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scaranation · 1 year

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hi hi !! could you write an ANGST with Dottore and Zhongli where we break up with them? maybe in dottore we break up because we can't bear(?) his experiments anymore and in Zhongli one we feel not enough/that he loves someone else (maybe Guizhong?)

Gn reader or Fem!reader(if u write for fem. sorry if u do not,i couldnt find rules and im really really sorry ! :( ... )

p.s will there be To love another 3rd part? it's my fav fanfic ever !!

love your work ♡♡

hihihi i know this is like super late but this prompt is literally so good 😭 also im thinking of writing another part to that fic, but i just dont know where to take it so ive been procrastinating haha

dottore’s part is kinda ooc bcs let’s be real if he’s that whipped for reader he wouldn’t let them break up with him, but im going to pretend that he’s not as much of a red flag as he actually is 🤭🤭

༊*·˚ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅

Pairing: Dottore x GN!reader, Zhongli x GN!reader (separate)

Content: Angst, no comfort. Mentions of canon typical violence, assumed past Guizhong x Zhongli

DOTTORE

“It seems my beloved has finally thought to visit me.”

You cringed from the overpowering metallic scent as you stepped into your boyfriend’s laboratory, trying hard not to look at the borderline gruesome sights on the clinical beds.

Dottore cleaned the blood off a bone saw he was holding, setting the instrument down carefully before walking towards you - eyes lit up, but holding a gleam different to the maniacal one he usually possessed.

“How was your day, my love?” His voice was humorous. He seemed to be in a good mood, humming lightly while opening the door for you.

“It was fine.” You sighed as you felt the weight of Dottore’s harbinger coat settle across your shoulders, registering the touch of his hand as he pulled you into him and away from the Snezhnayan cold.

“Has that coworker of yours still been bothering you?”

“… Don’t try pretending.”

“Whatever could you be talking about?” The Doctor’s grip on you tightened.

“I wouldn’t wish death on anyone, even if they annoyed me to that extent.” You sighed, finally tilting your head to stare into the planes of your lover’s mask.

“Oh, they’re not dead. Rather, they’ve been subject to some biological modifications of an experimental kind - would you like to see?”

You gritted your teeth.

“I’m hungry, don’t make me lose my appetite.”

“Good thing I have a nice place booked for dinner, my love.”

His compliance was almost uncanny.

Normal couples gazed affectionately into each other’s eyes over meat and wine, fingers fondly interlaced over the dining table. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to return Dottore’s adoring scarlet gaze, and his hold on your hand felt more like a death trap.

“Is the food to your liking?” He asked. He hadn’t touched any of the vegetables on his plate, only biting into the steak.

“Yes. You should eat greens, too.” You commented.

“Mm. Why don’t you feed me, then?” Dottore only tilted his head, smiling eagerly. Recently, a fear of you being turned into one of the harbinger’s countless experiments had taken hold, and it was this same fear that drove you to play right how he wanted. And so, lifting your fork, you fed him with all the patience you could muster - staring into those deep red eyes, feeling like nothing more than prey. Those eyes would’ve been the last thing many others had seen before their death, the end of their lives marked by that sadistic grin. You almost shuddered at the thought.

Normal couples slept under starry nights reflected in their star crossed hearts as they cuddled close under soft sheets. Normality was such a strange concept, you decided. Despite the fact that you were doing just what normal couples should, the situation was still absurd. However, your fear of becoming another one of the harbinger’s lab rats wasn’t unfounded. You mulled over this fact, almost snorting at the juxtaposition. Here you were - wondering if the man who cradled you in his arms would strap you down to a table in the name of research.

“My love, are you still awake?” You felt Dottore’s breath ghost over your neck, his face pressing into your nape. With a rustle, he readjusted the blanket over your shoulders.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep.”

“Nightmares, perhaps? I have a pill you can use for those.”

“No, just… thinking.” You squirmed in Dottore’s hold. His comment only reignited your spiralling train of thought, pushing you further to the point of resolve.

If he could kill his clones - literal versions of himself - then what would stop him from doing the same to you? Even if you remained alive, would you have to continue to tolerate being exposed to such grotesque horrors?

It was simply better to break things off, before you no longer had the option to.

Breakfast.

The first meal of the day, and the last meal you’d share with your boyfriend.

“Dottore.”

“Yes?” The Doctor’s head jerked up immediately from where he was chewing. You could feel the undivided weight of all his attention sinking into you, and for a moment, you faltered. He was notorious for paying little mind to anyone else, and yet, he treated you with the utmost attentiveness. You steeled your resolve.

“I think… we should break up.”

Silence. Then, the grating scrape of cutlery against crockery.

“Why.”

Not a question, more of a demand. You gulped.

“Do you want me to be honest with you?”

“Yes. Is it something I did?”

“I can’t bear your experiments anymore, Dottore. They’ve gone too far, and I don’t think I can stomach living normally with you as if I don’t know the kind of things you do. Even worse, every day I’m wary that I might be your next test subject - whenever I walk into your lab, I wonder when I’ll be the one under your needles. It’s exhausting.”

Another beat of silence. You could see Dottore’s chest rising and falling at an increasingly fast pace, his jaw tensing.

“I would never, ever do that to you. It’s ridiculous that you’d even think that, and as for your prior reason… I can arrange for you to come to the lab less often…”

“So you’re just going to cover my eyes and act like you’re not doing anything with those experiments? I just can’t be ignorant here, nor can I trust you. If you can get rid of your clones so easily, then what am I? What value do I hold-“

“Those creations do not even compare to you.” Dottore finally snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. You flinched, and he felt as though his lung capacity had been halved. His head spun in tandem with the rapid tightening of his heart, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

It hurt Dottore, realising that you didn’t trust him. That all those fond, intimate memories together were just you acting out of fear - or at least, the most recent ones were. It hurt, beyond anything Dottore thought he could inflict on his patients. And even worse, you were frightened of him. The light shaking of your shoulders and the way you flinched were enough indication.

The Doctor enjoyed seeing his victims become terrified, but that same terror on you almost made him feel like he’d been the one stabbed with a scalpel. Foolishly, he’d fallen victim to his own maniacal research tendencies.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant to say… that you can trust me.” Dottore raised his hand towards you to cup your cheek, wincing when you avoided the action.

“I tried to, I really did. But I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

“My love, please.”

The second harbinger was begging. What a strange sight.

“Let me go, Dottore.” You murmured shakily. You saw hesitation, hurt, and anger flit through those vermilion eyes you’d used to love. But that love you held for him had only smouldered into disgust and fear.

“… Then go. Get out of my sight.” Dottore hissed, his teeth clenching at the wary expression on your face.

It was painful, how you walked out without a second glance.

“My love…” Dottore whispered. He stared at the closed door, almost expecting you to return. He repeated the phrase, over and over to himself - his face contorting into an expression he himself couldn’t name. Was there truly an emotion as human as this? It was a twisted, unimaginable feeling the Doctor couldn’t categorise. The syllables came off his quivering lips, as though by uttering them he could make you come back.

But the truth was, your not-so-normal relationship was over. Perhaps, Dottore would return to the normality of his heartless experiments, and you’d return to the normality of a better fate than one you’d endure by his side.

He only regretted not being able to hold you more.

ZHONGLI

There were only two letters between you and your lover, but those two letters seemed to stretch wider every day - ‘I’, and ‘M’. The seemingly infinite synapse between mere ‘mortal’, and ‘immortal’.

Zhongli was undeniably a mortal vessel, but he as a being was not. He’d lived eons before you, loved and hated thousands. He’d experienced things you couldn’t even fathom, and yet, you couldn’t comprehend how he treated you as though your fleeting existence was the centre of his much larger world.

Whenever you looked into Zhongli’s amber eyes, heard his deep laugh, or felt his gentle caress, you could only feel insignificant. After all, he used to be a literal god. You couldn’t help the guilt that gnawed at your conscience, couldn’t stamp out the incessant feeling that he was too good for you, that you couldn’t compare to whatever lovers he’d had in the past.

“How’s the tea, darling?” Zhongli prompted. He sat with his back to the window, basking in an almost ethereal glow.

“Ah, I have yet to try it.” You shook yourself out of your thoughts to raise the cup in front of you. Zhongli only smiled warmly, but the gesture made your hand shake a little. You’d planned to break up with him today, and yet the way he still stared lovingly at you - full of infinite trust - made you feel terrible.

But how many others had he also treated this way? In his life, those others were probably far more special than you, possessing talents far more worthy of a god’s attention.

Suddenly, a shattering sound pierced your ears, and a scalding warmth set into your thigh. You looked down in a daze, before snapping out of it upon realising that you’d dropped the teacup.

“Are you okay?” Zhongli was at your side in an instant, mopping up the spilled tea and collecting the broken fragments of the cup.

“Yeah.” You gritted your teeth again. How dare someone as insignificant as you make Rex Lapis get down on his knees to clean the mess you’d made. It simply made you feel as though you didn’t deserve such a wonderful man at all.

“You’ve been distracted lately. Is there anything I should know about?” Zhongli asked slowly.

“No. Well, yes.” You stammered. You hadn’t planned this out very well, and your heart squeezed tighter.

“Go ahead. You know you can tell me anything, darling.”

A warm hand came to rest against your cheek. You closed your eyes, feeling tears build and slip down your face.

Zhongli wiped at your tears, holding your hands in your lap as he looked up at you worriedly - his thumbs tracing comforting circles on your knuckles. He thought of saying something, before deciding against it. He knew it was better to let you speak first.

“Let’s break up.” You blurted, feeling Zhongli’s fingers come to a complete stop.

“We can work through this, tell me why first. Has something been upsetting you?”

Your tears fell harder. He still showed you so much kindness, never jumping to any conclusions.

“I feel like I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, it makes me feel guilty that someone like me can have you.” You sobbed.

“Darling, you know it makes me happy to just spend time with you. That in itself is fair exchange, no?”

“But what makes that so special? You’ve lived for so long, you could’ve done this with anyone else, and you probably have. Who am I in comparison to someone like Guizhong?”

Through your blurred vision, you could still see Zhongli’s form kneeled by your side. He seemed to be choosing his next words carefully.

“You and her are both special, in your own way. Why don’t you calm down a little first? I can pour you some more tea.”

“I’m so selfish, Zhongli. I really don’t think I can stay with you.”

“Do you really want to leave that badly?”

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay in his warm embrace, his soft understanding gaze. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“… Yes.”

“Very well then. You know I won’t stop you, because I just want what’s best for you.”

The light grip on your hands released, and as you stood up everything seemed to spin.

“Thank you… for everything.” You murmured, stealing one last glance at the man you loved - before leaving.

Zhongli remained where he was for some time. In his life, many things came to an end, but this hurt a little more. When Guizhong had left him, it was due to her passing - the youthful Rex Lapis had found someone to blame, to ventilate his grief. But the most crude fact in this situation was that you were still alive, and had chosen to leave him of your own volition. Zhongli himself had made this happen.

However, an archon’s most prized trait was impartiality. Therefore, Zhongli knew that he had to maintain indifference. He refused to let himself chase after you, or force you into anything. It was only unfair, if an immortal were to impose such a fate onto a mortal.

And so, he could only watch as you faded from his life, like the cyclic ebb of waves on an ocean shore.

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captainsophiestark · 3 months

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The Hard Call

Azriel x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requeted by Anon! Nonnie, thank you for enabling me to write about Az and Flynn, I absolutely love you for it ❤️ Feel free to drop by any time you want to talk anything SJM-related! Hope you like this, and good news, I have a Flynn fic coming in the next couple days too!

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Summary: Azriel made the hard call when he had to, but he's feeling pretty guilty about it.

Word Count: 1,610

Category: Angst, Fluff

WARNING: House of Flame and Shadow spoilers below the cut!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I swore under my breath as Nesta jammed Ataraxia into the back of the Daglan, the Asteri, whatever it was called. Black blood spurted out of its mouth, but a moment later, the thing—Vesperus—pushed back against the tip of the blade and removed it from her chest. It shouldn't have been possible for something to survive a direct hit like that from Nesta and that sword, but a lot of things from the past few days shouldn't have been possible.

When a fae female had landed in a heap on the River House lawn in front of my mate, I knew we were in for some strange new challenges. But never in a million years could I have predicted the journey she'd led us on through tunnels apparently running all under the Night Court, straight into the heart of the Prison. And now we were facing down one of the most dangerous creatures in the universe, just me, Az, and Nesta, with the female Bryce as an unreliable additional ally.

I tightened my grip on my sword and tried to calm my racing heart as I stood shoulder to shoulder with Azriel. We'd gotten through countless life and death situations together before, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure we'd be able to get out of this one.

Vesperus gave Nesta a horrifying smile as the wound in her chest quickly healed. I glanced to Az, but he kept his eyes locked on the monster before us.

"Ataraxia didn't work," Nesta breathed. "The Trove-"

"Do not summon the Trove," barked my mate. Based on what we knew about this thing before us, I immediately agreed. "Don't bring it near her."

"But-"

"Not even for our lives," he snarled, leaving no room for argument. The same harsh resolve solidified itself in my mind, and I braced myself for the possibility of a last stand. At least if we went down, it would be fighting side by side with my mate.

A flicker of shadows floating softly over my shoulders was the only indication that my mate felt the same. The Daglan grinned, and I got ready to pounce.

****************

Hours later, I sat slumped in my favorite chair in the Velaris townhouse, trying to recover from everything that had happened under the prison. We'd managed to kill the Daglan-Asteri, despite Bryce trying to question it, no matter the risk to our world. But she had gotten away in an impressive display of power, which meant her world's Asteri might have a chance at using her to find us.

Needless to say, when Az, Nesta, and I had made it out of the Prison, we'd had a lot to debrief about with the rest of the Inner Circle.

Nobody was happy about the situation we now found ourselves in, but for the time being, there was also nothing we could do about it. So once we made a basic plan to try to gather information and prepare in case something from that other world came back, we all split off for our separate tasks. Az still had a few things to go over with Rhys, but I was free for the time being, so I'd come to my favorite cozy spot in Velaris to try to come down from the insane adrenaline that had been pumping since Bryce got here.

One perk of Rhys and Feyre building the River House and Nesta keeping Cassian at the House of Wind more often was that the townhouse, my personal favorite location, was often free for Az and I to use as our own. I closed my eyes in my favorite armchair by the fire, still in my fighting leathers, and focused on taking deep breaths to try to get the tension out of my shoulders.

I'd actually almost managed to drift off to sleep when I heard the front door open and shut heavily. I didn't need to look to know Az had just arrived, so with a deep sigh to drag me back from the edge of sleep, I raised my head and turned to look at my mate.

"Everything figured out with Rhys?" I asked. He nodded once, moving into the room with a face like stone. I frowned, sitting up and paying a little better attention as he took a seat on the couch, his gorgeous hazel eyes never leaving mine. "What's wrong?"

A muscle in Az's jaw ticked, and I knew he was mustering a response to my words. Despite his reputation as the unreadable spymaster, all our time together as friends and then as mates had given me a leg up on everyone else who tried to read his expressions.

I stood from my seat in the armchair and moved to sit before Az on the couch instead, taking his hands in mine. His eyes searched my face, and I let a small smile work its way through the exhaustion, trying to put him at ease. He could take however long he needed to, and I'd be ready to listen when he wanted to talk.

"I'm... sorry."

I raised an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"

That muscle in his jaw was working over time, the rest of his face the same inscrutable mask he'd worked so hard to perfect.

"For what happened in the Prison. For... being willing to let you die down there, rather than risk Nesta summoning the Trove. You deserve a better mate than that."

My jaw dropped, shock preventing me from responding for a few small moments. Az just kept staring at me, and even though his face didn't show it, I could feel the guilt eating him up at his core.

"Az, you have nothing to apologize for!" I finally managed. One of his eyebrows quirked up and he frowned, expressing doubt at my words without speaking one of his own. I huffed and squeezed his hands tighter.

"Listen to me, Azriel. The reason you are my mate is because you made that decision in the Prison. We both know that letting something like that into the world with a weapon like the Mask is an unacceptable option, as long as there is anything in this world we can do to prevent it. If the Daglan or the Asteri or whatever she was had gotten her hands on the mask, it probably would've cost the lives of everyone we've ever cared about, and the rest of this world along with it. Nothing is worth allowing that to happen."

Az ground his jaw, his gaze softening and his eyebrows furrowing as he continued to scan my face.

"Are you... sure? Cassian and Rhys... I think they'd tear the world to shreds for their mates."

I just shrugged. "For what? If the world is gone, if the cost of that choice is absolutely everything else, then what's the point of saving each other in the first place? We'd have nothing left, other than the blood of the world on our hands."

Az grunted, and I shifted closer to him, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek.

"Az. I love you, so much, and a part of that love is because you're not so selfish as to risk throwing the world away for me. Especially since, more likely than not, we'd be dead anyway not long after she got that mask. Neither of us is selfish enough to make a call like that, and I love that about us. The only thing that matters is that we stand together as long as we can, and I knew damn well in the cave that if either of us was going down, we were going down side by side, fighting to our last breath. Obviously I'm happy we both made it out of there, and I'm not saying we shouldn't fight for each other, but that call you made today? I'd be pissed if you'd made a different one."

