#AND NOW I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO READ
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keferon · 2 days ago
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“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”
There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.
And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.
Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it
“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”
Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.
“Wake up.”
___________________
Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.
The fic under the cut⤵️
He seemed to be nothing.
The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.
“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”
“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”
He idly thought, his hands felt numb.
“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”
The tinkling of metal.
The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.
Warm hands on his head.
“Here.”
“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”
Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.
Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.
“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”
There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.
And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.
Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder
“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”
Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.
“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”
“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”
Orion shrugged in frustration.
“Then why won't it move?”
Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it
“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”
Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.
“Wake up.”
The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.
He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.
He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.
He opened his optics.
Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.
On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.
“I believed in you.”
_________
“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”
He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.
The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.
Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.
The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.
He was inclined to be...quiet.
His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.
He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.
A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.
He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.
Until it didn't.
Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.
Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....
“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”
Like…well….like an absolute fool.
This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.
Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.
“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”
Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.
Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.
Orion broke out into laughter.
________
“What exactly is my goal?”
Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.
“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”
Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues
“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”
“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”
“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”
“Well. I'd say so, yes.”
Prowl nods
“And what is your goal?”
Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.
Prowl ignores him.
“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.
“Yes.”
“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”
Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.
“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”
Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.
Prowl ignores him harder.
“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”
Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.
“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”
Orion shrugs awkwardly
“That's why I made you.”
__________
Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.
“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”
Orion smiles gratefully
“Thank you.”
Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking
“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”
The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.
Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.
“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”
Ratchet .....stares.
“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”
Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.
“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”
Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.
“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.
Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.
“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”
One of Prowl's wings twitches
“He wasn't lying.”
Ratchet snorts grumpily.
“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.
There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.
Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.
Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door
“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”
Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.
“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”
Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.
Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.
He nods politely goodbye before leaving.
______________
“I am different from them. Why?”
Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.
“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”
Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document
“ You missed a comma. Both.”
Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.
“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”
“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”
“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”
“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”
Orion laughs quietly
“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”
Orion gives him a moment before continuing.
“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”
“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.
And then hesitates a moment.
Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.
Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.
Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.
One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.
Prowl thinks he's not that different.
Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.
“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”
Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.
“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”
“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”
Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.
“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”
Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.
“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”
______
“Foolish and presumptuous.”
Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.
“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”
“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought
“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”
Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.
“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”
Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.
“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”
Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.
“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”
This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.
Orion doesn't try to deny anything.
“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”
“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..
Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.
Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.
Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite
“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”
Shockwave nods happily
“Introduce us?”
Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.
When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.
Twenty-eight percent...
Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.
In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.
This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.
_________________
Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground
He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.
"Did you kill him?"
Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?
By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.
Did he cause death? Absolutely.
Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.
In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.
Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.
Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.
"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"
"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."
That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.
Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.
Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.
Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.
They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.
Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.
"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."
The trap is honestly too obvious.
"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."
Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.
Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.
"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."
Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.
He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.
Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.
__________________
He is surprisingly good at lying.
Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.
All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.
He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.
Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.
Not always.
______________
"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."
Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening
"A ���demon?"
"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."
Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....
"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.
"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."
"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"
Orion frowns
"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."
Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.
"I hope he doesn't."
——————————
Thoughts?👁
Ahsjfjfj
This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞
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jellyfishline · 16 hours ago
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Okay this is not my field of history and I don't want to claim expertise I don't have, but, I just strongly feel the need to say something here.
This is a gross, bigoted, horrible, disgusting thing to do, it is absolutely a step in the facist/authoritarianism playbook, and yes, the "end goal" for the people implementing this erasure is the eradication of LGBT folks from the public sphere.
But to anyone scared and despairing out there, there are a number of things which are significantly and importantly different between what's happening now in the USA and what happened in the 30s in Germany, and also a number of steps that will make it significantly harder for Trump's administration to maintain that kind of control.
1. Trump's administration is attempting to purge federal government documents of LGBT terms. They have no legal authority to purge anything that is not federal documents. They cannot touch state legislature or research outside of the CDC. They cannot prevent you from looking at statistics, documents, information that are not connected to the CDC. They cannot stop your from posting, sharing, viewing, discussing anything that was archived off the CDC before those pages were removed. They cannot stop you from looking at research conducted in other countries. They cannot stop you from writing, reading, sharing, discussing, following books, blogs, news sources, medical journals, or anything else that discusses LGBT terms.
2. LGBT issues are in the spotlight in large part because public support and knowledge of LGBT issues is at an all-time high. Yes there is a push back of disgusting, virulent bigotry, but broadly speaking, more people than ever before in US history do not care if you’re queer. We have openly transgender, openly gay, openly queer people in the US federal government, not to mention just, all over the place in public life. Queer folks may be a minority but we are not silent or invisible, and that is a very good thing. In 1933 in Germany queer topics were still taboo in many ways. There was not loud public support for children's media with queer characters in lead roles, or same-sex marriage, or protections for LGBT folks on the state (if, sadly, not always the federal) level. It isn’t just queer folks who don't want to be erased, there are many, many allies who have observed that society did not abruptly break down when same-sex marriage was federally recognized, that transgender people are not dangerous or worthy of ridicule, that these are not topics to be discussed in hushed tones and outside of children's attention. There is so much bigoted pushback towards letting trans kids access gender affirming healthcare because we have trans kids, who know they are trans! Whose parents and doctors will get them access to the healthcare they need! In a publicly visible, unashamed, openly-discussed way!
Tl;dr, Trump's administration is horrible and disgusting and fascist dictatorship is what he wants, but we are not there yet. We are not erased. We are not silenced. Existing, loudly and openly and joyfully, is a powerful act of resistance. Do not obey in advance. Reach out to the straight allies in your life and make sure they understand that this is happening and that you're scared, and continue to live loudly anyway.
I'm also going to research what steps can be taken to demand that those CDC pages be restored. Because despite what Trump's administration wants us to feel, we are not helpless.
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Btw, this is how conservatives keep getting to claim that trans people are a new thing no one has ever heard, because our history and existences have continually been erased or obscured systematically through out history.
The most famous example was 92 years when the Nazis raided the library of the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, the medical practice where the term transsexual was first coined and the first gender affirming surgery was performed in in 1931.
What did the Nazis do after raiding the library on May 6th, 1933? You may be familiar with these images
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It is happening again.
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stoneexo · 1 day ago
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hey my babes, so i've been super overwhelmed with school and work lately (literally spent 3hrs trying to get home yesterday in what is normally a 45min drive, love canadian winter), so i'm a little late on this for y'all and i'm so sorry :') so here is the little sevika blurb that i promised to keep you occupied while i try to wrap up the vi x reader fic & proof read it! unless you guys don't want it proof read? (lmk)
anyways, enjoy!!
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sevika was used to fucking, and she was used to giving a good strap-down treatment. after all, she had always preferred to touch than be touched. but there was something completely different when it came to you, underneath her like this, bent over so pretty while she pounded you stupid. she was used to being rough, the drooling, the scratching at her partner's hips as she forced herself impossibly deeper into whoever's cunt she happened to be fucking that night. she was used to the control. the power. but with you, it all went out the window.
she wanted to touch you so badly. no, she needed to. her flesh hand wanders around your body, exploring every mountain and valley on your body while she gets drunk on the sounds you make under her. she wasn't used to this, to having a need like this. to not being in control. even though you were the one pinned beneath her, back arched and body on full display. everything about you was intoxicating, the way you bounced back on her, the pretty mewls and moans that left your lips in between the cries of her name. and when you reached back to hold her warm hand that was now gripping a fistful of your ass, practically sobbing on her dick, she knew damn well that you were calling the shots now. as she hunched over you, pressing even deeper, drool dripping down your back as she rutted mindlessly into you, sevika knew she would do anything you asked of her now.
something about you like this just did something to her; it was better than drinking, better than smoking, better than shimmer, better than anything else this world had to offer, she was sure of it. she bit down into your shoulder in an effort to contain herself, her hips snapping into yours violently as you struggled to speak in your fucked out state. "d—don't fu—ckin' stop 'vika!" you stammered out, voice pitchy and breathless as the words struggled to come out. sevika only bit down harder into your shoulder in response, causing you to moan yet again.
sevika had experienced phantom limbs before with her arm, but never like this. she swore she could feel you clenching around her cock, impossibly wet, pussy fluttering with each stroke. and it felt like heaven on earth. whatever she had done to deserve this, she would do it a million times over if it meant spending one second longer in your perfect pussy. "ha—i'm gonna c—cum!" you squeaked out, grabbing onto the sheets desperately as sevika ravished your body, squeezing all over as you approached the edge.
"come on doll, give it to me." she murmured— no, demanded, laying a kiss where she had been biting previously, before licking it, her voice breathy and sultry. and you did just that, cumming nearly on command to her desprate rutting.
and that's what did her in, you were sure, as you heard a desperate whimper escape the stoic copper-skinned woman's lips as you clenched around her strap. the nails of her metal claw dug into your hips as her thrusting stuttered. but as quick as the pause came, it went, and she was pounding you even harder than before, leading to your explosive end as you sobbed out underneath her. sevika had never needed someone like this before; so bad that she lost all control of her body, that she made pathetic sounds like this. and she was mortified by the noises she was making, to say the least.
sevika bit her lip and tried to fight back another whine but she couldn't help it as you squeezed her hand and her cock yet again— and she found herself wishing she could be inside you like this for real as she struggled not to cum herself just from your body and pleasure. she tried to stifle the noises, biting her lip so hard she knew it was bleeding, but that fell apart the moment your begging began. "p—please baby w—anna hear yo—u!" you pleaded, body shaking from the overstimulation as she ravaged your body.
and sevika did let go, a flurry of whines and whimpers escaping her lips as she destroyed your cunt till you couldn't take it anymore, making sure you were good and fucked out before she began to slow. you were in a daze of euphoria beneath her as she pulled out and you collapsed on the bed. sevika only left you to retrieve a towel and a glass of water, fully intent on cleaning you up and showering you with kisses as she finds you passed out on your bed.
(you make sure to let her know the next morning, however, that you'll need to hear her like that more often...)
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wendichester · 2 days ago
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₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier²,
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summary. sam's been in love with you for far too long for it to still be a secret!
pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!
wordcount. 1051
notes. @hauntedrose555 @mostlymarvelgirl @daryls-luvrr ya'll encouraged this nonsense. don't come after me for writing this 😳
⋆.˚ ★— read part 1
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Dean isn't looking for trouble. Really. And he doesn't mean to snoop. He just wants the damn book. It’s gotta be somewhere in the bunker.
The three of you had been going through lore all week for this case, and Dean swears he saw Sam with it last. So, when he finds himself in front of Sam’s half-open bedroom door, he doesn’t think twice before stepping inside.
His eyes skim over the desk first, scanning through the mess of papers and thick books. No luck. Huffing, he crouches to check the floor. Nothing. Then he spots it, half-buried under a stack of old notes—faded leather binding, gold lettering along the spine.
Bingo.
But as Dean grabs the book, his fingers brush against something else. A journal. Sam’s journal.
He doesn’t mean to look. He shouldn’t. He knows that. But the damn thing is open, and his name—your name—catches his eye.
Dean tells himself it’s just for a second. Just one glance. But the words jump out at him like a punch to the gut.
"She would be so much happier with me."
His stomach drops.
“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, flipping back a page, then another. It’s all there. The lingering looks. The inside jokes. The little moments that Sam thinks mean something more. Pages filled with words Dean doesn’t want to read, because they confirm what his gut has been telling him for a while now.
Sam’s in love with you.
A sharp exhale sounds from the doorway.
“The hell are you doing?”
Dean looks up to find Sam standing there, shoulders tense, expression instantly guarded as he sees his journal in Dean’s hands.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean drawls, flipping the book shut. His jaw clenches. “Maybe just finding out my brother’s been in love with my girlfriend behind my back.”
Sam’s face darkens. “Give me that.”
Dean tosses the journal onto the desk, standing up. “I don’t need to read more, Sammy. That one sentence told me everything.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. How long?”
Sam’s lips press into a thin line. “Dean—”
“How. Long.”
Sam’s nostrils flare as he exhales. “It doesn’t matter.”
Dean scoffs, stepping closer. “Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? You don’t think it matters that my own brother’s been sneaking around behind my back, watching my girl like—”
“I haven’t done anything,” Sam cuts in, his voice sharp. “You’re acting like I betrayed you, but I haven’t.”
Dean lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, so I should be grateful? You’ve just been sitting on this, what, for months? Years? Jesus, Sam.”
Sam’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You had no right to read my journal.”
Dean lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Oh, that’s rich. That’s what you’re focusing on? I invaded your privacy? I had all rights!” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “You know what, maybe if you weren’t writing about how my girlfriend should be with you, I wouldn’t have had to find out this way.”
“You shouldn’t have found out at all,” Sam snaps, voice low, dangerous.
Dean freezes.
And then it clicks.
“You weren’t gonna say a damn thing, were you?” Dean’s voice drops, something cold settling in his chest. “You were just gonna sit on this forever. Hope one day she woke up and realized she was in the wrong bed?”
Sam doesn’t answer.
That’s all the confirmation Dean needs.
Something ugly twists in his chest. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hall. Doesn’t realize you’re there until—
“What’s going on?”
Both of them snap their heads toward you.
You stand frozen in the doorway, brows furrowed in confusion. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.
Dean glances at Sam, expecting him to fold, to back off now that you’re here. But Sam doesn’t. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes—
His eyes are already on you.
Something inside Dean cracks.
“Dean?” you try again, stepping forward slightly. “What’s happening?”
Dean lets out a slow breath, eyes flicking between you and his brother. He should lie. Brush it off. Keep the peace.
But he can’t.
“Ask Sam,” he says flatly. “Seems like he’s got a lot on his mind.”
Your brows pull together in confusion, gaze shifting to Sam. He hesitates, but then Dean sees it—the moment he decides to just go for it.
“I love you,” Sam blurts out.
The silence is deafening.
Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. “What?”
Dean stares at Sam like he’s lost his mind. “Jesus Christ, dude.”
“I love you,” Sam says again, firmer this time, gaze locked on you. “I have for a long time.”
Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a sharp breath. “Son of a bitch.”
You’re still frozen, staring at Sam like he’s just shattered the ground beneath you. “Sam, I—”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sam continues, his voice raw, desperate. “But Dean found out, and now—” He swallows hard. “Now I can’t just keep pretending.”
Dean steps forward, his voice low and heated. “You can’t?” His lips curl in something that isn’t quite a smirk. “Let me get this straight, Sammy. You’ve been in love with my girl—my girl—for who knows how long, and now that you got caught, you think you get to lay it all out there? What, you think she’s just gonna drop everything and run into your arms?”
Sam’s expression hardens. “That’s not—”
“Because she’s with me,” Dean bites out. “She chose me.”
Sam’s breathing is heavy, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at Dean. He only looks at you.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She did.”
And then he walks out.
You’re left standing there, stunned into silence.
Dean’s chest rises and falls, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He glances at you, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“Are you—” He exhales sharply. “Are you in love with him?”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out.
Dean swallows hard. “Jesus,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, lets out a bitter chuckle, and then turns to leave.
And just like that, you’re alone.
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want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler
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boromir-week · 1 day ago
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Welcome to Boromir Week!
After discovering that there was Boromir Week event 10 years ago and losing sleep because I was constantly thinking about how much Boromir DESERVES to have an event dedicated to him, I decided to try and bring it back. We'll see what happens!
