#but yeah now seems like a good time i guess
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Steve grabs the bag before Eddie can. “No, I’ve got it.”
Eddie glances at the transparency of the plastic bag: the outline of his battle vest pokes through it, neatly folded.
He sidesteps the rest of the group as they troop out of the RV. Steve’s still standing his ground by the driver’s seat.
“Uh, Steve, I can see what’s in there. That’s mine.”
“Yeah, but—” Steve huffs, still holding the bag tightly, and he almost seems… embarrassed. “Like, just. Don’t look at it right now, I’ve got it. I’m gonna dry clean it. Later, I mean.”
Eddie laughs. But Steve remains deadly serious.
“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think dry cleaning gets out… um, blood and…” Eddie pokes his head out the RV door, to where the kids are hauling weapons and tanks of lighter fluid with Robin and Nancy—a sight he steadfastly tries to ignore before he panics ad nauseam—and asks, “What’s your word for, uh, Upside Down related, uh, you know—”
“Slime?” Lucas offers.
“Sludge,” Erica corrects.
“Goop,” Max says decisively.
“Shit,” Dustin says.
Eddie nods. “Helpful, thanks.”
He turns back. He’d intended for all that to get Steve to crack a smile at least, but if anything, he looks worse; the expression on his face has shifted into evident guilt.
“Steve,” Eddie says, caught between being amused and… honestly, touched. “Relax. It’s fine, man.”
Steve keeps frowning. “But it was—”
“—not important.”
Steve huffs again, like he’s saying don’t lie.
Eddie changes tack. He hasn’t missed the fact that Steve’s change of clothes from The War Zone means that, sure, less skin’s on show, which is probably better for Eddie’s heart but, more importantly, his bandages are ‘conveniently’ concealed—which is decidedly less good for Eddie’s heart, so maybe they both cancel each other out.
If ever there was the time for sincerity…
“Maybe I care less about the damn vest, and more about the person wearing it.”
The pinch in Steve’s brow lessens. “Oh,” he says, soft, and then a little of his usual bravado comes back when he asks, “you sure?”
Eddie waggles a hand back and forth. “Kinda. It’s borderline.”
Steve chuckles. He puts the bag down on his seat, very carefully, as if it’s breakable, and Eddie’s heart does a little skip.
“Well. I still feel bad,” Steve insists. His tone’s light, but he fixes Eddie with a pointed look, don’t test me on this, Munson, ‘cause my stubbornness will win.
“Okay,” Eddie concedes, hands up in surrender. “Tell you what, Steve. What if I wore something of yours, to make it even?”
Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling. “What, and deliberately mess it up?”
Eddie nods gravely. “Like, it’s not quite Upside Down conditions, but whenever I cook, it gets pretty close.”
Steve’s smile grows. He makes a show of turning around in search of something.
“Huh, I must’ve forgot to pack my wardrobe.”
Eddie clicks his tongue in theatrical disapproval. “Yeah, that’s a pretty big oversight, dude, should’ve thought it through.”
“Guess it’ll have to wait for next time.”
And yeah, they’re joking, but still. Eddie doesn’t want to tempt fate.
“Next time? Nah, I’m praying all this shit is a one time thing.”
“No, I meant—” Steve hesitates, like he’s inadvertently stepped out of the joke, and he doesn’t know where to go from here. “Like. Whenever you come round.”
“Is that an invitation?” Eddie says; he hopes the quip is enough to cover his surprise, the long-buried thought—ridiculously high school, but true in spite of it: no-one’s ever invited me to…
Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, sorry, did you want it hand-written? The red carpet treatment?”
“Well, if you’re offering…”
“I’ll go get my quill,” Steve deadpans.
Eddie laughs. Says, only partly kidding, “It’s just, I’ll need some time to think it over.”
“The… invitation?”
“What item of clothing I’m taking, duh.”
“Right, yeah,” Steve scoffs, “major decision.”
“It is! You have whole ensembles, man.”
“Ensembles,” Steve echoes, but it’s got more of a French accent to it; Eddie suspects it’s a by-product of Steve helping Robin study, ‘cause she seems to be the only one who’s a polyglot in their contingent. “Get out of town, Munson.”
“Oh, like you don’t know. I swear, in winter, there’d be actual bets placed on what sweater you were gonna wear each day.”
“Uh-huh.”
Eddie hams it up, “Didn’t you wonder why so many girls were waiting to see you drive into school?”
“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, and he waves Eddie aside, about to jump out of the RV. “Lemme know when you’ve made your selection.”
Eddie knows he should leave it there. They’ve had their laughs, and it’s made to be forgotten about in the face of much more important things.
But that’s always been his problem, really. He can’t bite his tongue in time. He can’t help—
“The red one?”
Steve turns around, one foot off the step. “What?”
“The, uh…” Eddie clears his throat. It’s either say nothing or go all in. Fuck it, the shire’s burning. “I’ve decided what to—um. The red sweater?” Steve just keeps looking at him, so he adds, tentatively, “The one you’d wear near winter break?”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know the one you mean.” He falters on the verge of speech, his lips twitching into a surprised little smile. He drawls, “You sure you weren’t placing those bets yourself, Munson?”, but it doesn’t sound mean, and his ears suddenly look a little pink, and maybe, maybe—
“No comment,” Eddie says, aiming for comically flat, but Steve’s smile is contagious.
“Okay, it’s a deal.” Steve steps outside—throws over his shoulder, “It’s yours,” oddly sincere; and Eddie wonders if they’ve really been talking about clothes at all.
#post rv driving scenes have gripped me again#pre steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie
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for the love of god stop with these Rational Thinkers' paragraph + italicised "VOTE!" posts. is anyone moved by this? i've seen "vote for whoever you like, but just vote" VOTE FOR WHOEVER BUT JUST DO IT? BRO! that's somehow more pathetic than demanding that you back biden or else you're too young and too old and too stupid and too academic and ultimately a traitor if you came to a different conclusion and act, to your best ability, in accordance with your ethics.
like yeah you'll do whatever and so will i, i guess. but it's psychically painful to see this totally coincidental influx specifically since october 2023. people calling leftists (well specifically anti-imperialists &/ communists) "russian/chinese/3rd party agents" who are "lying to you to stop you from voting." it's been worded as "your friends are lying to you." that is so cool. it's like 2016 in here. yday i saw "voting isn't about which leader will sign off on your glorious revolution" which is such a snide misunderstanding of... most things, i think? it's giving "proudly launching headfirst down stairwell." more than half the time i check out OP, they're openly a zionist, or end up there by default in the sense of being a bland milquetoast etiquette-obsessed "let people enjoy things" centrist who's so mistrusting of information or pattern recognition that if you possess either you're corrupted by "ideology."
why would it be necessary to lie? what purpose for a big convoluted conspiracy? for whom IS this simplistic, condescending, dispassionate shit anyway??? surely not for the people whose families are burning alive, thanks to the american government who robs and brutalises its own people in order to fund further massacres. because how could you look that person in the face and tell them "no, you don't know fuckall about how things run around here. now is the time for political decorum" ?? there must be such a sense of comfort in the idea that those people are "over there." like i think it's pretty unfortunate that a lot of these posts begin by citing some ~dramatic~ ~babybrained~ "take" committed by disgruntled "western" posters (who are spies) but when i heard the source, or when i go find it, it's by a palestinian or muslim person or just someone from whom it like, kind of makes sense why they feel the way they do! but then it's characterised in such a vague wussy ass way! huh??!!! like it seems very convenient to ignore WHO is organising/mobilising/criticising, WHO is protesting and abstaining, so that these posts come off more sound and reasonable than the leftist sleeper agents who appeal to emotion over sense. and i'm not even telling you not to vote! i'm wondering why it's so impossible to conceive of a reality where a marginalised person or group concludes that the health and safety of their community will be sought and achieved through other means. you really can't imagine that? that's dumb to you?
so i guess i, too, don't care what the hell you do with your precious little life, but it is So Fucked to talk down to people about genocide like it's a petty, inconvenient wedge issue we have to sidestep for the greater good. fwiw voting isn't wholly irrelevant to me, And Also, i understand being against a system means, for many, abstaining from its approved tools and pouring efforts into direct action. this is not a new approach! greater good is sought and achieved mainly and actively on the ground— not from above. moreover, there is no good greater than opposing and ending genocide for fuck's sake! jesus!
#saoirse don phalaistín#free palestine#and it's not the only genocide presided over and bankrolled by the US like come fucking ON WITH THIS#also do not message me about this i'm not interested
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9 days of Lancaster Day 4: Aftermath
Being a hero isn’t easy, Ruby never thought it was. However, she wished someone told her how much harder it was when walking through sand daily. With another eventful day behind her, Ruby retires to her room and goes limp onto her bed.
knock knock knock
Ruby:I will eat dinner later, Yang.
Jaune:Ummm, guess again?
Ruby raises up like a zombie out of horror film and sits on the edge of the bed. Jaune had been turning in early since they returned and things immediately got pretty busy, so him knocking on her door was a big surprise. She tells him to come in and the knight slowly enters before shutting the door and leaning against it.
Ruby:Heeeyyy…
Jaune:Heh, hi. You…holding up well?
Ruby:Being popular around here is an adjustment alongside the heat, but yeah. I’d say so.
Jaune:Good. That’s good….
Ruby:…Umm so how are you?
Jaune:Ups and downs. It’s funny; somedays I dreamed about coming back but now that it’s happened it feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like I’m gonna wake up one day and be right back where I started.
Ruby:Hey, this is real. We’re back. You’re back.
Jaune:I know. It’s an adjustment I guess.
Ruby:You’re telling me. Nothing quite feels like it used to. But…maybe that’s good? At least I hope so.
Jaune:…..Ruby, about what I said, I-
Ruby:Jaune, it’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for. I bottled things up until it popped, while you could only echo your worries. If anything I should apologize for the things I said.
Jaune:Heh, well that doesn’t seem fair.
He walked over and sat right next to her. The both of them sighed.
Jaune:I’m sorry I made you cry. You’re selfless and I pinned my problems on you when I shouldn’t have.
Ruby:…I’m a little selfish. We both weren’t our best selves in that moment. Jaune? Are we going to be okay?
Jaune:I’m sure you’ll-
Ruby:Stop excluding yourself!
Jaune:…
Ruby:Look, I…*wipes eyes* I know there’s a lot for us to unpack; a lot for you to process after years of solitude. I can’t imagine that at all and I know you’ve heard countless times that everyone is here for you, so let me make this clear. Jaune, I need you. I wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t by my side. You’ve been by my side when others weren’t; all the way back to blowing up the courtyard.