Az studied me for another second, and I let him see every truth and emotion written in my face. Finally, he sighed, the tension going out of his shoulders as he reached out and pulled me closer to him, arms around my waist. I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my hands in his hair. We'd almost died today, and I wasn't about to take the fact that we were both still here together for granted.

"Have I mentioned lately how happy I am to have you as my mate?" Az asked, his voice a little gravelly as he leaned in closer to me. I smiled, leaning forward and letting my lips ghost over his own.

"Yeah, actually, you have. But I'll never complain about hearing it again."

Az smirked, then gently closed the last of that distance between us, his lips brushing softly against mine. I leaned into the kiss, eager for more contact, and I could feel Az's smirk widening right before I deepened the kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me as tight to his body as possible, and I tangled my hands in his hair, letting myself get swept up in him.

I'd meant every word I'd said to my mate, about the choice he'd made and how I felt about it. But I was also incredibly happy it hadn't come down to the cost of our lives, and that we'd made it out of there together. And now that Official Night Court Business had been taken care of, I intended to fully celebrate and appreciate Azriel, and the fact that we were still here together. And I knew he intended to do the same.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

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dreaamerwrites · 1 year

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[ JEALOUS ]

rating: PG couple: cho guesung x female reader request: "can i ask you to imagine cho gue sung if he gets jealous because of one of the other players?" tags: jealousy, cake, kangin shenanigans, making out in a hotel hallway lol note: reader has had a crush on guesung for a long time. she was starting to wonder if her feelings might be reciprocated while they were apart during the Qatar World Cup, but during a welcome back party for our KNT boys, guesung begins to act very, very strange. /

You realize something is wrong immediately.

You can’t quite put your finger on how you know. He’s standing on the other side of the room, several feet of carpet, appetizers, and rowdy footballers stretching out in the space between you two. Seungho is laughing at his side. Jinsu must’ve cracked a joke, because Guesung appears to be laughing too now. But…

But you can tell something is wrong.

Maybe it’s that tight set to his jaw. (You can see it clench and unclench, an unhappy habit you know he’s been trying to break for months now, per his dentist’s orders.) Or maybe it’s his arms, crossed over his chest. He’s standing broad; feet apart, shoulders squared. He looks half-ready to fight or bolt – and yet, still, he continues to laugh between Jinsu and Seungho. As if everything is fine, as if nothing’s wrong.

His eyes briefly flicker over. They meet yours. You frown at him, trying to ask and convey:

What’s wrong?

Guesung’s expression does not change as he looks away yet again.

“Noona, did you taste this yet?!”

Suddenly a fork comes in line with your vision.

You look to your left, startled. Kangin had been chatting animatedly by your side for the last few minutes but, with Guesung looking so off, you hadn’t been able to pay much attention to the boy. The Mallorca boy smiles down at you with a broad, earnest smile, all teeth and dimples, and you immediately soften.

“No, not yet,” you reply, leaning forward to take the bite of cake he offers to you. It tastes of blueberries and whipped cream. “Are you guys even allowed to eat stuff like this?”

“Of course,” Kangin’s grin grows even wider, a truly impossible feat. “It’s Day 1 of our vacation. I deserve this today. Isn’t it good?!”

The sweetness clings to you, both from the cake and the boy.

“Yes,” you laugh, shaking your head. “It’s very good.”

Pleased, Kangin moves to take another bite for himself now. He’s settled close to you, as he had been for the last hour…

(I’ve missed you, noona! he had exclaimed, as soon as he had found you waiting in the hotel suite, still adding the last finishing touches to the makeshift welcome party you and the rest of the Seoul-based staff had thrown together.

The day had been a hectic one – their flights delayed, the airport erupting into chaos, countless fans lining up outside the hotel where the team had intended to touch base before all going their separate ways. You had been a mess then, hair still up in a sloppy bun, a pile of knotted streamers in your hands. Kangin had nearly tackled you down with a hug regardless.

You should’ve come with us, he had whined, arms still tight around your waist. Qatar wasn’t the same without you!

Over his shoulder, at that moment, you had seen Guesung walk in, face gaunt, eyes tired. He had stopped briefly when he saw the spectacle before him – Kangin hugging you in a wild bear hug, walking you backwards and nearly knocking over a bowl of confetti in the process – before shaking his head and making his way immediately towards the bar cart.)

That had been one hour ago.

And now, Kangin is still pressed into your side, curled up beside you on one of the hotel suite loveseats – and Guesung…

Well, Guesung has still not even come to say hello.

You’re trying very hard not to take it personally. It isn't as if you have any claim on Guesung. He isn't even your boyfriend, after all. You're close of course. You're close with all of them really. But… but Guesung had been different. Had felt different.

Especially over the last few weeks, throughout the World Cup campaign. You two had been talking more than ever. Constant phone calls, constant texts. You had spoken to him more over the last few weeks while he was in Qatar than you had ever before.

(And when he’d fall asleep, mid-sentence, mumbling to you over the phone about just wanting to do well, to make everyone happy, to make you feel proud of him… well, was it wrong for your heart to have flipped at the promise? Was it wrong to start to wonder if, for the first time in years, that perhaps your feelings weren’t so one-sided after all?)

You did well, Guesung. I missed you. I’m proud of you, Guesung. I missed you.

You had had so many things to tell him in-person and yet, now, you can’t even find the courage to approach him from across this very hotel room.

Was it possible for someone to feel far away, even while in the same room? How had he managed to feel even closer, when he had been oceans away before?

“You wanna know a secret, noona?” Kangin suddenly asks.

He’s pressed to your side, radiating a comforting kind of heat that briefly distracts you from how strange Guesung has been all evening.

You force yourself into a brief, small smile before turning to look at Kangin again. He has a small smudge of whipped cream on his Cupid’s bow. He looks as soft, kind, and sweet as ever. A boy, enjoying his cake, just happy to be here at all.

“Sure,” you can’t help but laugh, reaching over to wipe the cream from his lips with your thumb, endeared. He blushes sheepishly at the action, licking at his lips afterwards. This time, you press your shoulder into his instead, laughing teasingly. “What’s the secret, kid?”

This gets him back on track.

Momentarily forgetting his sheepishness, Kangin straightens up, sitting broad in the loveseat with you, shoulder firm against yours. He gives you an owlish, knowing look.

“I’ve been conducting an experiment,” he says, very matter-of-factly.

You raise a brow, licking the icing off your thumb. Kangin doesn’t bat an eye.

“You see, when we were at the airport, some of the hyungs were all making fun of… someone,” he raises a brow right back at you, all swagger now, as if he wasn’t just caught with frosting on his lip. “They all knew you’d be here, waiting for us when we got back, ya’know.”

You’re not quite sure where this is going.

“They were making fun of him, saying that… that someone would probably be soOOOooOo happy to see you,” Kangin hums, clearly pleased with himself. “He tried to deny it the whole trip. Said it wasn’t a big deal. Said he just wanted to see you just like everyone else. Said it wasn’t like that.”

Wasn’t like that. Suddenly your heart is caught in your throat.

“Kangin,” your smile falters.

Kangin’s expression transforms from faux swagger to warm encouragement in a split second. He sets his cake down onto the coffee table and, hands free now, shifts even closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“I needed to call bullshit,” he smiles warmly, no malice lacing his words whatsoever. Just pure kindness and laughter. He radiates so much softness that you can’t even admonish him for swearing. “I wanted to make them acknowledge that: nope, this is exactly like that.”

Kangin squeezes your shoulder firmly, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Noona, you deserve someone who will be honest about their feelings. You deserve someone who will be proud to have you in their life and who will fight to keep you always.”

(Just want you to be proud of me, Guesung had murmured sleepily on the fourth night.

His voice had sounded far away on the phone. You had pressed the receiver closer to your ear. You could catch what he said next just barely. It came so soft and sleep found him so quickly after that you wondered if you had dreamt it all.

Just want you to want me too, he had whispered. Just want you.)

“So I started wondering, ya’know. If this guy can’t even be brave enough to tell his friends that he likes you, then will he ever be brave enough to deserve you?” Kangin continues, this time more flippantly than before. His gaze flickers over to the side of your head but he holds you still, does not let you look away. “So I needed to run a little experiment.”

Suddenly Guesung is standing before you.

This time, Kangin lets you look up, look away. Lets you look up into Guesung’s face, to find his expression pinched and unhappy, his big hand brushing Kangin’s off of your shoulder with focused intent.

Guesung grabs your arm and lifts you up and off the couch.

“We’re going,” Guesung grits out. “Now.”

“Guess I know my answer now,” Kangin laughs loudly, a full-bodied laugh. You can see he has some whipped cream still left on his chin, too, that you hadn’t noticed before.

You glance between the young boy and Guesung in confusion – but Guesung doesn’t give you a chance to squeak out another question.

He leaves behind a laughing Kangin and pulls you further and further away, his hand firm on your arm, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls you through the crowd of people, his steps so wide that you nearly trip over your own feet to keep up with him.

Heungmin is laughing now, just as loudly, and you can see Jinsu and Seungho doubled over in the corner.

Guesung does not spare anyone a second glance.

He does not even spare you a glance until you’re out, finally, standing in the hotel hallway, the suite room slamming closed behind you. Your back hits the wall.

“I’m – what – what’s going on – ” you sputter, Guesung’s hand still tight around your arm. “Guesung, you’re hurting me.”

He drops his hand immediately, as if burned. Still, he does not look at you. He stares down at his hand instead. His chest is heaving and his expression has morphed from frustrated anger to one of disbelief, as he stares down at his palm. He clenches it closed into a fist, his knuckles white.

Just want you to want me too.

“Sorry, I’m – I’m sorry,” Guesung is muttering now, voice low and gravelly. Thick with something uncomfortable. “I shouldn't have – sorry, I grabbed you. I shouldn’t have – ”

You can hear the party even through the thick hotel room door that separates you from the rowdy footballers. You can almost hear Kangin laughing, still.

Be brave, he’d probably tell you.

Be brave, he’d probably tell the both of you in this hallway.

Slowly, you raise your hand to cover Guesung’s closed fist. His hand is so big, compared to yours, that you can barely cover half of it. You raise your other as well. Cradling his fist in both of your hands, you smooth your thumbs over his clenched knuckles. You can feel him shiver at the touch and finally, finally… you buck up the courage to look up.

To look at him.

Guesung stares down at you, towering over you with his height. He blocks out the hotel light behind him, still breathing heavily, shoulders shaking, and, for once, all you can see is him. The hotel room, the laughter, the party: everything fades away. There is only you, and there is only him.

The silence is deafening.

His mouth is pressed into a thin line. His expression is still unreadable, guarded and unhappy, but the beauty mark just below his eye is so endearing that you can’t help but soften, despite yourself.

For the first time that evening, you think you may finally understand what was wrong all along.

I miss you, his eyes seem to scream. I missed you!

You let go of his hand to reach up to cradle his face carefully instead.

“It’s okay,” you whisper into the silence of the hotel hallway. “Don’t be sorry.”

Be brave!

“I missed you too,” you admit quietly.

The change in his expression comes so swiftly that you can barely register it before he crushes you against him. He presses your face into his broad chest and wraps his muscled arms around you tightly, desperately. He holds you so close that your own chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. His breath is warm and harsh against your ear, a faint whine of unhappiness rising up when you wiggle in his arms, trying to free your own arms so that you can wrap them around him. Only when your arms circle his waist does he finally let out a ragged, relieved sigh.

Still, he does not let you go.

“I hated it. All of it,” he mutters into your hair. “Everything in there. I'm sorry. I hated that Kangin was the first one you saw. I hated that he was with you all night. I hated that we didn’t speak and that you didn’t look at me and that you were looking at him and –”

He’s rambling now, all nonsense and tight breaths.

You smooth your hand down his back. Follow the curve and dip of his spine. Rub soothing circles into the base. He seems to melt into you at the touch, though he’s careful not to rest his weight onto you.

You don’t think you’d mind it, really. You tug him closer, still.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper back quietly. “I’m sorry too.”

This stops the rambling.

Guesung seems to go still in your arms. And then, unwillingly, reluctantly, he slowly pulls back. His hands are locked behind your back so neither of you can go very far, but he pulls back just enough to get a better look at your face. You’re not sure what you look like. Your hair feels like a mess, from being pressed up against him just now, and you’re sure you’re flushed as well – but…

But Guesung looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And, damn, if he isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen as well.

His mouth is red and his cheeks are flushed. He stares down at you with such intensity that you want to squirm under his gaze, but still he holds you in place. You swallow. His hair has come loose, the pomade softening, and a few strands fall into his forehead. You want to push them back. You want to hold him closer. You want him to…

“You didn’t know?” Guesung asks softly, breaking your train of thought.

You shake your head slowly. He licks his lips. Watches you watch him too.

“You didn’t know that I’ve missed you like hell for the last few months? You didn’t know that the first person I wanted to see after our Portugal match... was you?”

Guesung’s gaze never leaves yours.

This time, you do shiver.

“You wanted to see me first?” you reply shakily, a slight tremor in your voice.

Guesung sweeps one hand up from your waist to the side of your neck. Normally he runs cold, you know, but today he is warm, skin hot against yours. His thumb smooths over the slope of your jaw, the touch purposeful and tender.

“I always want to see you first,” he replies, just as shakily, his voice giving him away.

You cannot hear Kangin laughing anymore. You do not hear anything but the sound of Guesung’s soft voice and your own heart thumping loudly in your chest. It’s time to be brave now.

“Good,” you reply.

You tilt your face up to Guesung. And then, staring into his eyes, you lift yourself up onto your tippy toes, rest your hands on his shoulders, and lean up and into him.

When your lips find his, the first kiss is unbearably soft.

A barely there brush of your lips at first – but then there's a second, and then a third.

By the fourth, Guesung is hungry as he pushes you back further against the wall, one leg slotting between yours, his big hand cupping your cheek to tilt your mouth up and open for him even more.

“Missed you,” you murmur between kisses, his tongue catching your bottom lip. You shiver when his other hand stops at the small of your back, thumb sweeping across the stretch of skin there that appears as your shift lifts just slightly. “So proud of you. ‘M so proud of you. Wanted to tell you all night.”

He shakes in your arms at this, holding you closer, his thigh warm between your legs.

“Proud of me?” he mumbles back, pressing another kiss at the corner of your mouth, nose brushing against yours. “Missed me?”

You nod, dizzy now, breathless as he kisses you in earnest. Your hand finds its way into his hair and you give the strands a light tug, pulling him back slightly. When he tilts back, you can see him clearly now. Mouth wet, pink with your lip balm, his hair even more mussed than before. He’s heaving now, chest rising and falling with each desperate breath.

You can taste that cake still – blueberries and whipped cream clinging to the backs of your teeth – but you can taste Guesung too, you think. You lick your lips.

He seems to melt at the sight.

He sags against you, pressed firmly against you, wedging you between his thighs and the cool wall behind you.

“Did you really?” he leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

For someone who just kissed you as if their life depended on it, a flash of uncertainty shines in his eyes.

Oh, Guesung…

You decide to be brave enough for the both of you.

“I did. I’m so proud of you. And I missed you so much,” you answer steadily. Your hand in his hair is gentle. You brush the strands back slowly, carefully. Breathe in his cologne and let yourself get dizzy with it. “Wanted you. So much.”

Guesung looks dizzy himself.

He nudges his nose against yours. You’re sure the position must be uncomfortable for him, towering so high above you but leaning down so that he can reach you, like this. He does not seem to care. The uncertainty in his eyes seems to be fading now.

“Really? You wanted – want me?” he clears his throat. Presses himself closer to you, all heat between your legs, shuddering when your fingers card through his hair, nails grazing the nape of his neck. He tries to laugh shakily. “Even more than Kangin?”

The joke catches you so off guard that you let out a helpless, breathless laugh.

“Is that really a question?” you ask, looking down at the predicament you two are in briefly before looking back up at Guesung. Do you see this right now? is what you should really be asking. Instead, you decide to humor him. “Of course more than Kangin. More than anyone else. Always. I wouldn’t be out here kissing Kangin like this!”

This seems to appease him.

He crowds against you even closer, nuzzling your nose with his, sneaking a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Only kiss me like this. Only want me. I know I only want you.”

You know there will be lengthy conversations after this. You know the two of you will need to discuss your feelings properly – will need to iron this out and speak like adults, rather than kiss-drunk kids who want only to be wrapped up in each other’s arms. You know that that will all come...

But for now, you let yourself have this.

Be brave.

“Only want you,” you promise, voice soft. Reassuring. Guesung is warm and solid in your arms.

He is everything you could ask for at that moment.

He is everything you could ask for always.

“I promise.”

Bonus cut:

Several minutes later, after a few more lengthy, hungry kisses:

Guesung fixes his hair, ruffling the strands between his fingers, as he gazes at you thoughtfully. You raise a brow at him, as you readjust your shirt, trying to tuck it back in from where he had pulled it loose.

“What is it?”

He purses his lips, a curious look in his eyes.

“You tasted like… blueberries. Do you always taste like berries?”

You pause.

And then, schooling your expression into the most neutral one you can manage, you sniff: “Did you get to try the cake we got for you guys? It’s blueberries and cream. …Kangin fed me some. Didn’t you see – ”

(Really, you both had tried to straighten yourselves out in vain. What was even the point of trying to straighten out your shirt again?)

