#but yeah. i have been unable to think of titles which i think contributes to my inability to take my stories anywhere sigh

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 3)

Summary: Reader earns her nickname, and Spencer sinks to a new level of sin. A/N: Here, take your first dose of smut 💊 ✨ Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Drinking, alcohol, masturbation (male) Word Count: 5.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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If I had to pick my favorite thing about working for Spencer Reid, it would probably be something that most people wouldn’t expect. Sure, it was nice to be able to work with a human encyclopedia, and he was definitely very nice to look at, but neither of those things contributed to my love for my job.

It was the sense of belonging. An overwhelming feeling of serenity that existed, flowing freely beneath the surface like a network of roots twined together. I never felt out of place when I was with Spencer — which couldn’t be said for basically any other time. Especially not now.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays because it’s just absurd. You harass your neighbors while dressed in a costume and they reward you with something sweet (or, in some cases, change). As I’ve grown older, not much has changed aside from the creativity and length of the costumes.

... and the sweet treats being replaced by the bitter sting of alcohol.

“You do realize that guy was hitting on you in there, right?” my friend shouted from less than a foot to my right.

“He was just being nice.”

“Yeah... in a bar,” another girl chimed in, “On Halloween.”

I tried to remember the face of the man they were talking about, but my memory of his eyes blended into the flashing lights of the club. Even if I wasn’t drunk, I knew it would have been hard to remember him. Because the truth was that he wasn’t the person I wanted to see when I closed my eyes.  

“Leave her alone. She’s trying to stay pure for her professor,” my friend snickered.

Despite the treachery, I still caught her before she almost pushed us both straight off the curb in her drunken state. But it wasn’t her opinion I was worried about, because at that point, I was certain she would remember none of it by the time class rolled around come Monday. It was our other acquaintance that I responded to, with a very squeaky and unreliable, “I am not doing that!”

“Yeah, what she wants isn’t pure at all,” the mess on my shoulder droned. That was enough of a reason for me to drop her, although it really resulted in both of us barely staying on our feet on the somewhat crowded sidewalk.

“Stop! It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not.”

Then, something else caught her attention. Knowing her, I figured that it was either a man in a scandalous costume, or it was a two for one drink deal plastered in front of a bar. I assumed it was the latter, because as soon as she finished talking, she grabbed hold of our hands and yanked us against the brick wall of the next bar.

“So you wouldn’t mind if, theoretically, Professor Reid saw you in your costume?” she asked.

I like to think that I am a relatively smart girl. After all, I had made my way to graduate school, and Spencer seemed to think that I wasn’t a complete hopeless idiot. But in that moment, I couldn’t understand why on earth she would ever think to ask me that.

Running my hands over the fuzzy pink bodysuit I was wearing, I tried to picture his reaction. As soon as I tried to look down, however, the two floppy bunny ears affixed to the hood dropped over my eyes.

“I-I mean, I guess not…?” I mumbled, my face growing hot from something other than the alcohol, “I’m wearing it in public, so...”

But then she said it — the most terrifying two words I’d ever heard in my life.

“Okay ­– good.”

My eyes shot up immediately, trying to follow her eyes through the crowd of drunk, costumed people. By the time that I spotted him, somewhat thankfully dressed in normal clothes, I was powerless to stop it.

“Dr. Reid!” My friend’s voice rang out into the night, “Dr. Reid, come over here!”

The moment our eyes met, I knew I was fucked. Totally, completely, and utterly fucked. A clever little grin filled his cheeks as he quickly spotted me trying to hide under my hood.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I shrieked, but he was already on his way over.

“You said you didn’t mind!”

In a panicked whisper, I bit back, “I didn’t say call him over here!”

When he grew closer, though, I corrected myself. Because it was not just Spencer who was walking over. There was someone else with him. Another man, just as tall and just as beautiful as Spencer, but with a dark complexion and an even more wicked smile.

As for my company, they had already scattered into the bar behind me, leaving me with a wordless, dumbstruck look on my face that was very poorly hidden behind bunny ears.

“H-hey Prof— Dr. Reid,” I managed to get out.  

“Hey,” he answered in a tone I’d never heard before. A slightly guarded, very entertained but mostly awkward stretch of the vowel.

The man beside him, however, was quick to question.

“Who’s this?”

As I said before, I like to consider myself a relatively bright person. But the alcohol that night had been both free and strong. So, when I was asked by a handsome man who I was on the Devil’s night, I answered honestly.

“I’m a bunny!” I cried, bringing my hands together over my chest and turning to present the small pink pompom affixed to my lower back.

“I can see that,” the stranger replied through a genuine chuckle. But while the action was amusing to at least two of us in the conversation, Spencer looked mortified. It wasn’t necessarily negative, though.

I couldn’t be sure, of course, considering that I had already consumed more liquor that night than I had in the past month, but something told me that Spencer was less humiliated by me, and more worried about how blatant his response to my answer was. Because when he spoke, he did so through a smile.

“She’s uh... my teaching assistant.”

“Teaching assistant, huh?” his friend repeated, clearly amused.

There was almost a challenge to the title. Something about the way he said it setting my heart into overdrive. Unable to control my own treacherous tongue, I continued to dig myself a wonderfully sized hole to jump in to.

“I’m also very good at hopping,” I said.  

Once again, the better company of the two laughed. Spencer, however, covered his smile with a hand that brought attention to just how red his face had grown over the course of a few seconds. I was so distracted by it, lost in the way I could still see upturned lips just from his eye shape alone, that I failed to acknowledge the other man for a suspicious length of time.

“Well hey, don’t let me get in the way of you two catching up. Reid, I’ll go tell the hostess we’re here, so the others know where to go.”

With a firm pat on the shoulder, the man almost turned to walk away. But before he could, I drew him back again.

“Ooh, is there a party?”

Spencer, finally able to speak again, rushed his reply.

“No, it’s nothing.”

It was obviously not nothing, though. Judging by the toothy grin that his friend flashed, it was a very big not-nothing.

“Did he not tell you?” he asked with an incredulous, mischievous tone, “It’s his birthday.”

And it was, by far, the most insulting, scandalous news I’d heard that night. Enough to elicit a sharp gasp and hand reaching out to grab his wrist in a way I knew I shouldn’t have.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!”

My mind was racing, kicking myself for having not figured it out sooner. I was trying to recall the monthly staff newsletter, but then quickly remembered that I usually relied on Spencer to summarize them for me.

“It’s not my birthday,” he explained with a sigh, “It was a few days ago.”

His friend seemed pleased by my response, although he clearly saw it dwindling. My heels had already dropped back down with my hands that fell away, signaling a very different emotion than the excitement from seconds prior.

“We’re meeting up with some people for drinks and dinner. You want to come?” he asked, trying to convince me before it was too late.

But the moment had passed, replaced by loud, insecure ranting that insisted that Spencer wouldn’t have avoided telling me his birthday unless he didn’t want me to know. That meant he either didn’t enjoy making a fuss out of his birthday, or he didn’t want me to, specifically.

“Uhh...”

“Don’t answer that,” Spencer cut in, swiftly raising a hand to dismiss the other man whose name I finally learned. “Thanks Derek, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled back. But Derek, in all of his disappointment, didn’t fail to draw out one more flustered laugh from the two of us who remained as he gave a tiny half-wave and sang, “Goodbye, Bunny.”

Spencer’s neck craned back, never once leaving his friend until he had safely entered the restaurant. Once he was sure that he was safe from ridicule, or at least observation, his entire demeanor changed.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offered, but I couldn’t accept. If anyone had been a bother here, it was me (and my friends).

“No, I’m sorry I bothered you!” I rushed.

The silence stretched between us, an unsettling reminder that we rarely interacted outside of work. That he’d never known me to party, and I’d never thought of him doing something as routine and normal as celebrating a birthday. It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was.

Perhaps that feeling was what drove me to continue, proudly stating, “I promise that I will have all your work ready first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t until Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened in a strange, lopsided grin that I’d realized I made a mistake.

“Um...” he spoke through laughter, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“I’m very motivated?”

Thankfully, he saw the humiliation and was happy to offer me a graceful escape from my humiliation. “How about I give you until Tuesday, instead?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best, huh?”

I gladly took it, staring down at my heels as I tried to find anything else to focus on. Anything that wasn’t his eyes that seemed even more powerful after dark. But true to the magnetism I always experienced in his vicinity, I was drawn back into golden irises full of an emotion that made my heart beat twice as hard.

“Where did your friends go?” he asked. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I just threw my thumb over my shoulder and towards the bar behind me. I didn’t turn away from him then, too scared to acknowledge that I would be leaving him soon. That we would go our separate ways again and I would have to wait until Tuesday to drown in the honey of his eyes again.  

Sure enough, Spencer gave a solemn nod and cleared his throat before mumbling, “Right. You should probably go find them, so they don’t get worried.”

But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him, the rest of the world be damned. I wanted to feel his eyes on me longer, especially when they started to wander my figure that I’d secretly hoped he would see.

I could pretend to hate my friend for calling him over all I wanted, but when I slipped into the costume hours earlier, I’d wondered what he would do if he saw me like this. And now that the answer was in front of me, torn between the exposed skin of my thighs and chest, I wanted to experience it for as long as possible.

With my fingers on the zipper to try and calm my heart, the inebriation manifested in soft giggles as I replied, “I think I’m pretty safe with you, Professor.”  

Spencer didn’t need to vocalize his disagreement. I saw his contention in the form of wayward eyes falling to my hands that fiddled with the tiny piece of plastic keeping me covered. When they trailed back up the zipper teeth to meet my eyes again, they were filled with a hunger that took my breath away.

Unfortunately for us, though, our smitten haze wasn’t shared by anyone else in the vicinity. Especially not the drunk pack of men who passed, completely unaware of the amount of space they took up on the sidewalk. I don’t even remember one of them running into me, but I definitely remembered what followed in extreme, vivid detail.

Spencer caught me, quickly and more gracefully than I thought him capable of moving. His arms were locked around me, not only preventing me from face planting on the concrete but causing me to press my face directly against him.

Before he had a chance to say or do much of anything else, I placed my hands on his chest and tore myself away from the warmth of his embrace. Because I was already drunk enough on the alcohol — I didn’t need to be any more inebriated from him.

“S-See? You caught me!” I squeaked.

I didn’t miss the fact his hands stayed on my waist even with the added distance, his fingers subtly digging into and stroking the plush fabric. I didn’t try to stop them, either.

“Are you going to be okay? Should I take you home?”

I knew it wasn’t how he’d meant it, but my inner voice still pleaded, Yes, God, please, yes! My outer voice, however, clung to reason and respectability.

“No! Don’t miss your birthday dinner!” I insisted, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, seriously. I just suck at walking in heels.”

Any part of me that would have normally been offended by his insistence that I couldn’t handle myself while drinking was quelled by my desire to keep his hands on me as long as possible. Although there was enough space for my arms between our chests, I swore I felt his fluttering heartbeat against my fingers. I thought of hummingbirds.

Resigned to my stubbornness, Spencer took a moment longer to stroke patterns through the pink fabric wrapped around my waist before he sighed, “If you say so.”

“I do!” I giggled, leaning closer like I might convince him not to leave at all, “So you better listen up, mister Professor man.”

The look he gave me was sweet, honeyed bliss. But even that seemed minuscule in comparison to the way his hands slid over my sides, making their way over my shoulders and gently brushing the errant bunny ears back out of my face. He left them there, too, with a barely-there caress of my face.

“You look cute,” he said, like it wouldn’t break my heart.  

Shier than he’d ever seen me before, I somehow managed to still look him in the eye as I answered, “So do you.”

It was a good thing I’d been paying attention, too. If I hadn’t been staring into his eyes, I would have missed the flash of chaotic playfulness that appeared just as he glanced down at the space between our chests.

I wouldn’t have been prepared at all when he dropped one of his hands from my face to the zipper of my costume. Not to say that anything could have prepared me for the way it felt to have his knuckle brush against the skin just below the lace bralette that had been meant to protect my modesty.

Before I could even comprehend the delicious friction of our skin, it was gone. Spencer pulled the zipper up to my chin, releasing the plastic in favor of grabbing hold of my chin once more.

“Be careful with that zipper,” he instructed, “I don’t need you getting hypothermia this early in the semester.”

Unsure of how else to respond, my body responded on instinct as it stammered, “I-I promise.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, and my autopilot continued.

“Double promise. Promise squared.”

“Okay. You have my number so... call me if you need anything.”

I absently nodded, but Spencer accurately concluded that I hadn’t actually processed what he’d said. When he let go of me, he took the time to smooth out the bunched up fabric over my shoulders. I tried to convince myself that he was just interested in the soft fluff, but it was hard to ignore the hunger that’d only grown stronger. The darkness that rivaled the moonless hallow’s eve.

“I don’t mind giving you a ride home if it means you get back safe,” he said with a deathly seriousness strongly contrasted by the flippancy that followed. “Otherwise I’ll have more work for Tuesday.”

I was grateful for the shift, because it made the loss of his hands hurt less. My chest filled with laughter that quickly burst from me with frantic, messy words.

“Of course! The work. For Tuesday. Okay! Thank you!”

“For what?” he also said through laughter.

“I— don’t know.”

Spencer turned away from me, looking behind him at the obligations that would tear us apart. I wondered if he, too, was busy contemplating how well it suited just how different we were. How two establishments side by side could house such different things. How we were frequenting opposite ends of the spectrum.

Whatever he was thinking about, however, it didn’t break his spirits too badly. Because before he sent me on my merry way, he flashed me the goofiest little bouncing peace sign before he sang, “Hop along, little bunny.”

So I did, turning back to my life and letting him return to his. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes following me until the darkness of the bar swallowed the space between us.

Still, I didn’t need him to be there to remember how it felt for his hands to roam my body like familiar territory. I saw that look in his eyes every time that I closed my own and remembered how it made my legs shake like weak stems bending to the wind.

I decided then that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he’d seen me in my costume. In fact, I think he quite liked it.

 ——————————————————

 There are few things more relentless than Derek Morgan. Death and taxes, perhaps. When it came to mocking me, there wasn’t a single missed opportunity. Even at the darkest hour, I trusted him to be consistent and predictable.

That was precisely why it made no sense that I had made it through an entire dinner and drinks outing with the team without him mentioning what had happened. Not even once. I almost let myself be relieved. Perhaps time spent with a child that can talk back did him some good, I thought. But when the time finally came for us to take our leave, I realized my mistake. He wasn’t holding back out of the kindness of his heart.

No, Derek wanted to wait until there was no escape route. He wanted to have me trapped in a car hurtling down a highway before he spoke the words that he’d been waiting to say all night.

“So... Bunny.”

“Her name is (y/n),” I quickly corrected. Unfortunately, Derek wasn’t in a merciful mood. Although there was a notable smirk on his face, his next words were uttered with a hefty dose of skepticism. A warning that it was a subject that ought to be approached with a critical sincerity.

“Her name is Trouble. That’s what her name is,” he said, shaking his head.  

“She’s just my teaching assistant,” I said like I might actually convince myself, though we both knew that I wasn’t going to convince him. “It’s fine.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

But that time, it was me who issued the warning.

“Stop,” I ordered, meeting his eyes to find him hiding his genuine concern under jokes that weren’t really jokes at all. “I respect her. She’s very bright and she earned her position.”

“I never said she didn’t. I know she’s probably smart, but I also saw the way you looked at her.”

The words felt like a blow to the stomach — yet another reminder that my affections for her were so thinly veiled they might as well be scrawled across my skin. He didn’t need to be a profiler to notice that I was fond of the girl, but it certainly made it worse.

Because he knew that I was lying when I muttered, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

He knew that I was lying, but he still asked, “Why’s that?”

“She’s...” I started, pausing while the word tried to form on my tongue. The word that had haunted me ever since those damned girls mentioned it. That short, simple little noun that had taken a cursory affection and turned it into full blown lust.

“She’s a virgin.”

Derek’s brows jumped up his face, his jaw dropping the same way mine had when I first heard the news. Then, just as I had, he put the pieces together and realized that it should have been a foregone conclusion.

“Trouble with a capital everything,” he half laughed.

But this wasn’t a joking matter, and I really wished that I could make him believe that. That definitely wouldn’t happen, though. Not when he looked up to see me hiding behind my hands, sinking into my seat like it would get me out of the conversation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s obviously waiting.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I should have seen his response coming from a mile away. But I didn’t, and so I was forced to listen to his childish giggles that were followed with an even more lighthearted crooning.

“Yeah, waiting for the right professor to come teach her the lesson on the birds and the bees.”

“Cut it out.”

Without even looking, he astutely observed, “Kid, you’re blushing.”  

“Yeah, because you’re talking about me fuc–”

The word never made it out, getting caught between my teeth as I bit down on my tongue damn near hard enough to make it bleed. I wished it would. I wanted the iron to drown me and rid me of the sinful things it sought to do, instead. Opting for a more… distinguished explanation, I eventually stammered the rest of the thought.

“You’re talking about me... deflowering my significantly younger employee!”

“You can say fuck, Reid,” he deadpanned, “I think you’re old enough now.”

“I don’t want to. It sounds too... crude.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’d only seen her when she was at her most provocative… by far. Part of me envied him, to be able to sequester her innocence and view her as just another girl.

But she wasn’t like anyone else. She was an untouched bloom, a magnolia of unearthly shades. A beautiful blossom that had broken through the concrete walls I’d maintained for so many years. A tantalizing taste of the life outside that I refused to let in.

A fucking tease.

“Too crude for little miss innocent bunny?” Derek cooed, and it was so uncomfortably close to my thoughts that I couldn’t help the way I snapped back.

“Are you done?”

As we pulled into my parking lot, Derek just waved off my hostility, recognizing it as nothing but misfired shame and anguish at the thing I wanted being out of my reach.

“Yeah, I’m done. I hope you had fun, even with the teasing.”

I chose not to dignify the second half of the statement, climbing out of the car like I couldn’t step away from the conversation fast enough. But of course, I knew that only made my guilt more apparent. My culpability was clear and conclusive. There was no argument to be made.

“You know I’m right!” he shouted just before the door shut. A final reminder, one last cautionary call for the beast inside of me to keep itself hidden lest I allow myself to sink my teeth into something pure.

“Goodnight!”

Few things changed when I reached the confines of my apartment walls. Fantasies had only devolved into a vividness that was borderline frightening. How easily I could get lost in visions of her, only promising my return in exchange for my imagination agreeing to become a reality that I would get a chance to experience.

But that wasn’t fair to her. She was just a girl doing her job with an astounding amount of patience and understanding for her hopeless romantic of a boss. For a moment, the guilt became so overwhelming that I let it win. I managed to swallow my newly acquired memories well enough to navigate my nightly routine without wishing she was there every step of the way.

Wishing that she would call me. That she would grant me the excuse to return to her, to touch her as freely as I had earlier. I imagined a world where, upon arriving to her destination, she invited me in.

As I collapsed on my bed, I wondered if she would have preferred the privacy of my home. A place far enough away from other students and academics to finally see me as something more than a superior. Something attainable in a way she never seemed to be.

Just as I closed my eyes to give in to the dreams, my phone buzzed. The sound set off every nerve in my body, all of them very poorly coordinating to allow me to grab the device and turn it on to reveal her name.

“Hey Professor! I just wanted to let you know that I got home…”

I’d never opened a notification so quickly, but I should have waited. I should have paused and taken the time to notice that what I was opening wasn’t just a collection of letters and symbols.

It was a set of pictures.

Pictures of her.

“Safe and sound and zippered up. No hypothermia for this bunny tonight,” she tagged onto the end, “Sweet dreams!”

How could I ever dream of anything but her? How was I meant to turn off my phone now, knowing that she was there; her drunken, lustful stare on display? I only tore my eyes away from her face long enough to notice her surroundings. I took extensive, painstaking notes on the color of the sheets on her bed and the way the zipper I’d tugged at to control myself from taking her had fallen away again.

I could feel the softness of her skin against my knuckle again. I heard the way her breath nearly broke at the force with which she sucked in air at the feeling of me touching her. How hard she pressed herself against me, how her back arched when I held her and how she never even tried to stop my hands from finding new places to rest.

They worked diligently now, too, trying to keep her awake and with me for as long as I could, but also wanting to free myself of obligations so that she wouldn’t notice how long I’d stared at the pictures she’d sent.

“Goodnight, little bunny,” I sent before adding, “I’ll be counting rabbits instead of sheep tonight.”

As if to reward my efforts, another picture flooded my screen. Her face was scrunched up in an adorable innocence, half covered with her hand but still effortlessly beautiful.

I stopped myself from responding again. I forced myself to stop, to prevent treacherous hands from calling her and begging her to let me come to her. It wasn’t fair — it was manipulative, downright evil, even — to take advantage of her inebriated state to hoard any insight she might provide.

But she’d already sent these… So, would it be so wrong to indulge in her? By touching my own body to the thought of her, would I taint her? Did I care even if it did? Maybe it was for the best to plant the seed of impurity now, to strip her of her power over me.

But deep down, I knew that I would still want her. I would still wish that the hand that sneaked beneath the sheets belonged to her. I could almost feel it as my hand traversed familiar territory. It would be new for her, and it would be new for me to feel the delicate, unmarred skin of her palm slowly sliding down my stomach. Her fingers bashfully brushing through soft curls at the base of me, still too nervous to hold me the way I needed her to.

Her face would be buried in my shoulder, with dew from her breath wetting my neck and raising the hairs on my arms. I would take her hand in mine and guide her to wrap her trembling hand around my cock.

Just like I was doing to myself now, with my other hand still holding the phone displaying the image of innocence. My hand wasn’t as soft or inexperienced as hers would be, but as long as my eyes stayed on her half-lidded gaze staring back at me, I could pretend.

I could hear her panting my name— my real name, Spencer— in my ear, praising the feel of silky skin beneath her fingertips. She would whisper about how she wanted to feel it elsewhere, too. She would beg for me to replace a hand for her most precious place.

That damned angelic girl showing her hand on the zipper would beg me to steal away her innocence. She would unveil herself slowly, knowing that I needed the time to memorize every inch of her skin as it was seen by another for the first time. Seen by me, and only me. The vision would be for my consumption and indulgence.

I wanted it. I wanted her.

My stomach tensed as I pictured the girl staring back at me straddling my hips. I stroked myself harder, faster, letting my thumb trace down her body on my screen.

If I stole it from her, would it be mine?

Would she be trapped as I was, only able to feel anything when I was with her? Would she dream of me? Would she cherish each and every memory of my touch and play it back in her mind? When she felt the urge to break and burn, would she picture my hands lighting the match?

If I ruined her, would she be mine?

