#I try to be as eloquent as everyone else but I end up just sounding like a fucking feral witch from the left 4 dead series crying by myself

[mxnzies]

absolutely love the terror fandom some of the most unhinged thirst ive ever read is always hidden in the notes

[nevadancitizen]

do you think you could write something where könig and/or ghost (separate) were nearby or watched reader try to participate in a conversation but constantly got ignored or talked over to the point where they just kinda go silent and walk away? they end up comforting the reader and just trying to be a shoulder to cry on while they talk about their frustrations because this is something that always happens to them <\3

it doesn’t have to be too long and you don’t have to worry about getting to this request too quickly!! thank u for reading anyways :3

-> THE SOCIAL WEAK LINK

synopsis: rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost's asses. rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

word count: 2.2k (~1.1k each)

characters: ghost, könig, awkward! reader (lol)

notes: (rings dinner bell) hey friend.. this req has been sitting since september.. im so sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)

-> GHOST:

Debriefings were always boring. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and just wanted a cold shower and a warm bed. But what else encompasses the military so eloquently except unnecessary misery?

And to add to the misery, some rookies had tagged along to the mission. “On-the-job training,” Price had prattled off as he read the mission statement. He had given you and the rest of the 141 an exaggerated look that screamed If these rookies compromise the mission I’m going to tear the Lieutenant Colonel a new one.

The rookies (with callsigns Quest and Cable) were nice enough. They weren’t given the opportunity to burn off their energy on the mission like the 141 – they’d stayed behind as backup while the 141 went in to deal with the bad guys. As a consequence, now they’re in the debriefing room, chattering away like parrots.

Ghost could fall asleep in the chair he was in, if Cable and Quest were a little quieter. He looks at the next spinny chair over, where you’re sitting. You’ve got your knees tucked to your chin and are silently tracing the patterns in the wood table with a fingernail. Every now and again, you glance at the rookies, but ultimately turn your eyes away.

You were always just a bit too awkward to fit in with the rest of the military. Either too quiet or too loud; you rambled too often and your voice cracked when you did. You slipped through the cracks, into the quiet background with Laswell and Shepherd. You’re one of the powerful hands that move the pieces on the chessboard, but not a well-recognized one. Well-recognized within the 141, yes, but not on a wider scale. 

Ghost can tell how you’re feeling by the obvious emotion on your face. It’s yearning – an emotion Ghost knows well.

His eyes sweep the rest of the table. Gaz is fucking around on his phone, probably making a new Pinterest board, while Soap leans over his shoulder and watches him. Price is in another room, talking to someone important. Ghost couldn’t really bring himself to care about who. 

The entire room is bogged down with an unmistakable tiredness that goes right over Quest and Cable’s heads. Really, the only sound in the room is their voices and, intermittently, yours as you try to inject yourself into their conversation. Each attempt is met with pursed lips that barely count as smiles and something along the lines of “Yeah. Anyway…”

Eventually, Price pops in, leaning his head on the doorframe. The brim of his hat crinkles and his nose wrinkles up in disdain. He sighs. “Everyone out. Lieutenant Colonel wants this meeting room for herself. We’ll debrief later.”

Quest and Cable pop up like excited teenagers and head for the door, continuing to talk. “I’m soooo goddamn hungry. Hopefully the mess hall has something good…”

“Hey!” You practically jump from your chair, your eyes on the rookies. “Um, I heard that they just restocked the vending machines? Do you wanna maybe chick – I mean, check – them out with me? They’re just down the hall.”

They both tense, and Quest looks over their shoulder. They smile awkwardly and exchange a look with Cable. “Uh… maybe another time?”

You visibly deflate and rock back on your heels. “Yeah, totally. See you later.”

They both nod tersely and exit. You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. You sit back in the spinny chair and it wheels backwards from the force.

Gaz shuts his phone off and groans while Soap sucks air through his teeth. 

“Not your best effort,” Gaz says. 

“I know,” you say. 

“Maybe you’re not just compatible with rookies?” Soap tries.

You roll your head back against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I know.” 

You sink further into the chair, then stand. “Whatever. Let’s clear out. Price will have our heads if we don’t.”

Ghost tails you out the door. You don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there (even if his footsteps are extraordinarily light for a man of his stature). 

“Pompous pricks, ay?” Ghost says. 

You stick your hands in your pockets, hiking your shoulders up by your ears. “Wish they were a little more personable. Wish I was a little more personable.”

“Why, you’re plenty personable.” Ghost laughs gruffly at his own joke as he nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Asking to go ‘chick out’ the vending machines is a personable interaction?” You relax your arms and knock your elbow against Ghost’s. 

“I thought it was funny,” Ghost says. “Even if it was just a slip-up.”

You sigh, but keep up with Ghost as he walks. “If it was funny, then why didn’t they laugh?”

Ghost thinks for a second. “Maybe they just don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You don’t have a sense of humor,” you jab.

Ghost scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Then make me laugh,” you say. “Make me laugh right now.”

Ghost breathes in and exhales slowly through the fabric of his mask. “Well… do you know why the Cold War was called the Cold War?”

“The supernations fought using proxy wars,” you say. “America and the USSR never really went head-to-head.”

Ghost sighs pointedly. “Yes,” he says, “but also because of the icy-BMs.”

“The what?”

“The Cold War?” Ghost repeats. “Icy?”

“ICBM stands for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.” You stop midstep, looking at Ghost with a disbelieving smile. “Ghost, don’t tell me you don’t know what ICBM stands for?”

“No, it –” Ghost sighs. “Icy sounds like IC? Icy-BMs?”

You burst out laughing, waving Ghost away like he was some form of stupid. “Ghost, seriously? You don’t – oh my God!”

“I’m not a fucking knob, I know what…” 

Ghost can’t bring himself to correct you as he watches you laugh like that. It’s a bit too loud and there’s a snort in there somewhere, but it rings true and warms Ghost’s heart. He doesn’t mind being seen as dumb for a minute if you’re able to warm his heart with a sound as nice as that. 

-> KöNIG: 

König nearly always hates going undercover. 

More often than not, the higher-ups stick him in some ill-tailored enemy armor and send him in with nothing but a less-than-encouraging slap on the ass. They know he’ll make it out alive.

On this mission, he feels a little more comfortable. It’s more than obvious you’re not. 

You and König are camped out on the edge of a ballroom, sitting together at a small table. You’re dressed in a fancy outfit that just screams decadence, and it fits your role well – the adult child of some rich, cigar-chomping tech baron. König is playing the role of your bodyguard, dressed down from his usual military garb in a plain black suit (with kevlar padding) and a balaclava.

You cross one leg over the other at the knee and look down at your flute of champagne as you swirl it. The bubbles rise to the surface and pop as the pale liquid settles. 

“I hate this,” you say under your breath, just loud enough for König to hear. 

He nods along, but straightens up when a small group of people approach the table. There’s an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a girl, maybe fifteen. 

“Hi, sweetheart!” An older woman croons at you. “You’re Bohumil Silvester’s youngest, right?”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter and put the champagne flute on the table. “Yes, I am. And, um – and who might you be?”

“I’m Laila Matthews.” Laila checks over her shoulder at the people accompanying her. “This is my daughter, Adine, and this is my husband, Keaton.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile politely, but König can scope out of the corner of his eye that you’re gripping a bit of the fabric of your too-fancy outfit like you’re meaning to rip it off. You spout your fake name to Laila with a cheeky “But you know that already, right, ma’am?”

Laila is utterly delighted with your carefully constructed persona. She throws her head back and laughs, one hand on her chest and the other finding Keaton’s shoulder. “Oh, Lord. Aren’t you just your father’s child?”

You nod and, once again, smile politely while exchanging side-eye glances with König. He’s just as confused as you are. 

As soon as Laila recovers, she’s talking again. She gestures vaguely in König’s direction. “And who is this? Security, for this casual meeting?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” you say. “You can never be too careful these days, with all the laws about concealed carry and everything.”

“Well, I’m 57, and I’ve only had security for a few occasions,” Laila says. 

“You’re 57?” You bark, a little too loud. You can feel a few heads turn your way and Laila’s stare turns withering. König’s shoulders shake as he coughs into his fist.

“I mean, um, you’re 57?” You try again, quieter. “Because you don’t look it. Like, at all. Ma’am.”

Laila’s tone is flat when she speaks. “Right.”

“I meant, um, you look younger? Uh, anyway.” You smile nervously, then pick up your champagne flute and take a sip. “I love your family’s outfits! And the, uh, the way they match.”

Keaton leans in and grabs a hold of Laila’s shoulder. He gets up on his toes to whisper something in Laila’s ear. It’s hard to hear over the ambient noise of the ballroom. Laila nods and Keaton continues to whisper.

“Um, Laila? Mrs. Matthews?” You try to get her attention, to no avail. She keeps nodding to Keaton’s words like you’re not even there.

You stand and turn to Adine. “Adine, right? Tell your mother it was nice speaking to her.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Adine nods absently, her eyes somewhere else on the ballroom floor. 

You toss the rest of the champagne in the flute down like it’s a shot and stand from the table. You make eye contact with König and nod towards the French doors that lead towards the balcony. 

People don’t notice as you and König step out. The sky is clear, yet the night is still young enough to be starless. 

“Christ, I hate rich people,” you mutter under your breath. 

König moves and leans his back against the wrought iron of the railing. His eyes sweep across the small area, then he nods. “Yes. That interaction was less than pleasant.”

You lean against the railing next to him. “Why was she even talking to me? And what did she mean, ‘Aren’t you just your father’s child?’ Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am… not sure,” König says. “Maybe it’s part of rich people code?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You huff out a laugh, then sigh. “I really wasn’t the best pick for this mission.”

“What do you mean?” König asks. “You are perfectly capable of fighting.”

“No, the, like…” you sigh again. “The talking part? I’m not fit for that. Never been a good conversationalist, never will be.”

“You are conversing with me right now, no?” König gestures between you and him. “This is a conversation. You are doing fine.”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “You saw me. I shouted her age out in front of everyone.”

König hums. “To be fair, it was a bit of a shock.”

You glance up at him and laugh, a pretty smile gracing your features. “Shut up.”

“But it was!” König insists. The fabric of his balaclava puffs out as he laughs. “I had to cough to cover up my laugh. I nearly had to excuse myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” You shove his shoulder half-heartedly as you turn and look out over the railing, at the courtyard. König follows your gaze.

The courtyard is illuminated by ambient lamps. Paths are laid with bricks, with neatly trimmed grass in between each one. Exotic plants from every corner of the globe line the pathways, some of their flowers closed for the night. A fountain is in the middle, with water spouting out of the trumpet of a cherub statue. A few people surround the fountain, talking quietly with drinks in their hands in the low light. 

You lean close to König and point at one of the people – a man in a navy suit. “That’s the target. Mister T. Kilgore.”

“So he is,” König says. He pats under his armpit, checking his sidearm. “We need to get moving. I do not like the way Laila’s husband was talking to her. Suspicious.”

You nod and send König a small smile. “We’re still going with the plan, right? I’m going in and playing drunk?”

“Of course.” König mirrors your smile even though you can’t see it. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to practice your conversation skills.”

You scoff, but you’re still smiling. “Yeah, if I’m planning on interacting with everybody as a drunk idiot for the rest of my life.”

“I’m serious!” König insists. “More likely than not, you’ll never see these people again.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re right.” You knock your elbow against König’s. “Let’s give them a show.”

[noopienoopiernoopiest]

Logan Tremblay - #10 - Doux-amer (Bitter-sweet)

For Day 10 of Fic-O-Ween (much thanks to @noots-fic-fests and, always, @lumosinlove).

Pairing: The Cubs Rating: T - sexual situations vaguely referenced.

CW: Food

Description: Logan's first night and last night at the Dumais's as their billet.

---FIRST---

There was a hum coming from somewhere.

Logan had tried to ignore it, but as the night crawled on, it felt as though it was drilling itself right into his head.

He rolled again, flattening pillows that still smelled like maman’s favorite lavender laundry soap. How long before the scent faded? Based on prior experience, Logan put it at around a week, maybe two if he was lucky.

He wanted to sleep, usually never had a problem falling asleep, but most days weren’t like today.

Today had been…

A lot. Today had been a lot. Mostly good, somewhat bad, all of it confusing. Seeing Finn after so much time apart had been almost everything he’d dreaded, almost everything he’d hoped for.

Finn had pushed for everything Logan couldn’t give him. Finn asked for everything Logan refused. And then, Finn gave. He always gave and gave and gave, and Logan took. Logan was always taking and taking and taking. They fell into it again like old dance partners, hating their marks and hitting them anyway.

How long could either of them bear it? How was it going to be? Logan and Finn—friends, never talking about any of it? Logan at Finn’s wedding, staring at the back of his head over Alex’s shoulder as he married someone else, trying to remember to smile so the photos weren’t ruined? Years of interviews asking about their “special chemistry” on the ice and having to laugh and deflect forever? Would Logan settle down with some girl with auburn hair or brown eyes and make comparisons, unfair for everyone involved, hoping one day with a sufficient lack of oxygen it would die (and praying silently in the depths of the night that it never did?)

Finn still had the ability to make Logan feel more things in the space of one evening than he’d felt in a year. He somehow managed to make Logan’s world burst at the seams and narrow down to a pin prick at the same time. The world felt wider when Logan was with him, exuberant and curious and open.

All of it more, and Logan was helpless to do anything other than watch him. With Finn, the world gave him its best show—brighter colors, gorgeous days, the whole world ecstatic at his existence—but all of it sidelined and passed over because what was the rest of it when there was Finn?

And the thrum of it, still singing in Logan’s veins, made sleep elusive.  

He got up, finally so overheated by his overwarm sheets and pillows he couldn’t bear to try any longer. Maybe if he got out of bed, he could leave his racing thoughts to linger behind as well.

The house was quiet and dark as he made his way down the hallway to the kitchen.

He’d just finished a sandwich when he heard it.

There was rustling from the living room. He wandered down the hallway and saw the Dumais’s youngest daughter (Karley? Kelly?) reaching for the TV. Her dark hair was up in pigtails, and she had a soft-looking pink blanket in her hand.

“I wanna watch McStuffins,” she said imperiously. She’d been shy at dinner, ducking behind her mother’s arm and only at the very end of the night had flashed Logan a small smile.

“Uh?” Logan said. Always so eloquent, Lo, an unwelcome voice said in his head. It sounded like late night study sessions and a little like a city Logan had never been to.  So much for his escape plan.

“McStuffins!” she said again, snapping him back to reality.

Thank God for early childhood technology exposure. Logan managed to get the television on and, with some fairly impatient instructions from his helper, turned it to the right show. She made an enthusiastic noise and clapped before settling down and watching, Logan essentially forgotten. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. He hesitated for a moment before making his way upstairs. One of the bedroom’s doors was open—a spare, and another had unicorns and ponies plastered all over it. He figured maybe the one at the end of the hall was right.

He knocked softly and waited for a long, awkward moment. He was almost ready to turn around, when a bleary looking Dumo opened the door.

“Logan?”

“Désolé, sorry to wake you,” he said quietly in French. “But your daughter…”

Dumo frowned for a moment before he sighed. “Is Katie up again?” He asked. Katie.

Logan nodded.

Dumo looked over his shoulder and closed the door near silently behind him. “Come on, then.”

Logan followed him back downstairs and found Katie, thankfully, still watching her show.

“Papa!” She said, jumping into Pascal’s waiting arms. 

“Mon chou, we have talked about this.”

“I know Papa, but it was scary in there,” she said, frowning at him. Dumo kissed her forehead and gave Logan a smirk over her head.

“Ouais. Well, alright then. Come. Let’s watch.”

She settled back down on the floor, and Logan wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“Right, I’ll just—”

“You’re welcome to stay, Logan.” Logan didn’t want to go back to the near silence of the room or the screaming in his head.

They stay like that for a while, neither of them talking in the partially dark room.

“It’s difficult to adjust sometimes. Sirius, well…Sirius struggled with sleep for some time,” Dumo eventually said. There was more to the story than that, it was obvious. Equally obvious that Pascal wasn’t going to talk about it.

“I’ve been sleeping away from home for a long time,” Logan said. Even college hadn’t phased him. Some of the guys got homesick, but not Logan. He missed his family, sure, but he’d been living apart from them for years already. It didn’t seem to bother him. Not like Finn, who’d more than once begged to sleep in Logan’s bed, just to be close to someone. At first, Logan hadn’t had the heart to refuse him. Eventually, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse himself.

“What is it then? You went to see Harzy. The two of you are close, yes? He’s been talking about it nonstop for weeks.”

“Yeah, best friends,” he said weakly. The words felt like bile, the rest of it trying to climb out of his throat. The fucking love of my life. The center of my whole world.

“It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to see one another, I imagine.”

“Yeah. Busy.” Busy ignoring emails until they stop coming, phone calls until it stops ringing, text messages until they sounded like strangers again. Cold turkey.

“A lot to catch up on, then. No wonder you’re still excited.”

Logan hummed in response, replaying the day over and over again. They’d agreed. Friends was better than nothing. Losing all of him was too much to contemplate. He was afraid having half of him may hurt twice as much.

Your fault! Yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault.

“But, it can sometimes be complicated. Good things aren’t always all good. Sometimes doux-amer?” Pascal continued.

That sounded right for them. Bitter, bitter Logan. Impossibly sweet Finn.

“Yeah, doux-amer,” he said, throat tight.

Pascal didn’t say anything else and eventually, Katie came over and climbed, surprisingly, into Logan’s lap and fell almost immediately to sleep.

“Finally. She does that. Full steam ahead and then she hits the boards,” Pascal said.

“Should we?”

“Non. Goodness. If you wake her up, she’ll never go to sleep again. I’ll stay with you. Let her sleep.”

Logan rested his head on the back of the couch and synched his breathing up with her deep, steady breaths. Before he knew it, the calm quiet of the room and Katie’s weight had him nodding off himself.

“Sleep, Logan. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

---LAST---

Logan’s life started again almost overnight.

In the space of a week:

Sirius Black had been outed.

Remus Lupin had been outed.

Sirius had almost ruined his relationship with Remus Lupin, and therefore, a considerable portion of the team.

He’d sobbed. Cried his heart out like he hadn’t since he was a little boy.