You yelp when Guesung reels you back in, big hands immediately grabbing onto your hips as he pulls you closer, staring at your mouth with intent, chasing you for another kiss.

“I’ll kiss it away. Gonna kiss you til you taste like me instead,” he growls roughly, mouth open and wet against yours.

You can only laugh into the kiss in agreement.

#cho gue sung #cho gue sung imagines #no proofreading we die like men #LOL #soccer fanfic

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thefugitivesaint · 12 days

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youtube

It was 1990, the year the album 'Mystical Shit' came into my life through my strange friend who loved off beat music. His eclecticism, which he had at an early age, exposed me to bands I might not have discovered had I been left to follow my own tastes exclusively. I would love to have him pop his head out to say hello to you dear reader but, unfortunately, he went and got himself addicted to heroin, a relationship that eventually led to his death. I didn't attend his funeral because I didn't know he had died. I didn't know he died because we had a falling out when, somewhere on the path he walked, he got very lost. Somewhere along the way he started to embrace white supremacist bullshit (one among a number of baffling decisions). He knew how I felt about that garbage. The heroin was bad enough, the additional strain of reprehensible politics was the proverbial straw on that poor camel's back. The souring of a very long friendship left associations in its wake that cannot be separated from where and how they were born. When I listen to King Missile* I think of a younger dude with an odd sensibility that was coupled to a wry sense of humor. Before the descent, where I was forced to watch a person gradually erode themselves. Before having to finally admit that there was nothing I could do to help or intervene or stop what was happening. Before having to bid adieu to someone who was part of my life for years. In the divorce I got to keep King Missile and They Might Be Giants and Christian Death and all the other bands this friendship exposed me to. I mourn the loss of who that person was but I also get to celebrate the memory of that person through the music we both enjoyed. (*'Steal Stuff From Work' was a shared mantra and countless zines in Philadelphia in the late 1990s were made for free thanks to the unknown generosity of a former employer. Thanks Kinkos). Anyway, the point here is that this song is a kind of tragedy that also happens to be life affirming. You might lose some friends but you'll get to enjoy some very delicious cheesecakes. Wait, I'm not sure I know what I'm saying here. Look, it doesn't matter, just listen to the song and this last paragraph will make more sense.

#king missile #mystical shit #cheesecake truck #alternative rock #John S. Hall #ordered sound #Youtube

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hairstevington · 1 year

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i can't tune you out (part 1)

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie Munson is an up-and-coming rock and roll artist living in LA. Steve Harrington (under the stage name HARVEST) has been taking the radio by storm lately. When the fans start shipping them together as a couple, Steve and Eddie consider it an opportunity to boost their upcoming albums. There's just one problem - they can't stand each other. (Link to Ao3)

Part 2 Part 3 - the rest on Ao3!

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Rockstar!Eddie, Indie!Steve, modern day AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn, fake dating/PR relationship, they are both assholes lowkey but they'll get better later in the fic I promise, Drunk!Steve, Nancy is still a heartbreaker, oh look Robin and Chrissy are also here

A/N: Here you have it folks, the much awaited return of Rockstar!Eddie. I've had this story on the backburner for a while now and am so excited to dive into it! Don't worry - I will be updating Flowers and Ink soon, I just got inspired and wrote this first chapter as a little teaser for you all ;)

It all started with a t-shirt.

Steve was playing his own show the night Robin went to a Corroded Coffin concert with a friend from work. He wasn’t upset or anything, because Robin had been to Steve’s shows countless times in the past. Besides, he didn’t like Corroded Coffin’s music anyway.

Apparently, Robin liked the show enough to go to the merch table, where she bought a Corroded Coffin t-shirt, and the rest is history.

“Ridiculous,” Steve muttered to himself. His dryer was busted AGAIN, which meant he had to call the stupid landlord to have it fixed AGAIN.

He’d been so busy with shows that he hadn’t had a lot of time to do laundry, and this was him finally catching up. Of course, the damn thing broke. Now he had no clothes.

He sighed and went to the designated Robin drawer she insisted she have at Steve’s apartment. She was there a lot of nights anyway, so she always kept some pajamas and things just in case. Thank god for Robin’s love of oversized clothing.

He grabbed the first shirt he saw, threw it on, and headed to the grocery store.

Steve wasn’t even conscious of what the shirt said. Maybe he should have glanced in the mirror before he left, but he was tired and just needed to get food for the week. He’d been out of town on tour for a while now, so there was nothing at home.

People were staring at him, but that wasn’t too unusual. His stage name was HARVEST, which was nice because he could separate himself from his music when he wanted to. His persona when he performed was vastly different to the guy wandering a grocery store in his best friend’s clothes, and he liked that. It was freeing. It gave him some semblance of privacy, because most fans of his music didn’t even know his real name.

The more devoted fans, however…

People took his picture sometimes without asking first. That was common. It wasn’t great, but it was common. Steve was never that concerned with looking ugly on the internet, anyway. Although, if people went up to him and asked, he usually said yes if they were nice about it.

It took about three hours for the notifications to pour in. Steve ignored them, at first. His publicist would handle whatever it was. But then, Robin called.

“Steve!” she greeted when he answered. “You wore my shirt out?”

“Uh, yeah?” Steve responded. He looked down to see that it was a band t-shirt. Nothing too crazy about it. “That okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she assured him. “It’s just funny because somehow now people think you’re Corroded Coffin’s number one fan.”

“That’s…strange,” Steve said, confused. “All because I wore their shirt one time?”

“Yeah, well people looked into it and they found out you and Eddie Munson went to high school together -”

“Ah,” Steve acknowledged, starting to understand.

“- and now people are shipping you with him and all that.”

“Wait, what?” Steve’s face fell. “They’re - Like, that’s insane. It’s only been a few hours and - I mean, I don’t even know the guy.”

“Yeah, but do you remember that TikTok you made last year?” she asked. “The one where you took the metal song and stripped it down, sang it in your style instead?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

Steve did that a few times with a variety of genres. He liked taking music to weird and unexpected places. So, sometimes when there was a viral song or sound, he’d put his own spin on it.

“Okay, well that was a Corroded Coffin song,” Robin explained.

“It…was?” Steve genuinely had no idea. He didn’t look into the artist before he’d made the video.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“No,” Steve answered. “So, that combined with the t-shirt and now people think I’m having an affair with this guy or something?” He scoffed. He’d never understand why people were so hellbent on creating stories from nothing.

“It’s just the internet, Steve,” Robin replied. “People say all kinds of things.”

“Yeah, but -” Steve sighed, shutting his eyes tightly. It wasn’t just that he was being shipped with some random guy, it was that Steve wasn’t even out yet. It was kind of a whole thing he and his team had been working on. His new album was supposed to announce it, not some random pairing based on zero evidence.

“Yeah, I know,” Robin said. Steve knew she understood completely, even without him saying anything. She knew his sexuality before he did. “I promise it’s not a huge deal. Sorry the internet sucks.”

“Thanks,” Steve responded. He hung up, groaned, and collapsed onto his couch, where he fell into a deep sleep.

“Eddie, we can use this.”

Eddie held back the groan he so desperately wanted to let out. He was on the phone with his manager, Carla, who had just told him that people online were pairing him with some other musician that Eddie had heard on the radio a few times and - yikes. It wasn’t his vibe.

“Use it for…?” he asked, completely nonplussed. He picked up a rubber band ball on his desk and rolled it around in his hands.

“You both have albums coming out soon,” she continued. “So, if you’re dating him then - I mean, think of the publicity.”

“Dating him?” Eddie echoed, confused. “Aren’t we jumping the gun, here? Do we even know if this dude likes other dudes in the first place?”

“No, but you should find out,” Carla insisted. “I mean, it’s HARVEST, Eddie. His music is everywhere right now.”

Eddie knew that much, at least. He didn’t listen to the music when he could help it, but people talked about it all the time. The mysterious HARVEST who wore disguises on stage and left cryptic posts on social media. Eddie couldn’t think of a single person he wanted to date less, and he didn’t even know the guy’s name or what he looked like.

Eddie, on the other hand, had been busting his ass to maintain the little audience he’d accumulated over the last five years. Corroded Coffin started as a high school passion project, then devolved into a more serious band that played sporadic shows in his hometown, and then went through a series of changes and replacements until Eddie was the only original part of it that remained. Well, that and the name, of course.

Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin. They were pretty much synonymous at this point. The fans he had knew who he was and what he looked like. He rarely used social media, but when he interacted with fans he was blunt and to the point. No games. No mystery. This HARVEST guy kinda seemed like a tool.

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” Eddie said, snapping one of the rubber bands rhythmically.

“Eddie,” Carla prodded. “If you do this, you’ll blow up. Think of what you could do with the money. Merch. A tour. A vacation. A new house. Whatever you wanted, you could get.”

Money sounded nice, but it’s not like Eddie was living in poverty or anything. Well, he was in a tiny apartment in a shitty area of town, but it was Los Angeles. Who could afford anything more than that? Besides, he’d lived in places that small and shitty his whole life. Then again, he’d never had any other choice. Money would give him the choice.

The popularity aspect was also intriguing, because Eddie loved attention almost as much as he loved music. Sure, there were downsides to fame, but he adored the glimpses of it he’d had so far, and it’s not like being around HARVEST was going to turn him into Leo DiCaprio or something.

“Okay, so if I agree to this, what does that mean? Do you want me to DM him or something?”

“Actually,” Carla said. The playfulness in her tone caused Eddie to drop the rubber-band ball, because she only talked like that when she had a creative idea that he tended not to like. “He’s going to be at this launch party tonight that I may or may not have gotten you an invite to…”

Yup. That sounds about right.

“So you want me to crash the party and proposition this guy?” Eddie asked.

“Of course not,” she replied. “You’re invited, so it’s not crashing.”

Eddie had to chuckle at that one. She was a sneaky one, sometimes, and damn good at her job.

“Fine,” Eddie agreed. “Send me the details and I might go.”

“Will do!” Carla responded. He could hear how excited this made her, and he was glad at least one of them was into this whole thing. “You don’t have to do anything too wild, okay? Even if you’re just spotted with him, it will spread the narrative that something is going on. Deal?”

It felt a little gross to go somewhere just to track a random guy down and cling to him for popularity. It was kind of a dick move, really. Then again, Eddie was kind of a dick.

“Deal,” he replied.

“This will never not be the coolest thing to ever happen to me,” Robin said, as she always does when Steve takes her as his plus one to events.

“Yeah, well since Nancy dumped my ass, get used to it,” he teased. “You’ll be filling in for a while.” Steve nudged her shoulder, causing her to laugh. She was wearing this beautiful, brand new jumpsuit. It was pressed and ironed and cost almost a full paycheck. Lucky for her, she didn’t have to pay for it. Steve was doing pretty damn well for himself financially.

The Uber driver pulled up to the bar and dropped them off. Since it was the grand opening or something, the place was entirely closed off and only people on a list were allowed in.

“Name?” the security guard said at the door.

“Uh,” Steve stuttered. He never knew which name was on these stupid lists. “Steve Harrington, and my guest.” He gestured to Robin beside him, who blushed.

The security guard nodded, crossed them off, then opened the door for them to go inside.

“Holy shit!” Robin said as they walked in. The place was nice, even by Steve’s standards. They headed to the bar to order their first round of drinks.

Steve went to these kinds of things pretty often - he’d go, have a few drinks, hang out with people, then do it all again a few weeks later. He enjoyed them, for the most part.

Well, except for one thing.

Steve choosing to do music under the stage name HARVEST was great in a lot of ways. It was kind of like the whole Miley Cyrus vs Hannah Montana thing, except Steve wasn’t gonna show up to these parties wearing sunglasses, a wig, and an ugly vest - his signature look when he performed. He showed up as Steve, who was a nobody, and that felt kind of lame. To everyone else at the party, he just looked like a normal guy. Even Robin stood out more than he did.

Steve had this whole thing where HARVEST rarely posted anything or did interviews, and when he did he was in disguise and using a voice changer. It started as a joke and then just…stuck. HARVEST was a completely separate entity from Steve. HARVEST was all the parts of him that made him popular in high school, and Steve was whatever was left underneath.

He and Robin enjoyed the night anyway. They were handing out some sponsored cocktail throughout the night until everyone was good and drunk. Whatever was in that thing was lethal. Steve had only had two and he was feeling pretty tipsy. Robin was already on the dance floor after one. She’d pulled him to the photo area while a slower song played, urging him to get a picture with her and commemorate the night before she got too sweaty from dancing.

They held up their branded glasses and smiled. The light flashed so bright they both winced, then laughed at their dramatic reaction. When they began stumbling away from the camera, Robin paused.

“What?” Steve asked, confused.

“Eddie Munson is here,” she said.

“Where?” Steve asked. She pointed vaguely in Eddie’s direction, trying to act like she was just playing with her hair. Steve searched the room until his eyes locked in on the curly-haired brunette that the world wanted him to be with, apparently. Eddie was at the bar, talking up some of the other guests. “What is he doing here?” Robin shrugged.

Steve had never seen Eddie at one of these parties before. His band wasn’t really that popular. Their only claim to fame so far was a chorus of one of their songs going viral on TikTok. Then, like an idiot, Steve had done a cover of the damn song, and now he was in a whole mess of a situation. Eddie Munson was going to inadvertently reveal Steve’s bisexuality before his album even came out.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, and Steve knew that. Fans were going to say what they were gonna say. But still, Eddie being at the party was a crazy coincidence, considering the circumstances.

Steve took a sip from his third cocktail and decided not to think about it.

Eddie had never in his life been invited to something like this before. He’d had to talk to a guard and get let in, like some bigshot celebrity. If being around this HARVEST guy gave Eddie more opportunities to go to shit like this, maybe it was worth it.

Once he got inside, he went to the bar to get a drink. They were serving some cocktail that Eddie had no interest in drinking, so he ordered a whiskey on the rocks as he chatted with the people around him. They were all nice, although it was a bit too loud to have any actual conversation. Plus, most of the guests were well on their way to being drunk.

All in all, it was Eddie’s exact kind of chaos.

He scanned the room for a man that matched his only reference point of what HARVEST looked like. Eddie had seen a few pictures of him on stage, and his outfits were always a little out there. He had different hair every time, but his absurd style stayed consistent.

Nobody at this goddamn party looked like that.

“Hey,” Eddie said after nudging the person beside him. “You know where HARVEST is?”

He realized as soon as he asked that he probably could have just Googled him to see what he looked like. Whatever.

“Uhh, you mean Steve?” the woman responded. “He’s here somewhere. His date is in this gorgeous glittery blue jumpsuit. Find her and you’ll find him. He follows her like a shadow.” She finished her description with a light chuckle. Eddie turned back to face the rest of the bar and continued searching the crowd.

Okay, first of all - Steve? The man, the myth, the legend known as HARVEST was actually just…a guy named Steve? Eddie almost burst out laughing.

Secondly, he brought a date. Of course he brought a date. A woman, at that. Eddie wasn’t cool enough to have a plus one, but Steve on the other hand…

Wow. Eddie didn’t think he’d be able to find the glittery jumpsuit as fast as he did, but it really was a dead giveaway. It sparkled under the lights of the bar, and the girl next to Eddie was right - it was gorgeous. Steve’s date was gorgeous overall, actually. No wonder he was following her around.

“Him?” Eddie asked, pointing to the guy dancing with the woman in the jumpsuit.

“Yup,” the guest at the bar confirmed. She took the last sip of her cocktail and set the glass down on the counter. “So, do you wanna dance?”

Eddie froze. He wasn’t a huge fan of dancing in public, and he also wasn’t sure if this dance was just a dance or if it was something else.

“Well, I, uhhhh -” he began. “I mean, I’m like - ya know - gay.” She laughed in response, her face red from the alcohol.

“No shit,” she replied. “You obviously have heart eyes for Steve, and he’s dancing with someone else, so let’s go out there and you can make him jealous and I can dance until someone who likes women steals me away.”

Eddie grinned. This chick was dope. He held out his hand for her to take it, and then he walked her to the dance floor. He figured that he could strike up a conversation, get Steve to take a picture with him at the photo area, and then call it a night.

“What’s your name, by the way?” he yelled over the music.

“Chrissy!” she yelled back.

“Eddie!” he responded. She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but notice how drop-dead gorgeous she was, too. Everyone at this party was perfect-looking, actually, and it was intimidating and weird. Eddie was grateful he'd decided to wear his nicer clothes.

And then they danced. Eddie did his best to jump to the music and twirl Chrissy around. Over the course of the first song she managed to glide them through the crowd and strategically place them right by Steve.

Chrissy was a total boss.

“STEVE!” she shouted, acting much drunker than she actually was. She threw her arms around Steve, who returned the hug with a warm smile. “How are you?”

Steve said something, but it was so loud on the dance floor that Eddie couldn’t hear it.

“I’M ROBIN,” blue jumpsuit woman said. She looked like she was having the time of her life. “NICE TO MEET YOU!”

“YOU TOO!” Chrissy replied. She turned to Eddie. “THIS IS MY FRIEND EDDIE!”

Oh, shit. Okay then.

