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rafeandonlyrafe · 6 days

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executive orders

words: 3.8k

warnings: 18+ only, ceo!rafe, assistant!reader, mean!rafe but equally mean!reader lol, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pretend marriage (like fake dating but fake marriage hehe)

“so…” the woman says, heels clicking down the pristine hallway as you quickly follow. “as you were told in the interview process, mr. cameron is a very particular man. as his personal assistant, your focus is more on his well-being than the business.”

“okay, i understand.” you nod. you find the whole thing odd. the interview process where you didn't actually meet the man you'd be the personal assistant to. his semi nondescript job. ceo. of some company named after him, but you don't know the specifics on what his role actually includes.

“just know…” she pauses outside of the large door leading into the room. “this isn't going to be an easy job. it's why you're making a lot of money.”

“okay.” you say again. the more you learn, the more concerned you are, but you're willing to try, even if just for one day.

“and you're paid for through the cfo. mr. cameron does not have firing rights no matter what he says.”

you're not sure what she means, but it becomes very apparent when the moment you step through the door, the man you presume to be mr. cameron let's out a growl.

“serena, i told you i don't need a fucking babysitter!” you turn around, but the door has already been shut behind you. you can hear serenas heels clicking quickly down the hallway. you had completely forgotten her name in the stress of your first day, but you commit it to memory before turning to the ceo.

“hello, sir.” you say quietly. “im y/n.”

“i don't need you.” he grunts out before focusing on his computer, typing rather angry and aggressively. you stand frozen, waiting.

“i said i don't need you. leave. you're fired.” mr. cameron says.

“i um… i don't think you can fire me. sorry, sir.”

his fingers pause as he looks up at you, seeming to finally really see you as his eyes move down then back up your body. you weren't sure what to wear so you're dressed in a black work dress with long sleeves and a pair of flats. under his watchful eye, you wish you would have worn something less form fitting.

“i hate being called sir.” he says.

“okay, mr. cameron then.” you take a few shuffling steps forward.

“rafe.” he shakes his head. “just rafe. mr. cameron is my fucking dad and he's dead.”

your instinct is to say sorry for his loss, but you can't find the words, which ultimately seems to be the right thing as rafe hums then turns back to his computer screen.

you watch him work for a few minutes, occasionally looking around the sparsely decorated office. you swear every time you look away, rafes eyes move up to look at you, but by the time your gaze travels back to him, he's back typing on his computer.

“goddamn it.” he groans out. “don't just stand there all day. if you're gonna be here and i can't fire you, you might as well sit down.”

“oh!” it takes you a minute to realize he's talking to you as his eyes don't stray away from the screen, but then you're quickly moving to sit on the chair positioned on the other side of his desk.

you sit again, watching rafe, watching the clock, watching the view out the window. “what would you like for lunch, si-rafe?”

“whatever.” he waves his hand. “it's not your job to get it. someone will bring lunch to us.”

“oh.” you nod, becoming increasingly more aware that you're not really sure what your job is.

just like rafe said, someone brings in lunch at exactly 12:30, one tray for you and one for rafe.

when he closes his computer, you think that now will finally be the time to talk, but he eats in silence. “so-”

“no small talk.” rafe says. “i hate that shit.”

“well, what is it you'd like me to do then? just sit here? at least give me a task.”

“fine.” rafe grunts out. “when you're finished eating you can read through this report.” he tosses a thick three ringed binder onto the desk in front of you.

“fine.” you argue back, quickly scarfing down your food before grabbing the binder.

you read through the report. you have no clue what the numbers mean, but you do find a couple punctuation mistakes and highlight them. rafe seems surprised you have any notes at all, his eyebrows raising when you grab the marker from his desk.

“there.” you place the binder down once you reach the last page. its tedious work, but at least it's something other than utter silence.

“great.” rafe takes the binder and tosses it into the trash can.

“hey!”

“those were numbers from four years ago.” you can see the smirk on rafes features, his amusement at getting you to do something completely pointless.

“you're a real dick, you know?” you say, blurting the words out before you can think of the consequences, it's not like you want to keep the job anyways.

rafe sits silently, but his eyes are on you, hands frozen as you continue on.

“you should hear the way people talk about you. everyone is afraid of you, which you may think makes you a macho boss, but it just makes you a shitty guy to work for. no wonder you have to pay everyone two times more than any other company around here, they need that for putting up with your rudeness.” you rant, suddenly sucking in air as your words come to an end.

“it's 5pm. done for the day. ill walk you out.” rafe stands, but you move quicker, pushing the doors open and leaving him to walk behind.

you stop when you see serena and the cfo quietly chatting. you open your mouth to say you quit when rafe speaks from behind you.

“i like this one. make sure she's here tomorrow by 9am.”

you turn and look to him, but he's already walking away.

you weren't planning on showing back up, but serena is a convincing woman.

“good morning, rafe.” you place a drink carrier down onto the corner of his desk, plucking out your mocha before schooching the rest towards him. “i didn't know what you like. i got a hot black coffee, a caramel frappe and the a cappuccino.”

rafe stares at the drinks before picking up the frappe. you smile, you should have predicted that despite his hard exterior, rafe liked a sweet drink.

serena gave you the company card, saying to use it for any and all expenses, even grocery's or home decor, she didn't care, as long as you entered the building by 9 am tomorrow.

“i know you hate small talk, but you'll have to get over it. what does this company even do?” you take a sip of your mocha, the taste chocolatey on your tongue.

“we are a development company. real estate all across the world. we also manage construction.”

“oh.” you frown. “that's more boring than i thought.”

rafe let's out a soft chuckle, pleasant sounding to your ears.

“everything just seems so secretive.” you shrug.

“i think they didn't want you to know a lot in case you turned down the job. you're the longest an assistant has lasted.”

“and what…” you lean in, ignoring that it's only your second day. “exactly am i supposed to do?”

“just… keep me in check.” rafe shrugs. “i have a tendency to get angry. bad news will get passed through you. you're here to be a sounding board, where i can vent and bounce ideas off of.”

“i make 100k a year for that?” you scoff.

“i think 50 of that is just for dealing with me.”

you laugh along with rafe. maybe you'll end up lasting an entire week.

-- two months later --

“are you free this weekend?” rafe asks.

“uh, yeah, why?” you question. you've learned rafe likes when you stand up to him, speak your mind and not let him push you around like he does everyone else. he's come to respect you for it, and it's made work much easier.

“im needed in new york city. id like for you to come with me. as my assistant.”

“sure, ill start looking for hotels.” you open up your laptop.

“spare no cost. i want somewhere nice.”

you roll your eyes dramatically. “of course you do.”

you already knew to look only at 5 star hotels, the most expensive of the lot. despite the short notice, you find two connecting suites that will work for you and rafe.

“and how are we getting there?” you ask. “want me to talk to jeffery about taking the private jet?”

“yup, i want to fly into laguardia, not jfk.”

“got it.” you nod, finding the correct number in your phone before stepping out to talk. you confirm all the details, jotting down times in the notes app on your phone.

you stop by after the phone call to update serena of your plans, learning she's a secretary of sort for the whole company, really the number two right behind rafe.

“hey girl.” you smile. “heading to nyc with mr. cameron for the weekend.”

“oh, good.” she sighs happily. “he's been needing to go out there.”

“yeah.” you shrug. “if you say so!” you keep yourself firmly out of the business side, just like she told you your first day here.

“make sure you do something fun while you're there too. while he's in meetings you could see times square, or check out central park.”

“i definitely will! i want to see the cherry blossoms if they're still in bloom.”

“sounds fun.” serena nods before her desk phone begins to read. “sorry, gotta get this.”

“see ya.” you wave as you walk back to rafes office.

“all good?” he questions.

“laguardia, just as you want.” you smile, sitting back at your upgraded chair.

“don't know what id do without ya.” rafe says.

“don't be nice to me.” you scrunch your name up. “it's weird.”

“how were the cherry blossoms?” rafe asks.

“most of them still in bloom, actually.” you say with a soft smile. you ended up taking a lot of pictures along with exploring the rest of the park.

“nice.” he hums. “did you bring an evening dress?”

“no. and you didn't tell me i was supposed to.” you say.

“well… i would appreciate it if you joined me at dinner tonight. it's with a very important client who um… may be under the impression that im traveling with my wife.”

“your- your wife?” your eyes widen. “you want me to lie about being your wife?”

“just for tonight. id really appreciate it.” rafe looks at you with a softness in his eyes. “please.”

“okay… but i don't have an evening gown… or anything fancy.”

“let me take you shopping then.” rafe pulls out his phone. “there's got to be a nice store near us.”

you place your hand on top of rafes phone. “ill find a place.”

you end up finding a formal store only a couple blocks away. you decide to walk, rafe keeping close to you, glaring at anyone who even glances at you for too long.

you make it to the store without any interruptions, and rafe quickly points out the kinds of dresses that will fit the restaurant before standing back to let you choose.

“you wanna watch me try them on, husband?” you ask rafe, following the associate with an armful of dresses back towards the private changing rooms.

“of course.” rafe follows behind you, eyes glancing down your figure. he can't wait to see you in a gorgeous fitted dress.

when you step out in the first dress, rafe swears he feels his heart skip a beat. “you're getting that one.”

“you sure?” you look in the mirror, twirling around to look at the dropped back. “i don't know if this color looks good on me.”

“it looks good on you.” rafe says. “but by all means, try on more. ill buy you multiple.”

rafe ends up buying you every single dress you try on except for one that's too loose and doesn't fit well. you insist you only need one, but you're not going to argue with your boss wanting to spend money on you.

you end up choosing the first one you tried on to go to the dinner with rafe. your hands shake slightly, not sure what to expect. rafe sees it, hesitating before wrapping your hand in his.

“it'll be fine. you can just… just be quiet for the most part. ill do all the talking.”

“okay.” you squeeze his hand back, not used to the physical contact with rafe, but finding it surprisingly comfortable.

you follow him into the restaurant, everyone else dressed to the nines, perfect hair and makeup on the women, the men with the shiniest shoes. “it's really beautiful in here.” you whisper.

“wait till you taste the food… wifey.” rafe says, making you both laugh.

“ah, mr. and mrs. cameron.” the man says in a slightly accented voice as you both shake his hand, as well as the associate next to him. “so glad to meet the both of you. we appreciate getting into business with a true family man.”

“of course.” you smile, putting on your best acting performance. “we are so excited to start our family soon.”

“we must see the wedding photos. my wife-” the man puts a proud hand on his chest. “is a wedding dress designer.”

“oh.” you frown. “i would love to show you, but we haven't gotten them back yet.” you smile at rafe. “we’re newlyweds.”

“ah, cheers to the beginning of a lovely marriage then.” he raises his glass to clink with the others at the table.

“please, kiss! you must after a toast.” the associate says.

you turn to rafe, glancing down to look at his lips. it would totally give you away to refuse, so you take a deep breath and lean into in, pressing your lips together in a quick kiss. it lasts only a moment, but you swear you feel a spark, a tug to continue kissing him.

rafe doesn't bring it up until later, as your riding the elevator back up to your hotel room. “you did great. im sorry about the kiss.”

“it wasn't bad.” you giggle softly, slightly drunk on the wine that was served.