I can make a separate FAQ post if I get additional questions from people, but here is some info I can provide now:
What is Boromir Week? It is (will be) a week-long event where people can submit fic drabbles (100 words), ficlets (≤1000 words), one-shots, fanart, gifs, moodboards, and headcanons set to prompts that highlight the awesomeness that is Boromir.
When is Boromir Week? It will run June 14-20, 2025. The original event, which was held in 2014 and 2015, ran the last week of March, but that is cutting it VERY close. I chose these dates in June because, in canon, June 19th is when Boromir and Faramir have the dream about the riddle, and June 20th is the attack on Osgiliath and the official start of the War of the Ring. I'm weird about calendars.
What is allowed for Boromir Week? As mentioned above, fanfiction, fanart, gifs, moodboards, and headcanons about Boromir that are tied to any of the day's prompts are allowed. Please tag any ships and/or triggers, and place NSFW/graphic submissions under a "Read More" and tag as such.
What is NOT allowed for Boromir Week? Anything created using AI. This event is intended to show Boromir in a positive light and show our appreciation for the character, so anything that is blatantly anti-Boromir is strongly discouraged. Submitting an AU where Boromir succeeded in obtaining the One Ring or writing a Dark!Boromir AU is different (and hot, let's be real). This also applies to commenting on submissions. Don't like, don't read. Don't yuck on someone else's yum. Ship and let ship. Please keep your comments respectful.
How do I submit posts for Boromir Week? The main tags I will be using will be #Boromir Week and #Boromir Week 2025. However, Tumblr's tag search is pretty much useless, not only showing results that have nothing to do with what you searched for, but also omitting a lot of results. So, the best way for me to know that you've posted is to tag @/boromir-week (without the slash). Depending on how many people participate, I may reblog your submissions as soon as I get home from work (on week days during the event) or it might be the following day.
Who is running this shindig? Hi, I'm @lucifers-legions! I write fanfiction, have way too many OCs, make moodboards (it's therapeutic), and simp over Gondor and Rohan blorbos. I started writing Boromir fanfiction in 2012 and have been obsessed with him ever since. I'm still trying to figure out this whole event mod thing, so please be patient with me, and thank you in advance for your understanding.
What are the prompts for this event? Day 1: Brother of Faramir, Childhood, Protector and Teacher
Day 2: Son of Finduilas, Maternal Family, Grief and Loss
Day 3: Son of Denethor, Paternal Family, Thorongil
Day 4: Teen Years, Captain of Gondor, Friend of Rohan
Day 5: The People's Prince, Rivendell, Member of the Fellowship
Day 6: Change of Fate, Fourth Age, Alternate Universe
Day 7: Freeform
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jasontoddsotherhalf · 1 day ago
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Hey guys, I gave it a try lol let me know what yall think!
Jason Todd isn't a cruel guy.
Not on purpose, anyways. He saw some shit as a kid, as any kid did growing up in Crime Alley. His parents were murdered when he was still very young and he'd been taken in by THE Batman. Regardless of what anyone says, beating criminals up every night of your tween years does affect one's physce. Getting beat with a crowbar and killed by Joker does worse.
But now Jason is back, and he's stronger, and he's smarter. Sure he's scarred up and violent, but he's finally his own soilder, his own dog. And Jason really does love helping people. Which is why along side running the biggest crime ring Gotham had seen in years, he also works for a Mental Health Helpline.
He didn't get many calls directed to him, but he did get one tonight as he sat in his shitty apartment in Gotham, tending to a wound on his leg a few days old. He answered the phone, putting it on speaker and laying it on the coffee table.
"Hello, Gotham Mental Health Hotline. How may I help you tonight?"
A deep voice comes from the other side of the phone, a voice that Jason had heard in his dreams for years, praising him, scolding him, reading him stories to help him get to bed, waking up from resting to go fight crime.
"I'm not at risk. I don't need help." Bruce Wayne says slowly.
Jason clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. Would Bruce know it was him. Would Bruce ever be able to recognize him at all?
"I understand." Jason answered. "Is there any way I can help?"
Bruce took a shakey breath. "I don't need...help. I just...I have some heavy regrets waying on me. Mistakes that I've carried with me, guilt that acts like a noose, tighter recently than it has been in years. My son...I messed up so badly with my son. I want to fulfill my promise to him. I want to make it all okay again for my boy."
Jason shivered. He's not talking about you, idiot. He tells himself. He doesn't care that you're dead. He never cared. He's talking about perfect Dick or clever Tim. Not better-off-dead Jason Fucking Todd.
Jason slowly went back to tending to the open wound, which had started bleeding from how hard he was unintentionally prodding at it. "Have you tried talking to him? I'm sure he'd understand." Jason said through gritted teeth. It wasn't him. Batman didn't need Jason, so Bruce certainly didn't either.
"I would tell him. If he ever showed up. God, I'd tell him anything and everything." Something screeched in the background on Bruce's end and Bruce swore softly. Jason pictured him suddenly speeding through Gotham streets, the Batmobile swerving dangerously, recklessly.
Jason didn't say anything, just waited for his father- for Bruce Wayne- to keep speaking. He continued, after a moment. "I only see him sometimes, when I dream. And he's in my arms again, young and bright and so full of life and potential." So he was talking about Dick. The first Robin who had grown up, fought with Batman, and left, never to return, not as he had been. Dick was Nightwing now, and led his own team, though he was still close with Bruce. Jason relaxed. This call was not about him. He could continue with his plans of vengeance without feeling guilty. I'm sure I'll laugh about this later.
"I'm sorry sir..." Jason trailed off awkwardly. Bruce spoke before Jason could say anything else.
"He's...he's dead." Jason froze. Everything went still. It seemed as though the cars outside all went skidding to a halt, the blood in Jason's veins went cold. The only sound was the old light above him flickering. Jason stuttered slightly as he quickly searched up both Nightwing and Robin on line, a dark part of him hoping one of them had died. But no, there were only two articles published within the last few hours and it was about a case Robin, Nightwing, and Batman had dismantled the previous night.
Jason swallowed. "I'm...so sorry, sir. Do you want to talk about him?" Jason wanted him to say no, needed Bruce to say no. For once he wanted Bruce to close off everything and everyone and retreat back to the dark corner of his mind where he told no one anything.
And there was a long silence between them, Jason was sure Bruce would hang up.
Batman would have. But Bruce didn't. "His name was Jason. And he was the most golden and beautiful boy on this planet. You would have never thought so from judt glancing at him once. His hair was flat and dark, And he was short and skinny and always had dirt on him somewhere. But it was in his eyes, and in his laugh. That's where his love was held. He cared so much. About everyone. He always wanted to help. He would always rush forward, even if it put him at risk. He didn't care about himself. He cared more about the wellbeing of others. He was so sweet and..." Bruce's voice cracked. "I just want my son back. My sweet boy." Jason didn't say anything. He felt his throat burn and his eyes blur. "I-i'm sorry sir. He sounds...amazing. I'm sure whatever it is you feel guilty over..." Jason took a deep breath. "I'm sure he forgives you." He lied. Partially lied. Jason didn't know anymore. One conversation where one participant didn't even know who the other was did not count as closure, and nothing was different. But it wasn't the same either. Bruce cared. All this time Jason had been looking for Batman to show the effect Jason's death had on him, when really it was Bruce he should have been looking at.
Bruce was quiet for a long long time. "I wish that was true, son. But I don't think so. Still, thank you for saying so. And thank you for listening. You're a good kid." Bruce didn't say anything else before hanging up. Jason sat in silence for a moment, frozen in time, feeling dizzy. Then he sprung up, his injured leg aching and dripping blood onto the floor, and he ran to the bathroom, falling in front of the toilet and throwing up anything he had eaten in the past 24 hours.
AU, where Jason returns to Gotham, but in between of his evil mastermind plans and managing the criminal empire, he starts working in this anonymous psychological hotline services.
And gets a call from Bruce-fucking-Wayne.
Well. It is not like Bruce announces that he is Bruce Wayne — it is anonymous, after all — but Jason knows his father's voice, alright?
'I don't need a physiological help,' his father tells him the minute he picks up the phone.
Jason... Snorts.
'Of course,' he nods, making his voice nicer. 'How can I help you?'
Bruce pauses, his breath hitching for a second; almost as if he recognized Jason's voice.
'My... my son thinks I need it, but I am fine,' Bruce insists. 'Still... I want to, well, fulfil a promise I gave... for once.'
Jason rolls his eyes, a familiar irritation flaring up in green flames before his eyes. He wonders who is this lucky son that gets to have such a diligent, responsible father - Dickhead? Tim? Damian?
'I see,' he breathes out, trying to follow a protocol of the calls. 'I am sure he will appreciate your loyalty. Will you tell him about it?'
'If he appears,' something screeches in the background, and if Jason closes his eyes, he can easily imagine Bruce leaning back on the armchair, in the Batcave. 'I... He only ever appears in my dreams, my boy.'
Jason freezes.
'Excuse me?'
'I... He is dead, my son.'
Had someone else died? Jason frowns, reaching for his phone, typing anxiously Nightwing and Robin in the search bar, trying to see if there is something serious happened; because he can't be talking about the second Robin, can he-
'I am sorry,' he blurts out, eyes drifting back to notes on the table, with some common phrases that can be used in this situation. 'I... Do you want to talk about, sir?'
Bruce is silent for a while. Jason thinks he is about to drop the call, but then, he sighs heavily on the line:
'His name was Jason. And he was the brightest boy.'
Jason mutes the microphone. He thinks he is going to vomit.
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syluriar · 21 hours ago
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vunerable - sylus x mc!reader
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sypnosis: sylus has never been one to give up control, so you try and help him.
a/n: inspired by @yes-no-maybe-soo i legit just read your sylus hc's today and my brain scrambles to write this because althoug i love sylus bing a sub, you made some excellent points of it being hard for him to give up control because of what he went through in his past life (still haven't recovered, anyone else?).
contains: sylus being scared to give up control and not liking these feelings, mc (you) being so gentle with him. there's a slight mention of attmepted murder from sylus' enemies in the past. sylus crying (of that ever happens in game i swear to god-). angst & comfort.
word count: 1381
you straddle him with your hands resting at his hips, his chest is bare that allows you to see his breathing clearer. he's watching you with those ruby eyes you love so much, but you can see a bit of fear in them, unsurprising at the vulnerable position he's in.
it was your idea to do this, to give him the attention he gives you - the warmth, safety and consent. he knows you would never hurt him, but the image of losing all his control reminds him of his past life, as the dragon who has been beaten and chained for thousands of years. when the past you finally freed him he was determined to take control of his life, to never go back to the scared dragon.
he adores you, and you know that, he would do anything for you...but to give up all control, even if it is just you who takes it away...fear creeps back into him.
you lift a hand and reach up to caress his cheek which he immediately nuzzles into to, and he kisses the palm before releasing a sigh,
"it's only me," your voice is so soft, just louder than a whisper, like it was coaxing an animal out of it's shelter. you lean up and cup his face, thumbs brushing against his cheeks. "i'm the only one that's here."
you take one on your hands to gently run through his hair, an action that has him close his eyes to enjoy the feeling, and it makes your heart swell. "we can stop anytime you like, ok?"
a hum comes from his lips as he opens his eyes, and you see that small amount of fear has been replaced by something else.
he hates that you have to him like this, like he's weak, like he's a scared child who needs comforting - he doesn't like that he's showing this side to you, because how can you depend on him if he doesn't stay strong in front of you?
you kiss his forehead and you can feel some of the tension leave his body. a part of you wants to do this fats, you show sylus that yes of course, he can be like this with you, there's no shame and it and you'll always ben there for him , but you need to take it slow. you will show him all these things by listening to him, both words and body. you don't care how long it will take, because it's what he deserves.
you start to leave kisses all over his face, his cheeks, nose, even his chin that makes a small amused huff leave his lips. you're still gentle when you finally place your lips over his own, his hands coming to hold your waist. at any other moment it would be intense, fingers digging into clothing as your tongues fight each other.
but right now it's soft, like a perfect fluffy cushion you relax in. sylus groans at your mouth and you feel good knowing he does too. you see it in his eyes when you pull away, and the slight pink on his cheeks and the tip of his ears.
you giggle. "do you know how cute you look when you blush?"
he sucks in a breath, clearly surprised by your compliment. "cute?" he looks almost amused. "that not a word people associate with me."
"well they don't know you like i do." you give his lips a quick peck to his lips before your hands descend lower to his shoulders, a lot looser than before. "i kinda like it that way."
"and you call me possessive." he chuckles. the air around you two has become easier, the tension slowly fading away.
for some reason your eyes go to his neck, such a strong thing that often aches because of how much he has to look down at you. you move your hands towards his neck, his sharp intake making you freeze.
"oh..." how could you forget a lot of his enemies go for his neck? a common way to end someones life. you felt stupid. "sorry...i was going to massage it. it aches because of how much you have look down on me, doesn't it?"
he doesn't answer you, his eyes cast aside as he continues to breath heavily. your heart aches at the sight and you retract your hands, placing one back on his cheek. "hey, remember, your still in control. stay stop and i will."
his breath shudders and his shoulders tense up once more, his hands now gripping your waist. he sucks through gritted teeth and turns his head away, as if he was ashamed of himself. 
your heart sings with distress at the sight and you want to feel anger of the people that have made sylus this way, but what good will that do here? 
sylus…” you lean your head to meet him and see something shine from his eyes, falling down his cheek.
a tear.
“oh…” you couldn’t hold back at your reach to brush it away, but when your skin makes contact he flinches, and it makes you want to cry yourself. “it’s me, my love. only me. i’m here.” you brush the tear away, fingers gently thumbing in his cheek to help calm him. 
a strangled noise comes from his throat. “i don’t…i didn’t want you to see me like this…” his voice is in a tone you’ve never heard before, one of pain and distress.
“like what?” you reply softly.
he doesn’t answer straight away and you wait patiently, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders like he had done to yours in times like this. 
“like i am weak, scared…vulnerable.”
you swallow the lump in your throat at his words, each piercing you harshly through the heart. “sylus…there’s nothing with you feeling any of those things.”
“i need to be strong for you.”
“do the strong always require to be strong?”
repeating his own words to him hit him like bricks, his eyes widening and lips parted in shock. ever so gently you cradle his face, his eyes still looking away from you. “wasn’t it you who said that?”
“...it’s not the same.”
“how isn’t it?” you ask, but he doesn’t reply, so you keep talking. “i don’t need you to be strong for me sylus. don’t you think there’s a strongness in being those things? weak, scared and vulnerable?...to me there is.”
your words make him finally look at you, his eyes still holding surprise. “...there is?”
you nod. “even plants and animals have those types of feelings, so you having them is normal. showing them to me is…letting yourself be loved by me even more than you do now. it shows that you trust me to see you this way, and trust me that i won’t turn you away.” 
you lean forward and turn his face to you before grabbing one of his hands and placing it on your chest, your heart beating loudly underneath. “trust me that i will always be patient with you, that i will never rush you and listen to what you say,”
you grab his other hand and bring it to your lips, softly kissing his knuckles and palm before placing it over your cheek. “and trust me that i will always love you, no matter what.”
he hears your love, your utter devotion to him that makes his heart sing. he stares at you with such loving eyes one might say they never knew it existed, but it’s right here, right in this room and in each other's arms.
he kisses you with such intensity, with such love that it almost makes you fall. with your hands on his shoulders you meet his passion, his devotion, his affection and so much more. he cradles your face as your lips part, heavy breaths falling from both. 
