#ALL the terrible cliches
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Imagine.
You've been friends with Rise Leo for so long, that you can't seem to remember a time when he wasn't there teasing you with his signature smirk.
It was always jokes with him. Puns. One liners. Horrible cringe pick-up lines. You name it, he'd say it.
Word play was the game and boy did he know how to play. The dumber they were, the harder you laughed.
You always seemed to be laughing around him. It felt…nice. Just to be silly, let the weight of your world roll off your shoulders just for one moment.
You guessed why that's why it was so easy for you to fall into a habit of teasing him back. Y'all both just needed a reason to laugh.
But…you weren't laughing now.
There, he stood in front of you, with that signature smirk on his lips, telling you that he had feelings for you.
That he ALWAYS had feelings for you; he just never had the words for it until now.
You tilted your head at that, your brow narrowing in confusion as you began to rub a hand nervously over your arm.
So you did what you always did. What he would always do when it came to uncomfortable feelings.
You brushed it off with a laugh, missing the way Leo’s hands flexed at the sound.
You looked up at Leo with a shaky smirk, mirroring his own face, your eyebrow quirked teasingly.
“This is a joke right? I'm missing the punchline here. You've never cared about serious feelings like this before, so why start now?”
Leo’s eyes widened slightly, his stomach sinking as he watched you shake your head with that disbelieving and exasperated smile that he had come to love so much.
His hands slowly curled into white-knuckled fists as he watched you literally laugh away his confession.
You thought… you thought this was a joke. That he wouldn't take these real feelings seriously.
Leo’s gaze narrowed as his attention sharpened into focus on you.
Very well then.
Leo would show you just how serious he could be.
Imagine.
All of those jokes, all of that teasing, that ADHD intellect, that strategy, that charisma and charm directed solely on you.
Imagine.
Every comment, every look, interaction and touch becoming calculated, purpose driven and direct.
Focused. On. You.
Imagine.
Leo wanting to show you what serious intention looks like.
Because it was NEVER a joke when it concerned you.
~Ninja
#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA#OH I'M IMAGINING#TH. THANK YOU FOR THIS#ohhhhhhh and you know it all comes to a boiling point where you get into an argument with him#which is so so terrible because you two NEVER fight#and because i love cliches it HAS to escalate to him losing that smirk and that self-assured mask and him yelling “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!#BECAUSE FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE I'M BEING HONEST AND THE TRUTH IS THAT I FUCKING LOVE YOU OKAY?“#ohhh he'd fucking BREAK he'd start to cry and look at you like you hold his life in your hands (because you do. you always have)#and it's only THEN that you realize#all this was... all this was actually real#what he's been saying and doing it's all been REAL this ENTIRE TIME and you've been brushing it off. you've been LAUGHING.#“Leo I'm. I'm so sorry I didn't- I thought you-”#“well?” “well what?” “...do you love /me?/”#asks
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sooooo sending this out to the void bc i’ve been thinking abt shit a lot recently and am generally very confused but for agender ppl, is is just like opting out of gender as a whole? like not applicable? cause like what even is gender? like what would it even mean to be a man or a women or non-binary or genderqueer or one of the many other genders?? like how do you know? what does it mean??? and if you don’t understand what that even is how can you be that gender??? pls explain?? i am confused?? or if anyone would want to explain what gender is and how you know what you’re a is that’d be great
#sending this to the void that is tumblr cause i’m lowkey confused as fuck#i questioned my gender for a bit there then i got busy and moved on#but now the questions are back and i’m confused#what is gender#how do i know what mine is#or if i have it#asking that terrible cliche question of how did you know specifically for the agender ppl out there if they’re willing 🙏🙏🙏#agender#gender identity#gender questioning#gender#if anyone would like to share their experience or story or understanding it’d be much appreciated#anyways thats all#happy pride month!!!
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Survived another day of severe SI 💪 #unkillable
#cliche to say but g-d will have to try harder than this to kill me#I feel more sensible again now#the problem is I lose the ability to think rationally when it happens; it’s like a dark cloud overtaking me#I should’ve probably gone to the hospital but then again that’d probably make me feel worse#good to be out of it either way! I’m glad I’m fine#nothing is better and everything is still terrible and stressful but I’m not gonna kill myself about it#everything will sort itself out and even if I flunk out it’ll be fine eventually#all day I was thinking what was even the point of surviving all the times I’ve wanted to kill myself since the age of 14#if all it got me was PTSD three times over and every time I think I’m through it something else traumatising happens#but we’ll see. I’m pleased to be alive right now and I’m sure I’ll be displeased and then pleased again in the future#this post doesn’t really have a message it’s just me marvelling at how I never seem to actually kill myself#like some kind of cockroach.#anne speaks#suicide tw#thanks frank iero for the phrase of all time
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in love like the galaxy, we got three dorky love interests (gotta have all the flavors: puppy, snob, and ruthless general), a plucky female lead who pulls pranks such as dunking a bunch of aristocratic ladies into a pond, war crimes, violence, trauma, bitchy ladies, a few really nice ladies to make up for the bitchy ones, family politics and bullying, a Cinderella plot line, and hella mommy issues. what more could you want
#my favorite cdrama is still romance of tiger and rose but if the ending of this one isn’t terrible it’ll be up there on my list too#other opinions (not at all unpopular): the mom is the woooooorst#every scene with the general that’s a romance cliche has me screaming#when the female lead pulled an arrow out of his chest!! icon!!#I’ve been feeling sick - weird tooth ache - and this kind of drama is exactly what I wanted#love like the galaxy#cdrama
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ok not to be a hater but i tried the vox machina animated show and gang. It's mediocre.
#putting my haterly sentiments in the tags to be less obtrusive lets go#number 1 the soundtrack is so lackluster which imo is pretty much a death knell for really anything but especially fantasy#not even the OPENING THEME has energy#like come ON this is dnd you know the game where hearing some good music literally makes you better at things#youd think thatd be a priority#number two the animation style... the characters are just flat and i mean that literally they dont look like they have physical dimension#theres little variation in camera angles which makes it even worse#also pretty much any style when having a visible nose from the front is the exception rather than the rule is a minus for me#also all the buildings look the same. especially the interiors. there was an entire bottle episode in the keep and i dont think i could#make a blueprint of it for my life#the mixing in of 3d animation looked TERRIBLE for the dragon also. the dragon design in general was also not great... please sir patagium#i dont really want to go into the plot/characters because ive only seen a few episodes of the original version#but i hope desperately that the show condensed and simplified everything DRASTICALLY#because the emotional moments were straight up not hitting and i would hate to think anyone sat through 300+ hours? of nothing but cliche#i know ive heard the tropiness is part of vm's charm but the show just beat it into the ground#personal tag
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The reason I love Wuthering Heights is because I hate everything about it
#love to hate#wuthering heights#emily bronte#all these terrible people#and overwrought cliches#it's AMAZING#like my love for this book is completely unironic#but much like that of the characters in said book mine is not a healthy love
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the absolute devastation and pain I felt reading all 80k+ words of a really really well written fic, only in the last stretch at the end do i encounter a fucking scene where others in the friend group find out the main pair got together and they all start exchanging money, my dreaded trope of all time. LIIIIIIIKE why does EVERYONE fucking write this!!!!? It's the worst trope ughhh I'll fucking kill you
#speechless genuinely speechless#i hate it so so so much#the bane of liking media w ensamble casts means all the inevitable cliche and terrible tropes. meddling and relationship bets. sigh.#not st this time
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How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?
(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")
You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.
(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)
Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”
And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.
Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.
So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.
Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)
It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.
So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.
First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?
If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)
How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?
What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")
If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?
When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?
If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?
Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?
And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?
Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.
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coming in hot but i don’t give a shit about whether characters in epic or whatever were good people. like honestly i also think it’s kind of a dead end to argue about the morality of real people from the ancient world but i especially do not care about like odysseus or achilles or whoever being “bad”. what an absolute waste of time.
#it's moral relativism i suppose but what's the point really. even for the ones that were real#like by ~modern standrards (what are those) they all did like 17 heinous things before breakfast#but surely at some point you have to realise repeatedly pointing this out is getting you nowhere#it just becomes a kind of thought-terminating cliche you know?#like okay. they were doing terrible things. so why does this text think those things are good#i am eliding mythological characters into real people who did real world harms here i know (v ancient historian coded of me)#and there is a difference obviously between people who were not real#and people who were and did real harm in the world but still
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I finished angel last mission and I was thoroughly disappointed
#me myself and i#miss hye sun was great but god after four episodes of her crying and crying and crying i was done#and she cries very well ehich is great but the pacing in the last four eps.... couldve been two episodes max#the ballet aspect of the show was rly terribly done like tbh what was the point of setting it up like that whej it was so sparingly used#more teerible is that they picked litcherally the wrong theater to be staging a fucking ballet of all things in#that place is a concert hall 😭😭😭 it doesnt even have wings!! joo hyun held her fly higher concert there!!#i have issues with the christianity aspect of it too but thats for another time#idk why but the show gave me this feeling of webtoon writer which isnt to say there arent good webtoons but so many webtoons have this#problem of putting scenes they want to see together and cliches and tropes without a clear and concise directive for it#it felt tired and cyclical
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i have no idea what my fellow terminally online people have against reddit. it's literally one of the most Normal social medias
reddit is split into a billion different communities that are all different from each other anyway lol. so basically ur mileage may vary
and reddit so useful too! like you little just google anything these days and you get 100 clickbait SEO articles that go nowhere, but you put "reddit" after that question and BOOM. somebody already answered that question on reddit!!!
#another cliche rant#also good beauty advice cuz all the articles and some yt vids are promos lol#tech help is terrible tho but tech people are nasty always on the internet anyway tho lol
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You didn't miss the hype for Reboot because it's CRIMINALLY under talked about. Easily one of the funniest new shows to come out recently. Thank you for posting about it!!! It literally has so much that this website loves but goes ignored, it's fanbase should be way bigger
EXACTLY THANK YOU it's so great. at face value it seems so light and silly but i was genuinely really amazed by how emotionally layered and warm and uncynical it is. and judy greer and keegan michael key and johnny knoxville have such good chemistry!!! i desperately need hulu to renew it and more people to watch it
#answered#anonymous#it's about my fave kinds of people (middle aged disasters)#theres at least three queer women and so much casual non cliched discussion of sexuality and queerness#a beautiful multi faceted father/daughter relationship#it's somehow both a love letter to and a satire of sitcoms#lots of characters with History of all different kinds which is always great#did i mention judy greer#OH ALSO ANOTHER THING#the generational differences in comedy are central to it yet it never approaches that in a tacky or overdone way#i just think the Older Writers tm could have all been terrible and gross and sleazy but instead theyre genuienly talented people#who are learning new ways to do comedy#and at the same time the younger gen are learning to see the value in the older writers' knowledge and idk i just love the writers rm scenes#i just feel like overall the show is so...... nonjudgemental?#everything and everyone and their stories and lives are written and treated w so much compassion and heart no matter how messy or silly
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The key problem with "proship vs anti" discourse is that the most extreme versions of each side, the ones who actually bother to identify with these labels, accepted each others worst takes as arguments they had to debate. "Fiction =/= reality" is, in practice, an absurdly reductionist, anti-intellectual, thought-terminating-cliche that dictates we can learn nothing about a person via art and that their fiction reflects no political or moral messaging worthy of critique. In response to this, the "puriteens" who are too young to possibly hope to articulate their discomfort, to untangle their position from what is often real trauma experienced online, simply argue "yes, fiction influences and reflects reality in a 1 to 1 capacity." They, and people who want to use the groundwork they laid to make bad-faith callouts, make bad arguments about how the action of engaging in problematic fiction is on equal ground to real life abuse, or is a clear indicator of interest in real life abuse. Both of these arguments are terrible, but each side seems to radicalize the other further and further into their own brands of anti-intellectual reactionary belief. "Proshippers" become libertarian absolutists about free speech and view all transgression as righteous and alternative and therefore leftist. They gain a reactionary nostalgia for the past, desiring a time when people didn't seem to care about the implications of art. "Antis" become authoritarian and hypervigilant for signs of moral decay, at their worst, willing to align themselves with government bodies that offer carceral solutions to the debate. They are willing to use harassment as a tool of punishment, which then leads to false accusations and a fear of openness that puts people at risk of being triggered via obfuscation. (That said, proshippers also take part in plenty of harassment.)
I will say that I believe both of these movements are equally sensitive to co-opting by right-wing forces. We see the authoritarian tendencies of anti culture in harassment campaigns and even the way Republican law makers co-opt "grooming." The proship/fic crowd has such extreme nostalgia for the past that I often see people align themselves with the cultures of 4chan or other happily right-wing websites. They so heavily reject the idea that a drawn sexual depiction of a child could reflect any desire that they are disinterested in analyzing what the motivation behind the depiction is. i.e If we track the history of lolicon in Japan we do find that is, yes, countercultural, but that counter culture is right wing, very misogynistic, and defensive of patriarchial Japanese culture as it is and was including its culture around rape and abuse. Plenty of fictional content works as radicalization material, and radicalization material needs to be ambiguous. There is a valid reason to be hesitant to trust people who consume this content, even if I do not believe most of them will ever be dangerous towards children. The mere presence of sexuality is not enough to make a movement left wing. This kind of thing can again be seen in right-wing libertarian movements in the US. (And even leftist movements can be bigoted and even "pro-pedophilia" or otherwise disinterested in social reform around abuse.)
Is all content with elements of age-play this way? No. But to me, that is why kink media deserves to be treated as art and analyzed, critiqued, treated seriously. It doesn't have to do anything to anyone to be worthy of a moral critique. Said moral critique just doesn't warrant harassment and cruelty and reactionary exaggerations of the person consuming said content.
Anyway, what's my point in saying all this? I don't know. I'm just begging you to tag your God damn content with specific tags instead of random and nebulous shit like "dead dove" or "dark content", and also begging you to stop harassing people who do tag their content so I don't have to guess what "dead dove" and "dark content" mean. No one will erase incest kink fics or people who feel sickened by the idea of them off this earth because we aren't god, but we could at least all be responsible about tagging, flagging, and age-gating our stuff.
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“It’s just a cut.” Part two!
summary: part two of “it’s just a cut.” requested by @h-ness1944
warnings: physical abuse by readers mother, heavy description of injuries including dislocated jaw, broken nose and stomach wounds, so much angst, hospitals, vomiting, this is very much slow paced and mostly internal dialogue. let me know if you want part three! sorry for the cliffhanger, but i promise part three will be worth it! if you all want it!
You would look back on it as an adult and realize that it was the most peaceful moment of your life. The only time where you truly felt calm and free from anxiety. It happened just like it did in the movies. At least it did for you. And when each day would pass, you barely remembered it as the time went on. The only thing you could for sure remember was the outline of Eddie, or rather his foggy image in the corner of your eye. If you pressed your brain hard enough, you could almost remember hearing him, but you never knew what it was that he was saying.
The only thing you could really compare it to was being in the bathtub, slipping yourself underneath the water so all you could hear was the quiet roar of your own thoughts. You weren’t sure if you saw a bright light like people usually said they did, or if your guardian angel was helping you decide whether or not to stay on Earth. It all seemed very cliche, your experience, but that’s how it happened.
You remembered how heavy your body felt when they rolled you into the hospital on the gurney, the sound of wheels turning and creaking against the floor. It was like all of your senses were heightened. You could feel every bump and dip in the floor, the ding of the nearby elevator. Everyone was yelling at each other, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Their figures were blurry, but Eddie was beside you. That much, you could make out, running with the gurney and being ignored by the emt’s and nurses. It was his curly black hair that gave him away, the white hellfire shirt that stuck out in your memory. You could remember how loud he was, and later on, you had realized he was crying, begging someone to tell him if you’d be okay.
You knew that something bad had happened, you just couldn’t remember what it was. You knew you were hurt. You couldn’t feel a thing, and you’d watched enough medical dramas to know that wasn’t a good thing. You had barely stirred, trying to move your arm that had lead you to squeal, your eyes fluttering open and closed. The feeling of something very warm was coming down your neck and with each step they all took, moved you faster and faster.
Then Eddie was gone. Everyone was gone and you were left alone in the dark.
•
Just when he thought he’d cried every tear in his body, more came. Every time he thought he was done throwing up, he’d rush to the bathroom. He was sitting outside the operating room. No patients were allowed to do so, but with how upset he was, the doctors couldn’t get him to move. Wayne had snuck back there eventually when he had arrived at the hospital.
The hallways were so dark, he had observed. Why weren’t there any damn lights on? He was sat on the floor, knees to his chest and back to the very uncomfortable wall. Tears fell down his face, cheeks swollen, red and stained with heart ache. He was visibly shaking, every nerve ending in his body completely fried.
You weren’t going to make it. He was sure of it. You were going to die and it was going to be his fault.
It had been three days since you had left his place. Neither of you had spoken since. He’d heard the sirens first, and he knew deep down that it was you and something was terribly wrong. Then he got the call from Hopper, confirming that very thought.
He didn’t know what happened. Nobody would tell him. He had demanded from everyone he laid eyes on, but not a word had come out. Not even the police officers had showed up, except for Hopper, who would periodically stop in to see if you’d made it through surgery. Not yet. 
Hopper wouldn’t tell him anything, either. Soon, he’d said. It’s messy, son.
Eddie’s brain had never been so loud. Every cell and nerve ending was working overtime, thought after thought was going through his wires, possible outcomes of the night. You would wake up and forgive him. Wake up and hate him. You wouldn’t make it thought.
There wasn’t anything he could feel more than guilt. He’d abandoned you like you were nothing. He had told you he would call to avoid you getting seriously injured, was too afraid of loosing you to go through with it, and now you were in the hospital.
Your jaw was dislocated, that was the first thing. Your nose was broken and your right arm. All of that could be fixed. It was, however, the multiple wounds in your stomach that was the problem. You had been pushed down the stairs, smacking your face on the bottom step, breaking your nose and messing up your jaw in the process, before falling through the window right in front of the stairwell. You hadn’t went complete through, your body halfway outside and halfway in, your stomach directly impacted by the broken, jagged shards of glass that was causing internal bleeding.
Your mom. He’d demanded to know where she was. I’ll kill her! I’ll fuckin’ kill her! He’d banged on Hopper’s chest, sobbing like a broken little boy before he’d nearly collapsed and fainted. Wayne had showed up right as it happened, picking him up off the floor and guiding him to a more secluded spot.
All of that lead to now. Eddie stared at the same spot on the wall for almost thirty minutes, after he had counted every crack in the wall. It had taken him almost two hours. That’s how long you had been in surgery.
The door creaked open to reveal Wayne, holding two paper cups of coffee. He sighed sadly to see his nephew in the same spot, face still heavy in guilt and heart ache. He placed the cup down beside him, settling down on the floor next to him.
Wayne felt just as guilty as Eddie. The old man looked to the doors, hoping to God that you’d pull through, not just for your own sake, your father’s or your friends, but for Eddie’s. The mer idea of him loosing you? He knew that would destroy him in a way that he could never recover from.
“Ed.” Wayne looked over to his boy, shoulders heavy from tears and legs now kicked out lazily, like they were no longer attacked to his body. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Wayne knew your mom was an alcoholic. He knew she said hurtful things to you. But he didn’t know that she physically hurt you. He had been shocked to get the call from Hopper, instructing him he needed to get to the hospital to get his nephew under control.
“She made me swear.” His voice was hoarse, dead quiet. He couldn’t decide if he was more angry or guilty. Angry at you for making him stay silent? Or guilty for staying silent the moment he was free to speak? “I..I didn’t want to loose her.” But you may loose her now. His eyes teared up, glossing over once again.
“She was afraid she’d get moved to another family. Somewhere far away.” He stared at the same spot, recalling the memories of you crying in his arms. “She wanted to stay with her mom.” The last word came out hateful, full of venom.
“You know you could have told me.” Wayne said gently, trying not to cause him anymore guilt. “I thought we had an understanding? You can tell me anything, Ed.”
“I know that.” He finally shut his eyes, squeezing his fist tightly. “I know, Wayne, but I couldn’t. I was too afraid of loosing her.” He scoffed humorlessly. “And the moment I decide I can’t do it anymore, I can’t keep it a secret, I can’t do that either. Now look at her. She’s gonna fuckin’ die on me and It’s gonna be my fault!” He flung a jeweled hand out, batting at the air as he sniffled, tears rolling down his face.
“Hey,” Wayne grabbed his shoulder. “She’s going to pull through this, Ed. Have faith in er’. She’ll make it.”
He fell apart. His face crinkled up and he covered his face with his hands, coiling over and letting out a deep sob that reverberated off the hospital walls. “This is all my fault.”
Wayne wrapped a protective arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “No it’s not, buddy. It’s no one’s fault.”
“I love her so much.” His voice was muffled, face hidden in the fabric of his jean covered knees that he brought up to his chest. “I’ve lost her, Wayne. No matter what happens I’ve lost her. She’ll never speak to me again.”
Your mom was in jail. For how long she’d be he didn’t know. What he did know was that it would be a very long time before she would be free again.
“Eddie,” The old man began. “I’ve watched you two together. You’ll make it through this. She loves you, boy. You’ll be okay and so will she.”
The ache in his stomach made him breathless, the pain in his heart made him dizzy. He closed his eyes and squeezed them shut, willing his pain to go away. He hoped Wayne was right. Because loosing you was just not an option.
“I can’t.” Eddie gasped, crawling off the floor. “I can’t. I’ve got- walk, I’ve gotta talk a walk.” He tripped on his own feet, spilling his cup off coffee and cursing. Wayne had tried to follow him, but he was bolting out the door and into a new hallway.
He was choking on his own breath, hand going to hold his stomach as he coughed. He’d surely be sick again. He tried to breath deeply, but the panic that built up in his chest made him lightheaded. Once his eyes on were on a nearby trashcan, he was running, grasping at the circling object and vomiting the contents of his stomach. He’d thrown up everything already, so he was left with painful dry heaves.
“God.” He cried once he was finished. He looked around, tearful eyed and broken.
He walked until he found the chapel, the cross above the sign that hung high. It was ironic, the fact he was praying. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed. He was in the front seat, hands folded over and pressed to his forehead. He begged any God that would listen to him, pleading that you would wake up. You could hate him, you could love him, either way, as long as you were okay, he’d take it.
Please. Please.
“Eddie.” Wayne had found him, placing a hand on his shoulder. It took him a moment before he looked up, and Wayne felt his heart shake. The boy was broken completely. He looked so young, so hurt. With wet, round eyes and a puffy face, his bottom lip quivered and he whimpered like he was a little boy again. He reached for his uncles arm, dropping it from the lack of energy and sobbed softly. Wayne sat beside him, pulling him to hold him close to his chest. They hadn’t hugged like that in years.
•
Your eyes were so heavy you could barely lift them, fluttering them open as best at you could. The first thing you registered was the pain in your nose, the way your jaw and teeth ached. Actually, everything hurt. You felt like you’d been hit by a train twice. You couldn’t remember anything, only the hurt you were feeling. You slowly peeled your eyes open, adjusting to the bright light of the room.
You knew it was Eddie, even thought you weren’t able to focus your eyes. You groaned, body sluggish and groggy. You felt his hands on yours, fuzzy and tingly, like you were feeling him for the first time. You could hear him, his voice sounded cloudy like he was under water. You gulped, trying to move your head. He was letting go of you, running out of the room, only to return with a doctor moments later.
Slowly, things came into focus. First it was your vision. Everything became clear, the room, the doctor. Eddie. Then you could hear the heart monitor beeping quickly, the doctors asking if you could hear them. Eddie asking if you could hear him.
Quick relief turned to panic, because everything seemed to click. Doctors were looking at you, and doctors usually meant that you were in a hospital. You whimpered, flinching when a nurse tried to touch you. You tried to speak, but your voice came was dry and hoarse, your sudden movement causing a horrible pain to shoot through your stomach.
Then it got dizzy again, your panic overwhelming you. They voices got foggier, your vision clouded, and you were out just as quickly as you had woken.
•
You’d been in and out for days. Eddie was with you every time you woke up, but it was the same every time. You didn’t know where you were. You were so groggy and confused. It scared him, but he didn’t leave you. The doctors said it was normal from the amount of anesthesia you had taken in, and that sometime it took awhile to get out of one’s system.
He was holding your hand, head laying on the blanket that covered you. He hadn’t been home since the doctor told him you would pull through. When he got the news, he fell to the floor in pieces, sobbing and thanking the universe, god, or whoever was out there, for answering his prayers.
He didn’t know what you’d say to him. Would you hate him? Blame him for what happened? What about your mom? Would you want to bail her out of jail. There was no bail. She’d be in there for a long time. Her court date hadn’t been decided yet. He wondered if you’d go and stand beside her. He hoped to god you wouldn’t.
His friends brought him clothes and food. Gareth had said hospital food wasn’t fit to feed a starving man, clapping his shoulder and giving him a plastic grocery bag full of snacks and drinks. Steve had brought him deodorant and a tooth brush, smoothing over a piece of your hair and kissing your forehead when he stopped by. Dustin had come by and cried, not knowing how to handle or process the situation.
The time finally came when you were ready to awaken fully, a few hours later when he had went to use the bathroom. You remembered everything. Falling down the stairs, breaking your nose. It was covered in gauze, a bandage holding it all in place. Your jaw ached something terrible. You had looked down at your body, hands feeling yourself to make sure you were still intact. It hurt to cry, but you couldn’t stop.
Your mom. Where was she?
“Y/n.” Eddie gasped when he opened the door, nearly dropping to the floor in a dead faint. He ran to you. “Oh, god, baby girl.” He grabbed your hands.
“What happened!” You cried. You knew, yet you asked anyways. “Eddie- what happened? Where’s my mom?”
He held your arms, a tear falling down his face as he relished in the sound of your voice. “Shh, just calm down, baby. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Mom, mom- where’s mom?” You blubbered, shaking your head through tears. “Is she dead?”
“No.” He held your shoulders, hand going to cup your cheek. “No, honey, she’s not. She’s detained, right now, okay? You need to calm down, angel. You’ll rip your stitches.”
“Stitches?” You asked confused, trying to sit up. “Why do I have stitches?”
You didn’t remember going through the window. You must have passed out. Your reunion with Eddie, however, was short lived. Once the doctors knew you were up, the police were barging in your room. Eddie stood up straight, standing at your side. You flinched, and Hopper offered an apologetic smile.
“We need to ask you some questions, y/n.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#stranger things#stranger things season four#joseph quinn#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson angst#eddie angst
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Hii, could you please do a Percy x daughter of Hecate headcannons pls?
⋆⭒˚.⋆ percy jackson x daughter of hecate! reader hcs
content: percy jackson x daughter of hecate! reader hcs
warning: language but like...one or two????
author's note: i tried v hard with this one. idk why it took me so long anon. tbh, i was scared bc i don't really know a lot about hecate so then i had to do some homework and even after that it still feels v cliche but whatever. i like parts of it and i hope YOU like parts of it too.
"wanna see a magic trick?"
was the first thing percy said to you, a wide cheeky smile on his lips as he desperately tried to hold his laugh in
you were a little stunned at his sudden appearance but then his terrible, terrible joke had you fighting off laughs of your own
"i think that's more my expertise, don't you?"
que the both of you cracking up
that's the beginning of the end fr
percy buys you a crystal every time he goes somewhere
every. single. time.
even if he's going somewhere crystals should not be, he will go thirty minutes out of his way to get you a crystal
then, when he proposes, on his knee and holding out the little box, propped open, he's like:
"out of all the crystals i've given you, i think this one's my favorite."
BRO WTF WTF WTF WHY AM I CRYING IM IN CONTROL HERE??????
moving on
(it's your favorite too)
MOVING
ON
you and hazel??? besties
she gives you crystals and gems and whatnot and you give her tarot card readings and sage for the hade's cabin
also, percy starts wearing those crystal bead bracelets, a purple one to remind him of his pretty witch wherever he goes
you wear a shell bracelet for a similar reason
if either of these broke, let's just hope nobody is within a three mile radius of them or those people will have a serious condition of death
also, sally jackson is you're #1 fan, even if she's a little confused.
once for christmas, she gifted you a stack of playing cards, which you took without question
she explained that percy mentioned something about you and cards and she figured it was a sweet gesture to get you some new ones
you didn't have the heart to break it to her, proudly taking the pack of playing cards
then you asked for a reading and you had to bullshit the whole thing, sweating the whole time
"Oh, ummm ace of spades. usually a sign of, uh, good ventures coming your way!"
"ooOO, very cool!"
percy had to hid in the bathroom he was laughing so hard
she also texts you all the time, blurry photos of rocks and gems, asking if these would be good for protection or love or whatever sally was after at the moment
the windowsill in the jackson apartment is filled with a variety of rocks, each with their own protection over the apartment
you came over one day, no percy, and just did it with sally, explaining every crystal and bundle of herbs as you went
sally always smiles when she sees it
percy does too.
also, percy def calls you a multitude of witch themed nicknames
bro fr comes up with a new one at least once a day
creative ass mfer
also, you shyly gave him a card reading, once and the amount of times you ran into the lover card left you a blushing mess
percy couldn't stop laughing every time you flushed a vibrant red, not evening needing you to tell him which card it was as he could tell from your face.
but, you always list off all the facts of the cards, musing on and on about percy's future love life or his future job
and he tunes you out, just staring bc he doesn't need to know
as long as he's with his magic girl, he doesn't really care what happens
#postcards from covey ౨ৎ#pjo#pjo fandom#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson#percy jackson x reader#percy pjo
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i was wondering if i might be able to put in a request, if possible? simon riley mafia/guard dog vibes? i can absolutely expand with more ideas on that too if you’d like but just overall those vibes are amazing and your mafia works are immaculate ♡ ♡ ♡
sorry this took forever work was killing me lmao. but vibes are perfect! gives me a bit more freedom in writing. hope you enjoy (and thanks for getting me to write more mafia!au stuff lmfao) (:
mafia!141 masterlist
cw: violence, simon beats the fuck outta someone, crude comments, slight in limbo spoilers/foreshadowing but only if you squint? terrible cliches but oh well
It wasn't your first time seeing the glint of a knife in dark light, but it was your first time having a blade brandished at you in a threat.
Really, this was all your fault. Innocent intentions of wanting to bring your boyfriend some takeout from work was what got you caught in that mess, and had you been better at following instructions you would have been inside. Instead, you botched the directions to the VIP section the bouncer up front had given you, leading you into a trap straight out of a horror movie.
You had hardly gotten the chance to round the corner before this man, some wanna-be mugger, slapped your to-go box out of your hand. Still warm and fresh steak, along with a ridiculous amount of chips, flopped out of the container and onto the ground just as you felt your back collide with the wall next to you. Brick wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to have shoved against your spine, but it certainly beat the wicked curve of the knife that was used to threaten you.
Everything in you urged you to run away, to scream, to fight, to do something, and yet all you could do was stand there like a deer in headlights. The only thing you could focus on was the man's eyes, and how he glared at you so sharply you were certain he could kill you with his gaze alone. He pointed the knife closer to you with his other hand outstretched, waiting for it to be filled.
"Are you fucking deaf?" the man snarled. "I told you to hand over your shit."
Those were the first words that fully registered in your brain, and you couldn't get your voice to cooperate. Your hands raised in an attempt to put some more distance between you and your assailant, yet that seemed to do nothing but only aggravate him further.
"Do you think I'm fucking around? I'll kill you and take it off your damn body if that's what you want," he urged further.
"I don't... I don't have anything."
Those were the first words you were able to stutter out, and you hated that it was the truth. There was nothing on you worth taking; no cash or card, not even any expensive jewelry. Worst of all, you didn't feel scared. A terrible numbness settled over you as your eyes stayed locked onto the blade that threatened to embed itself into your body, and all you could think about was that you hoped it didn't hurt when you died.
