#and then i realized that i can’t put my experience into one label

[ohmygob]

me: yeah my tits are okay i guess. they’re just kinda there. i don’t like how they look and i don’t want anyone to see or touch them and i don’t feel attractive when not wearing a shirt but they look good with specific outfits sometimes so i guess i like them

me after putting on trans tape: i am never putting a shirt on again. i feel so good and confident and attractive. i’ve never felt like this idk why- oh. hm. hmmmmmmmmmm……

[strangethlngs]

── ❀⋆.ೃ࿔ somebody told me | steve harrington x fem!reader

✧ summary: [based on the song somebody told me by the killers] after breaking up with steve because of impending freshman year of college, both you and steve are haunted by what could have been. in an attempt to cope with the swirling emotions, you pursue a sexual relationship with eddie munson. halloween rolls around, and eddie invites you to a party. your blood runs cold in the midst of sweaty bodies when none other than steve harrington finds you in the crowd.

pre & post s3 steve harrington x fem!reader x slight fwb!eddie munson | angst, very slight smut vibes if you squint | no use of y/n

✧ word count: 4.8k

✧ warnings: MDNI! no full smut but talks of sex and sexual touching/dancing, use of marijuana, cigarettes, and alcohol, steve is an asshole, college struggles | if there is anything that i missed that should be listed, please let me know

✧ a note from s: hi everyone !! i listened to this song for the first time in a while the other day and immediately pictured this storyline and had to write it. this is my first ever fic on this account / first time writing for steve so please be gentle. i also want to put a disclaimer out there that don't write for eddie normally, but i did enjoy writing him in this fic so if everyone enjoys my eddie writing too i might add him to my list of those i write for. sidenote: as i was writing the party scene i couldn't get the image of steve harrington as jacob elordi in the club scene of saltburn out of my brain so enjoy that mental image xoxoxoxox

i'm so nervous to post this so plz lmk your thoughts & plz reblog/like/share to support my writing! enjoy <3

You gently pick at a loose thread on the quilt draped over Steve’s bed. You feel his eyes boring into your head, but you can’t bring yourself to look up at him and meet his eyes. You know they’re sad. Pleading. You can’t bring yourself to face it.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I really am… I just-“ you don’t know how to finish the sentence. You just what? You want to go into college single, why was that so hard to get out? It’s not like you and Steve had dated for years. You’d been casually together, only sporting the girlfriend label for the past 4 months. So why was this so hard? Had you known Steve wasn’t going to be able to get into the college you were going to, or most colleges for that matter, you wouldn’t have gotten as involved with him as you did. You never wanted to hurt him.

“You just what?” Steve prodded, not moving from where he sat, across from you on his bed.

“I don’t know Steve,” you struggle to get out, words failing you severely.

“I think you do. Just say it. At least give me the decency of a reason why you’re… dumping me.”

“I just think… when I leave in the fall,” you swallow, your voice pathetically getting smaller. “I should be single.”

He is silent for a moment.

“If this is a distance thing, we can just do long distance. We can make it work. I know plenty of people who were able to do that. I’m sure my manager at Scoops and I can work out a work schedule that leaves my weekends open. And we can alternate weekends to visit, or… or something,” he rambles on, shaking his head as if the idea of breaking up was not acceptable in his mind.

Maybe because, to him, it wasn’t acceptable. You were his dream girl. Even after a few months, you had him wrapped around your finger. He would walk through a wall of fire if you were on the other side. He hadn’t felt anything close to this since Nancy Wheeler. And you were nothing like Nancy Wheeler. And that’s one of his favorite things about you. But you hadn’t realized how deep his feelings for you ran, and you didn’t realize how deep leaving him would cut. It wasn’t easy for you either, sure, but at least you had a freshman year to look forward too. What did Steve have? Slinging ice cream? That insecurity of not being able to experience college at all was gnawing at him more than he’d let on to you.

“I just think this will be easiest for both of us in the long run… and who knows, maybe I’ll end up back in Hawkins after I graduate, or maybe in a few years you’ll be able to make it to college,” You offer, trying to be as gentle as possible. You stand up, walking to his desk to pick up your backpack.

Once you slip it on, you turn and finally make eye contact for just a moment, before he makes a noise between a scoff and a sniffle and breaks the eye contact, looking out his window. The vein in his neck twitches. You can tell something you said just set him off.

“You mean it will be easier for you.”

You furrow your brow. “What?”

He shakes his head and lets out a sigh, exasperated. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and slaps his palms on his knees.

“You know what… go and have fun at college. Go have fun and be single, while I stay here and make ice cream sundaes. That’s all I’m good for, right?” he sneers bitterly, his tone shifting from the soft pleading he just tried to offer moments ago.

You’re stunned and frozen to your spot next to his desk, hands gripping the straps of your backpack. “Excuse me?”

“I just don’t understand how you don’t want to even try to make this work. And I can only think of one reason you are refusing to try.”

You ignore the last bit, not even wanting to go there. “Steve, I just don’t think I have the mental capacity to maintain something between us. I worry I’d end up neglecting this relationship,” You really are trying to be a peacemaker here, but you feel Steve heating up, frustrated that his attempts to rectify this relationship were futile. Truth is, you don’t want to be single to date around. College was daunting as it is, and you wanted your time to be free to dive into your studies and figure out your place in this world. That, along with keeping up somewhat of a social life in a new big city far from the one boy you’ve ever actually liked would be hard enough.

“No,” He starts, shaking his head. “I think you want to be able to go out to parties and bars and flirt with and date whomever you’d like, right?” He spits, standing from his bed and folding his arms across his chest.

“Wow…” you slowly nod. You know he’s projecting, but damn if it didn’t hurt to hear your boyfriend you’d really started to fall in love with say. “If… if that’s what you think of me, I’m just glad I did this now.” You turn to leave before either of you say things you don’t mean, but Steve beats you to the punch.

“If that’s not the truth, why wouldn’t you at least give it a chance? You’re leaving me no choice but to believe that it’s the truth,” He saunters close to you. Angry Steve is not someone you are fond of. Sure, you had a huge crush on Steve junior year when he donned his iconic, yet asshole-ish King Steve persona. But you hated being in King Steve’s line of fire, just like you were right now. He’d grown and changed from those days, but if you got him upset enough, he would rear his ugly head. He stopped right in front of you, reaching around you to the door to exit his room. He gave you a look up and down you can only describe as pure disgust and muttered close to your face, “have fun with those college boys.”