“i love you too, my beloved, so so much.”
he holds you tightly with his head buried in your neck, your arms around his neck and brushing through his hair.
you don’t care how many times this needs to happen, to assure him of your love and devotion, of your patient and his consent. 
because you will never, ever hurt him - he deserves better.
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crsssie · 18 hours ago
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deux ex machina - spencer reid x sharpshooter!reader
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Spencer's never ungrateful for his eidetic memory, but he is painfully thankful for the memory because it means he can recall the exact moment he had first met you.
It was untypical for him to offer himself in as collateral for an unsub, and it was atypical of him to find himself with a gun pressed to his forehead. The chances of him escaping unscathed were closer to zero than anything else. The unsub was highly unstable mid-psychotic break, and unless someone had the incredible ability to even talk the unsub down (which, by the way, logic would not have worked), he would likely find himself with a hole in his head from the bullet.
"We don't want to hurt you."
"Where is she?! WHERE IS SHE?!" The unsub screams, jamming the barrel of the gun into Spencer's head.
Spencer winces (oh, that's definitely leaving a bruise).
"She's on her way." Hotch lies through his teeth, and he holds up two fingers.
A bullet flies past Spencer's ear, missing him narrowly, and the unsub screams in pain, leaving Spencer to nab the gun and press it to the unsub's head, and he watches as a second bullet flies past his waist to the unsub's other hand, one that he hadn't noticed was reaching for a knife.
The unsub shrieks, both hands rendered useless as Hotch moves in to arrest him.
Spencer feels his legs give out from the sudden collapse of adrenaline, and Morgan catches him.
There's a moment where one of the lights in the background is too bright for him to see, and then the next second there's a figure in all black leaning down to stare at him.
"You good?"
Spencer squints at the figure, mind blanking out when he catches a good look at your face, jaw going slack. Oh. Oh, he thinks he understands what the newspaper was writing about when he was reading about how some people can literally feel the dopamine and oxytocin flood into their system when they fall in love because there is truly no scientific explanation for why he's so attracted to you right now. He thinks he understands how Lila felt when he had saved her from her stalker so many years ago because heavens forbid he stop staring at you. He can literally feel his IQ drop to zero as he swallows.
"Is he alright?" You raise a brow at Morgan, and the man laughs at Spencer's reaction.
"Oh, he's more than alright. Will you take Reid to the hospital?"
"Don't I have to check with Agent Hotchner on how I did?" You tilt your head.
"I'll put in a good word for you." Morgan winks. "Give me two minutes and you can leave with Reid here."
You watch Morgan rush off, tilting your head as Spencer finally snaps out of his haze. "I'm sorry... are you?"
"I'm the new sniper." You hold your hand out, helping Spencer up as he swallows slowly. "Um, I'm like mediocre at analyzing people at best, so please take care of me."
"Um, Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid."
"The genius of the BAU, right?" You raise a brow.
"Y-yes." He nods. "Did you know that when the adrenaline rush from a situation crashes down, your body releases cortisol and it can kill? Usually in high doses, but it does cause the body to crash. I think I can feel the adrenaline wearing off from the situation."
"That would make sense, yes." You tilt your head. "Deep breaths, yes? In... one, two..."
Spencer breathes, exhaling when you count down, feeling his heart slow a little more.
"All better?"
"Yes. Thank you." He manages, suddenly sheepish.
"You're free to go." Morgan nods. "Pretty boy, get the medics to check you real quick. You already look a lot better. Seems like Snippy did a good job, hm?"
"Hey, don't call me that—"
"Yes." Spencer nods. "I'm all good, promise. I feel better too."
"Snipe." Hotch calls for you, and Spencer watches as you turn around, swallowing.
Oh, this was going to be bad.
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traegorn · 2 days ago
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Is there really any hope with all of these horrible things going on..? I’m so scared and have no idea what to do. All I keep seeing is bad news. How am i supposed to be hopeful and not think that we’re all doomed
Their whole plan is to make you feel scared. They want to overload you and think there's nothing you can do. This feeling you have? That's their whole strategy.
Don't let it work. As long as you're breathing, there's hope.
All of these are executive orders and illegal actions. While the rule of law may be flimsier than most realize, this isn't Eastern Europe in the mid 20th century. Everything they do will either not hold up in a court of law or be something in the long term we can overturn.
Very bad things will happen to people in the meanwhile, but that doesn't mean there isn't hope or that you won't make it through this.
This is what you need to do: Make real, local connections. Find community. This is how we stay safe. Call your Democratic Reps and Senators if you have any and demand they obstruct and investigate. If you have Republican reps, still reach out and demand why they're letting Trump violate our freedoms -- the latter is less likely to do anything, but there's a small chance one of them might listen.
If you're feeling overwhelmed by the news cycle, take a day off. Do not read, watch, or engage with it.
Dan Savage is a controversial figure for a lot of reasons we won't go into (especially on trans issues), but he did say something very good and important that I want you to take to heart:
During the darkest days of the AIDS crisis, we buried our friends in the morning, we protested in the afternoon, and we danced all night. The dance kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for. It didn't look like we were going to win then and we did. It doesn't feel like we re going to win now but we could. Keep fighting, keep dancing
You need to find joy or else this is going to be too much. Hope is a choice we make every day, and when your enemy wants you miserable, joy is an act of defiance.
Find your joy and rub their bigot faces in it.
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rjalker · 1 day ago
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from the replies:
mercifulmother Dec 1, 2024
The amount of white man blinking gif I'm doing at that person right now. I am so TIRED of those popular romance tropes. Like I get it, it's fake and a fantasy, but I want some variety so I can read what I want too, you know? I really desperately wish I could find more stories with the main romances actually caring for and respecting each other. Sigh. Just gotta write the hyper-specific stuff I want myself I guess!
novella-november Dec 1, 2024
Yeah, like. Just because werewolf fiction has a common trope of women being treated like crap, don't get to transform at all, or if they can transform, doing so will cause miscarriages during pregnancy and they commonly get abused by the men in their life and this is seen as the 'correct' and Normal Thing in werewolf fiction………
………. doesn't mean that's a trope we should continue or endlessly praise this trope.
*standing in doorway looking over my shoulder: "sometimes, popular tropes… are bad"
mercifulmother Dec 1, 2024
[claps] Yes, this, thank you. Its so utterly ridiculous and doesn't even make any sense? Like. It's magic. It's literally magic and FAKE and people can, in fact, make up whatever new werewolf rules they want that are not… This hot mess nonsense. I can't even read werewolf romances anymore because it's always like this and I hate it. I don't see how that's supposed to be interesting or romantic in the slightest. I can literally just watch true crime if that's what I'm after. There are so many other interpretations out there that are sitting around just… Untouched. And for that matter, I'm so tired of abuser-to-still-abuser wearing the enemies-to-lovers trench coat. Why does the one enemy always have to be extremely controlling, cruel, violent, and utterly unapologetic with no attempts to even admit to their wrongdoings (which at that point shouldn't be forgiven regardless). Whatever happened to enemies who deeply respected each other's abilities and are obsessed with each other instead because nobody else can understand them? Or enemies who hate being on the opposite side and are desperately trying to 'save' each other because the respect and care go that deep? Like. Literally anything other than aggressively trying to oppress and abuse and subjugate the other (and it's ALWAYS a man doing this to a woman like haha funny how that works except it's not funny).
Making a much longer post short:
If you are writing a Romance, especially one you want your readers to root for, please make sure you take the time to include lots of little scenes that show that:
your characters actually are *friends* as well as lovers,
they enjoy spending time with each other on a casual basis
they respect as well as love each other
they try to communicate their feelings clearly instead of bottling their ire up til it explodes in violent arguments
neither of your characters are genuinely afraid of the other when they're angry
that they do not threaten each other with bodily harm during arguments, or use physical force
they respect each other's consent, and respect their partner's wants and wishes when it comes to physical affection.
pretty much to sum it up: do your characters actually enjoy being with each other, or is the entire relationship built on lust and dramatic arguments and nothing else?
Because if your relationship is the latter, your readers are more likely to want them to *break up* rather than *stay together*.
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shininjjongg · 2 days ago
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in which: Kaiser asks for compensation when you ignore his text messages tw: none pairing: Michael Kaiser x F!Reader
Ding.
Your phone vibrates next to your head, the screen lighting up indicating a new message. Mihya ♡ : wrapped up practice earlier wanna go see that new movies?
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Mihya ♡: Hey! are you ignoring me?
Mihya ♡: you're always complaining about how i never have time to take you out on dates and now you're ignoring me?
Mihya ♡: THE AUDACITY
Well, in your defence you were sound asleep and couldn't care less about your phone buzzing.
Ding. Ding.
Mihya ♡: Are you dead?
Mihya ♡: you better be dead because if you're ghosting me i swear
Not two minutes after your phone starts ringing. You groan turning around to grab your phone. The sudden brightness of the phone hurting your eyes. Squinting you try to read the name of the caller and quickly swipe your finger to take the call.
"Heeeey..." you purr, voice a bit groggy.
"He- were you sleeping?" Michael's voice comes through the speakers, he sounds irritated. Nothing unusual.
"Yeah, what's up?" you sit up a bit, rubbing your eyes and yawning at the same time.
"I was texting you and you never responded, thought you might have dropped dead." he hissed through the speakers, obviously he didn't like your nonchalant attitude towards this very important matter.
"Sorry, love, I got my period and I just kind of shut down." you soften your voice, knowing how much Kaiser doesn't like being ignored you try to make him see it was an accident.
"Oh.. uhh I didn't know" his voice immediately softens and he sounds a bit lost.
You hum, as you put him on speaker to check his messages.
"I can come over and we can watch something instead." he said carefully. You two had been dating for a little over a month so it's his first time dealing with you on your period.
"That would be great yeah." you say, a smile slowly creeping up on your face.
"Okay, yeah.. do you need anything? I- i don't know what to bring..." he sounds so lost it's almost adorable.
"Just the usual and grab some icecream as well yeah? I have everything else I need, well except my whiny, clingy boyfriend, so just get your ass over." you hear him groan in protest and you giggle.
"I expect cuddles as compensation for being ignored." he whines out waiting for your reply.
"I'll cuddle you all night long." you giggle and hear him starting his car.
"Yeah? good. I'll see you soon." you giggle and hang up. He can be so handful sometimes, but he's adorable when he wants to be.
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© Shininjjong 2025
Dividers © @k1ssyoursister
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shurisneakers · 3 days ago
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hey I wanna say I absolutely love your writing ,English is not my first language but your writing cracks me up every time I absolutely adore your work! I wanted to throw in an idea for misery loves company because I really like the grumpy×grumpy ,what about them being loners/grumpy in a wedding,maybe it's Steve's or someone else on the team and they share a quiet dance on the balcony or something so yeah that's my idea ,again love your works ♥️♥️♥️♥️
a/n: hello! thank you for your kindness and for sending this in, I hope you like it <3
this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don’t need to read anything before this
warnings: swearing, light angst
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You slip out before the first toast.
The balcony is quiet, the air sharp against your skin. Below, the city hums, distant and indifferent. The music is still loud behind you, but out here, it’s muffled, softened by the wind.
You don’t belong inside.
The thought comes unbidden, bitter in your mouth.
So the balcony is cold, the air sharp against your skin. The city sprawls below, distant and untouchable. The music inside is muffled now, voices blending together, champagne bubbling in glasses. It’s still too loud.
You lean against the railing, fingers gripping the cold marble. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That you don’t care.
You exhale, press your palms against the railing, giving yourself five seconds before you call an Uber to get home.
Behind you, the door creaks open.
"You gonna jump?"
You hear the shuffle of his shoes against the floor as he leans beside you.
You close your eyes. "Go back inside. Make someone else's night worse."
"Yours already looks terrible, I've got a headstart," Bucky says, stepping up beside you.
You don’t turn, but you can feel him watching you, his presence taking up too much space in a very spacious balcony.
"You left early," he grunts out.
"So did you," you mutter.
"Yeah," he says. "People started looking at me like they wanted to ask me to dance."
You scoff. "You just think everyone’s in love with you."
"You're not proving me wrong," he points out.
"You're the most insufferable man I know."
"Honoured."
You finally glance at him. His tie is loose and he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.
"Why are you out here?"
Your grip tightens on the railing. "Why are you?"
You know he sees it.
"You gonna actually answer," he says coolly, "or are we going to keep doing this?"
You exhale sharply, looking ahead. "DJ’s shit."
"It’s a live band."
"Then they should’ve hired a DJ."
His mouth twitches, but his eyes don't move off you.
"Try again."
"No," you say flatly.
He tilts his head at you, expression unreadable.
It makes you feel like your skin is on fire. Weddings are hard. Weddings with him around are even harder, for reasons you can't put words to.
A beat passed and he finally pushes himself away from the railing.
You're about to make some biting comment, when instead--
"Dance with me."
You blink. "Are you concussed?"
"Not recently."
You scoff, crossing your arms. "If this is some kind of sympathy thing-"
"Jesus," he mutters. "Yeah, I wanna pity dance with you, that's exactly what's happening here."
"Then what?"
He shrugs, "You think you're the only one who's angry?"
Your jaw tightens, teeth harsh against each other.
"We don’t have to talk," he mutters, like he's tired. Like things are hard for him too. "Just dance with me."
You stare at him, skeptical. He stares back, unbothered.
Instead, you grab his hand, passive-aggressive, like the universe owes you something for putting him in your life.
"Step on my feet, I break your kneecaps."
"For the record, I was a good fuckin' dancer."
"There is not one person left alive that can corroborate that," you scoff.
It's a joke, but you're acutely aware that maybe it's exactly why this is hard for him.
He pulls you in, a little stiff, like neither of you actually know how to do this anymore.
The music filters in from inside, something soft, but the two of you aren’t moving right to it.
He sways, slow and easy, like it makes all the sense in the world.
It pisses you off that somewhere, it starts feeling that was for you too.
"You're terrible at this," you mutter.
"So are you," he grumbles.
You scoff. "You said you were good at dancing."
"Yeah, well," he exhales, "people say a lot of shit."
You roll your eyes, but you don’t let go.
Neither does he.
The wind picks up. His palm presses a little firmer against your back. You don’t know what to do with that.
"You think you’re mad now," he mutters, "just wait ‘til I do this."
You frown, "What are you plann-"
You barely have time to react before his lips brush against your forehead.
It’s quick, warm, and a little unpracticed, like he thought about it too hard but did it anyway.
Your fingers tighten against his shirt. Not because you want to hold on. But because you don’t know what else to do with your hands when something shifts in your chest.
"Jes—"
"Shut up," he says, and it's the closest you've heard him come to pleading. "Five more minutes."
The words sit between you, heavy and unspoken.
You don’t know if he’s talking about the dance or something bigger.
Five more minutes.
Like you’re not running out of time. Like something in the world could belong to you, even if just for a little while.
You close your eyes. Breathe him in.
And five minutes stretch on longer than they usually do.