Jaune:Heh, gods that feels like forever ago.
Ruby:Bit by bit I’m gonna work on myself. It’ll be tough but I don’t want to lose what matters to me, so please, never stop fighting your battles. Don’t do it alone; believe you’ll be okay because I don’t know what I would do without you in my li-
In the midst of fear and tears, Jaune took her breath away. His hands gently held her face as he pressed his lips against hers; an action that immediately made Ruby swell with emotion. Tears flowed more as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned deeply into the kiss. Despite what people think, Ruby always found it difficult to put her thoughts into words. Fortunately, her words reached and her actions were more than enough. The way her tears spoke her concerns while her grip on a worn hoodie expressed her yearning for him to stay right by her. Her body shivered yet still melted in his embrace. Only time could tell how comfortable things between them would be, but at least one desire came through crystal clear.
“Don’t leave me. Never leave me.”
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The Mechanic’s Burden
I pushed my way into the engine room with a tray of food, wondering what was keeping Mimi from his meals this time. He was a dedicated sort, taking his job as spaceship mechanic seriously, and sometimes that meant long hours grumbling in the guts of the ship.
“Dinner!” I called. There was no sign of green tentacles among the viewscreens of the main room, and I didn’t feel like guessing which passageway he’d gone down.
“Thanks,” grated Mimi’s rough voice from somewhere to the right. “Up here.”
I followed the sound of someone rummaging through a toolbox to find Mimi perched on top of one pipe among many, in front of an open electrical panel. Wires were everywhere, most held aside with twist ties to bare the problem area. Mimi clutched tools in many tentacles. He was the very picture of an annoyed octopus digging through his toolbox for more. I wasn’t sure which pipes he’d climbed to get there, dragging the toolbox up to what was head height on me.
“Hi,” I said. “Where do you want it?” There wasn’t space for the tray on the curving pipes next to him.
“Eh, over there.” Mimi gestured with a mini-welder toward a mostly flat surface on a bit of engine housing at knee level. “I’ll get to it eventually.”
I set it down. “Hopefully you can take a break soon. This is pretty tasty: roast fursqueak from Zhee’s planet with some kind of Frillian shrimp sauce.”
“Hm,” Mimi said absently.
“The sauce is a good one, though it’s a flavor that kinda sticks with you.”
“Uh-huh.”
I dug in my pocket for a stick of gum, deciding that I’d rather not have that particular flavor follow me around for the rest of the night. Mimi was likely too distracted to care, but it was only polite to offer him one. “Want some gum for after you eat? It’s peppermint flavor.” (We’d already had the “this is food you don’t swallow” talk, so it was all down to taste. Not everybody onboard liked mint.)
“That’s the one that tastes cold, right? No thanks.” Mimi shoved the tools around a bit more, then heaved a deep sigh that made him seem to deflate.
I moved closer for a better look, trying not too breathe to much mint at him. “What’s the problem?” I could see a wire sticking out of the mess, with the covering stripped off the end and the fibers twisted flat.
“A stupid one,” Mimi said. He started putting tools back in the box. “It took me all day to track down where the disconnect was, and it turned out to be just one single loose wire. Can’t believe how much time I wasted checking everything else.”
I considered before speaking. “You know you can ask for help, right? Not everybody’s busy today. You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”
Mimi waved a tentacle instead of shaking his head-body. “It’d take longer to train someone else than to just do it myself.”
“You sure?” I pressed. “They wouldn’t have to know everything to be an extra set of hands. Or tentacles.”
“There’s a lot to know,” Mimi said. “Even this loose wire takes a delicate touch to weld back in place. You’ve got to put the welder on just the right setting, secure the wire but not get your flesh too close, and watch through a filter so you don’t hurt your eyes.”
“Yeah, sounds like welding to me,” I agreed. “Do you have a welding mask?” I didn’t see anything that looked like a face shield, or even sunglasses. Not that those would fit his cephalopod head anyway.
“A small filter is fine for this scale,” Mimi said, holding up a dark paddle-shaped thing. “The mini-welders don’t throw sparks.”
I realized that he had enough tentacles that he could hold a thing in front of his face and still be able to work. No need for goggles strapped to his head. Must be handy.
He was still talking, warming to the subject. “Now while I could train somebody else to weld effectively, I don’t want to risk she ship’s integrity on a rookie. I also don’t want to send anyone to Eggskin with burnt extremities because they tried to hold the wire in place without fastening gel.”
I peered over the edge of the toolbox. “Can you hold it with pliers?”
“This mess doesn’t leave much space for pliers,” Mimi said, pointing a tentacle tip at the nest of wires. At the depths of all those, I could see the spot where the stray wire was meant to go. I could probably get a hand in there. But yeah, pliers and the welder both wouldn’t make it easy to see what you were doing.
Mimi said, “Now I could disconnect a couple sections, but I’ve wasted enough time already. I’d rather just stick it, weld it, and be done. But of course I already used all the gel in this box.” He gave the toolbox an irritated rap with the welder.
“Want me to go get you some?” I asked. “Where is it?”
“Ah, that would take too long to explain. I’ll just go grab it myself.”
“Wait. What about—” I took out my gum, wrapped it around the covered part of the wire, then reached in with fingertips and stuck it against the other end. “—That? Did I get it placed right?”
Mimi was quiet for long enough that I started to worry that gum was bad for wire casing, or was somehow explosive around alien welding tech. I probably should have asked first.
But then he raised the welder without a word, and held the viewing filter in place. I looked away while the welder glowed and fizzed.
“Done.”
I turned back to find him putting the tools away.
“Did it work?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Hooray!” I grinned. “Want me to peel the gum back off, or is the area still hot?”
More negating tentacle waves. “No, definitely too hot. I’ll get it after I eat.”
“Okay. Can I at least take this down for you?” I lifted the toolbox.
Mimi sighed. “Sure. Thank you.” He climbed down the pipes, suction cups popping quietly. That would have definitely been hard to do with the toolbox.
“You know,” I said, putting it down near his food, “Even Eggskin isn’t the only person on board who knows basic first aid. If they got hurt, we wouldn’t be panicking because they’re our only medic. You’d probably be doing your job even better if you made sure at least a couple other crewmembers could do basic troubleshooting.”
Mimi settled into place beside the tray, looking like he was trying not to sigh again. “You make a good point,” he admitted. “But I get pebbleskin just thinking about Blip and Blop rushing to adjust a loose rod, and jamming something that would cause a cascading failure.”
“Well yeah, you’d want to be careful who you entrust with what task,” I said. “But they’d be great at moving heavy things, like those panel covers you had to take off before.”
Mur scooped up a mouthful of food. “They probably would. As long as they follow directions and don’t touch anything else.”
“I’m sure they can do that!” I smiled. “If you need any wires cut or packages opened, Zhee and Trrili will be happy to do precise violence with their pincher arms. I can reach things up high, and…”
“And Paint would make a good heat sink, snuggling against overheated components,” Mimi said. “That’s occurred to me before.”
I laughed. “She’d probably love that. Who needs a heat shawl or other coldblooded accessories when you can take a nap in the engine?”
“She’d do it, too.” Mimi scooped up more food. “But no letting your cat in here. I know that animal likes warm things as well, and it would make the overheating worse.”
“You are absolutely right. No cats in the engine room.” I nodded. “Just crewmates.”
Mimi waved a tentacle and mumbled something about writing up a list of training possibilities after he ate. I left him to it, wishing him a good meal, then leaving with my minty gum and a quiet smile of triumph.
~~~
These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.
Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.
The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).
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The Day I Made a Friend
Book of Memories Chapter 1
Keith & Kagari
Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | My First Dorayaki
In the radiant sunlight pouring down, Keith encounters a man in a town adorned with flowers
Keith: “Kagari?”
Kagari: “You’re in town too?”
Keith: “Yeah, I came to buy dorayaki since you’re coming to the castle.”
Keith: "The scheduled meeting won’t start for a while, yet you're already here in Jade."
Kagari: "Yep."
Keith: "...Another troublesome matter?"
Kagari: "Our plans tend to overlap pretty often."
Keith: "...Come to think of it, it WAS you who requested to have the meeting and practice today."
Keith: “Could it be that you originally needed to come to Jade for a troublesome matter,
Keith: “But arranged a meeting with me as camouflage to avoid another scolding...?”
Kagari: “As expected of a bookworm like you. Your imagination is impressive, Keith.”
Kagari: “But more importantly, I see the dorayaki shop.”
Keith: "Huh? Oh, you're right. Thank goodness they haven’t sold out yet."
The two men stop in front of a stall with a sign that says "DORAYAKI."
The sales seem to be going well, with only two left.
Keith: “Looks like there’s only butter and matcha. Which one do you want, Kagari?”
Kagari: “Either one is fine. Which do you prefer?”
Keith: “...They both look delicious.”
Kagari: “So, you’re indecisive.”
Keith: “You sound just like Liam.”
Kagari: “Liam? Oh, your surly butler.”
Keith: “Surly? He's sincere and meticulous in his work. He's an exceptional butler who's too good for someone like me.”
Kagari: “As usual, you're spot on when it comes to assessing others.”
Kagari: “So, have you decided?”
Keith: ….
Keith didn't respond, and as if on cue, the two of them silently extended one hand forward.
Then they lightly shook their hands in place. At the same time, Keith opened his hand while Kagari made a fist.
Keith & Kagari:
"Oh, I won again."
"I lost."
Did they really just play rock, paper, scissors?
Keith: ".........."
Kagari: "So which one? If you don't decide quickly, someone else will buy it."
After glancing at Kagari, Keith pointed to one of the dorayaki.
Keith: "I guess I’ll have butter."
Kagari: "Then I'll take the matcha."
Kagari: "Shopkeeper, two dorayaki, please."
Keith: "Oh, Kagari, let me pay for them."
Kagari: "It's fine, consider it an apology."
Keith: "......So the real reason you came to Jade was because of some trouble, after all."
Kagari: "Relax, I didn't kill anyone. I just taught them a lesson."
Keith: "When you say 'teach a lesson,' it usually means more than a light injury... Is the other person alright?"
Kagari: "Focus on the dorayaki. They're still slightly warm."
Keith: "Wow, Kagari, you're eating it already.”
Keith: "I was planning to save this for after our meeting, but since it's still warm, I guess I'll eat it now. Thanks.
Keith accepted the dorayaki with its faint buttery aroma and took a bite.
Keith: "Mmm, it's so nice and fluffy when it’s warm. Maybe I'll come by for a freshly made one next time."
Kagari: "Thanks for the meal."
Keith: "You already finished!? Did you chew it properly?"
