#the rest are either m/m or ambiguous

[flashhwing]

out of sheer curiosity, i narrowed down ao3's filters to exclude any PC ships (no warden/hawke/inquisitor) so here's the most popular NPC ships

i am judging a couple of these but i won't tell you which ones

also good to note that it's not just excluding the tags, this excludes any fics that include a PC ship, so this is like. purely about NPCs, and the numbers would be different if we were looking at sheer tag numbers. this is not perfectly gathered, unbiased research, basically

[pedgito]

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Five: Mr. Miller

Chapter Summary: Years later, you find yourself with choices that feel impossible. And of course, Joel Miller is there at the root of them. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (formerly), time jump, joel is a successfully published writer, reunions, drinking, semi-public sex in a bathroom, m!oral, unprotected piv, job proposals, ambiguous endings

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Word doesn’t travel, thankfully. It’s handled swiftly, quietly. Mostly be the discrepancies of Joel, who allows himself to take the full responsibility—for you, for him, and definitely not for Tess.

You’re not sure what expels in the office after you leave that night, other than the gradually rising voices of the troubled couple and Joel–he sounds tired, exasperated, done before Tess can get a word in edgewise. But, you don’t linger much longer.

Joel, however, can’t seem to grasp something to anchor him down, feeling himself slip into a quiet rage. Tess forces the ultimatum on him that night. Either he owns up to, tells her everything, or she would make the divorce hell. He knew she was capable of being vindictive, but he never thought it would be aimed at him. And he knew it all boiled down to him never forgiving her own undue and unjust actions. A bitterness that lingered, festered, and now that she had caught him in his own mess, like he had to her, it was too poetic for her to let things go.

Joel resigns a few weeks later, your interaction minimal—he doesn’t even speak directly to you anymore. He feels like he’s being watched, judged, under constant scrutiny. The reality was that no one knew what had transpired, but it felt louder than ever. The rest of the year is quiet and dull, but you manage.

And the months that follow, they’re fine. But, the spark you had for literature then, even if slightly skewed by Joel and his nefarious obsession with you, never really returns.

The divorce comes several months later for Joel—it isn’t quiet. It’s messy, it’s difficult. Despite his willingness to comply with Tess’s conditions over his pseudo-fling with you, she goes back on her word. Eventually though, he cuts his ties and moves on. And it shouldn’t freak him out that he sees your face in his mind every night after nearly a year of knowing you, but it’s the way he’s memorized every detail about you that paints itself in vivid pictures.

Eventually things get easier and you move on, but Joel can’t bring himself to forget.

He leaves a voicemail on the day of your graduation, a couple years passed, and he still knows—he memorized the day and even if it was without intention, he still feels the pull. To explain or apologize. Something.

He can’t explain why he’s so hung up on the moments he shared with you until the words begin to pour out. And you find yourself curled up on your bed the night of graduation, exhausted mentally, emotionally, physically—but then you see his name on your phone and you break.

You press play on the voicemail and place the phone on the bed.

‘I really…don’t know if you’ll even listen to this. I don’t expect you to, but I wanted to apologize. I manipulated a shitty situation to my advantage to forget my own problems. The shit going on within my own marriage. That wasn’t your fault…and you’re young. I shouldn’t have entertained it and I did. I liked the attention. The attention you gave me and it was wrong. If you ever want to…I don’t know, talk things out? I would like that, but I understand if you ignore this completely. I would too. A long, drawn out breath that delves into a sigh. Uh, congratulations on the graduation. I’m sorry this took so long for me to say. Yeah…anyways, goodbye.”

The abrupt ending is bittersweet, rolling your eyes at his tone. It’s clipped, void of emotion. He’s masking and you can hear it. It only pisses you off further, unable to believe the genuineness in his message or tone so no—you don’t give him the chance to talk it out. And Joel Miller fades from your mind from then on, a distant and bitter memory.

Three Years Later

Working at a local publication company in Austin was never the plan, but it was the fastest thing you could grasp after graduation and several failed internships later—and the money was decent. You had an apartment in the city, close to work, and an easier turnaround time when you needed to get something to the office on an emergency or whim.

You were a lower level employee, editing and working around the simpler marketing for author’s that—most of the time, you didn’t even know the name of. You were meant to take the brunt of the work before it was delivered to the actual team of publication for everything that they didn’t want to handle. Which often included lunch as well, daily, coffee orders every morning, and tasks that felt never ending.

But the one time you did receive a break was the publishing parties. Authors would throw a nice party for the team and a long, never-ending list of connections that led for it to be more of a schmoozy get together than anything.

You went for the alcohol, the food, and the entertainment.

Which, thankfully—they all proved to have a ton of.

So, it should be any other Friday when you walk into the bar downtown, filled to the brim with patrons and company people who were there in attendance and support of the author, who you still had yet to meet. You’d been working on the book for months now, getting small snippets of things to correct and proofread when you weren’t running around to fetch things, but sometimes the curiosity is really just too much.

You grab a drink first, sipping on the sweet mix of liquor and syrup as the people filter in and spread, conversing in a low hum that quickly divulges into a cheer as someone makes their way through the door. They’re muffled by the crowd, loud pats of congratulation and claps that aren’t entirely necessary—but everyone had been anticipating the book to be a best-seller in record time. A book of delicate poetry, beautiful and thoughtful. It was something that brought you back to a time long forgotten, sitting in your bed during your freshman year of college, flitting through the recommendations of a professor that had nearly disappeared off the face of the earth.

So, when your eyes land on Joel Miller as he pushes through the crowd, the pit in your stomach grows and swells to an unbearable size.

He’s different in every way but still inexplicably him—he seemed softer, relaxed. His hair was grown out and curling over his ears and down his forehead, curls tickling against his skin and he sported a full beard, more than he ever allowed himself while he worked as your professor the interim year he was there, patchy in places you don’t realize until he comes closer, still unaware of your presence.

You recognize the suit, though—he’s worn it a million times, week after week and it feels too overwhelming now, knowing you both had left things unfinished. 

Your intentions then weren’t the same as now and you’re almost positive he could say the same—even if you did keep your vindictive streak to get things you wanted, Joel was the only person who had managed to push you in a way that brought out that side of you.

You turn on your heels as a woman catches his attention, smiling brightly and too touchy to be considered a stranger, your back facing him now. You wave and smile at a few passing co-workers, also giving a small murmur of congratulations to Joel before you feel a hand on your back, half ready with your hand balled into a fist before you hear his voice over your shoulder.

It’s a soft whisper of your name, irreverent fondness in his tone, “How’s the open bar?”

He’s folding a jacket over his arm as he squeezes into the small space between you and another person, palm flattened out against the bar as he awaits your answer.

And for once, you don’t have anything to say. 

Your mouth opens once, twice, before quietly snapping shut.

Joel breaks out into a slight smile, “I saw your name on the guest list—I just thought I’d say hi.”

“I didn’t—” You take a shallow breath and press the half-empty glass against the surface, “I don’t usually know anything about who we’re working on publication for, if I had known…I just—”

His hand is a gentle press against your clothed arm, curling around your bicep, “Hey—no harm, no foul. Did you…like my book, at least?”

You chuckle softly, “Uh—yeah, of course. I think that goes without saying. I almost got fired for not providing enough notes when they asked, but I didn’t feel like anything needed to be changed.”

Joel smiles brighter, but his lack of response is palpable.

He nods, pointing at your drink, “Take advantage—seein’ as it’s paid for.”

And you feel the moment fleeing as he turns away for a brief moment and orders his own drink, thankful for the short moment of calm as he didn’t have to constantly talk shop, so your curiosity gets the better of you. You didn’t know when you would ever see him again now that he was standing in front of you—unfinished business and all.

“How are things?” You ask—it’s a vague question that without your past would seem harmless. But, Joel understands. He spots the worry in your brow where it creases subtly in the middle and he chews at his bottom lip, taking the drink that is slipped into his hand.

His ring finger is still bare and he raises the hand up, curled around the glass with eyes that peek over the rim, squinting at your playfully, feigning innocence. 

“Good,” He tells you when brings his drink down to his chest, “Uh—some roadblocks trying to get back into writing but…it’s been alright. And Tess, she’s—I don’t really know how she is but we also haven’t spoken in over two years. Last thing I heard was that she was getting engaged.”

Your eyes widen by the sudden influx of information, surprised by how forthright and open Joel was being, “Oh—that’s…good? For her, I guess.”

Joel chuckles softly and raises his eyebrows in response, agreeing with the uncertainty in your statement. You had grown so accustomed to his small quirks and body language that it was coming back to you in waves, like they had never left. But, the booming voice of a few men on the other side of the bar grab Joel’s attention and he looks slightly disturbed of his peace but offers a quiet apology before leaving you alone, left to process what the fuck was happening.

For someone you haven’t seen in a few years, it shouldn’t make you feel so at ease in their presence and you hate the way it lingers and aches the moment he leaves. The same push and pull that you felt so long ago, it’s overwhelming. 

You finish your drink quietly, watching the warm, orange sky morph into nightfall and you attempt to slink out quietly, having had your fill on alcohol and surprises for the night. And the activity in the bar had only ramped up more in the lingering time—but the fingers around your wrist stop you, stretching through the crowd as you spin slowly on your heels.

“Follow me?” Joel asks lowly in the space between you when you turn to him, difficult to hear under the roar of the crowd but he nudges his head in a far off direction and you nod, feet moving before your brain can process.

Joel yanks you gently into a small, unisex bathroom with a stall in the corner. It’s big enough that you can rest against an opposite wall while he presses up against the door, looking slightly flushed from the alcohol but calm—it’s strange seeing him now, outside of the setting of his work.

Also, time had passed and he’s grown and processed things in the interim.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask about you,” He begins—Joel had only wanted a quiet place to talk to you, bothered by the idea of you the entire night for more than a few reasons, but most importantly, he just needed to know, “how…things have really been?”

“I graduated, but I’m sure you know that,” You tell him, his gaze trailing down as he remembers the half-assed message and apology he left you, “got a job after way too many attempts and failing and I’m living in an apartment here in Austin, it’s a few blocks away from the publishing company. It’s not bad—I thought things would be easier. But… I can’t complain. I mean, I could—there’s really no point, though.”

Joel’s nostrils flair in amusement as his chest vibrates with a laugh, hands tucked behind him as he leaned against the surface, suit jacket having disappeared…somewhere. Now, it was the tight pull of his chest under his shirt, the gaps in his buttons covered by the long stretch of his tie.

You cross your arms gently, one leg hooking over the other as you lean the weight of your shoulder into the wall similarly, the cold breeze of the unheated bathroom brushing against your thighs and you were silently cursing yourself for wearing such a short skirt in the biting cold weather at the end of fall, rolling into winter with a force.

“I can see that hasn’t changed.” Joel comments slyly and you squint your eyes in his direction, wondering his angle. Truthfully, he didn’t have one. 

You roll your eyes momentarily, biting away the smile that creeps onto your face as you look away briefly, distracted by the buzzing, overly luminescent light above your head. The tension between you two had never left, that much was apparent. 

“So, how has single life been?” You ask, feeling silly at the way you word it, but given his openness to tease you so easily, you felt the need to do it back.

Joel begins with a subtle warning of your name that has you huffing out a laugh of indifference.

“What?” You say in playful defense, “It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer it.”

Joel shakes his head fondly, though the bitter memories begin to flood back.

“I’m not your student anymore,” You point out, “it’s not like you’re breaking any rules by talking to me. It’s been…years, Joel. I think we’re both different people by now.”

Were you? That was entirely debatable.

“It’s been fine.” Joel gives you as little detail as possible, which is a telltale sign that he was masking, but you can’t ignore the way his eyes drag over your figure even if for a brief second.

You nod in response, not pushing the topic any longer.

“So, what’s this about?”

Joel makes a small noise in question and you tilt your head accusingly, lips pursed into a sneaky smile.

“I was on my way out,” You tell him, “now I’m here—with you. So, what’s the deal?”

“I wanted to catch up,” Joel admits–though it’s mostly a lie, “is that a crime?”

“Mmm, but here’s the problem,” You counter him, “you’re not really doing much talking. You ask some lame, basic question to cover up whatever excuse you had to get me in here. Seriously, Joel—what’s up?”

Joel sighs, chin touching his chest as he stares at the floor, “Still so goddamn stubborn.”

It’s like a trigger, soles patting against the ground as you approach him. His gaze pulls up slowly, first at your feet, then your chest, until he lands on your face. Delicate fingers press against his chest, his arms falling to his side as you press in closer and trace your fingers upwards, brush against his jawline.

You grin at the way Joel swallows tensley under your gaze, opposite hand wrapping into the length of his tie and pulling him into you, pressing your lips against his without another thought.

This kiss was new, different. Like pressing lips against a stranger with a renewed interest, not entwined in the throes of his divorce and a shitty marriage that kept him tied down and riddled with guilt, he kisses back with a force, boring conversation long forgotten.

Deft fingers turn the lock silently, a faint click of recognition as Joel leads you toward the empty stall with roaming hands, coat brushed down your shoulders and draped over a nearby hand dryer as he huddles you into the small space and watches as you pull away briefly to lock it with a giddy smile, lip pulled between your teeth as the lock slips into place and he stares at you openly, an unhinged hunger behind his eyes that he attempted to keep it bay so long ago.

“I have an idea.” Your voice is creeping suspicion in Joel’s mind and he sees your smile soften, an undertone in the wait as your fingers stretch along the expanse of his neck, leaning into him fully as he presses against the opposite wall of the stall, faces only a few millimeters apart as you breathe into him, noses brushing gently.

“That sounds like trouble.” Joel admits, your eyes dilating under his gaze as your excitement reaches your eyes, skin wrinkling slightly at the corners as you laugh.

“I don’t know,” You reply airily, “I think you’ll like this one.”

Joel’s game, eyebrows raised in question as you descend slowly—for anyone else, offering up a blowjob on the floor of a shoddy, questionable bathroom, you’d immediately decline and foremost, wouldn’t even offer. But, this was Joel. 

The Joel that, despite years of time between his company, still culminated at the forefront of your mind all of the sudden. Fleeting memories, things that threatened to remind you of him, a bitter afterthought. But now, it was sweet—tangible and finally within reach. You were seizing the opportunity to close things out, even if you knew you would never see him again.