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foreverisntenough · 3 days ago
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‘Movie Night’
Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 
Index:
Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!
Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!
Disclaimer: Still the same.
Chapter 28- 'Safe Now' | ‘Movie Night'
word count - 12.9 k
The house party had fallen into complete and utter chaos. Jess stood off to the side watching it all unfold with Megan beside her. She rolled her eyes looking on as you sobbed into Trent, his hands bloodied, Jack attentively speaking with the police, Josh licking his wounds as he got escorted out of the house, Noah consoling a terrified Layla, Devon still on the phone. Out of the corner of her eye Megan caught the reaction. 
“Jess, what the fuck…”  Megan asked, confused why her best friend just rolled her eyes looking at you bruised and battered. 
“They all protect her like she’s five years old.” Jess quipped very clearly disinterested in your wellbeing. 
“Jess, they protect her like someone has hurt her… Like someone has abused her.” Megan corrected her, annoyance and anger evident in her voice, and empathy for you in her eyes. 
“Abuse? Please.” Jess scoffed with a shake of her head. “Whatever, it used to happen to her all the time and no one said shit before this whole "relationship." Before T decided she was something she’s not.” Jess complained, taking another jab at you all whilst revealing she’d known about the way Josh had treated you.
“Sorry?” Megan looked at her gobsmacked. 
“Oh Meg, come on. You didn’t see the way Josh would throw her around?”  Jess snickered with a devious grin watching your body shake in Trent’s hold. Meanwhile, Megan’s voice cracked as she turned to Jess. The realization of everything that had been going on hit her like a ton of bricks. 
“Jess, you knew about the way he treated her? The abuse?” Her voice was strained, a mixture of hurt and disbelief. “What the fuck?…. You don’t have to like her, that’d beside the point… Y/N aside, knowing that’s going on and not saying anything is fucked up” Megan yelped feeling betrayed by her best friend. Jess rolled her eyes again, as if she had no remorse for the situation unfolding around her. 
“Is it?” she sneered, the venom in her voice unmistakable. “Because some people… I don't know, kind of deserve it, don’t they?” Jess explained her rationale, clearly believing it. Megan’s face twisted in disgust, clearly disagreeing. 
“Fuck you! You knew about this, you bitch” Layla interjected, after overhearing, shoving Jess. Jess’s back hit the marble bar top behind her. 
“Ow, you cunt. Fucking psycho, that hurt!” Jess yelped. The tension in the air was thick, and the atmosphere felt like it was on the edge of shattering. Layla, who had been at the center of the emotional whirlwind all night, couldn’t hold it in anymore. Thankfully someone else was going to intervene to prevent another fight breaking out. 
“Aye! Aye! Aye! C’mere,” Noah yelled, trying to prevent another explosion between Layla and Jess, dragging Layla back into him, leaving Jess standing a few paces away, looking frustrated and defensive, and inappropriately strangely offended. Jess’s smirk had faltered, but the bitterness in her gaze hadn’t gone anywhere. Layla collapsed into Noah’s arms, her sobs racking her body. He held her tightly, trying to offer comfort despite the mess of emotions swirling around them.
“Jess, I can’t… I can’t be friends with someone like that… I… I… can’t be your friend anymore.” Megan’s words were quiet, but they rang with finality.  Her jaw was slack, just in utter shock. She took a step back, as if the physical distance could help her emotionally detach from the girl she once thought she knew. “This is too much. You’ve done too much.” Then Jess’s smirk faltered for just a moment, her defenses cracking as she realized Megan wasn’t backing down, in fact, she was backing out. 
“You don’t understand, Meg. You don’t get it.” Jess babbled trying to buy time to come up with an excuse that’d salvage a friendship.
“No,” Megan said, shaking her head, her voice firm. “I get it, Jess. You let someone suffer. You let a man hurt a woman. You willingly let that happen…” Her voice wavered slightly but grew stronger with every word. “And you know what? I’m done.” She wiped a tear from her cheek, turning away from Jess. Layla’s sobs grew more desperate hearing them, the reality of your situation reduced down to ‘a man hurting a woman,’ it didn’t feel like enough. Noah could feel the weight of her emotions in his own chest. 
“I gotcha,” He whispered softly, gently rocking Layla back and forth as she clung to him, her hands gripping his shirt tightly. 
When Devon awkwardly came back, he took a deep breath and moved closer to them, trying to assess the situation. He tensed up when he saw Noah consoling Layla, his mind racing with uncertainty. He wasn’t sure how to react. He didn’t want to intrude, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Layla was falling apart right in front of him and comforted by someone else.
“Layla… we should probably head out,” Devon suggested gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His words were careful, trying not to add any more weight to an already fragile situation but trying to take back something he thought he wanted. Noah’s hold on Layla loosened slightly, giving her the opportunity to go freely but she clung to him even harder, her grip tightening as if she feared losing him, or worse, losing herself in the storm of everything that had happened.
“I… I can’t. I’m sorry, no,” Layla whimpered, her voice broken and raw. The words were barely audible, but they hit both Noah and Devon hard. Noah hesitated, his heart aching for her. He looked down at her, unsure of what else to say or do. Devon stood silently, exchanging sympathetic glances with Noah. He knew Layla was in a fragile state, and he didn’t want to push her. His own discomfort was palpable, but he tried to mask it.
“It’s cool, bro. As long as she’s good,” Devon said quietly to Noah, his voice steady but laced with concern. His attempt to brush off the awkwardness was clear, but it didn’t quite work. He didn’t want to make a bigger deal of it than it already was. Layla and his potential romance really wasn’t the concern tonight, especially not to Layla. Devon was trying not to take it personally. Noah nodded, still unsure of the best course of action. He wasn’t sure what was driving Layla’s need to cling to him, whether it was the trauma of the night, the need for comfort, or something else entirely. He figured it was just that she needed to be with someone she trusted, someone who understood her, even if he didn’t fully understand her emotions at the moment and why he was the one she wanted. He could feel the weight of the night pressing down on both of them, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed between them all. They stood there for a long moment, in an uncomfortable silence. Devon didn’t object. He just nodded, stepping back and allowing Noah the space to comfort Layla. They all felt the gravity of the situation, but for now, the most important thing was making sure everyone was okay, and doing whatever that took.
The room felt suffocating, like everything that had just transpired had pressed the air out of the space. Jack was still speaking with police officers, as you clung to Trent on the ground. You looked almost unrecognizable, your eyes swollen shut from tears, bruising beginning to purple from Josh’s hands on you, your top ripped, Trent’s hands holding you, but simultaneously leaving behind a soft trace of soft still coming from his knuckles. All of it was amplified by Layla’s sobs echoing softly in Noah’s ears, and he could feel the tremble in her body as she clung to him. It wasn’t just the weight of the night; it was everything coming to the surface—her frustration, fear, the weight of everything she had witnessed, everything she felt for you. She was unraveling, and he couldn’t look away. Noah’s arms held her gently, but his mind was a blur. He wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t been expecting this, hadn’t prepared himself for the emotional gravity of the situation. He’d never expected things to come to this. Come to something so serious. He had always been the lighthearted one, keeping things in check, but now? He was standing at a crossroads. He was hurting for you and Trent, and Jack, now Layla needed him... and what if he might've needed her too.
“Noah…” Her soft, desperate voice broke through his thoughts. He leaned in, trying to find some calmness to anchor the situation. 
“Hmm? You want me to get you back home or you to Jack and Y/N’s?” Noah offered sweetly, brushing past his own emotion. But she shook her head, and Noah felt a slight chill. There was something more here. Something deeper than just the chaos of the night. His gaze softened as he tried to make sense of it. “Devon’s?” he asked quietly, his mind grasping for a logical answer. But the tension in Layla’s body told him she wasn’t thinking logically right now. “Just gotta get his address for me. Just wherever you want, alright Lay?” He whispered. She was overwhelmed. She needed something, someone, to ground her. He wasn’t sure where that was going to be, but he wanted to help.
“Yours,” Layla whimpered.  Noah’s body stiffened holding her, something shifted in him. He froze, his entire body stiffening, his heart thudding louder in his chest. Her words were soft, vulnerable, and they hit him in a way he didn’t expect.
“Ah… Lays,” he stammered, not sure if that was a good idea but she was already pressing into him more, her voice barely above a whisper. 
“Please,” she begged, and Noah could hear the rawness of her plea, her quivering lip breaking through the last of her control. In that moment, Noah knew he couldn’t turn her away. Despite the confusion, the weight of his own feelings, and the uncertainty of what this might lead to, he couldn’t let her go.  Noah hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of Layla’s distress. He had never seen her this vulnerable, and it weighed heavily on him. He’d known her for years, but tonight, everything felt different. As she sobbed against him, his protective instincts kicked in, but at the same time, the tension in the air made him question his decision. He knew that taking her to his place would complicate things further, but her pleading eyes made him relent.
“Yeah, alright,” he murmured, squeezing her tighter, his voice thick with emotion he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to say more, to ask questions, to try and make sense of what was happening, but he didn’t. He accepted trying to do anything to deescalate tonight, although in his right mind this felt like opening a can of worms.  Tonight wasn’t about figuring it out. It was about being there for her, letting her lean on him when everything was falling apart around them. He didn’t want to overthink it, even though he knew this was going to lead them down a path they hadn’t expected. But for now, in the quiet of this moment, he just held Layla. And that was enough. Layla’s sobs slowly softened, and she nodded weakly against his chest. She wasn’t looking for an answer from him. She just needed to feel safe, needed something familiar. Noah pulled back slightly, brushing his hand through her hair and wiping away the stray tears that had fallen down her cheeks. He wasn’t sure what this would mean for them, for his relationship with Layla, if there was one. He had never imagined he’d be the one comforting her like this, not in this context.
“I’m here, Lays,” he whispered, his voice soft. “I’m not going anywhere.” His mind was racing with questions he wasn’t sure he had answers to. Noah’s thoughts kept drifting between the night’s chaos and the way Layla clung to him like a lifeline. He wasn’t sure if he was the right person to help her through this, but he wasn’t about to leave her alone. He gently guided her out of the room, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to bring any more attention to themselves. The night had already spiraled out of control, and Noah wasn’t sure what the next steps would be. But for now, all that mattered was making sure Layla was okay. That was all he could focus on.
The party, which had already turned into an emotional minefield, was officially a wreck. People were starting to trickle out, some of the boys from the group still standing in stunned silence, unsure of how to react. The only thing that seemed certain was the mess of relationships, friendships, and trust that had been irreparably shattered. But as the last echoes of chaos subsided, Trent was there, by your side, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. And though things felt broken, in that moment, at least you weren’t alone.
When Noah and Layla arrived to his place, he flicked on the lights, his voice light but cautious. “Alright, home sweet home.” He muttered, scratching the back of his head as he stepped aside to let Layla in first.  Layla, still shaken by the evening, wasn’t really in the present moment but she was taken aback by the organization of it all. She’d been over before, she thought she had at least, but there were always boys there, beers everywhere, balls being kicked around, the tv on. But right now, it was so clean. She anticipated a space full of clutter, leftover takeout, and the remnants of last night’s entertainment. But as she walked further inside, her brows furrowed slightly in surprise. It was immaculate. The living room was tidy, pillows arranged perfectly on the sofa, no stray bottles or misplaced shoes in sight. Even the air smelled fresh, clean. She blinked. Noah caught her staring, a bashful chuckle escaping him.  “Okay, so…” he exhaled, shifting on his feet. “I don’t really have much… stuff for when a girl comes over.” He earnestly admitted. Layla’s lips twitched at his awkwardness mostly because it was so uncharacteristic but before she could say anything, he rushed to clarify, waving a hand. It wasn't like Noah wasn't hooking up with people ever. It was more of a preferred way of living. He wasn't exactly keeping extra towels around just for them. “Nah, fuck off. That’s not—what I mean is, I don’t like extra stuff. I just—I like my things neat and tidy.” Layla let out a soft giggle, stepping further into the him. 
“I can tell.” She teased, her eyes scanning the space as they made their way upstairs. His bedroom was just as pristine, the bed perfectly made, not a thing out of place. She glanced at him, tilting her head. “This is… not what I expected.” She giggled. Noah scoffed, smirking as he leaned against the doorway. 
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thought I was a mess, didn’t ya?” He teased with a smirk. It was a soft remnant of normalcy but at the same time, it was a reminder of how incredibly abnormal the night had been. 
“I mean… a little.”  Layla shrugged, grinning. He rolled his eyes dramatically before nodding toward the bed. 
“Alright, you take my room, I’ll grab the couch. Good?” He instructed her. There was an elephant in the room but they were both going to ignore it best they could.
“Are you sure?” Layla hesitated. Noah dug through a dresser drawer finding a shirt. He turned with a smile and tossed it to Layla. 
“Beauty sleep and all that, you know? Look at me—” he gestured to himself with a smirk. “I could use a night on the couch, it’s starting to get unfair.” He cheekily laughed.
“You’re so obnoxious.”   Layla let out a giggle, shaking her head with a smitten smile, grabbing the shirt.
“Some call it endearing.” He shot back effortlessly. Layla bit her lip, shaking her head fondly before meeting his gaze. 
“Count me as some.” She murmured. Noah’s smirk softened, something unreadable flashing across his expression for a brief moment before he gave her a small nod. Noah ran a tired hand down his face, exhaling as he moved around the room, the weight of the night still heavy on his shoulders.
After teeth were brushed, and lights beginning to turn off, Layla lay tucked into his bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, watching him through tired eyes as he grabbed his glasses from his nightstand. He looked exhausted—worn from everything that had happened.
“Alright, get some rest, Lay.” He cooed.  She exhaled, exhaustion finally hitting her as she settled into the bed.  She glanced down at the oversized t-shirt she was wearing, the fabric soft and smelling like him. Guilt tugged at her chest as she watched him stretch his shoulders, rubbing at the tension in his neck. She hated the thought of him sleeping on the couch when there was enough space for both of them.
“Noah… you can stay.” Layla murmured, voice soft in the quiet of the room. It was olive branch, but simultaneously a devil's offer. Noah stilled, his hands dropping to his sides as his gaze met hers. 
“Yeah? You sure?” His voice was hesitant, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. But internally he was biting at the bit. Layla simply nodded, shifting onto her side in silent invitation. He hesitated for a moment longer before sighing and switching off another light, then crossed the room to the bed. As he crawled in, he kept a safe distance, lying on his back, one arm draped over his stomach. The space between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt natural, unspoken trust settling between them. For a long moment, they just stared at each other in the dim light filtering through the curtains. It wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt grounding. Then, Layla’s voice broke the silence. 
“You always take care of everyone, Noah. Who takes care of you?” She asked. Noah’s breath hitched slightly, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t have an immediate answer. Nothing quick witted came to mind. The question hit somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t often acknowledge. Being the middle child in a big family, he’d always been the peacekeeper, the one who looked out for everyone else. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
“Ah, I’m a big boy, Lay. I’ll be alright.” He attempted to brush it off, forcing a small smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Layla exhaled softly, her voice laced with something that sounded a lot like understanding.
“Yeah… but we all appreciate it. I appreciate it.” She whispered. Noah didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling, something warm settling in his chest at her words. She meant them. He could feel it. Layla shifted, rolling onto her side, facing away from him. Noah turned his head slightly, watching the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders before letting out a slow breath,
“Will be alright.” Noah leaned over and kissed her hair. A gesture that innately he hadn’t had thought twice about but it was loaded now, they were in bed. Noah's lips had barely grazed the back of her head before his brain short-circuited. Shit. Shit. Shit. He cursed himself instantly, eyes snapping shut as if he could undo the moment. Layla stiffened, the silence stretching for what felt like eternity. "... sorry Lay... I...." His voice was rough, hesitant, already preparing to get pied off and laughed at. Layla didn't turn to look at him, but her voice was soft, almost shy when she spoke.
"You're really sweet, Noah." She told him gently. His heart pounded. He should've left it at that— should've rolled away, thrown himself off the bed, maybe out the window. Instead, she spoke again, quiet and unsure. "Noah... do you... do you like a cuddle?" He exhaled, relief washing over him but it was laced with trepidation.
"Yeah, 'course." He told her. Layla didn't move. She just lay there, waiting, as if silently asking him to do something about it. Noah swallowed hard. "Would a cuddle make you feel any better tonight?" His voice was softer now, more careful. She nodded over her shoulder. Noah was fucked-and he knew it the second she arched her back, just enough for him to pull her against him properly. His hands slid around her waist pulling her into him, unintentionally dragging up the oversized t-shirt she was wearing, his shirt. He hadn't meant to, but Layla didn't stop him. "Better?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper. Layla hummed in response, melting into his touch. Letting his hands begin to wander-skimming her thighs, the dip of her waist, the curve of her ass.
And then he heard the most perfect thing he’d ever heard in his life, Layla whined. Noah nearly lost it, his mind went bank. "Yeah, you're good." He murmured, lips ghosting over the back of her neck. Every muscle in his body was tense, but his touch remained slow, careful. "Just wanna make sure you're good." He whsipered. Layla barely managed a breathy response. 
"Yeah, I'm good." She whined. But then she moved. Intentionally. Grinding her ass back against him, slow and deliberate. Noah clenched his jaw. He was fighting demons. The way her body fit against his, the heat of her pressing back on his already rock-hard dick, the way she whimpered so softly, he thought he might die right there.
"Good girl." He spoke and Layla was very much so in the same boat as him. She swore she blacked out for a second. This was Noah-silly, goofy, Noah. The same one who gave her shit for everything, made every joke on the table. And yet, right now, he was none of those things. He was careful, but firm. Gentle, but commanding. His hands weren't just holding her anymore-they were learning her. Her pussy was throbbing, desperate for something, anything. She barely recognized the noises leaving her lips, soft little whimpers that only spurred Noah on. Meanwhile, Noah was struggling. Every instinct in him wanted to flip her over, push her thighs apart, wreck her. But he didn't. He held himself back, settling for pressing his mouth against her skin, letting his fingers roam just enough to drive her crazy. He didn't know what the fuck was happening between them, but he knew one thing— Layla was ruining him.
When you all stepped back into your house, the silence was oppressive, almost deafening. It wasn’t the comforting kind of quiet that accompanied safety—it was heavy, suffocating, and filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. Trent carried you in, his strong arms holding you as securely as he could. Your face stayed buried in the nape of his neck, where it had been for what felt like hours. He didn’t mind. He’d have carried you forever if it meant you didn’t have to feel the weight of the world pressing down on you. The house was dark, every shadow stretching out like a reminder of the emptiness you felt inside. Even with Trent’s steady heartbeat against your cheek and Jack’s concerned presence lingering nearby, the void within you consumed everything. Trent shifted slightly, his voice low and soft, like he was afraid to disturb whatever fragile piece of you was holding on. 
“I’m gonna take her upstairs,” he whispered to Jack. Jack nodded quickly, his own voice equally hushed. 
“Yeah, course.” He stepped closer, his gaze darting to you, searching for any sign of recognition, of acknowledgment. “Y/N…” he whispered, crouching slightly to meet your height in Trent’s arms. “You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re here, and you’re safe.” His voice was gentle, his tone pleading for some sort of response, some proof that you were still there with them. Jack leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as if the gesture alone could transfer his strength to you. But you didn’t respond. You didn’t flinch or pull away. You didn’t nod or hum. You remained still, silent, completely withdrawn. Trent adjusted his hold on you, his grip firm yet tender as he carried you up the stairs. Jack watched after the two of you, his heart heavy, wishing he could take the pain from you, share the burden somehow.
Upstairs, Trent moved slowly, as though every step might break the fragile stillness surrounding you. He pressed another soft kiss to your temple as he reached the bedroom.
 “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now.” He whispered opening the door. But even those words, the ones you always believed when they came from him, couldn’t reach you—not yet. You stayed curled into him, as small as you could make yourself, lost in the dark and quiet, hoping for the light to find you again. “Alright, let’s get you to bed, baby,” Trent murmured softly, his voice calm despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. His hand throbbed, his knuckles bruised and aching, and his face still stung from the earlier confrontation, but none of it mattered—not when he looked at you. His heart clenched at the sight of your fragile state, your tear-streaked face buried in his neck, your body trembling against his. He carried you further into the room like you weighed nothing, your trust in him the only thing grounding him in the moment. Carefully, he lowered you onto the bed, but the moment your body hit the mattress, the dam inside you broke. A guttural sob tore from your throat, and tears began streaming down your face all over again. You reached out for him desperately, your fingers clutching at his shirt, clinging to him as though you were afraid he might disappear. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” Trent whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he settled down on the bed beside you. He reached for your hands, holding them firmly but gently, as if anchoring you to him. His eyes scanned your face, taking in every inch of your pain, his own heart fracturing under the weight of it. “You don’t want me to let go?” You shook your head frantically, burying your face into his chest as your cries grew louder. 
“No, T,” you choked out between sobs, your voice small and broken.
“Okay, okay,” Trent murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, cradling you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever, baby. I promise. I’ve got you.” For a while, he just held you, letting you cry against him as his hands rubbed soothing circles over your back. Every now and then, he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head, whispering reassurances into your hair. “You’re safe now, baby. It’s over. I’m here.” Eventually, when your sobs began to quiet, Trent gently pulled back to look at you. His fingers came up to brush away the tears from your cheeks, his touch so soft it felt like a whisper against your skin. “Can I get you into some different clothes, pretty girl?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Might make you feel a little better. Little comfier, cozier.” He tried to smile but it was hard. You didn’t respond, only whimpered quietly as your body trembled in his arms. Trent let out a shaky breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I know, I know,” he said gently, his tone soothing as his fingers stroked your hair. “C’mon, I’ll help you. I’ve got you, baby.” Moving carefully, as if you might shatter under his touch, Trent began peeling your clothes off. His heart sank as he saw the bruises littering your skin, the harsh marks standing out like cruel reminders of the nightmare you’d just endured. When his eyes landed on the cut near your collarbone—where Josh had torn your necklace off—his breath caught in his throat. He turned his head away for a moment, his jaw clenching as tears filled his eyes. He blinked them back quickly, swallowing down the anger and guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. You didn’t need his pain right now. You needed his strength. “Do you want to shower, baby? Or is that too much right now?” he asked gently, his voice thick with emotion. 
“No, T… I just want you.” You shook your head quickly, your voice breaking as you whispered. The sheer vulnerability in your voice broke him. 
“Alright, alright. I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Trent said softly, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed one of his oversized shirts. He slipped it over your head carefully, the familiar scent of him surrounding you like a protective cocoon. Once you were covered, Trent quickly peeled off his own clothes, leaving himself in just his boxers. He pulled down the sheets and climbed into bed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. He tucked the blanket around both of you, his strong arms wrapping around you as he held you close to his chest. Your head rested against his shoulder, your body curled into his as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers threaded gently through your hair, his touch slow and soothing as he whispered to you.
“I’ve got you,” Trent murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. You’re safe now, yeah? I promise you, you’re safe.” Your breathing eventually began to even out, though your body still trembled slightly against him. He held you tighter, his hand moving in slow circles over your back. “Not letting go, baby,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your temple. “Not tonight, not ever.” You nestled against Trent’s chest, your head tucked under his chin as his arms wrapped around you protectively. His steady heartbeat echoed in your ear, grounding you amidst the swirling chaos of your mind. The warmth of his body and the way he held you felt like a lifeline, tethering you to safety when everything else felt broken. “I love you,” Trent whispered, his voice soft and trembling with emotion. “I love you more than anything in the world. You’re everything to me, baby.” His words washed over you like a balm, soothing yet bittersweet. Your heart ached, a deep, raw pain that mirrored the soreness in your body, but Trent’s voice kept pulling you back, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this. And then, as if trying to fill the empty, aching spaces inside you, Trent began listing every reason why he loved you.
“I love because of everything that you are, pretty girl. You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair between words. “You’re so sweet, nicest girl I know, you care so much about everyone, even when they don’t deserve it. I love how smart you are, how funny you are. I love how you light up a room without even trying.” His voice cracked slightly, but he kept going, his hand rubbing slow, gentle circles on your back. “I love the way you laugh, the way you smile at me like I’m the only person in the world. I love to make you smile, baby. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I used to come over and just pray you’d be home, just so I could sit next to you, make you happy, keep you happy.” Trent ached recalling how you two grown up together and all he wanted was to keep you happy and yet here you were crumbling in his arms. You cried harder listening to him but he kept going. You needed to know. “I love how you’re always there for people, even when it’s hard. And I love how you let me be there for you, like now. I love you, baby, more than I’ll ever be able to say.” You listened in silence, tears streaming down your face as you burrowed closer into his chest. His words carried so much love, so much tenderness, it was almost unbearable. You cried harder, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. “I’ve got you,” Trent murmured, his voice steady even as his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him. “Always.” His lips found your hair, pressing soft, lingering kisses there as he held you tighter, yet with so much care it felt as if he thought you might break. His hands never stopped moving, tracing slow, comforting patterns across your back. Eventually, your sobs began to quiet, exhaustion overtaking you as Trent’s warmth and gentle reassurances lulled you into sleep. Your breathing evened out, your body going limp in his arms as you finally found some semblance of peace. Trent stayed still for a moment, his chest rising and falling steadily as he looked down at you. Your tear-streaked cheeks glistened in the faint light, your lips slightly parted, your face still etched with the pain you carried even in sleep. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears filled Trent’s eyes, spilling over as he shut them tightly, his chest heaving with quiet, shaky breaths. He pressed another kiss to your hair, the salt of his tears mingling with your scent.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held you closer. “I love you. I love you so much. I’m so sorry, baby.” He cried silently, his tears dampening your hair as he stroked your back, his thumb brushing over a small bruise on your arm. The sight of your battered body and the weight of your pain tore at his heart, and all he could do was hold you, hoping his presence would be enough to start piecing you back together. “I’ll fix this,” he murmured softly, his voice a quiet vow. “I don’t know how, but I’ll fix this. I’ll keep you safe. Always.” Trent stayed awake for hours, his tears eventually drying as he held you close. Every now and then, he’d press another kiss to your hair, his lips lingering as if he could somehow pour all his love and apologies into you through that simple touch.And as the night stretched on, Trent whispered one final promise into the quiet room: “I’ll never let you hurt like this again. I swear, baby. Never again.”
It was late into the morning, it was actually leaning into the afternoon when Jack knocked gently on your bedroom door.  Trent barely heard it. Jack opened the door seeing that he heard no sound on the other side. Jack stepped into the doorway, his face etched with concern as he took in the sight before him. The room was dim, the curtains still drawn, letting in only a sliver of the afternoon light. You were completely draped over Trent, your body molded to his like you couldn't bear even the smallest distance. Trent was awake, but his entire focus was on you-his hands never stopping their slow, soothing strokes along your back, his lips pressing gentle kisses into your hair every so often, murmuring soft ‘I love yous’ like a prayer. 
“Yo.” Jack whispered quietly, nodding to grab Trent's attention off you, if only for a moment. Trent glanced over, his tired eyes meeting Jack's as he reached out a hand, silently dapping his mate up. It was a simple greeting, but there was a quiet understanding between them-Jack was checking in, making sure Trent was alright too. But the moment Trent's hand left you, you stirred, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you instinctively sought out his touch again. Your body shifted on top of him, nuzzling into his chest, your arms tightening around him as if to pull him back. Trent immediately brought his hand back to you, rubbing slow circles into your back again.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm here," Trent whispered, his voice impossibly soft, his lips brushing your forehead. Jack watched, something deep in his chest aching at the sight. He had never seen you so vulnerable before, so completely dependent on someone else's presence just to feel safe. And he had never seen Trent like this either-his usual confidence stripped away, his entire being consumed by the need to comfort you, to protect you.
"She get any sleep last night?" Jack looked at you, keeping his voice low. Trent nodded, but his eyes were still full of exhaustion. Trent let out a slow breath, looking down at you. Even in sleep, you still looked troubled, your brow slightly furrowed, your grip on him impossibly tight. He hated it-hated that you were hurting like this, hated that he couldn't take it all away.
"Yeah... cried herself to sleep, but she's been in and out for a while now." His hand never stopped moving on your back, keeping you tethered to the safety of his touch. "She's not let go of me once, though." Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 
"I figured. Just wanted to check on you both." He hesitated before adding, "When she wakes up, I'lI make sure there's food, yeah? She'll need it." Trent nodded, a silent thank you passing between them.  The room stayed dimly lit, the curtains still drawn, keeping the world outside at bay. The only sound was your steady breathing, though even in sleep, your body remained curled into Trent’s, as if afraid to let go. His hands never stopped moving, rubbing slow circles along your back, grounding you in whatever way he could. His own body ached—his swollen hand throbbed, his face bruised and sore—but none of it mattered compared to the way you clung to him. “Brought you some ice too…” Jack held up an ice pack Trent hadn't noticed was in his hand.
“Thanks, bro. Probably a little late now… swollen already.” Trent exhaled, a tired chuckle escaping his lips as he nodded down at his bruised hand on your back. Jack shrugged, setting it down on the nightstand.
“Yeah, well, if you want it, it’s here.” He hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering down to where you lay on Trent’s chest, his arms locked protectively around you. His voice dropped even lower. “How’s she been, seriously?” He asked, looking for more. Trent sighed, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder absentmindedly. 
“The same as,” he admitted, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Obviously rattled, but she’s just been sleeping… if she wakes up, she cries for a bit and then back to sleep.” Jack gave a sad, knowing nod, his brows furrowing as he reached out, gently brushing a piece of hair from your face. You barely stirred, just nestled deeper into Trent, as if even in your sleep, you knew where you were safest. Trent’s voice softened even more, his grip tightening around you instinctively. “If I take my hands off her, asleep or not, she freaks out, so…” Jack inhaled sharply, shaking his head. 
“Jesus.” His voice was barely above a whisper, a mix of anger and sorrow laced in the single word. Trent’s jaw tensed, his gaze fixed on you. 
“I don’t even know, mate… this is…” But his sentence trailed off into nothing, because there weren’t words for it. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, watching his sister— someone he used to think of a strong—curled up like a wounded animal, looking anything but. 
“It’s awful,” he admitted. “But she trusts you. She just feels safer with you after last night. She always has.” Trent swallowed hard, nodding. 
“It was fucking awful, but she should trust me. I love her. I tried to protect her, mate.” Trent tried to explain. Jack met his eyes, nodding with quiet conviction. 
“I know, mate. You did.” Jack confirmed sincerely. Silence settled between them again, thick and heavy. Trent shifted slightly beneath you, hesitating before lowering his voice, not wanting to wake you, as if an inch more of space between you would make it so you couldn’t hear, what he was going to ask.
“Any word on…” He didn’t say the name, he didn’t even need to say Josh’s name. He didn’t have to. Jack already knew. Jack’s jaw clenched.
“Said charging him with assault and extortion.” Jack explained. Trent’s brows shot up in surprise. 
“Really?” He said low but surprised. He had expected Josh to walk away unscathed, like he always did. The fact that something was actually sticking this time? It stunned him. Jack nodded. 
“Yeah, I mean, obviously the physical evidence on her from what he did that night was obvious to them, he had her under his fingertips." Jack swallowed and Tfrent winced. It was just as brutal to hear as it was to say. "And all the other times—she had photos of, so I grabbed those. And then Ty got all the video stuff sorted. So.” He shrugged, like it was nothing, but Trent knew how much effort it must’ve taken to pull all of that together over just last night. Trent let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 
“Wow…” His arms subconsciously tightened around you, like holding you closer could erase all the damage that had been done.
“Yeah…” Jack exhaled, rubbing his face before standing up. “It’s good though, mate." Trent nodded. "Need anything?” He asked. Trent shook his head.
“Nah. Just gonna chill for a bit. See what she feels up to later. Sorry. Hope that’s—” Jack cut him off with a look.
 “Bro, it’s cool.” He said but then paused. His voice softened as he looked at you again. “Thanks for being there for her.” Trent glanced down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 
“There was never a choice, mate. She’s everything to me.” Trent let out a deep breath, adjusting his grip on you as you stirred slightly in your sleep. His hands, despite their own aches, instinctively resumed their slow, comforting strokes along your back. Jack stood beside the bed, watching the two of you with a mixture of sadness and quiet admiration. “But Jack…” Trent spoke, causing Jack to pause. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” Trent murmured after a moment, shaking his head. “There was no world where I wasn’t going to be there for her.” His voice was firm, unwavering. Jack nodded, rubbing a hand over his jaw, his expression unreadable. 
“I know,” he said simply. “But still.” A beat of silence passed between them, heavy with the weight of the last twenty-four hours. Trent glanced at the ice pack on the nightstand, then at his swollen hand, but he made no move to take it. His priorities were elsewhere. Jack noticed. 
“You should at least put that on for a bit,” he said, nodding toward it. Trent let out a small, humorless chuckle. 
“Hurts like hell, but it’s nothing compared to…” His voice trailed off as he looked down at you, his chest tightening. Jack sighed. 
“Yeah, I get it.” He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “She’ll be okay, you know.” Trent swallowed hard, his fingers gently tracing soothing circles on your back. 
“I hope so,” he whispered, almost like he was afraid to say it too loudly. Like the thought of you not being okay was too much to bear. Jack looked at him, really looked at him. 
“She will be,” he reassured. “She’s got you.” Trent met Jack’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them—an understanding, a shared promise. Jack had done everything he could to ensure Josh faced the consequences. And now, it felt like it was Trent’s turn to do what he did best—love you, protect you, make sure you never had to feel that kind of fear again. Jack gave Trent’s shoulder a firm squeeze before stepping back. 
“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” he said before slipping out of the room, leaving the two of you in the quiet sanctuary of each other. Trent exhaled slowly, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your forehead as he tightened his arms around you.
The cinema room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the screen in front of you. Trent had managed to convince you to leave the bed, but not much had changed—you were still draped over him, wrapped up in his arms like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. His fingers traced soft, absentminded circles on your back, his lips occasionally pressing against your hair. Then, a quiet voice broke through the silence.
“Hii…” Layla’s whisper sang through the room as she stepped in, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace. She approached with a soft smile, her eyes scanning the way you clung to Trent, how his arms cradled you protectively. She sat down next to you both, reaching out with gentle hands. “Can I have a cuddle too?” she asked, her tone light but full of love. She squeezed your arm gently, and Trent kissed your hair, nudging you ever so slightly, encouraging you to shift toward your best friend. Reluctantly, you lifted your head, sitting up on Trent’s lap and Layla pulled you into her arms, her warmth wrapping around you. You sniffled, your body weak against hers. “Oh babe…” Layla whined, holding you tighter. She hated this—hated how fragile you felt, hated that she could feel the weight of what had happened in your trembling frame.
“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t even know why you were apologizing, but the embarrassment, the shame, it all sat heavy on your chest. Layla sighed softly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment as she kissed your cheek. She hated that she could feel not only how broken you were emotionally but physically too in her arms. 
“You have nothing to be sorry for, yeah?” Her words were firm, but her touch was impossibly gentle. She let you go, letting you settle back down against Trent, his arms immediately reclaiming you, holding you just as tightly as before. Layla wiped her eyes quickly, trying to keep things light.  “Okay, be honest though… better cuddle—me or T?” She sniffled through a teasing smile, nudging your side playfully. You tried—really tried—to laugh, but it wouldn’t come. It felt stuck, like everything else inside you. The pain was still too raw. Trent glanced down at you before looking at Layla, smirking, appreciating her efforts. 
“I might edge you out, you know, Lays.” His voice was soft, teasing but careful. He reached out and gave Layla’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, making sure you didn’t feel like you had to answer.
“Maybe… I am her best friend though.” Layla shot back with a giggle, wiping at her nose. Then she leaned down toward you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “But you’ve got your dream boy now, hmm?” And there, then in that moment, your best friend joking around with your boyfriend, Trent holding you, keeping you safe, Layla kissing you reassuring you, you let out a real giggle, something light bubbled up inside you. Soft, quiet, but real. It was there. Trent felt it more than heard it, the way your body shook ever so slightly with the sound. His chest tightened with relief, his heart aching in the best way. Layla’s eyes softened, glistening with emotion. Trent held you even closer, burying a kiss into your hair. 
“Yeah, you’ve got me. Love my pretty girl so much.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but you felt every word settle deep in your bones. His arms squeezed you, grounding you in the only truth that mattered right now—he was here, Layla was here, and you were safe.
Jack dropped down into one of the seats with a dramatic sigh, stretching his legs out as if he’d been carrying the weight of the world and he might as well have been. 
“I don’t know, Lays, you might get boxed out like me and Noah. Trenty says they’re best friends.” He tossed the words out with a smirk, arms folding across his chest as he gave a pointed glance in your direction. Layla gasped, her mouth falling open in mock offense. 
“Excuse me? And here I was thinking I was special.” She placed a hand over her chest, shaking her head like she’d just been personally betrayed. You could only let out another quiet giggle, hiding your face deeper into Trent’s chest, a small, shy smile pulling at your lips. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear—it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You felt his arms tighten around you slightly, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your back.
“Yeah, best friend… love of my life too, hmm?” Trent hummed, his lips grazing your temple before trailing down to your neck in soft, playful kisses. His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper in it, something so undeniably him—warm, sure, and full of a love so consuming you almost felt overwhelmed by it. You nodded against him, your arms slipping under his to hold him tighter, fingers gripping at the fabric of his shirt like you never wanted to let go. It had been such a hard few days, but in his arms, even with the ache in your chest, you felt safe. Slowly, you lifted your head, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger for a moment longer than necessary. When you pulled away, you turned toward Layla, stretching your hand out. She took it instantly, her fingers wrapping around yours in a firm but comforting squeeze.
“I can share,” you murmured softly, eyes filled with the quiet affection that only Layla could truly understand. She softened immediately, squeezing your hand back a few times in silent reassurance. 
“You’re very loveable, babe. Hard to resist.” She giggled. Trent kissed the top of your head again, holding you closer. Layla smirked, shooting a look at Jack before grinning. “Guess Jacky boy will be an okay sub then.” Jack scoffed, shaking his head. 
“Okay sub? Wow, alright then.” He laughed, flicking his gaze between the three of you. “Fine, I’ll take ya.” Without warning, he threw an arm around Layla in a rough, brotherly way, yanking her into his side like an annoying sibling. “Let them be gross together. We’ll survive.” He quipped. Layla groaned dramatically, struggling in his grasp. 
“Oh my God, Jack—you’re crushing me! Get off!” She struggled in his strong arms. Jack only laughed, keeping his grip tight, making it impossible for her to wriggle away. You lips uncontrolled pulled into a soft smile. As ridiculous as they were, these were your people.
“Nah, you said I was a fucking sub. If you’re bringing me in, this is what you get.” He smirked. Trent chuckled, shaking his head as he looked down at you, his grip never loosening. 
“They’re just jealous, baby.” He whispered against your hair, his voice full of playful amusement. You giggled softly, the sound barely audible, but real. It was small, but it was something. And for the first time in days, something inside you felt just a little bit lighter.
The room had been filled with an easy warmth, the kind that only came from the presence of the people who loved you most. Trent’s arms remained securely around you as you laid curled into his chest, his steady heartbeat your grounding rhythm. Jack and Layla sat close by, still exchanging playful jabs, the remnants of your soft laughter lingering in the air. For a brief moment, things almost felt… normal. Almost. But then as Jack was flicking through channels on the tv, he paused on a one, a news update cut through the soft atmosphere like a blade.
“It seems the ruckus of the Liverpool-Manchester United match this season has carried off the pitch and into an exclusive neighborhood of Hale last night. A disturbance call made to a Cheshire luxury home early Sunday ended with one arrest being made, Manchester United’s left winger, Josh Ellington…”
Your body instinctively tensed the moment you heard his name, your breath catching in your throat. Trent felt it immediately. His grip on you tightened, his large hands running soothingly up and down your back, his lips pressing a silent kiss against your hair as if to say, I’ve got you. You’re safe. He can’t touch you anymore. But it didn’t stop the ice-cold shiver that ran down your spine. Jack and Layla had gone completely still, their playful banter vanishing as quickly as it had come. The room, which had been filled with lighthearted teasing just seconds ago, now felt unbearably heavy, like the air had been sucked from it entirely.
“Police reported to a house party after receiving a call about the disturbance. It’s been understood that there were multiple footballers from both clubs in attendance. There is widespread speculation that a row kicked off between the rival clubs’ players…”
The words felt distant, like you were hearing them from underwater. You knew what had happened. You had lived what had happened. This wasn’t speculation to you—it was real. The bruises on your skin, the lingering ache in your ribs, the shattered feeling deep in your chest… all of it was evidence of that night. Josh had been arrested. That should’ve meant relief, right? But all you felt was a deep, aching sadness. Because even though he was behind bars, you were still here, curled into Trent’s arms like a wounded bird, your body still bearing the marks of what he had done. Jack let out a sharp exhale, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he shook his head. 
“Fucking dickhead.” His voice was tight, filled with barely restrained anger. Layla swallowed hard, her gaze flickering to you immediately, her hand reaching out, rubbing your arm in silent comfort. Trent stayed quiet, his chest rising and falling beneath you in deep, controlled breaths. You knew him well enough to know what that meant—he was pissed, trying his hardest to keep himself calm for you. His fingers brushed the side of your arm, tracing slow, deliberate circles over your skin, his way of reminding you he was here. You took in a shaky breath, pressing your face further into his chest, as if you could disappear into him entirely. His warmth, his strength, his love—it was the only thing keeping you from unraveling completely.
“Fuck ‘em honest. He can’t hurt you anymore, baby.” Trent murmured so quietly only you could hear it, his voice thick with emotion. “Never again.” And even though the sadness still clung to you like a second skin, you believed him. Because as long as you were in his arms, as long as he held you this tightly, you knew you were safe.
A while later, Jack strolled into the kitchen, rubbing his face tiredly as he made his way to the fridge. Layla was already there, quietly making tea for you. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched as she moved around, carefully pouring the hot water into a mug.
“I'm glad you came over, Lays. She hadn’t been talking much, so this has been good,” Jack finally said, stepping up beside her. His voice was gentle, as if he knew she was holding onto something fragile. Layla turned her head slightly, and Jack caught the way her eyes filled with tears. She blinked quickly, as if willing them away, but they were there—threatening to spill over.
“I needed to see her, Jack,” she murmured. “That was so scary.” Layla admitted. Jack sighed, leaning back against the counter. 
“Yeah, was a lot.” He ran a hand over his jaw before glancing at her again. “You okay?” He asked. Layla hesitated before exhaling, stirring the tea absently. 
“Yeah… I just…” She trailed off for a moment, her voice quiet. “Honestly, I never knew it was so bad. And even then, I didn’t think anything like that would happen.” She earnestly told him. Jack nodded slowly, his expression darkening. 
“Neither. I can’t wrap my head around it.” He shifted, standing up straighter as he reached for two more mugs. “I’m sorry we didn’t check on you last night, though.” He set them down beside her, his voice laced with sincerity. Layla glanced at him with a small, appreciative smile. 
“Jack, there was a lot going on,” she reassured him, her tone understanding. She turned back to the tea, adding sugar and a splash of milk. “I was fine. Noah took care of me.” Jack stilled. His eyebrows shot up as a slow smirk spread across his face.
“Did he?” He smugly responded too fast. Layla hummed in response, not picking up on his inflection, oblivious at first. 
“Yeah?” She turned toward him just as the tea bags steeped. Jack didn’t say anything at first—just gave her a look. Layla blinked. Then it hit her. “Oh my days—No! Jack! Stop!” She yelped, half-groaning, half-laughing as she shoved his arm. The smile on her face betrayed her, though. No was not the time for Layla to spill anything. Jack held his hands up in mock innocence, grinning. 
“I’ve said absolutely nothing here, Lays. You’re the one reading into things…” He let the sentence hang, watching her squirm, “Unless…” His smirk deepened. “Is there something I should be reading into?” Layla gasped dramatically, pointing at the door. 
“No. No. Just go away. We can’t be best friends anymore. This won’t work. I need Y/N back from T” She teased. Jack cackled, reaching for his drink. 
“Yeah, yeah, keep deflecting.” He joked. Layla rolled her eyes, but the blush creeping up her neck said more than words ever could.
“You alright?” Megan’s soft voice rang through the entryway as Jack let her inside, her arms full of bags. Her presence another addition to the arsenal of people supporting you. Not asked, but offering.
“Yeah, we’re alright,” Jack murmured, his eyes softening the moment he saw her. He reached for her, pulling her into a warm embrace. “You look beautiful, my Meg.” His voice was low, affectionate, as he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. Megan sighed into the moment before pulling back with a small smile. 
“Brought her some things.” She held up one of the bags and a bouquet of delicate flowers. “Just gonna put these in her room. Don’t need to make a big deal out of it or anything. But I also brought some food and all sorts of things.” She let out a quiet giggle, trying to lighten the air. Jack, however, didn’t let her slip away just yet. His lips unconsciously pouted, his heart swelling at her thoughtfulness. He pulled her into another embrace, tighter this time, his chin resting on the top of her head.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Just chilling today, but I’m glad you’re here.” He took the bags from her, one hand still clasping hers as he kissed her temple. They began walking further into the house, but before they could step fully into the living room, Megan hesitated. Her fingers curled around his, pulling him back gently. Jack turned to her with a questioning look, but her gaze was cast downward. He felt the tension in her shoulders before she even spoke.
“Jack… I… I’m so sorry,” Megan whispered, her voice unsteady.  “I feel so at fault.” Jack’s brows furrowed. 
“Meg…” His voice was careful. “This is no one but Josh’s fault.” Jack explained.  
“I know… I know.” She exhaled shakily, wringing her hands together. “But it’s also…” She hesitated, her throat tightening, as if saying the name would make it more real. “Jess's” The name came out barely above a breath. “I’m sorry.” Jack’s jaw clenched at the mention of her. The weight of it all was still settling, but Megan’s guilt? He wouldn’t have that.
“Hey, my Meg…” His voice softened, and he stepped closer, cupping her cheek so she would look at him. “You’re not her, are ya?” Megan shook her head quickly, a quiet sniffle escaping her lips. Jack brushed his thumb over her cheek, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers for a moment. “Then don’t take this on. Not for a second.” His voice was gentle but firm, the conviction in his words wrapping around her like a safety net. Megan let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly. Jack pressed another kiss to her temple, lingering there for just a second longer. “You’re good, Meg. And you’re here. That’s what matters.”
They walked into the kitchen together, Megan placing the flowers down carefully before slowly unpacking the bags she had brought. The rustle of paper and plastic filled the quiet space as she moved around the kitchen island with ease, knowing exactly where everything belonged. Jack, perched on a stool, watched her with a lazy smile, his chin resting in his palm. Without looking up admist her swift movements, Megan reached out and pinched his side.
“Aye!” Jack yelped, jolting upright with a cheeky grin. Megan giggled, her eyes twinkling as she opened a bag of Percy Pigs she’d brought over, popping one into her mouth before turning to him with another between her fingers. She stepped closer, pushing it toward his lips. Jack caught her wrist gently, holding it still. Instead of just taking the sweet, he pulled her hand closer, slipping the gummy into his mouth while keeping his eyes locked on hers. And before she could react, he kissed her fingers softly. Megan let out a breathy giggle, her cheeks heating under his touch. Jack smirked at her, but the lightheartedness of the moment only distracted him for a second. If he was honest with himself, there was a part of him that was scared—scared of letting another woman into his life, one that wasn’t you or, more frankly, your mum. He had spent so long keeping people at a distance, afraid of the hurt that came when they left. A linger aftereffect of the pain of loosing your mum. He knew you wouldn’t leave. But seeing you hurt, seeing what Josh had done to you, had shaken him more than he ever thought possible. And right now, watching Megan show up—not just for you, but for him—when he never even asked, terrified him. Yet, it also meant everything.
"Meg?" Jack's voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. She turned back to him, and he reached out, gently pulling her between his legs as he sat on the stool. His hands found her waist instinctively, his thumbs grazing her sides in slow, soothing strokes.
"You okay?" she asked, offering him a sad smile. Jack exhaled, his fingers flexing slightly against her hips. 
"I just... you know I care about you." Megan nodded without hesitation. "And you know I love you." His voice was steady, but there was something deeper behind it— something vulnerable. Megan swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. He had told her before, but it had been in fleeting moments, in passing, when emotions were high. She had never been fully sure if he meant it in the quiet, in the stillness. 
"And you're sure about that?" she whispered. Jack didn't even blink. 
"More sure than l've ever been about anything." He rescinded immediately. Megan's lips parted slightly, her heart thudding in her chest. "It's been a little mad lately," Jack continued, his thumbs still running absentminded circles against her, grounding himself in the feeling of her beneath his hands. "And I just wanted you to know I want you." He paused, searching her eyes. "And I'd want you to maybe be my girlfriend when it's mad and..." His voice softened, "even when it's not."
"Jack..." Megan whimpered, emotion pooling in her chest, threatening to spill over. Her hands ran over his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath her palms. "I can be yours, always. Mad or not." She giggled nervously, biting her lip. Jack smiled, but there was something cautious behind it. He tilted his head slightly, exhaling before murmuring, 
"It's just... once you're here, you're here for me, you know?" The weight of what he was saying lingered between them. His fear of being left coming in with a force.  She hummed in understanding, her fingers curling into his hoodie. 
"Okay," she said simply, her voice steady. "And I'm here." Jack closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting it sink in. 
"Thank you for understanding." He whispered.  Megan smiled up at him. 
"So... am I your girlfriend, Jacky?" she teased, her voice light but full of meaning. Jack huffed out a bashful laugh, rolling his head to the side for a second before standing up, wrapping her in his arms, and pulling her against his chest. He hummed, swaying her back and forth in his embrace, his lips pressing into her hair.
"Yeah," he whispered with a happy chuckle. "My Meg."
In the days following, Trent’s arms wrapped snugly around your waist as he stood behind you, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. His warm brown eyes met yours in the mirror, filled with soft adoration.
“What do you think about getting out with me today, baby?” Trent asked sweetly, his voice low and coaxing.
“Out?” You pouted, barely entertaining the idea. The comfort of being wrapped up with him felt too good to leave behind.
“Pleaase.” He grinned, pressing soft, rapid kisses along your cheek, one after the other, until you finally gave in with a quiet giggle. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he murmured against your skin. “For me? Please let me take the most beautiful girl in the world to go get some…” He trailed off, his eyes flickering back to yours in the mirror, waiting for you to fill in the blank. 
“Coffee?” You sighed playfully before mumbling. Trent nodded immediately, kissing your cheek again. 
“Yeah, baby. Whatever you want.” He told you. You hesitated for a moment.
“Can I shower first?” You asked softly. A small, sad smile tugged at your lips. Trent’s smirk was slow and teasing as he met your gaze in the reflection. 
“Can I…?” His tone was full of mischief, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. You giggled, nodding as he pulled you back against his chest, wrapping his arms tighter around you. His lips brushed your neck, lingering with playful kisses. “C’mere, baby,” he murmured, making it clear that, coffee or not, he had no intention of letting you go just yet.
The steam curled around you both as Trent guided you gently into the ensuite, his hands never leaving your skin. He undressed you slowly, his fingertips trailing over every inch of you as if he were handling something delicate, something sacred. The soft hum of the shower filled the air as he turned on the water, and the moment the warmth hit your skin, it felt like the weight of the past few days was being washed away. The hot water cascaded down your bodies, you found yourself drawn to him, your hands reaching out to trace the contours of his golden skin. Trent's muscular frame glistened with moisture, his tanned skin a stark contrast to the tiles surrounding you. You couldn't resist him; your fingers itched to explore every inch of his body. Trent pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a beat before his kisses trailed down your temple, along your jaw, and finally to your neck. His touch was tender, reverent, but even still, you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was forcing himself to hold. Your hands moved over him, tracing the planes of his skin, desperate to pull him closer. He shivered under your touch, his body responding instinctively even as his mind told him to slow down. You pressed yourself into him, tilting your head to kiss his neck, your hands gripping at his back, his shoulders, his waist—anywhere you could reach. You needed to feel him, to remind yourself that you were safe, wanted, that you were his, that he was yours. Trent let out a breath, hesitating for just a moment before his hands found your waist, holding you gently but firmly. 
"Nah, baby, please," he murmured against your ear, kissing just behind it. His voice was hoarse, filled with longing, but there was something else there too-concern. "Maybe let's slow down, yeah?" But you didn't want slow. You wanted to feel. You wanted to drown in him. Leaning forward, you grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer. Your lips sought his neck, kissing and sucking gently, leaving a trail of wetness on his warm skin. He tasted like the essence of desire, and you craved more. Your hands roamed over his broad back, feeling his muscles beneath your fingertips.
"T, I need you," you whispered, your voice hoarse with need. "I just want to feel how much you love me again." you whispered, your voice desperate as you began to sink to your knees in front of him.
"Nah, nah, stop, baby," Trent's voice was firm as his hands cupped your face, guiding you back up. His deep brown eyes searched yours, his thumbs stroking gently over your wet cheeks. You tried your hardest to not be offended but he spoke again before your thoughts could spiral that far. "You promise you want to feel how much I love you... like this?" His voice was thick, serious, grounding. Your breath caught, and you nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. The heat between you was unmistakable, and the ache in your core had nothing to do with the warm water cascading around you. Trent exhaled slowly, letting his hands glide down your back, feeling the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. "Alright," he murmured, his touch sending a shiver through you. "But you know this is because I love who you are, yeah?" His voice was low, a whisper meant just for you.
"Yeah," you whined, your hands grasping at him, needing him closer, needing him to erase everything but this moment. And then, finally, Trent gave in, pulling you into him like you were the only thing keeping him upright.  You felt your heart beat harder hearing him. You gasped, silently, your voice breathless. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat of Trent's body as he pressed you against the cool tile. His hands roamed your body with purpose, his lips leaving a slow, lingering trail of kisses down your neck. 
"Cause I love you," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "And I love this body. I love everything inside of it." His words were spoken like a vow, his hands moved to greedily palm your ass, pulling you closer into him. 
"And you like my ass too?" you teased, relishing in the feeling of his hands of you, tilting your head back as his lips grazed over your collarbone. Trent pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, his grin lazy and full of adoration. 
"Absolutely. Like nothing else. Love every inch of you." You let out a breathy laugh between the pleasure, feeling light despite the intensity between you.  Before you could respond, he bent slightly, his strong arms scooping you up effortlessly, hands gripping under your thighs as he pressed you against the cold tiled wall more. Your breath hitched, arms wrapping around his shoulders as your body instinctively molded into his– The contrast of the cold surface against your heated skin sent shivers down your spine. Trent's lips found your neck, his kisses hot and demanding. His hands roamed over your tits, squeezing and kneading, making you arch into his touch. "You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his voice filled with admiration. "Every fucking inch of you." Your core clenched at his words, the pleasure intensifying with each caress. Trent's fingers found your wetness, stroking and teasing, making you gasp and squirm against him. He was smooth, moving to stroke his cock some before aligning it with your core. Then, with one swift thrust, he filled you completely, his cock sliding deep within your hot, wet core. You cried out, the sensation overwhelming as he stretched and filled you. Trent's hands gripped your thighs again, holding you steady as he began to move, his hips snapping forward with each powerful thrust.
"I love you, T," you whimpered, your voice breathless. His movements were slow at first, deliberate, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, 'I love you,' 'I love you,' like a prayer against your lips. Every thrust, every touch, was filled with something deeper than just desire. It was devotion, a need to remind you how much he worshipped you, how much he needed you just as much as you needed him.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight and wet for me." You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pounded into you. The water continued to rain down, mixing with your sweat, making your bodies slick and glistening. Trent's eyes never left yours, holding you captive in an intense gaze as he fucked you with abandon. His love for you was evident in every stroke, every touch, and every kiss.
"You're everything l've ever wanted," you whined, voice breaking as the emotions overwhelmed you. The pleasure built alongside the flood of emotions, your chest heaving as you clung to him. Trent's grip on you tightened, adjusting one hand holding your thigh securely around his waist so the other could slid up, cupping your jaw, tilting your face, making your eyes met his. Your eyes had filled with tears. 
"I'm here with you. Tell me you're here with me, baby," he rasped, his own voice thick with emotion, his dark eyes searching yours.  You nodded, unable to speak, your emotions raw and exposed. He held your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes, the deep brown pools reflecting the love and desire you felt. "You know I’m here?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and adoration. You managed a weak nod again, unable to find the words to express the depth of your feelings. Trent understood, his eyes softening as he held you close. "YN," he called your name, his voice filled with emotion. He held you tightly, his strong arms supporting your weight. Your heart was pounding, and you could feel the tears stinging your eyes. It was an overwhelming mix of emotions—love, passion, and a deep connection that left you breathless. Trent's lips found yours, kissing you softly, gently wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. "I'm here, baby," he whispered against your mouth. "I'm right here with you." The intensity was too much. The way he was looking at you like you were his entire world, the way he was holding you like you were something to be cherished-it broke something open inside you. Tears streamed down your cheeks causing Trent to still, concern flickering across his face. 
"No, baby. Please. Don't stop," you gasped, voice trembling. "I need you." His brows furrowed for just a second before he nodded, his hold on you tightening like he wanted to fuse you to him.
"Okay," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your wet cheek. "You've got me." Then he moved again, slow and deep, his forehead pressing against yours, groaning into your skin as he gave himself to you completely. And in that moment, it wasn't just about making love-it was about healing, about holding onto each other in a way that nothing else in the world could touch. As the water continued to wash over you, you realized that this moment was more than just physical pleasure. It was a testament to the powerful bond you had with him. Trent's love for you was evident in every touch, every kiss, and every whispered word. And in that steamy shower, with his strong arms holding you, you knew that you had found something special, something that went beyond mere physical attraction. And so he drove into you again, hitting all the right spots, your climax building. Your body trembled, and your breath came in short gasps. Trent's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice hoarse. "Let me feel you cum for me. Look so beautiful when you cum f'me." His words were like a trigger, sending you over the edge. You cried out his name as your orgasm washed over you in waves of pleasure. Your inner walls clenched around his shaft, milking him as your body shook. Trent's own release followed, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep within you. 
The steam curled around you both, the water cascading down your entwined bodies as you remained wrapped in each other's arms. The remnants of passion, of pain, of everything that had come before, swirled down the drain, disappearing as if they had never existed. It felt baptismal in a way-not in religion, but in renewal. The past, the bruises, the weight of men like Josh, washed away, leaving behind something untouched, something whole. And that something was Trent. It was you, with him. Trent held you close, his breath warm against your temple, his hands steady and grounding against your back. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just existing in the aftermath, feeling each other's hearts still pounding in sync.
When he finally moved, it was with a gentleness that sent another kind of shiver through you. His strong arms lowered you carefully onto the cool tiles, his hands never leaving your waist, like he was afraid you might slip away from him. His eyes roamed your body, lingering over your damp, glistening skin. His gaze caught on the bruises, the faint scrape marring your décolletage, the reminder of Josh's cruel grip, of the necklace he had torn away. The sight of it made something flicker in Trent's expression-an ache, a silent fury, a desperation to undo what had already been done. Without a word, he dropped his head, his face level with the tender marks. He didn't say anything, but you felt everything in the way he pressed his lips to the bruises, the scrape, the places that hurt. His kisses were reverent, delicate, as though his lips could will the pain away, as though he could rewrite the past with every press of his mouth. He nuzzled his face against your skin, his breath shaky, his hands gripping your hips like he needed to hold onto you just as much as you needed to be held. He took a deep breath, attempting to reign in his own emotions.
"I hate that he hurt you," he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken. "Hate that I wasn't there to stop it." Your fingers slid into his wet curls, tugging gently, grounding him. 
"You came though.” You whispered ,feeling a lump form in your throat making it hard to speak. “And you're here now," you sniffled, feeling the tears come back with force again. He exhaled against your skin, pressing one last lingering kiss over your heart before looking up at you. His eyes were warm, filled with devotion, and something deeper-something unshakable.
"Yeah," he whispered, gripping you tighter. "And I'm never letting go."
Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!
Next part - Chapter 29 xx
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kaapstadmk · 19 hours ago
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Doc here
Okay, so, if you're working with a generalist, like family med, general outpatient internal med, or general pediatrics, our job is to specialize in preventive care and to be well-versed enough in the different subspecialties to be able to identify the more common diagnoses and get the workup started for the rarer things, while referring our patients to their requisite specialty.
