#or at least don't tell your parents where you learned the new words

[strangersteddierthings]

Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

"Bad news first, Eddie," Steve sighs as he leans back on his heels, cleaner in one hand and a rag in the other. "They vandalized your headstone again. Good news, I beat Wayne out here so he won't be seeing it."

It's been over a year since they'd had to leave Eddie behind. He'd been cleared of the murders. That had been the easy part, since the Upside Down had exploded out into the Rightside Up. When Vecna started killing people it had been pretty easy for people to realize Eddie was just another victim.

Or so Steve had thought.

Eleven saved them all, the people of Hawkins knew the truth, yet Steve still found graffiti on Eddie's grave.

Eddie's grave is empty, because Eddie's body hadn't been recovered. Too much had happened, no time to mount an expedition to retrieve it, and the gates were closed. Another regret Steve lives with.

Like not taking Eddie's face between his hands and looking him dead in the eye when he told them not to be heroes.

Late at night, Steve sometimes imagines he did just that. Looked him dead in the eyes and said, "there is no shame in running, in living to see another day. Don't be a hero because I need you to be okay tomorrow."

Robin says it's not good for his mental health, these what-if scenarios, but so what?

Steve isn't sure what started it but coming out here to talk to Eddie seems to help him clear his thoughts. He always starts with the bad news, Eddie's voice in the back of his mind. Bad news first, always.

The first time Wayne had caught him out here, Wayne thought he was vandalizing. Had scared Steve half to death being yanked back violently by his upper arm. It didn't take Wayne long for his eyes to process that Steve wasn't holding paint.

"You know my boy?" Wayne always spoke in the present tense about Eddie.

"Not as well as I would have liked, sir," Steve swallowed thickly. It was the start of a friendship, of sorts. Wayne seemed happy to have someone to tell stories about Eddie to, and Steve was happy to learn about Eddie.

Months pass and Steve goes every week.

"Bad news. The new guitarist is mediocre at best. Good news. Corroded Coffin lives on and they finally got a new guitarist."

"Bad news. Robin will not shut up about Vickie. Good news. Robin got that date she wanted."

"Bad news. Wayne had an accident at the plant. Good news, he's okay. I think... this might be weird to you, but I've convinced him to move in, at least until he's healed fully so he's not alone. He's staying in the downstairs guest room. Not that you know where that is. You've never even been to my house... bad news, you've never been to my house. Good news, I really wish you had."

So it goes. Wayne Munson moves in and never moves out. Steve's parents call once, to ask if he wants the house. Steve says yes.

Shortly after, Robin takes a room upstairs. Says she gonna take a year off school before college. The Party moves their dnd games to Steve's giant dining room table. His house is always full but part of Steve feels empty.

"B-bad news," Steve forces the words out around the lump in his throat, "I found out too late. Good news, I'm bisexual. Bad news, good news? I don't know man, the news is I could have loved you. I think I do, but that's the you Wayne and the kids tell me about, so who is to say really."

So it goes.

"Bad news. They're seniors this year, Eds. Seniors! Robin going away to college was bad enough. I don't know if I'll even know how to function when they do. 'Cause they're gonna, you know? They're smart. Too smart to stay in this town," Steve is crying, can feel the tears falling, but doesn't stop them. "I know I should go, too. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. But I can't leave. Wayne's here. You're here. And if I go, who will look after either of you?"

"Bad news. College acceptance letters have come in. They're not even graduated yet. This should be good news, but, heh, friends don't lie."

"Bad news, Eds. I can't remember your voice. I didn't think.... I feel like I remember it but I can't hear it. I want to hear it. I-i need-" Steve doesn't know what he needs, doesn't know how to end that sentence so he just sobs, fingers burying themselves into the dirt of an empty grave.

Wayne gets a phone call one day and says he's gotta go back to Tennessee. Eddie's father -that rocks Steve because while he knows Wayne was Eddie's uncle, he never connected that a father was somewhere out there- Eddie's father, Wayne's younger brother, needs him.

Steve drives Wayne to the airport in Indianapolis. Wayne promises he'll return but Steve won't hold him to that. This is family, and as much as Steve pretends, he isn't Wayne's nephew. Isn't Wayne's family.

As Wayne disappears onto his flight, Steve is left hollow. There's no one left in Hawkins that needs him.

"Bad news, Eds. I think I'm a danger to myself. I keep having these thoughts... like how easy it would be to drive my car into the quarry. Or just slip into the pool and take a deep breath. I don't know who I am, or how to be me, without someone needing me."

Wayne calls and tells him he's coming home. Bringing a guest if that's ok. Steve says okay because he needs to meet the man who taught Eddie how to hot wire a car but not play catch. Also, he hopes to hear Eddie in his voice when they speak.

"Bad news, Eds. I'm too much of a coward to meet your old man. Afraid of what he'll sound like. Because I want him to sound like you so fucking bad it hurts. So instead of being home, I'm hiding here."

And then, a miracle happens.

"Well, I've some bad news for you, too, Stevie. I got my voice from my mom."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #ficlet #wrote this on my lunch break and thought i would share #angst with a happy ending #like I'm gonna let this end sad #might write Eddie's side of this sometime #not edited #my fic

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Bruce Wayne | Quality Time

Love languages headcanons

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Word count: 0.6k | AO3 link 🩵

This man runs a whole conglomerate, dozen different charity foundations, has to play into whatever current political ploy is to earn information, (might have, like, 20 children), is a founding member of the JL, on top of being The Batman and trying to prevent Gotham from imploding – trying to make this unfixable city heal.

He nearly doesn't have enough time for himself – heavens know how many times Alfred shoot him with a horse tranquilizer – and time to you??

All his responsibilities are half the reason why quality time is his love language.

The other half is that he didn't have enough time with his parents. They were snatched from him, a child, and this time (his childhood) is something he'll never be able to have back

Not gonna lie, he's harsh. He won't prioritize you. Not on purpose, not because he doesn't love you, simply because there's people out there that need to be saved. And, after so much time without a proper relationship, maybe Bruce also doesn't know how to cater for you – and because he's way too awkward, too dense to a detective, even if he can play cool at times.

But the tiny things are like love letters:

Strikes to me as the guy that'll be in utterly destroyed, broken ribs and concussion, and still try and get up and have breakfast with you, just to be with you

His personal quiet time is important to him. It helps him organize his thoughts. Yet he'll try to be, at least, in the same room as you.

Bruce will sit on the same room as you, in complete silence, and stay. Maybe you're working and he is there on the couch of your office, sitting with a concussion and sixty percent painkiller, statue-quiet.

I love you, so I'll take the burden of not doing this super important other thing – like resting – to sit with you in silence.

Will stare at you, motionless.

Eventually, you'll learn that this face he's making is lovestruck-ness. Don't comment on it.

And if his love language is all about undivided attention, it means he'll learn how to organize his time to have together time without all the distractions. A walk around the Manor Garden, a quiet dinner in front of the tv, cuddling; might do the trick.

Stays awake to talk with you, even if it's after a case frenzy where he didn't sleep for a week. Crash with him in the couch after a long day.

If I could stay with you here forever, I would. He can't get this words out, a lump on his throat, so he just stay as long as he can

Can't tell me he won't marathon Grey Ghost with you. At the end of every episode will dump on you all the details about the production. It's important that you listen even if you don't find it all interesting. Connection bids, y'know?

Ask him about forensics if you want to know more about the whole Batman deal. Or explain the new additions to the batmobile.

Getting to explain something he loves to someone he loves counts as top-quality time in Bruce's books.

Sometimes will find you just to start explaining a current case he can't crack. Either to see if you have any intelligent idea, but mostly because saying it aloud helps thinking.

And he doesn't know how to have the steady heartfelt conversations, so he'll listen to you talk. About your day, your plans, how much you worry about him, about what you ate today.

A great listener. Will hit you with follow up questions so you can keep talking about what you love. Never talks about him but at this point you know the drill – you have to ask for him to talk.

Regular week preplanned dates. Will do all in his powers to not postpone it. Will be completely heartbroken when this inevitably happens. Will look like a kicked puppy.

He's not distracted with you, all his mental attention on you and you only.

That's it 👍

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne headcanons #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #batman scenarios #batman imagine #Batman x reader #bruce wayne #batman #arwrites #lost consciousness and woke up with this #me!batman

[sailor-aviator]

Singing in the Sanctuary: Prologue

Singing in the Sanctuary: Prologue

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?

Warnings: Pressure from parents, use of y/n, other than that I don't think there are any, really.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: I am equally excited to be writing this one as I am my Hangman series. I think y'all will like this one too. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. You can find this and my other works on AO3 under sailor_aviator. 18+ only!!!

Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

Women weren’t meant to have careers. Woman were meant to cook, clean, have babies, and make sure their husbands were taken care of. Then you became an old woman and one day you’d be buried next to said husband. At least, that’s what your parents had always told you. When they found out that you were pursuing a career as a teacher, they tried everything in their power to convince you otherwise.

“It’s just not proper for a young lady of your background to have a career, y/n” said your mother.

“I’ve had suitors asking for you hand for years now. Why don’t you get married and then think about continuing your education?” your father had coaxed. You couldn’t be swayed, however.

It had been your dream from a young age to become a teacher. You had always admired the ones you had growing up, and learning had always come easy to you. You wanted others to experience the joys of learning like you had, and that’s how you found yourself ignoring your parents’ wishes.

It had certainly been hard work, but it was work you were proud of. When you graduated, your parents had been more relieved than proud.

“Surely you’ll find a husband now, darling,” your father had said hopefully. Your mother nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh, sweetheart! My friends have the most dashing sons who would just love-”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Mama, Papa, please-”

“We just want what’s best for you,” your father said hurriedly. You grimaced, but in the end you had allowed your mother to set up several luncheons with your would-be suitors. They hadn’t been horrible. No, in another life, perhaps you would have even been excited at the idea of marrying one of them. Settling down in a spacious, white house with blue shutters. A white picket fence encompassing the yard, and little ones running around joyfully while your husband and you looked on. And it’s not like that wasn’t your dream. No, in fact, you wanted all of that. But your dream also included teaching.

It was hard finding a job in your hometown in Missouri. And that’s why you had jumped at the chance to move west. You hadn’t told your parents about the opportunity, and for good reason. They would have stopped at nothing to keep you from going. You had stumbled upon this chance of fate when you had stopped by the general store to by ingredients for supper that evening.

“Maverick’s not a city, mind you,” said the old man as he dropped the box of fresh produce onto the counter by the clerk. “But it’s got character, and it’s growin’ every day! The mayor is even talkin’ bout buildin’ a school here soon. Told me to spread the word that we’re lookin’ for a new teacher.”

“Excuse me,” you had interrupted. Both men turned to look at you. “Could you tell me more about this job?”

“Well, it’s a real good opportunity, now, miss,” grinned the old man. “The town ain’t that old, and like I said, it’s gettin’ bigger every day. The townsfolk is all friendly and the mayor is offerin’ up a fair wage.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “And where is this town? Is it far?”

“It’s located out in the territory they’re callin’ New Mexico. It’s ‘bout a week’s ride from here to there.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling giddy at the thought of trekking west.

“How long will you be in town, sir?” you ask. The man scratches his chin thoughtfully before leveling you with a look.

“I’ll tell you what,” he began, “I’ll stick around for another day. If you decide you wanna catch a ride with me back to Maverick, you jus’ meet me by the gate leadin’ outta town ‘round noon. How’s that?”

You grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

You had packed your bags quickly, waiting until both of your parents had left the house the following day. You wrote a note explaining why you were leaving and where you were going, and then gave one last look at the house you’d called home your entire life. Taking a steadying breath, you made your way down to the gate the man had mentioned.

“Good timin’!” he hollered upon seeing you. “Was jus’ about to head on out.”

“Thank you for waiting!” you called breathlessly, setting your bags on the back of the cart and rounding to the front. The man offered you a hand as you clambered up onto the seat, and once he had made himself comfortable, the two of you were on your way.

The days passed quickly as you and the man, Hondo you would come to find out is his name, made your way to your new beginning. The heat became more intense the further south you traveled, and luscious green gave way to arid desert. On your second day of being in the desert, you saw the outlines of a town in the distance.

“There she is!” grinned Hondo. “Ol’ Maverick herself!”

“How exciting!” you smiled. About a half hour later, the two of you were riding along the streets of said town. People bustled up and down the streets and went about their business as usual. Joel stopped the cart just outside of a large, wooden building.

“This here is town hall,” he said. “I’ll getcha in to see Maverick, and he’ll getcha situated.”

Your brows furrowed. “Maverick?”

“Pete Mitchell is his name, but most folks ‘round here just call him Maverick or Mav. He founded the town, and it’s named after him.”

“I see,” you breathed, taking Hondo’s hand as he helped you down onto the ground. He walked with you up the steps and through the door of town hall.

“Hondo!” cried a man as you both entered. The man was handsome with dark hair that greyed around his temples. His skin was golden from what you could only assume was hours spent in the desert sun, and his blue eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of your companion.

“Maverick,” smiled Hondo. The man, Maverick, stopped before you two and his eyes glanced over you.

“And who is this here with you?”

“Mav,” started Hondo, stepping back to gesture at you, “allow me to introduce Miss y/n. She’s here to be our town’s new teacher.”

“Excellent!” grinned Maverick, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. “You’re really helping us out here. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you smiled. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“Nonsense! Now, I’m assuming you don’t have a place to stay at the moment?”

“No,” you blushed, looking down sheepishly. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Maverick beamed. “Well, until we can get the school and a house for you built, you’ll just have to stay with me and my wife, Penny.”

“Oh, Mr. Mitchell, I couldn’t!” You exclaimed. Maverick raises a hand to stop you.

“Please, call me Maverick or Mav. And I insist. It’s the least we can offer considering you came all this way.”

You smiled gratefully. “I appreciate that, Maverick. In the meantime, where am I to teach the children?”

“For now, why don’t you teach our little rascals in the sanctuary of the church? I’m sure the Reverend won’t mind.”

“That sounds lovely,” you gushed. You couldn’t wait for the start of your new life.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #top gun fanfiction #rooster x y/n #rooster top gun #rooster fanfic #top gun x reader #top gun x y/n #top gun x you

[hopelesslyromanticgay]

An Americano Please PT. 6

Words: 1400

Y/N's POV:

Not gonna lie, I'm kind of nervous to meet Jenna's friends. What if I fuck up? What if I'm accidentally a little rude? Or what if they all around don't like me?

God I sound like a teenager meeting their partner's parents for the first time.

I really enjoy spending time with Jenna, though, and I don't want her friends not liking me to mess that up. 

My phone pings with a text from Nessa.

                           Nessa😝

Girl, pull your shit together and get your

ass into that pizza shop. No I'm not stalking 

you, I just know you well enough by now.

                                                                            OK fine.

I timidly step into the store, the warm scent of baking pizza wafting around me.

"Y/N, over here!" I can hear Jenna exclaim, waving me over to her table. She's sitting with a few other people.

"These are my castmates, Emma, Joy, Georgie, and Hunter. Castmates, this is Y/N," Jenna excitedly introduces us.

"Hi, nice to meet you guys," I smile, waving stupidly.

"Nice to meet you too," Joy says kindly, "Jenna's told us to much about you."

I can see Jenna hide her face from me a little.

"Oh really, what's she said?" I ask innocently.

"Just how pretty, funny and kind-" Emma starts.

"Hey, have you guys seen that new baking show with the engineers?" Jenna interrupts. Darn it, I really wanted to know where Emma was going with that.

"No, none of us have the time to do that," Georgie laughs, "I'm surprised you do, honestly."

"No I watched it before we got here," she says quickly.

"So," Hunter starts, immediately way better at changing the subject, "What are some cool sites around Romania I should check out. I have a lot more free time on my hands with this show because I don't have to learn new hobbies, so I wanna get to know the area."

"Oh, well Jenna can tell you I'm an amazing tour guide," I start, "You have got to go to Bran castle, after all, it's said to be the home of Dracula. In reality, it was just a castle that Vlad Dracul once went to, but Bran Castle is the place Bram Stoker based Dracula's castle off of. So that makes it pretty cool."

