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a-d-nox · 3 months ago

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astro hypothesis: how your appearance changes

using your asc persona chart you can find out how your appearance will change (or has changed). there are four things i personally would look at when it comes to change: pluto (this change is like a finalized change - when it happens thats it, that's how it is rather permanently), saturn (change that would happen as time passes (aging)), uranus (sudden change or how something evolves with time (kind of like trends you adhere to)), and the 8h (how you transform - what you transform into).

saturn

10h saturn: often these people age more gracefully than most. or they could look more attractive as they age (aging like "fine wine"). they tend to look more mature than their peers no matter what age, but as they grow older, they have a strong energy which causes others to look to them for answers. as they get older, they tend to prefer classic and conservative clothes - that makes them look very professional. as the baby fat goes away the cheekbones and jawline come out to play! they get more chiseled (bone-wise) with age. they also appear to have a great health routine that keeps them sharp (diet, exercise, skin care routine, etc). lines and wrinkles are real with this placement - "keep making those faces and they'll stick" is true for this person because they do tend to furrow their brow or something of the sort that cases lines.

saturn positively aspecting sun: creative yet refined. they may develop a more sophisticated and polished appearance. they might be drawn to timeless, elegant fashion choices that convey a sense of maturity and grace, blending classic styles with a creative touch. they have a confident maturity in how they present themselves. they have a more authoritative or composed demeanor, which gives them a look that commands respect without being overly stern. they might be more meticulous about their appearance with this placement (lint rollers, no loose strings, etc). otherwise meaning they could pay extra attention to grooming, how clothing fits, and overall presentation, ensuring that everything is well put together and thoughtfully considered. there’s often an acceptance of the aging process with this placement. they tend to embrace a natural/graceful aging process; they aren't fighting against the signs of age.

saturn negatively aspecting uranus: lead to a push-pull dynamic in their appearance, where they alternate between more conventional looks and bold, unconventional styles. they might experiment with their appearance in ways that break from their usual habits, only to later revert to something more conservative. they might feel prompted to make abrupt changes to their appearance - like a drastic haircut, a new fashion style, or even experimenting with tattoos/piercings. these changes might come on impulsively. there might be tension between wanting to fit in and wanting to stand out. which might lead to an appearance that blends both traditional and avant-garde elements. they might adopt a classic wardrobe but accessorize with bold, statement pieces. this aspect could lead to stress, which might impact their appearance. they could experience issues like changes in their skin, weight fluctuations, or have a generally more tense/restless demeanor. either they will have a modern twist on classic styles or a more refined approach to edgy fashion.

saturn negatively aspecting asc: these people might adopt a more serious or reserved look. this could involve dressing more conservatively, choosing muted colors, or adopting a more professional style to reflect a sense of responsibility or authority. saturn’s influence can oftentimes lead to a more toned or slimmed-down appearance due to its association with restriction. they might find themselves more focused on physical fitness or, conversely, they might experience challenges related to their physical body, such as feeling more self-conscious or critical of their appearance. again this placement could mean developing fine lines, gray hairs, or other signs of aging, or it could simply mean adopting a style that feels more appropriate for their current stage of life (you won't find someone with this placement in their 30s wear jeans that are distressed for example). they might notice a sharpening or more defined look to their facial features, such as prominent cheekbones or a more angular jawline. their sense of burden or stress can often be reflected in their appearance. this might manifest as looking more tired or worn, or simply carrying themselves with a heavier demeanor.

uranus

6h uranus: they might frequently change they style or fashion choices on a whim (they are very susceptible to trends - especially with exercise and diet). they might frequently experiment with new looks, hairstyles, or clothing. they are drawn to unique or non-traditional styles that set them apart from the norm. unexpected changes related to health / wellness routines might impact their appearance. that being said adopting a new fitness regimes or dietary habits could result in sudden physical transformations (for example, they could go sugar free and suddenly see a lot of differences in their skin). their approach to grooming / personal care might be erratic or unconventional (for example, they might grow underarm hair and suddenly turn to waxing). they could go through phases of extreme minimalism or elaborate grooming routines.

uranus positively aspecting mars: they might develop an edgy, bold, and uniquely theirs type of appearance. they could be drawn to fashion choices that are innovative, slightly ahead of the curve, or even "futuristic". they sense a trend before others do. they come to have a vibrant, dynamic presence that others notice. their appearance might exude a sense of vitality and excitement - they often use bright colors, bold patterns, or statement accessories that convey their energetic nature. they are more willing to experiment with their physical appearance as well. they could be drawn to trying out new hairstyles, bold makeup looks, etc. their approach to their appearance may be highly individualistic and creatively inspired - its truly theirs. there are subtle but impactful changes in their appearance. they might make small tweaks to their appearance that have a big effect, such as altering their grooming routine, trying out new workout regimens, or gradually refining their style in ways that enhance their overall look. they are more comfortable expressing their individuality through their appearance they really any other placement. they embrace their "quirks" and standing out in a way that feels both authentic and empowered. they might be drawn to a more athletic or streamlined looks given mars. this could manifest as clothing that is both functional and stylish.

uranus negatively aspecting asc: they might feel a strong urge to drastically change their appearance, often in unexpected ways. this could mean experimenting with bold new fashion choices, trying out unconventional hairstyles (that doesn't usually work for them - no hate), or adopting a completely new look that breaks from their past style. they may choose to reject traditional or societal norms in favor of a more unique, individualistic appearance OR they could be conformist and dislike standing out. their appearance is often dynamic and ever-changing. it is likely difficult for them to stick to one style or look for too long (they have to continually rotate their closet). their appearance might either naturally draw attention, whether intentional or not, or they might blend in to the point of disappearing. this could be due to the boldness of their choices or the sheer unpredictability of their style. they are someone who is constantly evolving and never quite the same. they have a strong sense of personal freedom in how they express themselves usually it is apparent in through how they appear.

pluto

4h pluto: often the realization of who they are and who they are connected to triggered their change in appearance. it's often in the eyes, one day they can be happy with a twinkle in their eye then the next its like the light has gone out. they have seen some sh!t and it shows. their resilience and strength radiates right off of them. while they typically look unchanged since youth their aura changes and others sense the change and often feel drawn to them. they could also go from a colorful wardrobe to a dark and edgy one - it's very obvious when they start buying their own clothes and their parents stop doing so. they could also have scars (physical or mental) that date back to childhood that have changed their appearance.

pluto negatively aspecting sun: they might go through a period of intense personal change, which could lead them to alter their appearance to reflect their new sense of self. this could manifest as a dramatic change in style, grooming habits, and/or physical fitness. they might adopt a more powerful or assertive appearance—perhaps choosing darker colors, more dramatic makeup, and/or a bolder fashion style. they might seek to control their appearance in a more meticulous manner, perhaps becoming more concerned with how they are perceived and making deliberate changes to project strength and/or confidence than they feel. stress or emotional upheaval associated with these aspects could potentially affect their physical appearance (they might experience changes in weight, skin, and/or hair due to the emotional intensity of this placement).

pluto positively aspecting mercury: people might see them as more mysterious or profound. these aspects can enhance their ability to uncover hidden truths and understand complex subjects through their powerful abilities to perceive, which might give them a more intense or focused demeanor. they might undergo a transformation in how they think or speak, which could lead to a shift in their overall presence. this might not change their physical appearance but can alter how others perceive them.

pluto positively aspecting venus: they may exude a more powerful, magnetic charm. people could be drawn to them more intensely, perceiving them as mysterious and alluring. they may feel a stronger desire to refine their style, perhaps opting for more sophistication, elegance, or even slightly provocative clothing that reflects a deeper part of their personality. this aspect can inspire them to make changes to their physical appearance, such as trying a new hairstyle, makeup look, and/or even undergoing a more significant transformation like a new fitness regimen. the changes they make are likely to enhance their attractiveness in a way that feels natural and empowering. as their inner confidence grows due to the harmonious energy of a positive aspect, it may naturally reflect in how they carry themselves, making them appear more self-assured and poised.

8h pisces: their eyes/vision maybe change dramatically over time. they appear deep, reflective, or distant. their face gets softer, more rounded - which can give the face a gentle, compassionate appearance. this softness can also manifest in terms of their skin (it can be smooth or delicate in texture). they seem to glide rather than walking, even in old age they tend to move smoothly (not to be morbid but like a ghost). they also give off a subtle magnetism that draws people in over time. this attraction is not necessarily overt rather it is more of a quiet, mysterious allure that makes people want to know more about them.

8h ruler in the 6h: they may experience changes in their appearance through their daily routines. this could include adopting new health and/or fitness regimes that significantly alter their physical body over time, such as weight loss, muscle gain, and/or improved skin condition due to better nutrition or skincare practices. it can obviously go the other way if they aren't making the effort to improve their routines. there’s a strong focus on health. they might become more conscious of how their lifestyle affects their appearance; leading to changes in diet, exercise, and/or sleep habits. this placement can make them more disciplined about maintaining their health, which in turn enhances their physical appearance. this could make a person dedicated or even obsessive with their focus on self-care routines. they might engage in regular detoxes, intensive skincare routines, and/or other practices aimed at regenerating or improving their physical appearance. on the other hand, their appearance might be influenced by their professional environment. this could mean adopting a more polished or practical look that fits their job’s requirements. alternatively, stress or demands from work could impact their appearance, perhaps leading to noticeable changes like dark circles, weight fluctuation (from low activity at a desk job OR cortisol level), and/or tension lines. they might adopt an appearance that is understated yet intriguing, or perhaps there’s something about their look that others find compelling or enigmatic, even if they maintain a relatively simple style. they are equally likely to go through phases of transformation where their appearance changes significantly - perhaps after overcoming a health issue and/or making a major lifestyle change.

8h ruler in the 10h: their appearance could become more refined, serious, or polished to convey a sense of strength and professionalism, especially in a career context. they may experience significant changes in their public persona and appearance over time. this could involve a complete makeover or a shift in style to reflect changes in their career/public role. they might reinvent their look to align with a new phase in their professional life. they might be drawn to darker, more sophisticated clothing, or they could develop a look that is intriguing and slightly enigmatic, which draws people’s attention in professional and public settings. their career might demand a certain level of formality and/or authority in their appearance. they may consciously cultivate a look that commands respect and reflects their ambitions. this could include dressing in a way that aligns with their professional goals, such as adopting a more corporate, polished, and/or tailored style. the way they look could become a key part of how they are known publicly. they might carefully curate their appearance to ensure it aligns with the image they wish to project professionally. this could involve regular updates to their style to stay relevant or to reflect changes in their career trajectory.

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grandisknight · 2 months ago

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dots and dashes | sylus

summary: Sylus gives insight into one of the many languages he's well-versed in.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, afab!reader, banter, morse code, vibrator, sex toys, orgasm edging, f!orgasm, aftercare/morning after, gift giving, evol abilites (sylus' energy manipulation), a pinch of fluff

wc: 2.6k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: mildly inspired by one of his older text messages (affinity 37’s text message: deal)! also around his pre-debut, he had morse code in one of the teasers (official weibo post here) and i thought that was pretty neat so here we are ^_^)7

The leader of Onychinus kept a plethora of languages stored away under his sleeve. A man of multiple tongues and talents, you just wanted to know how to say one thing—anything, really.

Though, you didn’t think he’d take a silly comment in passing so seriously, and it landed you in his personal study the following evening. A rare day where your schedules aligned, Sylus took the opportunity to extend a warm welcome into the N109 Zone under the promise of a ‘lesson.’

Of all the languages, morse code was what he decided to reveal in his cards. A curious choice, to say the least, but it piqued your interest nevertheless. Cozied in one of the cushioned chairs, a beginner’s guide laid flat across the desk with your scribbled notes. Sylus’ chair was tucked to the side in observation, accompanying your lessons as a stand-in teacher of sorts.

Time passed in this way—he would offer a series of taps and drags with his fingers against the surface, and you would write them down. He was patient with you all throughout, solidifying the foundation for the alphabet before switching to small words and phrases.

A question that had been plaguing your mind since you arrived drifted into the air during a self-proclaimed break. “By the way, why do you know morse code?”

With a hand propping your chin, your gaze takes in his relaxed figure. Comfortably dressed in his light gray sweater, the detailed threads of silver patterns painted him in a softer aura that juxtaposed his usually formidable appearance. Rimless glass coveted the rubied gaze that would occasionally meet yours, though occupied in thought.

It was distracting, to say the least. A handsome distraction at its finest, though it doesn’t pull away from the message he quietly relayed to you.

A dot, two dashes. A series of dashes, another dot and some more followed. (.-- / --- / .-. / -.-)

Counting off the units that met the table in muted taps, you answer, “Work?”

“Good ear, sweetie.” Sylus nods, leaning back and adjusting the thin frames balancing atop his nose. “Sometimes, negotiations are better said without words.”

“That’s a thinly veiled way of saying threats, but sure,” you retort. He doesn’t deny your claims, rather letting out a small chuckle in acquiesce.

Sylus taps your forehead with his forefinger, amusement quirked in his brow. “You’ve seen the kind of talks and people I’ve dealt with. Who knows, you could use this in one of your little undercover missions too.”

His hands return to nestle in his lap, and it catches your eye then—a faint snap and swirl of black manifested into a box underneath his palm. Perfectly fitted and nearly hidden if it weren’t for the glimmering trim around the edges, and the fluttering crow feather swaying towards the floor.

“Curious, are we?” Sylus voices your thoughts, fingers drumming against the lid.

Two dashes and a dot, a couple more dots, another dash-dot and lasting dash. (--. / .. / ..-. / -)

“Gift,” you echo upon realization.

Your eyes wandered between his lap and the sparkling rubied gaze that honed his presence, reading between the lines. “Don’t tell me it’s another gun? Last time I checked, my Harrier 700 still works well.”

And the last thing you wanted to deal with was a run-in with customs, if that were the case—he’s already tried his luck before, and you weren’t counting on his luck index to grant a second chance.

“You’ve been taking good care of it, so there’s no need for a replacement,” Sylus says. He leans back, tapping a forefinger to his temple in thought. “I thought it would be nice to get you something for studying so diligently.”

It had your back straightening in attention—now you really had no idea what he could be hiding. Even so, a scowl sketched onto your face, wondering if you’ve walked into a trap. A dry chuckle parts his lips at your clear interest and adamant attempt to maintain a façade all the same.

“Sweetie, it’s all yours.”

“It’s not that simple though, is it?”

“Ah. You know me so well,” he muses. “As vigilant as ever.”

The box finds itself on the desk and his hands reach for your chair. They dance over the armrest before turning your full front towards him—where his cocked head and curled lips asked, “Let’s make a deal. How does that sound?”

“What’s the catch?” Your heart jumped into your throat, unsure of when the air became so… palpable. Damn him and his ridiculously handsome face, you couldn’t tell if it made this more bearable or stirred your senses further. “I might be willing to wager.”

“Relax, that’s one of the conditions.” His larger fingers swipe over one of yours, which had subconsciously curled into a fist. Gently, he coaxes your hand to open into his, soon neatly slotted and all encompassing with warmth. “You look nervous, and I haven’t done a thing.”

“I know.” Your shoulders relax when his thumb massages yours in a light stroke. “But you haven’t done anything yet,” you clarify.

“Which brings me to my second condition.” He brings it closer to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours when he presses a kiss to your knuckles. “A test, if you will. You pass if you manage to decode my sequence correctly.”

“My sequence,” you pause, catching the tail end of his proposal. “So there’s only one?”

“Why, do you want a whole pop quiz?” He snickers, a brow raised. “We’ll be stuck here all night if that’s the case.”

“Nevermind,” you shake your head, finding the prospect to be less than charming. One was more than enough to take on your plate.

You purse your lips then and poke in jest. “Are you doubting my academic prowess now?”

“I would’ve dismissed you entirely if I was,” Sylus points out, tugging your hand towards him.

