#every day I have a new reason to blame my suffering on

[whimsyprinx]

do you think we suffer for the same reasons our ocs do, any gods out there are venting their feelings through us in order to feel better?

#whimsy whispers #another night of me trying to rationalize why I suffer #idk maybe I’d be less resentful if this were the case #I do this to my creations and if there’s a god doing this to me because it helps them feel better then maybe that would be okay? #but also like how would I possibly know if that’s how any of this works #every day I have a new reason to blame my suffering on #the universe hates me god is laughing at my suffering I’ve been cursed since birth or maybe i was a bad person in some past life and this is #my punishment for that #anything to make everything make sense and idk give me something to blame #because im aware a lot of my problems are my own fault but not everything is #ofc the more realistic answer is just that the world is bad in so many ways and I simply wasn’t raised in a great way but idk thinking that #cosmic karma and divine intervention played some role makes it easier for me to come to terms with #plus it’s better than ‘some people are just unlucky some people jsut suffer’ because that’s unfair #at least with the other prompts im serving some sort of purpose #if im suffering for amusement or an outlet for pain or to make up for some kind of sin I feel less mad and bitter #but like i already said im just being dumb #sometimes life just sucks for no special reason

[axigailxo]

Pretty Like You | PJM (2)

part two: parties and pilates

series summary. where jimin is jealous of the beauty that is you, writes about it, and falls apart when you accidentally read it.

pairing. feminine!jimin x reader

rating. M | 18+ |

genre. enemies to lovers, feminine!jimin, self hatred au, slight identity crisis, self love journey, smut, sub! jimin, angst, fluff, heartfelt

w.c. 4.8k

warnings. heavy descriptions of self hate and self abuse later into the story, please be advised. mention of “unaliving” in this chapter.

ch summary. where oc convinces jimin to go to a frat party in an attempt to break him out of his shell

**this is part 2 of my series pretty like you, not a stand-alone

series masterlist | <-previous | next ->

“And then despite it all, she asked if I wanted to talk, can you believe it?”

It’s been a couple of days since the incident at the art room, and Jimin can’t stop ranting about it like it’s new news. He still hasn’t texted you, and it’s not like he could since he doesn’t even have your number. He could get it from you in class, but thats a little hard when he’s on a streak of skipping.

After you suggested to help him embark on a self love journey, Jimin has been so damn confused. He doesn’t know whether to jump at the opportunity, rot away in embarrassment that you read his journal, or be slightly offended that you’d suggest help when he thinks he’s just fine. Kind of.

All options are tempting, nonetheless.

Daisy, Jimin’s cat that is currently victim to listening about what happened for the hundredth time, lifts up off her soft body and saunters out of his room. What? She’s fed up.

Jimin, who is suffering from her rude and sudden exit, huffs as he debates whether he should follow up about that whole thing with you. Because despite all his options, he’s leaning more towards just avoiding you at all costs and pretending that situation never even happened.

Except he’ll remember. It’ll haunt him and his thoughts every night until he finally just addresses it.

And so that’s why he should go to class today. Maybe. Jimin squints his eyes as he contemplates and considers, ultimately deciding that coffee is the first step that should be taken. Especially since it’s way too early to have a crisis, that can wait for later. Per usual.

Making his way to his Keurig, he pops a peppermint mocha flavored pod into the top compartment followed by a little water in another compartment until he’s clicking a button to brew it.

“So now you like me,” Jimin scoffs as Daisy rubs against his ankle, excited for Jimin to give her breakfast.

Commanding to the manipulation of the feline, Jimin grabs a can of cat food out of a cupboard, internally scolding himself for being nice and buying her the expensive kind again.

Although, Jimin can’t blame Daisy for being fed up with all his predicaments. He would be too. However spilling to Daisy is much more acceptable than telling it all to his human best friend, Taehyung.

Jimin has already thought about the fact that if he spends time with you, whether it be for a self love journey or not, that’d be breaking some sort of bro code with Tae.

You’re Taehyung’s crush, and Jimin respects that. Plus it’s not like Taehyung has to worry, you’re out of Jimin’s league anyway.

However that hard on be got the other night still baffles him. He’s narrowed it down to being that you’re just attractive and he’s just a gross horny man. But not even that sounds right.

Jimin has thought about inviting Taehyung to every outing you may have together, but he can’t. How in hell would he explain to his best friend that the whole reason he’s seeing you is so that he can learn to accept himself and flaunt that feminine side of him? Let alone explain to him that you read his journal full of how much he envies and adores you at the same time. He can’t. More specifically, he won’t. Taehyung doesn’t need to meet that side of him, Jimin thinks. It’s for the better.

Jimin ponders for a second, and he hates himself for pouring his coffee into a travel cup and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He figures since he’s already keeping a secret from Tae, one more shouldn’t hurt. Plus he can’t avoid you forever. There’s really only one thing to do now.

“Eat up Daisy, I’ll be back after class.”

“Jimin? Hey!”

Standing in line at the campus’s cafe, Jimin washes over in a cold sweat as the loud call of his name attracts the attention of almost everyone near. He came here to get an additional caffeine boost before class and more importantly stall from talking to you, but it’s just his luck that you’d be here too.

“Hi,” he mutters awkwardly, eyes on the ground the second you get closer.

He’s never seen you so up-close before. He wonders if your skin has always looked so smooth.

He wishes his skin were as smooth.

“I was gonna call to ask about your no shows in class but I completely forgot to give you my number the last time we talked.”

Jimin finds this incredibly new and odd. Just a few days ago he hated you without knowing you and now you’re talking to him like a friend. It’s definitely going to take some getting used to.

“Here,” you say as you hand him your phone, a new contact page open and ready for him to fill out. “That way we can talk out of school, plus I found multiple super-helpful self esteem websites that you might li—“

“Y/N,” Jimin halts your enthusiasm. Again, way too early in the morning for this. “Can we not talk about it in such a public place?”

His tone is hushed and embarrassed, trying not to let the several eyes on them to hear that he’s struggling with self esteem. God this is so much more depressing than Jimin initially thought it’d be.

“Of course, yeah no my bad.” You rush your words, retracting your hand down before Jimin grabs the phone from you, typing his number.

“I dont expect you to waste time on me. Just text when you have absolutely nothing else to do. This isn’t important enough to occupy your schedule.”

Immediately, you frown at his words. Sure this is important. And contrary to his request, you already cleared something off of your schedule for him.

“First off, this is important. I won’t have you taking down on yourself anymore.”

Jimin so badly wants to ask why, but he won’t because that’s rude and you don’t deserve anymore rudeness from him. Not after what you read in the art room.

“Secondly, I already cancelled pilates for you. I have something else fun planned for us.”

Jimin can’t help his sudden snicker.

“What?” You ask, slightly offended.

“Nothing, it’s just funny you take pilates. Of course you do.”

You wanted to carry on with being offended, but you felt a pang of accomplishment upon getting him to laugh. Progress, you think.

“Yeah yeah,” you dismiss as you tuck your phone into your back pocket, trailing back out of the cafe. “Laugh all you want but just know that this ass didn’t grow itself!”

You: u, me, frat party tonight at 9.

Sat on the hard seats of the lecture hall, Jimin’s eyes go wide as he reads your reply to his text.

The second you sauntered out of the cafe, you were quick to text Jimin in hopes to break the tension between you two— which technically isn’t tension at all given Jimin is the only one who finds your new friendship odd. Well him and the rest of the students who saw you two talking together.

Jimin had asked what you had planned, and when you replied with frat party, he felt physically ill.

Jimin: absolutely not. sorry.

You: hear me out, it’s not even a big party

You: it’s very discreet and there’s only gonna be a couple people

Jimin locks eyes with you from across the room and mouths “no” with an adamant shake of his head. You roll your eyes before your thumbs get back to texting him.

You: we can pregame before we go so u can loosen up

You: if you’re with me, there’s nothing to worry about

Jimin wants to be offended. He most definitely does not need you at his rescue. The intent however was a little sweet. God Jimin is reminded exactly why he despised you— you’re perfect.

Jimin: i’ll think about it. that’s not a yes.

He pretends he doesn’t notice the little happy dance you do in your seat, nor the squeal of excitement you let out even though he didn’t give a definite answer.

Jimin starts to smile, but when he looks to his left he sees someone else who’s smiling at you and it vanishes. Taehyung. Completely gawking at you, Jimin fights that weird feeling that suddenly engulfs him. Maybe it’s the fact he’s hiding his new friendship with you from Tae.

Either that or somewhere in his subconscious, he doesn’t like how Tae is smiling at you.

“God dude, isn’t she so cute.” Tae whispers, completely oblivious to why you’re dancing in you’re seat.

Jimin trails his gaze to his lap as a bitter mood takes hold of him.

“Yeah… definitely.”

Jimin is in a rut.

Even though he’s still not certain about going to that party, finding a potential outfit never hurt anyone. Moments after he got home he was already sucked into his closet by the magnetic pull of all the great clothes he has— even though he knows himself well enough to understand he will end up changing into his “boy clothes” no matter what he ends up choosing.

He slips on a black, oversized distressed sweater. The seams are ripped in just the right places, leaving a fraction of his chest, his belly, and a dash of his waist to be visible beneath the shredded fabric. The back showcases a fair amount of skin as well.

This one, Jimin thinks to himself, isn’t so feminine. It’s doable. Maybe.

He wants to pair it with a skirt but that would only be a waste of time because if he can’t even leave his apartment in a skirt to check the mailbox, he sure as hell will not be wearing it to a frat party of all places.

He grabs a pair of black chinos that he thrifted not so long ago, letting it rest low on his waist. He pulls the look together with black combat boots and a dainty necklace that he tucks beneath the sweater. It makes him feel pretty despite the fact he’s the only one aware it’s on him.

He steps back to absorb the outfit in the mirror, and he feels good. It’s a combination of both masculine and feminine and it’s definitely testing the waters but Jimin knows his night won’t be enjoyable in the least if he wears a baggy hoodie or tee. He likes what he has on, even if the frat boys will give him shit for it. Which they definitely will.

He hears Daisy meow across the room, and upon directed his gaze to her his eyes settle on the makeup bag tucked into the far back corner of his desk.

He’s tempted, he is. But he can’t. He’s not ready yet.

Just as he begins to walk towards his desk, only enticing himself further, a knock on his door is heard and he takes that as a sign from god herself that he should skip the makeup.

With a sigh, he heads to the door.

“Knock… Knock… Knock!”

“Just a minute! For fuck’s sake.”

Irritated at the swat team-like announcement, Jimin swings the door open to reveal none other than Jessica Rabbit?

“You didn’t tell me it was a costume party!” Jimin complains as he steps aside, gesturing you to come in.

Both hands holding a bottle of E&J, you let yourself in and place the bottle on his countertop.

“Oh yeah, it’s a costume party.”

“It’s not even halloween,” Jimin states the obvious as he instinctively heads for two glasses out of his cupboard.

“It’s to make up for last year. There was a big game the day of halloween so none of the guys were in a party mentality.”

Party Mentality?

Jimin can’t believe he’s hearing about frat news from you, who is in his apartment dressed like Jessica Rabbit and is downing a shot straight from the bottle. What has his life come to.

You notice him staring so you apologize as you offer him the bottle to pour.

“Figured we’d pregame like I said. Also we gotta figure out a costume for you. Ooh what about a slutty artist or something.”

Jimin swears you make him lose brain cells. Sliding a now-filled glass toward you, he takes a large gulp of his own.

“Slutty artist?” He thinks out loud. “I’m fine with what I have on.”

Jimin counts down the seconds until you praise his bold sweater choice, but he can feel the alcohol rise back up when you say the opposite.

“In all honestly I thought that was a sleep shirt. We’re putting you in something else.”

You navigate yourself straight to what you assume is him bedroom, and Jimin nearly falls flat on his face chasing after you.

This may be a bit embarrassing for Jimin to admit to himself, but he’s never had a girl in his room before. It’s intimate, he thinks. Having someone inside a room that has witnessed every one of his breakdowns, outfit changes, alone time moments, etcetera. Jimin cringes as memories from the other night come back to him.

“Cute room,” you tell him as you look around, admiring the fairy lights and album covers displayed. Jimin was always big on music. Maybe posters were too far given his age, but he didn’t care. He never thought someone else would ever see them.

Although, Tae has been to Jimin’s place before. He knows about the posters and fairy lights. Though he never once questioned it or even talked about it. Only when he called that one poster of Ariana Grande hot. That’s what Jimin likes about Tae, he never questions him. But it’s not like Jimin gives him much to wonder about. He’s completely masked to the eyes of his best friend.

“This,” you start, dramatic tone and all, “this is gorg.” You hold out his favorite black skirt, and it’s lightening quick how fast he snatches it from you.

“No.” He tells you, cheeks getting hot. He’s embarrassed to say the least. He knows you know about his self esteem issues, but you have yet to discover his fondness for feminine clothing. But you have now.

“What? You’re embarrassed I found a skirt? If it’s socially acceptable for women to wear sweats, then it should be acceptable for men to wear skirts.”

Someone who gets it, Jimin thinks. This is the first time he’s ever felt understood when it comes to this, and he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“But skirt or no skirt, I think it’s important that you feel sexy tonight.”

“And why is that?” Jimin plays along. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed as you continue to look through his wardrobe.

“Because halloween parties exist solely for people to feel sexy all night.”

“It’s not halloween,” Jimin argues again, earning a shirt thrown at his face. Giggling, he holds it out in front of him.

You stand in front of his closet with a look of excitement on your face. His reaction disappoints you, however.

“Y/N, no. I can’t wear this out.”

“Just try it on.”

He knew this was part of your plan to get him to gain a little confidence and even convince him to leave the house in something he feels good in, but Jimin is adamant. He cannot wear this.

It’s a fitted baseball tee, extremely cropped and a shade of pale pink. Jimin cannot leave the house like this, despite how good it makes him feel deep down.

Reluctant and a tad shy, Jimin removes his sweatshirt from his body as he replaces it with what you threw at him. In the short moment he was bare, you might’ve stole a glance at his figure. His body is perfect, you think. Slim waist with faint yet toned abs and a noticeable amount of muscle on his arms. You take another sip of the drink that has yet to leave your hand.

“I look stupid.”

“You look sexy.”

The compliment was unexpected and was more than enough to have Jimin’s eyes widen. He breaks eye contact because how could he not, and he self consciously wraps an arm around his stomach.

More so his lap.

“I don’t know,” he says faintly, mumbling over his speech. “I think it’s a bit much.”

“Change to grey sweats. You can tell people you’re a 60’s athlete, they dressed like this back in the day you know.”

Yeah right, tell a bunch of actual scary frat boy athletes that’s he’s mocking their style from the 60’s.

His brows furrow when you step closer to him, reclining down and reaching for the skirt he had snatched from you. You grab one of his wrists, placing the bunched up material into his hand. His cheeks are on fire, his heartbeat picking up.

“Try it on,” you whisper. “For me.”

And fuck. Jimin is fully erect. He physically cannot bring himself to stand let alone change in front of you. He pushes your hand away, never wanting to disappear so badly.

“Another time. You already got me to wear this tee, baby steps.”

Disappointed, you think he’s right. You can’t beg him to gain confidence to wear an entire outfit like this on the first day of his journey. It takes time, and luck for Jimin you’re very patient.

“Another time,” you repeat softly.

Jimin has been to a function with very little people before. He knows what a small little get together looks like. This party— it isn’t that.

“You said a couple people!” He shouts over the blairing music as you pull him through the front hall and to the packed kitchen.

He has no clue who’s house this is and he hasn’t seen a single normal person. Everyone is either drunk, high, or the worst: a frat. He shivers in discomfort before you bring a shot glass to his lips.

“Guess word spread and more people came, no biggie.”

He downs the shot of what turns out to be tequila, wincing as he coughs out a reply.

“Huge biggie.” He looks around the crowded house after a bystander drunkenly bumps into him and slurs an incoherent apology.

This was a mistake.

“Y/N, what is the point of me being here? This isn’t making me feel good about myself in the least, this isn’t my environment.”

You take another shot before quickly grabbing a lime and placing it between Jimin’s plump lips, and before he can register what you’re doing, your lips are already on his as you suck from the lime. Nipping the fruit with your teeth you pull it out and drop it into the sink, grin wide as Jimin turns fire hydrant red.

That shouldn’t count as a kiss, but you just sort-of-kissed Jimin. His mouth is dry, heartbeat in his stomach, and he is hyper alert on the way his knees are subtly shaking.

“Ease up Jimin, it’s gonna be a long night.”

He didn’t know it then but that’s the last time he’d be seeing you until the end of the party. He sauntered off to a random couch that was unoccupied for the most part, only some random (and gross) couple having a full blown make out session on the opposite side.

He made sure to keep his cup filled the whole night as that’s the only thing keeping him from walking straight out the door and back into the comfort of anything that’s not this party.

He’s spotted Tae a few times, who is dressed as Jack from the titanic, but Tae hasn’t noticed him yet which is probably because his rather different fashion approach and the fact he’s at a frat party. If anything that should be a reason Tae spots him since he’s the odd one out, Jimin thinks. Then again it is a costume party and no one look normal per-say. Nor is Tae the sharpest tool in the shed.

He also thanks the universe for not letting Tae notice you and Jimin arrive together.

He’s been glancing at you for a while now, the way you sway your hips to the rap song playing on the surround sound speakers. The way your skin is glowing even under the dim, groggy lights of the house. He watches the way smoke exits your mouth as Tae places a blunt between your perfect lips. He looks away when Tae also places a hand on your waist, dancing with you so intimately that it pains Jimin to see.

