#only this time for my mental health………….
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Fresh Out The Slammer
Summary: You're going to see Spencer after he spent three months on the prision.
Couple: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Little angst, mention of prision and murder.
A/N: Hi everyone, guess who is back to write like is running out of time! Someone has to take TTPD away from me, now this is an addiction.
Sorry if this doesn't have to much to do wuth the song and remember, english is not my first language, so please tell me if I have an error.
Plss reblog it
When Spencer was being held in custody in Mexico, you were anxious, you visited him and he was completely different from who you were accustomed to.
It was like he wasn’t mentally there, he looked like a mess and his mental stability was almost inexistent, you almost broke down when you saw him in that state.
After that visit, he didn’t let you go again to see him, he didn’t want you to see him in that state and was worried about your mental health even if he was worse in that matter.
You felt hurt at that moment but you decided to understand him and didn’t visit him again but you sent him letters, the first few letters he didn't respond to you, after some time he started to respond to your letters.
You have been feeling down all the time, being in your apartment made you feel miserable knowing he wasn't there, it felt lifeless there without his presence.
Your bed that once was your favorite place in the world became the worst place to be without his arms around you holding you and protecting you from all the things that happen out there.
You were cleaning the apartment when your phone started to ring, you took it to check who it was and when you saw his name you let out a scream. You quickly answer the call.
“Spencer, are you okay?” You said immediately when the call started, your voice was full of worry for him.
“Yes, I’m already out and I’m alright, don’t worry angel.” His voice sounded reassuring, even if he wasn’t alright he wouldn’t have told you but something inside you told you to believe him.
That calmed you instantly, knowing he was alright made your mind at peace, and the overthinking in your mind stopped even if it was for a moment.
“I’m going to be there in a couple of hours.” His voice sounded tired, knowing him you know that he hadn’t slept more than two hours or less in those three months
Now you were waiting for him in your apartment, sitting on your couch trying to read a book, but that task seemed impossible right now, your mind was only focused on the clock in the living room, checking it every few minutes.
It felt like the minutes were slowly becoming eternal, your heart was beating like it was going to get out of your chest, and your mind was running through a million thoughts at the same time.
Then you heard the door opening and you ran towards the entrance just like a little kid, when you saw him you just hugged him while tears began to spill from you’re eyes.
“I missed you so much.” You whispered against his neck, your voice breaking with every word you spoke. His hands were rubbing your back in a calming notion.
When you pulled back enough to see his face, you noticed that his face had tears spilling from his beautiful eyes, you removed them with your thumbs while you held his face in your hands.
“You don’t have any idea of how much I thought about you, All those nights, you kept me going. I read every letter you sent.” He pulled you towards him for a kiss. When his lips touched yours it was like being in heaven again.
You pulled away a little and put your head on his chest “I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that.” Your voice was weak and filled with sadness thinking about all the things that he had suffered, you looked to another side.
He pulled away a little and took you by the chin to make you see him, he started to speak again. “Even if I go through all of that, knowing that you were here is enough compensation for all the things that I had suffered in my life.”
You kissed again but with time it was more slowly and gently, the kiss was filled with the love that the two of you had for each other. You were sure that the love would never end between you two.
He was the one who you want to spend the rest of your life with him.
#plutoispurple#plss reblog#small account#small writer#taylor swift#criminal minds#smut#doctor spencer reid#fluff#spencer reid#cm fandom#cm fanfiction#fanfic fluff#fanfic writing#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#the tourtured poets department#fresh out the slammer#the anthology#prision#x reader#x y/n#writers on tumblr#music#angst#criminal minds fanfic#one shot
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AITA for picking my girlfriend over my friend?
So I had this friend that I'll call M (teen, F) who dated my now girlfriend, W (teen, F) for three months like six months ago. Bad start, I know.
I had known M since middle school, but we weren't really friends until we both went to the same highschool, because we were like. The only ones from our middle school who were there, and we'd stayed sort of friends until this year (junior year), when I made friends with W, who she wasn't dating at the time.
She started dating W, and it was going alright, neither of them were in Love but they definitely liked each other, and W is Extremely stubborn and wants to be helpful, so she was trying to make it work. But all of Ws friends HATED M and it caused a ton of problems, so M broke up with her and started avoiding her. Around this time M also quit all hobbies and blamed W for it.
M runs through friends FAST. She views them as pretty disposable, good until they piss her off or she pisses them off, and then she drops them because she can always find new friends. She has a long history of being very toxic (blaming mental health issues on friends, flipping opinions on a dime, deciding you are a horrible person who she hates for no clear reason, etc. all of which she did to W). I don't view friends like this at all, and will cling to them pretty hard if I like them.
My friends and other partner, B (teen, Nonbinary) also hated M and really thought I shouldn't be friends with her. She could be mean to me, but also she had dropped all her other friends and I didn't want to leave her on her own. So I tried to stay friends with her, and maintain my friendship with W.
But M at one point asked me to distance myself from W and I said No, and she got really annoyed at me about it, eventually ending our friendship, but trying to stay friendly acquaintances.
And apparently, W and I had never seemed like just friends, according to everyone I'd talked to. W's friends were convinced we were at least fucking, B said that we'd been basically dating for months, and finally we started dating about two months ago. This was when M approached me again to ask why I was dating W, saying it felt like a betrayal and a stab in the heart, and I'm just really confused.
I don't think I'm the asshole and please ask any questions you have in the comments, I'll reply, because I think this might be incomprehensible, but yeah. I'm just confused.
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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |
Smoke Signals
Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas
W/C: 7.5K
Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader
Have yourself a merry little Christmas…
(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers
Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀
A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭
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Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.
A senseless daydream.
It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it. Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape. This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place. It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.
So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt. Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life. And last week he was suddenly dead. It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie. All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor. Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.
He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s. Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste. Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.
Whatever you wanted.
He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke. His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you. He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him. He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place. Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick. He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.
Now just standing up seemed impossible. Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible. And for what? For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions. Pathetic, he knew. But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.
This was it.
This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man. Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything. He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come. A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind. And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver. The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him. He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.
Eddie told you he was feeling better. It was a lie. He never had the flu. He didn’t feel better. He wanted to die. And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive. Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.
And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon. His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.
He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones. There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did. A flaw in the system. And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?
Several.
He thought to himself.
You could have gone to school, shown up.
Could have stayed out of detention.
Gotten arrested less.
Not get arrested at all.
Could have said no. So. Many. Times.
In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death. He couldn’t stop making excuses. Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse. For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together. Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had. It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.
Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision. He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid. Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.
What’s the matter darlin’?
And he just sobbed. And remembered.
Morning pancakes and the blues. Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies. Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum. Dancing in the living room. Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees. Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin. Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.
Then he remembered.
Him.
Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense. Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer. That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised. Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights. Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in. Disappearing for days.
Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home. Only he rarely did. Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time. Years and years of push back. A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.
“My dad has a ton of jobs.” He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.
The kids would snicker. Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness. And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day. Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them. Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.
So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature. At least that’s how dad described it. It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse. They called his dad a drunk. They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged. “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie. Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time. Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.
Freak.
Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt. And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up. Closure in some kind of fucked up way. Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.
Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with. Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.
All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes. Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability. No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door. He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it. This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions. He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world. They shouldn’t have to worry about me. With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.
The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana. A life he’d always longed for anyway.
Be careful what you wish for.