And damn his months of unintentional abstinence, Joel is unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants at an embarrassing speed with the assistance of your eager hands, instantly cradling your head as you wrestle with the few layers of fabric before his cock is heavy in your hands and hardening with even the minimalist of touch, his mouth hung open slightly as your tongue press flat against the underside of his cock, tracing along the jut of a vein that leads to his head, circling as you pull taut at his shaft and reacting openly to the tight squeeze he gives to your jaw, eyes falling shut with a gasp as he urges with silence for you to put him out of his misery and take his cock into your mouth.

Enough teasing. He knew you were both far beyond that.

There’s a lightness to your movements, inhibitions slightly skewed. You suck at his cock greedily, hollowing out your cheeks and allowing your hand to cover the length of his shaft that your mouth can’t reach and the hand that isn’t cradling your face is pressed against the stall door for leverage. There’s a crease in his forehead from how hard he’s scrunching his face up, willing himself to focus albeit how overwhelming you are in the moment and then you’re speaking to him, needy and soft.

“Look at me Joel,” You plead, tip brushing against your lips as you kiss the head and take him once more, bobbing your head slowly as he opens his eyes, and that familiar heat sets in his gaze, “there’s nothing to worry about this time—it’s just us.”

His hand is a soothing touch against your jaw, slowly trailing until his palm is cradling your head, “That’s—hm, that’s the problem. Don’t have much time.” Oh, right. This was his party after all.

“Riiiight,” You reply snarkily when you pull, feeling the gentle squeeze of his fingers against your neck as his hand settles there and rests, “guest of honor and all that, I suppose.”

Joel wasn’t letting you go that easy, though. He pushes you away gently and helps you rise to your feet, a slow progress of crowding you against the corner adjoining the stall door and the wall and his fingers slip under your skirt, digging into the supple skin of your thighs and he breathes, takes in your scent as he buries his face into your neck and he groans, so soft you almost don’t hear it. Almost.

 “You still like fucking college girls? Or was that a one time thing?” You tease, earning another less than gentle squeeze before his hand is traveling down your center and over the wet fabric of your panties, covered with your slick and you moan out—guilty, and he settles with pulling them to the side for quick access, dipping a finger inside of you and chuckling at how familiar it feels, walls squeezing around the digit and you huff, “Dirty old man, Mr. Miller.” 

“Just one. Annoying little brat that she is.” Joel admits, his stiff cock prodding at your thigh as he slips another finger inside of you, your grip tightening against the fabric stretched over his shoulders, head banging deftly against the surface behind you as you moan, “And just so we’re clear—don’t ever fucking call me that again.”

It never really fit him anyways.

“Got it.” You reply softly, staring at him half-lidded as his thumb brushes over your clit and he’s so close—right fucking there, dick pressed against your thigh but he won’t cross that line, not unless you ask. Luckily, you’re selfish even under a time crunch, “Joel—need it.”

“Need what, baby?” His breath is hot against your ear as he mouths at your skin sloppily, fingers leaving you empty as they rub collectively over your sensitive clit, “Such a beautiful way with words, let me hear you say it.”

“Fuck—” You breath rough, a sharp breath, “your cock, Joel. Want you inside of me.”

Fortunately, Joel’s never been more impatient as he pulls your thigh up and over his hip, his fingers holding the fabric of your panties to the side as he presses inside of you steadily, selfishly watching your reaction as he splits you open—a stark difference from the first time. He was disconnected, emotionless, trying to prove a point. But, this was so much more. 

It was everything he couldn’t say before.

“Stop—stop that,” You laugh softly, fingers gripping over the edge of the stall as he Joel fucks into you with sharp, precise thrusts. He was searching, determined that no time was wasted, but still admiring the catch of a gasp or moan in your throat every time he hit a particular spot inside of you that rendered you nearly speechless, “stop looking—at me like that.”

And Joel has the gull to smirk, lip pulling between his teeth as he angles you back and hikes your thigh up a fraction and that—oh, that was perfect and your grip slips and falls to his chest, wrinkling the fabric under your tight grasp as he leans in, lips pressed unmoving against your own as he thrusts into you wildly, the deafening sound of skin against skin and noises breathed into each other’s mouths.

“Touch yourself, baby,” He pleads and you thought the first time was a one off, a slip of the tongue in such a heated moment but it rings in your ears and warms your body with a faint buzz of adoration and allowed yourself to feel special and reserved only to him for that moment, “come with me?”

You reply with a shaky nod, feeling his hand guide yours between your bodies and settle over your cunt, rubbing over your clit in quick and determined circles as he spoke soft praises against your skin.

Good girl, sweet thing, look so pretty like this while you’re taking my cock.

And you’re hit with an immense rush of emotion as you come around him, his thrusts faltering in time with your cunt as you squeeze around him, “Fuck—I’m gonna come, gonna—” He pulls his hips back slightly but you’re reeling him back in with your heel, offering a small head shake.

Inside, you plead wordlessly.

It does him in—hand grazing over your breasts, tongue dipping into your mouth as he squeezes at the flesh and snaps his hips one last time, coming inside of you with a long, drawn out groan that precedes a long moment of silence as you both come down in synchronized breaths.

Joel hasn’t moved either, cock still buried inside of you but slowly softening.

“Work for me,” He says suddenly, head resting against the wall as he looks at you, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his fingers massaging the sore muscles in your thigh, “please?”

Your brow furrows tiredly, “What?”

“Come and work for me,” He asks once more, “I can offer you a job.”

“Joel, that’s—”

You whine softly at the loss of him as he slips out of you, but silently thankful for your achy muscles—and you think Joel will leave it at that, but he’s taking your face between his hands, urging you to look at him, “Look at me and tell me you’re happy there.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and look back at him, the words perched on your tongue.

You couldn’t lie to him. Not about this.

“I saw your name weeks ago—” Joel removes his hands and redresses slowly, watching as you adjust yourself to a more presentable manner, despite the feeling of his cum dampening your panties even more than they were before, “thought I was fuckin’ hallucinating.”

Still, you’re not sure where it’s coming from. Three years of silence and now this, his cum dripping down your legs and a proposition that sounds far too good to be true.

“I need an assistant,” He admits, “Someone to help me keep track of all this shit. Everyone I’ve hired, it just doesn’t stick.

You unlock the door behind your back and file out, watching Joel stuff his shirt back into his pants with a little too much force, shifting from heel to heel as he walks, “So, you’re desperate? And you thought fucking me would help your chances?”

You’re teasing him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Immediately, his head snaps up, eyes full of concern that you misconstrued his intentions and he knows he’s fucked up again—again. He fucks up everything.

“I’m fucking with you.” You crack a gentle smile and his hammering heart slows.

“I need someone who won’t bullshit me about my writing,” Joel tells you, “real—honest feedback. Someone that knows me.”

Your hands fall behind your back, fingers interlocking as you step toward him again, playfully kicking your foot out at him, “So, the whole blind worship thing, kissing ass—it’s not for you? Because…that can be arranged too, I don’t mind.”

He says your name in warning and you pull back with a soft laugh, “I can give you a bigger picture tomorrow, after…all this. We can work things out. You can sign an official contract. I’m not trying to play you on this.”

And maybe history was repeating itself, something Joel refused to acknowledge.

“Isn’t that what got us into this mess?” You ask, allowing Joel to adjust the flap of your jacket over your chest as you slip it back onto your body, “Teacher…student…boss…”

You don’t have to fill in the rest. Joel’s pointer finger trails up the center of your chest, nudging at your chin and pulling your attention in, lips parted slightly.

“I can keep things professional,” Joel lies, “can you?”

You mouth a silent no as you shake your head and his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to write a few stipulations into the agreement.”

“I never said I agreed,” You retorted playfully, “did I?”

“Suppose I’ve got a bit of convincing to do then,” Joel smirks, “—is your number still the same?”

You shrug innocently—of course it was and truthfully, Joel never had the thought to delete it. Letting it gather dust in his contacts, finger hovering over it from time to time. Wondering.

“You still have my email,” Joel laughs at that, barely, cracking a gentle smile, “send me the details—I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”

“And if there’s any way I can sweeten that interest—”

You lean in mockingly, eyes looking over his facial expression, clearly amused with himself as your nose brushes against each other and you speak into the quiet space between you both.

“Keep it in your pants, alright? I’ll consider it.”

Joel couldn’t let you slip through his fingers, not again.

But, you knew you were doomed from the moment he set eyes on you.

[steviewashere]

Love, Rest Your Head

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Canon Typical Injuries Tags: Pre-Season 4, Aftermath of Starcourt Mall, Aftermath of Torture, Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve Harrington, Major Character Injury, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Mentions of Vomiting, Self Sacrificing Steve Harrington, Mentions of Major Character Death (In Reference to Hopper), Foreshadowing, Ambiguous Ending

💕—————💕 The news was pure devastation. Overhead shots of the Starcourt Mall burning. Flames engulfing the building on all sides, swallowing it up until it sat a collapsed, ashen mess. There was no structure. No semblance to any kind of store that was inside. Just dust. Blackened walls. Melted floor tiles.

Eddie sat on the edge of the couch cushion, left hand tucked harshly under his thigh, chomping down on his right hand’s fingernails. There was a metallic tang on his tongue, but he couldn’t get himself to stop. Not even when the raw, exposed parts of his skin bared themself as a tender ache in his mouth’s warmth. Nothing could stop him. In between bites, there were moments where he was holding his breath. Gasping for it when push eventually came to shove. At least it was air he was choking on, not bile.

His uncle was stoic in his recliner in the corner. Until, with the quietest and gruffest voice Eddie’s ever heard, Wayne said, “Your boy. He’s in the parking lot. Has to be.”

“What if he isn’t?” Eddie barely mustered. “What if—What if he’s not there in the parking lot with all those ambulances? What if Steve’s stuck in the debris and he can’t get out and nobody can hear him and then he doesn’t come home and I never—“ He was back to choking on his breath. Sipping at the smallest pockets of air he could manage.

Wayne didn’t answer. The promises that could be made in this moment, every single one of them could be a fallacy.

Then, the news reporter read out those who suffered in the fire. That crisped with the building. Ones that couldn’t be recovered. Ones that were found, yet only identifiable by the licenses in their pockets.

Jenna Kinling Parker Smith Tony Roberts Billy Hargrove…

Eddie bit his fingers harder at that last name. Maybe they didn’t run in the same circles or maybe they weren’t friends. But Billy was still a young dude. He had a life ahead of him. They had classes together. What if…What if…What if, rings loudly in Eddie’s head.

Except, Steve isn’t listed. Neither is his new friend, Robin. They aren’t…They weren’t found in the rubble. They weren’t believed to be in it either. And, as if on cue, the trailer’s phone begins to ring. Eddie is up and out of his seat before he has a chance to miss a single ring.

“Munson residence, Eddie speaking,” he answers hastily.

On the other end is the wet, nasally, raspy breathing of another person. The deeper the breaths, the more he can make out it’s somebody masculine. Their intakes are interrupted by small sniffles. Short bursting whimpers that come from sure pain, not pleasure.

“Hello?” Eddie speaks quietly.

The person gasps. Sobbing around the words, “Eddie…Eddie, I need help.” Steve.

“I’ll help, sweetheart,” he promises immediately. “What do you need? I—Uncle Wayne is here, too. We can help. We can—“

“‘M at the mall. And it’s all charred and…and gone. And I think I—I left your birthday present in Scoops and I’m sorry that I—My head hurts, Eds. It hurts and I’m bleeding and the paramed—they think…Billy’s dead and I watched him die and it scared me and—I don’t like him, I don’t like him at all but he looked sad and he looked…He’s dead, Eddie. I watched somebody die, Eddie,” Steve rambles. His words are heavily slurred. Barely breaking by his breath. Almost swirled by puke. 

Before Eddie has the chance to interrupt, Steve is continuing. “I protected Robin from getting hurt,” he says seriously, gravely. But his next words are tiny, as if Eddie was listening to a child, not his eighteen year old boyfriend. “You’re going to be mad at me.”

“Why?” He asks. Shakes his head though, and asks instead, “Where should I pick you up? Does Robin have a ride home?”

“I got beat up again,” Steve barrels on. “’T’s really bad, Eds. Everything is ringing. Makin’ me nauseous.” His breaths grow heavier as if he’s ready to retch on his sneakers.

Eddie prepares himself to hear it all, because he knows it’ll happen. Knows it like the back of his hand, unfortunately. From how many other times Steve’s been concussed. Yet, he doesn’t care, saying, “I’ll take care of you here at home, but I need you to tell me where I need to pick you up. Does Robin need a ride?”

Steve mumbles, “She already left. Hugged her and everythin’. Rob—Robin’s safe. I protected her from getting hurt. They were going to hurt her, Eds. It would’ve been my fault for getting her involved.”

The words crawl under Eddie’s skin like spiders. He wants to scratch at himself, get them out of his head. Get away from how small each word is that comes from Steve’s mouth. He wants to find out who ‘They’ are and kill them. Wants to rip this world apart for making Steve sound so…horrified. But he just calmly asks, “Where are you, Steve? Where at the mall are you?”

“Front,” Steve mutters, “at the payphone. The one with all the gum on the back. It’s gross, Eds. I feel gross. Smell like—I’m sorry.”

Eddie just swallows harshly. Doesn’t know why Steve’s apologizing. But he’s scared shitless, that’s for sure. He grabs for his car keys on the dining table. “I’m going to hang up, Stevie. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

The last thing he hears is Steve coughing and retching up his lungs. Spiders work their way into his veins.

——— Sure enough, Steve’s by the payphone. Sitting with his knees up to his chest. Leaning against the thin pole of the phone. Inches away from whatever lunch he had last. Doesn’t look like much. Eddie just thought Steve was busy with work and relaxing at home. Though…Eddie’s starting to piece together that maybe Steve never left work. Like he’s been here way too long.

Steve shivers where he grasps to himself and Eddie approaches with great caution.

He crouches down to Steve’s level, keeps his hands to himself, and speaks softly. “Steve, it’s Eddie. I brought you a jacket. And some water. I’ve got crackers. You ready to go home?”

With his one good eye, Steve looks to him. Blood caked around his nose and mouth and chin. Eyebrow split, though covered with a butterfly bandage. His left eye is swollen shut and a deep, concerning purple. A part of Eddie almost wants to ask who left Steve here like this. To sit by himself and hold to his elbows. But, a stronger part of him cares too much about making sure Steve gets home.

