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the-au-thor · 2 months

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A la Velocidad de la Luz (at the Speed of light) | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Hello! I just wrote something for my Steve Harrington people out there. I hope you like it

TW: read this!

word count: 9.1k

Synopsis: They're friends, they're not idiots, and yes, they're falling in love. Let's dive a little bit into the friendship between this two and get to know Steve's love language

It's not like I got inspiration in this song by Los Bunkers and you should totally listen to it

Part 2

Steve had totally recognized the symptoms the minute he saw you that Friday Movie night.

After the gnarly events you've all been through, it was obvious you have formed a bond, a bond that would bring together the fancy house on the fancy side of town with the humble trailer in the trailer park on the wrong side of the tracks. A bond that would unite ages, circumstances, and tastes without discrimination, gathering a group of people religiously every Friday to eat popcorn and watch some horror movie. Then you'd all crash for the night because for some reason, nobody wanted to split up or be apart from each other. You needed each other to keep on living, and it wasn't something you would readily admit to in unison. It was more like a tacit agreement, and everyone was perfectly okay with it. The ongoing practice of cohabitation had made Steve more perceptive, somehow discovering that he enjoyed taking care of others, and griping about it was just part of a ritual where Dustin would have to go somewhere while pretending that Steve and only Steve could take him, and then, after grumbling, repeating that he wasn't his babysitter and whining, he'd grab his keys and take him wherever the kid desperately wanted to be. He could predict stomachaches when the kids stuffed themselves with sweets and be there with antispasmodic drops and chicken soup. He could also intervene in a bar fight at The Hideout just in time to prevent them from ruining the night when Corroded Coffin was playing and to keep them from calling Hopper for no reason. He had been there for Robin, Nancy, Argyle, and even Jonathan and each of the kids. Maybe that's why Hopper had suggested the Police Academy. Maybe that's why he felt like all of you were largely the reason he wasn't that lost kid with a terrible social life anymore and didn't know what to do with his life. You glanced at him with a half-smile right in the middle of the break to hit the bathroom that Nancy had instituted after Dustin suffered a urinary tract infection because he preferred to hold it in rather than miss out on Freddie's massacres.

"What's up?" you asked, popping a handful of popcorn into your mouth as you looked at him straight on.

Steve didn't know you much before the catastrophic events in Hawkins brought you together. You were buds with Robin at school, worked alongside Nancy on the school paper, but you said you never had the same reporter spirit as Nance; you just liked to write, and you thought being a member of the school paper would look dope on your resume once you applied to college. There was a time when you and he bumped into each other at some parties because Vicki's twin brother, Justin Carmichael, was trying to convince you to go out with him. He remembered that afterward, Justin had been complaining for a week because you hadn't even had the decency to let him get to first base at the best party in school. Inside, Steven was relieved it turned out that way; Justin Carmichael was a big asshole. Just as much of an asshole as he used to be back then. After you graduated, you both ran into each other when he was at Scoops Ahoy and you visited Robin at the ice cream shop, that time Hawkins was in danger -AGAIN-, and they barely even counted it -AGAIN-. You were going to Indiana University during the week, and you'd come back on weekends because unlike Steve, your parents were loving people who loved having you around and were genuinely interested in what you liked, explaining your concerned and always open personality. Steve didn't find it odd, anyway, not to have noticed you before you just abruptly entered his life as you did. The Steve from the past wouldn't have noticed someone like you because he was a selfish jerk; he'd proven it with Nancy, and he had to suffer a lot before he could prove to himself that he was much more than what his parents and old friends expected of him.

"Are you okay?" he asked then, listening to Lucas and Max's whispering kisses on one of the back couches.

Robin was making more popcorn in the microwave while Nancy filled her in on her long-distance relationship with Jonathan back when he was still living in California and how Robin could make it work as well with Vickie. Steve always knew they could handle the distance; it was just something Nancy and Jonathan would be able to make work. Dustin had gone to the bathroom, obviously, while Will mocked the silly argument Mike and Eleven were having, which was occasionally interrupted by Eddie to make a comment that would serve as an argumentative catapult to fuel the little dispute.

Your eyes stopped at Steve's in silence, and finally, you nodded.

"Sure," you replied. "Finally, vacation; I missed not having to pack my bags every weekend," you murmured with a smile, "and I'll be able to take a break from Professor Lewis's lectures."

Steve grimaced. "Is he still making it tough on you?"

You nodded. "Until the very last second of class, I really don't know how I'm going to survive this year if he keeps up with his hate campaign, I don't know what I did to him."

Steve frowned.

"There are people like that, you know? Bitter. Maybe he's jealous because you're so talented," Steve saw you scrunch your nose and let out a snort of laughter.

"He's a writer for The Times, jealous?" Steve shrugged.

"Maybe he sees in you something he can never be," he explained easily, "it's not uncommon for adults to project onto younger ones and make them pay for it."

Again, you studied him in silence. You took another popcorn into your mouth just before speaking. "And how's your dad taking you being the first one in the academy?" you asked.

Steve let out a small snort.

"Oh, he's thrilled. Especially because Hopper seemed to be his nemesis in school when they both belonged to the same basketball team," Steve drank from his Coca-Cola can, taking two big swigs big enough to make his mouth no longer feel dry.

You smirked ironically. "Ah, well, speaking of adults projecting…"

Steve nodded, watching you rummage in your purse for your pills. He remembers the first time he saw you show them to everyone, explaining what they were; it was right after closing the portal once and for all. The government had put them up in fancy hotel rooms while you all took care of cleaning up Hawkins and the reputation Eddie had gained because of the serial killer they hadn't managed to subdue in the first place. You were safe; everything was finally okay. There wouldn't be any more interdimensional creatures flying, running, crawling, or floating around there thinking they could eat, scratch, possess, or kill whoever they encountered, but even when you knew it, you couldn't sleep.You have been there, ordering the most expensive food from the hotel and playing video games nonstop for twenty-four hours. For you, it really hit the limit when you saw Eddie spend three straight hours curled up in the fetal position on his bed without really sleeping. Steve saw you get up, turn off the kids' TV, and take the pasta tray away from Argyle. The kids didn't even have the energy to protest. You stood in the middle of the room in your hotel robe with weariness in your eyes.

"So,” you finally said, taking a bottle of medicine out of your purse. "I'm going to do something I shouldn't do, and you must promise not to tell your parents. And yes," you looked at Erica threateningly, "I'm specifically talking to you," you said and then began handing out a small white capsule to each of the kids except Erica, to whom you gave a bigger one, explaining that you wouldn't give her anything other than melatonin.

Dustin sniffed the pill and then looked at you curiously.

"And what's this?"

You glanced at Robin out of the corner of your eye and then at the rest.

"My sleeping pills. They're gentle, but I need them to sleep, which you haven't done for a long time, and you can't just keep ignoring that you can't fall asleep. So this is the deal; we're going to ignore the fact that I'm breaking the law with this, and everyone will take a dose, it's small. I won't tell you what it is, but definitely don't be alarmed if you taste a bitter flavor in your mouth," you explained gently. "And you must commit; everyone will go to the therapist as soon as we leave here because what happened isn't normal, and you need help."

Eddie accepted the deal without thinking, sat on the bed, and swallowed the capsule without a second thought. After that, he opened his bedclothes and wished everyone good night. You watched the kids take the pills after promising to go to therapy. Steve remembers helping you and Robin turn off the lights and dim the night lamps as you watched everyone settle into whatever corner of the room they could claim and cover themselves with blankets to try to sleep.

"I didn't know you needed those sleeping pills," Steve piped up in the dark when the snores kicked in. Robin was out cold smack dab in the middle of us, snoring up a storm, her face finally looking peaceful and carefree.

Steve had seen the danger lurking in your eyes before, the fear, the terror, the concern, but that night was the first time he caught a glimpse of this new emotion; it was like an internal retreat to pain being reflected in your irises. For a moment, you diverted your gaze, avoiding Steve's, before nodding.

"I started having panic attacks at fifteen. Got diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," you confessed. "Had too many sleepless nights, screwed up my school game, messed with my emotions and reactions," you whispered matter-of-factly, but Steve could sense there was a lot of pain behind those words. "It was rough at first, but trust me, with supportive peeps and solid therapy, it's worth it. And these pills? They're tame compared to what I had to down initially. Missed two weeks of school and just slept” you nodded, letting out a stifled yawn, and Steve couldn't resist but follow suit as fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids.

"Thanks for letting me in on that. You're tough, you know?" he responded, his words already starting to slur with sleepiness.

Your arm slinked over Robin, and your hand found its way to Steve's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Night, Steve," you murmured softly before drifting off into slumber.

You only needed one pill back then.

"Two?" Steve asked, furrowing his brow as he watched you down both capsules quickly, chasing them with a gulp of water as he nodded.

"Yeah, been having some trouble with the meds," you explained with a shrug. "Now that I'm free,I'm gonna see the doc and see how it goes."

Steve's expression clouded with worry. "Want some company?"

You took another sip of water, already formulating a quick response in your mind. "And have you wait around for an hour while my psychiatrist has me spillin' my guts in his office? Thanks, but I won't do that to ya."

"It wouldn't be a bother," Steve settled back on the couch, eyeing you. "But the offer's there."

You smiled, genuine gratitude shining through. "Thanks."

You and Steve watched Eddie make his way towards the TV as Dustin settled in next to Steve. Will nestled back on the floor, leaning against your legs as he always did. Steve had noticed, subtly since you and he met, that you two had formed a bond. Sometimes he caught glimpses of you two in your car, sharing ice cream and jamming out to tunes. When no one was looking, or so you thought, Will would lean towards you, and you'd start braiding his hair with a smile. Steve wondered if Will might have a bit of a crush on you, and you just didn't realize what was brewing there. Maybe he should chat with you about it; he wasn't sure if letting the kid catch feelings was good for him. The lights dimmed once more, the movie rolling on, and Eddie plopped down between you and Steve. Eddie shot his friend a sly look, knowing Steve was perfectly comfy where he was before. Steve rolled his eyes at Eddie and decided it was best to focus on the movie, but even in the tensest moments, he couldn't help but cast concerned glances at you; you'd taken your sleeping pills, yet you didn't seem to be yawning or preparing to nod off on Eddie's shoulder or curl up in the corner of the couch.

The next morning, you were the first one up, showered and clad in your athletic shorts, oversized Clash T-shirt as you whipped up breakfast for the sleepyheads still sprawled and tangled on the couch and rug, snoring away. Nancy was the second to join you, followed by Robin and Argyle. Steve then roused himself, greeting the ones awake, and headed to his room to grab a quick shower before joining them. While Nancy whipped up waffles, you manned the eggs, so Steve filled the coffee maker with his old man's favorite brew, which he never touched because he was hardly ever home.

"Wouldn't it be better if they woke up?" Nancy queried. "I mean, they were the ones hellbent on going to the lake for a swim."

Argyle snagged a piece of crispy bacon and started munching on it. "Sis, it's vacay, you can't go all dictator on 'em. When they're ready, they'll wake up."

Nancy snorted but didn't argue with his logic; instead, she piled the waffles onto a plate and leaned against Steve's kitchen island, eyeing you.

"You doin' alright?" she inquired.

You had been quiet, focused on the eggs as you stared into the pan with a distant gaze. You nodded, flipping the eggs before cutting the heat. You turned to Nancy with a smile.

"I'm good," you replied. "You been dealing with school drama?" you asked, catching Nancy's eye roll.

"I swear, if I get stuck with one more group of knuckleheads for a project, I'm gonna lose it," Nancy grumbled under her breath, eliciting a chuckle from Eddie, lounging between the cushions.

"Come on, Wheeler," he laughed. "We've worked together, and it's been smooth sailing, what could be worse?"

Robin sauntered over, tossing her threadbare cardigan—ridden with holes courtesy of Eddie's antics, claiming it looked "metal." It landed over Eddie's face and Robin shot him a look with arched eyebrows.

"You got no modesty, Munson?"

Steve chuckled as he poured coffee into a couple of mugs.

"Yeah, man, what's with the strip show in the dead of night?"

Eddie struggled to dress until he finally managed to awkwardly clamber up from the couch.

"Well, next time, you get to share a couch on a sweltering summer night with Henderson, what’ya think, pretty boy?" he griped before shooting Dustin a glare, who was still sound asleep with his mouth agape. Eddie tossed a blanket at him with force. "Wake up!"

