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unclewaynemunson · 7 months

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@bigskyandthecoldgun made this very big-brained post about the perfect miscommunication potential of Eddie's heart monitor betraying his feelings for Steve while he's recovering. @mostrizzaward asked me to write it and how could I say no to that :D

The first time Steve sets foot in Eddie's hospital room is terrifying. Eddie is as pale as a dead man. He has dozens of wires attached to his body, that are connected to just as many machines and monitors displaying complicated graphs, all softly beeping at varying intervals. Everyone in the room talks in soft, grave voices and all the nurses and doctors have matching serious frowns on their faces.

But what seemed to be impossible happens on a dreary Wednesday afternoon in April: Eddie opens his eyes for the very first time since he passed out in Dustin's arms. Steve is at work when that happens, but rushes to the hospital as soon as he can, and suddenly Eddie's room seems a lot less terrifying than before. Because Eddie is grinning at him from his bed, even though he's still pale and weak. He's not only alive, he's awake. It's a goddamn miracle. His wide grin is familiar despite the big scar that has marred his cheek. Fuck, Steve doesn't think he'll ever be able to put into words how much he missed that smile.

Eddie rasps his name as a greeting and Steve comes closer to the bed. But then, something weird happens.

The machines around Eddie's bed are still beeping, but there's less of them now. The electronic symphony of noises has been reduced to a duet of two different beep patterns that are clearly distinguishable from each other. And one of them speeds up rapidly when Steve leans over the bed in an awkwardly angled attempt to give Eddie a hug.

“You okay?” Steve asks, worried. He wonders if he should call for a nurse.

“Yeah, man,” Eddie mumbles. His eyes flash towards the monitor in question for a second and a blush creeps over his white cheeks. He seems ill at ease; Steve can't quite put his finger on it but there's something weirdly awkward about the whole thing. He seems otherwise fine, though, so Steve decides no nurses will be necessary.

He clears his throat and takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. For a moment, he wonders why he's even here. They weren't exactly friends before all of this happened. It would be perfectly normal for Eddie not to want him around – and yet here he is, visiting him in the hospital like it's the most normal thing in the world. What is he even doing here?

But then, Eddie starts talking about how his uncle was with him when he woke up and gave him this book he's been wanting to buy for ages.

“He cried, Steve, I've never seen him cry in my life, but he was bawling, I'm not kidding!”

Despite his animated tone, Eddie's voice is still weak and his eyes keep falling shut even while he is talking. Steve knows that he shouldn't overstay his welcome and let Eddie rest, but he finds himself too captivated in how alive Eddie is, even though his whole presence – his loud voice, his broad arm gestures, his expressive face – seems a little bit toned down. So when Eddie tells him with a vague gesture to his nightstand that he tried to read his new book, but found himself too tired to focus properly, Steve finds himself proposing to read it to Eddie before he even realizes what he's doing.

And then the weird thing happens again. Eddie starts smiling at the exact same time the heart monitor accelerates.

Steve chooses to pretend like he doesn't notice. Instead, he takes the book from the nightstand and flips it open on the first page. He starts reading aloud, but he can't really keep his attention on the words that come out of his own mouth. He can't help but feel like he made a mistake. Is the heart monitor signaling to him that his presence is making Eddie uncomfortable? Shouldn't he have left Eddie alone to rest when he started getting tired? Why the hell did he ever think it'd be a good idea to read to him in the first place? He's never been a good reader, and certainly not a performer like Eddie. So he awkwardly stumbles his way through the words on the pages, in no way able to keep up with the complicated plot and no doubt failing spectacularly in the use of voices and appropriately ominous pauses and whatnot. Whenever he glances up from the pages, he finds Eddie leaning into his pillow with his eyes closed and a faint smile around his lips, only to find out he's lost track of where he was when he directs his attention back to the book in his hands.

It doesn't take long until Eddie's breathing becomes audibly deeper and evens out. Steve softly closes the book. He allows himself a few moments to do nothing but stare at Eddie's face and be grateful for the absence of a breathing tube between his lips, showing that he's only sleeping this time. Then, he gets up and tiptoes out of the room.

***

The weird thing with the heart monitor keeps happening every time Steve visits Eddie. It happens when he greets him, when he starts reading to him, and especially whenever he helps him adjust his position in the bed he's still chained to. Every time they touch, every time Steve gets close to him in any way, like clockwork. And every time, it's paired with some kind of physical reaction on Eddie's part: a blush on his cheeks, a somewhat forced chuckle, or sometimes even a badly concealed flinch, away from where Steve's hands are touching Eddie.

Steve pretends not to notice it, for Eddie's sake, but it can only happen so many times before he has to face the clear and obvious truth here: his presence is making Eddie extremely uncomfortable.

One part of it still doesn't make sense, though: Eddie actually asks him to read to him or to help him sit up or lie down again, and the next thing he knows, Eddie will suddenly be avoiding his gaze and that goddamn heart monitor will make it sound like Eddie is trying to break a sprint record instead of lounging in his bed, and he'll recoil from Steve's touch like he doesn't want his hands anywhere around him.

Steve muses over Eddie's odd behavior for days before he comes to the only logical conclusion: Eddie is actually repulsed by him and is too polite to tell him the truth. It's the only explanation that makes sense. It's just like what Steve realized so clearly that first time after Eddie woke up: they weren't friends before this, so why should they be now? Steve has no business being at his bedside all of a sudden, and Eddie doesn't have the heart to be mean to him and spell that out for him.

He can't even blame Eddie for it. For most of the time they've known each other, Steve was a major asshole, everybody knows that. Sure, they're twenty now and Steve has moved past high school stereotypes when he got close to Robin, but still... Those stereotypes made up everything about who they were, how they were perceived and who they interacted with for four whole years of their lives – six even, in Eddie's case. Eddie doesn't have any reason to want to let that go like Steve did.

He would never admit it to anyone, but the conclusion he reaches breaks Steve's heart: he should stay away from Eddie. Eddie has every right not to like having Steve around and Steve certainly doesn't want to add to his discomfort. He has been through enough, Steve wouldn't want to make this whole long and painful process of recovery even worse for Eddie by imposing his unwanted presence on him.

It doesn't matter that Steve has started to look forward to his hospital visits like they're the very best part of his week. It doesn't matter that Steve's heart starts racing for whole other reasons than Eddie's whenever they're close, whenever they're touching or whenever Eddie is smiling that beautiful smile of his. It doesn't matter that Steve wants nothing more than to keep reading to Eddie even though he still doesn't have a clue what that stupid book is about. None of it matters, because that's simply the price one has to pay for being an asshole and a bully in high school.

It doesn't matter, because there are way worse things than the guy you've developed feelings for secretly harboring a grudge against you. He still has Robin, he still has his little nerds, he even has Nancy back; as a friend, this time, which is honestly better than things ever were between them. He has the knowledge that Eddie survived and will be getting better with each passing day. Maybe he can start dating again, find a cute girl with blue eyes and blonde hair who doesn't remind him of the one person he can't be around, and it'll all be fine again. It doesn't matter.

Update: there's now a sequel post :D

#truly the ultimate idiot4idiot couple #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #fruity ficlet

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yamujiburo · 3 months

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Some of this might sound intentionally hostile in text and I apologize.

I'm saying this as an abuse survivor mind you - don't throw "abusive ships" under the bus so easily - at least, so long as they're not actually glamorizing the abuse. I lived that irl and I personally find someone overcoming it, slowly having enough of that bullshit and getting out over time, and the other person having to wipe their own butt for once after they've made the damn mess, very refreshing. Maybe that's not a ship in the traditional sense. It's no happily ever after bc it shouldn't be, but I find stories like mine shyed away from so often because even the portrayal gets considered a "canon ship". ... that's just how media works now, I guess? I very rarely See a fictional relationship not called a ship in literally any context now so that's the definition I'm running on.

I wish more people were willing to portray the hardships of finding acceptance outside of "whoever you can find will accept you" very much, and finding the better things after. I wish people weren't terrified out of portrayimg situations like mine.

Jessie.. is not a good person in canon. You expect me to believe she moved into to hanamusa seamlessly, without falling on her ass? I never see you talk about Jessie's abusive tendencies in canon. You never talk about the inherent meanness she needed to get over to get there. She's quite aml lot like my ex in canon, actually.

What do you mean you're going to just remove from the character that she is abusive to those around her. Jessie hits people. She takes her own junk out on others all the time. Do you even like the character then, are you actually invested in her growing, or are you just making an OC at this point?

Idk. Do you, boo. But you are posting about a character who, whether you like it or not, is canonically abusive. I just don't buy that dating Ash's mom alone fixed her. That isn't... How that works. It would be excellent if it did. Part of my love of hanamusa is that it signals Jessie's change - but she could have changed for anyone before now.

What makes Delia different? How is she specifically a turning point for Jessie? Because Jessie's flaws go well beyond just bossing people around.

I would love if my abuser had the same outcome as your Jessie. I adore your portayals of hanamusa, where she's still flawed but still strives to do better. That's all I ever wanted from my ex.

What the fuck got her there tho.

Anyways I've been watching a lot of Bojack Horseman lately -

I agree with you! I don't think abusive relationships (or any tough subject matter in general) should be shied away from in media. It can be powerful when executed well and written by folks who are equipped to tell those kinds of stories. I do think it's sad when people treat it as off limits. But the ask I got was definitely more about which ships I have where I actually like the relationship between the characters. I think the semantics of the word "ship" are kind of vague or rather, over time, got so specific to only mean "absolutely love together and want them as endgame" (for most people anyways). So that's usually what I take the word to mean when people ask me about it.

I can 100% appreciate how an abusive relationship is written and handled, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna ship an abuser with their victim (that falls into the glorifying you're talking about). Love Bojack Horseman! Big fan! I think the way they handled Bojack and Sarah Lynn was beautifully and tragically well written. But does that mean I ship Bojack and Sarah Lynn? Absolutely fucking not.

I've talked about Jessie's character plenty on this blog and the way she's handled in earlier seasons specifically. This is kind of a summary: If we look at it on surface level, yes we can say she was abusive. But I think it's important to acknowledge and take into account the medium, time period and culture. Slapstick and cartoon violence was HUGE in anime and animation in the 90s (and prior to that too). Characters were always cartoonishly slapping each other around with giant mallets, folding fans, etc. Looney Tunes style. These slapstick bits were always distinct from real abuse and hurt (for Pokémon, Jessiebelle comes to mind). Mean slapstick wasn't a character trait exclusive to Jessie either. We saw it in Misty, James, Meowth, characters of the day and pretty much any character who got mad. It was a visual shortcut to show anger.

This type of slapstick has since (thankfully) died out and it hasn't really been a part of the Pokémon franchise since the early 2000s. However, Jessie was a notably special case. One of my favorite fun facts about the Pokémon anime is that there was a point in the series where Megumi Hayashibara (Jessie/Musashi's seiyuu) told the writers that moving forward, she no longer wanted Jessie to be violent or to be shown hitting James or Meowth (source: her memoir "The Characters Taught Me Everything"). She thought it directly went against the vision Takeshi Shudo had for Jessie, James and Meowth, when he created them, which was that they are good natured villains. If you watch from DP and on, Jessie never lays a hand on either of them. I think it was a such a good move on Pokémon's part to change her character like that and I'm forever grateful that Hayashibara said something! Whenever I write Jessie now, I always keep that in mind. She's mean, shouty and stupid but would never genuinely hurt those she cares about.

From then, her character becomes much more bearable. She's still bossy, mean and vain (typical cartoon villainess attributes) but I'd hesitate to say abusive. She'll still yell at James and Meowth, they all yell at each other, but in more of a sibling way (imo) rather than a "i'm actively trying to hurt your feelings way". The show makes a point especially in later seasons to show that Jessie, James and Meowth are not beyond being redeemed. From conception the whole POINT of the Team Rocket trio was that they are redeemable but their persistence and obsession keeps getting in the way of them seeing that there's a better life for them out there.

