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therealcocoshady · 1 month

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RED CARPET APPEARANCE 🎥

Eminem x Young Actress Reader

This is Part 2 of Daddy's Spaghetti 🥰

Synopsis : You argue with Em about a red carpet appearance at the Oscars.

The last thing you wanted was to argue with your boyfriend right before going to the Oscars, but there you were. Lately, the two of you had been arguing quite a bit. To be fair, both of you were working a lot and being in a long distance relationship didn’t help. Not only did you have to manage hectic schedules, you also had to deal with time difference and last minute changes in plans. You had been dating Marshall for a few months now and you weren’t too sure how long things would last. Sure, when you were together, things were great, but actually getting together seemed impossible, these days. Right when you thought you could both make time, there was always something coming up, like an unplanned studio session, a meeting, or God knows what else. It didn’t help either that Marshall was paranoid about the two of you being seen together.

After more than a decade in the spotlight and living in Los Angeles, you were used to paparazzi and having your picture taken whenever you were running errands. Of course, sometimes, it was annoying, but you had learned to live with it. Marshall, on the other hand, in spite of having a career lasting over twenty-five years was as paranoid as one could get. It was one of the many reasons why he hated being in Los Angeles and always tried to get you to come to Detroit instead, along with the weather being too hot. In truth, you didn’t mind going to Michigan or spending a lot of time inside, just the two of you. This time, however, you wished he would be the one making an effort. You were nominated for an Oscar for the first time and it was a big night for you. You knew he wasn’t a big fan of public appearances but you wished he would agree to coming with you. After all, he was a nominee himself - for the same movie as you, mind you - and everyone pretty much knew about your relationship, even though none of you had officially confirmed it. To you, there was no reason not to walk the red carpet together. However, when you asked him if he would be your date to the Academy Awards, he wasn’t too enthusiast. In fact, all you got from him was a « erm, I don’t know. We’ll see. Let me think about it. ». And after giving it some thought, he decided not to go with you, breaking it to you over FaceTime, three days before the event. He brought up a bunch of reasons, like having a studio session with Dre that might run late and prevent him from making it in time, hating the red carpet anyway and not wanting to be paraded in a suit that made him look like a penguin. He did not seem to care that you having to take someone else as your date would mean you wouldn’t be sitting next to each other or that you would have wanted him to be by your side. You were mad. You had always known he didn’t really care about awards and public appearances, but you wished he would make an effort for you. Him being set in his ways made you feel like he wouldn’t put you first, just for once.

Do you even want to be with me ? You blurted out after he told you to find another date.

What the fuck ? He asked with disbelief all over his face. What does that have to do with that damn red carpet, Y/N ?

You cancelled the last time you were supposed to come to LA, you’re never available and now you won’t even make an effort for me, you explained. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say so…

You’re so dramatic, they better give you that Oscar, he groaned. Not everything is about you, you know ? I’m working my ass off to get the album done in time, I don’t need you complaining over a stupid red carpet appearance.

Oh I’m being dramatic ? You asked as you stared at his face on the screen. I’ll give you drama : you can book a hotel room and forget about all the nasty things you were planning on doing to me in bed for next time we were supposed to see each other.

Whatever, he said as he rolled his eyes. Just go and rehearse your acceptance speech. I have to go anyway. I have Dre calling on the other line. I’ll call you later.

He did try to call you a couple of hours later, but you didn’t feel like picking up. You were still pissed off and, frankly, a little stressed out too. After all, he hadn’t answered your question about wanting to be with you. You knew you’d have to talk to him at some point - and get to the bottom of the situation, but you also didn’t want to break up over the phone merely three days before one of the most important events of your life. Whatever it was, it could wait until after the Oscars.

You ended up walking the red carpet with your older brother as your date. The two of you were extremely close and he had always been your plus one to events. It sort of made sense to go to the Oscars with him, even though you would have loved to have Marshall by your side. Your big brother was all smiles as he watched you pose for the photographers in a stunning custom Alaïa dress. However, your attire or possible Best Actress win wasn’t exactly the main focus of the journalists, who were yelling questions about your boyfriend who was nowhere to be found.

Where is Eminem, Y/N ? One asked. Is he coming tonight ?

Are the two of you together ? Another yelled.

You didn’t answer the questions about him, only the ones about your nomination, how you’d feel about winning, the movie and your outfit. You tried to focus on the positives and everything this night meant for your career, but you had a hard time focusing. All you wanted was Marshall’s hand in yours and him to be by your side. Hell, you had even picked the dress color because you thought he would like it. You knew that blue was his favorite color and had figured that, if the two of you were to walk the red carpet together, it would make his eyes pop.

Breathe, your brother said. You look tense. Is this about Em ?

Just call him by his name, you said as you rolled his eyes. You’ve met him.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be your date and enjoy the open bar, he continued, but you look… upset ?

I think he wants to break up with me, you said nervously.

No he doesn’t, your brother scoffed. Where did you get that from ?

Well, he’s never available, he didn’t want to be here with me tonight, and he called me dramatic, and…

First of all, you are dramatic, your brother chuckled. Also, you know he’s working a lot…

I should have known better than to ask his biggest fan for support, you said as you rolled your eyes.

Just shut up and focus on your big night, sis, he said with a smile. My baby sister might be getting the biggest award there is for being dramatic, tonight. Now, I think we should focus on that, as well as the fact that stylists managed to make you look presentable.

Your brother’s weird encouragement was a good way to make you smile, and the glasses of champagne waiters kept on handing you did a great job when it came to taking the edge off. You were taken to your seats and the ceremony began. You kept nervously searching for Marshall in the crowd but you didn’t manage to spot him. Was he skipping the whole thing ? Your mind wandered as the ceremony unfolded and you were soon on autopilot. It was your first time attending the Academy Awards and this had to be the longest ceremony ever. The only entertaining things were the various performances. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard the music of Marshall’s song - the one he had written for the movie. He was not supposed to perform tonight - this had not been announced - but he was on stage, rapping the song that got him his second Oscars nomination exactly twenty years after winning Best Original Song for Lose Yourself. The crowd was wild and you were excited as well. Seeing him on stage made you forget how mad at him you were and you were back to being his number one fan, gushing over how good he looked and rapping the lyrics at the same time, like the groupie you very much were. His performance got him a standing ovation and, twenty minutes and a commercial break later, he was back on stage, accepting the award for Best Original Song. Only this time, he was conforming to the Academy’s dress code, looking dapper in a tux. He might hate this type of outfit, but no one could deny he looked absolutely incredible. One detail did catch your eye : the bow tie he was wearing was made of the same fabric as your dress. He was matching with you !

When you wouldn’t return his calls, he called me to ask who you were going to wear, your brother told you.

He did ? You squeed.

Yep. Not the kind of thing anyone who wants to break up with you would do, I think. I’m not supposed to tell you, but he’s got another one to match your second dress, too…

You couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he would go out of his way to call your brother, as well as the dressmakers to have a bowtie matching your dress was absolutely adorable. You couldn’t keep your eyes off Marshall, who was giving a heartfelt speech about how great it felt to have the Academy acknowledge hip-hop and how grateful he was to have the opportunity to be on this stage, two decades after Lose Yourself won. His speech was just like him : elegant and understated. When he went back to his seat, you could see him search for you in the crowd and you waved quietly, sending him a kiss. You couldn’t wait to go and hug him.

Can’t you behave ? Your brother chuckled. There’s cameras, Y/N. And try not to eye fuck him or drool, this time, will you ?

I’ll try, you giggled.

You were almost in agony the rest of the night and the two of you kept looking and smiling at each other. As always when the two of you were in the same room, you were unable to take your eyes off him for a single second. You didn’t pay much attention to anything else that was going on, so much so that you almost missed your name being called for Best Actress. Everyone around you got up and cheered for you and you were lost. You had actually won an Oscar ?! You ? It didn’t feel right. Bit it was indeed, your name on the screen, and people kept on looking at you. Your brother had to help you get up as you came to your senses and realized that your childhood dream had come true. You made your way to the stage as tears of joy were welling in your eyes. You were almost shaking with nerves as you started your acceptance speech. You had one written and memorized but you couldn’t remember it for the life of you. You spotted Marshall in the crowd, who was smiling and looking at you with pride in his eyes, mouthing a silent « I love you ».

I… Wow, you said nervously into the microphone. I can’t believe this is happening. I had something really heartfelt, clever and funny written but I can’t remember a single word so please bear with me. Hum… Standing here, on this stage, holding this award is a childhood dream come true. First, I want to thank my family who has always supported my passion, and I’d like to thank everyone in Hollywood that gave me a chance to act. And everyone who didn’t. In fact, I want to acknowledge every person who doubted me. And every boyfriend of mine who called me dramatic. There have been a few, and you best believe I’m creating a group chat tonight and telling them that I actually got an award for being dramatic and made it my full-time job. Um… What else ? Oh, uh, thank you to my manager, assistant, glam squad… Shout out to Alaïa for getting me into this dress tonight, and shout out to Marshall Mathers who will be taking it off me tonight. Dreams do come true, guys !

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter and you could see Marshall laughing before you exited the stage. When you made it backstage, you took a moment to sit and realize what just happened. You had won an Oscar. Oh, and you had accidentally mentioned Marshall taking off your clothes. On stage. While million of people probably watched the ceremony on TV… Oops. A few people came to congratulate you, though you were quickly ushered back to your seat for the remainder of the ceremony. The movie you were in did not end up winning Best Picture, but you easily got over your disappointment. When the ceremony ended, you were swarmed by an army of people who came to congratulate you. You even got to hug Meryl Streep and tell her how she was the one who made you want to act in the first place, and this was definitely the highlight of your night. Your brother had gotten out of your sight and was enjoying the open bar, as he always did whenever he came with you to an event. When the crowd began to vacate, you had a moment to yourself. That’s when you spotted your boyfriend.

Congratulations, he said as he pulled you into his arms.

Congratulations to you too, you said giddily. You were amazing on stage !

As were you, he replied with a smile. Great speech, by the way…

Oh my God, I am so sorry, you said. I forgot my speech, and I-I… Are you mad ?

It’s fine, he chuckled. You’re way too adorable for me to be mad.

Really ? You asked nervously. I know how you are about privacy…

Really, he said reassuringly. And with you looking like this… ? I am glad everyone knows you’re spoken for.

I think they got the idea when they saw you matching with me, you said with excitement.

You like it ? He asked with a smile. I had to ask your brother and harass the dressmakers. They hate me.

He told me, you said giddily. And I know you have another one to match my dress for the afterparty, too…

If you still want me as your date, that is, he pointed out.

I do, you giggled. But I’m going to need your help to get out of this dress and into the other…

Let’s go, then.

He grabbed your hand and you walked out of the theater, holding your awards, while an army of journalists were screaming to get your attention. You half-expected Marshall to let go of your hand, knowing how guarded he was when it came to the press, but he only squeezed it tighter before grabbing you by the waist as you made your way to a car.

Em, how are you feeling tonight ? A journalist asked.

Have you seen my date ? I’m great, man, he grinned as he looked at you lovingly.

VIDEO : WATCH AS EMINEM GUSHES OVER Y/N AFTER THE OSCARS

Eminem & Y/N have officially confirmed their relationship ! The couple did not walk the red carpet together but they certainly made a memorable exit, as Eminem gushed over his date to journalists while not letting go of her. This happened after Y/N hinted at Em taking her Alaïa dress off her in her acceptance speech. While the Rap God did not mention his girlfriend in his own speech, he certainly appeared in love. While known for his stoic face, he was seen smiling all evening, especially when they made their way to the Vanity Fair afterparty (almost an hour late, mind you…) in matching outfits. And if he does not seem like one to kiss and tell, no one missed Y/N’s lipstick all over his mouth, nor the hickies in his neck.

That night was a big one for the rapper and the movie star, as they both took home statues, respectively for Best Original Song and Best Actress. And from the looks of it, they certainly celebrated.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine

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weebsinstash · 4 months

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Hello! I don’t know if you do this but I was wondering what your thoughts were for a Yandere Lucifer Morningstar from Hazbin Hotel? I’m having trouble writing a good representation of him and would like some advice.

Honestly I'm gonna humble myself and say that it took reading someone else's post to make me like, REALLY notice the nuances of Lucifer's character

This post right here literally made me rewatch his scenes and go "oh wow he IS like DANGEROUSLY DEPRESSED"

He doesn't remember Charlie told him where she is, or what she's doing, and he can barely follow a conversation despite clearly trying to pay attention. He also just seems kind of scattered, and um, HE LITERALLY MAKES A JOKE ABOUT DYING FROM FALLING OFF THE HOTEL BALCONY like dude is making jokes about death in front of his fucking daughter, like my dudes, I think this guy is BARELY holding himself together

He clearly loves loves LOVES Charlie but he doesn't really know how to properly articulate himself and I have a feeling there's a lot he's concealing from her, and another big question is, is his depression from being cast out of Heaven, or from something to do with his missing wife, or a combination of both? Either way this man is clearly dealing with like, really bad issues. And Charlie also mentioned he wasn't around a whole lot when she was younger, so... did he have depression back then too?