It jerked you forward unexpectedly, though it seemed he was anticipating this—smooth swirls of red and black tangled around your body, gently placing you atop his expecting lap before softly dispersing. “There’s no doubt in my mind you’re as bright as they come,” he adds in honesty.

“What the—hey, now!” A flush ran across your cheeks at the newfound proximity.

Hips hovering above him, you nearly fell onto the fine meeting place between his thighs. You save yourself the embarrassment, reaching for the chair’s headrest to steady your shift. He allows you this much, your legs soon bracketing his own and enjoying the sight all the same.

You huffed, “Is this part necessary?”

“Par for the course, actually.” Sylus’ fingers ghost over your sides, before settling atop your thighs and his palms lying flat in a gentle caress. “You can always back out if you’re not game.”

An arrow to your pride dug into your heart at the mere offense. The competitive spirit that once laid dormant jerked into consciousness—absolutely not. “No, we’re on. Do your worst,” you raise in steadfast confidence. “I can take it.”

“Those are fighting words,” he says. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, teetering on a fine line of fondness and scheme alike. “But I’ll hold you to it.”

—

So, maybe your confidence could only carry you so far.

Rather, it tumbled you into a predicament at the cost of your exposed cunt. His free hand lazily dimpled into the plush of your hip, simultaneously careful to keep you steady. No longer a comfortable chill, the study’s air swirled into a concoction of heat and burning salacity in every inhale.

“Sweetie,” Sylus purrs. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. The game of codes was the last thing on your mind when a fine man of caliber was perched beneath you, gracefully stringing you along and allowing you the same right.

Easily thrown out the window, especially so, when all inhibition was lost to his kneaded touches and peppered kisses. The smooth movements that treasured your skin with care, tugging your bottoms down just enough in the process and tenderly appreciating you throughout the heat of the moment. Even his hair stuck out in one direction to the next, unkempt from the field day your tugging fingers reshaped the silver stands into.

Be that as it may, you still groan, chest rising to catch your breath. Nails drag into planes of his firm shoulder blades, lightly leaving their mark. “It’s because you’re not playing fair, Sy.” If you had a nickel for every time you were close to crashing in his embrace from an impending climax, it would be two. While it’s not an impressive sum, both were earned in the past few minutes alone, under the direction of his cunning smile and newfound toy in hand.

To his kindness, he pulls the rounded head of the vibrator away from your clit—the once muffled hums rang out more clearly, whirring at the highest setting. It glistened to the naked eye, finely coated in a layer of your evident arousal.

“All is fair in love and war,” he says, unphased by the line of bait you failed to reel in. He leans forward to press a kiss into your temple, a sign of affection pairing with a gentle squeeze to your side. “Should I be nice and walk you through one last chance?”

Your hands trace the curves melting into his neck, grazing his nape in forewarning. “Thin ice, Onychinus head.”

“Alright,” he muses, though reveling at the added pressure that only spurs him further. “No need to get so formal with me.” The vibrator lowers in the same breath to meet your anticipating heat.

“Five letters. Ready?”

Your hips roll forward then, impatience losing its virtue if meant you could finally, finally seek some relief. “Was practically born ready, at this point.” And then, the first rhythm played out in three, gentle presses to where you needed it most.

Three dots. (...)

This was fine, you could handle this much.

A moment of pause soon sways into the vibrator sliding between skin, returning to the apex of your labia, and dipping once again.

A dash, added dot, and paired dashes thereafter. (-.--) “Still with me?” Sylus asks, taking in the sight of your eyes screwed in concentration. It was endearing, in some sense of the word, and his gaze lingered on your expression in intrigue.

Though grateful for the concern, you chide when your breath allows it. “Don’t stop, go all the way already.”

To stop halfway tested what little patience there was left in you. You raised your head to find his circles of crimson brimming with a fondness and undivided attention. All for you.

The grin he graces you with carries the same sentiments, newly tinted with mirth. “Whatever the boss wants.”

The humming returns without warning, and you jerk against the touch, gasping. A press and slide, following upwards once more in double succession.

Another dot, dash, and two dots in a row. (.-.. )

You were quickly beginning to piece together the puzzle he left you to solve, the audacity of it all.

Before you could admonish such revelations, you bite your tongue when he continues into the next piece. It was fleeting, but memorable—identical presses and a sinister slide, the buzzing toy greeting your entrance in slick abundance.

Two dots, and a dash. (..- )

“You’re not—” Your eyes grow wide at the newly placed prodding.

“Getting cold feet? A minute ago you wanted me to go all the way,” Sylus recalls with a click of his tongue. “It would be unlike you to stop right before the finish line, sweetie.”

You squirm against him, sensitive and incredibly aware of the coil threatening to unfurl. He takes notice, hand stilling in consideration.

“You can do it,” he croons, forehead to yours and capturing your fluttering gaze.

“Never said I couldn’t,” you say, a swallow sealing your determination.

Sylus smiles. “Last letter. Let's make it count.” The vibrator slips into your cunt, whirring against your walls in a sense of overwhelming ecstasy. He makes quick work of it all then, three generous thrusts of the wand disappearing almost entirely, save for his firm grip around the base.

Three final dots. (...)

It marks the end of his charades, and the beginning of your incandescent cries.

You came undone at last, release ebbing as a flurry of sounds shape themselves into your call. “Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.”

“That’s it, ride it out for me. You worked so hard to earn it, after all.” His nose brushes just beneath your jaw, a tender kiss in consolation to soothe your high.

He relaxes the toy out of your spent heat by the time your trembling thighs subsided, power shutting off and rolling onto the desk’s surface. A brief swirling of black and crimson manifests a small cloth into his hand, gently patting away the stickied outcome before it disperses in the same specks. His fingers rake along your sides, dragging the fabric of your bottoms into their proper place.

“Sylus.” You slump against his shoulder in recovery, bemoaning amidst the moment of calm clarity. “You are unbelievable. The damn answer was your name, of all things.” “And now you know how to call for me in code. Aren’t I generous?” The slight rumble of his chest supports the chuckle he lets out, deepened further when a curl of your fist smacks his shoulder in protest.

Endearment softens his tone as he draws circles into your back, taking the rolling punches. The other tangles his fingers against your temple, smoothing out the sides in thought. “I would say our lesson went well today.”

“One hell of a lesson,” you remark. Your breathing slows for a moment, listening to the drumming heart beneath your ear. His caresses were kind, lulling, attentive. A sense of peace, wholeheartedly yours and Sylus' alone.

Your gaze shifts towards the desk, when another piece of memory, well-decorated in its untouched trim, lies next to the toy. Forgotten, nearly—the gift. “By the way,” you murmur. “What’s in the box?” Whether it was out of laziness and unwilling to move from your warmth or pure convenience, Sylus waves his hand in summoning. Accepting the floating item midair, you were about to peel off the lid when he began to shift under you, interrupting your grand reveal.

“Hold on.”

With practiced ease, Sylus single-handedly cradles you to his chest and adeptly rises from the cushioned seat. No matter how many times he’s pulled it off in the past, it still leaves you breathless as if it were the first time.

You circle an arm around his neck, the other clutching the box with a huff, “I was about to do an unboxing, you know.”

“I know,” he confirms, and presses another kiss to your temple. “But you’re getting sleepy. Open it after a good night’s rest.”

A swirl of Evol pushes the doors open, his footsteps echoing down the hall and towards his sanctuary. Your mind willed to protest his attempt of procrastination, yet only a yawn pushed past your lips and proved his point.

Curling into his embrace, you faintly mumble into his neck, “I’m wide awake.”

“And the sun shines at midnight,” Sylus deadpans, unimpressed at your performance. “Don’t fight it. If you’re tired, then sleep. I’ll make sure the gift will be there when you wake up.” “You promise?”

“With my heart,” he says.

It was a simple response, yet the timbre of his words imbued security and affection all the same. As if he meant more than just ensuring your box was safe, swearing to something beyond your greater comprehension.

One blink lasted longer than the one prior, sweeping the thought and yourself away into soundless sleep. Another time, perhaps.

—

You would find out the following day that he stayed true to his word. In the quiet hums of the morning, a slumbering giant clung to your side, his breathing calm and unknowing you had finally peeled open the mysterious box.

A finely crafted jewel twinkled amidst padded velvet, a clasp secured on one end. Engravings inlaid in a series of familiar dots and dashes; you couldn't help but softly laugh, a finger tracing the pattern.

(-... . .-.. --- ...- . -..)

Beloved.

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canthelpit0 · 7 months ago

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Silent

Pairing: Matt x reader

Wordcount: 1.8k +

Summary: you’ve always quietly watched the triplets, silently wishing you could be a part of a group like them. Until you and Matt talk for the first time…

Warnings: selective mutism, anxiety, crying, angst, praise, no use of y/n, no oc

(Disclaimer: I’m not mute in any way. This was a request from an anon that I accidentally deleted. Hope you like it ! Requests are open)

I developed selective mutism pretty early on. My mom says that I didn’t talk even back in kindergarten.

But it’s been years now.

I can talk, and I can’t shut the fuck up for the life of me. I talk a lot, even have full conversations with myself.

Just not at school, or around new people. God, especially not in school.

It’s not like I want to be the ‘ weird’ mute kid. I would love to talk and make friends, I just physically can’t open my mouth and talk.

It even took months for me to utter simple words to my therapist, tho by this point I’ve known her for years and I’m pretty comfortable.

There are these triplets in my grade. We’ve always gone to the same school, but I don’t think they ever noticed me.

Well the first time I noticed them was in first grade, because there were three of them. Of corse my six year old self didn’t understand the concept of multiples back then, and I really wanted to ask, and talk to them. I really thought they were cool.

The first time I interacted with any of them tho was when I was in fourth grade and Nick had asked to use my dark green pencil since he only had light green and needed both dark and light.

Back in fourth grade I wasn’t just selectively mute, but also really shy. So I’d just looked down and stared at the desk giving him a small nod.

In freshmen year I shared a class with Nick again, he asked me for a pen, wich I gave to him.

Despite not having talked to him once in my entire life, he remembered my name. Wich isn’t too shocking since we’ve always been around each other, I was just kinda in the shadows.

He actually gave me that pen back. Most other people would’ve forgotten and just taken it, but Nick didn’t and I appreciated that.

I only ever interacted with Nick those two times. despite sharing a few classes with both Chris and Matt over the years, I’ve probably never even held eye contact with either of them.

I’ve been watching everyone.

Bullying isn’t really a thing. Sure there were some hurtful comments by jocks here and there but it really wasn’t as bad as in the movies.

Besides I think most people forget i even exist so they don’t even bother bullying me.

I’ve had my eye on Matt for a while. Not in a weird way. But Matt seems to pretty obviously have anxiety too. I don’t know if he’s open about it, I’m not in his friend circle.

But every time I’m feeling overwhelmed and we’re in the same room, I unconsciously glance at him to see if he feels the same or if I’m just going crazy.

Chris seems to be the loudest and most extroverted one. And while yes, Nick seems pretty extroverted too, Chris seems more… random? Bold?

I sulk in the back of the class my lips pulled into a tight line as I try to get myself together.

There is literally no reason for me to be feeling like this. Honestly no one has tried to talk to me today, nothing happened, I just feel so overwhelmed.

I raise my hand just slightly. I make eye contact with the teacher. Mrs. Evans. I literally love her, she’s so kind.

Her son is apparently mute too.

When I was diagnosed with selective mutism they thought it’d be a great idea to make me learn sign language just in case, and that’s just what I did.

Since Mrs. Evans son is mute, her son, as well as her and her husband also learned sign language.

So whenever I needed something I could sign to her. Not that I wouldn’t be too embarrassed too.

Our eyes lock. Everyone was working on some paper I should also be doing, but I’m too busy hyperventilating.

I let my hand drop on my desk and glance at the door quietly asking if I can go to the nurses office since I was too tired and ashamed to sign it to her.

She gives me a pitying smile but nods. I hate pity, but then again that’s better than getting told im faking.

I look around the class of students. I get up, as quiet as I can. I pack up my little stuff and quietly walk to the front of the class. I nod in appreciation and walk outside.

I stare at the ground while I walk down the hallway. I sigh.

I feel my eyes start to water and I bite the inside of my cheek.

Honestly I should probably go to the nurses office to get checked out, just so I can leave. But I don’t think I can handle communicating with another human.

I feel like I’m about to break down. I continue to walk down the hallway clutching the straps of my bag harshly.

I consider if driving home even is a good idea seeing as I’m about to have a mental breakdown. Or-

Suddenly I bump into someone.

I close my eyes trying not to cry right then. I don’t know who I bumped into but I want to apologize, but I know that I can’t, and since I don’t know who I bumped into I don’t know if it’s someone who’ll be mean about it or-

I’m taken off guard by a gentle brush to my upper arm.

“You’re good, it’s okay” I hear a soft voice say. I can feel my lip quivering, I feel like if I open my eyes the tears brimming at my waterline will actually fall.

“can you open your eyes?” It sounds more like a question, and that voice sounds painfully familiar but I can’t quite place it.

I want to tell him that I can’t, that I’ll cry if I do and I’ll feel even more embarrassed. But my curiosity takes over me.

So I slightly blink open my eyes. I don’t open my eyes fully, just enough to see the person through my tears.

It’s Matt, looking down at me all concerned.

I blink my eyes open. at the sight I watch his expression relax just slightly.

He himself looks overwhelmed, and honestly I don’t know if it’s because of how I’m acting, or if he had a shitty day himself.

“You okay?” He sighs slightly. I watch as he licks his lips and swallows thickly.

I take in another deep breath trying to calm down. I nod just slightly, but while I do the tears in my eyes finally spill.

I feel my hot tears run down my face. Matt’s eyes immediately widen and his mouth opens slightly like he thinks it’s his fault.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, no please don’t cry.” He holds up his hands in front of my face as if he wanted to wipe my tears away but was holding himself back because he didn’t know my boundaries.

He looked miserable, like he was about to cry himself. And I just know that something this wouldn’t have him emotional like this on a normal day. At least I don’t think it would. But he seemed to be overwhelmed as well.

I scrunch my nose slightly sniffling in response. I glance back up at him and the sorrow in his eyes makes me want to sink into myself. I breathe out shakily.

Before I know it I’m bringing my hands up to my face and covering it. I tilt my head forward trying to stop crying, because crying in the school halls is just pathetic.

“I’m sorry. Fuck- can I touch you?” I hear his frantic voice. I appreciate that he asked first. I want a hug, but then again I don’t know Matt. But he just seems so genuine.

I overthink not responding to his question. My thoughts spiral at the sound of the sweet nothings and apologies leaving his mouth, only being back round noise.

Matt seems to notice that I’m starting to spiral. I feel his hand tenderly touch my wrist. I flinch slightly, and as soon as I do I feel him retract his hand.

Everybody deals with anxiety differently, some people like to be physically grounded others liked to be comforted some other way and I just knew that Matt was trying to figure out what to do without overstepping.

I’d tell him that it’s okay, or that he can hug me, but I literally can’t speak and I feel too embarrassed to let him see my teary face.

“I’m sorry, I’m-“ I hear Matt let out a breath. I know an anxiety breath when I hear one, he is panicking.

I decide to bite the bullet, what’s the worst that can happen. I look up slightly and peak through my fingers.

His hands are up and frozen. He looks almost frantic, Matt looks like the only way he knows how to ground me is by hugging me or something, but he seems unsure if that’s okay.

Despite myself I let out a little nod. Matt lets out another breath but this time he actually touches me, and I don’t flinch.

He holds my wrist and gently pulls my hands off of my face.

I let out a shaky sigh. I can’t help it when I let my head fall forward.

“It’s okay.” He says sweetly under his breath. He puts his hand under my chin as he picks my face up. Our eyes lock. I see the way Matt is also crying, tears running down his face too and I relax just a little.

He never seemed like the type to make fun of someone for crying, but especially not now.