He knows he’ll be hearing all about this from Tae. You’re his favorite person, he’s probably over the moon about dancing with you right now.

“Jimin?” Speaking of the devil.

Jimin waves awkwardly as Tae whispers something to you and proceeds to walk towards his direction. You go off to dance with a frat guy who’s been waiting all night to have your attention. Jimin finds him pathetic.

“What are you doing here? You never come to these kinds of things.”

The music is loud but that’s nothing compared to how deep and confident Tae’s voice is. Despite Jimin’s desire to be more feminine, there are some masculine traits he wishes to have. A deeper voice is one of them. Not Tae’s level of deep, but deeper than what his currently is.

“A friend forced me to,” he admits, not naming names because how could he.

“Oh you have friends?” The younger man teases, earning a grumpy eye roll from Jimin. He takes another swig out of his cup.

Jimin remembers what he’s wearing and wonders why his best friend hasn’t said anything about it yet. He almost wants to point it out so it doesn’t awkwardly go unsaid and leaves Tae to catch on to his secret need for femininity.

“Like my costume?” Jimin asks, masking the fact that this is actually just a random shirt he’s had in his wardrobe and not a costume.

Tae gives him a quick once over, not lingering his eyes on the top for long.

“Oh what are you supposed to be?”

He definitely thought that wasn’t a costume and instead a normal outfit. Jimin cringes, hating you right now more than ever for making him show up in this. But he also loves you for providing him with the save he’s about to use on Tae.

“I’m a 60’s athlete. They used to dress like this you know.”

Taehyung hums, genuinely convinced.

“Wah that’s clever. I thought that was yours for a sec.”

Jimin hates himself for what he’s about to say.

“Why on earth would I own a pink crop top, that’s ridiculous.”

They laugh it off, and Jimin feels a gut wrenching pang in his stomach. That sentence wasn’t made for him, and it made him a liar and a hypocrite to his own desire.

He needs to go now before he says even more self damaging nonsense.

“Hey Tae, do you think you can get me a blunt?” Jimin asks in hopes to excuse his friend and, well, get high.

“Is this coming from the same person that said smoking isn’t good for you?”

Jimin remembers when he said that but he’s far too drained to be defensive or right. He shrugs as he admits to his hypocrisy.

“Yeah well so are frat parties but here I am. Cough one up, I know you have some.”

Tae stands up to reach in his front pocket, pulling out a steep tin that reveals 3 joints. He hands one to Jimin, telling him a brief “I’ll be back” before vanishing to find you again.

Something told Jimin to stay at the party despite how badly he wanted to go. He thought about how it may make you sad if he were to just leave, then he ridded that idea because why on earth would that make you sad. Nevertheless, he glanced outside to see if the crowd was acceptable to join. It wasn’t.

Deciding to not smoke with a bunch of frat guys, he goes the alternative route and heads for the hallway to secure an empty room. When he succeeds, he closes the door behind him and props the window open as he lights the tip of his joint.

He doesn’t smoke often, barely at all, but he needed this. As the smoke entered into his mouth he inhaled it eagerly, head rolling back as he slowly blows it all back out. This feels good, he thinks. The atmosphere on the other hand still could be better.

Jimin laughs to himself. Smoking weed at a frat party you invited him to. The world is funny that way, he nods to himself. Almost as funny as how you’re all he can think about right now.

He doesn’t know what it is. It’s not hate. For sure not love. He’s just thinking about you. Perhaps he misses your company? Or the way your skirts never reveal too much but just enough to drive him crazy.

The way your pouty lips move when you talk.

Your soft skin.

Your silky voice.

The way you look in that Jessica Rabbit costume you wore tonight.

Jimin is painfully erect, and without even noticing his hand has been palming himself desperately this entire time, blunt being delicately held in the other hand, occasionally being brought up for more puffs to fuel what he’s doing right now.

“Fuck Y/N, yes.”

He unties his sweats. One more rough drag and he kills the blunt on the rim of the windowsill, both hands focusing on himself now. One hand tugging his waistband down, the other guiding himself out. And all he can think about is how sexy you are.

He gets carried away, going so fast on himself that he doesn’t hear or see the door open. He’s high beyond belief, god only knows what Taehyung had laced in that blunt, and so when he sees you he swears his imagination is just very vivid.

Until his conscience registers and he almost squeals as he lunges back in shock of the situation.

Quickly you run up to him just in time to pull his entire body back and preventing him from falling out the window. You’re breathing heavy, half because of what you saw moments before and partially because you just saved his life.

“Fuck Jimin, be careful.”

And how fucking peculiar it is that you’re not addressing his cock that is out in the open between the two of you.

Jimin can’t speak. He almost literally died from being caught jerking himself to you while being high out his mind.

What a fucking legacy he’d have left.

After catching his breath he frantically goes to put himself away but his hand is stopped by yours.

“You know people sneak into rooms at parties to have sex with each other, not to do themselves.”

His cheeks flush red.

“Only freaks do that.”

Jimin has wanted to before, but he officially wants to unalive himself. How pathetic he is, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, I… I’m really high right now and I thought I locked the—“

He cuts himself off when you guide his hand back onto himself.

“You’re not gonna ask me why I came in here?”

Jimin takes a deep breath.

“Why?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, very slowly putting his own hand into motion against himself.

“Because I’m a freak too.”

Your words came out in a faint whisper but Jimin’s senses are heightened and he hears it like a megaphone in his ears. Your tits are practically spilling out your tiny red tube dress as you lean to help him stroke himself. A shiver cascades down his whole body, an unintentional yet hesitant whimper rumbling off his throat.

You giggle, then abruptly you stand. You lean down and peck him on his frozen, plump lips.

“Have a good night Jimin, I’ll be in contact for our next power move.” You walk towards the door. “Masturbating is a good way to show yourself love, kudos to you kid.”

Jimin’s hand is glued to his stiff cock, frozenly just keeping it there as he stares at you with his mouth agape.

“I’ll lock this on my way out, by all means finish and do not fall out any windows.”

And just like that you open the door only a couple inches and squeeze out to give him privacy. He’s left in the same spot, still in absolute shock.

You’re perfect.

You’re beautiful, and apparently so fucking sexy in sexual situations. It takes only one more stroke and one more thought of you for Jimin to reach the finish line, cum dropping down his hand and shaft as he fucks into his fist.

He breathes jaggedly until he’s drained of all energy and collapses on the bed.

To his shock, he’s not freaking out. He’s actually smiling. Then again that could easily be the weed talking. What did taehyung put in that anyway?

Jimin’s smile dissipates as an ugly thought sends a cold chill throughout him.

You’re his best friend’s crush. You’re Taehyung's. And he just betrayed him. Jimin hates how the universe works sometimes. When one thing goes well, the whole world goes to shit.

The world is funny that way.

ply pt 2???? im sorry for how long it took luvies, last year was so intense. i hope you all are still here to read😿 run this uppppp cuties!! til next time luvs🤭❤️

🏷️: @exactlygreatcoffee @sweetieguk @ctrlsht @blessrious @someusername133 @dreamer-pjm @zadkielr @dearsullix @lailaaxd @osakis-gf @jnghs @seltansworld @bxnqtxnie @moon-kid39 @mawwnsterr @zadkielr @iamjimintrash @chansbaybygirl @canarystwin @dearsullix @polyparkj @mannymalfoy @jmincore @kyglover @coralmusicblaze @midnightangel13 @jm-jkfics @lovelyflower02 @xcherrywaltz

soooo many of u guys who asked to be in the taglist changed your usernames so unfortunately i couldn't tag u☹️hopefully this found u!🫶🏻

(for anyone else who'd like to be in the taglist pls reply to this post <3)

#park jimin smut #park jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin fluff #sub!jimin #enemies to lovers #jimin enemies to lovers #jimin jealousy au #jimin college au #jimin x reader #jimin x you #park jimin x reader #jimin series #bts fic #park jimin fic #jimin fic #bts scenario #femboy!jimin #feminine!jimin #bts college au #subbmissive jimin #bottom jimin #jimin fanfic #self love au #bts #dom!reader #bangtan #bangtan smut #bangtan fluff #pretty like you

[im-not-an-object-ok]

For three months this year, I bled nearly every day. My doctor doesn’t know why. Google doesn’t know why. The condition is simply called “postmenopausal bleeding,” and medicine’s best guess as to the cause is that the postmenopausal hormone-replacement therapy I started last November suddenly made my endometrium, the lining of the uterus, “unstable.” All scientific knowledge added up to “If it’s still happening in six months, get back in touch.” (I’m still bleeding intermittently, and I don’t know why.) This is the kind of massive medical shrug that anyone with female anatomy has probably encountered.

Despite major advances for women over the past 100 years—the invention of the contraceptive pill, greater access to safe abortions—much of female biology is still woefully underserved by science. There are reasons for this, most notably the historical exclusion of women from medical and pharmaceutical trials, partly because our awkward hormone cycles were thought to skew results. There’s also the fact that some scientists still project findings from research on men onto women, seeming not to realize that women aren’t just small men: Women are different down to the cellular level, meaning that many of our immune responses, experiences of pain, and symptoms (including, for instance, those that accompany a heart attack) may be different from men’s. Are you having a nasty, unexpected side effect from your medication? That could be because most drugs were developed with male bodies in mind. A 2020 review of 86 common medications, including antidepressants, cardiovascular drugs, and painkillers, found that women were likely routinely overmedicated and suffered adverse reactions nearly twice as often as men.

The lagging science is particularly apparent when it comes to periods and female hormones more generally—the subject of the anthropologist Kate Clancy’s new book, Period, a scientific and cultural history that purports to tell the “real story of menstruation.” Clancy’s book makes clear that a lack of data is to blame for many of the ills that women and girls face concerning their reproductive health, like doctors’ failure to diagnose painful conditions such as endometriosis.

My severe endometriosis was discovered only when I was 41, accidentally. For decades, I had been given prescription-strength painkillers, and my doctor never seemed to wonder whether the amount of pain I was in was abnormal. When I published an essay about my menopausal depression in 2018, a deluge of women wrote to tell me that when they were going through something similar, their doctors had told them they were imagining their brain fog or panic attacks, or had put them on antidepressants that didn’t work because many depression drugs are inadequate to treat the symptoms of fluctuating estrogen.

#feminism #save #menstruation #Medical misogyny #Period positivity #When I went to type in menstruation 'menstruation tw' was the 1st result

[mariacallous]

Salman Rushdie has just published Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder. In August 2022, he was giving a talk at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Hadi Matar, a 24-year-old from New Jersey, rushed the stage and stabbed him 15 times. It was astonishing that Salman survived. He lost the sight in one eye and sustained terrible injuries, but he’s still with us and he’s still writing, and unlike Hadi Matar, he’s still worth hearing.

We think of fanatics as stalkers with an obsessive knowledge of their targets.  Like the antisemites who compile lists of Jews in the media or the homophobes who so focus on the details of gay sex they might almost be closet cases

Most terrorists and bigots are not like that. They are like soldiers in an army who kill and hate for no other reason than tradition or men in authority have told them to kill and hate. If we were less fascinated by the pseudo-glamour of violence, we would see them for what they are: dullards and jerks.

In Knife Salman is almost as angered by the sheer lazy stupidity of his wannabee assassin as his violence.

“I do not want to use his name in this account. My Assailant, my would-be Assassin, the Asinine man who made Assumptions about me, and with whom I had a near-lethal Assignation … I have found myself thinking of him, perhaps forgivably, as an Ass.”

The ass “didn’t bother to inform himself about the man he decided to kill. By his own admission he read barely two pages of my writing and watched a couple of YouTube videos”.

That was enough, apparently, along with a little light indoctrination in the Levant.

We know from Matar’s mother that her son changed from a popular young man to a moody religious zealot after visiting her ex-husband in the Hezbollah-controlled town of Yaroun in Lebanon, a mile or so from the Israeli border.

“I was expecting him to come back motivated, to complete school, to get his degree and a job. But instead, he locked himself in the basement. He had changed a lot. He didn't say anything to me or his sisters for months.”

Salman quotes a wonderfully perceptive line from Jodi Picoult

“If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”

Rushdie is openly contemptuous, as he has every right to be.

“I see you now at twenty-four,” he writes, “already disappointed by life, disappointed in your mother, your sisters, your father, your lack of boxing talent, your lack of any talent at all; disappointed in the bleak future you saw stretching ahead of you, for which you refused to blame yourself.”

This has always been the way. Readers old enough to remember 1989 when the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered Salman’s execution for writing a blasphemous satire of Islam’s origin story in the Satanic Verses,will know that Khomeini had not read it. Nor had the furious demonstrators in the streets or the regressive leftists and Tory ministers who upbraided him for the non-crime of causing offence.

Those of us who had read the book pointed out that it was a magical realist fiction which contained sympathetic accounts of the racism Muslim immigrants in the UK suffered. Indeed, the Tories of the day loathed Salman, we continued, because of his confrontations with official racism.

But after a while we fell silent. Pleading with his enemies felt demeaning. It gave them undeserved credit, as if they were reasonable people, who could be swayed by evidence rather than just, well, pillocks.

In Knife Salman attempts an imaginary conversation with his persecutor.

OK, he says, Islam, unlike Judaism and Christianity, holds that man is not made in God’s image. God has no human qualities, it says.

But isn’t language a human quality? To have language, God would have to have a mouth, a tongue, vocal cords and a voice, just like a man. The terrorist’s understanding is that God cannot be like a man, however. So, God could not have spoken to Gabriel in Arabic. Gabriel must have translated his message when he came to the prophet.

The angel made it comprehensible to Muhammed by delivering it in human speech which is not the speech of God.

Thus, the version of Islamic instruction Matar received in his basement when he switched from playing video games to listening to Imams was an interpretation of a translation.

“I’m trying to suggest to you that, even according to your own tradition, there is uncertainty. Some of your own early philosophers have suggested this. They say everything can be interpreted, even the Book. It can be interpreted according to the times in which the interpreter lives. Literalism is a mistake.”

For a while, Rushdie says he wants to meet Matar again at the trial, as if he wants to have the argument in the flesh.

He tells a story about Samuel Beckett, which could only have happened to Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was walking through Paris in 1938 when he was confronted by a pimp named Prudent, who wanted money from him. Beckett pushed Prudent away, whereupon the pimp pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest, narrowly missing the left lung and the heart.

Beckett was taken to the nearest hospital, bleeding heavily. He only just survived.

You will never guess who paid for his treatment. James Joyce, of course, he did.

Anyway, Beckett went to the pimp’s trial. He met Prudent in the courtroom, and asked him why he had done it. This was the pimp’s reply: “Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Je m’excuse.” (I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.)

But the more he thought about it, the less Rushdie had to say to his enemy. The idea that you can have theological arguments with a man who wants to kill you for writing a book he hasn’t even read felt ridiculous.

Although popular culture is full of stories about murderers, and true crime podcasts top the charts, killers and fanatics are nearly always less interesting than their victims. More often than not they are just thick. Nasty and vicious, but thick first of all.

We are about to see the stupidity of fanatics deployed on a mass scale. Two thirds of Republican voters (and nearly 3 in 10 Americans) continue to believe that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump, and that Joe Biden was not lawfully elected. They think it because that is what Trump told them to think.

Islamists told Matar that Salman was an apostate, and that was all he needed to know. Trump told Republicans the election was stolen and ditto.

If Republicans were consistent people, they would not vote for Trump in 2024. What would be the point? They would have every reason to fear that the deep state would rig the 2024 presidential election as it rigged the 2020 presidential election.

But they will vote for him because, once again, that is what he tells them to do.

In the end there is a limit to how much attention you can pay the vicious and the stupid.

They are not interesting enough, as Rushdie concluded with marvellous disdain as he contemplated the life sentence Matar will face.

"Here we stand: the man who failed to kill an unarmed seventy-five-year-old writer, and the now 76-year-old writer. Somewhat to my surprise, I find I have very little to say to you. Our lives touched each other for an instant and then separated. Mine has improved since that day, while yours has deteriorated. You made a bad gamble and lost. I was the one with the luck… Perhaps, in the incarcerated decades that stretch out before you, you will learn introspection, and come to understand that you did something wrong. But you know what? I don’t care. This, I think, is what I have come to this courtroom to say to you. I don’t care about you, or the ideology that you claim to represent, and which you represent so poorly. I have my life, and my work, and there are people who love me. I care about those things.”

[esther-dot]

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust.”

“I spoke for you,” she said, anguished. “I saved you.”

“Saved me ?” The Lhazareen woman spat.

“Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me ?

I saw my god’s house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting.

My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads.

I saw the head of a baker who made my bread.

I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past.

I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips.

Tell me again what you saved.

“Your life.”

Mirri Maz Duur laughed cruelly. “Look to your khal and see what life is worth, when all the rest is gone.”

I have to be honest, when I first read that scene in 2008, I considered Mirri the monster that deceived and betrayed Daenerys and therefore she deserved to die.

Years later, I reread the books for the first time and Daenerys already did things I found awful so I was more open minded to take in consideration Mirri’s POV… that truly changed my opinion on what GRRM created.

Mirri Maz Duur is a brown woman who lived in a peaceful community when one day a particular strong clan of Dothraki attacked her village and that lead into the slaughter and mass rape of everyone she knew and loved.

Mirri did witness the carnage firsthand and, most importantly, she was also a victim of the Dotharki violence.

