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slut4thebroken · 4 months

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Pool Party

(smut prompt 70 “I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice”)

Pairing | Neil Lewis × reader

Summary | You and Neil go to a pool party and he sees you in a bikini for the first time 👀

Warnings | Smut, grinding, kissing, hickeys, public sex, breeding, praise, a lil degradation, needy Neil.

Words | 1.5 k

Notes | (Barely proofread.) This one got a little long lol. Most of these will be 1k words or less btw.

Even after months of dating, Neil’s reaction to seeing your body was always the same as the first time. He’d stare at you, slack jawed and blushing, as his cock started to fatten up in his pants. Truthfully, it was a bit of an ego boost and you liked teasing him whenever you could, no matter how much he claimed to hate it.

Today was no different. It was the middle of summer and one of your friends was throwing a pool party. You and Neil went together and the second you slipped your sundress off your body, he choked on his spit and went completely rigid.

“Jesus- what the hell is that?” He whined, making you turn to him. You tried not to smirk when he moved his towel in front of his body.

“What?” You asked innocently. He’s never seen you in a bathing suit yet, so you were eager to see how he’d react… He definitely didn’t disappoint. He couldn’t keep his eyes off your body and it was like he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was currently eye fucking you. “Are you okay, Neil?” You asked sweetly, watching the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. When he still didn’t respond, you couldn’t help but smirk. He wasn’t even looking at your face though, so you didn’t bother trying to hide it. “Okay well… I’ll be in the pool. Feel free to join me when you’re feeling better.” You said, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice and sound concerned instead.

You walked into the pool and went underwater for a second before coming back up and swimming over to greet your friend. When she asked if Neil was here too, you confirmed and looked behind yourself, laughing quietly at the way he was sitting with his towel on his lap just to take his shirt off.

You talked for a while until two hands snaked around your waist and pulled you back by your stomach. As soon as you felt his hands you knew it was Neil, but the bulge made it even more obvious. Since you were still in the middle of a conversation, you kept talking and smiled a little when he rested his chin on your shoulder. You tried not to blush when he started slowly rocking his hips, rubbing his hard on against your ass.

Eventually your friend excused herself, saying she had to go greet the other people who just arrived. You waited until she was out of earshot before saying anything.

“It’s rude to interrupt people’s conversations, y’know.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“It’s the principle, Neil.” You tried not to laugh. He started pulling you back by your waist until he was leaning on the wall of the pool with your back still firmly pressed to his front. “Can I help you?” You asked teasingly, looking over your shoulder at him as he pouted.

“C’mon, baby, just really quick.” He begged quietly, kissing the bare skin of your shoulder next to your bathing suit strap.

“No, Neil. These are my friends.” You scolded gently, making his pout deepen.

“I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice.” He was grinding on your ass a little more obviously now and he moved your hair away to start kissing the side of your neck.

“I’m not letting you fuck me at a party in broad daylight.” He whined and hugged you tighter, rutting against you more desperately. “Go jerk off in the bathroom or something.” You tried not to laugh at the thought.

“Can’t get out of the pool like this.” He grumbled, sucking the sensitive skin of your neck into his mouth, making you gasp quietly. “C’mon, I promise I’ll be quick.” One of his hands started trailing down your stomach, not stopping until he was cupping your heat over the bathing suit. “Need to feel you, baby. Need your pussy..” Despite your hesitation, his words were getting you a little worked up…

“Just keep grinding on my ass then.” You said plainly, making him whine and start rubbing your clit.

“It’ll be too messy.”

“Oh, but it won’t be messy for me?” You scoffed and he kissed up your neck until his lips brushed your ear.

“Please?” He whispered. You sighed and looked around— everyone seemed to be preoccupied with something else…

“Whatever. Fine.” You huffed. He laughed quietly in response, knowing you were still putting up an act.

The hand on your clit moved to push down his bathing suit enough to free his cock, then pulled your bottoms to the side, letting him line up. He pushed in slowly, dropping his head onto your shoulder with a quiet moan. You bit your lip and looked away from the crowd of people, trying to hide your expression. Because of the water and the lack of preparation, it burned a little, but the stretch still just felt so fucking good.

“Fuck— you’re so tight.” He whimpered, forcing his hips forward until he bottomed out. His arms wrapped around your torso again, hugging you tightly as he just barely started rocking his hips.

“This fucking bikini… Were you trying to kill me?” He said through a groan and you couldn’t help but blush. He suddenly pulled you down a little as he bent his knees so that everything below your collarbone was under the water. When his hands snaked up your stomach, you suddenly realized his plan.

“Neil…” You warned. You’re not low enough in the water for people to not be able to see the contrast of his pale hands over your colored bathing suit.

“C’mon, just— just for a second..” He whined, not letting you protest again before cupping your breasts and squeezing gently. “God I love these tits.” He grunted, fucking you a little faster now, but keeping his thrusts shallow so that the water didn’t ripple too much. “So fucking sexy…” He said through a breath as he started panting. You couldn’t help the quiet whimper that escaped when he started pinching and pulling on your nipples through the fabric.

You watched a group of people disperse and immediately got scared. “Neil— Neil, stop.” You said quickly, trying to pull his hands away before someone saw.

“No, baby, let me feel you.” He whined. Based on the way that his head hasn’t moved for a while, you figured he wasn’t even looking to see if anyone was watching. “I’m so close, just a little longer.”

“People are gonna see.” You whispered, still trying to pull him away.

“So? They’re just jealous.” He grumbled, flattening his hands and groping you again. “They wish they could touch these tits after seeing you in this slutty little bikini.” His voice was a low growl, making you shiver.

“Neil, come on..” You whined, not wanting your friends to see your boyfriend groping you in public. Sure, they could’ve seen something worse… but this was still embarrassing as hell.

“Shh, baby, I’m almost there.” He whispered. His hips were moving more frantically now, chasing his orgasm with little regard for how obvious his movements were. “Such a fucking slut letting me fuck you right in front of everyone…” He moaned quietly. “Letting me breed you in front of all your friends while I play with your tits.” He snickered, making you whine as your cheeks heated up.

“I bet you want them to see.” You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut— you can’t stop him, so you’re just not going to see if people noticed to save yourself from even more embarrassment. He placed his chin on your shoulder again, his hot breath against your neck making you shudder. “Yeah, you do..”

“No…” You whined, but it cut off into a gasp when he suddenly pulled your bathing suit down below your breasts. “Neil!” You quickly lifted your arms to cover your chest and he let out a low moan when he groped you again, this time without anything blocking him.

“Fuck,” He choked out, squeezing you harder and bucking into you faster. “I’m gonna come..” He said through a breath. The water was just barely sloshing around as he rapidly fucked you, chasing release.

“Neil, slow down.” You whimpered, not able to move your hands to stop him without removing some of the cover for your bare tits.

“Fuck— take my come, baby. Take it.” He growled, slamming into you with a muffled groan as his hands moved back down to hug you tight, not letting you escape. You scrambled to pull your bathing suit back up, trying not to get distracted by the warmth filling you up and the way you could just barely feel his cock twitching inside you. “Mm… good girl.” He moaned, kissing over your neck again until his body finally relaxed and his orgasm finished. “Good fucking girl.”

Both of you were panting, trying to calm down from the intense moment you were just experiencing only a moment ago. He finally pulled out, then fixed your bathing suit before tucking his cock away.

“I swear to god, Neil, if someone saw..” He quickly turned you around and captured your lips in a kiss, forcing a startled moan from you. When someone yelled your name, you both pulled back and looked over, finding your friend waving you over with a smile. It didn’t seem like you were in trouble, thankfully… so hopefully no one actually noticed.

#neil lewis smut #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis #watching the detectives #cillian murphy #smut prompts #smut prompt list

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 10 months

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Someone Different, Someone New — Cassian X Reader.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Hi! This is an impromptu piece that is by no means my best writing — I just wanted to exercise my brain a bit. I haven’t added a tag list on this one because I need to go through and sort them out/update them, so sorry about that!

Warning: this piece does depict struggles of mental illness/trauma/panic, so if that’s something that could negatively effect you, please, please give this one a miss. This is based off my own experience of mental illness/trauma/panic, and the last thing I want is to trigger some unpleasant things because of my writing, so please take care. All the love. 💕

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“You doing okay?”

Rhysand’s arm pressed against yours as he took up the space beside you. Just as you were, he leaned back against the balcony railing, wine glass in hand. The cold temperature had driven the evening’s guests inside, but the bite of the chill…you needed it. Even as it started to hurt.

But you slapped a pleasant smile on your face that offered no glimpse of pain. “I’m okay.”

There was no need to put a front on for Rhys. He was the only one who could get it — it was he you’d been trapped Under the Mountain with, after all. He who had known who you’d been before, during and after. He’d seen everything, and he saw you now.

Saw the way your gaze stared intensely through the open glass doors and fastened on Cassian.

“Have you spoken to him?” Rhys asked.

Barely. You’d only been back three months, and the majority of it had been spent on your own. Fifty years trapped with people made company feely oily and itchy. And the person you’d become didn’t exactly make for good company, either. Not now that you were someone who was short-tempered, or brusque, or downright miserable. Being alone meant not having to subject anyone to that. It was a wonder Rhysand had convinced you to come tonight at all.

And there was another underlying reason for not wanting to face Cassian. You didn’t know each other anymore.

There might have been the potential for romance between you…a very long time ago. But fifty years apart had wiped that clean. You were no longer the person who had gone under that mountain. You were no longer the person he might have grown to love. He had known someone of vibrancy, of light and laughter.

You couldn’t bear to face him as you were, now. And he seemed to be doing just fine.

“No.” You answered Rhys, draining your glass.

Your High Lord studied you. “Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say. And neither would he. It would be uncomfortable for him.”

“This is Cassian we’re talking about. He’ll just want to know that you’re alright.”

You most certainly were not alright.

You weren’t alright with enclosed spaces. You couldn’t even stand the feeling of your clothes touching your skin for too long. Loud noises had you flinching and laughter sounded too close to screams. Sometimes, you could swear your bathwater was blood, coating you, staining you, reminding you of what you’d had to do to survive. There was an ever-present tightness in your chest that always teetered on the edge of becoming something terrible.

You may have escaped the mountain, but you didn’t think you’d truly gulped down the fresh air.

And though you’d spent fifty years longing to get out from that prison, you honestly didn’t know how to be outside of it. Who to be outside of it.

You felt yourself jolt as you watched Cassian bellow a deep laugh. The female he was talking to grinned broadly, proud of whatever she’d said to garner such a reaction. Cass looked…content. Happy. He had moved on with his life, just as he’d deserved to.

You weren’t sure you could stomach watching it play out in front of you, though.

“I think he’s waiting for you to make the first move, Y/N.” Rhys’s hand landed on your arm, and your entire body went rigid. “He wants you to have the control.”

You swallowed. “I don’t think he thinks about me at all. Nor would I expect him to. He doesn’t know me anymore. I am not the person he once cared for.”

“I think you’re more of that same person than you realise.”

He was wrong. You shook your head. “No. I’m…someone different, Rhys. Someone new.”

“And you think Cassian would judge you for that? Really?”

Your gaze cut sharply to his violet one. “I think you have an over-exaggerated idea of how significant I am in his life.”

He stared back at you, pain marring his features. And this was precisely why you didn’t want to be around people anymore. You were just…rough. Jagged. Rude and cold.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes shuttered. You pushed your glass into Rhys’s hand. “Sorry, Rhys, I just…need some time.”

He didn’t protest as you pulled away from him, wandering back inside and weaving your way through the bodies that had gathered for the party celebrating their High Lord’s return to Velaris. You didn’t even know where you planned to go. All you were aware of was that tightness in your chest worsening. Constricting. You rubbed at your chest, forcing yourself to swallow down air.

Your legs carried you aimlessly as you climbed stairs and burst through a door. A bathing chamber. You collapsed against the door, a clammy, prickling sensation spreading over your skin as you fought to just breathe. Your ears were ringing, pounding, a pressure seeming to bind your body and hold it taut. You weren’t sure you could survive this. Weren’t sure how to not be…this.

You weren’t aware of how long it lasted. Time felt both fast and slow around you as you bowed over the sink, fingers digging into the porcelain. The music and chatter of the party sounded so, so far away, you could be forgiven for thinking you’d left the building. But you knew you hadn’t. You were still here. You. Were. Still. Here.

You didn’t know when your trembling hands had turned the tap on and darted under the ice-cold water, but the sensation was soothing, grounding. You focused on watching it flow, dripping from your fingertips and splashing into the sink. You cupped your palms and gathered a small pool and splashed it against your face.

Slowly, your breaths began to even out. Slowly, your body began to steady. The sounds from downstairs became clearer, sounded closer, and the sensations that had gripped you subsided, making way for a wave of lethargy.

You just wanted to sleep.

You dried your face, your hands, straightening yourself out and hoping you were steady enough to make it out of there. Hopefully you could get away without running into anyone. The last thing you needed right now was mindless conversation.

You pulled the door open — and stopped short at the figure that waited just outside.

Cassian pushed off the wall. He unfolded his arms, studying you. And whatever he saw when he looked at you…you knew it couldn’t be good.

“Hey…” He said softly, daring a step closer. “Can we talk?”

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #cassian #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #acotar series #reader insert #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #illyrian #batboys

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sentientcave · 2 months

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It's WIP Wednesday once again! I've got some Impound for you because it's been a while and it's still not finished (I've been working on Sparrow instead and just hit 55k today which is pretty exciting).

Contains: Blue collar Simon, Price as a cop, petty nonsense from men who should know better, but they're unfortunately not very emotionally intelligent

That’s when he saw the cruiser, parked on the street out front, too close to the fire hydrant.