Kagari: "Do you think I'm a child or something? I chewed it and savored it."
Kagari: "The matcha was delicious too. A dorayaki shop with no misses is rare in other countries."
Keith: "Your love for dorayaki hasn't changed since we met."
Kagari: "Back then, I didn't particularly like or dislike it. Actually, I..."
Keith: "?"
Kagari: "--Just thought you'd cry if I refused."
Kagari: "You were such a crybaby."
Keith: "I wouldn't have cried just because you refused."
Kagari: "But it's true that you were a crybaby. You often teared up in front of me."
Keith: "T-That was half crying... Though it is true that I showed you countless embarrassing moments."
Keith: "Looking back on it, my life is full of embarrassing moments... It's painful to even think about."
Kagari: "Think of it as proof that you struggled, and your heart will feel a bit lighter."
Kagari: "Though, I admit, the training back then might have been overkill."
Keith: "You nearly killed me multiple times, Kagari."
●●●●●●●● Flashback●●●●●●●●
Jade and Kōgyoku—
Although the countries situations were completely different, they’d maintained friendly relations up to the present.
"Couldn't that demon train this failure?"
It was such words from the King of Jade that led to the meeting of young Keith and Kagari.
Kagari: "Stabbing, beating, strangling, poisoning—Keith, which one do you prefer? Or are you good at any of them?"
Keith: "....Um,"
Keith: "I don't particularly like nor excel at any of them."
Kagari: “….”
Kagari: “….I see…”
Keith: “….Yeah…”
Keith & Kagari: “…”
Keith & Kagari: “……..…”
Keith's face showed visible confusion, while Kagari remained expressionless like a Noh mask.
As another moment of silence stretched on for the umpteenth time, surprisingly, it was Keith who spoke up.
Keith: "Um... I'm Keith Howell, the First Prince of Jade."
Kagari: "……………Second Prince of Ruby. Kagari Amagase."
Keith: "Thank you for agreeing to train me, Sir.
Kagari: "........Sir?"
Keith: "I am weak and useless, weaker than even weeds, but—"
Keith: "As an older brother and a member of the royal family, I want to become stronger."
Keith: "So, um, please take care of me!"
Keith bowed his head so forcefully it seemed like a gust of wind might arise, causing Kagari to take a slight step back.
His expression remained unchanged. However, the hands clasped behind his back repeatedly clenched and released, as if deep in thought...
Kagari: "…………"
Keith: "Um...?"
Kagari deftly picked up a practice sword with his foot and pointed its tip at Keith.
Kagari: "First, a warm-up. Ready your sword."
Next
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The One with the Cafeteria
Fourteen Years Ago
Eddie sits at an empty cafeteria table. Pulling out his crumpled lunch bag, only a few snacks and half a squished sandwich inside. He takes out the pretzels, popping a few in his mouth while he draws something in his sketch book. Trying to decide what the best way to draw the creature he’s thinking of.
A group of football players pass his table. Bursting out in laugher after a jumbled whisper. Eddie tenses his shoulders, having a feeling it’s about him. With his hair that’s a mess that falls right below his ears, the way he dresses outside of the town’s boxes. He’s not exactly fit to be the popular kid.
Still, he could go without the passing remarks. He already was held back one year, he didn’t need more scrutiny.
A tray is placed gently across from him. He doesn’t think anything of it. Better to ignore the torment before it happens. But when he takes the chance to see who’s in front of him, it’s anything but the people who like to make fun of him.
This time it’s the girl that sits in front of him in math class. Nancy Wheeler.
“Hi,” she says with a soft smile. “You’re Eddie, right?”
Eddie cautiously nods. “Yeah.”
A person like Nancy Wheeler still never sits with Eddie Munson. He wonders why she’s really here.
“All my friends are in a different lunch period, and you had an empty table, so I thought I could join you.” She looks nervous, fidgeting with the sides of her lunch tray. “Would that be ok?”
Eddie shrugs. “As long as you’re good at avoiding random paper balls, then yes.”
Nancy furrows her brows. “Paper balls?”
Almost like she summoned them, a wadded-up piece of paper hits the back of Eddie’s head. He goes back to eating like nothing happened.
“They actually throw shit at you? What do they think this is? A fucking movie? Think of something original for once.”
Eddie snorts. “I don’t think their brains are big enough for original.”
Nancy laughs. “You’re funny.”
“And you’re committing social suicide just by talking to me. So, you’re either extremely brave or extremely stupid.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I could be a little bit of both.”
“Nancy Wheeler, full of surprises.”
“Why do they throw stuff at you anyway?” She asks after a short silence. “It seems so random, I’ve never seen them do that before.”
Eddie takes a deep breath. “Not everyone here is that accepting of the gay kid whose dad’s locked up and got held back a year. People start rumors, now the town hates me.”
Nancy makes a face, Eddie bracing himself to get hit with another piece of paper. Or an insult.
“Well, I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t know enough about me to make that decision.”
“And you don’t know enough about me to assume that about me. I don’t hate you because you’re gay, or your dad’s in jail, or that you’re repeating your sophomore year. I don’t know enough about you to hate or like you, but I’d like to.”
Eddie puts down his pencil, crossing his arms. “Like to what? Hate me or like me? Gotta pick one, Wheeler.”
He’s frustrating her, finding joy in it. A different joy than the insults he slings back at the homophobes that ends up with blood running out his nose. A joy that will end up making both of them laugh like nothing else matters. The joy of a friend.
Eddie could really use one of those.
Nancy rolls her eyes. “I guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we.”
“I guess we will.” Eddie shuts his sketchbook, sliding it back into his bag. “So, what really happened to the people you eat lunch with?”
“Ditched me for their boyfriends, or changed over the summer. I always heard starting high school would change things, just didn’t know it would happen so fast.”
“Oh fuck that, you don’t deserve people who treat you like that.”
“No, no I don’t.”
They spend the rest of lunch talking, laughing. Each day finding each other at the empty lunch table. Talking through the halls if their heading the right way. Pairing up for the math project. Even though Nancy is ten times smarter than Eddie is about this, but she still picks him anyway.
Slowly, they start picking each other more. Spending time outside of school as well. Getting sick of the cafeteria and finding a quiet spot in the library. Becoming the friends both of them deserved.
Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,
@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,
@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,
@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,
@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369
@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles
#morgan's friends au#stranger things#stranger things au#friends au#modern au#flashback#eddie munson#nancy wheeler#pre steddie#pre ronance#jargyle#platonic ednancy
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there's a post on helluva boss' reddit that's like 'guess what's happening here!' [the shot where Stolas is singing onstage w/Verosika]
random reply roundup of responses, in order of how frustrating they are:
least frustrating -> it's a fakeout where it seems like Stolas is gonna roast Blitzo but instead he sings something sincere. This is the best of all possible worlds, if only Stolas would take some responsibility for what he did. Even this best case scenario is likely to be 'I'm so sad because he hurt me and all I wanted was to love him, poor little princely me :/' and Blitzo somehow falls for this BS
people pointing out roasting Blitzo will not help him/is still scapegoating him -> slightly better, though it still holds back from pointing out Stolas is the one in the wrong here and he doesn't get to complain when Blitzo is justifiably wary or angry at him
more frustrating -> Verosika feels bad for Stolas and wants him to realize how bad Blitzo is. Like yeah it's possible she'll project all the baggage from her relationship onto Stolas, but it doesn't mean that's a good thing to do. She's right that Blitzo treated her poorly, by his own admission with the credit cards thing he did, but her relationship with Blitzo is not the same as Stolas'. Blitzo is not the bad one in this scenario
-> Stolas sings about his heartbreak but doesn't name names. Um, he's singing it in front of a massive 'Blitzo sucks' poster with Blitzo's ex onstage. That excuse really doesn't fly, given how open a secret the 'affair' is it's obvious who he's talking about and Blitzo has every right to be hurt
-> Stolas' song is a 'wakeup call' to Blitzo. Er, wakeup to what? How it's Stolas' world now and he's just living in it, so he better get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness?
-> Blitzo should initiate the apology to show he's grown! I agree Blitzo should initiate the apology...to Verosika. Then he should tell her what happened between him and Stolas so a succubus who likely knows what it's like to have people try to force themselves on her (that No dress in her photo with Blitzo, anyone) can have Tex throw him off stage and get the crowd to egg his royal ass. If anyone needs a public humiliation here it's Stolas, not Blitzo
-> the song is a love ballad but it becomes an excuse for Blitzo & Stolas to roast Verosika who was doing a diss track. Only on the Stolas Show featuring Misogyny and Plotlines Ripped Directly from Fanfics, am I right?
most frustrating -> changing the lyrics to Poison so Stolas is the one singing it about Blitzo. No, I'm not kidding. We've well and truly crossed the DARVO event horizon here
side note, I'd love for these Stolas stans to articulate why they think Stolas has a fair reason to be hurt by Blitzo.
"He lead him on!" Uh, when? Blitzo was coerced into a deal to keep his job and kept up his end of the bargain.
"At Ozzie's!" He wasn't the one who called it a date, Stolas was. Blitzo's reaction at the end of the night make it very clear he thought Stolas wanted sex out of him & he didn't invite Stolas along as a date. He obviously thought he needed to appease Stolas by sleeping with him but he just wasn't emotionally up to it, so he called Stolas out for trying to have it both ways. If Stolas had any self awareness at all he would have learnt something from that.
"Blitzo lead him on by sleeping with him!" They had a one night stand after which Blitzo robbed Stolas, ghosted him and then was repulsed by/turned down his advances multiple times (and extended that attitude to his text responses, too). It's not Blitzo's fault Stolas was living in wilful self-delusion and making an imp responsible for fixing the life he trashed when he very much consented to cheating on his wife
I had to read this backwards so as to retain a little of my faith in humanity. Also, I'd just like to put it in writing now that I'm holding out a miniscule scrap of faith for the first option, because I never learn.
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LOSING OUR MINDS TOGETHER CHAPTER 5 soft!Joel x f!reader
Tags: soft!Joel, pining, crushes, fluff, art references.
Pairings: Joel x Reader/ Ellie x Riley / Bill x Frank
A/N: for those of you who like my romances with a little less angst!
Series masterlist here
“Don’t be mad.”
“That’s not a great way to greet me, Frank.”
Frank is giving you a hound-dog look when you arrive at the gallery that week to help him hang pieces for his upcoming exhibition. He often calls you in for times like this, wanting your advice on where to place items, paying you more than you deserve. You know he could do it himself, that he only does it to keep you in enough cash to keep creating.
