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beautifulhigh · 1 year

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Since we’re all up in the feels today (thank you @queen-saltyfries for this!) then lemme just go off about how TK utterly changes in the space of a handful of episodes, and that is no mean feat.

We meet this kid, seemingly loving life and living the dream. He has this impressive rescue of the winder cleaner from the Chrysler Building, he’s about to propose to Alex (he’s bought a ring! Boy is serious!), he’s got this cute lil’ smile and he’s adorable. He’s nervous but that’s normal, right? He’s taking after his father, making big swings, grand gestures. Go big or go home seems to be the Strand way.

And then he crashes. Big time. RIght in front of us. We get exposition in two scenes showing us that behind this façade we have an addict whose boyfriend is in love with someone else and he had his heart broken to the point of relapse.

It is established for us, right off the bat, that TK Strand is not a hesitant kind of man. He rolls right up to that ledge without a second thought, he’s clearly planned the proposal to make it really special, and when he relapses there’s no hesitation there either. (More on that later.)

But when he goes to Texas with Owen he takes the time to rebuild himself. He isn’t hesitant with Carlos (”I recall the fifteen minutes after we first met.”) and it’s all fun and games - until it’s not. And TK gently shows a piece of the real him in 1x03 when he tells Carlos about his addiction. The 126 don’t even know yet, his brothers and sister in arms, and yet he tells this cop he’s been hooking up with and he’s “not looking for this” with him. Up to that point TK has been going right up to that ledge Carlos and enjoying the thrill of it but he’s been keeping anything real at arm’s length. He did real, it ended in a ring and some pills. But in the moment when Carlos calls him out on “doing something so suicidal” it strikes home. He sees the pattern and he sees that Carlos sees the real him and so he breaks the cycle - something I don’t think Owen has ever managed to do, but that’s another meta.

TK changes on a dime, having established one character he then becomes something else. Something a little less rash, impulsive. He’s still that guy who shoots from the hip - he blows up at Carlos in 2x08 because of his own insecurities (although Carlos isn’t blameless) and he blows up their relationship between seasons 2 and 3 because of his own insecurities (although Carlos again isn’t blameless), but he comes back each time. Right up to the conversations in 3x13 where he stays every time. He doesn’t walk away from the table and he doesn’t cut off the conversation on the couch.

He looks to be better. He fails sometimes, but he tries. He is honest with Carlos in 1x10 that he doesn’t know what he wants instead of stringing him along which would have been the easier option. But he knew Carlos was catching feels, he wasn’t sure about the feels he was catching, and so he took a step back to think about it. This time walking away was a good thing - something he should have done with Alex when he realised he was being so distant. TK is learning when to stand, when to walk, when to talk and when to listen.

Even when he stands on the ledge of a full on relapse in 3x08 we see hestitation. He’s laser focused when he gets to the firehouse: he gets changed, he grabs the pad, and he’s right into the ambulance. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, do not stop for red lights until he has the vials in his hand. That moment when it becomes real, he hesitates. He’s not pocketing them right away and acting like nothing’s wrong (and he certainly had enough time to do that before Owen found him). I’d like to think that he realises that the impulsive side of him is winning out and that a part of him doesn’t want it to.

In the first half of 1x01 TK seems like the kind of guy who has everything going for him: good at his job, getting to do impressive rescues, a seemingly serious relationship, and it’s all crashed down around him by the halfway point. The TK who dances with Carlos at the end of 1x01 is not the same TK we met in that elevator in the Chrysler building. But he also kinda is. He’s impulsive, but he’s not all in. He cares but he’s cautious. Big gestures in small moments - because you can’t tell me telling Carlos about his relapse isn’t him going “here, this is the heaviest part of me” and Carlos goes “well if you want or need a hand carrying it let me know” like it’s nothing when it’s everything TK has ever wanted.

And in 3x18 he is impulsive again, but it comes from a realisation he had in 3x13. He knows he’s going to marry this man, he wants to marry this man, and he can’t wait any longer to ask the question. He stays when Carlos tries to deflect, assuring that “it’s not drama, it’s love - the kind you can’t get away from”. He’s fearless in a very different kind of way. He’s rescued himself in an impressive way, starting a sobriety journey twice over with love and support. He’s about to propose to this man (they own property together!). He’s not nervous, but why would he be? His heart is on the bed between them, right with Carlos’ in their joined hands, and while it’s thousands of miles - literally and figuratively - from where we met TK in the pilot, it’s also him.

And I’m just in awe of how much he’s changed and how much he hasn’t.

#idk what this is #I just word vomited onto a post #so have my thoughts #there are more where they came from #overthinking jen is overthinking #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #911ls #tw: addiction #tw: relapse #tw: drugs

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jadetheblade4 · 1 month

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Huh. This new technique I'm using. It adds into an extra step into my writing process but it's kinda rad. Sadly i still have to know most of the stuff in my head as usual but it's pretty rewarding in the end when I trim up the edges. I'm still on hiatus for DMR it's probably not gonna come back for a while (and might even rebrand once again though i highly doubt it) I'm just writing another dog man related fic. Oh my god Sundial is on guys

#jadetheblade #jade post #im just basically word vomitting down onto the page then cleaning it up that's the new technique #fancy and original i k ow #might even publish it heheheh #jk i am gonna publish it its gonna be two or three parts #having lots of fun with it heehee #dog man #dogman #petey the cat #dog man rewritten #sigh

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taikanyohou · 2 years

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sometimes you'll just open your notes app and-

Macau gets it. Being in love and being loved looks wonderful on Vegas. Being trusted and honoured and appreciated for his dedication and diligence to his work looks befitting on Vegas.

But, Macau misses his big brother.

He shouldn't, because that's being selfish. That's asking Vegas to carve out some time and attention for him too, when Vegas already has his hands full. He's got more important things to focus on now.

So, Macau chooses to stay silent.

Or maybe it's a lesson to learn, that he isn't a child anymore. He can't keep on going to Vegas for every little thing. He can't keep on relying on Vegas.

But then, who else does he go to? Who else will love him? Who else will understand him and everything that he's gone through?

He remembers how, at school, when he was 9 years old, his class teacher gave them all a task to share with the class who their favourite superhero was. Macau said it was his big brother, Vegas. He remembers how some of the boys around him sniggered at his reply, whispering about either how lame or incorrect his answer was, but he didn't find it funny, and he wasn't ashamed, and he didn't care. Then, when he was 12, they were asked to write a parapgraph on their best friend and to read it out loud to the class. Macau wrote about his big brother, Vegas. The boys in his class still sniggered. He still didn't care. Then, at 15, they were told to improvise a speech lasting 3 minutes long only, on the most important person in their life. Macau talked about his big brother, Vegas. They still sniggered, and he still didn't care.

Now, at the brink of turning 18, if he were asked all those same questions once again, his answer to them would still remain the same.

Macau's whole life has been shaped by Vegas. He's been not just a big brother, but a parent and a best friend and a role model too. He idolises him. He owes his whole life to him.

And that means coming to terms with the fact that, just like how Vegas has devoted his whole life in raising Macau, its now time for Vegas to devote the rest of his life in him putting himself first. And for Macau, that means him needing to realise his place in it.

He's just not sure where he stands in all of this. He doesn't want to overstep and end up tainting and damaging the good Vegas has in his life now. He doesn't want Vegas to ever turn around and look at him, only to remember his past and have that weigh him down heavy. Not when Pete, Vegas' light and his future, is right there with him.

#feeling some type of way lately semi sad and melancholic and i'm spilling it all and dumping it onto macau and writing something #that maybe i'll never end up posting bc its a bit too dark and idk how yall feel about suicidal dark depressed macau with body dysmorphia #like im just using him as emotional punching bag at this moment in time and dumping onto him.#bc macau is such a blank canvas i can take him to any length i want to and make him as sad and depressed as i wanna.#but like i said idk how the general audience would take that bc he isnt exactly shown as such but that wont stop me from personally doing #so. so yeah. i just wanna make him feel the most lonely. make him feel like he's going to ruin everything with his existence for vegaspete.#so he just ends up shrinking himself away. both physically and emotionally.#its twisted and fucked up yeah but i want to do that to him.#anyway this is all word vomit.#faiza talks #vegasmacau

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browzerhistory · 5 months

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anyways Personally i don't think it's possible to meaningfully separate the self from the body/world and thinking of them as independent entities can create serious issues in later lines of thinking.

i say this as someone who has several 'selves' (system) but all of us have been undeniably changed by our body and the environment it's in. we wouldn't be who we are now without the very specific conditions and events that shaped our bodies and personalities.

it can be argued whether someone is more predisposed towards certain traits and activities from birth, but even then, the way you're raised and how much access you're given to those activities, as well as how much you're allowed to express those traits, matter deeply in shaping the person you are.

it's why i struggle with "what if you were born a different sex/richer or poorer/in a different country/etc.?" type questions bc the answer you'll get from me is inevitably "the person in those circumstances would be so fundamentally different and unrecognizable when compared to me that i don't think it'd be fair to say they would still be me." you know?

take a relatively small example, like if my parents decided to enroll me in a different kindergarten than the one they did. i would never have swapped schools in elementary, which kicked off my anxiety disorder hardcore but also made me gain wonderful friends who i wouldn't trade for the world, and unique experiences that shape the way i adapt to situations today.

or say i went to physical (heavily masked) school during the 2020 school year instead of taking online courses. i probably wouldn't have fully split into a system and i wouldn't have missed my best friend's last year of attending the same school as me before moving away. but i also wouldn't have rediscovered one of my oldest, most beloved special interests, nor would i have met the short lived but wonderful community online that helped me realize i was trans.

what i'm trying to get at is that the popular concept of the Self or the Soul as this immutable, eternal force that drives a person's actions and is predetermined before they're born really doesn't line up with reality. not only in the context of how much your environment changes you, but how much you can change you. humans are creatures of habit, sure, but you can make and break habits with relative ease most of the time.