You let out an airy laugh, his condescending words and tone sending you over the edge. You turn and fiercely walk to the staircase and stop at the edge. You know it’s a low blow. You know it’s hitting him where it hurts. But you’re so mad, you don’t recognize the man you’d gotten to know for the past few months. You spit out the sentence without thinking twice.

“I know you couldn’t possibly understand what I’m feeling because you couldn’t get into any colleges, but it’s not my fault you slacked off and didn’t get the grades. Don’t be bitter at me because I’m leaving in the fall and you’re not.”

You don’t have time to see his hurt reaction before you turn on your heel and race down the stairs and out the front door. As soon as the words left your lips you felt guilty. He’d been so insecure with his college application troubles and you used it against him. But it was over. You slide into your car and quickly speed down the road. You take a shaky breath in and out as you drive, trying to put Steve in the back of your mind and bring college preparation thoughts to the forefront of your focus.

✧

You push through the front door of your dorm building, heaving your heavy backpack through the long hall. Your eyes ached from reading your textbook for hours to cram in a last-minute study session for your exam tomorrow. You were teetering on a failing grade; you just knew it. This class in particular, but all your classes your first semester, were kicking your ass. You couldn’t afford to pay to retake classes. The stress of juggling all these hard classes was bogging you down, and you still didn’t know what you even wanted to major in. It’s not an exaggeration for you to say college was definitely not the exciting, thrilling fun you thought it would be.

When you push your room door open, you’re greeted with the smell of liquor and cheap cigarettes. Neither of these things you were above, by any means, but not on a Tuesday night when you have an exam in the morning. On top of your grades being atrocious, your roommate was downright terrible. Throwing dorm room parties constantly, always up at the worst hours, and messy. So incredibly messy. And the worst part is, she doesn’t even like you. She acted as if you were the one intruding on her.

You push through the group of girls in your way, ignoring the snide remarks, throwing your backpack onto your bed, fishing out your wallet, and immediately removing yourself from the room. You trudge over to the vending machine, hoping for some kind of food before you force yourself to sleep through the inevitably restless night. You grab some candy and turn, nearly bumping into another person. You mutter an apology and step to the side, engrossed in opening the packet of M&M’s.

“Hey you’re one of the girls in room 13 right?” The voice from behind you asks. You turn and see a vaguely familiar girl.

“Yeah,” you respond.

“You got a call at the payphone earlier,” she steps up to the vending machine. “Some guy named Eddie.”

Eddie.

Throughout the awful college experience you’d been enduring, your one saving grace had been Eddie Munson. You thank the girl and nearly race up to the one of the phones down the hall. You shove in some quarters quickly and punch in the all-too-familiar number. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?” you hear his voice answer, and heat flushes over you. But not the giddy, lovey-dovey heat you’d had when you and Steve would have your routine nightly chats, back when you were still with him. This was a different heat. Darker, more lustful.

The summer after you’d broken things off with Steve, you found yourself having a harder time moving on than you thought you would. The things you’d said to Steve you knew you didn’t mean. His hurt face swam into view every time you thought about it. It was haunting you, and you’d do anything to forget about it. One of your friends had suggested Eddie, being a drug dealer and all. You couldn’t recall who Eddie was exactly, but you knew he sold things that could take your mind off real life, so you were set. Soon, you found yourself not just picking up weed from him. It became smoking with each other and ordering a pizza, getting to know each other at a surface level, watching stupid movies and laughing at stupid things. You didn’t like him, definitely not in the way you liked Steve. However, you were very attracted to him. So, when he made advances one night you two smoked in his van out at Lover’s Lake, you most definitely weren’t going to stop him. It was just a one-time thing, you’d both agreed. Until he called you a week later. Then it started to happen more often. When you left for college, you both expected things would fizzle out. Oh well, you’d had your fun rebound.

Though, on a particular Friday you were getting weighed down by the toll college was taking on you, you found yourself calling him from your dorm, asking if he was free that night. Phone calls between you and Eddie started to become more frequent. Usually it was, “what are you up to this weekend?”, followed by him saying something along the lines of, “you should come visit. I got a new batch from Rick, and we should smoke it and see how long we can go without touching each other”. Because of this, you started to make occasional trips to Hawkins to smoke weed and hook up to cope and escape your personal hell that was freshman year.

“Hey, you” You smiled into the phone.

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna call me back,” you could hear him smiling on the other end of the phone too, a lusty drawl to his voice you detected immediately. “You weren’t cheating on me by being smoked out by some other college stoner, right?” he teased. The thing you liked the most about you and Eddie’s agreement was that you both knew where you stood. There were no complicated feelings involved.

“You know I would never,” you fake-gasp.

“So, listen,” you hear him shift on the other side of the phone. “There’s this huge Halloween costume party this weekend here in Hawkins. I’m not one for Hawkins parties… but this one actually sounds like it might be fun. Wanna come?”

“Most definitely,” you nod. “Are we coordinating costumes?” you tease, fiddling with the phone cord.

“Well, I actually have an idea, but it’s kind of...”

“I expect nothing less from you,” you cut him off. He begins to ramble about some Motley Crüe music video that he loves and how you could dress as one of the ‘hot chicks’ and he could dress as one of the band members and it would be ‘totally awesome’. He explains the costume details to you in the best way a male brain can, and you make a mental note to stop by a video rental store tomorrow to rent the music video and see what you’re working with here.

“I’ll be there Friday night, costumed up.”

“Oh, I do like the sound of that,” he breathed out. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

✧

As you pull up to the party, Eddie makes a point to trot over to your van door and pull it open for you. Ever the gentleman, dressed head to toe in an undeniably incredible Tommy Lee costume.

“Why thank you,” you smile, taking his hand as you step out of the van. You could hear the bumping bass from the party all the way from where Eddie parked down the street.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Eddie started, giddily walking, already producing a joint and sparking up. “Your costume looks insane. I don’t know how you managed to do that within a few days,” he lets out a puff of smoke and hands you the joint.

You give a twirl and slip the joint past your lips. “It’s pretty easy to be out shopping for things when you wanna spend as least time in your dorm room as possible.” It was true. After your big exam, the rest of the week had gone by smoothly with you busying yourself by either being at the library or out shopping and crafting your costume.

You both pass the joint to each other a few times and before you know it, you’re both making your way through the people crowding the lawn. Just before you make your way into the house, Eddie stops to chat with some of his D&D buddies. You decide to leave him to his friends, it’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything.