When Daenerys “saved” her, Mirri was already a broken soul and rereading that scene it seems really a sinister joke that Daenerys wanted to save a few Lhazareen women when the main reason why Drogo decided to massacre this peaceful group of people is that he needed more slaves to trade for a fleet to invade Westeros and give Daenerys a throne that didn’t mean anything to the Lhazareen.

And there is more: Daenerys “saved” Mirri and made her one of her slaves and as such she was bound to serve the new Dothraki khal, the great khal of khals who would have united the Dothraki as one horde and used them to conquer the entire world, in other words a new Dothraki prophesied to wipe out the entire world… the future looked darker with every day that passed.

From this point of view, I understood why Mirri did what she did and she wasn’t the evil witch that I believed she was at first.

I love how we can revisit a book and understand it in a completely different way!

If Mirri set out to kill Drogo, I wouldn’t blame her at all (I don’t think anyone would if Dany weren’t at the center of this), but I’m not convinced that’s what she did. She had training and experience and gave clear instructions,

But they didn’t follow them,

The same goes for when Dany asks her to save him. She gives warning about the cost and tells Dany no one can enter the tent, but Jorah takes Dany in. Somehow, people still hold her responsible for Rhaego’s death which isn’t entirely fair.

It’s perfectly understandable to not catch details on a normal reading, there are so many things to keep track of, but even if Mirri did set out to kill her oppressor, on what grounds can we object? If I had suffered what she had and Dany reproached me for not being grateful, I’d laugh at that cruel joke too.

Thank you for sharing your evolution of thought here, anon. I enjoyed reading it!

#anti daenerys #anti daenerys targaryen #dot chat

[eddiessluttywaist]

as if (part 4 based on angst ending)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES

summary: continuation of the angst ending of as if, moves away from how eddie has been acting just so you know 👀

pairing: ex-bully!mean!perv!soft!eddie munson x fem reader

word count: 10,964 words

content/warnings: swearing, mentions of smutty content MDNI (y/n is 18/19), bully!eddie, mean!eddie, perv!eddie, brief threats and violence, rejection, angsttt, depression, very brief mention of unhealthy eating habits, heartbreak, yearning, anxiety, arguing, crying, near death experience, regret, isolation and loneliness. i think that’s all pls tell me if i miss anything!

a/n: i’m sorry this took me so long skbvdjkk enjoy the suffering. credit to whoever owns/posted that picture ^ it’s not mine :)

part one - part two - start of part three - angst ending to part three

*

Eddie Munson is an asshole.

He’s a cruel heartbreaker, that’s for sure. He’s selfish. He’s mean. He’s smug. He’s ruined love for you.

As much as that sentiment reeked of teenage melodrama, it’s still true. He’s ruined mean guys for you cause you know what to expect from them, and he’s ruined sweet guys for you cause you know better than to know what to expect. Eddie is someone who finds a way to be so sweet and charming for that subtle kind of control, just to turn out to be an asshole through and through. Every nicety and moment of tenderness was only to keep you on the hook for a good fuck; and if things hadn’t spiraled into an apocalyptic shitshow, he would’ve been the one and only reason for your aching misery.

He’s a lot of things. You could go through a list of adjectives that would make your mother gasp and cross herself.

He’s a life ruiner in so many ways—but he isn’t a killer.

Despite how he treated you, you liked to think you still had a good sense of his heart—even if he refused to give it to you the way you would’ve so readily given him yours. He’s smug and rotten, but murder is not something he’s capable of. Some violence? Probably. Maybe. Given the right circumstances. But he wouldn’t kill someone. So you were one of the few who weren’t surprised when news came out that he wasn’t to blame for everything that happened. Sure, there were still plenty of kooks who remained certain that he used his “ties with Satan” to open up a portal to Hell, but as more and more came out about that lab near the quarry—the rarer those types became.

By now nearly everyone’s forgotten about him, or at least that’s how it felt to you. No one talked about him—they didn’t even seem to think about him—but not you. Despite everything, his memory seemed to live on in your head. On repeat some days.

Just to clarify: he didn’t die. His memory didn’t need to be kept alive because he wasn’t—he was pretty damn close when he was found (at least from what you’ve heard), but he wasn’t dead. However, that didn’t change the fact that the people of Hawkins liked to act like he was. He was nowhere to be found for starters, and everyone left in town seemed to appreciate things that way so they didn’t have to address him.

The turnaround was baffling to you. How his name never even came up, and when it did people grew uncomfortable and tried to turn the conversation elsewhere. Even you—someone who decidedly hated his guts months before the day Chrissy Cunningham was found dead—thought he deserved something better than becoming a banned topic after what this town put him through.

You could remember the day he appeared on the news like it was yesterday.

You had been curled up on one corner of the couch of the living room, your mother on the other end, and your father in his La-Z-Boy. It was pitch black in the room with the only light source being the colorful and fuzzy glow of the television. It was unfortunately your mom’s night to watch her program so of course you and your dad were already half asleep by the time her show was suddenly interrupted.

“What the-!” your mom had gasped. “I wanna know what happens! Oh those darn news… people…”

She had trailed off as the reality of the emergency newscast sunk in, no longer reaching for the remote but settling back into her spot instead.

You didn’t really know Chrissy. She was popular and well-loved, and had hundreds of friends. You definitely weren’t one of them, though. Whether it was secretly too beneath her deep down in her innocent demeanor, or if you simply weren’t interested in gravitating around her enough for her to truly take notice of you. She was a sweet girl though. She was a senior like you and the few times you two interacted, she was nothing but kind. And even if she hadn’t been, she still wouldn’t have deserved what happened to her.

You remember your mother nervously toying that necklace she always wore as she watched the news with big eyes. The way your dad sat up more and gave the screen his full attention. The tension and anxiety that made the air in the living room feel heavy; and when you thought your throat couldn’t get any drier and your heart couldn’t race any faster—Eddie’s picture was plastered on the television.

You remember the way your hearing seemed to turn into a faint buzz as the newscaster spoke of the victim’s body being found in his trailer.

“I always knew that boy was trouble.” your dad grumbled out, and you had to fight the urge to huff out a laugh and tell him he had no idea.

Neither of them knew what happened between you two or that there was even a “you two” to begin with. And you certainly wouldn’t have said anything that night because then they’d know in the worst way possible. Admitting it back then at the start of Spring Break would’ve been admitting how deeply you had fallen for someone who was possibly wanted for murder.

Even if it was never explicitly stated that Eddie Munson had shattered your heart (when you were completely falling apart just a couple months before your hometown did the same) your mom had been quick to notice something was wrong. Motherly instincts or something like that—or, y’know, just the fact that you were visibly a mess.

Even at that start of it all you didn’t want to talk about that one particularly miserable day. You would wait until it was late at night to cry into your pillow. You had briefly lost some weight since the whole situation had left you with a solid knot in your stomach, leaving you horribly nauseous and deadening your appetite. The fact that you were constantly lying about being sick to avoid school was what truly confirmed your mom’s concerns.

Sure, you could’ve had a stomach bug. Maybe that’s why you had been picking at your food at dinner. Maybe that’s why you looked so pale and tired all the time. But then throughout the school week you would keep saying you were sick, and with the state you were in she didn’t have the heart to tell you your temperature was perfectly normal. Besides, you never skipped so she wasn’t all that suspicious at first so she let you stay home. You kept lying, though, and she finally felt she had to ask if something was going on at school.

You remember that time when boy problems still mattered so vividly. When Eddie Munson was still a mentionable name, even if you didn’t act like it. When your mom was checking in on you because of him and because her main concern was still little nuances in your behavior.

“Is something going on at school?” your mom had murmured softly as she sat on the edge of your bed.

It was nighttime and the only light in your room was the faint and warm glow of your bedside table, giving a false sense of comfort to the room that was filled with memories of him. Some spots of your room still smelled like him—especially by the window where he would sneak in, and sit on to smoke. It felt like cold spots in a haunted house to you.

“Is someone not treating you right?”

“No, mom, really. I just don’t feel well.” you murmured, and she can’t help but notice how dry your lips look. That little scab where you had been anxiously biting and picking at the skin there—a bad habit that only ever flared up when you were distraught, even as a child. You certainly looked ill, but her instincts were pointing elsewhere. She insisted you drink some of the water on your bedside table before she continued.

“Well…” she had sighed, smoothing out the blanket resting over you. “Is… is it a boy?”

You remember feeling your heart temporarily stop before lodging itself in your throat. You tried to ignore that burning feeling as you avoided breaking down and confirming her worries. But fighting it off didn’t mean that lump wasn’t in your throat. It didn’t mean your face didn’t get all warm as tears began to prick at your eyes. You were oddly silent as you kept your gaze down and shook your head. You were sure you could’ve held those tears in too, but then she got you to crack with a couple simple words.

“Oh honey…” She murmured and pulled you into her for a hug.

You didn’t want to tell anyone. It was embarrassing. It wasn’t even embarrassing—it was humiliating, mortifying. So you weren’t expecting how relieving it was to sob and finally let someone know, even if you didn’t go into detail.

“I thought he really cared about me d-deep down-“ you had wailed as your mom shushed you in a caring manner and rubbed your back.

You still appreciate the fact that she didn’t push. She didn’t urge you to tell her everything, she just let you cry until you were spent and she left to soak a face towel in cool water so she could press it to your flushed cheeks. She held you and murmured reassuringly, especially when you spoke up again—your voice horribly broken.

“I-It’s not fair because he’s perfectly fine and I… I’m…” you choked up after your tone got high with emotion before crumbling again.

“I know, honey, I know… it’s never fair…” she whispered. “But you’re gonna be okay. It feels like the end of the world now, but before you know it it’ll be a little bit better, okay?”

She had pulled back to look at you and wiped the tears off of your cheeks. “And then it’ll be better after that, and even more after that. You’re going to keep healing, I promise.”

In hindsight she wasn’t wrong, but there had still been so many days where you wished Eddie Munson would turn up dead for what he did to you. And now you felt horribly guilty for those thoughts after he had been so close. Even though you still despise him deep down, you hate yourself a little bit too. For letting him in, in the first place. For falling in love and for admitting it. For falling apart because he didn’t feel the same. For wishing he would drop dead.

And there was another thing that burned away at you. Right next to the fact that no one mentioned Eddie, was the frustrating fact that Jason was still talked about and practically canonized. There were portraits of him and Chrissy in local churches and in Hawkins High and sure maybe he didn’t deserve to die, but why wasn’t anyone talking about how he put fire under that ridiculous manhunt? To urge everyone to find Eddie and do who knows what to him?

Steadily approaching a year since Hawkins broke open, you’re scowling as you walk past that portrait of him in school. Having to repeat your senior year after the disaster threw everyone’s educational progress off the rails, you had to deal with that picture a lot. You turn your gaze elsewhere as you head to your last class of the day, and even that little glimpse of his image sparks up memories of his crazed state.

*

Jason had an inexhaustible vengeance, and refused to let anything—or anyone—get in his way. He had to find Eddie. He had to make him pay.

You didn’t know it at the time, but he had been hunting down Eddie’s closest friends and band mates to get information out of them. That’s how he found you.

“Where is he?” Jason shouted in Gareth’s face as he gripped him by the lapels of his cut up flannel.

“I don’t know!”

“Where is he!?”

“I don’t know!” Gareth insisted before Jason hit him again.

While a restrained Jeff shouted at him to leave his friend alone, Jason tossed him into his drums. A cymbal crashed while the set dispersed in different directions and Gareth was left lying on the floor of his garage.

“It’s gonna be hard to play those drums with a broken hand!” Jason rose his voice again, holding Gareth down by his back and crushed his hand between his sneaker and the concrete floor. There was an audible crunch as Gareth cried out in pain.

“Dustin!”

“What?”

“Dustin Henderson!”

“What?” Jason repeated, urging him to clarify.

“Dustin Henderson!” Gareth shouted again, face twisting in pain. “Man h-he was- he was calling around looking for Eddie! Maybe he found him! Maybe he found him!”

“See that wasn’t that hard, was it?” Jason taunted, but kept pressing his foot onto Gareth’s hand before finally stepping away.

“O-or y/n maybe, I don’t know.” Gareth cried out, cradling his hand that was pulsing with pain.

“Who?” Jason’s brow furrowed as he looked back at him.

Jeff spoke up for him, repeating your name in a panic.

“Y-yeah maybe. I don’t know, I haven’t seen her around him in a while, b-but I caught them fooling around in Eddie’s van once,” Jeff rambled on “And he was constantly messing with her. He… he might be with her. Or she might know.”

The more he thought about it, the more Jason remembered the occasional moment where he would see Eddie tossing things at you in class or pushing up against you in gym. Back in the car, Andy and Patrick chimed in with other things they witnessed. Eddie feeling you up. Eddie shoving you or knocking your books out of your hands. Eddie harassed you constantly. Maybe even being tutored by you (according to Andy). If you couldn’t join them through a mutual hatred for the metalhead, maybe you could at least be forced to give more information—especially if you had some fucked up relationship.

*

You were home alone despite your mother’s insistence to join her or your father at work. With two deaths and a possible killer still on the loose, she wasn’t wild about you being by yourself. You convinced her you could take care of yourself, especially with all the baseball bats and heavy golf clubs she kept around just in case.

Considering everything, you shouldn’t have opened the front door when someone rang, but you were so shocked to spot Jason Carver through your peephole to think about it. You weren’t impressed, even when he flashed you his best smile. You were just curious why he was here.

“Well, I’ll be quick. I’m sure you have better things to do.” he said with a soft laugh which you were sure he thought was charming. You just kept scowling.

“Yeah. I do,” you said bluntly and there was a flash of anger across his face for a moment before he filtered it through a weaker smile. “What do you want?”

“I just want to know if you have any idea where Eddie Munson is.”

You can’t help but scoff at this.

“No, and I really don’t care about where he could be.”

You’re about to close the door, but he was quick to speak up again and keep your attention.

“I heard you tutor him-“

“Not anymore. Too difficult.” You interrupted, and he faltered for a moment before continuing.

“I’m sure. I know how he treated you. It… it’s horrible really.” He spoke softly and you hesitated for a moment, hand still on the edge of your door.

But then you realized something.

If he knew, then where had he been? Why didn’t he do anything? Even if you didn’t want anyone to interfere—not really. Not to mention after he broke your heart and all ties were cut, Eddie surprisingly let up on the constant harassment. It wasn’t fun anymore. Soon enough he had been avoiding you in the halls as much as you had been avoiding him, but that didn’t mean everything before that never happened. If Jason really took notice of your interactions, where had he been?

“I could tell even then just from how he acted with you that he wasn’t a good person. He’s not a good person. He’s a killer, and he can’t be out here loose in Hawkins ready to claim another victim.”

You stare at him in silence. Your lack of response is clearly testing his patience and he’s parting his lips to speak up again, but you cut him off.

“Why now?”

“What?” Jason laughed this off casually.

“Why now are you suddenly so interested in how he used to treat me?”

“Oh, well I-”

“No,” you interrupted bluntly at your swift decision and with no room for fluff. No matter how much you hated Eddie. “I’m not here for your senseless propaganda. Thanks.”

You went to slam the door, but he kept it open. It touches on a memory of Eddie doing something similar once upon a time to get to you while you were all alone in your bedroom. The only difference is this isn’t Eddie, and Jason is really starting to scare you.

You glance over to see the concern on Lucas Sinclair’s face—you recognized him from the occasional interactions he had with Eddie and then from all the excitement of that recent basketball game he won for the high school team. He was behind Jason, a little off to the side and you spotted the car in the driveway with a few others inside. The fact that he had others with him didn’t exactly comfort you.

“I just want to know where that freak is, okay?” Jason clarified with a smile as if it covered the fact that he was clearly unstable. You could see it in his eyes.

“It’s dangerous with him out there. I’m just trying to help my community.”

“Whatever, Jason. Like I said: I’m not interested in any of this. I don’t talk to Eddie anymore. I don’t know where he fucked off to.”

“I know you’re screwing him. Just tell me where your creep boyfriend is.”

This sudden flash of anger and the contents of his accusation shocked you, but you didn’t let it force your guard down.

“I’m not with him like that. Like I said: I don’t fucking talk to him. I don’t know where he is.”

Jason still wasn’t budging, and you’re suddenly grateful for your mom’s incessant worrying when he took a step forward. You grabbed the metal bat your parents kept by the door right as he’s parting his lips to continue speaking.

“Get off my doorstep. Get away from me. Or I’m using this, Carver, I swear to god.”

This made him hold his hands up in defense and start to back off again, especially as Lucas murmured a swift “C’mon, man, maybe we should just leave her alone.” A sad excuse for a kind smile curved up the corners of the blond’s mouth. It made you sick.

“Just trying to take care of my community. No need to get violent… I’m one of the good guys. If you’re sure you don’t know anything—I’ll leave you be.”

“Well I don’t. How many times do I have to say it?” You snap, gripping the handle of the bat a bit tighter.

He finally started to walk off with an okay okay, but then he turned to look at you one more time.

“Be smart about which side you’re choosing.”

At that, you slammed your front door and locked it. One of the good guys, you think with a scoff. Yeah, sure.

*

Currently on your walk home, your mind is still swirling with memories of last year. You understood the need to commemorate and show respect, but the constant reminders didn’t help to move on. You hated being here. You couldn’t wait to graduate and move as far away as possible. You wanted to forget about Hawkins. You wanted to forget about Eddie Munson. You wanted to forget how close the world had been to ending.

You happen to glance up as you walk towards your house when your steps become hesitant at the sight of someone sitting on your doorstep. It was no jock ready to berate you. It certainly wasn’t Eddie.

It was none other than Nancy Wheeler.