(i started crossing my z's in third grade because i thought it looked cool. i stopped listening to an artist i used to adore because he said some shit things and i've barely missed his music. lately i've been making an effort not to step on certain floor tiles in the hall just because. i know most things aren't this minor or easy to change, but it's just an example.)

as far as theories on the self go, mine is a pretty easy one to spiral on. especially since, before i started thinking harder about it, i thought there was this Special Thing that made me Me and no one could take it away, so when i considered the possibility of my me-ness not being inherent to my existence, it freaked me out.

but as i thought about it more, i found the thought really... comforting, somehow? maybe it's because i'm trans and a system but the idea that there's the True You you have to want to be (and if you're not then something is wrong with you) feels really restricting. people are always changing, even moment to moment. it's not a bad thing to be constantly changing, that's just what being alive is like.

which brings me to another point (that i probably should've made earlier but whatevs) that also lines up pretty well with my political views: nobody is doomed to be a bad person forever, even if they've done bad things in the past. (i could make a whole other essay on the ways punitive justice just Doesn't work and how annoying it is to see in leftist spaces all the time, but i'll breeze past it for the sake of this post not becoming a novella.) my point here is that while yes, vengeance and punishment for harmful actions does feel great and can very occasionally help, the sustainable and humane way to approach harm is through restorative justice and rehabilitation (for lack of a better word).

nobody is born evil and nobody is doomed to be evil and hurt everyone forever. this is true both in the sense of restorative justice, where the person who did the harmful action(s) can be trusted and expected to change their behavior, and in the more personal "you are not bound to suffering for all your life" sense. if you break your arm, do you set the bone or cut the whole limb off?

the concept of the self, when wielded as a tell-all unchanging revelation of a person's "true nature of violence/harm" can be and is used against already marginalized and oppressed groups to justify that oppression. this is a more political gripe, sure, but it's one of the reasons i think my theory holds up better. saying "people can't change if they've done bad things..." is a very good way to get people to accept "...so anyone who does a bad thing should be locked up forever/socially isolated/killed/etc."

idk. it's probably a Capitalism thing - something something making a product of yourself and products have to be consistent - but the attachment to a One True Self really grinds my gears in a way that i haven't been able to put into words until recently.

i understand the desire to have something that makes you fundamentally You no matter what, but the way i see it, it'd take one tiny change in your past to turn you into a completely different person. that doesn't mean you're not real or that nothing you do matters, it just means the world is as much a part of you as you are of it. it's worth thinking about sometimes.

(also please talk to me about this more i could go on for hours about the idea of the self and our relationships to our bodyminds and etc)

#long post #this is all over the fuckin place but its midnight and im sick so idk what you want from me #i can elaborate on these points if anyone asks but for now this pile of word vomit is going onto the internet #i hope its at least somewhat understandable #i didnt know how to end this so i just kind of. didn't. lol

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queergodot · 2 years

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Maya’s arc throughout the trilogy is extremely interesting to me because at first glance it’s so negative, but looking closer, it’s actually a great story about persistence and determination.

Whereas Phoenix grows as a person over the course of the trilogy, building new bonds of friendship and securing himself as a passionate lawyer dedicated to the truth rather than just saving one old friend (regardless of the fact that this gets shot in the leg by AA4), Maya’s life seemingly falls apart around her. And yet, I do not think her arc is ultimately a negative one.

In AA1, we see Maya base her self-esteem around her use to others. Throughout the game, her mental health deteriorates as she loses her newly found ability to channel, believing herself to be worthless as a result. Eventually, she makes the decision to return to Kurain Village to train, wanting to become useful to others. Phoenix stops her at the train station, and the game ends on a high note as he presents the bullet that turned out to be the winning piece of evidence in Turnabout Goodbyes, which Maya acquired. Though Maya still returns to Kurain Village to train, wanting to help people with her ability to channel, she does so with a stronger sense of self worth.

While I may have some issues with this arc, it is a complete one that does not leave Maya in a worse position than she started at the beginning of the game (aside from the dead sister I guess). Over the course of AA1, Maya’s ability to channel has grown stronger than ever, and she has learned to be brave, resilient, and that she is definitely capable of helping others.

From her introduction, Maya has put great value on her ability to channel spirits. More than just a family tradition, Maya sees it as a unique way to help others, and has devoted her life to learning to master it. She is genuinely passionate about channeling and eager to take over the family legacy in a way Mia clearly wasn’t. That said, we do not get to know much about the Fey family until Justice for All and Trials and Tribulations decide to expand upon it.

In the second game, we are introduced to a Maya who is growing up to be quite the talented medium. She is about to take on her first client and has invited Phoenix to witness this momentous occasion. She is clearly proud of her progress and her ability to carry on her family’s legacy. While she later worries about being childish in comparison to Franziska, she has clearly grown a lot from the girl she was in AA1 already.

And then, in the first real case of the game, the tearing down of the Fey legacy starts. With Morgan being revealed to have aided in murder, with the intent of framing Maya and removing her from the line of succession, Maya is now officially without spiritual guidance (or at least, not any we see). Prior to the reveal, we see Maya rely on Morgan for guidance, and Morgan seems to run the practical aspects of Kurain Village. While both Mia and, to a lesser extent, Maya recognize that her motives aren’t pure, the revelation still shocks them. While I’m sure there are older people than Maya in Kurain Village, Morgan’s imprisonment firmly cements her as the de facto leader, even before she becomes the Master.

The third game puts the nail in the coffin of the Fey legacy’s good name, whatever it still had. Despite not being present for the majority of Bridge to the Turnabout, the case plays a pivotal role in the progression and conclusion of Maya’s arc. After having come to Hazakura Temple in order to train and strengthen her spiritual powers, she is nearly murdered by her mother, who is channeling a vengeful ghost. This ghost was called by orders of her aunt, fueling a feud that has been present in the Fey family for generations. Her mother is killed before her eyes as a result of this.

Before her witness statement, Maya gives her occupation as assistant manager of Wright & Co Law Offices. When questioned on this, asked by the judge if she wasn’t a medium, she states that she is frightened and wants nothing more to do with the Fey clan.

While she’s as chipper as ever after the trial, it is explicitly stated to be for Pearl’s sake. But when talking to Pearl, she sincerely expresses gratitude to all her friends and the people who helped her, and ultimately saved her life. She states that she feels she must be strong for them. She states to Sister Bikini that she will be back for more training.

I have seen people read her arc as a depressing one because of this tear down of her faith in the Fey clan. That is not an unsubstantiated read, and it was also my first impulse to read it as such. But ultimately, I do not think that’s actually how her arc is supposed to read.

A large theme of the AA trilogy is the importance of interpersonal connection and bonds. The lack of such bonds spells disaster, as seen in characters like Godot, whereas the persistence of these bonds may save you, such as seen in... honestly pretty much every single main character. Phoenix specifically calls out the importance of such bonds during his inner monologue in the ending scene of Trials and Tribulations. A creation of connection, a willingness to fight for our loved ones, is a central theme of AA and an important component for happiness within the story.

It is true that Maya looses many things over the course of the trilogy. Her sister, her aunt, and her mother, for starters, but also her blind faith in the Fey clan and the Kurain Channeling Technique as forces of good. The Kurain Channeling Technique was used for murder, and the petty rivalries between the main and branch family destroyed Maya’s family life and ultimately weakened the clan.

But it is important to remember that she has gained many things as well. Phoenix has become a new sibling to her,her bond with Pearl has grown even closer, and even Godot, heavily flawed man though he may be, has become an important person to her, who has come to care for her. Even characters with fewer interactions with Maya, like Iris, Larry, Edgeworth, Franziska, and Gumshoe, showed up for her and went above and beyond to help. She’s even found a new source of guidance in her spiritual training in Sister Bikini.

It is true that Maya has lost a lot of the support she might’ve had from her family traditions and biological family, but in return, she has created a new network of friends and family, who care about her and are willing to go to great lengths to help and defend her. And at the end of the series, she says she’ll continue to train her spiritual powers, to be strong for those people.

I read her instance that she will be back for training to Sister Bikini as a stubborn refusal to abandon her channeling. She started the series believing that her channeling was her way of helping people, and she ends the series determined to make this true. Rather than a complete rejection of the Kurain Channeling Technique and, by extension, the Fey Family legacy, she shows a determination to push through these hardships and make it her own. And as the new Master, she now has all the power in the word to do so.

By the end of the series, Maya has grown into herself and matured. Rather than stepping into the Fey family legacy, she has decided to make it her own, relying less on her biological family, and more of the friends and family she made herself. She has lost a lot, yes, but I would argue she’s ultimately gained more.