That goddamn voice taunts him.
The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away. “One slip up…” They had said. It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him. Literally anyone. As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.
Cause he was nothing if not a problem. First and foremost.
Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–
“Eddie?”
It all stopped.
“Eddie?!”
There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry. The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.
Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–
“Please don’t make me go back!”
You couldn’t form words.
“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.” His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime. “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear. Please d-don’t let them take me.”
Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen. With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made. You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shh.” You soothe.
Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose. A wordless commitment. Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere. You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
–
Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure. Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had. Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at. He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.
The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house. Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred. If either spoke it would make it real. Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.
He said it was an accident, and you believed him. There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind. Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip. It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.
He felt on a deeper level than most.
At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him. In the standard of fight or flight, he froze. Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.
“Bambi–”
“You don’t need to say anything.”
You were trying to keep it together. His croaking voice made that hard. But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability. And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime. Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him. Maybe that was dare you even think it, love. But that’s a crisis for another time.
“Dad died.”
Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions. Conclusions you backtracked on immediately. It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.
“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–” A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.
“It’s fucked.” His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior. “I shouldn’t–” There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath. “I shouldn’t feel bad.”
“You’re allowed to.”
“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”
“And you’re still allowed to mourn. Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”
You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet. Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.
“How’d you know?” He finally asked, timid.
“Hm?”
“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”
“Needed someone?”
Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.
“Wayne called me.” You sigh. “Said he got my number from Steve. Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?” At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it. “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in. Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”
“So you knew?”
“No.” You assure, taking care to relax your features. “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out. He wanted me to check in. I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.” You chuckle.
Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again. You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick. The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor. There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better. You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again. It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.
“I’ll be fine.”
Famous last words. When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.
“But right now you’re not.”
Sabotage. In his eyes.
“But I will be. Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”
Excuses. Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble. A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.
“Stop it.” You demand.
“No, Bambi. Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”
“Stop.”
Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key. Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself. And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses. His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.
Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness. Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in. He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.
“Would you listen to me?!” Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow. “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down. I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it. My shit is my shit.”
You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.
“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.” Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze. A plea. “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in. I don’t care what holiday it is.”
“Go.”
You try not to take it personal. It’s not personal.
“Fine.”
The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him. The room turned colder, more vacant. Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart? His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.
Do not resuscitate.
As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall. The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.
It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended. Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness. Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what? Stormed off? Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat. He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—
In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other. And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness. The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.
Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut. An uphill battle.
“Bambi, what did I tell you–”
“You told me to go.” You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth. “And I did. You didn’t say how long or—or where to go. But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake. Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“
Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.
There he is.
Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips. Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you. Your boy.
Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense. Bambi and Eddie. There is not one without the other, not anymore. Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—
“I love you.”
It just fell from his tongue. A promise.
“I-are—are you s—“
“Am I serious? Is that what you’re gonna ask?” He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.
You nod, gulping. Not because you’re afraid, no, never. You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.
“Bambi…” He tuts. “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”
All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.
“Bad.” He reiterates. “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“
“I don’t—“
“I’m not finished.” Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip. “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it. And I’ll run with it. Far. Because I’m pathetic—“
“You are not.”
“I’m a pathetic man. Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”
“Stop saying you’re pathetic.” You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.
“Oh, but I am.” He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.
Did he believe it was his last chance?
And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.
A pathetic whine dare you say.
“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.
“Don’t—ow! Jesus fuck.” Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek. “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”
You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of. Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.
“Can you…can you do that again?” He whispers. Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.
Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck. His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest wet dreams.
Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail. And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.
He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.
“Like that, baby?” You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.
“Please.” A whisper that tells you everything. “I-I never—no one’s ever—“ He tries to warn you.
“What?” You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe. “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”
“Just my hand.” Eddie jokes, voice strained.
Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap. Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his. Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.
“We can stop.” You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.
“No, no.” His voice shakes, chest heaving. “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”
There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him. But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable. Feel sexy and wanted.
“Let me do the work.” You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him. “Let me take care of you.”
He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles. You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.
“I said, let me take care of you.”
Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you. His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.
Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far. His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.
“Eddie.” You whimper.
“M’ gonna cum.” He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria. “Wanna be inside of you.”
You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.
“Please, baby. Please, I’ve got condoms—“
You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.
“You bought condoms? Boy, are you prepared—“
A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.
“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”
“Shhh, okay, okay!!” You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back. You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.
“You wanna go to the bedroom?” You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.
Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care. Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed. You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you. Purely Eddie. Woodsy and minty. A tad smoky. And some hints of apple.
Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room. And then it plays. A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love. A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.
“Well alright, cowboy.” You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.
“Shut up.” He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.
“C’mere.” You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you. “Wanna see you.”
“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”
Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach. Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago. The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined. While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side. Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.
As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him. Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants. Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.
“F-feel what you do to me?”
It aches.
His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet. But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.
You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side. His eyes grow, lips parted in awe. And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.
You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control. And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.
Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval. That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.
His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it. Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red. Painfully aroused.
He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.
“B-baby, please.” While grinding into nothing, poor boy. “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”
He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands. You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.
Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth. Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps. Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair.
He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot. Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned. Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone. The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom. The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.
Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm. Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.
Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting. The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.
Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds. Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what. Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime. Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.
Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm. His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted. You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark. All of him.
His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you. He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.
Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless. Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit. Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”. That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?
–
Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close. Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.
The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart. Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.
It could help though. And that’s all that mattered. If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing. If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.
While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree. Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar. Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works. Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.
You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did. Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste. Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.
You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes. While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.
Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet. Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity. Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips. A dream.
“Merry Christmas to you too.” You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.
Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth. It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.
“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?” He laughs, voice husky with sleep.
“No but I can do you one better—“
“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“
“Next to the table.”
Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created. Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow. He felt like an asshole.
“I—no I can’t—“
“Open it.”
Eddie just stared.
“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!” You smile, approaching behind him.
Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you. When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.
“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse. I just didn’t. I’m sorry.” His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.
As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck. And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.
“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you. I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“
“I love you.” You interrupt.
Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table. Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you. Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute. He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing.
“You’re not just saying that—“
“I. Love. You.” You enunciate each word with a peck. “Point blank. No exceptions. You’re stuck with me old man.”
“Old man? We’re like the same age—“
You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records. A huge stack of them. All genres. Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal. It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling. That much you could gather.
“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”
“Don’t like them?” You scoff. “I love them.”
You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school. You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach. He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.
And he was blushing.
“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me. I picked some out that I knew you’d like. Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”
“Oh, we are listening to them. Right after you open your gift.”
More blushing.
Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him. Like Pandora’s box or something. Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper. A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold. His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper. It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head. Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture. At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said.
“No fucking way.” He smiles, half laughs. Then repeats himself. Over and over.
“Do you like it?”
Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around. Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.
“I love it, I love you.”
Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table. The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other. Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between. His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.
He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three. Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled. Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.
Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere. You miss it. But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything. Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi. Makes small talk with mom and grandma. Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day. No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her. He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.
Lastly you call up the gang. Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual. Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background. Something about a broken sled. Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.
“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either. This would all make so much more sense then.”
There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on. Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default. She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially. Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house. Beautiful in the summertime. Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.
Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays. One of the records he’d gifted you.
~end~
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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#smoke signals#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#eddie x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x female reader#eddie Munson series#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fic
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Hello everyone.