*

Eddie was miserable.

Actually, it was beyond just misery. He couldn’t even think of a word to describe everything he had been through and everything he was actively going through—whether that was because he always failed vocab tests due to lazy disinterest or because such a word just didn’t exist. The whole experience took a lot out of him—quite literal chunks out of his body, not just emotionally.

Besides those who had become closest to him, once everyone was focused on the next suspect no one bothered to check back in with him. No one apologized for literally hunting him down with plans of… god, he didn’t even want to think about what they would’ve done if they caught him.

After being resuscitated, he had to be holed up in some secure room of a nearby hospital while he recovered since Hawkins Memorial Hospital was too risky for him. As the days in the hospital went by painfully and with more and more news on Hawkins turning up on the small TV of his room, he wondered if karma was a real thing. He narrowly escaped death and an arrest for a murder he didn’t commit (really the only thing saving his ass coming from the insistence of his uncle and Chief Hopper when he randomly appeared back in Hawkins). It certainly made a guy think about what he’s done.

In fact, all the isolation gave him far too much time to think. Watching the news; constantly pressing the morphine button even though he knew it wouldn’t give him more; falling into pits of depression where sometimes he wished they never brought him back—those thoughts of karma came up. He would eventually brush them off as hippie garbage, but memories of you were sounding off like an alarm in his head. It wasn’t hippie garbage. The concept held some real truth to it, and he knew he deserved everything that happened after he had been so cruel to you because of some stupid, childish need for distance from any sort of vulnerability.

After realizing that, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He was stuck in Hell on earth with aching wounds he wished would heal faster and memories of a girl he should’ve treated better. He regretted how things ended, and wondered what it would be like right now if he hadn’t ended things with such brutal carelessness. You’d probably be right by his side and making it easier to get through. And when he thought about how much better it would be to heal with you here, something ached deep inside him that even morphine couldn’t touch. He missed something he never let himself have, and certainly didn’t deserve by this point. He knew what kinds of things mattered now, and it didn’t even make a difference because as much as it changed things for him that didn’t mean it changed things for you.

Then one night, it dawned on him that you might not even be alive.

He was sweating from all the pain and the drugs and the heat of mid September of ‘86, when it occurred to him that you could be gone. Having already established a constant pattern of thoughts that revolved around you, it wasn’t surprising that he was up at 2 AM with you on his mind but that intrusion to his pleasant memories or self-loathing put him into a panic. You could be dead quickly turned into you are dead, and he couldn’t handle it. How could he deserve to live, but you didn’t? Maybe because you deserved mercy and he didn’t. Either way, he ignored his crying nerves and scrambled for the walky talky on his bedside table.

He tried just about every channel he was allowed to use, but no one was picking up. Maybe they were sleeping, but he knew he wasn’t the only one in the group suffering from insomnia after everything that happened. Still, he wasn’t granted the peace of a response and he had to lay there just hoping for a chance to make things better—and worry that he wouldn’t get to.

*

The group that helped him through that horrific Spring break came to visit him when they were able to. It was typically at random, with the occasional stop at his request for certain food or begging for a distraction before he went insane. Lucas was the first one to answer when he tried the radio again early that morning, and he soothed Eddie’s anxiety with the promise of stopping by.

With Max in the hospital and still no signs of coming back, Lucas had his own need for a distraction. He trudged into the dull room Eddie was stuck in, and settled into the chair kept by the bed.

“Is she alive?”

Lucas blinked, wondering if maybe he missed something in his own fog of exhaustion and despair. Really it was because Eddie blurted out in mid-thought without the courtesy of some background, but he still grew frustrated with him. His face bunched up as he briefly bared his teeth in that split second of muted rage. One of his hands made a fist before he unfurled it to rub at his face and shake his head.

“Y/n. Y/n, Sinclair—jesus christ—is she alive?”

Lucas parted his lips and then closed them again, tired eyes staring over at the metalhead as he tried to get his mind to cooperate. Eddie nearly cracked over the hesitation, taking it as a sign that Lucas was struggling to tell him that you were gone rather than trying to remember who you were and if he had seen you around.

“Yeah. Y-Yeah,” he finally murmured and a heavy sigh exhaled from Eddie’s lungs. “I’ve seen her around school. She’s alive.”

“Jesus chr—she’s okay?” Eddie was rubbing his palms over his face again, bangs partially sticking up when he pulled his hands away to gesture with energy he didn’t have to spend.

“Yeah, man, she’s okay. I think—I-I don’t really talk to her, but she isn’t injured.”

Eddie sat with that for a moment, relieved that you were alive and at least fine physically, but his eyes were still sad. Lucas joined him in this bubble of misery, the silence tugging him back to thoughts of Max until Eddie finally popped the bubble again.

“Did… did she join everyone? Y’know in the Great Hunt for the Freak?” he let out a partial laugh, but it was hollow.

“No, she didn’t buy it.” Lucas shrugged and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.

His eye stung for a moment, watered and then returned to normal. After that fight in the old Creel house, his eye was never truly the same. It healed enough that it wasn’t swollen and bruised, but it was still sensitive and it watered more often. Whenever it did, it made him think of that night and he felt as if he was being punched all over again. It made him think of Max. It made him think of Jason.

Although with the topic on you, remembering Jason made him laugh a little—a soft, amused chuckle breaking through his sorrow.

“Jason actually went to her house. I… I was still with him at that point,” Lucas flicked his gaze up at Eddie with guilt before looking back down. “He wanted to interrogate her about you. See if you were hiding with her or if she hated you enough to join him.”

Eddie swallowed, brows frowning as he waited for him to continue.

“She uh… she threatened him with a baseball bat.” Lucas laughed a bit more wholeheartedly this time.

Eddie’s head sunk back a bit in surprise, big doe eyes even wider and brows raised in disbelief. He said your first name to clarify and even though Lucas nodded, he said your full name with that same questioning tone.

“She threatened Jason Carver with a baseball bat?”

You were meek if nothing else, and as Eddie knew you—you were easy to break. Easy to bend and mold so he never considered the possibility that you were strong. That you could take care of yourself, and you weren’t as weak as you looked. But maybe it was fitting. You appeared delicate and fragile, but were tougher than you looked. Whereas he had that rough n tough, bad boy act just for it to fall apart when he found himself scrambling away from danger. He just hoped he wasn’t the reason you were surprisingly resilient—that maybe it was always there and he just never noticed.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t back off and she said she’d do it if he didn’t leave,” Lucas snickered a bit before his mood was sobered by the other side of this memory. “She uh… she was scared. He was scaring her, and I don’t blame her. He was scaring all of us…”

He was focused on his hands now, toying with them anxiously and he could hear the sigh of Eddie’s puffy hospital pillow as he settled back against it. He was letting it all sink in, and for a moment he wished he was the one to kill Carver instead of the cracking earth. You didn’t deserve the way he treated you, and you didn’t deserve Jason’s intimidation tactics just because you had been caught up with the likes of him.

He hated that you had been scared, he hated that it was his fault, and he hated how much worse he felt now that he knew that you stood up for him even after everything he put you through. Maybe not so much stood up for him, but you didn’t let yourself get dragged into the accusations and mob mentality even if you had every reason to.

This hurt worse somehow, and he was bound to a new bout of pain and suffering.

*

“I just miss her, I guess…” Eddie admitted to his uncle once the topic turned to you. He felt the urge to repent and voice how badly he wished you were with him right now, and his uncle was the only one he felt safe admitting all of this to.

“The girl that you were spending time with at home?” His uncle’s gruff voice wondered, and Eddie was taken aback by the question.

All he said was there was a girl he had a thing with, which he messed up royally, and he wished he could have another chance. Nothing else, so he looked like a fish out of water now and his uncle chuckled at his reaction.

“I may not be the smartest man around, but I’m not stupid,” he grumbled out, sat in the same chair Lucas had been. “I was aware of your uh… activities.”

Wayne scratched at his stubble, embarrassed to acknowledge just exactly what his adult nephew had been up to—just as mortified as Eddie was over having to discuss sex with his uncle.

“I found her panty things stuck to the inside of the dryer,” Wayne explained further. “And I ran into her one morning when I had just come home from the plant.”

You had been leaving Eddie’s room to use the bathroom early in the morning, not realizing he would be home from a shift. You hoped that with how tired he looked that he would think it was all a weird dream or maybe that he was seeing things. After all, you were back in that room in a flash. Fast enough to be a fleeting ghost, but he saw you and he clearly remembered you. Eddie was grumbling something to himself now about you being careless enough to get him caught, but Wayne was quick to shut this down. He wasn’t known to raise his voice, and he still really didn’t, but his tone was harsher now.

“No—don’t you go blaming that girl cause you insisted on keeping her a secret. Christ, boy—you know, I thought I taught you better.”

Of all the things he could say, this was the worst. I thought I taught you better. Eddie wished he could shrink down to nothing, and he looked down at his hands in shame.

“You should’ve treated her better. That’s on you.”

“Yeah…” Eddie laughed out bitterly “You have no idea…”

Eddie sighed now, hiding his face behind his palms.

“I’m so fucking stupid. I don’t know how I thought that kind of shit was important,” He rips his hands away to jerk them outwards in an exasperated gesture and looks over at this uncle. “It was fun a-and then it was too serious and I just— I— and now I don’t know why I was thinking like that.”

“Well,” his uncle started after a pause to think it over. “you may have been a grown man in the eyes of the law, but that doesn’t mean you were thinking like one. You’re still young. I…I’d like to think you would’ve learned these kinds of thing at a regular pace as you grew up, but—shit—between your parents and especially after all this-”

Wayne gestured out into the air with little energy to his casual motion.

“You’re forced into adulthood. That’s what shit like this does…”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Eddie finally admits in a rush after a moment of considering his uncles words. He was sure they had some truth to them, but he thought maybe his uncle was giving him too much credit. “I really cared for her— I still really care for her. I was just… I was being-“

“Stupid? Childish?”

“Yeah, yeah okay- geez,” Eddie sighs and looks down at his hands to pick at his nails. “Yeah… all of that…”

“Well… maybe if she really means that much to ya, then be honest. Try again. Really put some elbow grease into it, and maybe—if you’re lucky—she’ll forgive you.”

Eddie scoffs out a miserable laugh and gestures around him in a way that’s far more animated than when his uncle did it.

“Yeah. Cause I’m clearly so lucky.”

*

What made all of this worse was the fact that he couldn’t even reach out for months.

Being hidden away didn’t only mean a different hospital picked out by Hopper. It also meant no calls, no letters—nothing. He couldn’t risk being found by anyone who was still convinced he was guilty. Eddie insisted it calmed down enough to come back and he had healed enough for it, but Hopper was hesitant and ultimately unyielding.

“It’s bullshit. You guys even said no one mentions me anymore, and it’s not like I’m a suspect.” Eddie ranted to Nancy during her visit, Steve somewhere else in the hospital looking for food.

“I know, but you’ll still stand out right now,” she reasoned. “If you come back, it could stir something up again.”

“What, so I never go back? I have to uproot my whole shitty life because of rumors?”

“Eddie-“ she sighed.

“No, it’s shit. It’s all shit. If I have to stay one more second in this shitty fucking room, I’m gonna start climbing the walls,” he ranted with wild eyes. “I need to leave. I need to live my crappy life. I… I need to see y/n again.”

At that, Nancy perked up. It wasn’t out of excitement, but rather something blowing through her sideways at your name. Familiarity burned at her before it all went up in flames, and she was overwhelmed with memories and guilt.

“Oh my god… y/n…” She murmured to herself with an upsetting sense of nostalgia.

She completely forgot about you in the mess of everything. At first she had been trying to keep you from learning anything that could put you in danger—doing her best to keep it between her and Jonathan. She had already lost Barb because of her own selfish carelessness, she couldn’t let something happen to you too. Then it was all a whirlwind from there and you were suddenly caught up in a past that she forgot existed. A past where a shoebox was just a shoebox.

Her eyes grow sad, her mind filling with thoughts of how she could’ve ever possibly left you in the dust. Sure, you were a newfound friend in high school—whereas her and Barb had been friends for years by that point—but that was no excuse for letting leaving you out of the loop turn into completely leaving you behind.

She’s so caught up in her own regrets that she forgets about Eddie until he’s speaking up again and waving his hand in front of her face.

“Uhh, Wheeler? Hello?”

“Oh- uh… yeah, yes.” She shakes her head, her curly hair shuffling around with the motion, her brow frowning and her lips taut. “Yes. Yes, I know her. You know her?”

“Well uh…” he lets out a nervous laugh, suddenly fearful of the rage of an old friend. “We sorta… we had a thing going…”

He risked a glance over at her, and her expression was anything but sparing. She clearly wasn’t happy with how guilty he sounded, but who was she? She abandoned you for all intents and purposes, even if she didn’t mean to. And if she had been blind enough to never notice what went on between you and Eddie, she had no right to chastise him for it even if she did have the familiar urge to get up on her high horse.

“But uh… I kinda screwed everything up,” he muttered and was back to picking at his fingers while he stared down at them. “Like you wouldn’t believe. And I just… shit, I’m so sick of this place and waiting around.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie, but you can’t go back to Hawkins yet.”

“Yeah, I think I got that,” he snaps bitterly before cooling down again. “I just… I need to talk to her or something. If she could be brought here, or if I could meet her somewhere else. I need to fix things.”

After constant complaining and threats of breaking out of the hospital, Nancy eventually found a compromise to get him to shut up.

Steve came back around the time he had started rattling on again about how he was going to go crazy. Utterly confused as always, he was off to the side and watched as Nance did her best to calm Eddie down again. He occasionally broke through all the noise with his questions, only to get a searing glare from Nancy. At some point, he finally caught on (kinda) and only made things worse.

“Munson has a crush,” he finally said with a snap of his fingers and points at them. “That’s cute. Embarrassing, but cute.”

“I don’t have a crush, you idi-”

“Will you please stop?” Nancy hissed over at him, expression begging for him to keep out of it.

“Why am I even here?” Steve wondered out loud with a sigh and kept eating his suspicious hospital jello.

“Cause I can’t leave this fucking place!” Eddie reiterated, making Nancy groan over Steve agitating the problem that she was just barely starting to settle.

“I’ll- I’ll give her a letter!” she finally offered, cutting Eddie off mid-complaint. Her arms shot up with the raise of her voice, laughing with exasperation. “Just write down what you want to say, and I’ll give it to her!”

*

“What are you doing here?”

It came out harsher than you intended and even you wanted to flinch at your own words, but maybe it was justified. She completed cast you aside you when you lost a friend. You both lost a friend, and it seemed to make her hate you. Or at least that’s how it felt. Why else would she have avoided you? Why else would she have stopped talking to you?

“I guess I deserve that.” Nancy replied with a soft huff of a laugh, and a sheepish smile.

More news seemed to be coming up little by little about Barb. Once upon a time you thought it all came to a close when it was revealed that she died from a chemical leak, but now there was talk of things that a chemical leak would wilt in comparison to. Things that went on in your own home town that you can’t even imagine going unseen by so many. Or maybe they all saw, but curled up into their comfortable ignorance to avoid it. You couldn’t judge them—you did too. You believed every story you got, even if—in hindsight—they were obvious cover ups every time someone started to demand for better explanations.

You eye her cautiously, hoping your eyes don’t show the sadness that came with such hesitancy around someone you used to know so well.

“I uhm…” Nancy shook her head the way she always did when she needed to clear her thoughts, brows furrowed and nose briefly scrunched up as she glanced at the ground. “I had to bring this to you…”

She was looking at you again, gauging your reaction as she extended her slim arm to offer you an envelope. You’re toying with it in your hands, wondering why there was no name on the back and if you should open it now.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

You look up at her now, but remain silent. What was there to say?

“I should’ve never left you behind like that... Trust me, I never meant to. I thought I was protecting you and I was, but…” Nancy’s pouty lips scrunch together for a moment. “It wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t…” you concur, but your heart aches from the look on her face.

Sure, she hurt you but maybe you should’ve been grateful. Even if you wished she would’ve been honest with you, you knew how stubborn Nancy could be when it came to protecting those close to her. Instead of shutting her out, you extend an olive branch.

“Barb would be rolling her eyes at us right now, huh?”

Nancy stutters over her own disbelieving laugh as she glances at you through her lashes.

“Yeah, she would be.” Her nose scrunches again, lips bunched up a second time as her gaze grows sentimental. “She’d be telling us to stop being so stupid.”

“‘You both get perfect grades, why don’t you use your brains outside of school?’” You quote before laughing and she joins in.

“Guess we can’t say she wasn’t honest. She was always pretty straightforward with her thoughts.”

“One of us had to be.”

Nancy nods, and then let’s out a sigh as she rubs her arm and starts to move out of your way.

“Well, I should probably let you get to that-“

“Yeah, this letter that isn’t suspicious at all.” You joke, holding up the blank envelope and she laughs lightly before ducking her head down.

Figuring you were parting ways now, you turn around and open your front door, just to turn around in your doorway when you heard her suddenly chirp out your name. She hesitates again, but then finds her words.

“I… now that things seem to be going back to normal… I… I’d love to try being friends again. Maybe have a girls night.”

A smile breaks out onto your face, and you watch her defenses slowly start to melt away and smooth out the stiffness in her body.

“I’d like that.”

*

“What did she say? How’d she react?” Eddie asked over the radio, barely even waiting for a second to pass before continuing. “Wheeler? Hello?”

“Can I have a moment to respond?” Nancy quipped back, the crackling of the station breaking up her voice but not enough that he couldn’t hear her frustration. Not that he cared right now.