“You wanna go to my car?” He says softly, not in a way where he is forcing me to do anything, but rather offering.

And honestly as upset as i am I have to weigh my options. Would I rather cry in the school hallways or in Matt’s car?

The best option would be to go to the bathroom, but Matt wouldn’t be able to come with, and honestly I would feel too bad leaving him alone at this point.

So I nod.

I feel Matt’s arm go around my shoulders as he hugs me for a moment. He turns me, and starts walking in a way where his arm is still around my shoulder keeping me close to him.

We walk out to the parking lot. I watch as Matt unlocks the car and opens the door for me to enter.

And by this point, if I go out this way so be it…

Before i can even register Matt is also getting into the backseat next to me.

We just look at each other for a moment. He breathes out another anxiety sigh.

“You want a hug?” And with that I don’t really know if he’s asking for me, or to comfort himself. But regardless I nod.

I feel his arms come around me and I sink into the feeling of his hug.

I’m uncertain if by tomorrow he’ll act like this all never happened, or if he’ll try to get to know me, because I’ve been wanting to know him for a while and I would more then gladly let him.

Masterlist

A/n: I know this is really short and I’ve been uploading a lot of angst recently. But I’ve been feeling sad, and every time I do write smut it’s for Kinktober. Soon you’ll get smut tho. Also this ended up a lot like crybaby. <3

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun , @jnkvivi , @jamiesturniolo , @chr1sgirl4life

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opiopal · 3 months ago

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random mc stuff that I dont want to be their own post so HERE WE GO.(a lot if not most of theses are cracked out lmao)

imagine an Mc who noticed certain dirty things in the HOL and REALLY wanted to something about it but couldn't cause they were still a stranger. so once all the pacts are made Mc immediately goes around the HOL and attacks all the spots that bug them.. and isn't afraid to vocalize their complaints. "lucifer, when was the last time you guys washed these curtains?? you know what, don't answer that, I can already tell that the last time these were washed I hadn't even been born yet." "who is in charge of sweeping?? there is so much dirt under these rugs!! common guys, seriously???" "Mammon, Levi, twins.. I love you guys SO much.. this is commmon knowledge at this point... but cleaning your pillow cases is NOT enough you NEED to also wash the pillow itself. you guys are gross. gather up your pillows we're doing a soak." "beel. come here and lift me up. I'm dusting the chandelier." "Lucifer, I do not CARE if you're working right now your shelves are littered with dust. either ignore me or go take a break because I'm not leaving."

once during breakfast the brothers could hear cerberus growling and grumbling in the basement, it was annoying but they were trying to ignore it until they realized Mc wasn't at the table.... which of course once it was pointed out they all rushed to the basement.. only to find cerberus laying on its back and Mc sitting above it and quickly rubbing and scratching under each heads chins while going "good boys!!!! good puppy!!!!" and cerberus very happily whining and grumbling with their tail thumping on the ground. when they manage to get Mc away from the silly, the only explanation mc gives it "there is a massive three headed dog that lives in the basement and is feared by 6 out of the 7 men who live here, how could I NOT pet them??? clearly no one but lucifer does!!"

imagine an Mc who is a selective mute, and normally communicates through ASL and notes. the first time they talk is after knowing the brothers for a GOOD amount of time, and its not a sweet wholesome moment no no. Mc comes home with Lucifer after they finished running errands, and the HOL had been: flooded by levi summoning lotan, the living room had been torn up by satan, the kitchen was in pieces because beel got hangry, asmo had joined in on the chaos after his bedroom got damaged as well, mammon was struggling to keep everyone together, and belphie was sleeping on a chandelier. of couse it dies down the moment they all see lucifer and mc got home, and before lucifer could say anything Mc threw their ars up and went "guys what the FUCK we've hardly been gone for an hour!!" of course all the chaos is forgotten for a second and replaced by multiple "YOUCANTALK?!"s, which then shock and amazement turned to shame as they realize the first time they were graced by Mc's voice was because they were being idiots and Mc was upset at them.

imagine an Mc who isn't really used to people caring all that much about them, and finds it very odd that the brothers+other characters care so much. so once their birthday comes around its turned into a birthday WEEK because Mc is being gifted things and being taken out everyday until their actual birthday, which BAFFLES them, so when their birthday comes its a huge event, Dia hosts the party at his castle, there are so many presents you'd think it would be for a family of 18 on christmas day. and when Mc is sat infront of their cake they can't help but suddenly start crying, while everyone is panicking the only thing Mc can say is "I-*hic*- love you guys so much!!" once they realized it was happy tears there was much less panic, and it was forgotten about for the rest of the evening.

You guys remember my post about pacts marks and Mc feeling a demons sin really strongly after making a pact with them??? well this relates to that. imagine if mc feels something strongly that sin kind of takes over for a while until mc is satisfied (asmo enjoyers do what you want with that info), so imagine: theres just a day were Mc doesn't get the chance to eat, first they slept in and just had to rush to RAD, then they had to skip lunch because they agreed to help a few clubs with advertising and projects, then they had to stay after for a student council meeting, then, just as they think they can maybe grab a snack they get held up again, by the time everyone is going home all the brothers can sense Mc's aggression, half way to the HOL lucifer says that they should just go eat at hells kitchen. so they're all seated, and the second Mc's food gets out they dont even bother with utensils, they just grab their food with their bare hands and eat like they're a starved dog. of course the brothers are concerned as to why they're acting like this, and mammon reaches to put a hand on Mc's shoulder as he says "hey- are you ok-" but he cant even finish talking before Mc jerks their head and nearly takes a few of his fingers off, though they dont bite him cause he moves away fast enough with a "EEP" and Mc's teeth loudly click together. so from then on the brothers make sure that Mc is able to eat something throughout the day if their schedule is packed to reduce the risk of losing fingers. honorable mention is Mc getting praised to much one day that the amount of pride they feel almost puts lucifer into a coma.(satan and belphie sometimes praise Mc a bunch to distract lucifer while he's working, another cheeky win for the anti lucifer league)

imagine an Mc who gets so over protective of the brothers, like CRAZY protective. there is a point were they hear someone talking SHIT about their found family trope, so ofc the reasonable reaction is to tackle the demon down to the ground and almost bite their ear off like some sort of rabid raccoon. another time Mc squares up with some sort of magical mythical beast in protection of the brothers, almost won and would have if the brothers didn't stop them.

imagine an Mc who is very introverted and is secretly a fanfic writer, so one day levi and Mc are hanging out, he's just rambling about whatever, until he eventually mentions that a fic he was reading hasn't gotten updated in a while and ist just so frustrating to him. when Mc asks which fic he was reading, he pull it up and shows them... which Mc realizes thats THEIR fic... and outloud without thinking they mumble "oohh I forgot about that one..." and levi freaks out and immediately is questioning what they mean by that. which they eventually have to admit it.

Imagine a little kid Mc, I mean like, LITTLE, as in like 7-8 yr. and they are just such a sweeite, and they work so hard. but I can also imagine that when they're first sent there and the introductions are happening, when lucifer introduces himself Mc immediately interupts and goes "lucifer?? like the cat from Cinderella?:0" and then ofc when mammon is assigned to take care of the child he is a lot nicer at first, I wouldn't be surprised if having Mc around reminded him of his younger siblings when they were that small,(yes I am a believer of the brothers being at least little kids at some point in their angel lives) but then eventually gets Mc to go along with a few schemes, which they both have fun cause really it just turns into bonding. then ofc asmo adores this little creature and has little dress up parties and helps Mc get ready for school in the morning so they always look their best!! lucifer gave him permission for this since he agrees that Mc should look put together despite being a child. I still think it takes a while for the brothers to warm up fully to Mc, but it goes by a lot faster since mc quickly becomes their new little sibling. I think it would be cute if what won over lucifer is Mc coming into his office at some point, saying that they have something for him, and gives him a drawing, lucifer ends up scooping them up to sit with him and they explain what they drew, and its mc and all the brothers:( that drawing is almost immediately framed and put up where everyone can see it.

thats all for now, but I have a LOT of Mc what if's and imagines, my fingers hurt from typing now lol.

#obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me cerberus #obey me mc #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me shitpost

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a-student-out-of-time · 23 days ago

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An Important Reminder In Trying Times

Hey everyone, Mod Bubbles here.

I know that I've said over and over that I don't like talking about politics on here, but I really feel the need to say this:

This Is Not The End.

I understand things probably seem really bleak right now. A lot of people are going to be hurt by this, and the sheer amount of fearmongering and worst case scenarios are inescapable. But the country and the world are not going to change overnight. To be honest, it may not change very much at all in the next four years. I'm not a political scientist, so I can't tell you that for sure. There's a lot to be concerned about.

What I can tell you, as a student of history, is this: not only have we survived this once, we have survived this every time.

Think about it this way: every single tyrant, every single right-wing representative, every single emperor and colonial power, every corporate scumbag and power-hungry lunatic. No matter how many of them have ever come to power, held onto power, and tried to make themselves seem invincible, not a single one has ever held back humanity's progress and not a single one has proven to be invincible.

There were countries throughout history, especially in the 20th century, that fell under brutal dictatorships and saw countless lives lost. Did the people just give up and accept it? Fuck no they didn't. They fought back. Many of them lived to see democracy restored to their lands in their lifetimes, or fought to see it restored in their children's.

From Europe to Latin America, while many countries still have their issues, they endured and their people have survived. Their governments were not invincible, just as none ever have been.

Regardless of the outcome of this election, the world will go on. People will not just roll over and accept whatever horrible things happen, the fight will continue and we will do everything in our power to carry on as we always have. We'll carry on to achieve bigger and better things.

Let me also be clear: if you feel the need to cry, please cry. If you're afraid, don't pretend you're not. If you're angry, allow yourself to feel that anger. But if you're seriously contemplating giving up or hurting yourself, please don't.

You may hear all this news and ask yourself, "Bubbles, what's the point? What can I do about all this?" I've felt that way too, I have for a long time. I understand completely. It's scary and overwhelming, but I'll tell you exactly what you can do to fight against that: you can be kind.

Do you want to know where the most tangible change in the world begins? It's never at the top. It begins with people like us on a communal level, where we reach out to help others. Whether that means we help our neighbors, our friends, or any strangers we can.

Going out of your way to start fights, looking for someone to blame based on the flimsiest justifications, and just being cruel because you're angry, those aren't how you change anything. Those just add to the problem.

Here's just some ideas on what you can do instead:

Get away from the news, stop doomscrolling, mute doomers, and turn the TV and news apps off. This will get you out of a negative feedback loop that'll make you feel worse and more powerless, which is what they're designed to do in order to maximize traffic.

Remember to eat, sleep, brush your teeth, take a shower, take your meds, and do everything else you need to do to stay healthy.

If you or someone else really feel like leaving the country for your own safety is best, you can still work do so. But please don't convince yourself that if you can't, it's over.

Give back to people as much as you can. Show the people in your life who support you that you care, and that all that they do for you matters.

Donate to good causes you believe in.

Stand up to bullshit whenever you see it.

Do not give up on your dreams and ambitions. One bad leader does not mean your future automatically ends. Stop worrying about any potential apocalypse in the future, because you can do that even on the best days, and instead work toward a future that you CAN achieve.

There's this pervasive and very inaccurate idea that it's only the president who gets to enforce policies on the country. This ignores governors, the House of Representatives, Congress, mayors, and the countless other leaders involved. And it ignores you.

You do not have to spend the next 3 years and 364 days doing nothing but feeling miserable. In fact, that's the last thing you should do. Fear and despair are the weapons they wield, and they only have as much power as you allow them to have over you.

If your view of politics is that you just have to vote for the "right one" and then everything will be utopian, or that if people vote for the wrong one" then we're headed for a terrible dystopian nightmare, I have to tell you that that is incredibly reductionist and also very dumb. I can also tell you from personal experience that it's not them who make the real changes where it's needed.

A friend sent me a video that really opened my eyes on this situation: Adam Conover, the guy behind Adam Ruins Everything, said he's not worried about all this. Why? Because he and some friends were able, through their own power, to make real positive changes in their community. They were able to bring homelessness down in their district by over 38% through their own efforts.

And he's right that, as a silver lining to all this, it made more Americans than ever take a stand against all the horrible shit they were seeing and get involved with solutions.

Speaking from my own experiences as well, when Hurricane Helene devastated my area, it wasn't the politicians who came and repaired roads and power lines, it wasn't them who brought in food and supplies to everyone, and it wasn't them who worked tirelessly to save people still in need. It was everyone in our local communities.

The people at the top have never really cared about anything more than your money and your vote, but the people around you care more than you may believe they would. Hell, even strangers on the internet care more than you'd believe.

Now, even if you've made it this far, you may be wondering "What about when he starts outlawing and banning things?" To that, I say look at Prohibition and see how well that went. Politicians have only ever operated under the idea that banning something will make it go away, and it always does the exact opposite. And if you're still worried, you can get involved with organizations that fight to support these things being available and regulated.

But by now, you may also be wondering "What if I can't get involved? What if I'm too young or I don't have the money, or my parents won't let me?"

Then just be kind.

Stop looking for enemies to blame. Don't martyr yourself for some nebulous cause or the idea that your suffering increasing means the rest of the suffering in the world will go down. Don't torture yourself by telling yourself that you didn't do enough.

Show compassion, show support, show love and genuine care toward people who need it, including yourself.

"But there's so many shitty people in this country and the world, why should I-" Stop thinking that way. This isn't about them, this is about you and how you can make a difference. There will probably always be shitheads and power-hungry morons, but that does not negate the fact that you can choose to be different. You can choose to be kind.

Kindness is a sword that you have to learn how to wield. Wield it responsibly and use it to help others. No matter how small or insignificant it may be, YOU DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

I say all this as a 29-year-old who spent most of his life feeling scared and miserable about so many current events, convincing myself I'm useless and selfish because I was worried about so much and I hated myself for all of it. And I've decide I'm not going to do that anymore.

During the last right-wing era, I managed to help build a whole community out of my love for Danganronpa. I created friendships, relationships, and there are people alive right now because I chose to do so. Because I chose to use that community for kindness. I want to keep building from there by going into streaming and reaching out to more people.

I won't lie to you and say that I'm not scared, because I am. But I'm also not going to let fear change who I am. I want us all to be better to ourselves and others, because that is how you defeat hate. It starts with you.

And if you're still concerned, let me share with you a quote from The Great Dictator, a movie made in 1940, when World War II wasn't even at its height yet:

To those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish…

Please take care of yourselves out there, everyone. We'll get through this, just as we always have.

#mod talks #a student out of time #real talk #real life stuff #cw: current events #cw: the election

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jupitermelichios · 2 years ago

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Hey, we need to talk about the way Batfamily fans write Cass using ASL, because a lot of it is really fucking ableist

But Cass can't speak, of course she needs to sign!

Not true! There is nothing physically wrong with Cass's vocal chords or mouth, there's nothing in her brain stopping her from making sounds, and she is not an elective mute. She actually learns to speak individual words really quickly after she puts herself into an environment where that's a useful skill. Basil teaches her to quote huge chunks of Shakespeare in Nu52, and that's easier for her than forming simple sentences. That would definitely not be the case if she had any physical limitations on her speech.

Cass's disability is that she was not taught any language, and so she is having to grok the entire concept of language from the ground up. Grammar and syntax; tonality; how to combine words to convey more complex ideas; how putting two words next to one another can change their meaning; how to break down a whole idea into the individual parts needed to turn it into words; the fact that people's words might not line up with their tone and body language so you have to pay attention to both; how to tell if someone wants a response or is stating a fact; how to work out meaning from context if a word is new or someone has an unfamiliar accent; how to know if someone is using a new word or if they actually just have an unfamilar accent and all the ways words can be bent and changed before they become something new; the fact that two words can use the same sounds but have the same meaning; the fact that there can be two different words that mean the same thing. This is all stuff she didn't learn as a baby, and not knowing it would be just as much an impediment to learning ASL as learning English (for accent, swap out things like having limited movement in their hands, or having learned slightly different forms of the same sign, using a lot of home-signs etc, it's the same concept in a different medium).