That's a lot of information to know and use.
As a patient, advocate, or family member, you often become a specialist in the illnesses you deal with on a daily basis.
Additionally, depending on when your doc went to school or did their residency training, there may not have been much known about your diagnosis and, because it's not a common part of their practice management, most of their continuing education credits have likely been put to use, staying abreast of either the matters they see most frequently or their personal, pet interests.
Now, does that mean you're screwed? No. A good doc will make a note to take the time to dig back in and refresh themselves if they come across someone who has a condition they don't see frequently.
For example, I have a kid I care for with an uncommon genetic disorder. When he first came in, I researched the clinical practice guidelines for his disorder and made a list in his chart of the most immediate needs to cover in the next couple years and it's actually almost time for me to revisit the document to prepare for the next set of milestones. Thankfully, I had enough of a heads up to dig and research before they arrived, but there have been plenty of times where I've told the family at their initial visit that "X disorder is something I haven't seen in y years/since residency. We'll start with A, B, and C, and I'll take a deep dive through the literature to see if anything has changed since the last time I saw/read about this."
And, yes, I know there are docs who don't do this, who double down and go into ego protection mode, because they feel challenged. I'm not talking about them. They may be great for bread and butter issues or their pet interests, but not for anytime else. A good doc will take the time to read up, consult a specialist, or directly refer you to a specialist for the things they don't know or aren't familiar with. They might not have all the answers, initially, but they'll get you the answers.
Why are there doctors that dont know what Ehlers Danos Syndrome is and other rare diseases? Meanwhile, as a chronic pain patient, I dip my toe into the disabled community and learn more in a week than doctors learn in all of graduate school.
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rainix13 · 2 days ago
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It's Okay
masterlist
inspiration was this by @mommyownsmee
Natasha Romanoff x Agent!Reader
words: ~2k
description: after a few exhausting days and not talking about it, it gets too much to comprehend at last
Genre: angst / comfort (mostly comfort I think??)
Warnings: angst, mental breakdown, not really edited/proof read
It's litteraly 7am and I haven't slept yet, my brain is cooked
I don't know if anything makes sense
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Sighing you entered your shared appartment, bringing the groceries straight to the kitchen.
"Baby?" the familar voice came from the office and despite your exhaustion immediately a smile makes it's way to your lips.
You hung your coat over a nearby chair and before you could even turn around, two strong arms wrapped around your waist.
"Hey Natty" you murmured, letting yourself melt against her. "How was your day?"
The redhead grunted in response and adds "Paperwork and recruits."
You chuckled, knowing exactly what she means. You had them just before they went to training with Natasha.
"How was your day princess?" She asks kissing your shoulder.
You turned around , letting your arms hanging loosley around her neck "Was goood"
"Mh, you look exhausted" she stated between to short kisses but you shooke your head.
"Not more than usual" You lied with a smile. It's an easy lie, a casual one. Not necessary but you didn't want to ruin her good mood. And Natasha bought it.
After another quick peck you pulled away completely. "I'm just gonna take a quick shower and then I'll make dinner, okay?"
"Okay, I'll finish my work 'til then. What are you cooking?"
"Pasta!" You shouted over your shoulder, already halfway in the bathroom.
As the hot water runs down your body it felt like everything just washed off. The build up exhaustion faded as you stepped out of the shower, leaving you with something raw. Something that made you balance so close to the edge of a mental breakdown even you began to notice it. You sighed, somehow hoping to get rid of that weight that makes it hard to breath. You looked up, in the mirrior meeting your own empty eyes. Natasha was right, you do look exhausted. Like something drained the last bit off energy from your body. And if you were honest with yourself, you'd know that that's also exactly how you've felt for the last few days. But instead you've drowned that in even more work and exhaustion so it couldn't surface. Not until now at least.
A familiar dizziness formed in your head and you had to sit down. Have you eaten today? Yes, you had a sandwich for lunch. Or was that yesterday? No. Nevermind, it was yesterday.
Stop that's not relevant, you want to breathe. Why did that exhaustion suppress everything else? Why does this come up now? Can your emotions chill for a second? Can your mind please chill the fuck out? Why is this happening now? You need to get up again. You've got things to do. Why do your thoughts feel so loud. Just shut u-
"You alright angel?" Natasha's concerned voice pulled you out of your own thoughts immediately. You eyes snapped up to her standing in the door looking down at you on the floor.
"Uh yeah. J-just sound zoned out a bit" you desperately tried to safe it but your voice was far too shaky to appear convincing. Even if you're voice didn't give you away, you're trembling hands probably would have.
Natasha said nothing, instead she walked over, pulled you on your feet and into a hug. Instinctively you bury your head in her chest, holding in to her as the dizziness came back almost immediately.
Your senses all focused on her now. The faint scent of vanilla mixed with her shampoo. How you felt her breath against your scalp, her hands on your back and in your hair. You heard her breathing. You closed your eyes, trying to let her presence ground you. Tried to let everything overtune your own thoughts.
"What's wrong hun?" the pure softness and concern in her voice were the last straw to make everything fall apart.
Hot tears almost immediately streamed down your face, you buried your face in her neck and clutched onto her shirt. An unwanted sob escaped you and before you realized it would happen, your body collapsed against the redhead. She reacted immediately, picking you up, holding you as close as possible.
Natasha carried you to your shared bed, laying down with you still in her arms. Her heart broke at how small and helpless you seemed to be. How broken your sobs sounded and how desperately you hold on to her. Like you feared she mights disappeare if you'd let go.
"Just breathe, I'm here" she whispers. You try to follow her deep breaths and after a few tries you're starting to get there. Your breathing was still short and shaky between your sobs but less ragged now. "Overstim-" your voice broke off into another sob and Natasha tries to pull you even closer. "It's okay, I understand" You knew she did. It's not the first time you were at the verge of breaking down because people were just too much in that moment and it wasn't the first time Natasha was there to keep you in touch with reality. It was the first time you had a breakdown, especially that bad tho. The first time she had to see you like this and you didn't appreciate that. She wasn't supposed to see you like this, you're supposed to be there for her when she needed you.
While she got up and left you for a second, you went down that spiral, getting stuck in a cycle of 'Get your shit together' and 'She deserves better'.
But a moment later, before you can get too far with those thoughts on your own the redhead came back, helping you to put on one of her hoodies before she pulled you back into her embrace.
"What do you need angel?"
"B-being alone-" you choked out and Natasha immediately retreated. Not rushed but without hesitation until you held her back and she met your pleading eyes. "w-with you? i-if than m-makes sense" you asked unsure. Part of you didn't want her stay, didn't want her to see you like this. But the stronger oart craved the feeling of safety and acceptance. Craved the way she could ground you and keep you in touch with reality. She nodded, getting back to you "Don't worry, it makes sense. We can be alone together," she reassured you. She was glad you wanted her with you. Glad you trusted her enough to be so openly vulnerable.
You were hit immediately with gratitude but when you tried to speak again you're choking in your own sobs again, slowly growing annoyed at your own inability to exist. Natasha noticed the way your muscles tensed at the failed attempt, she could almost feel you slip away again.
"shh it's okay. You're safe with me"
"I-I it's just too much suddenly. The past days were so exhausting a-and I don't know. I kept it going and e-everything went okay a-and no one noticed" you finally managed to say.
"I've got you, don't worry" Natasha said, pulling you even closer to her, if that's even humanly possible, for a short moment.
"It's just so sudden. I- I-"
"shh it's okay. Just breath, mkay?" she created just enough distance to look you in the eyes "In and out, yeah?"
You take a shaky breath, hands still holding on to the redhead's hoodie as if your life depends on it.
She just holds you tight, one hand softly combing through your hair.
She knows that you don't actually want to talk right now, that words don't make it better. She knows that hearing things would just add to the chaos in your head. So she just holds you, letting you breath her in until you calmed down again. You close your eyes and relax. Her even heartbeat, her scent, her hand on your back. All of her grounded you and finally shuts down the thoughts in your head. You knew she wants to say that she loves you and that it's alright. And she knew that you can feel everything she didn't verbalize.
You let yourself dwell in the feeling of safety as your own heartbeat normalizes again.
"Thank you" you mumured softly, taking a last deep breath before you untangle your legs from hers and want to get up.
"Where are you going?" Natasha holds you back and searches for your eyes.
"Making dinner, Nat. Haven't cooked yet" you explain and try to loosen the grip the redhead has on you but to your surprise she pulls you back, and wraps her arms around you, your back now pressed against her.
"It's okay, Nat. Just dinner" you softly argue, your voice still hoarse from crying.
"Stop being my over independent strong girl for now okay? I love you. Let me take care of you today" she pleads, her nose burried in your neck. You hate worrying her, adding to the stress she already has.
You sighed in defeat and nod "Okay. But I'm fine, really"
Natasha just huffed, picked you up and throwed you over her shoulder. "Nat let me dooown"
But she shook her head "mmh no, your my little princess" You can hear the satisfied smile on her lips, making you giggle. "Nattyyy" You try to wiggle out of her grip, still laughing and finally she obliges. "Okay, okay stop moving"
She sits you on the counter, pressing a quick kiss on your nose. "You stay here, I make some pasta" leaving no room for an argument.
So you just watch her, sitting on the counter, dangling your legs. How she moved so effortlessly. In a strange way her calculated but simple movements like chopping onions or just stirring the sauce made you calm down even more. You began to feel the slight burn in your eyes from crying, the actual softness of Natasha's hoodie and how ut smelled exactly like her. The stress began to fade, letting you breathe again.
After you ate you end up in bed again, watching some show you didn't really pay attention to. Your head was buried in Natasha's chest still craving every bit of comforting, grounding touch. "I love you" you whisper so quiet you're not sure Natasha could hear it. Any maybe that wouldn't be so bad because you know that she's able to detect the silent apology with it
But of course she did. She pulled you closer once again, her hand finding it's way to your hair combing through it. "It's okay angel. Just...try not to overdo yourself, okay? You don't need to handle everything on your own" You sigh at the statement, burying yourself deeper in your girlfriends hoodie. "But I should. Especially when it's just fixing something that's my fault anyway. And it's okay. I can handle it ...most days" Your breath turned hot and tears welled up in your eyes again. "I should." You add, angry at yourself.
"That's not true" The redhead pulls away and cups your cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact.
"No one can handle everything on their own. We're a team, remember? You help me all the time. Patch me up. Mentally and physically. So why wouldn't I be here to do the same for you?"
"Because you already have your own stuff to deal with..." You mumble hesitantly. You don't want to be a burden. You don't want to annoy her with your stuff. Not when you can or at least should be able to handle it on your own.
Natasha sighs, pulling you back in. "Did or would you ever not listen to me or try and help me just because you have your own things?"
"No..." you reply not sure how to explain that it's different then.
"Will you tell me when it gets too much next time?"
You take a deep breath, tightening your grip around the redheads waist. "I'll try"
"Thank you angel"
"I love you" you said, this time not saying it as an apology.
"I love you too" Natasha answered.
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Stranger Things on Capitalism and Communism:
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So, i've seen some discussions about Stranger Things message about politics during the years, that started in season 3. To start, i need to make it clear that the series has a really strong anti-communism message, but i don't really think they're really giving a pro-capitalism propaganda, i mean, they're kinda doing it, but as y'all know, American Democrats know how to make it enjoyable for both sides.
How the American Military and Government is depicted:
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They're pretty much show as "for the greater good" trope, they'll do horrible things with a supposed "good intention", but at the end it shows that they are just power hungry, but those characters have more depth, this make them more "likeable", like Brenner, Sullivan and Owens (YES, HE AIN'T FOOLING ME WITH HIS EMPATHETIC PERSONA).
How the Soviet Union is depicted:
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So now it starts to get more complicated; in season 3, all of them are 99% stereotypes, while in season 4, i think they can be described as 50/50. Anyway, most of them are shown as sadistic, power-hungry people who don't care about anything else, so this makes them less likeable, besides Yuri and Dmitri (Enzo).
Season 3 Communism Satire:
I don't think there's much to say here; they're just power-hungry maniacs that at the same time can be smart (building a fucking military base on an American shopping underground, even though they were helped by Larry), and then be extremely stupid and ignorant. At the end, they don't even explain what the ideology behind them is, so they are just generic villains.
Season 3 Capitalism Satire and Alegories:
America without Erica
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I will start with a scene where many people seem to not see the purposeful irony. Erica, as a black kid, saying that capitalism is great is clearly a joke. She says that on capitalism she will do a job and get paid as she deserves, but she ends up entering on an enemy military base and almost died all because of A ICE CREAM, that at the end she didn't even receive it and didn't either receive the recognition for saving the city either. It can be compared to Black soldiers that fought in wars for the USA and then got discarded.
Rats on The Mall
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Now talking about the Starcourt Mall. It's an alegory about consumerism in a capitalist society; the kids would go there thinking it would be more fun because of the things you can pursue, but at the end it was their company that made it really enjoyable. Mike buying something for Eleven was a great way to show it; he could make peace with her by simply talking to her like he did with Will (this has something to do with Mike's character and byler, but this ain't the point of this essay, lol).
The Blonde Pig
There's Larry and the small business closing to discuss too; i see the meaning as the greedy capitalist going against the people and letting the enemy get a hold of their nation.
The Nationalist Lovers
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Murray and Alexei are the classic nationalist enemies that understand that they can live together blah blah blah... it's easy to understand. But the scene where Murray explains the July 4th games is kinda confusing, he makes a critic about the way of America using people happy hour to make the rich even more rich, and the poor even more poor, and says that all these are rigged, you can't win them, then Alexei wins one of the games and then Grigori (Soviet super-soldier) kills him. That scene is kinda weird to me, was the meaning that at the end capitalism is the right way and then the "commie pig" had to kill the traitor, or it was to show that at the end you really can't win, because this system will make you go down on a way or another??? It's up to you that is reading to decide.
Brand New Flavor
Lucas and Mike Coke's ad is another scene that is weird; it's obviously a way of the show making propaganda for one of their sponsors, but there's a criticism about the product evolving but at the end being the same shit.
The Consumers
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Now this that i will say can be seen as a stretch, but the Mindflayer consuming people could be seeing as this system consuming everybody's souls, until they turn into a literal zombie only following orders. And when they have no use anymore they're just consumed entirely and turn out to be just one of the victims of the system. It shows that even the most reactive and violent people can't outdo this force, as we can see with Billy and Nancy's bosses.
Henry and his (not so) New World:
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As we know, Henry was tired of the way the world functioned and wanted to create a new one. There was a bigger force (time) that stopped everybody from fulfilling their potential. What he doesn't understand is that his world will end up being the same; the powerful will control it just as our world, and honestly, this is what Henry want to happen, but what he doesn't understand is that he isn't the most powerful being there, it's the Mindflayer, and he will use Henry until he isn't valuable like the rest. At the end, Henry is just another victim of the same system.
So basically:
"I AM THE CAPITALISM, HENRY!!!"
The Mindflayer said laughing.
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Me at the Cinema:
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My Conclusion:
They make a rant about both sides, but the anti-communism part is way more explicit and more stereotypical, while the anti-capitalism part is more subtle, and Americans from generation X were the target audience at the beggining of the series, and we know that they aren't the most clever to see behind subtle things or even what is already obvious.
(this is a remake of a post from my old account)
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