Not blocking it, exactly, but still too close. If it were anyone else, he’d’ve let it slide, since the fire crew would still be able to get to the hydrant. But it was Price, and he’d just warned him about this very thing.

He pulled out his phone. “Hey, Johnny?” he said as soon as the line picked up, not waiting for Johnny to speak. “Send Roach out to city hall. Got someone parked by a fire ‘ydrant.”

“Fer fuck’s sake, Si, isnae the feckin’ cop again?”

“It is. I’ll come round to handle the paperwork. Won’t make you do it.”

“Awlright, but dinnae let him catch Roach at it neither. Ye know he’ll say somethin’ stupid and get his arse arrested.”

“Oh I know. Lad dun’t know ‘ow to keep his trap shut.” Simon hung up and headed back inside, hardly paying attention to the meeting, his eyes flicking back to Price over and over again, and holding whenever he found Price looking back. It was clear that neither of them retained anything said, too busy glaring at each other over the heads of the people sitting between them.

Simon got out of the building first, and stood off to the side to smoke another cigarette, leaning against a tree where he could get a good view of Price’s reaction when he came out to find his cruiser missing yet again.

He didn’t disappoint. He came out of the building a few minutes after the initial crush of humanity, talking to Kate and Nikolai. Price stopped in his tracks a little ways out the door, focused in on where his cruiser was supposed to be, and immediately scanned the vicinity, his whole body going rigid, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared up for war, jaw set like concrete. His blazing blue eyes found Simon, and he marched over without saying a word, leaving Nikolai and Kate looking confused, and then amused when they realized what must have happened.

Price stopped in front of him, fury radiating off of him like heat off an engine, all that energy practically warping the space between them. “What’s your fuckin’ problem, mate?” he asked, jabbing a finger against Simon’s chest.

“No problem. I was ‘ere the whole time, wasn’t I?” Simon batted Price’s hand away, resisting the impulse to punch him for having the nerve to lay his bloody hands on him in the first place. Price was lucky that Simon was so rehabilitated now. That he had his temper on a good strong leash these days. “If you din’t want to get towed, you shunt’ve parked there. Not my problem if my people know ‘ow to do their jobs and you ‘aven’t got a clue ‘ow to do yours.”

“You don’t want to start a war with me, son,” Price growled.

Simon leaned forward, the barest curve of a smile on his lips, eyes narrowed and flinty. To his credit, Price didn’t flinch, didn’t move back, didn’t drop his eyes. He wasn’t intimidated by Simon’s size, like a lesser man would be. “You don’t want to start a war with me, old man.” He wasn’t sure there was much difference in their ages, if any, but if Price was going to try and talk down to him with the son shite than Simon was going to shovel it right back, like he was an unruly teenager in a rebellious phase. “I’m not goin’ to be pushed around by a fuckin’ badge. You don’t get special treatment because you wear a bloody uniform.”

Price’s jaw clenched even tighter. He had an impressive scowl, one that could probably level anyone else. “Watch yourself,” he grit out, like each word cost him something to force from his mouth.

Simon leaned a little closer. Their noses were almost touching. He could feel the currents of air stirred up by Price’s breath on his own face. “Or what?” he asked.

“Or else,” Price said, too angry to come up with anything resembling a real threat.

Simon pulled back with an amused grunt, and turned away, glancing over his shoulder dismissively. “See you as the impound lot, hm? I’ll be waitin’.”

In the end, it was Gaz who came around to pick up the cruiser.

#WIP WEDNESDAY BAYBEE #Impound #Chanting: Kiss him Kiss him Kiss him #PriceGhost #Fic In Progress

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ugotnojamzzz · 28 days

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Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 4

Alright so I’ve been toying with this complex mafia!au fic idea for a very long while and I guess it’s time to give it a whirl. I already have about ten chapters written out (I’m expecting it to be at least 20 chapters), but I want to test out the waters first. I’ll start posting more if some of you are interested in knowing what the hell is going on.

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: um, tf is going on??? Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 2.8k

Masterlist

Chapter 3

The morning light had not yet pierced the darkness when Y/N was abruptly roused from her sleep by the rustling of security guards entering her room. The sudden intrusion was quickly followed by a stern order; she was being summoned to a meeting with Namjoon.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Y/N slid out of bed to find she was wearing pajamas.

Mrs Shin, YN thought as she recalled last night’s events, that old bitch.

Still drowsy, she went to open her wardrobe, which was now curiously filled with clothing. Everything black. "How fitting," she muttered under her breath as she selected an outfit.

The girl dressed quickly and was escorted through the sterile, echoing halls of the mansion. The crisp morning air hadn't yet warmed the austere corridors, adding a chill to her already uneasy anticipation.

Upon entering a broad, sunlight-flooded office, Y/N was met by the sight of Namjoon and another man, who had pale skin and sharp, cat-like eyes.

Namjoon turned to face her, offering a nod in greeting. "YN-ah," he said, his eyes briefly scanning her face, "I’m glad to see you looking better today."

"Nothing like a little blackout rest to brighten up those dark circles," Y/N responded sternly.

"I trust you’re enjoying your new quarters?" Namjoon inquired.

Unimpressed by his attempts at cordiality, Y/N offered no reply, her silence laden with indifference.

"I hope you’ve got everything you need up there," he pressed on.

"Cut the crap,” Y/N’s voice sliced through the pleasantries, her stance firm, eyes narrowing slightly, “are you going to tell me why I’m here?"

"Alrighty, then," Namjoon conceded with a slight nod, gesturing subtly to the guards. At his signal, they exited, leaving only the man with cat-like eye whom he had been speaking to earlier. "Let’s get straight to it, shall we?"

As the door closed, Namjoon motioned towards a plush chair opposite his desk, but Y/N chose to remain standing. She crossed her arms, her posture rigid.

Namjoon sighed, « I’m sure you’re wonde-»

"Before you even start, » Y/N cut in sharply, her gaze unwavering, « you should know that I have zero intel. »

"Come on now, Y/N, » Namjoon replied, his voice smooth, attempting to diffuse the tension with a light chuckle, « don’t sell yourself short like that. » He leaned back slightly against the edge of his desk, his demeanor casual yet calculating, as he watched her closely.

"I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been away for the past four years, » Y/N's voice was sharp, her frustration palpable as she confronted Namjoon across the sleek surface of his desk. « Oh, but wait—you must’ve known, considering you sent your minions after me the second I landed back in this god forsaken country," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Namjoon leaned back casually. "Early bird gets the worm," he quipped, clearly unbothered by her accusatory tone.

« Well, I’m afraid you’re bound to starve,” Y/N pressed, her eyes narrowing as she gauged his reaction. “Even if I did know something, we both know I could never tell you."

"I don’t need information from you,” Namjoon retorted smoothly, his gaze steady and assessing. “Your mere presence will suffice, I’m sure."

YN rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Did I not tell you to do your research? My brother is not one to negotiate. This is not what we do," her voice grew colder, more distant. It was common knowledge that when a member of the Park clan was weak or dumb enough to be taken, they were considered good riddance. Left to fend for themselves, prove their worth. It was all part of the code. “No one is coming for me." Her last sentence hung in the air.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," the man with cat eyes, suddenly spoke up. « Look what came knocking at the headquarters this morning. » He pointed to the desk where a stark symbol lay—a raven, motionless, its neck broken.

Y/N’s jaw clenched at the sight. « Animal cruelty, real classy, Namjoon,” she snapped with biting sarcasm, “Between that and last night’s roofie, you’ve become a proper little delinquent, haven’t you? »

« They’re a bad omen, » the cat-eyed man said nonchalantly, « we weren’t gonna take the chance. »

Y/N stared at the lifeless bird intensely. A bad omen. A chill ran down her spine as she wondered whether she was destined to share a similar fate. Would her neck be the next to break under their twisted sense of precaution?

« But that’s hardly the interesting part, » the man interrupted her train of thoughts, handing her a folded piece of parchment, “here’s what it carried.”

She unfolded it with hesitant fingers to reveal a simple sketch.

A Tiger’s head. In jet black ink.

They all knew what that meant.

"A little old-fashioned, I must say," Namjoon observed with a slight chuckle, "an email would’ve worked just as well."

Y/N stared at the symbol, her mind racing. Her brother couldn’t possibly be willing to declare war over her safety.

Could he?

"Don’t worry," Namjoon said, cutting through her thoughts. « I can assure you your kin hasn’t grown sentimental while you were away."

"Then what do you make of this?" she asked, her confusion giving way to a growing sense of urgency.

"Ah, Y/N-ah, » Namjoon sighed, content, « you really have been gone a long time, haven’t you? » his tone was almost pitying now.

"Spit it out, will you?" Y/N demanded, her patience thinning.

Namjoon leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he prepared to reveal the crux of the matter, his expression serious. "What this means," he began, "is that the game has changed. And whether you like it or not, you are now a pivotal player."

Namjoon fixed his gaze on Y/N, his voice low and deliberate. "Rumor has it your family's operations are teetering on the edge," he continued, observing her closely for any telltale reaction. "It seems your brother's firm hand may be squeezing a little too tight, risking a shortage in your flock soon."

Y/N's expression hardened, a subtle tension in her shoulders as she processed his words.

"Then again," Namjoon added, his tone shifting slightly, "We both know collapse simply isn’t in the cards for your clan. Its unique strategic position will safeguard its continuity… provided your brother knows how to leverage it.”

“After all,” he mused, “The intel your family has access to isn’t just valuable—it's the linchpin that could radically alter the political landscape of the entire continent."

He leaned back his eyes never leaving Y/N. "And let’s be clear," he continued, "the lengths to which some might go to access this information are boundless."

Y/N felt a chill as she absorbed the full impact of his words, her mind racing.

“I’m sure I don’t need to utter their names for you to know the parties interested,” Namjoon added.

The Kims.

The Kangs

The Lees.

Even the Chois, possibly.

Any of the other four original clans, really, could be talked into parting ways with some of their troops. For the right price, of course. Tit for tat.

The stakes were clear, and the players were formidable.

Still one piece still didn’t fit.

“I don’t see what all this has to do with me,” YN stated.

Namjoon smirked, “You’re smarter than that.”

“Apparently not,” she replied sternly.

He let out a heavy contemplative breath. “Why do you think you, of all people, were summoned back here in the first place? After four years away? » He paused, giving her a moment to absorb the implications. « Just when your clan finds itself on the precipice of needing to form a—permanent alliance.”

His words struck a cold vein.

No.

She scoffed, shaking her head as if to dismiss the very thought.

"Come on now," Namjoon pressed, his voice smooth yet insistent, "you didn’t honestly think he’d missed you?"

“You’re wrong-” she continued, denial lacing her tone.

« Oh, but I’m not, » he confirmed with a nod, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “Your birthright, it seems, has become the currency of power brokers." He paused, watching her face slowly decompose. “And word on the street is that your dear brother is bound to start quite the bidding war for a spot in your family tree.”

YN pondered the chilling possibility that Namjoon might be right; her brother was more than capable of pulling such a twisted stunt, if only just to spite her.

Her eyes narrowed; her stance tensed. "So, what is this, then? A proposal? You’re going to force me down the aisle like some 15th-century bride?" The scorn in her voice was unmistakable.

"Do you really think that low of me?" Namjoon retorted, his eyebrows arching in feigned surprise.

"I’ve learned to manage my expectations," she shot back.

"Well, rest assured, there will be no wedding," Namjoon stated firmly, his tone serious as he leaned forward slightly, bridging the gap between them.

« Jesus Christ, stop with the riddles, already, » Y/N snapped, “what the fuck are you trying to achieve, here?”

Namjoon let out a heavy sigh, his gaze intensifying as he fixed his eyes on Y/N. "I suppose," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "we’re offering you- exile, at least until we get some kind of assurance from your clan that this ridiculous quest of theirs is over. »

YN was at a loss for words as she stared at Namjoon in disbelief. The Kims hadn’t built an empire by doing good deeds. Surely, there had to be an angle somewhere.

"So, you’re telling me you didn’t even think to join the auction then, huh?" she pressed with a wary tone. "I must say I’m almost offended. Do you not think me pretty enough for one of your own, Namjoon? »

He rolled his eyes, a gesture that did little to mask the strategic mind behind his relaxed facade. « You know politics is not our game. We couldn’t care less what happens in matters of state, so long as we can conduct our business in peace," he retorted.

"That being said," Namjoon leaned forward, his expression turning grave, "the charter is clear. No blood bonding, no alliances. We won’t let it happen, » he declared, "not again. »

As Namjoon spoke, YN's mind was transported back to the haunting tales of her childhood, relayed by her nanny in the dim glow of firelight—stories steeped in the brutal feuds that had shaped the history of the Korean underworld. The room seemed to fill with the spectral presence of those turbulent times: relentless bloodbaths and deep-rooted rivalries that governed life and death.

One tale, in particular, stood stark in her memory: When the Lees, an ancient and unforgiving clan, had once resorted to hiring a Park bladesman to settle a bitter business score with the Tigers. The one to pay the price had been none other than the young heir to the Kim clan—Namjoon's father.

The assault, carried out under the cover of darkness, had left the boy permanently marred, a savage act of retribution that inflicted wounds deeper than the visible scars on his face.

To be fair, each clan gave as good as they got. But the end of the war had come with the desire for a peaceful era between the clans.

That’s what the Mutual Prosperity Charter had been for.

Deciding to stay out of each other’s business as much as possible, the 5 original signatories had managed to grow their empires without resorting to backstabbing each other for over 60 years. Of course, there had been... incidents, here and there, but everything was handled in agreement with the charter. An eye for an eye. Never further.

Then again, what’s bred in the bone is bound to come out in the flesh.