So, that all said, I feel like a yandere Lucifer would almost be, potentially invigorated by his darling? Given a new lease on life? He may not be 100% his old self again but, you get him to like, 65, maybe 70% on a good day. You give him another reason to get out of bed in the morning, or afternoon, or evening or, whenever he can drag his depressed ass out of bed

Given what we currently know, I feel like a romantic yandere Lucifer would pretend to only be platonic and do his best to poorly conceal his feelings because of his whole... "can't ask his missing wife if it's ok for you to be their third" ordeal, the man still wears his wedding ring, and a platonic yandere Lucifer basically adopts you like another kid, because uh, I mean for one he apparently canonically missed a lot of Charlie's childhood, and he's also an ancient fallen angel, so he's got that age advantage on you no matter how old you are. I mean what are a few decades when he's literally thousands upon thousands upon thousands--you get the idea

Yandere Lucifer would want to stay close to you, helping watch over you, maaaaaybe being overly paranoid about you randomly disappearing and going missing For Very Obvious Reasons, and in the process he winds up being unintentionally overbearing. I mean, he did it in irritation, but he basically showed up at Charlie's hotel immediately saying it was a dump and all of HER FRIENDS were 'a bunch of losers'. He never completely pulls his punches when there's something he's displeased with, even if it has something to do with someone he loves, so his darling would get much of the same treatment. "Ohhhhh, you uh, you wanted to move across the city? That's, um, definitely a fun idea! BuuuuuUuuut, what IF, instead of doing that--", like, he tries to playfully tug you in 'the right direction' until you make him put his foot down

Hmmm... what would him losing his cool look like... well, we've already seen that he doesn't mind throwing hands and WILL KILL, but will stop if he's asked to or there's a good reason. With you, though, you're not typically going to be there to stop him from offing any rivals or bad influences, so I imagine he'd be kinda casual about it, actually! He already thinks pretty lowly of Sinners, so say he finds out you've been ditching him and Charlie to go out drinking with strangers, making new friends, maybe having a few one night stands? Yeah, some of those people definitely aren't calling you back, and Lucifer doesn't really see a problem with it. These people are kind of the worst and really don't deserve you, anyways! If anything he's helping clean up Hell for you and his daughter and keeping you safe :)

Losing his cool with YOU... I think would involve him using his powers to finally confine you, maybe even going demon mode to intimidate you into submission in a very dad-esque "now you listen HERE" kind of way. We don't really know the scope and scale of his powers but I can picture him at least being, obviously much stronger than he looks, and transforming to fly you "back home" where he puts you in your room where no one can reach you without his explicit permission (and you also can't leave~)

One second you're just drunk and jokingly defying him, teasing him, maybe even picking him up and swinging him around because you're bigger than him, to you he's just a silly little guy! Meanwhile this Grown Ass Man Who Is Also The Actual Devil is getting more than just a little frustrated you basically view him as a wacky little cartoon more than a grown man, one who has had sex and has had two wives and sired a child. You're just teasing him and stumbling around drunk when he's trying to get you to your hotel room to get to bed to sleep, like you're clearly not taking him seriously, maybe even playfully putting your hands on him (TOTALLY not riling him up in 'fun' ways) and he finally just huffs and snaps his fingers and, you're suddenly magic'd to bed! You're laying there blinking confused and he's tucking you in and chuckling that "you're such a handful!" before leaving you to sleep and somehow INSTANTLY knowing when you're up.

You ARE in his house, after all...

Not to be gross but uh..... I'm not saying "yandere Lucifer who has the power to still get a Sinner pregnant if he wanted to and you wind up fooling around with him and you're waking up with his little apple symbol on your lower tummy as one of those like hentai womb tattoos to show you're pregnant" but uhhhhhhhhhhyeah that's what I'm saying, and whether it was accidentally or intentionally, he's keeping it, and thus, keeping YOU

I just feel like he'd be very goofy and awkward and bad at hiding his feelings and being very clearly overprotective and jealous in ways everyone else but you manages to pick up on (god Alastor would have some MATERIAL) and, in a romantic/sexual setting he eventually just loses his patience with you not seeing him as a man and just gets... progressively more forward. You pop back into the Hotel after a night out and Lucifer's already hammered at the bar with Husk, stumbling up to you, hanging off of you, slurring and embarrassing himself, "You'reeeee SO pretty... like SO pretty.... do you wanna have *BELCH* you wanna fuck? Cause I LOVE to fuck, like when I FUCKED my wife to make my DAUGHTER, my wife and daughter that I have, 'cuz im a DAD, 'cuz I'm a MAN!" and you're just giggling and ruffling his hair, "You're so weird, dude ^^" and walking away while Lucifer internally screams, wondering just how DIRECT with you he's going to have to be

meanwhile Charlie is totally cool with all of this and sees this as a weird double whammy of Curing Dad's Depression + new family member and friend hurray! and she's totally actively either shipping you with her dad or aiding and abetting him in his weird attempts to absorb you into the Morningstar family

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hellaverse #yandere x reader #hh #sinprompts

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skepsiss · 8 months

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Tooth and Nail pt2

Part 2 of this mini-series. I guess I'm writing like 4 mini-series right now. This story is about Eddie being the one to question his sexuality after Steve comes out first. Read the first part to get the full details.

This part is pretty darn sad with a lot of introspection. I put up a mini-poll asking people what they wanted to read the most and Eddie being introspective was winning when I started writing this. I'm likely to write all the options on that poll still, so don't fret. I want to say clearly too that I do not agree with Eddie's thoughts. Sharing your emotions is never selfish and I think the fact that he feels like a burden is something he needs to work through. He is unwell. I'll admit I made myself cry writing this so if you're emotionally fragile like I am (lol) read at your own risk.

TW: Internalized homophobia (he's working through it), self-hatred, brief thoughts on death, mention of war (Vietnam and Korea).

PT1 PT2 PT3

---

"I kissed Steve."

"What?" Gareth said, startled as he stared at Eddie.

Eddie was sitting on a beaten-up old armchair in Jeff’s garage; it was night and they’d opened the garage door to let in the summer air. The whole block was having a party and despite the time of night, the street was still alight with lamps and Christmas lights as people mingled in the street. Eddie had taken refuge in the garage (slightly paranoid that someone was going to touch the band equipment) after the first hour of forcing himself to be social. He had a beer in hand, even though he was underage, but it didn’t seem like any of the adults cared as long as they behaved. Hell, Eddie didn’t even live on this block but he was here enough that the neighbours didn’t seem to mind.

“A week and a half ago,” Eddie answered. He was slouching badly with one leg up on the seat, looking as if he was trying to lounge on a satee instead of a corduroy, La-Z-Boy from the 60s.

“Wait–sorry, what?” Gareth asked again, holding his own beer between his knees as he stared at Eddie. He had come to join him a few moments ago since Eddie had been moping by himself, and then they had proceeded to sit in silence until now.

Eddie flicked his gaze over to the younger boy before taking a long sip of his beer as if to say, yeah, you heard right without the willingness to repeat himself. He was quietly pissed, actually, but was chomping at the bit to talk to someone about it.

“So, are you like…” Gareth started, waving one of his hands as if that would fill in the blank.

“I’m fucking straight,” Eddie muttered, looking away and taking another long drink from his beer.

“Then why–” Gareth wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise and anyone who came to talk to Eddie when he was in a mood like this knew that coming in.

“I don’t fucking know!” Eddie grumbled, crossing his other arm over his chest and slouching all the way down in his seat so only his neck was being supported by the back of the chair.

Gareth frowned at him and looked away, no doubt wondering what he should say to all of that. It gave Eddie a moment to calm down and he eventually sat back up.

“I just…” he muttered, speaking into his drink, “I don’t know; it’d be easy if he was a girl. I just wish he was a girl.”

“Eddie…” Gareth mumbled a bit incredulously as he pinched his brows in. His expression was pitying and Eddie hated that it looked like he felt sorry for him. That was annoying and he scowled before looking away.

Eddie’s logic was sound, it didn’t make sense why Gareth would be questioning it. Things would be easier if Steve was just a girl, that way if he had kissed him it wouldn’t be a big deal. Just an oops, sorry, that was uncool, well, anyways, and then they’d move on. He wouldn’t have to be dealing with this crisis of conscience and saying that he was just joking around wouldn’t have blown up in his face–maybe, he wasn’t sure. If Steve was a girl saying that he was joking actually might have blown up in his face more now that he was thinking about it… probably wasn’t cool to yank a girl’s chain like that.

“We were high and I don’t know, I wanted to talk to him about it being fine that he’s gay or whatever and I wasn’t thinking at all and I just…” Eddie sighed heavily and chugged the remainder of his beer. He twisted the pull-tab off and flicked it across the room, aiming for the bin and missing.

“You always want to kiss people when you’re high?” Gareth asked an edge of humour to his voice. He was teasing lightly, but Eddie didn’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now.

“Fuck no,” Eddie grouched, crossing his arms and resuming his earlier position where one of his legs was up and he was slouched into the corner of the seat. “I wouldn’t kiss your ugly mug for money.”

Gareth snorted lightly and took a swig of his beer, letting the moment simmer.

“So…” he continued, glancing at Eddie before looking away sharply, “he get mad or something?”

Eddie groaned as he covered his eyes with the side of his hand, cupping his forehead as he tipped his head back. Why had he brought this up? He didn’t want to talk about this. It had been eating his insides alive, but he didn’t actually want to talk about it. What was Gareth going to do? Tell him the magic words to make Steve like him again?

“I told him I was joking,” Eddie mumbled, “and that I didn’t mean it–I even apologized, and I don’t fucking apologize to anyone.”

“Tell me about it,” Gareth muttered under his breath and Eddie hucked his empty beer can at his head, forcing Gareth to duck.

“Jesus–” he half laughed, the can knocking against him harmlessly and clattering to the ground, “just saying.”

Eddie flicked him off and motioned to get up. He didn’t need to be here for this, he didn’t want to be around people. This sucked. He could tell that Gareth was trying to be helpful–trying to be a friend–but he didn’t have the patience for it and he didn’t want to have another fight with another friend over something stupid.

Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to Gareth before picking up the empty can and chucking it into the garbage. He wasn’t about to leave trash in Jeff’s garage, his parents let them practice there and store their gear most of the time and Eddie wasn’t going to burn this location.

“Say bye to Jeff for me,” Eddie muttered, grouching out of the garage, “and thanks for the food.”

“You going home?” Gareth asked, leaning over the side of his chair to watch Eddie.

“No, this is an illusion,” Eddie mocked, turning and waving his hand in front of his face and giving a manic smile, “the Eddie you know died a long time ago.”

Gareth half laughed, but his brows pinched in at the same time. Eddie didn’t stick around to see if that meant he wanted to say something. He just continued to walk away, turning and hunching his shoulders as he walked past energetic little kids chasing one another and people starting to pack up their dishware. He didn’t feel like unpacking what he had told Gareth or why stating that he had died twisted his guts up into knots. He also didn’t like that he could tell that his upset wasn’t due to the fact that he was lying, but rather that it felt too close to the truth.

Eddie lit a cigarette and started the long walk home. He lost the last of the dusk light halfway through his walk, already two cigarettes down as he got closer to Cherry Street. He wanted to say he ended up there by accident, but that would have been a lie. He walked this way often, actually, and it had been convenient once upon a time. Steve lived on Cherry Street… and Cherry Street backed up onto the forest that connected to the trailer park. A funny coincidence, he had said once to Steve, makes it easier to bother you. That was all too true now though. He was more than a bother.

Eddie stood looming at the end of the street as he stared off towards Steve’s house, the large, stark white structure easy to spot even in the dark. The lawn was lit up by small pot lights and the street lamp across the road shone brightly down onto the sidewalk. Eddie was out of view of any of the windows from his vantage, but he could see the side of the garage and the front of Steve’s house still.

He grumbled miserably and flicked the butt of his cigarette, not bothering to stamp it out before rerouting and taking the long way home. He didn’t want to walk past Steve’s place and risk seeing him, he didn’t know what he’d say if he saw him… he still didn’t really know what had happened. The whole thing felt jumbled in his mind and then crystal clear all at once. He could remember everything so vividly, but it was as if they had been speaking a foreign language to each other: none of it made sense.

Why did he kiss Steve?

Why had that led to Steve getting so angry he nearly got hit?

Why was he such a jackass that seemed to ruin any good thing that happened to him?

It was pitch black by the time Eddie made it home, but he knew the route well enough. The trailer park didn’t have any lights other than the rinky-dink porch lights that some of the homesteads had. It wasn’t that late, but things got dark this far away from town. He came home late like this all the time though, so it wasn’t a surprise when the flyscreen slapped open and Wayne was lounging on the couch. Wayne wasn’t working right now, which was a problem, but they had a small nest egg from the government to live off of for at least a few more weeks. It was amazing how far you could stretch a dollar when you’d been doing it for 20 years.

“That you, Eddie?” Wayne asked, sparing a glance towards the door as a commercial popped onto the screen.

“Yeah…” Eddie mumbled, standing by the front door with his hands in his pockets still. He was looking at the ground, and Eddie wasn’t sure why he felt paralyzed. He didn’t want to move, but he didn’t want to be standing there either… stuck in some kind of limbo.

“You’re home early,” Wayne commented, his tone sounding cautious as if he wasn’t sure if a conversation was going to come out of this, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, again, not really sure what he was expecting.

Silence drew out between them as Eddie shifted from foot to foot, just wanting to… be around someone. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but he wanted to be invited in or something. He selfishly wanted to be comforted even though he was the problem.

“What’re you watching?” He mumbled, still not looking at Wayne.

“Mash,” Wayne answered easily, “reruns.”

Eddie nodded and sniffed, feeling like a stranger in his own home. Though he supposed that wasn’t right, this was Wayne’s home, he was a guest. He was a guest that had worn out his invitation by years and years. The deal had been until he graduated, but he still hadn’t done that and it was starting to feel like an impossibility. He didn’t want to be a burden though and he knew that getting a job was the next best thing… but he hadn’t been able to force himself to do that yet either.

Slowly, Eddie shuffled over to the couch and sat down a cushion width away from his uncle, looking up at the TV. The commercials were ending and Eddie felt his throat tighten as he tried to push himself into small talk.

“Is it a good episode?” He asked, having seen most of MASH living here with Wayne. He liked the show, and Eddie could understand why. All the characters questioned why they were at war and the ethics of it all. Made sense for someone like Wayne to get some kind of catharsis from the show after coming home from ‘Nam all those years ago.

“It’s the one where Hawkeye tries to get ribs sent from Chicago to Korea,” Wayne explained, sipping the drink he had in his hand and looking back at the TV.

Eddie snorted slightly, remembering the episode. He toed his shoes off and tucked up onto the couch so he could rest his chin on his knees, the room falling into silence except for the murmur of the TV and the tell-tale M*A*S*H song in the background. It was easy to watch and Eddie stared at the grainy images on the screen as Wayne and him shared the living room. He always liked that he could be quiet with Wayne, but it felt a bit forced on his part tonight.

A commercial broke up the episode and Eddie sighed, not looking at Wayne as he tipped his head to the side before chewing his lip and finally speaking.

“You ever… had a fight with a friend?” Eddie asked quietly, not liking the sound of his own voice right now. It was quiet for a beat before Wayne responded, his tone calm.