He’d gone to the fucking All-Star game. Played in the fucking All-Star game.

He’d knocked sense into Sirius’s head, a man he idolized like a hero, loved hard like a brother.

He’d come out to him.

Oh, and Finn and Leo loved him.

Leo and Finn loved him and sent him heart emojis almost as often as they sent devastating videos of themselves doing things to one another that made him desperately wish they’d had better timing with all of this.

Things that had seemed impossible only days ago now were past him, had transformed from possibilities to history. Something fundamental loosened in his chest, and Logan felt like he was taking full breaths for the first time…possibly since the day he’d walked into Harvard’s rink on the very first day of Freshman year and met his fate.

He’d been home for two days from the All-Star game and they’d talked about what life was going to look like now. It was hard for Logan to process any of it over the glowing, startling sunglow that seemed to pour out of the two of them. He’d thought he’d loved Finn before. Had, surely. Nothing hurt that bad if you didn’t love it first. But he knew now that it was only a fraction of what it was to have him, to know that Logan belonged to them, that his place was with them. It was heady.

He'd almost forgotten his things until the clothing in his suitcase had run out.

“Dumo,” he said, after practice. Dumo had looked up at him with steady eyes even as Logan hesitated.

“What is it, mon fils?”

“I’m-well, merde. I’m moving out.”

Dumo didn’t seem surprised. “Finn?”

Logan wasn’t sure exactly sure how he meant that.

“Ouais,” was the answer either way.

“That’s wonderful, Logan. You’ll be much more settled there, non?”

---

Logan had come the next day to get his things. Celeste was in the kitchen with an excited Katie making brownies from the smell of it.

“Lolo!!!” She shouted, leaping into his arms.

“Hi, Katie-dee, what are we making?” He asked, rolling up his sleeves.

He’d meant to have dinner and go home, but as the evening slipped by—Adele and Marc arguing over whose turn it was to wash the dishes; Celeste humming to herself as she packed up food and grinning when Dumo came up behind her and pressed against her back before he sneakily grabbed another roll and ran off snickering at the swatting of her dish towel—he couldn’t bring himself to go.

Change of plans. I want to stay the night. Just one last time.

Both of them respond almost immediately in support. And as soon as he was done, he powered off his phone.

“Now then, Katie-dee, we weren’t nearly finished with our story.”

Story was a loose word for it. It had been going for weeks now. It involved Barbie dolls and a giant pink and purple castle and at least half of the available stuffed animals in her room all dragged down into the living room.

“Alright. We were fighting the scary dragon,” Katie reminded him. Logan nodded dutifully. “And we’re trying to save the prince in the tower.”

“Ouais, I remember now.”

He spent the evening with her pretending to be knights fighting off the scary dragon…and the pit of snakes no one had seen…and the evil wizard behind it all…and finally rescued the prince.

“Papa said you’re moving out like Siri did.”

Logan nodded. He’d been dreading this part the most.

“But he said you’ll still be around, right?” Katie looked nervous, fiddling with one of other Barbie’s plastic blond hair. “Just like Siri?”

“Of course, Katie-dee. I promise.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to live with Finn and Leo.”

Katie considered this for a minute and nodded. “I like Finn.”

“Yeah? Me too,” Logan admitted. It felt nice to say it out loud even in this innocent context.

“And Leo is the tall one, right? With the hair?” she held up the Barbie she’d been fidgeting with earlier, the one with bright blond hair.

Logan laughed. “That’s right.”

“Hmm. Okay, then,” she said, nodding again. “They look like they could use your help.”

“Oh yeah? You think so?”  

“Ouais. You never know who might need saving, Lolo. Maybe you can be a knight for them, too,” she shrugged. Logan hadn’t been much of one in the last few years, but maybe she was right. Some things were absolutely worth fighting for.

“Could be.”

Katie gave a big yawn. “I’m tired.”

“Want to watch Bluey?” He asked.

Katie nodded, holding her arms out for him to pick her up.

He’d just got her settled into the couch beside him when Dumo flung himself down beside them. They made it through one episode before Katie was asleep.

“You’re a smart man for escaping, Logan. Too much chaos.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Please. Like you’d have it any other way.”

“C’est vrai,” Dumo said, “Still you’ll have so much peace and quiet.”

“Are you kidding me? Harzy’s like a giant kid. He makes at least four times as much mess.”

“Please. Like you’d have it any other way,” Dumo said, tossing his words back at him. He wasn’t saying anything that absolutely confirmed it, but Logan could tell he knew exactly why it was that Logan was moving in with them mid-season.

“Ouais. C’est vrai.”

“I’m happy for you, mon fils.”

“Me too, it’s just…”

“Doux-amer?”

Logan laughed, remembering.

Katie snored softly from his shoulder.

“Non, not this time. I think it’ll just be sweet.”

Pascal grinned at him. “You know? I think so, too.”

And it really was.

[bestworstcase]

@tumblingxelian tag from here

#OK I'd legit love to hear your take on her interactions with Oscar

oh i think about the interrogation scene a normal amount

something i want to underline before diving in is the conspicuous discrepancy between the eloquence and spoken delivery of salem's soliloquies in V1/V3 (internal monologue) versus her dialogue (verbal speech). it's especially noticeable in juxtaposition with ozma's V7 soliloquy versus ozpin's dialogue, where no such discrepancy exists; oz talks the way he thinks, he's an excellent orator and even in casual conversation he's well-spoken and charismatic.

whereas salem... thinks eloquently and often poetically ("nature's wrath in hand, man lit their way through the darkness..." or "it's true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary..."), but speaks with minimal rhetorical flair. her speech is also sometimes a little stilted or just very, very deliberate in a way that does not sound natural; and there's times—her conversation with cinder in V5 is a particularly noticeable example—where what she says circles around what she means.

"working with bandits? keeping ruby alive? what's the point? we're strong enough to take what we want by force!" / "never underestimate the usefulness of others; take leonardo. he was one of ozpin's most trusted, but now... hm. you will have the power i promised you when the time is right, but remember that it comes with a cost. if ruby rose has learned to harness her gift, you must take care to protect yours. there's only so much i can do to aid you."

<- its like. instead of just saying it, salem says examples supporting the idea she's trying to articulate. if a conversation were a math problem, salem shows all of her work but doesn't give the answer. and she does this A LOT.

none of the other characters in the story are like this—which means it isn't, like, a problem with the writers failing to write cogent dialogue. it's a deliberate character choice for salem specifically.

anyway, prior to the interrogation scene, salem only appears in contexts where she is either addressing her subordinates or—in V7—giving ironwood the terms of her siege. on two of these occasions, she get interrupted with unexpected new information (ozpin is back, ruby rose used the lamp) and in both cases, salem abruptly ends the conversation and either kicks everyone else out (V6) or leaves (V7).

and i think that's worth noting in relation to this scene, because the interrogation veers off script very fast and we get to see salem, um, Trying Her Best.

so!

as far as salem knows, oscar is gone. she expects—prepares for—a hostile and painful confrontation with ozma. when oscar wakes up, she's huddled against a pillar in a shadowy corner with an arm curled around herself and her head low, staring fixedly at conjured shadows of her dead children. she is Not Okay.

but when she speaks, her tone is conversational. almost cordial, once she's past the withering sarcasm in "my long lost ozma... found at last." it's affected! it's not real! she's reciting words she planned and probably rehearsed beforehand—which i think is likely the case for most of her little speeches. she's a poor speaker.

except... it's oscar. salem twigs that he isn't ozma the instant he talks, stares at him for a couple seconds without no visible reaction except that her mocking little smile fades, and:

snarls and grabs his face and yanks him down to get a better look at him—the mask just shatters. there's lots of ways to interpret this, but i'm inclined to take it as salem recognizing that this isn't ozma and then second-guessing that instinct and grabbing him because she needs to be absolutely sure.

"you can pretend, boy... but you're not fully him. not yet, at least." her tone shifts on every clause, from almost a growl to relieved to just sort of resigned. and then she drops him, exhales, steps back:

and just... stands there gazing into the middle distance for a couple seconds. like—oscar being here was not a possibility she even considered until it happened and upon finding herself in this situation her reaction is basically, "...um."

and then she's like

well... :)

perhaps you and i can have a better working reLaTiOnShiP.

...

...

oscar, >:[

was it? :\

laying aside the dire understatement of referring to what happened between her and ozma as a bad "working relationship," you can like. hear. the crash box crashing in her head as she says this. her tone swings from sweet and gentle to sardonic to coldly indifferent—and then she follows this by swerving right back into cordial neutrality. hrgkhsj her affect just goes haywire

and i think that happens because this is just so far out of expected bounds that she can't figure out how to say what she needs to say to get herself back on track. her speech smooths out again as soon as she segues into her questions, because she knows what she planned to ask ozma and she can tailor that to oscar instead.

but getting there? dial-up noises.

the hysterical part though is that it's really obvious this awkward verbal jumble isn't indicative of internal confusion or uncertainty, in that salem knows what she's going to do—her chosen tactics are clear and entirely coherent. she:

calms herself down and backs off.

states her intention to play nice if he cooperates.

both implicitly and explicitly differentiates him from ozma to indicate she understands he's his own person and can and will set her rage and bitterness with ozma aside to treat oscar fairly.

which is precisely what i meant in the OP, about salem having the necessary grasp of human nature to be—in theory—a formidable manipulator but lacking the social dexterity and charisma required to put it into effective practice. like, tactically this line of attack is very shrewd, but her awkward, erratic delivery cuts the legs out from under it because she sounds utterly insincere.

⭐️ she tried.

continuing on—salem first explains the context regarding what she needs to know about "the beacon relic" (sidebar, does... salem even know what it is? this is the only one she refers to this way. the lamp, the staff, the sword, and "the beacon relic"), all in a fairly amicable tone except for:

"if i know my ozma" <- she's implicitly positioning herself and oscar on the same 'side' against ozma. this follows from her deliberate rhetorical separation of oscar from ozma and also the basis of her strategy in coaxing this information out of oscar. the reason she's taking the time for this little prologue is not to help oscar understand why she captured him necessarily. she's (trying to) set out the rules of the game she is playing. trying to, because she's doing her showing-her-work-but-not-giving-the-answer thing again.

here's what she means:

"perhaps you and i can have a better working relationship. oscar, was it?" -> i can work with you because i know you're not him. "if i know my ozma, he has used some means of deception to hide [the relic's] location differently from the others." -> ozma lies. i despise him for lying to me. i expect you to prove to me that you're not like him in this specific way. "i need to know where it is." -> i want an honest answer.

salem knows he isn't going to tell her where ozma hid the relic, if oscar even knows that information; she doesn't expect or even want him to tell her that yet, necessarily. rather, this is a test. she wants to see if oscar will try to deceive her.

"that's not something i know about." he passes.

immediately, salem rewards him for being honest. "of course." she removes her hand from the hound's shoulder and moves away.

"he would keep that one guarded as long as possible." she also takes the opportunity to reinforce that she sees oscar as a separate individual and insinuates that ozma is actively keeping secrets from both of them.

and again, this is a cunning approach because:

oscar is scared and uncomfortable. he quite clearly anticipates that salem is going to get angry and hurt him as he says he doesn't know the answer. so when she accepts "i don't know" without hesitation and physically moves out of his personal space, it creates these feelings of surprise and relief.

that emotional reaction is the key to salem's strategy here. first she tells oscar that she will be reasonable if he cooperates, then she clarifies her expectations ("don't lie.") she asks a question knowing full well that he either can't or won't answer it. he says "i don't know" and braces for retaliation, but instead salem goes "okay" and turns down the heat. she's demonstrating through her actions that she's going to play fair.

"how about something easier, then? the password for the lamp."

she doesn't expect him to tell her this one either. not yet. it's another test that builds from the first. she's established that "i don't know" is a safe answer (as long as it's true). what salem's fishing for him to say now is "i'm not going to tell you that."

why? when she walked away, she left oscar hanging from the hound's jaws. salem lowered the heat—she didn't turn it all the way off. the point of all this is to teach oscar how to play her game, and the last rule he needs to know is that "i won't say" is also a safe answer. had he given her that answer, the hound would have set him down and withdrawn to lay down in the entryway.

only then would the game truly begin. the idea is to draw oscar into something like a real conversation and gradually get him comfortable saying things like "i don't know" and "i won't answer that question" by cultivating trust. once that rapport exists, it becomes really easy to turn the discussion around by asking oscar why? why not take the risk of trusting her with this or that information? after all, she's been nothing but polite and reasonable. does he truly still believe she's the evil monster ozma made her out to be? she gave him the benefit of the doubt... can't he do the same for her?

salem wins by convincing him she's a person he can negotiate with. that pulling this off would be the ultimate fuck-you to ozma only makes it more satisfying.

of course, that's not what actually happens. (partly because salem talked a circle about the "don't lie" rule and oscar—who hasn't spent the last four volumes seeing that his woman yells and flips tables when she's lied to—didn't pick up the hint.) instead, he tries to deceive her again and salem lashes out.

<- the physical violence gets all the attention from the fandom, and i do understand why, it's nasty and protracted and made to be viscerally unpleasant to watch, but. it's only a placeholder, something salem does while she considers what she's going to do—and say—to hurt him in a way that will never heal.

ok.

salem gets that oscar isn't ozma, didn't ask to become him, and feels desperate to retain his own identity distinct and separate from for as long as possible. she knows how ozma's reincarnation works, what this curse does to his hosts. it's not hard to figure out that it is a horrifying, traumatizing ordeal for the souls he's "paired" with. this is why she makes such a particular point of differentiating between oscar and ozma.

"the lies come out of you so easily." ("if i know my ozma, he has used some means of deception...")

why does she caress his face like this? to make him remember her like ozma does. "like-minded souls, indeed." you can pretend, boy, but so much of you is him that you remember even this.

the torture is just the preshow. this is the cruelest, most devastating thing she could possibly do to him, and salem knows it. she gave him a pass on pretending to be ozma, and he threw the second chance back in her face by lying to her again; she's furious and upset and she wants to HURT him.

this is how porous the boundaries between you and him have become. this is how close you are to being him. this is how little of you there is left to lose. like-minded souls, indeed.

like.

she does this to fuck with his head and it horrifies him so much that oscar spends the remainder of this arc actively choosing to endure being hazel's literal punching bag rather than let ozma take over or try to escape using ozma's magic. in 8.6:

OZMA: I’d like to express again that this is my burden to bear, not yours. His grudge is with me. OSCAR: No, it’ll be even worse. He’s holding back with me, I can tell. OZMA: I understand. I do. But you’ve done so much already. The least I can do is give you a break and try to get us out of here. OSCAR: We can’t leave yet.

they go back and forth, oscar proposes trying to flip hazel, ozma agrees it's worth a try. when hazel comes in, ozpin goes "oscar, please"—and because oscar doesn't respond, it's ambiguous whether he gives ozma control or if ozma shunts him aside again as he did at haven academy.

either way, the next we see of oscar after the interrogation scene is ozma entreating oscar to let him take over and oscar going no no no, that'll make it worse, no i don't need a break, i've got a plan, no no we have to stay here. and while his reasoning is cogent... this is a fifteen year old boy who's spent the whole day getting beaten up by a guy three times his size, and he actively wants to stay and be tortured more rather than let ozma front for a while.

and then in 8.9:

OZMA: I think this plan to divide may have run its course. It’s time we start thinking about a way out; not having our cane certainly limits our options, so… OSCAR: No! I don’t like what happens when we use magic. Every time we use it, I can feel us merging faster. I'm not ready for that.

the deeper truth gets spoken aloud.

this is not a new thing with oscar—his emotional core has always been existential dread—but framing it in this way, set against hours and hours of brutal torture that oscar insists is the less bad option, represents a massive spike in the intensity of his horror.

because salem Did That.

anyway the interrogation scene is great. 10/10.

[imakemywings]

A+ Library Review: "Loveless" by Alice Oseman

This is not technically the first installment of this, but it is the first time I'm making it A Thing. A+ Library is my new segment where I review books with asexual and/or aromantic characters.

Previous review: The Circus Infinite by Khan Wong

The book description for Loveless is:

Georgia has never been in love, never kissed anyone, never even had a crush - but as a fanfic-obsessed romantic she's sure she'll find her person one day. As she starts university with her best friends, Pip and Jason, in a whole new town far from home, Georgia's ready to find romance, and with her outgoing roommate on her side and a place in the Shakespeare Society, her 'teenage dream' is in sight. But when her romance plan wreaks havoc amongst her friends, Georgia ends up in her own comedy of errors, and she starts to question why love seems so easy for other people but not for her.

The character: Georgia Warr, aro/ace

So let's get to it.

TL;DR: Thumbs up from me

Since Loveless centers entirely around the aroace experience, I will not be breaking the review into sections like last time.

Loveless is a coming-of-age story about Georgia's first year at college. It begins with her graduation party out of high school and ends with her establishing plans for her second year of college. It's very slice-of-life, with a focus pretty much exclusively on Georgia's interpersonal relationships and her personal growth.

Oof. Okay. Loveless was at times hard for me to read, and not because it's bad, but because it hit so close to so many of my own experiences at Georgia's age. There were so many times I felt myself going "Oh yeah, I remember that. Yep, there's that phase. Yep, I told myself that story too. Yep, yep, yep."

Just like Georgia, I considered myself someone with "high standards" who would inevitably break the romance and sex barrier when I got to college. This book hit on so many of my own insecurities from that phase, some of which I still struggle with at times, but I will try to be objective about this review nonetheless.

Loveless does a wonderful job of unfurling Georgia's journey, from the start where she considers herself "just like everyone else" but a bit slow on the romance front, to realizing she's Different, through the difficult process of starting to accept that difference as part of her.

Unlike my last review, Loveless earns its found family by showing how Georgia and her friends grow together and apart and back together--with additions. Everyone in Loveless is on their own journey--and at different stages of it. From Pip who's been out as lesbian since she was fifteen and eager for a first girlfriend, to Rooney who's long suspected she's not really straight, to Georgia who's only just grasping the words to describe her experience.

And sometimes they hurt each other! One of the complaints I had about One Last Stop was how all the relationships (protag's mom aside) are entirely fluffy feel-good. Loveless eschews that by showing how friends can hurt each other even when they don't mean to, and how people have competing needs, and how past struggles can impact your present. But in spite of that, it's clear how much all of the main cast grow to care for each other over the course of the book, such that the ending is truly heartwarming.