She could’ve punched herself for being so blind. They deeply feared an alliance, feared her role in it. These stories were more than mere tales; they served as dire warnings. As YN pondered, the depth of Namjoon's determination became starkly evident. The scars borne by his father were not just physical marks; they were vivid reminders of the perilous consequences that clan fraternization could bring.

Though their concerns were understandable, YN couldn't help but find the intensity of their reaction overblown.

All of that fuss over some stupid old grudges? Pathetic, she thought. Scared little kittens.

“I didn’t know the Kims to be resentful. » Y/N broke the silence, each word dripping with insinuation. «Is daddy still upset? » she continued with a mocking pout, noting the slight tightening of Namjoon’s jaw. “You know, a scar is a mark of honor up north, he really shouldn’t have taken it so personally.”

She paused, her gaze scanning Namjoon’s squeezed fist deliberately. “Where is your father, by the way?” she prodded further, her words calculated to provoke. “I don’t see a signet ring on your hand, so I assume the old man hasn’t kicked the bucket just yet.”

Crossing the small distance between them with a few purposeful steps, Y/N reached out and adjusted Namjoon’s tie. « So where is he, then? »

The man’s eyes hardened, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly as he grasped her wrist, stopping her movements. His frustration was palpable, almost radiating from him in waves as he stared down at her, his voice a low growl. “Watch your tone. »

“What?” her voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and taunting, “Did daddy finally come to terms with the fact that little golden boy Namjoonie is simply too soft for the big job?”

Namjoon maintained a veneer of control, but it was clear that her jabs had struck a nerve. His glance shifted subtly to his subordinate, conveying a silent command that was understood instantly.

Without hesitation, the cat-eyed man moved with a swift, practiced motion, striking Y/N's face with such force that she stumbled and fell to her knees.

“Motherf—" Y/N winced in pain, her hand flying to her throbbing cheek as she struggled to regain her composure. Looking up at Namjoon through narrowed eyes, she shot back, "Whatever happened to 'no touching the face', huh?"

Namjoon's response was chillingly indifferent. "Scars have a way of fading over time," he remarked coldly. His eyes didn't waver from her pained gaze, his stance firm and unyielding. "You, of all people, would know. »

Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, the metallic taste of blood seeping onto her tongue—a stark reminder of the precariousness of her position.

Namjoon crouched down to her level, his face impassive but his eyes sharp and calculating. He extended a handkerchief toward her. Gently, almost incongruously tender, he dabbed at the blood trickling from her lip. « Now that things are- clearer, » he began, his voice low and controlled, "remember you are our guest here, just stay out of trouble and there will be no reason for things to get ugly." The underlying threat in his tone was clear, cloaked in the veneer of civility.

As he rose to his full height, he signaled to his subordinate, who had been standing by silently, watching the interaction with an impassive expression.

"All we need to do is wait ‘till this all gets figured out," Namjoon added, his voice carrying a hint of finality as he moved towards the door.

He was about to step out when Y/N's voice, stronger now, called after him.

"And how long do you expect that to be?" she asked.

Namjoon paused in the doorway, turning his head slightly. "Weeks, months, hell, maybe years," he said with a shrug, his tone nonchalant as if it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. "Lucky for you, time is now the least of your concerns." With those words, he stepped out, leaving the door to swing shut behind him, the soft click of the latch a stark finality in the quiet room.

Left alone, Y/N steadied herself, drawing a deep breath as she processed the encounter. She knew the real game had only just begun.

Alright, that chapter was a little heavy on information, and I tried to not make everything too obvious or clear-cut, but I don't know if it's maybe too confusing, or not enough. If you can't even understand the jist of it all, do tell me lol. Because it makes sense to me, but I have the bigger map in mind so I'm not exactly objective lol

Anyway, hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 5

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@princess-sunshyn

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natrogersfics · 8 days

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The Anthology - Chapter 4: I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

“What did you just say?”

An amalgam of emotions washes over Natasha as she sits in front of her vanity, watching in horror as the moment Steve grabs a paparazzo by the collar replays on her phone. Concern is at the forefront. As anyone who’s spent even the briefest of moments with Steve Rogers can attest to, it takes a lot to get a rise out of him. And while the words of the photographer in the video are too mumbled to make out, she can only imagine what he must have said to elicit this kind of reaction from him.

Then there’s the worry. While she avoids the online gossip rags on principle, with the clip making the rounds seemingly on every platform, it’s hard not to see. And if she can’t escape it, she doubts that Steve can. People may fawn over him left, right, and center these days, but she’s played this game long enough to know that there are also those patiently waiting for the opportune time to cast the first stone against him regardless of the full picture.

Looming large above all, though, is the guilt. While their filming schedule is winding down, what little days they have left on set have only grown more difficult to navigate. Outside of their scenes, she and Steve haven’t spoken to each other since he’d confronted her on her way back to her trailer that day. Even so, the silence between them is nothing short of deafening. On the rare occasion that she allows herself to steal a glance at him, she can still see all the questions swirling in his face. Questions she knows she owes him answers to, but that she can never give. For in the midst of all those inquiries, she can also see vestiges of what she thinks might still be hope. For what, she’s not certain. All she knows is that it doesn’t matter – it can’t – and that she’s the last person that can ever give it oxygen.

At least, that’s what she’s been convincing herself of every night when she heads out the door with her lips lacquered and her clutch in hand and into the flashing lights of one club. Then another.

It’s for the best.

A sigh falls heavily from her lips. Those four words are ones she finds herself repeating like a mantra more than she cares to admit these days. In theory, she knows that they hold true even when it does nothing to stomp out the deep-seated ache in her chest – especially now, as she looks at the screen once more and takes in the way Steve’s posture has gone rigid, his expression incandescent with anger as he stares the photographer down. And not for the first time since she hightailed it out of his rental that night, she catches herself scrolling through her contacts, her thumb hovering over his name.

It’s for the best.

Just as she’s done every other time, she sets her phone back down, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

“Late night?” The question comes from Melina later on as they sit in the back of a town car enroute to her next appearance. Her agent’s tone is a little too pointed for her liking, and she lets her know as much with a sharp glare. Melina brings her hands up as if in surrender, and she just shakes her head as she leans further back into the headrest, closing her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Like a reflex, her response comes to her in an instant, but she bites it back just as quickly. As the lie hangs acridly on the tip of her tongue, she keeps her eyes shut. She would like to think that after decades in this business, she’d be used to this by now. And she is. Saying what people want to hear. Appearing in such a way that people want to see. All of that became second nature to her long ago – her circumstances behind closed doors be damned.

Nevertheless, every now and then, she gives into the nagging craving to speak the truth. “Does it matter?”

As the seconds drag on and her response goes unanswered, she turns to Melina to see the woman already another world away, her ever sharp gaze trained on the screen of her tablet, taking in the details underneath what looks to be a headshot of a petite young blonde with piercing green eyes. As she turns back to watch the busy streets pass by the window, the humorless chuckle that falls from her lips is one she would never in a million years be able to stifle. “Body’s not even cold yet.”

“Natasha,” Melina says, her tone conciliatory now. “You know it’s not like that.”

The car comes to a stop, the relentless clicks of the cameras flashing away outside audible even through the closed windows. The sound only intensifies as her door is opened, but before she steps out, she pauses to look back at Melina. “Make sure you tell her what this job really entails.”

If Melina reacts to her words, she doesn’t hear or see it as she steps out and onto the carpet. The smile on her face is cut straight out of the glossiest of magazine covers, never once losing its luster as she makes her way towards the hordes of people shouting her name on the sidelines to sign photographs of her own image and to grin into one outstretched phone screen after another.

“Natasha, nice to see you again,” Betty Brand, the bubbly host of E! greets once she finally makes it to the end of the carpet, giving her a kiss on either cheek before holding out the microphone in her direction. “How have you been?”

Without missing a beat, her lips curl up into another blinding smile. “Fantastic as always, Betty. Thanks.”

“Good to hear. So, tell us, who are you wearing this fine evening?”

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

#Romanogers #The Anthology #Natasha Romanoff #Black Widow #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Movie Star AU #Hollywood AU #steve x natasha #I Can Do It With A Broken Heart #icdiwabh

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 9 months

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Everybody Hurts

Chapter 3

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.

18+ Only for eventual smut

Next chapter: 09/13

Word Count: 5.7K

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You stiffened at his rude inquiry, your spine straightened, hackles raised instantly. His tone sounded offended, rude, as if you had no right to be here, as if you hadn’t been invited. Maybe he didn’t know you but was that really how he greeted somebody new? Not so much as a hello or a nice to meet you? Who in the hell did this guy think he was?

Clearly, you’d been suffering temporary insanity brought on by big brown eyes, long brown hair, full lips, and a leather jacket. Teenage you had come out to play for just a moment, flashing back to all those teen romances you’d read, the movies and t.v. shows you’d watched, getting lost in fantasies of misunderstood bad boys who just needed the right girl to love them. This guy definitely looked the part but adult you, rational you, quickly slammed back into place at his rude question.

“This is Y/N,” Steve answered before you had a chance to rip the guy a new one, a warm hand coming to cover your own that was still resting on his arm as if he could sense your sudden tension. He probably could with the way your body had snapped rigid like a wire pulled taut. “She’s new to Hawkins. She doesn’t know many people yet so she’s hanging out with us tonight. And if you hadn’t already guessed, this would be Eddie.”

Those mocha colored pools, depths you’d almost lost yourself in, narrowed, his nose wrinkled up as if he suddenly smelled something bad, “Didn’t know you had a new flavor of the week, Harrington. What is she doing here? I thought we all agreed that we didn’t bring extras to our annual bonfire?”

Extras? Flavor of the week? Was he being serious right now? Fuck him and his ridiculous jawline and his lashes that should be a sin and his tantalizing neck with those thick tendons running down the side that you were just now noticing as he lifted his chin toward the sky, as if asking the heavens to answer his question.

Ugh, he wasn’t even that cute anyway. His attitude and tone were definitely making it easier for you to get control of yourself once again. You stepped forward, noticing how silent the entire group had suddenly gotten in the last two minutes. Mindless chatter, a variety of conversations murmured around the fire, had filled the air prior to this Eddie guy’s arrival. Now everyone stood silent, suddenly very interested in the exchange in front of them as if they were all waiting for your reaction.

“I am no one’s flavor of the week. Trust me, I have far too much self respect for that shit. I’m also not some stray cat that you didn’t want but your girlfriend picked up off the street anyway and brought home so now you have to tolerate it,” you seethed, fist clenching at your side, nails digging into your palm, your body struggling against the anger and annoyance coursing through you. “So sorry if my being here is a problem for you.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitched, as if he were on the verge of smiling, but just as quickly his mouth was set in a hard, firm line once again, his jaw clenching, “Never said it was a problem for me. You’re not impacting my evening. Just thought we’d already agreed on the rules. This night is not for outsiders but clearly Harrington disagrees. Man can’t seem to resist a pretty face.”

“Steve wasn’t the one who invited her. I did,” Max interjected, stepping forward into Eddie, blocking his view of you in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. “She came into the diner earlier to grab some lunch and we got to talking. She’s new in town and I thought it would be nice for her to meet some people, make some friends. So stop being such a dick, okay?”

“Not gonna happen. You should know me better than that and I don’t need anymore friends, Red,” he muttered, stepping away from the fire, toward the water’s edge, into the darkness.

All you could make out was the outline of his back against the moon that was slowly rising over the water and a faint orange glow as he lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling a plume of smoke above his head.

“Jesus, what the hell is his problem?” you muttered softly, annoyance still present, an insistent pulsing against your temples.

Steve shrugged a shoulder, his lips pursing to the side as he tilted his head, considering his answer, “He’s just…he’s Eddie. I don’t know. He’s got a massive chip on his shoulder these days. He didn’t used to be so…”

“Assholey?” asked Max.

“He’s not an asshole,” argued Dustin, jumping to his friend’s defense instantly, surprising you with his vehement tone. “He can be moody but he’s been through a lot of shit. He kind of has every right to be and you all know it.”

“We’ve all been through a lot of shit,” Lucas stated, leaving you even more confused.

It only served to remind you that you were exactly what Eddie had said, the outsider. You didn’t know any of these people. Clearly, there was something that bonded them together, something this Eddie guy didn’t want you to be a part of. Something that had changed him, if Dustin and Steve were to be believed.

“That’s no excuse for him to be a dick,” Lucas smiled, lips tight, at you. “I’m sorry. He’ll come around. He just struggles a bit with anyone new. He’s more comfortable with his close circle. He always has been but it’s just…whatever.”

You weren’t sure if you should ask but your curiosity was getting the better of you, especially with all the cryptic comments, “When you say you’ve all been through a lot, what do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Dustin scoffed, shrugging but you noticed his voice was a little too high, as if he were suddenly nervous, the young guy sounding like he was going through puberty all over again. “Just normal life shit. Lucas just means we’ve all been through stuff but that doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk, you know?”

“Yeah,” Robin piped in, her smile just a tad too wide, only adding to your suspicion that something more was going on here. “I’m sure you’ve been through stuff too. Everyone has a sob story, right? I mean, I know I do. I’m gay so, like, that really sucked for a while. I had this crush on this girl in school but I could never tell her because if it came out then they would be coming with pitchforks and torches for me, you know? So, I was single for, like, ever because it’s way harder for someone like me. You can’t just tell people you like them. Rejection is actually the best case scenario for me. The worst being me strung up, ready to burn at the stake and I have just met you and I probably didn’t need to tell you all that. I’m sorry.” She cringed, clutching her first with her other hand. “I tend to ramble, like the words just keep coming and I don’t know how to stop them and…”

“Robin,” Nancy said gently, her hand coming to rest on Robin’s shoulder, instantly quieting the anxious girl who just laughed uncomfortably.