“im glad you think that.” rafe smiles softly. “you'll make a wonderful wife to a very lucky man someday.”

“maybe we could…” you swallow harshly, the alcohol encouraging your words you know you shouldn't say. “maybe we could keep pretending. just for tonight. and then when we get back to the office things can be back to normal.”

“and what does continuing to pretend to be husband and wife entail?” rafe questions, taking a step closer to you.

“more kissing. more… more.”

rafes lips are against yours suddenly, ignoring the elevator doors sliding open in favor of his mouth pushing against yours, lips gliding harshly over each others. the kiss is the exact opposite of the restaurant, whereas it was quick and innocent, this kiss is full of fire and passion.

the elevators slide shut and begin to head back down to the lobby. “shit.” rafe groans against your lips, jamming the button towards your floor. “sorry baby.”

“just… keep kissing me until someone gets in.” rafe listens to your pleas, kissing you until the elevator comes to a halt. even then, he doesn't move far away, keeping himself stood possessively over you, your back against the elevator wall.

you smile awkwardly at the three men who enter before turning your face into rafes chest, focused on the hand that has slipped around your waist.

the elevator stops and the three men get off. the second it's moving again, rafe is back kissing you, stumbling out when your doors open as to not make the same mistake as last time.

“shit.” rafe groans, having to fumble in his pocket to get the key card for the door.

you let out a soft giggle, pressing kisses to his neck and jaw until the door swings open and you're able to step in the room.

“are you sure?” rafe asks, closing and locking the door behind you.

“im sure.” you nod. “this is just… pretend. let's do what husbands and wives do.”

rafe moves you towards the bed, backing you up until you sit down on the plush spread, decorated exactly like yours in the connecting room, but this bedding still smells like rafe from the night before.

he sinks to his knees, such a strong, dominant man on the floor for you as he takes off your heels, carefully slipping them off your soles before setting them to the side.

“thank you.” you say softly. rafe looks up at you before leaning forward, pushing the slit of your dress open to press kisses to your knees, and then thighs, moving up until the dress no longer allows him to.

“i need you to take this off.” he says roughly.

you nod, shifting yourself to stand as rafe also rises. you turn your back to him, his hands moving to your waist before moving up until he's cupping your chest over the shiny material.

“rafe-” you gasp out as he squeezes, his large palms enveloping your entire breast.

rafe holds his hands there for a moment longer before moving them to your back, unzipping your dress and watching it fall to the floor. you're in just a small pair of lingerie, having bought it for yourself yesterday in a boutique.

“shit.” rafe curses again. “you're… you're so beautiful.”

you turn around to kiss him again, his hands now against your bare skin as he explores, moving all along your sides and back.

your own hands get busy as well, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt until you can push it off his shoulders. you pull away to see his muscles, hints of which you've seen when he's rolled up his sleeves or wore a tighter than normal shirt, but now you can finally really see and appreciate them.

“lay down, please.” rafe says.

you move to lay on his bed, head resting against the pillows as rafe crawls over your body. his mouth finds yours again as his hand delves under your back to unhook your bra. he pulls it away from your body as his lips leave yours.

he's only off your skin for a moment before his mouth is wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling around in circles as his hand holds your other breast.

“oh, shit.” it's your turn to curse as your eyes squeeze closed, hand coming to the back of rafes head, feeling his short hair as he sucks on your nipple before kissing all over the swell of your breast. he switches sides, wanting to taste all of you.

you lift your hips when his hand grabs onto your underwear, allowing him to pull it all the way down until you kick it off the bed. rafe pulls away to look between your legs, letting out a soft moan when you part your thighs and he can see how wet you already are.

“beautiful.” he says, eyes closing like it's too much to look at you as his hand skirts down your stomach before finding your wetness, finger circling around your entrance before gently pushing in.

“kiss me, please.” you take rafes face in your hands, guiding your mouths back together as his finger carefully thrusts in and out. he slowly increases the speed until you're whining against his lips for more.

rafe twists his hand so his thumb can rub over your clit as you let out a moan, hips pressing up, seeking more.

“i need you.” rafe pulls his hand away. “i need you so bad.”

you nod quickly, giving him one more quick kiss before he pulls away to take off his pants and underwear. you bite your lip once hes completely nude, his cock standing tall and hard away from his body. you want to taste him, want to see what it feels like to have his cock sit heavy on your tongue, but you need him inside of you more.

“i have a condom somewhere…” he looks around.

“you don't need to wear one. I'm on birth control.” you can feel your cheeks blush just at the suggestion. “it's… it's not what a husband and wife would do.”

“okay.” rafe doesn't need any more convincing, crawling back over your body. “do you want me like this?”

you flip over quickly so you're on top, rafes back now pressed into the mattress. you grab onto his cock, giving him a few quick strokes before you line him up with your cunt, sinking down with a synchronous moan.

you keep your eyes on rafes face as you begin to move, hips grinding up and then back, your hands sat firmly on his chest to help you move.

you're able to grind your clit down against his skin every time you sink fully down, just adding to the pleasure. he's stretching you out in the most pleasurable way, just enough to feel it without being painful.

“so fucking beautiful.” rafe says, reaching up to hold onto your tits as they bounce with your body.

you put all your energy into riding him, knowing this might be your only chance to, but hoping it's not, hoping you can feel him inside of you again.

“i- baby.” rafe grunts out, hands moving down to your hips. he helps you move as your legs quickly tire, not used to this position.

“you feel so good.” you whine out eyes sliding shut as rafes hips begin to push up, lifting you with every thrust, spearing his cock even further into you.

“im-im close.” you admit with a gasp, his cock hitting your sweet spot every time.

“cum for me baby, please.” rafe moves one of his hands to your lower stomach, thumb reaching down to rub over your clit.

you cry out, back arching as you instantly cum, not needing any more stimulation as your body shakes before flopping forward, falling against rafes chest.

he gives you a minute, as long as he can hold back before flipping you onto your back. it takes him only a few thrusts to cum inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

rafe flops down next to you, both breathing heavily, skin sheened in sweat.

you wait for a moment. to see if he's going to say anything. when he doesn't, you scooch closer to him, placing your hand on his cheek and bringing him in for a kiss, not yet done pretending.

-- four years later --

“you remember the first time we came here?” rafe asks, stepping into the restaurant with his hand wrapped around yours. it's redecorated some, but is still familiar.

“how could i forget.” you smile at him. “where i first pretended to be your wife.”

“well, at least you don't have to pretend anymore,” rafe says, swiping his thumb over the diamond ring on your finger “mrs. cameron.”

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halemerry · 9 months

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On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #good omens meta #Crowley #Gabriel

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shhhhimwatchingthis · 3 days

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Dead Boy Detectives has everything:

Co Dependent queer platonic tough to define Best Freinds who would and have gone to hell for each other. they have an office with a cupboard full of board games, and a long history of Noodle Incident cases of '04, and also a bunch of maneuvers with code names. They are also ghosts who solve mysteries for other ghosts.

One is a sassy well read diva in a stupid little bowtie. he keeps meticulous notes, and went to hell on a technicality. he has no rizz and has a sexual awakening at the hands (paws?) of a supernatural Cat King

the other is a cheerful happy bruiser, the brawn with a pocket demension only he can navigate in his backpack, a magic cricket bat, and wells of anger deep down

they team up with a cool psychic (whos also a pretty tree) dealing with her asshole abusive boyfriend who was literally a demon while also trying to restore her memories (she also has a hilarious hate off off with the nerdy one)

then they add a sweet shut in who isn't very brave but is very inquisitive and has excellent reading comprehension and is actually the most brave

and their landlady is a hot goth Sapphic butcher who is done with their shit (but not really)

and the main antagonist is a cunt serving witch with an iron cane chewing up the scenery, just camp queen obsessed with Beauty and Revenge as she should be

she turns her crow familiar into an astrology loving twink to honeypot the nerdy one but the crow catches feelings whoops

the cat king who deserves his own mention again. he's here to seduce a stuffy British detective/tease, cause problems on purpose, reluctantly help solve those problems and mostly slut it up.

a bureaucrat learns to VERY reluctantly embrace the beautiful power of friendship after being swallowed by a fish

its set in a gorgeous seaside town with a light house! and a malt shop!

because this is all A Scooby Doo homage!

It's an episodic Case Of The Episode format! with strong serialized elements!

and as if that wasn't enough there's even Death of The Endless.

what more could any person possibly want in a show.

oh and there's a lot of really interesting themes around internalized homophpbia, abusive relationships and trauma and toxic anger and learning to love and trust and help other people again in spite of and because of the bad parts.

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sunnyskiesscareme · 4 months

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My Heart’s Racing, and it isn’t the Exercise

Luke Hughes x reader

Summary: Luke Hughes has a gym crush, and his brother wants a sister in law

Warnings: there’s a reference to like… dropping a weight on his head to induce memory loss, you’ll understand if you read it 😭 other than that, nothing!! (Unless u include Luke embarrassing himself but that’s just cuz he’s a cutie patootie)

Notes: I’m so sorry I’ve barely posted!! Uni is kicking my ass. Still, I appreciate all the support on my previous fics!! Y’all are so kind!! Also, a lil reference to the readers job as a hairdresser

Luke was sure that if y/n wasn’t here, he’d cry.

He had explicitly told his brother that he needed to be at the gym within 10am-11:30am, and no later. He hadn’t told him why, exactly, but he thought he made himself pretty clear anyhow. It wasn’t like Jack to be late to anything, but Jack had expressed that he believed you couldn’t be late to the gym in the first place. To him, it was a personal pleasure. Luke would have agreed if it weren’t for the girl with the strict schedule, who went everyday, at the same time, with no exceptions.

He couldn’t explain that to Jack without the certainty of him telling the whole Devil’s team about his little crush, and suddenly the chirping would go beyond anything he’d ever live down. So instead, when Jack would roll his eyes at his brother with a comment about being uptight, Luke would bite back with a reminder that Jack had assigned certain coats to certain hooks in the entrance way. Surely, Luke was not the uptight one in that apartment.

Jack had only hurried things up when his brother threatened to leave without him, jingling his keys and walking to the door with exaggerated stomps. Still, they had only left the house at 10:41, and for reasons unbeknownst to Jack, Luke had refused to switch to the gym nearest their building. It was 10:53 when they got there, and Luke ignored his brothers scolds for his crooked parking job, rushing to check who was at the girl’s favourite machine. It was then that Luke realized he had never learned her name. Had she ever even had a full conversation with him?

She was there, in all of her beauty, but Luke didn’t crack a smile. Instead, he walked over to the chest press for his warmup as if he had never seen her. His sudden stop-and-stare session did not go unnoticed by his brother, who not so subtly squinted his eyes in her direction, trying to find what had his little brother so dazed. His eyes flickered to the dejected look on his face, back to the girl, and then to the foot that Luke was subconsciously tapping. A knowing grin grew on Jack's face before he wiped it off with the back of his hand, wringing his wrist out in an act of preparation for his dead-lift warmup. He halted when he began to pass by Luke, stomping his foot on the ground exaggeratingly as he turned to his brother.

"Luke, Luke," Jack said, bending down to reach ear level with him. "You see that girl over there? The one on the, uh, the walking thingy?"

