hearing more :] also! rbs appreciated)

anyway onto the lore:

personally I didn’t want to go too in-depth with an unethical/morally ambiguous lab but there’s elements of that that can be built on. in this au I imagine they’re not all from Galloway bc I think it’s more interesting if Rand Kian and Rolan didn’t know each other beforehand - which feels impossible if they’re all in Galloway

Kian and Becky are exes and this was known by the lab - in fact, they were explicitly seeking out interns who knew either Becky or Rolan. kian’s music career was failing like with canon and someone approached him with the job offer and he took it. the timeline on this is a lil iffy but whateva. kian didn’t know becky was one of the bug monsters until he read the brief and signed the contracts etc etc

the idea here is that the scientists are trying to figure out if previous attachment to a person carries over to the bug-ified version

becky and rolan both turned themselves in to the lab and are there of their own volition. rolan is less there for studying/to help humans and more there bc he doesn’t trust himself and is freaking out. this is why kian says that rolan is safer than becky - as much as becky didn’t want to hurt kian, she wasn’t afraid that she would until it was too late

kian is there because the forms he signed essentially worked as a “i consent to being quarantined if something goes wrong” rand has also signed these. it was Very obvious and they weren’t trying to trick them. kian is mostly just pretending that he’s doing okay and that this is just a bit inconvenient/boring -> he’s pretty freaked out to understate it

relationship-wise: kian had a bit of a relationship with both becky and rolan. both of them very much knew about the other etc etc hashtag poly win! i say “a bit of” bc it was kinda cautious/early stages for both. rolan was starting to open himself up to the idea that he’s not inherently dangerous and then the thing with Becky happened so now he’s back to square 1

now! for the major spoilery bit:

i mentioned earlier that the scientists are specifically looking for interns with connections to the bugs and also that Rand doesn’t have any connection with them. this is bc there is actually a fourth bug monster that they are keeping in the lab and this is the Queen Aka Rachel

once rand gets settled into things they’d probably introduce him to Rachel and then I imagine all hell would break loose - I never really thought too much about plot which is why I’m kinda happy to move on from this idea (also I really don’t need another longfic on my plate o(-( man..) the queen is separated from the other bugs to try and minimise her control over them. i’m also kinda thinking that maybe becky came to the lab specifically to try and get close to the Queen to help her and then kian showed up and things got complicated

real quick: relationship endgame I imagine is nbr+becky dating kian

anyway yeah ^_^ that’s everything I have -> lmk if you have any questions or if ur thinking about taking over this concept from me :]

[jade-of-mourning]

ACTIVELY PASSING AWAY!!!

the post you linked is actually the exact one I remembered?? yeah. I don’t have extensive thoughts on it either but I’m so happy you helped me find it again!! :)

I’m just gonna plop the little coherence I have of bending-related strangeness (not quite body horror) here:

firebenders, given their emotions often fuel their bending, cry fire/embers on occasion, trigger the ozone-feel of lightning when intensely afraid, etc. this makes more sense in my head but the idea of bending sources being more. physically linked to the bender is. sooo. and earthbenders thrive from their connection to the earth so I propose: earthbenders are always a little bit filthy, there’s always a little dirt somewhere, because the lack of it is psychologically agonizing. earthbenders from the 100 yr war with scars filled in with tightly packed earth. save me earthbenders with scars filled in with tightly packed earth.* earthbenders learning to bend each other from scar-fillings like a funky little earthbender-specific modified bloodbending,,, waterbenders having literal water filling their lungs because they move with the tide, the tide moves with them, within them, a cohesive, cohabiting unit. airbenders who compact air with each breath to be lighter, more connected to every sound and smell and sight carried on the breeze but separated from it all the same.

*I also have mako+bolin thoughts about that. so remember how I was yapping abt how mako (and bolin, by extension, would be physically realllyy fucked up? mako’s not technically an earthbender, but,,, ek genes,, and the brothers having matching creepy ass scars that freak the krew out a little bit but none of them really talk abt it,,,

yeah so that’s my thoughts on that!!

however I’m not done with you yet. I have au thoughts (again, to whose surprise?) so I’m kind off mentally ill about parallels in atla/tlok, sooo,, azula and mako.

I SOUND INSANE BUT HEAR ME OUT‼️‼️

so azula is known for her insaneee poker face despite years of repressed trauma and childhood emotional abuse, right. well. guess who else doesn’t express emotions visibly and is cosplaying a normal person over years of fighting for his life. ding-ding-ding, you guessed it, mako!

so, so hear me out here. mako directly paralleling something azula said/did (“you can laugh. it’s funny,” for example) a couple times. but then. but then.

this is where the au part comes in. something happens. maybe kill bolin, idk. (JUST READ THAT BACK WHAT AM I ON 😭🙏🏼) but mako gets the breakdown experience,,,

maybe shove zuko’s oldass in there as a bonus. bring in katara. have a blast, do whatever. but like he has to be sedated cause he’s just. losing it man. like sobbing and screaming and everything cause he spent so long doing everything to make sure bolin was okay (she spent so long doing everything to make sure she didn’t become like zuko) but here it is, all crumbling before him (he shouldn’t have been able to run that fast, it all crumbled before her) and he is absolutely powerless (what lightning can she summon chained up to a gutter? there is only so far her roars will reach, and they know to get out of range.)

I’m in my teen angst era rn and mako will in fact be enjoying the brunt of it. thanks for listening to my little rants and rambles :))

🐌

oh no way! i'm glad i could help you :P continuing beneath cut —

pressing the internal save button in my head on your thoughts on bending body horror. it's good. would eat hmm…

okay but when you translate it over to characters who make my brain turn,,, how did you know that it would intensify my opinions on the subject by 100x fdhkjghbdfjkshbjgdf personally i like mako & bolin to be not only internally fucked up, but also externally fucked up too!

ALSO I LOVE AZULA & MAKO PARALLELS. they are the two lightningbenders who looked at the concept of "lightning requires absence of emotion and peace of mind" and went yup, i'm going to dissociate the fuck out of life's collective traumas and use that to zap some shit up. there's this one edit somewhere out there on mako & azula doing the same feats in their respective shows which, if i were the type to engage in discourse, i would whip out to showcase that mako is not an incompetent firebender lol. but really — they're both firebender prodigies who were exploited and used by their respective mentors/figures of greater power. they both put on masks of feigned indifference because it's the sort of shit that enabled them to survive all these years in their vastly different but similarly dangerous environments. they're the pragmatists in comparison to their brothers and they do what it takes to reach where they must, with a learned apathy for those who get knocked down in the process.

so yeah! azula/mako parallels actually give me life, as do mako/katara parallels. (adding to the reasons as to why mako would've made a better girl, but i digress.)

ALSO mako paralleling shit azula said is actually so funny what i might have to casually incorporate that into the avatar!mako au sob dfjshkghjfdshjhhh

also jfc mako's breakdown would be brutal. that is not pretty shit. that would not be pretty. in fact it's so un-pretty that i think i'm going to write it (granted, maybe to a less explicit degree and without the whole dead bolin thing because it's canon compliant, but you bet your ass that rose beds & gasoline veins is going to delve into that deconstruction of everything mako's spent his entire life perceiving to be the point of his existence). anyway i love this au conceptually and you are so big brain for thinking it up. love your casual writing style too :)

until next time, snailon!