"That's so cool, I'll have to take Naomi with me," he grins, "thanks for the recommendation."

"Oh yeah, perfect for her because you know, who she plays," Emma winks, "Sorry, we can't share a lot of details with cast outsiders," she says sadly.

"We'd love to share more, but we're under legal agreements," Joy adds.

"I totally get it," I say, feeling the slightest bit left out, but otherwise enjoying myself.

"Hey, so what's the deal with queer acceptance around here?" Hunter asks quietly, "because I want to propose to my boyfriend when he comes to visit in a few months but I don't know how publicly I can do that."

"Oh my god you're gonna propose?!" everyone at the table shrieks, all congratulating him individually.

"I'd like to, but I just need to know from a local," he says, looking to me.

"So, people do have the right to discriminate against you for being queer, and you certainly can't do the actual wedding here, but most people in Busteni aren't that homophobic. And I'm a queer person, so I'd say I'm a pretty good source," I tell him, "I'd say the worst outcome is if it's in front of tourists, because you never know what they'll do."

"Thank you so much," he tells me, "you're awesome."

"Glad I can help," I say happily. So at least one of her friends likes me.

"So, Y/N, how long have you lived in Romania?" Joy asks.

"About three years now," I answer truthfully.

"Wow, so you came at sixteen?" 

"Yeah," I say, eager to change the subject, "so how are you guys liking Romania so far?"

"People can definitely tell we're not from here," Emma giggles, "I mean, not speaking Romanian is a dead giveaway."

"Yeah, we're pretty good at being able to tell just from the language you speak," I laugh, "I only get away with it because I grew up speaking it."

"Woah, so you grew up bilingual?" Emma questions.

"Yeah, my mom grew up in Romania and my dad went to college here, so they both would speak it with me when I was a kid," I explain.

"Oh that's cool."

The rest of the night goes pretty similarly, all of us getting to know one another. I learn that Jenna used to autopsy little animals like the true Wednesday she is, which I found hilarious. I learned that Emma had to go to a werewolf bootcamp to get better at stunts. They were all such interesting people.

 By the end of the night I think they actually might not hate me! Success.

"Hey, Y/N, can I walk you home?" Jenna asks.

"Sure," I smile. The rest of the group exchange looks, and file out of the pizza shop.

"I think my friends like you," she tells me as we get up from out seats.

"You do?" I say, surprised.

"Yeah, they wouldn't have talked to you as much as they did if they didn't."

"Well in any case, I'm glad they're okay with me," I laugh.

"Yeah, me too," she smiles brightly, wrapping an arm around my waist and leaning her head on the side of my arm as we walk down the street. It's fully dark out, and the only thing lighting the street up are the old gas powered street lamps. Oh my god I hope she can't see my blush. She's so adorable.

"I was so worried they were gonna hate me," I confess after a few minutes of silence.

"Why would they do that?" she asks, "you're a lovely person." Hearing her say that melts my heart. She thinks I'm a lovely person!

"I'm glad you think that, but I don't think everyone shares that opinion."

"Well they're stupid, but in any case, thank you for coming to dinner with me tonight. My friends really wanted to meet you."

"Yeah, I bet it's because you told them how pretty funny and kind I was," I tease her. I can just barely see the blush on her face under the soft glow of the street lamps.

"I can't believe she told you I said that," she shakes her head.

"Oh so you did say it," I inquire.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't," she confesses. Wow, I can't believe she really thinks all that about me.

"Well what else did you tell them?"

"You know, the usual stuff."

"Such as?"

"W-well you know, the things you tell your friends when you like someone," she starts, "like what we say to each other, or the jokes we have. Or what we do when we hang out. You know, that stuff." Oh my god, she likes me. Like, likes me likes me,

"So you like me?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Of course I like you!" she all but shouts, "your sense of humor is amazing, you're beautiful, you don't judge me for anything I say or do, and you always want to hear what I have to say." Well what do I even say to that? Saying I like you too feels cheesy and like something a child would say.

We've come to a stop now, right outside my apartment. We're only inches apart, her beautiful brown eyes glistening in the light.

"Please say something, Y/N," she says quietly.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask softly. She exhales in relief before nodding intently.

I cup her cheek, bringing our lips together. It feels like fireworks are going off with my stomach. She wraps her arms around my waist. I never realized kissing someone could feel this right. I can taste the tropical chapstick on her soft lips, and smell her subtle perfume. 

What feels like both an eternity or also less than a second later, we pull away, both smiling.

"So I'll see ya for coffee tomorrow?" she asks.

"You can count on it," I smile. She pulls me into an embrace, burying her head in my shoulder. We stay like that peacefully for a minute, swaying in the wind.

"I have an early start tomorrow, so I should get home now," she tells me.

"Aww okay. I understand. Well, good night gorgeous," I quickly lean down to kiss her again. Her smile widens.

"Good night, Y/N/N," she blows me a kiss before walking off.

Wow. What a night.

A/N: I know Y/N is supposed to be mostly customizable, but I swear the thing with the parents WILL make sense later! love u guys, hope you enjoyed the chapter:)

Random Notes: 

- I'm not making up that the lipstick jenna used on the set of Wednesday was in fact made from tropical fruit. 

- Eidolon is actually a real pizza place in Busteni.

- I spent HOURS on the tour chapter learning about places in Busteni. Finding the places on SnapMap, reading their reviews, and cross referencing the information. I also spent a while learning about Romanian geography. Romanians, I'm so sorry if I'm not doing your country the justice it deserves.

- A lot of the laws around queer people in Romania are less than progressive, but being queer in itself is legal.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #cute #i love jenna ortega #reader insert #jenna ortega x fem!reader #tara carpenter #vada cavell #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x you #an americano please #coffee shop romance #first kiss #fanfiction #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega scream #jenna marie ortega #wednesday addams x reader #emma myers #hunter doohan #joy sunday

[enviedear]

nervous neighbor ⟶ ben solo

description ⌙ you're back at home from university, living with your parents for the summer because it's cheaper than trying to pay for an apartment while on a student's salary. but after you meet the new neighbor's son, ben solo, you're not so sure it's worth it.

pairing ⌙ neighbor!ben solo x f!reader

warnings ⌙ inebriated reader & ben, they're smoking weed and being petty together, mean!ben because when do i not make him a bit mean, ben jokingly attempts to solicit reader, reader has a blatant sort of fascination with ben, ben has severe blatant yearning for reader, reader is described to need a belt to wear ben's pants (don't question me it comes up), some high kisses (they're so fun oops), somewhat getting caught, tiny little bitty cliffhanger, ben's personality is totally based off this brent faiyaz song lmao

word count ⌙ 3.5k

— request (frl especially for ben/kylo) | masterlist

i love the idea of neighbor!ben so ofc i had to put my thoughts into a little fic! if anyone is interested... i wouldn't be mad at making this a series. i love neighbor!ben!

the sun is low in the sky, casting a warm and appreciated golden glow on the world around you. you revel in the sanctity of the suburban environment as you step outside your front door. the rays burn into your exposed shoulders, spaghetti straps lightly digging into the skin.

the fragrant scent of freshly cut grass hangs heavy in the air, leaving an earthy flavor in your mouth. you pull at the hem of your shorts, feeling the soft fabric brush against your exposed thighs as you make your way to the black mailbox straight ahead.

you flip through bills and junk mail, all in your parent's name for a minute before you hear the unmistakable rev of a car engine approaching. the engine seems to purr the closer it gets, and you're all too familiar with the sound. you feel glued to your spot as it approaches.

soon enough, ben solo's sleek aston martin swerves into his driveway, coming to a stop just a few feet away from his closed garage door. you watch as he gets out of the car, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead, and meets your gaze with his severe brown eyes.

there’s something about the way he looks at you that causes your heart to race. the sensation is unwanted or, at least, you tell yourself it is.

he looks like he always does; clad in dress pants and a pristine button-up, face etched with subtle haughtiness, and pink lips curved into a deliciously heretical grin. the previous sanctity you felt dissipates as his stare beats down on you, hotter and more all-consuming than the sun above.

"neighbor." he anoints, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "how much allowance are mommy and daddy giving you for checking their mail?"

"very funny," you retort, eyes rolling, "maybe they're drawing from the same funds your parents did when they bought you that ridiculous car."

you liked playing this game with ben. where he attempts to seem as if he's got something over you, some unspoken win. as if you're not both twenty-somethings still living with your parents.

he does have an actual retirement plan type job though, so, perhaps, he has you beat in some areas.

he works full-time, a fact you learned after dinner with your parents and his. brought up by your parents so they could dote on him— effectively buttering up han and leia further. the ass-kissing earned the family privileges to their in-ground pool though.

he's pretty prestigious, unfortunately. ben organa-solo, the youngest associate at his legal firm. he apparently had over forty offers of employment before he ever even looked at the bar exam.

he's doing well, sure— but the sheer fact that he still lives with his parents is enough to quell your nuanced jealousy. somewhat.

"my db-nine can never be called ridiculous. do you know the specs on this car?" he taunts, opting to lean against his aforementioned car.

you begin to turn away from him, not willing to go into a conversation regarding his stupidly expensive automobile. you can feel your ears warming as you try to ignore him, but ben is relentless, as usual, "you know, you really should relax a little, i'm only joking, kid.."

"excuse me?" you snap, fronting him again and crossing your arms defensively, "i am plenty relaxed, solo. thank you very much."

in truth, you haven't been relaxed or even casual since the organa-solo's moved in eight months ago. wealthy and recently retired, leia and han are amusing, charming, and almost constantly travelling.

the pair managed to befriend your parents the second they moved in. bringing over a plate of brownies, the duo easily meshed with your parents, making for countless dinners, conversations, and visits between the two homes.

the opposite can be said for ben and you. when you finally met him, a few weeks after his parents moved in, it was because he was yelling at your dog for 'purposely' pissing on one of his tires. since then, you haven't exactly seen eye to eye.

"mhm, of course," he drawls sarcastically, "that's why you're always so wound up,” he’s smirking now, "you ever thought about smoking a joint or something? might help you chill out."

"really?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow, "that's your solution? drugs?" you choose to ignore his quip about you being tightly wound. as if he's not— you've seen him after work, he always looks tense, shoulders tight. at the recollection of his job title makes you almost comment on his choice of illegal activity, but you stop yourself.

maybe this was his vice after hours of listening to legal jargon?

"i'm just offering a suggestion. i've got pot and an empty house." his voice is biting, holding his hands up defensively, "take it or leave it, kid."

your mind is wrought with confusion over his words. in the few months you’ve known him, you would have never thought he’d be suggesting what he is.

ben solo, who drives an aston martin, only wears button-ups or suits, and is always willing to make you look or feel idiotic, is trying to convince you to smoke pot with him.

you worry for a brief second if you’re deluded.

you would have never suspected the famed judiciary to unwind in such a way.

no, your first guess would have been whiskey, or maybe something a bit more scandalized and indecent. you try to shake that idea out of your head.

"fine," you blurt it out before you can stop yourself, surprising both you and the arrogant figure in front of you.

"seriously?" ben questions, his eyes widening in apprehension. "you're actually going to do it?"

"yeah, solo," you shrug, drawing out the first word, trying to sound more resolved than you feel, "nothing i haven’t done before."

"okay, cheech," he mutters, grinning wickedly, "let me smoke you out."

you follow him into his house, heart pounding in your chest. you're familiar with the layout— almost identical to your own home, only nicer. everything is nicer.

the air inside is cool and smells faintly of lavender, mixed with something decadent you can’t quite place. glancing around the space, you take it all in. it feels different now that you're alone with ben. less homey and more belly of the beast.

there are windows everywhere, letting in an abundance of natural light despite the evident tint. the furniture is modern and obviously hand-picked though comfortable and no doubt, expensive.

you try to make yourself cozy on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. ben disappears for a moment and returns with a tray, a red grinder, a lighter, and a baggie of green herbs.

your hands go clammy as you watch him grind it down. you try to wipe them on your pants, hoping he doesn’t notice.

he doesn’t seem to, instead beginning to roll a joint, packing the herb down with his thumb. his movements, precise and hypnotic. he's defiling all previous conclusions you had of him. he’s sure, magnetic, and undeniably confusing.

“ready?” he asks, holding the rolled paper out to you. you nod, and he lights up the twisted end, inhaling deeply before passing it over to you.

you place the joint to your lips, feeling the warmth of the light spark grazing your fingers. the earthy plant kindles with a soft crackle, and you inhale deeply. smoke fills your lungs, coiling inside you.

the cloudy smoke immediately hits your entire sinus system, choking you on its descent down.

you cough and ben laughs, “shit, take it slow, kid.” he huffs, before handing you a tepid water bottle, no question he figured you'd wind up coughing a lung.

you drink gratefully, feeling the water cleanse your burning throat. you look at ben, who’s watching you intently.

your eyes are watery and slightly hazy, but ben has never look better. eyes red and low, posture easy with one arm behind his head, and faint pink flush.

“what?” you ask, self-conscious. the room seems to swirl around as ben sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.

"nothing, neighbor," his stare is mocking, "do you feel relaxed yet?" he asks with a smirk.

you give him a meager thumbs-up, suddenly lightheaded and giggly. your thoughts are wondering to ben's pretty lips, but your mouth remains whetted and silent. adorning thoughts remaining within your capricious mind.

the tension in your body melts away, and you lean back against the couch cushions, letting out a deep sigh. ben's hand brushes against yours to steal the joint away, and you feel the heat of his touch all the way to your toes. it's as if the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, and nothing else exists.

“are you cold?” he asks, taking a drag, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, leaving his arms on full display.

you look at him, bewildered for a second, and he continues with an eye roll, “you’re shivering.”

looking down at your body, you note that you indeed are. either from the weed or the proximity you have to your novel neighbor.

with a gentle breath, you reply, “i guess.”

he holds the joint with his lips as he stands to look down at you, “c’mon i’ve got blankets in my room.”

you look up at him, unsure of what to say, but find yourself bobbing in agreement. you follow him upstairs, the both of you languid in reaching the destination. when you do finally get to his room, you note the array of muted jewel tones and dim light, different than the rest of the house.

ben keeps his blinds partially closed and curtains that mostly fall in front of them. his bed is huge, pristine white sheets and an inviting navy bedspread.

you watch as he pulls out a thick woolen blanket from his closet and spreads it over your shoulders. you feel the weight of it settle over you, cocooning you in warmth.

"better?" he asks, voice low.

you nod again, feeling the hazy ardor of the drug swimming through your body. everything feels fuzzy, and for the first time you don't feel so out of place with ben.

he takes a seat beside you on his all too comfortable bed, the aroma of his pomelo-scented cologne filling your senses. you discern it's probably dangerous in some way to be alone with ben like this, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care or reason why.

you let yourself peer into his large and expansive open closet. clothes, mostly suits and dress shirts, hang neatly on identical black hangars. he's tidy. the fact feels unmistakable, and you think you should already know just by the way he carries himself.

ben's voice interrupts your absent mind, "anything you like?"

you look back at him, leaning up against the headboard of his bed, joint billowing smoke from its rested position in his fingers. he looks less severe like this, less perfect, more mortal.

you're certain the drug has taken effect now because when you move to get closer to him, it feels as if you're floating.

you take the joint from him, stealing another hit before replying, "you just have a lot of suits. i wonder if you own anything besides them. i've never seen you in anything but."

"is this one of your long-winded jokes?" he briefly closes his eyes, but you can see them roll through his lids, "because if so, i'll kick you out. i won't hesitate to send you back to your house, neighbor."

snorting, you take yet another hit of the joint, "i did see something i liked, actually." you confess, your drugged mind deciding to be just a bit genuine.

he hums, "really? i've never seen you in a suit, or anything formal."

the sentence sounds stupid coming out of ben's mouth, but you chalk it up to his tipsy state, "maybe you will. one day."

your reply sounds equally as dumb, but you feel good, and you're actually having a conversation with ben. one that doesn't involve him undermining you or snickering at what you're saying.