"The elliptical." Luke corrected, a little bit too fast. He’d learned the name of the machine a while ago, just in case he needed it one day.

"Yeah, whatever. She's real pretty, huh?"

Luke's eyes met Jack's so fast it hurt, and he blinked a couple of times to make the room stop spinning. His knuckles turned white at the grip he had on the bars of the machine, despite having paused the lifting to speak to his brother. "What- why?"

"I think I’m gonna ask her out."

"No!" Luke yelped, and those in the gym who weren't wearing headphones or struggling to breathe with the intensity of their workout glanced over at him curiously. His cheeks burned bright red, and Jack had to repress a smirk. "She’s," he shook his head, "She's not even your type."

“What? Of course she is. You don’t think she’s pretty?”

“She’s-!” Luke started, chest puffed up and eyes wide as he went to defend the girl. That was, until the smile on his brothers face looked a little bit too evil to be classified as adoring, and Luke squinted his eyes at him. “What are you trying to do here?”

Jack let out a girlish giggle and gave him a smack to his knee. “I think you think she’s pretty!”

“Shut up!” He wacked his brother right back.

“I think you’ve beaten me to her!”

“Jack, stop.” Luke begged, gripping his brothers wrist strongly enough for Jack to wince, his eyes wide as saucers.

Jack snickered, wringing out his wrist. He glanced back at the girl, whose machine beeped as she finished her cool down. “C’mon! She’s done. Go talk to her!”

“What? No!” Luke refused, his voice much quieter and harsher than his brothers. “No, she’s leaving anyway.”

Jack glanced at the girl again, who had finally stepped off of the machine and stood in front of a window. Her silhouette was black as she tipped her head towards the ceiling to chug down some water. He looked back at Luke. “I don’t think so… looks like she’s just having a drink before her next workout.”

“No.” Luke shook his head, certainty in his movements. “It’s 11:30. This is when she leaves.”

Luke seemed to have not realized the weight his words held before he said them, and quickly made himself busy with his machine before Jack’s head jerked foreword, his jaw dropped far enough that if he had dared to look, Luke would be able to count all of his teeth.

“Woah, woah, wait a minute!” He said, stepping in front of his little brother so that he had no casual excuse for avoiding his gaze. “Is this why you’ve been whining every day about when we get here?”

Luke cringed, ending his first rep early to stick an earbud in his ear. “I’m working out. Can’t hear ya.”

“Oh my god!” Jack gaped, yanking the earbud back out. “This is why I have to go to a gym 15 minutes away from my apartment- that has a gym in the building?”

“It’s only 10, don’t be such a baby.” Luke groaned, seeing no point in trying to hide his little secret any longer.

“Oh my god. Luke, I’m being serious right now, if you don’t go talk to her- I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

Luke’s eyes worriedly flicked back to where she stood before, but let out a breath when she wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t know wether it was of relief or disappointment, but he forced himself not to dwell on the weird feeling in his chest. “She’s… She’s gone anyways.”

Jacks head whipped to the window and then back to his brother so fast that Luke was surprised he wasn’t in pain. He quickly promised himself he’d give him pain if he looked at him like that any longer- his brows slightly furrowed, eyes more pitiful than annoyed. Jack let out a soft huff. “Next time then.”

---

Jack was ready before Luke was the next morning, bouncing on the balls of his feet on the mat in front of the door. Luke walked sluggishly, something he hadn’t done since he had first seen her. He was sure this would be the last day at her gym- certain he’d be too humiliated to return.

“Could you wipe that look off your face, please?” Luke asked, annoyed.

His grin only grew, flashing his recently fixed straight white teeth. “Why would I? Todays the day- Lukey Boy is getting a girlfriend!”

Luke rolled his eyes.

The 10 minute car ride was mostly silent. To Jack, it had felt like the longest ride he’d ever taken, even with all of the complaints he’d given about the length of the drive in the past. This was most certainly the worst of them all. To Luke, it had been the shortest. He’d listed multiple plans for certain scenarios in his head, noting that if he really needed to, there were weights near the elliptical she used that he could drop on his head if he needed to forget he’d ever seen her. Maybe his brother would feel bad enough to never bring it up again. He planned to run a few fast miles on a treadmill beforehand, so that he could build up some adrenaline, and blame his red face on the exercise.

Jack walked in with a pep in his step, only stopping when his brother suddenly grabbed his wrist. His face was white and his eyes wide, and Jack had never seen him so scared to talk to a girl before. “She’s gonna think I’m a creep.”

“No she won’t! Just… don’t be a creep, and you’ll be fine.”

Luke releases his brothers wrist to run a stressed hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“Luke, it’s gonna be fine, I’m telling you.” Jack tried to reason. He sent him a funny smile, “Plus, you’re in the NHL. what girl would say no to that?”

Luke didn’t laugh, and Jack licked his lip awkwardly. “Buddy, just do it. There’s no use comforting you now- she hasn’t even rejected you yet!”

“Yet!”

“No!” Jack gripped Luke’s shoulders tightly. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Now go. Now. It’s time.”

Luke almost tripped, his feet too nervous to react to the push his brother gave him. He prayed that it was too bright outside to see the reflection in the window her machine overlooked, and that she didn’t see any of that. He stood awkwardly a safe distance away from her, looking back at his brother who gave him a not-so-subtle thumbs up.

She was changing the song coming through her headphones when she felt the presence of someone next to her. She turned, startled when someone was actually there. He was tall, but had a young, sweet face. His hair was long enough for him to have to push behind his ear and she could imagine him hating it. Most people with curly or wavy hair did, she had learned from work, but his was her favourite texture to cut and work with. She’d recognized him well. He seemed to have a similar schedule to her, and she had used him as proof to her friends that she wasn’t uptight. He was too handsome to look at, she had decided one day. She couldn’t afford a gym crush, not when she was doing so well with her gym streak. It would complicate things. She flicked an earbud out, giving him a friendly, but curious smile.

“Hi.” He said, the word breathy.

“Hi.” She said back with a slight chuckle. “Did you need something?”

“Oh! Sorry, uh,” she didn’t notice Jack watching them, cringing at the way his brother stuttered. “I was wondering… if I could use that machine.”

She blinked at him, eyes flickering to the 3 other ellipticals lining the large window, still and unused. She nodded anyway. “Uh, yeah! Sure!” She said, stepping off and beside the guy, who looked much taller from the new angle. “Are, are the other ones not working?”

“Uh-“

“Nope!” She jumped at the loud voice behind her, looking right in time for her to miss how Jack stepped on the machines cord, unplugging it. He smacked his hand on the buttons exaggeratedly, proving to her that it wouldn’t turn on.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’ve been hogging the only working one, haven’t I?”

“No, no! You’re okay. Uh, I just, um-“

“My brother thinks you’re pretty!” Jack blurted out, cutting off his stuttering.

Luke looked mortified, shoulders curling in on himself. Y/n reddened, her lips unintentionally curling up into a giddy smile. “Oh! Thank you!” She let out a nervous chuckle. “Um, you’re his brother?”

“I’m so sorry.” He said instead of answering, and she hoped he didn’t look so sick because his brother lied.

“Don’t be! I’m,” she let out another nervous chuckle, “I’m very flattered.”

“You should let him buy you a smoothie from the drink bar.” Jack suggested, grinning wildly. Y/n felt brave under his enthusiasm.

“Jack!” Luke pleaded, fists balled up.

“He doesn’t have to pay.” She said, and she smiled awkwardly at their intense gazes. “Uh, I mean… are you thirsty?”

“You want to get a smoothie with me?”

“Well, sure! Only if you tell me your name though.” She giggled

He looked at her, his gaping lips turning up into a smile. “Luke.”

Luke had never loved his brother more. He hadn’t listened as he came up with some excuse for leaving the two of them alone. Something about already having water or having to get his workout in while he could, Luke assumed. He didn’t really care. He had imagined a million ways his day could go, and he had somehow lived the one he didn’t think would ever happen. He smiled at her, panicking when she began to reach for the pack she had around her waist. “I’ll pay!”

She looked back up at him. “Wow! A cute boy calls me pretty and buys me a smoothie in one day? This isn’t what I imagined would happen when I walked into the gym today.” She giggled, walking with him.

“Yeah… neither did I.”

#sunnyspouts #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke Hughes x fem!reader #nhl x reader #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl players

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double--blind · 7 months

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(SPOILERS) breaking down how obsessed Andrew is w/his sister bc he's a repressed lil liar and I'm going insane

This post got longer than I intended it to

1. He claims they don't spend enough time apart from each other to even begin missing her so he doesn't even know if he would, but just earlier in the game he was apart from her for probs like 30 mins tops to investigates some cultists and guess what???? He was already missing her 😒

2. Says "I thought you grew out of this touchy-feely crap" when Ashley asks for a hug, but earlier when he was cooking dinner, he was the one with the inexplicable urge to "pull this broody bitch into [his] arms and force her to stay until she smiles" 😒

3. Piggy-backing off the last screenshot: WHAT OTHER THOUGHTS, ANDREW??? yOU WERE JUST THINKING ABT HUGGING HER. WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. THESE ARE SIMPLY INNOCENT BROTHERLY THOUGHTS ARE THEY NOT????? 🤨🤨🤨

4. Bro just can't keep his hands off her. And everyone thinks Ashley's the clingy one jeez (lol the way he springs apart from her when Mom catches them is definitely definitelyyyy not worth analyzing. nope. not even when it happens a second time on the couch. nope. nooope)

5. What. What is he thinking here. Don't think I don't see those grey lil blush lines. Is this connected to my third point somehow bc like... 🤨😬 Is "Andrew" is gonna start doing and being what "Andy" was too spineless and afraid of doing?? That's what the vow was partly abt right?? Does that include—

5. WHEWWW BOY that little flashback with his gf has so much baggage in it I just wanna dissect. His girlfriend's tryna have a serious discussion with him abt his weird sister for the sake of bettering their relationship bc she genuinely loves him, but he just gets caught up in fondly talking abt said weird sister instead??

6. He's awfully hesitant abt Ashley learning some independence, bc y'know what?? I think he doesn't really want her to stop relying on him. But what do I know y'know

6. Wants his gf to put tie her hair up in a ponytail, then when she refuses bc he'll pull on it, says it's just "how boys express their love". Well. You know who else puts there hair up in a ponytail??? You know who else's hair he's always pulling on and touching???

7. The voicemails in his gf's phone left by Ashley are heard by him in his dreams, and his dreams are a construction of his mind utilizing his memories, personal hangups, and knowledge of Ashley. The voicemails irl were left on his gf's phone, and for all we know, he never actually listened to them in person. Bearing this in mind... odds are the things Ashley's saying contain bits of truths he believes within himself, filtered thru her crude, hateful dialogue.

Here. I transcribed one of them...

"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to… It's not you he seeks out. It is me."