Dustin startled awake, only easing when he saw everyone was fine and the worst thing that happened was a slobber stain on one of the sofa cushions in Steve's parents’ living room. He shuffled over to the couch, snagging the marked cushion and grimacing at it. Steve’s brows furrowed, mouth twisted in a disgusted grimace.

"Dude, this couch is worth a fortune. My mom's gonna flip when she sees this," he protested, lobbing the pillow back at Dustin, who was unapologetic about the incident, even wearing a smug smile, if anything.

Steve's house was a flurry of activity for the next few minutes; utensils clinked against dishes, and Steve’s parent will definitely notice those scratches Eddie left behind from trying to cut the bacon on his plate. You washed up everything each one of you used because, according to Nancy, it was better to leave everything clean, or else no one would have the energy to do it later. Robin, Steve, and you followed her orders because they weren't about to argue with someone like Nancy Wheeler. Argyle, Eddie, and Jonathan dried everything off and stowed it away while the kids geared up for an afternoon at the lake. When you arrived, you settled into lounge chairs and giant towels while most of the kids bolted for the water. Steve watched as you made the rounds, armed with a bottle of sunscreen, making sure everyone got slathered up on their backs, arms, faces, and shoulders, even though Mike protested about his fair, skinny skin. The rest splashed around for a while, indulged in ice creams, and even had a few impromptu swimming races where Steve had to fake a cramp so Dustin could finally win. Steve didn't realize, but you noticed, and you observed the little event with an amused grin. Steve wasn't the type to talk about feelings in front of a crowd out of the blue; that was more Eddie's style. He wouldn't stand in the middle of a bonfire and pour his heart out, declaring his undying love for everyone, but he had to admit moments like these made him feel damn happy. He'd always been a lone wolf trying desperately not to fit in but he never realized it was an issue until he met all of you, and it was something he could dig while the sun was still shining big and warm near the horizon. The kids were splashing around in the water with Robin, Eddie, and Argyle. Jonathan and Nancy were chilling a bit further away, exchanging kisses and small talk. You gave Will a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then playfully messed up his hair, making him laugh and shove you back. After that, you splashed water in his face before swimming off towards the lake shore. When your feet hit the stones, you strolled over to the stretched-out towel next to Steve with a smile and threw yourself onto it to soak up the sun. Steve looked as you adjusted your hair to the side, watching the little drops dance across your skin before disappearing or evaporating. Quietly, you quickly cracked open one of the books you always have with you, diving into its pages. He saw your fingers flick across the pages and your tongue peek out between your lips in concentration. He half-smiled and settled onto his towel, soaking in the warmth of the sun with a relaxed sigh.

"Can you imagine a dude with a freaky sense of smell going all psycho and killing a bunch of virgin girls to get their essence?" you broke the silence without taking your eyes off your book.

Steve arched a brow, somewhat amused. "Nah, I mean, we've seen worse stuff to not picture a human killing others," he replied sarcastically, earning a small, amused chuckle from you.

"Fair point," you replied, licking your finger to turn the page.

Steve cleared his throat, shifting on his towel, and turned to you, feeling a bit uneasy. "Hey, I think you should watch out for Will."

That made you glance up from your book, peering at him over your shades. Steve could sense the intensity of your gaze even though he couldn't see your eyes directly.

"Why? Has he been sniffing around and plotting murders?" Steve furrowed his brow.

"What? No! What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.

You left the book resting on your stomach to give him your full attention.

"Oh, it's just that we were chatting about the book, and then you brought up Will… but never mind, explaining a joke is lame, right?" you laughed, then sighed, suddenly feeling awkward. "What's up with Will?"

Steve scratched the back of his neck, trying to respond tactfully. Internally, he regretted starting that conversation without thinking it through first.

"I dunno. I just think maybe he's catching feelings for you… and it's not your fault, you're just nice to him," he cut himself off, trying to clarify his point, "…it's just that he might be getting the wrong idea…"

You lowered your shades a tad to meet his gaze directly.

"So, you're saying Will Byers might have a little crush on me?" you asked with a measured tone, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Steve squirmed, shoulders shifting as he scratched his nose, eyes darting away from yours.

"It's possible," was his only response. "I mean, it's not the first kid who has a crush on an older girl, y'know?" Older girl. You gave him a calm smile, picking your book back up to resume reading.

"Will doesn't have a crush, Steve. At least, not on me; trust me, I'd know," you reassured him gently, giving Steve one last look. "Seriously."

Steve didn't know, but you understood his concern all too well. There was a reason why you and Will were so close, and why your bond had grown stronger lately, and it had as much to do with Will's feelings as it didn't. It wasn't something you could explain too much; it was something that belonged to Will, not to you. You'd noticed a change in Will for a few months now, even before they moved to California, but you weren't close friends; you'd only tutored the kid a couple of times, and that wasn't enough to butt into his life. When the Byers returned to town, Will was even quieter, more withdrawn, even when he was with the whole crew. You couldn't help but worry, especially on the day Joyce came to you, asking for an hour of your weekends to help Will with his English essays; he was starting to get more and more distracted, Joyce's super-mom side wanted to step in, but her more rational side said to give him time to readjust. That talk had you worried all week until Saturday came and you saw for yourself the kind of distraction in Will's gaze. He wasn't just somewhere else, far from the room where you both tried to finish the essay the teacher had assigned to help him get his English back on track; no, he was deep inside himself, locked in some cell with the door wide open, but he was too comfortable and scared of the world outside to step out. You remember spotting an old school project he made in California, hidden away and dusty under a pile of canvases with sketches of massive dragons and knights in armor. The project was about Alan Turing; the dedication in that work caught your eye, and you dusted it off to showcase its potential. When you slid it in front of him, you told him that's the Will you wanted to see at school; you saw his eyes well up with tears, and you knew something else was weighing on him. Then you set aside the task, sat beside him, and took his hands. You promised to keep anything he told you discreet, then he started speaking. You'd never heard Will talk so much, and you were shocked as you listened to every word, how well he'd hidden his turmoil, and the loneliness creeping in. He was just a kid and he was facing his first heartbreak, and worse; you couldn't promise it'd be his last, he had it rough, and his road ahead would be bumpy. Since that day, you'd made sure to be there for whatever he needed, even planning a trip to the MET together to get him hyped about art. You were the baby sister in your family, you had three older brothers and you never knew what it was like to look out for someone else until you met the boys, and it brought you joy to make sure everyone was alright, especially making sure Will had a good summer with his friends and that his heart would heal, with hopes that a good boy would come along someday to help him pick up the pieces and mend all the crap he might face.

It was pretty late when they decided to head home. They dropped the kids off at the Wheelers', where they'd be crashing for a sleepover. Eddie invited you all to catch one of his Corroded Coffin rehearsals at the Hideout, and you were about to accept along with Jonathan, Nancy, Argyle, and Robin, but Steve put his hand on your shoulder with a grin and said you had plans. For a sec, you looked at him confused, but a gentle squeeze on your side from him convinced you to play along. They bid the kids farewell outside the joint, and you climbed into Steve's car, curious. You saw him wait for both of you to buckle up before asking what he had planned.

"I thought we could do something, just you and me."

A date? You wondered innocently, Steve Harrington and you hanging out without the rest? You could only think of one time you'd decided to do something together. Once, you brought cookies to the Academy; he'd aced all his workouts, but his parents didn't even bother to pat him on the back. You and the rest planned a party for him to celebrate, but you wanted to do something special because you were hella proud. You baked his fave cookies (crunchy with cinnamon, caramel, and peanuts) and met him at lunchtime; apparently, they were just showering because his hair was still a bit wet at the ends. He was rocking shorts and a tank top, sweat glistening on his skin, cheeks flushed from exertion. He had a lil' towel draped 'round his neck as he dabbed his forehead. You were waiting for him in the lobby, standing up with a grin plastered on your face. You remember your cheeks hurting like hell, the slight ache nagging at you that night when intrusive thoughts came knocking uninvited, making you wonder if you looked like a loon.

"What's this?" Steve asked with a half-smile and a curious look as you held out a box.

"Congrats for passing your test," you replied, watching as Steve's expression shifted, a mix of sadness and gratitude, then he hugged you out of nowhere. You and him hugged before, especially after some close call that put their lives at risk, but this hug was different, more intimate. He rested his chin on your shoulder, rubbing your back tenderly. You heard him sigh softly, murmuring his thanks. After you and Steve pulled apart, you still on your toes and he with his hands on your shoulders, your eyes locked for a moment, and you felt like something was left unsaid, but it happened so fast you didn't have time to question it. You never talked about it again. You hadn't swung by the academy again, even though you had more than one reason to. For some reason, you felt like you needed to guard yourself, so you'd avoided being alone with Steve or making excuses to see him without the kids around. When you arrived at his house , you felt something strange stirring inside you. Maybe Steve caught your furrowed brow or your hesitation to step out of his ride and cautiously scoped out the entrance, because he walked over to your door and popped it open with a smile that somehow put you at ease.

"I gotta show you something inside," he announced, extending his hand toward you, offering it up for your trust.

You half-smiled, unsure how to react. You didn't know whether to feel pure curiosity or straight-up unease. You took his hand and follow him to the entrance. He didn't let go; he held onto your hand and occasionally traced circles on your palm, as if he knew exactly how to calm your jitters.

Inside the house, it looked just as you left it, except for some cushions outta place on Steve's parents fancy sofa. Steve kept his steps leading you upstairs. As you ascended, you checked out the family pics Steve's mom had hung on the wall. One was snapped in a studio with a basic blue backdrop adorned with clouds, featuring a smiling baby decked out in sailor threads. You smiled then; that baby was Steve. "Did you want siblings?"

As you hiked up the stairs in silence, Steve shot you a curious glance, and then nodded.

"Yeah, actually, but my folks shut down production very soon. My dad blames it on my mom, but we all know it's on him," he responded.

You made a face, recalling the one time you'd seen Steve's dad. He seemed distant, preferring it that way; he introduced himself as "Mr. Harrington," and you were pretty sure he'd adopted it as his first name. He seemed like the type to pin his own infertility on his wife.

"I always wanted little siblings" you murmured, lightly tracing your index finger over the wood. "Feels like I got them now."

"Yeah, some real pests," Steve grumbled, coming to a halt in front of a closed door, eyeing you.

You nervously smiled. I mean, with him looking at you like that, what were you supposed to do? You shrugged. "It ain't all bad," you murmured, eyes darting impatiently between the door and Steve's relaxed demeanor. You didn't see him like this often; he had that look that seemed to peer into your soul with those huge brown eyes. He slipped into the room, being all suspicious, and after a minute, he emerged, shutting the door behind him.

"I got somethin' for ya on the other side of this door," he said without giving you a chance to process how odd that might be because he knocked on the wooden surface and pushed it open, revealing the guest room of his enormous house. Inside, blackout curtains shielded the huge windows that overlooked the Harringtons' backyard.

You were struck by the scented candles and the distant sound of the sea emanating from some speakers by a massive, fluffy bed piled with cushions and pristine, crisply-stretched sheets. You looked at Steve with a mixture of confusion and fun.

"Could you at least invite me for a coffee first, Steve…?" you quipped, trying to dispel the slight unease creeping up your spine.

Steve half-smiled, giving a weak chuckle. "If I were goin' that route, I'd spring for somethin' a bit fancier than a brew; give me some credit," he played along, entering the room and picking up a neatly folded outfit from his hands. "No, babe; this is an intervention plan."

With your feet still lingering in the doorway, you arched an eyebrow, perplexed.

"Intervention for what?"

"Glad you asked," Steve said, handing you the folded clothes; the soft fabric of the pajama set brushed against your fingers as you wondered what all this was about. "I'll get the tub runnin'. My mon left this stash of bath salts that supposedly turn you into a new human; so, enjoy the bath, Slip into these PJs, then come down for dinner and after that, off to bed, and I don't wanna hear from you until at least tomorrow at noon ."

You frowned. "Steve; What…?" You shook your head quickly, trying to dispel the confusion as if by magic. "I don't get it."

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders, meeting your gaze squarely. "You haven't been getting proper sleep for months; you ain't fooling me. You said it's just sleep trouble, but I know it's deeper; you've been mega stressed, and when that happens, insomnia kicks in, panic attacks, negative vibes, and the urge to be completely alone. I've seen it; so let's try sidestepping that, and for that, I've whipped up a sleep bomb. I just need your cooperation, can I count on that?"