I pictured the girl on the screen with tears in her eyes, her mouth stuck open in a silent scream and her hands clutching desperately to mine. I imagined how tightly her body would grip me as I fucked her. How hard it would fight the intrusion of my sinful touch. How I would hold her down despite the resistance until she gave in to me. Until I broke her, thoroughly and irreparably.

She would be mine.

That was the thought that took me over the edge, all energy that was not delegated to my hand feverishly stroking my cock remained with my other hand to hold her picture in front of me. It never even wavered, never once shaking and risking losing any clarity. Even my eyes refused to close all the way.

She would be mine.

The warm, sticky mess of my desire coated my hand and stomach, but all I could think was how it would feel to mark her as mine. To feel the excess drip back down my cock as she collapsed against my body. To know that she would never be the same, never be wholly herself again. That she’d let me inside of her soul and that when I left, I hadn’t left empty handed.

She was already mine.

 ——————————————————

| Part Four |

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[vanillasakura]

IT’S FINALLY HERE <3

I first got into Red Dead around late July or so when I watched my friend and her dad speedrun the game, and one of the first things I came across for this fandom was Sapphic Week, so I’m very very happy to be able to contribute this year, especially as I’d be lying if I said the lovely ladies in this game weren’t the main reason I initially got into it and ended up buying it for myself.

Once again, a HUGE shoutout to @rdrsapphicships and Aldrig for hosting this event! I’m so excited to see what everyone creates <3 Without further ado, let’s get into it!

RDRSW21 Day 1: Music 

Title: Close Your Eyes (As it Eats at Us)

Words: 1857

Pairing: Abigail Roberts/Molly O’Shea

Warnings/Notes: Slight John bashing I’m sorry but this takes place early chapter 2 so... slightly warranted 

(Title from Close Your Eyes by The Midnight Club)

ao3 link

  ≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾

Don't you know, when your eyes are closed, you see the world from the clouds along with everybody else?

Indeed, Molly was on her own much of the time. Dutch could only afford her so much attention, and when he was away from camp or otherwise occupied, there wasn’t anybody who really came up to her on their own will. Not exactly like she could blame them, Molly wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. Growing up, she’d always assumed otherwise, but after seeing how Karen and Tilly had told her to stop coming up to them and “being a bitch for no good reason”, she began to wonder if everyone back home was nice to her because they had to be. Even if Molly herself wasn’t a picture-perfect example of politeness, being anything but an angel to the O’Shea daughter could have been considered blasphemy. 

It was lonely, terribly so, but Molly wasn’t quite sure what she could do to remedy the situation. She wrote poetry, she read books, she went on walks in circles around camp, she looked out over the valley (Horseshoe Overlook really hadn’t gotten its name from nowhere), but more than anything, Molly watched.

She watched how Reverend had gradually stopped bothering pretending to read the bible, instead choosing to start downing drinks earlier and earlier. She watched how Bill devoured Kieran with his eyes, all but confirming her suspicion that the man did indeed want to bed the new camp member. She watched how Karen would clench her jaw when Mary-Beth asked how things were going with Sean, but would then take his hand later and pull him out of camp, the pair slipping away to either do each other or to do nothing at all. She watched how Arthur hadn’t bothered to take down the photo of the woman who did nothing but cause him pain even after Hosea had told him to do so, instead still glancing at it longingly every now and again while he cleaned his guns in his tent. She watched Josiah practice speaking in all sorts of different accents on the outskirts of camp, correcting himself out loud whenever something wasn’t quite right. She watched how Jack would try and weave flower crowns for his mother, small hands shaking as he attempted to tie the stems of various blooms together, putting the ones he had broken too short or knocked a petal off of in a pile to his left. She watched how John admitted to Javier and Pearson that, if he could, he would kill Abigail and never think twice about it. 

The comment shouldn’t have startled Molly as much as it did. She knew that John was a good man deep down, but the way that he uttered the confession without so much as a second thought as to if what he was saying was okay made her sick. Abigail was nothing if not kind, hard-working, and strong, nothing like the type of woman you would imagine deserved those kinds of threats. What made John that angry at her, Molly didn’t know, and she wasn’t quite sure that she cared to. 

After that night, Molly didn’t just stop watching. She’d heard people say worse things, many times, but there was something about the raw earnesty in which John had spoken that made his words haunt Molly like nothing else had. She decided to start watching Abigail more, justifying it by telling herself that it was for the other woman’s safety, even though realistically, there wasn’t much protection that Molly could offer her. 

And one of the first things that Molly noticed as she began watching Abigail was that the woman could sing. 

Abigail had this habit, whenever she was sitting in her tent on her own while working on something that needed to be done, where she would hum a tune, letting her own voice pop in here and there with the words that she knew. It was an uncoordinated affair, but it was never intended to be anything but. 

It was also adorable.

So adorable, in fact, that Molly decided that maybe she didn’t just need to watch anymore, maybe she could actually go and sit with Abigail. After all, much like her, Abigail was alone, more often than not. What harm could come of it?

“You need any help?” Abigail looked up from her work, pausing her humming as Molly stood by her, close, but not so much so as to suffocate the other woman. 

“Didn’t know you offered that.” Abigail responded, expression unreadable. 

“Hasn’t been something I’ve extended before.”

“With all due respect, Miss O’Shea, I don’t need anyone’s help if they only do so because they take pity on me, especially someone who ‘isn’t anyone’s servant girl’.” Abigail’s eyes turned cold, her brow furrowed, and Molly felt anxiety beginning to set in. 

“That wasn’t my intention whatsoever, I just…” she trailed off, and Abigail cocked her head, “I just don’t want to be alone. Is it okay if I enjoy your company? Just for a short while.”

Abigail sighed, chewing on her lip. “I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t know that feelin’ all too well. Truth be told, you’re the first person who’s come up to me in weeks.”

“I have no idea why that is, though.” Molly picked a sock out of the basket by Abigail’s feet, grabbing a needle and some thread along with it. “You’re such a nice person, it truly is a shame that others don’t recognize it.”

“ ‘Nice person’? Miss O’Shea, you hardly know me.” 

Molly felt the same dreadful wave of anxiety begin to rise inside of her again. “I may not have talked to you much in the past, but I’ve watched.”

“Watched? Me?”

“I watch everybody.” Molly admitted, stabbing the cotton with her needle. “Although I must confess, I do enjoy watching you. I know that isn’t exactly polite, though.”

“You’re right in that it ain’t, but I suppose I’m a hypocrite, so what does my opinion really matter?”

“You, a hypocrite? How so?”

“Gets lonely when nobody comes up to make conversation. Sometimes, you’ve gotta get your fix by watching others.” Abigail laughed. “You never really feel like a part of the group, but it can help alleviate the pain sometimes.” 

“Have you ever seen how Karen and Sean sneak off all the time?” Molly asked. “Lord only can imagine what shenanigans they get up to.”

“If I know either of them, they’re probably finding some tree to fuck up against.” Abigail said, a smile appearing on her face. “Although, on second thought, maybe not, given what happened at his welcome party.”

“At the welcome party? I guess you must have seen something I didn’t. Mind sharing?” Molly asked, her interest thoroughly peaked. 

Abigail snorted. “Well, you saw how the two of them were all over each other that night, right?”

“Would’ve had to be blind as a bat to not have.” 

“Well,” Abigail continued, “at some point, I saw the two of them go into John’s tent, and given my proximity to them, it wasn’t hard to hear what was bein’ said and fill in the gaps.”

“So they slept together at the party? Can’t say that I’m quite surprised.” Molly tied up the thread as she reached the end of the tear, reaching for a handkerchief to work on next. 

“They sure did, but that ain’t the good part.” Molly watched as Abigail’s eyes laughed, full of a mischief that she had never seen present before in her usually quiet companion. “Sean has got to be the quickest quick shot I’ve ever seen, and given my history, that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

“No.” Molly covered up her mouth, stifling a laugh. 

“Yes! Poor Karen never even got hers, it had to have been the most pathetic thirty seconds in her entire life.” Abigail smiled, and Molly’s heart twitched. Why?

“Thirty seconds? Wow, if that’s so, then maybe they aren’t all over each other when they go out, and you’re right.” 

Abigail laughed, smiling at Molly. “Well, who’s to say, I’m not sure there even is such a thing as a constant when those two are involved.”

“You may be right there.” Molly puffed one of her cheeks out, trying her best to figure out what to bring up next. She was having a lot of fun, she should do this more often, especially as Abigail also seemed to appreciate the time they were spending together. “Okay, now is it just me, or does Bill look at Kieran a little too often for it to be considered friendly?”

“Oh, it’s not just you, no worries. I’m just a little surprised that out of everyone, he decided to be sweet on Kieran.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean, he’s nothing like the kind of men Bill’s been sweet on in the past.”

Molly stopped in her tracks. “Wait, you’ve known about Bill before this?” 

“Yeah, it ain’t that hard to figure it out if you know what to look for.” Unable to gauge Molly’s reaction, Abigail continued on. “I mean, I don’t have a problem with it, whatever makes you happy makes you happy, y’know? And if that means lovin’ somebody of the same sex, I sure as hell don’t see a problem with it.”

“We’re in agreement there.” Molly smiled, going back to her work, her heart beat now more palpable. “I mean, as nice as it can be to see everyone here fall in love-”

“Or lust.” Abigail interjected, a smirk on her face.

“Or lust, that’s true-- I still think that my favorite person to observe is you.”

“Hm? And why is that?” Abigail still had that smirk on her face, raising an eyebrow. “What about me is so interesting that you’d prefer to watch me than whatever the latest addition to the Sean and Karen saga is?”

“I, uh,” Molly flushed, suddenly aware of what she was saying and how weird it could be considered. “I just, I like watching you hum and sing whenever you work. Something about it is just, I dunno, very relaxing.”

Abigail clicked her tongue. “You really do notice a lot, huh?”

“Yeah.” Molly replied sheepishly.

“I guess it’s only fair that I tell you that I find watching you write poetry is quite calming.”

“You saw me doing that?” 

“How could I not? Both of us do a lot of watching and thinking, we’re both very similar in that regard.” she said, unbothered by Molly’s embarrassment. 

“I’m… glad, you can find comfort in something that I do.” Molly settled on. 

“The more we talk, the more I’m beginning to think that I just find comfort in you. Somethin’ about you just makes you easy for me to talk to.” Abigail smiled. 

“The same goes for you.” Molly sighed, nibbling on her lip. “We should do this more often. I’m having a good time.”

“So am I.” Abigail agreed. “It’s much better to be with you than to be alone.”

“It really is.” Molly shifted a bit, turning more towards Abigail. Maybe working wasn’t so bad after all.

#rdrsapphicweek2021 #abigail roberts #abigail roberts marston #abigail marston #molly o'shea #rdr2 community #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fandom #red dead fandom #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #my writing #fanfiction #wlw #sapphic

[rallamajoop]

...and the unironic joys of better living through chemistry

How do I love Venom: The Hunger, let me count the ways…

It’s by far the shippiest Venom/Eddie story to come out of the character’s heyday. It’s the only story of the era to treat Venom’s violent wild-animal instincts not as an immutable fact, but as something that can be managed. It pulls off an aesthetic like nothing else that was being done at the time.

And then there’s the way it says, Does the world around you seem sinister and foreboding? Do you lie awake at night contemplating metaphorical oceans of despair? Well shit, son – have you considered you may be suffering from a mundane neurochemical imbalance, and a round of the right meds could clear that right up for you?

It does all this without breaking the atmosphere, without a whiff that our story has been interrupted for a Very Special Message about mental health.

In the near-decade since I was first prescribed anti-depressants, I don’t think I’ve read another story that lands the message “Sometimes, it’s not you, it’s just your brain chemistry,” so well.

Fair warning: if you have not read The Hunger, I am about to spoil every major plot point. If you have, well, maybe I can still give you a new appreciation for a few details you might have missed.

It’s a strange book, whatever else you take from it. It’s almost the only thing either author or artist contributed to the Venom canon, and it’s so different stylistically and tonally from the 90′s Venom norm that it feels like a tale from some noir-elseworlds setting instead of 616 canon. When you take risks that big with a property, you leave yourself precious little landing space between 'unmitigated triumph’ and ‘abject failure’: if this book hadn’t absolutely nailed it, I’d be dismissing it as edgy, OOC dreck. Fortunately, if The Hunger is nothing else, it is a story that $&#@ing commits – to basically everything it does.

Now, I'm not going to tell you Venom: The Hunger is a story about overcoming depression, because I don't know whether author Len Kaminski even thought about it that way while working on it. There's always space for other readings, and this one take is not gospel. That said: holy shit is this thing unsubtle with its metaphors. And with that in mind, let’s start by talking a little about Kaminski’s take on Eddie himself.

As I may have mentioned before, I like to divide 90′s Eddie into two broad personas: the Meathead, and the Hobo.

Kaminski’s Eddie nominally belongs in the angsty, long-haired Hobo incarnation, but that’s a bit of a simplification: this version certainly has plenty of angst and plenty of hair to his name – but nowhere, not even at his lowest ebb, does he doubt that he and his Other are meant for each other, which is usually Hobo!Eddie’s primary existential quandary.

He’s also taken up narrating his own life like a hardboiled PI.

So that’s... novel.

The only other time Eddie’s sounded like this is, er, in that one other Venom one-shot Kaminski penned (Seed of Darkness, a prequel that sadly isn’t in The Hunger’s league), so I think we can safely file it under authorial ticks.

Then again, Hobo!Eddie’s always been one melodramatic SOB, so maybe this is just how he’d sound after learning to channel his angst into his poetry. You can’t argue it fits the aesthetic, anyway.

We’d also be remiss not to mention Ed Halsted’s art, which I can only describe as gothic-meets-noir-meets-H.R.-Giger. Never before or since has the alien symbiote looked this alien: twisted with Xenompoph-like ridges and veins.

But Halsted doesn’t treat Venom to all that extra detail in every panel. Instead, the distortion tends to appear when the symbiote is separated from Eddie or out of control – and I doubt you need me to walk you through the symbolic importance of that creative decision. More importantly, Halsted’s art provides exactly the class of visuals that Kaminski’s story needs.

Did I mention this is a horror story? You might be surprised how few Venom stories really fit that genre, but if all those adjectives about Halsted’s style above didn’t clue you in, this is one of them.

Anyway, with that much context covered, let’s get into the main narrative of this thing.

As our first issue opens, Eddie’s world has become a dark and foreboding place. He’s not sleeping, though he mostly brushes this off. (Fun fact: trouble sleeping is one of those under-appreciated symptoms of depression. Additional fun fact: the first doctor ever to suggest I might be suffering from depression was actually a sleep specialist. You can guess how that appointment was going.)

Just to set our scene, here’s all of page 1.

Eddie’s narration has plenty of (ha) venom for his surroundings, but the visuals are here to back him up: panels from Eddie’s POV are edged in twisted, fleshy borders and drained of colour, the people rendered as creepy, goblin-like creatures. A couple of later scenes go even further to contrast Eddie-vision with what everyone else is seeing:

As depictions of depression go this is a little on the nose, but then, you don’t read a comic about a brain-eating alien parasite looking for subtlety, do you?

Eddie  doesn’t see himself as depressed, of course. As far as he’s concerned, he’s seeing the world’s true face: it’s everyone else who’s deluding themselves. He’s still got his symbiote, so he’s happy. He’s yet to hit that all-important breaking point where something he can’t brush off goes irrevocably wrong.

But he’s also starting to experience these weird... cravings.

He just can’t put a name to exactly what he’s craving until a routine bar fight with a couple of thugs takes a turn for the horrific.

(I include this panel partly to point out even in The Hunger, the goriest of all 90′s Venom titles, you’re still not going to see brains getting eaten in any graphic detail. We don’t need to to get the horror of the moment across. The 90′s were a more innocent time.)

Eddie himself is horrified when he comes back to himself and realises what he’s done.

Or rather, what his symbiote’s just made him do.

Kaminski doesn’t keep us in suspense about why, though. Eddie may have just done something horrific, but there’s a reason, and it’s as mundane as a vitamin deficiency. He’s bonded to an alien creature, after all, and his symbiote is craving a nutrient which just happens to be found in human brains. And if Eddie can’t or won’t help it meet that need, it’ll do so alone. 

Now, giving us that explanation so quickly is an interesting creative decision: this is a horror story, and horror lives in what we don’t know. Wouldn’t it be all the more horrifying had the symbiote been unable to explain what’s going on, leaving Eddie without the first real clue as to where this monstrous new hunger had come from?

The Hunger doesn’t take that route though, and I love it. Eddie isn’t a monster, this isn’t his fault: he has a fucking condition, and wallowing in his own moral failings is going to get him nowhere. You might as well try to cure scurvy or rickets with positive thinking. Just like depression can make you feel like an utter failure at the most basic parts of being human, and all the affirmations in the world won’t fix it when it’s fundamentally your brain chemistry that’s the problem. Or like addicts aren’t weak-willed for struggling not to relapse, they’re dealing with genuine chemical dependency – or even like how someone who’s trans isn’t at fault for being unable to reconcile themselves to the bodies and the hormones they were born with by pure force of trying. Free will is more than an illusion, but we’re all messy, biological organisms underneath, and your own brain and biochemistry can and will fuck you over in a hundred wildly different ways for as many wildly different reasons and it’s not your fault.

We aren’t monsters. But if we do, sometimes, find ourselves identifying with the monster, there might be a reason for that.

(Ahem)

I’m just saying, that’s fucking powerful, and we need more stories that say it.

Anyway, in case you missed it during that tangent, issue #1 closes with the symbiote having torn Eddie’s heart in two itself free to go hunting brains without him.

I’m trying not to get too sidetracked at this point talking about Kaminski’s take on the symbiote itself. Suffice to say there are broadly two schools of thought on how it ought to function while separated from its host: the traditional ambulatory-slime-puddle version, and the more recently popular alternative where anything-you-can-do-with-a-host-you-can-also-do-without-one. I’m not much of a fan of the latter, personally: if your symbiote doesn’t actually need a host, I feel you’ve sort of missed the point. (The movie takes the route of saying symbiotes can’t even process Earth’s atmosphere without a host, which is a great new idea that appears nowhere in the comics, and I love it. Hosts or GTFO, baby!)

Kaminski has his own take, and I can only wish it had caught on. Without Eddie, the symbiote becomes an ever-shifting insectoid-tentacle-snake-monstrosity, driven by an animalistic hunger. It’s many things, but it’s never humanoid.

If you absolutely must have your symbiote operating minus a host, I feel this is the way to do it: semi-feral, shapeless and completely alien (uncontrollable violence and cravings for brains to be added to taste).

Issue #2 comes to us primarily through the perspective of the mild-mannered Dr. Thaddeus Paine of the Innsmouth Hills Sanitarium (yes, really).

Yeah, he’s not fooling anyone. Meet our official villain! He joins our story after Eddie is picked up by the police and handed off to the nearest available institution, on account of how completely sane and rational he’s been acting.

Naturally, Dr. Paine soon has copious notes on Eddie’s ‘crazy’ story about his psychic link to a brain-eating alien monster. Fortunately for Eddie, Paine also runs some tests and makes an interesting discovery. 

Congratulations, Venom: the ‘vitamin’ you were missing officially has a name!

Finding the right meds isn’t always this easy. I got lucky – the first ones my psych put me on worked pretty well – but I have plenty of friends who weren't so lucky. In fact, the treatment for Eddie's problems is so straightforward it arguably has more in common with, say, endocrine disorders like thyroid conditions or Addison’s disease, which differ from clinical depression but present many similar symptoms (but can sadly be just as much of a bitch to get correctly diagnosed – please do read author Maggie Stiefvater’s account of the latter when you get the chance, because forget Venom, that is a horror story).

‘True’ depression remains much less well understood by medicine, either in its causes or how to effectively treat it. But simply having a name for what was wrong with me made so much difference, and that’s an experience I imagine anyone who’s dealt with any long undiagnosed medical condition could relate to. It put my life in context in a way nothing else had in years.

(I can’t speak to the accuracy of the way phenethylamine is portrayed in this comic – a quick google suggests there may be some real debate that phenethylamine deficiencies have been overlooked as a contributor to clinical depression, but having no medical background, that one’s well beyond me. Either way, scientific accuracy really doesn’t matter in this context – it’s how it works in-universe for story purposes that we should pay attention to.)

Since this issue is mostly from Paine’s POV, we don’t get Eddie’s reaction to having a healthy amount of phenethylamine sloshing around in his brain again, just the assurance that treatment appears to be ‘completely successful’.

He’s still a paranoid, hostile bastard though. Meds can turn your life around, but they won’t make you not you.

But even if Eddie’s feeling better, he’s still psychically linked to someone who isn’t. Symbiote-vision still comes through drained of colour and edged in viscera.

That’s the thing about meds: they won’t solve all your problems overnight. If you’ve been depressed for a while, there are good odds you have problems stacking up. But working meds can be a godsend when it comes to getting you into a space where you can deal with your problems again, whether said problems are doing-your-laundry or all the way into not-giving-up-completely-and-just-accepting-you’ll-die-alone-on-the-street.

For Eddie, ‘dealing with his problems’ begins with stealing a keycard and busting out of the asylum.

Of course, that’s the easy part. How do you solve a problem like a feral symbiote? Like any good 90′s comic book protagonist, Eddie tackles it by putting on his big-boy camouflage pants and kitting himself out with weapons and pouches while quoting “If you live something, set it free. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down.”

We can add this to the list of things I love about this comic. Even if The Hunger is a weirdly-stylistic tract about depression at heart, it’s also still a goddamn 90′s Venom comic, and not ashamed to be.

We’re into issue #3 now, and back to hearing the story from Eddie’s POV.

Eddie is very much aware that his symbiote has murdered innocent people while they’ve been separated. Even if this is the result of extreme circumstances, there’s a good case to be made that the symbiote is too dangerous to be allowed to live. Plenty of heroes would treat it like a rabid dog at this point.

But Eddie isn’t a hero, he’s a mess of a character and an anti-hero at best, so we don’t have to hold him to the same standard. He’s well aware his symbiote may be too far gone to save, that he may have to put it down – but that’s only his backup plan. He wants to help it. He wants it back. He’s down in that sewer with screamers and a flamethrower because he knows all his symbiote’s weaknesses, but he’s also carrying a large jar of black-market synthesised phenethylamine, because if he can just get close enough...

Depression can’t make you a literal monster, but it can make you an asshole. Miserable to be around, lacking even the energy to care who else you’re hurting. The depression doesn’t excuse that, but it makes everything harder, and it’s that much easier to sink back into your spiral when everyone around you has given up. It can make you think everyone around has given up even if that isn’t true.

So to have Eddie here say, in effect, I don’t care how many people you’ve eaten, I know it wasn’t your fault. I still love you. You’re still worth fighting for – god, does that get me right in the id.