“Sure,” he said easily, obviously waiting for Eddie to continue, “you… have a fight with the band?”

“Steve,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head no to Wayne’s assumption as he picked off the black polish on his nails.

“What did you do… to fix it?” Eddie asked, still not looking up.

“Apologized… talked, bought them a beer,” Wayne offered loosely, “depends on what the fight was about.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, not liking that there wasn’t some magic answer to his query. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t feel like elaborating his problem either. So he just nodded and picked at his nails, waffling for a long time before more words tumbled out of him.

“Do you think… people just… dislike me?” Eddie asked, his lip quivering a bit before he got control of it, swallowing hard to hide his emotions. Wayne didn’t say anything right away which forced a bitter laugh from Eddie’s lungs.

“Like, I’m difficult, I know it, people don’t like difficult but sometimes…” Eddie smiled sadly as he held back his emotions, hiding his face between his knees again, “something even when I’m around people that are… like me, I’m just… different.”

Eddie didn’t like the words that were slipping out of him, why he felt like this was related to what had happened with Steve, or why he was saying it to begin with. He didn’t want to talk about this and he didn’t want to put this on Wayne to think about, that wasn’t fair. Wayne dealt with enough of his bullshit, more than any Uncle should have to, but sometimes Eddie couldn’t help that his uncle felt like the only safe person to talk to.

“It feels like it’s just so easy for me to–” he laughed quietly again, having a harder time holding back the wavering tone of his voice, “--to just–fuck things up with people.”

His body betrayed him and Eddie felt tears slipping down his face and he rushed to push them away so they wouldn’t be seen, still shielded by his knees as he hunched like a gargoyle.

“Eddie–” Wayne started, too much sympathy in his voice.

“Sorry,” Eddie muttered, trying to put levity into his tone, “I know you don’t like it when I drop the f-bomb.”

That was partly true, but Eddie also knew that Wayne didn’t care that much. They swore all the time, he just didn’t like being sworn at.

Wayne went quiet for a moment and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of any lingering tears that might be holed up in there.

“What’s going on, boy?” Wayne asked, his voice incredibly gentle.

Eddie felt his bottom lip bunch up, hating that any time Wayne sounded like that Eddie was doomed to start breaking down. It was like a superpower or something–he didn’t know, but Wayne had made him cry dozens of times when he felt on the verge of tears. He always felt selfish seeking out comfort from his uncle when he had already saddled him with so many problems.

“I hate people–” Eddie blubbered, not sure if that was what he really wanted to say but that felt like the strongest phrasing he could find to describe how he felt. He felt so small and so selfish, reverting back to some kind of scared kid who didn’t know how to deal with his own emotions.

Eddie finally looked up, his face wet and his chest tight, and he crawled across the seat cushioned and collapsed onto his side, pressing his face into Wayne’s thigh. He was so pathetic… he was twenty years old and he was crying into his uncle's lap? Eddie the demon, the freak, the devil, metal head, satanic worshipper – yeah right.

“Sometimes it feels like–people just–I’m just–-I’m made to be hated,” he blubbered, hiding his face and gasping through his words. He felt miserable and like he wasn’t really saying what he meant, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say or even why he was doing this right now. It was like hundreds of emotions were trying to fight their way out of his chest and he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated it.

Wayne touched the top of his head and Eddie felt himself choke.

Wayne’s touch was gentle and Eddie couldn’t help but sob as he started to stroke the back of his head. It was a subdued affection, but one that Eddie knew was genuine. Wayne wasn’t a man of many words, so sometimes a touch was the best he was going to get. There was a reason why Wayne sometimes felt like the only safe person–even if Eddie still felt like he was a burden to his uncle.

“Everything about me just—” Eddie sobbed, gritting his teeth as he just let his thoughts and feelings freefall from him. “Why am–I—I–why do I like everything people can–can just hate–about me? I don’t like anything normal—I’m just–nothing about me is normal.”

Usually, Eddie was the first one to proclaim that he was different and scream it loudly for people to hear. He’d shout and point and own it and draw all the other weirdos towards him. He was the king of all the freaks, but it felt like he was still an island amongst them. He was always somehow different. Like there was this wall he bumped up against far too easily that would crop up out of nowhere. How he’d say or do something and just fuck everything up in one fell swoop.

Why did he keep giving people new reasons to call him a freak?

“I hate being like this–I hate–I hate that I can’t just–be normal for—for five minutes,” he gasped, feeling that swell of self-hatred rising in his chest, “it’s always my fault–it’s–I’m always… so… difficult. I just—I can’t—...I don’t know why–I don’t—I hate it, I hate it so much.”

He was feeling sorry for himself again and that felt unfair. It didn’t feel like this was something he got to be upset about or something that Wayne or anyone else cared about. It felt unfair to complain to a man who had probably watched dozens of friends die right in front of him during the war; to complain to a man who had taken him in when no one else would and had to bear this kind of responsibility when he hadn’t asked for it. To have a snot-nosed-brat sobbing in his lap because people didn’t like him. But Eddie was nothing if not selfish.

“I’m so tired of being different–I don’t… I don’t want it anymore–why does it matter so much to people? I just–I don’t want it anymore–It’s–like—I know, I know people hate me—everyone in this goddamn town–people–pe—everyone hates me. Wayne–” he was heaving now as he rambled, everything just spilling out of him in these waves of emotions as each ugly sound crashed into the next. “It’s not fair—I don’t—I don’t want to be the freak–I don’t what—I don’t want to be a loser–to be a drop out–I don’t want—I don’t want to like men–”

The last of his confessions slipped out and Eddie felt his body tighten; his throat felt like it was being ripped apart and his lungs couldn’t pull in enough breath to satiate him. It hurt so badly. It hurt and he hated it and he didn’t know why he said it.

Eddie felt Wayne’s pets pause briefly before picking back up again. That more than anything made Eddie feel ashamed. It made his jaw shake and his shoulders tighten. How fear and sorrow rattled around inside of him at the consequences of his words. He didn’t know what saying them would do–he didn’t mean them. He knew he didn’t mean them–he couldn’t have meant them. Those words were a death sentence.

“It’ll be alright,” Wayne mumbled, the words not sounding as hollow as Eddie thought they would, “I like you plenty.”

Eddie tucked in at the compliment, feeling weak and small as his sobs quieted a bit. His tears didn’t stop, but his chest heaves changed into fluttering gasps as he slowly regained his composure.

“Freaks run in the Munson blood,” Wayne continued and Eddie blubbered a small laugh shifting to press into Wayne’s hip. He was such a child, but he couldn’t help but soak in the comfort.

It was quiet again for some time as Eddie’s crying turned into hiccups and then sniffles, the TV quietly rambling in the background. It took a long while for Eddie to calm down, but Wayne never stopped stroking his hair. He felt wrung out and hollow now, his emotions dull and his body aching from how hard he had cried. Still, it did feel better than when he walked in here.

“I kissed him…” Eddie said quietly. He felt Wayne shift to look down at him, a question in his movement.

“Steve,” Eddie explained, mumbling, “I kissed Steve the other week.”

“I see,” Wayne answered back, obvious awkwardness in his delivery. He had never been good at talking about stuff like this–anything really–but it was obvious that he was trying. “And he doesn’t like that you’re a guy?”

Eddie shook his head, and closed his eyes, tucking in closer still as he pressed his forehead against Wayne’s stomach.

“Steve likes guys,” Eddie sighed, breathing heavily as he wrangled his emotions.

“Alright…” Wayne replied slowly, obviously puzzling through everything. Eddie frowned and tucked in again, hiding as he felt shame wash over him.

“I kissed him…” he explained, sniffing, “and then I told him it was a joke, that I didn’t mean it…”

“Ah…” Wayne answered, sighing a knowing breath. “Did you mean it?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, taking a long time to answer as he pressed hard into Wayne as if he could disappear this way.

“I don’t know…” Eddie replied, his voice muffled. Wayne stroked his head again and Eddie breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling bad for crying all over Wayne’s lap.

“Alright,” Wayne answered simply, not pushing the subject at all. He was good at listening and Eddie quietly appreciated that Wayne always seemed to have time to listen to him ramble. Slowly, Eddie sat back up, his back to Wayne as he hugged his knees and rallied.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, feeling like he had to apologize for the way he had acted.

Wayne just patted his shoulder and Eddie felt a few tears slip down his cheek as if they had been knocked out of him by his uncle’s kindness. He sniffed hard again before getting off the couch and stumbling into the kitchen to splash water into his face and clean off the snot and tears. Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his face and then leaned against the kitchen counter, going quiet once more.

“Eddie?” Wayne spoke up and Eddie peered over at him through the cabinet shelf, “try telling your friend the truth.”

Eddie frowned at the suggestion, but he didn’t have it in him to be angry. Still, he didn’t think that was a great idea. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what the truth was. How did he feel? Did he like Steve? That felt stupid and the idea made his stomach turn over. What good would a confession do anyway?

“And what’s that?” Eddie asked a bit flippantly, wiping wet strands of hair out of his face.

“That you’re figuring it out and you want to stay friends,” Wayne offered, looking over at Eddie for a moment before turning to look at the TV again.

Eddie stared at the back of his uncle’s head, not sure what to say to that. Was it that simple? It felt like he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he didn’t know how he felt about something. That he was unsure and vulnerable and scared—it didn’t feel like things were allowed to be that simple.

He didn’t answer Wayne as the TV flicked from image to image painting the dark little trailer in different colours each time. It felt comforting and Eddie appreciated that his Uncle wasn’t smothering him. He was more grateful that Wayne had just… accepted him. He had accepted him like he always did. He hadn’t said anything when Eddie started to grow his hair out or when he got a tattoo, when he flunked school, and now when he had said… he liked men. It had been a surprise to hear himself say those words and there was still deep-rooted shame attached to all of that, but that felt like something he had to unpack on his own. Still, Wayne’s reaction had been the same as it was for all of Eddie’s past transgressions. He’d quietly support him or sigh with worry, but it never seemed to change anything between them.

Eddie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and went to the fridge. He pulled out a can of beer and walked it over to his uncle, touching the cold metal to Wayne’s forearm so he’d look up.

“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly, looking at Eddie briefly before redirecting his attention to the TV.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied quietly, wiping his nose and touching his uncle’s shoulder before stepping away, “thanks.”

PT3

#we stan Wayne Munson in this house #Wayne Munson = best uncle #Eddit is dumb cause he spent all of last fic (the week prior to this)#proclaiming that he loved queer ppl cause they were treated like he is #he thinks queer people are cool but now he's like I CAN'T BE QUEER #that's just cause he's scared of what that means and he has to face so many horrors all the time #doesn't like being hated and sometimes the RSD gets to him #the “being straight” thing is like armor that has just been stripped away and he's been shown he can be hurt here too #he'll learn and grow and eventually love his queer-ness #my_writing #steddie #steve and eddie #eddie munson #steddie fic #my writing #wayne munson #I'm bored so take pt2 early

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idolomantises · 1 year

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I think I’m gonna discuss this once and hopefully never have to bring it up again. Originally I wanted to talk about it on Twitter but people are very disrespectful when it comes to mental health so… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Basically, I haven’t been doing so great, mentally. Nothing bad has happened to me, I’m safe and surrounded by people I care about, and it’s been like that for months. I just, I haven’t been feeling good.

For people who do follow me on accounts like Twitter and Instagram, you may have noticed I haven’t posted anything new since January. I was struggling to feel motivated to make something for my main accounts despite having countless ideas I’d love to work on. I feel better now and do plan on getting something done in March, but that sudden lack of motivation is pretty rare for me. Art is not only my job but a big hobby for me, I just love drawing. I did get some nsfw art done at least.

I don’t know what really prompted my mental health decline, I’ve been getting a few worried messages and fanart because someone insulted my art. But that didn’t hurt me at all, it actually boosted my account and patreon.

I guess I just… got sad?

I have a really bad tendency to suppress and even ignore my trauma and feelings of guilt. And I guess one day I really sat with my thoughts and I just, lost it I guess. I have so much traumatic memories and sudden and intense feelings of self loathing, something I’ve never felt in almost a decade, that it got overwhelming. I couldn’t reassure myself, I couldn’t really talk to anyone about it because how do you confront things that happened years ago? You feel almost irrational. It’s just memories that haunt you, it’s nothing physical or tangible and yet it’s a crushing feeling of anxiety, self hatred and resentment.

I was crying almost every day, and crying so much that my eyes kept hurting long after I was done, and I could barely see my own screen. I’ve had paranoid thoughts about myself and others, thoughts I can’t get into because they’re so deeply irrational. I was feeling suicidal urges and thoughts of self harm. I don’t see myself doing it, but it’s so frequent and overwhelming it’s like I’m already planning my suicide note.

I was talking to my therapist about it, that I was starting to hate being alive. That I hated living. That I could spend the next 50 years of my life with no more conflict or trauma and I’d still be in intense misery and turmoil. They’re feelings I couldn’t really bring myself to tell friends about because what could they say? How do you calm yourself down and reassure yourself. I can’t even talk about my trauma verbally without crying. And it’s funny because sometimes minor irks started to affect me negatively. I was feeling anxious about what to draw because I didn’t want to do deal with homophobic backlash.

I went to a therapist, I talked to friends, Ive been working out more and eating better, I did everything I should do to improve my mental health and all of a sudden a single night just sitting in my room destroyed everything I was slowly building up over the past 5 years.

It’s been really difficult for me. I think also, I just felt so much guilt over not being the best person I could be. I decided to lessen my online usage, not just for my mental health but because I really wanted to work on being a better person. I want to stop hating myself and letting my trauma push me down and I want to do just be better and do better as a person. A lot of people have been very forgiving and kind to me but I don’t feel like it’s enough and I want to do more and I want to feel better about myself. I want to give everything I can to people around me. I’ve been going to therapy a lot more lately and things are getting better for me, but it’s been a very slow process.

I just want to repeat that nothing serious has happened to me. Nobody attacked me in a way that negatively affected my health. A lot of people, friends and strangers have been really nice to me these past few months. I just was doing a lot of self reflecting and unintentionally forced myself to confront a lot of my trauma. I’m saying trauma a lot. I don’t want to get into depth about what I endured because it’s my business but people who do know me know how bad things were for me. I don’t want to feel like that again. I want to feel better, and I want to do better.