“What’d she think?”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” she sighed. “She didn’t open your letter in front of me.”

“Shit…” Eddie mutters, chewing at his thumbnail. He wanted—maybe even needed—the instant gratification that Nancy could’ve given him had she stuck around to watch you open the envelope.

Then again, maybe he was lucky.

“It— It’s whatever. I just hope it makes a difference.”

“What…what did you say to her in the letter?” Nancy asked now before shifting her focus quickly. “What did you even do in the first place?”

“Uhh, well let’s see,” Eddie looked up at the ceiling from where he was sat on the edge of his bed as his leg started to bounce. “I was a dick. Yeah… yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Don’t make me regret doing this for you, Eddie.” Nancy sighed and turned down the volume to her walky talky.

*

“I’m sorry, and I mean it. I’m capable given the right circumstances, remember?” the writing said, then there were a few words that had been crossed out and he followed those scratches of ink with a winky face, concluding with: “Leave that window unlocked, kay? I’ll be back for that necklace so keep it safe.”

Was the world falling apart all over again? Did you actually die and you didn’t even realize it? Everything seemed so unexpected and oddly… nice? Reassuring? Like Nancy showing up and apologizing. Or this letter you had open on top of your bedding.

It was part of a full sheet of paper, likely the bottom third of a page torn off. The handwriting and the comments throughout were enough to immediately make you think of who wrote this—even if he didn’t sign it. But what really confirmed it was the necklace with the red guitar pick hanging on it. You’re infuriated with the involuntary flush reaching your cheeks as memories rush in. All the times he was on top of you, that necklace hanging down and resting on your chest or nudging your chin and lips.

“God, you’re such a good girl for me.” you remember him groaning that one time he watched you sucking on the guitar pick, big eyes staring up at him while he fucked into you.

You had been folded into yourself on his mattress, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from each and every thrust that fed your greed for him but was inevitably making your body ache.

The pick that was now resting in your palm was suddenly just a thin slab of plastic. The more you thought about it, that’s pretty much all it tasted like it, but you remembered the saltiness of his sweat too. What made it so special in the first place was knowing it was his. It was such an integral part of him—it laid close to his heart where you wished to be, and it was cherished by him which you wished for yourself once too. That moment in his small bedroom when you let it slip past your lips, you hadn’t been sure how he’d react, and to be completely honest you were too fucked out to think at all. But he didn’t pull it away from you, he sunk into you with that shuddering praise instead.

The memory of his words was enough to raise your body temperature, but you fought off that familiar instinct to melt just for him. He’s an asshole. A cruel heartbreaker. He’s selfish. He’s mean. He’s smug. He ruined love for you.

Your stomach bends and curls enough to make you nauseous as the butterflies kick in—then why do I still want him so badly? You were so desperate to take every single ounce of attention—good or bad—that he gave you. Hadn’t you learned your lesson? Hadn’t you been practicing your borderline religious hatred for him enough for it to be real?

You’re not sure if it’s anger towards him or yourself for slipping so easily, but your blood is starting to boil. You remind yourself of all those games he used to play with you and the sentiment of him being a heartless, sadistic fuck plays on repeat in your head so that no softer thoughts can break through. Surely he was toying with you. This was a test of some kind, probably because he got bored and wanted to brush you off like some forgotten toy he wanted to use again.

You needed to prove to yourself that you can shoot him down. Stare into those gorgeous doe eyes and tell him to go fuck himself. Look up at him when he’s giving you that beautiful half-smile and moving his hands to hold your hips, and tell him to never talk to you again.

You needed to show him how it felt to be treated the way he treated you. Maybe it was childish, but some twisted part of you felt relieved at the thought of it. He deserved to have his hopes shattered when he thinks he’s getting what he wants, just to be shut out. He deserved to be humiliated. He deserved to be broken down so thoroughly just like you had been. To be broken down into such a fine dust that even when you were sure everything had been swept back together again, there were always going to be those missing bits and pieces that fell through the cracks or blew away.

As you’re toying with the necklace in your hands, you can’t help but think you’re being too immature. What about last year? Everything that happened to him? Maybe he’s been put through enough? Your brow frowns, and you’re internally cursing yourself for being so horribly incapable of making a decision.

Your hand shot up to cover your frustrated expression, a groan leaving your lips. You wanted to let yourself hate him so badly, but you wanted to feel loved by him so much it hurt.

You think it over for the rest of the night, laying in bed with your hands still clutching that necklace. You’re up for hours, only falling asleep when your body forces you into submission around 4 AM—nodding off and snapping back up just to nod off again. Your last thought is that you had to be strong—whatever that meant. You didn’t have to be mean, but you refused to cave and immediately let him have you in whatever way he wants.

He’s won far too many times, and now it’s your turn.

*

“If you get caught then I had nothing to do with this—got that, Munson?” Steve whispered as he glanced over at the metalhead, one arm still outstretched as he held onto the steering wheel.

Eddie was too busy taking in the sight of your house and breathing in the fresh night air. It never occurred to him before just how much he loved the smell of chill in the wind, like it might snow soon. Ever since last year he was realizing a lot of things he never knew he loved, and he felt both relieved and crushed by the knowledge. He was sure he knew himself before everything happened. He liked fantasy games, music, and indulging in that metal rockstar lifestyle even if it was just another fantasy he was playing into. He liked having all eyes on him as he made a scene in the lunchroom. He liked being the local anarchistic leader of fellow freaks, and ignoring any other responsibilities. He liked girls he could use like he was some big shot backstage after a show.

He thought everything was about prepping himself for that kind of life. He was comfortable being the asshole who never pulled his weight anymore than he had to if he wasn’t interested enough. He was comfortable being a runner because then he could continue living the way he was used to without anything to come in and hold him back, until his whole life fell apart. Then he was afraid for his life. Then he was afraid for that kid’s life—all of their lives, actually, not just Dustin’s. Then he was suddenly the person charging into danger to give someone else a chance.

And now he was alone. He still had his new group, but they could continue their lives while he was kept hidden away and all he had to do was think about everything he never realized he would miss. Something as simple as recognizing a familiar comfort in the smell of a soft breeze felt heart wrenching. Or laying in a hospital bed wishing he still had that one girl to love him made him horribly aware of how empty he’s always been.

“Hello?” Steve urged with an impatient tone.

Eddie glanced over at him and despite his frustration at the lack of response, Steve felt taken aback by the sight of him. Something about finally seeing him back out of the hospital made him realize just how miserable Eddie really was. Maybe it was because sadness made sense in a hospital, or maybe it was the way the moonlight hit his features the right way and he could see the deeper shadows of his face and his sullen eyes.

“Just… be quick alright? And I was never here.”

“Yeah, Hopper’ll have your head.” Eddie snickered quietly.

“I’m less concerned about Hopper…” Steve muttered as thoughts of a certain young woman being upset with him flashed through his head.

“Women, am I right?” Eddie asked playfully in a mocking manner to anyone who ever seriously shared that sentiment, leaning his body towards Steve before laughing as the brunet nudged him back.

“Will you just go?” Steve laughed it off, shaking his head and watched him finally clamber out of the car.

Eddie snuck to the side of the house where he could spot your window. It had been a solid couple of weeks since Nancy brought his letter to you, and he just wished you would let him back in. He huffed before forcing himself up to make his way towards the window, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his lips in concentration. He was understandably weaker since the last time he was doing this on a weekly basis, but he pushed through and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration when it wouldn’t open. You kept it locked.

*

Your whole body tensed at the sound of someone rapping on your window, hand clutching your blanket. It had been long enough that you thought he was never going to come and retrieve his necklace, and you were irritated with your own disappointment. Now you were struggling with the sudden surge of excitement lighting up your nerves, which was making a sour combination with all that built up anger towards him.

When you finally forced yourself to look over your shoulder, you weren’t expecting how badly you wanted to cry. You wanted to let him in and just kiss him. Kiss him until you could pass out from the lack of oxygen. Hold him to you and refuse to let him leave. He wasn’t allowed to make a visit like this and leave you again—physically or emotionally. You couldn’t handle it, and you were surprised at how all these feelings presented themselves.

“What is your problem?” Is the first thing to leave your lips when he’s climbing into your room, and you might’ve been more surprised by your words than he was.

“W… what?” he laughs off your question, shocked by you starting the interaction this way; although realistically he shouldn’t have been.

“Why are you here?”

“Well I…” he rubbed his arm once he was back to his full height, scratching a bit at his elbow. “I wanted to apologize-”

“Why does it matter to you now?” you interrupt, your anger surprisingly not faltering even when his big eyes flit up to look at you sadly like a dejected puppy. You felt so broken when you finally saw him again, you didn’t know where this was coming from. Why—when you wanted him back so badly—you were being so… mean.

“What? Did you develop a conscience all of a sudden? Get hunted for months and suddenly have an opportunity to stop and think ‘hm it really sucks to be treated like garbage, gee I wonder if this is how I made her feel’”?”

Eddie’s expression hardens for a moment, and it’s more familiar to you than any bit of softness he was showing you.

“Y’know, I wasn’t exactly treated all that great in school either. I can assure you, I already knew what it’s like to be treated like shit.”

“Oh so that excuses it then.”

“I-” Eddie huffs, letting out an incredulous laugh before trying again. “That’s not what I said. Shit— I just… I’m sorry, okay? I’m not trying to make any excuses. I should’ve been better to you.”

You stay silent for a moment, arms crossed as you watch how honest he looks when he’s all soft like this—with those puppy eyes hopeful and glossy.

“Why did you do it? If you really cared all this time why were you so hell bent on hurting me so thoroughly?”

“I never wanted to hurt you…” he mutters as he looks at the floor, glancing up when you scoff out a disbelieving laugh of your own. For once this kind of attitude doesn’t fuel his fire, but tamps it down. He felt awful, and what made it worse is he couldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe it.

“I… I thought you were cute before. Just in passing, y’know, cause you were still an underclassmen back then, but…” he glances down at his shoes. “I overheard you with your friends talking about me, and when the possibility of me liking you came up you jus’ laughed about it. Like taking an interest in me was that bad.”

His brow furrows at the memory, and just when you’re about to respond he continues to explain himself the best he can.

“I just… I don’t know, alright? It was stupid but it made me feel like shit. Like as if you would ever give me the time of day. And then it was like you were obsessed with me, and I just…”

“Wanted to make me hurt?” you question and he glances up at you briefly before nodding.

There’s a beat of silence, and he’s hopeful this is you letting everything sink in and understand where he was coming from. That you’d see his sincerity, and take him back because fuck he couldn’t stand being alone again.

“You took my heart and ripped it into shreds because of that?” you finally ask, tone sharp enough to make him cringe. “Because of something I said as a nervous sophomore who couldn’t fathom being liked? Or being seen as interesting? That’s what this is all from?”

“Well- I- but you liked the teasing-” Eddie attempted, and immediately regretted when he saw the fire in your eyes.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it!”

“I… you… you do it too! Sometimes we overreact! It happens!” Eddie finally snapped back, but tried to keep his frustration within a whisper the same way you were. “Sometimes you overhear a conversation and you make the wrong conclusion! Sometimes you don’t get kissed and you get upset! Sometimes you try to sell a girl drugs and end up on the wrong fucking side of hell opening up! Shit happens in fucked up ways! Things get messed up! I’m trying to fix how I messed up!”

He’s visibly distraught, and even though he knew this wouldn’t be easy, deep down he wished you’d melt into him like always.

“You don’t get to pull that with me, Eddie. I’m sorry about what happened last year. I really, truly am because you don’t deserve it—no matter how much I hate your fucking guts. But you don’t get to use it to distract me with it.”

“I’m not—fuck— I’m not trying to distract you with it! I’m just saying things get mixed up because of assumptions n shit like that. And I’m… I’m sorry I…” he trails off, letting out panting breaths. “You… do you really hate me?”

You hesitate, that broken look on his face almost getting to you, but you’re so sure you know better. You know how he can manipulate things.

“Yeah, Eddie. I hate you.”

He’s surprisingly quiet as he looks at you, an unfamiliar glittering to his eyes.

“And by the way, there’s a huge difference between you spending years hell bent on my misery and leaving me beyond devastated; and me giving you the silent treatment after you fucked me in the middle of the night and didn’t stick around or kiss me or make me actually feel cared for in any way.”

Eddie murmured your name, taking a step forward in a quiet plead for forgiveness. Mercy. Anything but this.

“No. I’m talking right now. Not you. So shut up and listen for once,” you choked out as tears filled your eyes, which felt oddly dissonant to your anger.

“I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. And I don’t want you back in my life,” You listed off with an attitude that surprised him, even if he deserved it. “I’m sorry that Hawkins has ruined your life, but that doesn’t mean you get me back just cause all of this has given you a fucking backbone and a conscience.”

Eddie’s lips part and then close again, feeling like a fish out of water. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do with that aching in parts of his body he didn’t even know could ache.

“Doll, please… I really…” he breathes in deep enough that it turns shaky and burns deep in his chest. “I need a chance. I need a chance to show you I mean it. That I did love you back. That I still love you. That I can make it all up to you.”

You dig your nails into your crossed arms, looking away. You know if you keep looking into those big brown eyes that look so desperate right now that you just might cave.

“Well… I don’t love you anymore. So don’t call me doll, and just leave me alone.”

Eddie rubs his hands over his face, reaching back to temporarily grip his hair to use up some of that rage on himself before he lets go again.

“What do I have to do? What do I have to do to get even one chance? Just one, that’s all I’m asking. It’s all I need cause I swear I won’t hurt you ever again,” Eddie pleads and he’s shocked by his own words, but he doesn’t regret them for even a second. “I-I’ll check in more on how you’re feeling. I’ll ask if there’s anything I can do better. I’ll meet your fucking parents. I’ll be gross and romantic and honest. Please. Just give me one last chance, and I won’t take it lightly. Just don’t lie to me if you still love me. Trust me, I know what’s it’s like to be scared shitless about letting someone in so you’d rather just lie. It’s not worth it.”

He notices that last remark sparks up your frustration and he clarifies speedily.

“And I know that me being like that is the reason you’re hesitant to let me in now. I know that’s my fault, I just… shit, I need another chance.”

The fact that he was so insistent and willing to grovel gave you some comfort, but you’ve learned to not get your hopes up. You stick to your guns, but not as confidently as before. And Eddie sees that.

“Please just leave…” you murmur, even if it’s burning away at you to insist that he go.

He groans, rubbing at his face again but goes to straddle your windowsill anyway.

“I really do care about you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

You started chewing at the skin around your thumbnail—a nasty stress-related habit you picked up from someone. You didn’t respond, just waited for him to actually go. You were too busy fighting your urge to crumble at his words that actually felt so sincere.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” You finally offer in a voice so soft you might as well have never spoken up, but it’s enough to ease some of that aching he felt.

“I’m glad you’re alive, too… I was worried you wouldn’t be. Bugged the shit out of Sinclair so he’d let me know.” he admitted with a soft laugh.

“You asked about me…?”

“Yeah… you’re all I’ve been thinking about.”

You bite your lip, swallowing when you realized just how tight your throat felt. You’re unsure of how to respond without giving into him, until you catch a glimpse of his necklace on your bedside table.

“Oh uhm… you came here to get this back.” you murmur, padding over to the nightstand to grab it and bring it over to him. Eddie stares at the pick in your palm before looking at you with sad amusement.

“The necklace wasn’t really what I was interested in coming back for…” he admits with a soft chuckle, eyeing you as his smile falters. “Keep it.”

“But it’s your-”

“Keep it. Please.”

The moment is bittersweet, and you’re thinking about what it would be like if you really gave him a chance to prove he’s being honest with you tonight, but you’re too fearful to take that chance. You do hold onto the necklace though.

“Good night, Eddie.”

*

taglist: @mynameismothra @angelina16torres-blog @tlclick73 @elvendria @psychospore @daisyridleyyyy @sidthedollface2 @kelsiegrin @swiss-cheeze @darknesseddiem @magnificantmermaid @hazydespair @bonehead-playz @stephanie-nicks76 @madaboutjoe @homiesexual-or-homosexual @neobanguniverse @prestinalove @galaxyfxcs @canyonmooncreations @hereforshmut @ediewentmissing @sadest-bookshelf @harlowsgirl @damon-loves-pie @stardustmunson @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @bitchyseawitch @littlered0000

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #as if eddie munson #bully!eddie munson #mean!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #as if angst #as if part 4 #as if eddiessluttywaist #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson angst

[starglow-xx]

time for a brainrot!💭 - blue lock edition (2)

i’ve been messing around with a random prompt generator once again and once again i am suffering so im dragging yall with me again

but this time instead for my beloved egoist isagi yoichi, @sonder-paradise has me brainrotting for blue lock’s beloved princess chigiri hyoma,, so ariel, i blame you

imagine being a florist! reader meeting chigiri at the flower shop you work in because his sister sent him of all people to go buy flowers to brighten up her new apartment

the long haired football player doesn’t notice you at first but you do the moment he walks in and you’re smitten

bc how can someone look that pretty??

well it’s certainly possible bc the evidence is right in front of you

wait.

he’s right in front of you?!

you yelp slightly taken back by chigiri’s sudden presence right in front of you, but he’s unfazed and simply asks for what would match with his sister’s aesthetic

you blush and you blink but your at first averting eyes suddenly start to gleam taking chigiri by surprise

you spiral into a rant about possible flower combos even adding comments on their meanings and origins and chigiri is taken back because one, he wasn’t expecting that and two, why were you kinda cute

while at first chigiri was unwilling to do his sister’s task and had wanted to get out as soon as possible, he doesn’t stop you and lets you go off on a tangent nodding and letting out hums hear and there to show that he was listening (well at least trying to; it was kind of hard to keep up with you)

but then all of sudden you just stop and chigiri blinks as he watches your face erupt in a furious blush and then you tangent on about being sorry for rambling in the first place, taking up too much of his time, not doing your job, and again he found it hard to keep up with you

you dashed off saying something about making his bouquet and while confused he couldn’t help but smile

it isn’t often that he was the one left in the dust after all

im currently obsessing over a now smitten! chigiri who comes back every week after that with the excuse of buying more flowers for his sister

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who as much as possible tries to avoid having to tell his sister why all of a sudden, while appreciated, keeps bringing her flowers for her apartment, trying to dissect the reason as to why his cheeks are a little pink when she asks

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who manages to turn small talk blossom into an eventual friendship

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who watches as you lead him through the store talking about new displays of flowers you made for the day taking in how your eyes sparkle, how your hair seems to shine in the sun, and how you just seem to glow

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who takes extra time in taking care of his hair and how his styles it the days he goes to see you after a smitten! you accidentally slipped you liked his hair one time (more than one time, but for your sake he’ll pretend it was only once; after all he can tease you when you’re finally his)

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri, while definitely one of the more quieter ones among his friend group, still has a big ass ego just like them and revels when your face is as red as his hair, especially when he’s the cause

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who is maybe a little lovesick but is also as smug as ever and smirks always thinking about the one time he pulled a fast one while helping you cut and prepare a display of roses, slips one onto your ear, enjoying your face explode into color

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who finally finally decides it’s time to tell you how he feels and what better way than to tell you in a language you’re quite fluent in??