Some of you may have noticed I went completely inactive for many months. I did not check my messages or notifications, and I deleted pretty much all of my social media except for this one (though I'm not sure why I kept this, maybe because I put so much work into it and met many amazing people here.)
I guess I'll update you all about what's been going on. I've been accepted to my dream law school and will be attending in the fall. For work, I was fortunate enough to be flown out to NYC for a symposium on antisemitism. I have picked up several new projects that, once the research is published, will hopefully provide some helpful insight into the state of contemporary antisemitism. I am also helping to edit some books for a professor and scholar of Holocaust/Antisemitism studies. Taking this break has been incredibly beneficial not just for my productivity, but also for my mental health.
I realized I needed to re-formulate my relationship with Judaism, separately from antisemitism. I want to love being Jewish not out of a reaction to being hated, but because it adds meaning and value to my life. I'm happy to say that this approach has healed me in many ways. I also noticed that spending time on here made me significantly more bitter, angry, and depressed. I didn't feel that with this mindset I could add to productive conversations around Judaism and antisemitism.
I don't yet intend on returning, if ever. I just wanted to update you about why I went missing for so long. I shifted my advocacy to the real-world, and am happy to see my efforts being realized. It is much more productive than arguing online, and makes an authentic and observable difference.
If you have room in your prayers for one more name, please keep Gili Adar in your mind. She was my friend who was murdered at the Nova festival. She was only 24.
Chag pesach sameach. Am yisrael chai.
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Every time I see a post that includes some variation on "if you're self-medicating with tobacco or weed, you need to quit smoking and get on proper meds," I want to slap someone.
Do you fuckers know how hard it is to "get on proper meds" in the world we fucking live in? Are you aware of the various medication shortages happening right now? Are you aware of how hard it is to access healthcare and mental health services when you're marginalized and impoverished?
Mind your own fucking business and put your energy toward literally anything other than "omg if you smoke you will die and everyone will hate you, you gross loser."
"Get on proper meds." Ignoring the fact that I'm already on multiple medications that only lessen my body's various symptoms and don't get rid of them entirely...Bitch, I'd love to get some more effective meds! You gonna pay for it and schedule all the appointments and navigate the medication shortages for me? Are you going to help me advocate for myself against doctors who only want to see me as lazy and drug-seeking because I'm disabled and can't work a regular job?
Are you fighting for harm reduction and compassionate addiction management? Are you doing anything to combat medical discrimination and ableism? Have you put any time and effort into learning the history of the War on Drugs and other anti-drug campaigns, and how criminalization affects marginalized people, and how anti-drug laws have been used to actively target Black people and other PoC? Do you know anything about drug laws, scheduling, decriminalization activism, and prison abolition? Do you know anything about the predatory rehab industry and the ways it hurts people? Do you know anything about what drugs do what, what symptoms they might be used to manage, or what kind of practical safety concerns drug users deal with on a regular basis? Does your understanding of "the opioid crisis" start and end with "opioids sound bad and scary"?
Are you doing anything to mitigate the factors that cause people to take up smoking in the first place? Are you prioritizing bodily autonomy and self-determination? Are you listening to drug users about what actions are helpful and wanted in regard to these issues?
Or are you just in the shame game because you see smokers as stupid, subhuman monsters who deserve what we get?
I need a goddamn bowl.
#I have no weed and I must scream#my brain is vibrating to the left#I have precious little money and not a lot of food and nothing to take the edge off my anxiety or rage today#anti-smoking people get off my goddamn lawn#get out and go away#original post
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I’ve written about this a lot before but it bears reiterating now.
I’ve seen some takes that essentially say Taylor was callous because she broke up with Joe because he “couldn’t get over his depression” and how cruel that is when she said she loves him.
And I think that a lot of the people who think that are identifying with Joe, and empathizing with him and suffering from a version of somewhat understandable main character syndrome. I see this a lot in advice on how to be there for someone struggling with their mental health. It says things like “keep reaching out even if they ignore you. They appreciate it.” “Keep inviting them to do things even if they say no” “Continue letting them know you are there for them to talk to even if they repeatedly shut you out.” And I’m not saying this is bad advice, but it makes it sound like there is one person who struggles with their mental health surrounded by supporting characters who are 100% healthy and able to give an endless supply of emotional energy and that they never have mental health struggles that are impacted by this. (My mental health for instance tanks when I reach out over and over and get rejected because I feel like no one likes me)
From what I can tell from her music (which by the way is the only indication we have that Joe struggles with his mental health, so if we are accepting that premise we need to accept everything else she says about it) Taylor followed a lot of this advice for a long time.
Years of labor locks and ceilings
Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away
Always rising from the ashes
There was nowhere for me to stay but I stayed anyways
And she tried and tried until it was having a hugely detrimental impact on her mental health which she relates
She discusses how she had to revert into a dream world because of the impact of it:
I dreamed about it in the dark the night I felt like I might die
She talks about how holding on to the relationship made her feel:
I know my pain was such an imposition
My white-knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment
My spine split from carrying us up the hill
Wet through my clothes weary bones caught the chill
She had a huge amount of anxiety about the relationship so much that her friends noticed how it was impacting her
My friends say it isn’t right to be scared every day of a love affair
My friends tried but I wouldn’t hear it/watched me daily disappearing
She got to the point where she wasn’t sure he even wanted her
Every breath feels like rarest air/When you’re not sure if he wants to be there
Is it really your anxiety that keeps you from giving me everything or do you just not want to
I wouldn’t marry me either
Her mental health was deteriorating, so if Joe deserved a partner that would support him when his mental health was struggling, doesn’t Taylor? There’s no evidence that he was able to give that to her and she felt very misunderstood by him
My face was gray but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick
How can you say you love someone you can’t tell is dying
You never read into my melancholia
Nobody noticed my new aesthetic
You say you don’t understand and I say I know you don’t
He don’t understand me
A pathological people pleaser/who only wanted you to see her
Why is his mental health considered more important than hers? One person doesn’t get to call dibs on being the one with mental health problems while the other person is assigned to be the supporting character forever.
It’s also clear she had hopes and dreams for a future that involved marriage and kids that he couldn’t or wouldn’t give her. So should she should give those up so as not to leave her partner who is depressed and be labeled a bad person?
It isn’t his fault that he’s depressed but Taylor clearly has mental health struggles too and one is not more important to the other. They were unable to be good partners to each other due to this, so ending it was the right thing. Were there better ways to do it, yes! But she was clearly struggling so incredibly much that I for one, will give her grace and understanding
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I gotta talk about FourDogs (again)
It's barely about her, though. I think "he's so lucky his dad was brutally murdered" and "people with trauma need a second handicap because they're too motivated" are such absolute-the-fuck-ly bonkers takes, they're not even worth the time it took me to get mad about them, which was immediately. This time around, I have way more to say about audience reception. I'll try to keep it civil.
It feels like a lot of us are responding from increasingly personal places because these are characters with which a lot of us identify, or we see traits in them that remind us of people from our real lives. And hey! Another performance and storytelling slay on the part of one Brennan Lee Mulligan. Who else can invent 50+ characters every year and play them to the point where any one of them can evoke both an "omg that's literally me!" and an "omg that's literally Dani, the girl that bullied me all of freshmen year until I punched out her front tooth in the student parking lot and got in-school suspension for a month!". And whether Kipperlily reminds you of Dani, or reflects your own anxieties about potential, ability, and trauma, an important thing to remember is this: she is not real!