There is no language on earth Cass wouldn't have these problems with. ASL is not any kind of shortcut.

But she reads body language, and ASL is kind of like body language right?

Not true, also pretty abelist! Just as the sounds which make up spoken language are essentially arbitrary (there's no objective reason why the sound "gud" should mean good, English speakers just all agree it does) so most of the signs in ASL are arbitrary! There's no reason for

to mean good. ASL users just all agree that it does. Cass knowing body language would not help her any more with ASL than it would with English, and if anything, it might make it harder, because sign uses the whole body and therefore changes the way people use body language so unless she saw a lot of ASL users as a child (and there's no particular reason to think she did), she would have to adjust what she knows about body language to account for those differences!

But she signs in the comics!

Nope! She uses hand gestures to communicate sometimes, but that's not signing. Pointing at food and miming eating to convey hunger is not sign. Pretending to punch someone and pulling it at the last second to convey you could hurt them but won't (Cass's actual first communication with Bruce in the comics) isn't signing. I've done the point and mime thing in countries where I didn't speak the language, that does not mean I knew that country's native sign language!

But she learns ballet, that's like a physical language, so sign is the same thing!

Nope! Also low key kinda abelist. Dance is a method of communication, but it isn't a full language. There's almost no grammar or sentence structure, the vocabulary is extremely limited, and also you can just make up new dance moves or use moves from different styles of dance together and still convey your meaning (you cannot just make random gestures or use BSL and expect ASL users to understand you, because they're full complex languages). Cass vibes with dance pretty hard, but that's precisely because it isn't a language, it doesn't require any of the skills she struggles with in order to communicate emotion.

But ASL isn't like a real language, it's not as complex or nuanced as spoken English so it would be easier for her to learn

That is so fucking gross I don't even want to have this conversation with you. Go and sit in the timeout box and think about what you've just said, and then commit to doing better.

But I just think that once she learned it, she'd like using ASL because [it's very expressive/she's used to her world being very quiet/she can use it on stealth missions more easily/etc]

Valid, understandable, have a lovely day

But I'm writing an AU were she uses ASL because her backstory is too comic-book-y to fit in no-capes AUs but I didn't want to erase her communication difficulties so I've written her as having a different disability

Cool. Send me a link when you're done.

But what if I write her using makatong?

(For context, makatong is a form of sign developed for people who have intellectual or phsyical disabilities that affect language use, which uses more descriptive signs which require less precise hand possitioning than other sign languages, and which has very simple grammar, making it easier to learn than ASL). Yes this would be easier for her, because it's intended for people with similar difficulties to hers, but since her difficulties stem purely from a lack of experience which can be (and are, in canon) overcome with practise, it would be kind of needlessly limiting compared to her just starting out with very simple spoken language, and wouldn't give her as many chances to develop those language learning skills. Makatong is also not mutually intelligable with any other sign language, so she couldn't easily transition from that to ASL once she got used to signing, she'd have to start learning it from scratch.

But I HC her as deaf

There is 0 comics evidence to support that, but it's a headcanon, so who cares. You do you. Have fun.

But learning sign language would be better than learning to speak anyway because it's a universal language!

That is not even slightly how it work. Go read the wikipedia article on sign languages around the world or something. Do some research.

TL:DR; Cass does not use ASL in the comics, and nothing about her disability or sign languages in general would make learning ASL easier or more convinent for her than spoken English. That does't mean writing her signing is inherently bad, but you should examine your reasons for doing it to ensure you're not just perpetuating ableist stereotypes about the language.

#cass cain #cassandra cain #batfam #batfamily #asl #tw: ableism #black bat #batgirl #batgirls #orphan

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kazzsk2 · 4 months ago

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Info dumping about resurrected sacrifice au but it's from my text last night to someone who was willing to listen to my ramblings 😌

(Also these are the major outfits the lamb wears in this au)

Anyways, in the au (specifically the resurrection on) it's separated into three parts right. And the story actually starts before the initial seven resurrections it to bring lamb back and make them stay. It's starts right at the time of the lamb's execution and I saw this one post about another person's au saying that the lamb would be executed in their wedding clothes so I kinda took that idea as well to a certain extent.

So basically lamb was executed in wedding attire which narinder took a certain way (kind of considered a miscommunication) and that kind of fueled the desire to resurrect lamb.

This was only heightened with seeing the last remnants of the lamb begin to dissappear like the followers that personally connected with the lamb dying from old age, the statues of them being dirty and covered in overgrown plants, and new decorations for narinder beginning to overtake the old ones. Narinder began to grow quiet and started to wear the viel around this time.

His siblings began to take notice of this, especially shamura. Shamura was the one to actually suggest the whole resurrection thing and though he meant well, this actually kinda ruined narinder's mental health

He began to obess over the possibility of bring the lamb back to the point he had to do the resurrections in secret to avoid his siblings from stopping him. Then, after the several resurrections, he gets the lamb to stay by a five year agreement and does his best over the first part of the story to get them to agree to stay after five years.

During this time, I wanted to make it very comedic but at the same time like super sad undertones. Like totally funny way of doing something but when you really pay attention to the words it's actually sad.

Nearing the end of this first arc is when narinder and lamb have an argument and lamb is like "why don't you beg for me to stay, since you're desperate for your dear vessel back" as more of a (idk the word) snag at narinder, not actually expecting him to do so. But he literally does so and that's when lamb is like "bro I think this is like seriously screwed up and we should talk through this like normal people" this is also the first time narinder vocally speaks as throughout the whole first part, he is mute besides sign language & when he does sermons/rituals for the cult.

This is when lamb & narinder talk and get their biggest insecurities and worries out in the air. The lamb's biggest one being that he's the last of his kind and death was the only way to be connected back with those he lost. Narinder's biggest was how he treated lamb like an object and without the love they deserved. His second being that it felt as though he always bought harm upon the lamb no matter how badly he tried to fix it.

This leads into the second part of the story which is the turn in the two's relationship (& where the lamb starts catching feelings). I want to use the trope where like one falls first but the other falls the hardest with like lamb and narinder with narinder falling first but lamb falling hardest. As they work through their problems and find ways around the ones they cannot fix that easily, the lamb begins to get the feelings & at first hates himself for it. He has a whole inner dilemma of fighting that he wouldn't stay for the 5 years, that narinder had been willing to kill him so easily for power what's stopping him from doing it again, and the fact that falling in love with narinder would be falling in love with the brother of those who murdered their kind.

They managed to (also totally random but I use the headcanon that lamb goes by they/he just in case cuz I keep switching it up) work through their thoughts tho and accept the fact that they have fallen for narinder and it isn't exactly a bad thing.

Most of this part is just the start of their relationship and working it all out like how any semi normal relationship between two people with deep pasts and hidden issues hidden in their bones work. The first half is all the nitty gritty and then the second half is pure fluff

& then the last part is just domestic life epilogue 😌 nothing really serious besides introducing the shitten (hehehe shit-ten).

Ok that's all

#art #my art #drawing #sketch #cotl au #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl narilamb #narilamb #sacrifice resurrection au #cotl fanart #cotl #cult of the lamb

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221loislane · 1 year ago

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An Account of the Current OTW/AO3 Allegations

You may have seen talk flying around about drama going down with OTW (the Organization for Transformative Works) and AO3. There isn't a clear write-up of the situation on Tumblr, and since the allegations in this case are serious and OTW Board elections are coming up, I thought there should be a resource for people to get some basic understanding about the events.

This account is a burner, because the topics here are deeply charged, and I don't want to become a character in what's happening. I am not a member of or volunteer for OTW; I am not affiliated with End OTW Racism; I am not affiliated with Dreamwidth; I do not personally know any of the people involved in these events, or have personal knowledge of the events themselves. I am only compiling the publicly available events, allegations, and discussion into a convenient format for Tumblr. I will be heavily referencing the the similar compilation put together by Dreamwidth user Synonymous, but I am not Synonymous, nor do I know who they are. I am not, however, completely without bias; for one thing, I am writing this with the clear understanding that I believe OTW's treatment of its volunteers and policies on content moderation are both deeply troubling. If I did not believe that, I wouldn't have bothered writing this post.

This write-up includes events relating both to allegations about volunteer abuse and improper handling of CSEM moderation by the OTW, and to arguments made about the OTW's handling of racist conduct and about End OTW Racism's ties to the writer known as Stitch. I am including both of these threads because they are deeply related both causally and in the arguments of many of the people involved, and because volunteer abuse, CSEM, and racist harassment are all deeply serious problems.

This situation has not resolved, and therefore you can likely expect more to occur, probably relating to all of those topics. I have not yet decided whether I will continue updating this timeline, but it should at least give you a grounding in what's happening.

Heavy Content Warning for discussions of child sexual abuse material; abuse, harassment, and stalking; and interpersonal and systemic racism. All language in this write-up is non-graphic and high-level, but some links include more detailed descriptions.

The Events

June 24, 2020: In the wake of George Floyd's murder and in response to pressure from people including Black writer Stitch (of the blog Stitch Media Mix and Teen Vogue) and fan studies academic Dr. Rukmini Pande, the OTW makes a statement promising to review their policies and procedures and take steps to protect users from racist harassment. The specific promises they make are:

Giving creators more control over the comments on their works.

Improving collection searching and filtering.

Improving admin tools for responding to Policy & Abuse reports.

Reviewing the Terms of Service to potentially allow Policy & Abuse to respond to more kinds of reports.

Reassess the required Archive Warnings and consider adding more.

Continue working on user muting and blocking.

They also say that they are considering "reaching out to an external contractor or partnering with an advocacy group," i.e., a diversity consultant, to help with reforms.

August 8, 2021: As part of their July newsletter, the OTW announces that it is creating a new officer role in the organization to research options for diversity consultants.

May 7, 2022: The OTW makes a public statement on their website that an unknown attacker has sent CSAM (child sexual abuse material) to some of their volunteers' email addresses, that they are working with authorities to find the attacker, and that response times may be slower than usual, as they have "shut down a number of internal tools" in order to protect their volunteers and the investigation.

May 8, 2022: Dreamwidth cofounder and former head of LiveJournal Trust & Safety Denise (rahaeli on Twitter, synecdochic on Dreamwidth) posts a Twitter thread urging any current or former OTW/AO3 volunteer who has provided the organization with their real-life name ("wallet name") to contact their local police department and let them know that they are at an elevated risk of swatting. She also provides advice on disabling image auto-loading in emails and dealing with trauma and anxiety from being exposed to CSAM, and mentions that she has contacted AO3 to offer help.

June 16, 2022: As part of their April newsletter (delayed several months due to the CSAM attack), the OTW announces that a Diversity Consultant Research Officer has been appointed.

May 10, 2023: The Tumblr account end-otw-racism publishes its first post, End OTW Racism: A Call to Action. In it, the anonymous authors call on the OTW to implement the changes that they promised in 2020, especially:

Hiring a diversity consultant within the next 3-6 months.

Updating their harassment policies and protocols to address on-site and off-site coordinated harassment.

Creating a content policy for content that is abusive in a racist manner.

As part of their background establishing the problem of racist abuse and harassment in fandom, they link to several articles written by Stitch on their commentary blog, as well as a couple of posts from other fans. In their FAQs and other posts, the organizers of EOR clarify that they are not calling for the removal of any racist fic, but fic that is written specifically with the intention of perpetrating racist harassment or abuse. They also urge supporters not to berate or harass anyone for disagreeing with or failing to support their campaign.

May 17, 2023: An anonymous user asks about the End OTW Racism protest on the anon-meme Dreamwidth community Fail Fandom_Anon (FFA). As part of a tangent in that discussion, an anonymous former volunteer member of the OTW's Policy & Abuse Committee (PAC) mentions that they handled CSEM (child sexual exploitation material) tickets as part of their work, and that the OTW did not provide sufficient resources or expertise in dealing with them either emotionally or logistically. They describe themselves as being traumatized, burned out, and overworked during their time in PAC. They also mention that there was an earlier CSAM attack, targeted only at PAC volunteers, prior to the one that the OTW announced; that they were the volunteer who handled reporting to law enforcement; that the PAC chairs urged Legal and the Board to prepare for more attacks, but that nothing was done; and that the OTW did not provide any mental health resources for volunteers after the CSAM attack. (Here is a link to the user's top-level comment; read down the thread for more.)

May 20, 2023: Dreamwidth user chestnut_pod posts an entry called Be More Democratic, Be More Autocratic, OTW. The thesis of their post is that the OTW fails to adequately respond to racism on AO3 because of structural problems within the organization that amplify biases and make change difficult to achieve, and that in order to address racism and other problems more effectively, the organization should create a clear and straightforward command structure. They also advocate for creating some paid roles within the organization. The comments of the post become a kind of referendum on OTW's organizational policies, and some former volunteers show up to say that chestnut_pod's description of the problems with the org's structure tally with their experience.

May 23, 2023:

An anonymous user links to chestnut_pod's post on FFA. In response, the same former OTW volunteer describes various details of how the Policy & Abuse Committee (PAC) made decisions during her time there. (The description covers a lot of comments, so with one exception I'm linking to Synonymous's overview rather than the individual comments, but you can find all of them either through Synonymous's links or by reading down the FFA thread.) The upshot is that PAC often found it difficult to address racism, abuse, and harassment due to roadblocks and micromanagement from OTW's Legal Committee. In particular, the user mentions that they wanted to remove photo manipulations of real-life minors engaging in sex, as well as ambiguously-sourced explicit gifs from underage fics, and were told that they could not by Legal. (I have described the user's objections at as a high a level as possible, but the language used at the link is much more detailed and explicit.) A subsequent, current OTW volunteer says that since the first user left, the policy has changed to allow PAC to remove similar gifs.

Denise leaves a series of comments on chestnut_pod's post saying that the PAC policies described there run counter to industry best practices for Trust & Safety. In response to a commenter asking whether she could advise OTW, Denise says that she has offered several times, and only heard back from the organization once: after she posted her Twitter thread in response to the CSAM attacks, "at which point it immediately became extremely clear the person in question was more interested in protecting the external reputation of the organization than in listening to any advice I had to give and the only reason they'd contacted me was to pressure me to remove my Twitter thread."

In response to Denise's story, Dreamwidth user azarias reveals herself to be the anonymous former PAC volunteer on FFA. In a series of comments on chestnut_pod's post and FFA (bulk of the information in this comment, but see Synonymous's compilation or read up and down the thread for more), she relays the following story: On May 6, 2022, shortly after the CSAM attack, azarias was kicked out of the OTW volunteer Slack with no notice and no communication. When she realized several days later that this was not an organization-wide shut down, she emailed the OTW Board, Legal, and the PAC chairs asking about the situation, and whether she was a suspect in the attack. The chair of Legal, Betsy Rosenblatt, responded, apologizing for the lack of communication and saying that the shut-out was at Legal's request because they thought azarias' account may have been compromised, but she was not a suspect. On July 22, 2022, having heard nothing further from the OTW, azarias emailed again asking about reinstatement, and Betsy responded that they had just that day started that process. (EDIT: Azarias clarifies that her original stated date of July 22 was an error; she checked on her status July 4, and Betsy responded July 6.) All of azarias's accounts had been deleted, so she returned to the OTW with new accounts, and was informed by her PAC chairs that they were not consulted or informed about her suspension until it happened, were not told why she had been suspended, and were ordered not to speak to or about her during the suspension. Due to awkwardness, trauma, and burn-out, azarias quit volunteering soon after.

May 30, 2023:

On FFA, an anonymous OTW volunteer (not azarias) comments that the OTW Board has posted an update to Slack addressing azarias's story (though she is never named in the update). The update confirms that Legal made the decision to suspend azarias, and says that the Board was not consulted on or informed about the decision to either suspend or reinstate her. A statement from Legal is also attached. The statement does not in any way dispute azarias's timeline of events, and outwardly apologizes to her for the distressed caused, but it also contains several strong insinuations that the letter-writer believes that azarias was responsible for the CSAM attack.

In response to this letter, Denise posts a statement on Dreamwidth and Twitter recommending that any person currently volunteering for the OTW should resign for their own personal safety.

June 3, 2023: Azarias (now posting under her real account, which FFA allows people who are players in the events being discussed to do) comments on FFA that she has consulted a lawyer regarding Legal's insinuation, and has been advised that she doesn't have anything to worry about, legally. She explains some more of the details behind the situation, and discusses some of her guesses about the current situation at the OTW. (For clarification, the Heidi she's referring to is Heidi Tandy, a longtime member of OTW Legal. During the heights of Harry Potter fandom, Fandom Wank coined the term "Heidipology" to describe what they believed to be Heidi's pattern of making insincere, backhanded apologies.) In the comments, anonymous users discuss the fact that OTW's Legal team is made up entirely of IP lawyers, and not lawyers who have expertise in criminal law, nonprofit governance, or Trust & Safety. (Link goes to Synonymous's compilation.)

June 12, 2023: The OTW publishes a statement addressing the End OTW Racism protest. They thank the organizers for holding them accountable, list the steps they've already taken in addressing racism (mostly muting/blocking abilities and similar), and reiterate that they are working on hiring a diversity consultant and reviewing PAC policies. They also say they will improve transparency and communication.

In the comments, azarias (and several others) push the OTW for a retraction of Legal's letter. Azarias also pushes the OTW to make real progress on racist abuse, rather than paying it "lip service." Azarias reveals that she was the Board's original pick for the Diversity Consultant Research Officer, but dropped out. (Further comments later and earlier at FFA clarify that she dropped out due to the OTW's one name policy, which requires that all work that a volunteer does for the OTW be done under a single name; officers are required to serve under their wallet names, and azarias wanted to do her PAC work under her fandom name and not link that to her wallet name, and when OTW didn't let her, she resigned. Link to Synonymous's more thorough compilation of this story here.)

Also in the comments, several users respond to the OTW's statement by posting racist abuse and racial slurs. The OTW leaves the comments up for several days before finally screening them.

June 15, 2023: Denise posts a thread on Twitter, shortly after compiled on her Dreamwidth, laying out what she consider's the OTW's "absolute failure" at Trust & Safety. Among other things, she claims that:

Photomanips of minors in sexual situations, "however terrible or obvious the Photoshop job is, qualifies under the third definition of 'child pornography' as given in 18 USC §2256(8)(C)."

She believes that the OTW may not be in compliance with legal obligations to preserve information about reported CSEM, due to its policy of deleting author information about orphaned works.

In this post, Denise also elaborates on the story she told in the comments of chestnut_pod's post. She says that in May 2022, before the OTW made its statement about the CSAM attack, several volunteers reached out to her for advice, and she learned that the attack emails included threats to expose identifying volunteer information to, among other places, Kiwi Farms, a site whose users have previously swatted many people. In response to this, after the OTW's statement, she published her Twitter thread advising volunteers to alert their local law enforcement, and also reached out to the OTW to offer resources, contacts, and advice. In response, OTW Legal member Rebecca Tushnet called her and spent half an hour pressuring her to remove her Twitter thread.

At the end of the post, Denise briefly touches on the End OTW Racism action that began this conversation, saying that she appreciates their work, but believes that their proposed solutions will not be effective, both because the OTW's organizational dysfunction makes it impossible for them to moderate racist content, and because PAC must moderate "conduct, not content." She says that she "firmly disagree[s] with the foundational work their campaign was built on."

June 16, 2023:

In response to several people asking for clarification on her statements about End OTW Racism, Denise posts a follow-up Twitter thread (which has not at this time been crossposted to Dreamwidth). She says that a diversity consultant will not effectively address abuse because the current OTW culture is resistant to change, and that reviewing TOS policies will not be effective, because the current TOS already allows for moderation of abusive conduct, but PAC has not been empowered to enforce it. Instead, she claims that progress on moderation of racist abuse can only truly be made once the organization's systemic issues have been addressed. She also believes that End OTW Racism's messaging is counterproductive, "because of its repeated failure to differentiate between content and conduct." In particular, she argues that, "by citing so heavily to the foundational background work by people who *have* repeatedly called for bans on work that 'reflects racist and bigoted stereotypes', and by failing to differentiate the two except in passing, the campaign has positioned itself in such a way that it will be, and I'm certain has already been, dismissed by the OTW." She does not mention Stitch by name, but it is clear by context that it is the citations of Stitch's work that she is referring to.

After someone DMs her to request she take down her clarifying statements about End OTW Racism, and various people supportive of EOR on Twitter denounce the statements, Denise posts a follow-up statement to Dreamwidth and to Twitter. She says that she has been contacted several times over the past few weeks by Black fans who have been harassed and abused by Stitch in racist and racialized ways, and who showed her screenshots of these interactions, which Stitch has since deleted. She says that because these fans are afraid to speak up for fear of further harassment, she offered to relay their concerns about a campaign based heavily on Stitch's writing. She does not provide the screenshots, in order to prevent the fans from being identified. She reiterates that she agrees with Stitch and with EOR that the OTW is failing to respond to racist abuse and harassment, but that she disagrees with their approach and proposals. (For what it's worth, as I said up front, I am not personally acquainted with either Stitch or Denise, and have no personal knowledge of events, but Denise is not the first person to accuse Stitch of racist harassment. There has been a great deal of discussion on FFA, both well-sourced and not so much, detailing Stitch's past behavior. I am linking to this round-up so that people can find it, but with the exception of those that directly link to the evidence, and one or two that reference Stitch's public writing, I do not know the accuracy of any of the claims, and I do not know the source of some of them. The allegations listed also vary wildly in their degree of seriousness, ranging from "actually harassed someone" to "said something distasteful," to "is friends with a known serial stalker and harasser.")

The OTW posts a newspost addressing Denise's original (June 15) thread and allegations. The say that they are in legal compliance with CSEM reporting procedures, that they provided resources to volunteers following the CSAM attacks, and that "the Legal Committee has always worked closely and cooperatively with the Policy & Abuse Committee, and continues to do so." They do not reference azalias's accusations or Denise's claim to have been pressured by Rebecca Tushnet. In the comments, azarias, Denise, and many other users, both anonymous and signed, express outrage at the OTW, and push for answers, apologies, retractions, and in some cases the resignation of Legal and/or the Board.

End OTW Racism posts a statement acknowledging the OTW's acknowledgment, and calling for supporters to donate to the OTW so that they can vote in the upcoming Board elections.

June 16-18, 2023: A group of people on Twitter, Tumblr, and Dreamwidth post individually and in conversation about Denise's comments on Stitch and End OTW Racism, defending Stitch and arguing that Denise's claims about them and disagreement with their and EOR's work are racist, unfounded or overblown, and a derailment from EOR's mission. Some of these are the same people who are in the comments of the OTW's response to Denise, pushing for the OTW to respond to azarias's allegations. (These are not inherently contradictory positions; I just want to note that both the personal and ideological stances here do not necessarily line up neatly into, say, pro-OTW and anti-OTW.) See, for instance, naye's Dreamwidth post, fiercynn's Dreamwidth post, or pearwaldorf's Tumblr post.

June 18, 2023: Denise posts a Twitter thread going into much greater detail about the number of fans of color who reported to her that Stitch had harassed them ("a number greater than five and less than fifteen"), and the severity of their claims ("Several of them said the harassment they experienced was so severe and pervasive that it caused them to change screen names, leave fandom, or otherwise restrict their conduct online.") She also gives a detailed, step-by-step outline of how she went about verifying their claims to her own satisfaction. She continues not to give out identifying details to prevent further harassment.

[Updated June 19, 2023 to correct language around the attack on OTW, which was a CSAM attack, not a CSEM attack.]

#otw #ao3 #organization for transformative works #archive of our own #abuse #harassment #racism #cw csem

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gaykarstaagforever · 4 months ago

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Well if I'm going to use stupidass TikTok, I should find out what all the weird baby straights and soon-to-be-divorced tradwives are up to over there.

Today we learn about the "Clean Girl Aesthetic".

Near as I can tell, it basically means not looking or dressing like some kind of dumpster clown.

And there's a fascination with pleated slacks or shorts and exposed belly buttons.

Doubtless this is mimicking some lady all these people have seen on their TVs. Taylor Swift? Another lady? Who can say? Not me, because Taylor Swift is the only lady I know of.

I'm old enough to remember the predecessor of this style as a kind of late 80s / early 90s Yacht Club thing that was popular with movie bullies and other people no one liked. I'm sure it has a History of Fashion name but I'm not looking it up, because Google already doesn't know who the hell I am or what the hell to sell me. I know it was very polo-shirt heavy back then. Big pockets. Beiges and greys and muted colors, probably because the POOR PEOPLE were all dressing like dumpster clowns:

But I looked up the Clean Girl thing to see exactly what probably-AI says it is:

...So it is literally about not being dirty? Isn't all fashion, inherently? Was there a trend that was wearing filth recently? Filthcore? Dumpster clown?

Well yeah, the midriff thing. But again, isn't all fashion inherently fatphobic? That's still bad, but kind of a universal in the world of people being dicks to other people about how everyone looks. The TRUE SOUL of fashion.

And that's not a new thing. Or is the Clean Girl thing especially virulently anti-fatty? Like to be a Clean Girl, you have to drive at least one fat person to contemplate suicide a month?

I mean that's awful, but TikTok is a lot of teenagers with stupid hair. I wouldn't put this past them. They're horrible little idiots. Look at their hair!

...Wait so you guys are doing "brown = dirty"? In 2024? What Gulf Coast cave did you people crawl out of after a 150-year Rip Van Winkle nap? The War Between the States is over, and your side lost. How did you figure out TikTok so fast, displaced temporal stranger?

Can't we all just shut up and wear pants?

As for the stealing thing, white people have been stealing and recreating the things they stole from POCs, then excluding them from those versions of those things, for as long as there have been white people.

It's bad, but as it is our primary cultural trait, we're certainly never going to stop.

Especially not those hibernating cave people. They probably still think "the Curse of Ham" is a justifiable legal defense.

This is what Clean Girl looks like, in case you too want to dress like someone whose dad mismanages a major streaming platform:

(I don't know who this model is. The picture is from a half-broken aggregator website in Foreign.)

#clean girl #tiktok #fashion #taylor swift probably

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sunlighthroughthe-ashes · 1 month ago

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i want to talk about how tenderly and tactfully the subject of trauma has been handled in family by choice. full credit to the original c-drama for the story — but the remake is my first introduction to the show and its premise.

families can be a person's first experience of a wound: that single unanswerable ache from which each of your hurts flow and fountain forward. it's rare for k-dramas to acknowledge this: to acknowledge that the individual to whom you are born may not belong to you. may not give you the grace you require to grow. may not take your small, hot hand; hungry for solace — and instead simply cast it aside. your family can be your first sharp disappointment — your first clear shock at the sheer ugliness of the world. to some, love is freely given — to others it is nothing more than a bone flung from a scant table. you hug the hunger like it's your own bed-pillow — it becomes your only home. the only house you ever live in.

through sanha & haejun's characters; one can see how the talons of trauma can mark you forever. both actors deserve accolades for the raw desperation and confusion in their eyes at the weight they're being asked to carry — especially inyoup. there's a muted, exhausted malaise in his eyes — the gaze of an adult caged within a teenager's body. by contrast, haejun appears younger than his years — a helpless, childlike hurt and betrayal borne by his eyes. both boys carry boulders unfit for such delicate shoulders — because there is a special kind of cruelty in asking a child to bear a burden that was never theirs to begin with. in lining their shoes with the gravel of grief since they were old enough to walk.

what does it to do to a child (in haejun's case) to be told that love is not intrinsic — and that it has to be earned? that it has to be paid back? what does it do to a child (in sanha's case) to be told that you are not enough as your own self — that you will never be forgiven for a flaw that was never yours to start with? what does it mean to taste a parent's neglect on your own tongue — to have it tint every part of your speech for the rest of time?

what does it mean to be a father to such children — as juwon's appa so fiercely upholds? to treat their scars as sacred. to harbor their hurts in his own hands. family by choice is as much about trauma as it is about healing — about the people knitted to you through their knowledge of your wounds; their patience with your past; their trust that your tears are temporary. about the neighbors, friends, and forged bonds that may not be of blood, yet sustain you nonetheless; surround your spirit with warmth. the people who choose you knowing the charred heartbreak in your chest — who love and accept you knowing the latticework of your loneliness: the people who press it all away with a single touch or smile – they are your true faith. they are your true family. they are the only ones who matter.

sanha, haejun, and juwon all have their crosses to bear — but they also have each other. there is always light to temper the dark. there is always sanha's eyes; and the way they soften when he looks at juwon: the jewel-toned reverence with which he reflects on every single thing she does for him. wherever there is trauma there is also and always a tryst with hope — a heart holding on to the idea that there will be more. there will be peace. there will be resolution. there will be sunlight at the end of the black silence.

family by choice reminds me of this quote by poet and novelist ocean vuong: "we were born from beauty. let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence—but that violence, having passed through the fruit, failed to spoil it."

#family by choice #kdrama #kdrama lover #rom com kdrama #hwang in yeop #jung chaeyeon #bae hyeon seong #jtbc #jtbc drama #vikishow #viki rakuten #viki #rakuten viki #viki drama #prefabricated family

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velvetures · 9 months ago

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COD AU: Intro

AN: I love this. I have so many thoughts in my head. So many it’s killing me inside. Please enable me. God I hope at least one of you likes this enough to talk to me about it. To hc, to literally just share my words with. And yes…. There is a very heavy Ghost/romance element… but I’m totally not against picturing the other options ahaha.

So I’ve been thinking….

An AU where everyone needs to lay low for a while. Maybe they’re all compromised and someone with enough power and money shows interest to take out the 141 forever. And Laswell, being the problem solver that she is, suggests a safe house of someone close to her. Someone who can be trusted. Not just to provide somewhere physically safe, but also keep a close eye on the team while they’re -somewhat- forcibly being cut off from the world.

So the team are flighted into the middle of god-knows-where in the mountains. A tiny little town -if you can call it that- and they meet their contact.

Not only a girl… but civilian.

She refers to Laswell as Aunt Kate and the Captain and Uncle John. Sweet as can be, and so damn helpful that it’s almost infuriating. Especially to Ghost. She hasn’t seen a single thing about them other than what Laswell has offered, and really appears like she couldn’t care less about opening her house up to them. A house just big enough to fit all four men.

Ghost isn’t sure about the whole thing. It feels wrong being holed up in the deep holler of an Appalachian mountain with a girl not twenty-five. Like some kind of fucked-up movie he wasn’t aware of being cast for. It’s all too strange walking inside her house and seeing photos on the walls, a massive rack of cast iron skillets and pots hanging above her kitchen island, and the way she looks at Price so fondly.

Uncle John…

Something about it rubs him wrong. There’s got to be history there… at least enough for her to feel the right to call Price that. But he’s never heard of her before. And this kind of arrangement isn’t one to taken lightly. There are people hunting the 141… A threat so well documented that they couldn’t even just turn a blind eye and wait for the smoke to clear.

The sweet thing doesn’t notice Ghost’s apprehension.

But she does recognize Price’s excitement in seeing her, as well as his slight disappointment that she’d offered to do this. She’s too good to get involved in matters of war, and he’s honestly surprised that Kate let you. But then again, there could only be so much disappointment he could find in seeing his goddaughter. And funnily enough, there’s a sense of relief he has in seeing how well she’s done for herself since he saw her last.

Intelligent, scarily so. But not in an overt way. He can see it in the way she collects rainwater for watering the little garden out back, and the pistol safe tucked under her bed with a thumbprint scanner. He notices the small town she’d bought her home in, and the relatively tight community. Maybe a little old-fashioned… but it’s good in case something goes wrong. And right now, it’s paying off.

Unbelievably welcoming too… but Kate and John always knew there’d come a day when she’d get a chance to ‘mother’ someone. And now she’d have four men to do exactly that for. Even from day one, she’s already made trips to the store, rearranged her whole home, and bought god-knows-what in anticipation for their arrival.

What’s each of your favorite food, I’ll make lists so I never run out of dinner ideas.

Any preferences on how I should come and go around my the house? I don’t want to startle anyone.

Did you need anything you didn’t bring? If I can’t get it in town or online I’ll text Aunt Kate and have her get it…

She’s nearly frantic to get them settled, and everyone reacts in a muted tone of shock save for Price. He’s well-aware thanks to Kate about how excited she is… something about wanting to prove herself. And Jesus if it doesn’t make Price feel a bittersweet burn in his chest as he introduces her to the others. Seeing her wide eyes examining all of them without the slightest hesitation. Memorizing names and faces, and shaking massive, gloved, hands without missing a beat.

She’s got Soap wrapped around her finger on instant. Maybe it’s a big-brother feeling. One like Price holds for her. Since she’s younger than him -unlike his own sisters- there’s something of a chance to be one for a while. Soap almost instantly takes to her Appalachian lilt and bright smile. They’re both too sweet for their own good at times… and Price can tell right away there won’t be a knife sharp enough to cut the two of them apart after this.

Gaz is quietly polite is a way only he can be. Meticulously trying to stay out of her way as she flutters about. Wanting to help her out, but also downright flustered when she demands she be the one to carry their bags to their rooms. It’s a clear sign he’s not used to it… A woman being this damn sweet and intent on ‘helping’ a man. But he takes it in stride. Learning how to help without stepping on her decidedly ‘southern comfort’ style of catering to them. And god if Price doesn’t have to chew the tip of his cigar when she gets on his ass about something. The poor sod looks like a kicked puppy… and he’s certain she’ll end up training him with due time.

Christ above. If Ghost isn’t the most difficult bastard to deal with initially.

He’s much more sour than typical. Lurking in corners, and unable to settle down anywhere for more than an hour. He looks caged in by the comfortable couch and throw blankets. Swallowed by her pleasantly creaky porch swing and sun-couch on the wraparound. Not even her well-used garage housing an old Fold flatbed makes a good refuge for Ghost. She’s all encompassing in a way he can’t come to terms with easily.

Price sees her trying the hardest with him.

The way her voice lowers when addressing him. How she makes a conscious effort to tiptoe around the house after 10pm because that’s when he shuts himself inside his bedroom… She doesn’t exactly know he never sleeps. Dinners are often served close to the time he finally realizes he’s got to come back inside the house… and without fail, she can be found sitting near him.

Not friendly by any means.

But more like a girl who’s found an old bait-dog at the pound and can’t leave well-enough alone. Sitting with her back it to and tossing treats over her shoulder. Hoping silently that the old, scarred, dog will come around. Damn near predatory in a sweet kind of way. Price can tell she means well. She can see the same thing everyone else on the team can… and she’s just going about it her way.

She’s good like that. Maybe a little too good.

But John can’t deny he enjoys seeing it. All of it really. The way she dotes on them individually. Consistently. Hell, she even does their laundry and bought separate baskets to keep things neat and tidy. The fridges -yes… multiple- all are set with their preferences in drinks, and she’s scarily observant when things need replaced. Toothpaste… shoelaces… socks… there’s no missing anything. Brands and sizes don’t seem to be a problem either, to some shock and mortification.

Uncle John, what’s Soap mean when he says he misses Irn-Bru?

His quick and unconcerned explanation goes without another notice… until he sees Johnny taking a long drink from a bottle of it while sitting on a rocking chair on the back porch watching some hummingbirds fight over richly dyed sugar water.

John’s often preoccupied with worrying about the plans of those head-hunting them and what Kate’s doing behind the scenes in the meantime. But it’s clear there’s nothing concerning his goddaughter but whether or not they’re all fed, warm, and comfortable in her house…

Whether Ghost likes it or not.

Comments are so heavily appreciated on this… I want to make this more of what I talk about & I can’t keep it all on a notebook under my bed.

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andy-wm · 4 months ago

Note

Andy, I dont think JM is queer, coz in WHO he is singing about a her, not a they.

She/her pronouns leave no scope for ambiguity.

Anon, that's like me saying 'Anonymous' must be your real name because that's who the ask came from.

Makes sense?

No.

No it does not.

If the pronouns were THEY, Jimin would be

a) slammed for being woke

and

b) not clearly telling you that he lives in a society that makes him think his love MUST be a she/her. And he can't find love, he can't find it anywhere.

If he had grown up thinking he could find love with (he/she/they... any pronouns) don't you think he would have found it by now? I mean, look at him, he's so beautiful and kind and smart. How could he not find someone?

Would he be singing songs about how he can't find love?

The way he specifically says HER tells you THAT'S WHERE THE PROBLEM LIES.

Please, Anon (not your real name, yeah?)

Please, for your future self, for you to navigate the information you encounter every day, don't just grab the first thing you see and run with it. Sure, consider your immediate reaction, but also consider what else might be happening.

Because theres always more than one way to look at a situation.

(Thats why we have a jury of 12 and courts of law, and we don't just let people claim revenge for perceived wrongs by vigilante justice. Because there's two sides to a story, and you need different perspecives to see all the angles.)

Critical thinking skills are important because often messages are hidden.

Sometimes it's because the author wants you to misunderstand at first, because their real meaning will have more impact when you discover it later.

Sometimes there are two different messages directed at two different types of audience (like kids movies with adult jokes hidden in them)

Sometimes it's because they actually cannot say what they really want to say because they aren't allowed to or because it'snot safe or because they simply don't want to be upfront.

In the case of this song, it's all three of those reasons.

Context clues tell us that this album is very queer themed. There are rainbows and smeraldo flowers everywhere.

Smeraldo flowers LITERALLY mean a hidden truth/ truth untold/ I couldn’t tell the truth.

The original posts about Smeraldo flowers are translated here:

You'll find this here: https://cafearmy.wordpress.com/category/flower-smeraldo-blog-post-translations/page/2

There are also clues in the WHO music video - the extended metaphor of the weather, and the rainbows and colour flares. These tell us THERE'S MORE GOING ON HERE.

Read the lyrics and also watch the mv and think about what you are hearing and seeing.

Follow the story and think about WHY everything is happening the way it happens.

The director didn't just randomly yell "ok dance! Now run a bit, now look at the camera, now sing!"

There's a plan. The plan is based on a story they're telling. The story has an ending that THEY ALREADY KNOW, but that we don't.

Until we've seen the whole thing and thought about it, and then gone back to see what we missed the first time around, we dont know.

Like Spring Day isn’t REALLY about the seasons, and Bapsae isnt about birds, and The Truth Untold isn't about growing flowers.

Go back and watch the MV with the audio muted and think about the story thr MV tells without the music.

Read the lyrics as though you are reading a poem.

Genuinely, i care about this (i am a school librarian Anon, i wouldn’t be one if i didn't care about how people interact with information) so listen and think about it.

Then come back and tell me if you still think he's not queer because the pronouns in this song are she.

Borahae 💜

#critical thinking #contex clues #read between the lines #bts jimin #who by jimin #bit jimin muse #jimin smeraldo #jimin the truth untold #non potevo dire la verrita #smeraldo flower

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rosewaterandivy · 1 year ago

Text

i. incandescent glow

summary: have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?

pairing: assumed e.m x reader, eventual s.h x reader

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; mutual pining, yearning, miscommunication, poorly-wired idiot signals, vague nineties vibes, asshole-ish rockstar eddie, best friend & store manager steve, drug abuse, comas and hospitals, found family, hop and wayne knocking sense into people, eventual smut, schmaltzy rom-com goodness, mention of thanksgiving, christmas, and new year's holidays

w.c.: 8.2k

a/n: when I say that writing this kicked my ass, I'm tellin' you I had a rough time. @bettyfrommars this flannel-wearing Steve is for you especially! Please enjoy & I hope y'all like it 🥹

series m.list | next | playlist | currently spinning:

Steve hadn’t planned for his life to amount to this, he’d simply blinked and found himself in a new decade, still rewinding tapes at Family Video. Granted, he’s district manager now and has several stores in the area he’s responsible for.

Meanwhile, Eddie got the hell outta dodge and Corroded Coffin actually made something of themselves. Two albums under their belt and a forth-coming world tour after the holidays, and, more recently, a cover on the Rolling Stone. Ed had called him up once it was all finalized, “Can you fuckin’ believe it man?!”

And, Steve loves Eddie, so he could actually believe it. He tries and fails to keep his jealousy at bay, Ed is one of his best friends for christ sakes. Steve is happy for him, he really is, despite the revolving doors at rehab centers dotting the west coast, late night calls from strangers because Munson passed out in someone’s bathroom again.

He is, after all, Eddie’s emergency contact. Gareth approached him after the second stint at rehab and suggested it, thought it would be the best all things considered. Steve readily agreed and signed the forms, kept his pager on him, and dutifully smoothed things over when Eddie’s benders got a bit too much.

So, he’s rewinding tapes when his pager goes off. He glances at the number and drags the phone across the counter. Nestling the handset between his shoulder and cheek, he punches in the numbers and shoves the tape in a plastic case to be shelved later.

“Hello, this is Hawkins Memorial Hospital. How may I direct your call?” a kind, if perfunctory voice recites. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the hospital waiting room, muted conversations and the ringing of phones.

“Hi, this is Steve Harrington. I received a page from this number regarding Eddie Munson.” Steve eyes the clock, he’s on closing shift by himself already having sent he employees home to celebrate with their families.

“Yes, one moment please.” The receptionist places him on hold, allowing Steve to rewind a couple more tapes and sort them for shelving. “Mr. Harrington?” the line roars back to life, no longer the receptionist, but the doctor in charge of Eddie’s care instead. “Mr. Munson came into the hospital unresponsive but breathing, he was revived by a…” He rattles off a name that Steve has never heard before. “His, fiancée, as I understand it.”

Steve feels the floor sway under his feet.

Eddie.

With a fiancée?

“She’s here now and in a bit of shock, as you can expect. Since you’re his emergency contact, we wanted to alert you of his current state as well as get any contact information for family and friends that need to be made aware.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

The doctor continues to relay that they’ve elected to place Eddie under a medically induced coma for the time being, to allow his body to flush the drugs from his system before assessing for any further damage.

Steve is transferred to a medical assistant who takes down Wayne and Hopper’s information. He figures between the two men the job will get done, but let’s be real, it’ll be Joyce that activates the phone tree and calls the kids, and he plans to swing by the hospital later that evening once he’s closed up.

Grabbing the stack of tapes and begins to shelve them with a shake of his head. It would be just like Eddie to get engaged and not be fucked to tell anyone. Returning to the counter, he fiddles with the cuffs of his flannel shirt— Robin got it for him the last time she swung through town, insisted that Steve’s wardrobe needed some serious upgrading and all but thrust it upon him.

“It brings out your eyes,” She said, leaning against the wall outside the dressing room. Her worn boots kicked against one another, half of her reflected in the mirror while Steve assessed.

“It’s brown.”

“And gold!” She turns him around to press down the collar and pop the first two buttons of the shirt open. “It’s color theory man, just trust me on this, okay?”

Which is how Steve found himself the new owner of several flannel shirts of varying hues. And boots. When he complained it was all too lumberjack-like, Robin shushed him and continued to flirt with the cute check-out girl.

But that had been months ago. It was coming on Thanksgiving now and his two best friends had been too busy traveling or showing art pieces to even call. He doesn’t mind, not really— well, he tries not to. Steve gets it, people are busy, things to do and people to see.

The remainder of his shift goes by slowly. Kids home from school, families coming in by the dozen. Steve manages to complete a few menial tasks in between customers, throws on Planes, Trains and Automobiles just to have something on in the background.

He’s helping a regular when his pager beeps again, this time flashing Robin’s number. The door dings as they leave and Steve’s already wedged the phone to balance against his shoulder once more as he leans and elbow on the counter.

“Eddie has a fiancée?!” is the thing she screeches down the line. “When the fuck did that happen? Harrington, you’re supposed to keep me aware of these things!”

He signs and scrubs a hand down his face, “I’m his emergency contact, not his guardian.”

“Have you met her? What’s she like?”

“I don’t—”

“I got the first flight out of the city. Which means I had to go to LaGuardia blech,” She makes a gagging sound down the line. “Jonathan’s picking me up now from Indy. Oh my god, is she pretty?” Robin pings between her travel plans and hypothesizing about Eddie’s girl, “I bet she’s a total knock-out, knowing him. How did they meet? D’ya think she’d pose for me?”

“Slow down there, killer.” Steve laughs, “Might want to meet the girl first before propositioning her.”

She huffs a laugh, “You’re right, of course. She’d probably think I’m insane or something. What would I do without you Stevie?”

“Probably scare off more chicks than you already do.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself Harrington.” Robin’s laugh is loud and warm, soothing something in his gut. “I’ll see you tonight, dingus.”

“Sure, stay safe. Call me later, bye.” He places the phone back in its cradle and has half a mind to check the room behind the curtain, just in case some teenagers slipped past without him noticing, but then the phone rings.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

“Uh, hi.” A voice says down the line, small and tight. You introduce yourself, quickly followed by, “I’m at the hospital, with, uh Eddie?”

“Oh! Hi, how’s he doing?”

“Good, still in the coma.”

Steve can hear some voices filtering through the mic, loud and familiar.

“So, Hop and Wayne made it? That’s good.”

“Yeah, yeah, Joyce too. The kids are here too, I guess? It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

He huffs a laugh, “Yeah, I can only imagine.” He occupies himself with the slinky on the counter, much preferring to hear your voice than deal with the families that just walked in, ten minutes to close. “You holding up okay?”

An intake of breath, “Mmhm.”

It’s a feeling he knows well.

You’re overwhelmed by all these people you’d never met, on top of the fact that your fiancee is in a coma. Steve feels like shit, having you handle all of that by yourself. If he hadn’t stupidly sent the mid-shift employees home early, he would have been there to help you navigate it all.

“Joyce wants to know if you’re coming by after work. If we should wait for you,” You say after a beat or two of silence, “Or if you’ll just meet us at the house for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

Steve rolls his neck in an effort to relieve the built-up tension there, bones popping, he rubs a hand at the nape of his neck. “Could you put her on real quick?”

He listens as the phone changes hands and Joyce’s comforting voice intones, “Steve?”

“She’s freaking out.”

“What?”

He sighs, “The fiancée, she sounds like she’s in a bad way.” He checks out the straggling customers, “Don’t wait on my account. I’ll see Ed after I’m done here.”

“Okay, Steve.”

“Does she have a place to stay? I know Rob is crashing with you and Hop—”

Joyce laughs, “We’ll have a full house I suppose. I can put Jonathan on the couch or something, don’t worry about it Steve.”

“Right. Okay.” He gives the final customer a smile and wave as they wish him a happy holiday. “I’ll see you later.”

Hanging up the phone, Steve walks to the door to turn the lock and flip the sign to ‘closed.’ He lingers against the door, resting his forearms against the bar, watching as the snow falls against the dark sky. Wonders how it is that just from the sound of your voice, he felt himself falling not unlike snowflakes outside.

Earlier that day

Turns out, landing the Corroded Coffin interview was not the boon to your career you thought it would be.

Maybe you’d set yourself up for failure. And it didn’t help that you had one big, fat embarrassing crush on a member of the band. Generally, being a fan of the artist coupled with the tendency to romanticize things in your mind only led to disaster.

Or, in your case, attempting to revive the frontman of the aforementioned band on the bathroom floor.

Eddie Munson was unresponsive at your feet, a panoply of pills and baggies scattered across the floor. Having no time to think, you launch into action— checked for breathing and finding none began CPR followed by chest compressions, all while yelling for help.

Gareth is the one to find you, compressing Eddie’s chest with your two hands in between administering two breaths after every 30 counts.

“Call an ambulance!”

You can’t even bring yourself to feel sorry about your tone, harried and frantic, as he stumbles out to call 911. Thankfully, the paramedics are quick. One paramedic asks, “You’re his fiancée?”

Dumbly, you nod, too in shock to register what’s been said. Someone guides you down the steps and into the front of the ambulance strapping you in with a seatbelt. He can’t just die, you reason, not when Corroded is just taking off— a world tour in the new year and a cover story with Rolling Stone.

Your editor would have your head if something were to go wrong. Munson was notoriously picky with interviews and reporters, it was a miracle they’d approved you for the job. Rumor has it that he’d have much preferred Nancy Wheeler, but the board wasn’t keen to bring in a free-lance reporter for the job.

Somehow, this would be your fault.

Arriving at the hospital isn’t any better. Gareth and the other band members stayed behind to call management and see what was to be done about Eddie, and made you promise to call them once you’d arrived at Hawkins Memorial.

Nevermind that you’re alone in a town you’d never stepped foot in before today. And all at Eddie Munson’s behest.

They rushed him off past the swinging double-doors, out of your reach. Stepping to the front desk, you ask the receptionist where the nearest pay-phone is, and she offers you one of the hospital phones instead.

Dialing the number hastily scribbled onto your hand, your fingers brush along the plastic keys listening for the trill of the ring down the line.

“Hi, Gareth? We made it to the hospital, they took him back with a team of doctors and nurses.”

“You didn’t go back with him?”

“It’s family only, I think?” You scratch the back of your neck nervously. “It’s not a big deal, I can stay in the lobby until you get here.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a while…”

He goes on to explain that their team has to meet and discuss next steps. The band can’t leave until they’ve done so and their manager asked them to stay put.

“That’s shitty.”

He hums his agreement.

“And I’m just supposed to stay here by myself? I don’t—”

“That’d be great, that is, if you don’t mind,” Gareth interrupts. “They’ll call his emergency contact soon enough. But we’d really appreciate having someone we know there until then.”

“Oh, okay.”

He thanks you for being so cool with all of this and says his goodbyes. With a short smile, you hand the phone back to the receptionist. Heaving a sigh, you drop your head into your hands and lament, “I was gonna marry him.”

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s attending nurse overhears you and recalls how the paramedic who brought him in said something about a fiancee. Turning toward you, she places a delicate hand on your back. You jump with a start and look up.

“You’re the fiancée, right?”

“Wh–”

“It’s okay honey, he’s doing fine. I’ll take you back there now.”

Allowing yourself to be guided by the kind nurse as she prattles on about something or other, you wonder how to get yourself out of this. No one was going to buy that Eddie Munson has a secret fiancee. If he was awake, he’d probably laugh you out of the room himself.

But, as it was, they’d placed him in a medically induced coma to let the drugs work their way out of his system. A small miracle, that. The doctor briefs you on his status, all of which flies directly out of your brain, too focused on how small he looks in the bed. Tubes dripping fluids and machines whirring or beeping every so often. Tattoos a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, a sharp relief against a marble canvas.

A medical assistant approaches you and asks about an emergency contact or the contact information of family and friends.

“I don’t–”

The dazed look in your eye must give something away because the assistant attempts to pat your back comfortingly before saying they’ll check his personal effects.

The nurse, impossibly kind, rests a hand on your shoulder, “Let him hear your voice, honey.”

Her shoes squeak along the tile floor as she leaves. There’s a brief reprieve where you’re left alone with Eddie in the hospital room. The nurse and medical assistant flit in and out occasionally, making notes in his chart here and there. But you’re transfixed by the man in front of you— beautiful and impossibly out of reach. He was even before the interview, you rationalize, but now he’s even more so. It’s bittersweet, almost, makes you want to reach out and hold the hand at his side, silver rings glinting in the fluorescent lights.

“Hi,” You greet. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here, huh?” You take the seat closest to him. “Well, I didn’t really get a chance to introduce myself, so here it goes.” Taking a sip from the coffee the nurse left to fortify you, you recite your full name. “And I think you should know your family thinks we’re engaged. Never been engaged before, so this is all very sudden for me.” You huff a laugh and roll your eyes, “Um, what I really came here to tell you was, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You continue, a quasi-one sided conversation and therapy session all in one neat package. “I’m just a reporter for the Rolling Stone. And if you were awake, or hell, even if Gareth were here, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Oh, god not that I’m blaming you.” Your hand finds his arm briefly before you jerk back as if stung, “Shit, sorry.”

“This is not how I pictured my life going, to be honest with you. I thought when I did get engaged, I’d at least have the luxury of knowing my fiancé, or y’know them being conscious at least.” You sigh and take another sip of shitty coffee, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my life— I’ve got a great job and apartment, I get to travel and write for a living. It’s definitely not a bad gig.”

“It’s just, I never met anyone I could truly be myself with, y’know? Laugh with, and I mean ugly laugh with a snort and witch cackle. D’ya ever believe in love at first sight? No, probably not, you’re too rock and roll for that. Or have you even seen someone, and you knew that if only that person really knew you, they would…”

Thinking back to your Corroded Coffin research and tabloid perusals, you sigh. “Of course, they would dump the perfect model that they were with and realize that you were the one they wanted to grow old with.” You shake your head, realizing how ridiculous you sound, talking to a man in a coma who probably can’t even hear you. Your voice falls to a hush, “You ever fall in love with someone you’ve never even talked to? Have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?”

“No? Me neither.”

There’s the sound of shuffling of feet echoing from the hallway, followed by a relived: “Oh, there he is.”

A voice startles you from the doorway, deep and masculine, albeit out of breath. A tall, broad man steps into the room quickly followed by a shorter woman and a lankier man. The first addresses you, “You must be the fiancée, I’m Jim Hopper.” He holds out his hand in greeting.

You shake his hand, palm engulfed in his larger one.

“This is my wife, Joyce, and that there is Eddie’s uncle Wayne.”

“He’s so pale,” She laments, crossing the room to his bedside. “Oh, my god.”

You nod to each of them, dropping your hand from Hopper’s. He studies you and you feel like squirming under his gaze, he’s still in uniform but sets his hat on a nearby chair. Great, just what you needed, a police chief to sniff you out.

Grabbing your things, you ready yourself to leave. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I should—”

“Nonsense,” Joyce says from opposite of you, she brushes a few strands of hair away from Eddie’s face. “The kids’ll be here soon and they’ll want to meet you.”

Wayne claps a hand to your shoulder, warmly giving it a squeeze.

“The doctor said you found him and gave him CPR until the paramedics arrived?”

“Oh, um, yeah.”

“They say the only reason he was breathing when they brought him in was because of you.” His voice is hoarse, he coughs into his fist and clears his throat. “Thank you, for that.”

“It’s what anyone would’ve done.”

He squeezes your shoulder once more, “Not necessarily,” and moves off to sit in one of the chairs.

“The doctor should be back soon,” You say, sitting beside Wayne. “He said the vital signs and brainwaves were looking good.”

Joyce nods and shoots you a smile, making idle chit-chat while the rest of you wait for the kids to arrive. There was some concern over Wayne and his heart condition, doesn’t take to shocking news too well, as you understand it. But who are these kids, Eddie’s kids? You didn’t recall coming across any mention of a previous wife or children in your research, but there are stranger things for rockstars to get up to than having a secret family you suppose.

It’s only when Wayne nudges you with his foot that you realize Joyce has been calling your name, “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, a hotel for the night.” You say softly, “I have to get back to New York soon.”

“Well, I won’t hear of it.” Joyce says looking to Hopper, “She’ll stay with us, won’t she Jim?”

He looks back at his wife and seeing her steely resolve, he knows better than to argue with her. “Sure, you’ll spend the holiday with us.”

Damn.

“Oh, we should see if we need to wait for Steve,” Joyce notes, just as a gaggle of people walk in. “Hi kids!” She stands quickly to greet them, their names coming too fast for you to keep up. A man and woman about your age bring up the rear, Joyce hugging them in turn.

Quietly, you step out to collect yourself. After taking a few breaths, you spot the medical assistant from earlier and flag him down for the emergency contact information. He scribbles a name and several phone numbers on a scrap of paper, “I would try this one first,” He points to the middle number, “It’s the work line, I think.”

“Great, thank you!”

Entering the room again, Wayne introduces you as Eddie’s fiancee and rescuer, to whoops and hollers. The younger woman lets out a wolf-whistle and drops you a wink, causing the heat to skitter underneath your skin. Making toward the phone, you dial the number and read the name on the paper.

Steve Harrington.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

The rich baritone of his voice, strong and deep, brings a quiver to your knees. Stumbling your way through an introduction, you make disastrous small-talk and wave Joyce over. She takes the phone with a smile, pushing you lightly toward the assembled group where the young woman, Robin, takes you under her wing.

“Fiancée, huh?” She asks with a quirked brow, to your noncommittal shrug. “Hmm.” Her eyes sweep toward Eddie, “I think you can do better,” She jokes with a wink.

Wayne drives you from the hospital to the house, graciously stopping by a grocery store along the way because you didn’t want to show up empty-handed. You make quick work of the deserted aisles, grabbing the necessary ingredients for pumpkin and pecan pie. He helps you to load the bags in the back of the truck and softly croons along to Woody Guthrie as he drives along the icy streets.

A comfortable silence sits between you. Wayne Munson is a man of few words, which is fine by you. The less opportunity for talking yourself into a hole, the better. He comes to a stop in front of a two-storey house festooned with Christmas lights. He carries your bags from the truck into the house, promising Joyce that he’ll be back tomorrow for Thanksgiving. Joyce rolls her eyes fondly and turns back toward the kitchen, leaving the pair of you in the entryway.

You rock back on your heels uncomfortably. Before you can make your escape, Wayne’s hand falls to your shoulder again kneading gently. You glance up to find his watery eyes and quiet smile; he pulls you in for a brief hug. “Thank you sweetheart,” He sighs, followed by a sniff, “I don’t know where he’d be without you, or where we’d be for that matter.” Giving you a final squeeze, he releases you and calls out a goodbye to Hopper and Joyce, shutting the front door behind him.

“Hey kid,” Hopper says, leaning against the bannister. “Join me outside for a minute?” He shrugs into his coat and nods toward the front porch. “Lemme grab my smokes, I’ll meet you out there.”

Well, shit.

It takes everything in you to not give in and pace along the icy boards of the porch as you wait. He’s figured you out, you know he has, and now he’s going to kick you out and you’ll have to call a cab and get back to the hotel before booking it to the airport first thing tomorrow.

“I know you and Munson aren’t involved, kid.” Hopper shuts the front door with a soft click, “Heard you back at the hospital talking to him.”

Your blood goes cold and you know there’s no way you can spin yourself out of this one. “I know, I know and I’m so sorry. It just all happened so fast and Wayne has that heart thing—” Your voice is choked and tight as you try to explain.

“Hey, slow down, take a breath. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“I’ll tell them, I just—”

He shakes his head and lets out a sigh, “Let me level with you,” He brushes off the snow and ice from the top step and invites you to sit down beside him. “God knows what that boy did to earn your attention, cause I certainly can’t make heads or tails of it.” He lights up a cigarette and offers one to you, “No? Can’t say I blame you, it’s a bad habit.” He takes a long drag in thought, leaving you to stew in your guilt. “What I’m trying to say is this: whatever you did, it brought him back. Eddie’s here and breathing because of you, so, in a way, we have him back because of you.”

You stay silent, knowing that whatever Hopper just shared with you is important. The guilt doesn’t leave you, not entirely, but this gruff lawman confiding in you does lodge something loose from the knot in your chest. And when he throws his arm over your shoulders to draw you to his side, you can’t help the watery smile that makes its way across your face.

He smells like your dad, the same blend of tobacco, leather, and spice. It’s been far too long since you’ve indulged in the memory of him, so you allow yourself the weakness, just this once.

And you let Hopper lead you back inside his loud and warmly lit home where Joyce greets you with a plate for dinner and promises to help you bake the pies for tomorrow.

Steve is dead on his feet when he arrives at Hop and Joyce’s house. He’d swung by the hospital to check on Eddie and talked with the doctor and nurses. It was all pretty standard— let him dry out and then assess for further damage. His vitals were good and there didn’t appear to be a need for concern at this point. The doctor, of course, recommended a stay in rehab after being discharged from the hospital, which was already suggested by Corroded’s management team.

“You fucking idiot.”

That’s the first thing Steve says to Eddie, quickly followed by:

“When you wake up, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

He doesn’t linger, knowing he’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day until Eddie wakes up. But it’s gone midnight by the time he turns the key at Hop’s place, kicking his boots at the door to rid them of the snow and ice, before toeing them off at the door. They thunk across the hardwood as he carelessly kicks them off, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the hooks by the door.

“Sshh, dingus, you’re gonna wake her up!” Robin hisses as her socked feet light down the stairs.

Steve smiles, relieved to see her, before asking, “Wake up who?”

Robin rolls her eyes and gestures to your sleeping form on the sofa. Steve studies you from a few steps up, one hand resting on the wooden bannister while the other pauses mid-air as he unravels his scarf. “Eddie’s fiancée, of course.”

“So, that’s her?”

You’ve turned your back to them, and you’ve curled in ever so slightly on the sofa. One of Joyce’s many blankets covers you, but your socked feet stick out from underneath one corner— dancing penguins.

At least, that’s what Steve thinks are on your socks. But, he may need to get his eyes checked again.

“What, you haven’t met her?” Robin takes in Steve’s shocked expression, before it softens into something akin to how he goes all moon-eyed at the babes who frequented Scoops Ahoy or Family Video when they were teens as his eyes fall to you once more. “She’s great, you’ll love her. Now c’mon, let’s get you some food.”

“Cereal?”

She snorts at that, “Not my cereal. You took the toy surprise last time!”

Safely ensconced in the kitchen, Robin and Steve catch up in between bites of sugary cereal. She regales him with how valiantly Jonathan tried to get you to take his room upstairs for your stay and how stubbornly you’d refused, insisting you’d be fine on the couch.

“I was right,” Robin says, some milk dribbling from her mouth as she chews. “Total knock-out and smart. Dunno how Munson managed it.”

“Oh y’know, the Munson charm probably.”

She hums in thought, setting her empty bowl in the sink. “Why d’you think he didn’t tell us?”

“Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise?”

“Fuck, what if he knocked her up?!”

Steve’s eyes blow wide at that thought. “Uh,” He says, astutely, “I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Yeah,” Robin hops down from her perch on the counter. “But how do we know?”

“You could ask her.”

She punches him in the arm, “You don’t just ask women if they’re pregnant Steve, geeze.”

He shrugs and slurps the sugary milk from the bowl before setting it alongside Robin’s. He licks his lips and crosses his arms in thought. Steve hadn’t considered the rather obvious conclusion that his rockstar best friend had inadvertently knocked someone up. Considering the groupies and types that flocked to Eddie, it was a long time coming.

If that’s what the case may be.

As it stands, it’s nearly two in the morning and Steve is exhausted. Thankfully, Family Video is closed for the holiday tomorrow, but he knows that in a few hours everyone is going to tramping around the house and generally being a nuisance. And he really doesn’t wanna drive clear across town to his place.

Steve pauses on the stairs, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. Robin clears the landing and calls to him from the guest room, “C’mon dingus, I haven’t got all night.”

With a shake of his head, he climbs the stairs mindful not to linger too long on the creaky boards. He settles in sharing a bed with Robin, her icicle feet darting under his calves as he fusses with the blankets. His head hits the pillow, and he’s out like a light.