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who steals your breath away walking in one day with a beautiful bouquet filled with carnations, peonies, and different flowers in different colors all of which point to romance or love or adoration

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chirigi who smiles gently when you flush as your eyes zero in on the red roses; a symbol of love and passion.

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who’s face also begins to turn pink when you shyly bring out a flower crown, a lovely flower crown you undoubtedly made just for him to put in his hair, no one else’s

a lovely flower crown made just for him that’s also full of flowers that point to wanting more than the friendship the two of you have grown and cultivated for a few weeks now

can’t stop thinking about a smitten! chigiri who once again takes in your beauty in the natural sun and the look in your eyes as you carefully place the crown on his head making sure to not tangle his hair, the bouquet he made for you on the side

can’t stop thinking about a now bf! chigiri who visits his sister the next day thanking her for sending him to buy flowers when she just moved in having a knowing smile as she looks at him confusedly

can’t stop thinking about bf! chigiri who has his lock screen as the selfie the two of you took only yesterday, flower crown on his head, bouquet in your hands, a gleeful smile on your face and a soft and affectionate one on his

can’t stop thinking about bf! chigiri who hopes your relationship will bloom into something just as beautiful as the flowers you put on display

so yeah can’t stop thinking about a florist! reader and a smitten! turned bf! chigiri

YALL I LITERALLY COULD NOT STOP WRITING FOR THIS ONE I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL😭

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri hyoma #bllk x reader #x reader #bllk imagines #gender neutral reader #chigiri hyoma brainrot! #chigiri x reader #star writes!!

[transtalesofdoom]

The Egg Years and being Cis-Adjacent

I originally made this blog to talk about my new and exciting trans experience, so let's go do that. Long post, obviously and I just figured out how to do the Keep Reading thing

I didn't have any inherent dysphoria growing up, I was just a bit of a not-like-other-girls tomboy. Jeans were comfier than dresses, boobs and bras were sooo inconvenient, make up just meant more effort. Books and video games were more fun than going out to party. I wasn't good at dancing anyway. And don't even get me started on shaving your legs.

It became obvious to me that I wasn't strictly cis pretty much as soon as I learned that gender wasn't binary. It was common sense, really. If gender is a spectrum, very few people would actually find themselves on the very end of either side. So most people were just close enough to either end of the spectrum to consider themselves cis. Including myself.

As my understanding of gender grew, it became more and more ridiculous to assume anyone was 100% cis. There's always some criterion you don't fully meet. Of course, people could still use and identify with the label of cis, clearly there was some sort of leeway. But calling myself cis started to feel wrong. It felt like I was ignoring the very nature of gender as a vast spectrum by picking a label rooted in the binary. I was cis, but in a queer way. I started calling myself cis-adjacent when talking to other queer people.

I never had a "problem" with my assigned gender at birth, outside of the patriarchy and sexism and periods, but those weren't trans reasons to resent being a woman. Being a woman suited me well enough. I wouldn't have cared if I wasn't, if I woke up one day without boobs, I'd just go on and fit into shirts much more easily. I considered "gender-apathetic" as a label, but ultimately it felt like too much hassle for something I was indifferent about.

Really, that was what it came down to. I was close enough to being cis, I didn't have any internal problems with calling myself a woman or living as one. Sure, there probably was something more accurate for me out there, but I knew about the struggles trans people faced. A good friend of mine had come out as trans and started his transition. I was happy for him, but I also got to see the difficulties it brought to update paperwork and book appointments and constantly emailing professors about your new name and pronouns. Not to mention the whole coming out to family thing. Or transphobia. There wasn't enough suffering in me to submit myself to this much effort and misery. Or force everyone in my life to learn a new set of pronouns and name for me, irrevocably changing every single relationship I had in the process. I didn't even want to be a man anyway. Just look a little more like one.

And I could easily present pretty masculine without transitioning. I only wore pants anyway. And hoodies were super comfy. I cut my hair short more than once. I considered buying a binder, just to see what that would do for me, but every time I tried looking into it, I just got overwhelmed and, like I said, there wasn't enough suffering to justify spending 50 bucks and at least one extensive research session on it. Ironically enough, during my last year as cis-adjacent, I finally reconnected with a part of my femininity and wore dresses to special occasions again.

However, a new problem had found my body: The unstoppable passage of time. I wasn't a perky teenager anymore. My body gained weight, my boobs succumbed to gravity, and I had very little in common with what was considered a beautiful woman. Even a beautiful butch woman didn't look like me. No one beautiful looked like me, really. I told myself that I had a lot of internalized misogyny and fatphobia to unlearn. That the reason I started disliking my reflection was social conditioning. I was right about that, of course. But there was more to it that I, in my self-righteous blaming of society, didn't acknowledge.

Until the last full moon night of 2023, when my mirror reflected a ghost back at me.

#to be continued #dysphoria mention #dysmorphia mention #fatphobia mention #crimes against the gender convention #backstory #origin story #genderqueer #trans #transgender #lgbtq #queer #long post #trans experience #trans rights #trans wrongs #nonbinary #enby #nb #agender #gnc #gender apathetic

[sungiesbabygirl]

summary : after your mother re married, you find out that you have stepbrothers. Feeling odd feelings for them that no sibling should feel. It’s only a matter of time before they confess. Which one will it be first? - my imagination

warnings : step!cest, swearing, mutual pining, age gap (the boys are older by 2 years)

pairings : enha!0t7 x fem!reader

a/n : hey guys, so this is a new story I'm writing. It will have multiple parts so please be patient with me for these updates. I'm also sorry this is so short, it was suppose to be longer but I didn't want to bore anyone. I'm also a fairly new writer so no hate please....

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

This was a pain in my ass, I hated every single second of it but I couldn’t exactly refuse and go home.

I guess your wondering why I want to go home but can’t, am I right? Well my mum recently re-married to one of the parks, you know the parks that own those really really high fashioned and marketed companies? Yeah them. Unfortunately for me I had to move in with my mums new fiancé, it’s not as bad as it sounds and he’s not the reason I want to go home per say.

The reason I want to go home is because I have 7 step brothers that my mother just happened not to mention. Now don’t get me wrong it’s not at all as bad as I’m making it sound, apart from the fact they’re insanely attractive and day by day I’m going crazy. I know its not normal to like your step siblings but.. when they look like my step brothers its kinda hard not too-

"Y/N get down here right now!", my eyebrows furrow in confusion as I get pulled out my thoughts by my mother screaming bloody murder from downstairs.

Pulling myself up from the comfort of my bed made me realise how quiet it was after my mother had stopped yelling. 'mmh, that's weird. what are they up to now?'. My mind ran with absurd thoughts that I knew could never be true, as my feet padded against the cold wooden floor. It felt like a million years before I reached the kitchen where I saw a mess that was beyond bad, my furious mother standing right beside it giving me a look that said 'if you don't explain I will get out the wooden spoon.'

"Y/N, can you explain to me why you made this mess and tried getting jay to clean it up?", my mother said in that aggressive voice I absolutely hated.

My mind turns blank as I look from the mess, to my mother and then back to the mess. "I swear I didn't do any of that, I haven't even been downstairs this morning." desperation laced in my voice. The air felt a little colder now, maybe it was due to the fact my mother was glaring daggers at me or the fact I was wearing shorts. I couldn't tell.

It all felt very tense my mother has never once blamed me for creating messes and not cleaning up after myself, considering the fact I've been living with her all my life.

"Oh stop lying to me Y/N, first you make a mess in the kitchen then you try denying it, and now your ignoring poor jay who had to suffer with your sorry ass. I'm sick of it." The voice of my mother says, a mix of stress and exhaustion in her voice making my eyes trail to the floor in shame.

Its silent for a few minutes until a low voice that sounded like honey starts to speak from the doorway of the kitchen, "um.. miss l/n, I'm so sorry for creating this mess. There was an emergency at my work so I had to go and sort it out. Please don't blame y/n."

Looking up from the floor my body instinctively turns around, breath hitching in a heart beat as I look at the figure leaning against the doorway. Lee heeseung. I slowly let my eyes run down his body noticing the way his muscles flex under his black shirt and the way his eyes seem darker under his black cap.

As my eyes make their way back up to his face, my eyes connect with his making my cheeks heat up and my body quickly turn away from him failing to notice the smirk on his lips. My mother looks at him in shock a tense air hanging around the room making me shift uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry heeseung, if I knew it was your mess I would have cleaned it up for you."

I let out a small scoff at the audacity my mother held, 'she would do it for him but not for me, it wasn't even my mess.' Feeling a hand on my shoulder bought me out of my thoughts for the second time this morning, but god did I wish I had stayed in those thoughts. As I looked up, my eyes once again held contact with heeseungs dark brown orbs, it was like we were both having a staring contest.. only this one was a fight between instincts and desire.

Clearing my throat I quickly step away from him, noticing the way jay intensely stared at us. 'what the hell is his problem?'. I look up at my mother who already has the cleaning products out and is now halfway through cleaning the mess that heeseung claimed to have made. We all know the only thing he can make is ramen noodles.

"Y/n you can go back upstairs now, you aren't needed anymore.", my jaw falls slack open as I hear what my mother said, she made me come all the way downstairs just to argue with me about something I didn't do? What a waste of time seriously.

Nodding my head was the only thing I could do in that moment, not that she would be able to see it considering her back was facing me but I didn't feel like wasting my voice on her. As I walk away I feel eyes digging into the back of me, I turn around expecting my mother to be glaring at me for not replying to her. But to my surprise, I saw not just heeseung but jays eyes running down the back of my figure. Before turning my head back forward, heeseung looks up at me giving me a subtle wink and putting his lip between his teeth. My cheeks flush a deep red as I quickly face forward. I was so telling beomgyu about this.

#enhamfavl #kpop #enhypen #kpop imagines #kpop reader insert #kpop reactions #kpop smut #enhypen masterlist #y/n x enhypen #female x enhypen

[mortifiedatbeingknown]

"Power Transfer"

Masterpost:

“I’m sorry, pet. If there was any other way I could do this without hurting you… you know I would do so in a heartbeat, right?” 

Whumpee nodded, gratefully leaning into the touch as Villain gently stroked the top of his head. “For the good of the world, Master.” He reminded softly. 

“Yes. To maintain order and peace, so the empire may never fall.” 

“And to crush the rebels, who grow stronger by the day.” Maybe Whumpee shouldn’t have added that last part. Villain hated how strong his enemies were, how desperate he was to defeat them. It was the only reason he was forced to do this to them, over and over. 

Sure enough, the punishing slap came swift and strong. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that! Not when we’re on the verge of breaking them. Not when we’re this close, do you hear?” 

Whumpee nodded enthusiastically, their eyes lighting up with relief. They’d been close to victory for so long...so long… maybe this was the day. Maybe this was the last session. And the Villain wouldn’t have to chain him up anymore. Villain wouldn’t have to cry over having to treat him so badly. And Villain could be happy… and Whumpee would be the one who made him happy. He would have been useful. He would have been good… The thought alone made him squirm in happiness. 

“T-torture me, Master.” He begged, before Villain had a chance to ask him like he usually did. “My pain is yours to transfer. Give it to your enemies.” He was so good, he even added a “Please.”

Whumpee was rewarded with a brief chuckle that sent his heart fluttering in joy. Villain was happy! And it was him who cheered him up! “Very well, my little pet,” He said as he reached for a disciplinary instrument. “And who would you like to make suffer today?” 

They made sure to keep their eyes down, even though that was the hardest

part. If he didn’t know what was coming, neither would the enemy, and the pain would be even worse for both of them. If he had the choice, Whumpee would have wanted the cane. But the choice today was different, and that was good, because Whumpee knew just the right answer that would make Villain pleased. 

“...Superhero…” 

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

“I’m telling you, you can’t do this! My men fought and killed and died to free all who were hurt by Villain’s reign, and that would include Whumpee right here, too!” 

“With all due respect, “Superhero”, they were the entire reason so many died. Everyone who went insane or died in their sleep?” A harsh boot knocked Whumpee to the ground. “It was this scum’s pain that did it. He deserves the same fate as anyone else.” 

And I took it all. All like a good boy. 

“You’d kill a victim for being abused? Excuse me, but I didn’t depose a sadistic tyrant to have another put in his place!” 

    "We would never. But this is not a victim. All testimony we could gather from him points to him being in league with Villain." At least, any testimony Whumpee gave before Villain had hissed at him to be quiet. Their mouth was now sealed, and nothing would make him open up again. 

   “Superhero's” voice had dropped to a whisper. "Do you know how much pain was transferred to me? The sound of ripping of fabric tore through the air, and there were audible gasps. "His scars match my own. If his only crime is being hurt, then I'm as much to blame as he is!" 

  Whumpee nodded in agreement. Finally she had said something true! After hours and days of lies… it was nice to hear, even if it didn't make up for the "death sentences", and "new government" and "defeated evil" trash. Villain would never be defeated. But then what was going on? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to know. Maybe… but whatever was happening, could it stop? The light was hurting his eyes, even if Whumpee was keeping him closed. The new chains were too tight, and every voice was slandering Villain like there would be no punishment for it. Was this a test? Yes, yes, a test. And Villain was counting on him not to fail. 

I’ll be loyal. 

The words above him float out and through. It was a babble of meaningless noise. Meaningless, blasphemous noise. Who cared if it was growing louder? He was being good enough to not be punished by strangers. 

I won’t fail. 

A hand touched his shoulders. Whumpee snapped at it and rolled over. Hah! He couldn’t be fooled with any old gloved hands. Those weren’t Villain’s gloves, and Whumpee was good enough to know the difference.

I’ll be loyal. I won’t fail. I’ll be loyal. I won’t fail. 

I’ll be--

Whumpee bit back a cry as an enemy grabbed at his chains and dragged him backwards. 

I’ll-

A smaller hand grabbed at his waist and hoisted him so that Whumpee was forced to stand up, against even his best efforts. No! He had to fight. He had to kneel! 

I can’t fail, I can’t fail I can’tfailcan’tfailcan’tf--

The next voice pierced through to his soul. “This is now your charge, Superhero. Any trouble they cause will be on your shoulders, and we trust you to punish it accordingly.” 

Whumpee’s thoughts froze. Punish? 

no. No. NO. “No!” The thoughts had become so loud they pushed through his lips. “You can’t do that! Only the Master can. Master!” 

His cry was cut off by a sharp cuff to the head. Whumpee’s eyes widened in horror. Villain never hit him there. “The rebels can take your pain,” He would say, “But they’ll never take your brains. I like your character too much to lose it, so let’s take care of it, shall we?” Villain would never let anyone touch his head either. Why wasn’t he scolding them? He struggled harder, and was smacked again even as Superhero’s voice cried out in protest. 

That was it. They weren’t going to follow the rules he wasn’t either. In a burst of rebellion he opened his eyes to a giant, crowded chamber filled with eyes, all staring at him, judging him, pinning him down as he begged and pleaded for Master, Master, 

“Master?”

Villain… His Villain stared helplessly back, in even more chains than Whumpee deserved. No...No! He froze, his eyes filling with tears. Villain… His poor, sweet Master tied up like a dog. It made him sick. What was going to happen to him? What was going to happen to Whumpee? If Master wasn’t around to protect him, then...then… 

“I’m sorry.” Villain mouthed. “You be a good boy now, OK?” 

“Master!” 

Whumpee flailed even harder, kicking and clawing get away, to be free, to be at his rightful side next to Villain. If any voice tried to stop him, he screamed louder, fighting until the very last scrap of him could be given to the cause. He would die if he had to, die loyal and brave and--

His screams died in his throat halfway. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move!” A cruel snicker from behind it confirmed the attacker. “There. That should do it. Gotta say, I don’t pity you a bit, Superhero. You sure you’re not regretting it already?”

“Not a bit. The poor thing is just scared out of his mind, and you’re not doing him any favors!.” The smaller hands now picked him up, and he had no option but to let them. “Besides, if no one here has the heart to take care of him, I will. 