“I just know your temper,” Frank says as he searches his pocket for his phone. “But a woman came in looking for something to put in her office. Needed something really eye-catching. So I showed her that piece you texted me.”
“What piece?”
“The canvas. The intense one. The one not like your other pieces.”
“Oh that.”
“Yes that,” Frank mocks, leading you into the gallery. “She was interested. More than interested actually.”
You give a hum of a response, helping Frank to hang some of the bigger canvas pieces.
You don’t feel like broaching this subject again. Selling that art piece feels strange. Creating it felt strange, almost like you weren’t in control of yourself when you made it. You don’t really have any desire for that piece to go out into the world.
“I see the AC is working,” you say, motioning to the roof. “Bill did a good job.”
“Uh, yeah,” Frank clears his throat before focusing all his intention on a label next to one of the bigger Mondrian-inspired piece. “You teaching that Ellie girl yet?”
You’ve known him long enough to be aware that this is classic Frank misdirection.
“So how did it go with Bill?”
“How did what go with Bill?”
“Don’t do that,” you say with a gentle shove to his shoulder. “Tell me. How did it go? Fireworks? Did you kiss? Did you tell him you’ve been secretly pining for him for months?”
“No,” Frank frowns. “I was professional and so was he.”
You take a moment to watch the slim man continue to affix the label to the creamy white wall. He doesn’t seem his normally boisterous self. Something didn’t go the way he wanted it to. So you stand there, arms crossed, brow raised. He tries to ignore you for a few minutes, but knows it’s a lost cause.
“I tried to pay him and he wouldn’t take the money.”
“Okay…”
“And then he was just so beautiful and sexy and manly and he knew Hockney and I didn’t know how to ask him out or even if he wanted me to ask him out.”
You’ve never seen Frank ramble like this, all high pitched and nervous as he paces around the painting. Then to your surprise he trips over his own feet, going down like a sack of potatoes. You can’t help but laugh as he rights himself.
“See? I’m a fucking wreck!”
“Just a little,” you say, helping him to stand, brushing the dust from his sleeves. “So what happened next?”
“So then I wanted to be cool and say ‘then lemme treat you to dinner’ but I kept second guessing and freezing and I just kept thinking about what would happen if he wasn’t interested. If I’d read the situation wrong.”
You groan, wanting to shake the man in front of you. You can see so clearly that Bill is into Frank. You want to smash their faces together like two life-sized Ken dolls.
“If you don’t ask him out, I’m gonna do it for you.”
“No you fucking won’t,” Frank says sharply, taking the next canvas from you with a frown. He doesn’t speak to you again until you’re both halfway through hanging, your head cocked as you look at the colorful picture in front of you.
“So? What do I tell her?”
“Huh? Her who?”
“The woman who wants to buy your painting,” Frank says slowly as if English isn’t your native tongue. You wince, unsure of why it feels so weird to sell it. Right now it exists under a sheet of canvas in your studio, not like it’s that sentimental.
“It wasn’t really for sale. Just something dumb I did and wanted to show you. It’s not really my style. . .”
“So have two styles,” Frank shrugs. “One for yourself and one to pay the bills.”
“Van Gogh didn’t have to change his art styles,” you mutter sullenly.
“He also died penniless with one ear.”
You hide a smirk at that. “How much does she want to pay?”
“I told her it was five grand.”
“WHAT?”
Your eyes are like saucers. Even after Frank’s commission that’s a hefty chunk of change. Nothing you’ve ever sold comes close.
“And she didn’t even hesitate,” Frank says with a supercilious grin. “Offered to write the check right then and there. So you tell me Miss van Gogh Jr, you want five grand?”
///
Ellie finds herself feeling strangely nervous for tomorrow’s first lesson. She assumes it’s because you seem cool so far, but what if you’re a shitty teacher? Or what if you’re boring? You seem fun with your weird style and playful attitude. But it could be an act.
She sits on the front porch swing, working on her latest sketch when she hears the faint tick tick tick of a bicycle’s gears heading up the driveway. She glances up to see Riley dropping the bike on the lawn before moving with gazelle-like grace towards her.
Ellie tries to force herself not to take in Riley’s long legs or the way her body movies under her t-shirt.
“Hey Texas,” Riley grins.
“Hey Riley," Ellie replies with a smile. Her heart pounds as the taller girl comes up the porch. Riley unhooks her bright purple biking helmet, dropping it onto the swing.
“Whatcha doin?”
“Sketching,” Ellie says, closing the book quickly. “Practicing since I’m taking art lessons from the neighbor.”
She points at your house and Riley smiles, nodding. “She’s cool for a grown up. Not annoying like the rest of ‘em.”
Ellie nods, agreeing. You’re about the only other person on this block that she actively looks forward to seeing.
Riley collapses onto the porch swing beside Ellie, her dark face shining with sweat.
“Lemme see,” Riley says motioning to the sketchbook still in Ellie’s grasp. Ellie pauses, unsure. She doesn’t really share much of her artwork with anyone besides Joel and you. She doesn’t think she’s very good. It feels too intimate to show off her sketchbook right now, so she clutches it a little closer to her chest, shaking her head.
“Uh, not much in it yet. I’ll show you when I have something good.”
Riley doesn’t fight her, doesn’t even seem upset. She just nods before yawning and stretching.
“You settling in okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Ellie nods. Ellie watches as Riley’s bare leg brushes her own and she wished she wasn’t wearing jeans so she could better feel the warmth of Riley’s touch. Riley is talking but Ellie misses it, distracted by the beautiful dark of Riley’s skin.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you have a bike?”
“No. Mine was stolen right before we moved here.”
“You should get one,” Riley says, pulling a knee to her chest. “Then we can go riding together.”
Ellie nods, her eyes finally moving to Riley’s face. “Yeah, good idea.”
The two of them lapse into an easy silence, rocking back as they watch the lazy neighborhood. David is mowing his lawn, giving them both a wave when he catches their eyes.
“That guy is such a creep,” Riley says with a mock-shudder.
“I haven’t spoken to him yet.”
“Don’t if you can help it.”
“Okay.”
“I’m heading to my volunteer job with the seniors,” Riley says with a dramatic sigh. “Saw you and thought I’d come say hi.”
“Well hi,” Ellie says with a shy smile, watching as Riley pushes herself from the swing and goes to right her bike.
Before Ellie can reply Riley has snapped on her helmet and given a wave. Ellie watches her pedal away, her braids flying out behind her. Ellie feels a strange jump in her stomach, confused at how much she enjoys Riley’s company.
///
That Wednesday you make sure that the studio is the tidiest it’s ever been. With the large canvas sold (and you $4,400 richer) there’s more space to move around. You bring your drawing table to the center, setting two stools opposite one another. Today will be a chance to see what Ellie is drawn to, what she’s already created. Then you’ll get an idea on how to move forward with it.
It’s very early, earlier than you normally are ready to start the day. But you’re excited for lessons with Ellie and amazed that you sold that intense painting of yours. You wonder what about it was so enticing to the buyer.
You walk out your front door, bare feet slapping the path to your mailbox. You glance over at a flash of movement, shielding your eyes from the sun as a tall figure moves towards you at the same time from the yard over.
“Mornin’ neighbor,” Joel offers, his toolbox in one hand, a coffee thermos in the other. He strides toward the truck parked not too far away from your mailboxes.
“Morning,” you greet, faltering slightly when you recall your last interaction with him.
You turn your attention to the mailbox and Joel takes his time gazing at your legs in your shorts, the deep scarlet of your toenails. He has the insane urge to run his palm down your calves, just to feel them sun warmed and soft under his touch.
“You’re up before noon,” Joel teases, placing the toolbox in the back of his truck and grinning at you. “Special occasion or somethin’?”
“Ha ha,” you say drolly, opening your mailbox and finding it empty. “I’ll have you know I’m taking my teaching responsibilities very seriously. I was just making sure everything was ready for Ellie this afternoon.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Big day?” you ask, chin tilting in the direction of his truck.
“Yeah, Tommy and I – he’s my brother – we’re gonna check out some place on Mulvine. Apparently it’s a pretty big job.”
“In this heat? No thanks,” you say with a crooked grin.
Joel thinks your smile makes you look mischievous. He likes the sight of it.
“Gotta pay for those art classes somehow,” Joel hums in amusement.
“Yeah well, thanks to a really nice neighbor I saved some money and get to teach in an air conditioned environment,” you offer feeling shy. “So I guess I owe him a beer sometime.”
Joel feels his pulse tick at that, seeing the way you’re mouth curls to the side almost shyly. You stand on one leg, the other crooked, foot balanced on your calf. You’re still shielding your eyes from the early morning rays, missing your trademark oversized sunglasses.
“I’m sure he’d be agreeable to that,” Joel says softly, desperately wanting to extend the moment despite running late to meet Tommy. It feels like the first time since the two of you met that the conversation is easy and well-received.
“I uh, I looked up that Pygmalia thing,” Joel says, the name getting stuck on his tongue.
“Pygmalion,” you correct gently. You don’t do it with mockery or malice, just like the gentle teacher you always are.
“Yeah, that one. The one you talked to me about.”
The surprise must read on your face because he chuckles and his cheek flashes the hint of a dimple.
“I was wonderin’ if you ever Pygmalion’d yourself.”
“Huh?”
“Like, uh, put yourself in a painting as a character or somethin’,” Joel says wincing at how awkward this is coming out. He’d hoped to sound suave and knowledgeable but he feels like he’s coming off like an illiterate hillbilly.
“No,” you say laughing at his inability to explain himself. You find it strangely endearing to see this broad, tall man looking so overwhelmed just at the topic of art. “I don’t like to do portraits. I used to, but not anymore. Now I like doing sculpture more.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “When I do sculpture it’s like I’m creating something from the ground up. I don’t really know how to…” you trail off, trying to think of how to articulate this. “You build houses, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, when you’re doing that starting from the bottom and working out until you’ve got this big beautiful house, that’s how I feel. Like I’ve just created something from the earth.”
Joel is struck dumb by your words, not in some small part at your ability to bring what he does for a living into it. He’d never considered construction and contracting work to be artistic or beautiful – more just a means to an end. But there’s something about the way you weave your words that has him spellbound.
He must be staring too hard for too long because your neck goes pink and you step back, eyes on the ground.
“Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Have fun at work and I’ll see you for that beer sometime.”
With that you twist away, feeling embarrassed at having said something so stupid. Joel watches you leave, feeling that same yearning twisting around his ribs as he watches you enter into your home.
///
Ellie wishes Sarah was with her today. Not just today of course, but especially on days she tries something new. Ellie was all shouts and fists; Sarah was tempered action and cutting words. Between the two of them they were each other’s armor. Sarah was always there to help and make her feel less intimidated, less scared. Now she feels vulnerable as she trudges over to your door, sketchbook under her arm.