You studied him, trying to read him in return. You were surprised Steve had clocked your distress signals. You hadn't wanted to tip off anyone, not even your parents who'd been through it all before. You didn't want to put them through it; you didn't want to tell them that during your college days, when you weren't studying or dodging Mr. Lewis' attempts to fail you out of spite, all you could think about was returning to Hawkins; to be with them, your friends, your fam. You didn't want to confess that you'd revisited that dark place where you wondered, during those long, sleepless nights, how it would feel to just snooze forever and wake up when everything hurt less. Every so often, your mind dragged you there; you knew they were bouts triggered by high stress, and you knew they'd pass, but not knowing when or how long it'd last was another torture on your plate. You hadn't needed to voice your cries for help for Steve to come through was both surprising and scary. Surprising because you didn't think he'd notice; he was busy running the mansion his parents barely occupied, looking after the kids, and navigating the rigors of the academy while trying to fend off the hordes of newfound fans who were back to fawning over him. Would there even be room for you in his schedule? You knew you were friends, but honestly, you'd hung out more often with Nancy, Robin, and Eddie—shopping, hitting the movies, catching gigs—than with Steve on a single aimless stroll downtown. Among your friends, Steve was honestly the last person you'd figured would clock your silent pleas for help. And yet here he was, front and center; at some point, he'd carved out time to spruce up a whole room, light candles, have a bed that screamed comfort, and a silky PJ set just for you. It felt like your lungs swallowed all the air in the room, and oxygen only reached you for a fragile, feeble thank you that stumbled out haltingly. Steve seemed to appreciate that sliver of gratitude, and something in his eyes softened for a beat. He gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze before leaving you to run the taps, filling the tub with glorious hot water that soon had you melting into bliss and your muscles thanking the heat. You tilted your head back as your toes curled in delight. You were pretty sure the salts hadn't done much beyond a certain softness on your skin, but the pleasant aroma had managed to unwind you. When you decided it was time to get out, mainly because the water had cooled and your fingers were pruney, you dried off and slipped into the comfy satin Pijama, a lovely mahogany color that smelled of detergent and fabric softener.

It was pure bliss; that's what you thought as you descended the stairs and found the table set with iced tea, a salad, and two plates brimming with bolognese pasta.

Steve didn't know how to cook much else; his waffle game was weak, and his scrambled eggs were always overdone. But if there was one thing Steve Harrington could nail, it was a homemade pasta dish. You couldn't figure out why he'd never flexed that culinary muscle with his dates; you were sure by now Steve Harrington was off the market for a good long while. Part of you, a part you tried not to dwell on too much, wished that sliver of Steve that only you and the rest of the group knew would remain under wraps. Then you felt guilty for even wishing that; you knew Steve felt lonely and wanted to find someone, and as you twirled pasta onto your fork, you knew he deserved it, because the pasta was divine, and because he'd taken the time to make it himself.

You would've kept munching, but you knew it'd be greedy. Steve rose and led you to bed, rattling off a laundry list of reasons why you wouldn't be lifting a finger, starting with the fact that you were caught up in a smartly orchestrated intervention by him.

"What's up?" Steve asked as you settled under the covers of the bed and the reality hit you.

"Every night I give this a shot, Steve; trying to calm, close my eyes, and just sleep, and I really wanna now but I just can't…"

Steve rubbed his nose, nodding, plopping down beside you, all ears.

"Look at yourself," he murmured. "You're stressing about not being able to sleep, and that's why it ain't happening." You shook your head. "It's not that, really, Steve. It's just that I know myself; I know, and it's frustrating. You have no idea how many nights I've spent staring at the ceiling, feeling like my body just needs to move. It's practically physically impossible for me to lie in bed, no matter how comfy it is."

"Alright," Steve nodded thoughtfully. "I have an idea. Remember when we were keeping watch to make sure Vecna didn't snatch Max at the Wheeler's house?" You nodded. "Yeah, Dustin never shut up, and God knows I couldn't shut him up myself, so I just resigned myself to having to listen to his annoying voice for the rest of the night, and then boom! I woke up, and it was morning."

You raised your eyebrows, surprised. "You fell asleep on your watch to keep an eye on Max?"

"Hey, Henderson was still awake, and nothing went down, right?"

You opened your mouth, astonished. "Something could've gone down, Steve."

"But it didn't!" he retorted, letting out a sheepish laugh and trying to defend himself. "But that's not the point. The point is, I fell asleep," you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms while still sitting on the bed. Steve must've recognized that you looked adorable trying to scold him for his irresponsibility. "Listening to Dustin's voice, I slept like a baby all night."

You raised an eyebrow, finally getting it.

"Are you telling me that all this time, I've just needed Dustin's voice to sleep soundly?"

"No," he replied, pointing his finger at you with a victorious grin. "My voice, babe, my voice will make you sleep like a rock tonight." He then got up and gestured for you to lie down in bed. You looked at him, suppressing a laugh. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Look, now you find it funny, but when you wake up in the morning feeling rested, I'll have the decency not to tell you it was thanks to me."

You smiled, adjusting your hair to the sides.

"Oh, Steve, thank you so much, how considerate of you," you laughed, but the laughter was immediately stifled when you saw Steve start to settle down next to you in bed. He lay on his side and rested his head on his palm to look at you. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just gonna lie down next to you and talk to you. The only rule is that you can't speak; you'll close your eyes and listen to my voice."

Bossy.

You nodded silently and closed your eyes. You heard Steve sigh but didn't look at him again; after all, he had gone to all this trouble, so you would cooperate. You would do your part.

Then Steve began to talk. He spoke for at least an hour about his life, his folks, and what he wanted to do in the future when he graduated as a cop and started taking care of this town again, with Hopper as his boss. Damn it, it would be tough following the old man's orders, but he'd take it on. He didn't stop even when your intermittent breathing became a steady rhythm that could only mean you were finally catching some sleep. Steve didn't stop looking at you as he reached out to the speaker and lowered the volume of the ambient sound. He didn't stop even as the chirping of crickets seeped in from his backyard and formed a whispered melody along with the croaking of the frogs.

He couldn't stop looking at you.

Steve watched your eyelashes brush your cheeks. The air entering and exiting through your slightly parted lips as you breathed. He looked at your nose and traced imaginary lines on your face, following it with his gaze as if he were redrawing you. It wasn't fair that you couldn't rest, that it was so complicated for you. Steve had seen you sleep deeply in the most complicated places and under the most critical circumstances. You were perfect under pressure; something told him that you would prefer Vecna as an enemy than any internal demon that haunted your mind. He had seen more fear in your face when you thought that it would be another sleepless night than when one of the demodogs that attacked at Hopper's old cabin pinned you down with its weight and drooled over your face as if they were thinking about your taste even before taking a bite. Steve hit it right in the middle of its neck with his bat and didn't stop until Dustin told him it was more than dead, impaled against the wooden floor. He didn't know it then, but he would have killed any monster for you. Even the one that tormented you in your mind.

"Thank you," he finally spoke, stretching his other hand to caress your hair. "You've always taken care of us, and that's very little to say." He admitted, "I think you try to do it because you haven't managed to take care of yourself as you should." He whispered, removing a strand of hair that had floated over your face. "Relax; I'll do it."

You had made them all fulfill their promise in the hotel room that night with the sleeping pills. They had each been given a separate room, but trauma unifies, and they couldn't spend time apart; they all gathered in Eddie's room and spent hours together. After that, when things calmed down and they went through interviews with men dressed in black and serious looks, they went to a high-security clinic where Owen was waiting to give them a physical examination. None of the scars they had were completely healed; Eddie had to undergo skin grafts on his abdomen, and Max had to undergo rehabilitation to walk normally again.

"It's not enough," you had told Owen when he discharged them all with prescriptions for the best free medicine. The man raised his gaze from his folder to look at you through his glasses. "We need therapy."

"Kid…" Hopper spoke behind you with a tired voice, but you stopped him firmly.

"No," you turned to him and looked at Owen for a few seconds. "He smelled like a distillery even before the first attack of the first demogorgon," you reminded everyone. "How do you think he's going to be when all the adrenaline from this is gone? Hopper needs therapy. We all do. Max almost lost her sight; Eddie came back from the dead. You can't say everything is fine and send us back to a town where everyone will still judge us no matter what." Owen opened his mouth, but you weren't ready to stop talking. "You weren't there; you don't know what we had to go through. We don't even fully understand it ourselves; we literally avoided a dimensional catastrophe that wasn't our responsibility, Owen. They owe us."

The truth was, none of them except you thought therapy was a good idea. A monster had used their worst nightmares and traumas to get rid of them. They didn't want to have to open their hearts once a week to another stranger to take advantage of that. But you had been firm in making them all fulfill the commitment, and against all odds, they all agreed and completed their therapies as they should. Even Mike, who had shown extreme resistance to the heart-to-heart talk, had finally relented. You had won those kids over, Steve saw it. And he had to admit that was part of the reason why he sometimes felt jealous. It was pathetic to admit it; an adult jealous of children. But damn it; he would feel good if one day one of the hugs you gave to Will Byers was meant to be given to him.

"You are going to a lot of trouble for her," Dustin told him the next morning as he rudely chewed on a raspberry. "Hey! Little human vacuum: stop eating someone else's breakfast; this isn't for us." "You see? This is what I mean! I could be planning a new D&D campaign that would surprise Eddie and have him kissing my ass for the next decade, but here I am helping you surprise a girl." "It's not to surprise her; she finally slept more than eight hours and needs to eat," Steve began to respond as he poured some of Robin's pancake mix onto the hot skillet. "And I remind you that I'm the one driving thousands of miles so you and your sexier-than-Phoebe-Cates girlfriend, a fact I highly doubt, can see each other. So I would appreciate it if you stopped eating her food and helped me with this as I asked." Dustin frowned but continued to add raspberries to the mix anyway. "You know? I always thought you and Robin had something," Steve rolled his eyes and snorted. "Then for a moment, I thought you and Nancy would get back together by the dumb way you kept looking at her. But now this makes more sense." Steve squeezed a drop of the splashed pancake mix onto his finger and brought it to his mouth. "Yeah? Why is that?" Dustin, focused on his work, shrugged. "When you and Robin are together, you joke around like you and me, Steve, and I refuse to think you're into me." Steve made a disgusted gesture. "Gross, dude, enough." "That, and when you looked at Nancy, you suffered, Steve; you were the most miserable, pathetic…" "Don't be so kind, you'll make me cry." "…sad, and depressed," Dustin ignored his friend, handing him the bowl full of pancake mix. "but with her, you're happy; you smile. You don't have to pretend to be cool all the time, and you actually talk to her. Plus, you take care of her, and that's good because you've been breathing down my neck for so long and acting like my mom. I didn't want to tell you, but you were suffocating me, and you finding a girlfriend would be great for my individuality, Steve." Steve flipped the pancake to let the other side brown while making a face. "I get it, Henderson, you need space, and I'll give it to you as soon as you finish helping me with the coffee and get out of here." Dustin scratched his nose and coughed. "Ass-hole." Dustin was right; you brought out the best in him. Steve could talk to you and not feel like he had to impress you all the time. You made his stomach flutter, but you didn't make him act like an idiot. It was too difficult for him to figure out whether what he felt with you was a friendship that was too strong or something more. He missed you the weeks you were studying at the University, and when you came back to Hawkins, you were never close enough to him.

"I think it would be a big step to go on dates with lots of girls that would end when you drop them off at their houses the next morning," Robin had told him one day while they were rearranging the movie shelves at Family Video after Steve told her about his plan. They had stood up after the earthquake, and Keith hadn't wanted anything to do with the business again. Steve and Robin decided to take over; having a business and extra money in their pockets wasn't bad. Max, Will, and Dustin took turns after school, and they had officially entered the workforce, earning some bills that they could later spend on whatever those little gremlins spent their money on now. "Robin, it's already weird enough to have an ex in your friend circle, two would be too many, and it's a risk I'm not willing to take." His best friend let out a mocking laugh. "Ding, ding, ding, ding, Dingus! you just admitted you like her." Obviously, Steve liked you, he thought now as he plated the pancakes after getting rid of Dustin and dispatching him to Eddie's house where they would plan their new campaign or something like that. Steve liked many things and people; otherwise, he wouldn't surround himself with them. The issue was figuring out what kind of feeling he had for you. It didn't help that everyone seemed to have it figured out except him. Besides, even if he did figure it out. What about you? What did you feel about him?