Whumpee’s heart stopped. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t! Rebels were “taken care of”. Traitors were “taken care of”. He’d been good! He’d been loyal! He’d been-- The realization crashed over him with the force of a club. He’d been good...for Villain. He’d been loyal...to Villain. These were rebels. Enemies, barbarians, scum… What Master was trying to protect him from. In their hands… he was nothing. A speck of dust. A burden. A burden who had just shown he could scream really, really well. 

Tears flowed from his eyes freely, with no barrier to stop them. He couldn’t help it. Everything was gone, everything he and Villain had worked toward… and the freedom he had worked for so very well and so very hard was never going to come. It had all been a lie, like the voice that whispered nonsense in an attempt to sound soothing, or the way his eyes were closed by a hand that proceeded to stroke his hair, like it could ever replace his Master. 

Master...I’m never going to see Villain again… 

That brought on a new wave of tears, and a new wave of murmurs. “Shhh...shhh...it’s going to be alright now. I’ll get you out of here, and everything’s going to be alright…”

No...No it wasn’t. It never would be. But maybe if he tried hard enough, he could pretend. Pretend he was back, safe underground. Pretend that the cuffs fit perfectly, and his knees were recently bandaged. Pretend that the hand currently stroking his hair was not of his worst enemy, but of Villain, soft and smooth, and caring. That this was all just a bad dream, and he’d wake up to the sweetest words he could ever hear: 

“Well done, my little pet. You took that wonderfully.” 

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whump writing #whump drabble #whump prompt #whump scenario #hero x villain whump #oneshot

[tatumslollipop]

Ghostface!Sidney Prescott X Ghostface!Reader

this has been in my drafts for a while

Y/N was sitting in Sidney's room waiting for her girlfriend to come back. Wanting to surprise her. But then Sidney came running in her room covered in blood. Y/N runs up to her and says "Omg Sidney are you okay?". She is worried. "Y/N ... this is not my blood" Sidney confesses to her girlfriend. Y/N looks at her confused and also horror. "Sidney. No. You don't mean that you" Y/N says in shock and panics taking a step back from her girlfriend. "Y/N I did. But believe me darling. I would never hurt you. I just killed Billy's Mom" Sidney says with a sight of pride and worry that her girlfriend will betray her or see her as something evil. "Why Sidney?" Y/N says sitting down on Sidney's bed trying to hold onto her feelings. "You know my mom left right?" "How could I not remember." Y/N says.

Y/N and Sidney just came back from school when Sidney saw a letter saying to Sidney. She read it and tears start falling from her eyes and hugged her telling her everything is gonna be okay. She gave me the letter and it said that Sidney's mom is leaving her forever because her dad has cheated on her with Billy's Mom. This night we just laid in her bed and cuddled. She didn't went to school for days. After School I would always visit her and comfort her and bring her my notes and some little gifts like flowers or sweets. We would talk and just cuddle. "I needed to kill her. I hate this bitch. I have a plan I need you to help me with. Please say yes baby" Sidney said with excitement. "Yes" Y/N said. She would do anything for her girlfriend to make her happy. But needless to say she also for a fact thinks of killing a lot. It charmed her. "Billy's Family stayed together. That isn't fair is it" Sidney said. Y/N shakes her head. "Well I want to kill all his friends and family to make him suffer through life till in the end. We kill him. Will you be my partner in crime?" Sidney's eyes darkened. She looks psychotic just insane but also so hot. "Yes Sidney. I will but promise me something." Y/N says almost looking crazier than Sidney "What is it my love?" Sidney says looking deep into Y/N with passion that is indescribable. "Come over to my house when you are covered in blood. You look so hot right now." Y/N says starting to kiss and bite Sidney's neck tasting the blood. "God I love you so much" Sidney says coving Y/N cheeks with her hands and kissing her. What happens after that is our little secret. They start planning the murders this night and start with Casey and Steve since she was Stu's cheating Ex which gives him reason to kill her and her boyfriend. Y/N and Sidney's love for eachother just grows with every kill. They are both psychotic but insane is the new sane.

And finally the day of act 3. Y/N was throwing a party to distract the people from the murders to make then feel better with the saying "We are saver together". Sidney just killed the principal on the football field which made everyone run to the school expect her friend group. Y/N kills Tatum while Sidney murders Gale and her camera man and Y/N Dewey. When Sidney finally takes off the mask they two man are shocked. "Suprise Billy" says Sidney with the voice changer. "How could you" Billy says in fear and shock which made him look even more pathetic than usual. "Because of your bitch mother. Your family stays together but mine doesn't. That's not fair now is it Baby?" Sidney says tracing her knife at Billy's cheek and looking at the other masked killer who is holding a gun at Stu's throat. Y/N takes off her mask and they look even more shocked. "No its not." Y/N says cold and kisses Sidney's lips gentle. "We are gonna blame you two for the murders and come out as the victims. The Final Girls. And don't worry your little dad is also here to give us company" Y/N opens the closet door to reveal Billy's dad completely tied up. "Well the party can begin now" Sidney says stabbing Billy in the stomach and Y/N shooting Stu in the head. "I love this baby" Y/N says as she licks her finger covered in blood. After killing everybody Sidney and Y/N clean the weapons and stab eachother in the shoulder and then run into windows to look like victims. When the police finally arrived they got called the Heros of the Woodsboro murders and lived a life of fame and Love. Only they knew what they did that Summer.

#im delulu #aesthetic #scream #sidney prescott #sidney prescott x reader #ghostface!sidney x ghostface!reader #slashers #scream franchise #trending #viral #ghostface!sidney #ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface!sidney prescott #yandere sidney prescott #neve campbell x reader #neve campbell #lesbian

[pearlescentpearl]

Rebirthed!Maedhros AU post 3

You know what time it is, folks, capping the last post again at 7 parts.

Part 15!

“What do you mean they’re blaming Uncle Arafinwë?” Russandol demands

Eyeing him tiredly, Findekáno notes the faint dark circles under his eyes, the delicate tremor in his hands, the way he flinched when he tried to hug his cousin

“They’re inconsolable, and seeking to rationalize a cause and effect,” he repeats, verbatim, what Nienna had solemnly explained to them. “The fire started on his and Aunt Eärwen’s ship. They’d never believe their own princess foolish enough to set a ship on fire, even by accident, and her children were raised as Teleri as they were Noldo. So,” Findekáno shrugs angrily

“So it must be the outsider husband’s fault,” Russandol finishes bitterly. “How do they figure that?”

Findekáno shrugs again, clenching his hands together. “The only area of the ship where fire is allowed is the kitchen.” Because Fëanárian Lamps handily replaced every candle, torch, and lantern they’d used on ships before, but Fëanáro hasn’t yet invented a fireless source of heat. “And since we Ñoldor hold that the men are the cooks...”

“I see.”

“Mind you, Olwë doesn’t believe this,” Findekáno says, dragging the conversation along in the hopes he won’t be subjected to yet another round of grieving, outraged tirade against the Teleri

He’s already sat through Aikanáro, Eldalótë, and Artanis’ reactions. Plus his parents’ reaction, Turukáno’s, his grandparents, and Fëanáro. He loves Russandol, but he’s not sitting through Fëanáro But Worse. He’s tired 

“But he’s also having difficulty believing it’s Melkor’s work. Not that we know it’s Melkor’s work, we only suspect. The Teleri are really used to being largely ignored by greater Valinor.”

“Who does believe it then?” Russandol says, evidently willing to set aside any outbursts in favor of focusing on the situation at hand, for which Findekáno loves him even more

“When I left Tirion, we still hadn’t heard back from Olwë on who started the rumors, just that his people were starting to mutter about it.”

Grandfather had been terrifying to behold, in his anger at the news. Even Fëanáro had been taken aback by the sight of his rock steady, indulgent parent so wrathful

Grandmother went silent. She wanted no one to disturb her while she embroidered the funeral shrouds for her youngest child and his two eldest sons

Findekáno isn’t foolish enough to think she isn’t just as angry

She’s just honing the blade of her temper 

“And you? How have you been holding up? You look awful.”

Russandol’s mouth twists. “I had a... protracted episode. A few days ago.” At Findekáno inquisitive look, he elaborates; “Wandered off into the deep Gardens and got stuck in my memories, for some reason. I don’t remember what set it off.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Russandol looks down. “Everything’s... off. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“You don’t have to, you just tell me what you need from me,” Findekáno says

Russandol shrugs a shoulder, but the twist of his mouth softens and some of the tension goes out of his jaw, so Findekáno will call it a victory

He needs all of them he can get these days

He’s not blind to the fact Melkor -- and they do believe it’s Melkor at work -- that the Vala went to Alqualondë in response to him trying to fortify Tirion against him

Aikanáro, now Head of the House of Arafinwë until his father or his brothers return, or Artaresto wants the headship when he’s full grown, had given him a long look when Findekáno, spurred by a deep well of guilt, tried to apologize

Findekáno told himself he wouldn’t let Melkor make him believe any evil thing the Vala did was his fault, and he holds to that

That doesn’t mean he can’t be sorry for others suffering

“Am I supposed to be blame you for protecting our people?” Aikanáro had said to him

“No, I just...” Findekáno didn’t know what he ‘just’

“We didn’t do enough,” Aikanáro said, swallowing hard. “We took the warning to Grandfather Olwë, and then we didn’t do anything. We didn’t even try to encourage him, or our uncles, to do anything. We just assumed Melkor would keep on ignoring the Teleri. After all, wasn’t that why Grandfather Finwë bade us evacuate there? But we are none us safe until we all band together and deal with the threat.”

And then Aikanáro lost the battle of wills against his tears and crawled into Findekáno’s arms until he felt strong enough to face the world again

“They’ll be alright in Mandos, won’t they?” He’d whispered

“They’ll be just fine,” Findekáno promised, kissing the crown of his spiky hair. “They‘ll be back before you know it.”

“Think they’ll back as quick as you were?” Aikanáro asked, so hopeful that he could only agree 

There is no earthly way Findekáno can explain that it wasn’t so much that he re-embodied quickly because he healed quickly, so much as he bolted past Námo’s legs like a cat spotting a cracked open door at the nearest opportunity with his dignity intact, so he doesn’t

“You do enough,” Russandol says, breaking Findekáno out of his reverie. “You’re doing far more than I can, really.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that to yourself,” Findekáno protests. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even know to be on our guards. Melkor would have caught us with our pants down--”

Russandol abruptly blanches gray, eyes wild

“Russo?” Findekáno says sharply, half lurching to his feet

Russandol clenches his eyes shut, swallows hard, and takes deep breaths through his nose. “Just a memory. From Mísrilya. It’s all--” he gestures curtly to his temple, “a bit raw, right now. Too close to the surface.”

“Do you want to--”

“No.”

“--switch to a lighter topic?” Findekáno pivots smoothly. “In fact, I insist. I came all this way to visit you. What kind of projects do have going? Are you still into woodworking? Or did you pick up any new hobbies lately? You were telling me all about how interesting the wickerwork is here just last month.”

A content Russandol is a Russandol that hops between hobbies the way bees hop between flowers; with utter abandon 

He’ll throw himself into his present joy all the way to journeyman status, accumulate a storeroom’s worth of finished projects to foist on all his friends (mostly Findekáno. it’s mostly Findekáno), then gets bored, picks a new joy, cycle repeat

His parents treat this apparent restlessness with endless indulgence, but it drives his brothers who have committed themselves to their crafts up the walls and all the way across the ceiling

Haltingly, Russandol went with the subject change, describing the paneled divider he was carving out to liven up his living space

Findekáno is gratified when he eventually stops looking like he’s going to be violently ill

“So many of the birds snatch up the wood shavings for their nests, I barely have to sweep,” Russandol jokes half-heartedly

“One less thing to worry about!” Findekáno says, injecting as much cheer as he can muster

“Yes, but I’d hoped to use those shavings!” 

“So do the birds!”

#silmarillion #bulletpoint fic #maedhros #fingon #nice little sweet piece after the meanness of the last one

[michaelsheens]

when noah kahan said "if the sun don't rise till the summertime, forgive my northern attitude. oh, i was raised on little light" and when he said "i thought that if i piled something good on all my bad that i could cancel out the darkness i inherited from dad" and when he said "my house was designed to kinda look like it's crying. the eyes are the windows, the garage is the mouth. so when they mention the sad kid in the sad house on balch street, you won't have to guess who they're speaking about" and when he said "i was taking the wrong meds, feels good to be sad" and when he said "my mouth was designed for my foot to fit in it" and when he said "someday i’m gonna be somebody people want" and when he said "no thing so sure that i can't learn to doubt it" and when he said "i divvied up my anger into thirty separate parts, keep the bad shit in my liver and the rest around my heart. i'm still angry at my parents for what their parents did to them, but it's a start" and when he said "at the end of the day, i know there are worse ways to stay alive" and when he said "i'm terrified that i might never have met me" and when he said "i forgot my medication, fell into a manic high. spent my savings at a lulu, now i'm suffering in style. why is pain so damn impatient? ain't like it's got a place to be. keeps rushing me" and when he said "if all my life was wasted, i don't mind, i'll watch it go. yeah, it's better to die numb than feel it all" and when he said "i drink till i drown and i smoke till i'm burning" and when he said "collect every dream in these old empty pockets, in hope that i'll need them someday"

and when he said "it's an ode to the hole that i found myself stuck in, a song for the grave that i dug" and when he said "i only tell the truth when i'm sure that i'm lying" and when he said "i would leave if only i could find a reason. i'm mean because i grew up in new england. i got dreams but i can't make myself believe them. spend the rest of my life with what could have been, and i will die in the house that i grew up in. i'm homesick" and when he said "it only falls into place when you're falling to pieces" and when he said "the whole place is quiet. you miss something that you can't place but you can't deny it. don't know whether you want a place in the coast or the country. you can't stay here, it's hard to face and it feels too ugly. you light a fire inside, let it burn" and when he said "with a past box of photos i rip myself open" and when he said "feel the rush of my blood, i'm seventeen again. i am not scared of death, i've got dreams again" and when he said "a minute from home, but i feel so far from it. the death of my dog, the stretch of my skin. it's all washing over me, i'm angry again. the things that i lost here, the people i knew, they got me surrounded for a mile or two" and when he said "my medicine is drowning your perspective out, so i ain't taking any fault" and when he said "i ain't proud of all the punches that i've thrown in the name of someone i no longer know. for the shame of being young, drunk and alone"

and when he said "'son, are you a danger to yourself?' well, fuck that, sir, just let me call. i'll give you my blood alcohol, i'll rot with all the burnouts in the cell. i'll change my faith, i'll kiss the badge. just wait, i swear she'll call me back. 'son, why do you do this to yourself?'" and when he said "i'll turn up the music and i'll forget until it ends that i'm not ready to let go yet" and when he said "i'm in my car and i see the yard, the patch of grass where we buried the dog. and the world makes sense behind a chain-link fence. if i could leave, i would've already left" and when he said "i thought i had something, and that's the same as having something. i get mad at nothing, blame my dad for something. i pull no punches, then feel bad for months. thought i was raised better. tried to fake better, tried to blame weather and escape better. hope the skin heals where the pain enters" and when he said "i saw the end, it looks just like the middle. got a paper and pen and a page with no space. i filled the hole in my head with prescription medication, then forgot how to cry. who am i to complain? and now the pain's different. it still exists, it just escapes different and evades vision. makes the rain different, makes the news boring and my rage distant. yes, i'm young and living dreams, in love with being noticed and afraid of being seen. but i can finally eat and i can fall asleep. it's fine, fine, fine" and when he said "medicate, meditate, swear your soul to jesus. throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason" and when he said "we spent so long just getting by. that's the thing about survival. who the hell, who the hell likes living just to die?"

#noah kahan #you think this is long? #listen. i made one of these with ALL my favorite lyrics and it was at least three times as long as this #and i was like i absolutely cannot post that because skdfdfsk wow #so i picked just a few that speak to me in a very specific way and to establish a ✨ theme ✨ #text #long post

[xenodile]

Bad news everyone, I might potentially be homeless!

Long story short, around the start of this year, my dad's mental state took a pretty bad turn. I don't know the exact cause, if he's suffering from mental illness, or he's just given up all pretense of being a decent person, but he's more or less made it impossible to live with him.

It started with him coming home early from work and throwing an actual screaming tantrum, saying he can't live with the tension in the house between me and him, because I confessed in October of last year that I delayed coming out as trans because I was afraid of how he would react and what he would do to me. When I explained the laundry list of reasons why I didn't trust or feel safe around him, this made him angrier, denying did anything wrong, blaming me for feeling the wrong way, and demanding I forgive him for the things he didn't do that made my childhood utterly miserable. He essentially gave me an ultimatum of just..."letting go" of all my childhood trauma and giving him no accountability, or being kicked out because he "doesn't deserve" to be held responsible for his actions.

The situation was eventually deescalated, but tension remained in the house, and before long, started to be redirected at my mom. Over the past year, my dad grew increasingly hostile and confrontational about the most trivial things. Berating my mom and calling her names when she didn't drop everything to do what he wanted, calling the police saying that he was in danger after he started a fight that escalated into him screaming, even being in a room with him was stressful because he would all but invent reasons to start shouting.

On top of that, he had begun to actively lie to me and my mom, or perhaps he always lied and we only now caught it. Agreements that only he was privy to, misrepresenting events to pain himself as a victim, claims of who said what that were completely baseless and easily proven wrong, secret stashes of booze after he promised not to drink all year, all in addition to willful emotional manipulation and intimidation tactics. It has reached the point where my mom and I can no longer tell if he's out of touch with reality and thinks what he's saying is true, or if he's willfully malicious and knowingly lying. He's broken all trust either of us ever had in him.