There’s still a whole issue left at this point – we’ve still got to deal with our real villain, Dr. Paine, who we’ve just learned is into eating brains himself and torturing his patients recreationally, and who wants to capture the symbiote for his own purposes. There’s the scene where Eddie and his symbiote finally bond again, and Venom beats up all Paine’s goons while singing David Bowie because like I said, this is still a 90′s superhero comic and this is what Venom does.

But for our purposes, I'm going to skip to the penultimate page of the story, because the way it mirrors our opening page is really lovely.

Remember that shot of Eddie dealing with a beggar back at the beginning of the story, thinking about how these people would 'get their despair all over you'? Here he is again, cheerfully forking over the last dollar in his pocket to the next man to ask him for change. For all the gothic atmosphere and gore, it’s moments like this that make The Hunger easily one of the most positive, uplifting Venom stories ever written. Funny, that. (I could probably write a whole other essay on sympathy for the homeless as a recurring motif in Venom stories, but that... well, whole other essay and all that.)

What’s Eddie learned from this experience? Don’t take your symbiote for granted. Is ‘symbiote’ a metaphor for mental health here, is paying attention to its needs an allegory for paying attention to your own? I still don’t know how literally Kaminski meant us to take this, but it’s a lovely note to end on no matter how you parse it.

At the end of the day, The Hunger isn’t flawless. The conflict with Paine ends on a thematic but slightly unsatisfying note. Eddie makes much of his symbiote's loneliness and desire for union, but when the two of them are finally reunited, the only reaction comes from Eddie's side. In fact, the symbiote seems to have no response to being able to return to Eddie at all, and that’s an omission that bugs me.

But Kaminski is more interested than any other writer of the era in the truly alien nature of the symbiote, in its relationship with Eddie from Eddie’s side, and though plenty of others talk about the symbiote's love/hate relationship with Spider-man, no-one else had the guts to portray their relationship this much like a romance.

And Venom: The Hunger is no less interesting in the context of Len Kaminski’s other work. You don't have to look far into his Marvel and DC credits to pick up that the guy has a real thing for monsters. (“All of my favourite characters are outlaws, misfits, anti-heroes,” he says, in one of the very few interviews I could find with him, “I wouldn't know what to do with Superman.”) He's written for vampires, werewolves, victims of mad science, and all of three at once, littering his work with biochemistry-themed technobabble, melodramatic monologues, gratuitous pop-culture references, and protagonists who must learn to embrace their inner demons. So The Hunger represents more than a few of his favourite running themes.

For our context, his more notable other work includes Children of the Beast, in which a werewolf must make peace between his human and animalistic sides, and The Creeper, in which a journalist must make peace with the crazy super-powered alter-ego sharing his body. In fact, The Creeper and The Hunger share so much DNA (including an evil doctor posing as a respected psychiatrist who uses hypnosis on our hero while he's trapped in a mental institution) that it’s quite the achievement that they still feel like such very distinct entities beyond that point.

The human alter-egos of both werewolf and Creeper even use prescription meds while wrestling with their respective dark sides. The difference, in both cases, is that these are stories where meds play their traditional fictional role – and that's a role that could be as easily filled by illegal drugs or alcohol without making any substantive difference. You see, if a protagonist is using them, it's a sign of unwillingness to tackle their 'real' problems. Even among work by the same author in the same genre, The Hunger represents an outlier. And that's just a little disappointing – at least to me.

In real life, of course, prescription meds are no magical cure-all elixir. Depression meds that work for one person may not work for another, or may not keep working in the longer term. Everyone has heard stories about quack doctors who prescribe them to the wrong patients for the wrong reasons, about lives ruined by addictions to prescription painkillers, or the supposedly-damning statistics about how poorly SSRI's perform in rigorous clinical trials. The proper way to treat depression is obviously with lifestyle and therapy. People will still airily dismiss medications that we all know previous generations got along just fine without, or suggest that figures like Van Gogh would never have created great art if they hadn't been mad enough to slice off an ear. I mean, the fact you think you need those bogus mediations is probably the best possible sign of just how broken you are, right? Who do you think you’re kidding?

Our popular fiction loves stories about manly men who bury their trauma under a gruff, anti-social exterior and come back swinging at the world that broke them, bravely refusing even painkillers that might dull their manly reflexes. Other genres make space for broken people confronting their demons in grand moments of catharsis, finally breaking down into tears when someone gets through to make them face their problems. "I could barely make it out of bed in the mornings until I found a doctor who started me on this new prescription" is not only wildly counter to the accepted social narrative, it's a hard thing to know how to dramatise.

 Even other Venom comics have been guilty of this.

Believe me, I recognise all of this, and just how much progress we've made in the last few decades. But I haven't the slightest doubt that for so many vulnerable people, the stigma against prescription medications does infinitely more harm than those same meds could ever do. And just having the right to externalise my problems into it's not you, it's your brain chemistry, may have helped me more than the meds themselves.

(And again, no, being prescribed SSRI's didn't fix me overnight, but I honestly don't know if all the talk therapy and tearful conversations with family members in the world could've got me as far as I've come without them.)

I love Venom: The Hunger. It's no-one's idea of high art, but it doesn’t need to be. There is a whole other post’s worth of things I love about it that I’ve already cut out this one as pointless tangents, and that may actually be it’s biggest drawback as a go-to example: I fully recognise that I would not be making this post if The Hunger hadn't also also grabbed me as a great bit of Venom canon, being the massive fan and shipper that I am. Other people who are just as desperate as me for more stories with the same core theme, but not into weird 90's comics about needy goo aliens, probably won't get nearly as much out of it as I have.

But if it sounds anything like your jam, maybe you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

If nothing else, it proves that you can make a viscerally satisfying story out of a message that shockingly unconventional. And you may even have people still discovering it and falling in love with it 25 years after the fact.

#Venom: The Hunger #Venom #depression #SSRIs #Symbrock #Venom meta #meta #Venom comics #Len Kaminski

[elizabethrobertajones]

Did Bobo really create the Wayward Sisters? If so, why weren't Jack and especially Cas included in that episode? That's my biggest issue with that pilot honestly, I mean, the fact that the show abandoned Claire and Cas' bond after season 10 and gave that storyline to Salmondean. Her bond with Cas is more interesting because of their connection to the Novaks. I also think that Claire and Jack would've made a more engaging dynamic and spin off together, I think they're strong characters & actors

Hi there!

Bobo isn’t the “creator” of Wayward so much as it can even have one, as it was a very organic idea, which even involved a healthy amount of fandom input. The original campaign in season 10 was for Wayward Daughters, and the idea picked up so much steam the altered title for, I guess, a mix of copyright and thematic relevance was the Sisters one. I’d say 10x08 was the real genesis of it as something that could be really solid. Once Kim and Briana were put together the chemistry and star power they could have had together was really meteoric as far as our small SPN world was concerned. Phil Sgriccia directed 9x13 and wrote 10x08 and was more of the parent of Wayward than any specific writer in that sense. Jody and Claire were pretty much common property of the show by that point. Claire was really introduced again in relation to plotlines and questions about Cas and less to do with them really going out of their way to re-launch her. I think they’d have been much cornier about it from the start and while YA protagonist diary writing her way through the end of Wayward Sisters was cute, it’s the sort of cutesy that really has to be earned. If she STARTED that way, like maybe me and 3 friends would be stanning her and everyone else would be revolted :P

(I am a YA fantasy novel author, but I do think everyone should make room in their hearts for this level of cheese)

In any case, Bobo just threw his hat into an already crowded ring with Alex, but obviously loving the characters and having his own personal wayward child to contribute did help elevate him to the prospective showrunner seat, but also all the other writers who’d written these characters except Dabb had left at that point. If Bobo was going to shepherd them through to their new show, he’d be the legacy writer, even though he was a new baby writer in the season Donna was introduced... Attrition aside, he did genuinely write them very well, loved their stories and was great with writing Jody when he could get her, so he would also have been a good choice even if all the others were left still... 

But anyway. Season 10′s subplot for Cas was about Claire and learning some stuff about himself along the way, but she was used very much for his personal development and for Dean as well, being a mini Dean herself in a season where he had lost a lot of his sense of self. It’s a total accident of scheduling but Angel Heart (10x20) being the last episode before 10x22 is a nice touch in that regard. And while Cas tried really hard with Claire and awoke his inner Dad side so that he’d be more prepared for fatherhood next time, it was pretty insurmountable between them to have anything more than a bittersweet relationship where the best he could do was make up with her and see her somewhere safe. The fact of him looking like her actual dead father is horrendous the more you think about it and while she managed to see him for who he was instead of a horrible monster, that’s more than enough trauma to inflict on an already traumatised girl for the sake of helping Cas’s manpain and tidying up the sticky question of Jimmy and Cas’s right to the vessel. 

Angel Heart very specifically ends with TFW mailing Claire to Jody because they know she’s already good with Alex in a genuine way and can handle these sort of issues and has done it before. And also because she can be a guardian who will not constantly remind Claire that her father is dead but something is walking around wearing a perfect reconstruction of his face. Carver era did a few things here and there with bodily autonomy and the problem of angel and demon vessels, but it was also really hit and miss. They’d get random waves of feeling guilty about it but then by necessity go back to stabbing angels in their still-living vessels an episode later. Claire was a way to address at the very least that whatever Cas was being put through was only a punishment on Cas and not on Jimmy as well, which is probably why we got such sappy Heaven scenes. We NEEDED to be shown he was in Heaven and largely okay with what was going on so that the show could justify using Cas at all as a character without breaking the code of ethics they tried to make their own characters adhere to. Aside from that it also gave Cas a side plot for when he wasn’t needed in the main plot, and any emotional connection to anything that wasn’t Sam and Dean.

Anyway 10x20 caused this huge fandom high which was followed by one of the lowest lows of the fandom immediately after, and both centred on female characters (in fact, now we know, 2 lesbians even! Though I’d wonder if, The Gay Agenda aside, Bobo spite-wrote that specifically because of the roots of Wayward) and I think that galvanised the whole movement of fans and hopefully some self-reflection in the show. They DID start making an effort in season 11, which shows some of the early signs of better inclusion but also backtracking or edging nervously away from the more intense Carver era stuff. Not just because Dean didn’t have the Mark any more but in general it was like someone had opened a window and let in some fresh air... Even before Carver bailed somewhere around the midseason to go do a different show and Dabb started to step up. 

All this to say that the Wayward stuff was always about the female characters and making up for the past sins of the show. It’s even a riff on the “wayward son” line which obviously centres around male protagonists and their journey. Claire stumbled into being a part of it in the lucky way of being in the right place and time, but the journey had already started even in the season 10 momentum with earlier work and it was that which suddenly made the prospect that Jody had two young women living with her now seem like a starter for the next generation of the show as it was a mirrored format to season 1 in a way, if you took Alex and Claire as the new Sam and Dean. It was exciting but people flipped out after Angel Heart because stuff had been bubbling since season 9 and earlier in season 10, so this was just pouring more candy into an already visibly full bowl of potential tasty gems. It made a possibility seem real that hadn’t before because we already had Kim bitterly complaining that the CW refused to hear the case for a Jody spin off because she was too old. The next best thing was a Jody spin off where she was the Gandalf to some CW age appropriate characters.

(the CW is and always has been garbage)

Anyway in season 13 Jack was introduced as a Claire 2.0 but as a male character with staying power for that reason, but he was filling the space she left for Cas. He couldn’t be a father to her and neither really wanted that set up anyway. But thematically it had created the possibility of Dadstiel and the space he had in his heart for that. Since the show was in its waning years they would be looking for endgame and handing Cas an easy win with a son he could unconditionally love who would love him back unconditionally absolutely filled that gap. It was a non SamnDean thing that Cas could have for himself outside of whatever happened with them. Not sure the memo came back that he was supposed to have mORE than that but oh well it’s not real if you don’t watch it :))) But yeah Jack was always going to be linked to Cas’s endgame, he wasn’t a free-floating character such as Jody who could go where she wanted and do as she pleased. He was main story relevant from start to finish and tied inexorably to another main character’s fate. Because the show wouldn’t do that with its female characters they could be bundled into spin offs but in practical terms Jack was both never what the Wayward as envisioned by fans or writers was about, nor would he have been free to go. 

Since it would have been about centering the stories of people overlooked by the main story, Claire a case in point that she had her life ruined in season 4 and it was a footnote until season ten, and then metaphorically more the concept of having queer and non-white characters in the mix of main characters, it would have represented a future of the story where the main show was unable to tread. Probably because of the CW. Also inherent biases in the writers. Bad cocktail. Jack is both too white and too male to fit the brief to ever leave SPN, and not only that but he is so as a precise mirror to the main white male characters, being passably any one of their sons if you squint, and meant to be instantly instinctively read as such... he was one of the safest bets of representing the show as the network wanted to imagine its target demographic.

So I really don’t think that Jack has any place being in a spin off of the show unless you want more of the same. They tried to give us something different and the CW didn’t like it because it wasn’t more of the same. Ironically a Jack spin off, with or without Claire, would have more chance of being greenlit and more chance of success. But the spin off they put their heart behind was Wayward Sisters as it was. And I think it was absolutely correct that never mind leaving Jack out of it after his work was done in the lead up episode to help set the table, but honestly they could have cut all the middle scenes of Sam and Dean wandering in the woods and gained precious seconds with the girls and still had a functioning story with those guys. It was like some cowardly missive was sent that the show couldn’t actually go more than 10 minutes without showing a flesh and blood Winchester or the whole thing would spontaneously sizzle out of syndication and the money tree would wither on the spot. And in the mean time, we could have been having Banter with the girls. Or Claire and Kaia holding hands some more. The good stuff :P 

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 17

The canteen at United Artists buzzed with the news of the scene that John Barrymore had made in the ballroom while filming Tempest. For once, Nelly had something to contribute. Over a dozen times, she told her story of him blundering into the washroom and pissing in the sink. She omitted the detail of his nose-picking, as it seemed unnecessarily spiteful. Perhaps she was still loyal to her past infatuation with him, which was now wholly gone. Regardless, her story was still a hit. 

It took a couple of days for the canteen chatter to return to the usual: who was straying from their marriage or thinking about divorce or both; who had been seen at a party or a restaurant or a premier; who had been drop-dead drunk and fallen from grace. The other extras felt smug that the stars were mortal and not gods, and although she enjoyed the gossip just as much as anyone, Nelly didn’t feel superior. It was no revelation to her, especially after encountering John Barrymore in the washroom, that Hollywood types were covered in warts if you looked closely. She thought of what Buster had said about many of them not growing up well and being like children who had been handed palaces and toys. Even though he did live in a palace, Buster felt more down-to-earth, a man she might have met anywhere. She’d felt comfortable with Louise Brooks and Charlie Chaplin too. 

Occasionally, the canteen talk was more useful, involving buzz about films that were rumored to be in the offing. On Thursday morning at eleven, Nelly heard something that stopped her heart and then broke it. She was eating a chicken salad and half listening to her neighbors, half thinking about the props she needed to organize for an upcoming scene of Norma Talmadge’s new picture The Woman Disputed, which was nearing the end of filming. Every time she thought of the film, she thought of Norma. That caused her to think of Natalie, which in turn led her to think of Buster. Even though he was with another studio and she hadn’t seen him for nearly three months, scarcely a day went by where she didn’t have cause to remember him.

“... Taming of the Shrew,” said her neighbor, a pretty brunette with a bob and a snub nose, and Nelly was suddenly paying attention just as though someone had said her name directly. Shakespeare was not a topic of conversation that typically came up in Hollywood, and when it did it was always Hamlet or Macbeth or Midsummer.

“Excuse me, could you say that again?” she said to her neighbor.

“I was on set yesterday with Mr. Taylor and he was saying his next big film’s called Taming of the Shrew. It’s Shakespeare or something. What a queer title, don’t you think? Why’d you want to tame a shrew?”

Nelly was too excited to explain the particulars of rodents versus unruly women. “When’s he casting?” she said, feeling breathless. 

“Well God knows that,” said the extra. “He’s gotta finish with Tempest first, doesn’t he? But he says Doug Fairbanks and Mary Pickford are the leads, so it must be a romance. Lord, I’d give my right ear to be in a film with her.”

Nelly could almost feel the shattered halves of her heart drop into the space beneath her rib cage. Her stomach burned. She murmured some meaningless rejoinder and let others around her pick up the threads of the conversation. No one noticed when she got up and left, her chicken salad half uneaten. 

Coming to California, all of her hard work, had been pointless in the end. She’d never stood a real chance of making it onto the screen in a leading role; even the other extras were prettier, slimmer, and more experienced, and they weren’t the main competition when it came to actresses. Somehow, she’d never thought anyone would think to make The Taming of the Shrew without her, though.

She found herself back in the prop department, going through her work like an automaton all while feeling as if a family member had just died. Well, a dream had and it was just as dear to her. It was all she could do to make it through the day without crying, but when she arrived home she found that she was too numb to let the torrent burst forth. She sat on the sofa in her apartment as the news sank in. The trajectory of her life had come into a new and painful focus. She was not to have success in pictures. Here she was, twenty-six, unmarried, no children, no career; in short, not a thing to show for her time on the earth. Worse yet, she was now all but certain that Mr. Taylor had gotten the idea from John Barrymore. Where else would it have come from?

Besides Barrymore, not a single other soul in the world knew what the dream had meant to her except Buster. She still had his number from back in October. It was written on a curled piece of paper in Bert’s handwriting and hidden in her underwear drawer, and she never considered calling it until now. The rational course of action would be to let the storm blow over and the sun reappear from behind the clouds, but she was so miserable that once the thought of Buster was in her head, she couldn’t help herself. She stood up and went into her bedroom. The paper was tucked toward the back of the drawer beneath a black silk lace chiffon chemise she’d never worn before. She told herself that it was humiliating to run to Buster and throw her little fit, yet she was in the hall outside the apartment dialing his number before she had the chance to reason herself out of it. 

The line rang and rang and rang some more. 

With every second he didn’t pick up, her misery increased. Friendless, talentless, foolish, hopeful Nelly. She was seconds away from hanging up when there was a click on the other lines and a voice, sounding harassed, said, “Hello?”

“Is this Buster?” she said. 

“Yeah?” said the voice.

“It’s Nelly.”

There was silence and evident confusion on the other end. “Oh. Well, how are you?”

A hot, mortified flush went through her. How stupid it had been to call him and involve him in her silly problems. She’d probably interrupted him in the middle of something important.

“You know what, it’s not anything important,” she said hastily. “I’m sorry I called. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Well you can’t do that to me. Now I’m interested,” said Buster. 

“No, it’s stupid. I just didn’t know who else to tell,” she said. 

“Spit it out.” 

She took a deep breath. “I just found out that Sam Taylor is directing Taming of the Shrew,” she said. “He’s cast Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks in the leading roles already. And I think—oh, this is so stupid—I think that John Barrymore gave Mr. Taylor the idea. I’m sure I gave John Barrymore the idea. I told him all about it, the night of your party. And—” To her distress, her voice cracked.

There was silence on the line. “Oh,” said Buster, his voice gentle and soothing. “You poor kid. So someone’s gone and taken your dream?”

“Yes,” she said. She fought to swallow back the tears and steady her voice. “Anyway, you’re the only one who knew … and I thought—but I told you it was stupid. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know who else to tell.”

Buster’s next words nearly knocked her over. “Where do you live? I can be right over.”

“No, no, you don’t have to,” she said hurriedly.

“No, I’m coming over. What’s your address?”

“Genesee Avenue, but don’t. You don’t have to.”

“What number?”

“401, but please—”

“Great. I’ll be there in about a half hour.” The line clicked again and he was gone, likely having realized she was about to try to argue him out of it. 

She sniffed back her tears and looked around the apartment in a daze, forced to set aside her despair as she considered the state of her home. Neatness had never been one of her talents and there was dirty laundry all over the floor, used cups stacked on top of magazines, and stacks of books everywhere. First, though, she needed to address her makeup. The sob had smeared her mascara and eyeliner, so she reapplied those and touched up her lipstick. Her hair had a few flyaways, but she judged it acceptable. The beige cotton day dress with the green and red dice pattern could have been fancier, but there were dishes and laundry to worry about and she didn’t have time to try on outfits to see which one worked best. She filled a sink with soapy water and did a quick job of cleaning three days’ worth of plates, silverware, and cups. Running short on time, she dashed around the living room next picking up slips, dresses, and stockings. She’d cleared most of them when she heard a distant knock. Her heartbeat rose in her throat.

She slipped out of the apartment and hurried to the front door before any of her neighbors could investigate. When she opened it, Buster was standing there in a pale yellow jacket over a white collared shirt. He gave a slight smile when he saw her. She was simultaneously reassured and distressed by the sight of him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Stop it,” he said, as he stepped over the threshold and she closed the door behind him. “Quit apologizing.”

“Okay,” she said. She brushed past him and took the short hall to her front door. Buster followed. Inside, she motioned for him to sit on the sofa. “I’m sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“What’d I just say about apologizing?” Buster said. He sat on the sofa, putting his elbows on his knees and knitting his hands. “So tell me about your bad news.”

Nelly hovered next to the sofa, uncertain of how to conduct herself. She was unable to forget that the last time she’d seen Buster, they had engaged in some rather serious kissing and he’d asked her to spend the night with him. There seemed to be no trace of that romantic mood left in him now. “Do you want any coffee? Tea?” she said. “I can make some.”

Buster shook his head. “I want you to sit here and tell me what’s happened.” He patted the cushion next to him.

She felt shy, but didn’t dare disobey. She took a seat beside him, leaving a polite space between them, and began pouring out her tale. In truth, there wasn’t much to say. Fairbanks and Pickford were shoe-ins and her chance to make movie history was down the drain. 

“I don’t know what I do now,” she said after explaining what she’d heard in the canteen, the despair creeping up on her again. “I wasted all this time for nothing. I was so stupid to think I’d get anywhere. You told me from the very beginning I wasn’t leading-lady material and I ought to have listened. I feel awful.”

“It’s a tough business for everyone, never mind me putting my foot in my mouth that one time,” Buster said. “What about trying out for one of the other parts?”

Nelly shook her head. “There’s Bianca. That’s it. Even if I wanted the part, I don’t have any experience. Acting in pictures, I mean. I’ve been an extra for you and in John Barrymore’s new picture. That’s all.” Her eyes welled with tears as she wondered what it had all been for. There was no place for a girl of average looks who was twenty pounds too heavy. No place for an old maid. The tears wobbled in her eyes and spilled.

Buster rummaged in his trousers pocket and handed her his handkerchief.