Steve was your damn hero, you thought as you stretched between the soft sheets of the most comfortable bed you had ever tried and opened your eyes after a huge and shameless yawn. You looked at the ceiling of the room, trying to contain your joy. You looked at the clock on the bedside table on one side of the bed and laughed softly when you saw it was exactly noon. You had slept for over twelve hours; that was more than you usually rested in a week at College. You raised a victorious fist and got out of bed to brush your teeth and freshen up a bit before heading downstairs and looking for Steve on the first floor. You found him squeezing the juice from an orange in his kitchen when he looked at you somewhat dismayed. You walked towards him with a smile and gave him a tight hug, burying your face in his chest and feeling him slowly return the hug.

"Thank you, Steve. I really rested," you moved away from him and looked around; on a tray were syrup, raspberry pancakes, and freshly scrambled eggs. "Did you make all this?" Steve scratched his neck, somewhat embarrassed. "Dustin came over for a while to help," he admitted, and then saw your rested face without being able to help but smile. "How nice of him," you said with a smile. If you had heard his string of complaints, you wouldn't find him so nice. But he wouldn't tell you that. "Are you hungry?" "Famished!" Steve saw the sparkle in your eyes; even your smile was different when you rested. As you chewed your breakfast with gusto and asked him about his graduation from the police academy, Steve observed you again carefully so you wouldn't notice it, partly because he didn't want you to think it was strange, but also because the little adrenaline rush he got from it was addictive. He didn't know what was going on: he had known you for years, you were never a point on his radar. He knew that if he tried hard enough, he could count the times you both talked in high school and would only need the fingers of one hand. You were never attractive to him enough to be his friend, let alone something more. It's true that if he tried to remember, he could say that you always had that pleasant smile and those huge eyes that seemed to read whoever they saw. You were also nice; you never paid special attention to Tommy and Carol, nor did it seem to matter to you to be part of the school's social hierarchy, nor did it seem to matter to you to be his friend even after the Hawkins attack. Although it's true that you were always kind, he couldn't say that they became friends until a year or two ago. Steve had lived a life without you; the curious thing was that now he found it hard to imagine the rest of his life without you in it.

Your heart seemed to ache. It was strange because you were happy, very happy; you had had a bath with aromatic salts, a good dinner, most importantly: a good rest and a delicious breakfast. But your heart hurt. Today was a good day, and you didn't want to be ungrateful, but you wouldn't have this forever; and you didn't talk about the shower, the food, or the, oh, comfortable bed the size of a Cadillac. No, this; to Steve. You couldn't help feeling that your happiness had an expiration date, and it was too soon. Your stomach hurt, your chest hurt, and your mind hurt. Anyway, you tried not to show it, and in the afternoon when Steve dropped you off at your house after vegging out in his living room eating the leftovers from the night before and watching comfort movies like The Breakfast Club and The Princess Bride, which Eddie had gotten in some non-legal but not illegal way since it had come out only a few months ago in theaters, you tried not to look at him too much or try to count the moles on his neck because it was real torture. He had looked at you with those eyes and smiled as he said goodbye to you. You saw him watching you until you entered your house and said goodbye with a wave one last time. He drove away in his car, and you stayed by the window because it was almost physically impossible to move away from there. "And then?" your mother's voice sounded behind you, which was the only thing that made you move. You turned to her still holding the bag with the soft pajamas that Steve had refused to let you return. "Steve told me his plan. Did you manage to sleep?" You nodded, and your mother approached to hug you while making little cries of joy. You hid your head in her neck and started crying, it took a couple of seconds before your mother noticed. Damn Steve Harrington and his consideration for telling his plan to your mother. Damn, damn it. "What's wrong?" your mom asked, worried, cradling your face. "I need help, Mom," you hiccupped, and the phrase was barely understandable. You saw your mother raise her eyebrows and nod. "Of course, but what's wrong? What do you feel?" You tried to breathe and put your hand on your chest. "F-fear" Your mother's expression softened, making her look younger when she seemed to understand what you meant. "Oh, no, sweetheart. No," she kissed your forehead and wiped your tears with a small consoling smile. "You're in love."

Yes, at least Steve had recognized the symptoms.

#stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x you

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archangeldyke-all · 6 months

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hello there... I'm super late to the party as I just binge watched Arcane like two days ago and I am FERAL for sevika, I have a problem honestly...anyways firefighter!sevika and nurse!reader or doctor!reader has been floating around my brain, like imagine how nervous you get when she gets called to a massive fire and how worked up she gets when you have to attend a really bad trauma scenario (something greys anatomy worthy) omggg the overprotective vibes are killing me

welcome to the sevika sphere!! i'm gonna change reader to an EMT because i know a bit more about that than i do nursing or doctoring, hope that's okay! also... this is not accurate at all to how any of these kinds of operations or protocols go but whatever

men and minors dni

you work on different sides of town so while you're always interacting with firefighters on calls, you don't meet sevika for a while.

but when a factory fire breaks out on sevika's side of town, all available units in the city are called over to help.

you meet her there, and it's like a movie scene.

she jogs out of the flames, a man slung over her shoulder, dramatically pulling her helmet off and shaking her hair out of her face. for a second, time slows down. then she's dropping the man on the gurney in front of you for you to start administering oxygen, and everything speeds back up again.

the two of you don't talk until the fire's out and all the injured have been shipped off to the hospital. the fire chief is chatting with the factory manager, your boss is talking through the radio to dispatch.

"haven't seen you around before." a voice speaks up beside where you're loading up the truck. you look up at sevika, free from her protective gear, in a form fitting t shirt and cargo pants, grime on her face. you smile.

"i work on the other side of town." you say, cracking open a water bottle and taking a sip.

"that's a shame. was hopin' i'd see you around more often." she says with a pout. you choke.

sevika gets your number after you stop sputtering.

you two click instantly. she takes you out for a casual coffee that weekend, but you talk for so long that coffee becomes dinner which becomes a hookup at sevika's place.

gossip travels fast, but it travels even faster among first responders, and you come into work on monday to cat calls and congratulations on your new 'figherfighter girlfriend'

when you ask sevika if she had used those specific words with her friends, she just shrugged and asked if that was okay.

since then the two of you have been inseparable.

it's usually you who wakes up in the middle of the night scared out of your mind that one day sevika just won't come home from work.

sevika's had several close calls and one near death miss since the two of you got together. (the near death miss inspired sevika to propose to you. she woke up from her coma asking for you and the second you arrived, she choked out the words, 'marry me?' you guys eloped the same week she was discharged from the hospital)

sometimes sevika will come home from work and you'll be so relieved to see her you burst into tears.

you often tune into the dispatch radio on your off days, listening for her engine number and their status. sometimes, if you're lucky, you can even hear her voice.

so usually, you're the worried spouse.

tonight it's different.

tonight you get called to an active hostage situation, on standby to treat the hostages when they are released, whether it be peacefully or with police fire. you hope it will be peaceful. gunshot wounds are a lot of work, and you've had a long shift already.

you don't have to worry about that for long, though, because when your truck pulls up as first on the scene, the three cop cars that arrived moments before you are riddled with bullets, all of the officers incapacitated inside.

lacy, your boss and driver, curses as she pulls up on the scene. Beside her in the passenger seat, toya is rambling codes into the radio, alerting dispatch of the scene you've driven up on. "i count five officers down." toya says.

a clear calm settles over you, the same calm that always guides you in these moments. your mind focuses on protocol, emotion secondary to your eyes flickering over the scene. "six." you say to toya. "six down. two dead, four severely injured. passenger and driver in five have abdomen wounds." you say, pointing to squad car five ahead of you. you move your finger to the left. "twenty two's driver is dead, shot in the head, but his passenger is alive. i can see her moving. can't make out any injuries." you point to the final car. "driver is alive in seventeen, but unconscious. his passenger's dead."

you move as you speak, grabbing your kit and tossing toya hers. you can't leave the vehicle until more police arrive, but the adrenaline is building in your body, your hands shaking and feet tingling, ready to hit the ground running.

somewhere down the street, sirens begin wailing. you and toya sigh in relief, only to scream when a gunshot rings out and the windsheild shatters.

another shot rings out, the back door lock of the ambulance pulverized by a bullet, and the doors swing open as you, lacy, and toya turn to face your attacker.

"out of the truck now!" the masked man screams. you gulp, following his directions with your hands in the air. the three of you jump out of the truck. "you!" the man points his gun at you. you freeze. "you want your friends to live?" he asks. you nod. he points toward the bank he'd just ran out from. "come on." he says, putting his hand on your shoulder and walking you toward the bank, keeping his gun aimed at lacy and toya.

you follow him. shock is the only thing keeping you calm. just as the door slams behind you, three squad cars come peeling up the street, arriving at the scene. you let out a breath of relief that lacy and toya are safe now.

"i got one!" the man behind you shouts into the bank, leading you to the back of the building and into a conference room. inside, you count twelve hostages, and three more gunman. one is on the floor, clutching his side, bleeding through his fingers. "i got one, boss." your captor says as he shoves you forward. you blink, gulp, then launch into action.

"i need space." you choke out as you crouch beside the bleeding man. you help him lay horizontially, slinging your bag off your shoulder. "i need an assistant." you say looking up at your captor. he nods. "do you want it to be one of your guys or one of the hostages?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level and calm. you focus on pulling on a clean pair of gloves. you don't think beyond that.

"one of my guys."

"are they gonna be able to keep their temper in check if i tell 'em what to do or are they gonna shoot me? 'cause if you shoot me your boss is shit out of luck." the man hovering above you considers this, then nods to the group of hostages on the ground. you address them.

"do any of you know any basic first aid?" an old man raises a shaky hand. you nod him over. "what's your name?" you ask him as he crawls over to you.

"j-j-j-jerry." he stutters out.

"okay jerry, put these gloves on." you hand him a pair of gloves. "and take a minute to take some deep breaths. you're okay. i need you focused--not shaky." you say. the man nods, pulling his gloves on and taking deep, meditative breath. you begin slicing open the man's shirt.

he's been shot through the stomach and from what you can make out, the bullet is still lodged inside. he's bleeding steadily, but not profusely enough for an artery wound, which is good.

"jerry, you're my hand-it guy, okay? when i need something, i'm gonna tell you what it looks like and where you can find it in my bag, and you're gonna hand it to me. got it?" you ask. he nods. you nod back at him. "good. main pocket in a white paper package there's some gauze. get that." you say to jerry. then you look down at the man beneath you.

"hello sir, me and my friend jerry here are going to be helping you out tonight. what's your name?" you ask the groaning man.

"i'm not giving you my name, you pig." he grunts out. you sigh. jerry presses the gauze in your hands.

"i'm not a cop." you grunt out as you begin sopping up blood from the man's stomach. he flips you off. "whatever. how long has it been since he was shot?" you ask the man standing behind you, still pointing a gun at your head. he falters.

"five minutes, maybe? since those cops got here." he says. you nod.

"alright. well, you got two options. if you think you guys are gonna be outta here soon, i recommend option one, which is me stuffing his wound and applying pressure. he'll bleed out eventually, but not if we get him to a hospital in time, which me and my friends can do with our ambulance." the man grunts at you to continue. you nod.

"option two is I take the bullet out and cauterize the wound. it's gonna hurt worse than getting shot, there's a chance he'll die of shock, but if we do it right we can buy him an hour or two." you say. the man above you curses. his masked friends anxiously titter. a phone on the wall rings.

"fuck!" he shouts, storming over to answer the phone.

"you need to give me an answer!" you call after him. "gauze." you say to jerry.

"give me a second!" he shouts. he answers the phone. "hello." he says. on the other line, a negotiator speaks. you soak up more blood with gauze.

"i need an answer!" you shout at the man.

"shut the fuck up!" he shouts at you. he heaves a breath, then speaks into the receiver. "unless you can promise us a getaway van and immunity, we're not fuckin leavin'!"

fuck. he's going rogue. the police are gonna come barging in, guns-a-blazing, and these stupid fuckers are dumb enough to try killing hostages. for a second, you break, an image of sevika waiting at home for you flashing through your mind. she's making her chili and corn bread tonight. what if you don't get to taste it?