Slowly, Steve reaches out his right hand and grasps at Eddie’s left wrist. Thumb harsh over his pulse point. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Without any fanfare or warning, Steve’s eyes fill with tears. Streaming down his face in sluggish lines. “I was stupid and got in trouble again and now I’m all…I’m all broken and ugly and I smell really bad and you’re gonna have to stay awake with me because I’m not allowed to sleep and I—“

“Baby,” Eddie whispers lowly, “Steve, I’m just glad that you’re alive. I’d rather look after you all beaten up and bloody than…Well, y’know.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Steve meekly asks.

“Do you want me to be mad at you?”

With great force, Steve shakes his head. Hissing and hiccuping at the pain that surges through him. “It hurts so bad,” he whimpers. “I just—They were going to hurt Robin and—and the kids. I couldn’t let them do that and now I—“

Eddie gently shushes him. “You don’t need to explain yourself right now, okay, sweetheart? We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”

“What if I never talk about it?”

He shrugs. Wraps his free hand over Steve’s where it still grips him. “Then you don’t talk about it,” he whispers. “Let me take you home, though? Give you the food and water I brought. Warm you up and change your clothes. Can clean your face,” Eddie lists. He cups the injured side of Steve’s face with a tentative hand, barely touching his swollen skin. “Clean this all up and brush your hair. Let you sleep.”

“I can’t sleep for long,” Steve reminds him.

“Wake you up every few hours, that’s fine. I don’t have school tomorrow, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“‘M’kay,” Steve agrees quietly. He’s drooping in Eddie’s hold. Exhaustion quickly swamping him. “Sorry if I throw up in the car.”

Eddie gently hefts them up off the ground, leads them towards the van, and gets Steve situated in his passenger seat. He murmurs, as he buckles Steve in, “I can clean up. But I’ll leave the window rolled down. I’ll drive slow. Do you want the jacket?”

Steve shakes his head softly. His eyes are closed and the rest of him is very still to his seat. As if moving anything physically pains him. It probably does, based on what Eddie’s able to see. “I don’t want to be reminded of the heat,” he state quietly.

“Okay,” Eddie whispers. He leans up into Steve’s space, presses a short kiss to his temple, and cranks the passenger window down. “Just lean towards the window a little. Rest. I’ve got you, baby.”

The car ride is incredibly slow, it makes Eddie antsy. But out of the corner of his eye, he notices Steve tensing at every gradual rumble and deep pothole. It makes Eddie want to just get out and push the van. He slides a hand off of the steering wheel and goes to grab Steve’s left wrist, but he jolts away. Head colliding solidly with the window frame.

“Don’t,” Steve bites. “Don’t touch me there,” he whispers.

Eddie swallows down the sudden rise of bile in his throat. “Okay, Steve,” he murmurs right back. “Do you…you need me to pull off for a second? Give you a break from the bumpy road?” Steve gives a slow and tentative nod.

He pulls to the shoulder, parks in silence, and just sits in the driver’s seat. Face forward, eyeing beyond the windshield. He’d turn on the radio, try to fill the gap between their bodies, but knows that the noise would be too much. Instead, he listens in on Steve’s audible deep breaths. Like he’s trying to ground himself to the carseat or maybe veer away from puking out the window. Eddie wants to touch and soothe, like he normally would during Steve’s concussions. But…he can’t. There are tears percolating in the corners of his eyes.

“You need water?” Eddie quietly asks.

“Please,” Steve mutters lowly. His voice is crackling and snotty wet.

Eddie moves slowly between the front seats, grabs an unopened bottle of water, and uncaps it. He leans across the center console to find a straw in the glove box. Plops it in the bottle and offers it up for Steve to take. “Slow sips,” Eddie states, “don’t need to make yourself sicker.” Steve angles his body away from the window, leans forward slightly, and takes the straw between his lips. Each swallow of water looks like he’s trying to consume rocks. His tongue working slowly, hesitantly against the straw. Testing it. “You’re doing a good job,” Eddie can only praise.

When Steve pops off the straw, it’s with a gasping breath. Catching and falling and catching again. He lolls his head on the seat, looking over to Eddie. Chest moving up and down with shallow, croaking shakes of air. “We can go,” he rasps, “I wanna sleep.”

The water bottle goes to the cup holders. And Eddie does what he’s told. Crawling slowly back home. Taking small pauses to check in with Steve, help him drink water, nibble on some crackers, rub his back when he hurls out the car window.

But when they make it back home, they move in complete and utter silence. Through the front door and to the couch. Wayne ogles the two of them, fear present in his eyes. His mouth hangs open, suckled dry of all words he could ever think to say. Eddie makes him grab a bowl of warm water and a rag.

And they just exist in silence.

In fear, Eddie now realizes, of whatever happened to Steve.

Because they’re not stupid. This wasn’t a fire. There was something else. Something more…disastrous. Dastardly. But Eddie places the bowl on the coffee table, sits on Steve’s right on the cushions, and turns them towards each other.

“Alright, I’ve gotta clean the blood off of your face, Stevie,” he encroaches their silence. “I’m going to be really careful. I’ll go slow. But I need you to tell me when you need a break, okay?” Steve blinks groggily at him. His eyes are dilated beyond belief. Eddie’s nauseous just looking at them. These aren’t the eyes he fell in love with.

These eyes are like terror in existential form.

Steve nods, though. He places a shaking hand on Eddie’s left knee. Doesn’t tighten it, doesn’t pet the fabric under his hand, just rests it there. As if he’s searching for an anchor.

Eddie wets the wash rag with the warm water. Raises it to Steve’s chin. “If this hurts, you need to tell me. Here we go.” The rag stains pink and crimson as soon as it touches Steve’s skin. He hates how hard he has to press just to work the blood off, but it’s dried to him. It’s coming off in flakes, Eddie sees the particles fall to Steve’s dirtied uniform. As he works the rag over Steve’s face, he can’t help but notice how stained and red the uniform is, too.

It used to be something Eddie could tease Steve about. Be flirtatious and saucy about it. Talk about stupid things with. Make dumb fantasies and see if Steve will play into them. But looking at it now only makes Eddie’s chest hurt. Makes his stomach turn uneasily. Shrivels something inside of him that will never live again. But he’ll get Steve into his clothes. Get him comfortable. Maybe he’ll burn the uniform when Steve isn’t looking. Rid of it like a demon needing to be expelled.

The last bit of the blood finally comes away, flaking from Steve’s nostrils to the washcloth. Eddie places it back in the pink tinted water. And then he looks back. At Steve’s child like eyes. And his split lip. The plum like bruise around his left eye.

Eddie’s never had homicidal thoughts, but today might just be the eye opener for him.

But he continues to be gentle. Offering, “Let’s get you some of my clothes. I’ll wash your hair in the bathroom sink. Then, you can rest.” Steve just nods, allows Eddie to pull him along to the bedroom, and change him out of his clothes. Ignores the slight bruising on his ribs, where he most likely struggled or fell. Tries to not think about the red, twisting lines across Steve’s chest, arms, and wrists from where he’d been tied. Just covers Steve back up in reds and blacks and soft things. And, while Steve is looking away, throws the Scoops uniform away in a nearby waste basket.

Washing his hair is no struggle. Steve goes listless and quiet when Eddie scrubs at his scalp, carefully detangles knots that were glued together by sticky blood. He barely blinks as he watches Eddie move and go through his hair washing routine. Doesn’t protest any of what Eddie chooses to do—even when he puts too much conditioner in the ends of his hair or doesn’t do two wash throughs with the shampoo, even if he uses a hair dryer instead of a towel. Allows him, which Eddie finds a little odd. He has an inkling, though, that it may just be the gentle touch that Steve doesn’t want to mitigate.

When they’re back in bed, Eddie lays flat on the mattress. Putting space between their two bodies. His alarm is set for three hours from now, where he’ll wake Steve up and make sure his concussion symptoms either are stagnant or lessening. But for now, he just stays put. Eyes up at his ceiling, stomach turning and knotting at whatever happened today.

Whatever happened almost doesn’t matter, knowing Steve made it out alive.

But there’s a haunting to him that Eddie can’t ignore.

Right when he thinks Steve is asleep and goes to close his own eyes, does he hear the smallest of statements.

“Hopper died, too,” Steve murmurs.

“No…”

Steve nods sagely against his pillow. “Heard about it through some of the kids I babysit. Guess he…Guess I wasn’t the only one to make a sacrifice.” Eddie hears him shift, coming closer. His body warmth radiating and tight against his rigid body. There’s a hesitant palm that slithers and sits on Eddie’s chest. Where his heart beats rabidly. “Could…Could’a been me.”

Eddie places his own hand over the back of Steve’s. Presses them together firmly. His chest caving with the push. “Don’t say that,” he harshly whispers. “Don’t…Steve, I thought it was going to be you. Please don’t say that.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just…That’s the only thing I could think of before you got me. How I—I almost didn’t get to see you again.”

“At least you’re with me now, right? I’m just glad that you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. “I just wish I could bring myself to tell you what happened.”

“Don’t need to do that, Steve. Just rest up and get better for me, alright?”

Steve shuffles closer. His head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. He nods. “Thank you. I love you,” he sleepily murmurs.

Eddie wraps an arm around his back and squeezes him tightly. “I love you, too, love bug. Get some sleep and I’ll check on you in a bit.”

The snores are a comfort after tonight.

——— And when he looks Steve in the eyes, mere seconds before he leaves for Vecna, Eddie understands the harrowing sacrificial fear. He’ll be the one to protect Steve now. “Make him pay,” he says. But he knows, reflected in Steve’s eyes, that there is finality in his stare. His stomach turns and his hands shake, but damnit, he’ll make sure that Steve won’t be the one drowning in blood this time.

He hopes to hear snores against his shoulder tomorrow night.

If night comes.

💕—————💕

[vamphorica]

How would a female Mello, matt, and Near be?

absolutely wonderful question, anon, thank you so much. if you've been on my blog for any length of time, it is probably not surprising that i've given this a lot of thought and, putting aside my intricate transgender speculations for the time being, let's gender swap the wammy's creatures, and consider how that could impact their narratives within death note.

note: i will still be referring to all three using he/him pronouns, but this is not intended to be intentionally contrary. feel free to substitute whatever pronouns your heart desires throughout.

♀ mello -> mihaela may be a little bit obvious, haha, but if mihael is a croatian name that means 'who is like god', and we need to retain the letter 'm' for obvious reasons, i think it works well as a feminine alternative name. mello is relatively androgynous as an alias, if not slightly masculine, but i think it is fine given what i'm about to talk about.

mello's canonical gender expression is already nonconformative, so it is interesting to speculate what he would he look like if he were a girl. one of my absolute favourite genderbent depictions of mello is this piece by thekatzone because it still retains mello's visual ambiguity but in the opposite direction. i do think he would dress more masculine as a woman not only because his subversive appearance is a very significant aspect to his character, but also because of how it might relate to his position in the mafia.

mello spends a significant amount of time in the manga and anime in hypermasculine environments despite his presentation, and i think it is important to retain this idea even if he were to be genderbent. i do think mello would have had a much harder time, if it was at all possible, in attaining a leadership position within the mafia as a woman. the women who frequent the base are implied to be sex workers, and so i'm genuinely curious as to whether mello would have felt able to approach the organisation as a masculine presenting woman, or whether he'd seek out a different group. in which case, what would that group be? would he have been able to effectively carry out his insane plans in the same capacity?

i have very little doubt mello would still have been ambitious, but i actually don't think that he would have been able to pursue his goal to catch kira before near as he went about it in the series. certainly light would not have taken him seriously if the voice he heard down the phone was higher pitched, and that alone could have greatly impacted how sayu's kidnapping played out, as underestimating mello could have easily resulted in her death.

♀ matt -> apparently mail as a name means 'pleasant', and that is very funny to me. i quite like the name maille, which is irish, so fits nicely with a vague headcanon i haven't fully developed. i also learnt it is the name for a brand of mustard, and i think he would appreciate that. matt as a pseudonym might have to be changed to matilda, or martha.

while i am under no illusion that matt would be the kind of girl to give a shit about their appearance, i do think in another life, he would have made an excellent e-girl twitch streamer. i can imagine him wearing cat ear headphones and miniskirts, and referring to "chat" every five seconds. rest in peace, mail, you would have loved twitch subs.

regarding matt's gender identity in the canon series, i think that it worth considering how he might have responded differently to surveying others as a woman rather than as a man. i think matt's approach to watching others is very informed by his own personal biases, which I think are definitively masculine. The most clear example of this is how he describes misa as "an awfully cute japanese girl" which, while isn't necessarily the worst thing said about a woman in this godforsaken series, demonstrates that matt's perspective on women is superficial at best. this isn't helped either by the fact that he completely fucks up when guessing misa's age, even going so far as referring to her as a "child".

i think a female matt would probably feel the most overwhelmed of the three by societal expectations of women, and may even distance himself away from femininity. i'm not trying to suggest here that matt's comments imply he's misogynistic, but i actually think matt is the most masculine of the wammy's kids, which may be controversial, i don't know. i believe that he retains his masculine personality in this genderbent scenario.

♀ near -> i love the japanese pronunciation of near's name, nia, as a girl's name that he could use as an alias. natania has the same meaning as nate – 'gift of god' – which does not match his character at all, haha, but that is what i managed to come up with.

near is the easiest to consider gender swapping because to me, he's a girl anyway. you can point to his female voice actors in the anime, or his long hair in the 2020 manga one-shot, but he is also so clearly coded as a feminine character, a contrast from not only mello's aggressive impulsivity, but the masculine environment of law enforcement. with halle as a notable exception (who herself is very masculine, but another post, perhaps), near is markedly different from every other character in the series. some might say he resembles his predecessor, but i think they are very distinct from one another as characters.

my personal opinion relating to mello and near's gender identities (which you may disagree with) is that mello expresses his gender ambiguity externally whereas near does so internally. essentially, if we interpret them both as androgynous, mello's appearance is far more expressive of this, whereas near's behaviour is his more nonconformative trait. this can be a slightly tricky area to navigate as it's important not to dive headfirst into gender essentialism, but i think near's mannerisms can, and should, be explored here.

girl near would still be able to work as head of the spk, without the disadvantages girl mello would face to become head of the mafia. i really don't think there would be much in the way of significant plot deviance if near was female, other than maybe light freaking out over the fact he was caught by a woman, which would be very funny. in the one shot, near's internal androgyny has manifested itself as a more external expression, and i really like that decision.

to conclude, i do love the concept of the wammy's girls, and i think it invites some interesting discussions relating to how femininity is often dismissed in death note. there's a lot of creativity in genderbending characters. mello, matt and near each have complex and interesting traits that are very fun to explore when thinking about them from this perspective.