“Thank you,” she choked out. She blew her nose and blotted her eyes, leaving behind smudges of eyeliner and mascara on the clean white fabric. “I was so damn stupid. I shouldn’t have said a god damn thing to John Barrymore. It was hubris.”

Buster patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s a rotten business.”

She wept at his words, shielding her face with the handkerchief.  

“Now c’mon. Don’t do that. C’mere,” said Buster. 

She shook her head, but he pulled her to him and gathered her in his arms. She gave up and buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m so stupid,” she said into his shirt. As she cried the rest of her tears he continued to hold her, rubbing her back and putting his chin in her hair. 

“If it makes you feel better, even people who’ve been in the biz since the beginning don’t always get what we want,” said Buster. “I just lost my studio.”

“I know,” she said, sniffling. “Bert told me. It’s not fair to you, either.” Her tears soaked into his shirt.

Buster’s chin on her head and his touch on her back were comforting. Although she was in the grip of despondency, the caresses were making her feel just a little like things might be okay after all. 

“I’m glad you called,” he said, when the hitches in her chest began to lessen. 

“Why?” she said, straightening up and breaking his hold on her. She turned her face away. She could feel it was hot and blotchy and knew she’d cried off half her makeup. She blew her nose.

“I’ve been thinking about you, Nellie Dean.”

She dabbed at her face with the cleaner edges of the handkerchief and hazarded a glance at him. “What?”

“Since my party.”

She couldn’t tell what his expression meant. “What do you mean?” she said, feeling dumb. 

“A pretty girl is like a melody / That haunts you night and day,” he sang, with a silly smile.

She laughed at his absurdity and wiped her nose with the handkerchief. Her mood was suddenly lighter by half. He was telling her he hadn’t forgotten her. “Buster Keaton, are you making love to me?” 

He nodded. “C’mere.”

She shook her head. “I look like an utter fright, my nose is stopped up, how can you possibly want—”

“Shh,” he said. He tugged at her arm and she couldn’t resist.

She fell against him and he took her face in his hands. The kiss was long and searching. The taste of his mouth was familiar and reassuring, and the melting sensation she felt was the same, too. She’d given up hope of this ever happening again and felt beyond giddy now that it was. She leaned into him and put her hands on the back of his neck. After a minute or so, he removed his hands from her face and clutched her to him. Their thighs pressed together as they kissed.

Too soon, Nelly had to pull back. “My nose is still stopped up,” she said with a laugh. She turned away and blew it again.

Buster reeled her back into his embrace as soon as she’d finished. This time when he kissed her, he slid his hand up her knee and under her dress. He bypassed her stocking, stopped on her bare upper thigh, and squeezed, his hand warm and emphatic. Thrilled, Nelly insinuated her hands beneath his jacket to rest on his back as his tongue met hers. She knew that they couldn’t go further—she had her little friend visiting—but she found him hard to resist. He made her forget that she would never have success in pictures and that she currently looked like a fright. Feeling bold, she dropped one hand to the rear waistband of his trousers and tugged his shirt and undershirt out so she could put her hand against the warm skin of his back. 

Buster made a noise in his throat and pulled back, withdrawing his hand from her dress. He was considering her in that silent, serious way that he had. When she went to touch his face, he caught her hand. He planted kisses on her palm, then put her hand on his cheek and held it there. A very sober look was on his face and she realized in an instant what it meant. 

“I can’t,” she said, blushing.

He looked crestfallen. “Are you religious? Is that why you won’t go to bed with me?” 

She laughed and blushed deeper. “No, not at all. I’ve—oh, this is embarrassing—I’ve got my monthlies.”

“Oh,” he said. 

“I want to,” she said, not meeting his eyes. She wound her hand around his and brought it to her lips so she could kiss his knuckles. For the first time, she noticed that the index finger of his right hand was missing the first joint and there was a small protrusion at the tip. “What happened?” she said, touching it.

Buster withdrew his hand like he’d been burnt. “Clothes wringer when I was a tot,” he said.

“You’re self-conscious about it,” she said, comprehension dawning. “I’m sorry.” She gently took his hand again and kissed each fingertip individually, including the shortened one. His nails were bitten down and she wondered fleetingly about all the things she didn’t know about him. “I think it’s beautiful, just like the rest of you.” She looked at him and he swallowed. “I’m sorry about … having my monthlies too.”

“I said no apologizing,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“I did want to, that night at your party,” Nelly said, pressing his hand. “And when I didn’t hear from you, I figured I was just there for a little fun.”

Buster returned the press of her hand. “You weren’t.” He cleared his throat again. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime.”

“Okay.” 

They lapsed into silence and she could hear Buster thinking as he stroked her hand. 

“Are you hungry? I could make some sandwiches.”

“No, I uh—” He scratched his head with his other hand, seeming nervous. “I better go.”

Nelly’s heart sank. She had done something to offend him. Maybe it was mentioning his finger. Or her monthly visitor. Perhaps he thought she was making excuses. “Did I say something?” she said. 

“No. I just think if I stay here any longer, I’ll—” He laughed and didn’t finish his thought. 

“What?” she said. She kissed his hand in concern. 

“I might be compelled to do something rash, monthlies or no monthlies.” His laughter trailed off and he gave her a meaningful look. 

“Oh.” Monthlies or no monthlies, a lick of fire went through her. “I should see you out.” She stood before he had a chance to test his powers of persuasion and the fire had a chance to catch. If he really did mean to take her to bed, she didn’t want it to be this way, her makeup half-gone, the redcoats downstairs. “I’m glad you came. I feel better.”

Buster stood and put a hand in the center of her back. “Any time. Don’t worry too bad, you’ll get your break. And hey, maybe the picture will flop without you in it, ever think of that?” The hand slipped down to her waist and they walked slowly to her door.

“With Mary Pickford and Doug Fairbanks?” she said, smiling. “Not likely.”

“You never know,” he said. They went out the door and walked down the hall together, Buster still gripping her waist.

“Thanks again,” she said, as they reached the front door of the apartment. 

Buster kept hold of her waist. “Same day, same time next week?” he said.

“What, here?” she said, her heart speeding up. 

He kissed her forehead. “If the invitation stands.”

“Of course.” She hugged him, burying her face against the side of his neck where he smelled like aftershave and Buster. Her heart was beating so hard she thought she might swoon. 

Buster squeezed her back. “I’ll give you a call next week, okay? Keep your chin up.” 

With a parting kiss to her lips, he stepped into the night. She watched him until he got into his car and pulled away, then returned to her apartment. She didn’t think it was possible for her to feel in any more of a muddle. On the whole, though, Buster had made it a much more pleasant muddle. It was a cool fifty-eight degrees the morning of the 26th. There was the sign, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer-Stvdios, the gate that swung open to admit him, the attendant in the booth that waved him onto his destiny. As Buster parked his car in front of the offices, he reflected that anyone else in his place would have a song in their heart right now, what with the weekly $3,000 and twenty-five percent cut of profits that were soon to be his. Nothing sung in him. He couldn’t shake the image of a prisoner walking to the gallows as he entered the building.  

Mayer’s office was wood-panelled and working hard, Buster saw, to convey taste and refinement. Mayer had a soft, persuasive voice with a hint of a Russian accent, and it was with this voice that he told Buster how honored he was that Mr. Keaton had chosen to sign with them, and hoped that his time with the studio would be productive and successful. Irving Thalberg, also in the room, expressed similar wishes. Other men whose names he was told and promptly forgot shook his hand and said it was an honor. Professions were made that if he should need anything, anything, he should never hesitate to call upon them. Buster nodded and answered in kind. The whole scene felt stiffly rehearsed and he never had cared for rehearsals. He felt like he was watching himself on the screen.

Harold Lloyd’s words went through his head. It’s not your gang. You’ll lose. 

But there was the contract set out on a little desk like a bone for a dog, and there was the Villa to think of, the Villa wouldn’t pay for itself. There were his boys, his Little Lord Fauntleroys. There was Natalie too, he had to keep her in the way in which she had become accustomed, and he also had Myra and the other Keatons to support. 

The bone seemed too easy, there had to be some catch, some dog-catcher’s trap he wasn’t seeing. He picked up the fountain pen with the gold bib and mother-of-pearl inlays on the barrel. Giving his audience a slight smile, he unearthed the final page of the contract and signed. There was no need to read the pages before; he’d been given a copy by Joe beforehand and seen all the herebys, herewiths, hold harmlesses, and ‘it is understoods and agreeds.’

Someone clapped his shoulders and he had the fight the urge to sock them one good for touching him. He didn’t know these stuffed shirts from Adam, but he shook hands agreeably instead. It then transpired that they wanted to snap some pictures of him outside the gates, so away he went, the pliable new star that they had collected for their luminous pantheon. 

It was understand and agreed, he thought, standing there with a suitcase in one hand and oversized leather satchel in another, that Buster should herewith pose with some bags that had been plastered with stickers that read GAGS, the reason being that they would convey to the public that he was moving into M-G-M and bringing his gags (haha!) with him. He wanted a cigarette, but then there came headshots, and after all wasn’t it an honor for the photographer to be shooting him? The photographer said so, anyway. 

Honor. Everyone kept using that word. It made it sound like he was doing them a favor out of the goodness of his heart, rather than being forced into it.

When every excruciating formality had been taken care of, he shook another round of hands and was released. The tour of the studios had occurred a few weeks before and all that needed to happen now was for his new picture to be settled on. Mayer assured him that they would be in touch about it. 

As he drove away and headed back to Beverly Hills, cigarette in mouth, he felt like doing something reckless and destructive, but nothing suggested itself. Drinking himself into a stupor was too obvious and easy. He wanted to burn something down, beat someone up, anything to tarnish the squeaky-clean reputation he knew that Louis Mayer wanted him to have. He thought of surprising Nelly with a visit, but since it had only been two days since he saw her, her feminine predicament was likely to be the same. He wished Roscoe were in town and that they could paint the town red like they used to. Then he felt guilty, knowing that old Roscoe would give his right arm for a chance like he was getting. In a dialogue in his head, he apologized to Roscoe and explained that everything had changed since those early, innocent days. Things weren’t what they used to be. Hollywood was growing up. 

It’s not your gang. 

Well, what was done was done. There was no turning back now.  

You’ll lose. 

When the familiar streets and buildings of Beverly Hills came into view, he finally figured out what he was going to do. He was going to have an affair. In the years since his exile from Natalie’s bed, he’d had plenty of trysts. He was known to a brothel or two, and he’d also had a couple of steadies, girls with their own places he could depend on to scratch the itch when he got it, but he’d never had a real affair. He knew the perfect place to start it, too. He pulled into the parking lot of Luxury Travel and stretched his legs. 

The receptionist pretended not to be awed when she saw him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Keaton?” she said, as though they’d met before. 

“I’d like to see a man about a cabin,” he said. “A cabin by a lake.”

“Of course. Let me go get Mr. Cabbot.” 

In Mr. Cabbot’s office, Buster reiterated his desire for a cabin by a lake, within an easy drive, and Mr. Cabbot said he’d see what they had. Together, they agreed that a place just northeast of the San Fernando Valley fit the bill. Buster arranged to rent it Friday through Sunday. When Natalie asked him what he was whistling about when he returned to the Villa, he told her he was happy about the M-G-M contract, but he was thinking about next week, having Nelly all to himself in a cabin by a lake. Notes: Buster signed the MGM contract on January 26th, 1928. I’d love to know what he was really feeling that day, but I can only speculate via this story. I’ve had amazing moments of serendipity writing this story (which has turned out to be far longer than I would have ever expected). For example, when I decided casually back in the beginning that Nelly’s dream was starring in a talkie of The Taming of the Shrew, I had no idea--scout’s honor--that there was a version of the film starring Pickford and Fairbanks and that it was the first adaption of Shakespeare into talking pictures. It was released in 1929, but filming probably would have been in the fall of 1928. How crazy is that? More serendipity presented itself when I found out that Sam Taylor directed Nelly’s crush Barrymore in Taylor’s previous film. The choice of Barrymore as Nelly’s love interest was also arbitrary, but it worked out perfectly. I think the fiction has also let me get to know Buster better than before, and I think I must be immersed in his character well. Case in point: When I considered where Buster would take a girl he liked if starting an affair with her, an outdoorsy location with plenty of humble living struck me as appropriate. I’ve been slowly reading Rudi Blesh’s bio of Buster while writing this fic and was completely bowled over to learn that Buster’s honeymoon with Eleanor Norris Keaton consisted of a station wagon trip to June Lake. Cross my heart, I had completed Chapter 18 before reading that! Anyway, writing this fiction has been fun and the serendipity has made it more so, and I hope you’re enjoying it. Do leave a comment if you are.

#Buster Keaton #fan fiction #RPF #Actor RPF #Golden Age Hollywood #silent film

[riceballcatfb]

Made the Right Wish

Kyoru Week 2020, day 1 Rating: All ages  *Takes place post-manga, so read at your own risk!*

Title and story vaguely inspired by the verse below, which is the chorus of the song “What I’m Leaving For” by Lady A.

"Take a look at our little paradise

It ain't much, but baby you and I

picked the right star

made the right wish

there ain't nothing out there like this"

There were very few things that Kyo had truly been sure of in his life. In fact, he could only think of three things-he loved his son and unborn baby, he loved his wife, and he loved his job.

Well, four things.

This morning, as he lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady thrum of the rain on the roof, he was 150 percent sure he wanted to stay home today.

It had been four years today since the curse had broken. He'd kept track, watching each anniversary pass by with bated breath, praying that it wouldn't somehow rear its ugly face within him again. Or worse, within his son.

He had to remind himself that it was also the four year anniversary of the day he'd knelt in front of Tohru outside the hospital, clinging to her hand and begging her to accept his love.

She'd said yes. So not all about this day was bittersweet.

And now, here they were, in their own house by the sea, with a tiny red-headed boy sleeping in the next room.

With the end of the curse, Kyo had been stripped of his connection to the cat spirit, of course. So there was absolutely no logical reason for him to still feel sluggish when it rained-not that being possessed by a cat was particularly logical, either, he supposed.

Next to him, he heard Tohru stir. He glanced in her direction. She was on her side facing him, eyes still shut, hair in disarray from sleep. "Are you okay?" she whispered, still not opening her eyes.

Their son had been difficult last night, not wanting to go to sleep. Kyo had tried to help, but Hajime was a huge Mommy's boy right now, and Tohru inevitably ended up taking the brunt of his tantrum. She was exhausted. Yet, she had heard the rain just now and woken up to check on Kyo anyway.

His heart swelled at the realization, both with love and a sense of guilt.

He inhaled deeply and rolled over to face her. He rubbed his thumb against her cheekbone. She smiled wearily in response.

"I'm fine," he murmured. "I should be asking you that. How'd you get him to finally lie down?"

Her eyes fluttered open. She put her hand over his, holding it in place against her cheek. "I told him that he could sleep with us tonight, since you won't have to get up early for work tomorrow."

Kyo chuckled. "Smart thinking."

"It worked immediately," Tohru replied, letting out an airy laugh.

"He's a cuddle bug. Just like his mom."

Tohru's eyes were closed again now, but she still answered him. "You're pretty cuddly, yourself," she pointed out.

"I guess. Sometimes."

She quirked an eyebrow in response, making it clear that she thought it was more than sometimes.

"It would be nice if I could stay home and help you today," he said softly, leaning over to kiss the tip of her nose. He stayed closeby afterwards, admiring how peaceful her face looked. Her thick eyelashes, the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the pastel pink of her lips. He was so lucky.

"You should stay home today. But not to help me, to rest. It's raining."

He scoffed slightly. "Yeah, right. I don't have time to rest. And besides…" he paused, running a finger along the slight swell of her stomach, "...you're the one who should be resting."

"What if you stayed home and we both rested?"

"Then Hajime would just run the house, and I don't think either of us would like the consequences of that very much."

"He's got to be tired, too," she reminded him. Not only had he been up late last night, but he also irrationally felt ill every time it rained. "Let's have a movie day."

"Wait...are you serious?"

She opened her eyes again, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. "Yes. Why not?"

"Tohru, we need all the money we can get right now…"

She sighed and scooted closer, capturing his lips to silence him. "We're fine, Kyo-kun. You said you want to stay home. So stay home. You work hard for us."

Tohru wasn't working right then. Kyo had figured that watching a wild toddler and growing another little human added up to a full-time job. They were getting by on his income just fine, but Kyo wasn't sure if he'd ever honestly be able to stop worrying about money.

He sighed in defeat, pulling her into another kiss before answering. "Okay. You win. I'm making breakfast, though. What would you like?"

As Tohru opened her mouth--likely to protest his demand, Kyo thought--their mattress squeaked and drooped a little bit under a new weight. Tohru gasped in surprise as a little body wiggled its way between them.

Kyo ruffled their son's light red hair before giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Good morning, Hajime."

Hajime returned the sentiment by simply nuzzling his face against his father's chest. Just like Tohru had anticipated, he was groggy and likely not feeling well.

"Daddy's making breakfast today," Tohru told him, running her fingers through his messy hair. He batted her hand away and Tohru sighed at his grumpy mood, but also couldn't help but smile a bit at how he was clinging to Kyo. Hajime loved both his parents; there was no doubt about that. But with how attached he'd been to Tohru lately, moments like this where he only wanted Daddy had become more rare. Kyo smiled back at Tohru, knowing they were sharing the same thought.

"...Pancakes?" Hajime mumbled after a moment, tone muffled by Kyo's chest. Kyo nodded.

"Definitely. With chocolate chips?"

Hajime nodded, and Kyo got out of bed, scooping the toddler up with him. He propped Hajime up on his shoulders and headed out to the kitchen. Tohru sat up, shaking her head, dreading the impending sugar crash they'd have to deal with later.

She sat at the table in their living room, watching her boys make pancakes together. Well, really, Kyo made the pancakes and Hajime contributed by pouring the chocolate chips in. Moments like this were precious to her, and she knew they were to Kyo, too. Hajime likely wouldn't remember this exact point in time when he got older. But Tohru knew the small things like this would stay ingrained in her and Kyo's hearts forever. And soon they'd have another little boy to add in.

Pancakes were served at the table, where Tohru thanked her chefs with kisses on the cheeks. Hajime watched with wide eyes and a mouthful of food as Kyo turned on the TV and flipped through channels, looking for a movie they could all watch-the TV wasn't turned on much in their house. Kyo still didn't have much of a liking for movies, Tohru was just always too busy to really sit down and engross herself in a show, and Hajime spent too much time playing to really pay attention to anything happening on the mysterious screen.

When he got to a cartoon that made Hajime laugh, Kyo chuckled and set the remote down, pulling his son into his lap.

"Hang on!" Tohru said, springing up from her spot on the floor.

"Tohru," Kyo groaned. "Careful, please."

"I'm fine, Kyo-kun!" she insisted, already down the hall. A minute later, she returned with her arms full of pillows and throw blankets. Soon the little family was bundled up, Hajime in the middle, wrapped in so many blankets that Kyo told him he looked like a "Hajime burrito."

By the time the movie was over, Kyo's mind had been numbed by the shallow content, and he blinked a few times before looking over at Tohru. She was making an equally displeased face.

"That wasn't very well-written, was it?" she commented after a minute.

"Well, it's meant for kids his age," Kyo pointed out, looking down at their toddler. He sighed and laughed lowly when he noticed the boy's slow, even breathing and closed eyes. "And he wasn't even watching. When did he fall asleep?"

Tohru giggled, clamping a hand over her mouth to avoid disturbing Hajime. "I don't know."

Kyo leaned his head back against the wall behind him, letting his eyes flutter shut, as well. He'd kept himself going for this long, but the drowsiness the rain impeded him with was finally catching up with him. He sighed contentedly as Tohru ran her fingers through his hair, opening his eyes half-way to look over at her.

"I love you," he reminded her.

"I love you more."

He shook his head at that, but didn't really have the energy to get into a fake-argument about it like they did to mess with each other sometimes.

Tohru smiled in return before she spoke again. "I know you hate it when I have to go to the doctor by myself…"

Kyo sighed again, this time out of disappointment. "I should have taken yesterday off instead of today. Then I could have gone with you."

Tohru shook her head at his obvious bitterness. "The point of me bringing this up was, I found out what we're having."

Kyo's eyes opened fully as he looked over at his wife in surprise.

"I was trying to think of a fun way to tell you, but...I guess now's as good a time as any. It's another boy."

Kyo started crying almost immediately, unable to stop tears from sliding quietly down his cheeks. "I knew it," he whispered, wiping at his face. Tohru laughed. He had been insisting it was a boy for the entire pregnancy. Stubbornly, Tohru had always said it was a girl, though she really had no inkling one way or the other.

"You were right," she whispered back. "We need to start thinking of names."

Kyo nodded, sniffled a little, and leaned over to kiss her.

"Thank you for giving me a family. I love you."

"I love you, too. Now stop it, or you'll make me cry, too."

He chuckled and hugged Hajime a little closer. "I used to think that I used up all the luck in the universe when you started dating me. And then again when I proposed and you said yes. And then again, when Hajime was born. I don't know where the hell I'm getting enough luck to have another son."

Tohru wiped at her own now-wet cheeks, then reached over and smacked Kyo on the arm in playful protest. "Look what you did!"

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Kyo-kun...you deserve this. All of it." She trailed her touch down to his left wrist, fingers tracing the spot where his prayer beads used to sit. The beads that were now in a drawer of their dresser, waiting until Hajime was old enough to hear the story and understand the significance of it.

Kyo shook his head slightly, but didn't argue.

"Well...I could never wish for anything more."

"Didn't we say we wanted one more baby after this one?" Tohru teased.

His eyes went wide. "Well, um...d-did we say that?"

She giggled. "We don't have to discuss it yet."

Kyo sighed in relief, shaking his head at his wife.

"You dork."

"I know what you mean, though. I don't think I could ever wish for anything more, either."

Kyo nodded and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Hajime's forehead and one to Tohru's belly. "We've made the right wishes. I mean, look where they got us."

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852407

@kyoruweekofficial

#fanfic #fanfiction #fruitsbasket #fruitsbasketmanga #fruitsbasketanime #fruitsbasket2019 #fruba #fruba 2020 #Fruits Basket #fruits basket kyo #fruits basket tohru #furuba #kyo #kyo sohma #Kyoru #kyo x tohru #Tohru #Tohru Honda #honda tohru #tohru x kyo #kyoruweek #kyoruweek2020

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Do you think that if Shredder!Raph will occur in rottmnt, the aftermath might result in Raph inheriting some of Shredder’s rage even after saved? Maybe that is how the crew is going to implement Raph’s trademark temper throughout previous generations and maybe even make him have to step down due to it, making Leo the new leader?