I won't deny that Jessie was unsavory in earlier seasons, but when I write her, I choose to write the version that Takeshi Shudo and Megumi Hayashibara had envisioned from the get go. She's still incredibly flawed and makes plenty missteps but wants to be better as you stated! My favorite part about Jessie is that she's a piece of shit LOL and I enjoy writing the changes she goes through to be better (but then still showing her default so some of her evil tendencies). In this AU, Delia doesn't fix Jessie. Jessie fixes Jessie because she is with someone makes her want to be a better person. She's already in the middle of turning over a new leaf before even meeting Delia, after leaving Team Rocket. Writing Jessie as legitimately abusive I think could work, but that's not my story to tell and if someone who were more equipped to tell that story did, I'd be very interested to take a listen!

I hope this doesn't come off as trying to deny or invalidate your experience. If you see that in Jessie, I hear you! This is just how I've interpreted her character over the years, having watched every episode of Pokémon and reading Japanese interviews from the cast and crew. She's such a compelling character and I love how messy she is

#ask yam #long post #tw abuse

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royboyfanpage · 1 month

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Okay, let's talk about Ollie's experience with fatherhood.

I'm an Oliver Queen apologist forever, but I think that there's a tendency in fandom to go one of two ways- "absolutely perfect dad, no flaws whatsoever" or "evil abuser who shouldn't be within six miles of a child". This isn't an Ollie exclusive phenomenon, a lot of characters and topics do fall into that black-and-white mindset. But the thing is- Ollie doesn't have to be either extreme. Particularly with Roy, who most of the debate centres around, Ollie wasn't perfect! I think there's such a rich discussion point in terms of young Roy's relationship with Ollie, so much more than just That Panel. Because, in my interpretation, Ollie absolutely cared about him, absolutely saw him as a son, but also the idea of being a father is something that deeply terrified him. The idea that this literal child being dependent on him made it feel more real, if that makes sense. Coming to terms with the fact that he was responsible for another person's life was difficult for him, and so he put up this wall- hero and sidekick. A conceptual dynamic, one that's not based in reality. He can keep that distance between himself and Roy and decide what that means, he doesn't have to be a father because that word has so many strong connotations, but he can still express that he cares about Roy, in his own way. That's why he always calls Roy 'Speedy' even out of costume, that's why his first thought is that Roy's undercover in Snowbirds. He can focus on being a good mentor to Speedy, which will have a trickle-down effect to being a good guardian to Roy, right?

Unfortunately, kids' brains don't work like that! Especially not a kid who's already lost two fathers. Roy needed a stability in his teenage years that Ollie just wasn't able to give at that time. He didn't see "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy because he loves me and doesn't know how to show it", he saw "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy, which means I'm only good as Speedy". This, at least in my opinion, is a major factor in Roy’s later self-esteem issues. Roy’s constantly underestimating himself as a hero, constantly comparing himself to Dick, and pushing himself 24/7 to improve because he internalised the idea that if he’s good, if he’s the perfect hero, then he’ll be loveable. He can’t be bad, he can’t fail, he can’t back down because if he does, he’s nothing.

It’s absolutely not Roy’s fault, but also this doesn’t mean that Ollie’s an evil neglecting abuser, either. Even the best parents fuck up, and Ollie was by no means the best parent. He took in Roy as a sidekick, as a buddy, and then never really found a way to combine the ideas of sidekick and son. He assumed that Roy would be able to interpret meanings behind gestures, which is something that Roy seems to struggle with even into adulthood. I’ve talked about it a fair bit, Roy’s absolutely someone who relies on the explicit, but he’s also not someone who’ll ask for clarification, which has caused conflict in his relationships time and time again. And while it's something he has gotten better at as he's gotten older, a 12-18 year old Roy would absolutely not be able to read Ollie's motives.

And Ollie's fear of fatherhood isn't something exclusive to Roy, either. Sure, he'd gotten better at it by the time Connor and Mia entered the picture (speaking as an oldest child myself, we are the guinea pigs of parenting, I was my mum's sibling), he absolutely still expresses this with them. I mean, just look at his face when he finds out Connor's his son.

That's the face of a man who's just had the crushing weight of parenthood slammed down onto him again, the moment Connor stopped being an ally and started being his responsibility. He's scared, because Ollie absolutely does not see himself as a good father for someone to have. This was very much present during Roy's teenage years, but particularly since this is post-Snowbirds. Both in terms of Roy developing a drug addiction and in terms of Ollie's own initial reaction to it, he immediately spirals. And, since we've already established he does not know how to process things, he lashes out at Connor.

And as for Mia, he's definitely matured significantly by the time she comes into the picture, and compared to with Roy he's a lot more open with his feelings. However!

He still won't explicitly accept the responsibility of fatherhood! Despite acting like a father to Mia in every way through his actions, he still won't use his words! Even though in the issue following, he expresses a paternal protectiveness over her.

And I think Mia's HIV diagnosis is maybe one of the biggest examples of his distancing himself and hiding his feelings, particularly when Connor asks him how he's feeling about it.

He's so fine, so totally fine, trust him when he says he's fine, totally not freaking out. He's absolutely not terrified for his not-daughter, no way.

Ollie has this fear that if he gets too attached to his kids, he's gonna end up failing them. If he keeps a distance from them, then he can't blame himself when they get hurt. Is this good parenting? No! Absolutely not! But this is also the man who dresses up as Robin Hood and who chose to die rather than lose his arm. This is not a healthy man.

But he tries, he tries so hard, even if it's in his own way. And he recognises when he fucks up! And he tries his best to mend it later on!

He's not the best at showing his kids that he loves them, but he's so proud of Roy when he becomes Red Arrow. He comes back to life to save Connor. He stands by Mia's side when she gets diagnosed and becomes Speedy. He's not a great dad, but goddamnit he's trying to be.

In conclusion, no, Ollie is not the perfect father. He's deeply flawed, and his own emotional incompetency has been and always will be a point of conflict between him and his kids. But he's not some uncaring abuser, either. He's trying.

#oliver queen #green arrow #connor hawke #roy harper #red arrow #arsenal #speedy #mia dearden #arrowfam #dc comics

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beatingdrumspouringwine · 5 days

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Advice for beginner Hellenists

This isn't necessarily a post where I include a list of Gods, epithets, resources, and offerings for said Gods, but rather, hopefully soothing the worries of those of us who are starting the journey into the religion. As someone who was once in a religion that made other religions sound like something absolutely terrifying, my journey into Hellenism was once which was also... pretty terrifying, and this fear was mostly just from my own mind.

Anyways, my list of Advice:

You can literally just start praying. If you want to get more formal, you can absolutely get more formal, but you very much don't have to. I've definitely had my first prayers to some Gods be "hello, [God or Goddess's name], I want to worship You! Please lead me in my journey. Thanks!" I can promise you, the Gods are much kinder and more understanding than any of us fully know.

You can also just start worshiping in general. I feel like I've seen on occasion people worried about the Gods not "calling" to them. This is definitely not something that needs to happen pre-worship. If you find them interesting enough to pray to, then that in and of itself is enough.

In a similar vein, I wouldn't be too concerned about the idea of "signs". I feel like there's a tendency for folks to be incredibly worried about everything when first starting out - the behavior of a candle, the sighting of an animal, a strange dream, all can suddenly seem to take on jarring significance. But I can promise you, the Gods don't constantly give out signs, and frequently, these strange occurrences can be attributed to the mundane. When something comes from the Gods, you will know, trust me!

You don't have to worry too much about the idea of cleanliness, be it spiritual or physical. Khernips are cool, and I'd definitely recommend integrating them into your practice sooner or later. Hygiene is cool too! But if I'm being honest, we in the modern day are far more physically clean, and a lot less likely to regularly encounter the type of pollution that would have been encountered in ancient Greece.

The Gods will be at varying distances over the course of your worship. Sometimes, They will feel close, joyfully, burningly so. And sometimes, They will feel far, and prayers may even feel a bit futile. Both of those are perfectly okay, and neither of those will be permanent.

And, once again in a similar vein, you will likely not find yourself having constant, close mystical experiences with the Gods (i.e., conversations, visions, etc.). These experiences are rare and far between, and I would advise that you not make them a central part of your worship. They will come when the Gods deem you're ready for them, and you definitely won't be expecting it. Focus on the little things!

My final thing (for now) is that you also shouldn't put undue pressure on yourself to be doing some sort of big offering to the Gods. If that's what you can afford, that's great! But if not, fresh water, a small wildflower that you came across and picked*, or a small bit of a meal also count as a good offering!

And with that, my (much longer than I was previously planning on) list of things for beginners to keep in mind! A lot of this list is made up of things which I picked up along the way, and a lot of it is also made from my own personal hindsight being 20/20. I hope this is helpful to someone, and that it maybe soothes some of the (incredibly common) worries which so often accompany those who are venturing into the world of Hellenic polytheism!

#dionysian #dionysos #dionysus #hellenic polytheism #hellenic polytheist #dionysos deity #dionysus deity #hellenic pagan #hellenic gods #hellenism #helpol #beginner helpol

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

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uh. what?

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is healing wounds'

rated m | 1,782 words | cw: injury recovery, mild blood, recreational drug use | tags: post s4, hurt/comfort, getting together, fade to black

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

The stitches pulled and he couldn't get comfortable. He almost wished Robin hadn't made him get checked over, but anything that required this many stitches probably would've killed him if he hadn't. At least that's what Nancy said when he complained to her about it.

But now, Steve couldn't sleep, and sleep was apparently very important for healing.

The alarm clock next to his bed said 2:07 am, so calling someone was out. Going somewhere was also out, unless he wanted to go to the 24 hour diner alone.

Fresh air sounded good until he realized he'd have to either go for a walk in the middle of the night alone or sit by the pool alone.

He didn't want to be alone.

His phone started to ring just when he was considering taking a shower out of boredom.

"Harrington residence, this is Steve."

"So formal for two in the morning, Stevie," Eddie's laugh rang through the line and Steve couldn't help smiling. Something about Eddie's energy was contagious, a beacon of light when all he had was the darkness of his room.

"Didn't know if it was an international business partner for my parents. Happens sometimes when they forget time zones." Steve moved to the edge of his bed so the cord didn't have to stretch as far. "What are you doing up?"

"Had a dream about being eaten alive again. This time they managed to eat both of my nipples." Eddie scoffed. "Isn't one enough?"

Steve chuckled. "And you can't go back to sleep because you're scared they'll come take your other nipple?"

"It's a genuine concern, Steve! I have big dreams of piercing this thing and if they take it from me, what do I have left?"

"I think you'd probably just find something else to pierce," Steve shook thoughts of what that might be out of his head before they could take over. "So you can't sleep. You thought you'd call and wake me up to suffer with you?"

Eddie was silent for a moment before responding. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Steve said quickly, not wanting Eddie to feel bad. "I was awake."

"Nightmare?"

"No, stitches are bothering me."

"You wanna come over? I found my hidden stash. Might help with the stitches," Eddie offered.

Steve probably shouldn't. He was on some pain meds already and if he got too fucked up, he'd probably cry. That's what happened last time he had some of whatever Eddie was selling.

"I'll come over, but probably shouldn't have anything. Robin would kill me if I end up in the hospital," Steve gave a half-truth.

"Yeah, she's terrifying. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Before Steve could tell him that was a bad idea, he hung up.

********

When Steve got to Eddie's, he let out the breath he'd been holding the entire drive. Eddie was sitting on the porch, alone, his guitar by his side.

Maybe he'd been playing already, or maybe he planned to play to help distract Steve from the way his skin felt like it was too much.

He got out of the car and waved when Eddie looked over at him with a smile.

"Didn't think you'd get here so quick," Eddie didn't bother standing up, Steve just knew to go sit by him.

But the steps on the Munson's porch were rickety at best, "temporary" according to the government officials who had stuck them here because they didn't think it was worth putting them in a home across town, and Steve's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dull glow of the light by the front door. He missed the top step and immediately fell, barely catching himself on the wood of the porch.