The prose suits Georgia's voice, which is to say it sounds like an 18/19 year old girl is speaking. That means it's not very eloquent, and it can be blunt and cringy, but in a very believable, realistic way to me.

Georgia's coming of age isn't limited to just her orientation. At the start of the book, she is painfully alien to herself. Georgia doesn't seem to know anything about herself, as if she's spent all her adolescence wrapped in a thick blanket glued to fanfic and refusing to interrogate any of her own feelings--which is probably what happened. It means that she has a very rough time when she enters college. Unlike many such stories, Georgia is not jumping at the bit to be on her own--in the moment when her parents dust off their hands and prepare to leave her with her boxes of stuff in her new dorm, Georgia contemplates begging them not to leave her.

Loveless really captures a sentiment I experienced with asexuality, which was the sense of being left behind by your peers, of feeling childish and immature. Desperate to shake the feeling, Georgia makes an admirable effort at "putting herself out there," doing all kinds of things she doesn't really think she'll like, but wants to give a try, just in case. In some cases, she bombs--but in others, like the Shakespeare Society, she really blossoms. I thought the book makes an excellent picture of a lost young person beginning their adult life with no real idea of who they are, and trying to solve that problem.

Perhaps most painful of all, Loveless captures Georgia's fear of not knowing what her future will look like now that whirlwind love affair-->marriage-->2.5 kids is off the table. It's particularly difficult for her because Georgia so desperately wants that romance--except that for her it's something of a mirage: as soon as it gets close--like when a boy tries to kiss her--all her interest is gone in a flash. Georgia wants to want romance and sex...but she doesn't, really. Even when she's accepted her orientation, she really struggles with what this means for the rest of her life, which also felt very relatable. Partnering up is seen as virtually inevitable, and as the book points out: life is scary! It's way less scary when you have a Person! Therefore, part of Georgia's insecurity and uncertainty focuses a lot on what her future is going to be, and it's not a question she's solved by the end of the book. But it is one she's becoming less afraid of.

There were a few things that struck me as odd, like Pip's claim she had never "fully connected" with friends who aren't Latina, a sentiment echoed by Sonil's refusal to accept his asexuality until he met other Indian people who also used the label...obviously there are certain things that friends who don't share your racial or cultural background may not fully understand, but the idea that you can't connect with anyone who doesn't share your same racial make-up is...uncomfortable, I think. But these remarks pass quickly.

Additionally, the way Rooney and Georgia berate themselves for "experimenting" comes off unnecessarily harsh to me...part of dating is learning whether you're compatible with that person. And yeah--sometimes that means figuring out if you are or are not attracted to them, or their gender more broadly. There's nothing inherently wrong with starting to date someone you're not sure you're into, and then realizing you aren't.

The book also beats Georgia's fanfic reading to death a little, in my view. It gets mentioned way more than it needs to, and citing specific ships and tropes a) is going to date the book like hell; and b) is irritatingly obtuse to anyone who doesn't know what "Stucky" or "flower shop AU" is.

If you're deep into the ace/aro online community, this book may come off as retreading a lot of well-trod ground for you. There's nothing especially ground-breaking in it. But if you're not so connected, or you're new to the aro/ace community, or you just want a book that still-coming-out you needed, I think this is a great pick.

Next review: The Bruising of Qilwa (TBP)

[dreamerdoesthewritething]

[Did anyone ask for Part 3, aka the sequel to this and this? No? Too bad, you're getting it, anyway.]

Leon has been staying with you for over a week now. It's nice having your best friend in your life every day again, nicer than you thought it would be. This isn't the first time he's lived with you. After his family was killed, your parents brought him home, where he stayed until he decided he wanted to go back to his house. He was a teen when he made that choice. Your parents had managed to gain ownership of the Kennedy house for that exact reason.

He had moved out of that house a couple of years ago, selling it with the help of your father so he could live somewhere smaller with less horrible memories. Turned out his nightmares were worse in the place where the murders happened than anywhere else. Made sense, but he didn't think about that when he chose to return. He wanted his own place, a kind of teenage dream. What teen didn't want a house free from rules? But it didn't work out in that nightmare colonial. He traded it for a little townhouse and put the rest of the money in savings for future use.

That townhouse was his new home, the only one for him...until now, when he found he couldn't go back.

You had returned to work just yesterday. Coworkers offered their condolences, having heard you suffered a terrible loss which led you to take a leave of absence for a month. Some asked who it was. They had their reasons. Prayers, curiosity, sympathy, etc. You managed to get away with, "I don't wanna talk about it," for now, but you had a feeling it wouldn't work for much longer.

The thing is...Leon asked you to keep him a secret. He doesn't want anyone to know he's around. Even if that means everyone still thinks he's dead, he has to remain hidden. It's quite the paranoid request, but he wouldn't make it for no reason. You made this promise. You intend to keep it, no matter what.

Your parents have stopped by once during this week to check up on you. Leon hid in the guest bedroom. That's where he stayed whenever you weren't home. Hell, sometimes he'd be there even when you were, just in case. Can't be seen, or at least has to try to be seen by as few people as possible.

His behavior was like a fugitive, a man on the run. But he's a cop. He committed zero crimes. It's his job to arrest the criminals, not be a criminal himself. You try to imagine Leon doing anything illegal. The worst you can see him doing is shoplifting a candy bar from a gas station, and even then only because he was holding it and forgot he hadn't paid for it yet.

So what is he hiding from?

Maybe it's the press. Surely everyone would want to know how he managed to escape from Raccoon City as one of a handful of survivors of both the viral outbreak and the nuke. He didn't need that shit. Not now, not ever. It reminds you of when reporters kept trying to bother him after the murders of his family. Your mother and father shielded him from that as best they could, eloquently but firmly telling the journalists to fuck off. Leon was a little boy, not a news story. He always told your parents how thankful he was for how much they took care of him then.

Now it's your turn to do the same.

You're unlocking your front door, coming back from work at the end of the day. You feel something hard press against your back as a hand suddenly covers your mouth to muffle any sound you might make. Struggling is instantly impossible. Someone else finishes opening the door and you're forced inside.

Next thing you know, you're tied up on the floor. There's strangers in your house with guns. You're still reeling from being assaulted in the first place, so the shock and fear of your situation hasn't quite caught up to you yet.

"Where's Leon?" one of the armed men demands.

"Leon? Who--?"

"Don't even think about it," the man growls, getting up in your face. "You know exactly who the fuck Leon is. We wouldn't be wasting our time with the likes of you if we didn't know that."

Your brow furrows. "I was gonna ask who the fuck you are, for your information. I'm not so fucking stupid as to try to play dumb with dickheads who attack me in my own goddamn home."

The man backs off, but not enough for you to feel even a little more comfortable. The fear still hasn't taken hold. You press on. "Now, I don't give two shits who or what you work for, but as an American, I have rights! Rights that have been violated the moment you put your damn hands on me! If you think this won't come back to bite you--"

"Your rights don't matter in this," the man says. The look in his eyes has you shutting up, because it's clear if you keep talking, he will hit you and he will take great pleasure in doing it. "Look, princess, I'll make it real simple for you. We need Leon. You tell us what we wanna know, we get outta your hair, and it'll be like this never happened. You get that? Cuz trust me, I don't wanna be here any more than you want us."

"What are you going to--?"

"None of your damn business."

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to be strong. This man is intimidating, but he's talking about your best friend. He's with other men and they're all armed and they want your best friend. If this guy knows anything about you, he should know you won't put Leon in danger just to save yourself. You'd never.

"Just kill me. I ain't telling you shit," you say.

It doesn't have the impact you want since your voice is shaking and you can feel tears stinging your eyes, but it's the truth. You won't talk. You won't give up Leon to them. They've disrespected you, threatened you. They're hunting Leon for some reason. You don't need to know the reason, you decide. You can die without knowing, as long as it means Leon is safe.

Before the scene can escalate, your hero swoops in for the rescue, bypassing all the other armed men to put himself between you and your immediate threat. You wish he hadn't. Now they'll take him away from you to do...whatever it is they wanted with him. If he just took this opportunity to escape...

"Mr. Kennedy," the man says. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

"Yeah, I know," Leon says in a tight voice. "But that's on me, not her. She's got nothing to do with this, alright? Leave her alone."

"You brought her into this. What have you told her?"

"Not a goddamn thing! She's just given me somewhere to stay! That's it! She doesn't know anything!"

It's true. He hasn't told you anything about Raccoon City or the month he was gone after that. He was protecting you by keeping that to himself. Now he's protecting you again. The desperation cuts right through to your heart. Just who are these guys that they've got Leon Scott Kennedy so scared for you?

"Even if I believe you, which is a fucking huge if...I have my orders. We're to take both of you in for questioning." The man shakes his head as the other guys grab Leon and pick you off the ground. "This wouldn't have had to happen if you'd just stayed on base, Kennedy. You have no one to blame but yourself."

You're pushed into an unmarked but clearly military vehicle, still tied up with an armed man on either side of you. Leon is likewise sandwiched in the seat across from yours, facing you. The leader of the squad and another guy take the front and passenger seats. Then you're off to...who knows where?

Leon is seething as he looks at you. It's not because of you, but rather what you've been subjected to by these people. The men are unbothered by his glare. They don't care about his feelings or yours. They'd rather not be here, anyway.

"Why?"

He's speaking through gritted teeth in a dangerous tone you haven't heard before. All the other people in the vehicle look at him.

"Why is she still restrained?" Leon demands. "There's no goddamn reason for it. We're literally fucking trapped in here with you. Untie her. Now."

Despite the odds being very much against him, Leon's unspoken threat is not ignored. The men at your sides undo the bindings around your arms, finally setting you free. Your arms are stiff and sore, but you'll get over it. Well, if you make it out of whatever this is alive you will.

Without warning or care about potential consequences, Leon takes your hands in his. His stare is still so intense.

"Did they hurt you?"

You shake your head. You don't want to talk, not after everything that's just happened, not with these strangers around. Besides, you get the feeling you're going to be doing a lot of talking in the near future, whether you want to or not. His hands give yours a reassuring squeeze and doesn't let go.

"I won't let them do anything to you, I swear."

It's a little late for that, you think. You suppose he simply forgot the word "else" after "anything" since he didn't see how these guys introduced themselves to you. He's also forgetting they have weapons while he doesn't. He's hardly in any position to be making promises to protect you or even himself.

You're both so fucked and the worst part is you have no idea why.

-_-_-_-_

You face hours and hours of questioning from government men, stuck in a tiny humid room with a single bottle of water and no food. They won't even let you out to use the restroom, forcing you to hold your bladder. They want to know anything and everything Leon has told you since he showed up at your doorstep. You tell them over and over. Your story never changes. It's never good enough, though.

What are you supposed to do when they refuse to listen to the truth?

You're tired. You have to piss more than you ever have in your life. You don't even know where these government agents have taken you. Any patience you had before is gone. Your tongue hurts from all the biting you've done to keep from crying. They don't deserve to see your tears. They're not worthy of that victory. You just want to go home. Why won't they let you?

You can't take it anymore. And you just scream. A guttural, screeching sound with no words. All your stress vocalized in one long, distressing noise. Your captors don't know how to react to this, so they just yell at you. Threaten you with physical harm if you don't stop. They're already harming you by keeping you here.

The shrieking is the last straw. Other people come rushing into the room, chewing out your captors for holding you in this shithole for so long. One of them, a woman, ushers you out to the nearest restroom, apologizing for not intervening sooner. She assures you that you'll be free to go and will be compensated for this. Ah, hush money. At least that's what it sounds like.

What about Leon?

She can't say. Or won't say. It's not her place. She isn't allowed. Another secret. You feel sick. You want to go home, but you don't want to go without knowing he's okay.

What she can tell you is they're not going to hurt him. He's a valuable asset to America in a new war and they're not about to do anything that might cost them his loyalty. You're pretty sure they already crossed that line when those men held you captive in your own home, but you keep that to yourself.

After your much-needed potty break, you're escorted into a much nicer room with air conditioning. You're provided with food and drink while they arrange for someone to take you back home. Should you be concerned about possible drugs in this stuff? Eh, fuck it. Hunger and thirst overrule paranoia right now.

When your way home is ready, Leon is there with your escort. Stoic, but his eyes burn with a harsh blue flame. If he could burn this place to the ground, that'd be the ignition. Some of that rage seeps into his expression when he looks at you. The redness around your eyes and your sniffling give it all away. They made you suffer. They made you suffer, because of him.

It's just you, Leon, and the driver. The car they're using is expensive, but it's also a boring black government-typical vehicle. You and Leon climb in the backseat. You haven't said a word to each other since your reunion. Frankly, you're done talking for the day if you can help it. You don't feel safe to do so, anyway. This car is probably wired to record anything and everything you do.

You're so, so tired. You can't keep your head up or your eyes open anymore. You fall over until your head meets Leon's shoulder, using it as a pillow. He lets you. You deserve this rest. You deserve so much. You deserve so much more than to have a friend like him, a friend who shows up when you're grieving his alleged death and pulls you into such a mess.

He doesn't bother waking you when the car pulls up to the house. Instead, he picks you up and carries you inside, laying your sleeping form on top of your bed. He takes off your shoes, then tucks you in more properly. It can't be comfortable sleeping in your work clothes, but he's not about to strip you or change your clothes while you're unconscious. Not without consent. You've been violated enough today...More than enough...Way, way more than enough.

Now that you're back where you belong, the weight of today starts taking its toll on Leon. He can't rest yet, however. He knows your home has been messed with and he'll be damned if he lets them keep their bugs and wiretaps and shit just because he's here. They know that. He told them as much when they confronted him for running away from the training camp. They've already forced his hand. They already used Sherry's safety against him. They're not getting to use his best friend, too.

Minding your peace, he scours every itch and crevice of your house for their devices, tearing the electronics out and stomping them under the heels of his boots. He checks everywhere twice, then a third time, just to be sure. It all ends up in a trashcan, which he tosses outside until he can dispose of this shit more permanently. It's the least he can do.

He returns to your room, taking a seat on the corner of the bed and looking at you. You're restless in your slumber. It's to be expected, he supposes. He lets out the heaviest sigh, closing his eyes. You shouldn't have had to go through any of the things those assholes put your through. He shouldn't have put you in this position. What kind of friend is he?

And when he thinks about that month...

He was beginning the training the government "asked" him to join, a task force for fighting B.O.W.s and other miscellaneous issues. Any connections to the rest of the world were prohibited. They wanted him to themselves, believing he had no one. He let them believe that, just like they let everyone who ever cared about him believe he perished with Raccoon City.

They let you believe he died.

A month of mourning.

For him, too.

He had to come to grips with the incident on his own. So many people met once and lost shortly thereafter. People he never got the chance to meet until after they were no longer human. The mysterious woman in red whose fate he wasn't sure of. Zombies. Monsters. Death. So much death. More than he ever thought he'd see in his lifetime.

You didn't have to see any of it. You didn't need to. You always had an active imagination. What horrible images had you tormented yourself with when you thought he was dead? How much did you cry for him? How many nights did you lose sleep? Just how did you grieve for him, the little boy you comforted during the worst times of his life turned into a man you thought became nothing but ash?

Just thinking about it churned his stomach. Neither of you asked for this. Neither of you wanted any of this. Neither of you deserved what you've been through since he decided to join the RPD.

Your eyelids flutter, then open halfway. He can't stop himself from gently cupping your face.

"Leon," you murmur.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No...You haven't slept."

A small smile. "That obvious?"

"Yeah...Look shittier than usual."

"Oh, you're one to talk."

You grab his arm and pull him down with you, his chest against yours. Your arms wrap around him. As if you're actually strong enough to keep him there if he didn't want to be. Your grip is rather lazy since you're only half-awake.

"Go to sleep."

"Is that an order, ma'am?"

"Mhm."

He shifts his position to get more comfortable. You're unconscious again already. He doubts he'll actually fall out as easily as you are right now, but he'll stay here regardless. Can't risk waking you up, after all. It'll be day soon and you certainly don't need to know that.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

[a-kookie-with-my-tae]

Befallen: Chapter 3

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Music Producer!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: none, really.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for your patience with me. I'm so happy to finally getting this out after having to completely rewrite this chapter from scratch. Bear with me as I try to get these chapters out as soon as I can. Thank you!

Masterlist

Aesthete: a person who has or affects to have a special appreciation of art and beauty.

I tap my pen against the wooden desk as I focus on the sheets in front of me. The words written on the page are a little sloppy, their connotation that of a newcomer to lyricism. But, the meaning in them shows through no matter the novice technique in which their written. I cross out a line and rewrite the words, not changing the meaning behind them but allowing the line to blend harmoniously with the rest of the verse. 

Jimin stopped by the studio first thing before practice, the notebook sitting on the floor from where he slid it under the door before rushing to meet the other members. I smiled when I saw it. I should've known better than to expect anything other than the fact that he would stay up writing. After our conversation yesterday, he seemed too inspired to do anything but that. 

I will admit, although the wording isn't as eloquent as an experienced lyricist, Jimin's handwriting is that of a scholar. Next to his, my hangul looks like chicken scratch, something a kindergartner would write. Then again, I am newer to writing in the language, still stumbling when I even speak it. But, I have improved drastically in the half year past. His writing is more like the Korean version of cursive, his hands used to the language from years of experience as his letters blend together beautifully. While I am mainly writing the English version, as it's my first language, he decided that he wanted to take the lead with the Korean version. When he proposed the idea, I visibly sighed in relief. Usually when writing for the other artists in the company, some of the other producers tend to take the lead on the lyrics since I am a novice when it comes to the Korean language, but versed enough to help Jimin with editing his. 

My heart breaks a little at the words on the page. His fear of losing those close to him shows through as I read them. His sad, almost desperate, connotation bleed through the pages even through his crossed lines as he rewrote the lyrics over and over. I can't wait to show him what I've done with it, the song already playing through my head in a constant loop. I can already imagine how great it will sound with his soft and breathy vocals. 

A knock on the door brings my out of my little bubble. I turn toward the entrance of my studio, curious to see who could be here. Jimin's practice isn't set to be finished for another hour or so. 