Short answer: “Inheriting the rage of a centuries-old demon" is a dope-ass idea, so if you’re a writer I would definitely encourage you to use that in your own stuff. But I think that if Raph’s temper worsens throughout the show, it should be because of his own character development and not a magical effect. However, a Shredder!Raph scenario could contribute to said worsening temper by inflicting emotional/psychological damage instead. :)

Long answer ahoy!

Looking at “Many Unhappy Returns” from the Shredder’s perspective makes it very clear why he does what he does. Like, he’s been dead for five hundred years, and then something went wrong with his resurrection. He’s waking up with no idea where he is or what’s going on and oh shit those guys are pointing weapons at him, that’s a threat!

Note that he doesn’t even bolt for them immediately, he does a warning stomp and screech (back off!) before starting to approach.

Those other guys are yelling, that’s also a threat,

and they’re closer so he’s gonna attack them first, actually. (None of the Foot wind up even comically injured, suggesting that flailing them around was an intimidation tactic rather than genuine Murderous Intent.)

And then the first group attacks, so of course he’s going to retaliate.

And then suddenly he’s somewhere else, with other threats (the animatronics), and then the first group that attacked him is back, so he’s gonna fight them again.

And these jerks just keep following him? He’s not going to ignore that. And WOW that’s a lot of bright lights and loud noises, which are also threats, what the fuck is going on?!

And then this tiny human girl chucks a giant metal box at him, holy SHIT?! Sure, the Shredder is a dangerous antagonist, but at this point I wouldn’t call him a “bad guy”, he’s literally just responding to what’s happening to him.

In summary, the Shredder was stressed tf out because he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he retaliated against perceived threats, and quite possibly wouldn’t have attacked the turtles in the first place if they hadn’t just rushed in without understanding the situation.

Gosh, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So yeah, I’m waiting for Rise to give us that good good Shredder!Raph content.

As for the possibility of Leo taking over afterwards... no, but also yes, sort of? On the one hand, we know that Leo does have leadership capabilities, and it would be a waste for the narrative to not explore that. On the other hand, Rise has broken from the status quo in many ways, and it would also be a waste for the show to do a complete 180 and return to Leo Being The Leader™.

Consider how the “leader” role has influenced Leo in past iterations: his perfectionism wears on him and his brothers, any failure tanks his self-esteem, he feels isolated from the rest due to taking on such a large share of responsibility, being an authority figure grinds everyone’s gears, etc. It’s just bad for his mental health.

No doubt all this responsibility will also wear on Rise!Raph as the story progresses and the stakes get higher. It will be bad for him as well. But if Raph steps down, Leo will once again suffer from the weight of this role. So if neither option is quite correct, if neither brother can shoulder the burden of leadership alone, then the solution is just... for neither of them to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Sure, Raph will probably remain leader in title and in spirit, but Leo taking on a sort of “deputy” role makes sense from a strategic standpoint, and would be good for his character development.

Here’s how I think it could go down:

The Shredder!Raph scenario will be different from the Shredder!Draxum scenario. The Shredder was starved for mystic energy the first time around, so he immediately chewed Draxum up and spit him out. But Raph could be compared more to a battery than a meal; it will take a while for the Shredder to drain him. And at this point the Shredder could be back in “evil samurai” mode, and thus will understand the value of holding Raph hostage.

Y’all who have followed my blog for a bit know about my “Raph is a system” theory; that when he was little, he got separated from his family and pursued by some cryptid hunter. This trauma formed Savage Raph, who is able to handle “being lost/alone/threatened” when Host Raph cannot. “Pizza Puffs” didn’t give us a lot of info about who I’m calling “Red Raph”, but he made his presence known when Host Raph was sort of... "emotionally alone”? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and too stoned to care.

So if Raph is trapped inside a living cage, scared and helpless and hurt and exhausted, his family unable to help him... he’s not going to be able to handle it.

Or, rather, Host Raph isn’t going to be able to handle it.

These two can, though.

I’m imagining a scene in the mindscape where the Shredder says something like “Your pathetic family cannot bear to strike you down, and so there is nothing that can stand in m- wait, why are there three of you OW FUCK-” Red and Savage will mentally kick his ass long enough for the other turtles to rip off a chunk of the armor so Leo can portal it into another dimension or something. Shredder gets K.O.’d since he’s not whole anymore, and the battle is won.

Since the armor didn’t drain Raph as severely as it did Draxum, he won’t become as weak as Draxum did. However, it will still take him some time to recover. Raph trusts Leo in serious moments as of “Many Unhappy Returns”, and he already took charge when Raph wasn’t available back in “Man vs. Sewer”. So Raph will be like, “Hey Leo, can you handle the Mad Dogs for a bit? Just long enough for me to get back on my feet.” And Leo will be like, “Sure bro, I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, “got this”. Leo’s ego has caused trouble before (”Shell in a Cell”, “Minotaur Maze”), and being in charge will no doubt go to his head. This has the potential for both comedy and seriousness, leading to wacky mishaps and genuine danger. Being the leader is hard work and it’s not always fun, but someone has to do it and Leo will have to put the others before himself for it to get done. Once Leo realizes this, he could bond with Raph by asking for his advice on leadership. Sometimes Leo will follow the advice and sometimes he won’t, sometimes that will work out and sometimes it won’t, laying the foundation for the idea that there are situations where it will be better for one or the other to lead, rather than having one lead all the time. But that will only happen for a few episodes, because Raph will heal quickly and he’ll be the leader again and everything will be fine!

Everything will not, in fact, be fine. Raph is the strongest in the family, the tank, the one who can take a hit so the smaller ones don’t have to... the idea of being hurt, of being weak, scares him because his family is also in danger if he’s unwell. So I don’t think he’ll acknowledge to anyone, not even himself, that getting possessed hurt him emotionally as well as physically. And when a wound isn’t acknowledged, it doesn’t get tended to, and when a wound isn’t tended to, it gets worse.

That he’s a system will add another layer of complexity to this. The Shredder!Raph incident would make all the alters aware of each other via mindscape shenanigans, but it would also leave them with the fear of not being in control, so I think they’ll come in conflict with each other for a bit. They’ll argue with themselves, switch, and lose time more often, enough that it impedes their ability to function and the other characters start to notice something is wrong.

Host Raph will convince himself that Everything Is Fine and try to get things “back to normal”, which probably means he’s just straight-up not going to acknowledge that he's a system. He’ll rationalize that he’s always “gotten weird” from time to time, so it’s nothing to think too hard about... right?

Savage Raph will be on high alert because they just survived a near-death (a near soul-destroying) experience. He’ll probably take the front and go overboard fighting some villains that Host Raph could have ordinarily fought on his own. It might also take a while to convince Savage Raph that these “sewer monsters” who keep following him around really don’t mean him any harm.

Red Raph will get snappy (pardon the pun) about the more social aspect of “not being in control”; that Host Raph asked Leo to be in charge and then Leo started being an egotistical dumbass. And when Leo does make the right decisions, Donnie and Mikey might side with him over Raph, and that will also grind his gears.

Mix all that together and you have a recipe for a capital b Breakdown.

So yeah, I can definitely see how the Shredder!Raph incident and its aftermath would worsen all three of their tempers, trauma will fuck up your emotions real bad. Perhaps Host Raph loses faith in himself and tries to step down and get Leo to replace him as leader... only for Leo to be like “Bro I cannot do this full time I will one hundred percent have my own Breakdown if that happens.”

The life lessons here are that Leo learns to offer support by sometimes taking the leader role; not to benefit his own ego, but because he wants to help Raph. And Raph learns to accept support by letting Leo be in charge sometimes; not because he’s weak or incapable, but because he can’t always be a Staunch Immovable Rock and he needs to let himself rest by trusting Leo.

And then the Raphs can work on communicating, cooperating, letting their allies know about them, digging into their trauma, etc. now that they have some breathing room.

(Do you think the Hidden City has therapists? Steven Universe and Mao Mao both have therapists can we BLEASE get one for Raph.)

#Anonymous #rottmnt #rottmnt theory #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt shredder #shredder!raph #savage raph #red raph #there's like 1800 words here holy shit #if anyone wants to do fic for this u have my blessing to go hog wild #the 'raph is a system' theory

[agentbarton12]

cause wherever you are is home

summary: basically what happened when max and lucas went home together in suzie, do you copy?

a/n: there is a criminally low amount of fics with lumax as the main ship so here is my minor contribution to rectify this. title from ‘home’ by catie turner. also posted on ao3

warnings: fluff

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

This is not how Max wanted to be spending her Saturday afternoon.

Sheʼd rather be getting ice cream with Lucas, playing video games with Lucas, doing anything else with Lucas. Yet, here she was, at the top of this hill, assembling a dumb machine to contact a girl that probably doesnʼt exist.

But, Lucas is with her so it’s not all bad. (Which she never said if he asks, okay?)

Itʼs not all boring, sheʼll admit. Despite him annoying her, Lucas does make the entire ordeal more enjoyable for her and Will is actually fun to hang around with when heʼs not whining about playing D&D.

At one point, they get Dustin to forget about his walkie-talkie and teach them all the dumb war cries he learnt at Camp Know Where.

She doesnʼt bother to hide her accusatory look when Will asks where the water was.

By the time the sun had gone down, Max started to get more than a little cranky. They had moved to lie down, with Lucas and her both using his backpack as a headrest. “Dustin, come on!” she snaps exasperatedly, after the boy in question continued to try and reach Suzie. “She’s not there.”

Lucas, who seems to be as fed up as she is, exclaims, “Suzie doesn’t exist! No girl is that perfect.”

Max sits up at that and turns to Lucas with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so?” She watches as he sputters nonsense trying to backpedal and correct his blunder. It amuses her, and Max won’t deny that she enjoys making Lucas squirm. “Relax I’m just teasing. I’m obviously perfect, and Dustin is obviously lying.”

She stands up and dusts herself off. The redhead holds her hand out for Lucas, which he grabs and pulls himself up. As they’re walking down the hill, she hears Will call out after them. “Where are you going?”

“Home!” Max yells back without missing a beat. There’s a small, lazy smile on Lucas’ face that she doesn’t notice. She feels a tug on her arm and slows down to find that Lucas has stopped walking.

He has a mischievous grin on his face. “Race you the rest of the way?”

A smirk works its way onto Max’s face. “You’re on.”

She doesn’t give him time to react, just releases his hand and sprints down the hill. She can vaguely hear his indignant cries about how she’s cheating as he tries to catch up to her. Max lets out a hearty laugh, feels it in her belly as Lucas whoops and hollers behind her. The wind is beating against her face, blowing her hair back.

Thereʼs an unmistakable grin on her face when she makes it to the bottom. It only takes Lucas another five seconds to join her at the bottom of the hill, and when he does, he’s a heaving mess. He’s crouched over, hands on his knees, as he tries to catch his breath.

“I win,” Max gloats, beaming at him brightly.

He waves her off. “Yeah, yeah, I let you win,” Lucas reveals once his breathing has gone down to normal.

Max crosses her arms across her chest in an intimidating stance. “Oh, you let me?”

Lucas lasts a good three seconds before he cracks under the intensity of her glare. “Okay, okay, I surrender.” He raises his arms defensively. “You won.”

“That’s what I thought.” She turns on her heel to walk in the direction of where they left their bikes and her skateboard, and Lucas wastes no time in grabbing hold of her hand again.

They walk in silence for a while until Lucas pipes up and asks, “Hey, do you really think Dustin is lying?”

Max shrugs, still studying their joined hands. “I don’t know. It’s fun to tease him either way, though,” she adds, looking up to give her boyfriend a cheeky grin. He laughs and nods, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. “But I must say, aside from you drinking all the water by yourself—”

“I offered you some!”

“—It was kinda nice. Watching the stars, I mean. With you.” Her voice trails off at the end in embarrassment, ducking her head so Lucas can’t see her blush.

When he doesn’t say anything for a while, she musters up all the courage she can to peak up at him and finds that he’s already looking at her. The smile on his face is bright enough to rival that of the streetlight they’ve stopped under, and it causes something to flutter in her chest.

“We should do that sometime. Stargaze. Together.”

Max nods along, unable to fight the grin that works its way on her face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

When they reach their things, Lucas lets go of her hand and rushes forward to what she assumes is his bike. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed at the loss of contact. Max finds him clutching her skateboard to his chest, bottom lip stuck out childishly.

“What are you doing?” she asks incredulously. She moves to pick his bike up from the ground for him, and watches him with her head tilted.

“Can I ride it?”

Max’s face blanks. “You’re kidding.” “I’d like for us both to get there in one piece, thank you.”

Lucas puffs his chest out indignantly. “I’ve been practicing!”

“With what?”

Max looks at him expectantly waiting for an answer, to which he supplies after a moment’s hesitation. “Okay, so I taped a couple cans to the bottom of a piece of wood I found outside—”

“Oh my god.”

“—but it’s practically the same thing!”

“In what universe!”

Lucas is still looking at her pouting with pleading eyes and she knows her resolve is going to crumble. “You’ll fall,” she worries, in a final attempt to change his mind.

“You’ll catch me,” he says shrugging easily. As though he’s never been more sure about anything.

Sighing heavily, Max gives in. She knows there’s no way she can say no to him, not when he’s looking at her like that. “Fine.” Lucas punches the air in excitement and runs into the middle of the road. He places the board down and tentatively steps onto it.

“Just push yourself forward,” she instructs, standing off to the side on the sidewalk. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

“I’m pushing, I’m pushing,” Lucas grunts as he pushes himself off the road. When he gets the hang of it, he cheers loudly. “Whoo, I’ve got it!” he yells loudly and Max chuckles despite herself, smiling wide for no one in particular. The cool night air nips at her exposed skin, but she can’t help but feel impossibly warm being here with Lucas right now.

The dark skinned boy skates farther down the street and Max rolls his bike alongside her as she jogs to keep up with him.

In his excitement, Lucas forgets that this is his first time skating and turns his head to look back at her. “Look, Iʼm Tony Hawk!”

He leans a little too much to the left and veers in the direction of the sidewalk. “Watch out!” Max warns and Lucasʼ eyes widen as he looks out in front of him.

“Aah!” he screams as he goes flying into a pile of trash bags sitting on the sidewalk.

“Lucas!” Max drops the bike and rushes to his side. “Are you okay?”

He grunts as he rolls over to lie on his back. “My knee,” he croaks out. A little dramatically, Max thinks, considering he landed on a relatively soft surface. “Can you kiss it better?”

The redhead rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the ground. Lucas laughs loudly, evidently proud of himself. “You smell like garbage,” Max deadpans as she dusts herself off. He lets out an affronted “hey!” and picks himself up. “I told you youʼd fall.”

Lucas pouts. “You didnʼt catch me.”

“You canʼt skate,” she fires back.

“Youʼll teach me,” he says, again as though he was absolutely sure about it. Max supposes he has every right to be.

“Yeah, maybe,” she says, going to fetch her skateboard from where it was lying on the edge of the street. “Cʼmon, letʼs go home.”

This time, as Lucas is picking his bike up holding both the handlebars so he can pull it along with him, Max can see the soft smile playing on his lips.

“What are you smiling about, stalker?” Sheʼs teasing

“You said ‘home’.”

“Yeah?”

He sighs a little when he notices that she doesnʼt understand what heʼs getting at. “No, I mean, like, you didnʼt say my house. You just said home.” Then, quieter, “Do you think of it as your home?”

The thing is, Max doesnʼt have the best reference material for what ʼhomeʼ should be. But Lucas is good, and safe, and the best thing sheʼs had in a long time.

And she supposes thatʼs pretty similar.

“Maybe,” is what she says. Nervously, head ducked and eyes trained on the road in front of her. “Just… with you, I guess.” She can feel her face flush and though she canʼt see it, she knows sheʼs blushing furiously.

“Aww,” her boyfriend croons, “youʼre almost as red as your hair.”

“Shut up,” Max mumbles without any real bite.

Lucas shakes his head, smile stretched across his face. “No I wonʼt, because Max Mayfield likes me!”

Her face burns. “Oh my god.”

“I donʼt blame you. Iʼm kind of irresistible.”

Max rolls her eyes at that. “Oh, really?”

Lucas nods enthusiastically, and Max just shakes her head in disbelief, a fond smile on her lips. “I like you too, by the way.”

“I figured,” the redhead jokes, trying to add some levity to the heavy atmosphere around them.

“And youʼre my home, too.” Lucasʼ smile is so bright, she swears it blinds her momentarily.

Maxʼs heart swells with something sheʼs pretty sure is love and she nudges him with her shoulder. “I never said that.”

Lucas waves her off. “Technicalities.”

“Race you home?” she challenges, more comfortable with the prospect and watches as Lucasʼ smile grows impossibly wider.

“Prepare to lose, Madmax!”

That night, when sheʼs staring up at the ceiling on the spare mattress in Ericaʼs room, Max decides to create a home for herself.

It’s when Lucas and her reach the garage, arguing over who made it there first; Mrs Sinclair greeting them both with a hug and a kiss on the cheek; Lucas holding her hand under the table as they all take turns recounting what they did that day.

She doesnʼt have that much knowledge to go off of when it comes to home. But what she does know is that whatever it is, Lucas is pretty damn close. (Donʼt tell him she said that.)

#lucas sinclair #max mayfield #stranger things #lucas x max #lumax #fanfiction #my writing #will byers #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #el hopper #netflix #stranger things 3 #st #st 3

[clumsyclifford]

bella I would love a directors cut on literally any of the rilex you’ve written, but specifically it’s always her, and you, and me, or for these days you’ve been stuck in my brain 💙

OHHHHHH those are some CHOICESSSSSS lucy. fuck yeah. let’s get into it. ill link them both here but we’ll take em one at a time

it’s always her, and me, you

these days you’ve been stuck in my brain

here’s a cut for convenience cos i KNOW i’m gonna go long here.

okay! let’s start with the rilisex fic.

it’s always her, and me, and you

so like it says in the ao3 notes, this fic came from realizing just how frequently rian and alex kiss each other like, all the time? just? casually? for funsies? this was another one of those situations like i mentioned where the hook aka first line (“Rian's no expert, but he doesn't think normal friends kiss this much.”) just appeared in my head and i was like heyyy that’s a GOOD first line. i have to build from that line. that’s the hook, that’s the summary, that’s the core. 

something i discovered upon searching through the editing history of the doc: i had originally sort of intended to go a direction with this where in some other circumstance, rian would see alex giving jack a super casual friendly kiss and he’d get all sad/jealous and be like sure why SHOULDNT alex kiss jack after all its just a thing he does with his FRIENDS. but the fic ended up going a different way and honestly? im glad. i like this way better.

the role of singin in the rain in this fic actually has a HILARIOUS backstory because the night i originally wrote that conversation in the tour bus kitchen, i went into the club and said the following

and then. the next day. rian streamed with ricky, and i asked if he’d ever seen singin in the rain, and he ANSWERED ME and said he hadn’t. so first of all i had already written the scene and i then had to rewrite it to make it so rian wouldn’t have seen it but also!!! i literally asked rian fucking dawson if he’d seen a movie for the sole reason of using that information for fanfiction!!!! and he provided me with the information i needed!!!! whole thing is just fucking hysterical to me. ANYWAY.

ANYWAY, the other reason why sitr has such a big role in the fic is because megs and i watched the movie together while i was in the middle of working on the fic, so it was extremely fresh in my mind. in fact i can probably show you this: i had this comment left for myself when i was kind of trying to figure out if i could make a real metaphor of sorts with the sitr ot3 and the Big Three of this fic. some of this ended up in rian’s wild musings in the hotel scene but i did conclude that it wouldn’t really have worked and that was definitely true but anyway. fuck it, director’s cut, here’s the kind of shit i leave for myself to refer to

so that’s part of the reason why it became such a puzzle piece of this fic, but real talk, it’s also just because i love singin in the rain it’s one of my favorite movies lmao

briefly gonna also touch on lisa and why she’s in this fic because i realize that rian/alex/lisa is an interesting approach to rilex! first of all, i love lisa. i love alex and lisa. and it occurred to me that there was really no reason to split lisex up just to make rilex happen. plus there’s this tweet that really just pushed me over the edge of being like yeah, rilisex is extremely plausible. so that’s that on that.

as for the scene in the hotel room while they’re watching sitr, there is a small piece of that scene - from when alex starts kissing rian’s shoulders etc to “it would defy the laws of nature not to” - that i actually wrote before anything else in that scene. that small piece got stretched out and edited quite a bit from how it started but it did function as a sort of foundation around which i built the rest of the scene, because that small section sort of ~came to me~ absolutely out of nowhere, and i really liked the Vibe it had and i wanted to include it. i THINK that was the only piece of this fic that i wrote Out Of Order - for the most part this was written chronologically.

ALSO!!! omg this is exciting, this fic actually has a deleted scene!!!!!! i hate cutting scenes but i also hate having scenes that are less than 1k and this one didn’t really contribute much to the fic. i can probably share it here right? sure why not ! hopefully you can read this. it originally took place after the scene where alex and rian call lisa for the first time. the question of “what gets left into interview videos and what gets cut” is also just interesting to me as a (fic) concept in general so...eyes emoji, but here’s my mini-exploration that i cut from the original fic. enjoy lol it’s silly <3

oh! also one more thing!! the very final scene was included for two reasons. the first reason being that when i write getting-together fics, i really prefer to add on a scene After they Get Together because i love to write domestic established relationship stuff and i think that’s a satisfying reward for a reader who’s just slogged through all the mutual pining and bullshit to get the characters together. but the OTHER reason is that i got an anon (here it is!) and i read that ask and was immediately like well shit. now i have to fucking include this. for the anon and for myself. so you can thank that anon for that last scene. (also i wanted to include merrikat especially since i had to cut their little moment in the interview scene above.)

so....................whew. i think i’ve bled that fic dry. holy shit that’s a lot of Stuff. OKAY! let’s move on.