Eddie was helping him up immediately, doing his best not to make his own injuries worse.

"Shit, you okay? Wayne tried fixing it, but it just keeps getting loose."

Steve felt a stinging pain on his side, and when his hand grazed over the worst of his bites, he felt something warm and wet on his fingers.

"Shit," without looking, he knew he'd torn his stitches. "Eddie, I need a towel or something."

"Shit, that's a lot of blood. That's a lot of blood. It shouldn't be that much, right? Like even tearing your stitches, it shouldn't be-"

"Eddie." Steve poked his arm, stayed as calm as he could. He bled easy, so sometimes even small things looked worse than they were. "Towel."

"Right, yeah. Should you come with me?" Eddie shook his head. "I mean can you move? Should you stay here?"

"I'll sit here until I have a towel. Don't wanna get blood on the carpet."

"Got it."

Eddie still seemed unsure about leaving him, but must have noticed how much blood was soaking through Steve's shirt and rushed inside. He was back in less than a minute, a black towel in his hand.

"It's clean. It's the one I usually use for my hair, but I didn't get to fold it from the dryer yet. Um, just put pressure on it."

Steve knew what to do, was used to putting pressure on wounds, but appreciated Eddie trying to triage it anyway.

"You got a needle and thread, right?" Steve asked once he took his shirt off and put pressure on the bite. It was already bleeding much less, a positive sign that maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"I mean, I do. I don't have medical tools that have been sanitized properly."

"You have water to boil and vodka?"

"Steve. I'm not fucking performing a medical procedure on your stomach," Eddie shook his head. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"I trust you."

The words hung heavy between them, despite the fact it wasn't exactly news to either of them. They'd been through it all together, why wouldn't he trust him?

"Okay, let's get inside and I'll get everything ready."

Getting inside was easier said than done. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the pain had really started to set in and every breath felt like knives stabbing into him.

"Deep breath, Stevie," Eddie said as he sat him down on the couch and helped him lay back. "I'll get you something for the pain."

"Something" was an edible, and Eddie seemed hesitant to give it to him, but all reservations Steve previously had went out the window as he felt his hands shaking from the pain.

Eddie prepared everything while the edible kicked in, checking in with Steve every few minutes to make sure he hadn't passed out or started bleeding again.

When the room started to feel blurry and his head felt light, Steve smiled over at Eddie, who looked nervous.

"Ready for your magic hands," Steve wiggled his brows.

Eddie made a strangled sound before leaning over the wound and wiping some of the blood away gently so he could see where to stitch him back up.

He worked as quickly as possible, humming softly to distract himself and Steve from what was happening.

Steve was high.

He was high and he was feeling good despite the needle in his skin.

He drifted for a bit, couldn't be sure how long, but eventually, Eddie was touching his cheek and making him open his eyes.

"Think you should stand up so I can wrap a bandage on it. Then you can try to shower off some of the blood if you want. Wayne got one of those removable showerheads. Feels fancy," Eddie said as he moved the hair off of Steve's face.

"Help?" Steve managed to ask.

"Yeah, I can help you with the wrap and start the shower for you," Eddie nodded.

"In the shower?" Steve asked.

Eddie paused. "I can keep us dressed?"

"But." Steve huffed. "Blood."

Eddie couldn't help but laugh at his confusion, Steve's lips pouting out and his eyes squinting. "Okay, okay. If you're okay with it, I'm okay with it. You're high as shit, man."

"I'm standing right on the ground," Steve waved his arms around him. "Or is the ground standing on me but the other way?"

"God, this is the best. Okay, let's go."

"Wait!" Steve grabbed Eddie's arms. "You should know something."

Eddie raised his brows in question. "Go on."

"I'm very in love with you. And also kinda hard."

Eddie blinked, not processing. Now he felt high.

"Uh. What?"

"I have an erection." Steve made a disgusted face. "Hate that word. Sounds so middle school sex ed."

"It is." Eddie shook his head. "I guess I meant more like, how and why and what the hell do you mean by it."

Steve giggled. "I said you had magic hands and I was right."

"Dude, I was literally giving you stitches. I am failing to see why that would make you hard."

"It's cuz you're so gentle and your tongue sticks out when you're trying to focus. And also I started thinking about what you'd do if I couldn't move," Steve sighed dreamily. "You have handcuffs."

"Okay. Let's pause." Eddie let out a small hysterical laugh. "You want me to help you in the shower because you love me? Do you even need help?"

"Probably. But I also want help. And also you're a helper for me."

"What does that even mean? Where's Robin when you need her to decode what the hell you're talking about?"

"You're a helper for me! Because you help me be better about asking for help! And then you help!"

"Okay, that's. Good. I'm still not sure what's happening."

"You're gonna help me shower. I'm gonna try very hard not to come. We sleep?" Steve looked around Eddie out the window, like he was checking if it was still night time. "And then in the morning I wake up and get yelled at by Robin."

"Why would she-"

"The stitches. And the telling you I love you thing. She's gonna be real mad about that."

"Why?" Eddie felt like he was losing it. What was even happening anymore? How had he completely lost control of the night?

"She wanted to help me do a speech thing."

This was just getting more wild.

Steve needed a shower, and he needed sleep. Eddie needed a minute to gather his own thoughts.

"Shower. Sleep. Talk in the morning." Eddie raised his hand to cup Steve's neck. "Robin murders you after we talk."

"Deal." Steve's face sank, but he quickly perked back up. "But shower?"

"Yes, shower. Go, horndog."

Steve laughed as he half-limped to the bathroom, clearly feeling some pain even with the drugs in his system. Eddie followed and resisted touching Steve as much as possible.

Which ended up being about two minutes.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is healing wounds #injury recovery #cw: mild blood #post s4 #hurt/comfort #getting to know you #tending to wounds

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wingzie · 1 month

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Keeping a "Safe Place" on Social Media (As Army and a Jikooker)

In my opinion, social media needs to take responsibility for what it has become. I don’t think it ever will, because it feeds on negative attention, but I try to focus on what I can do to help. For myself and others.

My bio on Twitter includes the sentence “A Positive and Safe Space for everyone” and I take this very seriously. As a baby Army, I used to be in several GC’s for report pages. Back then, reporting used to be primarily done in GC’s privately and we tried to limit any engagement. Soon afterwards, I started to witness a change: Egos started to get big, there was a saviour complex with Y/N tendencies, some would start engaging with the posts we reported and deals were being made behind the scenes to protect certain accounts. It made me sad to see this change in priorities and it wasn’t why I joined them in the first place, so I left when things started to go bad.

What did I do instead? Mute, block and report with my own system. I tend to “mute” someone first if they really annoy me and then “block” a second time if they are a repeat offender. I will automatically block and report someone if they say something really bad. I do not engage. That includes: liking, retweeting or quoting. It boosts the harmful tweet. Even more so if your display name includes something related to BTS or the members and it will add to the trends. By taking away the engagement, you are taking away their audience that they are hoping to gain.

I have mentioned before how a particular anti revealed that they would aim to get on a report page's radar, because the posts on them helped advertise their posts and accounts. Their plan was rather like a business model and it was scay how well thought out it all was. It was also clear that they had help and was in a GC thrmselves, just like the report pages were. When report GC's started to die out, they grew even more with how public the fighting became. The antis figured out how the change in social media worked in their benefit, before the rest of the fandom and even the social media creators itself did. They still fail to this day to understand how fandoms (and the language within them) changes over time. The algorithm encourages these type of negative posts too. On my second account I accidently liked a BTS tweet and my feed suddenly contained so much negativity about them, rather than about their projects or joy.

But how is all of this linked with being a Jikooker? Because we sometimes end up boosting that negativity that we really shouldn't. I quite honestly do not care what their theories are, but I always end up seeing them somewhere. More than I see actual posts about Jikook sometimes. Someone reached out to me that they felt like they knew more about tker theories than about BTS or Jikook as a whole. It's also why, whenever something negative happens, I start to spam more Jikookry instead. It's actually how the Live Reactions series was created, because I wanted to counter those talking bad about it. And to help us relive it with fondness.

I also think there is a lack of understanding about what the word "cult" actually means. It is up to an individual to try to break free, but it might also be difficult. There was a post by a young girl who had been added to a tker GC by a friend from school. She wanted to leave, because it was quite frankly bullshit, but was afraid to because she had given the GC owner some private information that they had threatened to leak if she left. That is terrifying and I sometimes think back to that girl and how she is doing. If she did manage to leave or not. For some, they are persuaded to stay whether they really want to or not.

That adds an entire new layer to all of this: Children being on the internet too young or not understanding the implications of certain things. I am a 90's kid. It was drilled into me religiously about the dangers of The Internet. That doesn't seem to be a thing anymore though, or they are quite literally left to their own devices. Because of this, we sadly saw an increase of online crimes aimed towards children during lockdown. There needs to be more done and again social media needs to be taking responsability. Ticking a box claiming your age does nothing to protect anyone. Not every Army with questionable intentions is a child though, of course. There are those that refuse to watch content or rely on heavily edited clips. I get a lot of those edits myself in my inbox, either by tkers or jkers who have found them and asked if they are true. My common answer: No. This is also why I try to give sources and encourage anyone to try to watch all the BTS content that they can. I know there is a lot, but it will help you on your journey. What can be done to stop them? Honestly, not much. We can hope to encourage them though and stop those that wish harm in their tracks. How do we do this? By being louder in our support. Because, at the moment, we're being louder with our hate and social media is boosting that even more. Rather than the praise and love that BTS and Jikook deserve.

#wingzie

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akechi-stole-my-heart · 3 months

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akechi's "i do not regret with my choices i'm rather proud" line in no more what ifs is so widely misunderstood it drives me nuts. it's a coping mechanism guys. it's a lie.*

(*that has an element of truth to it, as most of akechi's lies do.)

like. there's this trend to take the line at face value. he doesn't regret what he did for shido. he doesn't feel bad or think he did anything wrong. he has zero remorse. but you shouldn't take anything akechi says at face value, and regret and remorse are two very different things.

there's a lot to unpack here, so bear with me as i try to break it all down.

so okay, the source of this whole misunderstanding--the line in no more what ifs. i've gotten into this before in my analysis of the song, but the context of it is specifically in maruki's reality. goro is looking back on his life and thinking about where he ended up because of his choices. he's thinking, was i a fool? did i mess up? was there a better way? this line of thinking is reflected within the game itself when he explicitly says in the engine room that he wishes he met akira sooner, but that it doesn't matter what he wants because it's impossible to change what happened.

but here's the thing--that impossible wish he made in the engine room, where things were different and he and akira could be friends? it's no longer impossible. it's literally right in front of him. but it has a catch. accepting the reality of his impossible dream comes at the cost of being himself. all his choices and agency will be stolen, including the choices he made in the past that got him here. so he's left with one last choice--accept maruki's reality, give into his desires, and lose himself. or accept the choices he made for himself, and the consequences that came with them.

so, his conclusion in the song is that any what if's and regrets are pointless. he cannot afford to regret. he must be proud of what he did and who he is. goro is terrified of losing himself and being forced into becoming another puppet like he was for shido. (and notice--him acknowledging that he was a subservient puppet before, as he does on 2/2, requires that he's aware that the choices he is so apparently proud of weren't entirely his own. he was pushed there by someone else. he still blames himself for being manipulated, but a part of him knows that what he did for shido was wrong, and that he shouldn't have done it. doesn't sound like someone completely without regrets to me.) so he has to hold onto his choices and be proud of them. he can't let himself be tempted. the price he'd pay for them is far too high.

so, yeah. it's a coping mechanism. he's forced into that conclusion by his circumstances. akechi does regret where life has brought him and how he got there and the choices he's made, but regret is pointless, because he can't change the past and he can't accept maruki's future. so he chooses not to regret. people like him can't let themselves regret.