But, nevertheless, it is still him that stands in the doorway. 

"What are you doing here so early?" I ask, curious as to how he is here at the moment. He's never been known to cut practice of any kind, if anything he stays later working past when everyone else leaves. 

"Let's just say.... there was some tension. So, Joon-hyung decided to end it early today." He says with a slight smirk on his face. I don't know how, but for some reason I feel as if I'm the reason for the so-called tension that he speaks of. 

"Do I even want to know?" I cross my arms and lean back in my chair as I question him.

"Probably not." He shrugs his shoulders and walks further into the room, coming to stand beside me and look at the notebook sitting on the desk behind me. 

"Alright then, I'm not even gonna ask." I swivel my chair around to face the desk once again, watching Jimin's face as he reads the words on the page, examining my rewrites with the utmost focus and attention. 

"Wow... I thought my lyrics were good. But.... damn." He turns his head to meet my eyes. "You've really got some talent, Y/N." 

My cheeks flush at the compliment, not used to being recognized for it. I avoid his eyes as I look back toward the notebook. 

"It's nothing, I just reported it a little bit to better match the rhythm of the song. This way, the meter of the stanza will match the beat a lot better. But, Jimin, you did amazing. What you wrote here... just..." I look at the man standing beside me. "Wow." 

He flushes at my words, his hand coming to rub the nape of his neck as he straightens his spine. "I just felt kind of inspired, I guess."

He smiles shyly at me as I grin at him. I fake punch him lightly in the shoulder, lightening the mood. "Hey, give yourself some credit. You did good. Own it."

He laughs lightly, loosening up a bit. "Yeah, yeah. Okay."

"No, say it!" I persist. "Say 'I did an awesome job at writing these lyrics and I am oh so very talented'." 

He scrunches his face in a mic of amusement and awkwardness as he tries to laugh off my words.

"Whatever. So can we go to the recording booth? Try this out?" He asks, waving me off. 

I let it go, deciding that I've proven my point enough to not push it any further. "Yeah, let me just put the track on the flash drive real quick and we can head over."

While working on his lyrics, I was able to finish the backing track. His words inspired me and helped me find the finishing touches I really needed. All that's left is to finish writing the lyrics, record it, and mix it all together. 

I click my mouse as I drag the file over to the drive, preparing to transport it to the recording booth that a lot of the other producers and I share. Although I have my own studio and microphone for recording backing vocals, for the artists we like to have the best recording set up. I pull the drive from my computer and grab the notebook, standing from my chair as I turn toward Jimin. 

"You ready?" I ask, knowing that his nerves are high at the moment, the anxiety of recording the raw emotion in which these lyrics are written showing on his face. 

"As ready as I'll ever be." 

I wrap my arm around his as we march out of my studio and down the hall.

"Watch me go, soak me all night long, away... So the morning gets drunk and never comes."

Jimin's soft vocals ring throughout the studio as I stare at him in awe. Seeing the words on paper is nothing compared to hearing them in such a mellifluous way. He peels off the headset and places it around his neck, a smile shining on his face as his eyes sparkle. 

"How was that?" He asks me through the microphone. I press the button on the desk so he can hear my response in the speakers throughout the inside of the recording booth. 

"Jiminie, that was amazing! First take, wow. Let's keep going and finish up the rest of the pre-chorus and then we'll take a break." My cheeks hurt from how big I've been smiling for the past hour. After doing some minor rewrites after we arrived and settling on exactly how we wanted to vocal lines to sound, we finally started recording. I rewind the track a few seconds, Jimin's previously recorded vocals playing through as he secures his headset back on and closes his eyes in concentration. 

"I fade away in the loud music, I'm getting used to the cliché story like a drama. I'm getting used to it. Have I come too far to find the me you used to know? Yeah I know, you know, I know..." 

Jimin never ceases to amaze me. Although he has a beautiful deep chest voice, he prefers to sing in the higher tones. That fact fits beautifully with this song. But, maybe one day I can convince him to showcase more of his lower vocals. The proud smile I wear never leaves as he looks at me with excitement, his eyes forming crescents so slivered I wonder how he even sees what's in front of him. 

He sets his headset on the small table next to the microphone, his half empty water bottle sitting next to it. I look back toward the screen to start the playback of what all we've recorded thus far as I hear the door to the recording booth open and shut softly, near-silent but quick footsteps near me as Jimin rushes to see the screen. 

We haven't yet added the whispers in the beginning, so the track still feels a little empty as it starts. But as soon as the vocals come in, it feels complete. A weight lifts off my shoulders at the sound, a relieved sigh leaving me as my chest feels light. I close my eyes as I smile, letting out a breathy laugh. 

"She's saying 'Baby, don't think about it. There's not a bad thing here tonight. Baby, it's fine if you have to leave, but stay with me just for today.'"

We listen for the next minute or so and I pause it right before the chorus comes in. 

"Oh my God! Jimin!" I jump up and throw my arms dramatically around him, causing him to almost loose balance and brace a hand against the desk to keep standing. He laughs as he regains his balance and wraps his arms around my waist. We stay like that for a little while, rocking slightly back in forth as we bask in the feeling of accomplishment. 

I lean slightly and place my hands on his reddened cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact with me.

"I'm so proud of you! That sounds amazing!" Jimin looks down bashfully at my words, but the smile grows on his face, his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.

"Thanks... You did most of the work, though."

I smile fondly at my best friend. 

"Jimin, don't discredit yourself. I just helped you bring your vision to life, and you're doing the same for me." He looks back up and meets my eyes once again. "I'm so glad that I shared this with you. This is coming out better than I could've imagined."

We stay like that for a few moments more before a knock breaks the moment. We look at the doorway simultaneously. 

"Am I interrupting something?" The silky smooth voice carries throughout the room, his words making my cheeks flush. His strong brows are pushed together into an expression I can't really put my finger on. Confusion, disgust, anger... jealousy? No, it can't be. 

Nonetheless, Jimin lets go of his hold on me at the presence of his bandmate, taking a step back to put some space between us. 

"We just finished up recording a good chunk of the song." Jimin explains. "I'm actually really proud of it."

Jungkook's face softens as his brows shoot up, disappearing under the black bucket hat on his head, the rings on the brim clinking together as he tilts his head and leans against the doorway. 

"Really? I didn't even know you were working on something new." His eyes dart over to me momentarily before moving back to Jimin. "What is it?"

I clear my throat before I speak up for him. "That song that I was working on when you came into my studio yesterday. I showed it to Jimin and he marked his claim on it the second it started playing." I laugh lightly as I avert my eyes over to my best friend, pride shining all throughout my features. "He wrote lyrics for it overnight, and we've been putting it together since your practice ended."

Jungkook smiles wide as he walks over to Jimin, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's amazing, hyung! I can't wait to hear it." 

"Thanks, Kook. I can't wait either." His eye crescents come back as he smiles mischievously. "But, you gotta wait until it's done. No spoilers!"

The bunny man pouts at his elder. "That's mean. But, fine. I was coming in here to record some stuff I'm working on, but I'll wait until you guys finish up. I didn't know that anyone was in here today." He pulls out a flashdrive from his pocket, holding it up to prove his intentions. 

"That's fine. We were just finishing up anyway. I just gotta make sure everything saves over then we can get out of your hair." I turn back toward the computer, leaning over the desk to move everything back over to my portable drive. A few seconds later and I unplug it, turning back toward the two men.

They seem to be having a secret conversation, whispering over in the corner of the room, too quiet for me to hear. Jungkook makes eye contact with me and I crease my brows in confusion. His eyes widen and he clears his throat, cutting off whatever Jimin was saying. 

"Where are you guys off to?" He asks, turning his gaze back toward Jimin.

"The dance studio. Wanna blow off some steam before we go and get ready for recording later."

Jimin walks back over to me, placing his elbow on my shoulder and showcasing the slight height difference. Honestly, this man is just so proud that he's 3 inches taller than me and uses every opportunity to show it off. Then again, being surrounded by giants all day probably doesn't help his height complex. 

"Oh, you dance?" Jungkook directs the question back at me. 

"Yeah... I used to study contemporary back in the States. Sometimes it nice to just... let go. You know?" I shuffle uncomfortably at the admission. He seems perplexed as he takes in the information, seemingly hooked on every new detail he can learn about me. 

"Anyway," I silently thank Jimin for breaking the tension "we are heading out. Good luck on whatever you're working on, Kookie!"

He all but pushes me out of the room, hands pressing against my shoulders in a rush to leave to recording studio. As we exit the room, I glance back over my shoulder, only to find a doe eyed Jungkook staring. We make eye contact one final time before we turn to go down the corridor, a red flush creeping on his cheeks. 

Jimin moves so that he's no longer pushing, but walking alongside me. I glance over at him only to see him wearing a knowing smile as he glances back. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything. 

As we turn into the next hallway, I hear the soft sound of a symphony staring to ring from the room we just left. And for once, I let myself smile about the boy with the bunny teeth responsible for it. 

[vickyvicarious]

God preserve my sanity was told like a legit prayer in the audio!!

It's like. Preserve my sanity. Let me die sane and leave the real me behind. Let me fight the madness clawing at the edges of my mind until I can preserve my soul in these pages and help someone else. And because it's not a story about Individualist Hero conquering all, he manages to save his sanity until he could no more. And then, mad and at the mercy of kinder souls, he waits for his love, whose name was the very first thing he could manage remember, to come to him.

I have been trying and failing to come up with an eloquent response to this for days and days now. Well said. God.

I can't get the image/sound of Jonathan praying into his diary out of my head. There's something here in finding faith and in his desperation and determination keeping him going when he doesn't even have hope anymore, because he wants so badly to live, to leave this place, to return to the one he loves. He just keeps going and going and pushing himself through as long as possible, but as soon as he is out of immediate danger he just can't anymore. He's been running on fumes for so long already. But it's okay, because even if that diary (diary as sanity, diary as soul, diary as ability to help prevent this happening to others) is all he has when he leaves, he still has it. He lost so much else but he managed to protect the most important things long enough. It's okay that he couldn't keep going longer, because as soon as he managed to get out he wasn't alone anymore. The kindness and care of strangers bookends his castle experiences and ensures Jonathan's survival. This novel isn't about an Individualist Hero at all, it's about bonds that bring people together, trust and love and support, and when Jonathan simply can't carry the weight of everything he's experienced any longer, others are there to support him. Even before Mina physically arrives. But she was there all along...

The thought of Mina gave him the strength to stay alive long enough to make it back to her, she was the first one he could speak about, his first clarity in the depths of his madness. And she accepted him, as changed and weakened as he was, with immediate and complete joy. She accepted his diary, the gift of his horrible experiences (diary as sanity, etc--), and treasured and protected it and him. Never betrayed his trust but only sought to help him, and once she learned what he'd been through she believed him without hesitation. Sought to validate him immediately, to reassure him that the sanity he scratched and clawed to preserve was indeed real - and yes, thus his nightmares too, but he did it. He made it out. And his record achieved what he wanted all along, it helped to protect others from Dracula and his like, it helped them to end him forever. (But not alone. None of them could have done it alone.)

His prayer is granted, more than granted because he makes it out the other side of this in the end. Forever changed, but not in the way he feared so badly, the way he was willing to die to escape. And instead of dying alone with only the desperate desire that his words can serve to help someone, anyone... he lives on, surrounded by a new family. Having defeated his former tormentor for good. And while the original diary no longer exists (just as pre-castle Jonathan can never come back), there are copies. The knowledge (his soul, his sanity, every metaphor or symbol ever applied to his diary as well as all the other letters and journals of everyone else) will never be lost.

[kingluffy5]

Psychic Kids and Otherworldly Monsters Pt. 1 (Stranger Things OCs)

Several children and teenagers try to experience the best their adolescence in the 1980s but mysterious events follow causing them to deal with a ton of bullshit.

November 6th, 1983

— — —

No One P.O.V.

In the laboratory alarms were going off and the dim lights were flashing, a man in a lab coat burst through the door panicked by whatever it was that he saw in there he rushed to the elevator and pressed the button so many times that it’s a shock that he didn’t break it. When the doors finally opened he ran in and once again quickly pressed the close door button. He looked out into the hallway in fear, fear that whatever he saw was in there, fear that he wouldn’t escape it. When hungry snarling sounds came from above he slowly looked up before screaming as he was dragged up by whatever it was that was in the elevator.

— — —

Oliver Reed’s P.O.V.

“Something’s coming, something hungry for blood. A shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness. It is almost here.” Mike Wheeler narrated. He’s the DM for our current D&D campaign, so he had to narrate what is going on to us as we play and determine how our actions affect what is going, he also played every character other than ours so it’s always funny when he has to play a girl. I played as a chaotic good barbarian half orc who uses a war hammer and a double bladed axe named Warrok the Accused, because he was once accused of a crime he didn’t commit and was banished from his home.

“What is it.” Will Byers asked

“What if it’s the Demogorgon, oh Jesus, we’re so screwed if it’s the Demogorgon.” Dustin Henderson worried.

“Oh, please don’t be a Demogorgon.” I crossed my fingers.

“It’s not the Demogorgon.” Lucas Sinclair comforted.

“An army of troglodytes charges into the room.” Mike revealed.

“Troglodytes?” Dustin laughed at the weaker monsters than the one he expected.

“Told ya.” Lucas taunted making both him and Dustin laugh.

“Wait a minute, do you here that? That sound, boom, boom, boom, BOOM! That didn’t come from a troglodyte no that came from something else. The Demogorgon.” Mike slammed the Demogorgon miniature down onto the board. We all complained, as Dustin so eloquently put it ‘We’re in deep shit’. “Will, you’re action?”

“I don’t know.” Will replied.

“Fireball him.” Lucas said.

“But I have to roll a thirteen or higher.” Will reminded him.

“Too risky, cast a protection spell.” Dustin suggested.

“Don’t be a pussy fireball him.” Lucas argued.

“I don’t care what you do but just do something.” I told him.

“Cast protection.” Dustin insisted.

“The Demogorgon is tired of your silly human bickering, it stomps towards you, boom!” Mike narrated.

We all ended up yelling at each other, Mike yelled the Demogorgon footsteps, Dustin and Lucas shouted what they thought that Will should do, I yelled at him to make up his own mind.

“Fireball.” Will chose as tossed the dice, but the dice ended up rolling off the table.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it a thirteen?”

“I don’t know.”

We all searched through the basement trying to find the dice to see whether or not Will’s fireball hit. Eventually Mike’s mom opened the door to the basement and told Mike that we all needed to go home, he tried to tell her we’re only in the middle of the campaign and that ending now would ruin the flow. We found the dice but it was only a seven but Lucas said that since Mike didn’t see it it didn’t count. Dustin asked if any of us wanted to have the last of the pizza but we all said no. We got to our bikes and started leaving, I live closest to Mike so I didn’t have to ride long and said goodnight to everyone. I made it home, parked my bike in the garage and went inside. My dad, Anthony Reed, sat on the recliner watching TV, he works as a deputy at the police department.

“Hey Oli, how was uh the game you guys uh play where you roll the dice and you make your own characters?” He greets me.

“It went well, we had to cut it short though because Mrs. Wheeler said we had to.” I reply.

“Oh, that sucks, I’m sure you’ll be able to finish it next weekend though.”

“Yeah, I guess. Where are Sarah and Sasha?” I ask.

“They should be back soon, they went over to the Sinclair’s house.”

— — —

Judith Byers’ P.O.V.

We all sat in Ava’s room, me, Sarah Reed, Sasha Reed, and Ava Sinclair. Ava passes me the joint and I take a long drag of it before blowing out the smoke and giggling. We all sat on her floor listening to heavy metal.

“We should totally do this someday.” I giggled.

“What, make music?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah, we should all start a band.” Ava agrees.

“Yeah, yeah, give me that.” Sasha demands. I oblige and give her the dope.

“It’s amazing how you’re a twin and we’re twins and we’re in the same friend group.” Sarah points out. We’re all pretty clearly stoned.

“Hey, we twins gotta look out for each other.” I say. “If only Jonathan would start hanging out with more people, he’s always either alone or with me and Will.”

“All right, back to this band, what music would we play?” Ava asks, clearly entranced by the idea of all of us in a band.

“Easy, rock.” Sasha says.

We all agree while each taking another hit of weed.

“AVA SINCLAIR, YOU BETTER NOT BE DOING POT WITH THOSE FRIENDS OF YOURS!!!” Mrs. Sinclair shouts up to us from downstairs, now you see I am not usually afraid of most things, I could watch any horror movie, I can go on any roller coaster, but any time that I have to look Mrs. Sinclair in the eye when she’s angry and I immediately break.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I say panicked immediately throwing the joint out of Ava’s window.

“What are you doing?” Sarah and Sasha ask at the same time.

“I don’t know.” I answer.

“OF COURSE WE’RE NOT MOM!” Ava shouts back, man that girl has a pair of lungs on her.

“What are we going to do?” I ask.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, we’re going to go downstairs, you’ll let me do the talking, just whatever you do get out of the front door.” Ava explained calmly and cooly. She could lead us to rob a bank, she’d be the leader, I’d be the safe cracker, Sasha would be the muscle, and Sarah would be the one who makes sure that none of the people in the bank gets smart and tries to be a hero. I thought about us robbing a bank way too much.

We all head down stares where Lucas and Erica, Ava’s younger brother and sister, are sitting on the couch. “Hey nerd, Erica.” Ava greets her younger siblings, her nickname for Lucas causes Erica and the rest of us to laugh.

“Ava, what did you guys do up there?” Lucas asks in an insinuating tone, shit does he know.

“We listened to music and talked about boys, what do you even think would’ve happened?” Ava replies.

“You got high.” He says nonchalantly.

“Well you girls have a safe trip home.” Mrs. Sinclair says to us as a goodbye.

“Thanks Mrs. Sinclair.” I thank. Ava glares at me from straying from the plan. “I mean, nothing.”

Mrs. Sinclair gives me a weird look before turning back to watching TV with her kids.

We all get outside. “So any of you need a ride home?” Ava asks.

“No we’ll give Judith a ride.” Sarah says.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow Ava.” I bid her farewell.