“I didn’t scare you off or anything, did I?”

Your eyes were wide, but you shook your head, “No. You didn’t scare me off. I mean, that was a lot all at once but it’s okay. No worries. I’m not running to get a pitchfork or a torch.”

“Oh good. That’s a relief,” Robin giggled, the sound almost ear shattering, it was so shrill. “I would hate to run you off when we’re just getting to know you. Unlike tall, dark, and grumpy over there…” She hitched her thumb in Eddie’s direction, “...the rest of us like to meet new people. At least, cool new people and you definitely seem like a cool, new person, you know? Not the ignorant, judgy, dingus kind of people.” Max groaned, “I am really sorry. I probably should have warned you a bit more about what you were getting yourself into with this group.”

“No need to be sorry. I am loving everyone here,” you assured her.

Well, maybe with one exception, the exception that was making his way back over to the group at the moment, keeping his eyes down on his hands, messing with one of his rings that appeared to be a large skull. He came up next to Dustin, his eyes flicking up to yours for just a second before pointedly turning away, leaving you embarrassed that you’d been caught looking at him again.

“New girl,” came a voice from your left as an arm slung around your shoulders and you looked up to find Argyle smiling down at you. “You ready to partake in some Purple Palm Tree Delight, my friend?”

“I don’t know because I still don’t know what that is,” you laughed.

Jonathan leaned forward, pulling a joint from the front pocket of Argyle’s shirt, presenting it to you with a grin, “This, my friend, is Purple Palm Tree Delight. It will make all your worries float away like the seeds of a dandelion.”

“Ahh, see, back home we just called it pot,” you told them. “We didn’t have different kinds of names for it. Everyone got theirs from Billy Bud and it was all the same.”

“Billy Bud?” snorted Eddie, hands deep in his pockets, shaking his head. “What a stupid name.”

“So says the guy who used to get all his shit from a guy named Reefer Rick,” Steve ridiculed, holding his hand out and looking to the rest of the group for support. “Because that’s so much cooler.”

“Reefer Rick sounds a hell of a lot better than Billy Bud,” Eddie hurled back. “Where in the hell are you even from? Hicksville, U.S.A.?”

“Seriously? From a guy that lives in Hawkins, Indiana?” you snapped. “I’m from Galena you prick. It’s a small town in Illinois, pretty damn similar to this podunk town you live in. Sorry my weed dealer’s name isn’t up to your standards. I didn’t know there were different social classes for low life criminals.”

“So someone dealing a little pot makes them a low life criminal?” he demanded, those eyes flashing at you, burning brighter than the flames between them.

“No, but dealing drugs laced with shit that causes kids to O.D. is. My friends bought weed from him until he got locked up for lacing his coke with fentanyl. He got busted after some kid two towns over died.”

Eddie’s tongue ran along the front of his teeth, his hands slipping from his pockets, arms folded over his chest, “Okay. Yeah, that would make him a low life piece of shit. Sorry princess. Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers, there. I’m surprised you even knew the name of the local drug dealer in your town. Wouldn’t think a girl like you would partake in a little law breaking and possibly tarnish your reputation.”

“A girl like me?” you mused, your head slanted, a tight smile on your lips. “Please enlighten me. What kind of girl am I since you seem to think you know me so well?”

“Yeah, I think I do. See, I knew tons of girls like you in school, the kind of girls who flinched when I walked by, the big scary freak.” He wiggled his fingers, eyebrows lifting. “The girls who didn’t want to be seen with me and have someone think they’d lowered their standards. Let me guess. You were the good girl, the one who always turned her assignments in on time and couldn’t go to the party on Saturday because there would be drinking.” He gasped, covering his chest with his hands. “You dated the jock, the all-American good boy that the whole town loved, the golden boy who could do no wrong. You wore his letterman jacket around school and giggled with your friends after the night he popped your cherry, probably saved it for after prom which you thought was so romantic just like the walking stereotype you were. It was a magical night, the perfect night with the perfect guy.” His voice rose three octaves, hands clasped in front of him as he batted his eyelashes. “You were probably crowned the King and Queen of your little townie school and you just knew you would live happily ever after. Am I close? Did you marry that guy, princess? Huh? Did you get your happily ever after with Prince Charming?”

His words were choking you, lodged so tightly in your throat that you couldn’t catch a breath. You swallowed hard, pushing them down, even as they bruised painfully on the way down, scraping harshly against the sides like shards of broken glass. You would not allow this dickhead to make you break in front of him. There was no way you were giving this smug bastard that kind of satisfaction.

“Actually, I did marry that guy and I thought I had my happily ever ever…that is until I walked in on him fucking my best friend in our bed,” you spat through clenched teeth. “All-American boy turned out to be an All-American asshole. And now my happily ever after has turned into me divorced and moving to this town after he left me with nothing. Happy now? Feeling pretty proud of yourself for your assessment?”

Eddie’s mouth snapped shut, his head whipping back so quickly that you were surprised not to hear a crack. His eyes darted around the group as if seeking help but none was to be found as everyone else just stood silent, staring between the two of you. Apparently his little monologue hadn’t gone the way he planned.

“Oh? What? Are you actually speechless now?” you snarled. “Nothing else to say to me? You can wipe that look off your face because I don’t need any fucking pity, especially not from an asshole like you. And just so you know, you were a bit off. Yeah, I was Prom Queen but my cherry got popped in the bed of a Ford pickup truck after a football game. I was never one for stereotypical traditions. And yeah, I was a model student and a good girl but I’ve never been afraid to break a few rules.”

You held your hand out to Jonathan who quickly passed over the joint, digging a lighter from his pocket to hand over as well, clearly anxious to do anything to break the tension that was as thick as the smoke billowing off the bonfire.

“Thank you,” you snapped, suddenly desperate for the head numbing buzz the joint would provide.

You brought it between your lips, lighting it and taking small puffs, inhaling slow and shallow. The last thing you needed was to hack up a lung and look like an amateur after you had talked such a big game in front of that jerk.

You hadn’t been lying. You had never been what you’d call a bad girl, but you hadn’t exactly been squeaky clean either. You’d smoked your share of weed but it had been years since the last time. Proud of yourself, you took a couple puffs before you passed the joint to Argyle’s waiting hand, giving Eddie a superior smile. He surprised you when he gave a little half-smile and a nod, his tongue darting out from the corner of his mouth before he looked down at the sand, pushing it around with the toe of his boot.

The joint made its way around the group, almost everyone partaking. Nancy, Robin, Dustin, El, and Will passed on it. When Max offered it to Steve, he accepted it with an eager smile.

“Really?” you teased, your eyebrows raising in surprise. “Mr. Police Officer, aren’t you supposed to uphold the law, not break it?”

Steve snorted, shrugging, “I’m the police. What are they going to do about it? Arrest me?” He inhaled deeply before handing it back to you. You took another hit, passing it back to him so he could hit it again before he passed it over to Eddie’s outstretched hand. Steve slung his arm around your shoulders, whispering, “Hey. You want a s’more? Because I really want a s’more.”

“Yes!” you shrieked, giggling. Damn, maybe that hadn’t been the best idea after all. It had been so long you could already feel the effects hitting you, your brain a warm and fuzzy place, comforting and quiet for once. Never mind. That had been an excellent idea because this was exactly what you needed.

“It’s s’mores time!” Steve yelled, arms over his head as he raced back through the woods, re-emerging a moment later, his arms full with a graham cracker box, a bag of marshmallows, and a package of chocolate bars. “Eddie! You got the pokers?”

“Yeah, man,” he chuckled. “Let me go get them out of the van.”

You made your way over to the sand, dropping down next to Robin and Nancy. You dropped onto your back, looking up at the vast sky, the stars innumerable above the lake, away from all the light pollution. It was positively beautiful, vast, a world of endless possibilities that stretched on forever, so many pathways just waiting to be chosen. You got a chance so many others didn’t, a chance to start over, to do it right, and you had no intention of throwing that away.

“Life is so funny…” you mused, turning your head to look at Nancy and Robin. “You think it’s over, you know? You think it’s the end. Boom. Book closed. That’s it. Your story is done. But then you move somewhere new and there’s all these doors…these doors you can open and start a new story. Maybe I’m starting a new story and you’re all going to be characters in it too. Maybe this book was just sitting on the shelf, waiting for me to crack the spine and dive in.”

Nancy laughed softly, patting your arm like a mother with a silly child, “When was the last time you smoked, honey?”

Your lips came together, a pfft noise releasing between your lips, “Long time…like so long…but it’s nice. My brain is quiet finally. No bad thoughts. No noise. It’s so fuzzy. I like it.”

“Oh boy,” Robin chuckled. “I’m sure you do.”

“Is she alive?” came Eddie’s voice and you straightened your head, blinking and struggling to look up at the face looking down at you from above. “You doing okay there, Prom Queen?”

“Shut up,” you groaned, slapping your hand at nothing but air. Of course he would be amused at your inability to handle your weed. He was such a jerk, a beautiful, annoying jerk. “Don’t call me that. Aren’t you supposed to be roasting marshmallows or something?”

“Yeah, I suppose that I am,” he replied, the amusement in his voice just grating your nerves even further. “I’ll bring you one if you’re still conscious, little rule breaker.”

“Fuck off,” you muttered, rolling over to your hands, pressing yourself into a sitting position, watching his shoulders rise and fall with his laughter as he made his way over to Steve. “He’s so annoying.”

“He’s really not that bad,” Robin countered, wrapping her arms around her knees. “He seems prickly but he’s really a teddy bear under all that growling and snarling.”

You rolled your eyes, thinking Robin was giving him more credit than he deserved. You barely knew him and he’d managed to piss you off multiple times already. It was like he was on a mission to press every single button of yours that he could find, his own personal game of Whack-a-Mole, seeing how many he could hit before you finally cracked and came unglued. It was a game he was very close to winning.

“He really isn’t that bad but I am sorry for those things he said to you. He shouldn’t have done that,” Nancy told you softly. “Him and Robin share the unfortunate trait of not having a filter. They tend to just say whatever they’re thinking whether they should or not. Did you really catch your husband with your best friend?”

You pressed your fingers against your eyes, wishing you could press away the question, press away the image that would forever be burned into your mind. Once again you were cursing Eddie. He was getting under your skin again and he wasn’t even near you because now he was forcing you to share your moment of mortification. You did not want to talk about this. You’d had no intention of sharing it and never would have if he wouldn’t have pushed you to be so angry, to forget yourself. But the weed was quickly working its magic, all of the pain, shame, and anger melting away, replaced with a heavy sense of calm.

“Yeah, I did,” you answered finally. What did it matter now? They’d all heard you say it anyway. There was no locking up that particular box again. “They’d been sleeping together for a year and I had no idea.” You smashed your lips together angrily, held your hands out. “Pretty stupid, right? Who doesn’t know that the two people they trust most in the world are betraying them for a year? An idiot, that’s who.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Nancy argued, shaking her head. “No. They’re idiots. What horrible excuses for humans.”

“Assholes!” Robin huffed. “All of the people on this planet and they chose each other? How could they even look at themselves in the mirror after doing something so awful?”

“I don’t know…” you sighed, having asked yourself the same question multiple times. How could they? It was enough that Cam had cheated but if you were honest, it didn’t really surprise you that much. He’d always been seeking the new, shiny thing. But Cassie, your best friend, the person you turned to for everything, the person you’d shared your concerns about your marriage with, never knowing she should have been one of your concerns. You still struggled to believe that Cassie, someone who had been like a sister to you, was capable of such treachery.

“So, that’s why you’re here?” inquired Nancy. “You left him?”

“Obviously I left him. There was no way I was sticking around after that. He tried. He tried to tell me it was just sex but he really loved me. But how could that be true when they’d been screwing around for a whole year? They lied, told me it was a one time thing, but I found out. No way was I staying with him. And how could I ever look at either of them again and not see…what I saw. The divorce was just finalized yesterday but I walked out a year ago.”

“A year ago? But you said you only moved here four months ago,” Robin commented.

“I did. I lived with my parents for a while.” You groaned. “I know, even more pathetic. I knew it was pathetic. I did not want to be thirty and still living at home with mommy and daddy. Hell, I didn’t even want to be in that town anymore so I found a teaching job here and then I bought a house and here I am.”

“Well, I for one am really glad you’re here,” Nancy told you with a warm smile, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in tight.

“Me too,” Robin added.

“I’m starting to be glad I’m here too,” you admitted softly, enjoying the pleasant feeling of finally belonging somewhere.

“Hey, I brought you a s’more,” Steve interrupted, dropping down next to you on the sand, holding out the gooey treat.

“Thanks,” you said, accepting it with a smile and taking a bite. Oh, it was so good, like the best s’more you’d ever had but it could just be the weed talking. The chocolate melted in your mouth, sweetness coating your tongue. The melty marshmallow was sticky and delicious. You scarfed it down quickly.

“Oh, you’ve got some…” Steve gestured toward your mouth with his finger. You attempted to swipe where you thought he meant. “No, it’s…uh, here. I’ll get it.” He smiled softly as his thumb brushed over the corner of your mouth, your lower lip. “There you go.”

“Uhh…thanks…” you whispered awkwardly.

Your skin prickled and you glanced over, noticing a dark pair of eyes watching you from across the fire where he sat between Mike and Dustin. As your gaze met his, Eddie quickly looked over toward Mike as if he’d been caught and didn’t want you to know he was watching. You hated the way your brain wished for him to turn your way again, hated the pull you felt toward him even knowing what an asshole he was.

“You’re welcome,” Steve murmured. His eyes darted around the treeline before returning to yours. “Hey, uh, do you need a ride home from here?”

“No, I’ve got my bike,” you answered quickly, not wanting Steve to get the wrong idea.

“You probably shouldn’t ride home in the dark,” he insisted.

“Or high,” Robin teased.

“Oh come on. In Hawkins? What could possibly happen to me here?” you snorted.

The look they all shared sent a shiver of fear racing along your spine. You didn’t know why. There was no context behind it, nothing about this place that seemed sinister, but that look they shared spoke volumes. It made you think something could be lurking in the shadows, something they all knew about that you didn’t.

“Small town or not, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Bad things can happen anywhere,” Nancy told you.

“Eddie could take her home,” Dustin offered, cutting in on the conversation from across the fire. “He’s got plenty of room in his van for her bike.”

“Oh no,” you argued, shaking your head. Maybe you shouldn’t ride home after smoking. Maybe there were things to be scared of waiting in the dark of Hawkins. But you would face any monster over having to get a ride home from Eddie. The guy clearly couldn’t stand you. You did not want to be stuck in a van with him. “Seriously, I will be fine.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing the Prom Queen would prefer it if the King took her home,” Eddie muttered without even looking up, the toes of his boots digging into the sand, fingers messing with one of his rings again.

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“It’s a dig at me,” Steve explained, his eyes rolling back. “They called me King Steve when I was in high school.”

“Yeah, see? Lucky you. You didn’t even know when you moved here that Hawkins has its very own King for you,” Eddie told you, lifting his head, eyes meeting yours almost as if he were challenging you but you didn’t know what exactly he was challenging you to.

Was he trying to hook you up with Steve? You could not think of anything you wanted less. Steve was good-looking. You’d have to be blind not to see that. He was beautiful and kind and everything you should want. But you were not looking to date anyone, not even the gorgeous but extremely rude jerk that was currently glaring at you.

You obviously couldn’t trust your own judgment. Of course you’d been attracted to the jerk. That seemed to be a theme in your life. But you didn’t move to Hawkins to start some romance. You’d moved here to start over, to find yourself. You’d been with Cam since you were fifteen and you wanted to know who you were without him. That girl was hiding, buried somewhere deep, and you needed to find her, to finally let her breathe.

“Steve’s car isn’t going to have room for her bike,” Dustin pointed out, sounding like they were all idiots for not having thought of that, clearly thinking he was being helpful when he was being anything but. You had to fight the urge to pick up a rock and throw it at him. “Your van is the only thing big enough to fit a bike.”

“I can just bike home,” you insisted. “Really. I appreciate the offer but…”

Eddie sighed deeply, rising to his feet, “Come on, Prom Queen. Get your bike.”

“You don’t…”

“Just get the damn bike,” he huffed, swinging his arm in the direction of it.

You rose to your feet, fists clenched at your sides. “Don’t tell me what to do, you dick. I am perfectly capable of riding home!” You swayed on your feet and Steve’s hands shot up, grabbing onto your calves to hold you steady.

“You can hardly stand, Prom Queen, you ain’t riding a bike anywhere,” Eddie pointed out, one eyebrow lifted, looking so adorable. No, damn it, he was not adorable. He was annoying, infuriating.

He walked over, grabbing your bike himself when it was clear you weren’t going to and started wheeling it toward the woods. You growled in frustration, stomping off after him, trying to ignore the laughter of the group still back at the fire. You had to half run to keep up with his long strides. He was moving purposefully, clearly eager to get you home and be done with you.

“You don’t have to drive me home,” you huffed.

“Look, Prom Queen, I am not any happier about this situation than you are,” he ground between clenched teeth. “But I also don’t need to hear shit from them when you ride into a tree or off into a ditch and break something.”

Flinging open the back doors of the van, he lifted your bike up and in without any struggle. Damn, he was obviously fit. Your eyes roamed from the top of that mop of waves to the tip of his steel-toed boots, wondering what his body looked like under all that leather and denim. His shirt rode up, revealing plaid boxers, pale skin not touched by the sun, and you pressed your thighs together against the deep tingle that was your body responding to him.

Eddie hopped down and you averted your gaze quickly, but not quickly enough for him not to notice the way you’d been lusting after him like some horny teenager.

He smirked, tongue slipping over his top lip, “See something you like there?”

“You mean an arrogant, judgmental asshole who doesn’t bother to get to know someone before making assumptions about them? No thanks. Maybe you should get your eyes checked, Eddie. They’ve got to be playing a trick on you if you think I like anything about the sight of you.”

“Uh-huh…whatever you say.” He chortled as he closed the back and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and waving his hand, “Get in.”

You stomped over, grabbing onto the frame to climb up and in the passenger seat. Eddie started the van. The music roared, causing you to jump and he chuckled as he flipped the volume dial down a bit. Eddie pulled away, driving slowly over the uneven ground until you reached the road and he floored it, shooting off down the asphalt.

“Where am I taking you?” he asked simply after a few minutes.

“444 Euclid,” you answered shortly.

Your eyes roamed over the side of him, falling on those pale ragged lines on his throat. You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, folding your hands to keep from reaching out and tracing those lines with your fingers.

“Can I ask…uh…what happened?” you queried, your voice nervous and quiet.

“What happened to what?”

“Your…your neck?”

His knuckles tensed on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and you watched his throat move as he swallowed. Your question had caused him anxiety, that much was obvious. You sat silently, gripping your own hands tightly, hoping you hadn’t managed to just piss him off again.

“Raccoons,” he muttered.

“Raccoons?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, rabid raccoons in the woods. Guess they had rabies or some shit. I had to get shots,” Eddie stated in a way that let you know the topic was closed.

Rabid raccoons? Was he for real? You supposed it was possible but that sounded crazy. You tried to picture a bunch of raccoons just going insane and attacking some random guy in the woods. Regardless, you obviously weren't getting any more answers tonight.

That was the entirety of your conversation. You sat, arms folded, eyes focused on looking out the window as you tried to make sense of the conflicting responses you were having to this guy sitting less than a foot from you. It didn’t matter. No matter how hot he was, he clearly couldn’t stand you and had zero interest in getting to know the new girl who’d invaded his friends group. Well, that was fine. You weren’t exactly keen on getting to know him right now either.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he finally pulled up to your house, glad to get out of this awkward situation. Silently, he got out and got your bike out of the back for you, setting it down on the driveway. You hopped out, taking the handlebars in your hands and making your way toward the garage before turning to him.

“Uh, thanks for the ride,” you mumbled, thinking that even if he didn’t deserve it, you should at least be polite after the guy hauled you and your bike home.

“No problem, Prom Queen,” he replied with a roll of his eyes and a snort, unable to even be civil for a moment. Eddie turned away from you and climbed into his van without so much as a goodbye.

You put your bike in the garage, teeth grinding over his rudeness, and then closed the door, digging in your purse for your keys. You glanced up as you made your way to the door to find Eddie still sitting in the van in front of your house. He didn’t pull away until you closed and locked the door behind you.

Chapter 4

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itsawhumpsideblog · 3 months

Text

The Safehouse, pt. 17

CW: for institutionalized slavery, mentions of abuse, treatment of people as things, medical procedures (x-rays, IV placement), hospital setting, brainwashing

Advice from the Box Boy Liberation Movement:

The type of conditioning rescuees undergo is impossible to shake off lightly. Do not worry, and above all do not take it personally, when they are unable to believe your reassurances. While you should attempt to defer to rescuees' choices, if they are able to make them known, there will be times that it is in their best interest to continue a course of action against their preference. [2] Use your best judgement in deciding whether to proceed in such an event.

[2] One common form of this is the decision to pursue necessary medical treatment for a frightened or reluctant rescuee.

Mikey's breath hitched as Angie eased the car over a speed bump and she couldn't help sneaking a look at him to make sure he was alright. She was trying to be careful, but it was hard on some of these older roads. Angie reminded herself that the ordeal was almost over and next time Mikey got in a car, his injuries would be repaired and braced and he wouldn't be so vulnerable to the condition of the roads. She reminded herself how it had been with Nathan, how badly he had suffered during the ride to the hospital but how much easier the drive home had been, once his leg was set and wrapped and the painkillers had kicked in.

It was hard to tell if Mikey noticed when the ride was rough, although he had obviously reacted; he was staring, wide-eyed, out the window as the neighborhood passed them by. Angie smiled at him and reached over to pat his knee. He looked at her with that owlish gaze, as if he was seeing everything for the first time. Maybe, in a sense, he was.

"We'll be there in about ten minutes," she said, just to fill the silence. "We'll park and then I'll text our contact and she'll come get us. Should be easy." Mikey nodded and went back to staring out the window. Angie debated turning on some music, but she looked over again, taking in the rigid set of his back, his clenched teeth, the nervous movement of his eyes, and decided against it.

When they finally arrived, Angie parked and texted the number she had been given. Here, spot 27 in front of door 2. She hit send and reached over to help Mikey remove his seatbelt.

"Okay," she said, "there you go. Watch your arm- you always do, but still- and the other one- and there you go!" She was trying to sound cheerful, in hopes that he would relax, but it didn't seem to be helping much.

"It really is going to be okay," she went on, in what she hoped was a reassuring voice. "And I promise I'll be there the whole time. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Okay?" He looked in her direction, almost meeting her eyes, and nodded. It was hard to tell whether he believed her or believed that this was the reaction she wanted. Angie tried not to sigh.

They hadn't been waiting more than a few minutes when Angie's phone buzzed with a text and then a woman in scrubs pushing a wheelchair appeared behind the car.

"Here we go," Angie said, still with that determinedly cheerful tone. She hopped out and waved to the woman. "Ready for us?"

"I sure am. I'm Wanda, I work with Dr. Silva- and we have a number of other colleagues in common, obviously." She winked at Angie, who couldn't help but smile.

"This is Mikey," Angie added, bending down to help Mikey out. It wasn't easy, but by holding him around the waist and supporting his right elbow, they managed.

"Nice to meet you, Mikey," Wanda said. She patted the back of the wheelchair. "Have a seat and we'll get you right in there. The story we're telling is that you were in a car accident- I don't think that'll be too hard to believe and it'll give us an excuse to get you right through the doors and into somewhere with a little more privacy. Okay?"

Mikey nodded. He shuffled around and lowered himself into the chair, placing his right hand carefully in his lap. Angie wondered if she should bring the pillow and then decided to leave it.

"Here we go," Wanda said, and pushed Mikey across the parking lot.

The closer they got to the door, the more obvious it was that Mikey was struggling. Angie could see it first in the way he hunched his right shoulder, as if he was trying to curl up and make himself smaller. He began to tremble and when she saw his face, his lips were pressed tightly together and his eyes were closed. Angie reached over and ruffled his hair, just to remind him that she hadn't left, but he didn't respond.

"Poor kid," Wanda said sympathetically. "Been with you long?" With another glance down at her patient, she added, "For his sake, I hope not." Then she seemed to hear herself. "Not because of you, of course- just that if he's been with you and waiting for an appointment- Oh, sugar, you know what I meant!"

"I know exactly what you meant," Angie replied, laughing. "And he's been with us for a couple of weeks already. It was tough to get him scheduled."

"It can be. I'm glad they found time, though."

"Me too. And he will be, too- or at least he will once it's over, anyway."

Angie had been in emergency rooms a handful of times in her life, but never had she gone back to a private room so quickly. There wasn't a wait at all; Wanda paused only long enough to tell the nurse at the desk that she would take the patient's vitals herself and they kept walking. At a big pair of double doors, Wanda pushed a button and steered Mikey quickly around a corner, down another long hall, and through a second set of doors. Angie hoped she wouldn't have to find her way back alone.

At last they came to a room with the door shut and Wanda nodded to it. "Will you get that for us?" Angie did, and pulled it shut once they were inside.

"Here's home, sweet home for today," Wanda told Mikey. He finally opened his eyes and looked around at the white walls, the curtain, the bright light above, and Angie watched his face go pale- or perhaps, more pale.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm going to be right here, remember?" Mikey looked up at her with big eyes and nodded as if he didn't quite believe her.

"Let's get you into a gown and we'll head out for x-rays," Wanda went on. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner you go home and start to feel better, hmm? Angie, will you help him get undressed while I find him a hospital gown?"

She bustled out and Angie helped Mikey out of his clothes, just as she did at home when it was time to sleep, and then folded his things and set them neatly aside where he could see them and be reminded that they were not being taken away.

"Here," Angie said, "Let's close the curtain so you can have some privacy." She started to pull it shut and then realized that Mikey's eyes had gone very wide and he was shaking his head vehemently.

"No?" Angie asked. "You want the curtain open?" He nodded hesitantly. "Okay, we'll leave it. It's up to you." He nodded again, shaky but clearly grateful.

Mikey sat on the edge of the bed in his undershorts, shivering from nerves and cold. He had understood when Mistress explained to him about the surgery, and he knew he ought to believe her but... something in his brain, more deeply rooted than her promises, could not shake the certain knowledge that he was back at a WRU facility.

It looked too much like one, for one thing, although the crowd of people in the first room had been comforting, for a moment. But maybe this was the wing where they housed the bad pets, the ones who needed so much work done that they couldn't be kept. The walls were the same shade of blank white, easy to clean because stains showed up so well. The light was bright and made to be shined in his eyes while they did whatever it was they intended to do. And the curtain would keep anyone passing by from seeing what happened to him. That was why he hadn't wanted Mistress to close it.

But when the nurse came back and she and Mistress helped him into a thin gown that barely covered all of him, Mikey tried to take heart. The presence of the two women was comforting and up until now, Mistress hadn't hurt him even once. Mostly, she helped him. She made sure he got enough to eat and talked to him and let him follow her around the house when he felt restless. He hoped she really would stay, like she had promised.

Once the gown was on, it was back into the wheelchair for x-rays, a concept with which Mikey was not familiar. Maybe he had been, once. He wondered vaguely, as he sometimes did when he let his mind go off wherever it wanted, if he had ever been in a real, for-people hospital before. Mistress tucked a blanket around his bare legs and off they went, all three of them. He wished he could have brought his clothes. He hoped they would still be in the room if he got to go back there.

The x-ray room was terrifying. There was a big table in the middle with some kind of machine over it and a booth in the corner. Mikey did not want to get on the table, did not want the machine to do whatever it was going to do, did not want to know what was in the booth.

"I promise it'll be quick," Mistress said. "Just climb up on the table and we'll help you lay down and we can get it over with. We're just taking pictures, it won't hurt."

He did not believe her, but an order was an order and Mikey climbed, shaking, out of his safe wheelchair with the warm blanket and got up on the table. Mistress helped him lie down and then the difficult part began.

It turned out that they wanted pictures of his arms and shoulders and to get them, they had to pose him just so. They began with his right arm, laying his hand flat on the bed and then turning it over for another angle. It hurt, but no worse than his hands usually hurt.

But then, the nurse took his left arm and moved it, something nobody had done to him since he was last in a facility for unwanted Pets. Mikey knew better than to twist away from her, but his stomach turned over at the movement and he could feel the blood drain from his face. Mistress had promised this wouldn't hurt, he thought.

"I know, honey," said the nurse, although he was sure she did not. "We'll hurry. Poor kid." She went back into the booth in the corner.

"I'm right here," Mistress added. She was holding his right elbow, very gently. "Almost done."

There was a pause during which none of them moved, and Mikey felt, as much as saw, darkness closing in around the edges of his vision. He was afraid he was going to throw up.

And then it was all over and they were sitting him up and he could curl up around his left arm and rock himself, the way he did when he needed to calm down. When they tried to set him on his feet, it turned out that his legs would not hold him. Mikey felt himself begin to panic at the idea of falling again, but Mistress grabbed the wheelchair and shoved it behind him, and when he fell, it was a controlled fall onto the seat with the nurse's arm around his back to help him down. They had to pick his feet up for him and put them on the foot rests, but at last they were leaving that horrible place.

"That was the worst part," the nurse was saying when Mikey's hearing came back properly. "I'm so sorry, honey. Nothing worse than an IV left, though."

Mikey was pleased to find that they went back to the room where his clothes were, where Mistress was kind enough not to shut the curtain. They put him back on the bed and this time the nurse went to his right arm.

"We're going to get an IV started," she told him, but she was looking at Mistress, too, as she spoke. Maybe she needed permission for each step. "Get you some fluids and painkillers, too."

He didn't know what that meant until she came over with a bag of something and a needle. Mikey stared at it and felt like he couldn't breathe. Every time he thought he knew what was going on here, they came and did- something like that to him. He knew where that needle went and he knew what happened when they put it in a Pet's arm.

But he couldn't get away. The nurse inserted the needle and clicked open a little piece of plastic and Mikey began to cry. He shook his head, wishing desperately that he could talk, plead, beg them not to take his mind away again. He would promise to be good, do whatever they wanted, even with his arms bad. If only they would just...

As he had known it would, the world went soft around the edges. Somehow, impossibly, he could feel the pain in his arms melting away. The world was quieter now and slower. He closed his eyes and sniffled and waited for his life at the Safehouse to disappear. It would have been nice to say goodbye to Nathan and Francis, even if he would forget them soon.

Mikey couldn't feel time passing, but when he opened his eyes, there was less liquid in the bag hanging next to him, so he knew it had. The soft feeling was still there and the pain in his arms was... not gone, but so much less that he sighed with pleasure. Mistress was stroking his hair and he wondered if it was all over and he would be allowed to go home, to see Nathan and Francis and sleep in his own bed.

Then his eyes flew open. He remembered them. Whatever was in the bag, even though it made him feel sleepy and light, he still had his memories. He looked down at himself and found that his hands and arms looked no different. He went to lift his left arm, which hurt but somehow not as much as it usually did, and Mistress gently pressed his arm back down to the bed.

"Not quite yet," she said and smiled at him. "They'll come get you soon, though."

Mikey slept again and woke when the door opened and a tall woman with dark skin and dark hair in a bun and wearing a long, white coat came in. She was holding a clipboard and she shook Mistress's hand and she smiled at Mikey. He heard her say, "His shoulder is badly dislocated. The dislocation wasn't reduced properly, if at all, so we'll take care of that while he's under. His left arm is broken in several places and his right hand is completely smashed- that's the technical term." She and Mistress laughed, but they didn't sound like it was really funny.

"Hi Mikey," she said to him, and he tried to look attentive. "I'm Dr. Silva. I'm going to perform your surgery. Okay?"

He tried to nod, but nothing happened. "Sorry," Mistress said, grinning. "He's a little loopy."

"Perfectly okay. We'll just get you asleep, Mikey, and then head to the OR. It'd usually be the other way around, but I think this will be less upsetting for you." She looked over at Mistress, who nodded.

Then they did something with the needle in his arm and the doctor said, "Can you count to ten?" He couldn't, but it made no difference, because he was asleep before he knew what was happening.

At home, Francis and Nathan were in their usual positions on the sofa while Tim bustled about the kitchen getting lunch ready.

"You doing okay?" Nathan asked. Francis clearly was not. His face was still sweaty and he kept sighing and shifting uncomfortably.

"Francis is in working order," was all he said, however.

"I don't think he is." Nathan's voice was teasing, but sympathetic. "You feel pretty bad?"

"Francis is anxious. Perhaps it is the fever."

"Perhaps it's worrying about Mikey."

Finally Francis pushed himself up on shaky arms and turned to look at Nathan. "Francis is worried that Mikey will not be himself when he comes back," he said quietly.

"Like- what do you mean?"

"Francis is worried they will erase him again."

Nathan nodded understanding. "I know, man. But they went to the same place they took me and I promise you, it's just a normal hospital. For people. They don't erase anyone there, not even pets. I'm sure of it."

"Are you really sure?"

"Really sure."

"Then Francis will try to believe it."

Next time: Mikey wakes up after surgery.

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mundaneandmagicalcreature · 8 months

Text

The Newsreader & gender expectations. Part II: Dale Jennings and being a newsreader

I feel like there's a line connecting Dale's mum with his career ambitions and with how he feels about his sexuality.

Dale's not that young. So, why hasn't reflected more about his sexuality and his relationships? Why is he still trying to erase parts of himself (darling, it won't work)? Why does he assume that everyone wants to get married?

"It's 1987, there was not really the language for him to discover that (and he's working in such a rigid environment), to even really understand what bisexuality is or what pansexuality is or maybe demisexual (sic)." Sam Reid. ABC Radio National

Both Sam and Michael have talked about Dale lacking the language about his sexuality. While it's true that that he may not have come across the word "bisexual" (although the famous Bowie interview is from 1979), I feel like more than a label he needs a narrative. It's pretty common for queer people, when we're discovering our sexuality to look for people like us: historical figures, fictional characters, people in our own life, etc. Just some one to show us how to live.

Gerry also doesn't have a label, and yet he seems much more happy and comfortable in his sexuality. His life history could be that narrative Dale needs: fall in love with a woman, marry, have a child, have a successful career AND have sex with men on the side. But Dale is set on monogamy. Which is absolutely fine, but he can't imagine himself as attracted to both men and women, and monogamous, AND happy.

My theory is that he's never had the time to think about this things because he was an emotionally parentified child. We know that Dale's father died when he was only 15. He had to take responsibility for his mum happiness. And he's holding that responsibility ever since.

This is more fanfiction than analysis territory, but I can imagine a recently widowed Val glued to the TV, watching news. And I can imagine a very young Dale thinking "Now that my dad's dead I have to be a proper man, the kind of man my mum values. And that man is a newsreader."

"I suppose Dale has always sort of believe that the pinnacle of... everything that represents stability and assuredness and the kind of like archetype of what it is to be a man and what it is to be a voice of authority is represented in this newsreader kind of form." Sam Reid. The Newsreader Podcast. 06 | Fireworks with Sam Reid and Michael Lucas

I know that sexuality is not correlated to gender, but these things intersect and the ideal man for society (specially in this moment in time) is a straight man (who gets married to a woman, has children, provides for them financially, etc). Queer men are seeing as feminine and therefore faulty. Dale's running away from being perceived that way.

What I would call "a partner" and Adam calls "a lover", Val calls "a friend". The euphemism makes it pretty clear that she's not comfortable with queerness. Dale wants to make her happy, so he has to be a straight man.

Even after more than a year of Helen and Dale being together, Val says she wasn't sure Dale was going to propose/marry her. Maybe she thought they were going to break up, or that they would continue to "live in sin" (lets note the religious expression for a moment...) for ever. But what I hear (and judging by Dale's awkward reaction, he may be thinking the same) is "up until this moment I was afraid you were actually gay".

By the end of the season, Dale and Helen have broken up. He buys his own house and while he's showing it to his mum, they have that little dialogue. "It's not a family home", once again that idea of nuclear family shows up. For the first time he's going against her wishes. Does this mean he's happy? Sam doesn't think so and neither do I. I think he just switched his mum's expectations for those of the society in general. And society expect for people who work on TV to have big fancy houses, so that's what he bought.

________

(part I)

feel free to comment in whatever form you like, I'm nosy and I like to read what other people think.

#the newsreader #sam reid #maude davey #dale jennings #val jennings #gender #the newsreader season 2 #the newsreader spoilers

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tommykinard6 · 2 months

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hi, it's me again, the anon with the "911 characters have no real ambitions" ask :) i agree with your take and the takes of the people who reblogged and commented on this. it's interesting to see other people's opinions on this, and i'm glad i'm not alone with it.

911 is solely about this one team and allowing this team to change in any kind of way would go against what the show is about in its core – i never expect it to change in that regard, hence my deep disappointment. especially during season 3, i was so hopeful that they might be brave and allow the characters to slowly test the limits of their own comfort zones and the rigid team dynamics. buck asked the others if they would all still be in touch even if they left the 118 (hen and chim admitting that they didn't stay in touch with former team members), and eddie said something like "this won't happen to us". and like, yes, that is the point! if they truly are a family, shouldn't they be encouraged to spread their wings and be allowed to be their own persons? it would not have hurt the 118 but rather enriched the characters and family dynamics. again, i get that 911 would and will never do that. you need much better writing to pull this off, after all.

in the end, the complete lack of real character arcs is a fatal flaw (or how the one user called it, a "build-in bug") and the inevitable demise of the show. in the long run, having set up the narrative like this, it means that nothing that ever happens to them will be allowed to have real consequences, that none of the drama is allowed to matter long-term, that none of the characters are ever truly challenged and changed and developed. comas and (near) deaths and suicide attempts and trauma and disputes and disagreements and attempts to leave the team and attempts to try different careers. all of it falls completely flat because we, the audience, already know how the story will end. there is no suspense. we know better than the characters that they'll end up back where they started anyway, so why waste our time feeling excited over things that won't matter. you can have the 118 go to space with their ladder truck in season 10 to save the world and there will still be zero suspense. you cannot rinse and repeat the exact same storyline every new season without the audience losing interest at some point, because flat writing can only keep you afloat for so long. new season starts out with some inconsequential drama (again) that triggers usually complete exaggerated reactions in the characters (again) which ultimately leads to nowhere (again) because in the last episode, the 118 family must be together (again). and again, and again, and again, and again. all it does is slowly but surely chip away at the integrity of the characters until you cannot even stand them anymore.

i agree that one can enjoy a good romcom movie or a romance novel where the focus is romance/love only, of course! however, there is a significant difference we must acknowledge here: you have one (1) overarching story arc with one (1) final resolution for those narratives (resolution usually means canonization of the main couple). with 911, though? you have years and years, seasons and seasons, of one (1) circular story arc. every season, for all the seasons, no matter what happened, the characters end up where they started, oftentimes completely nullifying things that happened to them which would have been pivotal points in any well-written narrative. but not in 911, because character development is the enemy. how much longer can 911 go in circles before it meets its expiration date and starts stinking like old fish? tbh, that has started for me in season 5 already, which is why i only pick and choose specific scenes to watch while skipping out on like 80%. it doesn't even matter. i'm not missing out on anything because there simply is nothing substantial to miss in the first place.

sorry that this got so long... i hope this doesn't come off as negative towards you or anyone because i'm just rambling sdkjds. i'm just sad and frustrated that the characters i really loved in earlier seasons, who had interesting and unique backstory and so much potential, will not be given real arcs and goals. they all have cool "begins" episodes, they all have cool pasts, they all struggled immensely! only to land and forever be stuck in the 118 hamster wheel where nobody is allowed to develop and leave. orz

Anon, I spent a couple days trying to figure out how to answer this. As I read your ask, I said to myself “it sounds like they’ve given up” and indeed, at the end, you said you pretty much have. So I’m not sure anything I say will help or shift your perspective on anything. While I fully respect your take and see where your concern is coming from, I don’t think I necessarily agree on all points.

I’m interested that you don’t seem to think the characters have had full story arcs. I think, fundamentally, that isn’t correct. Yes, they haven’t advanced in careers. But Buck used to be a self diagnosed s*x addict with commitment issues, family issues, self esteem issues, you name it he probably had it. Look where he is now. He’s grown up. His relationship with his family and his sister has never been better. He’s still not the best in relationships with women, but he’s come worlds from where he was before. Plus, he’s discovered he’s queer, which is absolutely huge for him. He’s gone through so many up and down arcs that I can’t even list. Every season, we have him moving forward. His arc is really beautiful. I didn’t even used to like Buck, but now I adore him.

Eddie Diaz. His arc is still very much ongoing, but it involves him digging through his PTSD and his own self esteem issues. He goes through the trials of being a single dad. We see him have a full on breakdown in season 5 because he couldn’t keep going on like he was. He even left the job briefly to work PR, but came back.

Bobby Nash. Came in as an alcoholic with a death wish. A little black book to fill before he offed himself. Now look at him. He’s married to Athena, he turned the 118 around from its regressive state into a family, and has in recent times still shown that he has in fact still got it. I think we get a little less drama with Bobby personally speaking but he’s still undergone a huge arc and I’m hoping we continue to get more.

Chimney. Oh boy, the arc on him is tremendous. From the man that lied to the girl he was dating and held very little care for himself to a dad, a soon to be husband, a very competent senior paramedic, and a loyal friend. The Chimney we have now is not the one we had originally.

Hen. She cheated on her wife originally. Their relationship in and of itself took a huge arc, through healing and learning to trust again to trying to grow their family to fostering and now looking at adopting. Through Karen almost dying and us learning where they began and how far they’ve come. Hen herself came from having to fight tooth and nail for respect and decency at the old 118 to the paramedic who takes over as Captain when the need arises, even though Chimney is technically more senior. She was the one closest to advancing career wise, as she was going to be a doctor, and while I’ll always be sad that didn’t happen, that itself was a rich and in depth arc that if she had continued on that path, would’ve taken her from us.

I could go on, but my point is that there are plenty of character arcs. We’re still going through all of them. Just because they may not involve career advancement or changes that may permanently take a character from us doesn’t discount their validity.

9-1-1 isn’t a show that will ever be a revolving door of actors and main cast and I’m happy about that. If anyone wants that, find literally any other emergency drama. 9-1-1 is a rarity in keeping most/all of its main cast. In order to keep that, unfortunately, we have to sacrifice some things. But that doesn’t leave us with a rom com. This show isn’t centered around romance, it’s centered around family and finding love (platonic and romantic) and growing personally. Romance just happens to be a part of that. I personally still find it suspenseful and love the big emergencies that they do.

You may not. Others may not. And that’s ok, we all have our preferences. I just don’t necessarily like seeing 9-1-1 written off so blatantly when it’s still a rich and developed show.

#911 abc #9-1-1 #911 spoilers #911 speculation #911 meta #tk6 answers

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fadeintocase · 1 year

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Ever since u released buzzified, and after watching ur streams, it got me thinking. Do u think that “mental illness” dx’s (depression, anxiety, psychosis, mania, ocd) are actual illnesses? Or rather (wrt suburbanites) a result of cellular inflammation, consuming large amts of hfcs, an intellectually understimulating environment, etc. and an excuse to weaponize shitty behavior? or (wrt the working class) a tool used by psychiatry to further marginalize ppl? And/or a manifestation of trauma?

oh boy. there's nuance to this. I think there's a whole clusterfuck of bad ways to look at things that meet at a head and result in our current outlook on mental health.

There's a lot, but let me try to consolidate all my feelings the best i can.

First off, i do not think our society is built to produce a "neurotypical" brain by default, and i don't think it has for decades now. Social media, engagement, parasocial communication and reaction baiting prioritized over actual socialization, everything bo burnham talks about in interviews. That's all very real.

Secondly, i believe the commonly understood meaning of "neurotypical" is completely fanciful. It's a hypothetical ideal state that can be measured against, but i do not know if i have ever in my life met a "neurotypical" person. I've seen well adjusted people that certainly have SOMETHING they are adjusting well to, and i've seen people who seem "normal" completely fall apart mentally over a matter of years. The truth is, as i see it, the brain has a lot of plasticity, and there can be healthy routines, unhealthy routines, structures too rigid they burn people out, and structures too loose they spiral into chaos. These structures and routines can be built by someone's own choices and actions, or put upon them from their environment because of their situation. These cycles are like 90% of what "mental health" is on its face.

Thirdly, i think there is a kind of clinicalization of mental health that aims to treat and alleviate symptoms, in the way that most medicine does, but that does not emphasize and sometimes even OBFUSCATES the effects of and need for positive behavioral and environmental changes. (With regard to working class people, a lot of these things, like having the right amount of rest or liesure time to activity time, work-life balance, proper diet, etc. are certainly class-gated.)

Fourth(ly), i think this clinicalization works really well for people in PMC classes, (who are generally the kind to live in the curly-q suburbs i talk about in If-Then), because the pressures they impress upon themselves are usually stable and structured. You get up and get in your SUV and drive from your suburb to your job, stop at a starbucks to get way too much caffiene and sugar for one human in one day, find an excuse to be mean to a coworker because you haven't finished your coffee yet, have one misunderstanding with a boss that's suddenly the worst thing ever, carry those bad feelings all day, stop at target on the way back, and routinely cuss out the cashier for SOMETHING, then go home and drink too much wine for one human in one day and wake up feeling sick and tired so you go wake up and get your coffee again and hate your life all day for another day again. Eventually when you burn your body out enough that torturing your endocrine system isn't cutting it anymore, you get on a medication and now have to make sure you don't drink that bottle of wine every night. Suddenly your routine which you always had just feels easier and you start posting things like "if you're happy and you know it, it's your meds". Also because the demographics of ppl like this tend to have their health care covered or at least affordable to them, and tend to hit enough other boxes that doctors consider "typical", a mentally unwell patient like this will be considered more meaningful than someone of a lower class that doctors subconsciously won't regard as civilized enough. I see a lot of people who could benefit massively from some of the things afforded to more privileged people, but they just don't have the right job with the right benefits or sometimes even the right schedule to make needed doctors' visits viable. So much of the pressures that lower-class people have to face will result in healthy reactions from the body. Senses of anxiety around safety, or food or developed compulsions to check things may actually be SENSIBLE REACTIONS to their environment. Their anxiety may be justified and REAL. The depression and hopelessness some people feel may actually be an accurate assessment of their situation. And there is nothing that medicating those feelings can do to help the effects their situation is having on their health.

Fifth(ly), yes absolutely i believe over-sugared cellular inflammation, over-caffienation, latent hangovers, sleep deprivation, the increase of CO2 in the atmosphere, i think all of these things can collectively chip away at your body and your brain's ability to function. I think the pressures especially forced on class brakets that take on more labor are absolutely depriving them of basic needs and replacing them with bullshit toxicity that makes its way into our cultural staples. I believe that our job market and our economy and our political reality can lead people to very real and very informed and very accurate states of hopelessness and nihilism. The only hope for this is to fix our system.

Sixth, America in particular is BUILT on self-exceptionalism. Everyone wants to be part of something, but also wants an excuse to be unique as a part of that something, not like the other girls, or "yeah doing this bare minimum thing every human being needs for homeostasis doesn't work for me, (so i'd rather not do it than trying and possibly sacrificing this part of my personality)." When i was a teen i saw a million people do the "I'm so dark. deranged, insane... i'm so twisted, you will never understand me." And looking back, it was a coin flip chance whether they self-DX'd and kept up the same bit with a more specific diagnosis, or whether they just decided one day it was more beneficial to be normal and they dropped the act. This culture hasn't gone away in the decade and a half since i was 15. We millennials already know about the "doing dishes is a trigger for me" suburbanite roommate meeting the "i wanted a found family that wouldn't constantly stress me about finances but all of you motherfuckers are children i am now raising" working class roommate. It's just easier to be broken, more unique to be broken, and more burden to be working. The privileged know this. Upper classes have far more experience with being rewarded for crying your way out of responsibility.

Seventh, There are certainly real mental illnesses, and there are real purposes for those diagnoses. I've seen people's with schizofrenia and how it melts their psyche. I've seen people with DID (not the fun RP-pretend kind) who just got less and less able to grasp reality over time, on a literal neurological level. But more often than not, if a kid tiktok or tumblr with their clean nice clothes in their clean nice room is going off finding a way to compartmentalize all of their personality traits into symptoms of diagnoses they haven't gotten, it's probably Munchausen's syndrome.

also, please let me express, NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU THAT SEROTONIN AND MELATONIN ARE BOTH MADE FROM TRYPTOPHAN. TRYPTOPHAN BECOMES SEROTONIN WHICH IS THEN CONVERTED INTO MELATONIN IF YOU NEED IT. NO ONE EVER EXPLAINS THIS? NO ONE EVER, IN MY HOPPING OF MEDS AND MY QUESTIONS ABOUT "HOW DO I MAKE MORE SEROTONIN" EVER TOLD ME THAT YOU CAN MAKE MORE SEROTONIN BY EATING MORE FUCKING VEGETABLES AND SLEEPING WHEN YOU ARE TIRED! IF YOU FEEL TIRED THAT'S THE MELATONIN AND IF YOU DON'T SLEEP YOU'RE BURNING THROUGH ALL OF THE SEROTONIN YOUR BODY IS MAKING! I HAD TO RESEARCH THIS MYSELF AND EVERY DOCTOR AND BIOLOGIST I'VE CHECKED THIS WITH HAS SAID "THAT'S PRETTY MUCH CORRECT." BUT THE WAY THINGS ARE EVERY PSYCHIATRIST WILL SOONER TELL YOU THAT YOU SIMPLY CANNOT MAKE MORE SEROTONIN AND YOU NEED AN SSRI TO DO THAT. AND THAT IS WRONG. IT'S INCORRECT.

YOU CAN MAKE MORE SEROTONIN BY EATING TRYPTOPHAN AND THEN SLEEPING.

YOU CAN MAKE MORE SEROTONIN BY EATING TRYPTOHAN AND THEN SLEEPING.

YOU CAN MAKE MORE SEROTONIN BY EATING TRYPTOPHAN AND THEN SLEEPING.

and our whole society is built on keeping you from doing fucking anything but that and then selling you a solution. Mental illnesses are very real, but we are all sick, and we do not care to get better.

#mental health

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henrysglock · 2 years

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Will getting angry at Henry and yelling back at him? oh yes absolutely.

but i don't think that's how their first meeting in s5 is going to go. if we've learned Anything from Will's reaction to fear after s1 is that he tends to... freeze. first with the MF in s2. also with the human flesh MF in s3. but then this extends to non UD related things in s4 and you have these weird shots of something generally bad happening and Will getting his own reaction shot where he just stands and... looks. when he walks out on Angela bullying El at school and then later again at the roller rink during wipe out. he gets these long shots where he just looks pained but doesn't DO anything. doesn't even try to move. and i've seen people hold this against him, saying he doesn't care or that he's useless. when that's actually something built so consistently and focused on (s2 Will even Verbally explains how he feels frozen).

it's his primary trauma response. Will freezes.

at first only when presented with UD creatures like the MF or Dart, where he takes an extra hour to come to Mike one on one to tell him that he knew what Dart was. he knew the moment he saw it but couldn't bring himself to say or do anything in the AV room. but then by s4 we get more and more of these moments where we Know Will is thinking something but he still never acts. he watches El get bullied three times, looks pained, doesn't act, and then desperately tries to help her pic up the pieces (literally with her Diorama) afterwards. even moments like the pizza kitchen have him just watching, not going in to try and talk to El himself, instead pushing Mike to talk, when Will could have Also tried to reassure El as her loving brother who's been by her side in California for months. but he can't do that. Will's entire thing in s4 is talking (mostly to Mike) and reacting to the bad stuff happening.

but now going into s5 we haven't seen Will in the center of UD related action in over a year. he's had a break from that in California. however, despite that, the same trauma reactions that were established for him as far back as s2 are still present as ever and are even visible in moments that Don't include UD monsters now, so that part of the trauma is clearly something that hasn't gotten better since he explained it first in s2 - literally part of his PTSD as Owens identifies it.

so yeah. i absolutely think Will is going to Yell at Henry, get angry at him, go in on him. tell him to go fuck himself. or maybe even try to kick him a bit if we're lucky. but i don't think that will be their first interaction. i think we will build to this. i think that Will Himself has to build to this.

because if we take anything from the way we've been shown Will's trauma to manifest, seeing the man that did Everything to him and is at fault for all the horrors he went through. literally taking his childhood and innocence from him. he's not going to get angry right away. he'll do what he did when he felt helpless seeing El get bullied. or felt helpless seeing the eldritch unknown monster of the UD visit him. he'll freeze... and seeing Will go rigid and frozen as Vecna greets him back after all these years is definitely going to make me want to die SO much more than if Will got his final girl moment of yelling at he man that hurt him right away at the start of the season...

you’re absolutely right! his response used to be flight, but after the UD it became freeze (as opposed to fight or fawn).

Will’s definitely going to have his freeze moment and it’s going to be hard to watch.

I agree that he’s going to overcome it and have his moment of righteous anger /pos at Henry on his own behalf and on the behalf of his loved ones. It’s coming, we saw a glimpse of it in the “we have to kill him” scene. He’s terrified, but he’s also angry.

It’s coming.

#asks #will byers #henry/vecna/001 #st5 scenarios

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mommalosthermind · 2 years

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Six Some Sentences Sunday

He turns from Barbara and bows to Fischl, hand outstretched. “My lady?”

The girl straightens, and places her hand into Diluc’s as though offering it for a kiss.

He obliges, kissing the air above her skin and eliciting a little snort of laughter, before he shows her where to place her hands.

Within the first step, it is clear she does not extend him the same faith as Barbara. Her body is too rigid, her focus too locked to allow her to feel, to react, to what he’s trying to show her. He keeps talking, low and soothing, as he attempts to soothe her into relaxing into his hold.

“Without that fundamental piece, your dance will fare as poorly as sparring with someone you do not trust to manage their own weapon. There is a give and take to it, a communication: you must be able to listen, but also pay enough attention to notice what your partner is trying to tell you. Without it, I will not be able to toss you as Kaeya threw Eula, because you do not trust me to catch you the way Eula trusts Kaeya to catch and guide her.”

He slows, taking a few minutes to have her practice the steps he remembers learning not long after Kaeya appeared out of the rain one night. She’s skittish, much as Kaeya was, though she stares at his chest rather than her toes.

As he gives her time, he turns them until he can address the others. “I won’t be able to slide you, nor twirl you as Jean can Lisa, if you don’t believe that I will protect you, even here, that I will stop you or gather you close, keep you from falling, the way Lisa knows Jean will.”

When Fischl catches on, as quick here as she’s proven to be in her investigations, Diluc urges her to step out, to move more fluidly. It takes a few minutes, but the tightness in her shoulders and her spine eases into something approaching malleable.

When he sends her out into a small, controlled spin, the stutter of her heels speaks volumes.

“When your body lacks confidence in me, then it is stiff, difficult to maneuver. I can feel it, your body fighting to protect itself against me. And that distrust in me means I cannot in turn trust you; your reactions and your balance will be off, and our dance is doomed before it can truly begin.”

Frustration scrunches Fischl’s face as they loop around the open space.

“By no means, am I chastising you,” Diluc says quietly, the world narrowing down to the girl in his arms. “Trust is a careful, winsome thing. It requires fertile ground to grow, and can break with little more than a poorly placed word. Take a moment to listen to your body; think of all the ways I am far closer to you than I would normally be. Dancers have different rules for such closeness, but how many people are ever this close to you, in truth?”

It’s clear he’s proven his own point, equally clear he’s misspoken by the way Fischl’s mouth goes thin and her eye drops.

“Like that? No one,” she mumbles, upset enough to break character. “I’m the weirdo, remember?”

Diluc stops, and holds her hands in his own until she raises her gaze. There is a wounded defiance there that he can recognize, if not quite understand. “I did not mean to hurt you,” he says, ignoring their audience more aptly than she manages. “I meant only that the body is unused to such intimacy, and that itself can cause a disharmony.“

He ducks down so he can murmur, “You are hardly ‘the weirdo’, Amy. And there are always those who would love you for yourself. Sometimes, it’s hard to let them.”

As he straightens, he cuts a pointed glance toward the other teens, where both Bennet and Razor are watching intently. When he turns to her, she blinks, bewildered, before following his look.

Then, she meets Diluc’s gaze and gives a sharp nod, face firming into determined lines.

He knows the answer before he asks, but he will not do her another disservice by assuming. “Will you extend me a second chance?”

“I shall,” she says with a toss of her hair, and her haughtiest tone. “You are every inch the gentleman and noble soul of rumor, Master Diluc. It would be remiss of me to hold such a moment against you.”

Even the gift of such a small show of trust is enough to render Diluc breathless. All of them may still be babes in their cradles compared to the violence Diluc wrought with his own hands at their age, they may not have as many broken edges or shattered bonds to fuel their inherent distrust, but that makes such a display no less sacred.

He nods in return, and sweeps her back into the gentle rhythm she has already adapted to. When he feels her relax into his hold, he smiles.

“A dance like this, it’s not really about thinking or even remembering the steps,” he says, casting a glance at the watching teens. “It’s more about feeling it, much like you feel your weapon, or your Vision. Close your eyes. Listen to the music, but try to feel how I move, feel how I guide you.”

They drift across the flagstones, until Fischl is focused on him, a smile tugging at her mouth as she keeps her gaze tilted up to him, and only him.

Such is his own focus that the shapes at the edges of his vision fail to fully register, others collecting like raindrops in the space he’d occupied before.

He does not notice a single starry eye, devouring his every movement, does not see the way each of his words drip down Kaeya’s spine.

He spins on a heel, bringing his partner along, and drapes her over his arm. She clutches at his shoulders, laugh ringing out when he holds her there, one leg extended.

“I must ask, Prinzessn. Are you thinking about your movements, or are you feeling them?”

“Only one way to find out, right?”

“Prinzessn!” Oz calls, wings flapping, “Mind your wording!”

Diluc sweeps her up, stepping to the side to prevent the layers of her skirt from snagging on his trousers as she spins, and there, there it is, he can feel it in his fingertips as she curls back against him. Her smile is wide, her attention wholly on him; not her feet, her friends nor her fear.

He shifts his hands again, and sets them off on a wider arc. At its peak, he wraps his hands around her waist. She can sense what he needs, and bounces up as he lifts, assisting in tossing her into the sky.

Fischl shrieks, her body almost too pliant as he catches her and turns. A second toss, higher, and he catches her as her body falls, one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back. He spins, just to hear her shout again, and settles her back onto her feet.

They drift, Fischl’s chest rising and falling rapidly as he eases them back toward the wall.

“Who was it?”

“Who was what?” Diluc asks.

“Who dared to break your trust rather than your fall?”

Shards burst inside his chest. Diluc cannot help but close his eyes as his steps slow. “Doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

“It matters,” she insists, the tightening of her fingers on his arm forcing his eyes open. “I would see them punished for their transgressions.”

“That’s… sweet, I think. But my mistakes are my own, and thus I must pay for them alone.”

The sky is dark, in his mind, with dragon scales and thunderclouds. Ice melts on his boots. Blood dries beneath his nails. Not a single drop of it from the enemy.

She twirls under his arm as easily as Barbara, directly into Razor’s embrace, Diluc’s hand already extended toward Amber.

#Momma writes #my writing #six sentence sunday #genshin impact #diluc #fischl #Kaeluc #Im gonna need to apologize to everyone who knows how to dance when this gets posts lmao

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campmurderparty · 9 months

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dovid & blanca.

Everyone looked at him as if he was freaking out for no reason. Everyone but blanca, who at least had the decency to seem unnerved. They probably thought he was having a bad high, and if it weren’t for his own anxiety causing teeth to chatter just like they did before every football game he ever played, he might’ve thought the same. He might’ve thought he was being unnecessarily paranoid if it weren’t for the voice on the other side of the door. Even though it sounded like blanca, almost like a recording was playing from just a few minutes ago, there was something about it that was… unnatural. Maybe because he looked blanca in the face and hadn’t seen her mouth even twitch. Either she was the world’s best… puppet-speaker-guy (he didn’t know the word for ventriloquist) or there was something behind that door that could flawlessly mimic people.

Well, not flawlessly.

There was something just a bit off about blanca’s echoed voice. It was nearly perfect, but with only a wood door separating him from them, he could hear that the vowels wavered and every word lifted at the end as if every sentence was a question. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before. Besides blanca’s actual voice, of course. Either way, he knew that it wasn’t the real blanca speaking–unless the real blanca was outside, and the one in the room with him was the fake one? Whoa. this felt exactly like the time his frat brothers made him watch the matrix: he had no idea what was going on and he just wanted to go home. “Bro, like, wait– what?” his hands flew to his head, fingers pressing against the temples.

The others were busying themselves with cleaning up the mess of spencer’s beer and, again, blanca was the only one who seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. She warned him to get away from the door. His reaction time was greatly slowed down by his inebriation. For a second, he just stood with his back to the door. Then the voice spoke again, much quieter for only dovid to hear:

‘Someone didn’t belong here. Holy fuck.’

That… that was what dovid said, back when he first noticed the discrepancy. the voice outside the door sounded like him but it also didn’t. Same problem with the vowels and the end of words. His spine went rigid. His mouth went dry.

Then it made a lowly sound. It sounded like a giggle. Then something slammed against the door and the two windows beside it, like the person had three hands. (If it was a person.) trina and joss screamed. Instantly, dovid leapt away from the door. Through the curtains hanging on the window, he could see a figure that paced back and forth. He felt the urge to cry. “...guys. I think we should go.”

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mysticdragon3md3 · 1 year

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I've always felt stupid for being so easily influenced, but maybe if it's just being open-minded, I don't have to feel so bad about myself.

All my life, people have teased me about being pretty gullible, and I'll admit that I am. But when I look back at all the twists and turns that I've taken in fandom, I'm actually kind of glad that I'm able to change my mind, or at least see the merits of multiple differing opinions. But sometimes I need to see a WholesomeMeme to remind me. So thanks, WholesomeMemes.

Granted, I have had some close calls because I'm so easily influenced. There was a time (recorded on my blog), where I got a little too swayed by antis. Then at one point I stopped and had to ask myself, "Why am I judging people for shipping toxic couples, when it's totally fictional and not necessarily a reflection of what people believe in real life? It's just drama and people are entertained by crazy, toxic drama." I mean, yes, fiction can influence reality. (https://mysticdragon3md3.tumblr.com/post/661084597080276992) Lots of books have done that, like "Uncle Tom's Cabin" or "Jane Eyre" or Jane Austen books. But fiction doesn't have that level of power all the time. People don't play "violent videogames" then get "brainwashed into doing violence"---I've been sick of arguments like that for too many years! But sometimes it scares me to think that if I didn't become an art major and learn to think outside of my boxes, then I could have very easily become one of those rigid, policing, judgmental toxic voices. I mean, in elementary school, the school was so Christian that they convinced me to boycott my favorite holiday, Halloween, one year, and I was totally brainwashed. …But then they guilt tripped me into ruining my art of a dragon on a crystal ball, because "crystal balls are associated with the devil", and that was the last straw. I may be gullible and easily influenced, but I'm so glad that I had bumps in that road to stop me from sliding eternally downward in other people's directions.

Still, though I'm so gullible and easily influenced that my sister has literally pointed, said "look over there!", and stolen fries off my plate, and I've literally wasted $50 at a time on clothes I didn't care about, just because she flippantly told me buy it---It's still just the flip side of something else I like about myself: I can change my mind, or at least stay open minded towards it. Where would I be, if I couldn't have changed my mind when I was young, from being uncomfortable with BL to totally accepting it as better than most of the heteronormative RomCom genre? Would I have stayed uncomfortable with queerness? Would I not have been able to eventually accept my own queerness? Would I have been able to catch myself from just swallowing blindly, all the antis' rhetoric? Sure, I let my elementary school brainwash me, but I also kept reading my sword&sorcery novels and later studying witchcraft. Sure, I read a little too much of the "#Edelgard critial" tag at one point, but I was also able to circle back around to giving Edelgard a more open-minded chance, then deciding on my own that I still feel more critical towards her. I watched the 3Hopes demo cutscenes, wrote down my own reactions and feelings separate from others' influences, later read contradictory opinions, accepted some, disagreed with others, gave second-chances to agreeing with some, but tried to hang onto the idea of forming my own opinions. I recall having posts where I reblogged people railing against Claude fans who wouldn't indulge in Golden Wildfire turning him into a more tarnished anti-hero, while I weakly still criticized Leicester invading Faerghus and simultaneously still wouldn't fully disagree. Instead, I meekly listed out ways that 3Hopes could have made that make more sense…but didn't. And now I'm at a point where I'm kind of appalled how I essentially shrank in the presence of someone shouting with a louder voice, instead of just holding more strongly to where my opinions differed. But I still think that person had some good points that I'm glad to have considered, even if I eventually disagreed with them more. Because honestly, I can't even fully agree with everything that the opposite side says. Sure, they've brought me around to mostly their side through their more thorough and attentive reasonings, but I still think there's some merit in at least considering an anti-hero version of Claude. It's interesting to think that 3Hopes turned Claude into their version of Crimson Flower, with even the same final boss battle enemy. It's interesting to think that even the 3 lords' costuming hinted how FE3H turned Dimitri and Edelgard into anti-heroes with Claude as the paragon, while 3Hopes turned Claude into the anti-hero with Dimitri and Edelgard(?) more paragon-leaning. I feel like when I strive to stay open to multiple differing opinions, I'm more free to pick and choose the interpretations that enable me to enjoy the franchise and characters, in my own way. I can find my own individual interpretation…even if the process is messy and leaves a public trail of me being gullible and stupid. Maybe it's embarrassing to keep my old posts up, that showed me being swayed by opinions that I would later disagree with, or even only half disagree and half agree with. But I think it's important to keep that record of my fandom progression. At least to remind myself that I can change my mind and that it's possible to change my mind. It's possible to take in others' opinions, not swallow it all blindly, then come to my own conclusions, while integrating some of their inputs, but recognizing where my personal feelings can't budge on my personal ideals. Even if being gullible and easily swayed is embarrassing, it's still just another aspect of being able to be open minded enough to change my mind, and I'm proud enough of that to keep public, my posts showing me clumsily progressing through that entire process.

But as theroguefeminist once noted, the internet isn't very good about seeing old posts and considering that maybe that's an old version of a person that has by now changed their mind. (https://mysticdragon3md3.tumblr.com/post/672935940397907968/theroguefeminist-phaedra-lifesembarrassment)

I can only hope that people looking for a fight, don't dig up my old posts, just to purposely read them in bad faith. Especially the posts about series where I had bad experiences with those fandoms. I don't want to go through those again. I already made my reconciliations, in my own head. I'm not looking forward to justifying myself to bad faith arguments, about OLD versions of myself.

11:12 AM 1/5/2023

I didn't even eat breakfast yet. What am I even rambling about??? I guess I just wanted to vent or at least concretely come to terms with myself: I don't have to feel bad about being so gullible, when WholesomeMemes reminds me that being open-minded is good.

#venting #rambling #please ignore my idiocy #personal fandom records #progression #blog #personal preferences #interpretations #please don’t pick a fight over this as i don’t have the emotional resiliency to deal with internet fights #random thoughts #word vomiting too much info #nostalgia #soooooantishuh #positive media psychology #reminiscing #confused with myself

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