"really? wanna try mine on? for practice." ben is smirking, eyes narrow, searing, and bloodshot.

you give him a ditzy look, joint still dangling from your fingers, "whatever, solo."

ben lets out a genuine giggle at that, and in your inebriated state, you smile at the sound. his dimples are on full display as he leans further into his cushioned headboard, eyes glazed and focused purely at you, "i'll pay, if you do."

his face is gentle, almost winsome, but the words that tumble out of his mouth sound murky— riddled with a slight hint of hunger. for what exactly? you're not sure.

your lips contort into a frown before you reply, "you'll pay me to put on your clothes? god, ben how much did you smoke?"

you mean for your words to come off as a joke, easy and light. instead, it comes out as timid and shy. you'd normally feel a tinge of embarrassment but either the drug or ben's starved stare makes the would-be feeling detach from your mind.

"enough." he shrugs, answering your rhetorical question, "i've got five hundred in my wallet right now," he pauses, leaning over to you and grabbing the joint, fingers brushing against yours, "and i want a show."

your mind seems to blank for a second, leaving you to blink your dry, red eyes in front of him. when the small wave of shock subdues, you reply, "i don't know how to give you a show."

ben shakes his head slightly, his eyes still set on yours, “yeah you do. swear it's not hard, kid.”

“says you,” you giggle, “but i’ll try on your clothes. for the money.”

he breathes in, contented, “for the money.”

without much more thought, you rise from his plush bed and make way for the closet. it's big enough to be another room, a stark contrast from your own closet, and it smells of his citrusy cologne merged with the lavender scent throughout the home. you find it comforting.

you look back over your shoulder, ben's watching you intently from his seated position, "what should i start with, solo?"

he hums before replying, "your pick, neighbor. what's mine is yours."

you can't help the dorky smile that graces your lips at his sentiment, even though you know he's being flippant. you hastily turn away from him, hiding your weak-willed reaction.

taking a deep breath, you begin to rummage through his wardrobe. your fingers brush against the luxurious fabric of his suits before settling on a satin black button-up that looks silky smooth to the touch.

you grab it and turn around to face ben, who's now standing and walking towards you, his eyes fixed on the shirt in your hand.

"that's a good choice," he says, his voice low and husky, "you'll look better in it than i do."

you roll your eyes at his comment but can't help the warmth that shoots through your body at his words. you quickly slip it over your cropped tank, eager to see it on.

as you're buttoning it up, you feel his swarthy eyes on you, watching your every move. you can't help but feel giddy with his ardent gaze and your own euphoric state of mind.

as you finish up the last button, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the ornate mirror hung upon one of the closet walls. you look decadent in his pompous shirt.

the feeling of contentment that washes over you is startling.

it's a beautiful cut of fabric, but it's the way it represents the achieved man behind you that has you stalling. you notice ben's breath hitch as he takes in the sight of you.

"i was right. it looks much better on you." he says, his voice rough.

you grin at him, feeling a newfound confidence wash over you, "is that right, solo?" you question, your demeanor one of leisure.

without warning, ben steps forward, right hand coming to rest on your shoulder as he leans down to you, "here," he says, his breath hot against your ear, "you missed the first button."

his fingers dance at your chest, fastening the skipped button. you fight a smile at the act, keening at his rash action. high ben is certainly less sardonic than sober ben, finding a nice middle ground at graceful teasing.

"you pick the pants, and grab a belt so that they'll fit." you smile.

he hums, pulling away and trifling through his clothes. his nimble fingers card through various pairs of slacks, settling on a matching black pair.

he turns on his heels, facing you. he raises his brows, a silent request for you to take the pants. when you do, his hands begin to fumble with his belt.

your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, "what are you doing?"

"i want you to wear this one. just let me play dress up with you, doll." his black locks are falling into his eyes.

you huff out a weak chuckle, focused on his action and new endearment. when the belts slides away from him, you notice the way his slacks droop slightly.

with a curt and nervous smile, you slide up the dark pants, fitting his belt around your hips afterward.

you study yourself in the mirror, opting to tuck the shirt into the pants messily— an attempt to somewhat display your waist.

ben comes up behind you, hands resting on your shoulders, humming into the top of your head, "i quite like you this way. ever thought about getting an office job for me?"

you give him a sarcastic pout, "for you?"

he smiles, canines showing, "yeah, doll, just for me."

you're dizzy at his words, "yeah, then who'd watch my parent's house all day? it's a full-time job being a stay-at-home daughter, you know."

ben groans a bit at your words, "that makes you sound like a little brat, you know." he drawls out the last two words, mocking.

you smirk, facing him now, lips becoming level with his when he leans down to stare into your eyes, "my mom calls me a brat sometimes. she says i'm never going to find someone acting like one," you pause for a beat, "d'you agree, ben?"

at the emphasis of his first name he sighs and lets his hands fall to your waist, "i agree that you're a fuckin' brat," he cranes his head closer, breath brushing against your lips, "but i don't think i mind very much."

your eyes flutter against your better judgment, and ben takes an evident note of the fact. his hands tighten at your waist, fingers digging in possessively. you feel a beat of caution before it flies away from your resolution. you press forward just as he does the same, lips meeting in a slow, heady, absolutely exalting kiss.

ben's fingers dig into you, timidly pulling you further into him. you crumble at his touch, hands fisting into his hair as he deepens the kiss further. he tastes of sweet honey and sunlight that fills you with warmth and affection.

you're both weakly fighting for more— an incessant craving for each other that quickly overtakes your common sense. the looming man continues to cast an unbreakable spell with each aching kiss as his gentle hands caress every inch of exposed skin on your body.

you let his hands fumble with the buttons of the borrowed shirt, slowly slipping it away from you. it brushes past your shoulders, and ben breaks the hungry kisses to trail sloppy ones on your exposed neck.

you're lost in the feeling of him— all-consuming. neither one of you willing to be pulled back to reality— but eventually you both have to break away from one another with heavy breaths and flushed cheeks. ben looks down at you with an amused grin on his face before planting a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

you hum and he mutters against you, "you like that? hm?"

"duh," you steal a glance up, "feels s'nice." there's a stupid grin stuck to your face.

"you taste so good, doll," he places a teasing kiss at the dip at the bottom of your neck, "and your lips are so fucking soft."

you give him a questioning look, lips upturned, "really? sounds wild coming from the same man that just called me a brat."

he hums darkly, "you being a brat," he places another kiss to your exposed neck, "just makes this little game of ours more interesting," one of his hands lifts your chin, pulling you closer, "c'mere, kid."

his lips are back on yours, less languid and with much more fervor. you feel so full in his arms. divinely entangled in the coveted luxury of ben organa-solo.

suddenly, you hear commotion from downstairs, drugged mind abruptly anxious.

"what's that?" your voice is barely above a whisper.

ben growls, "fuck— i'm sorry doll, i think my parents are home." you catch the faint flush on his cheeks.

you bite your lip, concerned, "but... i'm high. and wearing your clothes."

ben is about to say something else when the deep baritone of han solo's voice booms from behind his closed bedroom door, "come on out, son. the neighbor's are over for dinner. their daughter should be here soon," han's voice drops a bit, "and try to ease up on the flirting this time, okay?"

you stifle an uninhibited giggle, earning a glare from ben.

"yeah, sure. just let me get out of my work clothes," he peers down at you, eyes wicked, "don't want them to think it's all i own."

your eyes widen at his subtle dig, and he seems to revel in your amusement.

han grumbles something back before leaving. your breathing is erratic for a good few seconds. ben's hands remain on you, gentle grin on his lips.

"you heard the man. dinner." his voice is low, and you fight the urge to pull him into another kiss. the thought of more than kissing weighing heavily on your stoned mind.

your reply knocks the smile off of his face, "how are you going to explain the fact i'm already with you and high off my ass?"

he groans, head falling into the crook of your neck, "shit."

#ben solo x reader #ben solo x y/n #ben solo fluff #ben solo x female reader #ben solo x you #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x you #kylo x reader #ben solo #ben solo smut #ben solo angst #kylo ren fanfic #star was fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars sequel fic #star wars smut #star wars fluff #ben organa-solo

[gardeningintrests]

Humans are weird : illusion of sound.

I'm pretty sure everyone here has at least experienced hearing sounds that aren't there. like someone calling your name or a distinct sound of your door opening.

now, I'm not sure if animals has this as well but i would assume no because of their prey and predator instinct. they cannot afford to have illusions of sounds because that is where they hear where their predator/prey is.

so lets assume only humans have this. We hear people call our names when they really didn't is like a body reaction when your parents call you and then waits for you to come down only speak.

ngl i hate it very much

so how would aliens react to this?

just a random day where the group of maaktraks got a new human crew member! they were very excited and made loads of preparations for the human!

the human officially joined the crew about a few days ago, but something is off about this human. We have made sure that they have no mentality problems we have to take note of, but it seems like the human will randomly scream a word that apparently according to the human guide book a sign of aggression especially with the tone he uses.

now we don't understand said problem, so we reach out to the captain to address this worrying condition.

"oh? the human seems fine to me, pretty hard working too."

"yes, captain. but it just sometimes the human will make noise of anger ad frustration after yelling the word "what" and its getting very worrying. do you think we need to ask the humans what's wrong?"

"the guide book does say that if we were to speak to the human and address problems is better than being on the sidelines, so i guess i will leave this matter to you."

"yes captain"

during lunch time, the crew voted that i, xinederlk will be the one asking. what a great day.

im terrified, it had only been a few days since the human arrived, we do not know if this human is calm or the aggression type. looking at the frustrated yells, i would assume the aggression type, but the human guidebook said that each and every human is unique and that we do not judge the human by its first appearance.

i approached the human

"hello human Adam?"

"? oh hello there team leader! what brings you here to the human cafeteria?"

"well, me and me crew has something to ask actually."

"oh? is it about the rear engine? don't worry about it, staklorn has fixed it a while ago."

"no no none of that dear human Adam"

"then what's the issue?"

Human Adam seems to be in a much more serious tone now, maybe that proves his professionality in task taking fields. humans are known to multitask after all.

" well, Human Adam sometimes yell the word "what" even when nothing is going on. and the crew and i are worried that there may be something upsetting you or making you say those words with frustration?"

"eh? frustration? you guys can know my feelings upon hearing my tone of voice?"

"that seems to be in our ability"

"man... well to say eh problem isn't actually any of the crew or ships fault."

"then what is causing this frustration?"

"its just that..i grew up in a strict home alright? My parents would call me and then never answer me until i am in front of them. that gets me very frustrated because something that could've been communicated through voice easily now needs to walk down stairs and look my parents in the face before telling me to clean my room."

"..."

"so now that I've grown up, my body is toggled to hear said sounds with no response because of the habit of my parents putting it on me since young. so I'm very sorry for the inconvenience"

"..."

"..."

"too much?"

that day xinederlk learned a lot about strict parenting

#humans are confusing #humans are weird #humans are space fae #humans are space orcs #human things #humanity #the more you know #storytime #humans being humans #humans #humans are crazy #humans are dumb #humans are strange #humans are space australians #space #humans are awesome

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (Part 2 of War hostage Lucerys, warning: it gets dark)

Part 1:

Alysanne Targaryen had taken to talking to her uncle, Aegon III. Whenever she wasn't visiting Daenys, she would go to him. He was a strange, solumn man, engaged to her equally solumn aunt, Jahaera. They were a solumn couple, and being together with them in the same room made her feel extremely awkward, as she had to converse with both of them and be the good little hostess she was trained to be.

They're quite different when they were separated, though. Aunt Jahaera would smile a sad, shy smile towards her, and would play with her hair, creating elaborate braids. His uncle would often make nice comments about her etiquette, and would give her tips, there was even the time where he gave her a demonstration that led them both laughing, well, her laughing and him chuckling.

They both did have something in common other than being solumn around each other. They would both tell her stories, about their life before the dance of the dragons, or at least, what they remembered, for they were quite young when it began.

Her aunt Jahaera revealed she had a twin brother who, she remembered, would braid her hair for her, would give her sweets, and would play with her. She would speak of her mother who would speak strange riddles and give the best hugs and kisses. She spoke little of her father, and Alysanne knows not to ask, hearing the servants' whispers of the past king. She did, however, tell stories of her kepa, how he would allow her to braid his hair with flowers, how he would carry her and her brother whenever they got to tired, sometimes they would even pretend to sleep on the floor so her kepa would pick them up and out them on their beds.

Her uncle, on the other hand, spoke of his mother and father, his four brothers and two sisters, how they lived in Dragonstone, how spoiled he was, being the second youngest. He even told her of how her muña, his brother, would usually take care of them, when their parents were busy, how both he and his brother even called him muña, for a time, to the absolute amusement of every one save Lucerys, who tried to change it to valonqar. It was a hard word for two children, so her mother would just accept it. Her uncle did, however, hate the topic of dragons. Whenever she tried talking about her dragon, Stormborn, he would flinch and quickly change the topic. Again, she never pushed.

Alysanne enjoyed these stories, and hated it all the same. She loved hearing about her parents, how normal they were, how different, in the past. Before the war, before everything. She often wonders how different life could be, if the war never happened. Would her kepa carry her to her room when she felt tired? Would he allow her to braid his long hair? Would she be allowed to be with her muña without guards everywhere? Would he sing and play with her the same way he did with his brothers, any time, any place? Would he ride her dragon with her, once Stormborn was large enough? Would he even be allowed to?

She hates how uncertain she was whenever she thought of those questions.

When she sat in front of her uncle, she readied herself for the new story about their lives, stories she craved.

She wasn't expecting this, though.

"Sweet niece, did your father ever told you about your brothers?"

This caused her to pause. Brothers. Brothers? What brothers?

"From that look on your face, I'll assume they didn't tell you."

She looked at her uncle, silently urging him to continue. He seemed strange today, more loose tongued. He tends to be like this when her kepa upsets him.

"I bet they didn't even tell you why my brother isn't allowed to see you without rows of guards watching his every move."

Then tell me! She wished to scream. She didn't say anything, though. She learned a long time ago that if she interrupts, then they would most likely never continue.

"I might as well start from the beginning, back when the war was still going on, no, back when the war didn't even start," he began, "your father took my brother from us, and claimed him in front of the entire palace."

His eyes were misty, looking at something that wasn't there.

"We were worried, I remember my mother almost going insane, ready to ride Syrax to the Red Keep, save Lucerys and burn it down to the ground by herself. It was father who stopped her, saying he would find another way. It was Corlys, my brother's grandfather, that put a stop to her plans. He told her she needed to think as a ruler now, not as a mother.

"So they played the diplomatic approach, until they declared Jahaerys dead, blaming my father for his murder. Like the fools they were, they believed it to be true, despite the fact that my father would never do something that could risk my brother's safety."

Jahaerys. My dead uncle. Jahaera's dead brother.

"They were willing, you know, to kill Lucerys. A son for a son, they say. Aegon the Fool was five minutes away from ordering his death, but in a twist of fate, Lucerys was found to be pregnant, and Aemond would not allow the death of his own pups. So Aegon instead ordered his men to start the war.

"When Lucerys gave birth, he gave birth to twins. One was said to look like your father, the other looked like him. Aegon the Fool, in his absolute brilliance, decided to ask my brother to choose between them, which one would get to live, and which one would die in Jahaerys' name."

Alysanne felt sick. Her face no longer held her composed mask. Her uncle didn't seem to notice her discomfort. He was hissing now, venom in his voice. For the first time in the years she's known him, he looked and sounded positively outraged.

"My brother, who just finished giving birth after hours of labor, was forced to decide. He chose the one with his features, but the drunken fool made a 'mistake'. He took the one who looked most like a Targaryen, and chucked the screaming babe out the window."

Alysanne was crying now. She could envision it. Her mother, sitting on a bed full of blood, being ordered to choose between his babes, and watching in horror when his uncle threw his son out. She couldn't stomach it. Her older brother, one she never got to meet, died in such a horrendous way.

"The only good thing your father has ever done was killing Aegon the moment he returned from killing my father." He choked on that last part, and Alysanne looked up to see the tears roll down her uncle's face.

"Your mother wouldn't let anyone touch your living brother after that. He would attack anyone who even dared to try. He told me how he bit your grandmother when she placed a finger on his face." He chuckled, but it was a hollow sound.