[ritualofcirice]

Fragile - Handle With Care (Vox x Reader)

🐑 ♡ Thank you to my darling beta, Oak, for going over this for me! Love you ♡ 🐑

For Vox, things like returning to the privacy of his room are never as simple as they should be.

Mature, No Warnings, F/M, M/M, Other/M, Tag(s): Abusive Relationships, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fluff, Silly, Established Relationship, Fort Building, Lots and lots of bubble wrap, Oneshot, Ambiguous Gender Reader, POV Second Person, Character POV

Find it on ao3 ♡ WC: 3,427

This story exists because I was looking at unusual date ideas, and I skipped ahead after reading 'forty' (fort in my head) to bubble wrap. Bubble wrap fort. It seemed like exactly the kind of thing Vox needs.

Somedays he would wake up and that prick named Valentino would be mid hissy fit. It left Vox to question whether Valentino had let himself into the room or if he had stayed the night prior in a drunken stupor he couldn’t remember. Either way, it was a headache.

He couldn’t stand waking up to that noise.

Somedays, however, he would wake up and that prick named Valentino would launch something across the room in his tantrum.

Unfortunately for Vox, it had been one of those mornings. There had been no time for him to process what was happening. He’d lifted his head, groggy from sleep, to squint at the angry red blob doing interpretive dance in the wrong fucking room. Since there was no time for him to adjust his vision, there had definitely been no time for him to see the glass hurtling towards him at the speed of light.

A sharp static whine and the fizzle of exposed electronics erupted from his screen upon contact. Vox might have heard the glass shatter too if it weren’t for a malfunction in his circuitry, but he felt it. He felt every second of that headache while he forced Valentino out of his room and contacted his assistant to organise a repair as soon as possible.

What a fucking day.

He didn’t want to dwell on the rest of it either. When the time came for him to think about dragging himself into that penthouse suite, he’d been through a lot.

Valentino’s improvised publicity stunt had gone down exactly as both he and Velvette had warned. The damage control on that was ongoing, and Vox had told a select few individuals to continue to monitor the situation overnight.

Velvette had lost her mind after that. Suddenly it was his problem that Valentino was ‘off the leash’. Gee - it was like he didn’t already know the implications of Valentino’s actions and the way it would destroy their public image. She heard him try to talk sense into Valentino. So how was it his fault? The last thing he wanted to do for that whiny asshole was fluff his pillows and tuck him into bed all nice and calm.

Then there was you. Oh boy. He hadn’t even thought about you until it was too late. The soft glow of the elevator’s operating panel counted down the floors until he got to see your gorgeous, unwelcome face.

Any other day he would have seen you, any fucking one of them.

Vox tapped the tip of his thumb against each of his fingers one at a time, claw to claw. “Just go in and say hi sweetie, love to see you here, but you’ve got to go. Rough day, you know how it is.”

That was it. He could ask you to leave. It wasn’t like your arrangement was set in stone.

“No, no, nothing you need to worry about - I’ll have my assistant see you out. We can catch up over dinner. This weekend? Leave the arrangements to me. Bye, darling.” Vox continued his little roleplay, putting his soul into it. He needed that smile to be genuine.

The number on the control panel stopped its fickle display, and everything came to a grinding halt.

Yeah, he had it. He was so ready to give it his best performance.

And then he saw his room.

“What the fuck.” The words escaped him before he could stop them. “I mean, darling, I can see you’ve been busy.” Vox forced himself to move from the elevator, closer to the unidentified structure in his room. “Very, very busy.”

A monolith of bubble wrap stood proud above both of your heads. Around it, he counted three industrial sized rolls of wrap carpeting the floor. Each one came complete with a hellish trail of clippings, scrunched up balls, and discarded parts that made his screen glitch. There were at least a dozen empty rolls of duct tape to go along with the mess.

That wasn’t counting the packs of fresh tape.

You were front and centre in the chaos, and your back remained turned to him. He spied the headphones and debated his next move. There was no way he was going to approach you either. You wielded a pair of scissors like a homicidal maniac.

So he just watched at a respectable distance. There was no need to get close to you as you pulled the scissors back. The whole structure shook with a bang when you slammed them into the wall of bubble wrap.

With the amount of force behind it, you had pushed even parts of the handle through, and a curse fell from your lips. You whipped your hand away, shook it, then inspected your knuckles for any damage.

All the while, you were oblivious to him.

Vox secured a connection to your headphones and winced as music sprung to life in his head. Pop. Upbeat, easy, and popular as the name abbreviated. It was tacky, but he preferred it to some of the other genres you listened to.

♪ I got my hands all ready to touch your soul I'm gonna get the energy to wire me close to you Got my eyes on the prize I see Are you watching me, baby- ♪

That was enough of that.

You left the scissors wedged in the bubble wrap, attention redirected. In one smooth motion, you turned to scan the floor and launched yourself a good few steps across it with a squeak.

“Vox!” you exclaimed as you caught your balance. A string of breathless murmurs followed while you straightened yourself out. Two hands skimmed over the top of your head, and you took in a deep breath.

Then you let a hand fall to your hips. A single finger pointed towards the structure.

“You have no idea how long this has taken me.” He could make an educated guess. “I underestimated it so bad. Do you know how difficult it is to get bubble wrap to stand up by itself? It is crazy.”

He hated the way you studied him from where you stood. You had a bad habit of doing that, trying to analyse every ounce of information you could gather from him. Everytime, you read him like a book.

“Sorry, Vox.” You passed a cursory look back to your knuckles as you began to walk towards him. Every fiber of his being focused on you when you adopted a sultry tone. Closer. He couldn’t cope with the amount of shit you were putting him through mentally.

“It was going to be a nice surprise for when you got back. I heard you had a rough one.” Fingers traced the corner of his screen, but they never settled.

“Oh, it was nothing I can’t handle, you know how it’s like. Nothing I can’t handle,” Vox began, biting back the agitation at how he had repeated himself. “So let me get this straight. You mean to tell me you heard I had a rough day, and you built me a house. Inside of my room. Just because.” After he ran it by you, you nodded.

“It’s your third time getting your screen repaired this week, right?” you mused. “Try breaking your screen in there. You’ll be invincible.”

“I’m sure I could manage it.”

“And I’m sure you’d give it a good go,” you said. “Anyway, I’m happy to see you in one piece. Thanks for letting me come over tonight, I needed the break.”

You were animated in an instant, and Vox begruded the fact that you didn’t stay to welcome him better. Nor did he tell you to leave. All that preparation was for nothing as he was guided around the massive structure instead. A ladder stood by one of the sides you took him around, and he guessed that even Valentino would have been able to go inside without hunching from the sheer size of the thing.

“And here’s the front door,” you exclaimed upon reaching the gaping hole in the side of the tower.

There wasn’t even a wall.

Vox’s attention followed a set of fairy lights to where a wire hung down and dropped to the floor. Said wire was in the path of the scissors you had stabbed into the structure, resting on top of the silver blades. It trailed to an extension cord where it was plugged in. Its cords were tangled with three others into an indecipherable knot. At least he knew what they led to.

One led to a TV on a coffee table. The other led to a kettle. The last was your phone charger - phone attached.

“It’s a nightmare, I know. When it’s finished though I was thinking-” you stopped when you saw the position of the scissors and the wire. “Oh, yeah. That’s not good. I’m just going to push these back through, one sec.” The scissors clattered to the floor on the other side.

“Right, where was I? So, I’m thinking I doll it up a bit more, get some windows in, grab your duvet and some pillows. I brought some blankets with me too, they’re on your bed. I wrapped one of your decanters and a couple of glasses so we can have drinks inside-” you continued to ramble, telling him how you could set up a TV outside of the structure. Whatever he wanted, you were happy to provide. Then you could both relax in the fortress.

That was what you called it. The bubble wrap fortress.

What a fucking day, indeed.

Vox’s hand slithered around his neck while he eyed the nightmarish cable management once more. Your words became the background audio to the thoughts that started to overwhelm his already inundated system. It was hard not to look at the mess of blatant disregard for both organisation and fire safety without it consuming him.

How long had you been with him?

Long enough to know how to handle a few wires.

There was no way he could ignore it.

“Doll, do me a favour and pull down the lights.” Vox made a vague gesture in the direction of the bubble wrap fortress. Meanwhile, he took himself to the plug socket and unplugged all the leads. He felt the cord attached to the lights tug in his hand then fall slack as you placed the lights on the ground. It made it easier for him to untangle everything, and that way you could put them back up later to mitigate any scissor related incidents.

When Vox turned to see where you were, he found you gone. The scrape of scissors and sudden squeak of abused bubble wrap told him you had taken up your previous task though.

He rolled up his sleeves, his attention back on the chords. “Your idea for the bed is great and all, but the ground is a bit too hard to sleep on,” Vox said while he worked.

You let out a hum at this. There was a lilt in your tone, though it was impossible to tell whether you were thinking about what he said or humming in agreement. When you fell into silence, save for the occasional pop of a bubble, he just assumed you agreed.

“We could move your bed into it.” Your suggestion had Vox stumped. “Mind you it's probably too heavy to shift…”

“What about the mattress?” Vox replied idly, his fingers nimbly unpicking the nasty tangle of wire. Your enthusiasm left him smiling as you let out an audible ‘oh’. He didn’t have to see your face to watch it light up. That expression was burnt into his memory for him to replay.

“Good idea honey, that solves that problem then. You’re the best. That could have been some nasty backache tomorrow.”

“I strive for greatness.” Vox replied under his breath, and more ideas were thrown between the pair of you as time drew on.

Windows were added to the fortress. Curtains soon followed, and the lights were reinstalled along the seam of the interior where the wall met the ceiling.

“On the count of three,” you began. Vox tightened his grip on the handles of the mattress, a quick squeeze reassuring him he had a good hold. “One. Two. Three!” The mattress sagged in the centre where it continued to fight back despite being hoisted into the air.

Vox noted the way you grit your teeth, expression focused and unblinking as you moved the behemoth of a glorified cushion. No words were shared until you placed it down inside the fortress. Your joyous comment about how easy it was overshadowed by the way your words were formed on thin whisps of breath.

He tried to calculate how much energy you must have exhausted setting up the fortress. You seemed slow to lift your arms when you spoke. Your steps weren’t staggered, but you walked in a heavy footed way that screamed tired. Yet you pushed through it all.

So he did too.

Maybe it was the competitive streak in him. He hadn’t kicked you out yet though, even if he had prepared to do that the moment he saw you. Then like you usually did, you sort of bamboozled him with your nonsense until he couldn’t think straight and he was stuck for the ride.

Still, no amount of good will could shake the frustration he felt at the day.

Vox took himself to a roll of the bubble wrap and cut himself a section. He let himself focus on the task. Cutting everything out was theraputic in a way. Five ‘v’ shapes later, and he had both layered on top of each other and duct taped together. It made for a decently thick letter. Then he moved onto ‘o’.

All the while, you continued to set up the inside of the fortress. Neither of you spoke for a while, and the only sounds that permeated the air was the rip of duct tape, the shuffling of your feet, and the click of various buttons.

With everything functional in the fortress, you stepped back to appreciate the scene. Seven hours of hard work completed. The smile you wore was well deserved.

It seemed Vox had kept himself busy too. When you turned to see what he was doing, you found him sat on the floor. He was hunched over his own project with ‘voxt’ spelt out on the floor in bubble wrap. The ‘e’ was midway through construction.

While you bet his back would kill from being hunched over the way he was, you appreciated seeing him focus that way. There were no fake smiles. He just concentrated on his task with a flat expression like he didn’t have to pretend.

You picked up a roll of duct tape that hadn’t been used yet and went to sit beside him. As you slunk to the floor, his eyes focused on you in passing. One pair of scissors later, and you were working on the ‘k’.

Matching the style, it didn’t take you long to finish up your letter, and the pair of you got to work sticking them on the front of the fortress. It was time for you to admire your handiwork again, this time with Vox at your side.

Then it hit you. “It’s a shame we don’t have a fish tank in there too.”

The moment the words fell from your lips, Vox clapped his hands together, and turned to you with the utmost clarity.

“Oh, have I got just the thing!” he exclaimed. You were left to wonder what the ‘thing’ was as your lover vanished into the depths of his room. There was a series of irritated comments and grunts, and you heard various objects being moved. Then he returned.

“You better still work,” he told the round plastic object in his hands. It had a clear dome on the top, and a long wire that Vox plugged into the extension. He took to the fortress where he knelt down to place the object in the centre of the ‘room’. You followed his command when he mentioned something about turning off the fairy lights. Meanwhile, he dimmed the main lights and ensured what faint glow remained was a rich blue.

It made you feel like you were floating in the ocean.

“Fuck yes!” Vox’s triumphant cheer forced your focus back to him. From his knees, he stared up at the walls of the fortress, and you felt yourself still. It was hard not to at the scene.

You absorbed the way the walls lit up with the glow of the sun beneath the sea. Pale blues flickered like waves across the scene with sharks cast in bright silhouettes. They swam across the fortress as the light turned from within the dome, creating your very own aquarium.

And in the middle of it all: Vox.

He appreciated the scene as much as you, not moving from his place on the floor to watch the lights in your fortress. You couldn’t see his expression with his back to you, but you could see the way he let himself exist in the moment, wholeheartedly absorbed by what was around him. All of your efforts had gone into ensuring he did just that.

Which meant it was time for you to reap the rewards, and so you slunk to this side. Quiet not to disturb him, you shared his space. As you reached for one of the blankets, you got the pleasure of seeing his face. The lights reflected off his screen and created the very pattern he admired while he smiled at you with all the jaded innocence someone in Hell could ever hope to show. It was a rare moment where someone found solace from the shit that their circumstances put them through.

You understood that.

Inside your padded fortress, nobody could throw things at you. Nobody could hurt you. Everything was soft, and everything was designed to make you happy. Kind of like how Heaven was supposed to be, but you couldn’t care less about going somewhere else. You wanted to be by his side in your own pocket of happiness together.

“How long have you had this lamp?” you asked Vox, and he rolled his shoulders. He slid an arm around your waist after pulling the blanket across himself too. Every part of you screamed to lean into him, but you reached for the decanter first.

“I’d say we’re going on three years for that dusty old thing. The aquarium is miles better, so I’ve never needed to use it. I’m glad it came in handy,” he told you. “If either of the other two saw it, I’d never live it down. Val is insufferable anyway, but Velvette would have a field day with this.”