~

these days you’ve been stuck in my brain

so!!! THIS fic was the breakthrough after (what felt like) a long bout of writer’s block. long for me was maybe two weeks, but i am the kind of person who is always writing, and two weeks was a long time to go with little to no inspiration/motivation to write anything. i had also been in a weird narrative headspace because i’d been binge-watching disney shows (jessie > austin and ally > girl meets world) and i don’t know how well i can explain this but the way those shows are written is a lot snappier and cares way less for realistic and consistent character development or plots or relationships, and so i was stuck between caring a lot about including those things in my fics but also being unable to conceptualize them in writing because my brain was in Disney Writing Mode. does that make sense? this is rhetorical so let’s go with yes. so anyway. i was in a slump

actually what i ended up doing was basically googling something like “au prompts tumblr” or something and just scrolling through posts. i saw something about soulmate telepathy and i actually tried to write something totally different before i wrote this one, but the first attempt was a different concept and then the direction i took it was like......it wasn’t quite right and i realized that i was kind of writing dark disney style? there is really no way for me to explain what i mean by that because it seems really obvious to me but that’s just because i’m inside my own head so just take my word. 

anyway. attempt #1 of soulmate telepathy rilex went poorly, and this fic was attempt #2. i kinda took the soulmate telepathy thing and changed it as i saw fit and i also went back to skim helen’s telepathy fic because obviously she’s the pro and then i tried not to steal her ideas. and as i was writing it i kinda realized i was doing the whole quirky funny best friend character with jack and also doing the whole “somehow this not-very-dramatic situation with teenagers is treated as The Most Dramatic Thing Ever and that’s totally normal and nobody finds it strange” disney trope with rian and alex being soulmates and i was like (deep sigh) i have to accept that no matter how much i try to fight this, this fic is going to be tainted with disney. and that’s life

on top of that i will add that the real-life rilex were extremely inspiring during the two-day period during which i wrote this fic, because that was when the once in a lifetime video came out and in the brief pre-video livestream rilex were Beyond Married and that definitely helped in the writing of fic rilex!

hmmmm what can i tell you about this fic itself.................honestly, i don’t think there’s much to tell! rian is a band kid because in real life rian was a band kid and he’s staff manager at rita’s just like he was in real life. there is truthfully not a lot to unpack here that i can think of!

oh here’s something i guess: rian and alex go on a date in this fic! that is because watching So Much Disney made me realize that i often forget the fact that people just. go on dates. sometimes. look i clearly do not have an active romantic life but i also really liked the idea of alex and rian going on a date despite not knowing if they’d be soulmates or not and liking each other organically just by getting to know each other, rather than being victim to the whole soulmate thing. like i wanted them to build a connection so that they would want to be soulmates. and then the audience would want that for them too. stakes!! very important.

i can tell you i had a mild crisis over the title of the fic because i am not a fan of the word brain and i didnt wanna use that sticky lyric for the title when it had a word i hated but it was objectively a much better title option than the other one i had, which was “sticky just like the song in my head” but i obviously decided on the former and it has not upset me nearly as much as i expected it to so that was the right decision imo

so! i think that’s all on that! sorry (?) that it got so long although then again i don’t know what’s to be expected in a director’s cut for two long fics but thank you for asking me about these, i love them both so very much rilex is so supremely underrated but so very important

#cashtonasfuck #ask #answered #this is a whole ass multimedia fucking presentation #you asked for the director's cut but like i sure as hell didnt hold back dflkhggj #in fairness you picked two longer fics #though most of my rilex fics are longer ones which is strange #but like good for them #director's cut #this was really fun #thank you lucyyy <3 #these were the good right choices for rilex fics to dissect because the other ones are either shorter or rilex is a background pairing #or like . just aint that deep #i stole the plot of something unpredictable from that other fic by that other person #so ya know #the fact that this response contains an entire deleted scene in a screenshot #this is a lot lmfao

[beebrainedstudios]

Next up for the refs, Maxim! A complicated design for a complicated man. My opinions on Maxim went from love to hate to “I wish you knew what you were doing;” he’s a really fun character, especially with the context of the Steel Prince comics. That being said, just like with the Danes I’ll be including design notes and headcanons under the cut, which may include spoilers for the comics; ergo POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR STEEL PRINCE. You have been warned. Also, my writing got really small on this ref, so I recommend clicking the image if you want to read the ref notes.

Anyways, on to Maxim!

- First up, hair. Maxim has a multitude of locks that all vary in length; he grew them out after he took the throne and has barely cut them since. There’s no specific way Maxim likes his hair, as he’ll arrange it into various different styles depending on his mood. The gold rings are actually there to help with this process, as they allow him to move each lock individually with his magic when he’s putting it up. This variable ring structure has the added bonus of creating a cool rippling effect when his magic activates; when Maxim quite literally gets heated, his influence spreads to the rings and any other small metal objects in the area, allowing his locks to shift in the heated air in an effect Rhy jokingly refers to as a “solar flare.” Maxim’s mood can actually be gauged purely by how much his hair moves or how warm he is, which is a trait his family finds endearing even if he himself finds it mildly annoying- after all, it’s difficult to come off as calm and composed if everyone in your kingdom knows your hair will give away how ticked off you are.

- As for his outfit, I love the asymmetrical geometric aesthetic put forth in the comics for Red London royalty; naturally, I leaned hard into this aesthetic and then immediately hid it all behind overly-complicated armor. Maxim is a huge armor nerd- anything metal is his specialty, and he prides himself immensely on both his armor and his weapons. He got his armor early in his youth and fiercely maintained it throughout his life until he was as attached to it as Kell was to his coat; he likes to swap parts around from multiple sets to create new looks. This is considered light armor for Maxim- at minimum he’ll have his crown and breastplate on. It’s very rare to catch him without any gear, but on the rare occasion one does, they’ll find he has a very similar outfit to Rhy, especially from the waist down. Fun fact, both he and Rhy’s pants are based on fencing knickers (fencing uniform pants), since both myself and VE Schwab are fencers. 

- Maxim has many scars from his time at the Blood Coast, including two nasty ones on his brow and nose. He used to be rather embarrassed by them until he met Emira, who loved his scars as a part of him and told him so constantly. Now, like his armor, they are a source of pride.

- Speaking of pride, Maxim takes a lot of it in how he looks, especially with his hair, eyes, and clothes. As such, Rhy learned most of his knowledge about maintaining his appearance from his father; the only thing Maxim couldn’t contribute to was Rhy’s hair care, as that is something his son has more in common with his mother. Maxim often wakes himself up by doing his hair and picking out his jewelry in the mornings, and if he’s feeling particularly bold he may even slip on some golden eyeshadow or a flashier necklace. Maxim has never mistaken the value of appearances in how someone feels about themselves either; he is liberal with compliments in the palace both to family and staff, as he knows someone does their best work when they feel happiest in their skin. He takes particular care to comment on Kell’s coat and hair, as he knows his adopted son’s appearance is a point of self-contention that he doesn’t want to foster. 

- Maxim’s sword is like Kell’s coat; he carries it everywhere- even to social functions- and is unashamedly fond of it. It is essentially the larger version of the royal half-sword that Maxim can wield in either hand (he’s ambidextrous!) and can even change the style of; if he wishes for it to be a two-handed sword, he only has to stretch the grip with his magic. Maxim can heat it forge-hot without it melting; in this state it’s incredibly dangerous and can cut through almost anything. There are two easter eggs in the runes on the sword, if anyone wants to look close enough to find them!

- All of Maxim’s stuff is sun-themed as a half-callback to the Maresh symbol, which has given him the additional title of the “Molten Sun,” an affectionate term used by guards to refer to their commander-in-chief. Maxim is really close to his guards and treats them as extended family; after all, he used to be one of them. He knows most of them by name and is fiercely protective of them- anyone who tries to mess with his staff as a whole is due for a personal warning from the king to desist, which is best heeded if one doesn’t want to drink their meals for a week.

- As said on the ref, Maxim is big. He spends a lot of his free time training as a nervous habit, which regardless of effect on his psyche keeps him in tip-top shape at all times. He’s easily as tall as Holland and is one of the few people Kell must stand upright with to look in the eye. He’s also immensely strong; this man could probably bench-press three guards in full armor with Emira sitting on top. I’ve seen some people suggest Athos alone could win in a fight against him before- maybe its due to the state of my own design for said Dane (in summary, scrawny as heck), but the only way I can see that going down in a one-on-one confrontation is with Athos getting punted like an angry white football. Personal preference, I guess.

- Now for personality! Maxim is a lover and a fighter, beloved and seen by all in his kingdom as a ray of sunshine, especially after the stormy clouds of his father’s cold and strict reign. He is as kind as he is tall and spends a lot of his time helping citizens solve problems or simply drifting around the palace, ready to aide his staff in their jobs. He’s vibrant and animated, too; the palace is often stirred to life when the sun rises by Maxim’s “quiet” singing as he heads towards the kitchens. Little does everyone know, behind that cheery and loving facade is an incredibly calculating individual. Maxim was born and raised only to be the perfect war king by his father Nokil with little personal care or respect for Maxim’s wishes, and though Maxim vowed to never be like him, some of Nokil’s parenting still unfortunately rubbed off. Maxim is always watching for threats and prepping for battle, mentally, physically, and otherwise; a threat to him or his kingdom is constantly around the corner, as far as he’s concerned. He must have a plan at all times or else he gets anxious and defensive, and if he’s backed into a corner, he’ll choose a risky course of action over no action at all (ergo, the Osaron fight). Maxim may be deeply loving, but he can’t help but see people’s worth to the kingdom first; when he’s feeling stressed it takes real effort for him to step back and see people as people instead of pawns he’s trying to get across the board.

- As far as hobbies go, Maxim doesn’t spend much of his free time on himself; he’s a full-time father, king, and husband, which leaves little room for downtime. Most of what he has left over he devotes to training, courtesy of his father’s horrible “kingdom-first” mindset that has still scars his adulthood. Still, Maxim does have a few interests he fosters; he loves cartography (a trait he shares with Kell) and likes to make his own maps by hand. He also loves chess, music, and gem/metal geology- if Emira wasn’t already in charge of the kingdom’s finances Maxim would have spent it all on new gemstone inlays or gold decorations. He’s still a fun-loving man, even if he doesn’t know how to spend much time on himself.

- Maxim is a very caring father and husband; he loves his family to bits and is completely devoted to them, even if he sometimes royally slips up when things get difficult. He and Emira both believe in equally sharing parental duties, so he spent a good chunk of his time when Kell and Rhy were growing right beside them, guiding them along. Contrary to what one may think, Maxim was the parent Kell was always closest to; they could often be found together in the map room, Kell watching with fascination as Maxim carefully traced the lines of landmarks and geographical features, switching his quill between hands when one grew too tired. Meanwhile, when Rhy wanted to hang out with his father, they both would spar with wooden swords or play games like hide-and-seek or chess together. It was only due to Maxim’s own poor father that Maxim was unable to properly communicate with Kell post-ADSOM; he simply assumed a little distance would do them both good, unaware that he was both continuing a cycle of neglect by repeating his father’s mistake and giving Kell the one thing he didn’t need (for those who don’t know, Nokil- Maxim’s dad- sent Maxim to the most dangerous part of the empire, the Blood Coast, because Maxim disobeyed him. Maxim emotionally did something very similar in AGOS by treating Kell coldly). Nonetheless, Maxim never stopped considering Kell a son and recognized his mistake; unfortunately, by the time he saw his error in the cells, he was in too deep to give Kell the freedom he needed and Kell was too angry to try and compromise until circumstances were more favorable. Maxim also never stood up for Kell against Emira; between his wife and his son, he always assumed Kell was the stronger of the two and would eventually stand up for himself. This, as we all know, turned out to be false, and Maxim regretted it for the rest of his life that he never tried to talk to Emira about her treatment of the second son of the Maresh family. 

So yeah, sorry for the long wall of text! I really like Maxim as a character (even if I acknowledge he struggles badly as a parent) so I wanted to give him more depth and a design worthy of his complexity. I hope you enjoyed it; if anyone has any questions or comments I’d love to hear them!

#AKA line mileage #and obvious king harrow inspiration (cant be helped #theyre similar to begin with) #this will be a pain to draw but it will be worth it #anyways #adsom #acol #agos #a gathering of shadows #a darker shade of magic #a conjuring of light #adsom ref #shades of magic #som #ve schwab #kell maresh #rhy maresh #maxim maresh #adsom headcanon

[liquorisce]

decisions, decisions pt 2

Fandom : Bleach 

Pairings : Ichihime (ft. some ichi x ishi bickering which we love around here)

Rating : T

Part 1

A/N: A few months ago I wrote a post-tybw-karakura-gang-finishes-high-school kinda thing called ‘decisions, decisions’  ft career choice discussions and orihime thinking of leaving town for uni. I wanted to write some more of that stuff and more ichihime pining obvs, so here it is. also i hate myself for not being able to participate in ichihimeweek2020, i suck, but anyway, ‘nuff with the nonsense, here’s the fic: 

(ps: pls be nice to me and like/reblog/comment or whatevs and tell me what u think, ily thx)

...

It’s five minutes to two, and Ichigo fought to stifle a yawn. The menacing five hundred pages of English grammar exercises in front of him wasn’t helping. 

“... Unbelievable,” he curses, slamming the book shut, much to the annoyance of his bespectacled classmate sitting across him. “Why the hell can’t they just teach us proper English in school?! I’m absolutely fucking positive that Honda-sensei didn’t mention more than three tenses in her class. And what kind of English lesson takes place in Japanese anyway?!” 

“... Quit your whining, Kurosaki. Some of us are trying to study here.” 

Ichigo fumed. By ‘some of us,’ Ishida was pointedly referring to just himself and the long-haired beauty sitting right opposite him, who, judging by her giggling at his outburst, welcomed his distraction. The same giggling that was contributing to the problem, contributing to Ichigo’s immense distraction since after dinner. 

“You’re not even human, Ishida,” he says dismissively. “Keigo’s literally made his bed on my dad’s couch, you can hear his goddamn snores, and Mizuiro left to ‘watch the stars’ with some new girl thirty minutes ago.” 

“You’re the one who invited us over to your place for an all-nighter group study session and you’re calling it quits before the sun is up? As expected, you’re weak.” 

He was right, this had been Ichigo’s idea, Yuzu had offered to make them dinner and his dad had plans tonight, so they were guaranteed some peace and quiet. Despite the noise and the chaos of their group, he missed hanging out with his friends. Ever since the school had given them voluntary study holidays for the upcoming University Entrance Exams, he didn’t get to see much of everyone, as they were either studying or training for competitions. Even today, Tatsuki and Chad left after dinner because they had to get up early for practice and they had decided they wouldn’t be giving the exams anyway. 

Ignoring Ishida’s pointed attempts to rile him up, he turns his attention to Orihime, who despite enjoying their banter, was more focused on the cram book in front of her.  

“Inoue, how are you still so motivated and so… awake?,” he asks, exasperated. “It’s almost 2 am! And you’ve been scribbling away furiously for the last thirty minutes. What are you even studying?”  

“Mouuu, you’re right. I’m not able to solve this proof anyway. Maybe I should call it a night?”

“Electromagnetism?” Ishida asks, skimming the title of the chapter, “Oh, I’ve done this one, I can explain this to you if you want.”  

He doesn’t know what irritates him more, Ishida’s nerdiness, or the soft look in his eyes as he unfailingly offers to help Orihime out, as he’d been doing a lot more of late, ever since they had started studying for the entrance exams together. In fact, it’d been this way this entire evening, starting from when he took a seat right next to her at the table as if he fucking belonged there, leaning over into her notebook, whenever she needed help, his arm casually brushing against her long, silken locks, her answering smile bright and incredibly close to him, and - Ichigo forces that thought to a halt because it has him gritting his teeth.  “... For God’s sake, give her a break,” - 

“... Shut up, Kurosaki, not everyone is applying to study *English* in University”- 

“And what exactly do you mean by that, asshole?” Ichigo snarls, with more venom than needed, because despite having had enough with Ishida’s condescending attitude towards his study choices, his recent behaviour had Ichigo prickling under his skin.  

“... Err, Kurosaki-kun…” Orihime starts, because she’s used to Ichigo and Ishida arguing (they’re just being affectionate, she always insists), there’s a glint in Ichigo’s eyes that’s different.

“... Exactly what I said, some of us don’t have the luxury of skipping the math and science exams,” - 

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun is right! I think my brain really can’t function anymore tonight,” Orihime declares loudly, inserting herself in between them. “Kurosaki-kun, I think I will leave now. Thank you so much for hosting us today.” She bows, her formality annoying him even more, but still throwing him off guard.

As always, Orihime’s pleasant demeanour diffused the rising tempers… somewhat. With one last glare, Ishida grudgingly agreed, “Then I guess I will take my leave as well.” 

Ichigo wants to be polite and say something like, “we should do this more often,” but he’s pissed off, and couldn’t wait to be rid of Ishida’s arrogant mug, so instead he offers, “Inoue, can I walk you home?” 

He doesn’t notice the faint red on her cheeks or the hesitation on her face, when she mumbles, “If it doesn’t inconvenience you.” And he’s torn again - tearing his eyes away from the pretty blush dusting her cheeks unable to stop himself from wondering bitterly if she’d let Ishida walk her home without much protest.

“Ishida lives in the other direction and it would be out of his way, so I don’t mind.” 

“Well then,” Ishida says, looking at her with more fondness than Ichigo would have liked, “Your eyes are all red and puffy. Sleep well. Don’t strain yourself, okay?”

“Yes sir,” she gives him the salute, “... good night!” 

“... And text me that you got home safe. This idiot can’t be trusted with anything,”- 

“... for fuck’s sake, just go home already!” 

“Kurosaki-kun,” she whispers, amused, as she watches Ishida walk away with a cheeky grin on his face, “you’ll wake the neighbours with your angry yelling.”

“Ah, you’re right,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly, as their footsteps fall into place beside each other, “I’m sorry for all the swearing, I don’t know why I let Ishida under my skin so much.”   

“Hmmm,” she says, “It’s kind of cute, your bickering. If this were a yaoi novel, I’d totally ship it!” 

“... what the hell?!” His face is red, not just because the thought of him… and Ishida… Ew. But also because this is coming from Orihime, the last person he’d ever expect to engage in fantasies of this sort.

Giggling, she quickly switches to a more somber note. “You seemed... on edge today. Did something happen between the two of you?” 

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. Truth be told, he’s barely able to understand it himself. Sure, there was the usual trading of insults that took place between the two of them, but it was different this time. His whole demeanour just pissed him off. The way he always seemed to know what Orihime was asking, the way he was always able to help her, the familiar way he spoke to her… and the revelation that they’d been studying together for weeks now! 

“I don’t know,” he sighs, because he can’t even explain what he is feeling, let alone the reason behind it, “... I guess it’s just the stress of the exam.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” she whines, “I’m so thankful Ishida-kun is giving the same exams as me, and we can share practice questions and tips. I really wouldn’t be able to do this alone.” 

He ignores her mention of him and the tick in his jaw in reaction. “But I don’t get it. You’re giving almost all the exams. Why?!? There’s surely no need.” 

She blushes, ashamed, “I know it sounds stupid, but I really haven’t decided what I want to study in University. I figured if I just gave all of the exams, I would have more options to choose from.” 

“... Come on,” - 

“... And I will also prefer to go wherever I get a scholarship.”  

His fist clenches, “... So you’re definitely applying outside of Karakura?” 

“Yeah, although I’m not sure if there’s any point. It’s so difficult to aim for the National Universities, I’ll never get through. But the counselor says it’s worth a shot for the scholarship.”

“... I thought your aunt was helping you with tuition?” 

“... Only till high school. And I cannot burden her anymore. I’ve received so much from her already.” 

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way her voice wavers at the end, the guilt evident in her words. And he can’t stand it. “... Cheer up,” he says softly, playfully elbowing her. “You’re one of the smartest kids in school. Rank #2 after all the shit we went through last year! If anyone can do it you can.” 

“... You think so?” she mumbles, looking up at him, her insecurities heartbreaking in the grey of her eyes.  

Everything about her is so honest, it hurts him a little bit because his first thought is to say no, to talk her out of it, because the revelation is too sudden, too jarring - he can’t bear  the thought of this town without her. But he nods, smiles encouragingly, because that’s just way too selfish.

Shaking his head out of these thoughts, he asks, “... what was the counselor’s recommendation, again? As a career path?” 

“Ah, Hirata-san said maybe I should just follow my love for baking,” she says, smiling. 

“... and? Why don’t you consider that? You wouldn’t have to give these blasted exams then.” 

He liked the idea of this, now more than before, momentarily regretting his role in convincing her to apply to university. Orihime working in the local bakery, coming around his house everyday to share the leftovers, staying back for dinner maybe… 

“... but Kurosaki-kun was the one who said I wouldn’t be very good at it!” She pouts, “You said I’d make too many things in weird flavours and nobody would want to buy them.” 

Crap. He truly felt like waltzing back in time and whacking the past version of him for saying something like that.  Because if it were anyone else shitting all over Orihime’s dream, he’d have sent the punk flying. Where were all these feelings coming from anyway?! 

“... Shit, I didn’t mean,” - 

“... it’s okay, you’re right. And besides I can work there part-time through University. I was thinking…” She took a deep breath. “Well, actually, it was Ishida-kun’s idea. Maybe I could study to become a doctor? My strength is in healing people anyway…” 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Well of course, he'd say that. He's going to study medicine too." And of course he would try to talk Orihime into it. The bastard had taken every opportunity to slither by her side - 

She laughs, a pretty sound, interrupting the profanity in his mind. "Yeah, he did say it would be nice to have some company… but I'm not sure." Sighing, she asks, "How did you decide on English Studies?" 

It wasn't too difficult for him honestly. It helped that he was fairly certain he didn't want to study math or science going forward. "... I like stories. And I want to be able to read and share stories in a global medium, so I decided to study English." 

He looks at her only to find her looking at him in fascination, "... Truth be told, I didn't spend too much time thinking about it. The career aptitude test returned similar results as well, so I just went with it." He shrugs, "I think I'll enjoy it. Let's see." 

"Ahh, you sound so optimistic about your studies, Kurosaki-kun. I wish I could be like that." 

They've reached her apartment building now and she turns to look at him, wistfully. He wishes he could do something for her, ease her anxieties in some way. 

"What about you?" He asks. 

She looks at him, puzzled.  

"... You've told me all about what everyone wants you to do. What do you want to do? I'm sure you must have some inkling." 

“... I,” she stops, opens her mouth again to say something, but nothing comes out. “... what I want… ah, you’ll probably think it’s silly.” She smiles wistfully to herself, because this wasn’t something that she’d ever admitted out loud.

He rolls his eyes, “... Try me.” Because she was many things, and yes, definitely silly sometimes in that unique way of hers, but he would never, could never, call her dreams silly. It’s a moment of realization for him, when he gets angry with the way she dismisses her own dreams that way, and he feels overwhelmed with the desire to pick them up, and keep them safe where no one can trample them, along with that spaced-out, wistful smile of hers. 

“Well,” she gulps, nervous, “I’ve never really thought too much about going to university. Sensei says I’m wasting my potential... but honestly, I think I’ll be happy working.” 

She looks at him unsurely, waiting for a reaction, an opinion, like everyone else. Everyone who’d been urging her to continue school and pursue all kinds of studies that she could possibly do, but… “I just - I want to build a simple life with someone I love. A family, maybe, someday.” 

It comes out so fast, she wishes she could grab the words and shove them back in her mouth. She chances a glance at him, her cheeks hot and furiously embarrassed. 