"miss?" jerry asks, gently nudging your shoulder. you snap back to reality, taking the gauze from his hands and pressing it against the steadily bleeding wound. the man below you is delirious, fading in and out of consciousness as he loses more and more blood.

"fuckin' stitch him up. we're not leaving." your original captor says to you.

it takes four more captives to hold him down as you cauterize the wound. you do it with a thin metal rod and a blowtorch-- provided to you by your captors from their lock breaking kit. as the rod heats up, you sanatize the wound.

"the tiny in the inner pocket, the long pliers." you demand. jerry finds them in a flash, handing them over to you. "hold him down." you say to the four hostages.

when you fish the bullet out, he wakes up, groaning in pain.

"stop-- stooooop! please stooop!" he screams. a hostage still sitting against the wall vomits. you continue digging.

"sir focus on your breathing, we're doing this to keep you alive." you speak down at him calmly. he spits at you. you break a second time, anger and fear overpowering you for a flash as you dig your instrument against the tender torn flesh of his side. he passes out again. serves him right.

with the man unconscious, the process is much smoother. you pull the bullet out in one piece, tossing it beside you on the floor. the rod is red hot when you press it into his wound, a sizzling filling the air as his skin bubbles and burns. jerry leans over to throw up at the smell.

you've never done this before-- and this certainly isn't the proper way to do it. but with a gun to the back of your head you do the best you can guess with your preliminary medical knowledge and available resources.

it's a success... in the sense that the man is still breathing. the wound isn't bleeding nearly as profusely, but it's still sluggishly spurting from time to time. his chest is sweaty and pale. the hostages who were helping you are traumatized and shaking.

the phone rings again.

"you done?" your original captor--the new boss with the old one unconscious--asks you. you nod. he answers the phone.

"hello?" he asks. you can make out the muffled voice of the negotiator on the other line. a gunman moves you and your five hostage assistants to sit against the wall.

with nothing to do but sit, your focused haze begins to fade. you become aware of your body, no longer on autopilot. your mind starts thinking again, thoughts about what's going on outside, toya and lacy and if they're okay, and then sevika.

you choke. oh fuck, no, don't think of sev. don't think of sev or else you're gonna start crying. god is this what she feels like, trapped inside a burning building? this hopeless sense of dread? this debilitating desire to see your wife one more time?

jerry nudges you. "you good?" he whispers. you gasp, reaching out to grab his hand.

"i have a wife." you say to him. he squeezes your hand.

"she'll be happy to see you when this is all over." he says. you nod.

"how about you?"

"three kids. they're old enough to take care of themselves... hell, one of them's expecting their own baby in december," he says, laughing. "but i'm still not ready to leave 'em." he says.

"do i need to shoot a hostage!? what do you people not understand about FULL IMMUNITY?" the masked man on the phone screams. a woman beside you faints. "matter of fact-- i got one of your own in here? ain't that right officer?" the man asks, looking at you. you blink.

"i'm not a co--"

"you want another cop dead? i know i got at least two of 'em out front! you wanna make it three?" he asks. silence follows as the negotiator speaks. your heart is in your ass.

"listen. my wife's name is sevika. if this goes bad, you need to tell her i love her. you need to-- you need to tell her i'm never gonna leave her side. tell her i'll always love her and--"

"you're not gonna die, miss." jerry cuts you off.

"but if i do!" you say, pleading with the man beside you. "if i do you have to tell her--"

"i will." jerry says, nodding. "i will." he promises.

"they wanna talk to you." the masked man rasps out, looking at you. you blink.

"i'm not a cop." you say. he rolls his eyes.

"tell it to them." he says, gesturing you over to the landline. you stumble to your feet, shakily approaching him. his finger is on the trigger of his gun at his side, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. you look to jerry. he crosses his heart. you take the phone.

"hello?" you shakily speak into the receiver.

"is this lacy's missing crewmate?" a voice asks over the line. you take a shaky breath.

"yeah." you say.

"what's the situation inside?"

"twelve hostages, thirteen including me. one man down, gunshot to his chest. i patched him up best i could."

"he's one of the captors?"

"yes."

"and how many are there?"

"four." you say.

it's silent for a moment, the negotiator likely speaking to someone else. you can hear the faint chatter on the other side of the line, police barking instructions, sirens sounding, reporters demanding questions. "are any hostages hurt?" the voice asks suddenly.

"no. one just passed out, but i think it's just shock." you say. silence again. you take a breath, trying to focus on staying calm. over the line you hear people scream and tires screeching. there's a faint commotion, then, a distant voice.

where the fuck is she? where the fuck is she!? get off of me-- where is she??

you'd recognize that voice anywhere. it's sevika.

you burst into tears.

"are you alright ma'am?" the negotiator asks. when their voice quiets, you can make out various curses and threats sevika throws out as people try to subdue her. you choke. the masked man beside you scoffs, then turns to speak to his partners.

"can you put her on the phone?" you whisper, your voice wobbly.

"what?" the negotiator and gunman ask at the same time. you wave the gunman off, pointing at the receiver. when he turns around, you turn around too.

"that woman causing a scene-- that's my wife. sevika. can you put her on the phone? please?" you beg, your whispered voice shaking. it's silent on the other line. "please!" you squeak.

silence.

then... "b-baby?" a shaky voice comes through. you gasp.

"sev." you whimper.

"baby, oh my god." she cries into the phone. "oh my god, are you okay?" she sobs. you shake, your hand coming out to catch yourself on the wall beside you.

"i love you." you whisper. "i love you and i'll never stop loving you, honey, even when i'm gone." you whisper. sevika gasps on the other line.

"don't say that!" she shouts.

"they-- they're talkin' about killing a hostage. they think i'm a cop. i don't think i'm gonna--"

"shut the fuck up!" sevika growls. you stop your hushed rambling. "you're gonna be fine, baby, i'm gonna see you real soon, okay?"

"sev--"

"say it!" she begs, her voice cracking. you weep.

"i-i-i'll see you soon, baby." you choke out.

"who the fuck are you talkin' to?" the masked man behind you asks. you freeze.

then the wall caves in.

you wake up on a gurney, swat members and paramedics running past you. there's a ringing in your head.

you look to your left. toya is grinning down at you.

"knew you'd fuckin' make it!" she says, giddily. you smile. you're dizzy in a fun way-- likely concussed. you blink asleep.

you wake up again outside, lacy nudging you awake. "no sleepin', kid." she commands as she takes your vitals. you nod.

"what..." you try. your brain's still rattling around in your skull. words aren't as easy as they usually are. toya understands you, though.

"swat blew the wall in and took those goons down! you and all the hostages are safe. you got the most damage-- rubble hit your head pretty hard." she explains as she shoves an IV into your arm. you blink.

"sevika?" you ask. lacy chuckles at your feet.

"what'd i tell you? second thing she asks is where's her wife. ridiculous." lacy says. toya rolls her eyes.

"baby!" sevika's voice calls from across the parking lot. your head whips over to see her, sprinting at the three of you at full speed, pushing a few people out of her way. you giggle when she shoves the cheif of police to the side-- he stumbles on his feet as he tries to catch his balance.

she's by your side in a flash, grinning down at you, tears running down her cheeks. you recognize the comforting warmth of morphine beginning to flood your veins. or maybe it's just love. you giggle up at her.

"hi, pretty." you say, lifting a hand up to cup her cheek. she shoots down to kiss you, nipping on your lip, shoving her tongue into your mouth. you giggle.

"i'm right here!" lacy grunts out. toya wolf whistles.

"i told you you'd be okay, didn't i?" sevika asks as she pulls away, her eyes locked on yours. you nod dreamily up at her, unsure of what she's even talking about, in love with her all the same.

"you're my wife." you say, amazed. toya and lacy burst out in laughter. even sevika giggles. "what's funny?" you pout up at her. she kisses you again.

"you're the most beautiful, smartest, sexiest person in the world." she says. she gives you another kiss. "i'm never letting you leave the house ever again." she presses a third kiss against your lips. "i love you so fucking much." she says, tears running down her cheeks.

you grin, happy to have your wife kissing you so passionately. you gently brush her tears away. "come here." you demand, scooting over in your gurney to make room for sevika. she laughs, and crawls in beside you, despite the protests lacy and toya shout out at her. she wraps herself around you, kissing you firmly on the forehead. "love you." you whisper.

"love you." she says back to you.

toya and lacy load the two of you in the back of the truck.

they fake gag the whole way to the hospital as you and sevika make out in the back.

taglist

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #soft sevika

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ariel-seagull-wings · 7 months

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THREE EPISODES OF THE REAL GHOSTBUSTERS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE INSPIRED GHOSTBUSTERS II

@janeb984 @bixiebeet @spengnitzed @theselfshippingwitch @inevitablemoment @slimerspengler @professorlehnsherr-almashy @amalthea9

@bixiebeet @spengnitzed @professorlehnsherr-almashy @theselfshippingwitch @slimerspengler @janeb984 @inevitablemoment @amalthea9

Within a few years, Columbia Pictures decided there was money in an Animated Series based on the supernatural comedy Ghostbusters (1984) and the further adventures of its four paranormal investigators. Columbia partnered with DIC Entertainment to make it happen.

The problem was that there was already a Filmation cartoon in development called Ghostbusters, a sequel to the 1975 live-action series The Ghost Busters about a pair of noir-style detectives (and their gorilla) who battle supernatural forces. Filmation's Ghostbusters was a flop, the victim of mistiming: kids were upset that these guys weren't the 'real' Ghostbusters. In response, DiC launched The Real Ghostbusters, to distinguish it from the Filmation property (and to imply that the Filmation Ghostbusters were phonies).

The cartoon focuses on the day-to-day busting that the movie relegated to a montage in the manner of a Police Procedural; there is no over-arching villain or hint of larger forces at work, although some of the ghosts come back for a second try. Not all the ghosts and other supernatural entities are evil: On occasion, the heroes "bust" the ghosts simply by helping them complete their Unfinished Business, while others enlist the Ghostbusters' help or actually want to be busted, as the Ghostbusters' containment unit approximates 'resting in peace' enough to satisfy them.

While the different character designs made to avoid paying the rights for the actor's likenesses extablished that this was an alternate universse, there were some elements that still made it feel like a direct cohesive continuation to the movie (in episodes like Citizen Ghost which follows the team rebuilding the Firehouse right after the battle against Gozer, and Take Two, wich follows the team watching the premiere of the 1984 live action movie like they watch a biopic about the opening of their business), and the success of the show helped boost the selling of a lot of merchandise, which extablishes a franchise, which in turn made Columbia and Sony interested in making the sequel to the 1984 live action movie.

Three episodes of The Real Ghostbusters in particular have plot beats that may or may not have served as inspiration for 1989's Ghostbusters II.

And these are:

GHOST BUSTED

In Ghost Busted, when the number of ghosts across the city drops considerably, the Ghostbusters realize that they will soon be broke! But after they prevent a robbery from taking place, they reinvent themselves as... the Crime Busters!

The theme of what the Ghostbusters do when their business drops off is coincidentally dealt with in the beginning of Ghostbusters II as well: in the Ghost Busted, the team forms a new business to catch criminals in the streets, reinventing their equipment in the proccess, while in Ghostbusters II, they spent five years in separate career paths before returning to hunting ghosts.

BENEATH THESE STREETS

In Beneath These Streets, after New York appears to suffer an earthquake, the ever-enthusiastic Ray heads off into the sewers by himself to find out more. There, he learns that ghosts are gathering for a massive attack on the city, starting by taking away the ooze that lubricates the pillar keeping Manhattan afloat!

The episodes has some parallels to Ghostbusters II in a brightly colored goo bubbling up from the sewer and a Ghostbuster (Ray Stantz) hanging from a rope over a pit.