"It ended when Aemond executed my mother by burning her with dragon fire right in front of me. After that, he brought me to this retched place, and my only solace was your mother, and your brother.

"We were together, for a time. Your brother....he was a sweet thing. The only time I ever seen your mother happy was when he looked at him. He would smile like he used to, hells, he would dance him around in the gardens and sing songs our mother used to sing to us.

"Then we had a chance to leave. Your uncle, my brother, Viserys, managed to infiltrate the Red Keep, and told us that a ship was waiting to take us to Essos. At that time, you were already in his belly. He didn't want to leave at first, but he thought of his son, he thought of you, and decided to take the chance.

"We were so close." Her uncle choked again. "The ship was right there, your brother was in Viserys' hands, the first one to get on the ship, I was helping Lucerys row the boat towards it...then Vhagar showed, and we were too far away.

"Viserys and your brother were both gone. Lucerys went into labor. And when you were born, Aemond took you from him. It was only when you turned 3 name days old, did Aemond take pity on my brother and allowed him to see you. Still, he does not trust my brother, he blames him for your brother's death, for trying to run away from this madness."

Alysanne didn't know what to say. It was too much. Everything was too much. She couldn't breath, she felt sick, her heart was beating, bleeding for her mother, bleeding for her brothers, bleeding for her uncles.

"What..." She croaked, "what were their names?"

"Your mother wanted to name them Aemon and Baelon." He answered. "Aemon was the one who died by Aegon. Baelon died by your father's hand."

Aemon and Baelon. Her brothers. Her sweet, innocent brothers.

"Alysanne, sweet Alysanne. It is not my intention do distress you, but you deserve to know."

Alysanne walked through the hallways in a daze. Her uncle killed her brother. Her kepa killed her other brother. But it wasn't on purpose. But it didn't matter, he was dead. But he didn't mean to. But he's still dead. But...but...

The thoughts swirled in her brain, defending her father, cursing him, caring for him, hating him, it burned her heart. She looked up to find herself in front of her muña's room. She ordered the guards to let her in, and although reluctant, they allowed her to enter.

Her muña's room was a cold place, devoid of any decoration. There were no tapestries, no paintings, no bookshelves, nothing. He once told her it was because he didn't wish to decorate at all, that he was a simple person. She knew he was lying for her.

She knew it in her heart, but this was the first time she acknowledges it now.

Her muña was a prisoner.

"My sweet girl, what brings you here?"

She said nothing as she hugged him, placing her head on his lap, feeling like a child once more. She couldn't say anything to her dear muña, and his voice full of love and concern broke her, and so she cried.

#aemond x lucerys #lucemond #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #alpha aemond #omega lucerys #aegon iii #alysanne learns the truth the hard way

[supernovafics]

✧∘ଂ ࿐ ཾ 𝑳𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑬. ✭・.・✫・゜・。.

pairing: ex-bestfriend!steve x fem!reader

word count: 683 words

warnings: explicit language, minor mentions of parental trauma 

series masterlist | last part — next part

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

❝ 𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆, 𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖. ❞

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Dear Steve,

Do you remember how we met?

Weirdly enough, I remember the exact moment. Mainly because I was so fucking nervous. (side note: being the new kid in town sucks absolute ass)

But, anyway, I moved in next door to you and our parents hit it off immediately since it turned out that our dads were going to be working with each other. 

As they all nonstop talked for a solid fifteen minutes in the front yard and I stood by like the most lonely twelve-year-old fifth wheel ever, you pulled up on your bicycle coming from God knows where. 

Our parents were quick to introduce us, and then they made you hang out with me. It was nice finally seeing and interacting with a kid my age, but I also thought that you would hate me since our parents were essentially forcing this “play date” to happen. However, you were actually really nice and I was kind of glad that my parents forced me to meet you. 

We went to your backyard and sat by your pool, and I remember that it was insanely hot that day and I really wanted to go swimming but had no idea where my bathing suit was packed among the boxes scattered in our new garage. I could tell that you really wanted to swim too, and although I told you that it would’ve been completely fine if you did it without me, you shrugged like it was no big deal and said that you didn’t want me to feel left out. Which, now looking back on that moment, is probably when I knew that I really wanted us to be friends. 

It surprised me how much we had in common and how so much of that commonality came from how insane our parents were. In the moment it felt funny, but now I can’t help but see how sad it was because of how nonchalantly we were talking about our parents being so neglectful to us. 

You told me the story about when you were in first grade and your mom forgot to pick you up from school because she booked a spa appointment that went until 5pm, and that’s how you learned how to walk home. And I followed up by talking about the time both my parents missed my dance recital when I was eight because my dad worked late (even though he said he wouldn’t), and my mom somehow showed up so late that she missed the number I danced in. 

Now I’m realizing that those fucked up storytimes were probably what cemented our friendship. Because somehow we both found someone that actually fully understood what all of that parental shittiness was like. 

The next day I went over to your house again, since mine was still in complete disarray from unpacking, and I brought a bunch of my favorite movies and we watched them in your living room. 

It’s funny because I think you hated all of them, or at least most of them, and I remember thinking something along the lines of: “I can never talk to this guy again. How could he hate The Great Gatsby? He’s an idiot!”

Of course, none of that happened, because aside from your horrific judgment of movies (which I hope has changed by now), I already saw you as an important person in my life. 

I think we probably spent that entire summer before school started attached at the hip, and when school did finally start it felt okay walking in as the new kid because you were there. Helping me and protecting me from the idiots. 

Twelve-year-old me truly never thought that there would be a time when we weren't the greatest of friends with each other. And I know how naive that probably was for me to think.

But, actually, I don't believe it was entirely that naive to think because we were different. You and me, our friendship, was different than just any other one.

And I honestly think that if I didn't mess things up as badly as I did, we would still be in each other's lives right now.

Sincerely,

Y/N

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

next part

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff #stranger things smut

[wren-dy-flowergarden]

The Monster Inside All of Us ★ pt.1

✦ *.✧.* Monsters live in us, they are our being, they are a part of us, and no matter what we can't outrun them. But we can learn to live and even thrive in their presence. You new neighbor- Bachira Meguru- teaches you about a world different than your own. Word Count: 2.2k / Bachira x gn!reader

Tags: topics of abuse, found family, childhood friends got your back, character study.

*TW: some uncomfortable topics of mental health leading to abuse off screen, not understanding violence, little gore, please be careful.

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ─────────────

A/N: Hi guys! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° Thank you all so much for your patience with me, writing has been a little difficult lately (Im not the happiest with how this turned out but eh). This is more of a journal than story for me. There should be two or three parts depending on what feels right. I hope you enjoy and again some difficult topics will be explored, so please take care of yourself! PS: Child Meguru is precious protect him at all cost.☆★☆

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ─────────────

There is a monster in all of us.

At least that is what your dad is screaming, on the ground sobbing underneath the weight of two bodies restraining him. His eyes pleading, looking to your mother cradling her right arm, swollen, and dripping.

Big eyes try to see more through the thin crack in the door. It sounded like glass cracking or the thumps you heard earlier. Your small mind was wild with fear, and your imagination made it worse.

But most importantly, you wanted needed to see your mom's face.

A lot of things happened because of that night. Your mother would receive pity words filled with blank stares from neighbors that contrasted itself with the usual snacks and kind greetings from before.

Your mother's face became more sullen now that your father was off in re-ha-bili-tee?

You go to school, a small school where everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew everyone's "situations".

About a week later, you finally realized what your father meant when Matsuhiro, the class clown and the boy who would agree with anything to make him seem more "grown up", opened his stupid mouth during arts and crafts.

"My mommy tells me that your mommy should have taken it and been a good wife."

You didn't really understand what he meant by "taken it" and "good wife", because your mom was the best mom in the whole world but the way his seven-year-old face sneered down at you made you angry- no it was something more than anger.

The next thing you realize is your soft bloody knuckles bleeding and Matsuhiro pleading the exact same way your dad did those nights ago, and he wailed lips cracked and eyes swollen.

"You're a monster!"

It didn't bother you much as you landed another punch near his temple, because duh of course there is a monster in you.

There is a monster in everyone.

It wasn't long after, that you and your mom make the drastic move to Tokyo to live next to your mother's best friend from college. 'Her name is Yuu she is an amazing artist.' your mother says packing a backpack to the brim with trinkets, art supplies, and snacks.

On the bus ride there, your mother looks exhausted, big black seeps carve out her eyes and you don't really remember the last time your mom smiled.

She made you pinky promise while getting off the bus that you never, in her words, "hit a person again". She muttered something else along the lines of 'bills' also, but you squeezed her pinky either way because it put a smile on her face and made her happy.

That’s the most important thing. 

Back then, in the principal’s office, you refused to repeat what Matsuhiro said in front of everybody including his parents and your own mother. He couldn't say anything either with his lips swollen shut.

In the back of your mind, you shrug as you squeeze your pinkies together. Besides Matsuhiro wasn't a person, he is a monster.

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ─────────────

You eventually make it to an apartment complex that was at least ten times bigger than your own. It was so big! It felt like it could touch the sky. Maybe you be living in the sky!

An audible sigh of relief comes from your mother behind you, lugging at least three suitcases.

Your hopes were dashed when you realized that apartment 109 meant you were on the first floor and not the hundredth. The door frame hung the sign, Bachira Yuu. Your mother flattening out her shirt gives a hesitant knock against the wood before the door burst open.

A woman, taller than your mother brown eyes light up at the sight of you two as if Christmas just knocked on her door, hair pulled back into a messy bun and streaks of blues and yellows adorned a pink jumper as she hugs your mother.

You were going to jump at her until your mother tentatively puts her arms around her as well, making it look like the second awkward hug in the history of hugs.

"Chiyu-chan!" She lets out and gawk because only you were called "chan" in the neighborhood, "How have you been! Oh is this little (Y/N)-chan. Almost as big as Meguru."

She squats down your head barely meeting her eyes as she ruffles your hair, "Ahhhh, maybe just a bit taller than my Meguru." Callused hands grab your chubby cheeks pulling out your lips into a smile before she squeals, "So cute!"

You really didn't want this women's colorful hands to be on your cheeks but glancing at your mother who had a semblance of a grin made you resist.

Small feet pitter-patter into the apartment, across the floors were tarps filled with half-empty buckets filled with blues, purples, to reds. The smell of the arts and craft room filled this apartment, it was nice.

Your mother's friend, Yuu Bachira, crossed the room swapping extra materials with her feet creating room, "Sorry sorry! I just got so focused on my recent project and forgot to clean, forgive me?" She gives a little wink as her hand rubs the back of her nape.

You expect a frown to form on your mother's face, she always bustled around your previous flat with strict diligence making sure no dust, no objects, and nothing were out of place.

Instead, she looked happy…?

"You're always the same Yuu-chan." And physically you take a step back, because "chan"! Your mother who notices everything about you, including how your mouth is now open in shock, chuckled before pushing you towards the gushing woman, " Yuu-chan has won a lot of awards for her art, maybe she could teach you a thing or two?"

You close your mouth, excitement already in your eyes.  Last month you almost won first place at the elementary school art contest (instead you won an honorary position because having seven-year-olds vote is rigged especially when you were the talk of the town). The first prize was a month's worth of popsicles, but you only won a little sticker book instead. You remember sticking many of them on the refrigerator.

Yuu crouches on the ground reaching your eye level.  "Then how about you see my latest project? I desperately need your advice for the final touches!"

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ─────────────

Looking at her art piece made your little eyes widen in astonishment. Swirls of purples and blue melded over yellow wash as the colors twisted and turned with her paintbrush delicately. With inspiration came chaos and she would dip her fingers into a side bucket of paint before flicking yellow sparks around the edges. If you cris crossed your eyes hard enough together it almost looked like two eyes staring back at you.

"Do you like it?" You hear Yuu say before she walks over to her canvas that dwarfs her, she puts a hand on the rim of it, "I tried to capture the essence of it."

You look at the piece, hues of blue accented with the yellow probably from her fingertips, it's amazing.

She grins as if she heard your thoughts, "Thank you, I am proud of this one." You blink, did she read your mind?

You were about to speak, out loud, until the sounds of metal banged across from you two leading you to jump head darting left and right.

Yuu pats you on the back and a calm rushes over your beating heart, "Perfect timing." before she walks to the edge of her studio unlocking a metal door painted in reds and oranges. A small boy, shorter than you stumbles in eyes red, cuts on his arms and cheeks. Dark brown hair with yellow highlights that curled around the nape up wearing a grass-stained shirt decorated with a shark.

Yuu smile now gone lowers herself onto her knees rubbing her fingertips along the side of his head along with his arms. Satisfied with what she was looking for she brushed the strands of grass left on his shirt before standing up, "Now how did you get this way hm?"

The boy looks down before kicking the ground, "They asked me to play soccer and then-" he looks up eyebrows furrowing as he stomped his foot, "they called me weird! Weird 'cause they couldn't get the ball away from me!" He stares as Yuu confused, "but they aren't right. They should just be better!"

She gives a small nod before pulling out a band-aid from one of her many pockets and placing it on his nose. “You know Meguru-kun, they are just jealous of you.” She says while rubbing out some grass from his hair, “they probably can’t hear ‘it’ anymore.”

You blink. It?

You really need to control your mouth more because the boy lets out a little shout before looking around his mother towards you as if he didn’t expect you to be there. He peers up at his mother’s eyes, “Mommy who is that?” Clear fascination shows in his eyes as he points toward you.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like how previous people would stare makes your stomach flip but your strong, and your mother taught you first impressions are important, “Im (Y/N). Im your….” You look towards his mother because you really weren’t sure what you are now. Yuu finishes your sentence, “our new neighbor Meguru-kun.”

By the look on his face, it seems like he is about to ask a million questions, but you're faster as you clamor towards Yuu. You point to the painting, its hues vibrant against the sun leaking in, “What do you mean by ‘it’?”

This must throw her for a loop because she starts tapping her foot against the floor, head tilting a bit, “Ah how to say it. Like something that burns in your soul.” She snaps her fingers, “Oh! Like a monster, something a bit scary but something strong.”

Your head also tilts in confusion as her son speaks, “Monsters? You mean like the ones on TV?” he puffs his chest out a bit, “but those don’t exist!”.

You think of the monsters you’ve encountered. They didn’t look like the televised ones but they felt the same. The way the previous neighbors looked at you after the incident, Matsuhiro sneering down at you and most importantly you remember the far-off look your mother would have after “incidents” staring blankly at the wall when she thought you were asleep.

You can still hear apologies muffled through thin wooden doors.

.

.

.

"What do you mean? Of course, there are monsters."

You blink as the two of them look at you almost surprised by the steadiness of your voice. The boy’s face shows clear excitement, but his mother read of something you could not understand as her lips clenched tight.

Taking a step closer to the boy you point at his chest, "It’s right there, inside." A pause as you reflect, “The monster.”

He points to his chest also, his small fingers mimicking yours at a short distance as he presses against himself. He looks in awe as if he can see the latest Godzilla hosted inside of himself. That’s not what you mean.

You repeat again, slower, "We all have monsters in us. That's what my dad told me. They take us."

Bright yellow eyes twinkled understanding filling in, "Oh, Like when I can't stop dribbling!"

A frown appears on your lips, you didn't know what "dribbling" is, but he seemed to be the only one who might understand as Yuu still wore a lisp of a frown on the edge of her lips before taking a deep breath. The smile you were used to seeing set on her face again.

His mother puts a hand on both of your guy’s foreheads rubbing both of your hair till it’s a mess. Well, his hair was already filled with grass and twigs yours would probably be filled by dried paint at the end of the day.

"That's right you two. A huge monster lives in both of your hearts, a voice that pushes you to follow yourself though-" she lightly flicks the tip of her son's nose where he let out a little 'ow', "violence is not good. People are jealous of how you both follow that voice."

She gives a smile before bringing the two of you into a hug, "When people grow up, they stop listening, stop believing in its own fleeting yet precious voice." She brings them back looking into their eyes, "But that a waste isn't it!"

She turns back to her artwork with pride, admiration, and longing all put into one, "I still believe you should listen to its voice because look at the beauty behind it."

Her son brightens, but you think about her words.

How it held a warm sort of kindness when she speaks about her said ‘monster’.

It’s voice guiding her…

You wonder why the voice was telling you to aim for Matsuhiro's temples instead of his nose.

And then you start to wonder, as you look at his mother's artwork if there were different monsters out there.

Not kind monsters.

Especially in you

#.wwrenspeaks #blue lock x y/n #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blkbrainspam #bachira x reader #bachira meguru x reader #meguru x reader #sorry this took so long thinking about life #this story will have more fluff and coherency in the next parts!

[mysticstarlightduck]

Personality Through Quotes Tag

I was tagged by @illarian-rambling (here)! Thank you so much (:

MY PROMPT WAS: "A quote about siblings"

YOUR PROMPT IS: "A quote about their relationship with money (in the past and nowadays)"

I'll go with the main cast of "Of Starlight and Beasts" for this one!

Corah: "Oh I wish I had siblings! I've always wondered what that would be like - I mean, I've seen enough siblings around that I have a rough idea, but that's always such an individual experience. It would've been cool to have someone my age, other than just regular friends, around at all times. Though I'm sure we'd have driven Dad crazy with our antics if that was the case - I was chaotic enough on my own (giggles)."

Arammys: "The bond between siblings is among one of the strongest there is, and often one of the purest. At least that's what I...think - in my intuition, I mean. I haven't had any progress in recalling my memories, so I can't speak of my own experiences with siblings - if I had any at all - yet. But something tells me that my intuition might be right, at least in my case. At least I hope so and I want to remember whoever they were, or are."

Eidan - "I didn't have any siblings or parents, but my older cousin fit both of those roles perfectly throughout my childhood - he was the closest thing I've ever had to a true family. We didn't have much - we often had nothing at all - but we had each other, and he always kept me safe, and was always there for me when I needed him the most, even if we sometimes annoyed each other to no end. And though he was not my brother by birth he was by choice - and I just wish I had known how lucky I was before it was all too late."

Masen - "You know, having siblings ain't what it's cracked up to be. Especially if you have a twin. Yeah, it's all loyalty and mushiness until they've got something else they want to achieve - and that something's more important than you. Then they stab you in the back when you least expect it and run off with the people with the money into a perfect new world where you're not invited - Yeah. (shrugs awkwardly) I realize this got a bit too specific, my bad."

Kyran - "What even is there to say? You're born, and so are they, you grow up trusting one another until they start hanging out with shady people and become someone you barely recognize, and then you annoy the hell out of each other and don't speak for the next five years. Oh, and then they blame you for leaving them when they were the ones who made that mess to begin with -"

Elias - "(Without a drop of emotion in his voice) My siblings are the reason I truly believe I will have gone fully grey before 30. I'm almost certain they're trying to make it a competition. They're twins. I do not know where I went wrong with my life but here we all are. Now pass me the rum."

Tomasa - "I don't have any siblings, Gods know Ma had enough trouble keeping me in line when I was a little ankle biter. But I've been told having 'em is like flipping a coin. You are either best friends for life or want to kill each other. Sometimes both, from what my friends tell me, ha! I don't really fancy having any siblings of my own, if I'm being honest - but having someone I could prank 24/7 does sound really tempting. I guess Arammys will have to do (laughs, already plotting her next prank on the poor, unsuspecting mage)"

Nimwen - "I've learned your true siblings aren't always those you're bound to by blood. They may be, sure, but not always! Sometimes, the strongest family bonds are those we choose, bonds nurtured like a small weed that grows into a mighty tree - and I personally know that to be one of the most important truths of life. "

Rin - "I never really cared for that. That's just another word - and that's it, a word. Most bonds are a fantasy made to comfort the hearts of the common folk from the harsh truth. Real people are fickle, they don't care for you when they've got no use for what you have to offer. My Nest surely didn't. (There's a moment of pause and a sense of sorrow behind his eyes before he shakes it off with a sly smirk, hiding it) But who cares for that sentimental junk. Besides, gold's a much more reliable company, don't you think?"

Leora - "Family is the most important thing in the world - by blood or by choice it matters not as long as the sentiment is there and it is pure. I would do anything for my siblings and I know they would do anything for me. I know this all too well. Where we come from, you learn to make your actions and your words count - you never know what tomorrow might hold and you must cherish those you hold dear, always, because they can be taken from you. At least, that's my perspective."

Florynce - "Mine have been dead for many years now. I remember all of their names." (You think she's about to say something else about them, but she changes the subject so jarringly you almost feel whiplash) "I don't wanna talk about that. Do you want to see this cool bug I found? It's glowing."

Tagging: @mk-writes-stuff, @eccaiia, @the-ellia-west, @memento-morri-writes, @little-peril-stories, @littleladymab, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @talesofsorrowandofruin @doublegoblin @oh-no-another-idea @cowboybrunch @ybotter @thepeculiarbird @crowandmoonwriting @your-absent-father @rickie-the-storyteller @jasperygrace @jay-avian @saltysupercomputer @winterandwords @autumnalwalker and OPEN TAG

#wip of starlight and beasts #personality through quotes #writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writerblr #writers #my wips #character writing #writing tag game #my characters #my writing

[levmada]

how do you think levi's insecurities about becoming a father would manifest itself? (action wise bc i don't think he'd outwardly say as much given it's levi, but maybe you could make sense of him verbally expressing his insecurities?? seeing as you give the best levi analysis imo)

the baby's sex here is male for jus practical reasons btw🙂

writing this gave me baby fever

//self-doubt/hatred

He wouldn't say much at all, that's right, but considering he's at a point in his life where you carried his child and brought new life into this world with him, Levi would try his best to communicate his feelings instead of pushing them down. The fear of doing something, anything, to hurt his son or give him less than the best is paralyzing for Levi. And for the majority of his life, whenever he has any fear, he avoids it/buries it. That's not an option anymore. If he doesn't act, that'll hurt both you and your child.

Levi is the type of person to read all the pregnancy books and even take notes. He bought and did more than everything you ever needed during your pregnancy, and that doesn't stop when the baby is born. Him learning about SIDS was a mistake because for the first 6 months of the baby's life (the timeline in which it's most possible to happen), Levi stood pretty much sentry whenever your baby lied in his cradle. You can't stop Levi when he has that look in his eye, when he's not only determined, but desperate, so you can at least stay up with him as long as you can, bring him tea, rub his shoulders and tell him he's doing a good job. It's hard for Levi to believe in compliments toward himself, but he really really needs the assurance as far as being a father goes, though he doesn't convey it out loud.

He runs himself ragged very quickly. It doesn't matter how much the advice says that no one is a perfect parent, Levi is determined to be. He's not only new to parenting, to being a father, but the very idea of what being a father means. Kenny didn't make any effort to father Levi so to speak (he was more of a teacher), but he was all he had, as the worst-possible example. He just can't mess this up. The only reason something bad could happen, would be because of him.

Thus he overcompensates for his insecurities by completely burning himself out. He's determined to prove himself, which hurts you in the process, because he becomes distant, and turns into a bit of a control freak. One day you just have to take him by the shoulders and shake him, you know?

"I've never seen you so scared," you tell him, using that forbidden word. Levi, according to him, doesn't get scared. But he's going to make things worse if he deflects from now on.

When he tries to express his insecurities verbally, he needs a lot of time, sometimes minutes, to collect his thoughts between explaining. He speaks slowly. Tries to make you understand that he never understood the love a parent has for their child until he held yours for the first time, but he still feels like he has no idea what he's doing even after going out of his way to learn, and in fact has only ever learned the wrong things to do.

"Hurting you... wasn't my intention. I want. To do well. And give him a different life from what I had."

He doesn't realize how good it is to get it off his chest until all this invisible weight feels like it slides off his shoulders. Even though he isn't used to being comforted after talking like this, when you embrace him tightly, he brings his arms up after many seconds and hugs you back. You promise that you're a team; that there's no way he can be perfect, but he's doing a perfect job; you can keep Levi in line if he does get something wrong. His eyes sting.

It's hard to change the way he thinks. He's still almost always the one to get out of bed if the baby starts to wail in the middle of the night (unless the baby's hungry, in which case Levi brings your son to you so he can breastfeed), and you both spoil the baby rotten, but he starts asking for help for once if there's something about the baby he's not confident managing on his own.

"How do I... turn the mobile?"

Poor Levi doesn't know how to wind up the mobile above your baby's cradle. He had no idea little music would start tinkling out as the moon and stars dangling from the strings whirls round and round, much to your son's little giggles (which is music on its own). You smile down and Levi can't help matching it. Every time he beholds his face and the tussock of hair beginning to appear on his head, Levi's stunned both by awe and fear how you made this little life together, the way he resembles him as well as you. Part of Levi hopes that that only extends as far as the good qualities about his appearance goes, and most of your traits. He doesn't want him to grow up to be bitter or sardonic or awkward—but even if he does, he can't imagine feeling anything other than love for his son.

(Okay I went on a bit of a tangent there.)

Levi... never rocked the cradle on his own because he struggles to be gentle, and he was paranoid of hurting him. You show him how to gently rock it side to side, and eventually his hand appears beside yours. He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until you chuckle and remark that the baby is falling asleep.

When the baby cries, especially if you're taking the rare outing on your own (months after the birth, when you both have settled into routine), he gets nervous. One time, after he's done all he could do, Levi becomes a nervous wreck. He was never a hypochondriac until it came to the health of your baby. All through his life, he's suffered loss, and almost every time unexpectedly. He's not a superstitious person, but he never even liked to name his horses because it seemed like everyone he ever got close to dies. It's not worth it. For once, he found the exception in you, and then in your child, but he can never let himself just. Feel secure.

The baby doesn't have a fever, he's been changed and rocked and all his other needs met, but he simply won't stop crying. The only lulls in the screams are when he takes a breath in order to wail some more.

For once pacing is helpful for Levi because that should help settle the baby, but it fucking isn't, and the potential of ruining everything washes back over him in waves. How a dirty thief like him holding this innocent little bundle is tainting just through touch. He's not conceited enough to think that just because part of your baby is his that he's cursed from the womb, but Levi can't help thinking, not just how unsuited he is, but how unworthy.

He sighs in an extremely stressed way and endures the crying while doing his best to comfort him (mostly based on things you have done), but nothing is working. The baby is inconsolable.

When the front door shuts behind you, Levi doesn't know whether to collapse in relief or shame. From the instant he appears in the entranceway, holding your crying baby to his chest with total helplessness on his face, you worriedly hurry over.

"He won't stop crying. I've tried every damn thing, but I just can't seem to..."

You look intently from Levi to your baby and hum. "Have you tried talking to him?"

He somehow looks even more stressed than before, but intrigued too. "Talking."

"Yeah! He can't understand you yet, but he knows your voice, so maybe that'll help." You stroke the baby's back. "It's alright, it's okay..."

You're caressing Levi's shoulder with the baby sort of held between you as you stroke your son's back. He's still wailing louder than ever.

Levi begins softly, feeling a little lost. "Hey... did you just want to talk to me? We can talk, honey. Stop crying, you're just fine. I've got you. It's okay."

He's not the best at it his first time. It's sort of like talking to a mannequin in his mind, but to his shock and your elation, it works. His wails quiet down to sniveling weeping as long as Levi keeps talking, but not without your support too, in his opinion. Relief floods him.

There is something about your son just wanting to hear his voice that helps erase the heaviest insecurities in Levi. It's hard for him to be confident by any means, but he ends up talking to him a lot, whether you're with him or not (but usually, you are). Mostly after you put him down for the night and Levi wants to spend more time with him. It becomes one of his favorite parts of his day. He watches the mobile turn and talks idly about whatever's on his mind. Sometimes reassurance.

"Your mother and I love you. Did you know that? Well... you better remember," he murmurs. The baby just goggles up at him sleepily. "You can tell me anything... and I'll listen. Whatever you want matters, baby. You're a good boy. If anyone ever tries to hurt you... then they'll regret it. Always gonna look after you."

Unlike the life he had. But now, Levi feels confident that he can provide that for his son.

| levi masterlist | main masterlist |

🏷: @ackermendick | @midtwenties-angst | @sckerman | @halloweenmedic | @katty | @jayteacups | @notgoodforlife | @peace-for-levi | @chaotic-nick | @b-o-n-e-daddy | @levisbrat25 | @oh-my-bakura-akefia | @happybird16 | @svftackerman | @galactict3a | @s0levis | @rouge_variant | @sparkywrites25 | @levisgreyeyes | @go-bonkers-go-foolish | @clusiesuzie | @that-1-levi-and-bkg-simp | @littleagxs | @spouse-of-the-rulers-of-hell | @rmylovely | @oldtownwonderland | @youre-ackermine | @mokkely | + link to sign up

#levi ackerman x you #levi fanfiction #levi fluff #levi headcanons #levi x reader #levi hcs #levi ackerman hc #levi ackerman headcanons #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #dadvi

[hallowsden]

@f4nd0m-fun here

So, I was on the ship Wiki, and I'm wondering what your Crane ships are?

I stumbled on Scriddler and TwoCrow, and I couldn't help but peek at TwoRiddle, so now I'm thinking about TwoScriddler, and oh no.

I barely know these chars and yet here I am.

Now combine this with John barely speaking with his fam and... you got Danny showing up on his doorstep one day, and Crane may have forgot to tell his buds about it, and you've got a small mess.

Personally, if I had to ship Harvey with someone, it's Gilda or Bruce (or both) (Unless it's Batman Forever version, then definitely TwoRiddle cause HAVE YOU SEEN THEM!?)

But honestly? This made me thinking... (Long ass rant ahead that may or may not make sense. This is written while being sleep deprived)

Jonny boy here ain't the only one who suffered abuse as a child. Both Harvey and Edward have as well. They both have Daddy Issues while Jonathan, depending on how you interpret him or which backstory you use, have granny issues + religious trauma or also Daddy Issues.

That being said, Harvey gives me the "this family ends with me" vibes, especially after he became Two-Face, and may be put off with Danny's presence for a while. He doesn't want to continue the cycle and become his dad. He'd likely would have liked, at the very least, to have been informed about the new addition to their family so he can... Prepare essentially/get used to the idea/plan how to avoid Danny. He's... For the lack of better words, cautious/careful around Danny, as to not accidentally trigger himself by accidentally hurting the kid. Does this make sense?

It'll take a while for Harvey to relax around Danny but for sure, he's gonna be very protective, if because he's Jonny's kid at first. He'll come to adore the kid and while not see him as a son but like... Oh, who's he and Harv kidding, that's his kid now and too hell with a coin, fuck with one of his then you'd get instant death penalty with him as the Executioner.

Harvey is gonna try and teach Danny law, specifically how to use loopholes against the system and evade arrests and such cause what else is gonna try to do to bond with Danny? Man's life had always revolved around law... Though... there are times where he'd go into this sort of story mode, recalling his experiences with Danny. He's soft and distant here but this is his way to fully open up, if that makes sense.

Harv, on the other hand? Teaching Danny how the criminal world works. Kid needs to learn how Gotham works. Can't have him die (er- turn fully ghosts? Yeah, he and Harvey don't understand Danny's halfa nature but they try and are supportive... They can't help but be reminded of themselves actually-) or Jonny's gonna be beyond pissed in a whole new level. Is actually rather strict, makes sure to put ground rules and boundaries with Danny compared to the rest of the parental unit that is Twoscriddler. Someone has to be the strict parent... How he and Harvey are considered the functional parent here is cause they actually practice self-care, well to an extent anyways, compared to his idiot lovers who would go days on end without eating, drinking, or sleeping, if the chance rises.

Harv, though rarely, would go into story mode as well to Danny, but in his perspective. There are many times he and Harvey hate each other but... They lived and went through the same life. Just differently. He mainly does this after something especially happened with Danny, like say, Danny nearly got shot...

Now, Edward on the other hand... Really depends on the version but in my opinion, he'd be indifferent with Danny at first, if a bit surprised. Jonny, with a kid? Now, isn't that interesting. Would definitely grow very fond of Danny very quickly, and if he learns that Danny's good with inventing and such, he is, for sure, gonna nurture those skills.

Eddie boy is gonna drag Danny to his workshop so they can bond over building shit. Also, VIDEO GAMES CAUSE YOU CAN NOT TELL ME OTHERWISE THAT EDDIE'S NOT A GAMER! Gets too competitive, too loud, just overall chaotic fun with Eddie also rambling about shit in the process. Just, the two are fucking gremlins and fueling each other's chaotic streak somehow cause while Eddie is an adult very full of himself, he acts too much like a child when he's relaxed and not trying to maintain his dignified image even though everyone has at least witness his childish streak at least once (this including his tantrums/meltdowns...)

The fun uncle/dad that managed to help Danny feel like a normal kid he wasn't able to be exactly due to living with mad scientists (who wanted to kill him later on even if they didn't know it was him). Eddie boy would also definitely help tutor Danny. Just that he may get impatient or teaches things too fast. Best that Jonny's there helping with tutoring so it's better paced and not going overboard.

But uh- yeah, it's gonna be a bit of mess when Harvey/Harv entered the shared apartment and see a random kid in there (who both resembles Jonny in some ways and also has the right coloration to be considered Wayne bait AND OH BOY-) huddled in blankets. Eddie would likely just walk past Danny, and after a few moments, walks backwards and stare at Danny, processing, before getting Jonny or Harvey, before trying to maybe interrogate? Depends if he slept or was hyperfocused on a project in his workshop.

[Also, @f4nd0m-fun, I swear, you've been fueling my need to create more Uncle Scarecrow content- DO YOU KNOW HOW HYPER AND EXCITED YOU MADE WHEN YOU @ ME!? Well, I think you're gonna see it when I do the reblogs... Just- XD, I'm having too much fun today/last night/lately (wtf is time anymore)]

#Answered #I think #dp x dc #dc x dp #edward nygma #harvey dent #Jonathan Crane #Danny Fenton #Uncle Scarecrow AU #Au of an Au #rambles that even I can't understand anymore cause brain is a mess #idk how to explain Jonny's dynamic with Danny but he cares. He's the most emotionally stunted though so- #Twoscriddler #dpxdc #idk if this even makes sense #or if this is ooc #either way I apologize and also not sorry #who gave me the power to create and write anymore? #I'm tired #i'm having too much fun #This is not edited #will I edit? probably not

[imekitty]

Danny confronts his parents about the clones they've been experimenting on.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23

-----

"Have you heard from Vlad at all?"

Jack followed Maddie out of their bedroom and shut the door behind him. "Why would Vlad say anything to me?"

"He said he'd send a text when he finalized all the configurations for the new Danielle clones." Maddie looked at her blank phone screen. "I guess I'm just excited."

Jack's shoulders fell. He did not want to think about the new set of clones Maddie had ordered from Vlad.

They walked down the hall, past Danny's and Jazz's bedroom doors.

"Danny's home already," remarked Maddie as she held up an ecto-scanner. Danny's ecto-signature appeared in two locations on the screen, one in his bedroom and the other in the basement lab. "That's good, he really needs to get a good night's sleep. He's been going through a lot lately."

Jack held his tongue, knowing it was no use to remind her that she was the one orchestrating almost everything that had been happening to their son.

Down in the lab, clone 26 was lying on the main examination table right where they had left him earlier, wearing a hospital gown with his wrists and ankles secured in belted restraints. The clone stirred and groggily opened his eyes as Maddie approached. Jack hung back as he usually did. He hated this part, when the clone begged to be freed and Maddie told him no, no, he had to stay here and die.

The clone's eyes widened as Maddie hovered over him, her hood down and goggles up on top of her head. The clone began pulling against the belts, throwing his head wildly as he lifted his upper body off the table as far as he could. Maddie pressed one hand to his chest, forcing him back down.

"Sweetie, calm down," said Maddie, her voice hushed. "I know you're very confused and scared right now, but you're just going to hurt yourself if you struggle."

"What do you mean? What's going on?" The clone's breathing was erratic. "Why am I here? Mom? How did I get here?"

"We have a couple procedures planned for you tonight," said Maddie. "Just a couple, don't worry. Then we'll let you rest until tomorrow night."

The clone stared at her, all fight stopped for the moment. "Procedures?"

"Yes," said Maddie. "Because you're a ghost hybrid, and there is so much more about you that we want to learn."

The clone's eyes widened with shock and panic, as they always did. "You know I'm a ghost?"

"We do," said Maddie, taking the clone's hand in hers.

The clone's gaze moved to Jack. Jack looked away, squeezing and massaging his jaw with one hand.

"What are you going to do to me?" asked the clone, struggling more against the belts. "Why have you brought me here? You know I'm your son, don't you?"

"No, you're not," said Maddie.

The clone froze up. "I am. You know I am."

"No, honey, you're a clone," said Maddie, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "You're a nearly perfect clone of our son."

The clone stared at her in dumbfounded silence.

"We're going to tell you the truth before we start tonight's work," said Maddie. "You can ask any questions, and we'll answer them. You deserve that much, at least."

Jack grimaced. He hated when she included him like that, using the word "we" when he didn't want to be here at all. At this point, the only reason he continued to join Maddie in this cruel line of experimentation was to ensure she didn't take it too far.

Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself.

"The truth about what?" asked the clone.

"Your ghost powers," said Maddie. "The reason you're a ghost hybrid is because we configured the ghost portal to rearrange the molecular structure of your DNA."

"What—no, you wouldn't do that." The clone fiercely shook his head.

"We had to," said Maddie, her tone soothing. "You had the right DNA that could be stabilized after an ectoplasmic mutation. We tried looking for others, but you were the only one. We had no choice."

"No choice?" spat the clone. "Why did you need to turn me into a ghost at all?"

"For our research, sweetie. You know how crucial our research is."

"Crucial for what? How is this going to help anyone?"

"Oh, so many ways! Health care applications for improved surgery that uses invisibility instead of invasive scopes and expensive MRIs and CT scans, intangibility instead of incisions that can get infected. Military applications for super soldiers enhanced with ghost powers—"

"You can't be serious," said the clone. "You're experimenting on your own son so you can find ways to sell ghost powers to other people?"

"You are not our son," said Maddie. "You remember how Vlad attempted to clone you and created Danielle, right? Well, he didn't actually fail. We asked him to clone Danny so we could experiment on his clones without harming the real Danny." Maddie ruffled the clone's hair. "You are one of those clones, sweetheart."

The clone jerked his head away. "I'm not a clone."

"I know you don't believe it. You're not supposed to believe it," said Maddie. "You're supposed to believe you're the real Danny. That's the only way we can get the most accurate data for our research. And you want to help us with our research, don't you?"

"I'm not a clone." The clone shook his head. "Let me go, let me leave."

"We can't do that," said Maddie. "There can only be one Danny. You have to stay here, and you can't leave."

"I'm Danny," the clone insisted with tears in his eyes. "I am your son."

"Danny is upstairs in his room." Maddie pointed to the ceiling. "You're down here in the lab because you're his clone."

"No, you're wrong," said the clone. "I'm not upstairs. I'm here with you. I've always lived in this house with you."

"Sweetie, those memories you have of living here before today aren't real," said Maddie. "You didn't exist until this morning. You had never been to this house before until this afternoon when Vlad brought you here."

"They're real memories," asserted the clone. "I was hanging out with Dad in the lab earlier today when he showed me the Ecto-Dejecto."

Jack's brow creased. Yes, he did indeed show Danny the Ecto-Dejecto that very day so he could later use it to stabilize Danielle, but it was impossible for the clone to know that. The last time Vlad took an updated DNA sample from Danny was over a month ago. The clone's last memories should not and could not be this recent.

A sinking weight dropped deep into Jack's gut as he stared at the clone, noticing for the first time a scar right behind his ear, the same scar Danny had. But the clones were supposed to have unblemished skin, untouched and new.

The clone continued speaking, "And then I went to hang out with Sam and Tucker—"

"No, sweetie," said Maddie. "Those memories you have aren't real. The only reason you have them is because you're an almost perfect copy of the real Danny, including his memories."

"I am the real Danny."

"No, you're not."

"How can you say that? How can you know that for sure?"

The clone's expression was angry, something Jack had never seen before. The clones were usually frightened or hurt, not angry.

"How do you know I'm not the real Danny?" demanded the clone.

"Because of the tattoo on your arm," said Maddie. "Here, let me show you."

Maddie pulled up the right sleeve of the clone's hospital gown, just as she had done twenty-five times before. But there was nothing but skin, no tattooed 26 on the clone's upper arm that Jack definitely remembered seeing when Vlad first delivered the clone.

All blood drained from Jack's face as Maddie screamed and jumped back, her hand clamped over her mouth. Danny's angry expression broke into a wicked smile.

"I told you I was the real Danny," he said.

Maddie's other hand shot up over her mouth as she shook her head furiously. Jack was frozen in place, unable even to tremble.

Danny sat up, slipping out of all four belt restraints and jumping off the table onto the floor. He changed into his ghost form, black and white jumpsuit replacing the hospital gown.

"Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" he asked. "Did you really think you could make Vlad clone me twenty-six times and I would just never know?"

He started walking toward Maddie with slow steps. Maddie stepped back each time, still covering her mouth as she watched him come closer.

"Did you think I was too stupid to figure it out?" Danny paused, chuckling darkly. "I guess maybe you're right. I guess I was too stupid to figure it out. You were able to experiment on me and torture me and—and kill me twenty-five times and I was too stupid to realize it until now."

Maddie cowered, hunching her shoulders and covering more of her face with her hands.

"And you were going to kill me a twenty-sixth time tonight," yelled Danny. "And you—" He turned to Jack with a snarl. "You were just going to stand there and let her."

Jack held up his shaking hands in defense, but he could not think of a good reply. He could only meet Danny's hate-filled eyes, trying to somehow communicate just how sorry he was.

"You and Vlad both," muttered Danny. "You'll both just do anything for her, won't you? You'll even kill for her."

"Danny," Maddie gasped out. "Danny, listen, I'm sorry—"

"No, you're not sorry," roared Danny, turning and pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Don't say you're sorry. If you were sorry, you would've stopped a long time ago." He choked, his voice losing strength as he stifled a sob. "If you really cared about me—" He sucked in a deep breath. "If you really loved me, you would've never done this."

"Danny, I do love you." Maddie clasped her hands as tears streamed down her face. "So much."

"How can you say that?" demanded Danny. "How can you look me in the eyes after everything you've done to me and say that?"

His fists glowed with ectoplasmic light as he stomped toward Maddie, backing her up against a wall. Maddie whimpered and curled in on herself.

Jack stared at her, frozen with shock.

She was scared.

He had never seen her look so scared before. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever seen her show any sign of fear at all.

And Jack realized he was also afraid, because Danny could very easily kill both of them right now and they would be powerless against him.

His gut sank and twisted with the horror of what they had turned their son into.

"Danny, please," bleated Maddie. "I'm your mother."

"You're right, you are my mother." Tears began falling down Danny's face. "Which is why I can't believe you would do this to me. My life has been hell ever since I became—this." He used one gloved hand to gesture to himself, top to bottom. "Fighting ghosts, protecting the town—it's been painful and terrifying and exhausting."

Danny's tears were coming fast and hot now. Maddie continued to whimper while Jack stayed still.

"But I kept doing it because…I thought I had to," continued Danny. "I thought it was my fault that all of these ghosts were coming in through the portal and invading our town. But now I find out that…you did this to me. It was never my fault; you set me up to do it. You wanted me to do it—you were counting on me to do it."

Danny sobbed, covering his eyes with his hands as his body shook. Maddie looked at Jack, begging him for help. But Jack could only stare back.

"This whole time." Danny uncovered his eyes now swollen with ectoplasm. "You've been pulling strings, watching me like I'm a marionette in your sick puppet show. And you made me afraid of you. You pretended to hunt me down and you would actually shoot at me so I would believe that I really was a freak and I could never trust anyone with my secret."

Danny lowered his eyes, his face drenched with tears.

"You made me believe that I couldn't trust you, my own parents," he whispered. He then raised his eyes, which flashed green. "But I guess I was right about that after all, wasn't I?"

He came close to Maddie, raising both of his glowing fists. Maddie pressed her back to the wall and held up her hands in front of her face.

"Are you going to kill me?" blubbered Maddie.

Danny stared at her for a long, long time.

Then his fists opened, their green glow disappearing as his whole body relaxed.

"No," he said with a soft shake of his head. "Of course not. Because you are my mother."

Danny glanced up at the ceiling, more tears glistening on the lower edge of his eyes. He sniffled and brought his gaze back down to Maddie.

"I hate that my own mother could do this to me," Danny continued, his words strangled, "but I can't hurt you. Obviously you're more than willing to hurt me, but…I can't." His eyes hardened. "But I'm not letting you hurt me ever again. Whether it's the real me or a clone of me, I won't allow it."

Danny looked up at the ceiling again, but this time in a very particular direction, up toward his room. Jack took notice of the look, and he could see Maddie also noticed, her brows drawing together in scrutiny.

"Where is the clone?" Maddie's voice was suddenly much stronger as she straightened her back and stood taller. "Clone 26, where is he?"

Danny's eyes once again returned to her. He frowned but did not reply.

"Vlad delivered him this afternoon," said Maddie. "I saw the tattoo on his arm with my own eyes. Where is he now?"

Danny stiffened. "You don't need to know that."

"I do," said Maddie. "You won't let us experiment on any more clones, fine. We'll stop. But that clone cannot be allowed to exist."

Danny's eyes twitched, his jaw clenching.

"We have to kill him, Danny," said Maddie.

"No," said Danny with a firm shake of his head. "You are not going anywhere near him."

"We can't let a clone of you run around freely, Danny," said Maddie. "People would notice. How would we even explain that? It would only be a matter of time before the police or the Guys in White figure out that you're a ghost hybrid, and then you'd be taken away for far worse experimentation."

"Don't pretend like you care about what happens to me," spat Danny. "You just don't want them to find out what you've been doing."

"You know I'm right," retorted Maddie. "There can't be two of you."

"Then kill me." Danny held out his arms in offering. "Do it."

Maddie's mouth fell open. "Danny—no, I'm not going to kill you."

"Why not?" asked Danny. "If only one Danny is allowed to exist, then why does it have to be me?"

"Because you are Danny. The clone is no one."

"But isn't the clone a perfect copy of me? With all my memories?"

"Most, not all of them."

"He's good enough, isn't he?"

Danny glared at Maddie, still holding his arms out, ready and waiting for her to come at him. Maddie did not move, simply stared back in tense silence. Jack watched, wondering for a moment if she might actually do it, if she might actually grab an ecto-gun and blast a hole through Danny's chest.

Jack was ready to throw himself in front of Danny if she tried.

"The clone must die, Danny," said Maddie. "That's why he was created. That's his purpose."

"So now you think you can just assign people purposes?" asked Danny. "Does this sick little game make you feel like God?" Danny pressed a palm to his chest. "What's my purpose, Mom? Have I been giving you everything you wanted? Or am I a failed experiment now?"

Maddie narrowed her eyes. "The clone has to die, Danny."

Danny shook his head. "No."

"Danny."

"No."

Danny shot up into the air, soaring straight through the lab ceiling and disappearing. Maddie bolted toward the stairs to follow him.

"Maddie." Jack grabbed her arm before she could get too far up the stairs, forcing her to stumble back down onto the main floor.

"Jack." Maddie struggled in his grip. "Let me go, Jack."

Jack kept a tight hold on her, using all his strength to keep her from getting away. "Maddie, what are you planning on doing?"

"We have to kill the clone, Jack," said Maddie, sounding panicked. "We can't let Danny help him escape."

"But why? Why do we have to kill the clone?" asked Jack.

Maddie glared at him. "You know why. I shouldn't have to explain this to you."

"Maddie." Jack took hold of her other arm and forced her to face him. "But maybe we shouldn't, Maddie."

Maddie stopped struggling and became still, unblinking.

"Maybe we shouldn't kill the clone?" said Maddie. "Are you saying we should kill the real Danny? Like he asked us to? Remove the clone's tattoo and just rewrite our son with a copy?"