You fling the door open before she can even knock and Ellie is relieved at the smile on your face. Over your clothes you’re wearing a yellow smock with ribbon ties that have a lemon pattern printed on them. Your hair is up, out of your face and your feet are bare.
“My favorite student!” you crow, urging her inside. “C’mon in. I’ve got us all set up.”
Ellie follows you through the maze of eclectic furniture and art on the walls. She’s curious to see that your style inside is just as she imagined it – colorful and sort of weird, like you. And like you it’s got a vintage feeling – like something not quite modern. Ellie finds she really likes it.
“So I like to have some music playing on in the background while I’m in the studio,” you explain as you move to the turn table. “Which do you like?”
You motion to the shelf of vinyl records all lined up. Ellie has to stand on her tip-toes to see the titles.
“I know David Bowie,” she offers.
“Good taste,” you muse.
She takes a moment to survey the records a bit long before she reaches for one with sketches of vegetables on it. The Best of Cream. She likes the look of it.
“This one?”
“One of my Granddad’s favorites,” you say with a grin. You nod in approval and Ellie feels secretly pleased. You place it on the turntable, lifting the needle. Ellie watches as you touch it to the spinning record, the crackling sound of contact comforting.
The music flows from the record, guitar and drums and a man’s sultry voice singing about the sunshine of your love. You give a hip shake, shoulders rolling as you attempt to take Ellie’s hand in yours in dance. You’re surprised when at the contact she jerks her hand back as if she’s been burnt, eyes wide.
“Sorry,” you say with your hands raised.
Ellie feels her face flush, her body breaking into a cold sweat under her layers of clothing. The sound of I’ve been waiting so long dances through the air as the two of you stand there. You’re still, unmoving, waiting for her to say something.
“I just. . . “ Ellie looks anxiously at you, faltering. “I just don’t like to be touched.”
“That’s totally fine,” you insist. “I should’ve asked.”
Ellie waits for you to make a big deal of this. She waits for the prying questions and prodding but none come. Instead you’re giving her a warm smile and tilting your head to follow you.
“C’mon, let’s get started.”
Ellie seats herself at the drafting table in the center of the room with its two stools. For the next half hour you take her through a quick overview on what you’re hoping to teach her; still life, landscapes, watercolor, oil painting, sculpture and more. You also encourage Ellie to tell you anything she wants to learn in particular.
“I always thought it would be cool to make a comic book,” she offers, sipping on her sweet tea refill.
“Oh that sounds fun!” you make a note of that in your sketchbook. “I see you brough a sketchbook with you. Mind if I take a look?”
“They’re not very good,” Ellie says shyly. She’s seen the work you have hanging around the studio. It seems like you’re good at every medium.
“I just sold a piece recently that wasn’t one I didn’t think was very good,” you tell her honestly. “I think sometimes we don’t know the impact our imperfect work makes on other people. Plus if you were perfect then we wouldn’t be doing lessons, so hand it over, kid.”
You hold out your hand, fingers curling. Ellie smirks up at you before shoving the book into your waiting grasp. You open it up, looking through the variety of sketches. While her technique may be adequate you’re very impressed. There’s major talent here, just waiting to be nurtured.
“Is this Joel?”
“Yeah,” Ellie nods. “He naps on the couch and that’s the best time to draw him. He hates sitting for me.”
You smile briefly, turning the page to a beautiful teenage girl with a shock of hair and large luminous eyes.
“Who’s this?”
“Sarah,” Ellie says, looking wounded as she stares down at the drawing. You want to ask for more details but Ellie is flipping to the next page, showing you a horse from a farm.
“That’s from Uncle Tommy’s place last summer,” she explains. “He has a farm up here. His wife runs it.”
“Cool,” you say impressed. “I love animals.”
“Me too.”
For the rest of the lesson you bring out sheets of paper and graphite. You teach her proportions and she grasps it all so easily. You teach her smudging techniques and highlights and the direction of light. When three o’clock chimes in the grandfather clock out in the hallway you’re shocked.
“Damn that went by fast.”
“It really did,” Ellie says, looking up at you from her latest work. It’s a sketch of that same horse, the proportions coming along much better now.
“You know when I look at this art I can see the feeling behind it,” you tell her. “I can see the love you have for animals.”
Ellie listens, nodding. You see the graphite on the end of her nose and hold yourself back from rubbing it off.
“Art is kind of magic that way. Plus, it’s like therapy when feelings get too big. You ever have that, El? Where the feelings are so big words aren’t enough?”
Ellie thinks of Riley and the twist she’s had in her stomach since they met.
“Yeah.”
“When you feel big feelings its best to get it out on the page,” you tell her as you begin to set up the canvas. “So your homework this week is to take any big feelings and put ‘em to paper. I don’t care if it’s sketching, painting, collage. You do what works and then if you don’t mind, I’d like to see it next lesson.”
Ellie beams. “Yeah, okay, awesome.”
///
Frank goes over the books a few days later, his mouth curled to one side in concentration. It’s been a very profitable month for the gallery. You dropped off that big canvas earlier in the week and it’s like nothing you’ve ever done. He hopes you’ll make more.
But he’s been so busy he hasn’t had time to go to the coffee shop which means he hasn’t been able to see Bill since the day he came in to help with the AC. Frank is convinced he can still smell Bill’s shampoo in the air some days, even though it’s impossible.
Frank is so focused he doesn’t even notice the hulking figure in front of him until he clears his throat. Frank glances up from his computer to see Bill standing there, his shirt tucked into his jeans and his large hand holding a to-go coffee cup from Frank’s favorite coffee shop.
“Bill,” Frank’s voice is a cracked choke. “W-what are you doing here?”
“Haven’t seen you around the coffee shop lately,” Billy replies. Frank watches as the man places the coffee cup in front of him. “Thought you might be avoiding me.”
“What?” Frank’s eyes are saucers. “F- no, no of course not. I’ve just been so busy this month.”
“Ah, okay.”
Frank feels a flush start on his cheekbones. He takes the coffee into his hands, praying they don’t shake. Bill brought him coffee? What does this mean? The two man stand in awkward silence together.
“Your friend was at the coffee shop today,” Bill announces out of nowhere, his voice almost tentative.
“Which friend?”
“The loud one you’re usually with.”
You.
Frank holds in a groan, terrified to know what’s going to happen next. Either Bill is going to be horrified and think Frank sent you over there to scout things out or he’s going to be a very straight man who’s deeply offended.
“I don’t know what she said, but I apolog-“
“She said you wanted to ask me out to dinner the last time I was here.”
Silence. Frank feels his face turning beet red the longer that it stretches on.
He’s going to fucking kill you.
It’s not like over the phone where he could just hang up and then avoid his favorite coffee shop. Bill is standing there, big and broad and his eyes so beautiful waiting for an answer. There’s only one choice; total honesty.
“Uh. Yeah. I-I did. As a thank you for all you did.”
Bill blinks slowly, his light eyes trailing over Frank’s face for a full moment.
“So you just wanna take me to dinner ‘cuz of the repairs.”
His voice sounds even, almost resigned like he was expecting that. Frank knows this is his last chance. He could pretend like it was just that �� just a kind offer of friendship, a thank you for his repair work.
But he doesn’t want that. He wants more.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Bill seems to be gauging something before his brows rise and fall.
“Huh.”
Frank feels a strange curl of his lip begin, amused at the man’s monosyllabic yet thought-heavy response. He doesn’t seem offended, doesn’t seem disgusted. But he doesn’t seem over the moon either. It makes Frank lick his lips nervously.
“So you wanna go out then?”
“Pardon?”
“Wanna go on a date? Dinner?” Now it’s Bill’s turn to look rosy in the face. His eyes are on the desk Frank stands behind. “If you want, I mean. Maybe you changed your-“
“No.”
Bill’s face goes slack. “No. Right, of course. Forget I asked.”
He goes to turn but Frank throws himself over the desk, a heavy hand on Bill’s shoulder before the man can walk away.
“No! I mean, like, yes! As in no, I didn’t change my mind, so yes I want to go on a date with you.”
Frank winces as he hears his frantic voice echo in the gallery. He sounds and looks insane. He removes his fist from where it clutches at Bill’s shoulder and feels immense relief when Bill turns back, his light eyes filled with quiet mirth.
“You always this articulate?”
He steps towards Frank, allowing the taller man to slide back onto the other side of the desk, cheeks burning fiercely. Despite everything Frank laughs, a real genuine laugh that has his eyes crinkling in the corners.
“I’m normally better, I swear.”
“Guess I’ll have to see for myself on Saturday night.”
It hangs there between them, like a melody. Frank feels his mouth curve into an even wider grin, his heart hammering in the best possible way. He feels electric, like every neuron in his body is shooting off fireworks.
“Pick me up here at eight.”
“How about six? I’m an old man that works early the next day.”
“Let’s compromise and say seven.”
“Seven works.”
“Alright then.”
Bill takes one last look at Frank before touching his fingers to his forehead, giving a gentle mock-salute. Frank watches him lumber to the front of the gallery, heading out. He gives one last wave to Frank as he exits, a smile on his face as he walks by the window and down the street.
Frank collapses into the stool next to him, his body weak with excitement. When the excited tremors abate he tugs the cellphone from his pocket, quickly composing a message to you.
[1:04pm] You fucking bitch. I love you.
///
Ellie is trying to think of a big feeling to channel into her art that weekend when she hears her name being called. Riley is striding up the walk, a smile on her face. She’s wearing shorts and a neon crop top that reads sunshine, fireflies, summer in looping script.
“Hey Riley.”
“Hey Lee.”
“Lee?” Ellie wrinkles her nose at this.
“Ellie. Lee. Get it?” Riley balances against the porch railing smiling at her. “I figured since you don’t have a Texas accent I needed to give you a better nickname.”
Ellie grins. “Got it.”
Ellie catches herself staring at the girl and tears her eyes away, looking at the scuff of her sneakers instead.
“So hot out today.”
“Yeah,” Ellie concedes. It is warm out today, in a sticky, oppressive way.
“You wanna go swimming with me?”
Ellie immediately feels her body tighten. She glances at her long sleeves and thinks about the murky waves. She shakes her head, swallowing.
“Nah.”
Riley seems to take this personally because she starts backing up.
“No worries. Maybe next time."
Ellie realizes her faux pas too late. Riley has taken Ellie’s shyness for rudeness. She should have told Riley the truth; that she can’t swim. That she doesn’t want her body exposed. But the taller girl is already striding down the driveway on her long legs.
Don’t leave. I want to keep talking to you.
“Bye Riley,” Ellie finally manages to croak out.
“See ya, Lee.”
Riley casts a polite smile over her shoulder, her smile gone before Ellie watches her jog off in the direction of her home. Ellie watches the girl leave, feeling a crushing disappointment somewhere beneath her ribs. She fumes silently before pushing into her house, slamming the door behind her.
“Woah, what’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” Ellie replies sullenly. Joel goes to ask more but she’s already padding over to the couch, her sketchbook tightly held in her grip.
You said to draw in moments like this. To make her feelings come out on the page.
“Tough day,” Joel comments.
“Nah. Just… nothing,” Ellie finishes, not raising her eyes. Joel watches his daughter draw furiously, knowing better than to invade her space. His eyes lift to your window, surprised to see you in the studio tiding it up. He drags his eyes away, feeling like a creep staring at you.
“Making sandwiches, you want one?”
Ellie gives a grunt of response, her eyes fixed on the sketchbook. Joel whips them both up a turkey on rye and plops some chips onto a plate, bringing it over to Ellie who takes it gratefully with a quick thank you. Joel plops into the easy chair on the other side of the room, crunching on some chips as Ellie digs into her lunch.
“Haven’t seen you drawin’ like that in a while,” Joel comments.
“Neighbor told me to draw when my feelings feel big.”
“Good advice,” Joel nods. He watches Ellie’s eyes go distant and he wishes he could know what she’s thinking. “She a good teacher then?”
“Yeah, I like her.”
“Good.”
Joel is pleased to hear this. Happy to know his daughter is being taken care of, that she’s happy. After so much misery he hopes that she can be as happy as possible with him.
“She said you were hot,” Ellie comments around her sandwich out of nowhere. “Told me when we were driving the other day.”
Joel tries to hide the pleased smile behind his sandwich, but Ellie sees it all the same
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#smut#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#joel miller#dad joel miller#fanfic#fanfiction#ellie x riley#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#bill x frank#frank and bill#bill and frank#joel miller romance#slow burn romance#enemies to friends to lovers
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here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!
---
sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)
Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine?
He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?
He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.
He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.
“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”
“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”
He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.
---
Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.
With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.
It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.
“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.
“Sure!”
“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”
Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait!
And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him.
“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”
“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”
The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”
Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”
“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”
“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”
“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.
Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs.
“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”
The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.
---
The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.
“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.
The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.
“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”
The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”
Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.
“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.
“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”
Grant didn’t look convinced, but—
“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.
Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.
“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”
Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”
“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.
“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”
He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.
“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”
He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”
“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”
Grant and Brennan exchanged a look.
“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace.
“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”
Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”
“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”
“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign.
The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm.
“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”
Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”
“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity.
“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”
Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”
“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor.
“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”
“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”
“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”
Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief.
“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”
His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling.
“Good luck.”
---
Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.
Showtime.
“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”
Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.
“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”
The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?
“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”
Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.
“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”
“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!”
As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.
“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”
“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”
“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him.
“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage.
“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”
The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.
“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.
“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”
He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”
When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”
Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.
Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”
“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”
Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”
“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.
“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”
“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”
The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps.
It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break.
Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope.
“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”
For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still.
And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.
The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”
“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.
The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall.
It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.
“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”
A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.
“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”
“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”
“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.
“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.
In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.
Nobody moved.
“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”
Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.
Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.
The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.
“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”
Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”
The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”
Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”
“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”
He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”
It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.
“You can’t be,” he breathed.
Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.
“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”
The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”
The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw.
“Master.”
---
missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?
original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x
art by @northernfireart
concept: x
scissor sisters sketch: x
sam and his doppelganger: x
writing by me (!)
part one (escape the greenroom): x
part two (deja vu): x
part three (sam says 4): you are here!
#game master#sam reich!master#doctor who#dw#dropout#game changer#you know what let's chuck some character tags in here#15th doctor#the master#sam reich#brennan lee mulligan#grant o'brien#kaylin mahoney#clari speaks#clari writes#ah darlings i'm putting my chat down here rather than in the post body for once#so i've thought of this whole saga as 'part three' but i will be a) titling them all and b) just keeping on numbering the parts sequentiall#rather than 'part three part one' etc#otherwise we're getting into homestuck act titling territory and that is ground i do not wish to tread#also fuck i hope i've got the time zones right#i'm planning to post this when an episode of game changer would ordinarily be released. to plug the gap. to tide us over.#(the finale trailer is so delightfully unhinged and i cannot wait til next week)#anyway gang this one was wild#the slight but significant genre shift from 'game changer with doctor who elements' to 'doctor who with game changer elements'#it was fun to write! and hopefully fun to read :)#also i MUST say that eugene northernfireart has a baller comic in the works that this entire thing is based on#this is thousands of words of setup and continuation because the sketch idea was so good it possessed me#and we decided that it had to be a proper dw episode#(hey rtd hire me pls)#anyway eugene is on hiatus bc of life so in the meantime go give him love and be Fuckin Hyped for the comic when it appears bc i know i am
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Kenan Yildiz x Reader - Claim Me Part 2/3
+18
Part 1
Summary - Reader is Dusan Vlahovic sister and is dating Kenan. However, Reader has yet told her brother of the relationship as he is very protective of her.
Enjoy!
For lunch with the team and their families, you chose to wear pants. Levi's jeans, to be specific. Somehow, Kenan had managed to arrange the seating at the restaurant so that the two of you would be seated right before each other. You were thankful that he had been eager to tell you about his achievements before your arrival at the restaurant. It allowed you to prepare for the worst, like your boyfriend attempting to play footsie while you tried to enjoy your food.
It was pretty funny. His reaction as his foot went up your legs, expecting to feel your bare thighs, only to be met with the rough fabric of your jeans.
"Whatta..."
You had to look away not to burst out in laughter.
"Behave."
Your behavior earned you an elbow from Dusan, who, God forbid, despised laughter around the table. Or laughter in general.
"Are you twelve, or what?" He hissed, to which you were quite offended by. Kenan must have noticed this because his face went from playful to leathal in just a matter of seconds.
"It's okay." You nodded assuringly. However, he was not happy with Dusan and had to excuse himself to go use the restroom.
"Hey?"
There wasn't much you could say to cheer him up. However, he seemed to appreciate the fact that you came looking for him after he had been gone for a while.
"Hey?" He said, meeting your reflection through the mirror. "You know this is the men's restroom, right?"
"Really, then why are you in here?"
He chuckled.
You came up behind him and rested your chin on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. "It's getting kind of boring out there. What if we ditched this thing and went somewhere else?"
"Won't your brother notice?"
"Nina can cover for me. She always does."
Kenan turned around, forcing you to shift your arms to wrap around his neck, your forheads pressed together.
"I love you." He said.
"Love you too."
"I mean it Y/N. I've never felt this way about another person."
"Felt what?" You raised your head, your nose caressing his, only then did you notice that Kenan's eyes were closed.
"I guess I just don't want to lose you." He sighed.
"Baby." You shrugged his shoulders. His eyelids opened. "What makes you think you're gonna lose me? I'm not going anywhere."
Kenan shied away, the two of you letting go of each other. You kept an eye on the bathroom door as anyone could burst in at any moment.
"I know that." Kenan nodded. It was difficult for him to express his feelings at times. "Like I said before, I want to be able to hold your hand without looking over my shoulder for Dusan. I think it would be better if we just told him the truth. Rip off the bandaid, I mean."
"Kenan I don't..."
"I get it." He nodded. "It's not as easy as I believe. But what if it is?"
You felt for him. You really did. But more than anything, you admired Kenan for wanting to tell Dusan that the two of you were seeing each other. He wanted to do so despite the fact that it could jeopardize the teams dynamic. Not to mention the ridicule and cold shoulders he could face from his other teammates. Still, Kenan thought that you were worth the risk.
"Have I ever told you how good you look in a suit?"
Kenan looked up from where he had been standing by the sink. He saw you scowling him up and down, a devious smile on your lips. "No, but try me." He grinned.
"You look hot." You said, approaching him were he stood. "So fucking hot."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. You can only imagine what it's doing to me right now, seeing you all dressed up."
Kenan's raised a curious brow. His hand went to wrap around your waist as you stood before him again. "Tell me." He whispered. "What exactly is it doing to you?"
Your lip was caught between your teeth. You bit down hard. Even more so, feeling Kenan's hand slip down the length of your back to the curve of your ass. He squeezed it, pressing you against his growing erection.
"I want to fuck you so bad right now."
"In here?" He frowned, questionably looking around the Men's restroom.
You nodded. "In here."
You grabbed his tie, pulling him towards one of the bathroom stalls. As the door trapped the two of you inside, the explicit kissing began.
It was filthy and primitive beyond measure. You had managed to cover up your last hickey with make up, but as Kenan got busy nipping at your cleavage, licking and sucking your breast, you feared that you had no way to cover up those future bruises.
"Fuck Y/N, you're unreal." He groand and slipped a hand down your jeans, feeling the heat from your damped panties. "I want to fuck you until you scream my name."
You smiled. "Then what are you waiting for?"
Kenan paused to look at you, not sure if this was you giving him his full consent to fuck your brians out. Nevertheless he went for a more tender approach, wanting to please you all the way, without rushing.
You moaned as his fingertips slipped under the fabric of your panties, brushing the bed of you pubic hair, searching for your opening. Once he found it, he slipped two fingers inside, sensing that you were more than ready for it.
The back of your head hit the stall, with a hand covering your mouth to smother your gasping moan.
"Yes baby, you like that?"
"Mhm." You nodded, fighting back tears in your eyes. He kept a steady paste, thrusting his fingers in and out of you in angles that hit every right spot.
"Don't be shy, baby." He talk you through it, the erruption of your orgasm. "You can come for me. Please, baby, come all over my fingers."
You stood on your tippy toes, climbing the steep hill of your rising orgasm. "Kenan, I'm gonna..."
"Yes baby, let it go."
It was unbearable, your panties pushed to the side, Kenan's braud fingers deep inside of you, lubricated by the liquid that help spark the flame of the craziest orgasm that you ever experienced.
"Fuck."
You crumbled against the bathroom walls. With Kenan slipping out of you to reach for your jaw, pulling your face towards his, rewarding his good girl with a gentle kiss.
"You did good baby. So fucking good."
You smiled weakly and allowed his helping hand to get you back up on your feet.
"I want you to feel good to."
He smiled. "You already do."
"No, I didn't mean it like that." Looking down the bulge in Kenan's pants gave him away. It was your turn to pleasure him.
"Y/N, you don't have to..." He protested, seeing you lower yourself to your knees. "The floor is dirty, baby. I don't want you to..."
"But Kenan..." You whimpered, your eyes big as you looked up at him. "I want to."
"Yes?"
You nodded, "Yes."
His hand went to the back of your head, gripping your hair. You were eager, licking your lips as you reached for his zipper, the bulge in his pants more than ready to be set free.
"Y/N, is that you?"
You froze.
Outside of the stall, the door to the restroom flung open, followed by heavy footsteps.
You looked up to see that Kenan shared the same look of panic in his eyes.
"Y/N!" Dusan hissed, your body trembling with the anger in his voice. "I can see your heels. I know you're in there. Who's in there with you?"
Your heart sank. Not like this, you thought. He will kill him. Your brother is gonna kill your boyfriend.
Part 1
#fanfiction#football imagine#footballer x reader#footballer imagine#football angst#kenan yildiz x reader#kenan yildiz#juventus fc#dusan vlahovic
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Woww thank you for the accident fic I was one of the fans who asked for it 😄 maybe it was not fun for you as much as other but I really enjoyed it (guess I'm a huge fan of those kind unexpected drama and sacrifice lol) Tbh, I don't want to bore you, or mess your schedule and attention but I can't help myself! Well, ok, I admit I'm a drama-addict and love to read other's reactions to it. Sorry for insisting!!
So it's just a tiny request, it really doesn't have to a fic-long as usual (if you want to write that way of course it's way better for me lol) I'm just curious about how would Isiah feel and think when he found out about the accident. I understand that this kind of trauma can be healed easily for wolves and not a concern, and Hex&Arnie got through it well, but it could be worse, right? Idk maybe Arnie would feel stressed about it afterwards and worry about Hex even though he's already healed. He might also blame himself for what happened as he was driving? Anyways, would you consider write another part stress sick Arnie and caretaker Isiah?
-🛼
I mean, this is fitting, since Arnie doesn't get stress sick, but he gets stress migraines. And we didn't have him with Isaiah as caretaker for a while...here you go🥰🤗
Stress migraine
Arnie really wanted to have fun today.
Hector was sleeping third day in a row already, tyring to get his shadow back up after all the healing. Nobody really knew, since Hector wouldn't want the pack to know and refused to call anyone.
Arnie understood. It was usually just the two of them, when something bad happened to either. Hector never let himself or Arnie find out if they had other people they could trust.
But now they had someone like that back. Someone they could call.
Other thing was that there wasn't really much to tell. Hector was fine, the car was getting fixed, Arnie wasn't hurt very much. What was he supposed to make a scene for, when there was no proof something even happened?
He caught himself looking for the little wound in his hair in the mirror just to make sure he didn't dream the whole accident up.
They had a scheduled meeting with Isaiah on Saturday though and Arnie figured it was a good opportunity as any to get out and distract himself.
He wanted to stop waking up to the fear he was back at the car or keep checking Hector every 30 minutes like he would start coughing blood out of his sleep all of sudden.
No, this was good.
Isaiah took him on a tour around Vienna. He said it was a scandal Arnie didn't get to see the center yet and that he didn't know all the sights by memory now.
Isaiah definitely did. They took Tram D around the main ring of the first district. Many important things were all after each other, parliament, city hall, the two giant museums of natural history and art history right across each other, the giant theater, the Butterfly House...
Isaiah refused to take a car, when everything was so well-connected and they spend the day on foot, from one park to another, one big street to another.
Isaiah seemed to have a thought out plan of switching between greenery and impressive buildings, talking all about the style of architecture, how many times they were rebuild, who famous lived there.
Arnie was so overwhelmed with all the information he stopped putting it together halfway through. He took comfort from just Isaiah's relaxed mood, his zealous voice and ardent expression.
Everything was all good with the world again. One could believe it, listening to him.
Somewhere around midday they went to get lunch near the Schonenbrun castle and gardens, Isaiah treating him to schnitzel and cake for good measure. He never let Arnie pay for anything when they were together.
"I have the same inheritance as you do," Arnie objectdd as he took a sip from his cold brew coffee.
Isaiah smiled. "Yeah, but we will start this talk once you make your own. Rich or not, there is nothing like earning your own money for the first time. Your effort, you decision."
"So you want to pay for everything with what you earn?"
"The assistance job I got at the uni pays well. I also helped out with a city planning project last year that had very good funding."
Arnie leaned back in the chair. "That's cool. What about your whole wolf helping activities? Hector says you get called to things all around the city. Do you get any pay from that?"
Isaiah took a spoonful of his chocolate lava cake. "No, I don't do that for money. I like helping out."
"You shouldn't be doing that for free though, when it takes so much of your time. Or is it the contacts and favours you gather that way?"
"Isn't it worthwhile and helpful when you can give people things without having them pay for it?"
"Yeah sure, but that's sustainable if you actually use all the money you were born with. If you were born with it." He was getting the impression Isaaih didn't like relying on anything that came from their father. "Besides, don't people take skills and advice more seriously if they have to pay for it? If you give it for free, they might not take any interest at all. It's a way to show them something is valuable."
"What exactly would I call it? Hello, I have experience that your shadow is entirely manageable with the right kind of training, but your pack doesn't seem to know, so come and listen to me?" Isaiah shook his head. Way to insult the pack and trivialise the wolf's problems.
"You have expert training from leading packs of the West. If you wanted to make that systematically accessible through courses or stuff, I think people would find it easer to find you. You could even prevent most of the problems the packs and human authorities call you to."
Isaiah chuckled. "You aren't the first one to suggest something like that. Matthew said something similar. Even Seline said I could make it a job. I don't know. I like working in the academic environment as well."
"It's not like you would have to choose between one or the other. Plus academic jobs are pretty instable I hear."
"You didn't even start uni yet and you are hearing about uni conditions?"
Arnie shrugged. "Lots of protests about the Mittelbau and the time constrained chain contracts around lately." Apprently 80% of the academic workforce that didn't have safe professor status worked under conditioned contracts, always afraid if they were going to be prolonged or not and if they wouldn't have to move to another town just to get a job they specilized in.
"It's impressive you can understand it. You still thinking about law school?"
"Yep." Hector was very careful about not mentioning it too much so Arnie wouldn't feel pressured, but he knew Hector would find it useful. Even wolves had to respect the law.
And Arnie would love to feel a bit more powerful around them.
"You are still studying it too?"
"Additional classes and courses, yeah. It's not my main subject, but it's useful in practice."
Arnie hummed, satisfied with the prognosis of that. He wanted to know useful important stuff.
They talked some more about law and different teaching styles of different faculties.
Everything was going well, except the sun was becoming a bit too much and Arnie's temples were starting to pulse.
Why now? He finally relaxed, finally forgot about what happened at home...
His stomach flipped at the reminder. He was pleasantly full just a minute ago, but now it felt like too much.
They paid and strolled around the gardens, when Arnie said: "Let's sit in the shade for a bit?"
Isaiah gave him a puzzled look that they barely got up and Arnie wanted to sit down already, but complied.
For such a historical sight, there were lots of people chilling on the benches in the shadows. Lots of trees planted for that purpose aside all the magnificently styled flowers everywhere.
"It's really hot today," Arnie said, tugging at the collar of his buttonup. Short sleveed, but still.
"There is a good ice cream stand nearby. I'll get you some." Isaiah patted him on the back as he left.
Arnie slumped back on the bench, relieved to be out of sight for a bit. He didn't want to ruin the tour that Isaiah planned out so carefully, but his head was positively pounding.
He didn't get a headache after the accident. That was weird in hindsight. Usually, when something stressful like that happened, he would absolutely get one.
He must have been too worried for Hector to let himself relax enough for it to set in. Veins must have finally opened from their tense contraction, and that's what made it painful.
Cold sweat was gathering at the back of his neck. His right temple felt like someone was putting a drill to it, while the other was held in a crushing grip.
The sunlight was so blinding, even though he was in a nice shade. He felt goosebumps on his arms, as his lovely lunch churned inside him.
Arnie leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees as he swallowed heavily against the saliva pooling in his mouth.
His stomach let out an angry whine, cramping up. Arnie hid his face in his hands, taking quick shallow breaths. Not now, not now, not now.
He groaned as his lunch roiled inside him, sniffling. There weren't many people around him in particular but this was still a public space. Beautiful gardens under a tree with a view of the castle, no less.
A burp snuck its way past his lips. His upper lip was covered in sweat now too. He could taste the salt as he licked his lips.
Arnie knew from experience it would only make him more miserable to fight it. The pain in his temples pulsed in synch with his heartbeat.
When he looked up from his hands, the sunlight pierced his eyes even stronger. The pain in his left temple spiked and Arnie heaved, pulling his feet more apart.
He swallowed the first retch down, but the second almost made him choke. Letting his head hang between his knees, he burped, the third wave bringing up the cake and the cold coffee onto the ground.
His brain was buzzing in his skull, so he kept his eyes closed, completely giving in to the sensations. Another wave of puke landed between his feet. Arnie only hoped his shoes wouldn't get dirty.
"Aww kiddo. What happened to you?" He felt Isaiah's cold hand against his nape. Isaiah discarded the two scones of ice cream on the ground at the sight of him, sitting down gently next to him.
That's when another wave of yellow brown puke found its way up, tasting of the potato salad and meat. Arnie groaned, back arching as he vomited up the longest stream yet.
Isaiah held his shoulder to steady him, rubbing up and down. "What happened? Did you feel sick suddenly? Or before? Is it the sun?"
Arnie burped emptily, spitting at the pool between his feat. The smell was making him nauseous still.
"I thought we took enough breaks in the shade. Maybe I miscalculated. You are sweating all over."
Arnie sniffled, his nose running. He kept his eyes closed still, the pounding in his head worse whenever the tried to open his eyes. He tilted towards Isaiah's voice blindly.
Isaiah obediently filled in the spot, letting Arnie lean against his shoulder. "Shhhhh. All good now. We will cool you down and you will feel better in no time."
Arnie sniffled again, curling into Isaiah's clean cologne, probably leaving a trail of snot behind. "Head hurtsss."
"I know, buddy, I know."
"...wanna go home."
Isaiah nodded over his head. "I'll call a taxi. We can go to my place too..."
Arnie shook his head. "Home." He wanted his own bed, his curtains, his medicine, though it would probably take a bit for his stomach to settle enough for it.
Isaiah was quite as they waited, only wrapping his arm around Arnie and helping him up when the taxi came. It was more or less a blurr for Arnie, who was glad Isaiah took over so eagerly, masterfully, despite not even knowing what was wrong.