You rested against Vox’s shoulder with both of your drinks poured, and mulled over the pretty lights. “Maybe. Think they’re jealous? It is a nice light.”

Vox laughed at your statement, and told you not to be stupid. It would end up being an ongoing joke for the rest of his existence in Hell. Nevertheless, you admired the tiny glowing sharks.

The feel of his arm around you perfected the feeling of safety within the fortress. Heat seeped from his body, and you relaxed into him until every part of you that you could physically make touch him did. You needed him as much as he needed someone to bubble wrap that head of his.

Even then, it wasn’t enough. Your time together was fleeting at best, and you were forced to savour every moment while you tried to forget that fact. And sometimes those other thoughts won.

“Hey Vox?” you began. “I’m sorry if all of this was a lot to come home to.”

“Don’t be,” his tone was serious. No business casual from him. “I like it. Sure the spontaneity felt like a slap in the face but…”

You didn’t push him when he trailed off.

“But I appreciate you looking out for me. Sometimes you make the shittiest days feel like an afterthought.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Only sometimes. Can’t have an overlord going soft now, can we?” You shot him daggers, but the smile couldn’t be helped as he rolled his eyes at your display. The way his drink disappeared told you that any softness you had experienced was about to disappear. Not that you were going to complain though.

He didn’t give you a chance to use your mouth for anything other than a kiss.

[dcbbw]

Commoner, Part 2--Secret

Part 2 of Commoner! Part 1 can be found here. ��We’re picking up where we left off (Leo left, Sav is pregnant, and no one knows)

This story was born of a long-standing head canon (Sav would crush on the older brother, not her brother’s best friend), and the song inspiration (original version, but used the sad and acoustic version for this fic); lyrics are also taken from the song inspo.

IF you read this, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. MS Editor rates this story as 99% error-free.

To all those who read over this story in its various variations and renditions, THANK YOU! Your feedback, ideas, and encouragement was invaluable (as always).

Thanks to @choicesflashfics for their Week 62 prompt #2, which will appear in bold.

Song Inspo: Strangers (sad and acoustic version), Kenya Grace

Pairing(s): Savannah Walker x Leo Rys; Savannah Walker x Bertrand Beaumont

Word Count: 2,201

Rating: M for Mature themes

I sit in the back of the sleek, black Mercedes that is Duchy Ramsford’s official vehicle with the Brothers Beaumont, en route to the Palace. King Constantine has requested a meeting of the Great Houses.

And me.

I vacillate between relief that he will put those awful rumors to rest, and fear that Leo will be there with that woman.

“You appear to be deep in thought,” Bertrand observes. “Are you feeling well?”

I plaster a quick smile onto my lips. “Merely curious why the King would want me to be present at this meeting.”

The Duke gives me a solicitous nod, and I again wonder why he’s been so nice to me since our breakfast encounter.  It’s not that Bertrand is a bad guy; he has taught me a lot during my month at House Beaumont. I know more than I ever wanted to about utensils, glassware, table etiquette, and bloodlines and lineage. I now know that the reason I don’t have the title of Lady, the most ubiquitous yet ambiguous title a woman can hold, is because I don’t belong to a House.

I’m commoner.

But he isn’t a nice guy either, so the attention is a bit … odd.

“I wonder if it has anything to do with Leo, and all the news stories?” Max pipes up. “Although I suppose if Bastien is at the Palace and Leo isn’t, that may be all the confirmation we need.”

Bertrand looks out the window. “We’re here,” he announces.

I swear I feel my baby flip inside my stomach, which is stupid. I’m only eight weeks along.

As we walk up the front staircase, I don’t feel a sense of homecoming. I only feel dread. My throat closes when Bastien opens the door and leads us to the formal living room where the other guests are gathered. Groups are huddled close together; there are murmurs of conversations I cannot hear. I hug my brother and struggle through a curtsy meant to encompass the entire room. No one acknowledges me other than Kiara, who gives me a huge grin and enthusiastic hug.

And I wonder why I feel the need to be a part of this world, to be accepted by the very people who never will.

That it'll never change And it will just stay like this

I catch a glimpse of Madeleine, who is stone-faced; only the paleness of her skin and the clenching of her jaw signals anger, embarrassment, and hurt. I look down at her hands; her fingers are bare of jewelry.

Leo has left both of us.

The King clears his throat, and we all turn towards the front of the room. He is flanked by Queen Regina and Liam; all of them are wearing stoic expressions and I know … in my brain, my heart, my very soul … Leo has run off and fulfilled promises he could never make to me to another woman. I’m a single, teenaged mother with absolutely nothing to my name; I can’t even leverage the child growing inside of me.

There is a buzzing in my ears that drowns out the words my monarch is uttering until he states that Liam will ascend to the throne. There is to be a social season, and I will be the House Beaumont sponsee. The Crown will fund my sponsorship as I was still their ward and had no properties of my own. Drake’s face darkens, Bertrand beams proudly, and Max jumps up and down in excitement.

There’s something about Bertrand’s smile … he isn’t surprised to hear this news. Did he already know what to expect?  Was Leo the phone call that morning?

I throw up on the priceless carpet and my hand-me-down shoes.

Three weeks pass, weeks where I scour newspapers, magazines, and the internet for news of my baby’s father. There is a plethora of media, mostly photos of him in motocross tournaments: smiling happily in the Mojave Desert, frowning in concentration as he inspects his vehicle in UAE, sunning on a beach in Greece. The woman is not in the pictures, and rarely mentioned in the articles.

Now she can be his dirty little secret.

And when we spoke for months Well, did you ever mean it? How can we say that this is love When it goes like this?

Meanwhile, in Cordonia, my hips are spreading; my breasts are getting fuller, and my belly is only slightly rounded. Bertrand has ramped up my training but takes care to give me breaks throughout the day and we are now spending our meals together without Maxwell. He shares stories of his education, his time as a fashion designer, and memories of his childhood.

He walks me to my room every evening; occasionally he holds my hand.

I am not in love with Bertrand, but I find myself enjoying his company more and more.

But every time I meet somebody new It's like déjà vu I swear they sound the same It's like they know my skin

We’re sitting in Bertrand’s study one night; he is poring over documents related to Liam’s cabinet. Bertrand and Rashad Domvallier are to be financial and legal advisors to the new future King. I watch him nervously. I’ve decided that tonight is the time to tell him I cannot be the House’s sponsee. It isn’t fair to not tell him; he’ll need time to find someone new and school them in the ways of nobility.

My fingernails pluck nervously at my robe. I could very well be homeless in the next 15 minutes. Bertrand takes his duties as Duke seriously and is extremely rigid when it came to appearances and reputation; an unwed, pregnant commoner could not reside under the roof of House Beaumont. However, returning to the Palace would be a disaster between King Constantine and Big Brother Drake.

But it has to be done. This baby is going to make itself known sooner than later.

He drains his third glass of cognac before sighing heavily and pushing himself away from his desk. With an unsteady gait, he crosses the room to join me on the sofa. He looks almost regal in his gold silk robe with black piping, and black pajama bottoms. He sits so closely, I smell his cologne; it’s Hermès.

Leo always wore Armani.

“Savannah, I’d like to have a … conversation of a different sort with you.” His breath smells of liquor and his words are slightly slurred.

“Isn’t that funny?” I reply in a squeaky voice. “I wanted to have one with you also.”

He pulls one of my hands into his as he begins to speak. “You need to know that while you may be participating in the social season, you won’t win the hand of the Crown Prince. The position requires someone of lineage, with a knowledge of world politics and has a pulse on the fluctuating nature of both Court and Crown. However, the Engagement Tour should afford you an opportunity to marry into a minor house.”

I stare at him dumbfounded. Drunk Bertrand pisses me off.

“However, I do find myself being very attracted to you. I propose an offer that should be beneficial to both of us. I’d like you to be my mistress until we both find persons worthy of our status and station. You would become an honorary member of House Beaumont to assure you have a title, and I can be a very generous lover in more ways than one.”

He drops my hand and rises from the couch on his second attempt. He goes to a coat closet, opens the door, and retrieves a package. The box is emblazoned with Hermès’ name and logo. He brings it back to me, carefully placing it in my lap.

“Open it,” he urges.

I do so to find a limited-edition white matte satchel, made of leather and silk. The tag is still attached: $200,000 USD. I look up at him, knowing that he wants me to know how much it costs.

“Your … mistress?” I ask as my body feels as if it’s going numb.

And it will just stay like this Never really dating, breaking up

“This world is cruel. I’m just playing by its rules. It would behoove you to do so as well. You can’t be anything else to me or anyone of stature. You’re a commoner with the most basic of public education. You are ignorant in the ways of Court, the circles you would need to travel in. I am happy to give you the benefit of my knowledge, but at the end of the day, I am a Duke. Dukes don’t marry commoners.”

He says it all as if he is telling me the sun will rise in the east. Bertrand means no harm; nobles never do. Or so they claim.

Every word they say sounds just like him

My eyes fall back to the price tag, realizing I have my way out. I can keep my secret, and everyone’s precious reputation is intact.

“It’s late, Your Grace and you have given me a lot to process. I’ll have an answer for you in due time.”

He gives me a small smile. “May I … may I kiss you?”

A small shake of my head. “No,” I reply in an almost-rueful tone.

I know my place.

His smile falters, and he nods slowly. “My apologies. That was presumptuous of me.”

I mentally shake my head. THAT is what he considered to be the most horrible thing about his proposition?  I box the purse again, and stand.

“I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Three months later, I am standing on the balcony of my small pied-a-terre located in a quaint, quiet Parisian neighborhood, watching the day come to an end. The sun is still bright in the sky, but evening is fast approaching. My fingers comb through my dark, thick tresses before pulling a toffee-colored cardigan tighter across my expanding body.

It’s springtime and I think again how leaving Cordonia to settle here was the best move. Paris had always been my dream destination: red lipsticks, rich wines, decadent perfumes, trendy runway fashions.

The baby and I have even learned to enjoy the food.

My eyes take in the Palais Garnier, also known as the Paris Opera House, not that far in the distance before falling to the cobblestoned streets below: restaurant and café doors open, unleashing aromas of grilled meat and sauteed onions as bakeries pull window shades down. Women with chic hats and impossibly high heels exit dress stores, shopping bags bunched in fisted hands. Street vendors begin putting away their wares.

My stomach rumbles, and I head inside. There had been a late breakfast/early lunch a few hours ago, but the fruit, yogurt, and cheese and spinach omelet have all but disappeared now. My child has a healthy appetite. I walk around a black wrought iron table with matching chairs, pausing to fluff oversized chair cushions decorated with huge sunflowers.

I push the terrace door shut behind me before going into the kitchen. I had taken a chicken out earlier, but I no longer have an appetite for it. Instead, I want pistou pasta with grilled duck and extra mushrooms from my favorite bistro.

But money is tight. Despite having a job and being frugal with the savings leftover from the sale of the purse Bertrand gifted me, I need to be mindful of rent, food, doctor’s appointments once the child gets here and I will be on unpaid leave.

I’m having a boy that I will name Barthelemy, Bartie for short. It’s my way of paying homage to Maxwell for being such an incredible and caring friend during all of this. He doesn’t know who the father is and has never pressured me to tell him. He sends money and has offered to make an honest woman of me.

All of this even though I left House Beaumont without a sponsee, and they now either have to find one that they will have to fully sponsor or withdraw.

A knock at the door captures my attention; I stare at it with a frown. I don’t have many friends in Paris; Maxwell is due for his monthly visit next week. He’s bringing Drake and Kiara with him. They were the only two I instructed Maxwell to tell of my whereabouts. Drake and I aren’t close, but we are all we have left as far as family. He deserved to know. Kiara’s my best girlfriend, and she speaks French. Win-win.

I would like to see Liam, but he has much to learn and do before the social season begins in less than 12 weeks.

 I slowly and laboriously cross the small distance between the kitchen and the front door; my eye widens as I peer through the peephole.

Leo.

He looks even more handsome if that’s possible. He carries a bouquet of flowers in one hand as he looks around the hallway. I quietly and cautiously back away from the door as tears prick the corners of my eyes.

And then one random night When everything changes You won't reply And we'll go back to strangers

Tagging: @jared2612 ​@ao719 @marietrinmimi @indiacater​​​ @kingliam2019​ @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie​​​ @liamrhysstalker2020​​​ @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet@busywoman​​​ @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam​​​ @beezm @gardeningourmet​​​ @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles​​​ @lady-calypso @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890​ @motorcitymademadame​​​ @queenmiarys @choicesficwriterscreations

[eroticwound]

Maybe part of my resistance to boxing Carmy and Sydney strictly into the “platonic” category is that I’m not even sure, based on what we’ve seen over the two seasons, if they are even friends. Sydney has been at the Beef/The Bear for a little over a year now (?), so maybe the window has been small to get super close, but you look at her relationships with the other characters and there’s imo much more clarity as to those friendships: she and Marcus of course are very good friends, he was probably her first friend at The Beef; she and Tina, it took some time to build that trust but once it was there Tina became her work mom and Syd values her companionship; although not shown explicitly, I also want to argue that Sydney and Nat have built a friendship of sorts since the end of s1 - they came up with CP at some point, meaning Syd felt comfortable enough (and Nat encouraged) talking shit about Carmy with her when he’s being Carmy. And the omelette was such a lovely act of kindness and care. Syd and Richie’s dynamic is significantly better than in s1, but it’s a bit awkward and kinda in the category of work friend that was once your nemesis but now you happily tolerate, if that makes sense? I do think it’s less intense between them by E10, and I’m curious how them working together like that on expo will make Syd more inclined to trust Richie more. The rest of the crew id say are amicable work friends to just associates?

That leaves her and Carmy. They’ve got crazy chemistry off the bat, their minds operate on almost the same level, completing each others sentences, etc etc. But while that’s great evidence of their strong work relationship, I can see Sydney if asked saying that Carmy is more so just a guy she works (and now is a business partner) with, whereas she’d definitely say Marcus is a good friend, yknow? Syd has huge emotional walls built up, doesn’t like to be vulnerable, though she’s done so when either one of the guys urge her to share more. From Carmy’s end, he actually might (subconsciously) view Sydney as his friend thanks to their easy connection. He also picked Sydney, whereas all of his current “friends” were just inherited from Mikey (sorry Fak). Doesn’t mean he loves them any less or that they aren’t his actual friends — just that with Syd, he’s starting fresh in making a friend. He really wants to get to know Sydney — how she’s feeling, what her former bosses think of her, what Sheridan was like, what her relationship with her parents is like (and he feels guilty for not knowing about her mom) — but his probing always happens in the context of cooking or the kitchen, and so Syd’s default is to be guarded or resort to humor. And I think that there were indications that they were growing closer through the chaos menu, but then he starts to date Claire and that project (and building a friendship) was put on hold for a long time and instead there was big a disconnect cause they weren’t communicating. So like yeah, there are platonic elements, but I say these two are operating as a more ambiguous, “secret third thing”. And especially after E10, I don’t know where their pre-friendship progress stands going forward cause I see their relationship as the one that may need the most repairing post Friends & Family 😔

hey anon! sorry for the delay answering this. i appreciate you dropping these bear thoughts in my inbox :)

i’m not sure what made you think i believe syd and carm are platonic? unless maybe you saw me tag something with “i’m a sydcarmy queer platonic truther.” if that’s the case, let me assure you that puts me firmly in the “secret third thing” camp with you. basically, i think it’s likely carmy is on the asexual spectrum, and what’s more “secret third thing” than a queer platonic relationship?

i agree with your reads on the other, clearer relationships between syd and the bear employees (tho i think there’s also a mentor (syd)/mentee (tina) quality between syd and tina. and marcus obvi feels less platonic/more romantic towards syd)

as for syd and carmy… idk, it’s the most complicated dynamic on the show. i disagree that syd views carmy as “just a guy she works with”—this is a guy she can be *creatively vulnerable* with, a colleague who has serious accolades who is telling her they’re working at the same level. who is telling her out of all the high end chefs he knows, he wants to collaborate with her. like, he believes in her and her food so much that he’s made her his partner in all of this. and that’s in addition to the crazy chemistry you reference! being a chef isn’t just a job for them, it’s an artistic calling. collaborating like they do is more on par with a directing duo than people who just work together in the same department. they make each other better at their chosen art (like that’s straight from under the table scene)

but i agree their friendship is.. in its infancy at the least lmao. and i think your reads for why syd is hesitant are correct. carmy’s only tryna get close and ask personal questions when they’re cooking (because he doesn’t know any other way to bond). that being said, besides her dad, she’s never shown chilling with anyone outside of former or current coworkers. syd clearly forms great relationships with her coworkers, like you point out and as further evidenced by her food crawl in sundae. but it’s heavily implied that syd is just as addicted to work as carm, and might not have a huge circle she hangs out with regularly (yet another syd/carm parallel). she’s got walls, like you say, and is shown to be uncomfortable with a lot of emotion (and can sometimes be a dick about it, like with mikey’s hat <3 ). so there’s allll that at play from syd’s end.

and i do agree that carmy views her as a close friend. i like that you point out everyone in carmy’s life except syd is an inherited relationship. that’s SO TRUE. in general, carmy is really delayed and unaware when it comes to relationships—ALL relationships, not just romantic. fak claims carmy and him are best friends but carm doesn’t think so, or rather he’s not really sure. he hasn’t had enough close friends to say. he thought mikey was his best friend, but then was frozen out and realized he knew nothing about him. he wants to be closer with syd, suggested the palate cleanser, which would have been a great way for syd and him to build their friendship, but then claire came along :\

i *am* super stoked to see where syd and carm’s relationship shakes out next season. like carm’s in suuuuch a bad place, and then syd is SOOO anxious about failing. i fear it’s going to get worse before it gets better… but i do think they’re meant to be together in the best (secret third thing) way :)

[archivalofsins]

LET'S TALK ABOUT THE JAILBREAK MEGA MIX! While it's still the anniversary day! I was doing something for the rest of today but wanted to discuss my first run through the song.

You could say this was my dream come true since it was a Mikoto Muu mix for a small bit. The instrumental of MeMe overlapping with the beginning of Muu's final part. It was great.

I'm also lovingly dragging Star along for this ride.

Okay I was tired when I wrote this. So, I went back to edit it for clarity! This is hopefully the last edit I'll do on this.

To start off I believe the songs, their placements, and the way they overlap show the relationships or associations between the characters.

Let me explain.

First, we have Es the guard that we started with and technically our proxy within Milgram. Basically, Es is the one that connects us the audience to Milgram so of course they'd go first.

Next, we have Kotoko the one who's most firmly aligned with Es. Their mentalities have become a bit similar after trial one as well. Given some of Es' statements towards Futa in his voice drama. I hope he isn't also harsh on Mahiru.

However, this is where it gets tricky or fun depending on your view, I think it's fun.

Kotoko leads into Haruka. Someone who has said like Muu but for different reasons he doesn't think any of the prisoners are like him. This mix could be a subtle way to tell us who the prisoners are most like and impacted by. I believe Haruka comes after Kotoko because she is the one to leave the biggest impact on him but the prisoner, he's most like comes after him.

This is why bits of his song go into Mahiru's but the overlap between Harrow and Weakness is more subtle. No instrumental from Harrow or anything just Kotoko singing,

"I want to be drowning in the knowledge that I'm right." while Haruka is floating in that water.

However, this line could relate directly to one of Haruka's lines in Weakness,

"I cried, I screamed, I wanted to be a pitied and loved weakling. I was in denial; I was in denial I just had to make sure."

When this comes to representing the relationship between Haruka and Kotoko while they haven't had the best interactions and Haruka is downright afraid of her, they've started talking. Plus, upon realizing that Haruka was Innocent Kotoko began to treat him a bit more nicely.

21/12/15    (Kotoko’s Birthday)

Haruka: Ah…… H-happy birthday, Kotoko-san.

Kotoko: ……thanks. You’ve definitely changed a bit. Do you remember before? You could barely even talk to me.

Haruka: I-is that so? Now that you mention it, I, I maybe have got a bit better since then. ……m-maybe I’ve got more used to being around people. There’s other people here who are interested in me, and, um, in particular Mu-san pays a lot of notice to me…… I… I’m enjoying myself here……

Kotoko: ……hmm. It’s just a theory I have right now, but I get the feeling the outcome of Milgram’s judgements are having some influence on our mental state. Well, I only noticed because I happened to be last up though. Good for you, then. This must mean that you’re fine. ……I’ll accept those birthday wishes.

Muu and Haruka don't really discuss Kotoko's actions as bad or good. To be frank I don't really think Haruka discussed them at all. So, they're both neutral leaning towards positive with her. Taking that into consideration, him coming up after her makes sense.

However, since the line Kotoko sings before Haruka's song can be related to one of his own and was directly related to the visuals of his song we're in a fun but ambiguous situation. One where either Kotoko or Mahiru could be the prisoner most like Haruka. However, I still think in this case the prisoner most like him is Mahiru.

Because unlike with Harrow where only the line Kotoko sings overlaps. The instrumentals of Weakness and This is How to Be in Love With You merge near the end before Haruka finishes off his part singing,

"Even if I keep trying it, it's broken right away. The things that aren't here and unneeded things... Is it still living somewhere?"

(Lol, this isn't my point it's Stars she typed it up on my computer using this great thing called Parsec now for a word from our spons-dies. God wish I was paid for this I'm just excited. Okay take it away.)

This parallels well with, "I guess we can just say that this feeling is happiness/I can't stop feeling like there's something missing."

(And that was Star's point please applaud~ A little louder just kidding!)

I forgot to add my feelings on Mahiru and Haruka's overlap in my rush to get to Yuno. There are also very direct comparisons that can be made between the two through their voice dramas. They both underestimate and speak down about their own capabilities. However, when given the opportunity, being met with patience, or having a straightforward goal to work towards they're likely to better complete it.

Also, just as Mahiru judged Mikoto immediately after one encounter to be flippant and have cheater energy. Haruka pretty much judged Kotoko as scary off the bat and continued to avoid her until he'd become more comfortable through due to his verdict and other prisoners taking time to interact with him and pick up the ball whenever he dropped. For example, how Mikoto told Kotoko Es was calling for her but neither of them confronting or reprimanding Haruka for not being able to communicate that to her and basically ignoring the task Es gave him.

They also have both requested frivolous items for not only personal enjoyment but to better create the atmosphere they were seeking. Haruka the water floaty during the summer and Mahiru the futons for the sleep over.

Now we get to the overlap between This Is How To Be In Love With You and Umbilical. This one is fun in so many ways. First it highlights Yuno and Mahiru's give and take relationship within Milgram. Something touched on within Yuno's birthday conversation last year.

22/09/02 (Yuno’s Birthday)

Mahiru: ……no, I’m fine. As long as I don’t move too much I don’t even feel any pain. Sorry for making you worry.

Yuno: Oh, really? That’s good then. Mahiru-san, if there’s anything you want then just ask. It’s not like it’s a huge burden, I can just ask for it along with my own stuff.

Mahiru: Ok…… I’m fine for now. Sorry, for making you worry. Ah, Yuno-chan…… Today’s your birthday, right? Happy birthday.

Yuno: ………… Haha, thanks. Thank you, but y’know. Is it really ok for you to be saying that to me when you’re in that situation? ……you really aren’t suited for Milgram, huh, Mahiru-san.

"Ring, ring I'm calling you in the middle of the night."

This line overlapping with Umbilical could could reference Mahiru relying/calling on Yuno to get her things within Milgram now that her privileges have been restricted. It can also allude to what some including myself have speculated Yuno was doing on the staircase making a phone call.

Now here's the kicker the thing that makes the line up appear to be intentionally alluding to which prisoners are most like the other is because Yuno comes directly before Kazui. The person she admits to being the most like.

There isn't much overlap between their songs since Yuno's song drops directly before his starts with the lines,

"I messed up, I found out." being repeated over and over.

A line that directly ties into Halfs line of,

"Where did I go wrong, probably from the beginning."

In the song proper it would parallel the line "If continuing to hide is called unhappiness, not even one word will get to you." pretty well to. However, when it comes to following up this line the first works better.

Shidou's song unsurprisingly has no overlap but is after Kazui's. Him and Kazui have been working closely together since Kotoko's attacks in order to take care of and protect injured prisoners. Plus, he's admitted that Kazui is the prisoner he gets along with the best during the first trial.

Q.18 Who do you get along with best out of the other prisoners?

Shidou: Mukuhara-san, I think. We’re the two old men here, and are often in the smoking area together.

On top of that Yuno has spent the most of her time hanging out with Mahiru or Kazui. So, it makes sense relationship wise for them to be where they are in the Jailbreak lineup.

Now here's where things get exciting. A lot of people would rightfully ask well Muu and Haruka are closest, they spend the most time together, why aren't they closer in the line up.

Let's get into the final four and most interesting choices of the Jailbreak line up and talk about what the Milgram staff decided to name this mega mix.

Futa's part in the mix starts off hard. Right after Shidou's we go into what I like to call the guilty mash up. Since all three of these guilty Prisoners had their songs overlap in row and honestly it sounds great.

First though, there is room to say that Futa is being compared to Shidou. Meaning the one most like him in Milgram which he incorrectly claimed was Kotoko before is more than likely Shidou. This makes sense given how he came in concerned about the well-being of those younger than him and Shidou's stance with kids. It really wouldn't be surprising to me if their mentalities were similar.

They also both failed to take proper care of people younger than them before. Something we only get a glimpse into during Shidou's trial two song.

Star again; another similarity between Shidou and Fuuta is that they're both fairly cynical in terms of worldview! From Mr Ethics is a delusion to "The world is full of shitty people isn’t is natural to look down on them all?" and "In the modern era, whatever I do is useless anyway I’m just going along with the flow." There's also the fact that the transition line between Throw Down and Bring it on is literally just "Throw down", which could allude to fighting.

(Gunsli: i.e throwing down a colloquialism in English for starting or being involved in a fight. In the same vein that Bring it on is a colloquialism in English usually taunting someone into a conflict. The equivalent of a bunch of middle schoolers yelling fight, fight, oooo what are you gonna do about it. Back to Star.)

/o/ Jumping on the throw down as a colloquialism real quick to bring up the other interpretation of it. That being throwing your weight on the side of an argument/conflict you believe in. This can refer to your ethicality/morals but it can also refer to monetary/societal value [something you can argue is touched upon by Shidou covering Delusion Tax + the quote "No life is worth the same as another's(??)"].

(Okay back to me I suppose.)

The only difference between Futa and Shidou is Amane and Es don't hate Futa. Es says it's important to not go easy even on friends and Amane keeps checking in on Futa. In fact, recently in the collaboration art you can see them all sitting together. Shidou standing behind and Futa to the side and behind Amane. Amane is pretty much right between the two of them but is noticeably closer to Futa.

Plus, despite the fact that Futa has been shown close to Kazui a lot recently he's the further from him than Shidou is.

 "I don’t dislike anyone particularly. However, I think Amane rather dislikes me. Such a shame."

Even though Futa is far more abrasive than Shidou his curt nature is generally well received by those younger than him but looked down upon by those older. This is because to some people younger than him his behavior can feel like he's meeting them at their level while not being condescending, sometimes even appearing to be stupider than they are. Something that kids tend to generally like.

We see this part of Futa's nature during his second interrogation where he attempts to relate to Es. Outside of that Futa blatantly states friends to him are,

Q.01    What do friends mean to you?

Futa: People who get excited about the same things as you.

Meaning he's probably more likely to search for common ground with someone to better relate to them. This is something that Amane has seemed to be receptive to, considering the overlap between their songs. Outside of that it just makes sense she'd be receptive to someone that takes her statements seriously and she can have a back and forth with. Even though she's a child, that sort of engagement is still necessary and refreshing even more so considering the sort of child Amane is.

So, let's talk about that overlap. Their songs don't just overlap but the videos do as well. This also happens with Es and Kotoko, Mahiru and Yuno, and Amane and Mikoto (oh trust me we'll get to that). All these pairings are the ones that have become the closest to each other over Milgram.

Kotoko not only directly aligns themselves with Es but works for them as per the terms of the deal she presented to Es last trial.

Yuno and Mahiru talk and hangout rather often to the point that Yuno has offered to get Mahiru stuff when she orders her stuff. Also speculated but not confirmed that she may have ordered Mahiru the wheelchair.

Amane and Futa. Amane has continued to encourage Futa since they received their verdicts and despite him receiving medical attention as well has not threatened him.