Brennan made her up! Brennan made her up to tell a story, and when he made her up, he made her annoying, petty, antagonistic, and he gave her not just opposing goals to the the protagonists we know and love, but the explicit goal of ruining The Bad Kids' lives, specifically.
Now, I'm not saying she's fictional to be a dick, or dismiss any deeper readings on her or any of the Rat Grinders. I'm bringing it up because the way I'm seeing people talk to each other about these characters is starting to get a little wild and it's in danger of waking up The Olde Gods™ (i.e. the special brand of Tumblr Self-Righteousness that lives inside us all).
It's important to remember Kipperlilly is a character in a fictive work so that different interpretations of her don't get treated as stone law. Each reading of her is personal and valid, but none are gospel. The "Kipperlilly is but a victim" take is not the only correct one, nor is radical empathy for her as a character the only correct reaction. Also, even if I consider her sympathetic that is not incompatible with an opinion like "Kipperlilly needs to get roundhouse'd in the head by a lesbian in a tracksuit and/or a wizard in a jean jacket, posthaste". Sure, you can say that anyone who doesn't feel a deep and eclipsing empathy for Kipperlilly above all other emotions is immature at best and sociopathic at worst, but then I can just say anyone who demands solely empathy for Kipperlilly and excuses her literal crimes and bass-ackwards world view because she's insecure and has anger issues, is probably also someone who has a history of weaponizing whatever minority status they may or may not occupy to talk over, silence, or harass people of color.
They're both just opinions. And also, like. Y'know. A bit much.
To engage in the long and rich tradition of measuring character trajectories against those in the Avatar: The Last Airbender cartoon, let's compare Kipperlilly to Azula. Azula had an incredibly sympathetic backstory and untreated mental health issues. Azula was also a danger to herself and others, as well as profoundly manipulative and abusive (although, it was a children's show so Azula never killed anybody for whatever that's worth). Do I wish that fourteen-year-old girl had an Iroh-type in her life? Literally one adult who loved her genuinely and advocated for her best interests? Of course I do. I saw the Ember Island episode, I watched that one video essay! Does that mean it was any less satisfying to watch Zuko and Katara kick her absolute ass? No! And it was non-lethal anyway, children's show, duh.
That brings me to my other thing; Kipperlilly is a character in a fictive work that is not finished. And I know that point will age poorly, but I'm thinking it won't be the only one (hey-o). Remember the people that were calling The Bad Kids bullies? And then we learned that Kipperlilly hated Riz because his fucking dad fucking died?? And that was a full academic year before getting reanimated by a rage god?? I'll do a tame one; remember when Gilear wasn't cursed?? He was "just a guy"?? The show is serialized, gang, the world is still building! Clerickiller is not done yet, y'all need to let her cook! I'm sure we'll tune in next week to see her graduate from "unhinged" to "unaffiliated with the door frame or any frame-like structure". Reprimanding people on Tumblr will not change the trajectory of this character who, by the way, has not expressed remorse or any desire for a path other than violence. You look me in my black face after your blorbo slits a kid's throat and say "help her"?? Kipperlilly doesn't want get better right now, she wants one thing and that's for Kristen Applebees to go fuck herself and die!! You were there, you heard it!! When the fictional behavior changes, as it often does in stories, so will my opinion. There is no fore-forgiveness. Without an actual redemption arc I will continue to see the villain as a villain.
Speaking of, I think what some people have an issue with is the level of hate Kipperlilly's getting and how aggressive it is. But like.... isn't that allowed?? Because of all the stuff I said but also because like, mama said that it was okay! And by "mama" I mean Siobhan Thompson who said Kipperlilly belongs under the jail. Sure, in the real world, adults don't tell kids they belong in the ground that's crazy fucked up, but all these kids are played by adults and Emily as Fig joked that she was gonna smite the sixteen-year-old girl played by the thirty-something man. You're telling me the antagonist antagonizes the protagonists, and the protagonists go "boo, hiss" and then I, the audience, go "boo, hiss as well" but I'm wrong? I'm wrong, somehow, cool checks out.
"They're XP Levelling*punches a locker*!!"
"That girl is worse than Kalvaxus."
"Littledoggy Girlcollar"
Am I not engaging with the narrative on it's own terms if I say "i'd tell Clerickiller to die mad, but she clearly already did, Jojo Siwa head-ass, in reference to that fuck-ass ponytail and your toxic yuri" Do I need to draw a little caitmay-style OC to say it for me, would that be better?
God-forbid, we have fun? Must we discourse, always? FourDogs is tragic, FourDogs is compelling, FourDogs is Dani from 9th grade. She is Azula from Avatar and Clare from Fleabag and Brennan Lee Mulligan from my dreams and that is something that can be so personal. But no one else has to participate in your parasocial relationship. What's crazy is, I actually like Kipperlilly! As a character. I mean, the "trauma is privilege" obviously hit a nerve with me because of real life stuff, but the image of her over the rogue teacher's grave?? With a backhoe and a "gotcha, bitch" expression??? Come on, that is fresh-off-the-vine Cunt™. Even more so than I imagined that moment to be when we first heard about it. Her ending up in a Ragh or Aelwyn place would be way more satisfying than a Goldenrod or Penelope Everpetal place, BUT IT WILL ALSO be satisfying to see whatever Kipperlilly's version of the locked-in-a-chokehold-and-being-gaslit-into-thinking-you-shit-the-coach's-pants-scene is. In addition to the non-lethal ass-kicking that proceeds it.
Y'all can chuck the insinuation that something so clearly subjective is actually objective and has moral implications that make me bad, directly in the garbage. What is this, religion, hey-o.
#lost some civility there at the end#but shit im not iroh#im a hater first#and an advocate for mental health third#and second i am an advocate for poc's getting their lick back against white people#especially if they were hurting your academic prospects#yes riz is a poc even though he's played by murph#me and demi adejuyigbe talked about it#fhjy spoilers#dimension 20#d20#kipperlilly copperkettle#brennan lee mulligan#fhjy#fantasy high junior year#the bad kids
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Not good at saying goodbyes.
Part 3/? - previous - next
Lena x childhood bestfriend!reader
Today you got ready like any other day. Had breakfast, got into the car and drove to work.
What you weren't expecting, walking
in was to see Lena's mother there.
When she saw you, her eyes were full of sparkles.
"Y/N! I can't believe this! You're all grown up!" quickly giving you a tight hug you had missed very much. "You're so beautiful. You look just like your mom. How is she? How are you?"
"I'm good, she's doing well, she's planning on retiring and moving back here."
"It's so good to see you. Can't believe Lena didn't tell me you were here."
"I can."
And she quickly looked for her daughter, who had opted for walking away, minutes prior.
"You meant no harm. I know it, sweetheart. And now that you're here, she'll come to terms eventually.
She still celebrated your birthday every year. And hung up your Christmas stocking, oh and she still hasn't watched that movie you had made plans to see together."
"I kept a full diary of the first two years after I moved, so she could catch up, when we were reunited. And watched as many of her games as I could fit in my schedule. Also, I kept the big bear she won me, at the fair we would aways go to."
"Everything is going to end up in the right place. I'm leaving, but just in case, let me give you my number."
"Thanks, it's so good seeing you again."