HARD KNIGHT'S DAY

In Hard Knight's Day, when Peter takes his date to the Cloisters in New York, warrior spirits spew forth from the tapestries with only one thing on their mind: taking Peter's date back into the tapestries with them, where she will remain forever. Although entirely a coincidence, this episode shares several plot elements with Ghostbusters II:

A date gone wrong

A recently unveiled painting

The main villain comes from a painting

Magic anchors the villain to a painting

Peter's love interest is taken captive

The Ghostbusters rappel into a museum

The Proton Streams initially fail against the villain

A victim is placed before a painting

#ghostbusters #the real ghostbusters #ghostbusters fandom #ghostbusters II #ghostbusters 2 #western animation #horror #comedy

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bizarrequazar · 5 days

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GJ and ZZH Updates — April 28-May 04

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This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

04-28 → Flora posted some findings regarding an account that the Instagram recently started following. The account is one that looks legit at first glance, but upon closer inspection is deep into scams itself.

→ The Go Fighting! Weibo posted a solo image of Gong Jun from the episode that would air that evening.

→ Yang Yang posted five photos of himself and Gong Jun from the previous day's 361° live event.

→ Gong Jun posted six photos of himself from the filming of Go Fighting! episode 2. Caption: "I haven't been a big brother for many years."

→ Gong Jun posted a douyin from the above photoshoot. Caption: "Is this what it smells like? #My spring collection# The joy of spring starts from going out."

→ 361° posted a video from the previous day's live event. Fan Observation: The audience members visible in the video are almost exclusively solo fans, with the one shot that includes CPFs having them blurred out. (see 04-27 for additional info)

→ Gong Jun's studio posted fifteen photos of him from the filming of Go Fighting! episode 2. Caption: "Cross the sea of fire and protect the forests and farms. Lock in on Go Fighting! at 9 o'clock tonight on Dragon TV @ Gong Jun Simon will return for a limited time to experience an ordinary day as a forest fire fighter."

→ Episode 2 of Go Fighting! season 10 aired. [full ep with subs]

04-29 → GXG posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ Gong Jun posted a behind the scenes video from his ad campaign with Tissot. (1129 kadian) Caption: "Summer is here! ... Let’s ride the wind and waves together and be trendy all summer"

→ Tissot posted four photos ads of Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

04-30 → Gong Jun filmed an episode for Hello Saturday.

→ The Instagram posted a video promoting the scam's "August" documentary.

05-01 → 361° posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ PRSR posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ The Instagram posted a video of "Zhang Zhehan" playing instruments.

→ The movie Formed Police Unit, which Zhang Zhehan was cut from after 813, premiered in theatres to largely negative reviews.

05-02 → Nothing of note.

05-03 → Colorkey posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a photo of Gong Jun's silhouette, teasing his performance at Li Ronghao's concert shortly after. Caption: "A preview."

→ Gong Jun posted seven photos and two live photos his pre-concert photoshoot, later editing it to add two photos of him on stage with Li Ronghao. Caption: "@ Li Ronghao Hello, mentor, I am trainee No. 888, please turn around for me." Li Ronghao reposted this with the added caption, "Full marks for Xiao Gong's debut 🤗🤗🤗", to which Gong Jun replied, "Xiao Gong is happy again"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted six photos from the same shoot. Caption: "It dropped! @ Gong Jun Simon's one-day idol experience card!"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a video of him singing off stage at the concert. Caption: "Xiao Gong @ Gong Jun Simon is singing hotly🎤"

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted four live photos from the photoshoot. Caption: "A blast for Xiao Gong trainee No. 888 @ Gong Jun Simon!🤗💙🤗💙🤗💙"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted fourteen photos of him performing at the concert. Caption: "Your sweet smile is just like dark plum sauce~ @ Gong Jun Simon's bling bling singing wishes everyone a good night 🤗💙"

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted a five minute video of Gong Jun's performance. Caption: "The lark Xiao Gong @ Gong Jun Simon raises his voice and shoots directly (star chasing winner version)"

05-04 → Gong Jun posted a douyin from his pre-concert photoshoot. Caption: "I woke up laughing, hahahahahahaha!"

→ Li Ronghao posted photos from his concert the previous day, including three with Gong Jun. Caption: "Thank you Harbin. We have all received your enthusiasm so highly. Thank you also Gong Jun for accepting the invitation to sing "Dark Plum Sauce" with me. He is really a simple and clear boy who leaves a impression. See you next time, Harbin." Gong Jun commented on this, "Happy, thank you ge, see you next time"

→ Gong Jun posted eight photos from the pre-concert shoot to his Xiao Hong Shu. Caption: "I made my debut! Yesterday only!"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video from the pre-concert shoot. Caption: "Pink holiday, unrestricted dreamy moments from @ Gong Jun Simon~" They later posted another to their Douyin, caption: "Gong Jun loves to change things and bring surprises, open @ Gong Jun Simon’s card (idol version)🪄"

Additional Reading: → A reminder Blue has a charity fundraiser going for Zhang Zhehan's birthday! Giveaways are still available for those who show proof of donation before 05-08.

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#Zhang Zhehan #Gong Jun #Word of Honor #woh cast #lld timeline

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world-cinema-research · 11 days

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Bonnie and Clyde (1967) Blog Essay

By: Jillian Arnold

"This here's Miss Bonnie Parker. I'm Clyde Barrow. We rob banks."

The film, Bonnie and Clyde, is a well-known and controversial film that has been talked about for decades. The film follows a waitress, Bonnie Parker, as she falls in love with a criminal named Clyde Barrow, and together they begin a life of crime with each other in 1934. The film follows their life of crime as they rob Banks and pick up other people for their gang such as Buck Barrow, Clyde’s brother, and his wife, Blanche, as well as their getaway driver C.W. Moss. together, they form the barrel gang and fulfill a life of crime with robbing banks, stealing cars, and murder all through the country. The movie action keeps you on your toes throughout the entire film as they have close calls with the police catching them and as they go through the ups and downs of a life of crime.

The film was directed by Arther Penn and starred Warren Beatty as Clyde Barrow and Faye Dunaway as Bonnie Parker. Even with the film’s R rating, it still did well in the box office and has become a beloved film. The film released on August 13th, 1967 and made $50,700,000 domestically, even with the film’s $2,500,000 budget. The film had 22 wins and 29 nominations, with Estelle Parson winning Best Actress in a Supporting Role at the Oscars and winning Best Cinematography at the Oscars as well.

The film is believed to follow the true story of Bonnie and Clyde, but in reality it is less than 5% historically accurate. Bonnie and Clyde did not emerge as full-blown figures that were instantly popular and were in every newspaper. In reality, they rarely tried to rob banks and in reality, their burglaries were committed in mom-and-pop grocery stores and filling stations along the back roads. What made them so popular was they were robbers during the Great Depression and made a bigger impact on people because everyone was so poor at the time and struggling. There are also other inaccuracies in the film, such as Bonnie had married at a young age and never got divorced while Clyde had done prison time early on and was on parole when he met Bonnie. The film did have its accuracies to their true story such as how honestly depicted the number of police and guards to it died in their bank robberies because Bonnie and Clyde had no aversions to kill when they thought they needed to.

An image of the real Bonnie and Clyde in the 1930s.

The film in 1967 was so controversial to audiences because the film opened the floodgates to heighten graphic violence in cinema and TV and de-glamorized what it means to die by being shot by bullets. The violence on this level had never been seen in the media before as well as the nudity in the film. The film was also controversial because of the release during the social unrest, the Vietnam war, and the civil rights movements in the United States. During the year there were protests and riots over America standings in the Vietnam war, which caused hostility and unease over the nation. There was also unjustness and unease with segregation in the unfair treatment of people of different races. With the violence happening in America at the time and the amount of violence in the film, it could’ve made people uneasy about the unstable times. But the unstable times could’ve also made people want to go to the movies, since it’s a classic thing to do with friends or family, so that’s also why I could’ve been a massive success.

People protesting on the streets about America’s standing in the Vietnam war and how they want America to pull out of it for the well-being of America and Vietnam.

Photo of African Americans fighting for fair treatment and to be equal to the white man because they shouldn’t be treated differently due to their skin tone.

The film was a controversial, but conventional film because it was based on real people, and the characters were portrayed by stars of Hollywood. The film handled portraying the real events of the story well and kept it historically accurate and with Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway, it kept the story clear and interesting the whole time. Even though the film is conventional, it does not take away from all it’s earned and how great of a film it is, then and now.

“Why? What do you mean, ‘Why?’ Because you’re different, that’s why. You know, you’re like me. You want different things. You got somethin’ better than bein’ a waitress.”

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rainbowsky · 8 days

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Sorry I've taken so long to address this, I've had a very busy day and didn't have time to finish this post (which I started yesterday).

I'm talking, of course, about the incredibly controversial situation surrounding DD right now. I've gotten some messages about it so I figured I'd give my thoughts in a bigger post so that I don't have to keep repeating myself.

(CW: racism, spoilers FPU)

I know that by now most people are aware of the situation, but I'm going to start from square one for those who are just catching up on the topic.

There is a scene in Formed Police Unit where Chinese UN peacekeeping troops need to rescue a group of citizens who are surrounded by terrorists. In order to accomplish this they disguise themselves as people from the community. This being Africa, the troops were disguised using blackface.

Yes, I am saying that DD and his castmates appear in the film in blackface.

I am not going to post a picture of that here. It's just something I can't post on my blog. I understand that many of you will want to see for yourself so I'll link a clip of the scene, which was posted on Weibo. Please be aware before clicking - this is full-on blackface. Always take care of yourselves, and if you think it might be upsetting to you don't click. You don't need to see it to be a 'good fan'.

Background

For those who may not know, this movie was filmed years ago, in 2021. During those years I have seen many anti attacks against DD, claiming that he is racist and has worn blackface. Here's the photo that was circulating back then.

At the time I thought the makeup that he was wearing was likely anti-reflective black paint or camouflage paint such as is used by snipers (which he played in the film). I assumed that he was wearing his own hoodie over part of a military costume, because he was wearing a cammo shirt and what might have been combat trousers.

I was certainly not expecting full-on blackface from this movie.

There's no getting around it - this is extremely difficult to look at.

Blackface is widely viewed as offensive and racist. It shouldn't be hard to understand why. Putting on another person's ethnicity like a costume is deeply insensitive, particularly when you consider that BIPOC (black, indigenous, and other people of color) are so frequently targeted, exploited and marginalized. For those in positions of privilege and power to put on the appearance of the people who they oppress and exploit... it's just shocking and awful.

Blackface is most frequently talked about in an American context, but it's actually a problem globally - including in China. More on all that here.

The film

I have not actually seen the film, so I don't know much about the context beyond what is being discussed in the fandom. As I said earlier, in the film a group of UN police officers need to infiltrate an area in the community and take on disguises in order to do so.

In promotional media this film is being presented as based on true stories from real missions*. It seems the situation in question really happened on a Chinese peacekeeping mission, and the UN troops disguised themselves as black citizens in order to infiltrate and extract the endangered captives.

*I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt on this because it doesn't change how I feel it should have been handled.

This is important context that is being conveniently left out of much of the backlash about this situation. People are outright claiming that DD plays a black person in the movie - that he wore blackface to perform a role that a black actor could have played. This simply isn't true, and people making these claims are antis and liars. There's simply no excuse for not knowing the full context.

Having said that, I don't really think it matters how it ended up in the film. I do not think there is such a thing as a palatable or appropriate use of blackface. In this day and age it is nearly universally understood to be racist, and it's extremely controversial.

I can understand if they were trying to be accurate to the mission that they were portraying, but surely there are other ways they could have accomplished this scene (perhaps with the clothing but not the blackface). 'Historical accuracy' isn't as important as cultural sensitivity, not by any stretch of the imagination. In the interest of respecting audiences they could have adapted the scene to make the use of blackface unnecessary.

I really see no excuse for anything like this in 2024.

Audience reactions

Chinese sensibilities around these topics are very different from what we are used to in the West.

According to fan repos audiences initially didn't recognize any of the actors, and once it became apparent that they were in disguise, laughter erupted around the room. In fact, most fans are laughing a lot at the photos and video even on social media (although some Chinese netizens have been upset by it and have voiced complaints to various stakeholders).

It is also being widely discussed on Chinese social media as an exciting scene of heroism in the film.

I feel the need to point out that the laughter and mockery is a huge part of the harm, here. As if it's not bad enough that these actors are performing in blackface and presenting a perversion of black ethnicity, it also becomes an opportunity for audiences to mock and disrespect black people. It's become an opportunity for social media to be filled with racist jokes and mockery.

Roadshow statements

There have been some clips circulating of PR and roadshow moments with black cast members and some black audience members who have spoken up in support of the film and to thank the cast and crew for telling the story. Here's one example.