As they sat in the back of the car, Arnie buried his face in Isaiah's chest, trying to muffle the sounds and light as much as possible.
"You will be okay. Just breathe."
"I'm sorry I ruined the trip."
"You didn't, you didn't. Should have chosen a later hour. With this heat-"
"Not the heat," Arnie sighed. "Migraine."
Isaiah tensed underneath him. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Miragine. It's fine. Not...not your fault."
"Since when do you get migraines?" Isaiah said in a strangled voice.
"Since I was 12? Or 13? Something like that." He moaned quietly as the car took a turn and jostled him.
Isaiah tighed his grip around his torso. They sat in silence for a while before he spoke again. "How often do you get them?"
"Not regularly anymore. Something...usually something triggers it."
Isaiah's hand went up his arm, gently sneaking into his sweaty hair. When Arnie leaned into the touch, Isaiah started rubbing at his temples gently.
"What triggered it this time?" Isaiah asked softly.
The car jostled them again, making them both jump up and down on their seats. Arnie tensed up, then buried his face against Isaiah's neck with a moan.
Isaiah held him as tight as he could without making it painful. Arnie fought against the growing pressure behind his eyes, lips pressed together.
"Arnie?"
Isaiah's voice was so soft and concerned in his ear it got the tears spilling down Arnie's cheeks. "I-it's nothing. Nothing really happened. We-we just-" He sobbed quietly.
"Shhhhh."
"We-we were in a car accident with Hex. Three days ago." He felt the coldness wash over them as the car came into the underground parking place of their apartment complex. Arnie blinked, leaning back, blinking his eyes open in relief at the darkness.
He looked at Isaiah with teary eyes. "I-I was driving and it wasn't my- but Hex, he- protected me and got super hurt and, and he is fine now..."
Isaiah watched him carefully, green eyes of the same shade meeting his. They seemed to have a glow in the dark from how intensity he focused on Arnie.
"But I was really scared, you know? And it's stupid to be upset about it, cause nothing h-happened-"
"It's not stupid. It was scary and horrible, no matter the outcome. I'm sorry that happened."
"B-but I shouldn't be upset, right? Cause we are fine, we are both fine-" His breath hitched with another sob as another tear ran down his cheek. Some part of his brain wondered how the taxi driver didn't say a thing, waiting for Arnie to cry his eyes out on his backseat.
Isaiah brushed some sweaty blond hair away from Arnie's forehead. "And that's important that you are both healthy and okay. But it makes perfect sense you are upset too. You are allowed to get scared and worried."
Arnie's face twisted with another sob as Isaiah petted his hair gently, carefully watching him for any signs it was making the headache worse. But the pressure was really going down as Arnie let the emotion go, through words and tears.
"We didn't have to go out today if you were upset," Isaiah said.
"I wanted to see you though. And we had it scheduled..." so it was the best opportunity.
"If you called me, I would have come. We don't have to just meet when it's 'scheduled' or when you need help with something serious, you know?" Isaiah was still combing Arnie's hair away, when he started to look through his pockets with their other hand, manifesting a paper towel out of nowhere. "Here."
Arnie wiped his face and carefully blew his nose.
"I want to know when something happens in your lives. Good or bad, big or small," Isaiah said, no trace of reproach in his voice, though he sounded firm. "I want to be in the picture."
Arnie felt better hearing it somehow. It was like a permission to call him, even when the trouble wasn't real. Even if it was just Arnie wanting to talk.
The younger boy took a shaky breath, offering Isaiah a shy smile.
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"お前は失ってばかりじゃねえ"
"you haven't only received loss"
#who wouldve guessed more 07 ghost art....#almost done with the anime now but ep 20 ish took me OUT my heart is bursting#copying the text i wrote for ig here:#i was initially going to just use the english as a caption but it really doesnt get the emotion across properly.#spent a good fifteen minutes rephrasing thr words as accurately to the original quote as possible while maintaining the intention.#affirming that he's gained so much (cherished people and experiences) along his path despite all his heartbreaking losses.#done#YEAH I KNOW frau didnt actually do this this is just my own self indulging... makes me giddy when he gets all serious and intimate#like that expression he does. im down bad for this piece of hot garbage#going off on a tangent here but hes so fucking childish sometimes when he goes to pick teito up from his exam#this idiot took the time to arrange himself leaning leisurely against the wall and having a smoke just so he could be like oh hey#i wasnt waiting or anything im just free and rebellious and i smoke bc im cool....get real idiot#i dont have any more 07ghost art atm so lets see if the remaining eps inspire me#or the manga at the rate the anime seems to be ending :')#07 ghost#my art
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#anime#manga#vanitas no carte#vnc#the case study of vanitas#lord ruthven#august ruthven#hear me out ! ruthven is one of the most intriguing characters to me#despite being portrayed as an antagonist i can't really see him completely fitting into that role / ruthven's actions are ambiguous#yea yeah he's a manipulative mf and is doing bad things now but i don't think that's what it's all about#i believe ruthven is being controlled by something (?) through his right eye and has no much choice in that matter#in the scene where ruthven tried to put a curse on chloe he looks almost shocked when he realizes what he was doing#he also spoke to someone who wasn't there and it seemed to be an act of desperation / even though the war was already over (?) by that time#the eye shows him terrible things ever since the war (and the betrayal that i'm not sure if really happened or was staged to trick him)#i think the continuous trauma the eye causes on him shaped him to be a colder and more cruel person#the opposite of what his original self showed to be (someone more like noe in beliefs and world view)#i guess he truly believes he's doing this for the sake of vampires / that idea of “sacrifices will be necessary for the greater good”#this could explain the alliance w charlatan who seeks to find a way to create more vampires (moreau's research) & rewrite the world formula#also it's clear that ruthven has a distorted view of vampire's malnomen (what caused that? what he saw in the war?)#both for his speech referring to luca's brother “salvation takes many forms (...)” and for the way he uses his own curse on others#until now we know he cursed queen faustina / jeanne / noe (i doubt he would betray the queen without a reason)#maybe his right eye is a malnomen he considers now as a form of freedom / or maybe that allowed him to finally see the “truth”#and yet i think his character is constantly questioning himself about it (in a very sutil way)#(e.g. when he listens noe talk about his ideals / when he sees jeanne dressed like a normal girl after her date)#in these moments we can see him falter a little bit and his expression changes to something more soft and genuine / introspective and sad#the curse he put on noe i think it has more than 1 purpose: 1)trump card against teacher 2)to not kill noe as monsieur spider had demanded#at first i thought it might be for naenia get noe's true name but if that were the case she would have done it by now#and in that moment naenia regained her form for a brief moment in d'apchier mansion and everyone felt her presence#ruthven looked equally surprised so he must not know naenia's true identity either (is he being used?)#lol i could write an essay about vnc... so many tags... lol sry i got carried away!
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I find myself asking this question so very, very often, but why is the New York Times so deliberately fucking stupid?
#hilary for ts#politics for ts#it is... not remotely unclear what musk stands for#he spends all his time talking to and amplifying the grievances of ACTUAL NAZIS#he has openly endorsed desantis in 2024#and yet here is the good ol' nyt to wring its hands and disingenuously act as if Oh No We Can’t Know The Answer#while like. pointing to it. in their headline.#gotta get Bothsiderism out of this somehow!#musk literally tweeted about prosecuting fauci TODAY#and has turned twitter into his own hate speech misinformation echo chamber#and the Paper of Record is churning out absolute nonsense like this#critical thinking is hard i guess#now to add some existing tags:#everyone look surprised that this was the nyt#yeah that seems about right for the nyt these days#nyt please go away you have nothing left to do here
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Started AFK Arena, got Eugene as my first Legendary, liked his design but was worried I might not like his story bc I haven't yet read many of them and it didn't seem like a story/event heavy game, finally gave in 3 days later
Anyhow order of operations:
-love it, joke around why there isn't a series about it
-no there actually is a comic and other ones too
-read them all
-actually go back to read Gavus and the kids stories as well
-learn you basically JUST missed all them being introduced like 4 months ago
-hide your pain by consuming everything NOW
-it's 7 am i haven't slept since yesterday where am i
#txts#afk arena#halp#yes i am currently scrolling through tumblr#i LITERALLY at one point during the labyrinth went#'huh Eugene and that angel looking dude seem to work nicely together-wonder why' BEFORE I LEARNED#truly amazing#so far everything was just 'huh if x is the case' AND IT IS#10/10 need more#i wanna both hug them. shake them by their shoulders. chew on them and also just let them live their best lives however they wish#same with the kids but i am way less feral about them-i am counting them in as my babies as well#with every new piece of info i got worried that things might turn out bad or tragic#the relief when i read through all oH GOD#precious little weapons of mass destruction#i-will probably take a nap now#and try for more coherent thoughts another time#i also got like 5 packages arriving anytime between 10am and 10pm which is just....totally great#other fun fact: literally looked at Eugene and Lucilla design wise and put them down mentally as my favs#which considering the everything: yeAH I GUESS IT MAKES SENSE HUH#good genes
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I feel like tags like these were inevitable on the post about people traumatising themselves for the greater good or w/e... There is SO much emphasis on posting on tumblr and other social media being so important and so useful and we must never stop. But I would like to counterargue with the idea that posting on social media (especially tumblr) constantly does very little/nothing. If that was true then the point here becomes meaningless.
#i guess i must be broken according to this person because i don't seem to feel emotions the way they feel helps palestine#activists in palestine are also calling for a general strike where no one goes to work and that has yet to materialise in a meaningful way#because people keep watering it down by saying 'oh it's ok just post constantly/about nothing else than palestine on social media'#yeah awesome great- look i'm sure there are people in palestine saying get the word out about our suffering etc#but they are also calling for more meaningful symbolic gestures like strikes which as far as I know no western country has delivered#because that would take a lot of organising and much less guilt tripping and people spending all their time posting#and comfort always comes up- comfort and discomfort- what even is comfort?#is feeling ok in your own mind an insult to palestine?#are there people losing everything in wars feeling better because someone in the west feels really really bad about their pain?#like sorry to be facetious but what on earth does any of this rhetoric accomplish#i spent years thinking like this and it made me so sick and now i'm better i am DONE with it- i cannot go back to this thinking#i can only live if i bend away from this kind of thinking like a plant to light- and i want to help others but people just won't stop#please- post on social media if you like. it doesn't help anyone to view the depths of their pain and feel bad#it is better to look towards hope a ceasefire and a resolution and end to the killing of palestinians for good#that can happen!!!#i think avoiding misinformation and dehumanising rhetoric about either side is also very important#i fully believe you can only understand geopolitics and war if you see everyone as human
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