Sarah and Sasha also say goodbye before we all get into the car that they share, the 1970 Chevrolet Camaro. They dropped me off at home. It looks like I’m the only one home right now, I guess Will stayed over at the Wheelers’ house, Jonathan’s probably working, mom too. Well guess I should go to bed. I wonder why the dog’s barking though, that’s going to be annoying while I go to sleep.

— — —

The next day.

Judith Byers P.O.V.

I’m woken up by my alarm clock. I get up and put on a pair of jeans and a graphic t-shirt with the band Iron Maiden on it, I then put on my grey trench coat and the hiking boots that I wear whenever I’m not hiking. I step outside and see my mom, Joyce, looking for her keys and my brother, Jonathan, making breakfast.

“Okay sweetie I will see you tonight.” She says to Jonathan.

“Yeah I’ll see you tonight.” He replies.

“Good morning sweetie.” She greets me and kisses me on my cheek.

“Oh where’s Will?” She asks.

“Oh I didn’t get him up yet, he’s probably still sleeping.” Jonathan answers.

“Jonathan, Judith, you guys have to make sure he’s up.”

“Mom I’m making breakfast.”

“I was sleeping.” My excuse is a lot worse, but hey, it’s true.

“I told you this a thousand times. Will, honey, come on, it’s time to get up.” She tells him going to Will’s room. After a few seconds she comes back. “He came home last night right?”

“He’s not in his room?” Jonathan asks.

“Did he come home or not?”

“I don’t know.” He says.

“You don’t know?” She asks getting annoyed.

“No, I was home late, I was working.”

“You’re working?”

“Yeah, Eric asked if I could cover, I said yeah, I just thought we could use the extra cash.”

“Jonathan we talked about this, you can’t take shifts when I’m working.” She sighs.

“Mom it’s not a big deal, he was at the Wheeler’s all day, I’m sure he just stayed over.” I defend my brother.

Mom goes over to the phone to call Mrs. Wheeler to see if Will is over there. If he’s not then he probably went to the Henderson’s.

“Hi Karen, it’s Joyce, hi. Is that Will I heard back there? Will didn’t spend the night? Uh, you know I think he just left early for school. Thank you so much. Bye.

Well shit, he’s not at the Wheeler’s, but like mom said, he’s just probably at school. Right?

— — —

Oliver Reed P.O.V.

I finish biking over to school and I meet Mike, Dustin and Lucas by the entrance.

“That’s weird, I don’t see him.” Mike says, referencing Will who’ mom says wasn’t there when they all woke up this morning.

“I’m telling you, his mom’s right. Probably just went to class early again.” Lucas reassures him.

“Yeah, he’s always paranoid Gursky’s gonna give him another pop quiz.” Dustin laughs.

“Step right up ladies and gentlemen. Step right up and get your tickets for the freak show. Who do you think would make more money in a freak show, midnight, frog face, toothless, or the autistic kid.” Some asshole bullies come up to us, okay so I have high functioning autism, it’s only Asperger’s.

“I’d go with toothless.” The other one says mocking Dustin’s lisp.

“I told you a million times, my teeth are coming in. It’s called cleidocranial dysplasia.” Dustin tells them.

“I told you a million times.” He says, again mocking Dustin.

“Do the arm thing.” The first one orders referencing Dustin’s condition involving his bones. I don’t really understand it. “Do it, freak!”

Dustin makes his bones crack making the bullies grossed out, they leave but not before shoving us a little.

“Assholes.” Lucas complains.

“I think it’s kind of cool, it’s like you have superpowers or something. Like Mr. Fantastic.” Mike comforts him.

“Yeah only I can’t fight evil with it.”

— — —

Sarah Reed’s P.O.V.

I walk through the halls with Nancy Wheeler and Barb Holland, some of our other friends, Nancy is also the older sister of Oliver’s friend Mike.

“So did he call?” Barb asks, referring to Nancy’s new boyfriend, Steve Harrington.

“I told you, it’s not like that. Okay, I mean, yes, he likes me, but not like that. We just made out a couple times.” Nancy answers, like making out is not an indication of liking someone.

“We just made out a couple times.” Ava says mockingly, now joining us by our lockers.

“Nance, seriously, you’re gonna be so cool now it’s ridiculous.” Barb tells her.

“No, I’m not.” She insists.

“Remember us while you’re off hanging out with the popular kids.” I joke

“Yeah you better still hang out with us, that’s all we’re saying.” Barb says. Sasha and Judith walk up now joining us, Judith actually looks a little panicked, I wonder if she’s all right.”

“If you become friends with Tommy H. or Carol-” Sasha says before being interrupted by Nancy.

“Oh, that’s gross. Okay, I’m telling you guys it was a one time, two time thing.” She says making us all laugh a little. She then pulls out a note from Steve saying to meet him in the bathroom.

“You were saying.” Barb quipped. Nancy then ran off to go find Steve, presumably to make out with him, again.

“Hey Judith I my mom told me about your brother, that he wasn’t home when you guys got up this morning, is he alright?” Ava asks Judith.

Wait, what? Will wasn’t home, is that what she’s worried about? I wonder where he went.

“Uh, we think he just went to class early, he does that sometimes.” Judith says playing it off, but we can all tell that she’s worried.

“Hey, if you need anything, we’re here for you.” Barb comforts her. We all nod along and pat her on the shoulder. Before leaving to go to class.

— — —

Anthony Reed’s P.O.V.

I’m sitting at my desk at the station, the chief, Jim Hopper, finally shows up from work, clearly having had a little too much to drink last night.

“Good of you to finally show.” Flo, the receptionist greets him.

“Oh, morning Flo, good morning everybody.” He says.

“Hey chief.”

“Damn, you look like hell chief.”

“Morning chief.” We all greet him.

“Oh really? Well I looked better than your wife when I left her this morning.” He says to one of the other deputies.

“While you were drinking or sleeping or whatever it is you deemed so necessary on Monday morning Phil Larson called, said some kids are stealing the gnomes out of his garden again.” Flo tells him.

“Oh those garden gnomes again. Well I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna get right on that.” He replies sarcastically.

“On a more pressing matter, Joyce Byers can’t find her son this morning.”

“Okay, I’m gonna get on that. Just give me a minute.”

“Joyce is very upset.”

“Well, Flo, we’ve discussed this, mornings are for coffee and contemplation.”

“Chief, she’s already in your-”

“Coffee and contemplation, Flo.” He insists, not realizing that Joyce is already in the office.

Hopper starts to file out the reports required while suggesting the Will is just playing hooky. I’ve met the kid and I doubt that he would do that and Joyce insists that he wouldn’t. Hopper kept a cool head during the conversation while Joyce worried. He asked about her ex husband saying that most of the time that a missing kid is with a parent or relative. She begged him to find her son before leaving. Before she left I let her know that Will’s a good boy, so I’ll make sure that Hopper takes this case seriously.

— — —

Oliver Reed’s P.O.V.

The bell rang in our science class letting most of the other kids out to leave while Mr. Clarke was still talking. “Remember, finish chapter 12 and answer 12.3 on the difference between experiment and other forms of science investigation. This will be no the test, which will cover chapters 10 through 12. It will be multiple choice with an essay section.” He dies off around the end since everybody already left by that point, everyone except for us.

“So, did it come?” Mike asks him.

“Sorry boys, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… it came.” He fakes us out as we rush into the AV club room to see the new radio that he got for the club, which consists of Me, Mike, Will, Lucas, and Dustin.

“Yes!” We all say seeing it.

“The Heathkit ham shack. Ain’t she a beaut.” Mr. Clarke says.

“I bet you could talk to New York on this thing.” Dusting says excitedly.

“Think bigger.” Mr. Clarke hints.

“California?” Lucas asks.

“Bigger.”

“Australia?” I ask, to which he nods.

“When Will sees this he’s totally gonna blow his shit.” Lucas exclaims.

“Lucas.” Mr. Clarke reprimands, he might be a cool teacher but he still keeps us from breaking any rules.

“Sorry.”

We tune the radio before Mike starts speaking into the microphone. “Hello, this is Mike Wheeler, president of Hawkins Middle AV Club.” He says in a fake Australian accent.

“Hello, this is Dustin, and this is the secretary and treasurer of Hawkins Middle AV Club.” He greets also in a accent. “Do you eat kangaroos for breakfast?”

“Hi, this is Oliver, vice president of the Hawkins Middle AV Club. If you do eat kangaroos for breakfast then when do you eat koalas?” I ask as we all start laughing.

We hear a knock on the door and the principal walks in followed by the chief, Jim Hopper, two of his deputies and my dad. “Sorry to interrupt, but, uh, may I borrow Micheal, Lucas, Dustin, and Oliver?”

We’re lead to the principal office where we’re asked about how Will get’s home. We all start talking over one another trying to explain the road that he takes, Mirkwood, which isn’t really the name of the road but we call it that because the name is from the Hobbit.

“Okay, okay, okay, one at a time, all right? You.” The Chief says pointing to Mike. “You said he takes what?”

“Mirkwood.”

“Mirkwood?”

“Yeah.

“Have you ever heard of Mirkwood?” He asks one of the deputies.

“I have not. That sounds made up to me.”

“No, it’s form the Lord of the Rings.” Lucas explains.

“Well, the Hobbit.” Dustin corrects.

“It doesn’t matter.” Lucas says annoyed.

“He asked.”

“He asked.” Lucas mocks.

“Hey, hey hey, what’d I just say? One at a damn time.” Hopper says sternly, stopping Lucas and Dustin from bickering. “You.” He says to Mike.

“Mirkwood, it’s a real road it’s just the name that’s made up. It’s where Cornwallis and Kerley meet.”

“Yeah all right, I think I know that.”

“We can show you if you want.”

“I said that I know it.”

“We can help you look.” We all insist and agree.

“No.” Hopper which makes all of us argue with him. “No. After school you are all to go home. Immediately. That means no biking around looking for your friend, no investigating, no nonsense, this isn’t some Lord of the Rings book.”

“The Hobbit.” Dustin corrects making Hopper look at him angrily.

“Shut up.” Lucas hits him making them fight.

“Do I make myself clear?” He asks stepping up in front of us. “Do I make myself…clear.?”

“Yes sir.” We all say.”

— — —

Judith Byers’ P.O.V.

Me, Jonathan, and mom are out in the woods around our house and Will’s personal fort, Castle Byers, to look for him shouting out his name.

“WILL!” We all shout out for him.

“WHERE ARE YOU!” Mom yells.

“WILL, COME BACK!” I shouted out for him, cupping my hands around my mouth to project my voice out farther.

— — —

Anthony Reed’s P.O.V.

Me, Deputy Powell, Deputy Callahan, and Hopper are out on ‘Mirkwood’ looking for Will.

“Come on kid!”

“Will Byers!”

“Come on out Will!” We all shout for him.

“Hey, I got something.” Hopper yells back to us from further up the road. We all run up to him and see a bike on a little bit off the side of the road, down a small hill.

“That his bike?” Callahan asks.

“Yeah, he must have crashed.” I answer, recognizing the bike from the times it was parked in my driveway.

“You think that he got hurt in the fall?” Callahan again asks.

“Not so hurt he couldn’t walk away. Bike like this is like a Cadillac to these kids, he would’ve walked it home.” Hopper responds before picking the bike back up and we get back to the cars.

— — —

Judith Byers’ P.O.V.

We got back home and mom tried calling our dad, Lonnie, again. This time someone picked up but it’s actually his new girlfriend, Cynthia, who’s probably only been able to legally drink since a week ago. The stupid bitch hangs up before she can explain why she needs to talk to Lonnie.

“Bitch!” Mom yells.

Jonathan, who’s making missing posters for Will, goes to comfort her, saying that we have to stay calm. She calls again getting the answering machine asking for him to answer. Before slamming the phone back down, shouting damn it.

“Mom, Judith.” Jonathan calls to us.

“What?”

“Cops.” He answers as we rush outside seeing the cop cars pull up.

We see Chief Hopper step out with Will’s bike, being followed by some of his deputies, including Anthony Reed, the father of Sasha, Sarah, and Will’s friend Oliver, he’s a really nice guy.

He tells us about where he found the bike.

“It was just lying there?” Mom asks, knowing how important that bike is to Will. “Did it have any blood on it?

“No.” The Chief answers.

“If you found the bike out there why are you here?” Jonathan asks.

“Well, he had a key to the house, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, maybe he came home.”

“What, you think I didn’t check my own house?” Mom gets angry with him.

“I’m not saying that. Has this always been here?” He asks referring to a dent in the wall.

“What? I don’t know. Probably, I mean, I have three kids, look at this place.” She answers.

“I’ve never seen it before.” I point out.

“You sure?” He asks me, he then opens the door and it is perfectly in line with the dent.

We then hear our dog, Chester, barking at the shed outback so we go outside to check on him.

“Hey, what’s up with this guy?” Hopper asks, crouching down to pet Chester.

“Nothing, he’s probably just hungry, come on.” Mom says leading the dog away.

Hopper then looks at the shed he was barking at. “What do you guys keep in there?” He asks.

“Uh mostly gardening supplies, uh, Lonnie had some guns in there that he didn’t take with him when he left.” I answer.

He goes inside and I follow him. He picks up an open case of rifle bullets checking them. “Did you guys go hunting recently.”

“No, it was mostly Lonnie taking Jonathan and Will out hunting, never bothered to get any licenses of course. He said I shouldn’t go because it isn’t a girl’s place to go hunting, he made Will go even though he didn’t want to.”

“You really don’t like your old man don’t you?”

“He’s an asshole.”

Hopper chuckles a little bit at that. He then walks over to the where the rifle should’ve been. Suddenly the lights go out.

“That’s weird.” I say.

Then there’s a weird sound, a squelching sound. We all over to look at where it’s coming from. Then the lights come back on.

“Hey.” Callahan calls out to us.

“Jesus.” Hopper says annoyed.

“What, are you guys deaf?” We’ve been calling for you. “What’s going on.” Hopper then walks out of the shed with me and Callahan following him. “Hello, are you okay Chief?”

“Listen, I want you to call Flo. I want to get a search party together, all the volunteers she can muster, bring flashlights too.”

“Hey you think we got a problem here?”

We then go back in the house. Whatever it was that happened in the shed, it made Hopper start taking this like a big case. But I don’t think that a search party’s going to help find Will.

— — —

Anthony Reed’s P.O.V.

It’s night now and we’re all in the search party in the woods around the Byers’ house. Everyone’s shouting for Will. I’m close by the Chief and the boys’ science teacher.

“He’s a good student.” Mr. Clarke says to Hopper.

“What?”

“Will. He’s a good student. Great one, actually. I don’t think we met, Mr. Clarke, teacher, Hawkins Middle, earth and biology.” Mr. Clarke introduces himself to the Chief.

“I always had a distaste for science.”

“Well, maybe you had a bad teacher.”

“Yeah, Ms. Ratliff was a piece of work.”

“Ratliff? You bet. She’s still kicking around believe it or not.”

“Oh, I believe it, mummies never die, so they tell me. Sarah, my daughter, galaxies, the universe, whatnot, she always understood that stuff. I always figured there was enough going on down here, I never needed to look elsewhere.”

“Your daughter, what grade is she in? Maybe I’ll get her in my class.”

“No, she, uh, she lives with her mom in the city. Thanks for coming out, Teach, we really appreciate it.” Hopper says before walking farther off.

“She died a few years back.” I tell him.

“I’m sorry?”

“His kid.”

I then walk forward with Hopper. He’s a good man, he didn’t deserve what happened to him and his family. He’s who I would consider my best friend.

— — —

Oliver Reed’s P.O.V.

“Lucas, Oliver, do you guys copy. It’s Mike.” Mike said over our radio.

“Hey, it’s Lucas.” Lucas answers.

“I know it’s you, and say over when your done talking, over.”

“I’m done, over.” Lucas says annoyed.

“I’m here too, over.” I respond.

“I’m worried about Will, over.” Mike says.

“Yeah, this is crazy, over.” Lucas replies.

“Same. Out of all of us, I think he’d handle being lost out in the woods the worst, other than Dustin. Over.” I tell them.

“I was thinking. Will could’ve cast protection last night, but he cast fireball. Over.” Mike points out.

“What’s your point? Over.” Lucas asks.

“My point is, he could’ve played it safe but he didn’t. He put himself in danger to help the party. Over.”

“Meet me in ten. Over and out.” Lucas says turning off his radio, Mike does the same, and then so do I.

I go and grab my bike and I sneak out of my house.

— — —

Ava Sinclair’s P.O.V.

I sit in my room listening to some music and strumming on my electric guitar. Mom hates it. I stare out my window for a second and I see my brother taking out his bike even though the Sheriff said to stay inside. We make eye contact and he looks like a deer in headlights. I shake my head.

“Dumbass.” I comment. I turn back to my guitar and play some more music.

— — —

Oliver Reed’s P.O.V.

No one sees me as I ride over to meet the rest of the guys. We then bike down to Mirkwood and where the search party started. Thunder starts and I feel a bit of rain on my face.

“Hey you guys, I think maybe we should go back.” Dustin suggests.

“No.” Mike insists. “We’re not going back, just stay close, come on.”

“Just stay on channel six and don’t do anything stupid.” I tell him.

The thunder rumbles again before Dustin runs after us.

— — —

Judith Byers’ P.O.V.

Me, mom, and Jonathan are sitting on the couch.

“Jonathan, wow. You took these?” Mom says proudly looking through some of the pictures of Will that he took over the past few years. He always had a knack for photography. “These are great. Wow they really are. I know I haven’t been there for you guys. I’ve been working so hard, and I just feel so bad, I barely know what’s going on with you. All right? I’m sorry about that.” She says tearing up a little. It is true, after Lonnie left mom had to pick up a lot of extra slack, me and Jonathan helped when we could, him mostly, but it was always her that got food on the table and made sure that rain never leaked through the roof.

Jonathan starts crying.

“Hey, what is it? What is it? Honey.”

“Nothing”

“Tell me. Tell me. Come on, you can tell me.”

“I should’ve been there for him.” And with that I started crying too, maybe if I was home, instead of getting high with my friends, I could’ve helped him, or at least seen something that would’ve been useful.

“No, on no, you can’t do that to yourself, it is not your fault. He is close, I know it, I feel it in my heart. You two just have to trust me on this all right.” She tries to comfort us.

“Okay.” I choke out.