Through it all, my mom and I have tried to urge him whenever we can to seek counseling or psychiatric help because his behavior is unusual and frightening, but he has rebuffed us at every turn, growing increasingly paranoid and hurling accusations at anyone and everyone that doesn't immediately take "his side".

There was no end to it. Every other week was another incident. He'd take my car and my dog hostage because he "didn't feel safe at home" after provoking and yelling at my mom. Any disagreement was turned into a fight. At one point he even threatened suicide when my mom wouldn't get a plane with him to Hawaii.

Things came to a head last week, where after learning that my mom took his name off the title of her car to make sure he didn't sell it out from under her like he did to another family car earlier that year, he got black out drunk and started tearing apart their shared bedroom. He barricaded the door shut and threw heavy objects at the door when my mom knocked to see if he was alright before going unresponsive.

My mom called 911 because she worried he'd hurt himself, and they had to break the door down to reach him. They found him passed out on the floor and barely able to walk after how much he'd had to drink from his secret stash, got him into a gurney and wheeled him out. From here things are a bit more fuzzy, as my mom and I were told he was being taken to a local hospital for care, but learned the next day he'd been transferred to a mental care facility that was two hours drive away after he got physically combative with medical staff.

He was put on a psychiatric hold while he was looked over and made sure he was not an immediate threat to himself or others, and was away for about six days. Yesterday he came home, and talked up how much he wanted to change and wanted to be better, but before 12 hours had passed he was right back to harassing my mom non-stop.

So my mom and I have left the house. We're currently at a motel for a few days while we file the paperwork to get a restraining order and try to figure out where we go from here because it is impossible to live with him. He's paranoid and either delusion or plain old hateful, and we cannot stay under the same roof as him any more.

So that's where I am now. Unsure of how or where things will go. Ideally, my mom and I can get back into our house and my dad can get the help he needs, but it's hard to say at this point.

Safe to say, I won't be streaming in the near future, as my equipment is all back home and I don't wanna try going off my laptop using public wifi. For now, I would ask you keep me in your thoughts, and if there's any advice or recommendations for how to proceed in this situation, I would be happy to hear them.

#Xenostreams #family issues #serious

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

Hello! So I figured I should probably share my two cents on this since you seem pretty open for discussion. I understand a previous anon brought up the fact that this isn’t excusing it’s just explaining and I also understand that Magnifico mainly went all villain when that rat book took control, but I also feel like there may be a slight… I’m not sure how to describe it honestly so I’ll let the rest of my ask speak and see if hopefully my point tangible.

Magnifico did hold a weapon to Amaya’s face to threaten her into agreeing with him, and based on her reaction to seeing him with the evil magic (rapid breathing, shaky speech, flinching, instant fawn + freeze reaction) it’s possible she likely has some form of trauma that I personally believe may have been a abusive relationship.

I should say I am NOT a Magnifico hater, I don’t believe he was a villain at all but I’m not sure about hero. Of course I’m open to hearing others out and I’m entirely open to learning new things and changing my opinions! So this isn’t me saying ‘No you’re wrong I’m right’ it’s just intended as me giving my own personal views and asking for yours in return! Sorry for the three paragraph ask and I hope that you have a great day! 💙

(Also to people who hate on Magnifico that are coming to this account, just why?? Just leave instead of throwing a hissy fit in this persons asks whose just being kind and sharing their personal views, it’s that easy 😒)

Hey anon!

First of all, thank you for being so nice and defending me! Absolutely right! It's beyond me how someone who doesn't like him comes to my blog to nagg at me for loving and defending him, make me a bad person and furthermore accuse me of things .... crazy, anyway! Don't apologize for this long ask! 😆 I appreciate you wanting my opinion! I also wish you a great day! 💙

Now, let's begin this, shall we?

I can actually explain this as well!! 😃 (and no, it doesn't have anything to do with me loving and defending Magnifico. (Well mostly. *Eherm*) this is based on logical observations!

Soo, Amaya's reactions ... I'm absolutely sure they're not because he's been abusive. Magnifico had been nothing but a sweetheart to her. The explanations are much simpler and relatable.

Amaya knew that Magnifico was able to do great magic, she knew he was very powerful. But she also knew the evil book was powerful. She didn't know to what degree but what do you think happens to someone who's already powerful and gets posessed/controlled by an evil force?

Exactly. They become dangerous and unpredictable. The more power someone has the more dangerous they'd be if posessed by evil. Think of the nicest, sweetest dog, who'd never bite, never do anything bad. If this dog was to get posessed by an evil force, it could maul someone to death. It has teeth and a very powerful jaw to begin with.

The other thing is, who wouldn't flinch if someone pointed a weapon at them? This is a natural human reflex. Yes, some people are jumpier than others (I am 🤣, truly! Sometimes my coworker sneaks up on me while I work on a client to whisper something in my ear and I squeal in shock every single time. It's funny for everyone but me.) But we're talking about Amaya here! It's normal for the body to react if threatened. So we have our reasons why she went fawn mode.

Also, one of the first things she says to him is "How could you!" So, he's already in a very bad place, traumatized, suffering and on top posessed by evil now, and the first thing he's confronted with by his "wife" is blame. Nice. Blame! Guilt tripping and cornering him even further! Bravo Amaya 👏🏼

So Amaya being scared is relatable and justified. But does her being afraid justify her dumping and backstabbing Magnifico? No.

Just look at her smirk as she gives the guards the order to put him in the dungeons! I'm fine with Amaya x Magnifico shippers but I personally will never ship them! Poor man was desperate and shocked at how quickly and with how much ease she was writing him off.

If Magnifico had been her soulmate, she would have fought to death to get him back. Just imagine, if she had stood up and defended him, pleading her people to help her, saying something like : "Listen to me! Magnifico isn't evil, he's posessed by evil! I know he's dangerous and unpredictable right now but I know he's still in there somewhere and if we can reach him, we can get him back! I know you're scared, I am too, but together we can make it! Please, stand with me!"

I mean, she's the queen, alright? The people of Rosas are to obey and follow her command right after Magnifico. One right word of her and her people would follow her and not Asha. Btw. She could have also asked Asha and her friends to help her. I don't think they would have disagreed if she'd pleaded with them. She's their queen! Or would Asha have turned against Amaya as well then? 😐

You cannot tell me they wouldn't have been able to reach and save Magnifico by standing together in love and bold compassion! We literally saw how the wishes and (star) were set free from the evil force just by singing and standing together! Only imagine they had done this to free Magnifico! Saying he wasn't savable because the evil book said so is bullcrap.

I don't believe the evil book! A evil book is well, evil! And light will always be more powerful than darkness! Love will always be stronger than hate! Imagine a room full of darkness, then light a match, that tiny speck of light is still glowing! The dark cannot consume it! Because in light there cannot be darkness. And what does a evil book do besides destroy and corrupt?

Also, this looks painful! 🥺☝🏻this is nothing but incredibly tragic and sad!

Also, in the past, every single heroine has managed to break curses by true love and compassion! I was reminded of Moana and Te fiti for this!

Do you guys remember that scene, where Moana realizes that Te Fiti is still inside the posessed evil monster? Was Moana afraid? Sure she was! But did that stop her from reaching out to get her back? No!

Te ka (evil Te Fiti) could have burned Moana to a crisp in the split of 2 seconds but Moana still bravely approached her! She willingly faced death because she knew Te Fiti was still in there and by her immense love and compassion she'd get her back! She went "this is not who you are!" And boom!

There's more!

I also remember a scene from the 2 Maleficent live action! When Maleficent was consumed and controlled by hate, anger and revenge. She was all hiss, roar, I'm evil and Aurora stood up to her and told her "This isn't you! There's another way! I know who you are! I know you!" And Maleficent replies "You do not!" And Aurora in tears, in pain but 100% certain, says "Yes I do! You're my mother!"

And just like that the evil in Maleficent crumbles. True loves overcomes all evil! It's always been that way.

And even if no one would have helped Amaya, we'd still have the (true love breaks every curse!) But she did nothing. Well, she did run to Asha and her friends to sing about how bad he's always been like a pop star. She gave Magnifico up over the course of minutes, didn't even try fighting to get him back and wrote him off with a smile!

Magnifico was deeply hurt, the betrayal stung and he suffered inside. He had so much pain and anger and his anger is justified! Please, put yourself in his shoes for a moment. One doesn't even have to fully understand trauma and the whole complexity of the different forms of ptsd.

He only ever tried his best to have everyone happy and content. He only ever wanted to protect and keep safe. That's always been his goal. He held onto his power because he wanted to be strong enough to keep whats dear to him from harm at all costs! If someone wants to protect that fiercly it only means that person loves immensly 1 and 2 has suffered unbelievable painful loss. He loved his people! He cared for his people immensly. So much so he was willing to get himself posessed by evil even if he never wanted to! He felt forced by his desperation and utter fear.

And what did his people do in the end? Can you imagine how badly it must have hurt to realize you've only been loved for what you can do and give? How used he must have felt? He's been celebrated more for being handsome and a limitless genie than a loving king who established an amazing kingdom and ruled it well! He's bent backwards and all it took his people to turn on him was a teenager who thinks she knows better than anyone with a strange cute looking creature from the sky, they btw. knew just as little about!

Everyone backstabbed and betrayed him. Here he is, at the peak of all his suffering and posessed. His soul surely cried for help, hoped for anyone to reach out to him but no one did. He got kicked into his wound even further. Quite literally, this was the thanks he got.

#disney wish #wish 2023 #king magnifico #team magnifico #thank you anon! #magnifico defenders #king magnifico isn't a villain

[scarletwritesshit]

🔪 Blade x Reader 🔪 Butter Knife

Mara struck and never dying. This is the fate that Blade had been bound to for all of eternity. To some, the dream of becoming immortal was simply that, and their desire to walk the planet forever seemed impossible to satisfy. To Blade, however, immortality was not a dream, as he knew all too well of the curse of a life physically impossible to be put to rest. He felt as if his time was up ages ago, and so he deeply desired to be put to rest one final time.

That isn’t saying that life was never worth living to him. Prior to this wretched curse, Blade felt as if he had a purpose, a reason to see each and every new day. He was a talented weapon artisan, whose blades were comparable to none. In regards to its value against one of Blade’s deadly pieces of art, a common sword was worth less than nothing.

Now, Blade’s own being had been degraded into that of an inanimate object, created with immense power but cannot be destroyed. He felt as if he had lost all sense of true purpose and reasoning for his existence, other than to strip others of their lives.

He fulfilled his reason for existing already, and now, he simply wanted to be put to rest.

Unable to be reach his life’s satisfying conclusion, as well as leaving behind his past as an artisan, he would have to find a new purpose through something, or rather, someone else.

You knew Blade long enough to have a thorough understanding of his demeanor. He wasn’t very talkative, and always had a rather off-putting scowl on his face. You had never genuinely seen him smile, yet you couldn’t blame him considering his rather unfortunate fate. Doomed to repeating a cycle of inescapable suffering with death itself not even showing him mercy would most certainly wear away at an individual.

Despite everything, you knew that deep down, the soul of Yingxing was very much alive within him. Under his ashen black exterior was a man who shone white with passion, desire, emotion. This could not be claimed to be a mere delusion of yours, either. A few times in the past, you had offered to part ways with Blade, feeling as if he has grown gravely tired of your presence. The response was always the same; a silent headshake upon your offering to leave. When further pressed as to why, he would respond with something akin to:

I have my reasoning.

Perhaps it was the same force that accounted for the tight-knit bond between the Stellaron Hunters. Something more than working under a title, though a bond unspoken, united them despite sheer differences in personality.

Though it was subtle, it was interesting how Blade seemed to display favoritism towards you. It was difficult to discern the reason, as he spoke little of those around him and even less of himself, but one thing that did set you apart from the other Hunters was your frequent inquiries of his well-being. He never once responded in a positive manner, and you’ve come to expect him to scoff at you every time, but it still never hurt to check in on him at least once in a while.

Somehow, you had to get through to Blade. Though it might take quite the generous effort, you were committed to making Blade feel like a living, breathing person again, not some regrettably conscious item.

No hobbies, he claimed to have, so it was not difficult to find him standing around without a sense of belonging. It was rather convenient for you when you desired to speak with him, but you couldn’t help but yearn to see him engrossed in a beloved activity of his own, whether it be craftsmanship or a newfound hobby of his. You approached Blade and gave him a gentle tug on the side of his jacket to grab his attention. With his usual quiet “hmm?”, Blade turned his head to the side to look at you gently pulling on him.

"You don’t seem preoccupied, Blade," you said to him.

"As usual," he responded coldly. "What do you want?"

"Nothing in particular, as I just wanted to check on you. That’s all."

Blade snarled and turned his head away, crossing his arms. "My response is the same, yet you still insist on inquiring. How very peculiar."

"Someone has to. You’re one of us, after all.”

"You’re practically asking if a sword if it has feelings."

"And this 'blade' has a tongue sharper than a dagger just to close himself off from others, and for what?"

"It does not concern you."

"I think it does, Blade. I feel as if you’re being rather dishonest, with yourself more than with others."

He didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t even look back at you to acknowledge your statement. Blade’s arms stayed crossed and his attention remained diverted.

"You claim yourself to be a mentally deceased weapon, yet I know for a fact that you are hiding a caring man.”

He still didn’t respond, not even showing signs of hearing your words.

"You haven’t shooed that little Silver Wolf away, and you keep insisting on me being by your side despite the obvious hinderances I pose. I truly do not think that you are as awful as you claim to be.”

Though this got somewhat of a reaction out of Blade, as he glanced over his shoulder and looked at you curiously, he still blatantly refused to speak to you on any matter regarding himself. Was he not accepting of who he may be, or perhaps it was simply utter disbelief of your claims? The only way to find out was to pry the truth out of his cold hands, even if a bit of gentle force was required.

"You can scoff and sigh at me all you want, but I’m not going away any time soon."

"You hardly have a choice,” he said, once again averting his gaze.

"And why is that?"

"I can’t let you leave."

"Or is it that you don’t want me to leave?" you said, grabbing his bandaged hand. "Because I don’t plan on it anyways."

Blade couldn’t subdue his reaction this time. He looked at your hand, eyes wide with surprise and mouth agape, clearly thrown off guard and having a difficult time suppressing his feelings. He seemed to want to yank his hand out of your grasp, yet some invisible force was preventing him.

"Told you so," you proudly declared.

Blade, still visibly surprised, once again looked away, yet still continued to speak.

"You…can let go of me now…" he said, voice trailing off.

"But why would I do that when you don’t want me to?"

"I never meant physically taking hold of me."

"Yet you still haven’t pulled your hand away even though you can do so if you desired. Bladie, you need to stop acting so cold. You’d feel better if you dropped the steel-tempered act."

"But weapons should not feel, yet I am experiencing some sort of warmth inside of me."

"It’s your hand. You’ve spent so much time with your edges soaked in fresh, warm blood that you have failed to realize that you have grown to be as cold as a butter knife."

Perhaps in an attempt to better understand what he was feeling, Blade pulled you in front of him so that he may use his free arm to pull you close to his body. He was greatly restraining his immense strength, yet holding you tight enough so that you may not slip out. He remained silent for a few moments, assessing this strangely familiar yet new feeling that burned within him. You had gotten used to his bouts of silence, though something about his sudden thoughtfulness felt different than the times before.

"I...think I understand what you mean," he finally said.

With your face still shoved in his coat, you managed to look up in order to inquire as to what he meant.

A man of few words he was, whose actions spoke louder than words. You noticed that his scowl had softened, and his eyes had a light in them as if a new passion had been ignited within him.

"Perhaps this is selfish of me to say, but this feeling...it must be what it’s like to truly feel alive again. I never realized how warm you were…or perhaps it’s the side effects of a frozen heart melting once more.”

“You…feel alive again?”

Blade's hold on your body grew tighter, but he fell silent once more. Given his poor self-image, he seemed reluctant to be fully honest regarding what he was experiencing, and what his heart yearned for.

"Bladie, what do you mean by that?" you asked.

"It’s something that I had only felt once long ago with another person. Now, it is rather unfamiliar to me in my present state, yet at the same time, it is a recognizable feeling that I’ve been silently longing for."

"Companionship? Affection?"

"...The desire to be held not as a weapon, but as a beloved companion."

A desire that could so easily fulfilled by you, as you wiggled yourself ever so slightly to loosen his grip on you to allow for you to engulf him in a hug. Blade didn’t reject your gesture, though he was frozen in place, shy about indulging himself in something he believed to be so self-centered. He quickly realized that you truly have no intention of letting go, even after he loosened his grip to allow you to slip free if you so desired. Eventually, he gave in and rested his head against your hair.

"...Haven’t felt this way since I knew her long ago," he admitted.

"Do you understand now, Blade? Sheets of steel and stone don’t feel these kinds of emotions. That’s what sets your flesh and blood apart from a mere sword."

"Our purpose serves the same, however."

"You’ve told yourself that lie so much that it has created a delusion of truth within your mind. Your hands may not be meant for forging anymore, but that grants you the freedom to discover a new purpose…a new reason for you to carry on with life.”

"...Could you serve as my purpose, at least for the time being?"

"I’ll always be by your side as your reason to carry on, Yingxing."

"Now that’s a name I haven’t been called in years," he said, smiling a little.

#honkai star rail #hsr blade #blade x reader #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic