#“That's worse. You DO see how that's worse right?”

[moody-alcoholic]

Part 2 as promised.

Part 1

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, assault, mentions of SA, torture, suicidal thoughts, hurt/comfort.

_____________________

Ghost flicks the ash off his cigarette. 

“Do we know who we’re looking for?" Gaz asks. It's a pointless question. They know who they’re looking for. You’ve been mentioning a guy at work who has been getting a little too handsy. 

You were going to confront him in the new year with your boss. You didn’t want to ruin anyone's Christmas, now yours is ruined. 

People are starting to leave the office building now, it’s just past midnight. They watch in silence concealed in the darkness down an alleyway a few buildings from your workplace. Maybe this was the alley you were found down. It’s dark and cold, the businesses are all closed, it would have been easy to coerce you down, it makes his stomach drop. Someone hurt you, he hurt you. 

“Should have taken care of this sooner.” Gaz says. Ghost just hums watching as the lights in the buildings go off. The last few people are filtering out the building. Ghost straightens up flicking his cigarette but to the floor. 

“That’s him.” Ghost says, blowing out the smoke before reaching up to pull the familiar balaclava down over his face. 

_____________________

When the police arrive you feel somewhat sober. Your body is sore, your head throbbing. Seeing them walk in with all their gear makes you nervous. All of a sudden you feel like you’ve done something wrong. 

Johnny never leaves your side, he holds your hand stroking it with his thumb while the female officer asks you questions you don’t know how to answer. You still can’t remember what happened. You can piece it together though, you can tell by the hushed voices and the somber looks from people. 

The worst is the pain, the ache in your body every time you move, the bruises hurt the most.  Sometimes Johnny runs his fingers over them, his eyes going dark and he lets out a sigh. John stands at the end of the bed still, his gaze never leaves you unless someone enters the room. You just want to go home. 

The most embarrassing part is when they have to take pictures of your injuries. Your swollen eye is now turning black and blue. There’s bruises around your neck, talking hurts, swallowing’s worse. The nurse gives you more painkillers but it just makes you feel sick. 

John talks with the officers and the nurse after they’re done. Johnny tries to keep your attention on him. You feel embarrassed, the nurse said they did a rape kit, you don’t even remember that, the police need to take it for evidence. That makes silent tears come, you can’t stop them. 

“C’mon, none of that love.” Johnny says reaching up to brush them away. 

“I want to go home,” you sob. 

“We’ll be home soon, promise,” he smiles. You want a shower, you want to scrub your body clean. You feel dirty, your stomach is turning as your mind wanders to the unthinkable. You hope you never remember what happened, you fear you won’t be so lucky.

_____________________

Ghost’s fist meets his cheek, his nose is broken, his jaw will be next. Not now though, now they need him to talk. 

“Price says he’s on his way.” Gaz says as he walks back over to him. “Asked you not to kill him.” Ghost just grunts. 

Ryan, that's his name. You never mentioned that to them, you didn’t mention much just that he was making you uncomfortable. Gaz was right they should have dealt with this sooner. They shouldn’t have let you go to the party alone. Even before you left you had reservations. 

Ryan hasn’t said much. He was very drunk when they picked him up. He seems pretty sober now, he’s scared. 

Good, he should be.

Ghost wonders if you were scared, when you were assaulted. It doesn’t seem like you remember much, for your sake he hopes it stays that way. 

The door to the secluded warehouse opens, the sound of slamming metal echoes in the space. John bought this place a few months ago, used to store scrap metal. The place still smells of rust, but it’s outside the city center, it’s quiet and that's all they need. 

Price walks over coming out of the darkness. He doesn’t say a word, just takes in the scene. Ryan looks up, his eyes glued on the new person walking up to him. Price grabs the back of a chair and places it in front of him before sitting down. 

“Ryan, right?” He asks. The man nods. “Had a good night? He doesn’t move. 

“Do you like your job?” He nods again. Price leans forward. “So, let's have a chat about what happened tonight.” 

“Nothing happened tonight,” he says, swallowing hard. Price smiles at him for a second before sitting back up.

“Let’s try that again. What happened at the party?” Ryan looks confused for a second. Blood is still dripping from his nose, Price sighs this is going to be a long night. 

“Wait, is this all about her?” He asks looking up past Price at Ghost. “Look I don’t know what you think happened but she came onto me.” 

Price hums his hands gripping his thighs before getting up and moving the chair away. “Thing is, I just don’t believe you.” Ghost steps back over to him. 

“I’m telling the truth.” He pleads. 

“Nope, try again.” Price says. Ghost’s fist crashes into Ryans face. His head snaps uncomfortably, he spits blood coughing. 

“So what happened at the party?” Price asks again. 

“Who the fuck even are you!?” He shouts looking round at the 3 men standing in front of him.  

“That doesn’t matter.” Price says, Ryan scoffs spitting again. 

“Why do you care?” He asks, looking around at everyone. 

“It’s a simple question.” Price says bending down so his head is level with his face. “We can be here all night. Or you can be honest with us.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, there’s a shake in his voice. The adrenaline and alcohol pumping through his system is filling him with confidence. They have to break that first. Price sighs moving back to stand with Gaz. 

This time Ghost’s fist slams into his stomach. He buckles over in pain, crying out as he pants. Price doesn’t wait, striding over to him grabbing his hair, pulling his head back. 

“Okay, okay. But she was drunk!” He shouts, trying to fight Price’s grip. His arms and legs are tied to the chair. Price doesn’t let go of his head holding it back as far as it will go. 

“No. Try again.” Price says through gritted teeth. 

“I didn't do anything!” He says between breaths. Price looks up at Ghost and nods, Ghost unfolds his arms going back over to the car. 

“We can make this very uncomfortable for you. All we need is the truth.” Price says, pulling his head again. 

“I don’t know anything.” There’s a whimper in his voice, a crack in his confidence. They're getting there. Price forces his head straight as Ghost comes back over to them twirling the knife in his hand. Ryans eyes go wide, his arms and legs pulling on the restraints. Price keeps his grip firm on his head forcing him to look at Ghost’s hulking figure moving towards him. 

“Last chance.” Price says. Ryan doesn’t say anything, his eyes still locked onto Ghost. 

“I-I didn't-” He sucks in a breath of air swallowing. “She was drunk!” 

Price sighs, shaking his head. He looks up at Ghost, he can see the disgust behind his lieutenants eyes. 

Ghost plunges the knife into his thigh. Price lets go of Rhyn’s head as he screams.

_____________________

John left almost an hour ago. Johnny recommended a bath instead of a shower, so you could soak and warm up. He gets in the bath with you pulling your back up against his chest as you sit between his legs. The bath was a good idea, the water is almost too hot but you don’t mind. 

It feels good to be in Johnny’s arms. He helps you rub soap over your body. He’s gentle, pressing kisses on your shoulders avoiding your neck. You sigh, relaxing back into him. Your head is still stuffy, it feels like you’ve been run over by a truck. 

“Where is everyone?” You ask. 

“Out, they’ll be back soon don’t worry.” He says his voice is warm in your ear. His arms squeeze you closer to him. The memories of the night seem to be just out of reach, you remember a face though. 

“I know who it was,” you say your voice catches in your throat. 

“Shh, we don’t have to talk about it.” His hand comes to push hair behind your ear. You smile, you don’t want to talk about it but maybe it will help. 

“I have work tomorrow.” Your stomach sinks. The thought of going back to that place with him there. Having to spend the days avoiding him, brushing off his hands as they squeeze your ass or his fingers press against your breasts. You were going to talk to your boss about him in the new year. 

“No you don’t, don’t worry about anything.” He says kissing your shoulder again. You shiver, the water has lost its heat. Johnny shifts pushing you forward. 

“C’mon let’s get you into bed. You’ll feel better after a good sleep.” You don’t know if you believe him but he gets out the bath leaving you alone and cold. You feel dirty, used. You feel panic rising in your chest. As soon as you hear the door to the room open you lay down in the tub closing your eyes and holding your breath. 

Your mind goes back to the alley, it’s like flashes in your vision, the dump trash bin you’re uncomfortably bent over. A hand over your mouth then round your neck. The pain, the pain is unbelievable. You don’t remember how it happened, how you ended up there, the next thing you remember is a party of drunk women finding you. Then the paramedics showed up. 

Your lungs burn but you don’t care. You deserve the pain. Hands grip your arms pulling you up out of the water. 

“Christ love,” Johnny says, holding you against him as you pant sucking in breaths of air. The panting turns to sobbing. He reaches, pulling the plug out the bath and picking you up in his arms. 

“I know, love I know.” He takes you into the bedroom putting you down on the bed. You pull your legs up to your chest. Johnny dries you, rubbing you down while you sob. He brings pyjamas over, he helps you change, pulling the fresh clothes on you. You still feel dirty, maybe it will always be like this. You don’t want it to be like this.

“It hurts.” You say as he climbs into bed behind you. His arms wrap around you pulling your back against his chest. 

“You’re okay lass, you’re safe.” He kisses the top of your head. It’s not, it's not going to be okay. You just hope whatever the others are doing they’re safe. You miss them, you want to see them again. You want everything to go back to normal 

…

Simon crawls into the bed with you and Johnny. You’re asleep on Johnny’s chest. He shuffles up against your back wrapping his arm around you both. His hair is still wet from the shower. He kisses the top of your head. Johnny stirs feeling a hand grip his hip. 

“Did you get him?” Johnny asks, his voice still sleepy. 

“Yeah, we got him.” 

_____________________

[natalievoncatte]

There was something decidedly… insistent about Lena’s footsteps. Kara knew it was her, of course, when she picked up Lena heading towards her apartment. Not just her heart rate but her breathing and mumbling to herself and the way she walked, her footfalls painting a picture of how she was walking, and she was mad.

Kara expected a complaint when she opened the door. Lena would sometimes launch without preamble into a rant about this investor or that senator or some such executive at this or that company and just rant adorably, balling her little fists. Kara would never tell her, because she’d feel patronized, but Lena genuinely was cute when she was angry.

Well, annoyed. When she was really angry, throwing a fit angry, fed up with the world angry, she was something else entirely. Kara would move heaven and earth, quite literally, to address whatever bothered her. When she was sad it was even worse and Kara just wanted to bundle her up in her invulnerable arms and shelter her from everything forever.

Lena walked into the apartment, not looking at Kara, and clearly fuming. She dropped the order she’d picked up on the way into the kitchen island and stared at it, then finally glared at Kara. There was no mistaking the subject of her anger.

Kara fidgeted nervously. She shifted on her feet, feeling a pressure of Lena’s gaze that forced her own away.

“Lena? Is something wrong?” She swallowed, hard. “Bad day?”

“Something is wrong,” Lena said, very softly, in the icy tone she reserved for the fools she did not suffer gladly. “Take off your glasses.”

“What?”

“Take off your glasses, Kara.”

“But I can’t see…”

Lena stepped forward and put her hand on the takeout order in its plastic bag. Kara had ordered it and Lena had agreed to pick it up, far from be first time they’d done that. Lena often ordered for them and Kara brought it when Lena was hosting.

Right now Lena was trembling, head tilted forward like she meant to charge, eyes locked on Kara.

“Glasses. Off.”

Kara hesitated briefly.

“Okay,” she muttered, screaming at herself not to do this, pleading for some kind of distraction.

All she wanted to do tonight was curl up with Lena on the couch and watch a movie and focus very very hard on not giving away how badly she wanted to make out with her.

Kara slowly took the earpieces in her hands and slipped them off, setting the too-heavy frames on the table with a soft clunk. The word rushed in, sounds more vibrant and distracting, colors almost unpleasantly sharp.

Lena was staring at her. Her nostrils flared and her fists clenched. She took her hand from the food bag and took another step forward, then another, finally picking up the glasses in her own hand, feeling them. She raised them as if to put them on and stared through them.

“For someone who says she’s blind without them, these glasses don’t have a very strong prescription, do they.”

Possibilities raced through Kara’s mind. Things she could say, things she might do. She’d squeaked out of this before, somehow evaded Lena’s staggering intellect. She had seen curiosity darken her brows, maybe even brief moments of suspicion.

This was different. Heavier. More serious.

“What gave me away?”

“Everything, really. All the pieces were there this whole time, but I just refused to put them together on my own. It took a flat out slap in the face to make me choose to see it.”

Kara’s chest felt like it was caving in. Everything was going wrong. Her chin quivered and the tears began welling hot behind her eyes.

Lena looked at her flatly. “The guy at the take out place asked me why I was picking up Supergirl’s order. I asked him what the hell he was talking about and he told me Supergirl comes on all the time. Then he showed me a selfie.”

Kara licked her lips.

“It has to be a mistake.”

“They have your number on their speed dial as Supergirl, Kara. You let their delivery kid take a selfie in your suit. They wouldn’t let me pay for it. The old lady that owns the place said ‘Supergirls girlfriend, no charge!’ and started laughing.”

Kara stared at her.

“Lena…”

“You better have a good fucking explanation for why your favorite restaurant knows who you really are and not your supposed best friend.”

The tension in their air was palpable, electric. Kara could feel it like the gathering energy in the air before a storm, ready to burst forth with energy and life or mindless destruction. She folded her arms around herself and looked down.

“You do know me,” Kara finally said. “You do know who I really am. You’re the only person who does.”

Lena’s extension was fixed, intense, edging between a scowl and a pout, and Kara realized with a start that she was holding back tears of her own.

“You’re the only person that knows me as me. You know me without Supergirl, but without all the fake stuff I do so people won’t realize I’m Supergirl. I don’t have to pretend to be clumsy with you. You’re not always looking at me like I’m super strong or super fast. I can just be me when I’m with you.”

“You’ve lied to me so many times,” Lena said, after drawing in a deep breath. “Running away from our lunches, telling me wild stories about where you disappear to at work, and I just bought every bit of it. You must think I’m an easy mark.”

“No, never.”

“I’ve always had it in the back of my head. I always thought there was something there, something between us that kept you from really, truly being yourself with me. The way your touches are always so whisper-light and you’re always stealing glances at me. Like you were afraid with every word or movement that you’d give something away.”

“Lena,” Kara began.

“I knew you were hiding something. I had hoped it was something else.”

Kara licked her lips. She quickened her perception, a little trick of will that took her out of sync with the humans around her, processing the world at her natural speed, which made her peers seem almost frozen in place by comparison.

She took this drawn out instant to really look at Lena, truly take her in, savor what she was seeing because it might be the end. She was suddenly heavily, painfully aware that this might be the last time she ever looked on Lena in person.

Great father Rao, she was so beautiful. Not hot or pretty or even gorgeous or sexy, beautiful. She was dressed for the autumn chill in a pea coat and turtleneck and black leggings and her hair was down, letting itself soften into her natural waves. She was without makeup, and Kara suddenly realized that she only ever saw Lena without makeup when she meant to be alone with Kara. When she was her most pure, most true self.

Kara slowed herself again and as she did the world sped up, and she drank in the soft sadness in Lena’s blue-green eyes and all of those things she’d pushed deep down came bubbling to the surface: imagined sighs and the feeling of that lustrous inky hair slipping through her fingers, her name whispered on pillowy lips.

Human thoughts. Alien thoughts. Desires no Kryptonian should even apprehend, much less indulge. The very idea of the non-procreative act was shameful, and to develop these emotional entanglement…

Kara had once mourned her failure, for she had been charged with preserving the ways of her people. Her first command had been to keep Kal Kryptonian.

A task she had failed even within herself.

“You hoped it was something else?”

Lena looked at her so sadly and so sweetly and swallowed.

“Yeah,” she said in a thick voice, “I kinda did.”

Kara smiled in spite of herself. When she sighed, it was as if the weight of a world slid off her shoulders.

“Can’t a girl have two secrets?”

Lena’s eyes widened.

“One day a long time ago, very very far away, a young Kara looked over her shoulder and watched the shockwave shatter the crust of her planet as its core exploded. She lost everything. Her world, her family, her culture, so many things. Tastes. Colors. Places. All gone.”

Lena wrapped her arms around herself, averting her gaze.

“I knew I’d lose you eventually. I just wanted to keep you as long as I could.”

Lena reached up and rubbed at her eyelids with her fingers.

“Do you remember when your mom’s goons threw you off the balcony?”

“Yes,” said Lena.

“Do you remember how I held you when I caught you?”

“I do.”

“I wish I hadn’t lied. I wish I’d never put you down.”

Lena said nothing and did not look up. Kara could hear her heart racing, practically feel the tension in her limbs across the room.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I lied. I’ve always known I could never keep you, I just didn’t want to make it end.”

Lena looked up with tear-wet eyes.

Then she lunged across the room, crossing the gap between them in long strides. Kara Danvers -Kara Zoe-El, Supergirl- was caught almost completely off guard. It wasn’t until Lena was practically charging into her arms, leaping into her, that she remembered to cushion the impact, catch her gently and make sure she didn’t slam herself into an unyielding wall of Kara.

She was so surprised, so shocked into helpless acceptance, that she didn’t offer the slightest residence when Lena reached, grabbed her neck in a firm hold, and pulled her into a kiss. Kara’s stomach did a backflip and she was helpless, undone despite all her strength. For a moment both their eyes opened and they looked at each other in a wordless exchange and Kara began kissing her back in earnest. Lena’s sharp breaths and soft moans instantly kindled a hot need inside her, thrumming like a plucked guitar string, and she effortlessly lifted Lena onto the kitchen counter.

“Holy shit, you’re strong,” Lena breathed.

“Of course I am,” she whispered into Lena’s kiss. “I’m Supergirl.”

And at long last, Kara found something she wanted to taste more than potstickers.

[rottenfyre]

Do you think Bruce would introduce y/n to the justice league? I could totally see her simping over the flash (Or conner Kent 👀).

The first time you meet Conner, you’re immediately smitten. He’s tall, gorgeous, and has that perfect blend of confidence and awkward boy-next-door energy that you thrive on.

You don’t even bother introducing yourself properly. After the initial “Hey, pretty boy, wanna fuck?” incident, you lean into your new role as his unsolicited sugar mama.

Conner, tries to respond, but you’re already calculating how much of Bruce’s money you’ll need to spoil him.

During one mission, you dramatically announce, “Conner deserves everything! Clothes, gadgets, vacations—all on Daddy Bruce’s tab!”

Once, you bought him an entire motorcycle. When Bruce found out, he dragged you into the Batcave, his voice dangerously calm.

“Explain why my credit card statement says you purchased a $50,000 bike.”

“It’s for Conner. He deserves nice things.”

Bruce’s eye twitches. “Conner can fly. He doesn’t need a bike.”

You shrug. “But he looks so good on it, Bruce. Don’t be stingy.”

You’re constantly “borrowing” Bruce’s money for ridiculous things.

“Bruce, I need a million dollars.”

“For what?” he asks, already exhausted.

“To buy Conner a pony. He’s always wanted one.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not giving you a million dollars.”

“Fine,” you huff. “But don’t come crying to me when Conner’s sad and pony-less.”

You have a love-hate relationship with Diana. You’re in awe of her beauty, strength, and grace, but you’re also deeply insecure.

During one mission, you stop mid-battle to dramatically compare your boobs to hers, much to everyone’s horror.

“Diana,” you sniff, clutching your chest, “I’ll never be able to compete with perfection like yours. It’s not fair!”

Diana, ever graceful, reassures you, “You’re beautiful in your own right.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re perfect,” you reply, before glaring at Bruce. “He never says anything nice to me.”

Bruce, utterly done: “Because you don’t deserve it.”

During a training session, you randomly grab Diana’s hand and place it on your boobs.

“Feel that, Diana. Am I Amazon material yet?”

She humors you, nodding seriously. “You’re getting there.”

You: “If I bulk up, can I join Themyscira?”

Barry finds you hilarious. He loves how unfiltered you are, even when it gets way too inappropriate.

Once, during a mission, you casually said, “Barry, do you think you could vibrate fast enough to—”

Barry, cutting you off, flailing: “DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE.”

You just smirk. “I’m just saying. There’s potential.”

He starts speed-dodging your flirting, but you’re persistent. “One day, Speedy, you’ll come around.”

You have exactly one question for Hal when you meet him:

“So, hypothetically, could you make a functional dild—”

Hal, already holding up a hand: “Nope. Don’t even finish that thought.”

You pout. “Why do you even have the ring if you’re not going to use it creatively?”

Clark tries his best to remain polite and patient, but you test his limits.

“You must’ve been sculpted by the gods,” you tell him once, blatantly checking him out. “What’s it like being perfect, superdaddy?”

“I… um… thank you?” Clark stammers, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck while Bruce glares daggers at you.

You immediately give Arthur the nickname “Aquadaddy” and refuse to call him anything else.

“Look at those arms, Aquadaddy. What’s your bench press, a blue whale?”

Arthur smirks, clearly amused. “Something like that.”

You: “Bet you could throw me across the room.”

Arthur: “Why would I do that?”

You: “For fun. And because I’d enjoy it.”

You’re also obsessed with his tattoos.

“Did it hurt? Can I touch them? Are you planning on getting more? What if we got matching ones?!”

He indulges you for about five seconds before realizing you’re just trying to find an excuse to grope his arm.

“You’re worse than Barry,” he mutters.

During an underwater mission, you accidentally blurted out, “Do mermaids exist? Be honest.”

Arthur: “They’re… complicated.”

You: “Complicated? Are they, like, your exes?”

Arthur groans, swimming away while you cackle.

You’ve made it your life’s mission to torment Bruce.

When the League gathers for a meeting, you always find a way to embarrass him. One time, you slid into the room dramatically, pointed at him, and declared, “That man is the reason I’m not married yet!”

Bruce: “How is this my fault?”

You grin. “Because I’ll never find another man who looks as good in a suit. You’ve ruined my standards.”

You are Bruce’s biggest headache. Every time he turns around, you’re doing something wildly inappropriate.

During a League movie night, you plop yourself on the floor between his legs, resting your head on his thigh.

“Your thighs are so firm, Bruce. You ever think about becoming a leg model?”

Bruce just stares down at you, utterly done. “Go sit somewhere else.”

You grin up at him. “Nope. This is my spot now.”

As unhinged as you are, everyone in the League has a soft spot for you. You make them laugh, even if it’s at Bruce’s expense.

And while your antics are embarrassing for Bruce, they all know you’re a fierce fighter and incredibly loyal. When it matters, you’ve got their backs—and they wouldn’t trade you for anything.

Except Bruce. Bruce would absolutely trade you for five minutes of peace.

[ellecdc]

she sells sea shells by the sea shore

Finnick Odair x fem!reader who sells jewelry at the market [1.3k words]

CW: meet cute/ugly turned into frequent visits, district accurate, gameless au, fluff

You thank the woman for her purchase as you hand her the small paper bag containing her new necklace and matching earrings, smiling at her daughter who chose to immediately wear her new bracelet as they walked away. 

You busy yourself with putting away the cash and tidying up your displays. You had never been quite comfortable with self-promotion; desperately trying to make eye contact with those passing by who were equally desperate to avoid your eye contact, or - somehow worse - pressuring those taking an interest in your works to purchase something when all they wanted to do was look. 

Probably not the best trait to have when you make a living selling ocean themed jewelry by the beach, but alas, here you were. 

You were just about to take a seat on the wicker chair you’d purchased from a few stalls down when the sun peaking through the canopy of your stall disappears.

“Hello there.”

You hope he didn’t hear the way your neck cracked when you whipped your head up to see the handsome guy who stopped at your shop once a week without fail to buy your jewelry. 

You found yourself disappointed when the first time he bought a delicate charm bracelet he asked to have it gift wrapped, but you still enjoyed the view and banter he promised you on his weekly visits. 

“Hi.” You let out breathlessly, horrified when his eyebrows raised, encouraging you to clear your throat and try again. “Welcome back.”

His smile turns almost bashful as he shrugs one of his shoulders and busies himself with studying your inventory. “It’s all so beautiful; you make it difficult to stay away for long.” 

You look down at your feet in hopes he can’t tell how hot your cheeks are from where he’s standing.  

“What are you looking for today?” You finally ask, leaning your palms on the stand in front of you and subconsciously leaning closer to your crush. 

He seems to remember why he’s here as he mirrors your position, pursuing the options before lifting one hand to pick up a pair of earrings. 

“Maybe these?”

You nod in approval. “Those are very cute; they’d match the necklace you bought last week.”

You watch as his smile grows wider as he recalls last week's purchase.

“You’re right.” He agrees. “You’ve got a good memory.”

You make a noncommittal hum instead of admitting that you were sort of obsessed with him and replayed all of your interactions over and over in your head to the point of memorization. 

“I take it that the necklace was a hit?” You ask as you package up the earrings.

“It was.” He replies with a nod. “I still think her favourite was the bracelet I bought that first week, though.” 

You smile as you remembered the first day you’d met - or, perhaps it was seen? Seeing as you still really didn’t even know the dude’s name - he had been weaving through shoppers with his hands full of bags of groceries when two kids went running by, forcing him to dodge them which resulted in him bumping into your stall. 

He’d only knocked over one jewelry stand, but you would have thought he’d burnt your entire stall to the ground with the way he kept apologizing. He asked how he could make it up to you, but you laughed and waved him off, telling him there was nothing to make up for. 

He picked up one of the bracelets he’d knocked over and inspected it; you had assumed at the time he was looking to check that he hadn’t scuffed it, but he simply held it out to you and said he’d like to purchase it, please.

Still assuming he was just trying to make it up to you, you smiled and rang him through, though your heart fell when he asked if you offered gift wrapping. He was buying it for someone. 

However, you enjoyed his presence enough that you were more than happy to wrap up presents for his special someone every week. 

“She’s lucky.” You comment, smiling to yourself when he laughs.

“Thank you; I’ll let her know you think so.” 

You hold his bag out to him and watch as he raises a distracted hand to retrieve it, his eyes glued to a large, golden sun shaped pendant necklace. 

“That’d look really nice on you.” You try; his sea green eyes darting over to you as a dimple makes itself at home on his cheek.

“Yeah?” He asks, eyebrows raising when you nod your head yes. “Mind if I try it on?”

“Be my guest.”

Large, calloused hands with delicate fingers unclasp the necklace before he positions it around his neck, examining his reflection in the small mirror you had situated at your stand. 

“What do you think?” He asks, turning his body towards you and striking a pose.

“Gorgeous.” You agree, hardly finding it in you to feel embarrassed at how honest that answer was.

Something about his eyes turns softer even as his smile grows wider. “I’ll take it, then.” 

“There’s a smaller one, too. If you wanted to get her a matching one?” You explained, gesturing towards a smaller golden sun pendant hanging on a delicate chain. To your surprise, he lets out a laugh. 

“I’m sure she’d like that, but I think I might be a little old to be matching with my mom.” 

Your head actually tilts to the side as you pause in your movements; hand hovering in front of you as you dumbly hold the money he’d just placed in your palm.

“For…your mom?”

“Right.” He says, smiling. 

“The bracelet-”

“For my mom.” He explains.

“And…the necklace?”

“Yup.”

Your eyes fall to the bag you’d handed to him moments ago. “And the earrings too,” he continues unprompted, “all for my mom.”

“Oh.” You mumble stupidly, forcing yourself to move and finally placing the money into your small safe. 

You look back over to see him pinch his lips between his teeth, seemingly fighting against a smile though his dimples gave him away. 

“Don’t tell my mom, but, I’ve sort of only been buying her gifts as an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who runs the stand.” 

A disbelieving sound leaves your lips as a hopeful smile adorns them. “You didn’t need an excuse.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “No.” 

He makes a show of letting out a breath of relief, one hand moving up to fiddle with the new pendant around his neck. 

“Hey, what’s your favourite smoothie?” He asks suddenly.

“What?”

“What flavour of smoothie do you like? I’ll run to the juice stand and grab some for us.”

“Mango.” You offer slowly, still wondering if you should pinch yourself to confirm this was real.

“Perfect, and your name?” He asks as he starts walking backwards. You give it to him before asking him for his.

“Finnick.” He says. “Now I know three things about you.”

“What was the third?” You call after him.

“That you’re gorgeous!” He responds, and then he disappears into the crowd as he heads in the direction of the juice stand. 

You fall back into your wicker chair with a slightly hysterical laugh, eyes inadvertently falling on the matching necklace you’d just tried to sell to Finnick when you thought he had a special girl to go home to.

You rip your eyes away from it as you fiddle with the bracelets on your wrist.

Maybe one day.

[animeshotsh]

Broken Feelings | Various Arcane x Soulmate!Reader | LUMEN AU |

Lumen AU belongs to @motthe

Here is what a Lumen is + more information

Summary: Feelings cant be hided.

Warnings: Depression - Sad - Insolation - Comfort - SFW - Grammar mistakes - F/C = Favorite Color -

VIKTOR

While Viktor may seem distant and cold he is able to catch the subtle changes in your Lumen.

How its usual F/C seems to bright less and less with each passing day, or how it avoids his touch.

Viktor knows something is going on in your life right now. But he wont push it. He has his own boundaries, knows how angry he gets when these are not respected. He will give your Lumen space and let it come to him. But wont abandon it.

Its going to keep a close eye on it, talk to it about his work and sometimes ask how its feeling. Will also give soft reassurance words to it. He wants you to feel safe and happy again.

Once your Lumen starts to be more open it will be on Viktor's shoulder or rubbing against his cheeck. Looking for comfort. Its light will slowly bright again and Viktor wont be able to hide his smile.

Meanwhile with you, his Lumen is worried sick. Its brownish color flickers as it follows you around and makes sure you are eating and sleeping. If you are having a rought day then it gets protective. Have you see a Lumen push someone ? No ? Well some did and it was funny as hell. The person was bothering you and Viktor's Lumen could not take it.

Its going to be around you unless you ask for space, its going to listen to you talk about your problems.

Its going to be there for you.

JAYCE

Jayce's Lumen is a reflection of his personality, bright, playfull and smooth. Its yellow-honey color vibrates when its with you or when it feels like you are happy.

Of course it changes when it notices your recent mood.

While its going to try and do its usual approach once it sees its not working Jayce's Lumen will show a different side. One thats more sensitive, it becomes more silent and its glow will tone it down to a more comfortable one. Its going to let you know its there and wait for you to be ready to talk to it or to just hold it.

Jayce notices the change in your Lumen fast. It floats at a lower heights  like you have the word on your shoulders, its color its not bright and seems to fade, specially during centrain hours of the day when Jayce deducts you are feeling more sad or stressed.

Like his Lumen, Jayce will take yours between his hands and whispers sweet things. He knows the chances that you listen to them are low but he still wants to do it.

If he sees it being tired he will carry it inside his pocket and have it by his side all the time.

VI

Vi is slow at noticing it. Your F/C of your Lumen seems to keep being bright and still looks for her touch and also flies around her. Its only when she sees how it seems to slowly be losing energy that she notices it.

Vi is lost. She is worried you are sick or worse, its going to keep it on her side and caress it. May try to find someone who knows more about Lumens to know whats going on.

On your side, Vi's Lumen gets protective and worried. Wont stop following you, being close to you, it will settle down on your shoulder or head and will push back anyone who makes you feel just a tiny bad.

Vi's Lumen has always be a protective one over you and a bit agressive on others. Its just its nature.

The first time it sees you cry its going to float around like crazy, being worried and not knowing what to do. Will end being besides you and try to clean your tears.

JINX

Jinx's Lumen its explosive and energetic with its blue color zooming everywhere but going back to you once it finds itself too away.

However, its also a Lumen with a complex self, once it notices you being down its going to slow down and go to you. Its no longer zooming, it tries to make you laught and cheer you up and when it does happen it changes blues indicating how happy it is.

Jinx's loves your Lumen, loves its color and how it behaves. Not only does it understand her and protects her but it also engages in her shenanigans.

She is quick to catch up when it starts to show signs of you not feeling good. And while she is lost she does not want to lose you. She will take your Lumen and talk to it like there is no tomorrow, show it her last works, bombs, draws. And will do some soft talk to. Telling it how important you are to her and how she wants you to be safe and happy.

STEB

Steb's Lumen is calm like him. Its green-fish color tends to not change unless he is stressed and it keeps a close distance to you.

While its not cold, his Lumen is silent when it comes to comfort. Its not slow to see your mood change. Its going to be closer, cuddle against you and kind of zoom around your room to check if there is a problem or if someone is causing you to feel bad.

Steb sees your Lumen being less and less flashy (as he likes to call it) it does not go to him or stay with him. More like it avoids him. He wishes he could talk to it but knows its impossible to get a response. Will read more about them while keeping a close eye on it. Once he concludes you are passing by a hard time is going to softly approach it and talk to it. Telling it, it does not have to fight this alone, that he is here for it and will do his best to help it (and you).

EKKO

Ekko's green Lumen is strong and up front. Its not strange to find it checking your surrondings or the people around you to be sure you are safe. Its cute to see.

When it comes to you feeling bad, his Lumen is able to notice and help. Its other side Will show, a more gentle glow, being slower and keeping itself close to you. It needs to feel your body against it.

While it cant talk will try it best to do something to communicate with you (may even try and take a pen and write) or will flick its color or the lights (one flick yes, two flicks no).

On Ekko's side he notices how your Lumen has become more depend on him. He tends to leave it when he has missions with the firelights but now it follows him around. Even when he tells it, its too dangerous and it cant come.

This will make things worse and Ekko will find himself looking for it like crazy one day when after a mission it not where it usually is.

Once he finds it Ekko will notice how all of this has been strange, so it will take it and apologies, telling it how he failed to see you were suffering and just wanted him (your soulmate) to comfort it.

Ekko will try to pass more time with it but still wont take it to missions, however he becomes more open on having you on his shoulder or hair when he is out in the firelights safe space. Once you Start to do zoomings again he will smile and be happy that you are starting to feel better.

He also promises himself to never let it (and you) be sad or suffer alone. He wont lost you.

Final note: I love this AU :) I may write for of it in different scenarios. Thanks Motthe for creating it and let other writers work with it. 💞

[vifilms]

tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it. 

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand. 

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before. 

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers. 

“i know what you’re gonna say.” 

“and what’s that?” 

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.” 

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue. 

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.” 

“this is not, um, i didn’t—” 

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”  

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath. 

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her. 

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach. 

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake? 

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

[steveseddie]

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths. 

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down. 

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan. 

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak. 

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.” 

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?” 

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.” 

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?” 

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside. 

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home. 

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug. 

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over. 

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?” 

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.” 

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.” 

“Uh huh.” 

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much. 

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside. 

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on. 

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.  

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it. 

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.” 

“Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans. 

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position. 

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.” 

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

[levisjinchuriki]

truly, madly, deeply - toji fushiguro

summary: since you left him, toji has been indulging in nothing but bad habits. he makes an impulsive decision stumbling home from the bar one night

warning: post-breakup angst, mentions of heavy drinking, depression, being numb, a whole lot of angst

it’s late—too late for toji to still be out. the bar is nearly empty, quiet except for the scraping sound of chairs as the staff begins their nightly routine of wiping tables and stacking stools. the bartender shoots toji an unimpressed glance as he sets down another glass of whiskey in front of him, grumbling about closing tabs soon. toji doesn’t argue, just wraps his calloused fingers around the glass and lets the amber liquid burn as it slides down his throat. it’s painful, but the familiar sting is something he’s come to crave recently. as much as it hurts, he tries to savor the taste before throwing some cash on the table and heading out.

it’s the kind of quiet that makes the weight in his chest feel unbearable, pressing harder against ribs that have long since forgotten what it’s like to feel light. 

he stumbles out of the bar, unsteady on his feet, muttering curses under his breath as he fumbles for his phone in his coat pocket. outside, the cold bites at his skin, the damp air clinging to him as the rain had never truly stopped. 

the screen glows dimly, the battery dangerously low, but it’s enough to illuminate the list of names he hasn’t touched in weeks. his thumb hovers over the screen, scrolling sluggishly past contacts that don’t matter. then he sees your name. and time stands still. 

for a long moment, all he can do is stare. his thumb trembles, hesitating, like his drunk mind is at war with itself. there’s a part of him that knows better, that knows he should put the phone back in his pocket and walk away. but the other part—the louder, more desperate part—wins. his thumb moves, and the call begins to ring.

once. twice. three times.

toji squeezes his eyes shut, already regretting his actions. he’s not your problem anymore. he lost the right to call you, to hear your voice, to ask for comfort. and yet, here he is, a fool hoping for a miracle at a time when no one should be awake.

“toji?”

he freezes. he hasn’t heard your voice in… how long has it been? the days have blurred together into a haze of alcohol and sleepless nights since you left. he grips the phone tighter, his throat suddenly dry.

“hey” he drawls. there’s a pause on your end. he cringes when he hears a muffled yawn from you. 

“it’s late. are you okay?”. your voice is soft, groggy from the sleep he undoubtedly pulled you from. his heart breaks at the sound of it. 

“yeah. -m fine. jus’….” he slurs. 

“toji… are you drunk?” your voice, laced with concern, strikes a nerve. you sound just as worried as it always did when it came to him, a tone he doesn’t think he deserves anymore. you’ve seen these parts of him before—the ones he hides from the world but somehow always let slip in front of you. 

“nah” he lies. “just a little… tipsy”. his feet shuffle clumsily against the wet pavement as he stumbles down the block. he feels everything and nothing all at once—silly, hopeless, in love, and heartbroken. 

“toji–” your voice is soft but unmistakably disappointed. it’s a tone he’s heard before, one that digs under his ski. he knows that sound. it’s the same one you used to have when he broke promises, when he let you down, when he let himself down.

there are countless reasons why you and toji aren’t together anymore—reasons that keep replaying in his mind whenever he has too much to drink. but none of those reasons stop you from caring about him, even now. and that makes it worse somehow.

“listen…” his voice drops lower, thick with the slur of alcohol. “i know it’s late. s’probably real stupid to call, huh?”. he laughs, but it’s half-hearted, a dry, almost painful sound.

your silence is heavy and suffocating. toji knows you’re probably shaking your head right now, caught between concern and frustration. he can picture it so clearly—how you’re probably biting your lip, wanting to say something but holding back. it almost makes him smile.

as the silence stretches, the sound of heavy rainfall in the background fills the space, a constant, rhythmic sound that matches the beat of his tired, aching heart.

“where are you?” you ask, your voice barely audible above the rain.

he blinks, his mind swimming in a fog that doesn’t seem to clear. he’s disoriented for a second, now realizing that he’s walked in the wrong direction. “why?” he mumbles, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“because i’m coming to get you” you reply, your tone gentle but firm. “you shouldn’t be out alone”. toji closes his eyes for a moment, your words sinking in, a warmth creeping through his chest despite the alcohol and the cold rain. he hears the shuffle of movement on your end of the line, and he can almost see it—the way you’re probably slipping into those ridiculous bunny slippers he always teased you about. 

a small, tired smile threatens to break through as leans back against a lamppost. “don’t bother” he mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “i’m fine”. another lie, but he doesn’t expect you to believe it.

“tell me where you are” you demand. he’ll take your tone over no contact with you any day. 

“always so good. so… responsible” he mutters, the words slurring as his mind drifts. “you don’t gotta save me, y’know? i’m fine. always fine” he drags out.

“toji, tell me where you are” your voice is stern. it’s the same tone you used when he was in trouble, the same one you’d use when he messed up, the same one you used when you finally told him you were done.

he slumps against the cold, damp wall of the nearest building, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. he mutters the name of the street, barely audible, his words jumbled and ragged.

“i’m on my way” you tell him. there’s a brief pause before you add, “stay there”. for once, he listens. toji just stands there– drunk, stupid, soaked and numb to the rain as it continues to hit him. 

he doesn’t know how long it takes before your car finally pulls up. the headlights shine bright, momentarily blinding him. he blinks a few times and there you are—stepping out of the car, pulling a coat around yourself and wondering how he’s been out here this long. you look at him, and for a split second, toji sees everything he’s been trying to drown out. disappointment flickers behind your eyes, sharp and painful. but there’s something else there too—worry. 

“toji…” you sigh, a sound filled with exhaustion. he feels it in his chest like a punch. he’s happy to see you, but upset that you’re out here in the storm, chasing after him like this.

“you didn’t have to come” he mutters, but even as he says it, he stands up straighter—forcing himself to make the effort, even if it’s not convincing. his legs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, but he tries to pull himself together. he doesn’t want you to see how much he’s been drowning.

your gaze doesn’t miss anything. he’s drenched, soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to him, but worse than that—he’s drunk. and sad. more sad than he’s let on, even to himself. he knows it. you know it. it’s clear to you both that he hasn’t been taking care of himself—not in the way you always hoped he would.

“get in the car” you say, the command simple but firm. your voice is steady, unaffected by the storm, and it somehow cuts through the haze of his thoughts.

he doesn’t argue. not with you. not when you’re looking at him like that, not when he knows you’re right, and you’ve always been right about him.

---

the drive is quiet at first. the only sound is the soft hum of the heat, keeping toji from succumbing to hypothermia, and the rain as it taps steadily against the windshield. toji sits slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes half-lidded as he stares out the window. his gaze is distant, unfocused—lost in the mess of his own thoughts.

“you shouldn’t drink like this,” you say, breaking the silence. your voice is soft but firm. “it’s dangerous.”

toji doesn’t respond immediately. you can see the way his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffen just slightly. he’s a big guy, tough, but even toji has his limits. he might not show it, but you know how close he is to the edge. and tonight, it’s clear that he’s just a few drinks away from being completely inebriated.

“don’t start with me” he mutters, his voice rough with frustration. you’ve heard that tone before—the one he gets when he’s pushed, when he knows he’s in the wrong but doesn’t want to hear it.

you sigh quietly to yourself, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. you’d always had a habit of acting like his mother, trying to take care of him, trying to get him to listen to reason. it’s inevitable, really—toji always acted like a child in so many ways, and you, stubborn as you are, always fell into the role of the one who tried to save him.

“how many times have i—” you begin, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“i know!” he snaps, his voice sharper than he means it to be. “i know, alright?”

the words hang in the air between you, heavy with the tension that always lingers when the two of you argue. you’re quiet for a moment, the only sound now the swish of the windshield wipers fighting against the rain.

you grip the steering wheel a little tighter, steadying yourself. the urge to push, to argue further, is strong, but you know better than to start that fight now. the last thing he needs is more words thrown at him, more of your frustration tangled up in his guilt.

right now isn’t the time to argue.

"then why?" you ask quietly, your voice barely rising above the sound of rain hitting the car.

toji presses his head back against the seat and lets out a humorless laugh. “why not?” he replies, his words slurred but sharp enough to sting.

you furrow your brows. he’s being difficult, like always—pushing you away with his deflection, his refusal to take anything seriously. “that’s not an answer” you say, glancing at him briefly before returning your eyes to the road.

toji turns his head to look at you then, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the car. the streetlights outside streak shadows across his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes, the weariness etched into his features. he looks tired—not just from tonight, but from everything.

“i don’t owe you an answer” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now.

it’s true. he doesn’t owe you anything, not after everything. not after the way you left, after the way you shattered him. you feel a pang of guilt in your chest, sharp and unforgiving, but you push it down.

“i’d still like to know” you admit, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

he doesn’t respond right away. instead, he turns his gaze back to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. the silence stretches between you again, heavy and unyielding, but you don’t press him further. you’ve learned by now that toji won’t be pushed into answers he’s not ready to give.

the road ahead blurs slightly through the rain, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to bridge the distance between the two of you.

he scoffs, turning his gaze back to the window. “what’s the point?”. it’s not a question meant for you—it’s one he’s been asking himself for a while now. you chew on your bottom lip, trying to think of what to say next, though you’re not sure anything will make a difference.

“you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself” you finally sigh.

toji snorts, a bitter sound that cuts through the tension. “yeah? and who’s gonna help me? you?”

the sharpness in his tone catches you off guard, and you flinch despite yourself. his words hit harder than they should, not because they’re unfair, but because they’re true. you left. you made the choice to walk away, and now you’re here, pretending you can fix something that might never be fixable.

he notices. if there’s one thing toji’s always been good at, it’s noticing things, even when he’s drunk and falling apart. he exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “sorry” he mutters, his voice quieter now. “i didn’t mean that”.

you know he didn’t. toji’s harsh words were never the ones that hurt the most—it’s the truth buried in them that stings.

“it’s fine” you reply quietly, your gaze fixed on the road ahead. but it’s not fine, and you both know it.

neither of you says anything for the rest of the drive. the rain continues to tap against the windshield as the distance between you grows wider.

---

toji doesn’t move after you park your car. he just sits there, staring blankly at the dashboard like it holds answers to questions he’ll never ask. his shoulders are slumped, his jaw tight. even with the alcohol dulling his senses, his thoughts refuse to let him rest.

“you wanna go inside?” you turn to look at him, suppressing the urge to reach over.

he blinks, the question pulling him back to the present. “yeah” he mutters, but his body remains rooted to the seat.

you don’t rush him. moments like these are rare—when toji lets you see him vulnerable. it’s heartbreaking, and it makes you ache in ways you thought you’d forgotten.

instead of pressing him, you wait. he’s always been a man who needs time to gather himself. and tonight, for whatever reason, he’s letting you stay long enough to witness it.

eventually, he exhales, a slow, shaky breath that seems to release some of the tension coiled in his chest.

finally, toji looks at you. really looks at you. his eyes are glassy, the alcohol making them more vulnerable than you’ve seen in a long time.

“you’re too good for this” he says, his voice heavy with sadness. it’s not just the words that hit you—it’s the way he says them, like he’s admitting something he’s been too scared to face. for the first time, toji acknowledges there’s something wrong with him. that something is his fault.

“for what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“for me” he says almost defeated. “i’m no good. i’m just… this” he gestures vaguely at himself, his hand falling back to his side as if the effort of even that small movement is too much.

it’s clear in the way he’s looking at you that he means it. that he’s thought about this, felt it deep in his bones. you’re not sure if he’d ever admit it sober, but tonight, it’s out there in the open.

you don’t know what to say to that. words feel inadequate, like they’ll only make things worse. 

“you should get some rest” you whisper instead. “it’s late”.

toji releases a breath, his gaze shifting to your apartment building. he’s been here countless times before. but it’s different now. where he used to feel at home, he suddenly feels like a stranger. 

“okay”. his footsteps echo softly behind you.

when he walks in, all the memories come rushing back. the faint scent of the candle you always light fills his nose. the throw blanket draped over the couch is in the same place it’s always been. even the little details—the spaces in your home where you’d made room for him—are still there. his boots still sit by the door, his favorite mug in the cabinet, the sweatshirt he thought he’d lost folded neatly.

you lead him to your room without a word, offering him a towel and setting a pair of dry clothes on the bed. they’re his– clothes he left behind when things fell apart. you didn’t have the heart to throw them out, and he didn’t have the heart to come back for them.

“you’ll get sick” you mutter, setting a black shirt and grey sweats on the bathroom sink before turning to leave. you always fussed over him like this—still do, even now. toji doesn’t know what to do with the tight ache in his chest. he wants to cry.

by the time he emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in warm clothes, he hears the hum of the dryer from the hallway. of course, you’d snuck in while he was washing up to scoop his sopping clothes off the floor.

in your room, you’re finishing fixing the bed, smoothing the sheets and adding extra pillows—just the way he likes. it doesn’t escape him, the way you still remember these small details.

“i can take the couch” he says, his voice low and reluctant.

you shake your head, dismissing the offer as you grab a pillow and blanket for yourself. “sleep” you say firmly, leaving no room for argument.

he hesitates for a moment, but the exhaustion weighing on him makes it hard to fight back. his body aches for rest, and though a part of him wants to address the unspoken words that hang heavy between you, he knows it’s not the time. 

“we’ll talk later” you whisper as you step toward the door, your hand brushing the light switch.

toji watches you for a moment, standing there in the dim glow of the hallway. his throat tightens, and he wants to say something—anything—but no words come out. instead, he nods silently as you turn off the light and leave him alone in the room.

“thanks” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost in the stillness of the room. but you hear it.

toji lies awake in the bed you once shared, staring at the ceiling. the familiarity of it all threatens to undo him—the soft sheets, the faint scent of you lingering on the pillow. it’s overwhelming. 

he wonders, not for the first time, how someone like you ever loved him. the thought twists in his chest, sharp with regret. he thinks about how things ended, how he pushed you away, and yet here you are—offering him kindness he doesn’t deserve.

the bed feels empty without you beside him, but as his heavy eyelids finally close, he clings to the comfort of your lingering presence. it’s enough, for now, to ease the ache as he drifts off to sleep.

---

to be continued... thank you for reading!!!

[happeehippie]

instagram j.b.

summary: follow along with joe and his wife evie as they go through his football career.

*face claim yasmin quintana*

series masterlist

evie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, and 982,028 others

evie: things i do, fits i wear, pics i take. oh.. and a little bday cake.

view all 1,839 comments…

user: not the body armor bottle.. 😳

> evie: i do not know that man.

user: happy birthday ev! you are such a bright light.

> evie: 😭💗

millyg: happy birthday my sweet baby angel evangeline. 🤍

> evie: ugh. i miss you mills.

joeyb_9: gotta stay hydrated

> evie: there is only one thing that will quench my thirst.. and it ain’t the drink. 😉

> lahjay10_: not again. get off the internet.

> user: not it being ev getting spicy in the comments this time.

> user: she’s been waiting for this moment.

joeyb_9

liked by lahjay10_, bengals, and 104,837 others

joeyb_9: hbd ev, i love every year of you.

view all 930 comments…

user: happy birthday qween

> evie: omg ur the qween! thank you. 💗

user: an evie post? absolutely not. get rid of it.

> evie: i knew the haters were going to love this one.

lahjay10_: happy birthday ev, lemme see you hit that griddy later yeah?

> evie: you sure you want me stealing your thunder like that?

evie: i love you, you big sap. thank you for celebrating me. 💗

> joeyb_9: you know i celebrate your life everyday, my wifey.

user: happy birthday, this city and joe wouldn’t be the same without you.

> evie: 🥺

user: joe whyyyy did you have to ruin the feed like this?

> lahjay10_: yall need to LAY OFF man.

sam_hubbard_: happy birthday ev! looking forward to celebrating you tonight.

> evie: *virtual hugs*

bengals: happy birthday mrs. burrow, the queen of the jungle!

> evie: i love my bengies so much.

evie

liked by joeyb_9, bengals, and 973,927 others.

evie: # WAG

view all 820 comments…

user: one of the best

> evie: kisses kisses

joeyb_9: the fit was killer today wifey

> evie: thanks hottie. 😘

user: the only WAG i follow. you’re my favorite.

> evie: you guys make my heart feel so full, im sending you love!!

user: how does one become joey b’s bed buddy?

> evie: hmmmm. i wouldn’t know considering i’m his WIFE. get a life and quit being a loser.

> user: i’m a loser? your man BARELY posts you, he doesn’t love you sis.

> evie: if all you have to worry about is wether someone is posting a picture of me on social media then yes, you are in fact a big ass loser.

> user: bro ev you do not play in these comments.

> evie: it gets to a point where the disrespect shouldn’t have to be tolerated. i’ve been in my relationship for over 8 years, and frankly joe or i don’t owe anyone an explanation about how we choose to navigate that publicly.

> lahjay10_: yo you tell em ev. you a little fighter i know you can scrap with all these haters.

> user: what’s even worse is i doubt joe will even acknowledge any of this

> user: he won’t because he’s just using her as a placeholder till something more interesting comes along. he doesn’t care.

> user: yall about to make this girl turn her comments off again.

> millyg: not too much on my girl???? what is happening right now? have you guys forgotten that like.. you don’t know this man?

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, sam_hubbard_, and 347,185 others

joeyb_9: hard fought

view all 1,839 comments…

user: he’s him

user: evie didn’t go to the game today. very unusual.

> user: well you lames were ripping her apart in her comments i wouldn’t want to go either.

user: a running qb

bengals: That guy! 🔥

user: chefs kiss

user: where is ev?

> user: probably in hiding

> user: she was all big talk in the comments and now she’s going to play scared?

> user: she was there, she posted on her story.

> user: you guys really don’t care about mental health do you?

*the comments on this post have been limited*

evie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, and 921,002 others

evie: hopeless romantics. my jb.

view all 1,630 comments…

user: now she’s just rubbing it in.

> user: it actually makes me sick that they are married and she spoke to his fans the way she did. i hope he leaves her in the dust.

> joeyb_9: those were no fans of mine.

user: this is gross, after everything going on. you’re being petty and childish. posting pictures of your phony relationship.

user: i don’t think joe appreciates yall treating someone he loves like gum on the bottom of your shoe.

joeyb_9: everything is better with you. i would choose you over and over again, every chance i get. you’ll never be a placeholder to me. you’re my favorite place to go and i’d fight the universe if i had to. it’s not fair you have to deal with this because of me.

> evie: thank you for loving me..

millyg: this is so precious i kind of want to throw up.

> lahjay10_: i’m witchu mills.

evies stories:

should i continue making these or are yall bored now?

[grison-in-space]

ding ding ding!!! this is in fact a systematic problem with weight research on health. Medical neglect of fat people is an enormous problem for medical access of all kinds, and some of it is driven by prejudice, some by ableism, some by culture in medicine, and some just by redirected frustration about not being able to control the universe. This makes it difficult to fix.

Fatphobia in medicine isn't the only factor driving worse outcomes for fat people, and we know this because medical preoccupation with body weight has changed (and worsened) over time. the association of fatness itself with early death and lower cardiac health actually started with insurance-driven actuarial assessments detailing health outcomes in the 30s or so, not from actual doctors assessing patients differently at all... but then the actuaries told the doctors and nascent wellness, tobacco, and pharmaceutical companies. Those companies had some ideas for how to market weight loss with their products, so they took up the concept of "public education" about the impending doom of fatness with gusto, and that has fed on itself until the present moment.

The problem is that this is all correlational work, including those actuarial tables and analyses. This work also fails to understand that adiposity is a symptom in its own right driven by the energy balance of the body. That is, different disorders influence the adiposity "set point" of a body (both in terms of how much fat is retained and how much muscle is built). This means that extreme degrees of adiposity in either direction might be especially likely to signal health outcomes from the very sick. And it means that weight can be considered a symptom, not a source of disease. Because correlation is not fucking causation.

Rather than "fat causes illness," consider "illness causes fat", and think of a thousand factors that typically impact body weight: breathing interruptions and depression and depression meds and sleep disruptions and, oh yeah, chronic stress, and acute stress, and lingering trauma. Factors that also, independent of weight, directly influence health outcomes and disease progression. Across a very large scale population with a thousand different common mortality causes, you're going to see massive trends associated with body weight that are driven by the major players associated with causes of death, each of which pulls the mean adiposity change to one side or another with some strength. If your measures are shitty because you aren't controlling for confounds, you're going to miss a lot of strong relationships. And that's a problem, because controlling for confounds means answering questions like "what should this persons baseline be?" (How the fuck do you propose to get that information? It varies! And it is WAY harder and more expensive to get people to adhere to nutrition studies that could test this question, even if you can control their diet enough to be sure.)

Those confounds also include the answers to the question "what other underlying diseases does this person have at this time?" Those diseases might or might not be diagnosed, reported, or even known by the patient or the examining doctor. Some of them will be things like incubating cancers or organ deterioration or weird internal anatomical variation that are easy to miss.

(Smoking is an example of a confound associated with lowering BMI across the board, by the way. The systematic removal of smokers from public health datasets is literally a large driving factor of the skew in the public health risk data, because it removes a whole bunch of people with a known factor lowering their BMI that is associated with a strong underlying health risk.)

Basically, the genesis of weight gain or loss (particularly in terms of recent or rapid changes) may often in fact be early symptoms of underlying disease that can OFTEN be TREATED and/or underlying chronic stress that can OFTEN be TREATED if we as a society give a shit about it. Which makes me even angrier about medical neglect, not going to lie ....

Hey did y'all ever think about that if doctors blame all fat people's medical issues on them being too fat without proper investigation and then feel justified in neglecting their medical concerns, then statistically more fat people WILL develop and potentially die from serious health issues and it might not actually be because of the fat when everything comes down to it

[moonlightdreamzz]

BANG CHAN

🎧 ➤ waves by normani

SUMMARY ✰ You and Bang Chan can’t let each other go, no matter how hard you try—love, hate, and jealousy pulling you back every time. But when he sees you at an afterparty soaking up someone else’s attention, he can’t help but remind you who you really belong to.

GENRE ✰ (A)(S). ComplicatedEx!BangChan, Idol!Reader

“Chan, are you even listening?” Felix’s voice breaks through the quiet hum of the car, an edge of frustration in it.

Chan blinks, slowly coming back to reality. His gaze drifts over to his members—Felix, Seungmin, Hyunjin—all watching him with concerned, yet exasperated expressions. He can feel the weight of their eyes on him, but his mind is elsewhere. He doesn’t want to think about you. Not now. Not when everything inside of him is already tangled up.

“I hear you,” he mutters, but his voice feels distant, even to him.

“You hear us, but you’re not listening,” Seungmin presses, his tone gentle but firm. “Every time you see her, you lose it. You think you can walk in there and be fine, but it’s always the same thing. You end up making it worse.”

Chan sighs, leaning back against the seat, rubbing his temples. He knows they’re right. He knows how it always ends—confusion, regret, the same broken cycle. But no matter how hard he tries to escape it, he can’t.

“Yeah, Chan. What are you gonna do if you see her with another guy tonight? Hm?” Hyunjin’s voice is quiet, but it’s the question that hits him the hardest. He feels his chest tighten. The idea of you laughing, talking to someone who isn’t him, sends a wave of something—jealousy? Longing?—that he can’t quite name.

“Chan, please don’t do this to yourself,” Felix adds, the concern in his voice clear. “We’ve seen this before. You can’t keep going around in circles like this.”

But it’s already too late. Chan knows the feeling too well—the pull, the ache of wanting you when he shouldn’t, of seeing you with someone else and realizing all over again that he can’t let go.

“I won’t do anything,” Chan says, though even he doesn’t believe the words. They sound hollow. Empty.

Felix doesn’t respond. Seungmin just shakes his head, looking out the window.

They’ve said all they can say. But he knows they’re right. He can feel it in his bones, that familiar sinking feeling in his stomach.

He opens the door, stepping out into the night air, the cold biting at his skin. His heart races, and for the first time tonight, he’s not sure if he’s ready to face what’s coming. But he’s already in too deep, and he’s never been good at turning back.

He remembers how it all started, the first time he saw you backstage. The laughter, the way you seemed so effortlessly in control of your world, yet with eyes that hid a quiet sadness. He never could resist that mix of strength and vulnerability. That’s what drew him in and made him want to know you more. At first, it was easy. You were his best friend, his confidant. You made him laugh, made him forget about all the chaos around him. You had this way of taking the edge off, making the world feel a little lighter.

But as the months passed, he started to notice the cracks. They were small at first—an offhand comment here, a moment of silence there—but they grew, and eventually, they consumed everything. The late-night calls turned into long silences. The plans to see each other? They became last-minute, pushed aside for work or another obligation. Chan wasn’t blind to it. He could feel the space between him and you stretching, growing wider. And despite his efforts to keep it all together, the love you once had, the connection, started to wither.

He runs a hand through his hair as the memory hits him of the night it all fell apart. The fight you had. Words said that couldn’t be taken back. Feelings hurt that couldn’t be healed with a kiss. It wasn’t just the distance or the work—it was the way you hurt each other. He wasn’t there when you needed him, and you... you didn’t know how to let him in anymore.

Then there was the cheating. A mistake. A huge mistake that both of you made. But even after all that, neither of you could walk away. The pull, the connection, the history—it was too strong. And so you stayed in the mess of it all, the on-again, off-again dynamic that felt like it was slowly suffocating both of you. Neither of you could let go, but neither could you figure out how to make it work.

Now, you've settled into something that almost feels safe: late-night booty calls. It’s the one thing neither of them can resist. No strings attached, just the raw, heated tension they both try to ignore during the day. No conversations about what went wrong, no expectations about what happens next. It’s simple, at least for now. You call when the loneliness gets too much, when the memory of each other feels too strong to ignore. And he answers—because how could he not? The pull is always there. It’s messy, but it’s easier this way. It’s safer. No risk of heartbreak, no need to face the reality that they’re both still hurting. They can just be there for each other in the dark, in the silence, and it’s enough for now.

But right now, that doesn't matter, because you're off again.

Chan stopped keeping track of the fights a long time ago. Maybe it was because he was so exhausted with his rollercoaster of emotions, that he couldn't keep up if he tried. Or maybe it's because he knows that the reason doesn't matter—you both always find your way back to each other anyways.

The party’s electric, buzzing with laughter, flashing lights, and music so loud it vibrates in his chest. But to Chan, it all feels surreal, like a scene from a movie that he’s forced to watch, not be part of. The air is thick with the heat of bodies moving, the scent of alcohol, and the hum of a good time. But none of it feels right—because you’re not by his side.

He scans the room, fingers tightening around his drink as his eyes flicker across the crowd. His thoughts drift back to the nights when you two would sneak away from everyone else, just the two of you in your little bubble of secret smiles and stolen glances. Those nights felt different. They felt real. You were never loud about it, never making a show. It was in the quiet moments. A light brush of your fingertips against his arm as you walked past him, barely noticeable to anyone but him. Or when he’d press himself against you in the crowd, just to feel the heat of your body, the closeness that made him ache in ways he couldn't describe. The brush of your lips when you’d lean close to whisper something in his ear, and how every touch, every glance, sent a rush of excitement through him.

No one knew. Only your members, the ones who had seen the way you’d sneak off together when you thought no one was looking. That secrecy made it thrilling. It wasn’t just being with you—it was being with you in the dark, where nobody could judge, where no one could tear you apart. It was the unspoken understanding between the two of you, the way your body language said everything when words failed.

It was alive, in a way that nothing tonight felt.

“Starting your bullshit already?” Changbin sneers teasingly, his voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music.

“Shut up,” Chan mutters, his eyes snapping out of their search for you only momentarily to glare at his member.

Changbin’s laugh echoes loudly, even over the music. He lifts his hand high and slaps it onto Chan’s shoulder, shaking him aggressively—as if trying to snap him back into reality. “C’mon, hyung. I got a girl for each and every one of us. Y/N, as much as I adore her, is old news. Stop searching the room like some lovesick puppy. Take some shots, have a good time, and meet…” He pauses dramatically, swinging his free hand behind him like he’s presenting the grand prize.

Winter steps out from the shadows, radiant and self-assured, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

“This,” Changbin declares, his grin wide, “is Winter.”

Winter’s eyes meet Chan’s, and she doesn’t look away. She’s bold, the kind of girl who doesn’t need to play coy. The other Aespa members hover close by, quiet and polite, but their presence only amplifies Winter’s confidence.

Chan doesn’t miss the silent exchange of looks between his single bandmates. They’re already thanking Changbin in their heads, no doubt.

He feels Winter’s gaze burning into him, waiting for a reaction. Maybe this is what he needs—someone new. Someone who doesn’t come with history, heartbreak, or late-night regrets.

“I—uh,” he starts, but Winter doesn’t let him finish.

“Do you dance?” she asks, her voice smooth and enticing.

“Not really,” he replies, shifting on his feet.

“Perfect,” she quips, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the crowd before he can protest.

The music feels louder here, the bass vibrating through the floor and up his legs. Winter’s hand is warm in his, her movements confident and fluid as she guides him into the rhythm. She doesn’t push too hard, just enough to make it easy to follow her lead.

Chan tries. He really tries. But then he sees you.

You’re on the other side of the room, dancing with Nicholas from &TEAM. You’re smiling, your face lit up with the kind of joy that makes his chest ache.

The world tilts.

For a moment, it’s just you and Nicholas, the way he spins you effortlessly, your laughter ringing out even over the music. And suddenly, nothing else matters.

Chan’s grip on Winter loosens. The memory of his last conversation with you slams into him, unrelenting. “I don’t know what I want,” he’d told you, the words slipping out in the heat of frustration. He’d left you standing there, hurt and confused.

And now here you are, moving on. Or at least pretending to.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” Winter says, her voice cutting through the noise as she leans in closer.

“I don’t,” he mutters, barely paying attention.

Winter studies him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She’s no fool—she can see where his focus lies.

Across the room, Nicholas pulls you closer, his hand resting on your lower back, and it’s all Chan can take. Without thinking, he moves.

Winter calls after him, but he doesn’t look back. He’s pushing through the crowd, his steps quick and determined, until he’s standing in front of you and Nicholas.

You blink up at him, surprised, your smile faltering just slightly.

“Can we talk?” Chan says, his voice low, almost lost in the noise of the party.

Nicholas raises an eyebrow but doesn’t speak.

“Please,” Chan adds, the word slipping out before he can stop it.

The moment the bathroom door shuts, you turn to face him, arms crossed and a smirk already tugging at your lips. “Oh, this should be good,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Go ahead, Chan. Explain why you just had to drag me away from having a perfectly good time.”

His jaw tightens as he leans against the sink, staring at you like you’re the problem. “I couldn’t just stand there,” he says, his tone sharp.

“Why not?” you shoot back, stepping closer. “You’re the one who left, remember? You said you didn’t know what you wanted, so why does it matter what I’m doing now?”

He runs a hand through his hair, the frustration pouring off him in waves. “Because I see you with him, and it makes me—” He stops, biting down on the words like they might burn him.

“Say it,” you challenge, tilting your head. “What, Chan? It makes you jealous? Possessive? You can’t have it both ways. You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either. Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

“Like you’re any better,” he snaps, stepping into your space now. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing out there. Dancing with him, laughing like you’re so happy. You knew I’d see it.”

“Of course, I knew,” you reply, unfazed. “Why do you think I did it? You think you can just leave me and expect me to sit around waiting for you to figure out your shit? Please.”

His lips twitch, caught somewhere between anger and something darker. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re predictable,” you counter, crossing your arms tighter. “Every time I start to move on, here you come, pulling me back in like clockwork.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You think I want to feel like this? Like I’m losing my mind every time I see you with someone else? I hate it, Y/N. I hate that I can’t let you go, but I don’t know how.”

You scoff, but your voice softens, the cracks in your armor showing. “You think I don’t get it? I do. I feel the same way, Chan. Every time you’re with someone else, it’s like—” You break off, shaking your head with a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t even matter. None of it matters because, at the end of the day, we’re always right back here, aren’t we?”

His gaze locks onto yours, the anger melting into something softer, more desperate. “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “We are.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence thick with unspoken truths. Then you break it, your voice dripping with venom even as your eyes betray your longing.

“You’re a mess,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you’re any better?” he retorts, his lips curving into a dark smile.

The tension crackles like a live wire between you, the bathroom suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. You take a step back, your resolve wavering.

“I hate you,” you say, but the words lack conviction.

“I hate you too,” he replies, but his voice cracks just enough to betray him.

“I hate you,” you say, a smirk curling at the edge of your lips. Your voice is sharp, dripping with venom, but your eyes tell a different story—challenging, taunting.

“I hate you too,” Chan snaps back, his steps deliberate as he closes the space between you.

“Good,” you purr, leaning into the tension like you’re daring him to keep going.

“Great,” he growls, his smirk matching yours.

“You’re so predictable,” you say, tilting your head as if you’re bored. Your gaze dips to his clenched fists before rising to meet his eyes again. “Always running back when you see someone else enjoying me.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t stop moving forward. “And you love it, don’t you? The attention. The games.”

You shrug, pretending to think. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you lose your mind.”

“Careful,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous.

“Careful?” You laugh, the sound light and airy, cutting through the heavy tension like a blade. “You think I’m scared of you, Chan?”

“You should be.”

“Please,” you scoff, taking a step toward him instead of away. Now it’s his turn to stop in his tracks, his confidence flickering under your steady gaze. “I’ve seen you at your worst. You think this is supposed to intimidate me?”

His eyes narrow, the air thickening, heavy with the unspoken truth between you. Without a moment’s hesitation, he steps into your space, his hands moving to grip your wrists as he pins you against the wall. His lips crash against yours, urgency and hunger taking over, a kiss that speaks volumes of the years of unspoken desire and tension building between you.

The kiss is raw, hungry—teeth clashing, lips bruising, each touch igniting the sparks between you. But it’s his hands that drive you wild, pulling at your clothes, fingers working to expose more of you, to claim what he’s always wanted.

You fight him for control, sliding your hands up his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt. But he’s too strong, his touch too demanding, the power dynamic shifting as he forces you back into the wall, his body pressed against yours with a possessiveness you can’t ignore.

“Is this what you wanted?” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick, his breath hot.

You can barely answer before his lips are on your neck, sucking and biting as his hands roam, caressing every inch of exposed skin. You gasp, biting back a moan as your hands travel lower, desperate to feel him, to pull him closer.

“I think I want more,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire.

Before anything else can happen, Chan pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. His chest rises and falls with quick breaths, his grip on you firm, almost possessive.

“We should get out of here,” he mutters, his voice rough, the weight of what’s about to happen settling between you.

You nod wordlessly, a silent agreement passing between you. The game is over. The act of pretending, of keeping this thing between you casual, is over.

With one last heated kiss, Chan pulls away, quickly adjusting his clothes and reaching for the door. You follow his lead, stepping out of the bathroom with him, hand in hand, both of you silently agreeing that the rest of the night belongs to you.

Meanwhile, back at the bar, the rest of Stray Kids are watching, their eyes trained on the bathroom door. Hyunjin leans over to Felix with a sly grin, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"It's like taking candy from a baby." Hyunjin chuckles. He takes each individual bill from Felix"s defeated hand, blessing each one with a "thank you".

Unbeknownst to Chan, Felix and Hyunjin placed a bet while he was vigorously showering and coating himself with cologne, all "just because". Hyunjin had no faith in Chan being able to control himself, but Felix was carrying a generous heart today.

"I don't know why I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Shit is embarrassing." Felix scoffs--annoyed and amused all in one.

Seungmin appears behind the two of them, placing his arms over both of their shoulders. "The real bet isn't whether Chan was going to lose his shit--it's how long they're going to stay together this time."

Immediately, the bets start flying out of their mouths. Two weeks! A month! 48 hours!

Meanwhile, you and Chan didn't make it to either one of your dorms. The second the door shut in the car, he threw you into the back seat. He knew you well enough to know you didn't have on panties. He can't help himself right now. His face is buried deep into your p__sy, he's missed you so much. His face is covered in you, and the only words he can mutter as you grind onto his tounge is "I love you so much" "You taste so good, baby" 'Use me like the slut I am"

[bloggerspam]

A Christmas Carol AU

Inspired by a prompt found in the @haunting-heroes-creative-games :) (i.e. back on my shit again)

When a 15 year old Jason, pissed at Bruce for taking Robin away from him, finds his birth certificate he realizes Catherine Todd is not his real mother.

Just as he resolves to go out and search for his birth mother, Jason finds himself accosted by three ghosts in his room, talking about A Christmas Carol of all things.

===

"So, what? We're gonna Christmas Carol him?"

Dan scoffs, crossing his bulky arms with an unimpressed look. "We hated that movie."

"I didn't." Dani chirps, disturbingly cheery, "I didn't see it!"

"We hate Christmas," Danny corrects, "But the movie was alright, and the logic is sound."

"I don't hate Christmas," Dani once again interjects cheerily, "I've never participated!"

"Sound my ass," Dan growls over her, throwing his hands up. "We don't even know this guy!"

"Minor detail." Danny insists, "Tuck can look him up."

"He's a fucking Bat, Danny." Dan scrunches up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose just like Vlad does when he's disgruntled with any of Dad's shenanigans.

"He's a Robin, actually." Dani pipes in, "And he's just a kid. How hard is it gonna be to pretend to be this kid's Ghosts?"

"You're a kid," Dan reminds her, crossing his arms, "And you didn't believe me when I told you sticking a fork in the outlet would shock you."

"I believed you," Dani sniffs haughtily, crossing her arms and pointing her nose up with a snooty voice, "The warning simply did not deter me from doing it anyway."

"We don't have to convince him we're his Ghosts, or even that we knew him before," Danny reasons, needling, "We just have to convince him that we're…"

He hums, pointing at Dani. "Past."

He points at himself, "Present."

He points at Dan, "Future."

Dani does a little cheer, arms up and twirling into the air before landing with her legs over Dan's shoulders, hands and head settling atop Dan's fiery, but harmless, hair. It flickers, before going limp into long white strands that Dani messes up by gently scrunching up the strands and running her fingers through them.

Dan lets her, huffing and looking weirdly like a downtrodden, wet cat. "Why am I future?"

"Because." Danny doesn't continue, because he knows it makes Dan annoyed. True to form, his scowl gets worse, like sucking on a lemon. They all know why anyway.

Dani grins, triumphant and knowing, letting her voice go real deep, "The future," she intones into Dan's hair, "is here."

"The future is now," Danny corrects her, but doesn't lose his smile, floating up to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

"The future is already here," Dan mumbles his correction, or is it a follow-up? "It's just not evenly distributed."

"How about you distribute some of those muscles, Gibson," Danny sighs, shaking his head "Waiting for puberty is such a drag, and we both know you didn't get the mass from Vlad's side of the family."

Dan makes a moue of disgust, but it serves him right. The consequences of his own actions, and whatnot. He looks up at Dani, who simply shrugs. "I think you'll do great." She leans down to give him two pats on the arm.

"So how's acting out A Christmas Carol gonna help us stop this Jason guy from blowing up?" Dani fiddles with Dan's hair, tongue poking out as she attempts a braid, "Will he even see us? Ghosts in this dimension taste funny."

"He'll be able to see us, it's magically rich enough for some ghosts to maintain a semblance of themselves," Danny explains for the third time. Dani and Dan hum at different pitches, and even though Danny is the common denominator he kind of hates that Vlad has more of a lasting impression on them. "The ectoplasm here is scarce and mostly corrupted, though, so it's rare."

"So there's lotsa bad ghosts here?" Dani eyes the messy braid she's made, proud, even as Dan's silky hair immediately causes it to fall apart, "Or 'mentally unsound' or whatever Frostbite called it."

"No," Dan grumbles, annoyed and indulging all at once, "Corruption begets ecto-rot, but the scarcity means they're not strong enough to actually retain their sense of self enough to rot."

"Shades," Danny explains when Dani looks even more confused, "There's lots of shades."

"Is this one of the Olympian dimensions?" Dani groans, flopping over Dan's shoulder as he sits down on the sofa, "I love Pandora and all, but if I see Zeus again I'm gonna lose it."

"It's one of the hero dimensions," Danny hums, taking over braiding Dan's hair the way Jazz made him when they were little, "There's a couple of Amazons walking about, but on the whole no Olympians."

"I don't know why he didn't just dump me in a Norse dimension." Dan leans back and closes his eyes to their ministrations. "Especially with my current occupation."

The three of them are sitting in Dan's apartment, a large loft studio located somewhere in the UK of the aforementioned hero-dimension. Alber-something, Danny can't remember. Doesn't need to, it being a different dimension from his anyway.

Dan doesn't have a lot of things: a sofa and TV, a bed in the corner, a decent but small kitchen. They're still trying to figure out decorations, but Dan on the whole is a minimalist so it's been slow going.

He's working as a bartender these nights, whiling away his odd existence now that his form has stabilized.

And wasn't that a trip? Learning that hey, adult lightning halfas shouldn't really be mixed with teenage ice halfas, actually!

Apparently, ectoplasm can become corrupted if you try to combine incompatible sources.

Apparently, side effects include (but are not limited to) unmitigated violence and a devastating need for vengeance.

Sound familiar?

"This dimension has a lot of time continuity errors," Danny reminds him, "Dropping you here gave the least amount of pushback."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan flaps a lazy hand, "Praise be the speedforce and flashpoints and whatnot."

"Plus," Dani adds softly, absent-minded as she watches Danny finish up the braid, "Lotsa heroes to help out if you relapse."

Dan heaves a slow, controlled sigh. Danny and Dani both pretend they don't notice.

"Is it bad?" Dan doesn't open his eyes, his voice is so low Danny can only hear him by virtue of his ghost powers, "Like me levels bad?"

"No." Danny shakes his head, leaning into his older self, his older brother of sorts, "He decapitated eight crime lords, killed a couple of assassins, maybe an innocent or two depending on your definition of things."

"Past tense?" Dan scrunches his nose. They all hate how confusing Time Shenanigans are.

"He's living as Red Hood, right this very moment."

"Red Hood?" Dani questions, "That his hero name?"

"Crime lord alias." Danny corrects her, "But he's more of a vigilante these days. Has a bat on his chest and everything."

"But it's bad enough to warrant a trip to the past." Dan points out, "Bad enough for us to try and persuade him. Does he relapse?"

"Not…exactly." Danny scrunches his face, not wanting to explain Clockwork's ambiguity.

Dani floats to spread over Danny and Dan's laps, sprawling out and purring like a cat. Self-soothing, though it's more for their benefit than hers.

"Like Dani said, there’re lots of heroes here, and he doesn't have powers." Danny continues, petting at Dani's soft hair, "The world doesn't end. He doesn't have the means to, even with the ecto-rot."

Danny pauses, and chooses his words deliberately and carefully. "And deep down, Jason Todd is a hero through and through. Relapse would be…difficult. His Obsession is similar to yours."

Dan lets that sit for a moment, but nods, Danny moving a little with the motion. The tension slowly bleeds out as they wait like that, enjoying each other's company.

"If the world doesn't end," Dani whispers, "Why is Clockwork sending all of us?"

Danny thinks on that, on his meeting with Clockwork. The Ancient's voice when he explained what would happen.

He thinks about Jason Todd, about Bruce Wayne, and Catherine, and Sheila. He thinks about Batman, and Robin.

He thinks about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, about Damian Al Ghul, about Cassandra Cain, and all of Jason's Outlaws.

He thinks about a tattered uniform that stays up in a glass case for a long, long time.

Most of all, he thinks about Dan.

He thinks about regrets and one bad day away.

And then he stops thinking about it, because sometimes the past is the past, and other times, it's the future that never happens that haunts you instead.

"You know, Dani." He settles on, "I'm not sure. He probably has his reasons."

Dan leans heavier onto him, and they lean together like that, with Dani in their laps.

Ghosts of decisions made, unmade, and never to be.

Follow the story on AO3 here!

[thedandeliongarden]

I actually have to disagree with your conclusions.

Have you ever fought against flexible weapons?

Back when I was doing HEMA, I sparred against training versions of a 2 handed flail, and let me tell you, they are genuinely a right bastard of a weapon, chiefly in the fact that you cannot defend against them normally:

if you intercept a strike via the head it may flip around and you get clonked by the pole and/or the head, not uncommonly in the face.

If you intercept the pole, the head may swing around your guard and slap you in the head

Additionally “rock on a rope” is a historical and historically effective weapon. I personally know it from a specific german husband vs wife trial by combat (it’s a whole thing that shows up in the combat manuals, don’t ask) but it pops up elsewhere (usually earlier on in history iirc) and making said rock sharp metal is hardly going to make it less effective

So let me address your points, such as they are:

Firstly, all “wunderwaffe” in the original context of the word were ineffective money-sinks that harmed the nazi war effort, helping the allies close out the war faster. So it’s kind of odd to mock a historical (if unusual) weapon that did see actual use (the chinese ones were mostly a performance art, but 10 minutes on Wikipedia and you can find several weapons of the type (or at least, that were used specifically because of features you mocked) that were used in warfare) in the same vein as what I can only describe as the most famous set of failures in military science.

The next thing of note is that it’s entirely idiotic to claim a weapon could only ever be effective against a target simulator. You various criticisms sound like someone whose just been told about plumbata and goes on a rant about how superior throwing axes are by comparison - you’re kind of just ignoring any benefits, somehow completely missing the actual downsides, and concluding that someone who just absolutely nailed 3 targets in a row couldn’t do that to your face because you’d totally move out the way.

So let me cover some actual ground here

the main benefit of “throwing weapon on a string” is that you can retrieve it after you throw it and throw it again - will it be worse on an individual throw? Maybe, but you can throw it again

For the major offensive benefit as a melee weapon, I refer you to my earlier commentary on how fucking annoying it is to try and defend against flexible weapons. I imagine the exact physics works out differently for a weight on a rope than what is fundamentally a long stick attached to a shorter stick, but either way this can absolutely can wrap around your defence in unpredictable/unintuitive ways

You really need to account for the continuous force going into the rope from the wielder. It’s not a limp noodle when it’s being put under tension the whole time, and it won’t behave like a whip from indiana jones

Ok so I think that broadly covers the odd set of criticisms you had, so what about the actual disadvantages of the weapon? Why didn’t it see more widespread use?

Formations and collateral. The bow supplanted the sling because you could put more soldiers in the same area if you used bows. Skirmishers are a little different (and afaik did retain slingers for longer) but main formations wanted to be as dense as possible for most of the history of warfare. And uh. yeah. look it doesn’t take a genius to see how much space you need to use a rope dart to its maximum potential

Skill requirements. There’s a reason it was a performance art, that shit’s impressive - and takes a long time to learn. Much like dual wielding in the sense of two similar sized swords, even though there genuinely are advantages in some situations, learning to do it to a baseline level of competence (i.e without hitting yourself) is dramatically more difficult with flexible weapons than with literally anything else. And so you will only very rarely see this as an army level weapon for the same reason crossbows supplanted regular archery - it just costs more to train the soldiers (english/welsh archery is a notable exception to this rule achieved by a country-wide law prohibiting other sports on sundays, which is kind of insane behaviour but it did work).

Armour. This one’s more of a hunch, but I suspect this is one of the weapon types (like cut-centric swords, clubs, and really any number of weapons) that are disproportionately countered by armour. I think some actual testing would need to be done to confirm, and I cannot stress enough that for most of history that level of armour was not a factor

So yeah. Sure, not a common weapon, and not one commonly used in warfare (at least in china) but until you have actually done some sparring with someone with baseline competence in rope darts, please don’t show your ass by claiming they must be totally useless

Oh, and before I forget - nunchucks were a way around weapon prohibition laws. It’s wrong to compare them to weapons of war, you have to compare them to other concealable civilian weapons like knuckledusters. You have to tune out modern ninja mythos if you want to have useful opinions on weapons involved in it

Demonstrating the rope dart (繩標; sheng2biao1)

[eng by me]

[beabnormal24]

Your dog ~ carcar, angst

Piñon still bites him when he sees him. He's a distrustful dog, Oscar has learned.

He doesn't like it when Oscar sits on the left side of the couch, pushes his nose against his calf until he's shuffling to the right. He doesn't sit on that side either, though, and curls up under his feet.

He doesn't like it when Oscar looks at the coats hanging nearby the entrance, he doesn't like it when Oscar puts his hand in the biscuits jar, he doesn't like it when Oscar uses the body-wash in the shower and smells of musky pinecones.

He doesn't like a whole lot of things that Oscar does, truthfully, and even though he does try not to show it, sometimes it really hits close to home, where it already hurts the most.

And yet, he still gets up at eight sharp in the morning to take him out for a walk.

They stroll on the sidewalk for ten minutes, already with the easiness of a routine that doesn't feel like it belongs to him fully yet, and Oscar can almost say with certainty that it doesn't feel that gross to grab his poop from the ground.

Every morning they walk past a local bakery, just on the right side of the parallel road, and every single morning Piñon starts barking, perhaps out of familiarity, perhaps just out of curiosity, his vision zeroing on the bright yellow of the signs.

Oscar... he would rather not walk in, honestly. It's not even about avoiding falling into temptation, the smell of fresh baked goods always seeming to make his empty stomach grumble like a full engine.

It's more about the way the people around him seem to advert their gaze for a short second before actually meeting his eyes, it's about the way the woman behind the counter sharpens her grimace into a somewhat welcoming smile, as if all of a sudden she's not angry anymore at Oscar for only knowing how to utter a bunch of words in broken Spanish.

Even worse, though, it's the way they always sit on their calves and pat Piñon's head with a familiarity that Oscar is almost jealous of.

He may not understand a lot of the language, but still it's easy to make out the grand scheme of it all, how they sneak treats under the dog's mouth, how they whisper close to his ear.

"Has he been treating you good? How are you doing? How is him?"

Piñon never answers, and maybe that's exactly the reason why Oscar decided to take care of him.

When it came to deciding what should go to whom, he had almost fought tooth and nails to insist he would be the one getting the dog, in ways that he would probably be immensely embarrassed of if he thought about it now, lucid and the wound of it all less open and fresh.

But when Piñon tilts his head there's always the memory of something that tickles the back of Oscar's head, something that he's not exactly ready to let go of completely.

And when Oscar just needs to talk without the feeling of judgment and guilt clouding over him, Piñon just nudges his nose against his calf and sits at his feet and leaves him the benefit of self criticism that sometimes Oscar forgets he still has.

And other times, even, he looks up at Oscar with big brown eyes that hold a distant sentiment that Oscar can't face just yet.

He has read, somewhere in the middle of a late night binge search on how to get rid of it all as fast possible, that dogs are able to talk to spirits.

Oscar doesn't exactly believe it. Though it is true that Oscar doesn't believe in a lot of things that don't lie in the same Venn's diagram of a throttle and a brake.

He still doesn't know if he should believe in God or if it's God who should believe more in them, give them a bit more credit for all the things some people have to go through without even asking for them.

And Oscar also sincerely hopes Carlos has not gone and become a spirit, because that would imply that even the last shred of hope has to quietly die like a burnt candle.

Because that would mean Oscar would have to live the rest of his life looking for a metaphysical appearance that he knows will never come, that he would have to feel haunted, even.

And it's ridiculous to even think about believing in something like that, and yet at two in the morning on a Thursday night Oscar thinks that there can't be any damage to do if he just lets himself be ridiculous for a little while.

The corridor is bathed in moonlight when he walks through it, but Oscar still finds some difficulty in making his way through the rooms, leaning against the wall with a hand as he feels the quiet thrum of an empty house surrounding him.

He is careful with his steps as he reaches Piñon, sleeping soundly at the entrance where he had dragged his own bed a few days ago.

He thinks about it for a second, then two, watches little puff of air heaving Pinon's chest, his head resting on crossed paws, turned towards the door as if it could open from a second to another. Waiting.

He doesn't think about it more than three seconds, because Oscar has never had the privilege to make decisions in longer than that, so he kneels on the ground, passing a gentle hand through the longer fur on Piñon's back before ducking his head and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Piñon doesn't wake up, just scrunches his nose for a second before his breaths even out again, same rhythm as before, as if trying to fall back into a routine that doesn't quite fit right.

The sofa is soft under his legs when he sits on it, careful to not disrupt the untold equilibrium as he presses his feet to the left armrest and leans his chin over his bent knees. He is not going to sleep anytime soon, either way.

"I gave a kiss to your dog." Oscar chuckles, lets himself feel ridiculous for just a second before relaxing against the back of the couch. "I did it when he was asleep. He would've killed me if I had tried to do it when he was awake."

The only answer he gets is the eerily quiet and the muffled sounds of Piñon's breathing.

For the first time since he can remember, Oscar wishes there could be another voice coming from the right side of the couch.

"I think he doesn't like me a lot, you know? Sometimes it's like he wants to blame me and I- I get it, I want to blame myself, too." A knot rises in the middle of his throat, tight and uncomfortable. Oscar still talks past it. "But he is the closest thing to you that I could get, the closest thing that is alive and well. And when he glares at me he- he almost reminds me of you which is ridiculous because I can't even remember the last time you were actually angry at me but I think it's better for me to remember you that way than..."

He rubs a hand under his eyes, pretends like he can't feel the sudden wetness on the sleeves of his hoodie. He doesn't even think it's his own.

He doesn't even remember when the division line started to blur.

"I think that's what you would want me to do, if you could say it."

Lando hadn't been of the same opinion, looking at Oscar warily when he had suggested he would be the one taking Piñon for the first time. Now, he just looks at Oscar with his downturned eyes and tells him he wishes he could do more to help him.

Oscar doesn't think there's more to do, anyway.

"I read somewhere that dogs talk to spirits. I think it's the kind of shit you would yell at Lando for believing in it. You always d- do that." He caresses his own knees, seeking the comfort of a warm touch in his own coldness. "And trust me, I hope you are not a fucking spirit and that you won’t become one anytime soon. But if there is even a small- small possibility, I-" he closes his eyes for a second, lets the knot in his throat dissolve like salt in water, stinging on an open wound, where pulsing blood is still rushing to trail on his skin.

"If there is even a single possibility of it being true I- I gave him a kiss and I hope he can bring it to you. And then he can come back home if- I hope he thinks this is still home, even without-“

The light blue colour of the sleeves has tuned into a darker patch under his eyes, blurry from a lucidity that he can't make himself feel ashamed of.

As if on cue, the silence is broken by the ticking sound of Piñon's paws on the hardened wood floor. When Oscar manages to open his eyes again without wishing to disappear into the dark blue void outside the window, Piñon is looking up at him, curled under his feet with his head close to Oscar's shin.

The dog sighs, a shaky thing that sounds almost like a rumble and Oscar can only answer with a choked sob of his own that doesn't feel like it belongs to him at all, to his vocal cords that always found no use in crying.

Many things can change in the span of a few weeks: Oscar's beliefs and a dog's routine.

"But I- I think," he swallows around nothing, bending down to press a hand to the top of Piñon's head, caressing lightly. "We are not so different, me and Piñon."

The dog sighs again, almost sad. Oscar wonders if he is listening to what he is saying, if he can actually understand it all. Will he bring a kiss from him, then?

"We both miss you the most when the night comes."

—

This little story is heavily inspired by the song “your dog” by Pinguini Tattici Nucleari

[seokmn]

LONELY DANCERS

pairing: vernon x gn!reader

wc: 1.1k words

warning: mentions of drinking and kissing

lua’s notes: 100% inspired by this conan’s banger. there you go my vernon lover @k1eev enjoy dancing with him ��💋

“no- seungkwan, you dont understand. i simply cannot find soojin!” vernon said on the phone. the music was blasting, and he was not only looking but walking around the unknown house, taking a good look at every person that was surrounding him. “its like she disa-“ he cut himself off, “found her. seungkwan, ill talk to you later.”

vernon ended the call with his friend and just stood there watching his date from afar while she was kissing another guy. he clenched his jaw and kept looking like he couldnt take his eyes off of her and the guy she was basically swallowing in front of everyone at that party.

suddenly everything started to slow down and the music started to die. and still, he was there staring at the girl, the girl who was supposed to be his for the night – and, at least he thought, for a really long time. his surroundings only seemed to get back to normal when he felt a tap on his shoulder, he looked to his side and saw someone smiling at him.

“is one of them your crush? youre staring at them for a while now” you said as you got close to his ear so the music wouldnt be a problem for him to listen to you. vernon looked at you, not knowing if he should tell you the truth or not. “i suppose it is” you said when you noticed he wasnt going to tell you and chuckled. in response, he only gave you a quick smile, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“its okay! if that makes you feel better, my boyfriend broke up with me tonight. youre not the only one who got dumped here”

“sorry to hear that” he said, not exactly knowing what to say since that fact didnt make him feel better at all, but he still wanted to be polite. "im yn, by the way.”

“im vernon” he smiled, his shy smile made you smile as well. “wanna join me for the night? or do you wanna keep staring at them like a creepy?”

“do i look like a creepy?” you looked at his worried expression and nodded, “you have no idea how much. cmon, lets get you a drink.”

you took his hand and walked towards the crowded kitchen. “you down for some vodka and cola?”, he looked around before looking back at you, “sure, why not?”. you smiled and served him the drink before making one for yourself as well.

“so… is it the girl or the guy?”. he took a sip of his drink, looking at it and nodding with his lips curled downward, a signal that he liked the drink, before responding “the girl”

“was she your girlfriend?”

“no, we were more like a fling, but i thought things were getting serious. looks like i was wrong” you groaned and looked at him, “thats the worse. im sorry to hear that.”

vernon just shrugged his shoulders and kept drinking while you were still looking at him, wanting to keep the conversation going, but not knowing how to. “my boyfriend… well, ex boyfriend,” you chuckled bitterly before continuing, “and i were dating for four months. i guess its not too much, but i certainly didnt see the breakup coming, specially right before coming here”. you sighed, “guess our love life will have a different path from now on”

vernon nodded and was about to speak before you cut him off, “you know what? forget those assholes, they dont know love and honestly? i hope they die. so you should get back up, cuz by the end of the week we’ll be alright! youre a very good looking guy, im sure youre hella interesting and im good looking and interesting as hell! we dont need them! fuck them!” you said as you started to tear up from anger. you took a deep breath and smiled at vernon. “i gotta dance or else ill cry. wanna join me?” you looked at him with hope in your eyes.

“yea, lets dance”, he didnt even finish his sentence and you were already dragging him back to the living room and starting to dance to the song that was playing. at first, vernon was a little bit shy of dancing in front of everyone, but his shyness was slowly dying as he saw how carefree you were while dancing like there was no tomorrow, like no one was around you two. soon enough, the two of you were having the time of your lives, dancing like it could save you from a heartbreak or even save your lives and it really felt like it could save you from any worries or danger.

your movements started to slow down as both of you started to get a little tired from dancing. you were smiling as you looked at vernon, his smile making you smile even wider. it felt like there was only you and him in that moment, your heart was beating fast and you couldnt tell if it was because of all the dancing or if it was because of him standing right in front of you.

the euphoria you were feeling was too intense. you kept looking at vernon, it was clear that he was getting tired, but he continued dancing anyway, enjoying his time and forgetting about his ex date’s existence. once he finally made eye contact with you, you didnt think twice – actually, you didnt even think – and leaned forward, your lips meeting his.

you felt your heart beating even faster once you felt his soft lips in contact with yours. you broke the kiss right after you got back to earth and thought about what you were doing. “oh my god im so sorry i didnt mean to! i mean�� yeah, maybe i did but its just because i thought the moment was ri-“ vernon cut you off by kissing you, placing his hand on your cheek when you started to kiss him back. you couldnt tell if your body relaxed or got even more excited when he kissed you, all you could tell was that you were enjoying it and that his kiss was out of this world.

when he broke the kiss he looked at you, who was looking at him like he committed a crime by pulling his lips away from yours. he looked around before looking back at you, “i know a better place than this crowded house, wanna go with me?”

you smiled and nodded, “sure, this party is kinda lame anyway”. he chuckled and nodded, fixing his cap before placing his hand on your lower back and leaving the party with you.

[crazyvik97rpg]

Naturally, Charlotte and James offered their help again right away when Sebastian voiced his concerns. It felt good to hear their supportive words and reassurance. Still…the appointment still awaited him next week and he was scared. What if all those new methods couldn’t be used on him, were too expensive or not what he needed? What if the results came back worse than anticipated and the cancer wasn’t gone after all? These were his biggest concerns – and he hated that there was nothing more he could do but wait.

Charlotte still offered to have Sebastian see this specialist in Newcastle, if everything else didn’t work. He supposed he appreciated it – she was never stingy with money, especially when it came to family it seemed. Sebastian was glad they already considered him family – surrounded by all these lovely people, he couldn’t be more lucky in such situation, truly.

„Thank you. Really. I appreciate it a lot“, Sebastian hummed and gave a nod, to them both, „I can just hope, I guess…hope for the best. I already dreaded all the waiting before the surgery and now…I can’t do anything but wait, that’s the worst for me. But well…point is…it’s great to have you here. To spend time together. William often has to deal with my foul moods lately but today already made me feel so much better“.

They still ate their food slowly in between talking - despite the heavy topic, it was really delicious. Sebastian had appetite and he needed the additional calories - all the better for the healing process.

„Anyway…“, he spoke after a moment, „How about we stop by William‘s house after dinner? I suppose we need to bring James‘ things there anyway. And then you could also meet Pavarotti?“

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97