Robin and Steve just kinda looked at him and didn’t say anything for a moment. There was no equally loud greeting for Eddie Munson, no sir. He immediately felt judged, and almost bolted right out of there. He didn’t fit in with this crowd at all.

“H-hi, Eddie!” Robin finally said. “I actually know you! I went to your show a few weeks ago!”

“Woah, really?” Eddie responded, shocked. Nobody had recognized him here, yet. Maybe he wasn’t so different from these people after all.

“YOU’RE A MUSICIAN, TOO?” Chrissy asked, amazed. Eddie nodded. Suddenly, the most beautiful man Eddie had ever seen approached Chrissy and asked her to dance. He recognized the guy as this famous actor who’d been in a ton of movies. Score for Chrissy, although she was perfect, too, and barely fazed. Instead, she took the actor’s hand and smiled. “GOTTA GO, SEE YOU GUYS LATER!”

And then, she was off. What a crazy life these people led.

Steve spoke again, but only Robin could hear him properly. She nodded, then gestured for Eddie to follow them to a less loud part of the bar.

“Much better,” Steve said once they could all hear themselves think again. The light in the bar was dim, so it was hard to make out all of Steve’s features, but Eddie could have sworn he looked familiar. “So, you’re the famous Eddie Munson?”

Eddie thought for sure he’d heard Steve wrong. Like, he must have, because no way in hell Eddie could be considered famous among this group of people. Unless Steve was being condescending, in which case…ugh. Sure, whatever.

“I - I mean, yeah,” Eddie replied. He turned back to Robin, who he already liked more than Steve. “So, you’ve seen Corroded Coffin in concert?”

“Yeah!” she said, her face lighting up at the question.

“Why?” Eddie asked before he could stop himself. Robin and Steve laughed. “I just mean, you’re not really my usual demographic -”

“I’m full of surprises, Eddie,” she teased. “Okay, so I only went because my friend had an extra ticket, but still.”

“Ouch,” Eddie responded with a laugh, clutching his heart as if he’d genuinely been distraught.

“What the fuck is in these things?” Steve said, staring intently at the drink in his hand.

“It’s basically a long island iced tea with all their cheapest liquor and a splash of sprite,” Eddie answered plainly.

“How did you know that?” Robin asked, amused.

“I asked,” Eddie replied with a shrug.

“The bartender?” Robin pressed. Eddie nodded.

“Yeah. I have this thing where I never shut up, so I tend to talk to everyone,” Eddie joked. Well, it wasn’t really a joke. “Anyway, how many have you had?” Steve’s brow furrowed as he desperately tried to remember his drink tally.

“One more than he should have had, apparently,” Robin said, taking the glass from Steve and setting it down on a table. “I’ll go get him some water.”

She disappeared with no further warning, leaving Eddie alone with Steve. Am I supposed to babysit this guy until she comes back or something?

“So, you and Robin,” Eddie said, shifting back and forth on his feet. He really could not for the life of him stop talking, especially with whiskey coursing through him. “Are you guys, like -?”

“Just friends,” Steve snapped back. He almost seemed pissed at the question. “She’s been my best friend for, god, I dunno, since college.”

“Cool,” Eddie replied. Steve was clearly very drunk, and Eddie wasn’t sure how much of that was contributing to his standoffishness. “Are you okay, man?”

“Why're you even here, dude?” Steve asked, his words slurred. “What made you come here?”

“Uhhh, I was invited?” Eddie answered. This guy’s a real trip.

“So it wasn’t because strangers online want us to be together, and if that happens you get more fame or whatever?”

Oh, damn. While that's exactly what was happening, Eddie sure as hell wasn't going to admit it. To save face, Eddie did what he did best - he defaulted to assholery.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he responded. “I’m here for the same reason you are.”

“So, it’s a total coincidence that I see you at one of these things for the first time the same day people started talking about us online?”

“Maybe I’ve been to a ton of these parties and you’ve just never noticed,” Eddie retorted.

“I doubt it,” Steve shot back.

“Why?”

“Because you’re hard to miss, Munson. Always have been,” Steve replied.

“Always?” Eddie echoed, confused. Then, the lights hit Steve’s face and illuminated it entirely. Enough for Eddie to remember where he’d seen him before.

“Got your water!” Robin announced as she returned. She handed Steve the new glass, and he took it without breaking eye contact with Eddie.

“Ohhhh my god,” Eddie said, stunned. “You're Steve Harrington. HARVEST is Steve goddamn Harrington.”

“Sure is,” Steve replied, his voice even.

“I missed something, didn’t I?” Robin asked.

“I mean, kind of,” Eddie said, raising his voice. “Just a couple years of King Steve bullying the school Freak.” Robin turned to Steve, alarmed.

“Wait, you bullied him?”

“How did you not know it was me?” Steve asked, getting agitated now. “Did you seriously come here to try to mooch off me without even doing your research first?”

“I never said I came here for you,” Eddie replied.

“You didn’t deny it either,” Steve reminded him. “You still aren’t, by the way.”

“Okay, fine!” Eddie relented. “You caught me. I came here to cash in on your fame, like some poor commoner in need of charity, and I didn’t even bother to look you up first because honestly? Your music kinda sucks.”

“Oh, I definitely missed something,” Robin muttered nervously.

“You wanna talk about shitty music?” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Okay!” Robin interjected, inserting herself between them. “No more of this. It was nice meeting you, Eddie, but I think we should split.”

“No need,” Eddie replied. “You stay, I’ll go. You’re the ones who belong here anyway.” He did a slight bow and walked away, leaving Robin and Steve behind.

So much for fame.

@lemondar93 i thought the whole #steddie thing was a reach but saw them together tonight and uhhhh 👀 idk there's something there

@izzierosieb wait omg at the Frolique grand opening? How tf did you get in??

@lemondar93 suuuuper lucky! Matty was supposed to go but he’s sick and I was backup!

@geegeedaheed tell us everything!!!!

@julijmonroe if steddie is real I will actually lose my mind wtf

@chasityseventeen no fr because we have so little and yet I’m already INVESTED

@belloca123 NOT THERE ALREADY BEING FANART OF THEM AHAHAHAHA

@camerohno Everyone just remember that these are real people and we shouldn’t be speculating about their lives even though they’re obviously secretly married

@lemondar93 LMAO

Steve woke up the next morning with the hangover from hell. After Eddie left, he and Robin stuck around for another song or two before heading out themselves.

Steve never really liked Eddie that much in high school because he was a show-off. He loved making a scene in the cafeteria and he always acted like he was better than everyone else just because he refused to like anything that was popular. Sports, music, TV shows. They were never going to be friends, because Steve usually liked the stuff that other people liked. He used to follow the pack, so to speak, and do what the people around him expected him to do. Eddie tended to do the opposite. Eddie was abrasive and loud and obnoxious.

Back in high school, anyway. Steve knew that people had the capability to change (after all, he sure did), but after reuniting with Eddie at the bar, he was skeptical any growth or development had actually occurred in the last six years.

Eddie was still a dick, and Steve had no interest in ever seeing him again.

He pulled out his phone to see that it was still blowing up. There was a new tag trending - #steddie. Yikes. He’d also gotten even more followers. Then, another update caught his eye.

His new album had double the pre-orders it had the night before.

He’d put his heart and soul into this album, and he wanted more than anything for it to be recognized. He was popular, yeah, but mostly for a couple singles that played on the radio all the time. This album was a piece of art from top to bottom that Steve had painstakingly planned and created from scratch.

Maybe. Maybe this stupid ship with Eddie Munson could be worth something. But not enough to contact the guy. No way.

Steve opened his Instagram and then felt his heart drop.

@nancywheeler: Life hack - date a photographer so you get amazing candids on vacation 💕

It hadn’t even been that long since Nancy left Steve for Jonathan Byers. Well, maybe it had been long enough, but still. Cute couple’s posts already?

Oh, no. Steve wanted Nancy to feel like he did, and he knew what would do the trick. She was always a bit of the jealous type.

God dammit.

(Part 2!)

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@paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog @alliemunsonsstuff @undreamingscatworld @thefruityfours @hobbitnarwhal @calivanus @wreckmyplans-thatsmyman @antheia @goodolefashionedloverboi @lillemilly @missmagillicuddy @steviesbicrisis @gamerdano @menamesniall eyeslikewildflowers111 @callmesirkay @stringischeese @eds-trashmouth @mnl-enuh @redfreckledwolf @itsanarrum @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @gregre369 @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @aryakanojiaa @wrenisflying @comicmadlover @lilacrobin @itch-my-b0nez @anonymousbandgirl @disastardly @dangdirtydemons @daisyellsong @val-from-lawrence @starryeyedpoet17 @taikawaiteatea @clumsiluni @hollysimone @swimmingbirdrunningrock @witchofhawkins @steddiegarbage @suddenlyinlove @ricekristytreaty @eddielives1986

#eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #writing #steve and eddie #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #i can't tune you out #modern day au

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fferthe · 3 months

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Valentine's Unknown Sender

A couple of people don't find the Valentine sender's speech in tandem with Gaster's, which I completely agree with! However, not everyone can see what we mean, so let me show you. But before we continue, I should clarify that I'm not a fluent Japanese speaker and am just going off of what little I know about the language.

Now, let me show you the two (out of three) Japanese writing systems: hirigana and katakana.

It helps me think of hirigana as 'squiggly' characters and katakana as 'stiff'. The last one, kanji, you'll recognize immediately, as they can be confused with Chinese characters due to their complexity (and, well, origin).

One of the points I've seen is that the style change is simply due to informality of the letter. Someone also said that it was written this way so we couldn't recognize who was speaking. To get the latter possibility out of the way: during the release of DELTARUNE, the name of the account was blurred out, making them appear as a seemingly unknown person (everyone knew it was our lovable silly goober). Though, they still had a recognizable.. style. They spoke in stilted kanji + katakana. No hirigana anywhere, which is a strange mix. Kanji + hirigana? Sure. But excluding katakana instead of hirigana is weird. Katakana is used for names, loan words (and can also be used to show a foreigner speaking Japanese), names for species, emphasis, and also to indicate unnatural speech, often used for robots (which is the case for Queen, by the way).

Now, the Valentine's person? No kanji. They only use hirigana and katakana. Excluding kanji is very weird, too. But JRPGs at the time (which Toby loved deeply, as there are countless references to them in the game) had hardware limitations, so this choice was somewhat of a tribute. This also applies to the Light World in DELTARUNE, which resembles Undertale heavily. However, in the Dark World, kanji is used. This stranger who people believe to be Mike would have to be a Lightner to speak without using kanji. Which makes me doubt that this is Mike at all. He has an affiliation with Spamton, with Tenna. They go a long way, before the fountain opened. And a Lightner can't enter a Dark World without one. More on that later. Back to the letter, the grammar mistake is not accidental. In the Japanese version the sender writes "サラば!" which should be either in full katakana (サラバ) or full hirigana (さらば), not a weird mix. Also, 'goodbye' in Japanese is one word and should not be separated like that. So, same thing with the letter. While we're not told who it is, their speech still has distinct features. 🎉 PRONOUN TIME 🎉🎉 Who uses what? (I've highlighted Gaster in bold where needed.)

I: watashi (わたし) by both You: kimi (キミ) vs anata* (アナタ -> あなた) [* -- kimitachi in Entry 17] We: watashitachi (わたしたち) vs ware-ware (ワレワレ -> 我々)

Watashi is a regular formal first-person pronoun. Kimi (+tachi for plural) is a more casual second-person pronoun, can either be used by a superior to refer to a subordinate or one's equal. Anata is a respectful second-person pronoun. Ware-ware is a first-person plural pronoun used by either ancient beings or just someone old and important. The download page for DELTARUNE in 2018, the SURVEY_PROGRAM itself, the SAVE menu, the GAME OVER screen -- all of them share these same speech quirks, mannerisms. Gaster isn't just "formal", he speaks very slowly, often separating a sentence in two parts by starting off a new line. He uses very peculiar wording and it's as if he's struggling to speak. Picture an alien trying to communicate in our language, or a human that knows this 🤏 much [insert language], trying to form a sentence.

youtube

Gaster's quirks are also present in Japanese, the localization reflects what I just talked about. He's unnaturally stiff. He also never uses commas, and it's not about formality -- it's a distinct feature of his.

(For the Love of God Can You Embed Like a Normal Video)

Also, there have been suggestions that it could be another piece of Gaster. We already got a glimpse of what he was like pre-accident, and it's ENTRY 17. It lines up with the Gaster that accompanies us throughout chapter 1. And that means we are dealing with the most cohesive 'piece' of him. Why would, then, there be such an opposing part of him? It doesn't line up.

Personally, if this was about Gaster, I wholeheartedly agree with carlyraejepsans's take. And the only case which I'd agree on is DR Gaster.

So, here's the "later". The person knowing about the DELTA RUNE could line up with them being a Lightner, since they do have it plastered everywhere in the town, don't they? Only the Angel is ever mentioned in the Light World, but I'm sure that just like in Undertale, it's called DELTA RUNE by the Lightners just as it is by Ralsei. It seems to me that only the contents of the prophecy are different, but the name stays the same throughout worlds.

Though, funny how the prophecy is inverted.. I didn't notice it until now. In Undertale the focus is on the triangles and their salvation, while in DELTARUNE the focus is on the winged orb and its condemnation.

"You free the banished" vs "You banish the freest" hehheeh Anyway, it's not about the game, but the prophecy, so the person doesn't have THAT much knowledge. And I doubt they know about Ralsei's version of the prophecy, because other Darkners besides the prince himself don't seem to be aware of any prophecy. All they know is the Knight, which makes sense, since Asriel's doppelgänger stayed at his castle in wait of the Lightners all alone, without spreading a word about it. Neither Darkners nor Lightners know of it. Though, the phrasing does feel odd. Waiting for what exactly? DELTA RUNE? Also, the Japanese version having the name merged kind of bothers me. So, is it DELTARUNE or DELTA RUNE? The translation team does distinguish the two. Why not here? Was it intentional or not? Well, I'll leave it up to someone else to figure out, right now I'm too tired for that.

tl;dr(?): It's not UT Gaster, nor Mike (it's not a Darkner at all). It's a Lightner and possibly DR Gaster.

#gaster #deltarune #gaster deltarune #utdr #utdr newsletter #oughh i am god's sniffliest soldier.#i am practically melting as i am writing this #writings of the feverish #this doesn't rea;;y have to do with anything i guess but #it always rubbed me the wrong way that in UT we only got to see Gaster speak romanized Japanese.#the ONLY character. that spoke romanized japanese but never used the three systems.#the most mysterious character #mmmmmmmmm.#mmmmystery man #i am glad he stopped being THIS mysterious #there is .#more #food #i am so glad deltarune came out #more reasons to spin this creature in my mind as if im microwaving him #i actually wonder how the japanese side of the fandom wrote his dialogue in fanfics or comics or something #about the ware-ware in katakana.#dear dr wingdings gaster.#why.#did you have to do that #you already use kanji. you could've said it normally #japanese speakers probably struggle with his katakana as much as i do

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riohachas · 3 days

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Long ago, when the world was still young, thousands of boats sailed adrift into the great ocean, like nutshells floating in a pond. The people searched for the promised land in a desperate struggle for survival. One day, they washed ashore in the chilly coastlines of a strange, distant land, and knew they had found their home.

The Cerincan Isles, known as Palkíona by its inhabitants, are an archipelago located next to the coast of a landmass extending through the southern hemisphere of a yet nameless world. Over the course of many centuries, the islands came to be inhabited by a species of intelligent, bipedal canine-like beings known as Cerinques or Palkionan Cynocephali.

The archipelago lies relatively close to both the equator and the nearest continental landmass, at a shortest possible distance of around 140 kilometers from the mainland. Its climate is subtropical in the north, and gets close to being temperate in the far south, allowing for a diverse range of biomes to coexist in the archipelago: From lush subtropical jungles to vast plains to semi-arid cold steppes, the land assumes a multitude of forms, craddling some unique species that cannot be found anywhere else.

This map illustrates the isles in a modern cartographical style similarly to earth's modern maps. For reference, the archipelago occupies roughly the same area as mainland greece, of course not taking into consideration the actual land area of each of the islands. Most of the land has a subtropical climate, except for the southernmost islands, due to their close proximity to the planet's counterpart to the tropic of capricorn, at around 23 degrees south of the equator.

This means that most of the region does not have lots intense temperature variation throughout the year. The northern reaches of the archipelago have a downright equatorial climate, easily reaching around 35 degrees Celcius during the summer, and only going slightly below that during winter. Conversely, a constant cold breeze coming from the southeast coupled with its latitude make the southern islands much colder than its northern kin. While temperature may vary between 6-20 degrees Celcius throughout the year, it will hardly go below 0 or over 25. Needless to say, seasons are not very clearly delineated in this region, with only a rough separation between "summer" and "winter" seasons, the former defined by the noticeable increase in pluviometric levels.