All you can think as you blearily blink yourself awake, is how everything is so loud. Even when they try to be quiet, scampering across the hall past the living room where you clung to the last vestiges of sleep - it was loud. Strained whispers about breakfast and hospital visits, the opening and closing of doors, Hopper hissing at the kids to “Keep your mouths shut,” and to “Stop chasing each other across the house!”

A man, whom you can only assume is Steve, stumbles down the stairs, sweats swung low on his hips sporting a threadbare t-shirt and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You’ve never seen a human being with bedhead like that - strands sticking up every which way and the sheer volume it had, my god. Hand falling from his eye, his glasses slot back into place, a pair of simple round frames decked in silver. He stops short at the landing, one hand grasping the wood of the bannister, watching as you set the phone back in its cradle.

“Leaving so soon?”

And that voice - all husky and low from sleep, with a slight rasp to it. It’s amazing you’re not reduced to a puddle on the floor at this point. He stretches slowly, like an animal would, a hushed groan falling from his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and drag your eyes from the sliver of skin exposed at his hip.

“No, just talking to Wayne.” You offer meekly, voice rusty from disuse, “He’s on his way over for an early morning hospital run.”

“Mmm,” Steve nods, “That’s not a bad idea.” He turns the corner from the stairs and stands beside you in the entryway. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” He says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Steve.”

“Nice to meet you.” You shake hands and introduce yourself. His hand is large and warm, the contact of your skin against his sending a shiver down your spine.

“That’s a pretty name,” He smiles at you, beginning to wake up a bit more. “So, you’re the fiancée.”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” He looks you up and down, clucks his tongue and departs, making his way toward the kitchen.

Once there, all hell breaks loose. Joyce and Hop are manning the stove and counter, flipping pancakes and shovelling eggs onto plates and all but throwing them at the kids. Wedged into the breakfast nook are Dustin, Lucas, and Mike while El, Max, Robin, and Jonathan commandeer the table in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ family.” Steve greets, bee-lining for the coffeemaker. Blessedly, there’s a fresh pot brewing in the percolator while he scavenges for a mug.

Mumbled versions of “Morning Steve,” sound out from the peanut gallery between bites of food and sips of coffee or orange juice. Joyce sets a plate in front of him on the counter and ruffles his hair, “Morning kiddo.”

Hop sighs from the stove, turning the dial of the burner to ‘Off’ before intoning, “The kitchen is officially closed, you gremlins.”

Steve chuckles as he removes the coffeepot and gives a generous pour into the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug El made many moons ago. He’s not sure of your preferred cream-to-sugar ratio, so he decides to go without and trots out of the kitchen.

He sees the front door close at the end of the hall and quickens his step not wanting to miss you. Spying a pair of slides from god knows who, he slips them on and pulls the door open. Wayne’s old pickup is idling in the driveway as you step into the cab, feet unsteady and the newly formed ice of the drive. Wayne nods to Steve in greeting as he walks toward the house, while Steve waves in return.

“Careful,” He says as a hand comes to rest at your back.

Tossing a ‘thanks’ over your shoulder, you settle into the seat with a click of the seatbelt. “Did you need something?” You ask, breath forming puffs of vapor in the morning light.

“Well, uh,” Steve begins, ducking his head and gesturing to the mug in his hand. “The coffee’s not too great over there at the hospital.” He hands you the mug through the open door.

“Oh, thank you.”

He leans against the car, face level with yours. One fist at the roof of the cab while his opposite arm braces against the open door. A lock of hair falls into his face, and he’s so attractive that it’s stupid. “So, uh, y-you’re comin’ back, right? You’ll come back?”

You glance to him, unsure of why he’s so concerned with your whereabouts. “Yeah, we’re just checking in. We’ll be back soon.”

Steve nods at your confirmation, pushing off of the truck to stand at his full height. His hands slide to his hips, fingers just beneath the band of the sweatpants as he slowly arches his back, hips bobbing toward you. And you don’t know whether to maintain eye contact with him or focus on the looming proximity of his crotch.

“Oh boy,” He exhales, looking off into the distance. “What a day.”

Your eyes dart away when he looks to you once more, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Well, thank you.” You hold the mug up and take a tentative sip, “Good goddamn,” You whisper in disbelief.

“It’s good, right?” You nod and take another sip as he smiles, “I had a dream about you last night.” He tugs at the band of his sweats while your eyes cut to his.

“What?”

“Yeah,” He leans against the truck again, face closer to yours and arms resting against the roof of the cab. “I ended up havin’ a dream about you.”

“W-what was I doing?” You stammer out, as the sound of crushed snow and ice underfoot signals Wayne’s return.

“Well–” Steve starts to say before he’s cut off by Wayne’s, “Y’ready, sweetheart?”

You nod and clear your throat uncomfortably.

“You comin’?” Wayne asks Steve before he closes the passenger door.

“Later.” He turns to leave as Wayne settles into the driver’s seat but before you can pull out of the driveway, “Oh, y’know, you gotta make sure to bring back the mug because it’s Hop’s favorite.”

You stare back at him blankly.

“Or he’ll kill ya.”

“Okay,” You breathe watching as he makes his way back to the house, Adidas slides flopping through the snow.

Returning from the hospital an hour or so later, with plans to bring a few plates over for Eddie’s attending doctor and nurses, you nearly breeze past Steve sitting on the staircase with a mug of coffee and paper in hand.

“Hey,” You greet, toeing off your boots and shrugging out of your coat. “Wayne’s coming back for later, just had to grab some things from his place.”

He’s changed out of his sweats and done something to tame his hair. You can hear Joyce frantically corralling the kids in the kitchen, something about Mass and how she refuses to be late again. Steve shakes his head and drinks his coffee, ready and waiting to cart Robin, Dustin, and Max over to Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy for the Thanksgiving Mass.

But it would seem that no one warned you about Mass last night, which would explain the deer in headlights look you’re sporting now. Steve stands from his perch on the stairs, turning to yell at Robin, “Our Lady may have perpetual mercy, but I don’t and you’re really pushing it today Rob!”

When he turns back, you’re no longer in the entryway. The kitchen door swings as if someone just passed through, and he can hear your voice over the chatter from the kids. Joyce is rattling off instructions and times for food to be cooked and you’re diligently taking notes on the whiteboard attached to the fridge. Your handwriting is neat, and a bit slanted, giving it an effortless look. Capping the marker, you let it swing from the string on the fridge.

“Think that about does it,” You assure Joyce, gesturing to the lone velcro roller in her hair. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you get back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” She asks, unraveling the roller and setting it on the windowsill above the sink. “I’m sure Robin has something you could borrow.”

Steve catches your eye roll and snorts into his mug. Your eyes cut to him, silently admonishing his outburst. He shakes his head and sets the mug on the counter, seeing Hop’s mug he loaned you earlier already on the drying rack.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” You kindly brush her off, “Besides, you’ll want to get going soon and I would just hold you up.”

“And the hotel is dropping off your luggage later?”

You nod, tying on an apron and moving to wash your hands. “Yeah, I spoke with the concierge this morning.”

“I wish you’d just sleep in Jonathan’s old room,” Joyce tuts, “He can go on the couch, he’s used to it.”

“Mom, I already offered—”

You laugh and raise your hand, “It’s fine Joyce, I’m already an imposition as it is. The last thing I’d want to do is put him out.”

Steve watches as you blend in with the family, how easily you soothe Joyce and her worries, banter with the kids, and crack jokes with Hop. It’s easy to see why Eddie could fall for someone like you. He just wishes he could find someone like that— easy going and kind, someone who fits in like a missing puzzle piece.

But maybe it’s too perfect.

Now there’s some food for thought.

A loud honk from Hop’s Bronco jars him from his musings. Steve claps his hands together, rallying the troops, “Okay, who’s with me?” Dustin, Lucas, and Max jump up from the table and gather their coats, scurrying out to the beemer. Robin takes the stairs two at a time, struggling to shrug into her coat. “Look alive, sunshine!”

Goodbyes ring out as you follow them to the porch, watching as they clamber into their cars. You wave as they pull out of the drive, Joyce rolling down the window for a final reminder about the dinner rolls. With good humor, you nod and give her a thumbs up as the Bronco drives onto the street.

The church parking lot is packed by the time they arrive. Steve drops off Robin and the kids before peeling out to find a parking spot, while Hop leaves the Bronco in the drop-off lane in front. Mass has already begun when Steve enters the chapel, quickly he slips in alongside Hop and Joyce at the family pew.

“We pray that the Lord’s healing presence will be felt by those who are sick and by their families. Especially Robert Newby, Barbara Holland, and Edward Munson. We pray to the Lord,” The priest intones from the lectern.

“Lord hear our prayer.”

Steve stands in between Hopper and Robin, waiting for the priest to move it along.

“O, God, you call us to live as one family. Save us from…”

Finally, they sit. Half-paying attention to the priest, Steve turns to Hop and asks, “So, who’s this fiancée?”

“She’s Eddie’s girl, she’s family now.”

“You’d think if Eddie were getting married, he would have announced it in the Times.”

Hop turns to him, “We read the Indianapolis Star.”

And the congregants say, “Amen.”

“If she’s family, why isn’t she at Mass with us?”

Hop snorts, “That’s rich, comin’ from you, kid.”

“I like Mass better in Latin,” Wayne pipes up from his seat next to Joyce, “It’s nicer when you don’t know what they’re sayin’.”

“D’ya think about what I said the other night?”

“Nope.”

“Steve, come on.” Hop stands with the rest of the congregation, “You’ve got the instinct for it, and gettin’ through the Academy is a breeze.”

“I told you,” Steve says following suit, “I don’t wanna be a cop for chrissakes.”

“Stop swearing,” Joyce hisses, “We’re in Mass.”

“But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Well, you can talk about it later,” Joyce reminds them.

“Talk about it now,” Robin says leaning toward Steve conspiratorially, “He can’t kill you in church.”

“Will you please pipe down?” An exasperated parishioner asks from the pew behind them.

Hop scoffs and slowly turns around, “Hey, be nice, pal. We’re in church.”

“You’re disrupting the Mass!” He hisses back.

“Yeah? And who made you the Pope?”

“Jim!” Joyce hisses, nudging with an elbow.

“Now how did Argyle get to be a lector?” Wayne asks, “He took over Ed’s gig with Reefer Rick after he moved to LA with the band.”

Steve and Hopper snort, Robin tries and fails to repress her laughter. Down past Wayne, Dustin and Mike are a few seconds from a slap fight while Max and El whisper in between fits of giggles. Joyce sighs deeply.

And the congregation says, “Amen.”

Cooking Thanksgiving lunch goes off without a hitch. Everything was ready, as you promised, by the time they’d returned from Mass and you’d caught the tail end of Joyce’s scolding: “We will try to behave as a civilized family might—”

The kitchen door swung open to reveal Hopper and Joyce both stopping short at the sight of you washing dishes.

“H-how did you—” Joyce’s mouth opens and closes, struck dumb at the sight of gleaming dishes in the drying rack and the dishwasher already running.

“Oh, hi,” You toss over your shoulder, “The dining room table is set, I was just cleaning up in here.”

Steve and Robin file in soon after, bickering about something or other. They’re talking fast and cutting each other off, but it doesn’t deter their conversation.

“Why do you keep singling me out?” Steve balks, throwing his coat on the back of a nearby chair.

“Well, if you hadn’t been pestering Hop throughout Mass we might’ve—”

“And I can’t even defend myself?”

“Forget it,” Hop cuts in with a warning tone, “And I know you gave her my mug, Harrington.”

“Oh, did you need it?” Your hand flies to the cabinet above the coffeemaker, a fresh pot already brewed. “It’s all washed and ready to go.”

Dustin enters shortly after, “Let’s just vote Steve off the island,” and thumps him on the chest in passing.

“Yeah,” Hop agrees.

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Well, I’m ashamed of all of you.”

“Oh, there’s some news,” Max mutters sarcastically, leaning against the fridge.

Steve’s eyes fall to Lucas, “Even you Sinclair.”

Lucas throws up his hands in exasperation, “I didn’t even do anything!”

“Okay, enough.” Joyce says cutting through the nonsense. “It’s Thanksgiving, we’re going to eat lunch without any of this bickering. And then, with any luck, you lot will pass out watching the game and I can finally get some goddamn peace.”

Everyone has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, that is until:

“No swearing.”

Steve punches Robin in the arm, “Can it.”

The room descends into guffaws and fits of laughter shortly thereafter. Joyce eventually herds everyone into the dining room, Robin pours the drinks while Hop carves the turkey. Everyone helps themselves to the various sides— dinner rolls, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and roasted veggies. Wayne arrives with cornbread fresh from the oven and some vanilla ice cream to go with the pies for dessert.

The candles are lit casting a warm glow around the room, illuminating smiling faces. And it’s nice. Nice to belong, if only temporarily, to a big family that loves hard. Growing up, it had been only you and your dad. And after his death, that left only you. You had missed it, all of it— the inside jokes, sibling taunts, half-assed scolding followed by a cheeky wink, and that effortless touch.

It was second nature, how freely they expressed their affection for one another. Steve roping Dustin into a half-nelson for a noogie, Jonathan and Will kicking eachother under the table, El and Max communicating in half-formed sentences and wild gesticulations, Joyce, Hop, and Wayne sharing long-suffering sighs.

“Hey,” Robin says, nudging you with her elbow after refilling your wine glass. “I’m thankful for you.” Her voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret. Cheeks tinged with a flush from the wine, she smiles at you and raises her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” She announced to the group, “To our newest addition and guardian angel, cheers!”

The sentiment is echoed across the table, calls of your name and ‘here, here.’ And it’s so kind that your heart could burst. You sip your wine and swallow around the lump in your throat. Going back to your meal, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched, observed. Glancing up, you catch Steve looking at you from across the table.

The flicker of golden light against his face does little to ease the knot in your chest. His hair is slightly disheveled, a lock falling across his face wrought loose from his fingers combing through it. His eyes appear more green than hazel in the light, studying you from behind wire frames. Your pulse kicks up under his scrutiny, and he looks at you as if you’ll unravel right then and there.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was the years of tropical vacations instead of celebrating holidays with friends and family that made you forget that, actually, families are complicated and any recollection of pleasant holiday celebrations spent with your dad were a figment of your own nostalgia-tinted imagination and the promise of skiing the next day.

For a moment, shame creeps upon you like a thief in the night. You tear yourself from Steve's gaze, not noticing the concerned furrow of his brows as you hastily stand and offer to clear some plates from the table. Sweeping out of the room and nudging the kitchen door open with your hip. He absentmindedly swirls the remaining wine in his glass and blows out a puff of air.

Ever the detective, it takes Hopper all of two seconds to ascertain that Steve did something to hasten your departure from the table. Seeing as the punk is pointedly not looking his way, Hopper lobs a dinner role at Steve, grazing his cheek only to land on his plate sending the cutlery clattering. He jerks upright, setting the glass on the table, “What the–”

“That’s enough,” Hop warns with cool detachment and a knowing look in his eye. He nods toward the kitchen, “Now, go make nice.”

Everything is still mostly out of your control in the kitchen, precisely because you don’t know where anything should go and having a knot in your chest as hard as a rock does little to help matters. But Steve silently rescues you by beginning to unload the dishwasher and Robin starts a thirty minute tale of increasing ridiculousness and by the time the attention turns back to you, you are slightly less hysteric and better able to answer El’s kind questions.

You swallow a twist of guilt and a bigger twist of gratitude. You feel some anxiety brimming in your stomach and nod, giving El a strained smile.

Something knocks against your shoulder. The warm scent of cedar and musk invading your senses— Steve.

“Your shoulders are up near your ears,” he observes.

You sigh at that, trying to roll out the tension, but not quite managing to. Par for the course, with your indeterminate stay in Hawkins looming in the air and stretching far across the foreseeable future.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #fic: tbsg #Spotify

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