You already feel a bit tipsy, mentally thanking Eddie for roping you into taking a few tequila shots before leaving for the party. The inside of the house is dark and smoky, save for some flashing colorful lights illuminating the crowd of closely knit dancing bodies. You spot an opened, nearly full bottle of… Merlot? Was it merlot? You soon realized you didn’t care. Your fingers tighten around the sticky bottle, and you heartily swig it, the liquid grossly warm. Your feet take you to the edge of the crowd, immediately getting engulfed in the group of people, dancing to the music, happy and carefree to be anywhere but your dorm room.

You lose track of time. After a while of dancing on your own and progressively letting the wine, tequila, and weed all take their effect, in the haze of the dark, smoky crowd, you hear a wolf whistle over the music in your direction. You took a spin, expecting to meet eyes with Eddie.

Your blood ran cold, and you choked the swig of wine you’d just taken. Steve’s beautiful face was illuminated by only the occasional flashes of light in the large room, a lopsided, drunk smile on his face. He stood closely in front of you, slightly swaying to the music. You quickly take in his Scarface costume, a small voice in the back of your mind immediately assuming that a beautiful, blonde Elvira is close by.

You both stare at each other for a minute, you stand still amid drunk dancing teens. You quickly realize you are obscured from wherever Eddie’s view happened to be by the large crowd around you, but why was that your first thought? You try to glance around to see if Eddie had decided to come inside, or if he was anywhere in eyeshot so he could rescue you. But you’re feeling Steve’s eyes raking over your body. Heat flushes over you, and you clamp your thighs together, stifling the thoughts and feelings washing over you prompted by his seductive gaze.

“What do you want”, you ask, it coming out snarkier than you’d meant for it to. You’re just… uncomfortable under his heavy gaze. But not uncomfortable, like you didn’t want him near you. No, no. Moreso… uncomfortable because when you saw him looking at you the way he did, a heat ignited somewhere in you. It had been so long since you’d seen his face, nevertheless seen him look at you with such… lust? Could you even call it that?  

“I’d been trying to get over to you for the past 17 songs,” he retorted over the music, just loud enough for you to hear. “You are hard to track down, you know that?” More teens were dancing into you, of course pushing you and Steve closer. Too close. So close that you could smell that he had been drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes. And his cologne. The cologne you’d complimented one of the first times you’d hung out. The cologne that reminded you of being close to him. Smelling it on his neck when you had been kissing his collarbone…. Heat flushed over your cheeks, and you’d hope he didn’t see it in the rhythmic flashing of lights. A particularly hard jab from a girl dressed as Madonna hit your arm, causing your bra strap to fall to your arm.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you choked out, frantically adjusting the strap of your top back to your shoulder, finally finding your voice again. You were suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Your hands grow sweaty as the wine bottle slips through your fingers. You take a swig, desperate to break the charged eye contact he was making with you.

“Did you happen to forget I still live here?” He snarked back, a goofy Steve Harrington smile on his lips.

“And so what if I did?” You respond, looking to try and brush past him. You need to find Eddie. He’s your crutch here. You need to remove yourself from the situation, because you know you’ll get in far too deep if he keeps looking at you this way. But his large frame steps in front of you, blocking you in between him and the group of girls behind you.

“You leave town onto bigger and better things and end up rightback next to me, huh?” He gives a cocky smirk and takes a sip from his cup, not breaking eye contact. “Funny how that works.”

“I’m just here visiting a friend,” You retort.

“Yeah, you know, I did hear about that…” He started, a hint of a scoff bubbling out through his lips. He leans close to your ear, one hand grazing the fabric on your forearm, dangerously close to the swell of your hip, the other hand clutched around his red solo cup. Beads of sweat form on your forehead, but not from the heat.

“Somebody told me you’re actually here with Eddie Munson,” he chuckled a bit, as if it was unbelievable. You pulled away and scanned his darkened and unreadable eyes, trying to get what he’s playing at. You notice the King Steve persona again, like you did the day you dumped him. You don’t know it, but something inside him flipped when he saw you dancing on the dancefloor, skirt riding up your thigh, bra strap slipping down your arm.

“Why do you care? I’m sure there’s some girl around here you brought,” you play it off like it doesn’t sting your tongue to say. You wanted to know so badly why he was asking. Did he care? Was he going to make fun of you? Was he hurt? Jealous?

“I just didn’t think he was your type, you know…” He persisted, raising his cup to his face, a dark smile starting to form as he speaks. “I mean… now that I think about it, something about him reminds me of Nancy. I think it’s the curly hair…” He said with a wink and a swig of his drink. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. You immediately knew what he was getting at. You’d been so insecure in your entire relationship with him that you were just his Nancy rebound. Idiotic Tommy and Carol would never let you hear the end of it with how different you were from Nancy, and it ate away at you and made you so insecure. Because you weren’t like Nancy Wheeler, like, at all. And with this comment he was not only insulting you, but your choice in having Eddie Munson as your date to this party. This was his response to the low blow you had made before leaving his house the day you broke up with him. You take a deep breath in, releasing your arms and shoving his chest with the top of the wine bottle.

“Was that the best insult you could come up with, Stevie? Is Eddie Munson making King Steve that insecure?” you mock him, the alcohol finally giving you your fiery attitude. “You know what, he may not be as manly as you think you are but trust me…” you drunkenly grab a fistful of his shirt and bring him close to lean towards his ear, “he’s more of a man than you ever were. Especially in bed,” you purr. You release his shirt and shove him away.

You’re expecting him to be stunned, to be speechless. King Steve, dethroned. But to your horror, he gives a dark, dry laugh.

The opening riff to a new song starts playing, and the crowd cheers, causing Madonna to bump into you so harshly that you’re thrown into a compromising position. Steve places his hands on your arms, steadying the both of you, so your back close to him, and he starts moving with the music.

“Oh, I’m not worried about him competing with the way I made you feel,” he leans in, millimeters away from your ear, hands sliding dangerously close to your hips. “I’m sure Eddie Munson doesn’t know you well enough to know the right ways to pleasure you like I did. Tell me,” he breathes, hot and close to your ear. Shivers run down your arms. “Do you let him use those pink handcuffs on you? You know… the ones I bought for you?”

Your mouth goes dry, numbly moving as his hands guide your body to the music with his. A gasp hitches in your throat as you feel him closer behind you.

“Just give me tonight… for old time’s sake. I think I need to remind you just how good I made you feel.” A shiver runs up your arm as his hand runs down your arm, gripping the wine bottle with his hand over the top of yours. He brings it up to his lips, your hand trapped under his. Once he swigs a few gulps, he slides the bottle down the front of your body, letting go of the bottle, but his touch lingering on your collarbone.

Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the fact that the song that just started playing is one of your favorites and Steve knows it. But something in you chases the high that his touch is giving you. So, what the hell. You give in. You know it’s what you want, deep down, even if you were stone cold sober. You couldn’t deny that nights spent at Eddie’s trailer, long after Eddie had fallen asleep, memories of Steve haunted your memories. You couldn’t deny it, even though you wanted to pretend it didn’t keep you up some nights.

You begin to sway to the music, Steve’s strong body behind you guiding you to the rhythm. His touch never leaving you. It felt so right, like returning to a proper stasis after chaos for so long. It felt right and comfortable and normal. His hands wander your curves, and you throw your head back. Steve knew your body in a way Eddie never had. Intimacy with Steve wasn’t just about immediate sexual satisfaction. It was about intimacy. Steve had cared about you, actually cared. He wanted to make you feel good. You knew the persona he was playing up tonight was a front to hide how he really felt. He yearned for you, especially yearned to make you feel good. You’d refused to admit it since you started hooking up with Eddie, but Steve had made you feel good in a far different way. And the fact that he knew it simultaneously pissed you off and turned you on.

You feel Steve’s hand ghost up your arm and to your shoulder, and almost instinctively, as if you were back to your old ways, you let your head lull to the side. Steve’s lips immediately attach to the spot on your neck that he knows you love. You let out a moan, inaudible under the music. Your fingers tangle into his thick hair, willing him to keep going. His hands lightly trail up the front of your thin shirt, and you can feel his fingers brush against your nipple. And suddenly, he detaches his lips from you, much to your dismay.

You turn your head, sighing in protest, and turn to him, inches away from your face. His drunken breath fans across your face, intoxicating you more than any weed you smoked or wine you swigged tonight. The lights flash from behind his head, lighting up his beautiful features. His eyes fall to your lips, and his large hand moves from your chest to cup your cheek, and he pulls your face forcefully to meet your lips to his. He wastes no time making the kiss as sloppy as the environment you’re in calls for, his hands running wild. To your surprise, you feel your hand gripping his shirt, your body aching to get him even closer. You give into the sensation and let your hands tentatively rake down the front of his shirt. You waste no time slipping under his shirt, hands dancing up his torso, Eddie a long, distant memory. But your lips grow cold as he pulls away. He sloppily smirks at you, knowing he has you in the palm of his hand. You hate him for it.

“Ditch Munson and come home with me,” he says, still close to you. Under the smug façade he puts on, you can see that his eyes are almost desperate. Your brain tries to formulate a sentence to decline, but you look at his face and see Steve’s real self through the mask. Not King Steve, but the real, genuine Steve. The one you love. Lips puffy from crashing into yours, cheeks flushed, hair tussled from where your fingers had raked through it. The smell on his breath intoxicates you. He feels safe. Familiar. Something about him you can’t resist. You never could resist.

“Steve, I don’t want to get you tangled up in something complicated,” you find the words tumbling out of your mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for dumping him only to end up getting involved with another Hawkins boy. What a slap in the face that must have been. But he leans in and kisses you deeply, stopping your train of thought. When he pulls away, he keeps his face close to yours.

“Let’s worry about this in the morning, yeah?” He nods, encouraging you. You know you want to too; you just worry you’re going to hurt him in the process. His hand finds its way to your cheek again, his thumb brushing against your chin. “Let tonight just be… tonight, okay?”

You gaze up at him, brain racing through a million answers to give him in the span of a millisecond. But you respond with the answer you know deep down that you really want to say.

“Let’s get out of here,” You slide your arm around his and start to push through the crowd.

please do not repost anywhere. please do not plagiarize my work as your own. please do not use my writing for any AI purposes.

[crystallizsch]

“Oh? *I* get to be in charge of our lovely Princes? Hehe. I graciously accept the challenge.”

[SR] Yuusha Tala -> GROOOOVY!! Glimmering Soirée (fan event by @starry-night-rose)

Groooovy!!: Hehe. If you want to dance with me, you’re gonna have to keep up with me first.

Set Home: Yeah, yeah… I know I’m just a glorified attendant and I don’t really have any say over the Princes... Look, just let me have this.

Home Idle 1: Helping Deuce act like a Prince has been really hilarious. But credit where credit is due, seeing him try his best is really charming.

Home Idle 2: Wow. Somehow Azul became less insufferable after being trained as a Prince. ….Wait. Nevermind. He’s still the same.

Home Idle 3: Kalim and Hornton seem to be a natural at this. I guess I should have expected that. It’s really nice to see them shine.

Home Idle - Login: Has anyone seen Grim? I swear I saw him lurking around here somewhere…

Home Idle - Groovy: I could go for "Belle of the Ball" if I really wanted to, especially since I'm the one who helped take care of everything after all. But alas, why would you vote for the magicless prefect..? Wait, unless.….

Home Tap 1: Where did I put that ghost camera? I was just holding it just a while ago… Huh? It’s around my neck? Well, that’s embarrassing. Oh stop laughing at me, will ya?

Home Tap 2: The others say I’m like a different person when I go into "manager" mode. …And they say it either like a compliment or an insult so I’m getting mixed messages.

Home Tap 3: Ugh. This cape is cool and all but people keep getting caught by it. So annoying.

Home Tap 4: Would I compete in being the Belle of the Ball if I wasn't taking care of the Princes? Depends. Would you vote for me? ~ ♡ …What do you mean you’ll give me a "pity" vote.

Home Tap 5: No, I’m not staring "longingly" at that band! …But hypothetically, do you think they’d let me play an instrument with them?

Home Tap - Groovy: Oh, wow. Crazy that they totally just left this violin here. Hmmm…..

notes:

i had fun with the voice lines aaah but it might have some changes when i’m done with the groovy (and i’ll properly put her in an actual card template)

also slight lore drop from one of the voice lines: yuusha has experience hosting formal parties pre-twst. basically she just locks in (a bit too heavily) when she has hosting duties.