"You two honey, you have no idea. Have a good day at training, and if you see my daughter, let her know I went home and that I don't appreciate her walking away."
"Of course."
She was just like you remembered. And for a second it made you feel like you went back in time, when you'd aways pass on her messages to Lena when she tried running away from trouble.
You made your way to the locker room but most girls were already at the gym.
"Obi, your-"
"Lena." - she harshly said.
"Everyone around here calls you Obi, I'm the one who came up with it!"
"Well you lost the right to it, when you betrayed me!"
"I didn't betray you! I was a kid! Who didn't know what she was doing!"
"You hurt me!"
"I was hurting too! And I thought the best way to protect you, was not saying goodbye."
"Now it doesn't matter why you did it! I can't go back in time, and tell the younger version of myself that! I can't tell her that everything was just a misunderstanding. I can't unbreak her heart!"
"If I could go back in time and change everything, I would. I swear. And I'm sorry that's all I can give you."
"Yeah."
What was that even supposed to mean? 'Yeah'?
In truth Lena didn't know either. She didn't know what say. She only knew how she felt and that was, confused.
"As I was going to say in the first place, your mom went home and you are in trouble."
"For what?"
"Leaving while we were talking."
"She can't be serious! You did it first! And I'm the one in the wrong?"
You only gave her a sad look as she walked out of the room. It was like you were eight again, and getting in trouble for doing whatever the other was doing.
You tried your best giving her some space after that. After all you had nothing else to say to each other. She had bursted out her feelings and you had apologized. And you had been trying to accept the reality. You were far from doing good, but you decided to put her feelings first. Being respectful, to her wish to not be in touch with you.
"Hey Y/N! We're going out tonight, please come with us." - Said Georgia.
"Sorry, I can't. I have some plans I can't bail on."
"No you don't!" - said Giulia. "Stop saying that just so we leave you off the hook, for not showing up at our get togethers."
At this point Stanway had went her own way.
"You can't keep doing this. You're isolating yourself from the team. This has got to be affecting your mental health, the girls are worried."
"No they are not. They think I'm busy because of a relationship."
"Only Syd thinks that. And I know the truth. Please reconsider it?"
"Okay, I'll text you if I change my mind."
You didn't. Of course you didn't. And that had been the last drop, for her and some of your teammates. After a long talk through the weekend, they had decided on keeping to themselves. To not make things worse.
But Giulia could not hold back when you walked into training, Monday morning, with deeper under-eye bags, and a emotionless look in your face.
You were tired. Tired of crying. Tired of isolating, and only talking to your parents, through a phone. Tired of blaming yourself constantly.
As you left to the field, they all shared a look. Even Lena. You seemed to be doing okay... until stoped pretending you were.
"Don't act surprised! Your the one doing this to her!"
She said looking Obi dead in the eye, and going after you.
"Y/N! Wait up. We can warm up together."
"Is that an excuse for another lecture?"
"No. But you can vent out if you want to."
"There's nothing much to say... Except that leaving Barça was probably a mistake."
"I'm sorry you feel that way."
"Thank you, for trying to include me the best you can, and for taking care of me. You're and the girls are great."
"I wish you gave yourself a chance, to be happy here."
"Give her a chance!" - said Lea trying to get it through her friends mind. They had stayed back inside.
"She did worse to me!"
"You're taking this to far! She made a mistake and apologized. And I think not having her best friend for the last 15 years, was punishment enough."
"But-"
"No buts. What she did was wrong. But she was a kid and she thought she was doing the right thing.
You're an adult, and you know you are doing the wrong thing! It's not the same."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Do you think your younger self would approve of this? Of anyone treating her this way? Because the Lena I know, would never treat someone like this. Especially someone she loves."
"You still care a lot about her huh?"
"I love her and I don't think anything can change that. I promised myself to never leave her again."
"Just don't break your own heart, to keep that promise."
"I don't think a heart can be broken twice. But I'll try my best not to push everyone away."
"That's a good start. You need to feel better for the match this week. Frankfurt is a little harder to beat."
It felt good having someone to talk to again. And you knew you could only blame yourself for the loneliness you had been in. And she was right, you had to give yourself a chance, with or without Lena. Although that isn't how you ever planned your life to go.
Next part out either today or tomorrow 🩷
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Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 3
Summary: Without the red smoke to help you through rehab, you begin to experience thoughts and feelings that you never had before. It gets worse before it gets better, but don't worry. It DOES slowly get better.
Check out the other parts here. Also, check out Part 2 to my Incorrect Quotes if you haven't already. The Smiling Critters Space Riders AU belongs to @onyxonline. Enjoy!
TW: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injury, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Mentions of murder, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Self harm, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing, LOTS of negative thoughts, Implied Abuse, Conditioning
----------
You weren’t sure how long you’ve been imprisoned at the heretics’ main space station for. Based on the lines scribbled in your journal, and what those healers and heretics told you, the closest timeline you could estimate was a month and a half…
Could be more…
In your defense, being in and out of consciousness because of not only healing from your wounds but dealing with your hellish headspace gave you no chance of keeping track. You weren’t sure if you TRULY wanted to know how long it’s been though…
Some of your wounds, at least, have healed. If you weren’t wearing those power mufflers, all your wounds would have disappeared a long time ago. But, no.
Those heretics just HAD to insist you heal the hard way. It is bad enough that those healers and their knights were watching your every move on the cameras. There was no nook or cranny in your accommodation that wasn’t under constant surveillance. They didn’t even try to be discreet about them. What’s worse is that now you had your whole body, head, and face exposed, especially to the people hellbent on killing you. They didn’t even deserve to have a face to associate with the Archangel. It was for your own good, they said. All that did was leave you with voices in your head screaming at you to get out, run, and hide from those prying eyes.
So what if there were a few instances where you tried to scratch yourself until you were satisfied with the red on you? You just needed a way to stop yourself from feeling these weird feelings. It’s leaving you weak. What would the Prototype say if he saw you showing such weakness when you were raised better than this? The scratching never went as far as it did the first time, though and it would never be like that ever again. Not on the heretics’ watch. They would always intervene before the first sign of red.
You spent a lot of time thinking about the perfect escape plan. You would get those power mufflers off, destroy those cameras the first chance you get, create a void, (maybe kill a few heretics along the way to send a message), and make an easy escape back to the prototype. It’s just… you could never muster any energy to go through with your ideas. You hated that you grew so lazy and weak when no prison was able to keep you contained in the past.
What happened to you?
Where was your energy to fight back, to make those heretics pay for what they’ve done to you…?
But…
Why save you?
Probably to interrogate you, torture you for ALL the intel concerning your God, and once they get everything, kill you. They can sure as hell try, but you’d rather die than betray your God and family like this!
You groan, cradling your pounding head with one hand. You slide down against the wall. Even though you've been clean for some time now, but you're still trying to get used to this red smoke free headspace of yours. Now you're just left sitting with thoughts and feelings you never had to sit with before, and you hated how much it consumes you. You wished you had the red smoke to help you through this, to make you forget these feelings, to go back to normal. But the Prototype never came back for you… no rescue parties were made for you as far as you know.
A few healers and knights argued that if he really wanted you back, he would’ve come get you by now, but he didn’t, and none of your “friends or family” did either, so you might as well get used to being here. You reminded them every single time that you don’t have “friends” nor are you selfish enough to need any. The Prototype was all anybody needed. You had that argument about 26 times before you stopped. There was no point in continuing this fight if they just refused to see any sense.