Sorry for the long read. That’s just how I feel.

#txt #suicide tw #self harm tw #I was very hesitant to discuss this because whenever I talk about mental health it leans into #one side. who are super well meaning but feel obligated to make sure that I’m okay. like I’m their responsibility when I’m just a stranger #online and my thoughts and feelings should never make someone feel like they have to ‘protect’ me #and another side who sees me purposefully be vague about some of the things I discuss like trauma and regret #and just construct their own narrative and get mad at me for it #at this point I’m just too tired to care about the potential backlash of the latter #if you read all this and think I’m saying I did nothing wrong and everyone is bad except for me that’s your fantasy you get to live in #I just want to be honest about my thoughts and feelings

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dixonsgirl93 · 7 months

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What I think the Harry Potter men’s type of partner would be:

(I tried to be as realistic as I could with HCs that people might not like. But remember this is just for fun so if you don’t like it, just scroll. Thank you)

Draco Malfoy

- I think Hogwarts era Draco would be more likely to date a Slytherin girl mostly because he would be afraid of his father ridiculing him. I feel like his mother would just be happy to see Draco happy but he cares a lot about what his father thinks.

- I don’t think he would care about their hair colour, he wouldn’t have a preference but he would be hesitant to date someone with red hair. Partly because Lucius would make a big deal of the image of the Malfoys and mention their children being gingers and how much he’d despise that and also for the similarity of the “blood-traitor” Weasleys.

- I think his personal preference of body type would range from very slim to midsize. Whether because of his upbringing or what, I just don’t think he would date a plus-size or larger girl.

- Adult Draco wouldn’t care so much about their blood status but having been brought up with racist views, that kind of ingrained mentality would be hard to shift.

Sirius Black

- I don’t think he cares about their body type. Skinny, midi, larger, whatever. As long as you get on well and find each other attractive then he’s happy.

- He prefers more boisterous women, who can match his energy and put him in his place. The type who rather rebellious but also intelligent and kind.

- I’d say he’s also heteroflexible to a degree. He enjoys kissing men and doesn’t care if people think he’s gay but he definitely prefers to date only girls.

Lucius Malfoy

- His type? Basically Narcissa. Pureblood, slim, intelligent. Someone who can also put him in his place but respect him.

- For him, he wants someone equal to him, someone he can proudly show on his arm. This also means she has to be pretty and slim and well groomed.

- He’s grown up with the ideals and racism that Draco faced but leaned into it rather than away like Draco wanted/tried to do.

Severus Snape

- He’d perhaps want someone who matches his energy. I think he’d want someone happy-go-lucky to suit his more serious personality. Someone patient and kind. He hides it but he has a delicate heart.

- Looks-wise I’m not sure he could date someone with red hair, her reminding him too much of his first love. She would have to really wear down his walls before he would consider letting her in. Otherwise he wouldn’t have a preference.

- He wouldn’t care about their blood status if he felt a true connection with someone. At the end of the day he wants someone kind.

- He’s a sucker for brown eyes and freckles.

Remus Lupin

(I know he’s with Tonks but let’s say if she wasn’t in the series, what would be his type?)

- He’s a smart, bookish guy so I feel like he’d want his partner to be similar. He’d someone he could debate with about world topics and literature.

- He’d prefer if she was well dressed but if there was a genuine connection he wouldn’t care so much if she wore hoodies or something all the time.

- He goes more for personality than how pretty someone is, but he is a sucker for long, wavy hair (that was until Tonks came along and he realised he didn’t even care about hair).

- He would either want someone who was rather opposite to him in terms of out-going and more interested in movies than books or someone who’s more bookish.

- He would like someone he could settle down with though, who would be serious about him. Family is a big deal to him.

Alastor Moody

- As much as I adore Moody and want to just write that *I’m* his type, he’s actually pretty hard to write for. He’s a very stoic person, very serious and paranoid.

- I think he would just be surprised if someone desired to get close to him and didn’t care about his scars or missing body parts. He’d be paranoid at first, assuming the worst but presuming this…

- He wouldn’t really have a preference of how they look. More so that they take care of themselves and present themselves nicely etc. That sort of thing.

- Now, if I am to picture Moody with a partner. I imagine a woman in her mid-late 40’s (youngest), smartly dressed, maybe a secretary or manager, brunette, sophisticated.

- However, do I think he would date someone younger? Like half his age? (If we are to assume he’s in his 60’s). It’s possible. He’d be very hesitant though so you’d need to form a strong bond first which could take years. He’d be worth it though.

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destinygoldenstar · 5 months

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I’ll probably post more about this in more detail, especially now that the reboot is pretty much done and dealt with. (There is no confirmed Season 3. Stop lying.)

So you know, most of what I have to say in this post is rambling and complaining, because I am ticked off. So if you like the ending of the season, good for you… this is the opposite opinion to that.

Spoilers for Season Two and it’s ending:

This season, for me, is definitely above All Stars and Paketiew. Definitely. I genuinely enjoyed the first two thirds of the season, and its slip ups weren’t too big of deal breakers for me on the season. (Except Millie. I will forever be salty about it and I can’t say I like her character anymore after what this season did with her)

The season was funny, it was engaging in a lot of plot lines, I thought the order was pretty clean, I’m enjoying it and really invested in how all of these plot lines conclude….

AAAAAAANNNND then Zee outs Caleb.

I break the season to three acts. Pre-Merge is the first act.

Episodes 6-8 is the second act.

And right when Zee outs Caleb, is where I’d say the Second Act ends, and the Third Act begins.

And the third act, in my humble opinion, is GOSH. AWFUL.

Like, OH MY GOSH, they screwed up EVERYTHING.

Except MK and Julia in Episode 9. That’s wholesome.

But other than them, literally ALL the other plot lines in the season that I was invested in were completely botched in conclusion. And I can’t like these plot lines anymore.

How do you do that?! Like, WHAT happened here?!

This may seem incohesive, but I’m just that baffled.

I don’t even care about the elimination order right now. You CAN make whatever finalist you want work so long as the story suits it. So Im not gonna say “Oh Julia should’ve won” or something like that, as a complaint. That’s personal preference.

Remember the post I made complimenting Priya and Caleb’s relationship plotline?

That aged like milk. I don’t like them anymore. They were obnoxious as I’ll get out and I just wanted them booted ASAP.

I made a post about how I thought Priya would quit instead of being eliminated. I do think that would’ve been better than what we got because at least there Priya would be making a conscious decision that no one else can factor in. Instead she acts stupid for the sake of Julia and spends the rest of the season whining about Caleb instead of the what they’ve discussed and learned from each other before.

And Caleb being a finalist? After what he’d done I’m shocked he wasn’t booted in a heartbeat after that.

I don’t think they should’ve became a couple tbh. Apologize and make up, sure, but not get together in this whole mess. With how the story was going, it seemed they’d realize and recognize that. But no. It lead to nothing. Way to go.

Damien? I don’t care if you thought he should’ve won or not. That’s not the point. The writers didn’t want Damien to be a finalist. Fine. Okay. Just make an elimination that’s logical and wraps up his storyline-

NOPE. Julia stole the idol. Which I expected, but it’s something she somehow managed to do when paranoid Damien was always around it btw. She did this OFF SCREEN. So even the writers don’t want to come up how she managed to do that difficult task. YOU COULDNT AT LEAST SHOW US?!

Why would they even eliminate Damien? No one was even after him. It’s because they didn’t want to separate Priya and Caleb…

Stupid.

It really solidified to me that Damien had no relevance to this seasons story and could’ve been written out of the story. As tragic as that is to say. Like, make Priya or anyone on the Rats the one Millie pushes down the 4 Point Slide, make Priya find the idol and lose it at her elimination to Julia, and nothing changes.

What a waste of Damien’s character.

I love Julia in both seasons. So you know. I genuinely think she and Bowie have the best character arcs of the two seasons combined. I was actually kind of routing for her in the finale?? Ngl???? Like, I didn’t hate her, I found a nastier World Tour Heather, someone who WORKED for her goals. Good person? No. But an intriguing one to follow.

But this is the definition of plot armor. Multiple times they had to make the other characters act irrationally just so they don’t vote Julia’s ass off in a heartbeat. Which, if they were rational, would do cause everyone KNOWS that Julia is a bad person!

That’s why in the first season and the first half of this season, she had to make herself getting voted off NOT an option for the others. So she won challenges to get immunity. She allied herself with MK to get an extra vote. She got on Bowies worst side to make him want to work with her.

But in the second half it’s pure plot armor.

I thought Bowies elimination and how she managed to convince an entire team to go with it was stretching things. But I could push it aside cause it made sense for Bowie to leave in that episode.

It just got worse.

Once MK is gone, Julia has nobody on her side and no excuse. They should all vote her off in a heartbeat. But they don’t because they are stupid.

They somehow trust her?! With everything she says?!

Even the smartest characters like Priya trust her. She says she knows she’s being used, but decides to let it happen. That is very OOC for Priya. One of the most game-smart characters in the entire series!

Julia being a finalist is actually an idea I’m on board for on paper. But it was just illogical how she got there.

Also, they cut the villains hair off AGAIN.

TOTAL DRAMA, PLEASE STOP SHAVING CHARACTERS HEADS. IT WAS GOOD EITH HEATHER CAUSE IT MADE SENSE FOR HER CHARACTER AND THE STORY. AFTER THAT ITS ILLOGICAL AND CRUEL FOR NO REASON. THERE ARE OTHER WAYS FOR VILLAINS TO GET COMEUPPANCE BUT YOU KEEP USING THE SAME ONE EVEN WHEN IT MAKES NO SENSE. ITS NOT FULFILLING ANYMORE AND WERE ALL SICK AND SEEING IT. YOU DRAGGED THIS THROUGH THE MUD, KILLED IT, AND NOW REVIVED IT JUST TO SMACK IT WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER.

STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!!

*breathes*

At least Julia and MK were great. Mostly because they mostly weren’t in the third act together.

Oh yeah, and there’s also Wayne and Raj. I like them. They’re fun. I like their pre-merge story.

And then Wayne won??

Yeah, Wayne, you know, the comic relief character with no strategy in a very strategic-centric season. Winning.

I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a joke or not.

If it is, it’s funny like, the first time you see it.

If it’s not, and we’re supposed to take that seriously…

Ooh boy.

I see people compare this to Owen. I don’t think that’s fair given both seasons separate contexts, the characters screen time impact, and theming.

I personally compare this to Beth. Both are tied to someone very similar to them until the very end where their partner, who got more to do, gets eliminated, and then they proceed to fly under the radar because they’re the least nasty people left in a nasty cast remaining.

Now HOLD ON. I am NOT saying Wayne is on the same quality of a character as Beth. Far from it. Wayne will always be the better one of the two for me, because I actually enjoy him on screen, and most importantly, he wasn’t a hypocritical gross cheating creep.

Wayne winning a season CAN work on paper. I’m not opposed to it.

But this is not the way to do it.

This isn’t a guy who has won people’s hearts through being great towards them, he’s only interacted with Raj. This isn’t a guy who has quietly played his cards when necessary. This isnt a guy who has flown under the radar due to being the lesser evil. This isn’t a guy who has clear skills apparent to the viewer but not the characters.

He has done next to NOTHING all season.

I can defend Wayne having some variety of character in season 1, where he was sometimes capable of holding a leadership position, and willing to be patient and loyal, but NONE of these were portrayed in THIS season.

So pretty much, he has won by doing pretty much NOTHING.

At least Raj got a plotline that wasn’t being comic relief 24/7. And I’m not saying Raj should’ve won. Wayne can definitely be his own character, but Raj got eliminated in episode 11/13. Too little. Too late. Honestly, if you’re gonna have Wayne win, eliminate Raj earlier. Swap Raj and MK’s eliminations. At least then Julia making it far is justified cause in Episode 12 she has the idol.

I’m sorry if this is me rambling, but I was genuinely insulted and baffled by the ending of this season. This season started out really good, then declined in quality as it went on.

I definitely prefer the first season. While it’s not as funny as season two’s first two thirds, and has weaker challenges, it’s more cohesive and consistent in quality that reached logical conclusions for almost every character. Love or hate them.

This season, to me, is proof that you cannot botch endings to stories. You try something fancy and screw up, people are gonna remember the mess of an ending, and not the journey. I think that’s apparent with the reactions I’ve seen so far.

You can have a bad beginning. You can even have a bad middle. You can salvage those. But the ending is what you can’t afford to mess up because that’s what your audience will walk away from and remember.

When people look at this season, they’re gonna remember the badly handled ending rather than the good stuff in the first half.

That’s just sad, honestly.

#total drama #total drama 2023 #td priya #td julia #td wayne #td mk #td damien #td caleb #td raj

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colormepurplex2 · 1 year

Text

Chasing Shadows | Cat & Mouse

↳ Jungkook x f.Reader ⤜ Best Friends Brother/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 5,989 ⚠️ death threats, breaking and entering, stalker behavior, references to crime and violence

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to chapter list

“Another one?” you mumble to yourself as you twist your key and lock your door, heading out for work. Attached to the front of your door with a small sliver of clear tape is a dirty, brown napkin. There’s a grease stain on one corner and small spatters across the bottom edge. A red logo is distorted by the smear, but you can just make out that it says Rosey’s Place.

You grab a tissue from your bag and snatch the napkin down. Turning it over, you suck in a stilted breath. A crude drawing is etched in red and black ink across it. Though it’s a poorly executed image, you can clearly see it’s a cat eating a mouse. Very juvenile, but no less macabre. It’s offensive enough on its own, but add it with the other two scraps of trash with similar drawings on them that you’ve received over the last few days, and it has the hair on the nape of your neck standing on end.

It could just be some punk-ass kids playing a joke. But, in your line of work, you’re a bit more paranoid even when it comes to seemingly innocuous coincidences or harmless pranks. Criminal journalism is in your blood, but it also comes with an ingrained sense of overbearing self-preservation. Better to be cautious than be a victim. You write dark, yet wholly real, pieces on some of the largest crime heads in the world. Your articles aren’t exactly glamorous and flattering; you have plenty of potential enemies.