International fans have been dismissing those statements as ignorant or coerced, which I think is offensive and deeply fucked up. There's no planet on which I'm going to - with a totally straight face - say that a black person's response to the movie is not legitimate just because it doesn't comport with my own view.

This is a complex issue and there are inevitably going to be a lot of different perspectives. I hope people won't exacerbate the problem by supplanting black voices on this issue with their own, no matter what's being said. If there's any manipulation going on, let's assume it was in their choosing supportive black figures to speak for the film rather than claim that the black spokespeople are insincere.

China has a lot of issues with racism, there's no doubt about it. It's a huge part of why so many people try to whiten their skin, or why they mock each other when their skin gets tanned/darker. There is a lot of sinister, fucked up stuff going on in China around race - both in the country and in their dealings with other countries.

But we can't claim to speak for black people in China, particularly when they are speaking for themselves! I would hope this is extremely obvious!

Where's DD in all this?

It's understandable that bystanders will react to what they're seeing and might immediately deem it unacceptable - and DD along with it. Their reactions are valid, but as fans I hope that we can look at him with a bit more empathy. I hope that we can take a moment to try to see things from his perspective.

DD has been interested in and an avid fan of black culture since he was a small child. We've all seen how much he immerses himself in hip hop, street dance and the accompanying music and fashion. And yes, he's been accused of cultural appropriation in the past for wearing locs and durags.

However, I think fans need a bit of perspective here to get a sense of where DD might be coming from. Here's a guy who loves black culture, who has close friends who are black, who regularly works with black artists and who supports black artists, in a culture where racism against black people is prevalent and often extreme.

I think DD would probably be amazed to hear the accusations of racism against him. He likely has very few people in his orbit who are anywhere near as supportive of or as closely connected to black people as he is. He likely stands out in his circle as being particularly into black culture and connected with black artists, and probably regularly faces ignorant questions or digs from people around him about his close association with black artists and culture.

Not just because of racism alone, but also due to the racist parallels the government tends to draw between black culture, street dance, hip hop, etc. and criminality/moral degradation*. It's likely that ignorant people in his orbit have expressed concern or wariness toward him because of these associations.

*That is, until breakdancing became an Olympic sport, then they were suddenly onboard with some of it.

I'm not saying that he doesn't have a lot of learning to do (and if this situation becomes what I think it might become, he'll have a big opportunity to do so), I'm just saying that his ignorance isn't mean-spirited. He's coming at this from a totally different angle than any of us are, and he is immersed in a totally different cultural perspective than our own. In his world, his interest likely makes him a bit of an anomaly.

So those painting him as a horrible racist... it's just not how I see it.

The element of choice

I've heard many people say that DD 'didn't have any choice' about this role, that turning it down would not have been an option or that he would be under some kind of threat if he didn't take this role. I don't agree with that characterization of things. I don't think it's quite as 'gun to the head' as a lot of fans paint it.

I think it's more likely that he simply didn't realize that the role would involve blackface when he accepted it, or that he thought that blackface in this context - to infiltrate a terrorist cell and save civilians - would be fine. We don't need to depict China as forcibly compelling actors to take unwanted roles if we want to make sense of this. There are simpler, more logical explanations.

DD wouldn't have been the one deciding how to depict the scene - he didn't have that power in 2021 - but I also doubt he would have had a major problem with it given everything we know.

We must overcome our Western tendency to see things only from our own perspective. This has a totally different cultural context in China, and the voices we listen to about it should not be issuing exclusively from white faces that are not at ground zero of this situation.

Final thoughts

This film has had me worried from day one. I think most people have been expecting it to be full of offensive portrayals and propagandistic fuckery. There are so many ways in which a Chinese film about the UN is potentially a sticky, tricky mess. This blackface thing is likely just one problem on a towering pile of problems.

However, I'm not going to sugarcoat this - this has the potential to be a real shitshow for DD, and I am concerned. Especially if this film gets an international release.

We need to brace ourselves, because I don't think this is going to just disappear. DD has endorsements with international brands, and this could definitely cause backlash for those brands unless the issue is addressed and the scenes removed. There's no planet on which brands like Chanel and Lacoste can afford to have one of their spokespeople plastered everywhere in blackface.

If this film gets an international release and those scenes are left intact, it's possible he will lose some brands.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that, but let's face it - things like this have consequences, and that's why it's so important for producers and artists to be sensitive about what they're portraying.

While I think there's some endorsement risk here for DD, and the potential loss of some international fans, I want to be clear about one thing: I don't think this will threaten his career overall. In China this just isn't an issue in the way it is internationally.

I do hope the film team addresses this issue in some way, ideally by removing the scenes. They just finished doing a massive edit to remove ZZH from the film, surely they can handle something like this. But let's not hold our breath...

Everyone has the right to make up their minds about DD. As I've often said, being a turtle isn't for the faint of heart. That's not just because turtles are frequent targets for bullies, or because we have to constantly live with uncertainty and doubt.

Being an international turtle also isn't for the faint of heart because there are a lot of cultural and political minefields to navigate, and many ideological differences to adapt to. There's a huge learning curve and a lot of unknowns, and turtles who want to survive have to make peace with the fact that we and the boys are from different worlds in many ways. We may never know where they really stand on issues that are important to us.

However, in this case I feel confident that I know where DD's heart is on this issue. He simply doesn't hold hatred, disrespect or disdain for black people. Quite the contrary.

I think we'd all just feel a lot better if he had a good grasp on how to be a better ally.

And while we're waiting for that, I think we should put our money where our mouths are and learn more about these issues ourselves, both in China and locally at home. We want DD to be a better person; let's be better people too.

#bjyx #yizhan #ggdd controversies #please rebloggers don't tag with his name or the name of the film #i don't want this outside the turtle circle - the fan wars are horrific

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accio-victuuri · 1 month

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wang yibo weibo update

The sniper Yang Zhen of the Chinese peacekeeping and anti-riot team is on standby at any time, and the peacekeeping police assemble enthusiastically to protect the peace of one side. May 1, witness it together!

#OMG ITS HERE LETS GOOOO YANG ZHEN 🫶🏼#hahahahahaha wyb just had a drama finale yesterday and now he is promoting a movie! so busy!#wang yibo #yang zhen #formed police unit

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arlenareed · 11 days

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240429 YIBO-OFFICIAL weibo update: Yibo for Formed Police Unit premiere event in Beijing

#wang yibo #yibo #china #weibo #formed police unit #movie #press conference #official photos

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p-h03n1-x · 10 days

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Wang Yibo Douyin update 5.1.2024 Formed Police Unit is released and summons Yang Zhen in one second. See you in the theater

#wang yibo #Wang Yibo Formed Police Unit #Wang Yibo Yang Zhen #i want to watch this movie so bad #but how?

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dailyanarchistposts · 2 months

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Chapter 5. Crime

Prison is the institution that most concretely symbolizes domination. Anarchists wish to create a society that can protect itself and resolve internal problems without police, judges, or prisons; a society that does not view its problems in terms of good and evil, permitted and prohibited, law-abiders and criminals.

Who will protect us without police?

In our society, police benefit from a tremendous amount of hype, whether it’s biased and fear-mongering media coverage of crime or the flood of movies and television shows featuring cops as heroes and protectors. Yet many people’s experiences with police contrast starkly with this heavy-handed propaganda.

In a hierarchical society, whom do police protect? Who has more to fear from crime, and who has more to fear from police? In some communities, the police are like an occupying force; police and crime form the interlocking jaws of a trap that prevents people from escaping oppressive situations or rescuing their communities from violence, poverty, and fragmentation.

Historically, police did not develop out of a social necessity to protect people from rising crime. In the United States, modern police forces arose at a time when crime was already diminishing. Rather, the institution of police emerged as a means to give the ruling class greater control over the population and expand the state’s monopoly on the resolution of social conflict. This was not a response to crime or an attempt to solve it; on the contrary, it coincided with the creation of new forms of crime. At the same time police forces were being expanded and modernized, the ruling class began to criminalize predominantly lower class behaviors that had previously been acceptable such as vagrancy, gambling, and public drunkenness.[70] Those in authority define “criminal activity” according to their own needs, then present their definitions as neutral and timeless. For example, many more people may be killed by pollution and work-related accidents than by drugs, but drug dealers are branded a threat to society, not factory owners. And even when factory owners break the law in a way that kills people, they are not sent to prison.[71]

Today, over two-thirds of prisoners in the US are locked up for nonviolent offenses. It is no surprise that the majority of prisoners are poor people and people of color, given the criminalization of drugs and immigration, the disproportionately harsh penalties for the drugs typically used by poor people, and the greater chance people of color have of being convicted or sentenced more harshly for the same crimes.[72] Likewise, the intense presence of militarized police in ghettos and poor neighborhoods is connected to the fact that crime stays high in those neighborhoods while rates of incarceration increase. The police and prisons are systems of control that preserve social inequalities, spread fear and resentment, exclude and alienate whole communities, and exercise extreme violence against the most oppressed sectors of society.

Those who can organize their own lives within their communities are better equipped to protect themselves. Some societies and communities that have won autonomy from the state organize volunteer patrols to help people in need and discourage aggressions. Unlike the police, these groups generally do not have coercive authority or a closed, bureaucratic structure, and are more likely to be made up of volunteers from within the neighborhood. They focus on protecting people rather than property or privilege, and in the absence of a legal code they respond to people’s needs rather than inflexible protocol. Other societies organize against social harm without setting up specific institutions. Instead they utilize diffuse sanctions — responses and attitudes spread throughout the society and propagated in the culture — to promote a safe environment.

Anarchists take an entirely different view of the problems that authoritarian societies place within the framework of crime and punishment. A crime is the violation of a written law, and laws are imposed by elite bodies. In the final instance, the question is not whether someone is hurting others but whether she is disobeying the orders of the elite. As a response to crime, punishment creates hierarchies of morality and power between the criminal and the dispensers of justice. It denies the criminal the resources he may need to reintegrate into the community and to stop hurting others.

In an empowered society, people do not need written laws; they have the power to determine whether someone is preventing them from fulfilling their needs, and can call on their peers for help resolving conflicts. In this view, the problem is not crime, but social harm — actions such as assault and drunk driving that actually hurt other people. This paradigm does away with the category of victimless crime, and reveals the absurdity of protecting the property rights of privileged people over the survival needs of others. The outrages typical of capitalist justice, such as arresting the hungry for stealing from the wealthy, would not be possible in a needs-based paradigm.

During the February 1919 general strike in Seattle, workers took over the city. Commercially, Seattle was shut down, but the workers did not allow it to fall into disarray. On the contrary, they kept all vital services running, but organized by the workers without the management of the bosses. The workers were the ones running the city every other day of the year, anyway, and during the strike they proved that they knew how to conduct their work without managerial interference. They coordinated citywide organization through the General Strike Committee, made up of rank and file workers from every local union; the structure was similar to, and perhaps inspired by, the Paris Commune. Union locals and specific groups of workers retained autonomy over their jobs without management or interference from the Committee or any other body. Workers were free to take initiative at the local level. Milk wagon drivers, for example, set up a neighborhood milk distribution system the bosses, restricted by profit motives, would never have allowed.

The striking workers collected the garbage, set up public cafeterias, distributed free food, and maintained fire department services. They also provided protection against anti-social behavior — robberies, assaults, murders, rapes: the crime wave authoritarians always forecast. A city guard comprised of unarmed military veterans walked the streets to keep watch and respond to calls for help, though they were authorized to use warnings and persuasion only. Aided by the feelings of solidarity that created a stronger social fabric during the strike, the volunteer guard were able to maintain a peaceful environment, accomplishing what the state itself could not.

This context of solidarity, free food, and empowerment of the common person played a role in drying up crime at its source. Marginalized people gained opportunities for community involvement, decision-making, and social inclusion that were denied to them by the capitalist regime. The absence of the police, whose presence emphasizes class tensions and creates a hostile environment, may have actually decreased lower-class crime. Even the authorities remarked on how organized the city was: Major General John F. Morrison, stationed in Seattle, claimed that he had never seen “a city so quiet and so orderly.” The strike was ultimately shut down by the invasion of thousands of troops and police deputies, coupled with pressure from the union leadership.[73]

In Oaxaca City in 2006, during the five months of autonomy at the height of the revolt, the APPO, the popular assembly organized by the striking teachers and other activists to coordinate their resistance and organize life in Oaxaca City, established a volunteer watch that helped keep things peaceful in especially violent and divisive circumstances. For their part, the police and paramilitaries killed over ten people — this was the only bloodbath in the absence of state power.