You hated to admit it, but...
Maybe they're right.
Not once, in the entire time since you’ve been separated from the Prototype was he there when you needed him the most. Your chest and the back of your eyes burn. Your vision goes blurry. You clench your blanket draped around your shoulders and take a few deep breaths until the burning sensation is smothered, and your vision clears up. You are NOT going to let weakness consume you.
Not now.
Not ever.
Not as long as you’re at the mercy of the heretics.
----------
Here you are, three months deep into your rehab program, sitting on the floor, and studying another one of Bubba’s “philosophy books” as he called them. He gave you some so that "you weren’t left pacing back and forth in a cell or being stuck with your thoughts all day." Granted you do try to do a few exercises to build your strength back. You discovered it was the best way to distract your mind from the mere thought of desiring red smoke. At least the books give you more to do in your cell.
To you, it was all heretic propaganda to stray the weak-minded away from the divine truth. It was still intriguing to study about, all the same. Besides, if you're going to be staying with the heretics, then now is a good time to start learning about their world and culture. As much as you hate to admit it, you're beginning to understand why many heretics find these kinds of teachings appealing. Not only does it go against everything the Prototype preaches, but there were so many teachings to choose from. How do the heretics even know which teachings are true? How do they know which teachings they should follow for the rest of their lives?
It was all so strange.
Back home, there is only one absolute truth: everything that happens in the galaxy is thanks to the Prototype. He’s the eternal source of happiness, of wisdom, of strength, of a second chance at life. He is in control of all. He gives his people his gifts, and in turn, they serve him. They devote their lives to him. To not believe in this truth would mean certain death.
In the heretic world, it seems it is up to the individual to shape the world in their image. Apparently, to discover the truth, you have to be willing to question everything. But how do these heretics expect to survive if they're expected to find their own happiness? How can they be trusted to take control of their lives when they don't fully know whether they made the right decision or not? How are they able to peacefully co-exist despite their differing beliefs?
Perhaps it's something you can clarify with the Space Riders when they come in for yet another visit. They've visited you quite frequently, but it was all so strange. They never asked you anything about the Prototype or the cult. In fact, the topic of conversation was always about… you. They would ask what you have been doing in “rehab” as they call it, how you are managing your red smoke cravings, what you have learned, how are the books (in Bubba’s case), and possible arrangements that are to be made once you are back in their custody. When they exhausted those topics, then they would make conversation with you...
Er...
...More like they would TRY to make conversation with you and you would give short answers. Sometimes, you wouldn't say anything at all. They never forced you to speak, nor did they ever punish you for being insubordinate. Instead, they just moved on to a different topic. This was something you never understood, but maybe they just want you to let your guard down long enough before punishing you.
The echoing of footsteps gets louder and closer to your cell, pulling you away from your thoughts. The seven Space Riders greet you, make themselves comfortable in front of your cell, and begin with the usual questions about you. You bite the bullet and decide you might as well entertain them.
#poppy playtime dogday#dogday#poppy playtime catnap#poppy playtime smiling critters#poppy playtime 3#poppyplaytime au#poppy playtime#poppy playtime chapter 3#catnap#space riders au#smiling critters au#onyxriders#hoppy hopscotch#kickinchicken#picky piggy#bubba bubbaphant#craftycorn#bobby bearhug#platonic#x reader#smiling critters x reader#poppy playtime x reader#gn reader#reader insert#gender neutral reader#angst#hurt/comfort#recovery#platonic relationships#smiling critters
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commission for the very cool @combaticon, who wanted me to draw a scene from her fanfic ODD [Onslaught Defiance Disorder], I was allowed to choose the scene, so I picked the lovely interaction between Zainab and Jazz. If you are curious about the fic, here is the summary and my thoughts on it down below:
Post-war is as good a time as any to try for recovery. On a healing Earth, various practitioners in the rebuilt field of psychiatric care are learning how to serve the various extraterrestrial patients, including Transformers.
On a new Cybertron, Onslaught has been bullied by his Combaticons to go to therapy--if only he can find a human counselor to stick with.
Very few people are thrilled about this arrangement.
ODD is about trauma and how isolating it can be, sometimes downright alienating, but it is also about finding a home -a family- among those who might feel just as alien.
I was impressed with how it discusses the complexities of recovery and the struggles that come with it, be it internally or from outside forces.
The writing respects its characters, (no matter how flawed) by highlighting the importance of their bodily autonomy, especially when they struggle with their mental or physical health. It highlights certain aspects that seem 'natural' and 'normal' in the medical system and asks the simple question of "is this really the right approach?".
ODD's central conflict is about not wanting to lose control, which is highlighted not just by the few antagonists that appear, but also by those who want to help their loved ones. It reminds us that even if we might know whats best, we aren't the ones who get to decide that.
Zainab was also a very engaging character and learning about her and how she interacts with the established Transformers characters was really interesting! She fits so well with the themes of TF as a whole, I consider her to be canon (lol)
If you haven't please give ODD a try:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/50786803/chapters/128296210
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I feel like Lovely Runner might ruin me for all other rom com dramas
Like the acting? Phenomenal. Everyone cast is giving their best performance of their careers. I already love Byeon Woo Seok and Kim Hye Yoon in all their other dramas. But they are somehow outdoing themselves again?!
The directing? Insane. Giving me heart palpitations with all the slow mo and symmetry to past scenes. The blue and yellow colours throughout are so gorgeous. Some of these shots will live in my head rent free forever.
The writing? Making me unwell. Truly. The parallels in every scene. The deep, sincerity in talking about mental health. The fact that I���m invested in the murder plot? Truly a feat unmatched. The pacing is so good too, every episode makes me excited for the next.
I’m just enjoying my time so very much. I’m so glad we’re only half way through, I need moreeee. But how the hell am I supposed to cope once this over?!
#also please give me more of the OST I need it#full music videos#I need to see my boy Sun Jae dancing around like a cutie#spoilers#lovely runner#also I’ve seen True beauty and this is miles better#like this writer pls give me more now#I trust you with my life#byeon woo seok#kim hye yoon
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Why Am I This Way - Psychology Answers
Note: Another one <3 Hope this one is informative
“How Am I” Section
“I Daydream a Lot.. Is That a Problem?”
What happens in the unconscious brain:
Day dreaming has a lot to do with our unconsciousness and with the way we used to play when we were a child.
As mentioned in my first post of this series, Freud explained that the “playing” (as in child playing) were the symbolism of our subconscious and mental structure through the (Ego, Superego and the ID).
To find more about these three components you can read this post:
In his case, Winnicot explains that playing allows us to create a middle world between the reality and the unconscious which in adulthood is translated through daydreaming or creating fake scenarios
While developing the theory, Winnicott also explains that playing/daydreaming isn’t intentional and it helps people to enter a state of relaxation while lowering our inner defenses.
Daydreaming help us lowering our anxiety, our stress and the negative emotions that often pushed us into a overwhelming burnout and outbursts
Healthy daydreaming isn’t dangerous. It is helpful because one is able to lose their identities for a short instance and become something they are not in order to smooth themselves from the reality they live in.
Although some daydreams can be a reflection of inner traumas, of fears and emotions, it is done through a way that provides comfort amidst the chaos.