but of course, that's not all. in a post-canon world where he lives, goro isn't going to suddenly break down and be filled with remorse. because like i said, his feelings are complicated, and he still has his pride. akechi doesn't want to admit his faults or his weaknesses, and he does still think the people he targeted deserved it. so is he remorseful? yes and no. he is aware what he did was wrong, and that it was all for absolutely nothing. but he still doesn't view the world as something worthy of saving or protecting. to him people are all still inherently evil, save perhaps for akira, so what he did was both deserved and negligible, because the people he hurt were on the path of destruction regardless of him anyway.

so feeling for his victims and experiencing true remorse is going to be a process of recovery. at the same time, akechi still has the innocent child who wanted to be a hero hidden inside him. part of him does care, it's just been so neglected he isn't aware of it most of the time. that part of him began to be reawakened with akira and would continue to be as he makes connections, especially with the people he hurt like the phantom thieves.

which is part of why i think akechi befriending and reconciling with the thieves is so important! he needs to face the consequences of his actions and realize what he did didn't just hurt evil people, but innocents too. he needs to learn to see people as beings who can change, who are redeemable and are good. that people can love him even if he's done horrible things. and as he realizes these things about himself, he will eventually start to realize that it's true about the rest of the world, too.

goro wants to believe in the world, and in people. he doesn't anymore, but he wants to. when he starts to believe in people again, that's when he'll be able to finally be honest about his past mistakes, and feel true remorse for his actions and mistakes, and be able to start to make amends. the parts of the detective prince that reflected the little boy who believed in truth and justice are still in him somewhere, he just needs a lot of time, self reflection, recovery, and help to rediscover those parts of himself.

another aspect of this is how akechi voluntarily turns himself in. i do think there are ulterior motives here, mainly that he can be the one to help convict shido. it's also self-destructive, a way to sort of end his life when literally doing that didn't work. it's the path of least resistance, where he never has to truly look back on his crimes and self reflect because well, he's paying for his crimes anyway, so who cares. it's the easy out. but it also shows that he is aware what he did was wrong and that it's right for him to try to make amends. goro isn't totally without remorse or regret. his remorse and regret literally pushed him into trying to kill himself. he's just very, very bad at coping with them, and so chooses instead to repress those emotions like he has been for years.

okay, so, conclusion. stop forcing in lines in comics and fic where akechi is like "I don't regret!" without also portraying the nuance lying beneath that line. how in third sem it's a coping mechanism, and otherwise it's a shield keeping him from being honest with himself about his past and his ruined dreams of being a hero. remorse ≠ regret, and goro feels both but to different extents and different reasons. he hates his victims, but he's deluding himself about their guilt, and once that delusion crashes down and he sees that he's hurt innocents, he's going to have to deal with a lot of intense feelings like his already existing self hatred.

akechi isn't some heartless killer who feels nothing for his victims. he's only using that idea of himself as a coping mechanism. he forced himself to become that by repressing the parts of him that care until he can barely feel them anymore. he isn't just the black mask, he is also the detective prince. he's both. akechi is and always will be both sides of himself, even when he tries so hard to shut one of those sides down and ignore it as an aspect of the truth. you can't write akechi well until you understand that. akechi is always both.

so, does akechi regret? well...it's complicated.

#p5 #goro akechi #sera posts #there is a separate but related meta about goro and agency that I want to make but its much less about goro as a character #and more about how both the game treats what he did and how the fandom does and how both are lacking #the nuance that the situation should be treated with #yet again another meta for another day #but hey I finally made the regrets meta I've been wanting to do this for foreverrrr #when I say forever I mean forever. I had a draft saved about this from almost two years ago lol #cw suicide #just in case bc of that one paragraph

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sorcerersandskillusers · 1 year

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Ignoring Dazai's horrific actions in the past takes away from the importance of his redemption

I've seen a bunch of people who seem to not know (Or just choose to ignore) how incredibly brutal and terrifying Dazai was in the past.

Dazai is one of my favourite characters and definitely one of the best written in the series, and trying to pretend he wasn't that bad is really reductive for his character as a whole. This post is not some moral plea of why you shouldn't like Dazai because he was evil, he's fictional, but don't pretend a fundamental part of the character doesn't exist.

I'll start with a list of some of the things Dazai has done:

Nailed a guys feet to the floor with rebar, then stacked concrete blocks on his arms till they were about to break.

Imprison Q who couldn't have been older then 8 at the time in conditions that made Q want to destroy Dazai years later.

Mental and physically abuse Akutagawa to the point where he is entirely dependent on Dazai, and values Dazais approval over his own life.

He has never failed to break a victim in interrogation even when Kouyous division couldn't make then talk.

He was responsible for half of the mafias profits in the year before The Dark Era, which is completely insane.

He was able to make both Mori and Verlaine uneasy, two of the most dangerous individuals in the whole series.

"Miscalculation.

You misjudged the situation, you failed to find the optimum solution. You should not have chosen this child to help you. Dazai is unpredictable. He can be sharp but in a dark, twisted way. He's observant. He's cold and calculating with no equivalent in the mafia where most evil resides."

Dazai is a darkness so deep that no one in the mafia can fully see the bottom.

But that's what makes his redemption so powerful, surly if even that child, who has come to believe that he isn't even human, can find hope and safety, then anyone can.

Dazai is a product of his environment, he has infinite potential, and a talent for manipulation, but when he surrounds himself with good people he starts to reflect them and become better himself. First with Odasaku and Ango, then with the ADA. He is washing the black of the port mafia off himself, and that will take time, and it will take support, but its why his journey is so fantastic.

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eightstarr · 7 months

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i know — van palmer.

summary: you can't remember a life before van, but there was one. there must've been one. it feels ridiculous to think about. you'd rather think about her, rather think about this— two moments then, and two moments now (and so, so many to come).

notes: heyyy i know i said i would post this like a month ago, i fully forgot!! if there was like one person waiting i'm sorry and i love you sm <3 also this ignores the plot entirely and i wanna make that very clear just in case!! it's like a nothing happened and we're all okay au! anyway here's to my loser girl and to whoever also finds themselves staring at the wall in silence thinking about her :)

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

THEN.

"You're hogging the blanket," Jackie mutters over a mouthful of popcorn, purple polished nails tugging at the soft fabric.

She's right— you are. "I'm not," you say, and bring your legs close to your chest partly so they can offer some kind of comfort, but mostly so they're not touching the unknown dangers of the floor anymore.

The TV flashes red and Jackie's living room is bathed in it, along with all your faces.

Shauna snorts at a man getting brutally and very unrealistically decapitated on the screen and pulls her own blanket closer to her best friend before she even has to ask. They do that a lot; talk without words. Any other time you would've noticed, thought that's cute and smiled to yourself, but right now you're too terrified.

The movie is bad. Or, that's what you have to keep reminding yourself of. It's lazy in a way that's bordering on comical and needlessly violent in a way that proves that it was written by a man with interesting fantasies. You shouldn't be scared, but you are.

Another death earns you a few minutes of quiet, though you know the build up to the next one will be worse. The characters cry and fret over the dead body of their friend but the killer is nowhere to be seen, disappearing conveniently into the night. You're granted a scene of daylight but the sun comes and goes, and then the screen turns to dark violets and blues again and you're tensing up in your seat.

It's fine, at first— the pretty blonde girl is yielding a kitchen knife and walking around while her muscled boyfriend boards up the windows of the big house. Lottie shifts where she's sitting on the floor next to Laura Lee's legs and whispers about why they would lock themselves in instead of taking their chances outside, which is 'obviously the smartest thing to do'. You don't have time to process what she's saying because suddenly an ax is clawing its way through one of the windows and the characters are screaming and, well, so are you.

"Fuck!" You curse, jumping and landing yourself halfway into Van's lap, the softness of her thighs under your own, your back against her chest.

Van blinks, more startled by your reaction than the scene itself, her hands coming up to steady you and then immediately dropping back down a second after they brush over the cotton of your shirt. She lets out a shaky breath and does not think about how good your weight feels on top of her, because that would be a bad thought, a questionable thought. And it should not have been the first one to pop into her mind. Definitely not. That would be embarrassing. That would be bad.

You cover your eyes with one hand as the sounds of screaming come to a crescendo and hold one of her hands tightly with the other, mumbling sorry, sorry, sorry as if you're doing something wrong. As if you don't know that, even if you were, Van is incapable of being mad at you. Famously so. Everybody knows.

She looks around the room to the rest of the girls. No one is staring, too busy chewing popcorn and wrinkling their noses at the more gruesome special effects. Van turns her head back to you. A million thoughts rush in, overwhelming and unforgiving. Something about the soft tint of chapstick on your lips, the curve of your nose, the shape of your fingers. Things she's noticed before -Van is often greedy of all your details-, but not in this way, never from this close. She can smell your shampoo from here. Somewhere in the back of her mind, over the scent of honey and strawberries, she wonders if she's going insane.

Your body noticeably relaxes as the violence dissipates, your grasp on her hand loosening slightly. When you uncover your eyes, the final girl is clawing her way through the woods. You're unsure of how she got out of the house, but too comforted by the thought of the movie finally coming to an end to care.

Van is scared to say anything, scared to move— if she does, you might push yourself off of her, ignore her for the rest of the night because you're embarrassed. The thought is ridiculous. You'd never ignore her, you're not that kind of person, but it's what she would do. Except she'd probably never be in this position in the first place, because she'd never be brave enough to throw herself on your lap, even if she was as scared as you were. And that's just it anyway, it's not like you chose to do this. You didn't pick her. You would've found the same comfort in anyone's arms. Right? Van feels you shift closer, just slightly, like you're unaware of it. Right?

Her forehead falls on your shoulder as she thinks herself sick.

"It's scary, right?" You whisper, confusing her crisis for fear. Your fingers wrap around her bicep, soft and absentminded when they brush up and down her skin, trying to make her feel better.

Van feels her stomach flip, her hands twitch. In another world, she would wrap her arms around your waist and press her lips to your ear, mumble something stupid like if you say so, baby just to annoy you. Here, though, all she does is nod her head. She whispers back, "Yeah, it is."

She looks up at the screen, tries to be scared, to be invested. You relax further into her, personal and comfortable as if there's no one in the room but the two of you. Van blinks. She can't give you the name of the girl on the screen. A minute passes and your back straightens suddenly, but you don't rush to slide off her lap. You do it carefully, not because you want to but because you're worried about making her uncomfortable. Van wants to pull you back but she's never faced anything as daunting. She comforts herself with the thought that one day she will, a hungry attempt at manifesting or breaking a mental wishbone or something. For now, she follows you with her eyes and feels her anxiety melt away when you notice her staring and give her a smile. The movie's not yet over. She looks back. Who's the bad guy again?

—

NOW.

Van likes to pretend that she's a better cook than she is. Someone else might find it funny, annoying even, but you can't find it anything but cute. You love telling her that you've run out of food and watch her scoff and puff up her chest.

"I'll make you something out of nothing," she'll say. Then she'll open the fridge and bend at the waist, stare at said nothing for a solid two minutes before resurfacing and declaring that she's craving pizza from the place down the street, anyway, so there's no point in cooking.

At the grocery store the next day, you make sure to buy the essentials for the one pasta recipe that she does actually know how to make. Van likes to feel useful. And you like to indulge her every need, maybe a little too much.

You pick the sweetest looking tomatoes for the sauce, no real expertise behind your method— you're not exactly an amazing chef, either, but the two of you do just fine. Someone calls your name in the middle of bagging the last tomato and you turn to meet a face you had almost forgotten about.

"Katie Lopez?" Van asks again, staring at the folded piece of paper with the almost-stranger's number that you'd gotten without asking (a friendly gesture, you're pretty sure) after a slightly lengthy conversation that carried on even after your multiple anyway, I should probably get going's.

You're telling Van about the encounter while washing the tomatoes in the sink, sleeves rolled up. Your cheeks are warm with kisses like they always are when you make it back to her, as if she wants to reward you for it. You've been hers for so long, and she's still amazed at the fact that you come home to her. "Yes," you repeat. "Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not," she says, flicking the paper where it sits on the counter, kinder than her original need to ball it up or light it on fire or something even more dramatic. She moves to open the cabinet and starts putting away the canned goods you've brought. "I just didn't know you guys were close."