She picks up a picture of Will. “Look at this one. Look at this one. I mean that’s it right.” She says making us laugh a little. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” I agree.

The phone starts ringing startling all of us. Mom runs to the phone. “Hello? Hello? Lonnie? Hopper? Who is this? Will? Will?!”

Me and Jonathan rush over to the phone. “That’s Will?” I ask, panicked, concerned, I can’t even tell what I’m feeling right now. I just want to find Will.

“Mom, it’s Will?” Jonathan asks as mom starts breaking down crying.

“What have you done to my boy?” What the hell.

“What? What?” Jonathan starts panicking.

“Give me back my son!” Mom shouts through the phone.

Then, all of a sudden, electricity began to run through the phone shocking mom making her drop the phone.

“Hello? Hello, who is this.” Jonathan asks picking up the fried phone.

“Mom, who was it?” I ask while she starts crying.

“Look at me mom, was it Will?” Jonathan asks.

“Yes!” She sobs.

“What was it? What did he say.”

“He just breathed. He just breathed.”

“And was someone else there?”

We all then descend into crying as mom repeatedly says that it was Will, and that she heard his breathing. We’re all hugging each other.

— — —

Oliver Reed’s P.O.V.

We spend a while looking maybe half an hour or so. The rain starts coming down more and more, it’s pouring now. We’re all in our rain coats shouting for Will.

“I’ve got your X-Men 174.” Dustin yells out. Shit that’s a good issue. “Guys, I really think we should turn back.”

“You wanna be a baby, then go home already.” Lucas tells him.

“I’m just being realistic, Lucas.”

“No you’re just being a big sissy.”

“Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad? And we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen. And we have no weapons or anything?” Dustin asks.

“Dustin, shut up.” I tell him.

“I’m just saying does that seem smart to you.”

“No, he’s right, Dustin, shut up, shut up. Did you guys hear that?” Mike asks.

We then hear rustling so we turn around and shine our flashlights at the sound. We see nothing. Then more rustling so we turn back forward. And there’s a girl, standing there, in a Benny’s Burger’s shirt, with a buzz cut, staring right back at us.

A/N: All right Pt. 1 is done of what will likely be a long series. I’m excited to see how the events are affected by the new characters. We didn’t get to see a lot of Ava, Sasha, and Sarah, so I’m hoping that I get to show them more throughout the series, I’m definitely planning on having them involved in the endgame of the first season. I’m enjoying rewatching season one, the fall setting of the first two settings was honestly such a vibe. If you enjoyed this then check out my series that I did for Wednesday, it’s a little different from this one because it’s a character x reader, but I think that it’s fun to read. Pt. 2 will hopefully be out soon. So far Judith and Oliver are my favorite characters. See you in Pt. 2.

[the-heron]

how would you like to respond to this ask with absolutely as much as you can possibly say about the terror. it does not need to be comprehensible. just say things until you can no longer say things. let it all out. or let some of it out and let the rest of it spill over into the tags of reblogged gifsets, i have no qualms with either. this is entirely to give you another avenue with which to go as feral as you would like. have fun!!

hey anon quite frankly i would love to start talking incessently about the terror and also im gonna kiss you on the lips for asking me to

one thing ive been thinking about a lot after rewatching the whole season maybe. three or four times now (i am not mentally sound) is just how much the theme throughout the show is Being Something You Are Not. and its such a gradual realization cause you start with one character but the more you think about it you realize how that theme affects everybody and everything about the show.

i read something in an analysis post written by somebody MUCH more eloquent than me about Silna and Crozier and the parallel of them being thrust into a responsibility they didn't want. Silna was forced into a role that she knew she could not handle and it fails on her! multiple times! despite having NOTHING to do with everything going wrong shes been shoved into everyone's field of vision as The One Responsible INCLUDING by her own community. and by all means she does try to fill those shoes but even Tuunbaq has a say and it doesn't want her. and by the time she tries again its already too late.

and Crozier's situation wasn't identical but it's very similar in the sense that he did not want to be here and do this. being the only one not volunteered, but *asked* to go on this expedition, having already not been what Sophia wanted but doing as she asks anyways. good grief the man is in the middle of writing his resignation letter to sir john when he gets mauled. and now hes got no choice and that ALSO fails on him and gets people hurt and eventually its too late for him to make anything better.

but once you notice it with somebody else its like oh! that's right! EVERYBODY is doing this. sir john wasn't anybody's choice to lead the expedition and in fact he is actively detrimental to everybody's safety with his choices. Fitzjames is not half the man he says he is and has actively been lying To Everybody about about who he is an his accomplishments Forever. Goodsir is NOT a doctor and despite how happy it seems to make him to be considered as such he knows its not true and all of that scientific knowledge ends up killing SO many people. Hickey thinks hes hot shit and thinks he can gain control of everybody else AND Tuunbaq and yet he can hardly even do his own dirty work and gets other people's hands dirty before he does it himself.

i mean if you think about it too even the landscape isn't what it seems. they all think its a conquerable land and then they get there and realize its not. and because of this, they assume that must mean there's no way to survive out there. except there IS. there IS wonder. it IS beautiful. life CAN thrive out there and it HAS they are just so hazardous and invasive to the environment that they don't get to see it!!! they don't see the wonder and they are trekking to their deaths amongst a COMPLETE lie. this isn't, like, News to anybody else who's watched the show i just noticed how it all connects everybody and it blew my mind a little bit

[inkpenparker]

for the ask game! ❤️

6, 7, 8, 25, 26

6.

“The Cartoon Network dickheads didn’t do it.”

7. (From chapter 10 of i used to want to be a hero)

It must’ve amused him, because he cracks a slight smile and some of the lines in his forehead smooth out. “You’re very wise, Spiderling.”

Penny snorts into her homework. “Yeah that’s me, a real Gandalf.”

“Finally managing to get into Tolkien?” Tony asks, picking up the book with one hand and lifting a suspicious eyebrow at it, as if it’s gonna grow fangs and claws and attack him.

Penny snorts. “Not really, but listening to the audiobooks helps I guess. I got most of my actual progress done when Shuri and I were on video call.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY chimes from above. “Ms. Potts would like me to inform you both that everyone has headed to bed for the evening, and you’re both encouraged to do so as well.”

Tony chuckles. “Alright, seems like you’re off the hook for more of that literature nightmare. To bed, Spider-Heathen.”

8.

“You tell me your problems (have I become one of your problems?)

And I tell you the truth (could it be easy this once?)

It’s the last thing you wanted (everything that’s mine is a landmine)

It’s the first thing I do (did my love aid and abet you?)”

- the alcott, the national ft. taylor swift

25.

Editing, and then coming up with chapter names. Editing is usually where I try and beef up scenes or add in or change GE descriptors where I was having writers block before. Lately, I’ve been using editing as a tool specifically for writers block. Combine that with the comic sans trick and I’ve gotten more progress done the last just week then I have in about two months. And let me tell you, I love using lyrics as titles, and like I’m doing in i used to want to be a hero, “secondary titles” which are more quips than anything else. For the official titles, I spend hours agonizing over what lyric I want to use, which one works and doesn’t, which conveys the right amount and kind of emotion I want it to, etc etc, and I have a fuck ton of fun. I’m quite proud of all of them that you’ve seen so far, and even more proud of the ones you haven’t. And I do love actually writing when I’ve found a really good spark of inspiration.

26.

The actual process of writing. Specifically transitions. Sometimes I can really struggle with how to eloquently end or move a scene into the next one. It’s part of what’s been holding up chapter ten of i used to want to be a hero. The other part that’s holding it up is I’m horrible at writing bureaucracy. Granted this is fanfiction and nothing has to be perfect but I also don’t want it to sound fake, you know? The ending of a conversation or the never ending bureaucracy.

[reverie2020]

I've been depressed lately. Beyond. And it mostly has to do with humanity and just plain existing. I hate current society and I hate people. I hate that everything we want revolves around people. That dealing with others is a barrier to personal desires.

Then I watched Netflix's Leave the World Behind and it's as if the Universe is speaking to me.. yet again. Or maybe I'm becoming more in tune to it. I haven't figured it out yet.

The movie, although eye-rollingly slow, eloquently put into words everything I've been feeling lately. That our little world is doomed. Maybe not immediately, but definitely eventually. It's only a matter of time.

Because here's the problem with American or dare I say it, Western culture of life: life here in the states is about the short game. When a culture focuses on individuals trying to climb over each other to pursue their own goals, for personal wealth, to "have it all", invariably misery will follow. Because not everyone can have it all. And no one is willing to work collectively in each other's best interest.

As Kevin Bacon's character, with the iconic shot of the American flag at his home and his hilarious Cowboys hat symbolically portrays this very typical American - someone who is only looking out for their own selfish interests and to hell with everyone else.

But this isn't how the human race has survived downfall after downfall..not because a few individuals isolated themselves from everyone and were the only ones who survived. As Mahershala Ali's character said in the movie, even during the darkest times in human history, people were still able to work together to bring themselves up again, collectively.

This is how much of Eastern culture operates. Less about the individual desires and more about the collective. They play the "long game". Humanity cannot be represented by a handful of people, it's about the whole of us. And in the long game, it means individuals make sacrifices for the future generations, so they can move forward together, not just individually. Otherwise we end up like Rose at the very end, watching the last F.R.I.E.N.D.S episode only worried about our immediate comfort while the world crumbles around us. Ignoring disturbing truths because we can no longer handle them. Because all we care about is "Breads and Circuses", the short term pleasure (sounds like a drug doesn't it?).

Because let's be honest - America is like a drug. It's a short term release of pleasure that doesn't fix whats really wrong, just masks it so we don't have to deal with the unpleasant things of life like war (which as mentioned in the movie, we've had hands in other countries), poverty (which we try to cover up and ignore because hey we want that fancy techy thing).

The funny thing is, I was thinking the same thing Julia Roberts's character was, that I hate people. And that right there I was being hypocritical to everything I am relating above. We need each other. But now I wonder.. do I hate people BECAUSE of what I wrote. Because I'm surrounded by people who could care less what happens to our collective race, as long as they get what they want in THIS life. Maybe. Could be.

[deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist]

Another amazing chapter - I love this so much! I envy them their spa day, and I love how caring Trouble is with the staff and her friends. And then Bela. Bela, Bela, Bela…at least she apologized. “Well, technically I haven’t yet. But I’m going to start with that one. Then go on from there. I’m sorry I slept with Dean. One, I don’t think it was worth it if it hurt you. And two, I have a growing suspicion he only did it because he couldn’t do it with somebody else. So, yay for being the understudy.” Wow, Bela - you were using him too - but I guess that’s pretty good for an apology coming from her. “Y/N, seriously? You can tell me. I know I get a little caught up in the chaos of life, that I prioritize things other people don’t, but you are my dearest friend. If I hurt you or maybe invaded your territory, I am sorry. I really had no idea. Because, frankly, you’ve never said anything of the sort.” Ah - that’s better! And, true - she didn’t say anything - but if everyone else could see it, why couldn’t Bela?

“Well, you’re gonna hate me, if you didn’t already after that fiasco of a suggestion Saturday night. But, Dean and I are ending it. He wants to see other people, or person, really. And I don’t want to keep him locked up.” That was sweet of her to drop the hint. “Dean wanted somebody else, a specific someone. Your stomach dropped as she batted away your attempt at negotiation.” Aaaand it didn’t work. Bless, she’s as clueless as I would be! “Yes, you’d know too, if you weren’t playing masochist roulette.” made me laugh out loud, as did “The doghouse seems like the place for a spring getaway anyway.” Way to turn a phrase - I love your writing!

Your eloquence continues: “Part of the job, images are fragile things.” / “So are you.” and “But life is too short, you know that better than anybody. And if you want something, or someone, you need to start by admitting it to yourself.” / “I can’t— he’s not something I can want— let alone have.” just broke my heart, but in the best possible way! So did “Oh, darling, please! You can have the fucking world. You just have to believe it first.” People like us don’t believe we can - Dean will probably have to hold up a sign saying “Trouble, I love you. This is not a joke - I am of sound mind, not being coerced, on drugs, or had a psychotic break - I, Dean Winchester, really love you” and she still won’t believe him!

And her call with Dean - ooof! At first I think she knows, then she starts trying to guess who it is…and her “If we hit up some lounges in Vegas are you gonna be able to resist?” / “Aren’t you going to be out with us? Well, then, no problem.” just made me smile. “Yeah, but she's your best friend.” He sounded so small.” was so sweet - and flew right over her head. “She is. That’s why I trusted her with it at all. I trusted you both. And it did its job. Now I just gotta do the PR bullshit and let you live your best life.” / “I don’t— none of us deserve you. I’m dead serious, Trouble. You’re too good for us.” I feel like they’re both having two different conversations, and neither of them realize it - and that’s one of the things that makes that scene so good!

“God fucking damnit, you were so screwed. Dean wanted somebody for real and you were going to have to watch it happen in real time. You weren’t sure if it was better or worse than the past six months with Bela, but what it was was real. And that in itself was more frightening.” I don’t know if I’d survive it - but if I had a job to do, I’d do it to protect him and help him be happy, and would never believe it myself if it were me. Ellen is the perfect person to talk to about it - excellent choice! I can’t wait to read that, and see what the wisest and most practical woman (other than Missouri) in all of SPN has to advise her - or make her take a good long look in the mirror. I am loving this do much - Spotless is the best part of my Friday!

Spotless: Stornello

Chapter Thirty Three

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Pamela, Annie, Kevin, Cesar, Donna, Jody, Patience, Nancy, Bobby, Charlie, Pamela, Bella, and Ellen at the end

Word Count: 4367

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, Spa day with the girls (gn), Bela apologizes and tells Trouble her and Dean are over, Trouble makes her own phone calls, Dean makes a promise

Series Masterlist

Special shoutout to @lastactiontricia for helping me with the Bela phone call.

You sighed and sank further into the massage bed. The room was filled with the soft buzz of instrumental music and aromatherapy. Your masseuse focused on the tightened muscles from your neck into your shoulders, which were so stiff you had to hold back a groan as she released the tension. On the bed beside you, Annie hummed blissfully with her own massage.

It was the morning after the band dinner that Sam organized and almost half of that same group had signed up for a spa day. Jody, Donna, Patience and Bobby were getting pedicures, while you, Annie, Pamela and Cesar were in the massage room. Nancy, Kevin, and Charlie were getting their manicures, but were ready in robes for their turn with the absolute magic that the masseuses held in their hands.

You heard Cesar muttering in Spanish under his breath as his masseuse attacked his lower back, who just chuckled and continued with his ministrations. Cesar and the rest of the crew did a lot of hauling of equipment, besides regular security stints, it made sense his back needed attention. You closed your eyes and sank back into the haze of relief, a small bubble of time to ignore those around you and just breathe. 

You were pressed into putty, pliable and soft. It was all so decadent, you almost fell asleep. 

The events of the past week hung like sleeping bats in the cave of your mind, twitching and threatening to open up and remind you of each moment of chaos and emotional discord. You tried to remain creeping along the floor, so as not to touch on any one moment for too long and force yourself to face it all at once. It wasn’t all bad, but it was certainly a lot.

Dean caught fleeing Bela’s place.

The tour started on such a high note.

The girls in the pit who stared you and Bela down.

Dean disappearing.

Bela and Crowley trying to out-British one another.

Another amazing show.

Always the paps.

People saw Bela chewing you out, even if it was the smallest blip on the band’s socials. And at this point you couldn’t say her annoyance was entirely unfounded, though she really did go over the top.

The video conference and all the talk about numbers, when you just wanted everyone to survive this unscathed. 

Missing the zoo and all the fun outings because you had busy work to do, things to coordinate.

Dean and Gibson during dinner last night, two peas in a pod.

You exhaled and reminded yourself you had another two days before you had anywhere to be. You could just be.

A faint beeping sound brought you back to the present, the session was over. You blinked your eyes and saw Annie slipping back into her robe as the masseuse held up a towel to give her privacy. You stretched and rolled out your wrists before you slowly got vertical. You smiled shyly at your masseuse as you got your robe back on and thanked her. You bent down and grabbed your bag, waiting until you were the last of the guests in the room, you handed her an envelope. 

“This is for all the massages for this group today. Thank you all so much.”

She graciously accepted it, promising to take care of her staff. You nodded and shrugged your bag over your shoulder and headed off to the pedicure station. Charlie and Kevin raced into the room, fighting for your masseuse, if you were guessing. But they were stopped at the door, having to wait for everything to be sanitized first. 

You laughed to yourself as you headed out, tossing a blithe, “have fun” over your shoulder.

An hour later, you were tossing back the last of your mimosa as your nail artist was placing the strip of foam between each of your toes. Bela would have loved this place, you thought, aching over the tension that had someone settled between you two. You put the thought away and reached down for another envelope to be dispersed to the nail techs.

Strategically shuffling into the next room, you found yourself at the back of the line as everyone found chairs for the facial treatments. Cesar had convinced Bobby to stick around and have his beard done, while Kevin joined the girls with the full face package. He’d even brought a headband to keep his shaggy hair out of the way. Then you remembered he was the virtuoso only child of a dedicated single mother and guessed this wasn’t his first rodeo with good skin care.

You carefully maneuvered into one of the remaining empty chairs and set your bag down, while still being cautious with your fresh gel nails.

“I love that color on you, Trouble!” Donna exclaimed, dragging you into a show and tell with everyone within reach.

She had chosen blood red with points, while Jody had a simple French manicure and Kevin had gone with his natural nails trimmed short, but in a deep teal. The technicians moved around the room, ensuring each station was stocked before one started explaining the process to the room as a whole. They began with warm towels and you actually dozed off after that, letting them do what they needed to clean up your face the best they could.

The buzz of conversation around you came in and out as you let yourself be pampered.

“Sam seems to be quite the draw for the fans,” Jody teased.

“Can’t keep a shirt on that boy to save his life,” Annie agreed, but it sounded like something you’ve heard out of Bobby’s mouth in the past, which made you smile.

“Well, I ain’t complaining,” Jody tacked on, making everyone laugh.

Your tech smoothed a cool cream over your cheeks and slowly moved outward in circles. It was soothing after all the other processes your skin had gone through. 

“Alright, we’re going to adjust your seats slightly so we can get the redlights in place. Please remember to keep your glasses on until after your light has been turned off at the end of the allotted time,” the woman who explained everything at the beginning of treatment said somewhere off towards your right.

You once again opened your eyes and glanced around. Pamela smirked at you before she slid her protective lenses over her eyes. 

“She’s so going home with those,” you said to no one in particular.

“We always end the day a few pairs short, it’s no problem,” your tech reassured you in a low tone. 

“Well, that’s something at least,” you replied as you took the pair she offered you, and slid them on.

The red light treatment wasn’t hot, exactly. You had anticipated something like the flashbacks of tanning beds in high school and college, but it wasn’t anything that intense. Your skin did feel different afterwards, though, and you gratefully took the moisturizer offered to you. Everyone slowly went back to the changing rooms and got back into their street clothes. Before you left, you made sure to leave an envelope for the workers again and took the all of the complimentary gift bags to hand out to everyone at lunch. 

“Lookin’ good, kiddo,” Bobby said to you once you made your way back into the hotel lobby, armful of skin products in tow.

You blushed. “Thanks, you clean up pretty well yourself.”

He just rolled his eyes and rubbed his knuckles over his freshly trimmed and conditioned beard. “We good for lunch?”

You checked your watch as everyone started to huddle closer. “We’ve got twelve minutes until our reservation.”

“Nice timing there,” Annie pointed out.

“It’s a gift,” you said, actually taking the compliment. Because you were surprised they had gotten everyone through the spa in time.

“You think they have more of those mimosas with lunch?” Kevin asked.

“I bet we could convince them to bring us a pitcher or two,” you teased.

“Sounds like a plan to me!” Nancy giggled.

You and Patience shared a look, and she nodded telling you her drummer was already tipsy. It was sweet. And it was early enough she could crash with a nap and still be good to go out later. You handed out all of the goodie bags while you waited to approach the hostess at the hotel restaurant where you’d made the reservation. 

Everyone was excited, but Donna was ecstatic with all of her new creams and serums. While Cesar stealthily took Bobby’s bag to bring back to Jesse. You felt like Santa Claus, giving all the good girls and boys a bright start to the tour. Obviously, there’d be time to spoil Dean, Sam, Lee, Victor, Benny and Jesse, too. Vegas was right around the corner afterall.

It was definitely one of the perks of the job, even if it wasn’t your money covering it all, it was theirs. Just coordinating it all and seeing it all go off without a hitch made you feel like what you did was important, that you were more than a social media secretary, or a mother hen.

At two minutes til, you bowed out of the conversation over nighttime routines on the road and smiled at the hostess. “Reservation for twelve under Fromnian?”

“Of course, right this way,”

Using one of Dean’s usual aliases made you feel like you were doing some secret sneaky thing. It also made you feel powerful. You waved the group over and headed into the most delicious meal you’d had in weeks.

Well, that wasn’t ominous or anything.

Plus, you were still pretty annoyed with Bela. Even after listening to her voicemail twice, the idea of talking to her set you on edge. The look you knew she’d be giving you, even over the phone gave you that panicked, cornered feeling. It was as if you were about to get into trouble, like a kid caught sneaking in late for curfew. Within ten minutes your phone rang. So on a deep inhale you put  your best counterargument face on.

“Hey, what’s up?” You plopped down onto the desk chair in your hotel room.

“She speaks!”

“Belaaaaa, look. I know I have been avoiding you. But I am still kinda pissed at you, so whatever is going on with Dean and you or whatever—- just tell me so I can work on putting out whatever fire he started this time.”

“Y/N, it’s not Dean’s fault, well— at least not totally, but first I need to tell you something.”

You sighed, but what you really wanted to do was growl. She was already on thin fucking ice. “What now?”

“I’ve maybe, sort of, been sleeping with him?”

Your eyes threatened to roll entirely back into your skull. “Yeah, kinda picked up on that.”

“Really?! You haven’t said anything, so— I guess I thought you either didn’t know or didn’t care and, well, I feel like I should be apologizing. But you don’t sound upset— exactly.”

You huffed and geared yourself up to unleash but nothing you wanted to say was coming out in full sentences. Nothing made any fucking sense. “Look— I just— it really wasn’t my business. Plus it kind of added to the whole story—- but wait. Why are you apologizing now? To me?”

“Well, technically I haven’t yet. But I’m going to start with that one. Then go on from there. I’m sorry I slept with Dean. One, I don’t think it was worth it if it hurt you. And two, I have a growing suspicion he only did it because he couldn’t do it with somebody else. So, yay for being the understudy.”

You dropped your forehead into the palm of your hand and stared blankly at your unlit laptop screen. What the hell was she talking about?!

“Why— why would you sleeping with Dean hurt me? I set you up—- I set this whole thing up!” You almost laughed, it was so ridiculous. If you weren’t okay with it, you wouldn’t have survived the last few weeks. If it were any of your business at all, that is.

“Y/N, seriously? You can tell me. I know I get a little caught up in the chaos of life, that I prioritize things other people don’t, but you are my dearest friend. If I hurt you or maybe invaded your territory, I am sorry. I really had no idea. Because, frankly, you’ve never said anything of the sort.”

Oh no.

“Bela— it’s not like that. There’s nothing— Dean is a friend. I’m not like that with him. Like, at all.”

Bela breathed over the line with the sound of music coming in and out of focus, maybe from a passing car. “Did our— was it upsetting to you? I’m not saying you’re jealous or that you’re pining over him or anything. But did it piss you off? Because that is what I’m apologizing for. I’m not telling you what you feel or how to react; I’m just sorry if you were hurt or upset at all.”

“You’re really breaking this down— I guess I was a little— annoyed? Kind of surprised you gave him the time of day, honestly.”

“Okay! Good. I mean, not good, but — progress, yeah?”

You sat back and kicked up your ankle over your good knee, pulling it towards you for something to hold on to. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way—- why are you calling? I don’t think Dean would have said that that was so important that I answer your call.”

Bela chuckled and murmured. “Probably not.”

You could hear the hum of an engine and the sounds of  passing traffic. “I thought of you, earlier, the other band and some of our team went to the attached spa at the hotel today. The mimosas were amazing and I am, well— I was as relaxed as pulled taffy.”

“Sounds divine.”

You squeezed your calf and squinted your eyes closed, as if you were hiding. “And I realized I kind of blew you off on the show on Saturday. It was a stupidly stressful day and up until the end of SPSs set, I didn’t know if Dean was going to show! Then, he was fine and finally on stage and Crowley was being Crowley—- All I could do was to shut down and go through the motions.”

“Where did he even go? I thought something was off, not only you, everyone, mind you.”

“Home, apparently. I think he was working out?”

“Oh, christ,” Bela groaned. “Please don’t let him become one of those gym hounds, I beg of you!”

“Don’t worry, that falls to Sam. He is in charge of Dean’s workout routine. And he’s oddly good at it, but I think it’s one of those things he can control that he got out of rehab.”

“That’s oddly sweet.”

“They’re ridiculous, but they really do help each other be better—- Anyway, I am sorry too. I shouldn’t have left you to the wolves in VIP while I just watched the show or set up autographs.”

Bela tutted. “I really need to work on my timing, don’t I?”

“Bela?” You warned.

“Well, you’re gonna hate me, if you didn’t already after that fiasco of a suggestion Saturday night. But, Dean and I are ending it. He wants to see other people, or person, really. And I don’t want to keep him locked up.”

“And there’s no way Bobby or I could change your minds?” The words were out of your mouth before you realized what she said. Dean wanted somebody else, a specific someone. Your stomach dropped as she batted away your attempt at negotiation.

“Not really. I think the poor man deserves to have a proper go of it. See if he’s up to snuff for real.”

“You know who it is.”

“Yes, you’d know too, if you weren’t playing masochist roulette.”

You groaned and looked up at the ceiling, the light from the tops of the curtains was dancing in the late afternoon sun. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Be dense. Are you already emailing their manager tattling on me?”

You did not pout, but you did glare at your laptop again. “Nooooo, but I probably should be. But it’s a weekend off. We have Vegas next and who knows when we’ll have this much down time after that.”

“I’m not in any rush for the announcement. Take all the time you need and I’ll post whatever you think sounds best, for everyone, obviously. Amicable split and all.”

“So generous of you,” you muttered, because she always took your snark as a compliment.

“I try.”

“Look, about Saturday, well there was a lot going on and you really caught me off guard.”

The wind changed and Bela suddenly felt closer, she must have put her top up on her car. “I know, that’s why I’ve been messaging you. I didn’t mean to be a bitch about Jo, I just wanted you to lighten up—- to stop worrying so much and doing all the grunt work.”

“It’s a group effort— it’s a family business thing. We’re a pretty small support staff.”

“Y/N, I’ve met everybody and I believe you. I still know you worry too much.”

“Part of the job, images are fragile things.”

“So are you.”

“I’m really not.”

“No, I know, I’m not—- you’re one of the strongest people I know. Truly. You also need to take care of yourself. Not just Dean and the boys in the band.”

You hummed. “I had a spa day, didn’t I?”

“How many pictures did you take of everybody else to post later? Who covered the treatments? The tips? Who made the reservations?”

You bit your bottom lip because you had nothing to say to that.

“Y/N, you need to let yourself be happy. To want things. FOR YOU. If you want to keep running yourself ragged at a job that requires half the effort you put forth, so be it, follow your calling. But life is too short, you know that better than anybody. And if you want something, or someone, you need to start by admitting it to yourself.”

You blinked against the heat of shame-filled tears. 

“I can’t— he’s not something I can want— let alone have.”

“Oh, darling, please! You can have the fucking world. You just have to believe it first.”

You exhaled and tried to keep from outright crying. “You know I’m still pissed, right?”

Your bottom lip was not solid matter.

“I should hope so! I just topped off your rage tank for a good month. The doghouse seems like the place for a spring getaway anyway.”

You actually laughed at her blithe acknowledgement.

“Good, at least we’re on the same page.”

“Almost. You still need to own up to a few things, but I’m going to give you some space— I think you might need to forget I exist for a few more days.”

“You can’t hide from me, Talbot, I know where you live.” You teased, knowing she was still apologizing. 

“Likewise, but I also know that I’ll be hearing from you when you’re ready. Now, go enjoy the rest of your Friday night off. Wash down that snag in your afternoon with a good meal and even better cocktails, yeah?”

You blew out a breath, still a little ragged, but agreed, “sounds good to me! Talk to you later.”

“Ta!”

You stopped yourself from calling Dean about four times as you paced around your hotel room, strategizing how to break the news, first to the band, then to corporate and finally to the fans and the world at large.

You needed a drink.

Or ten.

You thought about why Dean had convinced Bela to end it. And who it could be. He had always seemed very comfortable around Donna. It made sense, she was smokin’ and the tour was just starting up. It gave him time to make it stick. You had to make sure he waited to make anything public until you got your statements out and the fans had time to grieve.

Which meant that you needed to call him anyway.

You sighed, you really didn’t want to have this conversation, but that was the story of your life today, apparently.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you snipped, flopping onto your hotel bed and kicking your flats off.

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you?”

“Twelve.”

“Oof! Well, that’s all on me— what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know yet. But whoever it is that is worth all this, please don’t start anything right away? Or at least not anything where you could get caught, okay? I need some time to get the statements right and out, maybe a few weeks. Depending on what the label says.”

“If you say so— but I really want to just say screw it already. They’re never satisfied anyway.”

“We have a follow up call in a month. As long as the preorder sales stay strong and the tour continues to have good numbers, I doubt they’d bat an eye. Bottom line is where they care the most.”

“Okay, well, that’s doable.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trouble, I swear, I won’t do anything stupid before you give me the green light. This was your baby and I kind of dive-bombed it. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

“Okay, well, keep it in your pants for now.”

Dean chuckled. “Aye, aye sir.”

You rolled onto your stomach and propped yourself on your elbow. “If we hit up some lounges in Vegas are you gonna be able to resist?”

“Aren’t you going to be out with us?”

“Most likely, I owe you boys a nice night out since we had spa day here.”

“Well, then, no problem.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ll behave, promise.”

You stared across your hotel room and thought about the last time you saw Dean at a strip joint. He was like a king on a throne, but something dark was lurking underneath whenever you had caught his eye.

You exhaled and decided to (foolishly) trust him. “Okay, well, I’ll let you know when Bobby and I have something solid written out. Bela’s giving me full reign for her statement too. So, that way it will be easier to spin it as a mutual split.”

“Yeah, she’s good like that.”

“Yeah, I know. I knew her first, remember?”

Dean huffed. “How could I forget?”

You let him stew a little bit, however petty it was.

“You get to tell the band, though. Gotta keep it airtight, but they should know first.”

“Yeah— doubt anybody really bought it anyway.”

You thought back to the conversation you had with Benny and way back when you had lunch with Cas. “I thought you guys did a good job. Never even saw any outright disbelief online and fans are speculative as hell usually.”

“A picture's worth a thousand words—- and we gave them plenty of ‘em.”

“True.”

“You disappointed in me? That I couldn’t make it longer?”

His question caught you completely off guard. “Considering you never wanted to do it in the first place— I’d say you did a pretty stellar job faking the relationship part while still fucking around with her.”

Dean hissed. “Touche.”

“I’m not disappointed, Dean. It wasn’t like either of you had any other options.”

“Yeah, but she's your best friend.” He sounded so small.

“She is. That’s why I trusted her with it at all. I trusted you both. And it did its job. Now I just gotta do the PR bullshit and let you live your best life.”

“I don’t— none of us deserve you. I’m dead serious, Trouble. You’re too good for us.”

You heaved yourself up and sat back up, straightening your rumpled clothes. “Look, it’s my job. Just don’t do anything to make it worse in the meantime, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I heard you the first time. And I’m sorry I am putting this all on you after everything you’ve already done to cover my ass.”

You were over the seriousness and just went with the first thing that popped into your mind. “Well, it’s a pretty small ass, doesn’t take much.”

Dean chuckled, but his voice definitely dropped, “so you’ve been lookin’.”

And suddenly you wanted to take back the joke, because Bela’s knowing voice is echoing around your head. ‘Oh, darling, please! You can have the fucking world. You just have to believe it first.’

“Well, you weren’t being too subtle with all your post-run stretching the other day. Sam either!” you tried to keep it light, playful, not outright flirtatious.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll give you that one.”

“You going out tonight?”

“Yeah, but just for dinner, I’m taking Gibby so Lee and Pam can have a night off. Though he’s only with us for a few more days—- gonna miss the little man.”

“Yeah, and you are his favorite person, so it won’t be too hard to convince him to ditch his folks for the night.”

“He’s a pretty cool kid himself, can’t complain.”

“Alright, well, I’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good. Thanks again.”

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t forget you promised.”

“On it.”

“Bye.”

“Yeah, later.”

You hung up. And dropped back onto your bed as a puddle of mush across the sheets. God fucking damnit, you were so screwed. Dean wanted somebody for real and you were going to have to watch it happen in real time. You weren’t sure if it was better or worse than the past six months with Bela, but what it was was real. And that in itself was more frightening.

You just had to get through the fallout the announcement would eventually bring. 

Suddenly you knew who you had to talk to be able to tackle this whole thing head on. Determined, you sat back up and tucked your legs underneath each other, criss cross applesauce, and scrolled through your contacts.

“Harvelle’s Roadhouse, serving food until ten p.m. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Ellen— got a minute?”

“Trouble? For you darlin’, I’ve got five.”

You smiled and let yourself come clean.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

[shslfanficreader]

Ok ok, we know Gundham gets really flustered at cute compliments from you like "You look really cute today!" Or "You're so gorgeous" BUT THE MOMENT he notices you getting flustered by his deep villainous voice he won't hesitate to tease and torment you with it. He finds it amusing and perfect that you are under his mercy whenever he chuckles close to your ear X////X

Dear anon, (and everyone else who’s sent me an ask or confession): I’m so sorry!! This was sent over a year ago and I haven’t replied because I’ve had a bit of a tough time, but I’m back so even though you might not care about this being answered anymore I’m going to answer!!

MATURE/SUGGESTIVE

Warnings: Gundham x gender neutral reader, suggestive, mostly sfw but for mature readers, voice kink, somewhat shy but dominant Gundham.

Ho - hold on just - hold on a sec 😳

Yes.

Excuse me whilst I'm a major slut for Gundham and his voice 👀

(But first I would like to formally apologize to Gundham’s voice actor, please, if you ever see this for any reason, leave now. It’s for your own safety. God bless. And yes, I know he won’t see this, but I’m paranoid.)

Okay back to the horny.

Gundham is so pretty when he's all flustered and blushy, but he's also so embarrassed by your compliments that he can't help hide his face in his scarf and look away. (I need to stop now before I just go on a rant about a shy and possibly submissive Gundham because good lord.)

He has no idea what his voice does to you at first. When you're talking and you get a flush on your cheeks and your hand moves up to sit near your chin, he initially thinks it might be the topic of conversation, but ah, why would the diet of the dark devas cause you any unease? Hmm, other than that, all he can think of that flustered you would be… him.

But you'd never been disturbed by him before so perhaps… his voice? He was just quite loud. He might have gotten too invested in telling you about the devas.

You'd think that since he acts so sheepish when he gets compliments, he would understand what being flustered is like and maybe go easy on you.

You'd be wrong.

He leans in close to you so you can feel the rumble coming from his chest as he speaks. He talks low so you can hear him clearly but it still feels intimate. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning onto your skin.

His voice is deep as ever, but the tone… he draws out words and adds growls to the ends of sentences, he lets his voice get breathy, he hums as if he’s asking a question when he’s just stating facts.

Gundham’s always been good with his words, but it doesn’t even matter what he says. His compliments and teasing are a bonus, his eloquence overlooked, all focus is only on the sound of his voice.

He would never think of his voice as seductive, but god, you would. The tone is enough to make your skin crawl and cause a shiver to snake up your spine. If you gasp, he’ll give a low hum in response and his eyes will flicker down to your lips for a split second.

That’s when he’ll feel flustered again. You’d only see it if you’re paying close attention, but his cheeks flush red, along with the tips of his ears. The red even spreads down his neck and chest but luckily for him, his scarf hides that.