(some of the voice lines also foreshadow the groovy 👀)

anyways i was just messing around a lot with the outfit design and the colors hgsdfjds

i tried my best making her purple color scheme agree with the limited color palette and i think it worked out??? idk idk--

also the cape was supposed to have patterns similar to the ceremonial robes so as to label her as someone from nrc.

i wanted to include a LOT more ruffles too but i had no patience for lining all of that 🤧

(bonus sketches/concepts below)

at first i based off her suit on hans frozen but then (because of pinterest giving me ideas) i realized i wanted a more fun outfit and so here i am-

(also help me i meant to have the voice lines to be just talking to anyone but it just hit me that it sounds like she’s talking to jamil 💀 girl they just can’t leave me alone they live in my head 24/7 rent-free)

[yeosbbm]

Studio Sessions

Smut | MDNI

starring: producer! Hongjoong x producer! Fem reader

genre: lovers reunited, yearning between two, coworkers to lovers/friends to lovers

summary: You helped Hongjoong produce music for Ateez for so long but soon left due to feeling as though they didn’t need you. But you get a call from KQ asking for you to help out with their new comeback to keep Hongjoong from wearing himself out. After reconnecting with him, your dynamic and relationship with him takes a turn.

warnings/prevs: hongjoong is whipped for the reader, reader lowkey denying their own feelings 😭, sweet/dirty talk, pet names, thigh riding, a half cup of cunnilingus, fingering, overstim implied, one moment of impact play, unprotected piv (wrap it up), light dom-sub dynamic.

A/n: in this work I honestly didn’t/barely use “y/n” and changed up the perspectives to experiment and I actually prefer this tbh. I had so much writing this you guys you don’t understand 😭 btw I might remove my mingi fic after reading over it and push it pt.2 will be released tomorrow 🫶🏾

Session #1

“Wait so, she’s coming back.:.to help with producing the comeback.”

Hongjoong is shocked you cared to come back. Starting at the Thanxx era, you produced for KQ alongside Hongjoong, but after a while you questioned your talents or if Ateez even needed you. So you departed from the company after the Deja Vu comeback. It shattered Hongjoong because the best of Ateez was from you two’s hard work.

What also shattered him was his feelings for you. He was in love with you, he knew that it was inappropriate to feel that way about a friend and colleague, but he couldn’t help it. His love and right hand support was gone.

“We realized that this album has put a strain on you and we don’t need anyone to strain themselves mentally or physically before the comeback.” Hongjoong is listening but isn’t as attentive as he usually was during one on one meetings. He was still trying to wrap his head around how you and him are going to be in the same room again after all this time.

“So, we reached out to her and luckily she hasn’t transferred to a new label. She agreed to rejoin KQ.”

Hongjoongs head is finally out the clouds. “This is great thank you sir, I need to prepare and clean my studio and file what we have.” He wanted you to see him in his best condition.

“There’s no need she’s already in the studio.” Fuck.

After speedwalking through the building he finally reaches his studio. Through a cracked door he could see you stood there, running your hand on the sound board. He swallows and decides to come in. “Hey it’s me, I-I didn’t think you’d get here so soon.” He tried to sound as natural as possible.

“It seems like Joongie still can’t manage to keep his studio tidy.” You laugh while running your hand through all the software you haven’t used in forever.

Hongjoong is stuck..why ? because he’s realized from you calling him ‘joongie’ alone, all the memories and feelings for you have flooded back.

You walk towards him and embrace him. You’ve missed him too, and feeling him in real time makes your heart ache in nostalgia and a sea of suppressed feelings. “I’m proud of you guys, Bouncy was a hit I’m shocked you guys even need me back.”

Hongjoongs eyes are set on your face, you’re as pretty as the last time he’s seen you. “I wish you had never left.” Now you were both stuck wordlessly staring at each other.

You snap out of it and back away to clap your hands. “Then let’s get to work shall we!”

Hongjoong’s head is once again, finally out the clouds. “YEA! Let’s make this happen.”

Session #5

You and Hongjoong have now had 5 sessions recording, editing and sorting the music and vocals, and Joong has enjoyed every bit of it. He always puts every ounce of passion, effort and creativity into his music, whether you’re there or not, but something about you being here adds a spark.

You hadn’t came in yet due to errands. Hongjoong had to record Mingi on his own. Mingi finally leaves the booth so him and Hongjoong can listen through.

“So, what do you think about her coming back.” Mingi says twiddling his thumbs.

“All I can say is that I’m glad.” He was more than glad, he was ecstatic to have you by his side again. But, he knew gushing about you to Min might cause a ripple effect.

“So what have you thought about her these days..has she changed…has your view on her changed orr?.”

Hongjoong didn’t know where to start.

On a colleague level, he thinks you’re an amazing part of the team and admires your work ethic. On a romantic level, wants to see you outside the studio, have a home date that ends with him kissing the top of your head and cuddling on your couch. And for the more lustful thoughts, he already thinks you’re pretty, but thinks you’d be prettier while you cry from overstim, he wants to make you feel fireworks while you cum from his mouth, hands, di-

“Earth to Joong damn it.” Mingi is sat laughing and apalled on how caught in his thoughts Joong was. “Sorry sorry I’ve been missing sleep.”

“You’ve been missing her.” Mingi could tell and had a grin of knowing.

“No I haven’t.” He did. He wished you dropped the errands and was sitting by him right now.

“Wowww I didn’t know it was like that Hj.” You walked in only hearing the final two bits of their convo. Fuck.

After Mingi left, you and Joong sat in the studio mixing audios and perfecting songs that had already been finished. For hours you two laugh, bonded and caught up on old times.

Joong had moments where he was so fixated by you. Whether it was your face of focus on your laptop, the way you smiled at him when the mix sounds good, how your body moves when you truly feel the beat.

Soon Hongjoong had left momentarily in order to practice choreo with the members. He told you he’d be back since you wanted to stay behind. When he returned by 1am he expected you to still be awake working hard like old times. But you haven’t worked this hard on a song in so long you fell asleep.

As you slept on the couch, using a blanket he keeps in his studio. Hongjoong could only stare, seeing you so still and peaceful…your most beautiful form.

He dims the lights, fixes the blanket, and takes off your shoes. Normally the change of lighting alone would wake you but the studio was so tranquil you can sleep so deeply. Before Hongjoong starts working on his own,,he kisses your forehead.

Session #10

You can sense that your feelings for Joong are returning during this session. It started with him buying your favorite drink order with a sticky note attached.

“Had to go to a quick photoshoot, wait for me <3 [: ”

Then it’s how when he got there, he put his hands on your shoulders while watching you work. The weight of his hands alone has your stomach filled with rapid butterflies. What really killed you is when he leaned down to whisper a suggestion in your ear for the sample placement.

You shivered and thanked him for telling you, then hid your face by staring directly in the screen, avoiding him possibly seeing you flustered.

The icing is how you began to have eye strain and head was humming from the loud sounds around you. Your senses were becoming dull and all you could do was squint and wince in your chair.

“You good ?” He turns his chair to you concerned. “Yea it’s just my head no worries.” You rub your eyes a bit and stretch your arms before going back to your work.

Then you hear Hongjoong get up from his chair, you assume he needs to grab something but hear him directly behind you, then he rakes his hands through your hair up your scalp and begin massaging and rubbing pattens with his fingers.

The cherry on top was when he leaned forward into your ear again but this time he whispered. “That feel good ?” You nod and have to keep yourself from thinking out of pocket scenarios that involve you and him in bed. You know he’s simply talking about your headache but…Fuck.

Final Session.

“Uuuuh lower the synths here so it doesn’t drown out Yeosangs vocals.”

“Joong if we get rid of the synths here…” You hint at how this could compromise the beat.

“I know the beat will sound empty but I need something to highlight but not drown out Yeosang’s voice since it’s deeper.” He is clearly stressed, you can tell by how he’s holding his head stumped and how tired he looks. Then you have a lightbulb moment.

“Wait….” you turn your laptop so he can see what you mean, “Take the drums but turn on sound opacity.” You can tell Hongjoong isn’t sure on what you’re hinting but you have his upmost confidence.

“And then bring in spare vocals from Jongho’s scrapped harmony.” You intently watch him follow your directions. When he’s finished he plays back the beat. There it was, the best version of the title track.

You two take a break since Joong ordered you both chinese takeout. You’re both on his studio’s couch he’s sitting down while you’re laying on the rest of the space, your legs resting on Hongjoongs.

While taking the plastic off your straw and poking it into your drink, “5 songs done, a title track and 3 more to go.” You’re giggling. “With the rate we’re going making them together. Ateez might have an early comeback.”

“Yea I don’t know what I could’ve done or could do without you, I need you around all the time.” You pause while pushing your food around but get back into tossing it around to your liking.

You notice you and Joong haven’t taken a single bite of each others food. Are you both nervous, nervous about what though…is he going to…He doesn’t mean it like that he sees you as a friend. The thought racks your brain. “Ahh thank you Joong it’s sweet to know you think of me so well.”

She’s dodged me again. Joong thinks to himself holding back letting out a harsh sigh of frustration.

“I- I need your vocals for this sound bite …can we record it now before we wrap up.” Your eyes widened suprised he’d ask you and not maddox or anyone else. “Sure, meet me in the booth.” You walk in first while Joong puts both of your food in a microwave.

You both head in and place on the headphones and adjust the mic to y’all’s height. He handed you lyrics, the melody starts and you sing. Hongjoong is once again enamored hearing you sing and watching you feel the music all through your body. His lips are parted and eyes are on you alone. Once you’re finish your part you look up to see Joong sing his portion but he’s silent and his eyes are stuck on yours.

“I love you.”…..that wasn’t in the script, maybe it’s an adlib you think but Joong was staring as serious as ever. “I’ve loved you for a while and I want you to be mine, I mean this- this isn’t a song Y/n.” Denial is sitting in your chest. “Joong you’re just tired let’s go home.”

Hongjoong is over it. What more could you need to understand his feelings for you, what else could he possibly need to do to spell it out.

Joong pulls you in and kisses you, the kiss starts with soft light pecks but the more you lean into the kiss the more confident he became, soon the kiss became more hungry and daring,, he even introduced his tongue.

Moments later when the kiss finally breaks, Hongjoong is nipping and kissing at your neck, he goes back up to your ear, “If you want to stop just tell me now.”

“Keep going….I want this.” You both kiss again, charged with lust and want. “Go to the couch.” you and him rush to it. He sits first and looks up at you.

“Take your shorts off.” You pull your shoes off and begin sliding your shorts down. “Should I take my shirt off too.” Hongjoong licks his lips and nods, he removes his own shirt so you won’t get shy with the exposure. He pulls you onto his lap.

You both begin kissing again but now his hands are grabbing and pawing your ass, after teasing you to when he sees fit, he grabs your hips and begins to slowly but surely grind your body back and forth across his thigh. He leaned forward so his mouth was against your jawline, his warm breath tickling you, “Do you wanna get off on my thigh pretty?” He asked, and his teeth grazed the last column of your neck.

The shyness is eating you up so all you can do is nod and begin rocking your hips at a moderate pace. Hongjoong grips your hips tighter and begins pressing your farther on his thigh and helping you roll your hips faster. Soon he slides you down on the lower part of his leg

He starts quickly bouncing his leg, the friction of your heat and his thigh becomes overwhelming. “Go ahead love,,let go for me..” You grip his shoulders tighter and rock your hips 2..3….4 more times before you finish on his thigh.

Joong was insatiable though…he needed more he wanted to see more of your expressions. He begins slowly bouncing again. You whimper from the sudden continuation of pressure and quickly cover your own mouth because of the noises you were making.

Joong couldn’t have this though, he takes the hand over your mouth and puts it into his “I need to hear you baby let me listen to how I make you feel”. He purposely bounces his leg and presses you farther again, you moan and pant aloud which leads to a face of satisfaction appearing on him. Moments later you’re undone again creating another mess on his thigh.

Hongjoong gently laid your body on the couch and removed your panties. He sat in awe with the amount of slick coming with them. He groans at the view, looks down and his eyes burn into your heat. He takes his thumb and presses it and makes slow experimental circles. “Joong please move faster.” He makes quicker tight circles and prods your slit with the knuckles of his other fingers. “Is it ok to put one in.” He slowly runs them up and down your slit while you can feel your heartbeat in your clit. “Shit- yes please.”

He leans forward to give you a french kiss and then slowly brings his middle and index finger into your heat. He is caught in a trance moving them in and out, hearing them squelch when inside and watching your hips squirm and breath quicken. He begins reaching them deeper and farther to find the gspot that resides in you, when he pushed and watched your eyes roll back into your head and legs almost shut on his hand he knows.

That’s when he starts pressing and curling his fingers and now you’re at the point of no return. “Cmon baby cum on my fingers.” He presses his thumb against your clit causing a stream of pleasure to shoot through you and begins to finger fuck you at a pace that makes you start propping yourself up on the couch. He removes his thumb and buries his face in your cunt and brings your clit to his mouth, he sucks and nips at it harshly making your voice let out and bounce on the studio walls. A higher pitch “Fuckkk” escapes your mouth while you cum the third time.

Joong tries to get as much of your arousal from your cunt as he can. He feels you get tense and brings an arm to your thigh and squeezes, he paused to say “Just cleaning you up baby.” Soon he takes quick but long licks back to back to get whatever he missed. He lightly kissed your inner thighs and rises back up. He pulls down his shorts and reveals his cock, painfully hard and leaking pre.

You already make your way to his lap attempting to bring it into yourself so you can ride while facing him. Joong stops you however…”Let me take care of you.” He kisses and takes quick lovebites on your neck. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted..let me take care of this pussy, yea ?” You shiver by the confidence that’s filled him. You nod and he raises you up and gently slides his cock up into you.

He starts with shallow pumps, hoping not to hurt you. There’s a small sting but it’s drowned out by how good being stretched by him feels. “h-harder.” You mutter, but Joong needs to fully hear it from you. “Use your words love.” You hide your face in his neck while he carefully rolls his cock into you. “Fuck me harder Joongie.” The nickname has him spiraling. He starts straight bucking his hips up and bringing your hips down onto his cock.

You’re both still facing each other and he stares into your eyes and watches you moan and cry on his dick. He can watch you forever, he speeds up craving to see your eyes flutter and roll back more…to watch you bite your lip and stare into his eyes pleading for release. “Watch how pretty you are down here baby.” He whispers. His forehead is leaning onto yours and you both watch his dick fucks into you. You’re clenching harder than ever making Joong hiss and fuck you faster.

“I- I love you too Joong.” He smiles and hits you with a feverish kiss.

He slaps your ass before he grabs your hips harsher. You’re on the brink, you can’t take it any longer. “Cum for joongie one last time.” He whispers into your ear and then you become undone for the final time. Joong pulls out and jerks his cock until he nuts on your lower stomach.

He lays you down on the couch before he walks to his studio closet. He wipes your face and abdomen down with some semi warm wipes and gives you a pair of his black sweats and hands you some slippers you left here when you first departed. “Here love.” You’re handed an ice cold bottle of juice he left in the studio mini fridge at the beginning of the day.

While putting his shirt back on and raising his shorts, “Wanna grab our food and come to my place for a movie ? ”

“What about the final 3 songs ?” It comes out quiet because the final orgasm knocked your voice out of you.

“We’ve got tomorrow, and the next day and the next day..” he kisses your lips and lands a quick one on the top of your head.

“We’ve got forever if you stay by me.”

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Just A Little Spice - Dean x Reader

“Just A Little Spice” - Dean x Reader

Rating Teen

Dean x Reader

Tags: Language, Dean Makes Bad Decisions, Dean in Mild Peril, Dean is Infuriating but We Still Love Him

Word Count: 1500

Dean likes to spice things up, but it would be nice if he didn’t have to put his life in danger in the process.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "I would burn down the world for you." dialogue square.

A/N: Something Short and Kinda Cute. I ended up finding a way to tie this to my other Bingo Square “Ice Play.”

Image created in Canva (photo used/found through Google Image Search)

You’d gotten back to the bunker a day later. Exhausted from the heat, satiated by the relief from the iceman. You’d found Sam organizing and labeling ingredients in his witchcraft cabinet. He was going to try a few new spells from Rowen’s bequeathed library. Realizing he needed some specialty items, he had to head up Nebraska way to meet with an herbalist who sourced supernatural spices.

Dean hovered near the cabinet, picking up jars, and mumbling pronunciations to himself. Sitting on a nearby stool beside a podium meant to support hefty grimoires for spellbook incantations, you chuckled at Sam’s constant swatting of Dean’s hands with each new inspection. You stared at Dean with your best telepathic “stop playing with your brother’s toys” look.

He frowned, relented, and placed a tincture back on a shelf. “That dude, Elijah?”

“Yep,” Sam huffed.

“What’s so important you gotta get right now?” Dean shrugged.

“Nothing important. I found a couple of spells that can change atmospheric pressure and manipulate temperature shifts. Was thinking those could come in handy in the greenhouse. Planning some experiments with out-of-season fruits and vegetables or plants that usually can’t grow in our area.”

You smiled. Sam had become quite the gardener the past year.

Sam eyed Dean in a way that cued me in on the fact that they had something private to discuss. Dean shot you a gentle “get the fuck out” request with raised brows and a head tilt.

“Alright, I’m gonna get unpacked.” You slapped your thighs and gave Sam a forearm squeeze as you passed. Dean tapped your ass on your way out.

You closed the door but lingered long enough to hear Sam, “I figured you were still planning something for-”

“Keep it movin’, sweetheart!” Dean bellowed.

You sighed and smiled to yourself. Dean had a surprise in mind for your anniversary.

~

You’d gone along with Dean’s ask for you to head out solo and grab beers and other supplies later that afternoon. Sam was well on his way to Nebraska by then. And, even if you didn’t play dumb well, you could give Dean time to do whatever it was he was doing for you.

Neither one of you was terribly romantic, but Dean could on occasion whip up the softest, cuddliest little moments.

So, two hours later, as Dean had nonchalantly yet specifically detailed for you to return, you stood outside the bunker door and readied for an anniversary celebration for the books.

Instead, after a hefty pull and the rattle and creak of the iron cell-like door, a plume of smoke released and assaulted your senses. Your eyes watered and you began to cough.

Beer and supplies dropped outside the threshold, you covered your mouth and nose with the collar of your T-shirt and darted inside. You crab walked down the stairs, below the cloud of smoke that hovered at the ceiling. Emergency flood lights flickered over the war room, washing it in an eerie red glow.

The bunker door slammed shut when your boots hit the ground floor, but that never happened. Some sort of automatic electrical protocol engaged for a lockdown scenario?

“Dean!” You tried your best shout to carry through the cavernous levels. He wasn’t in the library and the source of the smoke wasn’t anywhere near your current location. You dashed to the kitchen to what you assumed held the source.

You rounded the kitchen entrance. The contents of a heavy stock pot flicked with flames and churned out thick puffs of smoke on the stovetop. Your heart stopped, finding Dean splayed on the floor by the oven. Your eyes widened. Your coughing worsened at the acidic, burning taste filling your nose and mouth.

“Dean!” you called out again between wheezes. In the hazy film of smoke you spotted his head roll at your voice. You surveyed the area in seconds. You dropped to your knees and crawled over to him. You nestled by his side, grabbed his face by the jaw and jiggled. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

His lids flitted open. Upon a deep inhale, his coughing fit began.

You’d freak out and try to figure out what irritant or poison was in the smoke later. For the moment he was alive.