Amane and Mikoto. They don't talk on a frequent basis but when they do they usually talk for a good while. Mikoto is chatty and Amane is willing to listen to him talk in depth about his experiences and even take notes. So, also no surprise there.

Back to Futa and Amane the line that overlaps between their songs is,

"It's going great, we're gonna punish you until you cry. If you get off now, you're a traitor. Now let's be reasonable!"

Now let's be reasonable continues to repeat. The line even skips three times before being repeated another three before Amane begins to sing.

These lines from Bring It On tie in well to Amane's starting line of,

"I can actually think of it as a good thing, see isn't it great?"/ "It's going great-"

"This happy pinky promise hurts to break."/ "We're gonna punish you until you cry. If you get off now, you're a traitor."

"Even I can say "I'm sorry". Even I have hope. I swear! I'm going to be a good girl now! That's it!" /"Now let's be reasonable."

Amane and Futa's mindsets align well with each other the MEGA MIX highlights this by putting their songs so close to each other. Musically having their mindsets collide. Through this it pulls to the forefront how "Bring It On" is all about punishing someone to the point of getting an apology and "Magic" is about apologizing for one's mistakes and promising to do better seemingly repeatedly.

The repetition of, "Now, let's be reasonable." between the songs highlighting how neither Amane or Futa think these things in and of themselves are unreasonable responses or requests to a perceived wrong. Their possible shared belief that all punishment should end at the point where the offender apologizes and going beyond that is a bit much.

Even if the punishment used to elicit the apology was disproportionate in comparison to the offense. Putting them side by side within the mega mix was a good way of highlighting this aspect of not only their songs but characters. Yet it doesn't stop there!

When it comes to Amane there's another interesting point. In this case I'm referring to how one of the televisions the prisoners' songs are displayed on within the Jailbreak Mega Mix is more than likely the same model we see her watching at the end of Magic. A CRT. Now it is very much possible all the televisions displayed in this video are different versions of the CRT but the exact make and model name is something neither Star nor I know.

The one in the middle is more than likely the one Amane is watching at the end of Magic. Despite neither of us knowing the specific model names. Star believes the one in the middle is the oldest television, the one to the right the second oldest, and the one on the left would be the most recent one relative to the ones there of course.

It's time for Amane and Mikoto! The overlap between their songs and visuals, just like Futa is strong. You can hear Amane singing lightly in the background as the instrumental of MeMe begins. Imagery from her mv overlapping with Mikoto's silhouette from the prison line up and being put over imagery from his own mv. Basically, distorting the two together.

The line overlapping here,

"But it's not scary at all, because it's love! I can really think it's great. See, isn't it a great thing?"

This ties directly into Mikoto's first line which I've discussed to death in other posts, "If I could laugh, if I could go back, I'd play dead even though I'm alive right? If I could end, if I could stop how long would this dream go on?" Amane's lead in line serves to highlight the placating mindset Mikoto has throughout MeMe.

Highlighting the undertone of the beginning lyrics and how Mikoto and Amane convinced themselves that their circumstances were fine even though on some level they knew they weren't. They just kept going forward with the belief that it was, and it would have the desired result.

Something that's really funny when one considers the imagery from Magic that overlaps between Bring It On and MeMe. During Bring It On it's Amane taking the stage but when we get to MeMe the imagery that overlaps between their songs is Amane thinking she has the right answer but being told she's wrong and the cat being injured. Something that can be considered a deliberate choice since while one of those scene is before the other the second scene doesn't happen directly after the the first in Magic proper.

In fact Amane being told her answers are wrong happens a good bit before the cat is injured. That scene ends at 1:16 of and the cat injury happens at 1:36 but now they've been spliced together for this overlap. Ignoring every other line that happens between those points. It's a good way to visually drive home that belief is wrong and it's in fact to no one's surprise not a great thing.

If Amane's song is about the hope of becoming that better version of yourself, Mikoto's is very much about the disillusionment of that concept. Facing the realization that no matter how much a person may try to be better there will still be people in their life who treat them like trash over and over. That sometimes the best or even the most self-preserving response is to grin and bear it along with the animosity one can hold towards themselves because they behave in that way.

Sadly, sometimes the key to surviving is putting up with people who don't give a shit about you, your feelings, or the effort you put into something and doing your best to not take that personally. I can't stop imagining Futa seeing this overlap between their songs and being like, "What the fuck; you two live like this?! It explains...more than it should..."

This overlap between Amane and Mikoto also serves to nicely point to what was one of the more jarring mvs and go see it's not scary all while putting cartoon animals over the actual footage. Something, I feel can come off as super sweet like Amane's seeing the initial response to Mikoto and going,

"Okay, this looks bad but look there's a cartoon cat now" while subtly whispering "It's not bad. Stop saying it's bad. It isn't it's love. It's not bad at all." In what can only be considered a blatant attempt at brainwashing the audience, and I appreciate that. We take our wins where we can find them Amane's right. MeMe wasn't that bad.

Amane's in Double sock puppets on her hands distracting people from Mikoto committing more in-depth murders like,

"The Dog was hurt by Mr. Porcupine's quills but Mr.Porcupine never noticed the dogs pain. Each day Mr.Dog would go into work and Mr.Porcupine would jab in another quill at first it seemed like a small error an accident. Yet, as it kept happening Mr.Dog eventually couldn't take anymore." Then the dog sock puppet suddenly has a bat and she recreates the murders in sockpuppet form.

After watching it Es is just like, "I'm so sorry Mr.Dog you've been through so much."

"Huh, oh...yeah? I have- thank you... I accept your apology, Es." Mr.Dog what the fuck is this kid seeing in these videos is he okay?! Is this a nickname for me now; what, why? Is he being genuine?!

Now Mikoto and Muu. The line that leads into Muu's part is,

"I won't forgive you if this is happening even though I'm right."

And oh boy do I have a lot to say about this one! Even though it doesn't overlap with her song MeMe's instrumental does particularly the drums. But let's talk about this line overlap and how it relates to Mikoto and Muu's relationship through the course of Milgram.

In my opinion I don't believe there's a lyric within After Pain that could directly tie into the line that leads into this part. The only line that comes close to tying in with it is,

"Why won't you stop hurting me?"

This line gives the same feeling of a lack of control over the situation along with mild animosity towards the fact that they are as Star would say being put through the trials.

It serves to highlight Mikoto and Muu's similar mindsets when it comes to facing punishment for their actions whether they remember them or not. That mindset being actually fuck you I was right and if you're smart you'll see that. If not I'm definitely not going to forgive you for putting me through all this even though I was right to do what I did. Basically, if you don't forgive me, you're the one that's wrong.

They both heavily focus on their crimes being a result of self-defense all be it in different ways given Mikoto's circumstances. Plus, after receiving her very small Innocent verdict Muu immediately pivoted into a, it's not my fault of course anyone could see that, mentality which was hardly out of nowhere. I doubt this is saying that Mu is the most like Mikoto given the Amane thing, but it is highlighting how their relationship has changed and how they may find their similarities and each other's abilities useful to the other.

He has basically become Muu and Haruka's chaperone. Which honestly good choice picking the one guy outside of Kazui who proved capable of fending Kotoko off on his own and wants to beat her at her own game. It's mighty convenient that those two are suddenly getting really close to Mikoto as soon as your Innocent status is up for debate again and may be in jeopardy. Maybe Muu is trying to as she put it in second written interrogation "chose better friends".

That's what brings us back to the name of the Mega Mix Jailbreak. It seems everyone in Milgram may not just be building relationships by gravitating towards people they just so happen to like or to just survive within the facility. They may be building useful relationships that they think would be useful if the possibility case of a Jailbreak presents itself.

This is why Yuno calls Kotoko's behavior stupid. Aligning yourself with someone whose opinion of you can change on a dime instead of people stuck in the same objectively messed up and weird situation as her... So, openly only serves to limit who is willing to help her later if her plan to work with Es backfires.

The three guilty prisoners whose songs overlap heavily should be concerning to some. Since two of them are the strongest willed people in Milgram who have voiced if Milgram won't agree with them, they will just rebel because they have done it before. So, honestly, what's a second time to them.

Not even going into Amane very actively attempting to indoctrinate Futa and clearly playing favorites with that goal in mind. It's not even just them that are possibly trying to or mulling over the idea of escaping. The only prisoners happy with Milgram as it is now are Haruka who is guilty now, Muu who is Guilty now, and Kotoko who honestly it would be so fucking funny if she got voted Innocent again like at this point we'd be dropping the ball for shits and giggles.

In fact prisoners so far this trial have,

Voice dissatisfaction at Es aligning themselves with Kotoko. (Yuno during her voice drama.)

Compared their circumstances to Es and highlighted there is truly little difference between them but their titles and Es is just as stuck here as they are. (Futa and Shidou in their voice dramas.)

Annoyance at continuing to be stuck there and how the appeal of the place for them has worn thin. (Yuno in the same voice drama.)

Outside of Haruka, Muu, and Kotoko no one else stuck within the facility is happy regardless of if they were voted Innocent or Guilty. All that to say the Jailbreak Mega Mix sure is interesting!

I hope they revolt~

[fincalinde]

Mama Lan

Oh now this is challenging and you are a fiend who will someday pay for your crimes.

a song that reminds me of them

Going to have to pass on this one, I can't think of anything really.

what they smell like

We know so little about her it's impossible to speculate pre-confinement, but post-confinement I presume it would be sandalwood like all the Lans. Let me take this opportunity to raise a point that has also bothered me for several years: unless someone knows more than me about this particular variety (entirely possible!), blue gentians have little if any scent. I believe the roots and other parts of the plant have a stronger scent when processed for extracts or similar, but a mass of blossoming gentians actually wouldn't smell that strongly.

an otp

N/A, we just don't know enough about her for me to have any shipping preferences in that regard.

a notp

While I know there is technically room to speculate that she did come to love QHJ, I don't think it's the most likely conclusion based on the information we have. The idea isn't something that charms and delights me either. I quite like not knowing the details because, although I'm not totally on board with LXC's desire not to know the truth, I think we know enough to be sure that it is not good. The world of MDZS is not a world where a woman who didn't return a man's love somehow conveniently came to fall for him during or after being consigned to solitary imprisonment for the rest of her life.

Reading between the lines I think the most likely sequence of events is that she chose this life over death and therefore her consent to things such as sexual activity is technical at best. I'm sure there's some good work out there around that, but it's not something I would read whether consensual or nonconsensual or ambiguous; the entire situation makes my skin crawl.

Gun to my head I find coercion less distasteful than a theoretical attempt to sell me on a genuine loving relationship existing between these two particular characters.

favorite platonic/familial relationships

Hands down LXC, mostly because this is another example of how LXC's needs are always treated as secondary to LWJ's. I'm fully aware that LXC tells the story of his mother's life and death to WWX specifically to try to communicate something to him about LWJ (I wonder what that could be), but it is still heartbreaking to me that this man describes his brother's grief in detail and doesn't spare a word for his own.

It's even worse to think of how traumatic it must have been to lose his mother, when he loved her just as much as LWJ did but had the additional burden of worrying about and caring for his didi. Both Twin Jades are raised under unfathomable pressure, but LXC's burden is still the greater and he bears it with such grace that no one ever even notices. This is why it's important to note the lengths JGY goes to in order to ensure LXC's comfort and remove as many burdens and stressors from his life as possible.

I also love the little touch that LXC often visits his mother's house—a thing that unless I've forgotten something is not mentioned in relation to LWJ, and that I therefore choose to read as being unique to him. It's nice to imagine that he has his own genuinely private space, even if being in that space is bittersweet. Clearly he feels closer to his mother there than at the family shrine, which is another nice touch emphasising how their love for each other had to exist outside orthodox spaces.

a headcanon that is popular in the fandom but that i disagree with

I am deeply weary of fandom's steadfast conviction that the yassification of any and all female characters is a powerful feminist statement. I think I will just leave this one here.

the position they sleep in

I hope she sprawls all over that damn bed every night, and I hope QHJ never stays long enough to fall asleep in it.

a crossover au i’d love to see them in

I'm not saying never, but my instinct is that I really prefer her to remain as mysterious as she is in canon and not feature directly. That doesn't really lend itself to crossovers.

my favorite outfit they’ve ever worn

The one covered in the blood of QHJ's teacher. I don't even care whether or not said teacher had it coming.

[edalynn]

oh my god, the amount of people i saw today that said “umm, actually, huntric is a proship because they’re stepbrothers!! aladarius is literally canon! stop shipping huntric plz, we have h/l for a reason” is. insane. i’m losing my mind at this point, why can’t some h/ls just accept that people can ship different things without it interfering with their own ship??? ALSO the way a looot of them say that aladarius is “basically canon” is so annoying to me, don’t get me wrong, i love the ship but it ISN’T CANON DAWG. Darius just blushed at Alador for like 2 seconds, how is that confirming their relationship 💀 don’t get me started on how they ignore that h/l was left ambiguous but insist it’s fully canon...... a sign i see in toh is how they make it abundantly clear that a ship is canon by making those characters date/get together or do something explicitly romantic, h/l?? the stuff they do is what affectionate friends do with each other 😭 or at least that’s how i personally interpret it. that group of h/l fans are the main reason why i feel so uncomfortable when someone mentions to me that they ship it, ik it sounds dumb but HHHHH I WISH I WAS KIDDING DUDE. so sorry for the caps and the rant </3 your blog makes me feel real safe and reminds me that i’m not alone when it comes to disliking h/l !! thank you for being the h/l hateline HSJXCH

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. Hunt/lows will literally make up any fucking reason they can to call people that dislike their ship wrong/bad. Like, at least we aren't telling them something's wrong with them for shipping hunt/low, or that they can't ship it?? Like, unfortunately, yes they can ship whatever they like. That doesn't necessarily make it a good or compelling, or even non-toxic ship, but there isn't anything wrong with shipping it like with Lun/ter. Also, I mean, they clearly can't even accept the fact that their own ship isn't actually canon, are we expecting them to understand ala/darius isn't either? They're clearly incapable of reading situations where a relationship is being teased and not understanding that it does not mean they're canonically in a relationship- they've proved that over and over lmao. Like, yeah, I like ala/darius as much as the next guy! But unfortunately, all it was was teased in the show because it's a popular ship and that's what shows do. Same as Hunt/low. Both were left ambiguous on purpose because it's good writing. It keeps both sides of the fandom happy- or at least, it's supposed to. The Owl House really did have a habit of making canon relationships very explicitly canon because the representation those actual canon ships served was important. The canon relationships also had actual weight on the storyline and plot, whereas neither of those ships did, so of course they would be left ambiguous. TOH made a point to make sure you knew when characters were romantically together, with kissing an words, where everything Hunter and Willow have done in canon has been very platonic implied, which I can only take to be intentional like the rest of the show. Anyone obsessed with a m/f ship is incapable of realizing this, apparently.