Although this is a short period of time, this moment of relaxation is actually beneficial and it allows our subconscious to breathe in and out before pushing our defenses back up. It help us not being constantly on edge
Daydreaming is all about finding an interesting balance between the chaotic worry associated with many of life's challenges and the boredom of doing nothing
if you are interested in more of this topics you can check the works of Winnicott and Csikszentmihalyi
So what can we do?
One thing I think is important to yell, is that NO, daydreaming doesn't male you mentally sick and doesn't mean you are suffering from mental illnesses.
Daydreaming is a natural process, the same way playing is in children. it only becomes maladaptive and underlying a serious mental condition when it is affecting your daily life and impacting your health directly or your dissociations.
What is incredible is that Csikszentmihalyi explains that daydreaming can be the key to having a happy healthy life in some way
Because daydreaming doesn’t only provide a moment of relaxation, but also a moment were our creativity can run while, where we can absorb ideas and thoughts of something positive and most importantly, a way to detach ourselves from our own human condition to find some inner peace
So what can we do? Nothing really! If anything, daydreaming is a good coping mechanism as long as it reminds you of the neutral field and doesn't directly impact your daily life.
Allow yourself to push through that creativity, to bring yourself confort. If the daydreaming is too painful to remove yourself from or if it impacts your routines and plunges you into states of dissociation then that's the moment you should seek professional help because you balanced on the negative side of daydreaming
Now, you know where to work to become a better version of yourself
#psychology#psychology facts#psychology notes#psychology appointment#mental health#therapy#maladaptive daydreaming#daydreaming#obsessive daydreaming
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Why I think Eddie Diaz is autistic !
(As an autistic individual)
- Struggle with emotional expression:
He often struggles to express emotions, particularly in his relationship with women, (look at the way he acted with Sharon, Ana and Marisol, never communicating clearly, or doing it VERY straightforwardly (-> “you should go”)
He struggle with articulating his feelings, to name his emotions and process them (seemingly alexithymia) and he close off a lot, even with his therapist !
- Literal Thinking:
He tend to interpret language literally, (interactions with his colleagues and fast problem-solving, keeping a cool head under very stressful situations, the way he react to jokes, the way he doesn’t believe and ‘judge’ the way they fear superstitions, only believing what he can prove)
It seems to me like he experiences challenges with understanding figurative language or sarcasm and only believe what is proven, he’s very closed off about the idea of superstition which can be seen in some autistic people who struggle with theses concept
And he can be really straightforward (see the “you should go home Ana” or the “last time he wore that was at his mom’s funeral”) -> stating facts straightforwardly without processing it first and without realizing how stating it like that can be ‘awkward’ to others
- Meltdowns and Coping Mechanisms:
He experiences moments of intense frustration and resorts to unhealthy coping mechanisms (-> fights and destroying his room, hurting himself and other in the process (as in a lot of autistic meltdown and the way a lot of us turn to violent coping mechanisms to fight against sensory overload and the complexity of understanding our own emotions -> resorting to violence)
He parallels experiences of sensory overload and regulation, also his panic attacks and the way he avoid addressing his trauma and feelings by brushing it off and ignoring his own mental health, struggling to understand his own feelings about what he’s experiencing
- Difficulty with Trauma and Normalcy:
His reluctance to address trauma and persistent efforts to appear "normal."
It reflects challenges faced by autistic ppl in processing traumatic experiences and blending in with neurotypical society (force conformism and such)
There’s something about the way he and his father approach emotions, keeping it hidden and close off, that resonates a lot with my own experiences as someone autistic raised by someone who’s (probably) autistic too ‼️
+ the way he quickly connect with Buck exemplifies the ‘neurodivergent link’ : ADHD and autism solidarity is a reality ! Neurodivergent people tend to feel more secure, comfortable and friendly with other neurodivergent individuals!!
He basically just give such a autistic energy, like- I really connect with his struggle and the way he interact with the world around him, but please tell me what YOU think 🫶‼️
To have a better view of this part of him we would need more of his pov, sadly we rarely get it so I’m basing this of what I remember, what I personally see in him, what I connected with :’D
(Keep in mind that I probably projecting and it’s just an headcanon, not hate please <3 constructive criticism is welcome tho !!)
Credits it to @thisonemaniac that helped me make this post :D !! We talked about it a bit, I highlighted in orange what he remind me off ‼️
(Since you asked me about it you might want to read this :D !! I explained it better I think xD @lesbianphoebespengler )
#autistic eddie diaz#autism#eddie diaz#911#911 abc#911 theories#911 headcanons#buddie#< target audience#+ adhd x autism is literally the best couple combo isn’t it ? 😔🫶#actually autistic#projecting my autism on another of my comfort character#no one can stop me#no but fr#im serious about this#I always am tbh#I feel like I forgot something tho#tell me what you think ‼️#Wally’s post !
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Some minor things I'm thinking about/predictions for season 3~
-some more (pretty unedited) things I think could happen + predictions I don't necessarily hope to happen; + talking out some frustrations I personally had (if u don't want to read anything partially negative)
Missy & Amerie friendship. It would be good to expand to some less visited friendships. We got a hint of Amerie & Missy once again and I could see them talking even more nxt szn.
Sasha and Quinni are going to be working together nxt szn, and I can already see how the writers might try to rekindle something, but I don't want that, obviously. I could see them making Sasha develop feelings again only for Quinni to turn her down or it could be an opportunity for Sasha to actually apologize after some reflection as they continue to go their separate ways romantically.
Ant has to find out Harper also made the map, right? (that's the direction it's heading in??)
I don't care either way, but if Rowan wasn't just a 1 season and done type of character, I could see them trying to explore a mental health storyline, and separate from that make him more likeable/building friendships with anyone but Amerie.
Critiques of the Season/What I Hope Going Forward
They really missed some opportunities with Harper. It's totally valid for 2 childhood besties to grow apart in some ways and come back with an even greater and more mature connection. Instead, they just had Darren and Quinni adopt her into the group when I wish they would've spent a season of her developing her own friendships and building up her relationships that will be beneficial going forward.
which brings me to my points: I want Harper and Amerie to spend some time apart next season. I don't want it to be dramatic and I don't want them to have a fallout. They can actually be friends without being attached at the hip, but I don't want the s1 trio to be disrupted when I think that relationship is very special (sorry if this sounds harsh), and feels more organic than Harper's outside of the one that's developing with Cash.
Speaking of relationships: Ant & Harper feels underdeveloped to me. They could be a great couple. I wish they spent more time this season giving them individual arcs, but I think next season they kind of need to go through something dramatic to have the kind of break-through I'm wanting from their characters. They're kind of boring to me rn (I'm so sorry Harthony fans). They could end up together or not; I'm just not sold on their story yet.
New couples-I like the development stage of new couples/couples you don't expect. Give Quinni a gf, ofc. Switch up some of the dynamics. Relationships can be a means to another end, and it doesn't have to = the previous being bad. I don't want a love triangle, though; let them grow without the drama.
They could show the journey of Missy dealing with a toxic man, or they could show Spider/Missy grow together (I really don't care); I just want development for both of them individually and their own separate arcs regardless (especially Missy-he did have his own large arc this season). I actually think it would be cool to show the slow effects of how things add up and trauma causing some unhealthy behaviors with Spider (it doesn't have to make him bad; he's like 18 and anyone could grow from a failed high school relationship/become a really great person, but I just don't feel awe when I see their scenes...personally).