His expression is unreadable as he gazes down at her. She’s beautiful in the moonlight, he thinks, and it isn’t really a revelation to him, but the melancholy of her beauty is, the loneliness that he wishes he could extinguish as easily as he does hollows. “A simple life huh…” he murmurs. And he can almost picture it, Orihime, ten years from now, a child in her arms, a little boy maybe, with her wide brown eyes and - 

“Well, looks like you have planned it out better than any of us,” he manages hoarsely, unable to look her in the eye anymore. Not with all these… feelings simmering so close to the surface. And before he can help himself, “Do you already know who this mystery man is?” 

He’s come to realize how absolutely unequipped he is to hear the answer, but her unassuming statement has already taken residence inside him somehow, a burning sensation accompanying it. 

 His question jolts her into consciousness, and she notices they’re almost at her apartment. “Ah Kurosaki-kun is very curious today,” she laughs nervously, “only one confession per day! That’s the limit!” The fake cheer in her voice grates in her own ears but she hopes desperately it will steer him away because she’s this close to telling him sometimes, and this was one of those times. Especially in these rare moments when she feels an odd mixture of weakness and greed, where she wants to latch on to him and ask him to stay by her side, hoping selfishly that his kindness will make him say yes. But Orihime was practiced at hiding those feelings away. 

 “Is that right,” he smiles teasingly, albeit weakly, “... I didn’t know you were so mysterious, Inoue. Well goodnight, then.” 

And as he watches her climb up the stairs to her floor, and then lean over the railings to wave goodbye one more time, he can’t help but think of that image of her again, happy and in love and so beautifully fulfilled. And he thinks of the shadow of the man next to her, who will protect that dream and that smile, and his stomach clenches bitterly. 

“You deserve it,” he whispers to her retreating figure, “... You deserve all of it.”

- fin - 

A/N : The ending was cheesy, I KNOW UGH

#ichihime #kurosaki ichigo #inoue orihime #bleach #liquorisce fanfiction

[ladyalice101]

jonsa fic recs

alright, i’ve had a couple requests for recs, so here is my list. these are all fairly recent fics, all written this year i think. all of them are from my bookmarks on ao3, but i picked the recent ones which are my god-tier recs, my oh-my-god-i-love-this-so-much-i-think-i’m-going-to-die, the ones i reread. they have very little in common, but if you don’t find anything on here that tickles your fancy, then feel free to check out my bookmarks. i have just over 100 on there, and every single one on there are fics that i think are absolutely phenomenal.

for @abi117 @why-cant-i-be-careless and @orangeflavoryawp

canon divergent

Victory by moutainsbeyondmountains. one-shot, 5489k.

“You won already, Your Grace,” Tyrion said mournfully. “Enjoy your victory. There are no lands left to conquer. And there are no more dragons.”

if you read no other fic on this list, read this one. seriously. it’s d.ny pov, and glorious. genuinely, i couldn’t give this high enough praise. i reread this A LOT. like, a lot a lot. i could probably quote this fic.

I Want Something so Impure by @asilentfrenzy. one-shot, 10166k.

“You have caused this, you and your queen. You allowed her to speak to me that way, allowed her to order my obedience in my own home as if I’m to be her new dog to train. I am the Lady of Winterfell, and your inbred aunt has no right to-”

“Aye, you are the Lady of Winterfell,” he growled, his eyes flashing with an added flame of fury at the mention of the woman’s newly found relations to him. “The same Lady of Winterfell who not too long ago advised me to be smart, yet it seems that you can’t follow your own advice.”

“Be smart,” she repeated, filling her face with a look of mocking humor. “By kneeling? By allowing her to seize my title and command my people? Perhaps I should offer her these chambers as well. Better, I’ll just offer them to you again, seeing as I’m sure you’ll be sharing a bed. Shall I fuck her as well? As I want to be just as smart as you, Jon.”

so if you couldn’t tell from the summary, this one is sassy af. it features darkish/dominant!jon, which is my jam, and is pretty much just 10k of smut, which is also my jam.

it’s a small crime, and i’ve got no excuse by mxash. 5/5, 8214k.

“did you see her?” sansa snarled, a hand come to pull at his collar, pulling his mouth down only hairs from her own. “your targaryen queen has dressed as though she was a whore to catch your eye.” jon smirked as she bit his lip. what was this? dany had almost recoiled in her disgust and shock, but she hadn’t been able to pull herself away from the horrific sight. my lover and his own sister.

this one serves some dark!jonsa realness, and it deserves more comments/kudos. it is written entirely in lowercase, but don’t let that distract you. the characters are dark, and devoted, and who doesn’t love d.ny catching jon and sansa fucking? seriously, this one is a must-read.

Dark in Bloom by @orangeflavoryawp​. oneshot, 8304k.

"His gravity wavers, the axis of his world tilted to the measure of her lips." - Jon and Sansa. The stain of desire bleeds slowly between them.

yeah orange, i’m reccing one of your own fics to you. seriously though, this is just like ... mindblowing. i cannot overstate how much i love this one. i literally will just randomly remember it sometimes, when i’m just going about my daily business, and i’m like “shit, that fic by orange was a masterpiece. love it.” so, yeah, if that doesn’t tell you how much i love it, then idk what will.

what i’m asking by @amymel86​. oneshot, 1173k.

"I'm not here to talk about that," Theon says, setting off another, thankfully smaller coughing fit. "I'm here to talk about Sansa."

Jon can feel the blood drain from his face. "Is she ill?"

Theon shakes his head, lifting his eyes to Jon as he coughs into his fist. "No," he finally says, his lungs giving him a small reprieve. "The Queen is in her prime. Which is why you are needed."

okay, ya’ll obvi know of amy. she writes so much fantastic fic. but i feel like this one kind of flew under the radar? which is a CRIME tbh. this fic was so ... it was so heartbreaking, but in the best way. it’s not that divergent from canon, bc the main thing that is truly different is that theon lives. seriously love this fic.

A Toss of the Coin by Paige242. one-shot, 3793.

Years after the war, the Queen in the North and the pardoned Queenslayer welcome their first child. Old traits emerge, and Jon worries about this Dragon in a den of Wolves.

ok, so this is a future fic where jon and sansa married. i don’t even know how to describe this one. it isn’t jonsa focused, but that doesn’t make it any less brilliant. it is so unique, and i’m yet to read another fic that explores the idea of one of jonsa’s kids inheriting some targaryen madness. there IS a part two, which was just as amazing. pls do yourself a favour and read this!

Choose by @esther-dot​. oneshot, 5630k

“I know the cost of our loves. I know too well how they fall on the scale, one outweighing the other. I know what you tried to tell me. I know.” She was looking at him now, and he was afraid, but he would say the words that he had been unable to silence. “I never had the chance to choose you, but I would. I would choose you every time.”

THE DIALOGUE IN THIS IS INCREDIBLE. i just reread this to try and find my fave quote, but i actually can’t even pick. there are just so many amazing conversations, between sansa and jon, sansa and d.ny, arya and jon .. ugh, the list goes on. love this, please read.

Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge by alltheshinywords. one-shot, 3187k.

Post 8x03, slightly AU. Tormund and Jaime inexplicably find themselves becoming matchmakers when they notice a certain chemistry between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Extreme fluff and silliness.

this one is the least angsty on the list, and honestly it’s just such a good time. i remember reading this while s8 was airing, and honestly it was just so light hearted that i laughed out loud several times, despite being heartbroken over what happening in the show.

canon, but alternative universe

leave behind a love story by aetherae. one-shot, 9562k.

Maybe if things had been different, they wouldn't be like this. They would be worse.

ok, so, despite the summary, i naively went into this expecting a happy ending. yeah, so, no. however, this was one of the most interesting fics i’ve read in a while, because each universe it explored was so different to the ones i usually see floating around. and the writing was SUPERB.

i fell in love with a war (and nobody told me it ended) by mountainsbeyondmountains. one-shot, 18752k.

In which the North and the South have been at war for years, and Sansa unexpectedly finds herself on the run with a certain Targaryen bastard.

this is an avatar/bender au, and it is GLORIOUS. after i read this, i promptly devoured every other fic this author has written bc i loved it so much. the bending is just a backdrop to the amazing enemies-lovers this fic delivers.

modern au

Fuel and Fire by @zarahjoyce​. currently 4608k, 4/?, WIP.

"You see?" Sansa says, smiling now. "If you really have to have a room far away from me, seems like you need to move into a different hotel." As an afterthought she adds, "Or to another planet."

"Bet you'd just love that, wouldn't you?" Jon asks her.

"Loads," she snarls.

He takes a deep breath, all the while just looking at her.

Truth be told Jon will give anything in the world to be able to just-- just--

-

Jon and Sansa, and all the tropes applicable to them.

All. The. Tropes.

ok so zarah in general writes AMAZING fic, they’re always so creative and inventive and i’m always genuinely shook by the fic they write. but like, this one is the god tier one BC TROPES.

when we kiss: mmmm, fire by @dancemajicdance​. 8/8, 39705k.

Sansa might be seeing someone casually, but thanks to Arya, Robb, and Theon, it’s Jon who’s got the inside track on how to get Sansa to take him seriously.

aka: the one where jon finds out that sansa has a daddy kink, and he uses it to seduce her away from the dating scene and into his arms, heeeey-oh!

yes yes, it’s a daddy kink fic, and it’s fucking glorious alright. if that’s not your thing though (even though i’m pretty sure this fic is EVERYONE’S thing) then please, for the love of god, check out the rest of their stuff on ao3. you won’t regret it. even though they don’t write much jonsa anymore, the prolific contributions they HAVE made will go down in history as some of the best jonsa ever written imo.

As Long As We're Going Down by @alienor-woods​. 9/12, currently 42228k, WIP.

Four years after Stannis Baratheon wins the Battle of the Blackwater, Sansa Stark finds herself summoned back to King's Landing to serve as a bridesmaid at Crown Princess Shireen's wedding. When King Stannis tries to marry Sansa off to his illegitimate nephew, Edric, she thinks quick and tells him she's already married--

--to her bodyguard, Jon Snow.

i actually don’t know how to explain how much i love this. it’s written so beautifully, and it’s so realistic and just ugh. read it. the adaption to modern royalty is the best i’ve ever read, and the characters are very raw, and very realistic. (also, yes, the characters have gotten together at this point in the story, in case you were scared of committing to a wip without the satisfaction of some hot and heavy scenes).

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #fic rec #jonsa fic rec #actuallyjonsa

[spiderman-homecomeme]

Day Two - Remember Me

AN: Y’all we made it!! I’m so excited to share this one with you guys and to see what our talented fandom has done! Here is my contribution to day two! It’s all kinds of sappy, soft, sweet, sad (peep the title) and just emotional in general, and I hope you guys enjoy it. <3

Again, thank you @spideychelleweek for making this all possible!

Prompt: Meet the Family

Here is some 2.9k odd of fluff and hurt/comfort! 

.

.

“Listen, I know you’re a huge nerd and everything, but..." Michelle’s voice holds a teasing, slightly judgmental edge as she struggles to hold three DVDs in one hand, hastily catching one as it falls out of her grasp. “Do you really need more than one copy of The Force Awakens?”

“Okay, first of all,” Peter starts, defensively holding one finger up, “One of those is Ned’s.”

MJ blinks slowly.

“Second of all, May bought me one as a random gift after I’d already pre-ordered it, and I couldn’t just… you know, give it back,” He reasons. “So, yeah. To answer your question: I do need three different copies.” Peter turns his attention back to organizing the box of various electronics hastily thrown together by past-Peter.

MJ still seems less than impressed with that explanation. “Okay. Why?”

“Well,” Peter shrugs, mouth pulling into a slight frown. “What if I lose one?”

When she doesn’t respond, Peter glances up, not surprised to find her staring blankly at him, her expression as impassive as it’s ever been.

He relents, letting her toss one of the three into the “give away” bin before promising to give the second back to Ned.

MJ, out of the kindness of her own heart— or out of boredom, either one— has been helping Peter, in her own words, “get his shit together,” for most of the afternoon. Too many times has she tripped over a stray book, his backpack, a hoodie or even a lone pair of boxers on the floor of his bedroom; times where she’s been unable to find the spare iPhone charger through all the spare papers, pens, and God knows what else in that mess he calls a “stuff drawer.”

Now, none of this is to say that Peter is the messiest person in the world, per se. He can be a relatively tidy person when he needs to be; his room is never littered with trash or the general grossness that comes with some teenage bedrooms.

But...

The cluttered state of Peter’s room is often a reflection of his own mind.

Which is why Michelle is there.

Plus, she’d seen one episode of Tidying Up with Marie Kondo one day when she was home sick from school, and with her room already pretty damn organized-- if she could say so herself-- she has to have some kind of outlet.

So, in a way, they’re really helping each other.

“Oh, hey,” Peter’s voice cuts through her internal monologue, his attention drawn to an ancient— by today’s standards, at least— video camera at the bottom of his second ‘random tech’ box. “Uncle Ben’s camera!”

For a moment, MJ’s ready to go into full-on Comfort Peter in the Best Way She Can Mode at the mere mention of his late Uncle, and she’s trying to decide whether she should do a full or half-hug when his fond, distant smile stops her.

“Wow, really?” She inquires cautiously, craning her neck slightly to get a better look at the artifact. “What’s on it?”

Again, Peter shrugs, flipping the screen open as he examines the device. “I dunno. Old home movies. Probably embarrassing videos of me.”

And he immediately regrets that last part, not having to see the cheshire grin that stretches across her features and the playful quirk of her brow to know that they’re there.

His shoulders sag as he rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You don’t wanna watch any, do you?”

“Um, of course I do.” Her brows furrow as she glances side-to-side. “Are you kidding?”

“It’s not even charged, though.”

“So charge it.”

A beat of silence passes between them.

“Okay, fine,” Peter gives in, though he seems to be far from annoyed, searching for the charging cable near the bottom of the tangle of wires.

MJ cracks another smile at him before continuing to sort through his DVD collection.

--

The old camera feels strange in Peter’s hand, heavier than today’s technology, screen casting a faint blue light as it turns on for what may be the first time in a decade. He’s surprised they’ve even been able to charge it, judging by how old this thing is.

MJ sits on the bed beside him, head resting against his, watching as he navigates the almost laughably ancient menu, an audible, very dated beep-click sounding at every push of a button.

Neither of them know what to expect as Peter clicks “play” on the first video.

The screen flickers slightly, the lens focusing on what they assume to be the old dining room. A man and a woman are setting the table, chuckling quietly to themselves as they joke with one another. They continue to chat idly as they place the plates and cups down, the context of the conversation lost.

They’re at first only vaguely recognizable to MJ, but the feeling is fleeting, the realization almost instantly dawning on her when she sees the mop of curly brown hair and dark eyes on the man, the cheery smile on the woman’s face.

Richard and Mary Parker.

The date at the bottom of the screen reads: August 4th, 2005, 6:07 PM

Her eyes pass a quick glance to the boy next to her, gauging his reaction. There’s a faint, barely-there grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he watches his parents interact, neither of them paying any attention to the person filming.

“I wanna help!” A tiny voice sounds from behind the camera, and the view shifts quickly, showing a much younger Peter bounding into the room, napkins in his tiny hands.

Mary turns, beaming as she talks to her son, crouching down to show him how to fold the napkins.

MJ feels herself mirroring the expression on his mother’s face.

Peter is still silent beside her, and she can only wonder how he’s truly feeling as they both watch. While she has certainly experienced loss in her near seventeen years of being on this earth, she’s never gone through the pain of losing a parent, much less two biological and one emotional.

“My mom and dad,” Peter finally speaks, as if introducing them to her, his voice quiet.

Under normal circumstances, she might tease him for pulling a Captain Obvious, but she refrains.

She hums in acknowledgement.

“It’s crazy…” He starts, eyes never straying from the screen. “I— I don’t really remember much of them, you know? They… Well, they died when I was really little, so I didn’t really get a chance to make very many memories with them, and everything I did remember I kinda forgot. But—” He pauses, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Hearing their voices… Even though it’s not really something I actually remember… It’s almost like… like it all comes back. Like, it’s so clear, you know?”

It’s said that the the voice is usually the first to go, the first thing one forgets about someone else after they’ve gone. And the more she thinks about it, the more MJ realizes just how true it is. She remembers, very specifically, the last time she heard her grandfather’s voice, but it had been so long since then. In that moment, right then and there, she can just barely recall it in her memory.

She knows, however, that if she were to hear it in a recording— or in this case, a home video— she’d remember once again.

Memories are funny like that, she guesses.

“Yeah,” she nods, gently knocking his shoulder with hers. “I get it.”

The video goes on, with the cameraman— who Michelle can only assume at this point to be Uncle Ben— having moved to the kitchen.

A younger Aunt May stands in the room, poring over a recipe on the counter. “Damn, May,” MJ jokes appreciatively, laughing as Peter gives her a playful shove.

“Don’t even!”

The lens zooms in on May’s face, and she turns, an exasperated grin breaking across her features as she rolls her eyes. She swats at the man behind the camera with a dish towel.

“Hey, how ‘bout you put that dang thing away and make yourself useful around here!” May teases, her eyes sparkling as an immature-for-his-age giggle is heard from the cameraman.

The video ends as the screen pans down, the next playing with only a second in between.

The date reads: August 7th, 2005, 3:36 PM

“Whatcha got there, Pete?”

This time, Aunt May’s voice can be heard from behind the camera, the smile in her tone infectious as the little boy beams up at her through a mop of curly brown hair. A slightly-too-big cowboy hat sits on top of his head. He proudly holds up the pinto hobby horse, jumping with excitement.

“It’s a horsey!”

Aunt May oo’s and aw’s. “What’s the horsey’s name?”

Little Peter pats the neck of the toy with semi-gentle, reverent hands. “Shunshine!”

“Shunshine?” MJ asks incredulously, doing absolutely nothing to hide the snort that had escaped.

MJ can hardly blame the kid though; she’s pushing seventeen and she still has trouble with consonant digraphs every once in a while.

“Hey!” Peter laughs along with her, though there was no stopping the red tint that settled over his features. “It’s a great name!”

“Very creative.”

“Shut up.”

Their joined laughter fades as the next few videos play, falling into a comfortable silence as the old Parker living room shows up on the screen. Red and blue streamers adorn the walls, dozens of balloons in the same shades touch the ceiling, a comically large Happy Birthday! is strewn across the banister.

The date reads: August 10th, 2005, 4:14 PM

The camera circles the room, showing off the decorations, before finally landing on the birthday boy himself.

“What’s your name, sir?”

A new voice full of mirth and humor asks from behind the lens; his father.

Young Peter looks up, a toothy grin stretched across his chubby face. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” he answers, emphasizing each word with a firm nod.

“And how old are you today?” His mother asks, tone laced with hushed excitement.

The boy smiles again, eyes wide, holding up four fingers.

“Four years old!” Both of his parents gasp-cheer.

August 10th, 2005, 5:23 PM

The birthday cake is simple; funfetti with chocolate frosting and red and blue sprinkles, a giant “four” candle placed in the center. Peter wiggles in his chair, eyes wide with wonder as he watches his mother light the wick.

“Are you ready, Peter?” She asks him, and he nods happily.

Happy Birthday is sung as it should be; full of enthusiasm, each singer being in a different key by the end of the song, cheers filling the room as the candle is blown out.

His mother plants a loving kiss on top of his head before smoothing down his unruly curls.

August 10th, 2005, 6:16 PM

The lens briefly goes in and out of focus, showing young Peter as he sits among torn wrapping paper and discarded boxes, his mouth stretched into a toothy smile as he looks at his presents. He jumps up, running around the room to give everyone an enthusiastic hug, thanking them over and over again for the toys.

August 10th, 2005, 7:02 PM

“Happy Birthday, Pete!” His family cheers in a happy chorus.

Peter responds with an excited, “Thank you!”

Aunt May briefly glances up, flashing a smile at her husband behind the camera, before looking back at the young boy in her lap. Her arms surround him in a loose, but loving embrace.

“Did you have a good day?” May asks.

Peter’s answer is an excited nod, followed by an appreciative hum.

Though the snippets of this past life are brief, they’re still able to elicit a familiar warmth from within present day Peter, and he huffs out a quiet chuckle at the way his younger self babbles on and on about how cool his brand new cowboy boots are.

And it’s infectious, as MJ feels the stirrings of the same, incandescent feeling.

The next clip starts from a whole new perspective, it seems.

Seeing as now they’re much closer to the ground, and the excited giggling coming from behind the lens, it seems as if young Peter, at some point, had gotten a hold of Ben’s camera.

August 12th, 2005, 5:50 PM

The view is shaky as the little boy darts throughout the apartment, pausing every few feet to film one of his relatives— though he only gets their legs in the shot; he’s only just pushing 3’1”, after all.

“Whatcha doin’, Pete?”

A new voice can be heard as a pair of work boots come to a stop in front of the boy, one they hadn’t heard yet.

Michelle can feel Peter freeze at the sound, and she glances at him through the corner of her eye; his gaze is still trained on the small screen, his smile tightening.

Uncle Ben himself crouches down, his tall body barely fitting into the frame, the top of his head partially cut off. A broad smile is stretched across his kind face, green eyes looking over the lens and at the boy holding the recorder.

“Filming,” young Peter says simply.

“I can see that! Got anything good yet?”

The camera moves as the boy nods proudly. “Uh-huh. Just like you!”

“Just like me?”

“Yeah! Are you proud?” Though the word comes out more, “poud.”

“Of course,” Ben chuckles gently, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair, eyes crinkling as his smile widens. “I’ll always be proud of you, bud.”

The video pauses, the screen frozen on the happy scene.

Present-day Peter hasn’t relaxed, his lips pressing together into a thin line, releasing a weighted breath as his thumb hovers over the play button.

MJ’s stomach churns with a new sense of guilt. “We don’t have to watch anymore… if you don’t want to.”

He nods quietly, slowly closing the screen, gripping the camera in his hands, knuckles nearly turning white at the pressure. Michelle sits, arms folding across her chest as she faces the internal struggle of what to say next, still unable to shake the unease festering in her gut.

“It’s just—” Peter starts, his voice cutting off. He sniffs again, glancing away as he preemptively wipes at the corner of his eye. “Hearing him again… his voice… seeing him actually talk...” He shakes his head. “It just— It got to me, I guess…” He trails off, his gaze still trained on the wall in front of them.

MJ places a hand on top of his, watching his face as he continues to speak.