The popular movement in Oaxaca was able to maintain relative peace despite all the violence imposed by the state. They accomplished this by modifying an indigenous custom for the new situation: they used topiles, rotating watches that maintain security in indigenous communities. The teacher’s union already used topiles as security volunteers during the encampment, before the APPO was formed, and the APPO quickly extended the practice as part of a security commission to protect the city against police and paramilitaries. A large part of the topiles’ duty included occupying government buildings and defending barricades and occupations. This meant they often had to fight armed police and paramilitaries with nothing but rocks and firecrackers.

Some of the worst attacks happened in front of the occupied buildings. We were guarding the Secretary of the Economy building, when we realized that somewhere inside the building there was a group of people preparing to attack us. We knocked on the door and no one responded. Five minutes later, an armed group drove out from behind the building and started shooting at us. We tried to find cover, but we knew if we backed away, all the people at the barricade in front of the building — there must have been around forty people — would be in serious danger. So we decided to hold our position, and defended ourselves with rocks. They kept firing at us until their bullets ran out and drove away, because they saw that we weren’t going anywhere. Several of us were wounded. One guy took a bullet in his leg and the other got shot in the back. Later, some reinforcements arrived, but the hit men had already retreated. We didn’t have any guns. At the Office of the Economy, we defended ourselves with stones. As time went on and we found ourselves under attack by gunfire more and more frequently, so we started making things to defend ourselves with: firecrackers, homemade bottle-rocket launchers, molotov cocktails; all of us had something. And if we didn’t have any of those things, we defended people with our bodies or bare hands.[74]

After such attacks, the topiles would help take the wounded to first aid centers.

The security volunteers also responded to common crime. If someone was being robbed or assaulted, the neighbors would raise the alarm and the neighborhood topiles would come; if the assailant was on drugs he would be tied up in the central plaza for the night, and the next day made to pick up garbage or perform another type of community service. Different people had different ideas on what long-term solutions to institute, and as the rebellion in Oaxaca was politically very diverse, not all these ideas were revolutionary; some people wanted to hand robbers or assaulters over to the courts, though it was widely believed that the government released all law-breakers and encouraged them to go back and commit more anti-social crimes.

The history of Exarchia, a neighborhood in central Athens, shows throughout the years that the police do not protect us, they endanger us. For years, Exarchia has been the stronghold of the anarchist movement and the counterculture. The neighborhood has protected itself from gentrification and policing through a variety of means. Luxury cars are regularly burned if they are parked there overnight. After being targeted with property destruction and social pressure, shop and restaurant owners no longer try to remove political posters from their walls, kick out vagrants, or otherwise create a commercial atmosphere in the streets; they have conceded that the streets belong to the people. Undercover cops who enter Exarchia have been brutally beaten on a number of occasions. During the run-up to the Olympics the city tried to renovate Exarchia Square to turn it into a tourist spot rather than a local hangout. The new plan, for example, included a large fountain and no benches. Neighbors began meeting, came up with their own renovation plan, and informed the construction company that they would use the local plan rather than the city government’s plan. Repeated destruction of the construction equipment finally convinced the company who was boss. The renovated park today has more green space, no touristy fountain, and nice, new benches.

Attacks against police in Exarchia are frequent, and armed riot police are always stationed nearby. Over the past years, police have gone back and forth between trying to occupy Exarchia by force, or maintaining a guard around the borders of the neighborhood with armed groups of riot cops constantly ready for an attack. At no point have the police been able to carry out normal policing activities. Police do not patrol the neighborhood on foot, and rarely drive through. When they enter, they come prepared to fight and defend themselves. People spray graffiti and put up posters in broad daylight. It is to a large extent a lawless zone, and people commit crimes with an astonishing frequency and openness. However, it is not a dangerous neighborhood. The crimes of choice are political or at least victimless, like smoking weed. It is safe to walk there alone at night, unless you are a cop, people in the streets are relaxed and friendly, and personal property faces no great threat, with the exception of luxury cars and the like. The police are not welcome here, and they are not needed here.

And it is exactly in this situation that they demonstrate their true character. They are not an institution that responds to crime or social need, they are an institution that asserts social control. In past years, police tried to flood the area, and the anarchist movement in particular, with addictive drugs like heroin, and they have directly encouraged junkies to hang out in Exarchia Square. It was up to anarchists and other neighbors to defend themselves from these forms of police violence and stop the spread of addictive drugs. Unable to break the rebellious spirit of the neighborhood, police have resorted to more aggressive tactics, taking on the characteristics of a military occupation. On December 6, 2008, this approach produced its inevitable conclusion when two cops shot 15-year-old anarchist Alexis Grigoropoulos to death in the middle of Exarchia. Within a few hours, the counterattacks began, and for days the police throughout Greece were pummeled with clubs, rocks, molotov cocktails, and in a couple of incidents, gunfire. The liberated zones of Athens and other Greek cities are expanding, and the police are afraid to evict these new occupations because the people have proven themselves to be stronger. Currently, the media is waging a campaign of fear, increasing coverage of antisocial crime and trying to conflate these crimes with the presence of autonomous areas. Crime is a tool of the state, used to scare people, isolate people, and make government seem necessary. But government is nothing but a protection racket. The state is a mafia that has won control over society, and the law is the codification of everything they have stolen from us.

The Rotuman are a traditionally stateless people who live on the island of Rotuma in the South Pacific, north of Fiji. According to anthropologist Alan Howard, members of this sedentary society are socialized not to be violent. Cultural norms promote respectful and gentle behavior towards children. Physical punishment is extremely rare, and almost never intended to actually hurt the misbehaving child. Instead, Rotuman adults use shame instead of punishment, a strategy that raises children with a high degree of social sensitivity. Adults will especially shame children who act like bullies, and in their own conflicts adults try very hard not to make others angry. From Howard’s perspective as an outsider from the more authoritarian West, children are given “an astonishing degree of autonomy” and the principle of personal autonomy extends throughout the society: “Not only do individuals exercise autonomy within their households and communities, but villages are also autonomous in relation to one another, and districts are essentially autonomous political units.”[75] The Rotuman themselves probably describe their situation with different words, though we could find no insider accounts. Perhaps they might emphasize the horizontal relationships that connect households and villages, but to observers raised in a Euro/American culture and trained in the belief that a society is only held together by authority, what stands out most is the autonomy of the different households and villages.

Though the Rotuman currently exist under an imposed government, they avoid contact with it and dependence on it. It is probably no coincidence that the Rotuman murder rate stands at the low level of 2.02 per 100,000 people per year, three times lower than in the US. Howard describe the Rotuman view of crime as being similar to that of many other stateless peoples: not as the violation of a code or statute, but as something causing harm or hurting social bonds. Accordingly, mediation is important to solving disputes peacefully. Chiefs and sub-chiefs act as mediators, though distinguished elders may intervene in that role as well. Chiefs are not judges, and if they do not appear impartial they will lose their followers, as households are free to switch between groups. The most important conflict resolution mechanism is the public apology. The public apology has great weight attached to it; depending on the seriousness of the offense, it may be accompanied by ritual peace offerings as well. Apologizing properly is honorable, while denying an apology is dishonorable. Members maintain their standing and status in the group by being accountable, being sensitive to group opinion, and resolving conflicts. If some people acted in a way that we might expect in a society based on police and punishment, they would isolate themselves and thus limit their harmful influence.

For two months in 1973, maximum-security prisoners in Massachusetts showed that supposed criminals may be less responsible for the violence in our society than their guards. After the prison massacre at Attica in 1971 focused national attention on the dramatic failure of the prison system to correct or rehabilitate people convicted of crimes, the governor of Massachusetts appointed a reformist commissioner to the Department of Corrections. Meanwhile, the inmates of Walpole state prison had formed a prisoners’ union. Their goals included protecting themselves from the guards, blocking the attempts of prison administrators to institute behavioral modification programs, and organizing prisoners’ programs for education, empowerment, and healing. They sought more visitation rights, work or volunteer assignments outside the prison, and the ability to earn money to send to their families. Ultimately, they hoped to end recidivism — ex-prisoners getting convicted again and returning to prison — and to abolish the prison system itself.

Black prisoners had formed a Black Power education and cultural group to create unity and counter the racism of the white majority, and this proved instrumental in the formation of the union in the face of repression from guards. First of all, they had to end the race war between the prisoners, a war that was encouraged by the guards. Leaders from all groups of prisoners brokered a general truce which they guaranteed with the promise to kill any inmate who broke it. The prison union was supported by an outside group of media-savvy civil rights and religious activists, though communication between the two groups was sometimes hampered by the latter’s service-provider mentality and orthodox commitment to nonviolence. It helped that the Corrections commissioner supported the idea of a prisoners’ union, rather than opposing it outright as most prison administrators would have.

Early on in the life of the Walpole prisoners’ union, the prison superintendent attempted to divide the prisoners by putting the prison under an arbitrary lockdown just as the black prisoners were preparing their Kwanzaa celebration. The white prisoners had already had their Christmas celebrations undisturbed, and the black prisoners had spent all day cooking, eagerly anticipating family visits. In an amazing display of solidarity, all the prisoners went on strike, refusing to work or leave their cells. For three months, they suffered beatings, solitary confinement, starvation, denial of medical care, addiction to tranquilizers handed out by the guards, and disgusting conditions as excrement and refuse piled up in and around their cells. But the prisoners refused to be broken or divided. Eventually the state had to negotiate; they were running out of the license plates Walpole prisoners normally produced and they were getting bad press over the crisis.

The prisoners won their first demand: the prison superintendent was forced to resign. Quickly they won additional demands for expanded visiting rights, furlough, self-organized programs, review and release of those in segregation, and civilian observers inside the prison. In exchange, they cleaned up the prison, and brought what the guards never had: peace.

In protest of their loss of control, the guards walked off the job. They thought this act would prove how necessary they were, but embarrassingly for them, it had the exact opposite effect. For two months, the prisoners ran the prison themselves. For much of that time, the guards were not present within the cell blocks, though state police controlled the prison perimeter to prevent escapes. Civilian observers were inside the prison twenty-four hours a day, but they were trained not to intervene; their role was to document the situation, talk with prisoners, and prevent violence from guards who sometimes entered the prison. One observer recounted:

The atmosphere was so relaxed — not at all what I expected. I find that my own thinking has been so conditioned by society and the media. These men are not animals, they are not dangerous maniacs. I found my own fears were really groundless.

Another observer insisted “It is imperative that none of the personnel formerly in Block 9 [a segregation block] ever return. It’s worth paying them to retire. The guards are the security problem.”[76]

Walpole had been one of the most violent prisons in the country, but while the prisoners were in control, recidivism dropped dramatically and murders and rapes fell to zero. The prisoners had disproved two fundamental myths of the criminal justice system: that people who commit crimes should be isolated, and that they should be recipients of enforced rehabilitation rather than the ones who control their own healing.

The guards were eager to end this embarrassing experiment in prison abolition. The guards’ union was powerful enough to provoke a political crisis, and the Corrections commissioner could not fire any of them, even those who engaged in torture or made racist statements to the press. To keep his job, the commissioner had to bring the guards back into the prison, and he eventually sold out the prisoners. Major elements of the power structure including the police, guards, prosecutors, politicians, and media opposed the prison reforms and made them impossible to achieve within democratic channels. The civilian observers unanimously agreed that the guards brought chaos and violence back to the prison, and that they intentionally disrupted the peaceful results of prisoner self-organization. In the end, to crush the prisoners’ union, the guards staged a riot and the state police were called in, shooting several prisoners and torturing key organizers. The most recognizable leader of the black prisoners only saved his life through armed self-defense.

Many of the civilian observers and the Corrections commissioner, who was soon forced out of his job, ultimately came to favor prison abolition. The prisoners who took over Walpole continued to fight for their freedom and dignity, but the guards’ union ended up with greater power than before, the media ceased talking about prison reform, and as of this writing Walpole prison, now MCI Cedar Junction, still warehouses, tortures, and kills people who deserve to be in their communities, working towards a safer society.

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