"We're not. She was just being polite."

Van hums. For a moment you think she'll let it go, but of course she won't. She doesn't like the thought of someone flirting with you when she's not there and she especially doesn't like the thought of that someone being Katie fucking Lopez, who's most memorable for fingering girls in the bathroom for most of your shared high school experience.

Van clears her throat and the cabinet closes with a thud louder than she intended, definitely not because she was caught up picturing you under Katie's gaze. She means to sound casual, but she's not trying very hard when she asks, "She ever try to get with you?"

You spare her a single glance, as if to check that she's serious. Of course she is. "What, in high school?" You shake your head, chuckling like the idea is funny. "No. She was more into the cheerleader type."

Van knows that you're right. Still, she squints her eyes at you, ginger hair leaning to one side when she tilts her head. "Is that a hint of resentment that I'm hearing?"

You've gotten good at knowing how to handle her jealousy. It's only fair, considering that she's gotten good at handling yours. Neither are ever that serious. "I was making a neutral observation."

You know she's creeping closer before you feel it. You know her too well. "Yeah?" She mutters, her hands on your hips as she presses herself to your back. Her nose is familiarly cold where it brushes against your neck.

You dry your hands and lean back on instinct, and she doesn't flinch at the added feeling of your weight. Van can be a lot like a brick wall, but you don't usually tell her that, unless you're feeling extra sweet and want her to grin like a cocky little shit for the rest of the day. "You were into that type, too."

Van scoffs, a soft gust of air on your neck. "I was into you," she says.

You hum, purely fucking with her. "Maybe."

"May— what the fuck are you talking about?" She pulls away just enough to prove that she's actually offended. And she is, because the idea is ludicrous and yeah, she's taking it personally. You can question Van about anything you want, except for the fact that she's been in love with you for more than half of her life. "When did you ever see me looking at cheerleaders?" She asks.

You and Van work for a lot of reasons. You work because you're different where it matters, enough to balance each other out, and you work because you're the same in everything else. You might've been just teasing her at first, but now the thought does that stupid thing where it starts to linger and -just like she had thought about you and Katie- you can almost picture it in your head, a younger Van standing on the soccer field, her eyes trailing over a girl's short uniform skirt. You roll your eyes, annoyed mostly at yourself. "Oh, don't act like you wouldn't have loved for them to shout your stupid name."

Van chuckles. She can read your train of thought like a book. She knows you too well. "Stupid name, huh? You're cute when you're jealous." And a little mean, too, but in a way that makes her weak in the knees. She won't be telling you that part. You already know, anyway.

You pull the hands that are wrapped around your waist away from you. Van lets you— she wants to see where this is going. "Not jealous," you mutter.

"No?" She teases, half-heartedly disappointed when you don't turn around to let her kiss you.

You look at her over your shoulder and then make eye contact with the piece of paper on the counter, recalling the words of your old classmate. Call me whenever. We should totally hang out. You're too old to be telling people you should 'totally hang out', but Katie Lopez hasn't changed much from the last time you saw her. You hold back the urge to wrinkle your nose at the memory of that same teenager-trying-to-be-cool smirk that she gave you throughout the whole interaction and hum thoughtfully, like you've been tempted. "Maybe I will call her—" you take one step towards the counter in a half assed attempt to reach for the paper but Van is unusually quick as she strides forward and takes it in her hands, tongue poking into the inside of her cheek as she rips it in two. "Van!" You gasp.

"What? Don't tell me you were actually gonna use it," she pouts. "You're breaking my heart, baby."

You try to take the two pieces away from her and all you earn is her breaking it in four, holding it above your head. You're laughing as you slap her shoulder. "God, you're so stupid."

Van raises her eyebrows, mismatched numbers wrinkled in her hand. She drops them on the counter in favor of cupping your face, pressing a contained short peck to your lips. Don't feel bad, she won't hold back for long. "Stupid like my name?"

"I love your name," you shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love it. Just as long as it's mine to say."

It is yours, but you know that already.

—

THEN.

Van's room smells like the incense you got her. You wonder if she used it just to appease you because she knew you were coming, but it's a silly thought. Van likes you. You know this now. She takes everything you give her (your time, your smiles, your kisses) like it's a precious gift, so you can't imagine that she would neglect an actual gift.

Your grandmother said you should light the incense before a game, to bring you good luck and calm your nerves, and you're not ashamed to admit that you bought Van her own pack the very next day. Everything makes you think about her lately, especially this kind of thing. You're not even sure that the incense works, but why wouldn't you share it with her? She deserves all of it— good luck, a stomach free of nerves, at the very least a nice lingering scent if your grandma's beliefs turn out to be a myth. But you hope they don't.

Your girlfriend is anxious more often than you are, but never really about a game. Van knows that she's good at soccer. She's nervous about other things. Keeping her side of the house clean, being able to afford Sinéad O'Connor tickets, what her mom's mood will be like tomorrow, English assignments but only because she thinks the professor is the coolest guy alive and she wants to impress him even if she won't admit it. And lately, there's another thing. She worries about whether you'll look at her one day and realize that you're too good for her.

You know about some of her anxieties, but clearly not all of them. She can picture your reaction if she were to share the last one with you, how your face would scrunch up and you'd look at her with eyes so loving and so sad. She can almost hear you ask, soft and patient, why would you think that? And she wouldn't know what to say. There's comfort in the fact that the worry is there, but it's not constant. Van only worries about that when you're gone. When you're in front of her, or sitting next to her in class, or talking to her on the phone, it's hard to imagine that you'll ever stop liking her. She takes in your smile, your laughter, your sparkling eyes and she can't think about anything else. You make all of it go away. If you asked her, she would tell you that she thinks the incense works, but only because it came from you.

She can smell it faintly from where she is now, but there are a hundred other things overwhelming her more— the feeling of your legs on either side of her, the sound of your bracelets clinking together when you move your arms to rest them next to her head and cage her in, the sight of you leaning in to kiss her. It's easy to say, she's only been dating you for three months, but Van is sure that she will never get tired of this.

She hums against your lips, something too close to a moan. Her cheeks are red when you pull away, and you're not sure if it was the sound she made or the regretful, kind of embarrassing thing she has to tell you that gave her that reaction. "My mom will be home in, like, five minutes," she says, raspy and breathy.

Her voice distracts you. Your lips are tingling. "Okay," you say, nodding your head even though it takes you another three seconds to actually process what she said.

This is where you sit up, break apart. Neither of you move.

You smile and lean back down to kiss her again, stomach fluttering from the sound of her giggling as you tilt your head back. How are you supposed to stop when she's so fucking— so cute, so handsome, so in love with you. You've never felt so secure of another person's feelings for you before, but it's impossible to doubt Van. She makes you confident, makes sure that you know at all times. Might as well be saying I love you, I love you, I love you between each kiss that she pulls you back into.

It takes everything in you to break away from her, but you have to. "Fuck, okay. I gotta go," you mutter. You have to. You'll see her tomorrow. It should be embarrassing how greedy she makes you.

She watches as you sit up on her lap, your skirt bunched up over the crotch of her jeans. You must notice her looking, because you're laughing like you can read her mind when she huffs and covers her face with her arms, her lips pursed as she suppresses an even more embarrassing sound than the one she made before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you insist, like saying it outloud will make leaving easier. You stand up and brush your hands over your hair, flattening the flyaways. Then you grab your backpack from the floor (don't think about the pretty pin she got you a few days ago, because it'll make you want to kiss her again) and walk over to her window.

You could take your chances with the front door, but you don't want to. Van was afraid that her neighbors would see you and innocently mention it to her mom, say something like oh, I saw that Vanessa's friend came by the other day. Van wishes it could be left at that, but her mom is rarely that simple. She looked so worried as she told you about it, so ashamed. You kissed her cheek and promised yourself you'd get good at climbing.

She comes closer as you climb to the other side, getting your footing on the familiar edge of the wall, and she hisses when you let go of the window railing to reach over and cup her face. You don't have to pull for her to bend down and let you kiss her, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

"Please don't fall," she's saying as you make your way down.

You look up at her and smile, and Van thinks you're so pretty that she misses the mischievousness behind it. "Have a little faith in me— oh, fuck!"

Van flinches, bumping her head on the window with how quick she moves to look down at you. The sound of your laughter makes her realize your hands never left their safe grip. Her shoulders relax. "Oh my God, fuck you," she scoffs, though she's too relieved for it to have any real bite.

"What were you even gonna do?" You ask, still giggling.

She shrugs, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, fucking— grab you or something."

"Your arms are too short to reach me from up there."

"I take offense to that."

"Well, I'm sorry," you sigh, tilting your head. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I better not hear you asking for my short arms to carry you after practice tomorrow," Van huffs, said arms now crossed over her chest.

You look up at her in disbelief, raising your eyebrows. "I have literally never asked you for that, you always offer."

She shifts slightly where she stands, moves her weight from one leg to the other, caught. "Because I can do it," she mutters.

"Yes, I know. You're very strong, baby."

Van rolls her eyes, choosing to believe that you're teasing her because if she believes that you're being genuine she might die.

Your feet hit the ground with a thud. You do a silly curtsy, as if to say ta-da! and Van thinks you're so cute she's certain that she'll die. You give her one last grin and blow her a kiss before sneaking away from her house into the night.

Van goes to bed with her cheeks aching from smiling, her bed smelling of your perfume, and the faint sound of her brain screaming (terrified, celebrating) you are fucked!

—

NOW.

"I wish I'd asked you to prom," your voice is muffled by her sweatshirt, lips partly pressed against her shoulder.

Van snorts, looking down at you. "What?"

"You never went," you explain, and you have that look on your face, like you've been thinking about this for weeks. Like you could cry. Van presses pause on the (admittedly) shitty action film she'd chosen and lets you try to get your thoughts out. "I really wanted you there. You would've liked it."

She lets out a sigh through her nose, a hand coming to rest against your cheek. "I really don't know if that's true, honey," she says honestly.

You straighten your back a little, a tiny frown on your face like you get when you've been challenged. "You would've liked it. You love to dance and the DJ was, like, surprisingly good. And Ms. Dawson actually said yes to a dance with Peter K., even though that was highly inappropriate now that I think about it. But it was funny at the time— and Natalie snuck in a bottle of vodka."

"Yeah?" She asks, awfully endeared even when she's heard the story a million times before. You'd told her all about it the day after prom, your voice groggy and sleepy over the phone. She had felt lame about having missed it, but a thousand times better as soon as she picked up the phone, giggling in her bed like a fool at every detail you gave her.

You wrap your fingers around the hand on your cheek, press a kiss against her palm. "You would've loved it," you say, sounding somehow more convinced than before. "I should've asked you."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I was a dick," you insist. "I was a coward—"

"Hey, no. No," Van sits up from her lazy posture, two thin wrinkles between her eyebrows when she frowns. They look good on her. You remember when they weren't there, and it always makes you a little emotional. "Don't say that. You weren't."

"But I was," you try to reason, stubborn to a fault. "I'm not, like, condemning myself. I'm stating a fact."

Her frown deepens. "Well, I don't like it. And I don't think it's a fact."

You didn't mean for this to turn into an argument, but you're not exactly thinking about that at the moment. It happens— you've let the thought saturate in your brain for too long and now you're stuck thinking that you're right. "Why are you arguing with me right now?" You ask, not being petty but genuinely wanting to know.

Van huffs a frustrated breath. "Because I thought about asking you to prom for years, okay?" She says, crawling with embarrassment. "I told myself I would over and over again and then I fucking didn't. If you were a coward, what does that make me?"