8. Claims Ashley's the one with the jealous streak, not him, but I think he's just as bad. The only difference is that Ashley's never given him reason to act on it since all she's ever wanted was him, but at the slightest mention of her gettin it on w/someone else, even as a joke, he gets mad. "OVER MY DEAD BODY!!" he says, when she's jokingly contemplating getting knocked up via the neighbor so an ambulance would come for her. "I wouldn't let them," he says, when she's complaining abt not being pretty enough for the wardens to bang her

9. Going hand-in-hand with that fact, he's intensely protective of her. Didn't hesitate to cleaver the warden who found her in the closet (probs didn't even BLINK lmaooo he chose VIOLENCE), and when the cake-stealing cultist insulted her just once, he stepped forward just like that

10. In their apt, when they were lying on the floor talking abt jumping off the balcony, he was really caught up in the "romantic" fantasy of them committing a double suicide and dying with their bodies entwined so irreparably by the impact they form one unified corpse "never to be separated!" and they get buried in the same coffin together. UM??? Bro fr thought he was the sane one of the two. That wasn't even true before the cannibalism and demon summoning 😭😭😭

BONUS:

11. This might just be me, but his reaction to seeing the post-sex vision doesn't strike me as someone who's inherently opposed to the idea. Instead of disgusted, he was... flustered?? He acted like she walked in mid-guilty pleasure wet dream. This wasn't a "GROSS THATS INCEST" reaction which is... the most normal reaction to have. That's the face of a man that got CAUGHT bro.

He asks "we're not like that, are we?" and "why are you like this?" and questions the veracity of the vision, but he never actually explicitly denies wanting the vision to happen, more focused on Ashley and her reaction. He buries the elephant under the rug as fast as he can, bc yeah, it struck a landmine, but it probably wasn't a landmine for the reason Ashley thinks it is. I bet the vision just hit a little too close... :P

#the coffin of andy and leyley #coffincest #andrew x ashley #tcoaal #txt post #character analysis #andrew graves #bro is MESSED UP and I'm only scratching the surface #half of this post is analyzing his gf and I'm not even done man I didn't even mention how Julia is both a foil for Ashley and a lookalike #he both chose a girl completely different from her (mfer's compensating) and someone who reminds him of her

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thats-godscomma · 7 months

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Since rewatching Psych, I've been thinking about how weird and arbitrary Shawn's interests are. Sure, late 2000's writing had something to do with it, and maybe a bit of Henry and Gus's influence, but hearing Shawn be so vocal about how he hates certain popular things or (more importantly) refuses to give them a chance BUT at the same time knowing so many pop culture references, it got me thinking.

What if the reason Shawn has so many pop culture references on hand is because of his eidetic memory, and he doesn't actually have as much of an interest in pop culture? Throughout the show, he actively avoids getting roped into big interests and franchises (see: comic books, soap operas, etc.) despite the fact that he genuinely seems excited once he's part of it. In fact, we don't get to see a lot of Shawn's interests at all unless it's based on an idea.

Take being a bounty hunter, for example. According to him, he's obsessed with the idea, but he doesn't make many references to an actual bounty hunter show or franchise. Instead, he just remembers the one bounty hunter he saw as a child and maybe references a movie or two. Because once he remembers something, he's never going to forget it, or at least not for a very long time.

That's why he thinks in references. Everything is a reference if you have a good enough memory. Everything reminds you of something. If Shawn hears someone make a Spock reference, it's in his repertoire forever. But he wouldn't be caught dead watching the shows or movies because that's just too much information. Why on earth would he endure that?

Of course, it also intertwines with his ADHD. He has bouts of energy and trouble focusing. He can't sit still to save his life, and he hyperfixates...or he would if his memory didn't make him averse to it. So if he doesn't want to hyperfixate on an information-based interest, then what does he hyperfixate on? Physical activities. Instead of learning about his favorite daredevil, he tries to be one himself. When he learns about oil rigs, he doesn't get a book from the library. He tries to find oil in his backyard.

This is also where he and Henry differ regarding Shawn's "potential." Henry is correct when he talks about Shawn's "wasted" potential, but he doesn't understand the toil of having this eidetic memory and ADHD. Here's what I think happened: Henry probably noticed Shawn's stellar memory at a young age, realized he has a gift, spoke with his wife about her eidetic memory, learned that you need to challenge your child's eidetic memory at a young age or it'll go away, started the hat game to make it fun and exciting, but then Shawn's ADHD appeared. Suddenly, it made him much harder to raise (because let's be real, Shawn was not an easy child.) Henry didn't know what he was doing anymore, and since it was the 80's, he didn't have the resources to properly understand his kid's behavior, so he tried to find a common interest, and started training Shawn to be a detective "because kids love cop shows." But Shawn struggled to stay attached to one single interest, and when he grew up, he stopped trying to articulate his problems because his mom (the only person who remotely understood his struggles) left, and he blamed his dad for it.

And academics? Those are a joke because what is the point of studying if he already remembers everything? Until, of course, he needs to apply it to a problem-solving test or writing an essay. Suddenly, he's memorizing a math teacher's answer sheet and copying Gus's report.

Yes, Shawn could have been a great cop. He could be an amazing scientist or anything really. He could have been a national spelling bee champion like Gus wanted to be. Even 15 years later, Shawn remembered exactly what word Gus messed up, how to spell the word, and what letter he made Gus slip up, but he didn't want to be on that stage with Gus because that requires so much learning. And so much time. And so much memorizing. And he refuses to sit still for that long when he knows that overloading his head is going to give him migraines.

Also his "I've heard it both ways" probably comes from the fact that people with eidetic memory can still make lots of mistakes if they don't actively commit something to memory. If Shawn only overhears something, he'll still naturally try to fill in the gaps like everyone else, but because he's so confident in his memory, he just believes what he remembers to be true, leading him to repeat incorrect information with confidence. That could also be why some of his references are incorrect due to mixed-up homophones.

Anyway, this post was supposed to be about how Shawn is just a walking movie reference because his memory won't let him forget quotes, but then I fell into a rabbit hole of the negative effects of having an eidetic memory as a child, and I am very passionate about how Henry actually tried his best, and people need to stop calling him a horrible parent. Love y'all. Let me know what you think.

#i just care a lot about the real-life consequences of having an eidetic memory combined with ADHD #psych #psych tv #psych usa #shawn spencer #henry spencer #burton guster #eidetic memory #long post

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zillychu · 3 months

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woke up from a dead sleep last night realizing I could make soroku flavored pitch pearl and no one could stop me

edit: you know what? I'm feral and I won't apologize. more under the cut bc this is my house

I slammed this out all at once so I apologize for the quality but I'm having EMOTIONS

so imagine. bc of the way Danny was quickly resuscitated, his ghost only barely started forming. With the excess blast of ectoplasm from the portal being created, that little whisp was given form even after Danny's soul returned to his body.

except this ghost (Phantom) slowly comes into consciousness while trapped in Danny's body. they're separate entities sharing one body, but Phantom doesn't really have a sense of self right away. he pieces together vague fragments of Danny's memory to get a basic understanding of the world, and is mostly just observing like a backseat passenger.

Phantom starts reflexively protecting Danny, his powers and instincts bleeding through when his emotions are high. Danny doesn't really transform, and his personality doesn't totally shift that much at first because Phantom’s mind isn't complex yet. but as time goes on, and Danny has tense conversations with ghosts, Phantom realizes that's what he is. he's a ghost, somehow trapped in his old body. and even now, this early on, he already feels separate. he doesn't have all the memories Danny has.

this slowly turns into horror. into rage. sorrow, mourning a life he never got and will never get to have. forever trapped behind the eyes of someone else, never able to interact with the world. Phantom's rage eventually boils over until it allows him short bursts of taking over Danny's body. it starts out small–a stray hand moving without his consent, knees locking up, ghost abilities going awry. Danny can start feeling emotions that don't belong to him. get vague impressions, almost hears a voice inside him.

and eventually, Phantom is able to fully take over. this is when Danny “transforms". at first, Danny blacks out because his consciousness isn't used to being shoved into the back seat. but eventually, he's awake for these “episodes", trapped in the back of his mind while Phantom controls his body. this only happens when ghost stuff is happening, when Phantom feels threatened enough. he's not protecting Danny, he's protecting himself. Phantom knows instinctively that if Danny dies, he dies too. he's not a normal ghost, he wouldn't be freed. he'd simply disappear.

at one point after a fight, Phantom can feel Danny struggling to take back control. and he talks to Danny for the first time, acknowledges he's there. asks how it's fair that Danny is the one that gets to exist. but Phantom is tired and weak, he slips back into the passenger seat.

over the next few days, he's able to start talking to Danny even while he's not driving. though he's not chatty, it's only when necessary. and Danny knows, can feel it across the link between them–Phantom hates him. the ghost he created is desperate to find a way to take over completely. and as time goes on, Danny realizes with horror that it might actually be possible for Phantom to do that. he grows stronger every day, can stay transformed longer, controls Danny's body with much more ease.

it's only through a chance meeting with Frostbite that Danny and Phantom fully learn what happened to them. Danny feels sympathetic towards Phantom now. this isn't a malevolent ghost, it's a person who was never given the chance to live. who's trapped. who has to watch someone else live a life they're just as deserving of.

and Phantom feels that emotion from Danny. is so shocked by it, he doesn't know how to handle it at first. it takes him a while to contemplate, to talk to other ghosts like Frostbite. until one day, Phantom realizes… he feels sympathy for Danny, too.

neither of them asked for this. both of them deserve to live. Danny didn't do anything wrong. they're both villains to each other's story. and if anything… doesn't Phantom owe his life to Danny in the first place?

Phantom takes over less often. Danny doesn't feel hatred from him anymore. anger, yes–but not aimed at him. in fact, Phantom starts controlling their body in little ways in order to protect Danny from things that aren't even dangerous. just to avoid pain that would only affect the human tethered to him.

it isn't long before they're separated, either thanks to another ghost or Danny's parents. they're thrown apart in the middle of a horrific fight, and when Danny sees Phantom's equally shocked expression, he's terrified.

this ghost that hated him for so long–at best, Phantom would leave him defenseless. at worst, surely some part of Phantom still wants to kill him for stealing away his chance for autonomy.

and yet, when fire rains down on them, Phantom risks it all to grab Danny and get them both to safety. they're still both shaken and stunned this is even happening, but Phantom is able to nervously be like shit shit shit okay stay here don't go anywhere or I can't protect you, okay?

after the fight is over and dust settles, Phantom offers Danny his hand. they stare at each other and god if this isn't the weirdest thing. like, uh, okay, what now? they decide to go see Frostbite, who confirms that they're fully separate now. they ask if there's any chance of merging again and Frostbite assures it's impossible.

Phantom asks, even if I overshadowed Danny? or stay real close? yes, it's nothing to worry about. they leave, and back in the quiet of Danny's room, they talk. Phantom isn't sure what to do. now that opportunity is in front of him, he feels paralyzed. Danny does his best to let Phantom know that… they might be separate now, but if he ever wants help or even just a friendly ear, he's here for him.

Phantom is quiet for a while. then says maybe he just needs to rest first. he'll think about it tomorrow. they're both exhausted and injured. Phantom asks quietly… if he could rest in Danny for the night.