“And I thought I was… good now? I don’t know. I mean,” he swallows, trying his best to keep his voice even. “I know that you never really forget them, that you never really move on… And everyone always tells you that it’ll get easier but it doesn’t... But, I guess I just thought that I was actually doing better. That it really had gotten easier. Maybe I was the exception... I stopped thinking about him every second… I had some voicemails— that he’d left me, before he… you know… but I’d never listened to them, I guess… because I was too afraid. Of what? I don’t know...”

She gives his hand a comforting squeeze, her own heart pounding in her ears.

“Like, I know that it makes sense that I don’t really remember what my parents sound like, their voices. ‘Cause, you know, I didn’t get the chance to. But I never—” His voice is caught in his throat, the shakiness making it harder and harder to speak. He finally turns to look at her, bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes clouded with tears.

“I never thought I’d forget his.”

At that, without a second thought, she opens her arms, and he falls into them easily. She wraps him in a warm embrace, his face burrowing under her chin. He doesn’t weep, tears falling silently instead as she rubs soothing circles on his back.

And she doesn’t know how long she holds him like that, how long they sit there. No words are exchanged between them, though none are really needed.

“Sorry… For making you watch that,” MJ’s voice is nearly inaudible as she mumbles into his hair. “I shouldn’t have pressured you.”

“No, uh—” This time, he shakes his head, the quiet sniffle between words not going unnoticed. “No. No, it’s okay,” he reassures her, finally pulling back, though he still stays in her arms. “It’s actually really nice… seeing my parents. Seeing Ben. I’m not gonna say that it’s like they never left... But it’s like they’re still with me, he’s still with me, in a way.” His lips quirk into a sad smile, his hand reaching up to wipe at his eyes again. “And… I’m glad you got to see them.”

Michelle finds herself easily returning his bittersweet expression.

While she’d never had the chance to meet his parents, from the short clips she saw, she could tell that they loved each other and that they truly loved their son. She’d also never properly met Uncle Ben, only seeing him in passing as he’d pick up Peter from middle school, or come to decathlon meets in their Freshman year. It wasn’t much, only snippets of their actual lives, but even the smallest glimpse made her feel closer to Peter, to his family.

It was a feeling she’d treasure for years to come.

Perhaps in a more emotionally stable state, she’d make fun of herself for being so cliche, so dramatic. But at this point, right in this moment, she didn’t care.

Her lips press together into a small, faint smile as she takes his hand in hers again.

“I’m glad I got to see them, too.”

#spideychelleweek2k19 #spideychelle #spideychelle week #petermj #peter parker x michelle jones #peter parker #michelle jones #fic

[timey-wimey-doctor-woctor-stuff]

The Last Of His Kind (Tenth Doctor X Gallifreyan Reader)

Hi again, it me, your local trans mess, how are you? You better be okay because I'm sending good vibes to you and you can't stop them.

Also, I wrote this one is 1st person haha, I used to write this way all the time so it should be a bit better :D

And a daily reminder, you are loved, even if you think you aren't. There is always someone there for you, and you aren't a burden, so don't be afraid to just message them or talk to them, because the chances are they'll listen. And if they don't, then I'm here! I know I'm a random stranger on the net, but I just want you all to be happy, which is one reason why I write these. But, please, if you ever need to talk, please do it. Bottling emotions only makes things worse. I learnt that the hard way.

I used to think that I was the only one. I used to think that everyone else had died, and I was prepared for a lifetime of loneliness, it didn't bother me at all.

So why was I so upset?

Maybe this regeneration was more emotional. I was also running on barely any sleep, so that might've contributed to it, but I'd never been like this before. I let a sigh escape my lips, and then I stepped outside, not expecting what came next.

I had, luckily, landed on Earth. That was good. That was always good. I was expecting the weird looks, after all, I was dressed in my previous regeneration's clothes, and I probably looked a mess as well, so the weird looks were normal.

I hadn't expected to be dragged inside by some random woman though. And who the hell was this doctor she was talking about? I had no idea. Ah well. At least she let me make my way into the kitchen. Kitchens were good. Kitchens meant food, and food meant that I could eat my sorrows away, and- oh dear, I'm crying.

I continued to slowly eat a coconut, ignoring the Woman's protests. Well, if I wanted to eat a whole coconut, shell included, I was going to eat it.

"What even is your name?" I asked, looking at her curiously. She stared at me, before shaking her head.

"I'm Rose. Rose Tyler." She answered my question, at least, before squinting. "But who are you?" She flipped the question, and raised her eyebrows.

"Me? Oh. I'm not really sure. New face, and all that. Last time I checked I was a guy. Am I a man? Or a woman?" I frowned, taken aback. "You got a mirror?" I jumped up, shaking, before falling back down. "Ugh. Regeneration sickness. Not nice. You're a lucky human." I glared at the ceiling, and then I realised that someone was coming through the front door, and- something felt...familiar.

A man came skidding around the corner, and he looked at Rose, then me, then Rose, and then me again. Then it seemed to hit him, and he gasped, obviously shocked. "No way." He mumbled, rushing over. "No...it's impossible." He stared at me, and I frowned, not even noticing.

My thoughts were being plagued by how alone I was again, and that brought a fresh wave of tears. The man yelped, startled by my outburst of emotions.

"Doctor?" Rose called softly. The man, who I guessed was called Doctor, looked up, something unreadable in his brown eyes. "Doctor, are they...?" She trailed off, leaving me confused, but Doctor nodded. Wait. Would it be Doctor, or The Doctor? Was Doctor a title? Or was it his name? I, once again, had no idea.

"Yeah." He confirmed whatever suspicions Rose had. He turned to face at me. "You're a Gallifreyan." He stated, earning a nod from me. He gasped, and next thing I know I'm engulfed in his arms. It was a familiar feeling, though, and I returned the hug. "What about your name? Your real one." He asked quietly, and I whispered it, which caused him to jump back. "I know you! I actually know you!" I blinked owlishly. What on earth?

"Okay, as intriguing as this all is, I'm rather tired and regeneration sickness isn't nice, and I want to sleep." I grumbled, trying to stand on unsure legs.

"Uh, careful." Rose frowned, trying to figure out what was going on. "So, Doctor, you're saying that they're a Gallifreyan?" She asked. The Doctor nodded. I had come to the conclusion that it was a title. Nobody would just be called Doctor. No way. "So you're not alone? You're not the last one?" Rose smiled at him, and he nodded once again.

I chose that moment to pass out.

~

I awoke to find that the Doctor was sat on a chair beside me. Rose was nowhere to be seen. But...I felt a lot better. I jumped up, and The Doctor looked at me, and there was something in his brown eyes that was oh so familiar, and- oh. Oh. Now I knew why...now I knew why he had been so shocked.

He was Gallifreyan too. Like me. "What's your name?" I asked, quietly, edging closer to him. He smiled, and told me. "Wait. You're...oh my god. It's been too long, Doctor." I knew him. I knew him from all those years ago on Gallifrey, before the war, and I knew him! We had fought together, we had even travelled together for a while, and then I went missing and he must have thought I was dead, and I thought he was dead, and we both thought we were alone, and oh my god!

I was unable to stop myself from diving forwards and wrapping him in my arms. I missed him. I missed him so, so, much. I didn't even realise that teas were streaming down my face until he gently pushed me away, and carefully wiped them away, his touch so gentle that I almost didn't feel it. But I did. Once he had wiped the tears away I hugged him again, never wanting to let go. I couldn't lose him, not again.

"What regeneration?" He asked, and I laughed quietly, and he grinned slightly. "Oh come on, what regeneration are you on? This is my tenth."

"I'm on my fifteenth." I shook my head, amused. He raised his eyebrows, and I rolled my eyes. "I never seem to get any less clumsy, alright? I still trip over air. How have you been, anyway? I haven't seen you in so long, Doctor." I watched him, and he shook his head.

"Forget that. It doesn't matter. I'm just glad that I found you again." His hands were in my cheeks again, and I assumed that this regeneration of him was more...affectionate. I wasn't objecting. "We've got so much to catch up on." He leant down, pressing his lips to my forehead in the quickest of kisses, and then he was off, darting down the stairs, and I followed him downstairs, into the Tardis.

And that was the start of a long day of storytelling.

#doctor who #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor #fluff #the fluffiest of fluff #wahoo #ten's just happy because he found another gallifreyan #bless him #he's fucking adorable #doctor who x reader

[dreamy-heichou]

Hey @arekupacific! If I have understood correctly, today is your birthday?

If I’m not mistaken: 🎉🎉 Happy birthday!!!! 🎉🎉 Thank you for drawing such beautiful fanarts of Eren and Levi (your Levi is so hot 👌 I’m dying all the time I look at him), we are so lucky to have you in the fandom!! I want to thank you for all those amazing fanarts of yours, but also for the Mer!Eren and Captain!Levi AU you created which is a pure jewel!! I am always eagerly (and patiently) waiting for an update on your comic, I’m so curious about what will happen to them! 💕💕

For this special occasion, and to thank you properly, I wrote a little something based on the 3rd part of your comic. I hope you’ll like it!! 😘 💕

If it’s not your birthday, then this is just a random gift to thank you and show you how much I appreciate your contributions to the Ereri fandom! 😍

If you have no idea who Areku is or have never seen her art, then what are you waiting for? Go see it right now!! -> Here

Short drabble under the cut

Once the storm started to let up and he was certain his ship and his crew weren’t in any immediate danger anymore, Levi came back to his cabin where he had left the sea creature. They had finally been able to catch it after so many tries, and now that the weather was calm, he could try to have a little chat with the merman.

His hair was soaking wet, droplets of water falling from his black locks and running down across his face and neck, but he was used to it. It wasn’t his first storm and it wouldn’t be his last. Levi put a hand in his hair to remove the excess of water and then opened the door of the captain’s cabin.

The moment he was able to look inside the room, he could confirm the presence of the man fish he had caught earlier but something felt different from when he had left him. His head was titled to the side, away from him, and the color of his tail had changed. It had been a vivid green before, shining like hundreds of jewels, like each of his scales were a treasure. Now, it was a dark and dull green, and looked almost crackled from afar.

“Oi… Fishy?”

Levi’s eyebrows frowned in concern, his scowl deepening when he got no reaction in return. The merman hadn’t moved an inch ever since he had come inside the cabin, except from the movement of his chest at each breath he was taking, letting him know he was still alive.

“What’s wrong?”

Cautiously, Levi came closer to the creature to better see what was wrong with him. He couldn’t let his precious prisoner die after all the troubles he had went through to catch him. He couldn’t let him slip through his fingers, not now that he was finally able to touch the sea creature he had been hunting during all those months, even if it had only been out of pure necessity. He was so close to him right now, so close he could actually touch him if he reached out his hand. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

When he was close enough to have a better look at the merman, Levi noticed that what he had taken for cracks earlier were actually the creature’s scales poking out of his tail, as if they were on the verge of falling down any second. The captain moved his hand forward but stopped himself before being able to touch his tail. He had no idea if it was safe to touch it, either for him or for the man fish.

“Those scales… Your tail looks like shit.”

His piercing grey eyes raked all over his lower body before going up to his face, and now that he was close enough to see his expression, he realized it was one of great discomfort. The merman eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes closed, looking as if he was experiencing a great amount of pain. His lips were parted and letting out short and heavy breaths, which was the only thing he could hear now that he was aware of them. His face was also looking very pale with a deep red hue on his cheeks, and his long brown hair were a bit damp with sweat at their roots.

Levi finally gave up to the temptation of touching the sea creature and put a hand in his hair, near his neck, and immediately felt the burning temperature of his body.

Fever? The captain thought, taken aback. He had no idea merman could get sick. Or maybe it was just a matter of…

Levi rapidly pulled his hand away and moved back, a bribe of a conversation he had had with the ship’s physician coming back to the forefront of his mind. He knew what was currently happening to the merman, therefore he had to act quickly. He should have predicted this turn of event the moment he had locked the sea creature inside the cabin, but back then he had been completely distracted by the storm raging out.

“Hang in there… We’ll fix you now.”

As he turned around to get what he needed, he spotted a bucket on his right full with water. It was exactly what he had meant to go look for. He closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head a little in both bemusement and annoyance. Their physician was always thinking ahead of him, but he wished he had reminded him of the treatment he needed to give their guest much earlier, to prevent the merman going through such a painful experience. He put his annoyance aside to focus on his goal.

“Luckily, our doctor has a thing for all see creatures.”

He had no idea if the merman was hearing him in his delirious state, but he felt compelled to fill the silence with a sound, anything to distract himself from the heavy breathing of the man fish which was making him more worried by the seconds.

“He figured you’ll need a little help.”

Levi brought the bucket closer to the couch the merman was lying on, as well as the towels which had been put aside for him to use. He then took one of them and dived it inside the water, letting it absorb the liquid like a sponge. When he took the towel out of the bucket, he wrung it out to have it soaked but not dripping wet – he didn’t want to make a mess of the floor – and carefully put it on the upper part of the merman’s tail, where his scales looked the worst.

Realizing he would need more than one towel to get the job done and effectively help the creature heal, as his tail was very long, he took another towel and repeated the process. He was wringing it when suddenly he heard movement next to him. Levi turned his head only to realize the merman was now fully conscious and looking at him curiously.

The skin of the merman had regained some colors and was now closer to a shade of gold, like the sun had kissed every parcel of it. His eyes were the same tint of green he remembered seeing on his tail on their first encounter, but with also some speck of blue around his pupil, reminding him of the clear waters shining on a sunny day. He was looking nothing like the sick individual he had seen a few minutes ago and resembled more a beautiful and entrancing creature.

“Feeling better?”

The merman’s gaze had been on him this whole time, not deviating any moment, and Levi felt entranced by it, unable to look away either. There was something in the way the man fish was looking at him, with pure innocence and honest curiosity, that had him locked in place. It was the first time he was seeing the merman’s eyes from this close and he noticed there was a shine in them like he had noticed for his scales.

“Ye-yeah! Thanks…”

The unknown deep voice startled him and Levi had to keep his neutral mask on to keep the surprise from being too noticeable. He had come to the conclusion he would never be able to communicate with the sea creature, maybe because they spoke different languages, but he had been wrong. Finally, they were able to initiate in a conversation.

“Oh, so you do talk.”

The sea creature’s expression changed from gratitude to shock, probably realizing he had broken his mutism without meaning to, but his eyes still didn’t look away from his. He was looking both shy and cautious, as if he was challenging Levi to ask him something, as if he was readying himself not to answer another time.

There was a million things Levi wanted to ask the merman, a million things he needed to know, but as he looked into those deep green eyes, there was only one question which came to his mind. The only one which seemed to matter in this moment and which had been occupying his mind ever since they had caught him.

“Say, fishy. Do you have a name?”

Contrary to his expectations of getting the cold shoulder once again, the merman answered. It was only one word, but a word which would haunt the captain’s every thought from then on.

“… Eren.”

#ereri fanfic #ereri drabbles #ereri #riren #eren jaeger #levi ackerman #snk #shingeki no kyojin #mer!eren #mer!au #my writing #arekupacific #i hope you liked it and that i did justice to your wonderful AU 😘 #tbh it's my first time writing smthg with a merperson #and i wrote this in one evening 😅 #hope it's good enough :') #really thank you for your art 🥰 #i feel blessed every time you post a new fanart #and that last levi one? 👌 #completely killed me #you're awesome!!! ❤❤ #looking forward to what you'll draw next!! #💕💕💕💕 #i hope i got it right for your birthday 😅 #if i'm right then once again HB!! 🎉🎉

[eldritchsurveys]

604.

What do you do for work? >> I don’t.

What would you ideally like to do for work? >> Ideally, I’d like to do something constructive -- as in, something that directly contributes to the care and maintenance of the community -- that doesn’t require me to keep unnecessarily long hours (necessarily long hours are a different story) and where my time, energy, and mental health are respected. Typing that made me feel silly because I could already hear the socialised inner voice chastising me for being so ~grandiose or whatever. That inner voice is probably exactly why corporations and employers get away with treating their workers like wage slaves who should be grateful to be employed at all.

What are you doing in order to achieve this? >> Anyway, yeah, I’m not doing anything to achieve that. I’m not even sure how I would, in this society. But in the meantime, I’ll be grateful that I still have a government income and my life partner appreciates and supports me despite my unemployment.

What is the meaning of your life? What is it that you really live for? >> I’ve put the search for meaning on hold. I live for the sake of living, for now, because that’s as good as anything else.

Have you ever REALLY thought what it means to have children? >> Yeah. It’s pretty daunting (understatement of the year, but I can’t think of a better, clearer word right now).

Are you planning to have children anyway? >> I am not.

What is the most awful thing about the world today? >> I don’t know.

What do you think is the worst being on the planet? >> I don’t think anyone is the worst being on the planet.

Have you ever been arrested? If so, what for? >> No.

Have you ever been in court? If so, in which role? >> Yes. Defendant. (I’ve also been to civil court, a much less dramatic process.)

Which do you think is a more valuable being, a human or an animal? >> I personally place more value on the humans in my life than I do the animals in my life. 

What, in your opinion, will cause the end of the world? >> I don’t have any opinions about “the end of the world”.

What does your mother do for work? If she's a homemaker, any specific reason for this? >> ---

What about your father? What does he do? >> ---

How do you like your coffee? >> Black.

If you're of age, what's your favourite alcoholic drink? >> I have so many.

If you're under-aged, what is your favourite soft drink? >> ---

Do you smoke? If so, did you start when you were 18 or were you younger? >> I don’t smoke anymore, but I started when I was in my mid-20s (I stopped at around 30).

Did your parents approve of your smoking/alcohol use before you turned 18? If you started before the age of 18. >> ---

Do you have siblings? If not, skip the next few questions.

Are you eldest, in the middle or youngest?

How big an age gap is between you and your siblings?

Do/did your siblings cause trouble?

If your siblings are old enough, what do they do for work?

Have you ever been jealous of your siblings? If so, why?

Do you still live with your parent/s or do you live alone/with a partner? >> I live with a partner.

What do you think about growing up? >> I don’t really understand the concept, aside from learning to take responsibility for oneself and stuff like that.

What about having responsibilities? >> I think it’s important.

Do you know how to cook? If so, what's your favourite thing to cook? >> Sure. I don’t have a favourite thing.

What about baking? >> I don’t bake.

Do you ever drink tea? >> Yes.

Have you ever followed any of these fad diets that go around? >> No.

What do you usually order at your favourite restaurant? >> ---

Do you prefer a proper restaurant to a fast food place? >> I definitely do.

Is there an arcade anywhere near where you live? If so, have you ever been there? If you have, what's the game/s you usually play? >> There’s a Dave and Buster’s not too far away. I’ve never been there, though.

Have you ever played pinball? If so, an actual machine or on a computer? >> Yes. Both.

Have you ever taken part in a pinball tournament? If so, what has been your highest position? >> No.

What's your dream vehicle? >> ---

What about your dream house? >> ---

What is the biggest dream of your life? >> ---

If you could travel to another country right now, where would you go? >> It doesn’t matter.

What is a country you'd never ever visit? >> I don’t know.

Are you good at taking care of your finances? >> Sure.

Have you ever had any trouble paying your bills? What about your rent? >> Sure. I’m on a fixed income, it’s bound to happen at some point.

What do you think is the best thing about being an adult? What about the worst? >> I think the best thing is having agency -- being completely responsible for myself, for better or worse. It was all I wanted when I was a minor, to be able to make my own decisions and deal with whatever consequences occurred. The worst thing is, you know, coming to terms with mortality and banal shit like that.

Is there a person in your life, who wastes their life somehow? If so, how are they wasting their life? >> I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to say that someone is wasting their life.

What is something you need to do, but you keep postponing it? >> ---

Do you think life should just hand things to you? >> No.

Or should you earn the things you want and need with hard work? >> I think that’s exactly how it should go. But I think despite the fact that the society I live in claims that’s exactly how it goes, it... doesn’t always. Plenty of people work very hard but don’t reap the rewards of that work -- someone else, in an office, high above the earth, reaps the rewards instead. I don’t think actual work is truly valued in this society.

Would you rather live off government benefits or earn your own money? >> I don’t even have a preference at this point. I’ve seen what you have to do to earn money in this country. I’ll deal with the stigma of disability.

When you take a survey, do you skip questions? If so, what kinds of questions? >> Yeah. Questions I can’t answer.

What type of a survey do you skip altogether? >> Anything that doesn’t look interesting to take.

Why, do you think, people write lyrics as the title for a survey? >> Because it’s fun, dawg.

If you have a Facebook, what do you use it for? >> So people can contact me. I really don’t do anything on it.

If you have a Twitter, what do you use it for? >> ---

If you have a Tumblr, what do you use it for? >> Entertainment and indulgence, mostly.

If you have an iPhone, why? >> ---

If you have an iPad, why? >> ---

If you have the latest electronic gadgets, did you pay for them yourself? If not, then who did? >> I don’t have “the latest” anything. But yes, I often do pay for my own electronics, except when Sparrow buys them for me.

Do you always put your litter in a trashcan? If not, why not? >> Yeah. I’d rather carry my trash than litter.

When you walk/ride your bike/drive your car, are you careful? If not, why not? >> Well, I mean... yes????

What is the rudest thing a person could do or say to you? >> I don’t know.

Have you ever been that rude to someone else? >> I’ve been rude enough, I’m sure.

Do you think your parents are proud of you and what you do with your life? >> No. I know for a fact he is not.

Which would you rather be, famous or a "nobody"? Why? >> I would much rather be a nobody. Because it means I have the most freedom.

Do you need to have the latest fashion in clothes and accessories? >> No.

If you have a job, do you get along with your co-workers? >> ---

What kind of hobbies do you have? >> Just your average ones.

Would anything in the whole world make you give up any of those hobbies? >> I really can’t imagine why I would have to.

Have you had/do you have any pets? >> Yes.

Do you even like animals? >> I like them a whole lot more when they’re out in the wild, but we all make sacrifices, huh.

If you aren't already, would you ever get married? If so, what for? >> ---

If you are already married, what was the ultimate reason for the marriage? >> Legality. For instance: I have no family, so who else is going to be able to advocate for me at the hospital if I am incapacitated and unable to advocate for myself?

As a child, did you do anything really bad? If so, what was it? What were the consequences? >> Not to my knowledge.

As a teenager, did you do anything really bad? If so, what was it? What were the consequences? >> No, but I sure had a lot of bad things done to me.

Do you have a problem with authority? >> Sometimes.

What's your favourite comic strip? >> I don’t read comic strips anymore.

Is there a piece of clothing you absolutely must wear every day? >> Underwear, like, in general...

Has a doctor ever told you to lose weight? >> No.

Have you ever been diagnosed with a lifelong disease? >> No.

What is something you absolutely hate? >> Meh.

What about something you absolutely love? >> Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. (A song from the soundtrack is playing on my Spotify right now, lol.)

#surveys #survey #random survey