You pause, guilt swirling in your stomach because you realize all at once that you've been poking on a tender bruise you didn't even know existed. "Van," you say softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She sighs, almost a chuckle. She can be so mean to herself, so condescending about her own feelings. You know she's not laughing at you, or disregarding you in any way— it's just what she does when she feels like she's humiliated herself. Especially when you're there to watch, looking at her so kindly when she's certain she deserves none of it. "Yeah, well. That was intentional," she mutters.

You let her look away from you for a moment before you push yourself onto your knees, placing one on each side of her hips. She welcomes you like she always does when you come to sit on her lap now, her hands on your waist and her face falling forward to press kisses over your collarbone. A thoughtless motion, automatic.

"Sweet girl," you hum, guiding her head up with a careful hand, smiling when you meet her eyes. "We should've gone out dancing alone. Would've been way more fun."

Van breathes out a laugh. She wonders if she'll cry, and feels like she could. "Yeah," she agrees.

"I would've said yes, you know. I'm not blaming you for not asking me, I get why you didn't. I really do. But it's important to me that you know that." You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It's pretty, and getting long. In no time she'll be asking you to wash it over the sink and trim it with your fancy hair scissors, like you've been doing since you got back together when you were twenty five after a stupid argument that led to a two years long break. It wasn't a good time for either of you, but you don't regret it. You have the rest of your life to live with her. Still, there will always be things like this— arguments about deep buried shame, fears that might never go away, moments you missed that other high school sweethearts didn't because their worries weren't like yours. It's sad, but not inescapable all the time. You and Van don't blame each other for any of it. But sometimes you need to be reminded of that.

"I know," she nods, her voice in that soft, quiet tone that you love but rarely get with how passionate she is. It's not a hardship, you love that just as much. "I think maybe that's why— why I was so freaked out. Like, if you said yes, it would become real."

You nod and chuckle a little, sweet and airy. "And you'd have to actually start to date me? Yeah, I would be scared," you joke.

Van buries her face in your chest with a groan. "That's all I fucking wanted," she says, feeling too honest to play along like she usually would.

You let her stay there for a while, her nose brushing against the rise and fall of your chest. Wanna be here forever, she'd told you once, with cold fingers sneaking under your shirt, more than a little drunk. You have been making fun of her about it for ages, but it tugs at something different today. It makes you pull her softly with a hand on the back of her neck, just enough to press your lips against hers, not wanting to deny her any of your warmth that she might crave.

Van hums against your lips, moving where you want her when your hands guide her own from your waist down to your hips. You press your chest against hers like you know she likes and she moans into your mouth, a hand moving to press against your back and force you closer.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you," you mumble when she lets you pull apart, speaking close to her ear as you kiss her cheek, lips soft over old acne scars and sunspots.

Van shakes her head. "I don't care," she promises, smiling like she does when she's about to say something corny. "Look at me now," she shrugs, fake humble. "I got the girl in the end."

You laugh against her smirk and kiss her until she's lifting your hips and pushing you down on the couch, your back against the worn pillows, a hand on the back of your head in case you bump it on the arm rest. You like when she moves you around just to show off, reminds you of when you were younger and she'd flex her muscles just because she knew you were looking. She might not be the same type of strong now, but she can still pull out some tricks when she wants to. And with you, Van often wants to.

She tilts her head back when you try to pull her in for another kiss, sighing as she gets comfortable on top of you. She almost gives up the act when you pout at her, blinking your pretty eyes, but instead she leans her weight on one hand next to your head and says, "That is, of course, if she doesn't leave me for Katie Lopez's magic fingers."

Van expects you to roll your eyes, slap her shoulder so she can say ouch! and dramatically rest her hand over the wounded spot. Instead, you slide your hand over hers where it's resting against your hip, intertwining your fingers together and smiling pretty, tilting your head. "Mmh, but I have the best fingers right here."

Van scoffs, playing amused rather than speechless because she's trying not to show you how much your words get to her. It's embarrassing how proud it makes her, how quickly she melts into the palm of your hand when you as much as imply that she's good at something, that you would pick her over everyone else, that you want her like she wants you. Praise from others makes her smile and say thank you, but praise from you reaches her core, makes her dizzy. Her lips feel dry and her tongue pokes out absentmindedly to lick them as you guide her hand up. Van barely registers the movement, too busy watching your face— how beautiful that she gets to see it all the time now, that she knows all the details like you know hers.

Her fingertips come to rest against your lips and her breath stutters as she tries desperately to maintain any sense of coolness or dignity or fucking something while you kiss each one, soft and attentive. She's thinking, is she insane for finding it as thrilling as she does, even after all these years? Do you know what you do to her? You can't possibly know, Van almost decides, but then you part your lips to slide two of her fingers into your mouth and she thinks that you do. You definitely know.

"F—fuck," she breathes out, and tries to remember her original plan to tease you but can't recall your old classmate's name. "You trying to butter me up?" She asks, her chuckle trembling but deep, from the back of her throat.

Her fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and Van groans. You hum, "Is it working?"

You're mean, evil. You're the sweetest thing she's ever seen. Two things can be true at once. You're a dream, and you're not like this for anyone else. The thought echoes through her skull, warm and infectious. Van smirks. "Yeah."

#van palmer x reader #van palmer x female!reader #van x reader #van palmer x you #van palmer fic #yellowjackets fic #yellowjackets x reader

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siriusleee · 8 months

Text

Like Blood on Iron | Part 7

Historical Executioner AU Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

A/N: Two in a week? Who am I? I wrote most of this today, and should have just waited until my regularly scheduled days to post, but I couldn't.

If you like this fic, consider sending a dollar on ko-fi.

You would recognize his silhouette in a hurricane. Wet hair plastered to your forehead and rain dripping in your eyes doesn't disturb the image of him waiting for you down the now mud swamped road. You push your hood off of your head, trying to let him know to come to you, to come speak to you, but instead he turns and disappears into the narrow alleys between the small shops and houses.

You should go inside; you can tell from the twitch of the curtains that someone is watching you - watched Jonathan kiss you on the cheek and walk off. You know whoever it is: Mother, Father, Maggie - they're waiting for you to come inside from the stinking rain that's pelting your skin. They're crowded around the window wondering why you won't move.

You run after him, slipping and sliding in the mud that clings to your skin and coats you in a thin sheen. You can barely make out the edge of his cloak whipping around corners in a seemingly nonsense pattern, always too far away from you for you to catch up. It's not until you emerge at the edge of the village, overlooking the cove that you realize where he's gone.

You slide down the rocks, scraping your shins, your palms, the back of your thighs against the rough rocks as the rain makes them too slick to catch a grip on. Blood mixing with the rain and the mud, you crash into the sand, dress torn to shreds. Just another to end up shoved in the back of the closet where questions can't reach it.

Simon's a black mass against the dark sand, a tornado in his own right as the wind pulls his cloak away from his body, whipping it into terrifying shapes - the monster the rest of the village thinks he is. The mask is gone, for the first time you see him bare outside of the safety of his own home. The cross scar shines pale against the rest of his skin, the moon still bright enough through the clouds to illuminate him.

"Simon!" Your voice is carried away from you by the wind. You don't know if he hears you or knows that you'd follow as he turns toward you.

He doesn't reach out to you, the reflex you've gotten so used to him showing around you as you come to a stop beside him, your own cloak pulling painfully against you in the wind.

"Shouldn't you be inside?"

He speaks so low you're not sure if you actually hear him.

"What?"

"You don't need to be out here in this; you're getting married soon. You don't want to be sick."

His words are like a kick in the stomach - not just the what he's said, but the way he speaks to you. Even from the first time here on the beach, he'd never spoken so flat - so empty to you. There had always been something so uniquely Simon in his voice. But now - this is how he must speak to those knelt down in front of him, waiting for his sword to swing. How he must have sounded to Uncle Henry when he knelt down to whisper to him.

"Simon it wasn't - it was just a kiss on the cheek. It wasn't anything important."

"It should have been more."

The feeling of it all: his words, the cloak tugging at your neck, the rain and mud sticking to your skin, the burning in your palms, it's too much.

"What did you say?"

Simon doesn't look at you as he speaks, his hands held tightly behind his back, eyes watching the waves that crash heavy on the horizon.

"He's going to be your husband. You should have been sneaking off with him - you should have followed him. It's the right thing."

His skin is ice cold where you grab him on the arm, none of his usual warmth bleeding through the dark fabric of his shirt.

"Simon, please don't say that. I don't want -"

"Go home."

"No."

Simon doesn't shake your arm free, doesn't shove you away, but he might as well with the look in his eyes when he finally looks at you. Bright eyes unusually dark, the circles underneath them nearly black.

"Why do you keep coming back? There is so much more for you elsewhere."

You can't breathe, you have to clutch his arm to keep yourself grounded or you think you might let the rain wash you out into the sea. He grabs you, hands warm while the rest of him is freezing.

"We can dream all we want, but I've got nothing for you but a shack in the woods and a life full of being shunned."

"Better that with you than anything with anyone else."

He's heaving beneath your touch, trying to keep himself from unraveling everything that he's packed so small inside. He doesn't want to speak what he's thinking of: you can see it written in the corners of his eyes, in the wrinkles of worry you're not sure you've ever seen before.

"You say that now. But what about when you want a family?" His voice is pained at the thought.

"You are my family."

"This life isn't enough for you, even if you refuse to see it yourself," his grip on you turns bruising - harder than he's ever held you, even when you begged for harder. "I will not be responsible for seeing you suffer in the coming years because you thought you loved me. You told me you wanted to leave and travel - I can't do that with you here."

"I do love you."

You're begging; you will get on your knees to beg if it makes him stop talking to you like this, to stop holding you like he's never going to get the chance to do it ever again. But there's iron in his eyes, and your blood on his skin, and you know that this is it.

He doesn't have to tell you he loves you - not like when he whispered it into your skin or when he would braid your hair into tangles in the early mornings. It rolls off of him as he pushes you back, mouth capturing yours. He tastes like the rain and something bitter, something you've never tasted on him before.

You trip over a divot in the sand, but Simon catches you, pulling you up so that your legs wrap around his waist. He walks the two of you back until you're sheltered by the rocks that form the ledge above.

The rocks dig into your back, but you don't feel them as Simon hitches up your skirts around you. This time it's different - there is no gentleness in the way he takes you; not like all the other times before. The rain covers the two of you, and you know this is the last time. The last time you'll taste him or feel the thick calluses of his fingers on the back of your thigh.

And when the two of you cross the ending together, he doesn't pull out to spill himself anywhere but inside of you. He pushes you harder against the rocks, keeping himself buried inside of you until he can't stay any longer.

You can feel the scratches on your back stinging from the rain, and you hope they never stop - one of the last reminders of Simon you know you're ever going to get.

He doesn't kiss you when he settles you onto the ground, doesn't kiss you as he straightens the tattered and torn edges of your skirt back down, fingers chaste against the soaked and ruined fabric. He doesn't speak as he holds your face in his hands, thumbs brushing the water from your cheeks and you don't know if it's rain or tears, but you're sure he does.

You don't know if it's the rain or the sorrow that stops your feet from working, but Simon, strong as he always has been, carries you home on his back - a caricature of all the times you've been in his arms before. His boot kicking against the front door is thunderous on the darkened street.

Father doesn't ask what's happened when he swings the door open and finds Simon sliding you off of his shoulders; he doesn't ask why your knees buckle or why Mother rushes forward to grab you from Simon, her own hand lingers on Simon's a moment to long before Father whispers a 'thank you' and let's the door slam shut.

You know by the way her hands cradle you that Mother knows what happened out there in the storm. She doesn't let Father touch you, instead pushing him away and calling for Maggie to help carry you up the stairs. Your mother, always so fastidious about cleanliness and the whiteness of the linens, strips you down to your underdress and tucks you into bed, mud and all, burrowing herself beside you, fingers doing their best to push away the fever that threatens to build at your temple.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

You're sick for two weeks, fever burning through your skin. You think at times that the blankets around you must be turning into ash. The people beside your bed flicker in and out: Maggie rearranging the sheets around you, Lily pressing a cold washcloth to your forehead. Jonathan reading something in a book to you, his voice rumbling through the house.