"You bitch, don't fucking lie to me. I don't have time to-"
That wretched man never got the chance to finish his words before a metal clinking cut him off, followed quickly by a crunch. The pure silence that followed was then interrupted by a piercing, guttural scream, and it was only then that your mind was able to make sense of the events that took place in front of you.
Simon, your big, beautiful bastard of a boyfriend, found you. How, you weren't quite sure, but you were thankful nonetheless. Most of what took place happened too fast for your brain to fully comprehend it, but you were able to figure out that the knife was no longer in the mans hands, and in fact, his hand no long seemed fit to hold anything at all. Several of his fingers twisted inhumanly, sitting at awkward angles that you knew no fingers could naturally position themselves. He gripped his wrist with his uninjured hand as if he could choke off the pain, but all he could do was sniffle and grovel.
"Watch your choice of words when you're talkin' to her, yeah?" Simon warned.
His huge frame slipped behind the man as he grabbed a hold of the back of his neck where he pushed him to the ground. His knees collided with the cement ground with a sound so sickening you could nearly feel the pain he felt. Even then, Simon didn't let the mugger off easy. His hand slipped into the mans short hair where he yanked his head back, forcing him to look up at you.
"Apologize," Simon demanded.
For a moment, the man couldn't get any words out. It was as if your positions had switched too violently for him to get his brain to work properly, but after a not-so-gentle nudge from Simon, his thoughts seemed to sort themselves. He sniffled as pained tears welled in his eyes, and you hated yourself for almost feeling bad for him.
"I'm sorry," the man sputtered out.
Despite the pain in his voice, it wasn't enough for Simon.
"Sorry for what?" he urged, grip in his hair only growing more forceful.
"Sorry for... for hurting you, I'm sorry," he winced.
"Yeah, I'm sure you are," Simon grumbled.
With a final shove, the man fell forward onto his good hand, nearly missing the now ruined steak and chips that was supposed to be Simon's dinner that night.
"C'mon, sweetheart," Simon urged, bringing your attention away from the crumpled mess of a man in front of you. "Let's clean up."
You didn't start crying until you realized Simon had been hurt. With clothes darker than night itself, his blood had blended all too well into his shirt, obscuring the cut he had gotten on his side. The only thing that had calmed you down was him bringing you into a private bathroom and letting you sit on the counter as he cleaned himself up. Seeing him hurt wasn't something you ever wanted to witness. Really, you never thought a man like Simon Riley could get hurt. Yet seeing the minor cut he had gotten compared to the major wound you would have endured was enough to quell your worries and halt your tears.
"How did you know where I was?" you asked.
Your legs didn't quite reach the floor as the counter was higher than most average bathrooms. You swung your feet as you watched Simon clean his cut with careful eyes. It wasn't deep, thank goodness, though it took him more gauze than imagined to stop the blood flow.
"One of the guys called up saying you were headed through the VIP entrance, and I came down to meet you. When I realized you weren't there, I knew somethin' was wrong. Besides, the cunt's demands weren't quiet," he explained.
Any other time, you would have been flustered being in such a situation with Simon. Behind closed doors in a bathroom of a club together would have already been nerve wracking enough, and the fact he had shredded his shirt was cause for you to be more abashed. But in that moment, you couldn't help but be eternally grateful he had been there, even if he had shattered a man's hand over it.
"I see why John has you hired as a bouncer," you admitted humorously. "I've never seen anyone... dispatch another person like that."
Simon's dark eyes flickered up to you as he finished bandaging his wound, and he moved to the sink to quickly clean his hands of the blood. Once he was clean, he moved in front of you where he stood between your legs, though not at all sexually. His hands came to rest against your side where he gave you a gentle and reassuring squeeze.
"I'd do anythin' for you," he said.
You wanted to explode into monologue. Wanted to tell him that he shouldn't be so willing to do things for you, even if he was capable of it. There were a million reasons why you didn't deserve him, why he shouldn't try and protect someone already damned, yet you couldn't get yourself to speak them.
Noting your silence, Simon pressed a caring kiss against your forehead before pulling away and snatching his ruined shirt off the counter.
"C'mon," Simon urged as he put the soiled clothing on.
Intrigued, you hopped off the counter. "Where are we going."
"To get dinner," he replied. "Bastard ruined my meal, and your night. Figured we could make somthin' back at my place."
The smallest of smiles graced your lips as Simon straightened himself out in the mirror, and when he looked at you again, he nearly smiled, too. You quickly wiped at your eyes as you silently prayed they weren't too swollen, and then with some sort of bravery you didn't know you had, you reached for the sleeve of his shirt with a quiet chuckle.
"I'd like that."
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