[airiat]

northern sky, ten. ✧˚ · .

{masterlist | beginning}

pairing: joel miller x you / f!reader (wc: 35.3k, 10 chapters)

rating: explicit, 18+

work tags: no outbreak, age difference (27/42), hurt/comfort, ptsd, fate, ldr, explicit sexual content (rough/romantic sex, light d/s & sadomasochism, dirty talk, choking/biting, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected piv, aftercare)

work warnings: themes of death (more details here, contains spoilers), depictions of mental illness/alcoholism, light discussion of theoretical relationship with minor (not condoned by either party), light blood kink

ch. summary: you're stronger than you know.

{ao3}

ten. {377}

Here you are. You’re driving down the highway, music loud in the car, windows rolled down. Singing along to some song that he’d probably look at you sideways for playing. 'Cause you make the darkness seem so far / And when I'm lost, you'll be my guide / I just turn around, and you're by my side.

But he’d probably sing it with you. 

If this was your journal, the month that would be scrawled in your looping hand at the top of the page would read May. Cold days don’t come around much anymore. There are cold nights, sometimes. Sometimes, mornings take a while to thaw out. But the chill never outstays its welcome. You live a life of warm sunshine, sweet grasses, and bright green leaves.

What has changed, you’re not so sure of, if only just that the earth spins more closely to the sun now. You, as a whole, have not changed except that the gaping wound between your ribs has been allowed to scab over. Your circumstances, in total, have not changed except that the bright, lingering daylight keeps the ghosts from appearing, clears away the dust from all the crevices in your mind.

Maybe, probably, when the earth drifts in its orbit, and the shadows come back long, looming, so too will the haze over your eyes. Maybe, probably, it’ll always be this slow rising and receding of the tides. Maybe, probably, with more time, you can learn how to drift with the waves.

For now, though, you are driving. You are on the road, the wind rushing through your braided hair. The sunset’s glow bathes the highway and all the cars around you, gold and glittering. Up ahead is your exit. When you pull off and stop at a light, you reach for your phone and redial your last call.

“Hey,” you say when it’s answered. “I’ll be there in maybe ten minutes.”

“See? Here you are.”

The light turns green, and you pull through, turn onto another road and face the rippling orange sun with its perfect framing in the center of the road. Drive as though this sky-lit path was paved just for you. 

Because it was. 

And, so, here it is. All of it that’s meant just for you.

this is it. thank you for being here, for sharing this story with me.

enjoy the silence - depeche mode don't think twice, it's all right - bob dylan since u been gone - kelly clarkson silver springs - fleetwood mac aftermath - tricky luna - the smashing pumpkins trouble - coldplay gravity - john mayer lucky star - madonna

there are a few things in this work that i've left ambiguous, left to be interpreted in whichever way makes the most sense to you. how you need them to be. this story in itself is a shell for you to cultivate your own meaning from, really. you are you, here to inhabit this body, to see new things out of old eyes. but there is one thing that's non-negotiable. maybe you can guess what it is. i said it many, many times: all of this, everything that is good and easy and so delicate that it's weightless in your hands, is for you. no matter how many scars fall between the lines of your ribs. no matter how you choose to swallow your pain. you deserve it all. someone to be gentle with you, a place to rest, a way to feel free. anything that appears for you, is for you. there's no mistake.

[frozenflmes]

uh looks like i got a couple more followers so hi! im snow, 18, provisional gym leader of icirrus city. born in opelucid city n now living in icirrus, but i travel around a bunch bc i got in the habit when i was younger ^v^ if u remember the 2015 plasma resurgence i was the 10yo who shut that down during my gym challenge n ive been participating in the pokemon league every year!

my team:

choochoo the beartic (f) (weve been together since i started my journey!)

bean the weavile (f)

crystal the cryogonal

lace the glaceon (m)

buddy the walrein (m)

vanilla the vanilluxe (m)

i also have some pokémon that arent on my team:

snowflake the snom (f)

mocha the sneasel (m)

flurry the vanillite (f)

phantom the purrloin (m)

rogue the purrloin (f)

a shiny ninetales thats acting rly weird >.<

//ooc boundaries and info//

Snow is 18 (barely). mun is 22.

if ooc you're bodily a minor, don't have your character flirt with Snow.

if your character is 20 or older, don't have them flirt with Snow.

if you're an adult playing a character close in age, THEN I'm willing to ship or do flirting shit.

and this should go without saying but I'm not doing NSFW shit with anyone, and I don't want to see it in my inbox either.

Snow is agender.

mun's not interested in doing shit involving transphobia. Snow came out and was accepted right away by everyone and the worst thing that happened was some people slipping on pronouns for a few days.

Snow is a (n ex) protagonist-type.

it has a full team of strong Pokémon and a complete set of gym badges, and will probably easily defeat casual trainers in battle.

during its journey, it shut down an intentionally-left-ambiguous Team Plasma resurgence. this might or might not be explored in more detail later, but it had a similar level of severity to Team Rocket in the gen 1 games. i'm not talking lore here, i'm talking "what the kid sees." (update, the rough details of this have been fleshed out, but this wasn't a story that ended in a big climax for anyone but snow so said details aren't common knowledge)

it didn't have a legendary encounter during its journey, but it did encouter Kyurem during the events of B2W2 (along with the rest of the population of Opelucid City).

also the pfp is by @professor-amaryllis!

[ao3feed-ladynoir]

Red

Red by ColoradoPeculiar

She wasn't sure how either of them had gotten there. No, Ladybug could remember easily how this had all started. Chloe had made a mean comment, as per usual, and someone had gotten akumatized, as usual. But this akuma was different from the rest, for some reason this akuma had been more vile, more harmful than any akuma Ladybug and Chat Noir had faced so far. She called herself Fragile Heart, and she was completely made of glass. Her arms and feet were nothing more than thick and sharp shards. She was dangerous, Marinette knew, even before she had seen what happened to a girl from the class below her.

Words: 3048, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 22 of she's a lady (and I am just boy)

Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Original Akumatized Character(s)

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Additional Tags: Blood and Injury, please don't read if you're squeamish, Implied Temporary Character Death, a tag I never though I'd use tbh, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, implied happy ending, Character Death

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48783130

[ritualofcirice]

Lucifer's Response (Letter One, a Lucifer x Reader)

🐑 ♡ Thank you so much Sycamore, my darling, for editing this! THANK YOU ♡🐑

You sent a love letter to Lucifer, and he responded.

Teen and Up Audiences, No Warnings, F/M, M/M, Other/M, Tag(s): Love Letters, Fluff, Awkwardness, Gift Giving, Emotional Baggage, Ambiguous Gender Reader, POV Second Person

This one is gifted to @jalicecookie! Thank you for supporting the series, it means the world to me to see people enjoying these ♡

Find it on ao3 ♡ WC: 719

Chapter 1

Letter One

When you wrote a letter to royalty, you expected to be royally disappointed. The expectation was that you would not receive anything back. Yet there you were holding a velvet drawstring pouch threaded with Lucifer’s sigil in gold.

Gold became your expectation too. Not only did the golden thread lace every seam, but it crawled from the pouch where it sat in a plaited bow to keep it sealed. Within it, you found a rectangular box that shared the same exuberant golden colour. The lid was held over the top with lace and a thin line of ribbon.

After sliding off the lace and lifting the lid, you were greeted with a scroll of parchment. Another lace slip held it in place with a seal to top it off. Careful not to break the wax, you slotted your nail beneath it and lifted. With a crackle, it peeled away from the lace which you pulled off the parchment.

You placed it to one side as you wanted to keep it, then you returned your attention to the letter.

Keeping a rolled scroll of paper open was difficult without it rolling back up on itself, so you ended up placing it down on your desk. A paperweight came in handy in pinning down one end. You used your hand to smooth down the other as you read.

‘To my Secret Admirer, I got your letter! That is the only way I would know your address to return one back, of course. Otherwise I wouldn’t. And now you know that I’m not some creepy stalker. Great! I’m so glad we’ve gotten that out of the way. Letters - you know I haven't sent one in ages? Yours was such a pleasant surprise that I ended up searching everywhere in the house to find my old writing kit. I got really worked up about it, so please tell me if this is too much. Is it too much? Since there wasn’t an envelope, I had to make a pouch instead. I'm flattered though, truly. And I'm sorry that it took me so long to get this to you. I wanted to make sure I said the right thing because it has been so long since I spoke to anyone in Hell. Usually I would avoid that. As you can tell. You wouldn't have sent your letter otherwise. But I wanted to let you know that I'm okay. Thank you for reaching out to me even though you don't know me. Or maybe you do! Maybe I have seen you. Maybe we haven't seen each other for a long time. I mean - I doubt that. I can tell, actually. You're not who came to mind, and that's okay. You're a wonderfully unique you! Rough around the edges if you're in Hell, but you’re polished enough that I can see the shine through the dirt. I don’t mean to sound rude. There is a reason Hell hasn’t seen me. Trust me when I say the are far, far too many more as well. Although, it isn’t appropriate for me to discuss in a letter to someone I haven’t gotten to know yet. Rest assured, none of those reasons are you. Truth be told, I’d like to know more about you if you're willing to share with me. I’m happy to answer any of your questions too! I have a question for you to get us started! I am not ignoring the fact that your letter was more romantically inclined. I hope so anyway. Not because I would jump at the first sign of any affection, I'm just curious. How could you call yourself my secret admirer when you haven't met me? I know that goes back to well have we - haven't we, I don't know. But I do know I haven't met anyone new in a long time, and those I do know would not keep it a secret. Nor do I recognise your address. My judgment tells me this isn't some sort of hoax either because why else would anyone send an anonymous letter to someone to check on how they are unless they genuinely did care. What if I'm not who you think I am? Why would you trouble yourself for someone who doesn't even know who you are? Yours sincerely, Lucifer M.’

♡ Letter two ♡

[katalinachalamet]

THOUGHTS ON 27TH APRIL, 2023

Format : stream of consciousness good luck!!

Fashion choices not exactly important - gothic fashion is a countercultural statement against popular notions of ‘good femininity’ - it is more important for people who have had faced trouble with the philosophy/psychology of popular conformity (aka me) - you’ve never been faced with shunning for being an ‘imperfect female’ so of course you don’t care about gothic fashion - it’s all about a subversion of popular culture - to paraphrase, goth clothes say ‘I do not care to be your good christian woman’ - also serves to signal to people with similar ideologies it’s not so complicated love <3

You can’t help but make a fashion statement - your clothes probably signal ‘I am autistic and I don’t care about fashion’ which is perfectly okay - I prefer to be in control of what I signal sometimes ofc it doesn’t serve to be anal about it

Also body image - basically you want to like what you see in the mirror - it’s like how you prefer to see yourself shaved than not (maybe lol) - it goes like you relate better to what you see in the mirror/photos - even if it’s just a visual illusion - that’s why it’s self indulgence - with survivors of early trauma, you often feel disconnected from your body - with a numbing of your senses - ‘my body is not my own I have no agency’ - with makeup/decoration you feel like you reclaim your body step by step - since it doesn’t look so much like the person you loathe/was so helpless/whatever - you are almost someone else and your life is your own once more

‘Pretty’ is a fallacy of ambiguous language don’t even worry about it - I don’t find rocks pretty either it’s an extremely personal concept - sure it’s a visual version of cute - something you find calming/comforting - visually indulgent - like the #oddlyrelaxing videos you like - or perhaps an affirmation of your experiences since no one likes to be alone - there is no consensus

You can’t help want self expression - your brain’s whole resting function is to make sense of your relationship with the world i can cite research - oh, I get it, maybe it’s because you almost never relax…. - anyway it’s not something you can escape

Pretty/aesthetics : It is upsetting to communicate because I am still hurt you found M- pretty/cute and I am somehow in the same category of objects for you - also because your word for ‘pretty’ is often ‘hot’ - which while often overlapping aren’t exactly the same - and is so reductive it makes me uncomfortable - at least past you conveyed this to me - it would also have been kinda okay if past you didn’t make me feel completely objectified - my pretty/art is a remnant of my innocence and something i’ve had forever and I don’t want you/past you to destroy it - it’s the fight/flight/freeze response to trauma

I don’t doubt that you are capable of appreciating art - that was just mean I am very sorry

You aren’t that bad at communicating at least with me - we are both autistic - you just hurt me an insane amount and while I am aware no one - not you or my parents or anyone, even society - intended to make me a casualty - it still hurts so much I can’t really think and my reptilian brain takes over

How I feel about you - I loved you before I knew you and I love you even having known you - the first time I felt ANYTHiNG since forever ago (7th grade?) - I want to love you innocently like a child once again - in fact I do most of the time - except when some inadvertent signal sends me into a state of #brainfreeze because I am just very, very hurt and my body won’t forget my past - I’m sorry - I will get better

Also if all 20 y/o’s are like what your mom describes there’s something radically wrong with society eh? It doesn’t make the young adults so vile - we are kinda systematically set up for torment

Footnotes :

Please just keep me forever, I don’t even want to live without you

All of this is backed by scientific research

You are my favorite creature, I appreciate the fuck out of your existence and love you a million suns

[hiidenneiti]

Here an almost ubiquitious feature of alchemy appears: secrecy and the hiding of names. Zosimos delights in playing with the name of this substance. Thanks to an ambiguity in the Greek language, in some contexts the name can mean either “water of sulfur” or “divine water.” In some places he intends the name to mean a transmuting agent, while in others he is clearly talking about the simple lime-sulfur composition of the recipe literature. In yet another place he describes it as “the silvery water, the hermaphrodite, that which flees without ceasing . . . it is neither a metal, nor a water always in movement, nor a solid body, for one cannot grasp it.” In this case his riddle for “divine water” seems to describe mercury, presented as the basic substrate for all metals. Elsewhere, the same term seems to have yet other meanings. In point of fact, in a Zosimos text just recently identified, the Egyptian admits freely that alchemical writers “call a single thing by many names while they call many things by a single name.” [...] Such secrecy would wax and wane in intensity but never disappear for the rest of alchemy’s history.

The Secrets of Alchemy. Lawrence M. Principe. University of Chicago Press. 2012.