He hides his nervousness by drawing attention to you and your reactions to him. He teases you for the blush over your cheeks and torments you for the quickness of your breath, asks what’s wrong in a patronising manner, as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

He’ll take his time playing with you before he suggests going somewhere more private, but if he’s feeling ruthless, he’ll do everything possible to get you to admit that it’s warm and your blood is flowing between your thighs.

Either way, he’ll growl and cackle in your ear before dragging you off too more secluded area.

-

Thank you so much anon, and again, I’m so sorry that answering this took so, so long! I really do appreciate every ask and I’ll be trying to answer all the ones I’ve received in the past and I’ll try to answer one’s I get in the future faster too.

[hurricaneonanesthesia]

heywo happy monday!

may i request enemies to lovers where gn!reader gets an agent as a bodyguard assigned because they got captured as a strong radiant (Fade typa beat) (Yoru, Phoenix and Chamber)

excuse my bad english i hope it's readable 😔

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff

Pairing(s): Yoru x GN!Reader, Phoenix x GN!Reader, Chamber x GN!Reader

Authors Notes: hey there! your english is great, so not to worry ^^ ALSO IM ALIVE YOU GUYS I SWEAR, I DIDN’T DISAPPEAR OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH 

this was kinda all over the place so i apologize 😭

_______________

Yoru

I’m gonna be honest, he’s an asshole to you. But I mean he’s an asshole to everyone around him a hot one at that though

So there you are, sitting in the interrogation room at what you presume is their headquarters and their leader walks in with someone else, a man who had a seemingly permanent scowl on his face.

You're informed that although you'd be joining the VP, you'll have someone to watch over you for the first few months of your stay there(you're fairly sure it's just to make sure you don't cause any unnecessary trouble.)

You come to find out that the man assigned to you is none other than Yoru himself, somewhat infamous for working alone even if he had over team members to work with him.

the two of you didn't really get along at first, the sound of your bickering could be heard echoing throughout the halls.

but also because of your capabilities, Yoru was also constantly trying to one up you and prove that he was the better radiant, and ultimately it just devolved into a big competition between the two of you

and in all of the time you spent together, its only natural that you guys would end up developing feelings for one another

yoru is a denier and he firmly denies that he has any sort of attraction to you when in actuality it's very, very obvious and jett and phoenix clown on him for it all the time

but nothing can hide the way that he stares at you fondly while watching you do your own thing

Phoenix

you didn't know what to think of him when you first met the man who said he would be keeping an eye on you, he was friendly to you and could keep a conversation which made you want to lower your guard, until you realized thats probably what the protocol wanted you to do.

phoenix is easy to talk to, he cracks jokes and overall lightens the mood as a whole. You wonder how someone like him ended up at a place like the VP, and how he manages to stay lighthearted despite the line of work he's in.

even with all of the walls that you’ve put up, he still somehow manages to worm his way into your heart. Every action he makes suddenly seems endearing to you, and you find yourself looking forward to hanging out with him

what really cemented and confirmed to yourself that you had fallen for him was a fairly precarious situation that happened on one of your missions together. 

You guys had gotten separated from each other and the rapid spraying of gunfire from every direction was definitely not helping. You did eventually manage to get out by utilizing your abilities but by the time you got to Phoenix, you found him sitting in a pool of his fire trying to heal up but he was fairly beaten up

After you secured the area, you spent the rest of the time you had before you guys were rescued holding his face in your hands and talking to him in a quiet voice, mainly about random things, but you were mostly doing it to make sure he would stay with you.

It scared you to admit it out loud but you genuinely had come to care for the man, and almost losing him made you realize it.

Chamber

the sussy man is your bodyguard?? I mean hey, he’s loaded, both in cash and in weapons

he’s very eloquent in the way that he speaks to you, holding you in high regard, you’re unsure of if it’s because he’s wary of your abilities so that’s the only reason why he’s acting genial with you.

and of course he’s a flirt, he manages to find ways to drop the fanciest pick up lines towards you. It’s not surprise that any person would probably end up falling for him

which is what you did

and you question yourself on whether or not a normal sane person would try to find ways to unfall for him LMAO

But alas you’re stuck battling your conflicting feelings for him

he likes to tease you a lot though, seeing you get all riled up is one of his favorite pastimes /hj

you might find it annoying but while you’re turned away, he can’t seem to hide the way his expression softens as he talks and banters with you

_______________

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Thanks for reading and have a lovely day!

[duskholland]

under the desk || prof!tom smut

professor holland has a special assignment for you...

wc ↠ 3k. warnings ↠ nsfw 18+ content. bj under the table, (unseen) exhibitionism, dom!tom/sub!reader, sir/good girl kink, a lot of praise, fingering, slight degradation, pinching, minor pain kink. messy rough against-the-table unprotected sex (please practice safe sex!!!). I don’t condone this form of relationship irl! be safe. a/n ↠ you know i had to do it to ‘em. thanks @darlingspidey​ for coming into my askbox and choosing violence. minors dni or you will be blocked!!!!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You want me to what?”

The smirk on Professor Holland’s face is unmoving as he folds his arms across his chest. The tight sleeves of his suit bulge to accommodate the curves of his biceps, and you find yourself biting your lower lip despite his shocking proposition.

“I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock for the entire lesson, darling. I don’t understand why this is so difficult for you to understand. Thought you were my smart girl, eh?” He brings two slender fingers to your cheek, running calloused fingertips down to your chin. As Tom angles your face to look at him, his eyes hold nothing but dominance.

“But… What if someone sees?”

Tom is still caressing your face, and you feel yourself ease as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. He steps closer, caging you in until the backs of your thighs press into the hard line of his desk. As his warm breath fans out across your face, you shiver.

“No one will see,” he tells you, accent thick. His South London twang always comes out more prominently in times like these. “We’re too far at the front.” He brings his other hand to your waist, squeezing your flesh with a rough touch that makes you moan around his thumb. “Promise I’ll make it up to you, love,” he adds, voice a blend of sultry tones. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

When he swaps out his thumb for his index and middle fingers, you instinctively lap around the pads of his fingertips. Tom just smirks, knowing he has you right in the palm of his hand. You’ve done risky things with your professor before, but to hide beneath his desk and suck him off for an hour..? It sounds like torture. Yet, with the way his eyes twinkle so seductively, you find yourself leaning into it. You’ve always been a bit of a sadist, anyway, and it’d be hard to disagree with him when he looks like this—brown hair slicked back, face glowing with health, deep eyes like pools of honey.

Tom pulls his fingers from your mouth, but before you can complain about their absence, he brings them down between your legs. You’re already bare beneath the skirt—he’d spent a memorable five minutes ghosting his mouth over the front of your panties before ripping them off and devouring your aching slit with his tongue. You’re still wet now, your cunt cooled by the mix of his saliva and your arousal that slicks your thighs. Tom coos as he presses his fingers into your hole.

“Sir,” you whimper, reaching back to grab at the desk. You’re running hot, skin prickling with need. Your nipples press against the front of your shirt, aching and straining, moving with each heavy heave of your chest. As Tom curves his fingers and quickly finds your g-spot, your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

“You’re so wet, darling,” he murmurs thickly. Tom steps closer, thin lips biting at your neck as you whimper. He doesn’t need to be careful about leaving marks—both of you know the only person who will see you for the next hour will be him. “You want it, don’t you? You want to do this for me. You want to have my cock down your throat as everyone else sits up there, completely unaware of what you’re doing.”

You toss your head back, inching closer to a high that he’s only been denying you. “Yes,” you gasp out, knowing he’s right, knowing you can already feel the ache in your knees from the lecture hall’s carpet. “I want it.”

“Good girl.” Tom kisses your cheek before stepping back, his hand disappearing from between your legs. He ignores your whine of disappointment as he flops down into his desk chair, his thighs parting as he lazily unpicks his belt. He raises a brow towards you until you slowly sink to your knees, crawling between his legs and sitting at his feet obediently. The humiliation burns into lust as he strokes a hand over your cheek, eyes full of adoring arousal. “Such a good little thing, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen as you see him pull his cock free, his length full-mast and his tip weeping. Without thought, you find yourself licking your lips. You sit forward, eagerly looking up to him and shivering as you take in the lust swirling in his eyes.

“Please, Professor,” you ask, voice hoarse. “Can I suck you off now?”

He melts like a candle to a flame, cooing as he nods softly and brings both hands to hold the back of your head. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t make me cum. You can touch yourself if you really can’t control yourself, but you better not even think about cumming.”

Once he’s finished outlining his demands, you nod. Tom scoots closer, the chair all the way beneath the desk now and obscuring his face. It’s dark down here, but you can make out enough—his watch-clad wrist, laying back on his thigh, the outline of his cock. With the hand still on your cheek, Tom coaxes you forward, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as you finally part your lips and take him.

The stretch of your mouth is familiar and needed, and you find yourself moaning a little as your lips part to take him. Tom’s heavy on your tongue, and you tease your tip over his slit to gather the white beads of precum. As his taste seeps over you, you whine, and the sound thickens when Tom roughly pushes you further down.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, lazy voice drifting down from above the desk. “Just like that. Keep that going. Mouth feels like fuckin’ heaven, darling. Such a good girl. So obedient.”

You hum in response, and slowly start to bob your head. You have an hour to kill, so you don’t go too fast, setting the speed gradually as he flexes the fingers on his thigh into a fist and holds your face with harsh fingers. The bite of the pain against your skin as he presses his index and middle fingers together just makes your arousal worse.

“People are about to come in,” he adds, voice low. “If you want to stop, just squeeze my hand, yeah?” When you moan in agreement, Tom hums. “Good girl.”

The noise in the lecture hall is quick to build as the clock approaches the hour. You stay beneath the table, your knees starting to hurt from the bend, but you like it. As Tom starts to present his lecture, you settle into a rhythm beneath him. You rest one hand on his knee for balance and keep the other between your legs, slowly playing with your sensitive bud as your mouth stays on his cock. You alternate between kitten-licking his messy tip and deep-throating him, concentrating immensely when you loosen your throat every time you press in closer.

Each time you push particularly deep, your nose ends up buried in the curly spring of hair above his pubic bone. Whenever that happens, Tom ends up losing his train of thought, stammering over his words as he pinches your cheek a little tighter. You keep it rare, only occasionally disrupting his flow, knowing better than to try and embarrass him in front of so many people. That’s not your objective, anyway.

Time loses meaning after a while, with everything fading that isn’t Tom. Tom—with his hand on your cheek, his legs warm against your front, his cock in your mouth. There’s a thick trail of saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth and your eyes sting with tears. Small wet noises occasionally rise from your mouth as your lips pull away from his cock, and they mix with the noises of your fingers between your legs. You alternate between fucking yourself and teasing your clit, only toying, knowing nothing will come of your actions until he’s finished his class. You shift slightly from leg to leg, and the jostling makes you strike your g-spot just right.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as your mouth falls away from him, your eyelids fluttering shut as you feel the edge approach. You don’t want to cum, but it feels too good to stop. As you wrestle with the desire to give in and add another finger to your clit, Tom clears his throat.

“—Let me just grab something from my bag,” Professor Holland speaks, voice eloquent and clear. He bends over, his hands leaving you as he pretends to rummage your bag.

Tom looks at you, raising a brow in question as his eyes meet with yours. He doesn’t say a thing, still with a microphone clipped to the front of his suit, but his piercing dark eyes say it all:

I didn’t say you could stop.

He continues to look at you as you hasten to sit forward, tender knees digging further into the carpet as you take his cock back between your lips. You moan softly to show your appreciation, feeling more spit fall down your wet chin as you take him deeply. Tom’s lips soften, an expression of enjoyment briefly fluttering across his face before he reaches out to pat your cheek softly. He pulls up a moment later, procuring a blank piece of paper from his bag at the last moment.

You wonder if he’ll give you a second one-on-one lesson to catch you up on all the content that you’ve missed.

For the last part of the class, you focus primarily on him. Professor Holland weaves his hand into your hair and guides you, calling the shots as he pulls you deeper whenever he desires. You end up adding in your hand, using your fingers to pump the top of his length and paying attention to his thick girth as you pump him. Tom gets tetchy, his hips softly rising up to meet your movements every time you work him deeper. You can almost hear the relief in his voice as he utters, finally,

“That’s it, everyone. Thanks for your time. I’ll see you all next week. If anybody has any questions, my office hours can be found online.”

Tom strokes his fingers through your hair as you listen to the babble of noise rise again. There’s the sounds of laptops closing, bags zipping, people trudging down the stairs of the theatre. You take him all the way, his tip brushing up against the back of your throat. Your lips ache, and your tongue feels numb as your nose brushes up against his warm skin. He makes you wait a very long time, your mind running wild, mouth salivating as you stay still and hold him on your tongue, shivering in anticipation. The slick between your legs is just as persistent as it was an hour ago, and you can feel your needy hole clenching around nothing as your fingers slowly stroke your clit.

“Fucking finally,” Tom mutters. A moment later, he grabs you by the hair and quickly pulls you off, your lips releasing his cock with a pop. He scoots the chair back and jerks you forward, a few tears falling down your cheeks as your eyes struggle to readjust to the bright lighting of the room. “Oh, darling... You’re all messy.”

He easily hauls you up to your feet, but you don’t need to linger on your wobbly legs for too long before he’s pushing you up and onto his desk. Tom drops down, briefly bending over to kiss both of your knees before giving you his full, undivided attention. His hands go to your face, nimble fingers taking care of the tear tracks and the mess of drool and precum sticking to your chin. Your cheeks feel hot as he tuts his tongue and inspects you, his cock pressing up against your lower body as he steps closer.

“You did such a good job,” he adds, soothingly. His lips come down over your forehead. “Sucked my cock so well, sweetheart. Felt so good.”

You smirk softly, parting your legs and leaning back. You dig your elbows into the cool wood of his desk, looking up at his face and enjoying Tom’s gaze on your figure. His hands go down to your skirt, and he flips it up, fingers gravitating to your slit.

“Please, sir,” you manage, voice slightly hoarse, words slurring. “Please fuck me? I need you.”

Tom chuckles. He wraps his hand around his length and guides it to your slit, the hard pressure of his cock making you whimper when he presses his tip to your clit. Anticipation swirls in the pit of your stomach, and you cry out as he nudges his bulbous head against your clit.

“Well… I did say I’d reward you, didn’t I?” he teases. Tom shifts his cock down to your entrance, and you buck your hips, trying desperately to entice him into your pulsing hole. “Patient, my darling. Tell me how badly you want me.”

His ego pushes forward, its presence heightened by the cocky eyebrow he raises at you. You clench your fingers into fists, too far gone to be above begging and both of you know it.

“Please, sir,” you whimper, tossing your head back as he continues to apply a teasing pressure to your weeping cunt. “Been so good for you, sir. Waited all lesson for you. Didn’t even cum.” Your voice is broken, weighing heavy with arousal. “Please fuck me. I need it. I need you—”

Before you can finish, Tom sinks into you, your flushed walls parting easily. You feel your cunt flutter as it envelopes his length completely, Professor Holland not waiting a second to start pounding into you. You cry out loudly, jaw slack and hanging open as pleasure sails across you, filling every part of you to the brim. Tom grabs at your thighs, pulling you nearer and using his grip on your soft flesh as leverage to keep you wrapped around him. Slapping sounds fill the air as he rocks into you, his crotch meeting your centre every time as you cry out.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Fits like a glove. So wet, darling. Such a tight fuckin’ pussy.”

You can’t speak, so you let out a breathless whine in response which earns you a tight chuckle from Tom.

“Mmm, too good to speak, isn’t it?” he teases. He drops a hand down to your clit and your back arches off the table as he starts to rub feverish circles to the bud. “God… Such a good girl. Taking me so well, like you were born to do this. That’s right, isn’t it? Snug pussy made just for me.”

He hits every spot exactly like you crave, cock filling you completely. You’ve been edged and teased for so long that the slightest touch would be enough to set you off, and it’s as if your body doesn’t know how to process such an onslaught of sudden sensations. With every rut of his hips against yours, you get closer, his member catching slickly against your walls in the most delicious ways. As Tom’s fingers continue to wrangle your clit, your vision blurs with tears of enjoyment.

“Gonna cum,” you manage, voice thick. You’re shaking, writhing on the table, and if he wasn’t gripping your thighs so firmly, you know you’d be trying to move away from such an intense source of pleasure. It’s overwhelming, but you crave it, and when Tom drops his head down to suck at your neck, you cry out.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he groans, voice hoarse against your ear. “Let go. Let me feel how snug this cunt gets for me, darling. Want you to make me cum.”

Your legs clamp around his back as you finally spin over the edge, your eyes rolling into your head as your back falls against the desk. Your climax sweeps over you, blending with your moans and Tom’s low grunts as he picks up his pace and thrusts faster. Your eyes find the point at which your bodies converge, and the sight of his cock pounding into you only extends your enjoyment.

He follows suit a few moments after you, spilling into you with a loud cry of your name. As his lips speak such a familiar word, the inflexion makes you clench, your pussy constricting around his cock and causing Tom to groan louder. He doesn’t stop railing you into the desk until both of you are spent, at which point he pulls away and leans up to connect your lips.

A smile spreads across your lips as Tom kisses you, his mouth infinitely more gentle than he’s been with his hands. You sit up to meet him, your legs shaking against the desk. As you loop your arms around his neck and sink into his lips, he continues to kiss you, breaking up his long snog into a series of lighter pecks.

“Did so good for me, my darling,” Tom mumbles against you. He’s stroking your back with a warm hand, his breathing ragged but slowly recovering. When he pulls back, he stays near, the tip of his nose pressing to yours. “Are you okay?”

You hum softly, shivering a little when Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Perfect,” you reply. “Bit thirsty, though.”

He frowns, the expression darkening his face. Tom leans closer to kiss your sore cheek, lips lingering there for a few moments as he hums.

“Let’s go,” he suggests. “I’ll take you home. Run you a bath, make you some tea. I’ll look after my girl.”

You pout softly, your heart clenching. “Okay,” you reply. He helps you down from the desk, his hands quickly curling around your waist when your knees threaten to buckle. As he chuckles, you shoot him a glare. “Don’t laugh at me,” you whine. “It’s your fault I’m like this!”

Tom nuzzles his nose to yours as he plants a final kiss to your lips. “Mm, I know,” he growls. “I’ll repay the favour later.”