Danny's shocked, and–really confused. Phantom blushes and is like I don't know what my haunt is yet, I don't know where to go, but I know… you're kind of my home. now that I know I can leave whenever I want, it's not something bad anymore. I miss feeling your heart next to my core, just a little bit.

and Danny is just as surprised when Phantom overshadows him, then quietly nestles into the passenger seat again. he didn't realize how he got used to feeling Phantom with him. it's a feedback loop of contentedness, and Danny sleeps easily. (they also find out while sharing a body, Danny gets to reap the benefits of Phantom's supernatural healing)

anyway that's all I got for now thank u for coming to my ted talk

#I'll be honest. it has interested me. I've read fics. I'm just more interested in other stuff for dp #but the prospect of pitch pearl 'enemies to friends also maybe they kiss about it' has me sweating nervously #the struggle and angst of defining yourself against your progenitor. the defiant sorrowful anger funneled into misplaced hatred #only to slowly realize your progenitor is a sweet person who didn't condemn you. they even fight for you to have your own agency #so once you finally have your own body you'll do anything to protect that person you've come to truly care about #and because you shared a body for so long. because you had the same origin. you know them as well as you know yourself #you're not incomplete but you still hold half of each other #HAHA WOW anyway I'm in danger :)#don't. don't look at me #should i even tag this. yeah okay #Danny Phantom #pitch pearl

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!”

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already.

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie.

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing. If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket.

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet.

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like.

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

Oh.

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs.

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic.

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality.

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week. She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot.

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you.

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?”

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her.

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips.

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to.

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment.

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before.

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back.

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone.

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?”

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy.

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips.

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night.

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.”

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive.

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room.

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him.

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade.

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why.

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it.

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike.

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late.

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.”

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t.

“We… are.”

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.”

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.”

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.”

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once.

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.”

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding.

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you.

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds.

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning.

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet.

Yet.

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you?

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you.

So why is that all you could feel right now?

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he?

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?”

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time.

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.”

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening.

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real.

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened.

I could never hate you.

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past.

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate.

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.”

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you.

Almost.

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now.

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.”

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does.

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips.

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.”

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?”

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.”

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.”

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about.

I could never hate you.

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?”

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference.

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face.

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility.

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore.

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.”

You deserve my honesty.

I could never hate you.

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.”

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night.

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust.

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop.

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point.

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest.

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.”

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated.

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question.

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?”

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar.

“That’s my question,” you confirm.

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly.

It’s not a good baseline question.

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.”

“Got kicked out? Why?”

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you.

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.”

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly?

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.”

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.”

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.”

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #gotta blast off to the gym now lol

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angelshimaa · 5 months

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━━ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ;; 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒

⤷ feat. bakugou, kirishima and todoroki <3

✧ cw :: reader is dead ✨, gn!reader, angst :))

✧ a/n :: angst angst angst angst YAY I love writing angst, not sure how to feel about shoto's though :/

katsuki simply disappears. there's not much to stick around for— he can't bear the look of pity his friends cast him when they believe he can't see them. so, he's curt when he talks, and he locks himself within the four corners of his room whenever he can— but the heart-tearing feeling of what he thinks is being weak doesn't drop at his door. he finds weakness in how he tries to envision every word you would say to him, holding onto every single detail of your face, and how you'd cushion your words of comfort. he's ashamed to admit it— as if he's not allowed to grieve— but he sits in the stabbing silence of his room and buries his face into the crook of his bent arm, holding onto how warm it was to be held by you, remembering every note of your laugh and the glint in your eyes when you teased him.

katsuki seems to be dead himself, with how ghostlike he is. he's never felt weaker, and the only person who could arm him with strength from so much as a smile has left him.

eijirou shatters at every little thing that reminds him of you. a mere mention of your name, the smell of you, a voice that happens to remind him of yours: it all has his heart throw itself against his chest— as if it could find a way to run to you— and the way it collides and shatters over and over again never fails to bring him a wave of sickness. seeing your face among his collection of you in his phone has tears pricking at his eyes— eijirou's cried oceans in your name and if it would bring you back, he'd cry a million more.

his deterioration is alarming— dark roots growing in as if his hair mourns you too— and all he has the energy to do is feel time drag on so slowly it aches. he knows you'd hate seeing him like this, placing a hold on his own life to clutch onto the memory of yours, but he can't find the bravery to try and cope with the hollowness he can't harden against.

shoto appears as cool as ever. it's off-putting to see him seem so okay— so unaffected by your absence. but, nobody sees the twisting and tearing of his heart and how deeply it overwhelms him. grief isn't something he knows how to grow accustomed to, and the devastation feels like poison he doesn't know how to let out. shoto can't cry over your absence— he doesn't know how. loving you was a feeling you'd guided him through, holding his hand with steady patience, and he wishes you could've helped him learn how to mourn you properly too.

he finds guilt in it— in the inability to sob over you like your friends and family do, but the dull ache eats him up just the same. he whispers his apologies whenever he's alone, and he hopes you know just how much he loves you— and how nothing can fit within the you-shaped home you've built within him.

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3

taglist (fill in this form to join!!) :: @maeby-cursed @katsukismrs @himikoslove @afairywithacrown

#— signed ⋆·ʚ⁺#bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #kirishima x reader #shoto x reader #mha x reader #mha angst #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bakugou angst #shoto todoroki x reader #kirishima x you #bakugou x you #todoroki x you #kirishima angst #todoroki angst

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hanniejji · 1 year

Text

silence

[ wanderer!scaramouche x okami!reader ]

summary: completely lost after his defeat in becoming a god, he searches not only for a new purpose but also for a certain someone who brought him comfort greater than his own kin would.

notes: aka scara is a baby and comes crying to you because he's a sore loser /jk | m.list

words: 2933 | warnings: it's scaramouche /jk there's nothing bad here just comfort and shit, also the pacing is kinda shitty cause i wrote this at work lmao

you have always loved the silence.

the eerie silence that enveloped a battlefield after a fight, where one side mourns for the dead and the other celebrates their victory far away. the tranquil noises of nature in the forest, your abode—if you focus enough, you can hear the white noise of the wind rushing above the sky, the flight of birds, the footsteps of every animal within your vicinity, and the gushing waterfall hitting the surface below. the muted thoughts of people, all with voices to scream yet defiance against authority means death, so they choose to silence their cries for help. the stillness of the night, where you can faintly hear the howls of your kin from afar, reminding you of past battles won and lost.

but somewhere in the distant memory of your past, you miss the complaints of a certain boy whose voice never seemed to shut the hell up.

your words, not mine.

he used to be so loud, crying even whilst he slept. whining and complaining about how you imprisoned him in this otherworldly forest of yours, yet he shuts his mouth after being reminded of his reality of being a casualty to those he comes across.

a puppet gone mad, out of its master's control, strings tangled.

"you're not here to be tamed, brat."

"then why are you keeping me here?" kunikuzushi glares at you from the other side of the stone table, a hand gripping the knife you casually gave him so he could practice on his own.

you always seemed to be his dummy target though. not that he could hurt you in the slightest, the gap between your capabilities is that of the height you need to reach celestia. it's quite an exaggeration, but far from a lie.

"so you don't go around accidentally causing more unintentional problems. learn how to use your brain or something, you have one for a reason," was always your answer to his repeated question, laughing at the way his face contorted to apprehension. "i don't have the patience to shape you into whatever humane person or puppet your creator wants you to be. so i'm doing you a favor by letting you be whatever the fuck you want to be. kill whoever you want, destroy whatever you want, go pour your anger as much as you want. it matters little to me."

"doesn't that contradict your past obligation as inazuma's former defender?"

"exactly what the title says," you shrug your shoulders, throwing your hands up without energy, "that is in the past. inazuma's concerns do not matter to me now that my god is gone."

placing your chin on your palm, you send him a knowing smirk, a sight he realizes that he does not like, "you can destroy this nation all you want and i wouldn't mind one bit. it would be interesting to see you as a god and not just a little brat."

he would always grow silent after the nth time you had this conversation, pondering, imagining the imagery of what you just said. it's almost as if he's in a trance.

the silence of someone having an inner conflict in more ways than one, is something that you would say is better than the silence when someone is mourning.

because this kind of silence is always followed by chaos.

"oh? where do you think you're going, little doll?"

"stop calling me that," he hissed, turning his head to glare at you.

for some reason, the change in his personality these past few months was refreshing, so unlike the whiny little brat who used to cower away from you. the same brat who's always frustrated at himself.

but at the same time, it's such a shame that he didn't change his ways. still reckless and careless.

this recklessness will kill him someday, you thought.

"well, answer the question."

he falters, taking a few steps away from you when you tilt your head, urging—demanding for his answer. he still couldn't look you straight in the eyes when you become like this—when your voice goes a little deep, eyes staring him down and the authority in the way you poised yourself.

"to the fatui. i'm not going to let myself rot in here."

"you're a puppet, you're not supposed to rot."

he scoffs at the comment, vile irritation building up his throat at the way you remained unbothered, almost uncaring, indifferent and as if this means little to you. you act more like a puppet than he does, he realizes.

he hates that about you.

it's ironic. he's the same way, more venomous through his words—but with you, it's like talking to a stone cold wall.

"i'm leaving to snezhnaya."

"hm," you turn your head to the vast forest, shrouded with tall trees and thick fog—wait, when did the fog get so thick? kunikuzushi was so sure he could still see far and beyond the first few layers of those trees, why did the forest suddenly seem so eerie and… predatory.

"you can leave."

"huh?" he stares at you in disbelief, with a hint of sadness.

are you… really going to let him go that easily?

for some reason, despite the freedom given to him, he wanted you to stop him.

"find the exit yourself," your trademark grin appeared on your face, challenging and daring him to do so. it's infuriating, makes him feel like you're looking down at him and his capabilities. "if you successfully get out of this forest, then i trust that you can handle the world outside and beyond this nation."

i take back my words, he scoffs, i don't need their permission to leave. they can't stop me.

"i don't need another petty test of yours, i can take care of my own," he sharply turns away and into the direction he swore was the exit just a moment ago.

"oh, trust me, doll," your giggles echoed through the forest, ringing in his ears for the last time, way too close than from where you just stood a moment ago.

"the forest is a cruel place to get lost in."

and since then, your abode returned to the way it was.

placid, motionless, and isolated. just like how it should be.

yet you look forward to the day that he comes back crying—you stifle a laugh at how pitiful he would look—scrunched nose and furrowed eyebrows, grumbling curses to the world as he slumps down on the ground, hissing at you as you tease him for being a baby before he falls asleep on the sprawled blanket you have in the living room of your cabin. your spirit watches over his sleep, dispersing his nightmares before it can even take root in his mind and blanketing him with your tail despite his inability to feel the change in the temperature.

no, he's too deep in his sleep to ever catch you doing such things.

some days, you'd sense a feeling of fear crawling inside the back of your head. it takes a form of visions and voices. it would whisper using the boy's voice, show images using his face, speak in a way he does. it's times like this that you take pride in your strength. you know better than to crumble against fear and its illusions. such emotions are not strong enough to push through the height of your defenses that were built from piles upon piles of lost loved ones.

yet your heart clenches at the thought of this boy, robbed of the opportunity to grow properly, succumbing to the demons of this world.

it's a shame that even you can't be the person to guide him, for you are the same as he.

you can only hope that he finds himself in his journey.

"ah, it seems like it's that time of the year once again."

you stretch your limbs with a pur-like groan, your tail swinging in anticipation behind you. now that the weariness from sleep had faded, your sharp eyes admire the red and orange colors blending within the forest, the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet every step you take music to your ears and the cold breeze wafting in the air.

the season of fall always brings out the playful side of your soul.

your attentiveness is sharper than usual, eyes turning to every little bit of movement in your surroundings despite knowing that no threat can occur in your abode. you carved its landscape with your very own hand, grew each and every tree rooted on the ground, wrote protective spells into every tree bark to form your very own barrier, opened ponds and breathed life into its very ground through the leylines. it's your safe haven, nothing can disturb your peace and it is a part of you to an extent.

that's way, when a familiar presence stepped inside your abode with no struggles whatsoever, your ears perked up and tail sways in anticipation.

fall is indeed a season for farewells and reunions.

"you're back quite earlier than expected, did the world outside the forest scare you?" you needn't look to know that he's standing right at the entrance of your favorite clearing, your figure sat near the pond with your feet dipped into the clear water.

"you're exaggerating," he grumbles, footsteps getting louder and closer until he's close enough, stopping just next to you.

"most certainly not," you hummed softly, tilting your head up to look at him after a few hundred years of not seeing him. your ears twitched.

instantly, you know something is different about him.

"you've changed."

"hmp, perhaps," he scoffs loudly, taking a seat beside you in a criss-cross position, slouching a little bit. he's barely looking at you, but that's not something new.

the way you imagined he would years ago.

"you're still grumpy though, might want to change that."

"you're still insufferable. i shouldn't have come back."

"yet you're here. i'm surprised you were able to enter without a problem. i was hoping the forest devoured you when you left. turns out you were able to get out, a shame," you sigh, "i should check on my barriers soon."

"you—" he hisses—the same way you adored, like an angry kitten—turning his head to glare at you, forehead scrunched in irritation, "so you don't even know if anyone gets caught in your shithole? did you assume i just up and died right before i got out?"

he can feel something warm in his chest at the way you laughed freely.

he hasn't heard that sound for a long time.

"you're alive though," he groaned at the familiar sly smile on your face. "besides, i wouldn't have let you go if i didn't know that you'd make it out alive."

"you would in a heartbeat."

"hm, if it were someone else, perhaps. but not you," you turn your head back to the pond, a contented smile on your face, voice unintentionally turning soft, "not my brat."

those words were the key to kunikuzushi's vulnerable state.

the silence that followed after your words was… unnerving, for some reason.

yet you felt as if you should give him the time he needs to gather himself, to give him a choice to talk or to keep things to himself. it stayed like that for a while, tuning into the sound of birds above and humming to make him more comfortable—or was it for your own comfort that you tried to fill in the silence? the feeling of being unsure is so… uneasy.

why am i doing so much for his comfort?

just when you're about to speak to change the topic, he opens his mouth—and he speaks.

piles and piles of words upon words, like a scroll being unravel down the flight of stairs to the narukami shrine. his voice, clumsy and blurry words as it may be, sings to you tragedies in a kabuki performance. he opens his doors to you and only you, almost breaking down on the spot if it wasn't for his ridiculous pride—you surmise that you may have influenced him in that case. it plays a theatrical scene that takes eternity to finish dialogues upon dialogues.

he's a puppet whose strings are cut short, but he picks himself up, tangling the fragile strings in the process.

and you are his only audience.

you're his standing ovation when no one bothers to stop and see him for what he is.

perhaps, you are more suited to be sat beside him, joining in his play instead of just a witness—because you are more than just some random bystander who happens to pass by a puppet show.

it took him a while to finish his story. just like any kabuki, time is crucial in the production, and kunikuzushi is a person who barely had the time to see the world in its purest form. yet time is also what brought him his demise.

the gods did not give him enough time to feel and learn.

when he finishes, the sun has already hid itself behind the ocean of trees and the sky is blanketed by a starry void.

a false sky, he said in one of his stories.

somehow, kunikuzushi's head ended up on your lap—he dares not to bring attention to this fact, he already feels embarrassed as it is.

"how did it felt?"

he stares at you with a grain of salt.

"to what? to almost die? quite the experience, i didn't enjoy falling head first though. would you like to try?"

"no, dumbass," he hisses when your finger flicks against his forehead. before he could even cover the assaulted area, you swat his hand away to replace it with yours. an uncharacteristic gentle touch on his skin, a caress. he resists the urge to melt towards your hand. "how did it feel like to almost have something within your reach but realize it won't do you any better? to learn how to decide for yourself, for the better, after experiencing bitter defeat?"

he purses his lips, turning away from your direction to stare at the pond reflecting the dark sky.

your hand slips across his forehead to his hair, gently caressing the familiar stresses—familiar stresses that reminded you so much of a former dear friend that you lost long ago. you didn't expect him to answer your question yet, to push forward for an answer would be adding salt to an open wound.

and the last thing you want to do is give him a reason to pull away.

"you know, if i was ei, i would have chosen you to rule with me."

"stop saying things to make me feel better, that's not like you," he scoffs—unbeknownst to the way his cheeks turn a little warmer.

such a human feature to have.

"i would love to see you be the god you wanted to be," you continued to mutter with a soft smile, brushing your fingers through his hair.

"stop it."

"i would watch you build yourself higher and have greater goals as a god."

"what is wrong with you!?" he quickly pushes himself off of you, whipping his head to look at you with a bewildered face. "are you out of your mind!?" he glares at the way your smile turns sly.

"i would have chosen you, someone with no human heart yet able to feel what it's like to be human," your hand pats his head playfully, snickering when he swats it away roughly.

"you," growling, he turns away from your direction.

"but alas, i'm not patient enough to baby you or anyone else," you shake your head shamefully, shrugging your shoulders. "go do whatever the fuck you want yourself, learn shit for yourself. but that does not mean you can do it alone, dumbass."

"why are you talking like this?" he mumbles, but you can see the way his shoulder trembled in the slightest, no doubt nibbling on his bottom lip to stop himself from something as 'pitiful' as crying. "shut up, i came here to rest, not to listen to your nonsense musings. i had enough of that already."

"well then," you reach out to his shoulder, gently directing him back on your lap. he faces you this time, eyes clenched tight to avoid looking at you, his only pillar in this world. he feels too light headed, whether if it's from your words or the feeling of finally resting after so many years of suffering, he's not too sure. he'd deny the former with everything he has though. but he cannot deny that he feels safe in your haven, here in the comfort of your arms.

"rest, you can think of the next step after you get some shuteye, don't make me knock you out myself."

he clicked his tongue, before it became quiet again.

this time, it's a comfortable silence. nothing like the tension from the first time you met him, nothing like the few times he spent quietly sobbing on your shoulder every time he awakes from a nightmare—nothing like the eerie quietude in the middle of the eye of the storm, waiting for the real disaster to come surging. soon, the boy falls asleep to the warm and loving touch on his head.

in the silence, you whisper words that you could not tell him.

"i would've gone through celestia and the abyss to give you a heart."

you, despite claiming that you will not baby him, held him in a way a parent would towards their child. with gentle hands and feathery touches, and a heart that you would give him if you could.

taglist: crossed out names mens i can't tag you oof

@thedianaclark @blockswon @thenyxsky @crazypriestess @someone-with-wild-imagination @koi-chairowo @shizunxie @smirpsmirp @brookeisqweer @mariataliya @saoiirsee @atsuki-mitsuri @camzpetite @fandangotales @genshinfinatic @chimsblogg @nette-yang @vienettacream @notyuki @shiragi2 @atsukawolfcat @frzenhans @kkazuyass @tartarsaucechi1de @nunontherun @a-simp-with-daddyissues @thetruepair

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adamsrcnan · 17 days

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OKAY OKAY here we goooo an annoyingly long-ish post about all my thoughts on The Sunshine Court

Spoilers Spoilers Spoilersss you've been warned

First things first it is so interesting to see Nora writing from not one but TWO new people's perspective. Jean's perspective is just devastating being inside his head is heartbreaking the constant fear and panic and how much of his energy is used on just pushing down every memory of what was done to him. His coping mechanisms are terrifying and i truly do hope by the end of book 2 he has a healthier way of dealing with it bc baby boy stop hurting yourself :( Every sentence was so painful to read. But also his resilience the entire time to get through it no matter what, god i fucking love him!!! He is a fighter.

Jeremy's perspective is sooooo refreshing. He is such a little sweetheart i could cry. The fact that he sends hand written letters and he's so caring and genuine but he can also be so stern. When he dropped that "i asked you a question" to Lucas fkehdjdfjdh OK SIR. I'M SAT. His relationship with the family butler is so endearing as well i need more background on that for sure! My only one criticism is that he didn't have enough pov chapters and i'm hoping we'll learn more in the second book of course because there's still so much about him and his (dysfunctional? toxic?) family dynamic that we don't know yet but also i'm greedy and i wanna know EVEYTHING about him !!!

Kevin and Jean are so just tragic it actually breaks my fucking heart like "you didn't have to slit my throat on the way out" JEAN??? and "promise me you won't try again. I can't lose you." KEVIN??? And the fact that Jean to this day is still keeping that promise. Also Jean's obvious but secret long term crush on Kevin the way it's subtly dropped every time Jean has to stamp down on his desire's and "temptations" GOD PLEASE I CAN'T STAND IT

SPEAKING OF!!! BISEXUAL JEAN ??? BI JEAN??? BI JEANNNN !!!!

Neil and Jean oh my God like where do i even start?? The guilt Jean feels at what happened to Neil in the Nest and him finally calling him by his name after Riko's death and telling him his game was good. And Neil seriously needs to give himself more credit for how much of a caring person he is because the way he indirectly told Jean that he thinks he is worth saving and didn't even hesitate before asking Stuart to send someone after That Guy after what Jean told him. Neil Josten the man that you are!!!

Jean's little sister Elodie what a beautiful name. Them being so close and him reading to her. The way he found out about her death jolted me differently. It was so awful and i'm so sorry Jean didn't get to see her grow up and meet her again.

Renee and Jean oh my god. Jean thinking she's beautiful (bitch me toooo) And the whole right person wrong time ugh i can't stand it. Him wearing her necklace all the time, enough that Jeremy always notices it. And unabashedly stealing her picture from the foxes lounge. Like he did not give a fuck. He said this one is mine. One good reason to stay alive being rainbows i'm gonna FKSJSKDHDH. Theirs would be such a soft love.

Speaking of soft loves Laila and Cat are EVERYTHINGGGG. God they are so cute with their little domestic life and their rich gay boy son who crashes on their couch with his cardboard cut out dog. That whole friendship dynamic is beautiful. Their fierce protectiveness and care over Jean as well and the patience they have with him even after the little kitchen incident. When Cat took Jean out for a drive on her motorcycle god that was such a heart warming moment and Jean helping them cook as well and becoming the girls' little sous chef it's so cute so endearing !!!

FINALLY FINALLY THE JEREJEAN DYNAMIC

PLEASE I'M GONNA SCREAM

Jeremy being the one who told Jean that Riko was dead i don't even know what to begin with THAT like hhhhhhh. The way they're both stupidly attracted to each other but won't/can't do anything about it. THE WHOLE "say yes Jeremy" SCENE WTF WAS THATTT I WAS GOING INSANEEEE. Both of them having to stop mid sentence when they catch the other looking FINE as hell. Jean being so obvious that even Lucas picks up on the way he looks at Jeremy. Jeremy being there to ground Jean in a Moment and helping him come down from it. Grabbing his face and telling him he's okay. Moving into the room with him to make him feel more comfortable !! The way Jean grabs Jeremy's chin (boiiiii). Jeremy constantly reminding Jean that he is NOT A RAVEN ANYMORE no matter how many times he has to say it. Jeremy saying he'll wait as long as it takes until Jean speaks to him. JEREMY GIVING HIM A HUG AND JEAN CLUTCHING DESPERATELY TO HIS SHIRT FUUCUFHDHSJHSSUHDH and then the "will you help me?" And the "Anything you need" AND THEY'RE GOING TO TAKE A CERAMICS CLASS TOGETHER?!?!?!!!! i can't i can't i can't i caaan'ttt

There's so much more to say but i'm gonna leave it at this for now because i need to go re-read it again and take my time with it this time round but i really could not have asked for anything better Nora truly outdid herself here !!! I'm forever grateful she blessed us with this after so long.

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antiyourwokehomophobia2 · 9 months

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Severance is eldritch horror. Dylan meets his son, and, in the blink of an eye, he's back to his outie self and is incapable of coming back at will. Can you imagine that? All you've know your entire life is work. All you know about yourself is what your job is. Then, suddenly, you're aware that you're a father. Your son comes into a closet---your closet, with clothes you've never worn but belong to you. You bought them. You're seeing your style and preferences for the first time. Your son is so happy to see you that he wraps you in a hug. You don't know what his name is. You don't know that you have more children. You don't remember any of them being born. You only know that this boy is your son because he calls you "daddy". And then you're gone. He's gone. You wake up in your office with absolutely no way of going back.

Helly wants to leave. She learns that she's the daughter and heiress to the man/company who is keeping her trapped. Her chance of escaping rests entirely on her outies willingness to let her go. This is never going to happen. Her power rests in the hands of a woman who is her but also not her. She is enslaved to herself. All she has to do is go outside and say "I don't want this anymore" and she will be free! The moment she steps outside, she loses every desire to do that. The person she is when she's outside does not want to do that. She watches a video of herself where she tells herself "you are not [a person]". The person she was when she sat down to record it and the person she was when she watched it are somehow entirely different and entirely the same. She tries to hang herself in order to hurt the version of herself who made that video. I'd like to take a second to talk about the eldritch horror of being an outie, too. Imagine being outie Helly. Imagine walking into work and bring perfectly okay. The next thing you know, you've hung yourself and are actively suffocating. You have no way of saving yourself. Your innie self made sure of that. You are in the process of dying and you don't remember why.

Burt retires from his job. Burt, who has just started to fall in love, is ripped away from the man he loves because of... Well, himself. His outie has decided to retire, and Burt has no choice but to follow him. He is him. Except he's not. Except he is. Except he's not because the man who has decided to retire is married. In Burt's retirement video, his outie states that he's aware that someone is making his innie very happy. He knows that it's another man. That's incredibly scary? Imagine having no memory of the last eight hours but being able to feel the effects that they have on you? Imagine going into work in whatever mood, and then leaving in an elated one and having no concrete idea as to why. Imagine being faithfully married and knowing that there's a part of your day where you don't know that you're married. You have absolutely zero control over whether you cheat on your husband. You do cheat on your husband! You are not aware of his existence while you're living as your innie. You have no clue how devastated you've left the man you're cheating on your husband with. You have no clue why he's banging on your door in the middle of the night. You don't know him. Even without your memories, you can feel how happy he makes you. Your husband is holding you while he bangs on the door.

Mark saves Helly from suicide. He's forced to leave work. If Burt is anything to go by then Mark, the outie, is suddenly extremely distressed and crying while having no idea as to why. He walked into work okay and left with tears on his cheeks. Suddenly, innie mark is at a party. He sees people who he knows but has never met before. He has no idea the woman standing in front of him is his sister. He sees a photo of a woman that all the people in the outside world believe to be dead. He works with this woman. She's alive! He has the power to change the lives of the people outside. He's gone in the flick of a switch. Outie mark doesn't remember shouting "she's alive". He doesn't know why everyone is staring at him funny. He doesn't know that his wife is not dead. He doesn't know that the person he's trying so hard to forget is his co-worker.

Irving. Poor Irving. The man he loves is taken away from him. They will never see each other again. Even if they do, they will not know each other. The man he loves gets to live the rest of his life without the knowledge that he ever even met Irving. Irving has to walk into work every day and mourn the loss of a man who will never come back. This man is not dead. He's just not himself. Except he is. Except he's not. Except he kinda is dead. Without work, your innie is effectively dead. Your innie and outie are two completely different people. Irving used to follow all the rules. Who knew that the heart of a rebel is born from the broken pieces of a good man's? Irving gets a chance to find the man he loves. He finds him embracing another man. This does not deter him. He throws his weight at the door and starts banging on it.

#Severance #Severance spoilers #I didn't intend to write so much #Just about Dylan tbh #But then I got possessed #Eldritch horror

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thoughtless-muse · 8 days

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chapter summary: daryl dixon was everything you despised in a man: rude, unkempt, derisive, scornful and unarticulated. yet, daryl dixon was also everything you craved in a man: mysterious, rugged, self-sufficient, masculine, aloof, and much older than yourself. it was the worst sort of enigma to place yourself in, especially during the throes of a damn apocalypse – and yet here you were, fighting tooth and nail to try and get closer to the man who hadn’t even bothered to tell you his name himself.

word count: 3.6k

c/w: language, suggestive themes/thoughts, a bit dialogue heavy, younger!fem!reader, first meetings, older/younger, undisclosed age-gap, subtle bickering, instant attraction, brief allusions to death/loss, super minor angst (maybe?), pre-season one at the quarry camp

prologue: start of doomsday

being raised by a brother ten years your senior gave you ample time and experience to grow accustomed to being dubbed with various nicknames.

goob, goober, snot, shrimp, brat, princess – you’d heard all of those and many, many more. you had long since learned to let them bounce off of you, to simply roll with the flow and ignore them.

but when he’d given you a nickname, why, you simply couldn’t let it roll off your back; couldn’t stop yourself from replaying the exact moment he’d first called you it, couldn’t refrain from stewing over the way it had rolled – all gravelly, husky and derisive – off his tongue.

“well, ain’t’chu jus’ a doll, girly?”

doll.

he had called you a fucking doll.

and girly. as if you were some sort of child.

it was such a puerile thing to get hooked up on, something so trivial and immature – especially when compared to the more pressing concerns that you should be worrying about; such as the dead slobbering for your flesh and the dwindling food supplies within the camp.

maybe it was because when you had approached him you were just a hairs-width from a mental breakdown, the world nothing more than a mere crumble around you, and his rudeness acted as the straw that broke the camel’s back.

or maybe it was because you were simply trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake, and the moment he’d laid sight on you he decided he would harbor a personal vendetta against you, for no real reason other than he could – or wanted to.

you didn’t even know his name. and it had become painfully obvious that he’d taken great lengths to make sure no one in the camp did; when you’d approached shane about him moments after that fateful incident, shane had spared no more than a glance in the direction the man had stalked off in and shrugged.

“no idea who he is, really. he kinda just showed up.” was all shane had said, as if what had just transpired was trifling at best – and, deep down inside, you knew it was; a man copping an attitude with you was the least of shane’s worries, and it was petulant for you to expect him to place it above everything else that was already piled onto his platter, that it was stupid to expect him to do something about it as if he were a parent getting onto a child.

but you just couldn’t help it.

you hadn’t been able to help it for days.

those words rang through your head every time you saw him, sauntering around the camp with a scowl, lugging around that clunky crossbow like it was some sort of deterrent, like no one would be brave enough to approach him while he had it within his reach – it just flat-out irritated you.

you were only trying to be nice.

“I don’ need no damn help. I can find a tent jus’ fine!”

“prick.” you muttered under your breath, only realizing that you’d audibly expressed your distaste at the memory when a cool, damp hand gripped your bicep.

“you okay, (y/n)?” andrea asked softly, stroking her thumb over your skin soothingly. you shot the older woman a small smile, shirking off the irritation that had built under your skin from the mere thought of that man.

“yeah, yeah. I’m good, andrea. thanks.” you returned your focus to the bin of dirty laundry you had abandoned in favor of recounting sore memories and began to scrub near-viciously. this happened a lot, too, when you thought about him. the thoughts would pop up unprompted, and then everything else would fade away into mere white noise – you were sure it was incredibly frustrating for those who shared your assigned tasks each day.

andrea hummed softly and uncurled her fingers from your bicep to return her hand to her own basin once more. silence fell over the group of women washing clothes at the lakeside, nothing but the cries of forest birds, rippling water and churning splashes against the walls of multiple basins acting as a melody to the activity.

that was, until amy spoke up, her voice airy and strained by amusement that she tried to desperately to conceal. “so, uh, who’s a prick?”

you whipped your head over to glare at amy as muted giggles arose around you, and she vehemently avoided your eyes lest the smile teasing at her lips grew into a full on grin. heat flared over your cheeks and you blew out a puff of hot air, equal parts embarrassed and irritated that you were caught angrily musing over that man red-handed. again.

“no one.” you stated simply, voice weak even to your own ears; and with the way amy’s shoulders began to tremble with contained laughter, you knew she had picked up the lack of conviction within your tone as well.

she just knew you too well.

you had met the harrison sisters the morning after the bombing of atlanta. they had been among the group of people that shane had led to the quarry. amy was sociable, nice, and outgoing, fluttering around the camp and offering bottled water and protein bars to everyone around her. close in age, you’d clicked with her almost instantly, drawn in by her bubbly personality and likeness to yourself; the two of you had been nearly inseparable since, and you even considered her to be a best friend despite the fact that you’d met her only a little over a week ago – falling in with andrea seemed all but inevitable, and you couldn’t say you hated that.

andrea was more reserved than amy was, but no less kind. you weren’t sure if it was a facet of her personality or simply because she had seen the bond forming between amy and yourself, but andrea had, at some point, taken you beneath her wing and treated you as if you were an extension of her own family – it was comforting, but in some ways, it made your heart ache.

because you’d had that once before; had it in the form of broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes, and a voice of reason that could talk down even the most insane of serial killers.

you’d had it in the form of rick, ten years your senior and your best friend, tied to you by more than just shared blood.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, smiling through the sudden onslaught of ache within your chest. “I wasn’t talking about anyone.”

“okay.” amy responded simply, dragging out the ‘y’ in way that conveyed exactly how much she believed you in that instant. you chuckled lowly and shook your head, willing the pain in your chest to ebb away quickly, before it swelled to something too big to contain; a knot was forming in your throat, one that had become far too familiar within the past couple weeks, and swallowing it down was growing harder and harder.

amy’s attempt at prodding fell to silence again, one that the others seemed content in, completely ignorant to the turmoil roiling within you. the silence acted as a catalyst rather than a balm, an overwhelming force that prompted the small cut in your chest into a growing chasm, and in a desperate attempt to strike conversation and sow it back up, you said, “I was talking about that guy with the crossbow.”

laughter erupted around you – the first painful stitch. amy nudged you with her elbow with a light guffaw – the second stitch, a little less painful than the first.

“yeah, I kinda figured as much.” andrea acknowledged with a laugh. “you’ve been in knots over him ever since he first showed up.” the third stitch, nearly painless.

“I have not!” you rebuked, even though a small part of you knew it was true. the man had simply waltzed into camp one day, a string of squirrels thrown over one shoulder and his crossbow slung over the other, a scowl on his face and body covered in filth and grime. sweat glistened across his brow and over the skin of his exposed biceps, and when he spoke, it was with a southern drawl that had drawn you in nearly instantly.

he was attractive as hell, at least he was to you – you became instantly overwhelmed by the desire to talk to him, to know him, to get closer in some way; but perhaps you should have observed him a bit more before practically cornering him and offering your help. maybe then you would have been able to foresee his reaction, and you wouldn’t be in this torn-up state in the first place.

“he is a bit of a prick, though.” amy conceded. “I think the only reason shane allows him to stay is because he can hunt.”

that chasm had been successfully sewn up by now, but the flesh around it was still achy and sore, sensitive to any prod and poke. you’d have to tread carefully to avoid reopening it, at least for now.

“I’m sure he’s got other skills.” you weren’t sure why you were defending the man after just insulting him and stewing over him, but for some reason, it irked you for him to be likened to as a one-trick pony. maybe it was simply the cursed attraction you had to him.

“and I’m more than certain you’d love to figure out just what those other skills are.” jacqui, who had been stationed furthest from you, piped up for the first time. your mouth popped open, your eyes widened, and heat flared to your face while the others erupted into laughter. amy’s laugh was the most notable, loud and boisterous, and despite the slight mortification you felt at jacqui’s suggestive (but true) statement, you found yourself laughing along.

you wondered just how obvious you must have been about your attraction to the man for even jacqui to have noticed; you didn’t talk much with her, but when you’re sequestered into a camp fending for your lives against the walking dead, you supposed it was only natural to pick up on things about the people around you.

had the man noticed it, too?

after all, you had, without a doubt, noticed things about him; things that no one would notice unless they had their eyes on him a little too much.

you noticed the small things that made him attractive; the subtle age lines around his eyes and lips, the creases along his forehead, the bags beneath his bottom lids, the semi-permanent frown fixed upon his face.

you noticed the things about him that stirred your gut, that pooled heat between your legs and brought about carnal arousal within you; the broad width of his shoulders, the way those shirts with the cut-off sleeves framed and accentuated his biceps and torso, those small glimpses that his pants sometimes gave you of his package, the way he sauntered around, glaring at everyone, cold and unapproachable – like a dark, gloomy castle just waiting to be turned into someone’s conquest.

most of all, you noticed the clear difference in age between the two of you – fuck… it had to be at least ten years, right? if you were lucky, it may even be larger than that.

your gut twisted with the familiar sensation of arousal and your sex throbbed between your legs, prompting you to close your thighs together in an attempt to stop it. or maybe get some friction, you weren’t sure.

this was becoming a big, big problem.

“(y/n)! aunt (y/n)!”

a shrill, childish voice called out to you from the gravel road yards from the lake, effectively dousing the low-burning embers in your belly. you whipped your head back and cupped a hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun. you smiled widely at the approaching form of carl, your one and only nephew, and discarded the wet shirt in your hand in favor of turning your entire body to face the boy.

“hey, carl! what’s up?” you questioned the exuberant child when he halted just feet away from you, panting heavily and dowsed in sweat. you reckoned he must have run all the way here from the camp. what an energetic youth.

“there’s something going down in camp. shane’s fighting with this weird guy! he has a gun!”

your heart tripped over itself and you quickly rose to your feet, shooting a hand out to grip carl by the shoulder and draw him closer. a threat of this magnitude hadn’t shown face in the camp yet, and despite the fact that it wasn’t within your jurisdiction to handle matters such as these, you couldn’t push down the instinct to do so.

“amy, could you finish up my part, please?” you asked kindly, sending the young blonde a pleading look from over your shoulder. she nodded and reached over to pull your basin closer to her, throwing a cheery “you owe me!” at your back and prompting a chuckle from your throat. uneasy murmurs had broken about amongst the women at the lake, though amy seemed unbothered by the same circumstances, focused completely on her task where as the others had slowed to a distracted crawl.

“yeah, I do, thanks. okay carl, take me to camp.” you ordered the boy, who nodded and shrugged your hand from his shoulder before dashing forward, kicking up dust from beneath his heels.

you swallowed down the command for carl to slow down that swelled in your throat and instead picked up your pace; if it was true that shane was currently grappling with someone, you couldn’t waste any time on chastising carl or slowing the pace. you had to get to camp to de-escalate the situation if it called for it.

by the time carl had broken through the foliage around the camp, your ears picked up the unmistakable rumble of shane’s voice; it held that same stern yet soft tone that he used when talking to criminal suspects – you’d been there when he’d done it before.

“… just hand me the gun and tell me your name, and we can get this all sorted.”

“I ain’t handin’ya my gun, pretty boy.” this voice was different; rugged and hoarse and dry, as if the owner of it had just chain-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. “alls I’m lookin’ fer is my brother. I don’ have any other business with ya.”

shane sighed heavily just as you broke through the green shrubbery surrounding the east side of the camp. his hands were glued to his hips, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in annoyance at the man a few feet in front of him. when carl had first mentioned a gun, you worried that the man may have been pointing it at the ex-officer, or others; but it was instead holstered at the man’s hip, untouched and non-threatening.

“look, man, I get that. I don’t think you’re gonna hurt anybody; but we’ve got women and children here, and you’re a stranger with a gun. I can’t take any chances. I’m sure you understand.” shane coaxed further, removing a hand from his hip and extending an open palm to the man. the man glared down at shane’s hand but made no further movement; he didn’t reach for his gun, nor did he shift his feet at all, hell, you couldn’t even tell if the man was breathing at this point. but it was obvious this man wasn’t a threat – but if shane continued to pester him this way, he very well could become one; and with carl right next to you, that was a chance you couldn’t take.

shane huffed loudly and you saw his fingers twitch, as if he were barely holding back from striking at the man. you swallowed down your trepidation and pushed carl back, clearing your throat subtly before marching right up next to shane to confront the man.

“what’s your brother’s name? maybe we can help you find him; if he’s here.”

two pairs of eyes simultaneously snapped to you – one pair dark and narrowed in a harsh glare and the other quickly lighting up with barely-concealed interest. the stranger, a man with a buzz cut and wiry face, smiled widely at you, the tip of a pink tongue slipping just barely from between his lips as his eyes trailed your body. you pushed away the shiver that threatened to crawl up your spine and held the man’s gaze confidently until he was done with his blatant show of lewd conduct.

when his eyes met yours once more, there was a coy, feline smirk upon his lips, and his croaky voice had dropped a few octaves when he responded, “daryl. his name is daryl.”

for a moment, you sat silent, gnawing on your inner cheek and wracking your brain for just who ‘daryl’ could be. you didn’t know the names of every person in camp, but that list of unknowns was short – only three people. your heart constricted. could it be?

“so, your brother’s name is daryl. what’s yours?” shane piped up, voice edged with aggravation, as he rocked back on his heels and slipped his thumbs through his belt loops. the stranger’s eyes never left your body as he opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that echoed back didn’t belong to him.

“merle? what’d’ya think yer doin’ here?”

you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know who the shambling footsteps behind you belonged to. your stomach twisted in on itself when a warm hand pushed you aside by the thick of your bicep, not too roughly but enough to have you stumbling slightly, the contact brief but enough to leave tingles in its wake. you glanced at the man between yourself and shane, taking note of the grimace on his face as he stared down the stranger.

the stranger, merle, took no heed to the glares that were fixed upon him. he smiled widely and threw his arms out as if expecting a hug.

“baby brother! isn’t it obvious? I’m here lookin’ fer ya.”

“you know him?” shane inquired, jerking his head in merle’s direction, eyes locked on the man between the two of you.

the man – daryl, as you now knew – shuffled on his feet and cast his eyes to the side, giving shane a brief once over. after that, daryl returned his eyes to merle and nodded.

“yeah. tha’s my brother.”

shane ran a shaky hand through his hair and chuckled hotly, muttering something underneath his breath. trepidation fluttered in your gut. you’d known shane long enough to know exactly what those mannerisms of his meant, and it didn’t spell anything good. you had a bad feeling shane was about to say something either highly stupid or highly impulsive; more than likely something that was both of those things at the same time.

“y’know, I don’t really have a problem with you, daryl. I never have. but this” – shane gestured to merle, who was still standing with his arms extended and that wide smile on his face – “is a bit dangerous. when you came here, you didn’t tell us jack about you; we didn’t know who you were, where you came from, or who you knew. and I didn’t bother to ask.”

daryl hadn’t moved a single inch since shane began speaking, eyes still fixed on merle, but the discomfort was plain as day on his face, and you felt irritation begin to bubble hot beneath your skin. granted, daryl was a haughty, antisocial prick, but why was shane acting like he did something wrong?

“I mean, this is just–”

“what’s your point, shane?” you cut the man off, a bit rudely, turning a sharp-eyed glare to him past daryl’s chest. shane’s eyes widened fractionally as if he hadn’t expected you to interject yourself, yet again, into a matter that he was handling on his own.

“my point is that daryl put us all in danger.” shane pressed, lowly, with a hand wave towards merle and dark eyes glaring daggers into yours. “we don’t know him, and we don’t know his brother. for all we know, merle could have stormed into camp, gun blazing-”

“but he didn’t.” you rebuked impatiently. you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head subtly to the side. “and that’s a risk that comes with everyone in the camp. we don’t know anyone here, other than each other. and even so, you haven’t seen me in three years. I may as well be a stranger, too.”

“that’s different. you’re like a little sister to me.” shane rebutted, prompting an eye roll and hip jut from you. you wouldn’t consider shane a brother even if he’d spent every moment of your youth with you. you swallowed down that statement in favor of keeping yourself on track with the real issue at hand.

“my point still stands. nothing bad happened, so why don’t you just cool your jets and back off a bit?”

shane’s lips thinned into a line, dark eyes darting between you, daryl and merle a couple times before he heaved a great sigh.

“okay, fine, you’re right. nothing happened. but I’d still like to have a conversation with both of you, if that’s alright.” shane conceded, directing his final statement at the two brothers still locked in a stare down. daryl only gave the tiniest of nods to display that he’d even acknowledged shane’s statement, and, satisfied with the knowledge that tensions had been quelled, you turned on your heel to head back to the lake and check on the progress of the laundry.

unbeknownst to you, the event that had just transpired would turn out to be the catalyst to a soon-to-come tension between shane and yourself, as well as the act that had garnered you a modicum of respect and interest from the rude, attractive man that you were sure would never even notice you; and that little problem that you thought was becoming much too big was only going to grow larger, and very quickly.

chapter one

a/n: tbh I struggled a bit with this one. it is just a prologue, a means of setting up the deeper story, but I still wanted it to come out as good as possible, and I feel I didn’t quite articulate that. but before this finalized version, I went through at least three drafts before finding this one to be somewhat adequate. if you guys enjoyed this one nonetheless, please show it some love! if you’re looking forward to more updates, consider following or being added to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown

#daryl x reader #twd daryl #twd x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #twd

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