Sighing, you shake your head and wrap the tissue around the napkin and tuck it away into your bag for now. You’re heading into the office and the few extra minutes it would take to get back into your apartment and do something with the napkin are precious minutes you desperately need to grab a coffee.

Despite your own sense of self-awareness, you still aren’t always able to brush off that little bit of disbelief. Which is why you find yourself pulling out your phone and dialing your best friend.

“A call before eight in the morning, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

You smile and hit the button for the lobby in the elevator. “Hey, E. I wanted to run something by you. If you have a moment?” Being on the third floor, your ride down doesn’t take long.

She hums thoughtfully. “Always got time for you, babe. Lay it on me.”

“First, promise you won’t freak out?” you lower your voice as you make your way across the lobby and pass Henry at the front desk. He throws a hand up in greeting and you nod, giving him a small smile.

There is silence on the line for a moment. You know she’s having her own internal struggle not to instantly react to that preface. “You realize saying that only makes me want to freak out before I even know what you’re going to ask of me, right?” she finally says.

“Yeah, but, it’s not really all that big of a deal. At least, I don’t think so. That’s what I’m getting your opinion on, actually, determining if it is something that I should be freaking out about,” you explain with a shrug even though she can’t see you.

There’s a hint of suspicion in her voice as she responds, “I can’t promise that I won’t freak out. But, I’ll try to keep my head about it.”

“This morning as I was leaving, I found a crude drawing on a diner napkin taped to my door. This is the third drawing like this that I’ve gotten. It could just be some kids in the building being assholes, but I don’t know. What do you think? Nothing or…” you trail off, hoping you don’t sound completely paranoid.

“I see,” she sighs. “Well, what kind of drawings are we talking about here?”

You hesitate to reveal the truth, knowing it could potentially set her off. Maybe that’s the answer you need anyway, if you’re too hesitant to even tell her because you’re worried how she’ll react then it’s probably something you should be worried about. You called her because you value her opinion, both professionally and as your best friend.

“The first was from a ripped-up fast food bag, it had a hawk eating a rabbit on it. The second was a matchbook with a spider catching a fly. This last is on a greasy diner napkin and has a cat eating a mouse. All black and red ink, very crude and elementary, bordering on stick figures but still plain enough to determine what they are.”

A colorful swear comes down the line. “You expect me not to freak out? Babe, that’s straight out of weirdo stalker 101. My protective momma bear instincts are kicking in. I swear, if this somehow leads back to your damn job, I’m going to force you to quit. That fucking website gets you into way more trouble than my job ever has me.”

“Enola, you’re an FBI profiler. I’m just a journalist. That’s like comparing apples and oranges. You definitely take the cake in the trouble department. Don’t jump the gun here, it’s probably just nothing.” You hate to admit she has a point, though. You’ve found yourself in some rather unnerving situations over the years due to the nature of your job. But, she’s the one who actively seeks out the crazies with guns and intent to harm; surely, that means her job has more trouble. Though at least she also has a gun to point back at the crazies…you’re just armed with a laptop and the can of mace at the bottom of your bag.

Enola gives a soft, humorless laugh. “Let’s not start this conversation again. My opinion is that it’s something you need to be cautious about. I insist on you getting a door cam or something like I told you to months ago. Have you told Detective Jung about this?”

“My building has security. Henry would have mentioned if there was something weird going on, someone suspicious or out of place in the building. Which is all the more reason why I think it’s just kids being punks. It’s probably Ms. Abernathy’s kids, Cody and Riley. You know how much shit they get into around here. Just last week they flooded the basement trying to film some TikTok video. And, I did tell Hoseok,”—you emphasize his name—,” about it after the second one and he said that unfortunately there isn’t much that can be done over a few pieces of trash being taped to my door.”

She laughs again and you can practically hear her eye roll. “On a first-name basis with that asshole now? That’s a conversation we’ll have another time, I promise you that. Shit. Hey, look, I gotta go. I’m being summoned for a meeting with Director Connor. More than likely I’m going to be heading out on assignment soon, otherwise, I’d come over myself and we’d look into this together. What I am going to do, though, is text my brother your number. He’ll give you a hand and if it so happens to not be some kids in the building, he has the resources to take it seriously and get you the help the police refuse to provide.”

You consider refusing her brother’s help. You haven’t seen nor talked to him since you were teenagers and don’t want to impose on his life. But, you know it’ll be easier to just accept and placate Enola for the time being. “Thanks, E, you’re the best.” Your office building comes into view as you round the corner. The coffee shop you want to stop in is just across the street. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Hey, wait,” she stops you before you can hang up. “Listen, please be careful, okay? I know you don’t think it’s anything serious; but just, please, for me?”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down your walls a little. “Yeah, of course, always. I promise.”

Enola says goodbye and assures her brother will be reaching out to you sometime later today. The cafe isn’t very busy so you manage to get a coffee and make it into the office before most of your coworkers arrive.

Working for a major news outlet, specifically doing the criminal and justice spread, is everything you ever wanted in a career. Growing up, you devoured mystery and thriller novels which quickly developed into a love for true crime and murder mystery as an adult. You love watching true crime documentaries and listening to various crime podcasts.

Some of your closest friends work in adjacent fields. Like Enola being an FBI profiler and Hoseok being a detective with the local PD. They have a history together, which is why Enola is hard-pressed to show as little respect to Hoseok as possible right now. You can’t really blame her, he was a total ass. But, he’s really good at his job and you know he’d help you in any capacity that he could, if he could. The police department is just limited in what they really can do and the resources they can expend for a situation like yours.

Setting your coffee down on your desk, you settle into your chair and pull out your laptop from your bag. You tuck your bag into the bottom drawer of your desk and lock it before sliding the small key ring into your pant pocket.

“Morning, boss!” Taehyung, one of your coworkers, calls as he enters the office. You’re still getting used to that title— boss. It’s only something you recently acquired. Your last big exposé earned you a promotion to team lead editor. You’re now in charge of the entire crime and justice branch of The Scarlet Informant, totaling just under a dozen people.

You waggle your fingers around your cup at him as you take a sip from your coffee. “Morning, Tae, how was your evening?” Building rapport and a bond with your team was priority number one for you. Despite working with these same people for years already, you feel like you could be making more of an effort, especially now as their boss.

He slides into his chair and hides a yawn behind a fist. “Mmm, it was good. I had a meeting with a new lead for my Marshal story. I think I really might have something special.” Taehyung crosses his fingers and does a little shoulder shimmy in his chair. His black polo and navy slacks complement his slim frame. You catch the glint of a silver watch on his wrist. Taehyung, you’ve come to learn, has an extensive collection of watches, wearing a different one every day. “Is this what it felt like for you when you landed that key info on Nauvez? I still can’t believe your article ultimately led to his arrest. That’s like, the epitome of badassery.”

The tight smile that pulls at your lips feels weird. When you first published the shadow piece on Nauvez you had no idea it would actually help the LAPD track him down and make the arrest. You lucked out on putting together some breadcrumbs, talking to the right people, and somehow connected dots the police hadn’t. That’s how you ended up with your promotion; just pure luck, though everyone swears you deserve it regardless and you’re being far too humble.

You honestly don’t mind the promotion and intend to do your best no matter what. Your only fear is that you’ll grow to resent it. The last thing you want to be is stuck in a job you hate. Writing is your passion, your main hope is that you’re able to continue writing even when delegating to others. So far, it’s worked out fine.

“That’s wonderful. Just be sure to vet your sources thoroughly. We don’t do maybe’s or possibly’s, nothing but definitive reporting. Taking on a new source is its own balancing act. If it wasn’t for my resources, that Nauvez piece wouldn’t have been nearly as impactful.” You’re a firm believer in doing things the right way. No cutting corners or taking the easy way around a story. It’s important for people to get the facts, false information and the grey areas of crime reporting are extremely dangerous.

Taehyung laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you like that. We have that meeting with Rigby later, right?”

“That’s right. It’s after the editor meeting. He wants to discuss the projections for next quarter. There’s also the new newsletter format he wants to roll out that needs some tweaking. I imagine Paris will have something to say about that,” you mutter, more to yourself than Taehyung. Paris is the office mean girl. She’s the team lead editor for the fashion and pop-culture columns. If she wasn’t so good at her job, you’re certain Rigby would have canned her by now.

“Good morning, fellow Scarleters!” The nasally pitch of Paris’ voice echoes down the hall as she prances through the office commons. “I grabbed bagels on my way in this morning, from that cute vegan spot on Seventh.” Her fiery red curls appear in the doorway to your team's office before her face does. “Hi, sweeties!”

You internally cringe at the saccharinity dripping from her words. “Morning, Paris,” you try to suppress the sigh in your tone.

“Hey,” Taehyung offers with a half-hearted wave toward the door. His desk is on the far side of the room, facing the large windows overlooking the cityscape.

Paris drops a white paper bag onto the corner of your desk. “Enjoy!” You nod in thanks, turning back to your laptop to make sure you’re prepared for the morning meeting. Long, red-lacquered nails tap against the top of your laptop screen. Paris leans in when you look up at her with a raised eyebrow. “I made sure to get the low-fat bagel option for you.” She says it with an overly sweet smile on her face. “Us girls gotta look out for each other, right?” Her eyes flick over what she can see of your body above your desk before sweeping out of your office space.

You’re still trying to reign in your desire to shove the low-fat bagel down her throat when Taehyung makes a disgruntled sound from behind you. “One day she’s going to get punched in her fake lips and I sincerely hope you’re the one that does it.”

That makes you laugh. The sudden mirth instantly puts you at ease. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

The rest of your office files in over the next few minutes and the space quickly fills with soft chatter and clacking keystrokes as everyone adds last-minute touches to their reports.

You quickly forget about Paris and her disgusting attitude. At least, until you’re heading toward the conference room and she falls into step beside you.

“You must be so concerned for Kat, huh?” she feigns a sad pout. But her words throw you off.

“Kat?”

As if the exaggeratedly appalled look on her face wasn’t enough, she flourishes a hand and presses it to her chest dramatically. “You know, Kat that works in your department. It’s terrible what’s going on with her brother. I can’t imagine having to put a loved one in a full-time care facility.”

Right. You had noticed she hadn’t made it into the office yet and had intended to check in but time got away from you. She asked a week ago to have the morning off for personal reasons today, which you granted. But, this is news to you. You didn’t know she was having to put her brother in a care facility, or that she even had a brother, to begin with. That is if Paris is even telling the truth; it wouldn’t be the first rumor she’s started in the office. Kat’s one of the few people in your department that has been a bit more reserved when it comes to opening up and bonding with you in your new position. So, for all you know it could be true, even coming from Paris.

“Right,” you mutter hoping she drops the need to spout gossip, especially considering it concerns one of yours and a situation you know nothing about.

She doesn’t stop, though, tacking on a very distasteful comment. “Paralyzed from the waist down, apparently. Poor guy probably can’t even get— Oh!” Paris staggers hard to the right, her shoulder smacking into the wall as you continue down the hall. “What the hell!?” she calls after you.

“Sorry, you were walking a little too close I guess. Hope I didn’t scuff your shoe,” you toss back, not giving her the satisfaction of looking at her while she huffs behind you.

You suppress a smile as you enter the conference room, Paris hot on your heels. “These are five hundred dollar shoes,” she hisses as she passes you to take her seat on the other side of the long table. Her pea-soup-colored eyes bore into you once she settles into her chair. You mouth ‘sorry’ and shrug a shoulder then turn and give Rigby, who’s seated at the far end of the table, your full attention.

“Good morning, everyone, let’s begin with our plans for next quarter.” Rigby pulls his wire-framed glasses down off the top of his head and onto the bridge of his nose. His close-shorn black hair is peppered with silver and his grey suit is fashionable but not flashy. He’s a great boss and you easily get lost in the conversation and ease of making plans for the next quarter.

By the time your editor meeting is over, it’s time for your team meeting. Rigby sticks around for it, listening in and giving his input as he sees fit. You welcome his direction, knowing he’s been working in the journalism and publishing field for at least as long as you’ve been alive. He’s the main reason The Scarlet Informant is as successful as it is.

As the meeting comes to a close, you impart a few words of advice for your team and dismiss everyone back to their respective desks. As Taehyung passes you, heading to the door, you pat his shoulder. “Hey, just a moment, if you will.”

He turns his brilliant smile on you. “What’s up, boss?”

“You’re pretty close with Kat, aren’t you?”

Taehyung bobs his head from side to side in a so-so fashion. “I guess. As much as two coworkers can be close. We don’t hang out outside of work, though. She’s quite shy and reserved. Total sweetheart, though. Why?”

“Paris mentioned something to me earlier on the way to our editor meeting. Do you think Kat would mind if I asked her about it?”

His smile slips. “Paris can’t keep her mouth shut can she? Kat’s a private person, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you asked her. She’s only told me a little bit about what’s going on. That red-headed she-devil probably was eavesdropping again.”

That would be classic Paris, putting her too-perfect-thanks-to-dr-whoever’s nose where it doesn’t belong. You make a mental note to approach Kat about it when she makes it into the office later; in hopes of getting ahead of gossip that might make Kat, being the private person she is, uncomfortable.

It’s a few hours later when you notice Kat slipping into the office. She keeps her head down, her mousy brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head and her horn-rim glasses barely staying on her nose. The muted orange cardigan she has on over a pale yellow floral dress looks vintage, especially paired with her toffee-colored loafers and white socks with lace trim. Kat has always reminded you of a librarian or maybe someone who runs an antique shop, quirky and soft in a cute way.

“Hey, Kat,” you chirp, trying to come off as light-hearted as possible as you approach her desk. “Did everything go okay this morning?”

Her large brown eyes drift up from the folder open on her desk. There is a moment where you’re certain you see a sliver of something resembling fear there but it’s gone before you can be certain. “It was fine.” She swallows hard, averting her eyes.

“That’s good to hear.” You’re not sure how to broach the subject, so you just go for it. “I heard something earlier, someone mentioned a potential reason you were needing the time off.” You pause, seeing if she’ll react to you mentioning gossip about her, but she just glances up at you from beneath her lashes. “I just want you to know that if you need additional time, I can work with your schedule. Family is important and I want to make sure you have everything you need in any way that I can.”