Jack balked and slacked his grip on her arms, but she did not try to break away.

"The clone's earliest memories will be from a few weeks ago." Maddie nodded as she spoke. "Clone 26 won't remember any of this. We could continue our experiments and Vlad could continue creating new clones and we'd just have to be more careful and watch the new Danny a lot more closely, make sure he never discovers the truth again—"

"Would you listen to yourself?" Jack shouted in her face. "Are you fucking insane? We are not going to kill the real Danny just so you can keep fucking with his clones."

He shook her, causing her head to snap back, her eyes wide as she stared up at him, frozen.

"It's over, Maddie," yelled Jack. "It has to be over now."

Maddie stayed frozen a little longer. Jack waited for her to move, to respond in some way, never letting go of her arms.

"You're right," murmured Maddie. "He's my baby. I carried him inside of me—he was part of me for nine months. The clone was never part of me no matter how much he looks and acts like the real Danny. I can't kill my boy, never."

She started crying. Jack felt a twinge, a strange urge to comfort her even though he knew she didn't deserve it.

"But the clone still has to die, Jack." Maddie used the heel of her hand to wipe her eyes and locked her gaze with Jack's. "And you know it."

Jack stared back at her, the scientist inside of him activating. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he did know it. The clone was an abomination, an affront to the natural order, an entity that was never supposed to exist in the first place.

And Danny himself would be in danger of being discovered and taken away if the clone was allowed to exist as its own person.

Yes, the clone did have to die. It was the only way to protect the real Danny.

And the only way to stay out of prison.

Jack loosened his hold on Maddie and watched as she ran up the stairs, numb and empty.

And then he breathed deep and ran up after her.

Just one last time. One final murder.

Part 25

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #planned au #imekitty writes #horror #angst

[denim-mixtapes]

You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth Word Count: 2974 Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Tags: Rockstar/Radio DJ AU, canon divergence - season 4 still happened, but Eddie lives, set in 1992 and Eddie has more piercings and tattoos than ever, brief sexual harassment mention (mostly just unsolicited flirting, not from any characters of the show), use of actors' last names because the duffers don't care about their characters enough to give them last names (Jeff specifically, I used Gareth's common fanon accepted last name), mentions of Chrissy's death and the events of season 4/the trauma surrounding it, Eddie Munson needs a hug, shameless flirt Eddie Munson.

Summary: Working as a woman in Rock n' Roll radio, you encountered your fair share of flirtatious rock stars. Often, they would flirt to belittle you, to question your love and knowledge of the genre, but Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin seems to know just which buttons to put to get on your good side.

A/N: I tried so hard to post this all in one go, but ultimately decided it would work better as 2 parts. So for now enjoy the exposition and interview chapter, and smutty part 2 will follow soon.

[AO3] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Music. 

Hendrix called music his religion. Beethoven called it the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. Shakespeare, the food of life. 

All of these were excellent quotes, but to you, music wasn’t just one thing. Music is everything. Ever since your first concert (an age inappropriate punk show that your aunt snuck you into at thirteen) music practically ran through your blood. Nothing excited your younger self quite like the thrum of a good bass drum and the crackle of worn out venue speakers. 

You devoted your younger years to learning everything you could about the music industry. Researching how songs were written and produced, spending hour after hour teaching yourself instruments from the ground up, practically begging your aunt to take you to any and every concert she had access to. When your tastes started to develop even further and strayed toward hard rock, heavy metal, and punk, your parents didn’t bat an eye, assumed it was just a hobby, that your music tastes wouldn’t define your lifestyle at all. Then, you turned down a college scholarship in lieu of an unpaid internship at the local radio station and a day job at the diner ‘round the corner to make ends meet. That’s when things got rocky. 

Still, you persevered.

Hopping from station to station, eventually internships turned into paid mail room jobs. Then you got hired for assistant work for your favorite rock radio station, running coffees and pushing pencils and picking up dry cleaning. Out of sheer dumb luck one day, with a missing traffic announcer and a desperate producer, you were thrown into the ring with a hastily improvised introduction from the DJ who pronounced your name impressively wrong. You ended up doing traffic at that station for two years, until – after asking nearly every month and mixtape after mixtape to prove your music taste worthy – your producer broke down and gave you an early morning DJ slot. It was a two hour show from 3 AM to 5 AM, but it was yours. 

Working your way up the ladder, you just kept pushing until you got where you are now, two years into a new decade: The lead host of a prime time Metal radio show with your name in the title. 

All that hard work and climbing to the top and your love for what you do is exactly what makes the disrespect hurt so much worse. 

Being a woman in a predominantly male industry (radio alone, let alone any subgenre of Rock), it’s increasingly obvious how little your listeners and guests alike take you seriously. There isn’t a single mail drop that doesn’t include at least one hate letter telling you to get off the air, and you would be surprised if you had a guest on the show that didn’t seem downright shocked by your knowledge of the genre. 

But the worst part? 

The flirting. 

God, the flirting. 

Most women your age would swoon when a rockstar so much as looked their way for longer than a fleeting moment, but whenever a flirtatious comment or a wink is sent in your direction it’s practically dripping with disrespect. They’ll interrupt you mid-sentence to belittle you, to reduce you to nothing more than eye candy and someone they can manipulate if they flirt hard enough.

Your responses burn in your throat when you swallow them down to instead fake a laugh and pretend you’re flattered. 

The producer used to urge you to flirt back, “give the listeners a little show,” but you know better than that. If you did that, your listeners would only think one of two things. Either you slept your way into this position, or you were using it as a way to try and sleep with the stars. There’s no way you would put your professionalism to the side for the sake of some greasy musician's ego, no matter how much you respected their music. 

However, that attitude changed the day Corroded Coffin walked into your studio. 

Frontman Eddie Munson is walking sex and he knows it. He carries himself with the confidence of a man who has been through it all and still somehow came out on top. He flirts, not to belittle, but with a genuine appreciation of whoever he’s speaking to, and he really does flirt with just about anyone You’ve seen it in action before, at shows you had attended as an assistant for the station in dimly lit bars, back in ‘88 as the band was still just taking off. That was a man that could make you feel like the center of the universe, and he wanted to. You were the subject of his attention that night, for a while, and you have yet to forget the feeling of being special, if even for a few moments. 

So when the band is lead into the building by their management team (if you could call them that), you’re not surprised in the least to see Eddie Munson hanging off the shoulder of friend-turned-manager Steve Harrington, pout on his pierced lip and poking a finger into Steve’s dimple as he makes some teasing remark. When he’s shaken off, he kisses the same cheek affectionately, and then ruffles the hair of the younger man next to them, publicist Dustin Henderson. Henderson, shoves him away angrily, and though you can’t hear their words from inside your booth, you’re sure he’s saying something about ‘professionalism’ and ‘not a kid anymore, motherfucker.’

You smile, seeing the exchange and give a ‘one minute’ gesture to your station manager who points into the booth at you, before introducing the next song. 

“Alright folks, at the top of the hour, we’ve got the new Alice in Chains single comin’ at you. When we come back we’ll be sitting down with Corroded Coffin to talk about their newest album and summer tour, so don’t go anywhere. Here’s ‘Would.’” 

Starting the song and muting your microphone, you take off your headphones and walk over to the door to usher the men in quickly. Smiling gently as the men all cross through the door into your tiny studio, you can hear Henderson shouting at them to ‘Behave, boys!’ Steve, scoffing out a defeated, ‘Who, Munson? Please.’ You give the two of them a soft wave and inform them that you can hold your own, not to worry. 

Turning back toward your workspace, you make note of the fact that three of the band members – Gareth Emerson, Jeff Best, and the bass player who, despite hours of research, the only name you could uncover was ‘The Freak’ – sat patiently on the stools set out for them, across from your desk. Eddie, however, with a severe case of lead singer syndrome, has perched himself in front of your control panel, running his fingers along the knobs and dials, grinning to himself. 

“Uh, hey,” You interject, enjoying the way his head snaps up at the sound of your voice. You introduce yourself to each of them softly, keeping an eye on the clock counting you down to the song’s end. Then, pointing to your stool that sits right in front of Eddie’s knees, “do you mind?” 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he breathes, winking as he passes you in the tight space, “couldn’t help myself.” 

Normally the pet name would have you rolling your eyes and preparing for a long, long, interview…but the boyish smile you’re met with when you look at him across the controls has your heart skipping a beat. 

The countdown informs you that there’s 30 seconds remaining in the song, and you don your headphones again, uncovering one ear, and encouraging the guys to do the same. 

“Okay guys,” you call their attention and straighten your note cards with a slight tap tap against the table. You regretfully give them the same rehearsed speech you give to every band that enters your booth. “Super excited to have you on the show, but we don’t have long. I’m sure you’re used to radio spots by now, so I won’t give you the whole spiel, but just remember we’re on live.” A pointed brow raised at Eddie specifically brings a roar of laughter from his bandmates. 

As the clock starts ticking down the last fifteen seconds, Eddie leans into the still muted microphone and raises an eyebrow of his own, smirking. “So keep the fuck’s to a minimum, then?” 

You only nod as you fade out the song playing, and fade into a snippet of Gareth’s impressive drum solo from their latest album. The man practically beams at the notion, used to most of the spotlight shining on Eddie’s impressive guitar playing and vocals and clearly more than excited to have a little bit of recognition. You return his grin and throw him a devil horn gesture, tongue poking between your teeth before you fade out to dead air once again. 

“Aaand WKZT The Crash coming back at you, Fort Wayne’s only source for all your hard rock and heavy metal needs. I’m here with Corroded Coffin, one of America’s biggest success stories in recent rock history. Their debut album, The World Upside Down, has been number one on the charts for an impressive 5 weeks running and has sold over 1.8 million copies - and counting. Joining me today are guitarist, Jeff Best-”

A peace sign that you listeners will never see. “Hey guys, how’s it goin’?” 

“Gareth Emerson on the drums-” 

A small wave. “Hi, what’s up?”

“A name I’m sure is on his birth certificate, bassist, The Freak-” 

Devil horns of his own. “Sup?”

“And last but definitely not least, lead guitar and vocals, Eddie Munson.” 

He leans into their microphone, voice dropping so that it’s barely audible in the room, but crystal clear in your headphones. He purrs, “pleasure.” 

You roll your eyes yet again, but lean back into the back of your chair with a bitten back grin, dragging the arm of your mic stand closer to you. “Let’s just start with a big congratulations, guys, really, did you ever think you would be sitting at almost two mil on your debut? You’re projected to get there in just another week’s time.” 

“You know honestly we’ve just been doing our own thing,” Gareth says earnestly. “I don’t think any of us ever expected it would get this wild, well, maybe Munson.” 

The laugh that you snort out is unbecoming, but you can’t stop it.

Eddie continues, “I always had faith in us. Even if these fu-” a stern glare from you cuts him off, as if you knew his foul mouth was coming. “...fungi didn’t. You know Jeff here still referred to us as a garage band not even a year ago?” He thrusts a thumb over his shoulder to point at the other guitarist, who holds his palms out in self defense. 

“We were literally in Gareth’s garage when I said that.” 

This time you do manage to stifle your laughter at their banter, and move forward. “That’s actually an excellent segue. Rumor has it you lot have been playing in garages together since middle school. To what would you owe the success of staying together all these years? And with all your original members?”

It's touching, the way they all share a glance, debating who should speak up, before Eddie eventually does. His nose wrinkles as he speaks, a hint of a laugh at his own sentiment. “C’mon, doll, haven’t you ever heard of the power of friendship?” 

Jeff claps a hand on Eddie’s chest to keep him at bay, “what this clown means is that we started as just a couple of friends, a group of outcasts who had two things in common – our taste in music, and this goofy little fantasy game that we played every Friday-” 

It’s your turn to cut him off, “Dungeons and Dragons, right?” 

This new smile that broadens across Eddie’s features has an air of familiarity, a bitten lip and a hint of pink to his cheeks. Warmth blooms in your chest at the look he gives you when he says, “the very same.” 

“Yeah, I caught the influence in some of your song titles. Specifically Flesh to Stone. We’re on a short schedule, so I’ll spare our listeners the details. I’m sure they don’t need to hear about your fantasy characters, though I might know a certain half-elf bard that’ll want to know after the show.” You point awkwardly to your own face, pulling a ‘get a load of this nerd’ expression. 

A dart of Eddie’s tongue as it wets his lip, the soft bite into the flesh there as he seems, for the first time quite possibly ever, at a loss for words. 

You avert your gaze back to your notecards, moving on, clearing your suddenly dry throat. 

“Upside Down has quite a few heavy numbers on it. Some critics have been debating whether it’s a concept album or not. With cohesive themes throughout, I can see the argument for it, but there seems to be two separate stories within this album. Can you speak on that at all? Is Upside Down an ode to a dungeon master with incredible storytelling skills, or is there something more hiding beneath the surface?” 

The silence that follows isn’t tense, but it’s far from comfortable, too. Everyone but Eddie looks to the floor, up at the posters behind you, anywhere but at their lead singer and songwriter. His own gaze is unfocused, facing you but looking straight through you. You almost want to strike the question just for your own comfort’s sake (and his), but it’s already been asked. 

The Freak pats a leather-clad shoulder gently and mumbles, “that’s all you buddy.” 

In an instant, his demeanor changes again. With a clearing of his throat, he sits further back up in his stool and squares his shoulders.  

“Little bit of both.” He still starts out slow, but as he speaks seems to come out of his shell once more. Curls flicked from his face, knuckles cracked, he leans forward with elbows to knees. “See, I dunno how much research you’ve done on me, but back when I was 20 I got into some shit-” 

“The murder charges,” you interject. 

He nods, his pointer fingers forming a peak in front of his taut lips. “The murder charges, yeah. The dropped murder charges, I should clarify. Uh, what my friends and I went through that March was…unspeakable. I still haven’t really found the words to talk about it in earnest, which is saying a lot because before the spring of ‘86 I could find the words for anything. Too many words, if you ask these guys.” Another gesture to the band surrounding him, they all have a nod or an eye roll to add to the conversation. “So when I didn’t know how to deal with all of the thoughts and memories and pain from that spring, I took to writing. I wanted to tell the story of what happened but on my own terms, in my own way. So I came up with the hero character mentioned in Hero’s Journey. Technically the whole album is his story, dramatized, but there’s plenty of flickers of truth in it too. Um–” he clears his throat again, fidgets, taps his foot against the rungs of the stool, “Wake Up is one of the tracks I’m sure you’re asking about.” You nod. “If you listen to the lyrics outright, it’s the pivotal moment in our hero’s story, the moment that sends him on this wicked journey of monsters and alternate dimensions, sword fights an-and,” his voice cracks, “a life taken way too soon. And it is about that, on the surface, but if you read them, really read the lyrics, you’ll see an ode to the girl I let down…a grievance with myself for not knowing how to save her…a big ol’ middle finger to the universe for putting her in harm’s way in the universe. It’s the most real track on the album, and I’m just happy to finally share it with the world.” His eyes, while pained, crinkle when he smiles your way, assessing the energy in the room and deciding to not continue in the same direction. “Oh, and I’m sure the other heavy song you’re asking about would be Chest Hair.” 

You laugh to the point of snorting again, and shake your head. “I can’t say I’m familiar with that one.” 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughs into his lap, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “We cut that one at the last minute. It was a fun little number about how hot our main man Stevie looks without a shirt,” turning in his seat he points out the window at their manager, shouting, “AIN’T THAT RIGHT, BIG BOY?” 

You join the rest of the band in shaking your head this time, laughing when through the glass, Steve flips Eddie off and Dustin rubs at his eyes in annoyance. You can see him mouth to himself, ‘almost made it the whole interview.’

“Listeners let it be known that Eddie Munson has just turned his manager, Steve Harrington, beet red with his affection,” you take a second to compose yourself and then queue up the next song, slowly letting the intro fade in as you close out the interview. “Okay folks, that’s all we have time for with Corroded Coffin today, make sure to check out their debut album, The World Upside Down for yourself, and catch them tomorrow in Indianapolis at the Slippery Noodle Inn, tickets available at the door. Say goodbye, fellas!” 