I didn't add this point with them on my other post, but I kind of want Darren and Cash to each have new romances/flings. I know there is love there, but I think they need to find themselves independent of one another. Their relationship very much feels like they grew up together and prematurely decided they belong together what with Cash's long secret crush (which is fine, but..); it is absolutely cute, though their incompatibility and continuous communication problems need to be explored/they need to mature.
#heartbreak high spoilers#heartbreak high#draft#missy beckett#sasha so#quinni gallagher jones#amerie wadia#anthony vaughn#ant vaughn#harper mclean#rowan callaghan#anti spider white#so the stans don't come for me#anti harper mclean#darren rivers#cash piggott
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“And anyway, just to sum all this up with anon’s original post about Monaco: I am fully expecting the BRF to give the Sussexes the Monaco treatment if there’s ever a divorce. All the footage will be scrubbed. All the articles will be sanitized, if not scrubbed outright.” Color me intrigued! Two questions: 1) what do YOU think happened with Charlene? I’ve vaguely followed but hearing about the tears has got my interest piqued. 2) what articles would be scrubbed? Positive or negative?
My theory about the Monaco wedding is that I think Charlene found out Albert wasn't so totally forthcoming about his past relationships, how many children he had, and how involved he planned to remain in their lives. My feeling is that she was spun a fairy tale of "you can fix him" and learned it was all lies just before the wedding.
I do think there's some truth she tried to leave shortly before the wedding but was somehow stopped, and I think she did have her passports taken, as some of the gossip that has leaked out claim, so I do feel like she's trapped in a terrible situation. (And part of me wonders if perhaps Meghan co-opted this narrative from Charlene as her own with her claims to Oprah that the BRF took her passports and kept her from leaving. There was quite a bit of gossip about Charlene's situation that Meghan would have been familiar with, even if only in a pop culture context.)
I'm not sure that I fully believe Monaco's claim in 2021 that Charlene suffered an ENT infection and required such a significant recovery that she couldn't travel; my suspicions are that it possibly was also a mental health crisis. I must admit, I was completely expecting a divorce narrative to emerge from that - or, if not divorce then a separation where Charlene is in South Africa, Albert remains in Monaco, and the children go back and forth. And perhaps Charlene's long stay in Souh Africa following her ENT infection/surgery was an attempt to negotiate terms of the separation but when it became clear that Albert was not going to let go of the kids, she had no choice but to come back and I think they now have an agreement in place where he lets her do her own thing as long as she shows up the handful of times each year that they need to play happy families.
Anyway, as for scrubbing the Sussex coverage - my theory is I think everything will go. The positive stories will be spun into attack pieces villainizing Meghan. The negative stories will be sanitized to be sympathetic to Harry. I think the BRF will try to take down all the "official" videos from accounts like their own official social media, the BBC, etc. - similar to how they pulled down footage from The Queen's funeral or the 1969 documentary - and make it archival on request only. It's going to be subtle, though. It's not going to be an overnight transformation; I think we'd see some of the older stories about Meghan misbehaving coming back up in a "see, the rot was always there" campaign feeding into a larger overhaul...kind of like a reverse Operation PB.
Of course, the caveat is that this is only under a King Charles, since Charles wants to rehabilitate Harry in whatever way he can to have him come home. If it happened under a King William, I think we can still expect the attack pieces on Meghan, but I doubt we'd see any effort to clean up Harry's side of the mess.
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How The Evans Would React To Reader Who Has Panic Attacks
A/N: Hi guys!! This is just what I headcanon Evan's characters to be like with a partner who has panic attacks. As someone who deals with panic attacks personally, this hits really close to home. I hope y'all enjoy, and comments are always appreciated.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡
Tate Langdon
Has experienced panic himself, so is surprisingly good at handling them.
Will hold you as close as possible until it passes.
Lets you cry into his chest and sometimes even sheds a few tears himself.
Combs his fingers through your hair and presses soft kisses to your forehead.
He's mostly quiet during them considering he's not the best with his words, and mostly relies on his physical presence to comfort you.
Tate hates seeing you like this, so he always pushes you to have a conversation about what triggered the attack once you're calm.
Tate obviously isn't a mental health expert, but he wants to help you to the best of his ability.
Kit Walker
The SWEETEST boy oh my lord.
Kit will immediately drop whatever he's doing and rush to be by your side.
He takes both of your hands in his, and pulls you into him.
"Look at me, sweetheart. You'll get through this."
Is super vocal, and his words always help calm you.
Will kiss your tears away until you don't have anymore to shed.
"I love you hon, it's gonna be okay."
Once you've calmed down some, he'll carry you to bed so you can rest.
Listens to your every request and does whatever in order to make you feel comfortable.
Also makes sure that he knows your triggers so he can help minimize your attacks.
Kit is the king of communication, and your relationship is built on honesty and transparency.
Pre-Death Kyle Spencer
Also extremely sweet and loving.
I'm a firm believer that Kyle is an amazing listener so over time he becomes very well equipped to help you.
"Hey babe are you okay?"
"Oh shit!" He immediately pulls you into him.
Will sway back and forth as he holds you to help soothe you.
Also I think he would have a habit of humming softly in your ear, whether it's consciously or not.
Jimmy Darling
I know for a fact that Jimmy is a big hugger, so his first instinct is to give you a big hug.
He doesn't have much experience with panic attacks, but I'm sure my queen Ethel taught him how to be empathetic.
I feel like he would sing to you to calm you down, doing what he does best yk?
I think he'd be a super anxious boyfriend, so he'll constantly check in on you for the next few days to make sure you're okay.
"Hey, how're ya feeling?"
"Jimmy, I told you I'm okay."
"I know, I know, I just want to be extra sure."
James March
I feel like he'd lowkey be super confused, especially the first time you had an around him.
Given the fact that he's over 100 years old he doesn't even know what a panic attack is.
I feel like he would think you were being possessed at first and freak out.
Once he does understand though, he'd actually be very loving.
For one thing, if James happens to fall in love with you then he is IN LOVE.
He would devote his life to you and nothing about you could deter him from loving you.
The main thing he'll do to comfort you is kiss you everywhere.
Like he will kiss your cheeks, your shoulders, your nose, your lips. Not in a sexual way, but in an affectionate way.
Kai Anderson
I think he'd be super super awkward about it.
Like I can honestly imagine him giving you a pat on the shoulder and being like "get it together."
On the other hand, if he's in a good mood, he'd start talking about how once he takes control of the country you won't have to deal with anything like that anymore.
If he's feeling extra generous he'll even hold your hand to help you relax.
Kai is your typical narcissist so he would deal with your panic attacks in the only way that he knows how, making it about himself.
But you know that's just how he is, and that he shows his affection in his own way.
#evan peters#american horror story#ahs#ahs fandom#ahs murder house#tate langdon#ahs fic#ahs tate#ahs x reader#ahs coven#ahs hotel#ahs fanfiction#ahs cult#james patrick march#james march x reader#tate langdon fanfic#tate langdon x reader#kit walker fanfic#kit walker x reader#kit walker#kyle spencer#kyle spencer x reader#jimmy darling#jimmy darling x reader#kai anderson#kai anderson x reader#kai anderson x you#james march x you#ahs freakshow#ahs asylum
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