Mother bathing you gently, fingers brushing through your hair, working the tangles out with a comb.

It's Jonathan at your side when you wake, a book in his hands and his boots tapping heavily on the floor beneath him. The sound shoots straight through your skull.

"Will you stop that?"

His hand probes at your temple, fingers taking your temperature. You don't even have it in you to push him off, to tell him to go away. The chair someone placed beside your bed creaks under his weight as he slips off of it, book landing heavily on the floor. He drops to his knees beside you so, eyes scanning your face for any sign of the fever coming back.

"How'd you feel?"

He speaks to you like you're a wounded animal, soft and low. Like you'll run at any moment. but there's nowhere to run this time.

"Like I was trampled by a horse."

His chuckle, just a short breath from his nose, washes over the ache in your muscles.

"I thought you were when I saw you laying here the first time."

He slides his hand beneath the blankets to grab yours, and you let him, welcoming the warmth and roughness against your still frozen skin.

"Did I sleep through our wedding?"

"Unfortunately not. There's still six days for you to be rid of me."

You can't help the hot tears that start to flow from you - Jonathan doesn't ask why as he brushes them away, pulling himself into bed beside you and letting you turn the front of his shirt dark with your own tears.

"I know love. I'm sorry."

But his warmth isn't enough - isn't a replacement for what you're wishing for.

The dress is beautiful, you think as Maggie's fingers lace the back up gently. In the three weeks you were sick you'd lost so much weight that the stays have to be pulled tighter to form the fabric around yourself than originally intended. You want to apologize to her; this should have been her dress - she is the one who wants to get married. The weight of your disappointment grows heavier as Lily works around Maggie, her fingers pinning your hair up deftly with Grandma's pins.

You don't recognize yourself when they step away; the white of the dress sparkling back at you in the wavy mirror, blurring your features as you furiously try to blink back the tears that threaten to ruin the entire thing.

Jonathan had been there every day you'd been sick, but it wasn't the same. You'd wanted to ask him if the dark shroud was outside, if he was there at all. But you couldn't do it. Couldn't bring yourself to know if he wasn't there.

"It's going to be alright," Maggie soothes, fingers running down the fabric of your shoulders. "And you'll still be close - Jonathan asked Father if Lily and I could come stay with you for a while after the two of you return from your trip."

"I'm not sure my husband would appreciate sharing a bed with the three of us."

Maggie's distorted reflection smiles weakly at you in the mirror; you clasp her hand tightly, hoping the sweat doesn't stain the delicate white fabric.

A heavy knock reverberates through the house - you feel it shake the floorboards beneath you.

"I'll get it," Lily says, slipping out of the door, heavy dress swishing around her ankles. You think of her asking you to tighten her dress, of the way she'd smiled at the boy in the market. Soon you'll be getting her ready for her own wedding, and you wonder if she'll consider it a death sentence like you or look forward to it like Maggie.

Her voice is muffled; you try to focus on it as Maggie ducks beneath your bilious skirts to help you slide your shoes on. You teeter on one foot, and she grabs your calf to try to help you from falling. Lily's feet patter up the steps, and she trips through the door, skirt catching on a snag on the floor.

"There's-" she's breathless from rushing up the stairs, "there's someone here to see you."

You know who it is by the way she stumbles over the word 'somebody'.

Maggie's warm hand finishes the lacing on your shoe before she emerges from the cloud of skirts around you, hair disheveled. Lily's still staring at you, the thread of her dress connecting her to the floor, to the house you once so desperately tried to escape from.

Your heart squeezes in your chest; you grip the lace at your wrist hard enough you can feel some of the threads snapping.

You know it's a horrible idea: to see him now. But you push past Maggie and Lilly, tripping on the skirt as you do your best to keep your balance flying down their stairs. The feeling of him courses through your veins as your feet hit the main landing; but the entryway is empty. Your stomach sinks; he must have left, must have -

"You look beautiful."

Simon stares at you from the kitchen doorway; hands clasped behind his back. He's devoid of his usual mask; pale skin exposed to the world. His eyes are dark, the skin around them gaunt and sleep deprived. You long to reach out and grab him, but you keep your hands to yourself. He looks so much like he did that night in the cove. The scratches against your back have healed up, but you can still feel them pulsing just below the surface.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, trying and failing to keep your voice steady.

"I wanted to see you again before I couldn't again."

A thousand wild thoughts course through you: this wouldn't have to end the two of you. You could still see each other, in secret; you would do anything to keep him, but you know what his answer to it would be. How he would shake his head, and tell you it's impossible.

And you know that, despite however you may feel, Jonathan doesn't deserve that level of cruelty, not after nursing you back to life for the past three weeks, not after kneeling at your bedside and brushing away tears he knew didn't belong to him.

"Why today? You could have come to see me days ago."

"I wanted a glimpse into a different life."

It's not sadness that flows through you; the fever burnt that out of you weeks ago. Now it's anger like you've never felt: the anger that you know takes over Mother when she smashes things against the wall in her and Father's room. The anger that takes her over when she makes the walls rattle in her wake.

"This is cruel, and you know it."

Simon has the good graces to not meet your eyes as he shifts, boots covered in a thick layer of dust.

"I know."

"I thought you wanted me to forget you."

In the distance the church bell tolls, timing the hour. The minutes to your wedding tick down, waiting for the sun to fully set before Father comes to get you to escort you there. And Simon in front of you wears down whatever resolve that you had to get yourself there.

"I think I'm too selfish for that."

"I wish you were."

He chews on the inside of his cheek, and you know if you were to kiss him right now, you'd taste the iron of his blood.

"I would still run away with you, if you asked right now."

"We've got nowhere to run to."

"That doesn't bother me."

A sharp staccato of a knock on the door breaks the spell between the two of you. You linger, waiting for Simon to say something else, but the knocking increases, pulling you away from him.

Simon takes advantage of you walking away to try to slip out the backdoor. The small courtyard is covered in leaves, they crunch heavily beneath his booted feet. The sound of the door opening back up behind him pulls his attention away from the path home.

He doesn't turn to look back, but he cowardly hopes it's your voice that calls out to him from the doorway. But it's not.

"You're just going to run away? You're not even going to fight for her?"

Maggie stares at him from the shut doorway, all acerbic and sharp edges - the opposite of you. Simon feels like the look in eyes is enough to set him on fire from shame.

"She deserves better than me; better than a life on the run."

"Who are you to decide what my sister deserves?"

She walks quickly, heels sharp against the cobblestones. Simon thinks she's going to hit him. He would deserve it; he can tell by the way her fingers curl that it would hurt.

"My sister," Maggie says, nearly whispering at him in the biting air, "could do worse than Jonathan. I had to beg my father and mother to not marry her off to some of the men they had in mind. But she deserves more than just being someone's wife for the rest of her life."

She cuts Simon off sharply when he tries to speak.

"My sister would run to the farthest edges of the earth to be with you - to see the world with you."

She leaves him there, the wind cutting through him, slamming the door shut hard enough behind her to rattle the windows and the wood.

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythot, @hearts4sky, @crystallizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0t3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild, @crowsjourney, @c0pernicus, @wistfullyhypomanic, @arbesa-mind, @ray-rook, @daisyfrubies, @september-22-1996

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #my fics #ghost cod #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mwii #like blood on iron

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hiwelcometothemonstersancturary · 1 month

Note

So, did Smilling Critters really die out here? Wouldn't there be some kind of way for them to still be alive, or for the prototype to revive them? It's because I would like to see them here in your AU, mainly I would like to see CatNap apologize to them and have an emotional meeting with all of them.

(besides, you have a great AU, I loved it the first time it was posted :D)

AAAAAAAAA, thank you so much!!! I'm glad you like my AU!

I have been going on and off about letting the other Smiling Critters have a permanent death in my AU or not, but I think that for the "main version" of the AU they will be gone. Permanent type of gone.

In my own headcanons, PickyPiggy ate the remains of CraftyCorn, Bubba Bubbaphant and KickinChicken. I still don't know if I prefer her to have been so hungry she ended up turning on her friends, or if an accident happened and she was so hungry she ate their bodies. Either way, she also tried to attack Bobby, with Hoppy and Dogday stopping it from happening and leaving her behind. Hoppy died during an accident while the trio was running from Catnap, and Bobby died soon after. Again, I don't know how she died: Either a broken heart from losing so many of her friends, or from a critical injury from trying to save Dogday.

I think most of their bodies if not all of them were claimed by the Prototype, so in theory they could be brought back. In practice, however, all of this started because Elliot Ludwig couldn't accept the fact his daughter would be gone and desperately wanted her to have a chance to live. Angel and Prototype both know Dogday and Catnap miss their friends, and the duo's ever-increasing guilt is only going to get worse as they process their trauma, but bringing their friends back from the dead is not the way to do it. Deep down Angel wants to try that, but they can't and shouldn't. And it hurts, yes, but they can't allow the cycle to continue.

... ON THE OTHER HAND. Good God do I wish I could bring these dumb critters back from the dead, or at least make it so that Catnap trapped everyone/sent them to the Playtime Co's equivalent of the shadowrealm or maximum security prison, and Angel has to save them and stitch them back together during chapter 4. OR, EVEN, everyone discovering the other critters were still alive when the authorities go in to investigate the factory and find them very malnourished, but still alive.

IN MY OPINION Picky would have a hard time eating, thanks to her trying to eat her own friends. She goes vegan because even the smell of meat makes her stomach curl, and she decides to try gardening around the isolated house. She can't look most of the other toys in the face due to trauma, but she's trying so hard.

Kickin picked beef with both Mommy Long Legs and Kissy Missy. MLL finds him to be a sort of "annoying little brother", and Kissy is always making an >:( expression with some of the things Kickin tries to do. His way of coping is via trying to fill himself with hobbies. He gets diagnosed with ADHD and surprises no one.

Bobby has abandonment issues, becomes Long Legs' and Kissy's best friend, and now they NEVER leave each other's side. Bobby tries romance books and movies, only to realize what really soothes her anxious mind is, ironically, horror. And Doom. Lots of Doom. She also takes responsibility in helping take care of the younger toys, and I think she's also the first to fully accept Catnap's apologies. She hugs him and he becomes close to crying, then she starts sobbing and they're both hugging each other and crying. Her right arm needs extensive treatment due to her getting it badly injured, though.

Craftycorn has a 50/50 chance of becoming an Youtuber or influencer and no one can't change my mind, girl is the queen of MySpace /j. But being serious, she, much like Bobby, has abandonment issues, but is also TERRIFIED of the dark thanks to Playtime. It also takes her a long time to go back into drawing, and an even longer time to pick up any red pencils. It reminds her of blood. This however does end with her finding out drawing horrifying creatures helps her cope with her anxiety! Second to forgive Catnap and acquires an habit of making outfits and trinkets for the other toys. Also she has to wear braces on her hands and is always grumpy when her hands (hooves?) start hurting.

Bubba... My baby. My poorest boy. Mentally speaking, he seems to be the most well-adjusted, until he finds out he keeps forgetting what he reads or studies. He tries to play it cool, to be a helping hand to poor Dogday and Angel, tries to learn everything from the other toys so he can start making plans on what he wants to do for this future, but he just. Can't think about a future. And a few months later it's 3AM and he can't stop crying and chewing on his own pillows, and he feels awful and he keeps forgetting things and why does every little thing bothers him SO much, his recovery has been going so well, why is it happening? And then the flashbacks happen, and oooh boy, he does NOT escape the PTSD and burnout diagnosis. Much like Craftycorn he's extremely grumpy about his symptons, but Bobby and Crafty are trying to help him be kinder to himself.

Hoppy would probably need at least an year or two to physically recover from her injuries. She hates the fact her legs got so badly hurt during her time at Playco, and for the first few weeks she's grumpy, very easily startled, and very mean to others. It takes her the longest to even look at Catnap without wanting to murder him. Catnap sometimes wishes she had never started to forgive him, because now the only one left to forgive him is himself. Also I think Hoppy is the second one hit with the ADHD diagnosis, surprising no one.