Her thin lips form into a soft smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course,” you’re quick to assure. Taking care of your team is your number one priority. Plus, you’re big on a good work-life balance. So, if Kat needs time away to take care of her family, you’ll make sure Rigby has no reason to complain. “If you need anything, just let me know. Okay?”

Kat hums, rolling her lips between her teeth before nodding. She directs her attention back to the folder in her hand. “The Handler files, I’m just going over them again,” she says in a way that feels like she’s dismissing you. You can only imagine the morning she’s had, so you don’t push or question further.

“Right. Good luck with that, I’m sure you’ll find anything that may have been missed.” You rap your knuckles lightly on her desk before heading back to your own.

Getting lost in the demand of work helps with your own morning troubles. The greasy napkin in your bag is long forgotten. It’s not until you’re pulling your laptop out at home that you catch sight of it at the bottom of your bag. The text you got earlier from Enola’s brother still sits on your phone, unread.

You pull the wadded-up tissue and napkin out of your bag and set it on your dining table. The other two items you stashed away in your office. At first, you had tossed the fast food bag scrap in the trash. It wasn’t until you found the matchbook that you dug it back out and put them both away to think over at a later time.

Now seems like as good a time as any. Pocketing your phone, you head down the hallway to your office. It doubles as a guest room with a fold-out sofa bed. The space is cozy with your large L-shaped oak desk tucked into a corner so the window of the room sits just above the far edge of the desk.

You’ve been in here so many times you could navigate it in the dark, but you slap a hand on the light switch out of habit. The overhead light floods the room, the scene it reveals stopping you in your tracks.

“What the fuck?!”

One hand clutches the front of your shirt, and the other braces you against the wall as you stagger back. Your eyes flick over the far wall above the sofa, that’s now ripped to shreds; bits of fluff and fabric are scattered over the floor. There are black and white photos taped to the wall, some small and some as large as a movie poster. There are several words spray painted on the wall. Most prominent of all, though, is the ‘NO COPS’ in bright red right in the center.

As you take tentative steps closer, you make out some of the smaller photos. They’re all mostly candid shots, taken from a distance, of you, your family, and your friends. You recognize Enola, your parents, Detective Jung, and even some of your co-workers. The largest photo, centered on the wall, is a blown-up print from your promotion. Rigby has your hand clasped in his, you’re both smiling at the camera. Surrounding you both is your team, all frozen mid-clap as they cheer for you. Everyone, except for you, has large black Xs over their faces.

The pounding of your heart seems to vibrate through your entire body. You can hear the rushing thump in your ears and feel it tingling in your toes. A cold sweat prickles along the back of your neck.

There’s a stack of papers sitting on the remnants of the couch. From where you’re standing, you can see the top page has a format like one of your pieces for the Informant. Your fingers tremble as you scoop up the stack of papers and bring it closer to see.

There is a yellow sticky note tacked to the top. In a blocky scrawl, you read: ‘You have until the end of business on Friday to publish this. If you change anything about it, I’ll kill them all. If you don’t publish it, I’ll kill them all. If you go to the cops, I’ll kill them all. You ruined my life, it’s time for me to ruin yours.’

Under the sticky note, in large, bold print across the top of the paper is your full legal name. Below that, in the place of a subhead is ’The Monster Behind The Mask’. The first few lines have nausea rolling through your stomach.

‘This may come as a surprise to my readers; I have a confession to make. I’m a fraud. Everything I represent is a lie. I’m no better than the people I feature in my writing. I take other people’s lives and break them apart. I turn people into monsters. But, what you don’t realize is that I’m the real monster.

I ruin lives.

Let me enlighten you…’

You trail off reading, shaking your head at the absurdity. Who wrote this? Your fingers flick through the pages, taking in block after block, ridiculous claim after ridiculous claim until you catch sight of a large image formatted between the columns. You flip back and spread the papers out, taking in the black-and-white scanner-copy image.

It’s a police report. Your own police report. A police report that’s been redacted, sealed, and eventually expunged. Only, here it is, plain and utterly whole. The blurb under the photo indicates that it’s evidence of how much of a monster you are and how you’ve been ruining lives since you were seventeen.

“No. No, no, no,” you mutter, the pages slipping from your fingers and fluttering to the floor in front of the sofa. Your movements are stiff and jerky as you pull your phone out. Your finger hovers over Hoseok’s contact. Blinking away the sudden tears blurring your vision, your gaze snaps to the giant spray-painted warning on the wall. You can’t risk it. So, you click a different contact instead; one you know is still a risk, but a more calculated one.

“Two calls in one day? You’re not drinking tequila again, are you? It’s only Thursday, babe, that’s more of a Friday venture,” Enola’s voice chirps brightly through the phone.

You swallow hard, tearing your gaze away from the wall of horrors in your office. “E,” you begin but have to stop to suck in a calming breath. It’s not that effective. Your voice quivers as you try again, “Enola, I think I’m in trouble.”

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on?” The change in her demeanor is instant.

“Someone was in my apartment. There’s all this…stuff. Threats, uh…pictures. I don’t— I don’t know what to do,” you babble, describing everything but the image in the printed manuscript that’s mocking you from the floor.

You can hear Enola shuffling around, paper crumpling, and drawers slamming shut. “Send me photos of everything. I’m texting Jungkook right now, I’ll have him come get you.”

“I can’t leave, E. What if they come back? I need to catch them. There’s too much at stake here.” You pause, hearing Enola muttering to herself and the soft tapping of her fingers on her phone screen, probably texting her brother. “There’s something else.” Enola doesn’t respond, too busy texting. “Enola. Are you listening? I said there’s something else.” Still, she’s quiet. “Enola!” you snap.

“What? Fuck, what? Sorry, JK’s being a bit of a shithead right now.”

“There’s something else. And…it involves you in a way.” Your heart beats so hard you feel lightheaded, so you slip down until you’re kneeling on the floor, slumped against the edge of the sofa. “Somehow, whoever this is, they uncovered the accident report…the one from graduation night,” you whisper.

A pregnant pause stretches after your words. Finally, Enola sighs and clears her throat. “Mine?” she asks quietly.

“It’s just mine,” you confirm.

“Okay,” determination enters her voice as she shifts into professional FBI-profiler mode. “Jungkook will be there soon. Go lock your door, and make sure your windows are all shut. You still have the mace I gifted you for Christmas, right? Get it. Don’t open the door for anyone except my brother. I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, so you need to ask him for the passphrase. You know which one I’m talking about. I never thought we’d have to use it, but this seems like a good time that we should. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah,” you manage to get out between sharp breaths.

Enola spits another colorful curse. “I’m supposed to leave in an hour heading to Singapore. I’m going to ask Connor if I can drop off this case—“

“No, E! Don’t. No. You can’t do that. I’ll send over photos, show you everything, but you can’t do that. Your job is entirely too important and you know as well as I do that Connor won’t grant it anyway. It’s fine. Your brother will help. He’s good right?” She grunts an acknowledgement. “It’ll be fine. I’m just a little spooked right now, that’s all. You said it yourself, my job gets me into trouble sometimes. I’m sure this is just someone trying to get revenge because I exposed them in the Informant. No big deal, I’ve dealt with worse.” What you won’t admit, though, is how utterly terrifying and just how much of a big deal it is that someone has somehow uncovered your juvenile record. Which is just one step away from Enola’s, and that scares you even more. If this actually gets out, you and she both can kiss your reputations, as you know them, goodbye. “I just got to get ahead of whoever this is, put a stop to it before it gets out of hand.”

“Keep me posted. Swear it!”

“I swear,” you promise before saying goodbye and disconnecting the call.

You give one last look at the intimidating display on the wall before yanking open your desk drawer and grabbing the other two drawings. You toss them onto the dining table and make quick work of checking all the windows and the doors to your apartment. Everything’s locked; as it always is. How someone got in without breaking something is lost on you.

While you wait for Enola’s brother, you check the text message he sent you earlier. It’s simple, just letting you know that he has some equipment for you and wondering when’s a good time to come over. You don’t bother to respond, knowing Enola already spoke with him and he’s coming over tonight regardless.

Thinking about what you can do in the meantime, you dial the extension for the front desk downstairs. Henry answers on the second ring.

“North Highland Park Tower, this is Henry. How may I help you?”

“Hey Hen, it’s me.”

“Ah, my favorite writer in 3C. What can I do for you tonight?”

You clear your throat. “Well, firstly, I just wanted to let you know I am expecting a visitor. It’s Enola’s brother, Jungkook. He should be by soon. I was also wondering if there was anything you’d noticed in the last few days. Maybe an odd name on the guest list, unusual people hanging out in the hallways, faces that aren’t familiar to you?”

Henry hums. “Is everything okay? Should there be something weird like that?”

It’s tempting to lie to him, but you feel bad enough as it is if your work is bringing potentially dangerous people into your building. So, you deign to give him as much of the truth as you can. “I’m not sure, really. It could just be kids in the building playing pranks, but I’ve gotten some weird presents left at my door the last few days.”

“Do I need to make a call to the locals?” Henry immediately questions. You can hear the seriousness in his voice. All it would take is one word and he’d have the PD here in a matter of minutes. “Damn kids can’t get away with scaring the community. I won’t allow it.”

“No, no, Henry. It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to see if there was anything you’d noticed is all. The things on my door have been harmless—,“ they, in truth, are, “—but if it is one of the kids in the building, I’d like to just have a chat with their parents. That’s all.”

You can practically hear the wheels turning in Henry’s head. “Yeah, okay. Nothing sticks out for me off the top of my head, but I’ll take a look back through our feeds and logs just to be sure.”

“Thanks, Henry, I appreciate it. If you find anything, just give me a ring. I swear if it’s something more, I’ve got Detective Jung on speed dial,” you put as much sincerity into your words as possible. You hope he accepts it and only does what you’ve asked. If he gets the cops involved, you’re not sure if your latest fan will care much whether it was you that called them or not.

There isn’t much more to do other than send things to Enola. You take a deep breath before heading back into your office. It’s hard to try and ignore the severity of the situation as you snap photos and send them off to her via the secure network she has set up for you. Her working for the FBI has its perks.

You get your laptop set up and begin compiling a spreadsheet of possible suspects. The number of criminals you’ve written about over the years is fairly large, but you’re able to reduce the pool based on a few factors. It’s safe to assume any of the individuals that have graced your column and are incarcerated, can be ticked off the list. That eliminates a good portion of the list. Though, you know it’s possible for criminals to coordinate from the inside. So, you backtrack and just divide that group into its own lists. All of this might be for nothing, but you feel better doing something other than just waiting.

It’s less likely that it’s someone in your building. The threat still waiting in your office is proof enough for that. That’s far too complex for a couple of jerkwad kids to pull off. Not only would they have to have the skills to dig up your juvie record, but they’d also have to be able to unseal it, purge the redactions, and then compile the manuscript. You don’t have nearly enough confidence in the abilities of teens to be able to pull that off. Plus, the biggest, glaring factor of all— motive, they have no motive.

For all the work you’re putting in right now, you’re not even sure how much will be worth the effort. You put a pot of coffee on and change into a pair of leggings and a comfortable t-shirt. It’s only about an hour after you discover the message in your office when there’s an abrupt knock on your door.

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to chapter list

#bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts au #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jugnkook x reader #sherlock holmes au #sherlock holmes jungkook #bts friends to lovers #bts best friends brother au #bangtanwritershq #jungkook fanfic #bts crime au #bts thriller au

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sharkneto · 11 months

Note

Any ficlets in the works with Klaus as a primary?

Huh. I really don't have much Klaus in the pipeline. Hasn't been a lot of writing time as of late and all my random little nothings are Five (obviously) and HIT adjacent. The one Klaus thing I've got is a "deleted scene" from HIT ("deleted" in the sense that I played around with it like last month, and not at all during when HIT was written lol). I'll share it here, idk if I'll write more of it or not but it was a fun evening of writing.

"Deleted" scene from Holding It Together, in the middle of Chapter 16: This Could Be a Win, as everyone is headed to the cafe:

Klaus hangs back a moment as everyone shuffles into cars, waiting to see which one Five ends up in. He’s ninety-nine-point-seven percent sure that Five died back in the kitchen, and that’s his wheelhouse so he’s given himself the job of… what exactly he isn’t sure. Five-watching? Making sure he’s all alive properly? What would he even do if Five wasn’t alive properly? Off himself for a quick chat with the Girl On The Bike to get it straightened out? Everyone would hate that, they’re all paranoid one of these times he won’t bounce back, but he always bounces back, so really no big deal. It’s his thing.

As he is distracted looking around the garage for the least traumatic way he could temporarily-murder-himself in front of his siblings, Ben leaks a small hum of surprise. Klaus pulls his gaze from a metal rake hanging by the garage door (terrible idea, awful, messy way to go, especially when he’s never really done It on purpose; he’d have to work himself up to Death By Metal Rake) to catch Five slipping out of the garage after Number as the rest of the family sorts themselves into Rob and Sarah’s cars.

“Huh,” he agrees with Ben. He starts after them.

“Wait,” Ben hisses for no reason, forgetting no one else can hear him. Klaus slows anyway, head tilted back to show he’s at least pretending to listen to whatever ghostly advice he’s about to be given. “Do we want just me to ride with them? They’re not going to say anything if you’re there.”

So they are on the exact same page that Five needs watching, at least. Klaus turns more to give Ben a considering look, which is a mistake because it is also the moment he steps out of the garage and directly onto a small patch of ice. His foot tries to shoot out from under him and he flails an arm back to catch himself, managing to only half fall into the wall and missing the metal spikes of the rake with his head by inches.

Goddamn. He has to stop goading the universe like that. Five would lose his shit if the second he turned his back Klaus actually (temporarily) died by garden tools.

“Klaus?” Viktor asks, halfway into crawling into Rob’s sedan. “Are you alright?”

Waiting for his heart to restart as he pulls his eyes from the rake, he forces a smile and tacks on a quick laugh for good measure. “Yeah! Just a little slippy over here!”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitches up and he jerks his head to the car. “We’ve got room? Or are you…?” He glances at Sarah’s SUV behind him. It’s lurching a little as Luther folds himself into the passenger seat.

Klaus looks between the two cars and then out at the street where the Fives are getting into Number’s little red car. “No!” he decides. “I’m gonna catch a ride with Numerino and Five-o.”

Viktor considers that for a second before his expression pinches a little. “…are you sure?”

Everyone knows that car ride is not going to be a pleasant one. But: “Yeah! Someone’s gotta make sure they don’t metaphorically kill each other before we get to wherever we’re going.” His smile feels stale as he jokes about Five dying, but he holds it. Viktor buys it, too, his smile twitching up again in fondness for both Fives’ acerbic personalities. He nods and ducks into the car.

Klaus finally rights himself and more carefully steps out onto the driveway.

<WRITE>

Number’s car rumbles to life and Klaus and Ben break from their stare-off at one another. Klaus dives for the car door to launch himself into the back seat before he misses his chance. Once he rights himself and scoots to the side so Ben has room to haunt, he turns his attention to his brother and not-brother in front of him. Number and Five are both twisted back so they can look at him, identically surprised and unimpressed by his sudden presence. Klaus pulls on the biggest smile he can. “Hi!”

It hangs between them for a long second, the three (four) of them all just looking at one another. Then Five says, “Klaus.” With that, he turns back to the front and crosses his arms. It wasn’t a very pleased greeting, but it also wasn’t very hostile. A solid neutral. Klaus can work with a solid neutral. He shifts his gaze to Number, trying to make his eyes as large and sympathetic as possible, trying to communicate… something. He’s here as backup? He needs Number’s help to open Five up about what happened? He’s here as support for Five? Something.

Number remains unimpressed with him, although his gaze flicks between him and Five once before he minutely shakes his head. He also turns his focus to the front, pulling his car out of park as Rob backs out of the driveway into the street in front of them, Sarah already out.

They follow. The Fives stare out the windshield, Number’s grip too stiff on the steering wheel.

It is so quiet.

Klaus exchanges a look with Ben. Ben is giving him an I told you so look, so he aborts on that attempted camaraderie to focus back on the Fives.

It’s been a whole minute of silence and the Walters had said the coffee shop or whatever they’re going to is only a few minutes away. He doesn’t have a lot of time.

“So,” he says, too loud for the vacuum of the car, “how’s it going?”

The Fives clench their jaws at the exact same moment in response. Klaus lets himself enjoy that for a second. They’re so weird.

“That was all a lot in the house, it’s nice to get some space,” he continues pushing. Ben lets out a judgmental little breath next to him. He ignores him.

Continued silence from the Front Seat Five Zone.

“Really intense in the kitchen. Big fight. Sushi. Rob said it was close?”

Five’s arms tighten across his chest. Klaus catches Number’s gaze in the rearview mirror as the car slows for Rob stopping at an intersection ahead of them. He waits for Number to say something, help him move this along. Number had said he thought Five keeping this secret was stupid and he’s got a big enough brain to think of a too-revealing-but-seemingly-innocent comment. Five’s unsocialized enough to probably not pick up on it being on purpose, chalk it up to his usual assumption that Number is dumb and impulsive (which is so funny, they’re the same goddamn person, what does that say about you, Number Five Senior?). Although Five is also ridiculously paranoid, so maybe he would accidentally see through it…

Rob pulls through the intersection and Number breaks their eye contact to follow him, cutting off the person whose turn it was to their right. They get a honk. Number is unbothered.

Klaus waits.

Number. Says. Nothing.

Klaus focuses really hard on the rearview mirror to try and force the kid to look at him again and feel his fucking say something vibes he’s trying to send through it. He does, only to look away again immediately and readjust his grip on the steering wheel.

Really?

What an asshole. Klaus is doing this for him, too! Kind of. Tangentially.

It counts, though.

#i've been thinking more about number and our klaus #because number's got a complicated relationship with his klaus #with the betrayal and thievery #and he is not emotionally intelligent enough to really separate those feelings from this other klaus #fun for me to think about but beyond the scope of HIT #but not from “deleted” scenes!#anyway - yeah this is all the klaus content i've got currently #snips #hit #ask response #ficblogging

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witchersmistress · 1 year

Text

Run Harper Run

Hello my darlings and welcome to another part of my rainstorm and hate sex series, ill have a better name for it one day lol its love/hate relationship with this series.

Trigger warning: Foul language, Violence, crulelty, and cold heartness

Word Count: 3k

Only now do I realize how dangerous that is. I thought I was keeping myself safe, not caring about anyone, not relying on anyone. But now, when I need protection, I’m alone. I’m the prey straying from the herd, and the predators are circling. I’m not just a lone gazelle being eyed by a lion, either. I’m a lone gazelle about to step on a boa constrictor while being circled by a pride of lions, a pack of hyenas, a leopard, and a cheetah. I’m not being paranoid. And I’m not scared. I’m fucking petrified.

The evening before work starts back, I hear a knock at the door. My heart lurches into my throat, and my pulse starts racing. I think about not answering, but the knock comes again, hard and demanding. If I don’t answer, he’ll kick down the door. I grab my knife and shove it into my combat boot before opening the door. Duke is standing on the stoop. I just about jumped out of my skin. “Hey, Harper,” he says, a flirty grin on his face. “Wanna go for a ride?” He smells like beer and looks like the shadow of my betrayal. I cross my arms and don’t move from the door. “Not even a little.” “Fine,” he says, shaking his head. “I was trying to make this fun. But we need you to go make a police report. Of course some jackass called the cops about the Rover the other day. They want any witnesses to make a statement.” “You don’t say. Someone actually called the cops about a car bomb?”

“A shitty one,” he says. “It only blew up the engine. You weren’t even hurt.” “You sound disappointed.” He frowns. “Why would you say that? August could have been killed.” “So, did you kidnap Magnolia? Or let her get comfortable and let down her guard before you make a move?” “Now you’re catching on,” he says, like he’s proud that I know their scheming minds so well. “We don’t just run back and forth throwing grenades at each other. There’s finesse to these things. We’re not savages.” “You sure about that?” “Can we flirt in the car?” he asks. “August’s ready to get this over with.” My heart stops. August. Of course he’s here. Did I expect him to avoid me after the breakup like a little bitch? August doesn’t avoid anything painful. He’s even more masochistic than I am. “I’m sure the cops have enough statements already,” I say. “Just tell them I wasn’t hurt, and I don’t know anything about it. I have casework, so…” I start to close the door but Duke leans into the doorway, blocking it from closing. “It’s the last night of break, and your bag’s still at our house,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I know you’re not doing casework” “Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m cleaning the house.” “Harper,” he says, cracking a smile. “What a cute little excuse.”

He tries to see past me, but I step in front of him. I’m lying through my teeth. I just don’t want to be with them, not just because I’m not exactly excited to be in a car with August, but because I don’t know when Mr. D will act. “Seriously, you’re being weird,” Duke says. “What’s the big deal? You can give the cops your statement and get your bag. You’re going to have to see August at work tomorrow anyway.” “Okay,” I say grudgingly. If I keep making excuses, he’s going to get suspicious. Obviously Mr. D hasn’t exposed them yet, or I’d know about it. And if I act weird now, when it comes out, they might think back to this moment and start wondering. The safest thing to do is to act like I’m just being a bitch about the breakup. “You know I won’t take no for an answer, anyway,” Duke says, wiggling his brows. “But you can make a scene if you want me to carry you out over your shoulder. That might be kinda hot. Might even make August jealous. What do you think?” “I have no interest in making August jealous.” I follow him to his Hummer, my heart pounding. I don’t even have to fake this part. I really am the pussy who doesn’t want to face August. He doesn’t know what I did, but I know. While Duke circles around to hop up into the passenger seat as usual, I climb into the back of the Hummer with Baron, but my eyes stay on August. “Hey,” I say, trying to break the painful awkwardness. He doesn’t turn or even acknowledge me. We take off, and the doors lock automatically, and immediately I get a weird feeling.

I’m sure it’s my fault, but I’m still on alert, sitting on the edge of my seat and debating whether to bolt at the first stop sign, though that would definitely cue them into something going on. We turn onto the road downtown that leads to the police station, and I start to relax. I’ve been here enough to know I’m more or less safe inside. But when we reach the lot, August presses down on the gas, and we roar past the station. I grab for the door handle, panic slamming into my chest. “Where are we going?” I ask, yanking on the handle. He put on the fucking child-safe locks.

My heart drums against my ribs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “We’re just taking a little road trip,” Duke says, turning around to grin at me. “Everybody likes a road trip, don’t they, Harper?” I swallow hard, trying not to absolutely lose my shit. August runs through an intersection without even looking. A truck barrels straight toward us. I almost screamed. The driver blares the horn, slamming on the brakes as the grill looms huge outside my window. We streak past at the last second while they skid out of their lane and into a ditch. August doesn’t look. “You said we were going to talk to the cops,” I say, because I don’t know what to say, what to do, except stall. “Yeah, see, we already did that,” Baron says, reaching behind the seat and dragging my bag up. He drops it into my lap, but I don’t even notice the heavy books bruising my thighs.

The bag topples onto the floorboards. I consider reaching for my knife, but the odds of making it out of the car aren’t great if I cut one of them. August will run us into the river and drown us all on purpose. It would be smarter to wait until they stop and then cut and run. Baron pulls my phone out of his pocket, his thumb stroking the screen. “I was going to give this back, but I might just keep it for a while. It has so much interesting information on it.” I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow. I can’t even think.

But no. He’s fucking with me. It has a password. And he’s a master hacker. I’m so lightheaded I think I’ll pass right the fuck out. “Give me my phone,” I say, my lips stiff. Baron shrugs and hands it over like it’s nothing. I grip it until my fingers ache, wondering how I could find out what he saw, and whether he’d kill me if I tried to call the cops right now. “You know what’s fun to do on a road trip?” Duke asks, that obnoxious grin still on his face as he leers at me from the front seat. “Play games.” Baron stares at me, his eyes lit with the sadistic gleam they get when he’s about to have fun doing something that no one should find enjoyable. “You want to play a game, Harper?” “No, I don’t want to play a fucking game,” I say quietly as August turns onto the ramp to the interstate heading north. “Let me out of the car.” “Now, where’s the fun in that?” Duke asks. “We’re just getting started.” “How about twenty questions,” Baron says. “I’ve got a question,” August says, speaking for the first time since I got in the car. His voice is quiet and calm—eerily calm. “Who the fuck is Mr. D?”

August’s pov

I pull up on the side of the highway and turn off the car. It doesn’t matter who sees us. Nothing will save Harper now. I should have known. That’s what I keep thinking. I should have fucking known. The second I unlock the doors, she’s out of the car and running across the soggy field beside the road, some kind of farmland with rows of brown dirt and green sprouts, trenches of water between them. “There are snakes in there,” Duke calls after her, a taunt in his voice. She hesitates, glancing from us to the field. Then she runs. Smart girl. She’d be lucky to be struck by a snake. Snakes can’t hurt her half as much as we will. They’ll kill her fast. We won’t show her the same mercy. “Guess she’d rather be with her kind,” Baron says, grabbing a bag from the trunk.

We start across the field, sloshing through the slippery, spongey mud. Cold water rushes into my boots. Harper’s already halfway through the field to the trees beyond, where the lazy spring sun filters through the budding branches. It’s almost pretty, her last sunset. I’m not worried about losing her. She can’t outrun us. She’s just making our job easier. She could have made us carry her. Not that any of it matters. It’s over for her. This was always the end, even if it came sooner than I wanted, even if it’s more final than the others. We usually don’t finish them off. We let them live their broken lives, remembering what they had and lost. Harper never had anything to lose. That’s what threw me off. She has only her life to give. I’m calm, knowing what has to be done. The rage came fast and lasted longer, sank deeper than usual, but it’s under control now. I know I’m not only angry at Harper, that my rage is bigger than her, than either of us. I’m furious at myself for my weakness. For caring. And even though I didn’t try, or even realize it, I trusted her in some small way.

Not with information, but enough to let myself feel something again. She uncovered a weakness. That was my mistake. Now I’m paying. She’ll pay, too. She should have known better than to cut through the stone crust inside me with her jackhammer claws. She should have known the fiery rage of lava below would swallow us both. I fed it to the monster, and he came to life, came to protect us. Only he can cool the rage. He’s cold, focused. The monster doesn’t deal in the currency of emotion. He’s here to collect a debt from a Darling, and that’s all. We reach the far side, and I point to the spot where she went into the woods. We can hear her sloshing through the water that sits around the base of the trees in this dreary, swampy wetland. She’s not hard to find, even when she stops and hides in the trees. The ripples in the water give her away. I stand back and watch Baron and Duke darting after her as she races away from them.

They like to play, and I let them. When they catch her, she slips through their hands. She falls, sinking into the water. I could make it easy for her, push her under and watch the bubbles come up from her mouth and life go out of her eyes. But my brothers drag her up. They want to play more. The weakness inside me rises, but I don’t push it down. I hold it up, forcing it to see, to accept. She’s not mine any longer. They can do what they want to her. She throws a punch, knocking Duke back, then knees Baron in the nuts and smashes his face on her knee. He stumbles back, blood gushing from his nose. The next second, she has a knife in her hand, slashing at Duke’s throat.

He knocks her aside, and the knife tears through his shoulder instead of his neck, leaving a deep gash in the muscle. He swears, and she spins, raising the knife as Baron stumbles back, still holding his crotch. She lunges forward in the water, knife flashing, teeth bared, her eyes wild as a trapped animal. He holds up a hand to block her. She swipes the knife across his palm, striking swiftly and fiercely. Red swirls into the water and pulses in my temple. That’s enough. They’re done playing.

That’s the last Walker blood this Darling will ever draw. I leap at her, catching her from behind before twisting her around and slamming her up against a tree, her feet lifted off the ground. She swings the knife, but I have better instincts than my brothers. I’m a fighter, too. I grab her wrist and twist, feeling the bones snapping and her cry of pain as if they’re far away. The knife tumbles into the water, and I wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze, just like I did the very first time I saw her. I should have killed her then. She kicks and fights, but I don’t feel it. I squeeze until she stops breathing, and then I let her body fall. Instead of sinking under the surface, she lands on her hands and knees in the water, gasping and crying into the water. Fuck. I didn’t hold on long enough, I didn't knock her out. But it doesn’t matter. We’ve got time. “Don’t kill her, dude,” Duke says. “You promised we could have her when you were done.” Harper starts groping around in the water for her knife. She’s soaked and shivering, covered in mud and swamp water. This is where she’s always belonged, in the dirt and filth, and where she’ll return after the last moments of her short life. Duke and Baron wrestle her to her feet and march her forward, to a little hillock raised from the water, a big tree standing in the center of it.

I watch my brothers tie her arms, then bind the rope around a tree. “August,” she begs, twisting around to see me. Her eyes are wide with terror. I can tell she’s trying to reach me, trying to find the connection between us. But she severed that with the blade of her vengeance long before she took a knife to my brothers. “I’m sorry. Please.” I stare at her. “I don’t know who he is,” she says. “I thought he might be one of you,I owed him, and he wouldn’t let me stop. I tried to stall, to give him unimportant details, so I wouldn’t have to hurt you.” I want to laugh, but I can’t seem to remember how. “Did you read them all? To the end?” she asks, her voice desperate and pleading. She once told me she’d never beg. She was always a liar. “I cut him off, August. I knew for months, and I wasn’t going to tell him. I couldn’t do that to you. But you were going after innocent people… I’m sorry I said anything. And I’m so sorry that you have to do that. I wanted to help you. But you’re ruining people who don’t deserve it.” “You deserve it.” “I told him I’d never talk to him again.” “Do you really think I care?” I can hardly believe the audacity of this bitch. But this isn’t my first dance with an enemy. I know what they do, how they think. “Please,” she says. “Please don’t kill me.” “I’m not going to kill you,” I say. “And I won’t speak to you again.” “Please,” she says again, as if she’s forgotten every other word. So, I say the words, the ones I’ve regretted for the last two years.

It seems fitting somehow, that they’re my last words to her, too. I speak to them slowly, savoring the painful ache and weight of each one. “You are dead to me.” It feels good to say them. After repeating them in my head a hundred thousand times over the past two years, saying them aloud brings a kind of closure. It’s a relief, as if I’ve severed a gangrenous limb.

That’s what a heart is. A parasite eating away at me, a disease corrupting me one day at a time, deceiving me into thinking that I’m still little August in some dark corner of my mind. But I’m not little August. And now he’s cut away cleanly, and I am only the monster. “She’s yours,” I tell my brothers. “Do what you want.” I don’t turn away. I don’t enjoy watching the scene, but I won’t spare myself. I will witness this, and witness how I am able to feel nothing. The monster has grown fat in two

years of rage and pain, and he is more powerful than any emotion a mortal man would feel. He has complete control. It’s truly impressive. I watch them silence her. Strip her. I watch her fight, and I watch them overpower and punish her. For a moment I waver. Some part of me wants to kill them for touching her. But that is weakness, and the monster doesn’t allow for weakness. The monster is me now, and I am him. And he knows what must be done. Mercy is weakness, and though she may have been my weakness, he has none. This isn’t about her at all.

I could have followed the footprints around her house to the back and shot her through the window while she slept. This way… This is the monster’s way, the twins’ way. This is the only way to show my blind heart the truth—she is no longer mine. She never was. When they’re done, they crack open beers and make a toast. I’m not here for the celebration. I’m not here to see what sick torments they can think up. I’ve seen enough. I saw to it that she was punished, made myself witness enough to ensure that I would never be weak enough to see her as mine again. Now it’s done, and I feel nothing. It’s final. I turn and walk away. That’s the difference between Harper and Crystal. That’s why those same five words destroyed me once and set me free the second time. I didn’t mean them when I said them to Crystal. That was never meant to be a goodbye. It was a goodbye for Harper. The fitting words as I leave her to die.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x you #henry cavill thirst #august walker fanfic #august walker #august walker imagines #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill characters #henrycavill smut

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florwal · 1 year

Note

I’m playing your save file and I appreciate how realistic it is! Out of curiosity I have few questions. What made you want to create the save other that the fact that it’s based off where you live? Also Love it but a lot of your sims aren’t the best of people and do bad things. Why is that? English is not my first language sorry for mistakes ♥️

here’s a very long answer! there’s a lot of good saves out there, but there weren’t any i could find that were realistic, centered around crime, regular lower income families, builds that were old and dingy etc. basically i just wanted a hood ass save file that felt familiar to my actual life/friends/hometown. it was just gonna be a personal save but i joined simblr to share my builds and people started asking me if i’d ever make a save file, since i already was i decided to share it w everyone. if i never joined simblr i don’t think i’d finish the 3 portsim worlds as fast as i did/keep expanding to other worlds but seeing people enjoy something i’ve created and adding their own spin to it makes me so :’) it makes things a lot more fulfilling/enjoyable <3

when it comes to my sims and their stories, real people aren’t 1 dimensional. to me, doing (certain) bad things or making wrong decisions ≠ being a “bad” person, it’s more complex/circumstantial than that. i guess i just want my sims to feel like real people or at least as real as sims can feel while having shitty ts4 ai. most of them aren’t meant to be seen as good/bad honestly, it’s subjective to each person that plays the save. obviously some things are dramatized to keep it interesting but overall i want things to be grounded in reality.

examples:

- charles boyce is my most extreme/one of my only inherently bad characters, i wanted him to have generic serial killer vibes. he got brain washed and manipulated into a cult which resulted in him becoming a paranoid evil person that killed his wife, jerrod banks’ mom, other pregnant women, and eventually even his own daughter for the mother plant (which canonically doesn’t exist) that the cult worships because 1. he was already misogynistic and had shitty morals and 2. he’s been brainwashed into believing that’s what he has to do to have eternal life.

- jerrod banks. he doesn’t know his mom was murdered, he and his dad (the police chief) just think she left without any explanation when jerrod was a teenager. that caused him to have trust issues and be emotionally closed off to avoid being hurt by people. his dad tried to be there for him, but he was also dealing with his wife leaving him to be a single dad, a demanding job, and a son that acted out. that’s a lot for one person. jerrod also grew up in portsim. being young and impressionable living in a place full of poverty, surrounded by the glorification of drugs, guns/violence etc causes it’s own issues. fast forward a few years later, jerrod and his childhood best friend deven have big plans. they both love creating music and want more out of life so they form a rap duo hoping to be successful and get out of portsim. but when a local record label takes interest in/only wants to sign deven… shit gets real. deven takes the deal, and jerrod is upset. the person he loved and trusted the most betrayed him, that’s his biggest fear. jerrod ends up shooting deven, which is obviously a terrible thing to do. but it wasn’t for no reason. i wouldn’t want to personally be around someone like jerrod, but i also wouldn’t view him the same way i would see someone like charles boyce.

#asks #i hope this doesn’t come off as me being pretentious or fake deep #i am just super passionate about this LMAO

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book-buni · 2 months

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rahh im so peeved rn bc this girl in my english class was totally looking down on paperback books VERY DISRESPECTFULLY, saying bs like "hardcovers are better bc theyre prettier" (ummm?????)

i was like "i prefer paperbacks more" super calmly even tho i hate her and she was like "ew no they break easily, i hate how they bend" like mf the bends in their pages are what shows that they lived. it shows that i read them and i loved them.

also i was like "yeah hardcovers are nice but paperbacks are more convenient and comfortable and easier to annotate" and she was like "uhhhh tf who annotates their books 🙄 i would never. thats like ruining the book!"

i got so mad im so mad still omfg

i try so hard to be accepting of her as a reader but shes always so disrepectful of other readers i wish i could kick her out of the community i hate her sm like u dont deserve the label "reader" if you're gonna be such an elitist and pretend to be better than everyone else (when youre literally not!! she doesnt even know who oscar wilde is dammit!!)

ughhh

also i cant believe she even dares to call herself a reader if shes gonna hate on paperback books.... theyre literally books too wtf does she only care abt aesthetics???

i don’t think annotating is ruining the book but i’m paranoid if i did i’m gonna regret doing it 😭

and hardcovers are nice for preservation in the long run but I don’t understand why the girl in your class is being elitist about something that doesn’t even matter as much as what’s inside? (I really like feeling the pages for some reason but also the other important inside is the story of course) hardcovers are so much heavier if I want to read while lying down. i don’t have enough arm strength for that. plus they sometimes have that paper cover/slip thingamabob that I really don’t like the sound of and the fact that I have to readjust the position of the cover thing so it doesn’t completely slip off the book itself - I think one time I actually removed it once though and just put it back on when I wasn’t reading in the moment

and sometimes for aesthetics I don’t like the cover of the occasional book but it’s really not that big of a deal because why am I buying the book if not for reading it without knowing what I’m getting into except that gut feeling that I will like it

also in general if someone is making a super big deal (not a little friendly debate thing) about whether a hardcover is better than a paperback or similar things they usually aren’t people who read as much - but I could be wrong about that

#books #book community #thoughts

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likecastle · 1 year

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Ronance Femslash February

OK, so . . . this is the first prompt I’ve gotten for Ronance Femslash February where I’ve significantly deviated from the prompt. The prompt was this: “nancy gets pregnant and robin steps in and helps nancy w her pregnancy and theyre great mothers.” Anon, I genuinely appreciate you sending this prompt, but as I turned over how I would fill it, I came to the conclusion that this scenario just isn’t how I see these characters. I’ve read and enjoyed fic where Robin and Nancy have kids in some way or another, but it’s just not my read on Nancy especially as a character. Maybe I should have just passed on this one, but it did get my gears turning to think about how I would take this subject matter on. I wound up writing something that was almost entirely the opposite of the prompt, and I’ll completely understand, anon, if it’s very much not your jam. I’m still grateful to you for giving me the chance to explore my understanding of these characters through this lens.

I’m accepting Ronance prompts all month for Femslash February. You can find previous prompts I’ve filled here.

Putting this one behind a cut, mostly for length. Content warning for non-graphic discussion of pregnancy and abortion.

Nancy shows up at Robin’s door soaking wet, with a bottle of vodka in a soggy paper bag. Robin thinks she’s been crying, but it’s impossible to tell with all the water streaming from her hair.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Nancy says, and her voice cracks in a way that instantly turns Robin’s insides to ice.

Robin was supposed to go out with some friends from work, but she immediately hustles Nancy into her room and calls to cancel while Nancy changes into dry clothes. Once they’re nestled under a blanket on the couch, with a glass of vodka in front of each of them, Robin begins the elaborate conversational ritual of finding out what’s bothering Nancy. The problem is, a direct line of questioning usually only succeeds in getting Nancy’s hackles up, and someone who tried to wait for Nancy to volunteer that information herself could easily wait forever. Robin’s gotten better, over the years, at restraining her own panicked instincts and slowly leading the conversation around to whatever it is that’s bothering Nancy, gradually drawing her out until she’s ready to talk about what’s on her mind.

Which is how it happens that Robin’s solidly tipsy by the time Nancy finally says, “There’s actually something I wanted to ask you.”

“Whatever you need, Nance,” Robin says, bumping their shoulders together. She can smell the product in Nancy’s damp hair, something sharp and sandalwood-y. “You know that. Anything, always.”

Nancy gives her a thin smile. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment on Friday, and I was hoping, um, that you’d come with me?”

This isn’t exactly what Robin was expecting, but it’s hardly the most onerous thing Nancy’s ever asked of her. She and Steve helped Nancy and Jonathan move into their third-floor walkup in a 100-degree weather last year, so sitting in a doctor’s waiting room is no big deal compared to actual heat exhaustion.

“I know you don’t like doctors,” Nancy says in an apologetic rush, evidently taking Robin’s surprise for dismay, “but I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have with me. But it’s OK if you don’t want to, I can find someone else.”

Something about the way she says it gets Robin’s brain spinning off into paranoid scenarios. “Of course I’ll come, Nance, don’t even worry about it. But if you think you’re really sick, or something, you’re legally obligated to tell me. You’re entitled to your privacy and everything, but I will literally implode if I have to worry that you’re dying or something for the next week.”

“I’m pregnant,” Nancy says dully.

Later, Robin will blame the three glasses of vodka she’s had for what she says next. “Oh, shit. Or,” she adds too late, her brain catching up with her mouth, “sorry—uh—congrats?”

Nancy shakes her head, and sniffs. “I think you got it right the first time.”

“Does—” Robin realizes even as she starts saying it that she may be making a mistake, but she can’t stop now. “Does Jonathan know?”

Nancy shakes her head again. “No, and he’s not going to. That’s . . . how I knew I couldn’t go through with it. The thought of telling him, of—of having to have a serious conversation with him about what we were going to do, I just—I couldn’t.” She stares out across Robin’s living room, as if pretending Robin isn’t sitting right next to her will make any of this easier to say. “And I don’t just mean I couldn’t talk to him about it, I mean I don’t want to. I don’t want to make that decision with him, and I don’t want that life with him. Maybe not with anyone, but definitely not with him.” Finally, she picks up her untouched glass and takes a swallow, grimacing. “I told him I couldn’t see him anymore.”

Robin stares at her. This is classic Nancy Wheeler, burying the lede twice over. “You broke up?”

“Suddenly it just seemed so obvious,” Nancy says simply, and she seems almost relieved to be saying it. “It was like confronting the possibility of having a child with him—getting married and buying a house—just made it unbelievably clear how much I don’t want any of that. For such a long time, I’ve been telling myself—maybe when the time’s right, I’ll want those things, but having that life with him is never going to feel right for me. And once I realized that, I just . . . I couldn’t even sleep in the same bed with him.” She takes another swallow of her drink, and then her glass is empty. “I guess I’ll need to start looking for a new place.”

“You can stay here,” Robin says, without hesitation. “If you want.”

“You’re sure?” Nancy asks, turning to look at her for the first time with such a tentative expression that Robin wonders if Nancy was expecting Robin to hate her—if Nancy doesn’t know that nothing she could do could ever make Robin turn her back on her.

“Of course.” Robin bumps their shoulders together again, and this time neither of them quite pulls away. Nancy is warm against her, and all Robin wants to do is draw her into her arms and never let go, so that’s what she does.

On Friday, she holds Nancy’s hand in the cool white quiet of the clinic, and she keeps holding her hand for as long as Nancy needs.

#ronance #robin x nancy #robin/nancy #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance femslash february #honestly i don't even know if i should tag this as ronance #in my mind it's extremely pre pre pre ronance #but i'd need like at least 60k words to do right by that slow burn concept #so . . . here's this instead

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