And while I believe the trilogy could have done a better job at centering her arc and making this ending clearer and more explicit, I do ultimately believe that it was never the trilogy’s intention to leave her arc at the depressing statement that she wants nothing more to do with the Fey family legacy. Rather, I believe Maya’s arc is one of creating her own legacy.

#my posts #maya fey #infodumping #'i have no energy to do a proper post on godot and phoenix parallels' [writes this]#this is a bit scattered but hopefully understandable #lmao every single meta post i make im like 'this is scattered' yeah it's bc you never do any research or preparation and just #vomit words onto a tumblr post template

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that-lazy-snail · 2 years

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Yes hello I'm asexual and I have 4 episodes of tma archives left, it's consumed my whole life for the past two weeks and I need people on the internet to share in my love of jonmartin fics that talk about the relationship between sex and asexuality with the implication that Ace people can and do enjoy and/or have sex but it doesn't mean they're sexually attracted to people thanks.

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svturn-exe · 1 year

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"do you see the alternates as above killing with their bare hands, or do you think that they derive some kind of sadistic pleasure from getting people to do it themselves?" "i kinda view it as... they're kinda being... controlled to do so by the hivemind, which is gabriel"

OH?

#interesting 👀#no idea what the implications of this are . i'm not the theory type #i don't sit down and go alright time to think shit up #ideas just randomly come to me like forboding omens in the dead of night and i word vomit them onto a post and/or the nearest friend #but if i was the theory type i would be theorizing so hard rn

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roguelibrarian · 1 year

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unstoppable force (urge to add some Jewish perspective/cool Jewish folklore/ranting about Christian normativity in this fandom to a Star Wars discussion I'm seeing on my dash) vs immovable object (absolute refusal to participate in fandom any more than I already am)

#gonna word vomit my thoughts in the tags here i guess #1. the idea of force ghosts as jedi heaven is just another example of people in this fandom thinking christianity is the default #2. that is exactly why force ghosts being jedi heaven doesn't make sense #because people are trying to fit a christian framework of the afterlife onto a fictional religion that draws elements from #buddhism judaism islam and probably other sources i'm less familiar with #3. the idea of ''jedi heaven'' flies in the face of everything the jedi stand for and all jedi philosophy we see in canon in this essay i w #4. what if anakin was a dybbuk???#rogue rambles #secret sw posts tag

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velvetart0v0 · 6 days

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The Magnus Protocol Ep.15 spoilers

AHHHHH THIS EP IS AMAZING

THE WAY SAM AWKWARDLY BUT MORE CONFIDENTLY ASKS OUT CELIA FOR A 2ND DATE IS JUST SOO CUTE FOR ME OMG. I love how he keeps trying to get her to verbally say "yeah sure" in the dorkiest way possible, I MEAN COULD IT BE MORE CUTE.

AND THEN ENTERS MY BELOVED GIRL DISASTER ALICE DYER. I thought Sam asking out Celia for the first time was awkward BUT ALICE JUST PROVED ME WRONG AHHHHHHH!!!

But the thing is idrk who she was trying to get with during that moment, like was she trying to get Celia to hang out with her more or have Sam hang out with her alone again "like old times" AHHH IDK WHICH. I don't mind both tho >.>

I LOVE how the horror is starting to ramp up more!! The statement was tense and enticing! And I love the gore at the end of it OMFG THE HORROR IS AMAZINGLY DONE FOR THIS EPISODE.

THE HUNT, god what else can I even say other than it's soo GOOD. Like the end statement where the caterer's head gets blown off then we hear the hunt avatar AND THEN HEARING HER MORE CLEARLY IN THE OFFICE!!!!TALKING TO CELIA!!! OMFG

I saw a comment saying that they like how the hunt now has an avatar that embodies it like Simon Fairchild or Peter Lukas AND I CAN'T AGREE MORE. I hope we get to hear more of her in the future.

Another connection of a protocol character to an archive character is the drowned victim!! It sounds like by her first lines that she might be almost be like Jane Prentiss? But vast aligned rather than corruption. Or maybe the theory where all the fears are more connected is true thus trying to label them is just a red haring of sorts. Like how it doesn't matter. idk I'm not much of a theorist lmao.

AND ALICE BEING THE FIRST ONE OF THE ACTUAL STAFF TO HANDLE A FEAR ENCOUNTER, I hope she doesn't get framed for murder. But if she does, I need her to continue what Jon went through and just stay at Sam's house while she lies low for abit. I can imagine the tension now!!

If u probably can't tell by this post, but I am a huge supporter of Alice and Sam getting back together. But I also love Sam and Celia. So I'm just sticking to the trusted polycule of the office. I mean it's the only viable option when u can't bare to choose which one u like more right.

#long post #just me word vomiting onto my page #the brainrot continues #when will it end #we will never know #horror is amazing this ep #i was soo grossed out #its amazing #tmp spoilers #tmagp #alice dyer #sam khalid #celia ripley

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dysnomic-absolution · 4 months

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i’m gonna write a poem about this son of a bitch one day

#okay i need to slow down on the posts because i am #very dissociated #pfft #just word vomiting onto my blog like #hm #my void will LOVE hearing about my incoherent interests #right the fuck now #i am going to ground myself #and come back later #to gaze upon more black holes

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kutyozh · 11 months

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i know i knowww it's past 9 and all that but i really wanna throw up rn

#. ok so. kinda #tw gore #. for the tags #. LISTEN i just need to pour out my intestines in front of me. i need to get rid of all that heavy shit inside of me.#. i'm sorry. i can't carry you around anymore. i will vomit you right onto my carpet and stare at you for half an hour and then i will #. take you one by one and put you into a box with care.#. and then i will burn burn burn you. and i will scatter the ashes on barren land. and happy things will grow just to spite you.#. ⬆ literally (lmao) just a word vomit so if i want to make this into a poem i will need to work on it....#. anyway if i ever say i don't feel like i deserve therapy please just show me this post okay #personal #r.tags

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 6 months

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Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley with a Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Headcanons and Scenarios

Am I back with baby fever? I mean yeah but this is less baby fever and more if Husband!Simon in honor of my first ever post that reached 1k likes in 4 days. Also you guys know Ghostie by now right? @connorsui mentioned that she wonders how Ghost and the reader met, guess who's writing about that?

Edit: SHIT, THIS POST HAS BEEN UP FOR SO LONG AND I FORGOT TO ADD CREDIT, I'M SO SORRY. The render above is by @ave661

Taglist: @puff0o0 @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @theredurzikdjinn @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb

Also @puff0o0, my most favorite moot has helped me come up with how they met, UGH ILYYY <333

My CoD Masterlist <3

Warnings/Disclaimers: Reader is pregnant, sick!Reader, mentions of vomiting (not detailed), pain of birth and all the other pregnancy warnings out there. (Extreme fluff)

❥ Husband!Simon who had no fucking clue how to react when you first told him you got pregnant, I mean he knew at some point it would happen but not this soon?!

❥ Husband!Simon who in your early stages of pregnancy was the one holding your hair up while you empty the contents of your stomach on the toilet most mornings. He was the one who had a warm hand gently rubbing up and down your back while mumbling light encouragements, careful not to agitate you from the sickening feeling.

❥ Husband!Simon who was gradually getting the hang of things, getting clingier the further into the pregnancy. Once the baby bump comes in, bye bye personal space, Dad!Simon needs to have his hand on the bump no less than 10 times a day.

❥ Husband!Simon who is a sucker for kissing the baby bump, especially your stretch marks. He will be more gentle if you ask him to because your ticklish, but don't expect none of his stuble.

❥ Husband!Simon whose breath hitches when you took his large calloused hand onto your baby bump and felt movement, he had to blink twice up at you and look down again. Only now it was two hands holding the bump, waiting for more kicks.

❥ Husband!Simon who lets you do all the shopping with baby stuff because he has no idea what looks cute, every once in a while showing you something he thinks looks good and asks for your approval.

❥ Husband!Simon who looks back up at you in concern as he hears you whimper, as much as he wants more movement and feel the little one kick, you were in pain and uncomfortable. Some soothing words might help..?

You let out a soft whimper as you felt the baby kick again, god did she have her father's strength..

Simon still had his warm and heavy hand on the bump, feeling the little one's movement.

"Pumpkin.. give your momma a rest, she needs some sleep" Simon sleepily mutters. Just like that the movement stops.

"I swear she only ever listens to your voice, it's obvious that she's already a daddy's girl"

❥ Husband!Simon who is more than obsessed with the baby bump, albeit his ear over the bump to hear the baby, big calloused hands always have to be some place on it. You'll just find your husband clinging onto your bump, his head on your chest while his arms are wrapped around the loves of his life.

❥ Husband!Simon who was far more panicked than you were during the birth, he literally cannot even pay attention to the pain of your hand almost breaking his from the gripping because his heart is pounding in his chest while you push out the baby.

❥ Husband!Dad!Simon who was trembling the moment you forced him to open up his arms so he could hold the baby. She's so tiny, her whole body almost fits in just one of his hands. The moment he held her, she stopped wailing, trying so hard to open her little eyes.

❥ Husband!Dad!Simon couldn't help but pull you up into his arms too because you couldn't move up from exhaustion. Your hand on the little one's body that was cradled by her dad, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders while he kissed your sweaty forehead, singing praises to you about how thankful he is that you brought life to your little girl together.

A/n: Hi guys, just to start off. I haven't been in a good space for a while now, I don't think I'm in the right headspace either. Not to say I'm taking a break, fuck no, I'd lose all my relevance if I did and I also think that taking a break from this won't be good for me or you guys because I don't want history to repeat itself.

If you guys don't know yet, I've been on the break in 2020 and didn't officially start writing again till 2023, finally entering a different fandom. I feel like taking a break would result into this whole thing again and I can't go through that all over again. I love writing so much and it hurt when I lost all my relevance on Wattpad.

My personal life outside of Tumblr is weird to explain, see things haven't been good regarding my situation with a friend. Neither do I feel good in school, everything in that place just sucks except for two other closer friends. There's still the dreadful 3 weeks left till Christmas vacation. Not only that but I get anxiety over so many things that may be little to most of you.

A mutual of mine so graciously has given me ideas for the next Ghostie posts, I love them, it's accurate and it's great and all however some part of me makes me feel so insignificant. Like why didn't I think of that? Why am I even writing if I'm just relying on other people's ideas? This is no shade to that mutual, thank you so much, hell I loved everything they told me. It's just always my anxiety and insecurities getting the better of me.

Apologies for the length of this. I'm quite busy and my clumsy fingers accidentally published something again 😭Anyway, more Ghostie content is on it's way :))

#cod x reader #aethelwyne lia writes #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #ghost x plus size reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x y/n #dad!ghost #dad!simon

2K notes · View notes

mayhemories · 1 year

Note

Pregnancy baby trope baby daddy Neteyam x reader please

TELLING NETEYAM YOURE PREGNANT 😩😩😩😩😩😩

Tsahik Always Knows

Oh my god!! Daddy Neyetam would be so sweet! Also, I'm sorry for the lack of posts, I've been studying overseas and this course is an intensive fieldwork unit so I have had like no time to think. Additionally, some of my tags are working and some are not - I'm so sorry if I miss out on tagging you!

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar)

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none. Vomit? Fluff?

Words: 1.8k

Author’s Notes:

Neteyam is 24, reader is 23, established relationship. AU where they never left the forest and Jake is still Olo’eyktan, Neteyam will take that mantle eventually,, happy-happy can’t read or write any more angst for real.

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Tag List: @lilprettypetite @nyotamalfoy @weasleytwinwheezes @aonungs-tsahik @rainbowsocks @glitterandgoldfinds @bluealiensimp @melsunshine @ussoppl @wondxrgurll @luvlykrispy @myheartfollower @gloryavila

Read Below Cut:

You stared at the remnants of last night’s dinner on the floor. You had vomited, again. This had been happening in the mornings, on and off for the last few weeks. You did not feel sick, so why were you sick?

Normally the vomit happened at home. Normally Neteyam had already left to tend to his duties. Normally you could clean it up and pretend like it never happened.

The heat of your embarrassment swarmed over your neck and shoulders, sweeping up into your cheeks and ears. You knelt, frozen in place over the bile you had just produced.

On Mo’at’s tent floor.

She was practically, and legally, your grandmother, and had been since you were nineteen-years-old. But you never thought of her like that. She was your Tsahik, your teacher, your elder, your spiritual guide, healer of the Omaticaya.

And you had vomited on her floor.

Mo’at cleared her throat, sitting across from you, your shameful vomit between you. Tears welled in your eyes. This was the worst day of your life.

“Well, luckily it was just you and me here, hm,” Mo’at said with an unusual lightness, a sweetness that was enough to spin you out of your own thoughts.

“My Tsahik, I am so sorry I do not know-”

“Don’t be stupid, how can you not know?” The typical biting Mo’at that you were familiar with came back, quickly. The woman leaned forward with a cloth, mopping up your watery bile like a dealdly secret to be kept between the Tsahik and her assistant.

Now, you really did not know what she meant. You sat up taller, finding a cloth to wipe your mouth clean, something tangible to hold onto.

“My Tsahik, I promise you, I do not know what you think I know.” You whispered into the cloth at your mouth. Mo’at discarded her cloth that blotted your vomit into a wooden bowl. Some poor trainee will deal with it later. She squinted at you, taking you in. Harshly, she grabbed at your wrists, inspecting your palms, and your shaking, delicate fingers.

She huffed as she held your wrist tightly in her left, her right hand poking at your cheek, breasts and thighs. “Hey!” you had enough of her prodding, as you pulled your wrist from her vice-like grip.

“Lay down. Now.” The Tsahik made moves to push you back onto the woven mats on the floor. You were scared and confused and honestly, getting rather emotional. You were still reeling over the embarrassment the vomit caused you. More and more these days you found yourself crying over nothing, or getting easily embarsassed.

You laid still, scared of Mo’at, and, scared of vomiting again. Flat on your back, you stared at the keen weavings of Mo’at’s medical tent. You hissed, looking down, Mo’at has placed a cold hollowed stone on your lower stomach, her ear pressed against it, she furrowed her brow bone.

The elder woman jerked up once she was satisfied, discarding her stone instrument, she settled back into her seated position on the floor, you mirroring her.

“Tsahik-”

“You are with child, quite obviously.” Mo’at had cut you off, while simultaneously giving you news that ripped all the air from your lungs.

Your mind was spinning. You were happy, you were sad, you were excited, you were embarrassed. How could you not see the signs within yourself? Obviously you and Neteyam mated often-

Oh, Eywa.

Neteyam.

You were going to have to tell him.

It was not like you both hadn’t spoken on the topic before, you knew you both wanted kids, a family. Additionally, children were expected, a future Olo'eyktan must be secured.

But the two of you had not planned for it to happen so soon. You had been so careful, tonics and teas. God, Neteyam pulled out most of the time.

Subconsciously one hand laid across your abdomen, the other covering your mouth. You felt your eyes struggling to focus on Mo’at, on anything really. You felt like a shell. A shell with a small shell inside.

“How far along?” You whispered, normally you would scold yourself for your informality towards Mo’at, but you would give yourself a break just this once.

“A month, maybe two. Nothing more, nothing less. You are not physically showing yet but you cannot be far away.” The rare gentleness from Mo’at rose its head once again. You were grateful for it. “Now, my lovely girl, go. Go collect yourself and tell my grandbaby that you’re having my great-grandbaby.” Mo’at said softly, helping you to your feet.

You couldn’t remember the short walk from Mo’at’s tent to the home you shared with Neteyam. You felt as if you were on auto-pilot, blacking out and teleporting from place to place. You quickly sat on the side of your shared bed. Furs and gossamer blankets providing comfort to your shaking legs. Laying back, you stared at the gossamer canopy Neteyam had only recently erected above your bed, dangling your legs off the side.

You rested your hands on your stomach, trying to etch into your memory what it felt like now, knowing that it will eventually swell with the growth of your baby.

Neteyam’s baby.

Realistically, you knew that Neteyam won’t be angry. Shocked? Maybe. But angry? Neteyam had never, ever been angry with you before. Emotionally? It was a different story, you imagined Neteyam being frustrated and screaming at you. You imagined him being disappointed. You imagined him packing his things and leaving. The passing thoughts alone were enough to put you on edge.

Sighing aloud, you had a look at the water clock resting on the other side of the room, you still had a few hours before Neteyam was to return. You still had a few hours to pull yourself together and work out how you were going to spit it out.

Neteyam ran his hands over his face, pulling up his ionar onto his forehead. His whole body burned from that flight. He had missed you today, not usually staying out on patrol this late, but the young recruits needed training, and Neteyam was always eager to please. But, he was a domestic man at heart, he loved being at home with you, loved pulling you to his chest, loved making whatever new thing you asked for.

He loved nesting, he realised. Loved doing it with you.

Striding from the Ikran keeper, Neteyam wanted nothing more than to see you.

The warm lights of your home welcomed him, though when he peered through the gap in the curtain flap, all he saw was your anxious figure, pacing back and forth, muttering to yourself. The air was wrong, Neteyam had never really seen you like this. He watched quietly, confused as to how you had not scent him already, something was wrong with you and he would be damned if he did not find out what.

“Oh Eywa, what am I supposed to say?” You prayed silently, wringing your wrists. You thought the pacing would bring you clarity, as it often provided your father-in-law. Yet you felt empty. And so unbearably full at the same time. In the few hours you had to wait for your mate you had come to love the little life growing in your womb.

You were so excited. You could hardly contain yourself. Neteyam would be the most perfect father. But as the night grew closer your brain started to pick itself apart.

It was all too much. You fell to your knees in the middle of your home, letting the tears flow freely now.

Neteyam did not let that stand for long. He quickly rushed in, picking you up and placing you in his lap. His strong arms snaking around your sobbing form. Your head quickly found is chest. He felt your hot tears streaming down your beautiful face and onto his skin. Neteyam hushed you, like he watched his mother do with his siblings, gently rocking you back and forth. It was so silent, save from your sobbing hiccups. Neteyam did not dare speak until you had stopped.

“My love, what has happened?” He asked gently, pulling away to cup your delicate face in his large, calloused hands. His eyes found yours, and he could see something was creating great turmoil in the labyrinth of your complicated, intelligent mind.

You sighed in response, shaking your head. Trying to find any courage at all. Knowing you have news that will change the course of someone’s life was not something you dealt with well. Maybe you were not cut out to be the clan’s spiritual leader as Tsahik. But that was a different problem for a different day.

Neteyam placed a chaste kiss to your lips, then your cheeks, under your eyes, the tip of your nose, your forehead. You were loved, he said through the gesture. You are safe here.

“Neteyam,” You started, softly. You were always softspoken. Something of which drove Neteyam crazy in love with you. So gentile, so docile, so calm. “I have something to tell you.” Neteyam’s stomach started to flip at your words, anxiety settling in, but like any good soldier, he willed his face into a blank expression. Giving nothing away.

And, in turn, giving you nothing.

“Continue my little love.” He said, putting your baby hairs behind your ears, smoothing your loose hair down as you spoke.

“Neteyam,” You cleared your throat, forcing that invisible, metaphysical bubble away. “I am with child.” The words hung in the air between you, and all you could do was wait for your mate to respond.

Neteyam felt like he was dreaming. Of all the things he prepared for you to say, you being pregnant was not one of them.

His tail betrayed him before his mouth did. Rapidly going side to side, the smile that erupted on Neteyam’s face threatened to split his jaw apart.

You were carrying a baby. His baby. Your baby, together, with him.

You melted into Neteyam’s searing kiss as he held you flush to his body. Pulling apart, Neteyam’s hands rested on your stomach, bright eyed and smily. He kissed your stomach over and over and over again. Peppering the whole area with his hot lips. You giggled at him. He was perfect.

“Oh (y/n), I am so happy.” Neteyam kissed you again, your giggles erupting between kisses as he could not decide on what he wanted to look at, your face or your stomach. “How long have you known, sweetheart?” He rested his forehead on yours, his hands resting on your still flat stomach.

“I found out earlier today.” You couldn’t help but smile. “Your grandmother knew.”

Neteyam laughed, his shoulders shaking, beads of his braids clinking together.

“She knows everything.”

That night as the two of you laid in bed, Neteyam spooning you, you rose out of your slumber briefly. Neteyam’s tail had wrapped itself around your thigh, your own tail sat under your abdomen of its own accord. Neteyam’s fingers splayed over your stomach. He was so protective already. So in love with you and your unborn baby.

You smiled. Shutting your eyes you thanked Eywa for gifting you with something so precious.

7K notes · View notes

courtingchaos · 5 months

Note

I’ve been thinking about eddie who’s in the early pre relationship stages with you. but in his mind he’s married to you he’s been pining after you for so long. he doesn’t want to scare you though so he’s pumping the breaks and trying to take things slow.

you’re spending the night at his and he’s managed to keep enough distance from you that he deems respectful in his courtship of you. but when he wakes it’s to your hand high on his thigh, and you’re out for the count. and he’s hard as a rock and needs to move you before you wake up and see what state he’s in.

not wanting to wake you and alert you to his issue he thinks on his feet and decides he has to become soft asap, then he can move you. then if you wake up it’s not going to be to him feeling like a complete pervert.

so he’s reciting his favourite passages from all of the books he’s read.

only it’s not doing much. the pretty girl in his bed is winning this round.

he starts reciting them backwards to increase the difficulty and hopefully distract the ache away. but in his ingenuity to up the anti he’s inadvertently made it so tough that he’s now whisper shouting the words out loud. waking you. eddie still hard as a rock reciting poetry in a wicked order that makes no sense to man nor beast, is stopped abruptly in his tracks, gasping at the feel of your palm squeezing the meat of his inner thigh. Mortified and yet. Still painfully erect with no hope of going down anytime soon

sorry to vomit this at you but it seemed like fate that you’d asked for a request (this is far too long and detailed I’m sorry) and I was thinking about this at the same time

1. Don’t apologize, you’ve struck gold. You have not dug too greedily nor too deep.

2. You’ve written this really well so I could just post this with a bunch of reactions under it but, if you’ll allow me to expand upon this.

Picture this with me okay? He’s reciting Jabberwocky to himself. It’s a nonsense poem. He had an English teacher once give out a project for them to learn and recite a poem and of course he chose this. It has fun words in it like vorpal and borogoves. It’s become one of his bits actually when he’s trying to command a room.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:”

Everyone will sigh. Jeff and Gareth and Frank will drop their heads onto their desks or over the backs of their chairs in long groans. Dustin still thinks it’s fun, he hasn’t gotten tired of it yet, and Mike likes it he just won’t admit it. Eddie loves it though, likes the way slithy toves slides off his tongue when he puts on that creaking voice he uses for warlocks durning games.

Now though he mumbles it to himself in the dark, his ludicrous attempt at bringing down his mood. Something had woken him at the witching hour, 3:07 shining a bright green from across his room. He wasn’t cold, his window shut against the chill earlier when you’d come over. He wasn’t overheated, quite content with you softly cuddled up next to him. No itch or ill folded sheet causing him discomfort. He had seven solid minutes of waking, a few he spared to revel in the heat of you lying next to him. To feel your shoulder lying on his as you pressed your face into his pillow. Your knee bent up and almost over his own and your hand planted firmly on his thigh.

Oh. That.

Those fingers he liked to twirl around his own and lick salt off of when you were done with your fries? Those fingers were under the hem of his boxers and a very much pressing into the meat of his thigh. You don’t move except to breathe but all he can focus on is that hand literal inches from his dick. The dick he’d kept in check for weeks now in the hopes he wouldn’t chase you away with the absolute need he felt. Kind of like right now where it lays heavy and hot against his thigh just like your hand.

So Jabberwocky it is.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

But in the dark with a hard on, slithy toves makes him chuckle. Almost full on giggle and he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. Slithy toves sounds like a euphemism for pussy and he can’t help the huffs of laughter pushed through his nose. He looks down in the hopes that this has distracted his dick but apparently laughter makes him harder and he files that away to look into at a later date. Borogoves floats through his brain and he immediately thinks about giving your boobs a new nickname and he has to put a foot down for himself.

Next verse.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

Bandersnatch has to be a euphemism, there’s no goddamn way, it has the word snatch in it. He rolls his eyes and before he can sigh you shift beside him in your sleep, closer with your nose in his curls on his pillow and that soft hand he’s thought about when his own is too boring in the shower scoots another inch closer to the problem.

Maybe if he whispers it out loud?

“He took his vorpal sword in hand;-”

Absolutely not. Nope. New plan when he feels your sleeping breath across the front of his throat. It ghosts over his adams apple and all he can think about is your lips on his neck last week and how he’d pulled at his hair after you’d left just because it drove him insane.

Maybe if he recited it backwards it would confuse him enough all the blood would need to race back up into his brain.

“Outgrabe…raths…the-no…mome the and…” He’s squinting hard in the dark, reading invisible words on the ceiling in this new attempt to circumvent disaster.

“Borogoves…ha. Damn it. Borogoves…the were…mimsy all.” A headache is all this is giving him but for a moment he’s forgotten your hand and where it was. He’s searching the next line in his head and trying to jumble it so it isn’t so halting in the early morning quiet.

“Wabe the in gimble and gyer did!” He almost claps his hands when he makes it through without pause but he stops himself for fear of waking you up. Instead he spends 20 minutes working his way backwards through his poem, whispering to the night about the Jabberwock.

O frabjous day indeed when he realizes his dick is half soft now, not such a nuisance and a terror after he’s distracted himself. He thinks about waking you gently, a hand brushing your hair away from your face or running lightly over your leg but then you move. You move of your own accord and hook your leg over his. Kneecap bumping your hand higher and if he breathed wrong right this second you’d be brushing fingertips over his balls.

“And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,”

He mutters without whisper. It’s not full volume speaking but he really doesn’t want you to wake up and find him hard and awake with your hand shoved up his shorts. As much as he would really love to feel your hands on him like that he’s been trying his best to be gentlemanly. Only necking on your timetable when you steal him away to a quiet corner. A little over the pants stuff, heavy petting but you’ve never pushed it and it won’t make you uncomfortable, no matter what his dick wants him to do.

“Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!”

Eddie sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” You hum at him. A high note in the back of your throat that has him whipping his head to see you stirring. Adjusting to your side and dra-a-agging that hand. He doesn’t know what to do as you come around and blink up at him in the dark. He can see the edges of your expression from the light filtering in from outside, smooth brow and faint smile until it isn’t.

“Di’ yousay sumthin’?” Slurred against his shoulder where your mouth is pressed.

“Uh, kind of.”

“You okay?” You press up against him, your pelvis into his hip and he’s about to be caught. There’s no way you aren’t going to notice the outline in his boxers or the way he’s gotta be sweating gallons just in nerves.

“I…yeah?”

“What’s the ma-” You shift to prop yourself up so you can sleepily inspect him and he wants to subsequently die and sigh happily when your hand meets trouble. “Oh.”

Oh. Oh? Oh yeah, no big deal, it’s just his dick showing up to ruin the party like the world’s worst frat guy. “Look, I was trying to make it go away and I-“

“Why?” Having just woken up your voice is soft in a deep way. Scratchy from dry air but it fits the mussed hair and the rucked up t-shirt you have on. His gaze falls on the sliver of stomach that you’re showing off between the covers and he’s having a hard time coming up with an answer.

“Why?”

“Is there an echo in here?” You laugh and slide your palm over his stomach that tenses. “Yeah, why.” Your pinky catches the hem of his thin shirt and pulls it up to reveal his own section of underbelly. “We’re alone right?”

“Y-yeah.” It comes out like a hiss though because your nails scratch across that newly revealed skin and right over the trail of hairs below his belly button. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t uh, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Your fingers move back and forth over his stomach before you let them dip back down to the waistband of his boxers, fingertip seeking under the elastic ever so slightly. “You’ve been very patient Eddie.” The rings on your hand are body warm but hold a child to them when they glide over skin. “I think we just had a little misunderstanding at first though.” Fingers comb through wiry hairs on their search for their prize. “I’ve been trying to do this since you asked me out, but I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Oh my god, no. I mean yes, because I thought that’s what you wanted but I read into things too much sometimes bec-ause fuck.” He was running his mouth but then you’d grabbed him. Wrapped that dreamy hand around his cock and sighed into his cheek like you were the one experiencing earth shattering euphoria.

“Eddie I’ve wanted to do this for months.” A slow tug to the tip and you do something with your fingers that makes his mouth hang open in a silent plea. Another twist before you run your thumb over his slit and he grabs your wrist.

“This is gonna be over so quick if you keep that up.”

“Well that’s not so bad, I was still a little tired.” Highlights pick up the line of your lips and that sleepy smile that’s all for him. Heavy lashes flutter when he lets you go and shoves his shorts down to give you room to work. “You can get me back when we wake up.”

He throbs in your grasp at the promised idea of getting you back and all that entails. He can’t help himself but think of wet and warm places while your hand moves in languid strokes. Hot puffs of air across his chest where you lay your head to watch and then he’s watching you watching yourself and falling into a vortex of horniness. He wants to weave his fingers into your hair for some reason. Wants to feel the softness between his fingers while you rub velvet skin through your own.

“Eddie?” You pant into his shirt, lips catching and dragging on the cotton.

“Yeah?”

“What were you reciting?”

It almost pulls him out of his pleasure it’s jars him so. Briefly he thinks about lying and saying Shakespeare but you’re already giving him a 3 am handjob so he thinks he might not have to fib. “Jabberwocky.”

“Alice in Wonderland?” Your hand leaves his cock suddenly but he doesn’t get to whine about it before he’s whining about you licking your palm and getting back to work. He nods above you like you could see him but it earns him a chuckle from you and a stray few fingers that tug at his balls.

“God damnit yes.” He does push his hand into your hair then, the other fisting into the sheets beside him. You make a passing remark about reciting it then but he honestly might not even know his own name. The way his legs move restlessly against the bed and his fingers grip into your scalp. The damp slide of your palm over the head of his cock, the twisting motion you keep doing, it’s all rocketing him towards his finish. The burn of it in his belly clouding his senses and making him buck his hips up into your touch. The air of your breath keeps breezing over his overheated skin and your panting laughs are shoving him closer and closer until he’s squeezing his eyes shut and going stiff.

Warm lines splash up his stomach and he knows in a minute or two he’ll feel shame unmatched by man heretofore known but right now he couldn’t care. Soft hands drag him through the aftershocks while you make praiseworthy noises into his chest. You coo at him for a job well done and he can feel the heat rise on his cheeks. Sitting up again to look back at him your drag a finger through the mess he made and when you take three seconds to inspect it he doesn’t expect you to bring it to your lips.

“I-“ He what? What can he say while he watches you suck on your index finger like he does? When a slick grin hooks the corner of your mouth up into something devilish and he has an awakening at almost 4 am.

“How was that, huh? Glad we got that over with?” You drop your cheek to your shoulder to give him a smolder but Eddie needs to taste your lips after you’ve tasted him. It’s a need not a want so he rushes you, pushes you back into the bed and gets his mess everywhere but it doesn’t matter. He kisses you deep until you both have to come up for air and then he’s peppering your neck in them until your giggling is too much.

He uses his shirt to wipe himself off, promising a shower in the morning, and pulls both of you under the covers to conspire in the afterglow.

“Do you think reading that poem is gonna Pavlov you now?”

“How so?”

“I mean,” your laugh cuts into your explanation, “slithy toves kind of sounds like a name for-“

“Pussy! I know!” He laughs with you. “And Bandersnatch!”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson x Reader #My Fic

1K notes · View notes

jinnie-ret · 8 months

Text

heatstroke

stray kids x ninth member!reader

genre: fluff, angst

content warnings: heat stroke, vomiting

word count: 1.9k

summary: y/n suffers from heat stroke on the day of their performance at lollapalooza

As voted by you!

It's finally here! Sorry it took me a while to post this after the poll ended, but I hope you enjoy!

As always, like, reblog if you enjoyed, and my asks are open for any requests you may have. And let me know if you'd like to be tagged when I post :)

MAIN MASTERLIST

They had made it to Paris. Y/N couldn't believe how big the crowd would be for their performance at the festival 'Lollapalooza'. The sun was shining, and all she wanted to do was fully appreciate the nice weather. Although, where there was a Changbin, there was always chaos.

"Hwang Hyunjin!" Changbin called from opposite Y/N in his deck chair.

"Why do you keep calling me? Wae? Wae. Wae?" Hyunjin loomed over Changbin in a hoodie and sunglasses, wondering why the older member wanted his attention.

"Jinnie how are you wearing a hoodie right now? The sun's out, it's boiling," Y/N raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's not that hot," he shook his head at her, probably side eyeing her from behind his shades.

Each to their own, Y/N thought.

Somehow they came onto the topic of noodles but Y/N wasn't really fussed, she had ramen all the time back home.

She was more trying to relax, and she couldn't help but fall asleep from the comforting warmth of the French sunshine.

"Y/Nnie, wake up, you look like a tomato," Jeongin shook her awake, and as she became fully aware she realised her arms and neck was feeling quite hot.

Shit, she forgot her sun cream.

"You good? Your arms are so red," Chan peered at her, concerned.

"Mmm, my neck feels hot too," Y/N sits up in the deck chair, brushing her hair back so the boys could see.

"Aish that sunburn looks bad, you should have put on some suncream," Felix lightly brushes his finger over her red arm, making her wince.

"Gosh, I'm going to look like a tomato when we perform," Y/N laughs as she looks down at her arms.

"At this rate you won't just look like a tomato, you'll look like the whole garden," Lee Know smirks, proud of his joke.

"Ha, ha, very funny Lee Know," Y/N pats his cheek in a jokingly patronising way, smiling back at him.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Y/N," Chan looked over her, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry Channie, I just wanted to enjoy the nice weather," Y/N pouted.

"You do realise you can get skin cancer if you burn too much?" Seungmin pointed out, taking a sip of water from his bottle.

"Yah, Seungmin don't say things like that I'll get paranoid," Y/N whacks his arm lightly.

"Hey I'm just saying, your skin will age faster too," Seungmin shrugged.

"I'll look like an old woman next to you guys and I'm the youngest!" Y/N laughed, Han appearing with aloe vera out of nowhere and gently rubbing it into her skin, letting out quiet apologies when she winced.

"That's why I'm helping you, don't want you to look like a 60 year old next to us whilst we still look the same," Han laughed loudly.

"Haha, that would look kinda funny though," Y/N laughed at the thought. Perhaps she'd look like grandma I.N with the rest of the group alongside her.

"You know what else would be funny?" Changbin wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"What?" Y/N asked curiously, shifting her body to stand and face him.

"To see you dancing on stage like a tomato, everyone going crazy because of how big and red you are," Changbin maniacally giggled.

The boys burst out laughing at the statement and Y/N's face.

"Huh? Big?!" Y/N gasped laughing.

"I was talking about your cheeks, they're really big and red right now," Changbin laughed, waving his hands in defense of how what he said had sounded.

"Haha, I'll introduce myself like, hi! This isn't Y/Nnie, I'm tomato today!" Y/N put on her stage voice, pretending to introduce herself to her fans.

The members all laugh at her, Jeongin walking up to her and tickling her sides.

"Hey! Are you the new mascot for ketchup?" he cheekily grinned, eyes disappearing through his smile.

"Yah! Jeongin!" Y/N guffawed from his remark.

"Ah, our tomato is blushing so much," Lee Know pats her head smirking.

"Stop, stop," Y/N waves them away.

"Haha, seriously though, come inside the tent for a bit, you should stay out of the sun," Chan guided her into their tent where they were setup before their performance.

"Yeah it's not like we're performing until a few hours anyways," Lee Know nodded, as they all sat around inside.

"Aish, I'm tired," Y/N laid her head down in Han's lap, his hand brushing through her hair out of habit.

"You were literally just napping," Hyunjin raised a brow at her.

"Yeah but..." Y/N closed her eyes feeling relaxed at the familiar feeling.

"Drink some water first," Hyunjin put a bottle of water with a straw in it to her face.

Still with her eyes shut she took a sip and then relaxed. It wasn't until a couple of hours later that she was woken up and ushered to the stylists and makeup artists to get ready.

The crowd was insane. And really, they were the only thing keeping her going as she could feel her energy depleting. She didn't notice the glances from the boys throughout the performance, occasionally spotting her swaying yet she still managed to keep her vocals stable as they performed Superbowl for the first time ever, and Item for the second time ever.

The euphoria running through her veins began to leave her once they reached backstage. With a smile she listened to Felix end their set to hype the crowd with Seven Nation Army. But she couldn't help her slumped figure as she sat down after her desperate search for a chair.

"You good, Y/Nnie?" Chan patted her shoulder, trying to get her attention.

"Hot," Y/N panted, tugging at the collar of her leather jacket that she had been fitted with for the stage performance.

"Take it off then," Changbin helped her shake it off, now feeling concerned at her heavily sweating state.

"What's going on with Y/N?" some of the other members asked as they walked over.

"Ugh, my head," she groaned, now leant forward as she gripped onto her knees for some stability.

"Have some water, silly," Seungmin encouraged her to take his own, yet her shaky hand wasn't very reassuring to the others.

"Y/Nnie, you can't even hold onto it, are you dizzy? What's the matter?" Felix poured out questions, worried about the state she was in.

"Mmm," Y/N nods, as Jeongin helps her sip from the water bottle.

"Ah that's not good," Hyunjin shakes his head, frowning.

"Here, come on, let's get you relaxed somewhere else," Changbin helps her stand, yet as her body becomes upright she stumbles, Lee Know helping to support her balance.

Y/N suddenly tears up, feeling scared about how she was feeling. It was all too overwhelming, and everything felt too hot.

"C-can't feel my arms," Y/N whimpered as tears fell down her cheeks, the boys murmuring amongst themselves worriedly.

"You can't feel your arms?" Felix asked, a scared look on his face, and that made Y/N feel worse, she didn't want the boys to be stressed out for her sake.

"I'm sorry, I..." Y/N trailed off, still panting as she was guided back to her chair, the boys deciding it was for the better for her to rest for now where she was, instead of moving her somewhere else.

"You're okay. Everything is going to be ok, sweetheart, we've got you, yeah?" Chan hushed her soothingly, Han rubbing her back in small circles.

"Should we call a medic?" Jeongin asked, eyes wide with uneasiness.

"Yes, good idea, Innie," Lee Know nodded at him, as they both went to look for some help.

"Y/N, you're ok, you're going to be ok," Hyunjin quietly comforted her, a light grip on her hand as he knelt down beside her.

Y/N groaned again from her headache getting worse.

"Where are those medics?" Changbin asked, looking around frustratedly with his hands on his hips, wondering what was taking so long.

"Don't... worry... don't waste... on me..." Y/N could barely get her words out, especially as a wave of nausea overcome her.

"Yah, it's not a waste, you're clearly not well right now Y/N," Han looked sullen, now fanning her face with a piece of paper he had found.

"S-sorry... ugh, feel... sick," she mumbled dizzily, slumped in the chair.

"You feel sick?" Hyunjin worried.

"I'm gonna... ugh," Y/N, with all her willpower, lifted herself out of the chair, yet it wasn't enough to keep her standing as she collapsed to her knees on the ground and threw up whatever was in her system. The boys were unable to catch her and yelled out as she fell.

"Y/N! Shit!" Changbin held her against him.

"Where are the medics?!" Chan yelled angrily, stress consuming him as their maknae was on the ground.

"Ah, ugh, I'm, ah I'm sorry," Y/N whimpered, tears running down her face from her own panic and the feeling of throwing up.

"You don't have to be sorry, it's ok, just take a deep breath," Han held her hair back, looking around at the boys with his eyes shining with his own tears as he feared she wouldn't be ok.

Y/N threw up again, gasping for breath.

"Is that all of it?" Hyunjin whispered from beside them, Y/N tearily nodding as she slumped back in Changbin's arms, feeling dazed.

Lee Know and Jeongin suddenly rushed over with the medics, both of them seeming angry.

"Finally! Where were they?!" Chan asked them, sighing disappointedly.

"Packing up, they were ready to go even though we only just finished performing," Lee Know gritted his teeth as the medics lifted Y/N onto a stretcher and took her through to a medical room, much cooler with air conditioning blasting through the room.

They held a wet cloth against her forehead and against her burns to try and lower her body temperature. The boys couldn't do anything but wait anxiously as they saw their youngest laying down and getting treated.

"Her temperature is dropping, that's a good sign," the medic said out loud to the boys.

Half an hour had passed and Y/N was now more aware of her surroundings, the medics clearing that she could head back to the hotel with the boys, telling them that if her condition worsens again that they need to call an ambulance immediately.

"I'm sorry," Y/N sleepily muttered as they helped her into the company cars.

"Don't apologise, we were more concerned about you," Seungmin informed her, an arm wrapped around her waist as he and Hyunjin guided her into the back of the car.

"That's why I feel bad," Y/N bit her lip.

"It's ok, you can rest now, don't worry about it ok? I know it's easier said than done but we'll make sure you're ok, and we're doing that because we care about you, yeah?" Chan said from the front seat.

"Ok, ok," she yawned, head leaning against Hyunjin's shoulder.

Once they arrived back at the hotel they didn't let her stay in her own room, as she instead was looked after by Lee Know and Jeongin in another, the two of them making sure she was relaxed and not too hot as they kept the air conditioning on. It may have felt a bit cold for them at one point but they didn't mind, they'd do anything for her. All of the boys would.

tagged: @skz-streamer @oo-li

#skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz angst #skz fluff #skz x reader #straykids imagines #skz fic #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz 9th member #skz ninth imagines #skz ninth #skz ninth member imagines #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth #stray kids ninth member #stray kids 9th member

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sister-lucifer · 3 months

Text

A Bullet in the Chamber

Proxies (Hoodie, Masky, Toby) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Horror/Dark Angst

Summary: They want you to prove your love, to prove that you truly believe you’re meant to be together…with the help of Tim’s revolver, of course.

Content/Warnings: God, where do I start…obviously massive use of a gun, they play russian roulette, descriptions of gore, the proxies are super manipulative and emotionally abusive to reader, just a super obsessive not healthy relationship, this is NOT a feel good fic, it’s implied reader is being held captive

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

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Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“We just wanna…play a little game with you, that’s all,” Tim drawls, his voice deep and lazy as he looks at you from behind his mask.

You’re nervous suddenly. Unbearably nervous. A cold chill runs throughout your body and makes your stomach convulse in an agonizing manner, and you don’t know if you’re going to vomit or pass out first. You don’t know why. He’s only just started speaking. Maybe it’s the way he drew out the last part of that sentence, or the way he immediately tried to soothe you before you’ve even fully understood what’s going on, or just that look in his eyes that says ‘I want to fucking gut you.’

There’s a reason you learned to keep your guard up around these three.

Suddenly the little circle you’re all sitting in on the floor feels much, much tighter than is comfortable, and it doesn’t help that Toby slides in closer, bumping your shoulder with his and flashing you a knowing smirk. What exactly he knows, though, is a horrific enigma to you.

Brian is on your other side, and although he doesn’t move, for a split second he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze returns to Tim. He’s managing to hold a straight face, but you can see the corners of his mouth just barely twitching as he internally fights to keep the emotion bubbling beneath the surface at bay.

There’s silence for a few moments, you’re not sure how long, but you don’t realize they’re waiting for you to speak until Toby nudges you.

“I, uh…what, um— what kind of game…?” You stammer, immediately regretting your question despite the curiosity that’s gnawing at you like a starving animal. You shudder when Toby giggles, clearly trying to stifle the sound as he bumps your shoulder again.

Tim thinks over his answer for a moment, scratching at his stubble in a manner that is far too casual. You think he’s going to speak, you’re expecting it, but he doesn’t say anything at first beyond a tired sounding sigh. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as it reaches behind him, and when it emerges once more it’s holding onto the grip of Tim’s revolver.

“There’s one bullet in the chamber.”

The world is spinning suddenly as you watch him place the weapon on the ground, and the sound of it sliding across the floor to you makes you sick. You bite back a gag as it slows to a stop in front of you. Your mouth hangs open uselessly as you struggle for words, desperate to pull out some sort of protest to what you know he wants but no sound comes.

They watch you grapple with yourself for a few moments before Brian places a hand on your knee. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, and normally it would be, but now it feels like a threat.

“Hey, don’t freak out so soon,” He says, lips curled into a subtle smirk, “We did this all the time when we were younger, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

Unsurprisingly, this does little to quell your fears. You’re shaking now, unable to wrap your mind around how they could be acting so nonchalant about putting your lives on the line like this.

“Listen,” Tim huffs, “I’m gonna be straight with ya, kid. We know how you’ve been feeling recently.”

That hardly narrows it down. You’ve been feeling a lot of things recently, none of it good and all of it confusing. That’s just the sort of conflict born from this kind of captivity. You shrug, unsure what to say.

“We know you w-wanna leave,” Toby clarifies, “I saw you staring out t-the window the other day…you just s-sat there for hours.”

That…made you feel a bit guilty. You shouldn’t, but you do. You could’ve at least made it less obvious.

“We trust you, hon,” Brian adds with a nod, “But we also think we could all use a little…what did you call it?”

He turns to Tim, who yawns before answering.

“…Group bonding.”

You shudder at the phrase. Disgusting.

“I…I don’t think this is the best way to…t-to do that,” You murmur, but your words hold no weight when you can’t even look them in the eyes. You’d never take the risk of making any sort of real fuss anyways.

Tim shrugs, seeming to consider your words.

“How would you do it, then?”

You…don’t have an answer for that. Why don’t you have an answer for that?

“I-I don’t know, I mean…can’t we just have awkward group sex like other, uh…groups, or whatever?” You ask, hesitating to call your dynamic any sort of relationship.

You make sure to tack on a nervous laugh at the end to make it seem lighthearted, but no one is amused. Toby giggles, but he’s laughing at you, and it’s painfully obvious.

“Don’t stress about it,” Tim says, “Just think of it as a…a test, you know?”

He sighs when you shake your head no.

“Ya know, like…a way of proving yourself. I mean, you trust us, right?”

You hesitate to answer that, but nod quickly when Tim narrows his eyes at you.

“Good. Well, think of it this way: if we all survive this, it’s a sign that we’re…meant to be together.”

“There has to be a better way—“ You blurt out before you can stop yourself, and Brian instantly takes to calming you.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. His other hand comes up to your face, holding your head against his shoulder.

“Calm down, baby,” He says softly, “Don’t jump ship so fast. I told you, we’ve all done this before. We’ll even go first to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?”

He’s not really giving you a choice.

You nod.

Maybe you’ll be able to just get this over with. If you sit here for much longer, you’re gonna be sick.

Toby reaches out to grab the gun first. That doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s never been one for forethought, or common sense in general. One day his hubris will get him killed, you think, but for once you’re hoping it won’t be today.

Not today.

Not here.

Not right in front of you.

Brian doesn’t let you go, continuing to hold you against him as Toby makes a show of spinning the chamber, letting it run until it stops on its own. He giggles with deranged amusement as he presses the end of the barrel to the bottom of his chin, looking back at Tim with a crooked grin.

There’s silent for a few moments, and you can’t look away from him until you follow his gaze to Tim, who is staring back with furrowed brows.

He’s still for a beat, and then he nods.

A signal.

Go.

You have a split second to process Toby preparing to pull the trigger before you bury your face in Brian’s hoodie and he, in turn, covers your face with his hand and squeezes you tight. It’s hardly comforting, but it’s better than nothing.

The soft click of the trigger seems to echo endlessly in the silence that follows.

Silence.

You quickly look back up and are immediately met with Toby’s hazel eyes looking back at you, their corners crinkled with the wide smile that’s spread across his pale face.

“Lookie there,” He drawls with a laugh, “This h-handsome face is still in tact.”

“Hardly the better outcome,” Tim mutters with a roll of his eyes.

This prompts Toby to slide the gun to him next, crossing his arms in feigned hurt.

“You go n-next then, wise guy. If you blow y-your brains out, at least we’ll know you h-had one.”

“Shut up,” Tim hisses back as he, too, brings his hand up to spin the chamber of the revolver. You’re still trying to catch your breath. You didn’t think they’d be so eager.

You’re gripping onto Brian’s hoodie so tightly your knuckles burn as you watch Tim press the barrel of the gun to his jaw, angling it upwards toward the dome of his skull.

He’s not nearly as giddy as Toby. He’s straight faced and silent, which isn’t odd, but something in his eyes is darker than you ever remember it being. You can only see his eyes with his mask on, yet you know his expression exactly. He’s staring right at you, and you’re imagining his brains dashed against the wall behind him, his face and any identifying features that once made him human reduced to a splatter of viscera that barely resembles the pieces of a person.

And when it’s all over, you think, you’ll surely be the one left to clean the mess of what used to be Tim. You’ll be left to scrub the red stains from the floorboards while the others continue on as if nothing has happened, and suddenly you can’t breathe.

The world stills as once more the trigger is pulled with a click.

Then relief hits you like a shockwave when that click is followed by silence.

Silence.

Your lungs fill faster than you were ready for, and you cough and sputter as your chest heaves with newfound breath. Brian rubs your shoulder gently, his other hand reaching out to grab the revolver as Tim slides it to him. The gun is exchanged without a word, only piercing eye contact as Brian lifts the weapon and spins the chamber, just as his companions had done before him.

It seems so natural for all of them. In the half a second it takes for Brian to lift the gun you wonder how many times they’ve done this, if you’re the first person to witness this ritual, and if not, what happened to those who came before you.

You don’t find any hope of getting answers, though, as you watch Brian press the barrel to the side of his head. He gives you a squeeze, and you can’t tell if he’s assuring you or saying goodbye just in case.

You still haven’t released his hoodie despite the throbbing pain in your fingers. You’re barely a thread away from tearing out a patch, but you can’t let go. You don’t look at him this time, unable to pull your head away from where it rests on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze like you’re trying to crush him, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle and ruffles your hair in response as if he’s amused by your terror. You’re a scared kid to him, a foolish little child running from an imaginary monster despite the very real threat.

You can hear his hoodie shifting as he adjusts the position of the gun. You can hear the slight scratching against his hair as the barrel moves against his head. You can hear him suck in a quick breath as he readies himself to pull the trigger.

You hear the click.

And then silence.

Silence.

You’ve never been so grateful for silence.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Toby claps and laughs loudly, practically howling with wildly misplaced celebration. He shakes you in his excitement, unable to get any intelligible words out through his giggling.

“Shhh,” Brian says with a finger to his lips, “We’re not done yet.”

He’s right. Goddamnit, he’s right. Not everyone has played yet. You were hoping that maybe just this once the higher being that trapped you in this hell would have this minuscule mercy on you, but you were met with a resounding no.

Brian places the gun on the floor in front of you. You can’t hear the sound of the metal gently knocking against the wood floor, but it makes you feel ice cold. Your world is rapidly going dark as you struggle to make yourself breathe.

You can feel the others’ eyes on you, three pairs of eyes staring right at you and boring a hole through your skull that’ll surely be identical to the one the bullet will leave. Maybe they’re imagining it, too.

It seems you’re not moving fast enough for them.

Toby reaches out and grabs your wrist a bit too roughly, forcefully placing your hand on the gun. You wince like you expect it to burn, but you’re left with only the cruel sensation of metal on your palm.

You weakly curl your fingers around the grip of the gun. It feels impossibly heavy as you lift it, trembling like a leaf in the wind. You force your other hand up, placing two fingers on the chamber of the revolver as you prepare to spin it.

You press the pads of your fingers against the metal, pushing down in an attempt to spin, but the gun slips from your shaking hands and clatters to the floor. You yelp in surprise and clamp your hands over your mouth, tears suddenly forming in your eyes but refusing to flow over.

Brian sighs. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just disappointed. He picks up the gun, and you think that maybe, just maybe he’s going to let you out, grant you some small reprieve and tell you you don’t have to do this.

Instead he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close, and his other hand presses the barrel of the gun right to your head.

“I’ll do it for you,” He says, as if it’s nothing serious. Like he’s just grabbing a box off a high shelf to be nice.

You feel like he’s strangling you. He might as well be. It would be a more humane death.

He’s going to kill you, you think, you’re going to die in this godforsaken house with these bastards, you’re going to die in isolation with no one to honor your body.

They’ve sentenced you to death.

You think back to that question of how many have come before you. Is this what they thought about, too? Is this the first, third or twentieth time someone like you has been here? How many unfortunate circumstances have stained the floorboards red over the years this cabin has stood?

It doesn’t matter.

None of that matters.

You’re going to be the next.

That’s all there is for you to be now.

A stain of red on the old wood floors will be your only legacy.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you look up at Brian. His expression doesn’t move an inch. There’s no trace of the humor he always seems to have, not even a hint of feigned compassion or sympathy for your position. He’s not letting you out of this. None of them are.

You reach down and grab Brian’s hand where it rests in your hip, your nails digging into his knuckles. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even move beyond adjusting his finger to pull the trigger.

Each second seems to go on for an eternity, yet at the same time everything is moving far too fast. You can’t process what’s happening but you just want it over with, that’s your only choice.

He’s lifting his finger, preparing to bring it down on the trigger.

He’s pressing the barrel of the gun into your skin just a bit harder as he readies himself for whatever happens next.

This is it.

This is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is…

The trigger clicks.

Then there’s silence.

…it.

Silence.

And then Toby erupts with animalistic, ecstatic laughter. It rings in your ears and echoes around your skull in an almost painful manner. You can’t stand the sound.

You’re alive.

The game is over.

All at once relief floods your body in such an overwhelming manner your vision goes dark. You can’t speak a word before you’ve gone limp in Brian’s arms, and he barely has time to put the revolver down and catch you. He holds you in his arms and makes a half hearted attempt to wake you, but when you don’t respond he looks up at Tim with a smirk.

“Out like a light.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle, and for a moment it’s even a full on laugh. This only encourages Toby, who’s flopped over onto his back as his body writhes with mirth.

Brian groans as he stands, pulling your body up with him. He throws you over his shoulder and nods to the others.

“I’m taking this one up stairs, gonna put ‘em to bed. I’m sure they’ll be whiny when they wake up, and you two better deal with it.”

Tim and Toby nod and wave him away. Toby’s finally stopped laughing enough to pull himself off the floor as Tim picks up the revolver. He shoves it into Toby’s chest, nearly pushing him over.

“Go put it up,” Tim orders.

“Or what?” Toby teases as he takes the gun, “You g-gonna get mad ‘cause I won’t clean up y-your toys?”

“Just do it,” Tim demands with a growl, clearly not amused. Toby rolls his eyes and huffs like a defiant child, but nods.

Tim starts to walk away, headed upstairs to his own room, but he pauses on the first step and turns to Toby.

“Oh, and don’t forget to load it,” He adds, “If it’s empty the next time I need it, I’m gonna kill you.”

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