Also. Ahem. All of them are besties with Miss Delight, who helps some of them try to understand Catnap more. Our big feline is constantly worrying about hurting his friends again and his guilt is eating him from the INSIDE OUT, but at least Dogday is there to help him. Speaking of which!

Don't tell anyone but Dogday has been smoking and drinking. He's 21, tired, and therapy is a long process. He thinks he's hiding well from everyone else (he can't be a bad example to them!) until, again, 3AM hits and he sees Mommy Long Legs smoking and Catnap coming back from the Prototype's barn smelling like alcohol. So all three of them stare at each other like "...", until they hear something falling down inside.

Surprise surprise, it's a drunk Angel.

THANKFULLY. These bad habits will eventually go away as, again, they recover from the trauma and start finding healthier coping mechanisms. But until then everything is MESSYYYYYY

... Okay now I'm once again reconsidering the idea of bringing them back from the dead or not rip-

#poppy playtime #dogday #catnap #the smiling critters #smiling critters #bobby bearhug #picky piggy #craftycorn #hoppy hopscotch #bubba bubbaphant #save everyone au #poppy worldwide #mommy long legs #miss delight #kissy missy #also FOR ME poppy doesnt smoke nor drink but no one can leave her close to any bottle of wine bc she WILL drink wine #she cant get drunk but she loves wine

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vampirenigh · 11 months

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Envy is useless

Sumarry: Someone talks bad about you in they're presence.

Characters: Diluc, Albedo, Aether.

Warnings: Just some bad words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Masterlist

Diluc

🔥He was at the tavern when this happened. And with you at that. He was making some orders while you were keeping him company.

🔥In the meantime a man who had drank 3 or 4 glasses of wine at a table nearby started talking wery loudly so Diluc and you could hear him clearly even if you didn't want to.

🔥Diluc couldn't believe what he heard. Did that guy just call his Love a "useless thing"? At HIS TAVERN at that. He couldn't keep his cool so he was about to go after him and kick him out.

🔥But you stopped him. Why did you stop him? He talks bad about you.

🔥But even you can't stop him. He dodges you and goes straight at that guy and grabs him by the collar.

🔥"What do you think you are saying about my lover in MY TAVERN to be more exact?"

🔥The man was very terrified about the situation end couldn't even form a sentence without stutering.

🔥But Diluc kicked him out before he could even say a world and sayd to the entire tavern. "Whoever talk bad about my lover will have the same fate like the man who was just kicked out by me."

🔥After that he goes back to his post like nothing happened and doesn't say anything about it till the closing time when you and him are alone.

"Don't let anybody tell you that you are anything but perfect. No one can judge you because they don't know you the way I do. Now let's go home and get some rest. It was a long day my love."

Albedo

⚜️He just got back from his lab in the mountains for a few reports that were due today for a very important research. And to his luck he saw you and you offered to accompany him because you were bored.

⚜️But what surprises him is the things that he heard a group of women say about you. Did he hear it wrong? He must be. They couldn't say that about you. Right? That you were with him just because he was the Chief Alchemist and for the fame.

⚜️He knows that is not true and that you love him because he is Albedo not the Chief Alchemist. And by the time he ends his line of thoughts he hears one of the women say that you were just a slut. He sure heard that wrong but by the way you just froze up and look at the ground he knows that he heard it right.

⚜️So he goes to the group of women on which he had his attention for some time now without saying a word to you leaving you to just look after him.

⚜️"Excuse me ladys but I heard without my intention about what you were talking about." At that the ladys froze up. "I am here to resolve this misunderstanding. For all of you to know me and Y/n are very happy together and she isn't with me just for my title. And she is a rare flower not a slut. I hope I made myself clear. Now please excuse me I have important work to do."

⚜️With that Albedo came back to you leaving the ladys to stay in their own embarrassment and resumed his way.

"Never let people like that tell things about you that are not true. You need to tell those type of persons the truth because they are too stupid to understand simple concepts like the fact that we two love each other Darling."

Aether

🎐He and you just got back from doing some commissions for some people who really needed help.

🎐And he sure wasn't ready for the things that he heard the guardians talking about. They were talking about you.

🎐How could they say that you were there just for the fame and that you don't love him? At those you and Paimon needed to hold him and tell him that it's alright and that you don't care till one of the guards say that you are a mistake and that you shouldn't be born. At that you freeze and a tear stained your cheek.

🎐At that Aether couldn't hold himself back and went to the two guards to talk to them.

🎐"Hey you two! How dare you say such disrespectful things about someone?! Is this the way a knight should do his job?! I will tell Jean about everything that you guys are doing. And that means nothing at all. All that you do is talk shit about people and walk and do nothing at all while I do all of your work!"

🎐At this the guards froze up and flinched and then ran off who knows where while Aether goes back to you.

🎐He will try to comfort you and cheer you up.

"Don't put what they say to heart. They are just some useless knights! You are perfect and a blessing upon the earth! I love you and I will not stop for anything in the entire world! "

Btw. The knights were punished.

#genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #albedo #aether #diluc x reader #diluc x you #albedo x reader #albedo x you #albedo x y/n #diluc x y/n #aether x reader #aether x you #aether x y/n

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radicalrainbow · 5 months

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Another possible problem.

I was hesitant to come forward with this, as I'm not one to make these types of posts nor want to risk my own reputation. From what I know, I am the only one to experience this from this individual.

Foxy Pheonix. Author of In Spite Of You.

In a late interaction, at the time I was an artist for her that helped respond to asks on her blog. A situation led me to leave her discord server for my own comfort, which if I'm clear, is stated in the screenshots below.

Foxy overstepped my boundaries in an attempt to know the truth, trying to push me to do so when I blatantly said I was uncomfortable talking anymore. She came off as stated, Harsh. Yes, I may have overreacted in certain parts, but I took the step to protect myself as best I could as someone more closed off from confrontation.

She was crossing my boundaries, even when I wanted to stop the conversation. It only got worse, this is all I'm showing as a friend of mine is not comfortable being revealed and won't/shouldn't be. I looked up to Foxy, and I'm sure she knew that.

I'm terrified to get any backlash, especially from Foxy herself. But this, this I needed to address now. I don't want anyone else to go through the same thing.

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sevikasangel · 1 year

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ﾐ☁︎ ❝ 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞: 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚

— contains: f!reader, sfw and nsfw content, possessiveness, gaslighting, girlbossing, gatekeeping, light blood mentions, manipulation, kidnapping, light bondage, mistress, pet play, stockholm complex.

— a/n: my first post of my wife! i love carmilla so much ughhh. also, this is the first post of my new upcoming event to celebrate 1k of us!

₊˚✧ ₊˚੭ 𝐬𝐟𝐰 ‧₊˚✧ ₊˚੭

♡ carmilla's obsession would begin when she firstly laid her eyes on your terrified, shaky form. you were a helpless, small little human being surrounded by Bloodthirsty vampires who apparently hadn't had anything but pigs as meals for ages.

❀ "well, well...what do we have here? hmm, i see...a pathetic little nothing of a girl...brought to get her blood drained by us, vampires...just like humans are meant to."

♡ elegant, slender hands comes up to cradle your face and the vampiress leans in to sniff your neck. you whimper at the sound of her quiet, nonchalant chuckle.

❀ "this one's the finest human i've seen, doesn't look so disgusting to me. how can you still be beautiful...have little useless accessories, well presenting clothes, soft hair...when your species is being slaughtered in war? is it really that important to you to show off, little human?"

♡ there was a hint of possessiveness on her tone. the thought of your own race laying eyes on such a fine specimen made carmilla's skin itch. inferior animals shouldn't have the right to have you. a perfect pet.

❀ "so beautiful this little pet is, eh? this one's mine. find something else to feast on."

♡ carmilla decided to take you with herself. you didn't know if you should consider her your saviour, since her true intentions seemed to be slavering you. the first thing she did was stripping you from your clothes and into a white, short dress with nothing beneath. she claimed it'd be for easier access when she needed. then she collared you with a chain choker, a little hook that would be used when a leash needed to be attached.

❀ "do not hide yourself from me. your body is mine to see and touch as i please. you are my pet from now on. you do as i say, when i say. and do not forget...because i hate repeating myself."

♡ carmilla would constantly drink from your blood. it was never enough to kill you, though enough to make you dizzy and light headed. however, if she was punishing you for disobeying, she'd do it until you pass out, causing you to be terrified that she was actually going to murder you.

♡ you are her darling. she is completely obsessed with you. perfect, perfect little pet...she would not allow you outside on your own, or around anybody else if she wasn't present. during meetings, she'd have you perfectly seated on the floor besides her chair with your leash in her hand.

♡ if another vampire ever attempted to drink from you or cause you harm, she would gruesomely kill them. you are hers. she's the only one who is ever allowed to hurt you. attacking you is a direct offence at the queen.

♡ she'd constantly be stalking you through the shadows in the palace. you'd feel her eyes on your preventing you from misbehaving. she's obsessed with her pet in the sickest way possible.

♡ carmilla would always talk about the cruelty and dangers of the world, ruining any ideas and hopes of escaping you had. with a hand to your hair and the other holding your throat, she'd look into your eyes and talk about how safe you are, and how grateful you should be for the protection and care of your mistress.

❀ "little pet...you know the world would lacerate you into pieces, don't you? such a fragile thing you are. you are so lucky you have a kind mistress to yourself...see, you owe me your loyalty and undying, everlasting love. i keep you safe, i give you everything you need. i would haaate it if you made me hurt you. if you aren't mine, you aren't anybody else's."

‧₊˚✧ ₊˚੭ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 ‧₊˚✧ ₊˚੭

♡ carmilla is a top. she isn't ever going to be a bottom ever. she has this need to be in absolute control of you, in every way possible.

♡ definitely a hard, strict dom who will demand discipline and obedience from her submissive little human. she doesn't tolerate bratty behaviour at all.

♡ the only time you decided to be a brat, carmilla made you regret it profusely. she had you completely tied up in a tight hogtie position with all your holes filled, nipple clamps on your nipples as she flogged your back and ass.

❀ "little pet desires to act like a savage...you wanted to get on my nerves, didn't you? i will make you regret it. cry all you want, i don't care. your pathetic self needs to be put in its place. i am your mistress! you are a little human who owes me your soul. you are all mine to do as i please!"

♡ definitely has a blood kink. she loves drinking from your blood while her cold fingers toy with your clit and push into your dripping hole. you feel ashamed of yourself out of how much you enjoy this.

♡ carmilla likes tugging on your leash while she takes you from behind with her strap. her face always has the same small smirk and evil eyes.

❀ "aren't you embarassed, pet? you should be...can you hear how wet and sloppy your pussy is for your captor? this makes your mistress very pleased, my dirty little pet human."

♡ carmilla makes you straddle her foot, completely naked while she's at her office. she commands you to make yourself cum and not dare stop while she finished her paperwork, her free hand stroking your hair as she throws a praise here and there like you're an obedient pup.

♡ if she is feeling generous and you earn it, carmilla will let you eat her out. she will be sitting on the edge of the bed with you on your knees between her thighs. your hands are tied behind your back as she doesn't allow you to touch her. her grip on your hair is tight and she tugs on it, riding your face however she pleases. her moans are breathy and quiet. even like this, the queen doesn't lose her posture.

❀ "that's it, pet. please your mistress...hmmm...you're the best toy i've ever had...ugh...i will let you taste my cum as a reward...good pet...good pet..."

♡ carmilla always gives you aftercare following rough sessions. she'd prepare a hot bath for the both of you. the vampiress allows you to rest your head on her chest while you're both inside and she scrubs your body until it's relaxed and clean.

#yandere coffee #yandere x reader #female yandere #carmilla x reader #carmilla x you #castlevania #castlevania carmilla #lesbian #wlw #yandere headcanons #castlevania headcanons

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