Speaking of which, it rains rather frequently in most of the islands. While there are some noteworthy pockets of semi-dry climates, most of Palkíona has annual pluviometric volumes ranging from 1000mm to 3500mm, with most of the rain happening during the summer months, with certain regions of the archipelago going through monsoon seasons during this period. This makes most of the Cerincan isles rather humid all year-round, especially in the north. Despite this, many historical records detailing many facts of Cerincan life and history have been preserved through countless generations, be it by the means of long-standing oral traditions, or very dilligent book keeping practices. This breadth of knowledge could eventually induce the isles' inhabitants to reinvent the history and shape of their people in the form of a cerincan nation-state, or influence a sort of cultural revolution, and countercultural movements against their colonizers.

#art #worldbuilding #maps #palkiona #riohachas

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tfmybody · 1 year

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To Travel More Pt.1

As 2023 reached closer, everyone had asked me what my New Years Resolution was going to be. I had decided it would be to travel more. Of course that entailed making more money and having more vacation time, inevitably it would probably end up being forgotten like all my previous resolutions.

But when 2023 arrived and the clock struck midnight, I didn’t realize just how different this resolution would be. And how I’d end up fulfilling it.

It started at midnight, I was at friends house celebrating with a small group of people. At midnight we all wished each other a happy new year had some drinks and headed our separate directions home. By the time I left I was a little tipsy walking down the dark street of my midwestern hometown alone. But the more I walked the less familiar my surroundings seemed. First the buildings seemed taller and older, not the same rows of houses that is used I was used to. Then I started passing groups of people, which was strange since I rarely saw anyone walking, and these people were speaking a language I didn’t understand.

I put it down to the drinks I’d had and started walking faster. As I walked I realized my shoes were making a different sound against the pavement. It sounded like I was wearing some of boot rather than the sneakers I always wore. They also felt tighter around my foot. By now I was panicking thinking I was totally lost. I started running hoping I’d find something I recognized when I turned a corner and slammed into someone.

I sat up from the ground and grabbed my head. In front of me was a man who asked, “Est-tu bon?”.

“Oui oui merci!” I responded as I got up from the floor. He seemed content with that answer and kept on walking. It took me a second to realize the brief conversation hadn’t been in English. It was French? I didn’t speak French. I looked around me and began to recognize my surroundings. It was clearly Paris. In fact it was only a couple minutes from my apartment. My apartment? It felt like I was having all these intrusive thoughts that weren’t mine. Why would I know exactly where I am in Paris as if I lived here.

When I saw my reflection in the glass of a store it all suddenly made sense. It wasn’t me. But I wasn’t complaining. I examined the reflection of the beautiful man staring back at me. Who am I, I tried to say, but once again it came out in French. My new memories responded. I’m Lucas. A French model in Paris. More and more of Lucas’ life and memories came to me. And soon I set of to my apartment as I remembered I had done countless times.

In the back of my mind I still now this isn’t who I am. But that feels like a dream or a faint memory. My life as Lucas is what’s real now and I’m going to enjoy this unique way of fulfilling my resolution to travel more.

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Let me know where you think I should travel to next!

#tfmybody #bodyswap #tf #totravelmore

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beljar · 7 months

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Franz Kafka's Letters to Milena

[April 1920]

Meran-Untermais, Pension Ottoburg

Dear Frau Milena

The rain which has been going on for two days and one night has just now stopped, of course probably only temporarily, but nonetheless an event worth celebrating, which I am doing by writing to you. Incidentally the rain itself was bearable; after all, it is a foreign country here, admittedly only slightly foreign, but it does the heart good.

I’m living quite well here, the mortal body could hardly stand more care, the balcony outside my room is sunk into a garden, overgrown and covered with blooming bushes (the vegetation here is strange; in weather cold enough to make the puddles freeze in Prague, blossoms are slowly unfolding before my balcony), moreover this garden receives full sun (or full cloud, as it has for al- most a week)—lizards and birds, unlikely couples, come visit me: I would very much like to share Meran with you, recently you wrote about not being able to breathe, that image and its meaning are very close to one another and here both would find a little relief.

With cordial greetings.

[Prague, July 16, 1920]

I wanted to excel in your eyes, show my strength of will, wait before writing you, first finish a document, but the room is empty, no one is minding me-it’s as if someone said: leave him alone, can’t you see how engrossed he is in his own affairs, it’s as if he had a fist in his mouth. So I only wrote half a page and am once again with you, lying on this letter like I lay next to you back then in the forest.

There was no letter today, but I’m not afraid, Milena, please don’t misunderstand me; I’m never afraid about you, even if it sometimes seems that way and it often does-it’s simply a weakness, a mood of the heart, which knows exactly why it’s beating nevertheless. Giants have their weaknesses as well; I believe even Hercules fainted once. With my teeth clenched, however, and with your eyes before me I can endure anything: distance, anxiety, worry, letterlessness.

[Meran, June 4, 1920]

Friday

To begin with, Milena: What’s the apartment you wrote from on Sunday like? Full of space and empty? Are you all b yourself? Day and night? In any case it must be sad to sit there alone on a beautiful Sunday afternoon opposite a ‘stranger’ whose face is nothing but ‘stationery which has been written on.’ I am so much better off! Although my own room is small, the true Milena is here, the one who ran away from you on Sunday, and believe me being with her is wonderful.

You complain about uselessness. It was different on other days and it will be different. The one sentence (on what occasion was it uttered?) shocks you, and yet it really is so clear and has already been spoken or thought with this meaning countless times. A man plagued by his own devils takes.

Franz Kafka, from Letters to Milena, 1920 // Romantic Letters II by Lisa Audit // River Rock Separation by Joshua Schicker // Woman's Letter by Harrison Fisher // Woman Reading by an Open Window, 1888 by Amaldus Nielsen // Reflective Distance by Tom Reeves // Personal Archives of Correspondence, 1897-1908, 1912-21 (Pen and Ink on Paper, B/W Photo) by Enrico Caruso

Van Gogh's Letters

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holdmytesseract · 2 years

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Welcome to the High Rise

Robert Laing x fem!Reader

Request: "Hi friend! If/when you do decide to open up your requests, would it be possible for you to write about Robert Laing meeting the reader in the high-rise for the first time? I'll leave it up to you to decide what the reader's background is - whether or not she works at the medical school like Robert, where she's from, etc. Thank you so much for everything you do :)" - Requested by @five-miles-over ! 😄

Summary: Dr. Robert Laing just moved into the High Rise. On a visit to the supermarket, he runs into a woman, who sweeps him off his feet on the first look...

Warnings: none, actually... one swear word

Word Count: 1,4k

a/n: Thank you for the request and your kind words, my friend @five-miles-over ! I loved writing this! I hope you like! 😊

Tagging: @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @acefeather2002 @lulubelle814 @vbecker10 @fictive-sl0th

If you want to be added to my Tom Taglist, please let me know! 😄

The High Rise. A luxurious, modern, but also uncommon and quite a bit strange skyscraper. A skyscraper bigger than anything the people in London had seen before; built to afford the residents a whole new experience of luxury. The High Rise was separated from the rest of the civilisation, but living in this brand-new building didn't require contact to the rest of the world, oh no... Everything a human being needed could be found inside the skyscraper. Supermarkets, gyms, schools, swimming pools, drug stores, hell even a hairdresser. All it took was a trip to another floor. People were fascinated and so, the High Rise quickly came to life with countless residents. The spectrum ranged from families and singles to students and retired couples. Everyone wanted to live in this new, strange and spectacular house. So was Robert Laing. The young, quite wealthy doctor in physiology desperately needed a change of scenery after the split up with his now ex-wife and so the decision was made quickly. Robert wanted a fresh start, enjoy life, have fun and not think about the troubles in his past. So, the new destination was quickly set... The High Rise.

With an audible huff, Robert placed the stack of moving boxes down on the ground in his brand-new apartment. He didn't bring quite much from his old apartment. All he needed was five boxes - which eyed him from the floor now. The young doctor ran a hand through his short, blonde curls with brown hues, before he looked around. This could become a nice and cosy home, he thought with a smile. His plan was to unpack the boxes immediately and turn this flat into a home, but Robert was way too curious about this lively building, so he decided to look around and explore. His feet led him through the whole building - that was how it felt, at least. He was at the gym, in the swimming pool area, the sports hall, at almost every floor - yes, he even paid the big parking area a visit. And what could Robert say? This place was bustling with people, trying to live their best life. He was utterly fascinated by this seemingly perfect and flawless system of living.

His last destination although was the supermarket. This thing even had a supermarket! Robert grabbed one of the shopping baskets and made his way through the seemingly sheer endless racks, stuffed to the brim with different food, drinks and everything else you needed for a living. But also completely different articles. Paint for example. Paint. That was where Robert came abruptly to a halt, as a thought crossed his mind. He could paint his apartment, couldn't he? Change the boring white walls into a... His eyes roamed the rack, reading the labels of the different cans with paint. Grey! He could change the boring white walls into a decent, professional grey. Yes. That was exactly what he was going to do. The young doctor had been so focused on the truly fascinating range of paint in front of him, that he didn't even notice the woman standing only a few steps away from him. With a small smile to himself, he lifted his hand up high to reach for the can. Although, that smile quickly faded, turned into a surprised shock, as his bigger hand came suddenly into contact with a smaller hand. Shocked, he pulled his hand away; his eyes snapped down to his left, where he suddenly looked straight into a pair of Y/E/C eyes. They belonged to a woman. A woman with Y/H/C hair, which framed her beautiful face and fell in soft curls over her shoulders. A white dress with floral patterns wound itself around her smaller body and ended just above her knees. It looked sweet and innocent, yet it highlighted the curves of her body to perfection. Robert tried to keep his eyes on her face - what was pretty difficult for him. He was literally overwhelmed by the sudden beauty he came across. She stood beside him, surprised and shocked just like him. It was written all over her face - but suddenly his ears heard her sweet voice for the first time. A heart-warming giggle left her lips and Robert witnessed, how she covered her mouth with her hand, in an attempt to hide her embarrassment and probably shyness. "Oh my, I-I am so sorry, I..." She took a deep breath and gave Robert a beautiful, astonishing smile. He had the feeling it made the world light up around him. "I-I didn't think you'd reach for the same can of paint as I do... What a funny coincidence." Another, slightly insecure giggle left her soft lips - assumingly to play it cool and to somehow comprehend this slightly awkward situation. The sound of her kind voice seemed to get him out of his 'daze'.

Robert shook his head with a laugh himself, "A funny coincidence, indeed." before he gave her that charming smile of his. "Please, don't apologise, Miss..." "Oh, right, sorry!" The woman exclaimed, accompanied by another nervous giggle, while she stretched out her hand towards the doctor. "Y/N Y/L/N." He took her hand with a smile and brought her hand to his lips to place a soft, gentle kiss there. Gentlemen-like. Well played, Laing. He could've sworn she was blushing. "Please don't apologise, Miss Y/L/N. If someone should be apologising, it's me. I was lost in my thoughts. And I am taller. I should've noticed it, so... I am sorry." Y/N giggled once again and shook her head. "I guess we both were somewhere else with our minds..." Robert nodded, still smiling. "Guess so, yes." The two looked at each other for a short moment, awkwardly. "What's your name, actually? If I may be so bold to ask you." The doctor's eyes widened shortly. He didn't even introduce himself... That was usually not his way of behaviour. "How rude of me, I am, once again, apologising..." He straightened his tie and announced with a smile: "Doctor Robert Laing." The woman's eyebrows lifted in awe and surprise. "Doctor?" He nodded. "Yes. I work at the medical school, teaching students in physiology." "That's truly fascinating, Dr. Laing. I think I never met a doctor before." Robert frowned slightly at her words, so the young woman noticed and jumped quickly to correct her words. "I-I mean outside of a doctor's office or the hospital." There she was, blushing for the second time in front of the - without a doubt, handsome man. Robert smiled at her nervous, awkward stutter. "I see... What are you doing for a living, Miss Y/L/N?" The way Doctor Laing rolled her name off his tongue brought the woman's legs close to edge to turn into jelly. Paired with those mesmerising blue eyes... "Uh, I-I am a primary school teacher." Once again Robert smiled that charming, attractive smile. "Seems like we have something in common then... Are you working here in the High Rise?" Y/N nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. A nervous habit. "Yes, yes, I do. Not long, though... About five months." "Well, you live longer here than I do. I just moved in." Her eyes widened with a small laugh. "Oh, really?" Robert joined her laughter, nodding. "Yes." "Which floor?" Y/N's boldness made another appearance. "Twenty-five." And once again the doctor witnessed the woman's eyes widen. "No way! That's a joke, Mr. Laing, right?" He shook his head, laughing. "Absolutely not. Why?" "Because I live there, too! But given the fact that you just moved in, explains why I never ran into you before." What another funny coincidence... "This place is so big and yet so small..." Robert stated, chuckling. Y/N giggled, too, before her gaze settled coincidentally on the big clock hanging in the supermarket. Half past three... Oh shit! She had to go! There was a very important school staff meeting waiting for her! All she wanted to do was a quick grocery shopping, but well... "I-I'm so sorry, Dr. Laing, but I have to go! I'll see you around - and..." She gave him a last smile, before she turned to leave. "Welcome to the High Rise!"

#robert laing x fem!reader #robert laing x reader #robert laing x y/n #robert laing x you #dr robert laing #high rise #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston characters

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jmrothwell · 11 months

Note

"It would be better if you stayed away from me." for Rulie? Plz and thank

(So this...got kinda long XD)

The sun was quickly lowering in the sky, and the path had been lost hours ago. Reggie had known it was a risk to go into the forest with no clear way to get out again. His mother and grandmother had told him countless times. He had also heard how often they bemoaned the state of their affairs, the lacking harvests.

All he had wanted was to help them. He had heard some of the archers and hunters in the village talk of their catches, of the food they were able to forage. He had only wanted to help and now, now he’d gotten so lost that he doubted if he’d ever find his way back home.

He tried to find his way back. For hours he walked and wandered and searched trying to find some familiar ground. All the while the hopelessness built in his chest, tension built in his chest. He’d never get to see his family or his friends again.

The thought broke him. He crumpled to the forest floor burying his face in his knees as he cried. Loud bawling wails.

“Are you lost?” A small voice asked.

Reggie looked up from his knees, breath hitching caught between a sob and a gasp. There before him was the most beautiful girl, she couldn’t have been any older than him. Tan skin in stark contrast to the pale dress that billowed around her against the wind. Dark curly hair, wild around her head in spite of the few flower infused braids. Kind dark eyes that sparkled like the lake at night.

“I can help you find your way.” She said with a smile, a few of her teeth were missing, but that wasn’t unusual for children their age.

Reggie could only nod, taking her offered hand and allowing her to help him up. Unsure of how she was able to find her way, but she certainly walked like she knew where she was going. It wasn’t long before their silent walk was filled with talk. Simple conversation, mostly her telling him the names of the trees and flowers they passed, of the homes of various animals that lived nearby.

Before long they were at the outskirts of town. Giddy relief flooded through Reggie’s chest and pulsed through his veins. With an ecstatic laugh he wrapped his new strange friend in a hug exclaiming his thanks.

“You are very welcome.” She giggled, hugging him in kind.

He was reluctant to let her go but did so with a gasp. Realization that he’d been what his mother called rude. “I’m Reggie, by the way.”

“Julie.” More giggles poured from her, and he couldn’t help but smile. As if they flowed straight from her straight to his own chest.

Giggles he grew more and more fond of every time he ventured to the forest to seek out his new friend. He had tried looking in the village but had no such luck. He figured her family must live in the forest or some other nearby village he had yet to visit. Someday he would find where she lived.

After all, it couldn't be that far. As without fail every time he’d wander into the forest she would soon find him.

~ ~

Reggie hadn’t been back to his home village in years. Not since he’d been dragged away when he was little more than a child. Forced to go fight for years in this futile war for a king he doubted actually cared for his people. Targeting and making enemies of the old neighbors, fae folk, and creatures the crown now considered monsters–quickly turning some into myths and legends. All in a desperate attempt to prove how powerful he was.

Doubt cemented into certainty with how he watched soldiers and civilians alike on both sides practically sacrificed. The king’s chosen enemy, once their oldest allies, held all the advantages. A superior grasp on the magical and arcane. Far fewer lethal weaknesses coupled with superior healing and medicine. For every battle victory that was won, two more were lost. The war was far from over.

So when Reggie’s patrol had gotten separated from the rest of their unit. All of them agreed how pointless this fighting was and realized no one would notice or even care if they’d simply vanished into the night. A fitting end for Reggie’s career as a soldier who fled from most of the fighting.

He had all the freedom to go where he wanted and all the world to choose from. There was really only one reason he had to even return back to the place of his childhood. A warm smile and melodious giggles that haunted his every night. Pushed him to survive and live and keep moving. Even after he received news not long after he left of the death of his family.

One of the few true regrets he had in his short life so far was never getting to tell her goodbye. Though he did vow he would return to her, even if she never got to hear the words herself. He hoped she knew it, felt it in her bones the way he did. They would meet again.

The village had changed so much over the years that he didn’t recognize it at first. Would have passed right through if it weren’t for Willie’s better navigational skills. He, Alex, and Luke had offered to travel with him, all of them hesitant to return to their own homes.

Though the ‘frontlines’ were far from here it was clear the toll the war had had. Buildings and houses in disrepair, unable to keep the supplies they needed for themselves. The people, gaunt and hardened, were skittish, hiding away and making themselves look small.

Worse yet, the forest had thinned. Reggie didn’t know why that observation of all the rest scared him more than the sight of his own childhood home in shambles. A feeling of dread that crashed through his heart and uncomfortably settled into his stomach.

“Julie?” He called out, dismounting his horse and sprinting straight for the forest despite his friends' confused cries behind him.

His feet tripped and stumbled over the upturned rocks, heart sinking at the sight of the many tree stumps. Continuously crying out for Julie. A sinking feeling of despair quickly took him over. One he hadn’t felt or associated with this forest since the first time he’d wandered amongst its trees.

He was close to collapsing to the ground. Eyes heavy with building tears he refused to let fall. He wouldn’t give up. Couldn’t give up. But the longer he searched the harder it was to cling to hope. A few tears finally escaped as he leaned against a tree, attempting to catch his breath from all the running. No doubt lost. Again.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice but he turned, hope reigniting deep within him once again. Hope that morphed into relief at the sight of those dark curls of the woman sitting on a nearby tree stump. At the moment the only feature he could readily recognize, as she’d of course grown just as he had and wasn’t looking at him.

“Julie?”

“Reggie?” She glanced up at him, hair still obscuring most of her face. But clear enough for him to recognize her. And if that wasn’t enough hearing her say his name certainly was.

“Julie. I’ve been looking for you.”

“But. But you left me.” She turned away from him again, and he could feel his heart start to break.

“No I di-not, not by choice.” He said, cautiously stepping towards where she sat. “I’ve wanted to come back ever since they took me away. I left the first chance I got. Came straight here.”

“Wh-where did they take you?” She asked, her voice sounding so small and sad.

He swallowed hard. Knew that question would come, but still not fully ready to think of his past few years. “Where they take everyone. To be another pawn in the king's pointless feud.”

“Oh.” She curled into herself. Away from him. “Then, maybe, it would be better if you stayed away from me.”

“No.” His own voice was barely more than a whisper as he collapsed in front of her, knees not ready for the impact of the hardened earth. “No, Julie, I came back for you. I’m not leaving you again.

“Julie, please. Please look at me.”

“I don’t know if I should.”

“Why wou-”

With a heavy sigh she finally, finally lifted her face to look him directly in the eyes. Tears welling in her eyes despite her wry smile which showed sharpened canines. An errant breeze blew through shifting her curls to reveal the horns and elongated pointed ears that would have otherwise been hidden.

Details of her appearance he had somehow forgotten, or had not yet grown in when last they met.

“I don’t think you’d like what you’ll see.”

And while his heart seized in his chest, it wasn’t from the realization of what she was. He’d barely had time to notice the horns or the teeth, not with how his eyes were drawn to the purple bruising on her face, the still healing cuts mixed in with older scars.

He reached out, hesitated when she flinched back, his own heart clenched in kind. Taste of acidic bile settled in the back of his throat. “Who did this?”

“I’ve always been this way.” She huffed out, tears starting to spill from her eyes.

“No, no.” He said gently grasping her face in his hands. Despite how gentle he tried to be, his voice still came out as a growl. “Who hurt you like this?”

Her eyes widened in disbelief for a moment before her gaze turned analytical. Her hand reached out to brush at the peculiar scar he’d gotten from one of the few skirmishes he’d stuck around for. More specifically the skirmish he had tried to run away from like all the rest until he’d spotted the family trapped amongst the chaos.

He honestly never understood how he’d gotten it. Must have gotten nicked by something while he helped get the family to safety. Though he doubts the mother would have kissed him there if he’d been bleeding.

From then on that was the only fighting he ever did. Didn’t matter who it was, if they looked like they were in danger he got them out of it.

“You really came back for me.” She whispered, and he noted that she hadn’t answered his question, but he could always get back to that again later.

“Of course I did.” He whispered back, rested his forehead against hers. “And I’m never leaving you behind again.”

#julie and the phantoms #rulie #alternate universe #this kind of got away from me #of course willie luke and alex are all on board with Julie joining them

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guns-n-jovi · 2 years

Text

Starstruck

Izzy Stradlin x Fem!Reader

Request: Izzy Stradlin x actress!reader where she’s been his celebrity crush since childhood and she goes to one of their concerts with a few of her celebrity friends and meets him. Izzy’s trying to keep his cool and the guys tease him.

Notes: I feel like I once again strayed from the prompt, but I really did try my best at this! I have a lot of stuff going on right now, but hopefully, you enjoyed this, anon! Also, could you let me know somehow when you see it? I'd appreciate it!

Warnings: None

Word count: 1,872

Throughout the 1970s, I was one of the most regarded women in America. With my career rooted in acting, I starred in immensely successful action flicks, where I was often my own heroine and savior- (a notion unheard of throughout the early 70s, but I was happy to be a trailblazer.)

I’d posed for countless photographers, wearing anything from silky, lavish gowns, to a black leather jacket, and mounted atop a sharp, shiny Harley Davidson motorcycle. My name was one of the most famous in the entire world. Thousands of audiences had paid to see my movies, and my fame and success spread when I won an academy award for best actress in 1983. While winning an Oscar was one of the greatest achievements I could have ever reached, it doubled the amount of pressure put on me to continue my good streak.

But it was now 1988. In the past couple of years, the music industry had swelled to the size of the movie industry. Rock n’ roll was the most explosive new fad, and rock bands were the new pop culture gods. Motley Crue, Bon Jovi and countless others had won the hearts of the world by playing shredding rock songs and flaunting their young, good looks. But there was one band that- since the previous year- had been talked about more than any other, after the explosive success of their debut album, Appetite for Destruction: Guns N’ Roses.

Born out of Los Angeles, California, they had risen slowly from a bed of sleaziness and filth to the center of the international spotlight. Made up of five young men who were only in their very early twenties, they’d succeeded in getting everyone’s attention. The songs on their debut album soared to widespread fame, topping charts and breaking records daily. Their pretty boy looks and rogue charm had captured the attention of nearly every woman and young girl. But they were shrouded in a mysterious haze of stories- shocking stories of shadiness and bad behavior that were sometimes hard to believe. But one thing was certain. They were getting attention- both good and bad.

I reflected with a thoughtful smile on the days in my prime years when I was the center of attention like that. Mostly good attention; praise for my work. But also hesitant attention that came naturally with being a celebrity. Criticism from poisonous critics, and from people who were negative or jealous. It was the struggles of every celebrity since celebrities had become famous, so I never let it get to me.

In an odd way- a way that I was ashamed of- I felt a twinge of jealousy towards the five young men in the band. I felt strangely upstaged by them. They had been in the center of the international spotlight, when that was always a spot I had been in. While it was true that acting and music were two separate worlds, I still felt a kind of jealousy I wasn’t expecting to feel. But more than that- an itching curiosity. I had a strong desire to see for myself what this band was like. I wanted to see them for myself before I took the words of any gossiping tabloid. So I bought tickets to see a concert they were performing late one night in Hollywood.

I did not know, as I was driven away from my gated home, that the night I was embarking on would be one I would not soon forget.

The scene I stepped into instantly had been one accurately described by the press. A scene of rabid fans hurling various objects onstage. Most were roses, some were letters, others were various articles of clothing. My ears hummed with the chants, screams and applause of the crowd. The hysteria of the crowd made it hard for me to see ahead of me. The loud music and rabid crowd had shocked me as soon as the concert began (three hours after it was supposed to, if I might add, and I had almost turned to leave when they’d all five pranced onstage and never even acknowledged they’d been late by three hours.)

I’d only heard three of the songs played- these being, of course, Welcome to the Jungle, Paradise City, and Sweet Child O’ Mine. The others from that debut album had been overshadowed in the overwhelming success of that trio. But I heard many songs I liked instantly. My Michelle was my favorite, and once it was over, I wished sorely that they’d go back to it. Mr. Brownstone was a close second, (and it was not hard at all for me to figure out that it was a metaphor symbol for a substance.) Think About You was my third favorite. Once I forgot my intimidation by the size of the crowd, and the sketchy reputation of the band performing, I found I was having more fun than I thought I would. In addition, the size of the crowd made it hard for people to notice that I was there.

But, as it always does, word spread. By the end of the show, all five members of the band knew I was there. But there were advantages to my being a celebrity. I walked up, nervously, to the security guard, whose eyes widened when he saw me.

“Y/N L/N?” he gaped. “…..Oh, my gosh, it’s such an honor!”

I shook his hand, smiling.

“Nice to meet you!” I told him. “I had a great time at the concert. They’re something. They’re really something.”

The security guard chuckled. “Ma’am, you have no idea.”

My grin widened. “But I’d like to find out. Would you…..well-“

I chuckled, surprised to find myself nervous. “Would you introduce me to them, please? I’d love to meet them.”

The security guard smiled. “Of course! Anything for you, Y/N.”

He laughed. “They’re going to love this,” he said, a little nervous.

He turned and walked me backstage of the venue. Backstage smelled strongly of sweat, spilled alcohol, and cigarette smoke. The walls had been vandalized. In bloody, jagged letters was written, “GUNS N’ ROSES WAS HERE.” Something about that made me smile.

The band members were in a corner. The lead singer, Axl Rose, was loudly yelling at the tall, blonde bassist, Duff McKagan. The others were split between restraining the furious redhead and protecting Duff from his anger.

“You messed up the intro to My Michelle!” Axl was shrieking. “You completely missed one of those notes! And that’s the best part of the song!”

“No one noticed!” Duff cried.

The lead guitarist, Slash, rolled his eyes. “I’m just glad you waited till we got offstage to start flipping,” he said. “Thank God you didn’t start a war onstage.”

The security guard loudly cleared his throat. “Boys!” He called. “Is that anyway to act in front of our company, Y/N L/N?”

The boys stopped. Their eyes widened in unison.

“Y/N L/N,” one of them said, slowly.

They rushed to me. Immediately, I was showered in overwhelming compliments and praises that were stammered nervously out by the excited young men.

“You are so pretty,” said Steven Adler, the blonde drummer with smiling, blue eyes.

“I’ve seen, like, every movie of yours,” Duff added, his voice shaky.

I shook his hand, blushing and smiling. I looked nervously at Axl Rose, and then at Slash, the attractive guitarist.

“You boys put on a good show tonight,” I smiled. “I enjoyed myself quite a bit.”

Axl blushed bright red, grinning. He looked down at the ground. “Gee, Y/N. Gee…”

I winked at him. Then, I looked at Slash. “You’re good with that guitar. One of the best I’ve heard. You’ll be one of the greats someday. As far as I’m concerned, you already are.”

Slash grinned. He had a fleshy, riveted grin that spread across his dark face, under the shadow of his dark, rose-shaped curls. His infectious smile spread to me. I looked at them all with a satisfied smile, feeling and knowing that I was in the presence of four very special people. Then, I frowned. I counted them quickly- four.

“I am confused about one thing,” I said. “Weren’t there five of you?”

At that moment, as if on cue, a fifth walked backstage. I turned at the sound of his footsteps.

“Gees, guys!” he was calling. “Where were all y’all, anyway? You went off kinda early, don’t you think-”

There he was- the second guitarist of the band. Izzy Stradlin.

Izzy’s complexion was like Axl’s; snow white and completely smooth. Izzy’s face hosted elongated features that made his head appear like an oval, framed by jet black, straight hair. He had a sharp, high-arched nose and sooty shadows around his eyes. His inky hair circled and feathered around his long neck, and he had black eyes that showed no emotion nor thought. He wore black and white clothes to perfectly match his natural looks, and a flat, gray hat over his hair to shade his midnight eyes. Looking at him sent a shiver down my spine.

But as I looked at him, and I felt that pleasant shiver, I felt myself blush, and a cheeky grin begin to twitch in my face. Izzy’s face was shocked, but not wide.

“Oh, my….” his voice trailed off. “Y/N L/N?”

It felt good to hear him say my name. I liked it. I nodded respectfully towards him, but my feet were frozen. I did not walk towards him.

“Izzy Stradlin,” I acknowledged.

Izzy’s pale face blushed. He looked past my shoulder, at Duff, and he mouthed, “she knows my name!”

Duff laughed harder than he should have. “Well, go on, Izzy! Talk to her! Isn’t she the woman of your dreams?”

I blushed, loving the sound of that way more than I ordinarily would. “Oh?” I suppressed a giggle.

Izzy blushed even darker. “Duff,” he gritted his teeth. “Stop.”

“Yeah!” Slash chimed in. “Isn’t Y/N L/N the one you said you’d pick over every other woman in the world?”

Izzy stuttered a mumbling response. Enjoying this very much, I continued, “That’s nice of you, Izzy.”

“Uh….yeah,” he gulped. “Um…yeah. You’re…pretty great.”

Axl snorted. “What he means is pretty and great.”

He slung his arms haphazardly over the shoulders of Slash and Steven, leaving Duff to follow behind.

“Why don’t we just give y’all a minute,” Duff snickered. “You’re obviously very starstruck, Izzy. Would it help you feel better if we stepped out? Let y’all have your time?”

Izzy looked nervously at me. I nodded. “That’d be great.”

Izzy ran his hand over his black, sleek hair. “Y/N, it’s such a pleasure,” he finally managed. “You’ve been my favorite actress since I was twelve.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Oh, have I?” I chuckled. “Thank you, Izzy. I appreciate it more than you know.”

Izzy let himself grin- a wide grin that spread over his entire face and brought warmth to his cold color and features. I found myself smiling as well.

“So,” I linked my arm in his, as we exited backstage and out into the starry night. “Tell me about yourself.”

Also tagging: @greeneyezblackheart- the number one Izzy girl I know! 🖤

#This was not one of my better works but I promise I really did try #Hopefully it's okay #Izzy Stradlin #Guns N' Roses #80s #80s rock stars #80s band #fanfiction #writing

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xox000xox · 9 months

Text

MORE THAN 94% OF ALL leprosy outbreak CASES OCCURRING AMONG COVID-JABBED VICTIMS

Leprosy cases are on the rise due to Wuhan coronavirus (Covid-19) "vaccines," with upwards of 94 percent of all victims of the Biblical disease having previously gotten jabbed for the Fauci Flu.

According to data from the Leprosy Clinic at the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in London (HTD), 49 out of the 52 cases that have been observed thus far are in people who obeyed their government and got injected for the Chinese Virus.

HTD set out to conduct two separate case studies about the matter, discovering that leprosy is, in fact, a potential adverse reaction of covid injections. Most cases occur within 12 weeks of getting injected, and at least one individual developed "borderline tuberculoid leprosy" within just one week following the second jab.

Another case involves a person who got injected for covid and developed borderline tuberculoid leprosy within two weeks of getting jabbed.

It turns out that Fauci Flu shots were designed to provoke a response from white blood cells, also known as T-cells, that are capable of triggering Mycobacterium leprae, a type of bacteria that causes leprosy and that is also being seen in increasing numbers in the state of Florida.

Everyone who got covid jabbed will eventually regret it

Fifty-two cases may not sound like a lot in the grander scheme of things, but this is just one horrible adverse effect among many that is now on the rise and being linked to covid shots.

A couple dozen here and a couple dozen there multiplied countless times over all around the world spells eventual disaster for the health of everyone who got jabbed for covid, whether they have suffered an adverse reaction yet or not.

Eventually, every single person who got jabbed for covid will more than likely regret it once the damaging effects really start to show. Whether it is leprosy, blindness, reproductive failure, antibody-dependent enhancement (ADE), or early death, the covid jab grim reaper is coming.

"It is important for clinicians to be aware of the potential leprosy adverse events associated with SARS-CoV-2 vaccination," one of the two HTD case studies warns about the matter.

In addition to causing leprosy, covid jabs are linked to a variety of other adverse events including menstrual disturbances in women, untreatable eye clots – not to mention cardiovascular clots that destroy the heart and ultimately life itself – and both myocarditis and pericarditis, both of which are prominent among the fully jabbed.

The Associated Press (AP) is already claiming that the leprosy outbreak in Florida is somehow not related to covid injections, even though it is obvious that it is.

The fake news purveyor published a "fact check" claiming that a U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) report about covid jabs causing leprosy is false because it supposedly relies on leprosy case data that was compiled before Operation Warp Speed when covid jabs were first released.

The official story is that no vaccine, including covid jabs, is capable of causing leprosy, a bacterial infection formally known as Hansen's disease. The AP insists that the "association isn't clear," and that people should automatically reject the notion entirely.

"This seems really strange," one commenter wrote about the leprosy link to covid jabs. "Saint Father Damien worked in the leper colony of Molokai for 25 years before contracting the disease."

"Here we go," wrote another. "Just one more nasty disease and we've got ourselves a zombie apocalypse."

Join and share 👉@NaturalNewsMedia

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peppertaemint · 1 year

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I don't know that you'll have a different perspective on this, but tmikpop posted about some of the goals of the possible kakao and sm "collaboration" and one of them was removing a restriction on artist performances(I didn't even know that was a thing) and having them do 20 performances a year.

Maybe I'm out of touch, but I would think that's a good thing? That's literally a tour? Artists(in general) like performing and touring. But you have everyone in the quotes crying about sm overworking the artists(including army, which is funny cause a couple days ago they were laughing about hybe disbanding all these sm flops and now they're concerned about them)

But like, am I the crazy one? I didn't see anyone celebrating the fact that these artists(their favs in a lot of cases) are gonna get to perform. Maybe its coming from the shawol side with Key just saying that he'd like to have a concert but he hasn't been able too, and seeing how much Taemin desperately wanted to perform for fans but couldn't cause of covid before his enlistment, the idea of being upset that they get to do that as much as possible would be insane to me?

Why are kpop fans so backwards???

Thanks for this great Ask.

If Kpop fans were predisposed to infantilization, fetishization, and victimization/othering of Asian artists, COVID exacerbated this. The "big bad" became real, affirming all their worries that Oppa needs to stay at home.

First, COVID really changed the playing field for those of us in jobs that involve extensive international travel. Some of us went from traveling every month to zero. This is true for traveling musicians, which is most SM artists. COVID put us all at home together but separately. I do think that some have gotten used to this "new normal" where no one goes abroad. I notice it in the outsized receptions at airports and with fans seeming to have soured on touring altogether unless it is directly benefitting them. The line seems to be "it's too much unless XYZ artist is playing my city."

The overwork stuff, in my opinion—and I'm focusing on English-speaking, western fans here—is tied into Orientalist views about Asia and the perceived cultural differences at play. I say perceived because there is interesting work I've read tiny chunks of about how colonizers in the past centuries created the myth of Orientalism and the East/West split. Essentially, we are more the same than we are different (duh, I mean, not rocket science) but I'm sure if you're a westerner, you could name lots of media, and even recent media, that plays on this facile idea of the strange and differentness of the East. It's tied to xenophobia, too, which was very pioneered by Xenophon who went around reporting on what he thought were backward, crazy cultures he countered in his travels during ancient times.

All this is to say that I think fans don't have a realistic idea of what a demanding career in any country looks like (because lol, omg ... ), and they cannot put their selves in the shoes of a person like a Korean popstar who has worked for countless years to enjoy an abundant career. If they could, they'd understand that while safety and health are important, they're not just about "too many tour dates". It's actually about what do those days look like, how much well-being is built in, and how much rest time is afforded?

I'm hesitant to use Haechan as an example, but I think I'll bite the bullet to say he got sick, he got COVID, and he now has a heart condition of some sort. We're not privy to the details of what that is or what its limitations are, and rightfully so because how is that our business unless he shares it? If, against medical advice, SM order Haechan to do X amount of work, he does it and then gets sick, that's grounds for a lawsuit. SM has made terrible mistakes in the past, but I do not judge them as a company operating against medical advice. If Haechan makes his own decisions against medical advice and SM fails to make an intervention, that could also be a lawsuit around duty of care, but I'm not a Korean law expert.

You might remember the Michael Jackson lawsuit against his record company regarding duty of care re his death. If the record label knew they were paying for a doctor who was doing XYZ, are they culpable for not providing safe care? Are they culpable for arranging a tour when they likely knew the state of his health? His family filed a wrongful death lawsuit against AEG but ultimately AEG was not found liable. That case is really good reading if you have an interest in the duty of care that record labels have for artists.

All the above in mind, no I don't think extra tour dates are an issue because touring is the norm, and it's what artists and fans want. I also operate on the belief that SM operates legally (lol, what a thing to say right now), and does have artist well-being enmeshed in their work. Does that mean artists won't get sick? Of course not. People will always get sick or have personal problems, but whether the label is liable/culpable is a legal issue and for many a moral issue that isn't well represented in legal opinions.

#I find duty of care really interesting #maybe I'm a nerd

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thezeekrecord · 1 year

Text

symbiosis

[index/summary]

Living out in the countryside was supposed to be a nice, relaxing thing, that might eventually allow her to realize her goal of starting up her own dairy farm. It wasn’t supposed to be tedious.

Moula didn’t usually mind long drives, but not right after an exhausting shift to drive an hour to pick up her daughter from her ex-girlfriend, then an hour back to get home. Her life wasn’t supposed to be spent mostly spaced out on open country roads after being yelled at all day by clients at the veterinary clinic; she was supposed to be her own boss, working with cows, ideally with the woman she loved and her daughter. Alas, not all things work out the way one would hope. Certainly, she’d get her dream back on track someday—things just had to settle down, first, after this untimely separation with her girlfriend.

She was on the long, winding road around the mountain, on her way to pick up her daughter when a strange feeling shocked her out of her exhausted haze. She glanced at the mountainside to the right of her truck, growing more mesmerized every time she took her eyes off the road to look. Something about it seemed fresh, odd, new—despite the fact that she’d driven on this road countless times. She pulled her truck off to the side, climbing out to stare up at it with awe.

She had moved to this area in part because she thought it was beautiful—she liked living at the foot of the mountain, but she’d never felt this way looking at it before, even in mornings she’d pause to take in the beauty of where she lived. It was almost like the mountain was beckoning her, she thought. The sun was setting already, but she found herself unable to ignore this feeling; she grabbed a flashlight from the back of her truck and scrabbled up rocks and slopes, following the mountain’s call up and away from the main road.

She doubted herself many times as she wandered into a cave. She wanted to scream, knowing this could very well be how she died, but her legs propelled her forward anyway, as if they were disconnected from her own brain—deeper and deeper into the cave she went, crawling and climbing like she’d completely lost her mind. That beckoning feeling only grew stronger, though, promising a beautiful reward for her life endangerment. Covered in scrapes and bruises, she pushed herself forward on her hands and knees through a small tunnel, heart racing once she realized she could hear breathing that wasn’t her own. She couldn’t even bring herself to pause and indulge in her fear for a moment, wonder if it was wise to see what was ahead—if anything, her efforts to get closer to it became more frantic, until she finally saw it.

There was a baby, cradled in a small divot at the end of the tunnel. They were bundled up in a thick, dark blue cloth, tiny wisps of black hair on their head; they couldn’t have been more than a couple months old, she thought, setting the flashlight aside to reach out and pull them gently towards her. It wasn’t easy to shimmy backwards out of the tunnel with a baby clutched to her chest and a flashlight in her other hand, but through sheer force of will, not seeing any other option, she managed to free herself and the baby with everything intact. In a space where she could finally sit up and breathe easily, she held the baby close.

The baby was certainly alive—there was no doubt. They were warm, breathing calm and evenly, but even the effort to pull them out hadn’t woken them. Maybe it was for the best; trying to carry out a worried, squirming, crying baby would be much more of a struggle than a sleeping one. She removed her jacket, tying it around her shoulder into a sort of sling to put the baby into, freeing up her arms to take them out of the cave.

She wasn’t sure how she found her way back so easily, but she wasn’t going to question her luck. She would be over an hour late to pick up her daughter, and explaining why she looked like she’d just rolled into a ditch and now had a baby would be a challenge; still, she headed for her ex-girlfriend’s house, anyway.

Once all was sort of explained and her daughter had been transferred, Moula drove back home, pulling out the old crib from the basement to lay the baby into at the foot of her own bed. What does one do with a baby they found in a cave? She wondered—especially if they slept like the dead? She tried gently to wake them, but no matter what she did, they slept peacefully. Perhaps she should report a found baby, take them to the hospital, anything; when she looked down at them, though, she couldn’t shake the feeling that interrupting their sleep would be dangerous in some way.

They didn’t seem to need milk—they never looked sick or malnourished in the following weeks, and attempts to wake and feed them all failed. The baby just slept and slept, only making faint noises or kicking in their sleep every now and then. She hadn’t even given them any sort of name, yet; she just referred to them as “baby”, as if it wasn’t her place to name them. A month and three days since the evening she found them, she wondered if they would ever wake up until she was startled from her own sleep by a miserable, high-pitched wail.

Moula sat up, watching the baby kick and flail on their back. She crawled to the foot of her bed to reach into the crib and scoop them up, gently bouncing them in a practiced motion in the hopes of soothing them. It only took a few moments before her daughter was peering into the room curiously, then inviting herself in to sit on the bed next to her to look at the baby. Once the baby calmed down, they were both too awed to say anything, just staring down at their massive, strikingly deep blue eyes.

After a while of silence, her daughter held her finger out to the baby. The baby grasped her finger in their little fist, holding it close to their face to inspect it carefully.

“What do we do now?” Her daughter asked, looking up at Moula curiously.

Moula hummed thoughtfully. Her answer to that same question for the past month had been, “wait for them to wake up”. It wasn’t an answer that made much sense, but she didn’t feel like she had any other option. As she looked down at the baby while they stuffed her daughter’s finger into their mouth, she couldn’t help a smile.

She couldn’t part with this baby. Whatever the circumstances were—why she found them in a cave, why they were asleep for so long—she’d kept them close all this time, and she hadn’t heard any reports about anyone looking for a missing baby in the area. Anyone who left a baby in a cave was fucking deranged, anyway, she decided. Consequences be damned, this was her child, now.

****

The realization that her new baby—collaboratively named Benry by herself and her daughter—was otherworldly didn’t come to any shock whatsoever. She had set her on a blanket on the floor for tummy time, sitting down cross-legged in front of her to keep an eye on her. She was doing very well on her tummy, considering all the time she’d spent sleeping on her back; suddenly, though, she seemed fed up with it, and her body burst into something Moula couldn’t fully see or understand. In her surprise, she reached out to Benry, like she could save her from the danger of her own body; she was placated by being scooped up, at least, and she returned to her human baby form.

Raising a superpowered baby on her own was the single greatest challenge of Moula’s life, but seeing her two children come into their own was a fitting reward. They bonded very well; for all their sibling spats, Moula could see a great deal of mutual love for one another. They took advantage of the wide open space around their property—which Moula was endlessly grateful for when she discovered Benry could grow to impossible sizes—spending most of their time playing outside. She would often sit on the porch and watch them pretend to be wolves. Or raised by wolves, maybe? She didn’t have quite as much energy as she would have liked in order to play with them, but at least seeing them enjoy themselves was a pleasure in and of itself.

Not long after they each came out as trans, (Emmet electing to change his name while Benry kept his own) despite her growing fatigue issues, she decided to drive them out to one of her favorite hiking spots during the summer. It wasn’t a very advanced hike all in all, but it was beautiful, passing over large cliffs and bubbling streams where they could catch crawdads. Moula had to take frequent breaks and walk at an easy pace, which Benry and Emmet didn’t seem to mind; they would run just a short ways ahead and back, take in the scenery, and check out areas not far from the trail. Moula sat on a large rock with a smile on her face, watching Benry uncover something from the ground with a gasp.

“Look! It’s a meteor!” He announced, holding up a porous, deep red rock.

“That’s not a meteor.” Emmet pointed out, taking the rock from Benry’s hands to look at closer. “It’s a lava rock.”

“Maybe it could be a meteor. You don’t know.” Benry retorted, straining to take it back from Emmet. Emmet held it away from him with ease, being much taller than Benry already. “Give it back! I found it!”

“I will! Just let me see it.” Emmet argued as he pushed Benry away.

“Boys!” Moula called out to them. “Come away from that edge, you’re making me nervous.”

“But Emmet won’t give me my rock!” Benry complained, grabbing Emmet by the shirt to keep him from getting away with the rock.

Typically, Moula wouldn’t intervene in scenarios like this; it felt better to let them problem solve on their own, but not when they were fighting so close to a cliff’s edge. She pushed herself to her feet, giving them a stern look.

“Benry, Emmet, leave the rock where you found it and come here.” She said seriously.

“But I wanna keep it!” Benry whined.

“Mama Moula said to put it back.” Emmet told Benry, straining to pull away from him.

Benry growled in frustration, red bubbles floating from his mouth and drifting gently into the sky. This was another strange thing Benry did, seemingly unconsciously. She tried to make it a rule not to aim the bubbles at other people, since they seemed to have an effect on others emotionally—infecting them with whatever he was feeling at the moment, usually—but it seemed difficult for Benry to control, despite her efforts to help him learn. When Emmet still didn’t give the rock back, Benry grasped his arm and bit him, another habit Moula still struggled to help Benry get past.

“Benry!” Moula scolded firmly as Emmet yelped in pain. “Let go of your brother.”

Benry finally released Emmet with a sheepish expression growing on his face. He stepped back a little, mumbling a small “sorry” to Emmet. Emmet scoffed, turning to chuck the rock off the edge of the cliff.

“Hey!” Benry cried in dismay.

“It’s only fair! You bit me.” Emmet said accusingly, crossing his arms. “Besides, Mama Moula said you couldn’t have it, anyway.”

“It’s not fair!” Benry shouted, shoving Emmet back.

Moula gasped, watching him stumble dangerously close to the edge. Fatigue entirely forgotten, she sprinted towards them, watching him catch his footing just shy of the edge. Emmet held his arms out to balance himself, frozen from the realization of what nearly happened.

“Oh my god, I’m so—” Benry started to say as Moula passed him to get to Emmet.

Moula was mere inches from grabbing him to pull him away from the edge. There was a resounding crack, and the ground underneath Emmet’s feet crumbled. Time almost seemed to slow in Moula’s panic, but not nearly enough; Emmet screamed as he fell, Moula’s body not capable of moving fast enough to catch him. She collapsed to her knees, hands over her mouth as she looked over the edge to see Emmet hanging onto a branch several feet below.

“Emmet!” Benry cried out, joining Moula by the edge.

“Stay back.” Moula said, holding her arm out to keep Benry from the edge before taking her backpack off to rummage for rope with shaking hands. “Emmet, just hang on!”

“The branch is breaking!” Emmet called back, his voice wavering.

“Oh, fuck.” Moula cursed to herself as she struggled to uncoil the rope. It was supposed to be an easy task, but not when her son was hanging on for his life. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck...”

Benry stepped forward again, getting down on his knees and leaning his upper half off the edge. Moula dropped the rope to wrap her arms around him, intent to pull him back; instead, his upper half grew difficult for her to perceive. Before she knew it, Benry was hauling Emmet up over the edge to safety. Moula pulled them both away from the edge before she allowed herself to relax, holding them both close and choking out a relieved sob.

“I’m sorry.” Benry said through his own tears, nuzzling his face against Emmet’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to...”

Emmet sucked in a pained breath, pulling away from Benry and Moula. His hand hovered over his shoulder, which looked deformed underneath his shirt; Moula set one hand to his good shoulder to hold him steady, gently pulling aside his shirt to look at the injured one.

“I-it feels broken.” Emmet whined shakily.

“It’s dislocated.” Moula confirmed, squeezing Emmet’s healthy upper arm sympathetically. She had to take a deep breath in a desperate bid to get herself to stop shaking, putting on a brave face to look at Emmet closely. “You’re gonna be okay, this happens to people all the time.”

Emmet grunted, his face contorting with pain as he choked out a sob. “It hurts...”

“D-do we have to put it back?” Benry asked Moula with worry.

“No, we’re not gonna touch it.” Moula said firmly, pulling off her jacket to tie the sleeves together. “We’re gonna take you to the emergency room. Just hang in there.”

“But we’ve been walking for like, two hours!” Benry protested, grasping Moula’s shirt. “You’re a vet, you can put it back in, right?”

“This is something you should only try to fix in a hospital, Benry.” Moula told him, steeling herself to get Emmet’s arm secured. “We just have to walk back. There’s no other way.”

“I can’t walk back!” Emmet screamed through a sob as he held his arm.

“I know it hurts, but you have to.” Moula insisted gently, her stomach twisting.

Moula felt like she was going to throw up, as Emmet’s pained screams and sobs echoed out across the valley to their right and the wide open space off the cliff to their left. All at once, as she was holding up her jacket to secure Emmet’s arm, she felt her anxiety and worry wash away when Benry nudged her aside. She just watched as he crawled up next to Emmet’s shoulder, hands hovering over it with a determined look on his face. He took in a deep breath before singing out teal and green bubbles; Emmet relaxed slightly as the bubbles wrapped around his shoulder.

“Okay. Hold on.” Benry said, setting one palm to Emmet’s back.

Without any more warning than that, Benry forced Emmet’s shoulder back into place. Emmet cried out, squirming in pain; Moula grasped his good hand tightly to comfort him, and Benry sang out more bubbles at his shoulder. In mere moments, Emmet was placated, slumping into Moula’s arms from exhaustion.

“Does it still hurt?” Benry asked, putting a palm on his shoulder gently, as if checking his work.

Emmet shook his head as he caught his breath. Moula cradled him against her chest with one hand, the other gently moving his shirt aside to inspect and feel his shoulder. The discoloration was gone, and everything felt perfectly in place; after a few moments, he moved it experimentally.

“You healed it.” Emmet said with awe, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t know you could heal.”

Benry didn’t respond to that, instead throwing his arms around Emmet and burying his face against his chest. “I’m sorry.” He choked out again. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Emmet huffed slightly, but hugged Benry back. “I know it was an accident...” He said, resting his head against Benry’s. “Just stop biting and pushing me all the time.”

Benry nodded. “Okay. I’ll never hurt you again, I promise.”

That was a statement repeated many times between the two of them, but seeing Emmet healed and her two sons reconcile brought relief to Moula. She hugged them both close with a deep sigh, kissing them each on the top of their heads.

“You two have scared me enough for a lifetime.” She said exhaustedly. “Let’s go home.”

****

The business of going to college had changed quite a bit, in the time since Moula had gotten out of veterinary school. In Emmet’s senior year of high school, he worked hard and brought home plenty of pamphlets for nearby colleges—Moula wanted to be as supportive as possible, but when she got an idea for how much college costs had gone up, she had to resist a terrified scream. She had been wondering how she would break the news to him that she wasn’t sure how much she could cover his college costs, with just their modest milk business; to her relief, though, Emmet talked about spending a while after high school saving for college.

Emmet started work during the summer after graduation. Benry spent his extra time helping Moula with the cows—she needed as much help as she could get these days, with her mysteriously declining health—until school started again, and he returned to start his sophomore year. Moula powered through the fatigue to give her best for the cows during the day, until she’d pick up her sons, and they’d help her with the tasks she couldn’t finish.

Moula sat in her truck outside the high school, watching the crowd of students for Benry. When she spotted him, she let out a small, sad sigh—ever since his friend had moved away, he was looking more and more listless, and today was no exception. He climbed into the passenger seat silently, leaning his head against the window.

“Hey, Benry.” Moula greeted gently. “Everything alright?”

Benry glanced at her before simply shrugging, returning his gaze to his window.

He didn’t talk much that night, nor the next morning. It was only as she was picking him up after school that next afternoon when he held out a paper to her with a tentative look.

“Can I drop out?” He asked as Moula accepted the paper to look at. “I need your permission to do it.”

“Drop out?” Moula echoed, looking up at Benry. “Why do you wanna drop out?”

“My counselor said I’m not gonna graduate on time, anyway.” Benry said with a deep frown, crossing his arms and looking away. “I don’t even wanna go to college or anything like Emmet does. I don’t get why I gotta do all this every day when I can just take a GED test, instead.”

Moula paused, reading down the page Benry had handed her. It was a permission form to drop out of high school officially; with just her signature, Benry would be out of school already. Moula let out a worried hum.

“Have you thought this through?” She asked him, setting the paper aside and starting out of the high school parking lot. “What are you going to do when you drop out?”

“Help with the cows, I guess?” Benry said with a shrug.

It sounded more like a question than an answer to Moula. Still, she couldn’t deny it would be very nice to have his help more consistently—working mostly alone throughout the day was starting to take its toll on her. She didn’t know how long he planned to stick around and help; surely, he must’ve had dreams of his own, right?

“Of course, I’d always appreciate your help.” She told him with an uneasy smile. “What about long-term, though? Is there a field you really want to go in?”

“...I dunno.” Benry muttered. “I guess it’d be cool if I could make video games. But we don’t have internet. Or a computer.”

Moula frowned, unsure what to say. She didn’t know the first thing about computers; there was no need for one at their house, considering they couldn’t get internet, and it had nothing to do with her work. A computer was expensive, anyway—leagues out of the price range Moula worked with for gifts to her sons. Benry seemed fascinated by them, though—she often got phone calls from the school about how he was skipping class, and she’d find him at the library, hogging the one computer they had to offer.

“Don’t you wanna work with something...real?” She offered. “I’m not sure video games or working with computers is really a reliable goal.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think most people wanna spend all their time in front of a screen.” She said uncertainly. “People will probably move on from all that before you could even find a good job, Benry.”

“Nuh-uh, no they won’t!” Benry retorted irritably. “You don’t get it. Just ‘cuz you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s bad for me to like it. You wouldn’t tell Emmet, like—food is gonna go obsolete.”

“Well, of course, food isn’t going obsolete.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe by the time he gets done with college, we’ll all get our food in like...protein shakes or pills.” Benry said, slumping down in his seat with his arms crossed defiantly.

Moula didn’t see the point in arguing this, so she went silent. They were both quiet the whole way back home; once they were back inside, Moula asked him to bring the cows in from grazing and brush them, so he stormed out through the back door with Beef in tow. She watched through the window as Benry directed Beef, and she took off like a spring, herding them expertly into the barn so he could work. Benry glanced up at Moula through the window before stepping inside, shutting the barn door behind him.

Moula poured herself some water, leaning against the counter with a contemplative sigh. Was she being hard on him? She wondered. She only wanted the best for him. She’d hate to see him work so hard at something, only for it all to come crashing down; Benry tended to think better in the abstract, something Moula wasn’t quite as good at. That had its value, of course, though she worried sometimes he was losing track of the practical aspects of life.

The afternoon went on, and Moula picked up Emmet from his work; she had planned on making dinner while Emmet helped Benry with the evening chores, but he was eager to try out a new recipe, so Moula headed outside to take up the mantle of helping Benry instead. Benry was meticulously sanitizing the milking equipment, Beef lounged in the corner to keep a watchful eye on him and the cows. Moula approached Benry to pat his head affectionately. Benry huffed before continuing to sanitize the buckets.

“If you’re sure you want to drop out, that’s your decision.” Moula told him, taking one of the clean buckets and sitting on a stool to start connecting it to the machine. “I just worry about you, sometimes. You’re still my sweet baby boy.”

Benry took another one of the clean buckets, securing Horse to kneel down by her side and start working. “‘M not a baby. I’m 15.” He muttered bitterly.

Moula sighed quietly as she set up Dixie with the milking machine. 15 still felt so young, and yet, he was already facing decisions about his adult life; how had the years gone by so quickly?

“Well, you know I love you.” Moula went on, watching Benry work at doing the same with Horse. He had his back turned to her, so she couldn’t see his face. Something about that worried her. “I just want you to be happy.”

Benry glanced over his shoulder at Moula, only giving her a glimpse of the sad expression on his face before he turned back to Horse. “...I love you, too, Mama Moula.” He said quietly.

They proceeded to work in silence, aside from small comments here and there involving the cows. Once they were finished with their work for the evening, they headed back inside, where Emmet was setting out plates for dinner. He was so talented, Moula thought with pride—she didn’t believe he even needed a to go to a fancy, expensive culinary school. He was already fantastic with his craft, and nobody who tasted his food would need to see a degree to prove his worth. Still, it was his dream, so Moula was content to help him. Should she have the same faith in Benry, then?

Once they’d cleaned up after dinner, Benry was already heading downstairs to the basement without another word. Moula frowned as she dried her hands on a towel, looking to the permission form she’d left behind on the counter.

Benry only grunted when Moula knocked on his door. She decided to take that as permission to enter, so she opened it, finding him cocooned in his many blankets on his bed. She stepped inside, setting the signed permission form down on his nightstand and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Do I need to come to the school with you tomorrow?” She asked, patting what she assumed to be Benry’s shoulder, under the thick lump of blankets.

Benry poked his head out, looking at the form before turning his gaze to Moula with a nod. “Yeah, um...the guidance counselor wanted to talk to you about my, like...options, or whatever.”

“Okay, well...if you help me out with the morning chores, I’ll take you in after, and we’ll talk to the counselor.”

Benry sat up fully, extricating himself from his cocoon of blankets to wrap his arms around Moula. Moula hugged him back, pressing a kiss to his forehead with a content hum.

“...When you found me, are you sure you never saw anything else?” Benry asked her suddenly, leaned against her comfortably. “Like, a spaceship, or a portal or something...?”

Moula shook her head, tousling Benry’s hair. “No, I didn’t. I only saw you.”

Benry let out a long-suffered sigh.

“Why the sudden interest?” Moula questioned gently.

Benry grumbled something incoherently against her shirt before speaking clearly again. “I just don’t get why I gotta do all this human shit, like, go to school or get a job or whatever, when I’m not even human.” He complained. “I don’t know who I am.”

“Of course you do.” Moula said, squeezing Benry closer. “You’re my son. And I love you very, very much, no matter what you decide to do with your life.”

This didn’t seem to satisfy Benry. He went silent, closing his eyes with another deep sigh. Moula patted Benry’s back comfortingly, the way she’d pat his back as a baby to get him to burp. How had it already been so long since the first few days she finally got him to eat? She wondered. Eventually, Benry pulled away, taking up his blankets to carefully wrap himself up again. Once he laid down, Moula leaned in to give him a goodnight kiss.

“You’ll figure it out, Benry.” Moula said reassuringly. “Life is confusing at your age. I know people at the school want to pressure you into having your future planned out already, but you don’t have to have all the answers right now. You have your whole life ahead of you. You can take your time.”

“...Okay.” Benry replied quietly.

Moula said goodnight to Benry and left him alone, frowning deeply as she shut the basement door behind her. Despite giving him the most comforting words she could muster, she couldn’t help the anxiety churning in her stomach. Benry wasn’t human; she’d always known that, and she never tried to lie to him or anyone else about that fact—it made sense that at some point, he might begin to wonder about his place in the world. He always had a place with her and the cows, and nothing would change that. The only question was whether or not he would accept that, or if he might someday leave.

****

Moula greatly appreciated Benry’s help after he dropped out officially. She normally sold milk at the farmer’s market alone during the school year, which was an annoying task to do by herself; with either or both of her sons there to help out, though, it was a breeze. Once Benry helped her unload the milk from the truck to the stand, he sat down with his GED study book the size and quality of a phonebook with a dissatisfied grunt.

“Don’t get why I gotta take this with me...” He grumbled to himself, tipping his chair back and leafing through the pages of his book.

“I know you’re done with high school, but I still want you to know these things.” Moula reminded him as she sat down in her own seat.

“What for? None of this is gonna be helpful out in real life.” Benry retorted, casting Moula an annoyed look. “You don’t ever have to fucking...plot a graph, or read boring stories about some kid talking about, like, meeting his cousins at a train station.”

“It’s good for your developing brain.” She pointed out, unbothered by his complaints.

“Good for my brain to know about...” Benry looked down at the page his book was open to, “symbiosis?”

“Of course it is.” Moula said, grabbing the back of Benry’s chair and forcing it back down on all four legs.

Benry tilted his head back for several seconds, staring up at the sky with an irritated expression before speaking again. “But I’m not human. I don’t think I even have a brain.”

“Then what’s in here?” She asked, halfway between teasing and earnest as she poked Benry’s head.

Benry shrugged. “It’s like...” He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers in and out. “It’s just me. Humans are made of a bunch of little things. Like, you’re Mama Moula, but you’re also a bunch of guts and organs and...cells, and...bacterias and stuff. And the cells are made of even smaller things, and those are made of even smaller things, I guess—you’re a bunch of things that make you think that you’re...one guy. But you’re not one guy. I’m one guy.”

Moula tried not to let her confusion show through on her face. He seemed like he was honestly trying to get his point across, and no matter how much Moula wanted to nod and say she understood, she just didn’t.

“Are you not made up of cells?” She decided to ask.

Benry stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket, tipping his chair back again and shaking his head. “Nah.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I can feel it.” Benry replied with a casual shrug.

“What are you made of, then?”

Benry frowned, giving it a good moment’s thought before shrugging again. “Don’t know.”

Moula hummed thoughtfully, forcing Benry’s chair down again. “Well...whatever you’re made up of, you’re still living on Earth. You should know the way our world works.”

“Your world.” Benry grumbled.

“Our world.” Moula corrected, squeezing his shoulder. “What you are doesn’t matter, Benry. You’re still a part of this world. I raised you here, so you belong here.”

“How?” Benry asked, staring down at his book. “Humans are supposed to be here. You guys are part of the, like, food chain and stuff. Even if you mess up and hurt the planet, you also talk about stuff that helps the environment and everything. But I’m just...here. What if I’m like, an invasive species?”

“You’re not an invasive species.” Moula said firmly. “You’re my son. You fit into my life—and Emmet’s life—just perfectly. That’s all you need.”

“Yeah, but who put me here?” Benry questioned, giving Moula a frustrated look. “I know you like me and stuff, but—just—I don’t think I belong here. What if I wanna know where I really come from?”

Moula found herself leaving her chair, instead kneeling down on the ground beside Benry’s and wrapping him up in her arms. With her down on the ground like this, Benry was taller than her now, still sat in his chair; he seemed surprised, but hugged her back with a small sigh.

“I don’t know any more than you do. But I...” Moula paused, squeezing Benry tighter. “I know it wasn’t an accident that I found you. You’re safe here with me, you have everything you could ever need—more than you ever would have on your own. I love you, Benry, so...please don’t leave.”

Moula was taken off guard by the last few words out of her own mouth. Benry seemed to be in the same boat; they just sat there in silence for a few moments, Moula’s head starting to spin. She held onto Benry tight, partially out of maternal instinct, but no doubt to also keep herself upright.

“Well...” Benry said quietly.

If he said anything else, Moula didn’t hear it. Her grip on Benry weakened, and she fell to the ground unconscious.

Moula dreamed a lot, when she fainted this way. Her dreams were vivid, but difficult to describe or even remember when she woke; she always felt like she was at the center of something, though, enveloped so tightly, she would never be able to move on her own. That was disorienting, but fine—physical movement didn’t mean anything when she was here. Similar to how physical movement was something to be conceived, but not truly acted on in her own imagination. She saw whirlwinds of activity she couldn’t fully understand; shapes that were difficult to look at, colors she would never remember when she tried, heard sounds that made her head feel like it was splitting apart. It sounded unpleasant when she put it to words, but it was a particular type of beauty unmatched by anything she could ever hope to see when she was awake. It was just the same as her hikes—the views were made all the better by the effort she put into climbing to see them.

Sometimes, something interesting would happen. She would experience something new—or at least, she thought it was new—and swear to herself that it was too amazing, too world-changing, explained everything she could have ever hoped to ask, and she would never forget a moment like that, only to wake and have it slip through her fingers. She always felt a significant loss when she woke up and forgot what had happened in her dream; the real world would settle back into her bones, though, and she would shake her head and move past it.

This was certainly the case now. Moula opened her eyes, head pounding, feeling some mystical truth of everything fall right out of her mind like sand. The lights above her were too bright; she lifted a hand to shield them from the buzzing fluorescent bulbs above her.

“Where...?” She tried to ask, feeling the rough blanket that had been draped over her. Suddenly, all the pieces came together—the bed, the gown she was now wearing, monitors attached to her—she was in the hospital.

“Mama Moula.” Benry said, Moula feeling his hand on her shoulder. She looked to her side, finding him sat in a chair beside her bed.

“Why am I in the hospital?” She asked, grasping his hand tightly. “I only fainted, I’m okay.”

“Yeah, but I waited a few minutes, and you weren’t waking up.” Benry replied, squeezing her hand back.

“How long was I out?”

Benry looked up at a clock on the wall with a thoughtful hum. “Two hours.”

“Oh.” Moula rested her free arm over her eyes with a deep sigh. “...I guess that’s a little bit different, then. What happened with the milk?”

“Kim and Jimmy said they’d pack up our stuff and drop it off at our house, while I took you here.”

Moula groaned. She was glad it hadn’t been simply abandoned to spoil in the sun, but she hated to bother others.

“Should I have done something else?” Benry asked worriedly.

“No, Benry, you’re okay.” Moula told him with a smile, despite the concerns running through her head. “My head just hurts. That’s all.”

There was a long pause between the two of them, Moula just waiting for her head to stop spinning so she could properly drive home. She was surprised when Benry spoke up in a small voice.

“I don’t think this is normal.” He said worriedly.

Moula peered out from under her arm to look at Benry as he picked at his fingers. “What do you mean?” She asked him.

“You fainting all the time.” Benry answered slowly. “You always say you’re fine, but I don’t think you are. It freaks me ‘n Emmet out whenever you faint, and for a while, we’ve really wanted you to see a doctor about it.”

Moula frowned deeply, holding out her hand with her palm up towards Benry. Benry took the hint and held her hand in his own, looking instead to the monitor that showed her heartbeat.

“I’m sorry, Benry.” She said to him gently. “I never meant to worry you two.”

“Then why haven’t you gone to a doctor?”

Moula let out a small sigh, squeezing his hand tighter in her own. “When it comes to hospital costs, I’d pay anything for you two to be taken care of. But I don’t have insurance.” She admitted. “I haven’t wanted to cause all these bills to pop up when I could be using our money for you two, or for the cows.”

Benry let out a frustrated sound, bubbles in blue and a muted red escaping from his mouth. “Mama Moula...!” He groaned, hanging his head and holding her hand close to his face. “Does all of that really matter if you fucking die, ‘cuz you didn’t see a doctor when you could’ve?”

“Hey, Benry.” Moula said comfortingly, taking her hand back so she could cup his face in her palm. “I’m not going to die. Not yet, anyway. Alright? I promise.”

“Can’t promise that.” Benry muttered under his breath. “You don’t know. Humans die from stupid shit all the time. I read that a guy ate a slug once and died from it.”

Moula grimaced. “Don’t say gross things like that, Benry.”

“We’ll hike up the milk prices.” Benry continued, pulling his chair closer to her bed so he could rest his head on her stomach. “Emmet’s got his job, too, he can stop saving for culinary school...”

“He shouldn’t have to stop saving his own money for school.” Moula said, guilt churning inside her as she scratched his scalp affectionately.

“Then I’ll get a job.” Benry offered. He paused, frowning and chewing on his lip as a thought seemed to occur to him. “Or...if you’re sick, I don’t wanna make you do all the work with the cows...”

Moula sighed, waving her hand for Benry to come closer. He shifted his chair again, getting closer so she could hug him tightly.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have put it off this long.” She told him. “I’m sorry I’ve made you and Emmet worry about me all this time. We’ll figure something out.”

She would have to, she thought, remembering where she was.

[previous]

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