The four of them all chorus a goodbye, waving once again despite not being on camera. “I’m out for the night, too, but before I go, I’ll leave you with the title track from the album, Upside Down.”

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson/you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert #female!reader #radio dj!reader/rockstar!eddie au

[oleander-nin]

Idk if I already asked you this but could you do headcannons for how Mikey,Leo,Raph,and Donnie would react to begin told by draxum that they belonged to y/n before he stole and mutated them

(you could do separate or together Idc)

A/N, not important: Sorry it took so long, I've been busy and I'm currently quite sick. Also, just didn't really know how to go about this. Reader is at least 5 years older than the TMNT, or else it wouldn't make sense. So no romance in this one(don't know how I'd stick it in anyway.) I also kinda just, didn't know how to do this one? It was a special ask, I'll give you that anon. Sorry it's such sucky, I struggled. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

Tw: mentions of the turtles being pets, feelings of unease, emotions, idk what else

Words: 723

Summary: The ROTTMNT turtles find out they once belonged to you.

All:

Completely flabbergasted.

Not expecting this at all.

Confused.

Upset.

All the emotions.

You had told them about the four turtles you lost 13 years ago.

That’s why they all bonded with you, you all thought it was funny they were all the same species.

They saw you as another parental figure at this point. Or at least as an older sibling.

They also all felt very weird about this.

You technically owned them.

That didn’t really sit right with any of them.

Very much unhappy and confused turtles.

Mikey:

Very much upset

He really liked you, and he knew how sad you were when your turtles were stolen because you confided in him about it.

Knowing he was one of those turtles made him feel icky.

Wished Draxum never told him this.

In the back of his mind, he knows it’s not that deep

That everything’s still the same.

But he can’t help but feel sad about it.

Ends up buying you a new turtle to ‘replace’ him and his brothers.(After asking if he could of course. He doesn’t want to just bombard you with a new pet you don’t want or can’t take care of.)

Probably is the one to tell you the news as well, probably when giving you the turtle.

Feels weirded out by the situation, but is glad you’re understanding.

Drifts away from you a bit, not really knowing how to go about being near you for a while.

Donnie:

Despite the initial panic and unease he feels, Donnie’s mostly chill about it.

He knew he came from somewhere before all this, but he just wasn’t expecting to know he was stolen from you.

Never really brings it up to you.

In his mind, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s no longer a pet, and he is his own person.

Everyone comes from somewhere, he just happens to come from the pet shop down the road you visit frequently.

Oh well, at least he now knows.

Tries to ignore it to the best of his ability, not wanting to acknowledge it much more than he has.

He ends up being a bit more distant for a while, mainly accidentally.

He just doesn’t know how to talk to you for a while knowing what he does.

Gets back to normal a bit more once he learns Mikey spilled the beans.

He just ignores that it happened and brushes it out of his mind to the best of his ability.

He has more important things to worry about, where he came from doesn’t matter.

Raph:

He thinks it’s weird, but is more on the chill side.

He has no idea how to feel about it, so he just…. Doesn’t.

He, like Donnie, ignores it.

Doesn’t bring it up, refuses to comment on it when asked, and changes the subject when prompted.

He doesn't distance himself from you at all unlike Donnie and Mikey.

He still enjoys hanging with you, and wouldn’t lose that for anything.

Especially not over something so stupid.

Probably forgets after a couple weeks honestly.

It just doesn’t matter to him at all.

He’s still the same Raph and he knew he was once a normal turtle, so why would it matter where he came from?

Is admittedly a bit disappointed he wasn’t some cool wild turtle before, but he gets over it quickly.

This is how he ended up, and this is how he’ll stay. 

Leo:

Straight up doesn’t believe Draxum.

One, why would he remember who they were stolen from?

Two, why would Draxum steal from a person instead of a breeder, or a pet shop?

It just didn’t make sense to Leo.

Either way, he didn’t care too much.

Even if they did belong to you at some point, and that was a big if in his mind, he thought it was hilarious.

If he gets to you before Mikey, he’s telling you through laughs and jokes.

Can not and will not take it seriously.

Finds it even more hilarious if it’s somehow proven to be true.

Constantly brings it up when you’re near.

Jokingly asks you to re-adopt them if he and his brothers ever get turned back into normal turtles.

All in all, after the initial shock wore off, he genuinely doesn't care and sees it more as a joke than anything.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rise leo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fanfic #tmnt 2018 #raph rottmnt #rottmnt michelangelo #rottmnt mikey #mikey #rise raph #raph tmnt #raphael #rise donnie #donatello hamato #tmnt leo #leonardo #tmnt hc #tmnt headcanons

[jehanne-gaudet]

Authentic Louisiana Gumbo

Cooking time: 90 minutes

Growing up in South Louisiana I always heard about my family's older generations living in New Orleans. My mom moved to Baton Rouge in her 20s, but we're New Orleanian through and through– we have our roots traced back to Acadia, Gaudet is our family name. In highschool my mom taught me how she and her mom and her nana made their gumbo, but a few conversations will tell you that there's more "right ways" to make Gumbo than there are creole people. Here's my right way.

GATHER YOUR INGREDIENTS: I always heard that your mom was my mom's midwife when I was born, but we didn't know each other really until highschool because you lived in Lafayette. I changed my name to Johanna Gaudet during my transition, which I guess you learned through Facebook. You also chose your name when you transitioned: Marcus. Marcus Gaston. (Not like the Disney villain, it's pronounced like "GA-stun", not "ga-STAWN".) When you transitioned at 17 your parents kicked you out of their house. I transitioned while I was away for college but I guess that was around the same time, me being older.

PREP THE INGREDIENTS: In February I got a call from you. You were crying in the parking lot of the Rouse's because you'd bought some random things hoping to make gumbo based on the Emeril Legasse cookbook, but the more you grabbed the more you realized it wasn't right. You couldn't even articulate what was wrong, because your mom never taught you her gumbo recipe before she kicked you out and stopped talking to you. You tell me you feel like your whole childhood was taken from you. You tell me you hate this fucking state and can't wait to move out to Seattle. All words I've said or thought before. My dad is from Texas, he used to forbid my mom from cooking Creole food or even taking us to New Orleans where she grew up. He wanted us to grow up as his perfect white American status symbol children, and our actual heritage would have made us dirty. Joke's on him, he never expected gay and transgender kids. My mom taught me how to make gumbo after the divorce, and after I stopped talking to him. And talking about my mom's recipe some, we decide I'll come over to teach it to you. It's not your childhood or your family, but at least it's a childhood to make up for what was taken from you, the way it made up for what was taken from me.

GETTING STARTED: At your apartment, I do tell you that you won't need the shrimp. It's a chicken and sausage gumbo my mom taught me. There's other kinds, black Creoles brought over Okra gumbo, native Creoles adapted it to Filé gumbo, and my people (the formerly-French Acadian Creoles) adapted it to be made with a roux. Seafood gumbo usually is done with okra, at least in my family. I don't know where we got that recipe from– Creole people have been all mixed together so long– but pairing seafood with okra is how we do it.

PROCESSING THE CHICKEN: You'll want to start with taking out your WHOLE CHICKEN. Not leg quarters or breasts, a WHOLE chicken, WITH giblets. Just from memory, this is how to process it. You'll start by pulling the wings up and cutting along the white line of fat, and then between the bones. Next you'll pop the legs out of their hip sockets by bending the thighs opposite from how they're supposed to sit, and cutting along the fat line between the thigh bone and the hip socket there too. Next is the part I never totally remember, I think you pull the torso as open as it goes and try to cut along the fat lines on the side of the torso, starting opposite the ribs and going forward? But at some point you'll hit ribs, and I always just try to go around them. Maybe there's an easier way, I don't remember. Anyway at some point you'll get to the clavicles at the front of the chicken, and you just have to break those. My mom taught me to do it by setting the knife blade on one and just hitting the back of it with your hand until it breaks. Finally, try to cut the breast meat out of the breast bone. This is a huge pain to do, tbh. I think there's a way to split the chest bone in half and leave some bone and cartilage on there, but I just try to cut out the meat as close to the bone as I can. It's imperfect, whatever.

BROTH: Go ahead and put the breasts and leg quarters aside, but set the rest of it (mostly just wings and bones) in a big pot with the giblets. Cover it all with water and set it to boil on a low heat. By the time you need broth, this will have turned into broth. You can also supplement with even more broth from the store, if that's your inclination. I do it sometimes for no particular reason.

THE HOLY TRINITY: Anyway then we gotta cut the vegetables. Onions, green bell pepper, and celery. This is called the Holy Trinity. Actually, there's a 4th one, and it's garlic? My mom used to say that the Holy Trinity is those 3 vegetables, but the Whole God is Garlic. To me that reads hilariously like the Heresy of Partialism, but it's fine, she converted out of Catholicism as a teenager. She only pretends to be Catholic now. Anyway how much of each of the Trinity veggies? Idk, I always kind of eyeball it. I'd say like equal-ish parts of all 3, but it should be 2 or 3 cups all together? Maybe more onion than the other 2? And you definitely want a lot of veggies, because they can disappear in a gumbo. But again, just eyeball it. This part also takes the longest, it's so annoying. My mom would make me do this part when I was young so that she didn't have to, and I sometimes make my wife do it. But also you can get store-bought trinity that's already cut. As a rule I don't like store-bought stuff when I can do it myself, but I still do it sometimes.

SEASONING THE CHICKEN: Okay assuming that's done, time to season your chicken. The ones you set aside, the breasts and leg quarters. Try to get the seasoning under AND over the skin if you can. Idk if that makes a difference, but I always heard it does. I keep the seasoning here simple. Salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, and cayenne. Eyeball the quantities, but know a lot of this gets cooked off into the roux, so too much won't hurt you at this stage. You'll want to get a big gumbo pot and cook the outside of the seasoned chicken. Oh, you used your only big pot for the broth. No worries I brought mine. I'll get it from my car. It's one of those dark blue pots with the white speckles on it. Dirt cheap, thin metal, but it's big and does the job. Anyway, put some olive oil in there and cook the outsides of the chicken on a high heat. Doesn't need to be cooked all the way through yet, you can take it out after a minute or so.

THE ROUX: Now we get to the actual hard part. Roux is easy to burn, and my family does it dark. Advice online often says not to do it too dark to make sure it can thicken the gumbo more, and that makes sense, I've heard that before. But my family does it dark. Like Dark Chocolate dark. I also do a LOT of roux. Roux tastes good in the final gumbo, so don't skimp. I empty your bottle of olive oil into the pot, and I bring out my bottle from home too to add some more. I brought it because I knew I'd feel bad using all of yours. You want probably like 1/2 an inch of standing olive oil at the bottom of the pot, at med-high heat. Then the flour, we want enough of that to make the roux thick. It's gonna seem too thick at first, but don't worry, it thins out. And you're gonna sit yourself over that pot in the high heat with your bamboo spatula and scrape the bottom of that pot as it gradually gets darker. Keep going until you can barely tell through the steam that it's not totally black, but you're getting afraid you've burned it. I want to be clear though, you are scraping every inch of the bottom of that pot. If you ignore one part too long you'll notice that the flour settles real low in the oil and starts to burn. So you scrape every part off, and you scrape fast. Early on you can scrape slow, but as it gets dark you gotta speed up. Probably wear a mitt too, because the oil is gonna splash and that hurts. As it gets darker I get a little nervous and drop the heat to med.

ADD THE HOLY TRINITY: While you're doing that I'm getting all the Holy Trinity we chopped together in a big bowl. Once it hits dark chocolate brown, I tell you to scooch over in a panicked voice, and then I dump in the holy trinity. Then I ask you to keep mixing it up while I get a glass of water to dump in there to cool it down so the roux doesn't burn in the residual heat. I don't get the glass glass, I get a Mardi Gras glass, obvi. I also lower the heat to med-low. At this step you notice the roux has lightened a lot. It's milk chocolate brown, now that the Trinity is in there. I add another glass or two of water as it cooks down, just to make sure the texture stays like a paste that clings to the vegetables. I tell you to keep mixing it while the Trinity vegetables cook and the onions turn clear. I add a whole mess of minced garlic too.

PUT IT ALL TOGETHER: Anyway now we add that broth. You're really supposed to skim off the foam at the top of it, but I don't always. But you should. I do it in front of you, to set a good example. And then we pour the broth over the trinity and roux trying to keep the chicken scraps from falling into the gumbo. We mix it until the roux disappears into the broth. I realize we forgot to cut up the Andouille. I tell you how annoying it was to try to find Andouille while I was in Alabama for college. There was one brand, Savannah, which was pretty good though if I could find it. People were so weird about Creole stuff in Alabama. I never fully "got" cultural appropriation until I heard rural Alabamians at a crawfish boil talk about my home all while exclusively calling me anti-Creole slurs. We use Kiolbassa's Andouille though, which has a special nostalgia for both of us. I used to wake up at 2am and cook an Andouille sausage to eat as a snack or on bread. It's like the ultimate comfort food. We cut them up into discs and toss them in the gumbo. I've heard that the sausage can soak up some of the extra olive oil from the roux, but I don't really know. Maybe you have to do something special for that to work. We toss the chicken pieces in too. They'll need to cook in the gumbo to soak up the flavor, but also to cook the insides of the chicken. Remember we just cooked the outsides.

SEASON TO TASTE: We also toss in some seasoning. A couple bay leaves, salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, cayenne. You add paprika because you're suspicious of ONLY cayenne. Like won't that just have a front of mouth burn? Some paprika would help to push it backwards. Balance it more, you think. It's sound logic, I might have to do that from now on. Then we leave it to cook for a while. It already smells awesome…

RICE: Wait, shit, we forgot the rice!! Okay, we make the rice. You know the trick right? Like about measuring rice? You can measure the correct amount of water by sticking your knuckle into the water down to the top of the rice. The water should cover the entire thickness of the middle section of your finger. Which is all good and well but you have a fancy Japanese rice cooker so you just use the measuring cup that came with it. I tell you my family used to have a rice pot. Like a normal sauce pan, but we used it specifically for making rice and we sometimes left it on the stove (with a lid on it) in case we needed to reheat the rice for something. I have since heard that this was very unsanitary, but it was tradition in my family, and I just think it was cool. Anyway, we start the rice. The wait is fine honestly, this will force us to let the gumbo stew for a bit. One time, during the 3 week power outage after Gustav, my sibling learned how to make rice on a propane stove. They were so good at it, never burned a single pot. Crazy, right?

LET IT STEW: We start talking about this childhood thing. The heritage thing. You should check out Butterfly Soup, it's this queer visual novel by Brianna Lei. Or, specifically the sequel. It's about being Asian American, and like I would never want to try to claim that experience (esp as a white Creole) but there's a lot in there I think you'd like. It's like, y'know our heritage, our culture... it's not just something we're just given and have to accept. How much did we lose when we transitioned, and our families cut us off? It feels sometimes like if we want to be queer the "right way" then we have to move to the PNW, or San Francisco, or New York and work in tech and act like those terminally-online people on Discord. And if we want to be Creole then we have to be cis and straight and conservative, like your Nana who posts Q-Anon shit on Facebook. But the thing is, we don't JUST inherit our heritage. We are active participants in it. We create our culture as much as we experience it. It doesn't need to be transphobic, y'know. It doesn't need to be racist. We don't need to let ourselves become southern Americans and we don't need to accept creoleness as it was. Ain't WE Creole? It's like the gumbo, y'know, like we got our recipe from our families, but it's OUR recipe now. Our parents passed it to us, but it's our culture and our recipe to pass on. We can decide what it means to be "authentic" gumbo. And we can decide what it means to be "authentically" Creole. And that can mean trans, or gay, or whatever. And you can put the tomatoes from your garden in your gumbo if you fucking want to, it's your gumbo. It's our culture, and that's who we are, isn't it? The culture is us. The rice maker starts singing its beeping rendition of twinkle twinkle little star.

ENJOY: God this gumbo really is so fucking good. My mom really knew what she was talking about, like, sometimes.

#writing #short story #transgender #creole #lesbian #new orleans #gumbo #recipe #authenticity #this is not really a recipe but you can actually learn how to make gumbo from it