After shielding him from further smoke inhalation, you dragged him by his ankles out of the kitchen unceremoniously up and over a step. The back of his head cracked onto the granite with one of your sharp tugs. He cursed into a terry kitchen towel you’d wrapped around his mouth and nose. About 20 yards into the shit show of a rescue he had enough awareness to flip onto his stomach and urge you that he could manage.

You hopped up, lungs on fire, and ran back into the kitchen despite his yelling and a failed attempt to hook his hand around one of your shins. You grabbed the fire extinguisher in the kitchen corner, pointed the nozzle at the pot, and, from a safe distance, sprayed the flame retardant all over the stove.

The fire was finally out and with it the smoke production.

A familiar smell wafted through the heat now that the flames had dissipated. Roasted Pork? Barbecue?

Arms dropped to your side. They were heavy and searing from the exertion. Tears poured from your eyes. Through blurry blinks as the scene cleared, you spotted a tiny glass jar a few feet from where you’d found Dean.

The extinguisher clattered to the floor. You picked up the jar, examined it with a sigh, accompanied by many more coughs, and trudged your way back to Dean.

He was sat on the floor, back against one of the hall walls. He clutched the towel that had been wrapped around his face. He looked up at you with tear-streaked cheeks beneath the flashing red floodlights. “Thank Christ,” he wheezed out.

“You alright?” you asked and fell to your knees beside him. One hand steadied yourself on his thigh.

He nodded.

You waited a few agonizing minutes with him, gaze steady on each other. The air cleared as each second ticked by, enough for you to both begin to breathe with some regularity. The coughs subsided. His hand clutched yours and squeezed.

You pulled your phone out and dialed Sam.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sam.” You swallowed, throat dry. “Got a question for you,” you rasped.

“Yeah, sure. You okay?”

“Just peachy.”

You watched Dean’s face begin to redden for another reason.

“Curious, what’s this firecracker pepper do from your stash?”

Sam’s silence on the other end didn't bode well. “Why?”

“I’m guessing it’s not an herb you’d use for culinary experiments.”

After three more beats. “He didn’t?”

“Yep, he did.”

“Holy shit! That stuff is highly combustible! It’s meant to oxygenate a fire and sustain it for a prolonged period.”

“Gathered that. Anything we should worry about with substantial smoke inhalation?”

“Nothing more than the usual. I can be back in a few hours.”

“No, no, we’re good. He’ll clean up his own mess.”

Dean frowned.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. You enjoy your time away from us.”

Sam sighed. “For fuck’s sake. Never a dull moment.”

“Not with your brother it isn’t. Talk soon.”

You ended the call and stared at Dean. Hard. “Dean?” you prodded.

“We were out of pepper!” His shoulders lifted and met his ears.

“I was out getting supplies!”

“If I’d asked you to get pepper you’d have known I was cooking!”

“I already knew you were cooking for our anniversary, Mr. Not Subtle!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmured. “We missed celebrating the way I’d planned because of the hunt. I was making those spicy pulled pork sandwiches you love with all the extra chiles. I tossed some of the pepper in and this fucking flash bomb happened. I jumped back and lost my footing. Hit my head and that was all she wrote.”

You leaned in to feel the knot on the back of his head. “You probably have a concussion.”

He shrugged. “Nothing new there. I’ll be fine.”

You fumed, nostrils flared. “How can you be so, so-” you tossed your hands in his direction, “-this!”

He dared to toss you a cheeky grin.

“Dean, it’s not funny! You could have burned the bunker down and who knows what could’ve happened to-”

He grabbed your face with both hands. Quietly, he stated, “I would burn down the world for you.”

“Don’t do that.” You whispered. “You aren’t gonna get out of me being mad at you.”

He smiled. “Good. That means we can finally have angry make-up sex.”

You pursed your lips together and swallowed down a laugh.

His expression turned serious. “I made a mistake. It happens. I’ll clean up the mess in the kitchen.”

The thunder in your chest faded away. “You can be so careless sometimes.”

He nodded.

“You just act first, think later.”

He nodded.

“Well, you're right that you’re cleaning up all that mess and whatever the hell you did to the bunker.” You pointed down the hall to the kitchen and up at the lights.

He nodded. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine! You can kiss me now!”

He repeated. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

[gortashs-skidmark]

I heard some podcasters talk about mouthwashing and yea yeah yeah great game but they didn’t understand why Polle was chasing Jimmy. They hated the horse sequence bc they didn’t get it.

I feel like the corporate greed aspect plays in a lot but it’s not an overbearing theme. That rep wasn’t even overbearing but it played a good rep of what Jimmy felt.

Jimmy does not treat Anya like a person. He doesn’t feel guilty about what he did to her, he only feels guilty for the consequences. he’s only worried about her baby which he hallucinates as a horse amalgamation.

He’s more worried about his job, than his actual actions.

Polle is a representation of the company. Polle trails him in a scene you play out, Jimmy is only worried about himself and what the company will do to his career. No matter if the job is already going to end at the end of the expedition because freighters like the Tulpar are going out of service. No matter if he took the job of captain but can’t even use the control pads. No matter if he got what he wanted from curly and curly suffers and is now seen as an object that’s just barely surviving. (The ableism of the game is a whole other post away) If he’s labeled as someone who abandoned a kid, out of wedlock, had an accident, it could ruin his chances of a “normal” life. No one really says “you raped her, Jimmy” but he knows. And they know.

He didn’t have the axe, and I feel like curly kinda made sure of it by giving it to Swansea. Anya knew who he was deep down and that was destructive of others and himself. Curly let him do his own thing to make it better which was destroying part of the ship. And curly only realized the full extent of Jimmy’s monstrous personality which made Curly suffer. Anya knew the extent. And now they both suffered.

I’ve dated men who are scared of having their careers ruined with allegations but they are not the men who are assaulting anyone. Though, these same men hate it when I say “I hate men” and they say “not all men” and I say “can you show empathy instead of making it about yourself?” (Not actually but I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain myself) I shouldn’t have to explain that it doesn’t apply to you.

It’s like saying

“I hate pitbulls”

“Not all pitbulls are bad”

“But my experience with a pitbull was bad”

(This is not true, just an example. I love pittie breeds, one of my fav. But I wouldn’t invalidate someone who had a bad experience with the breed. Just listen and validate them for how they feel, their own journey is their own journey)

Jimmy wanted power so bad. He wanted what he thought he saw Curly getting, which was unwavering respect. Jimmy only had an idea of how he wanted to be treated. He didn’t know how to get respect, we see this with Daisuke’s “Yimpy” drawing. He’s a joke, he’s too self serious, he’s antisocial. Curly is his friend because curly puts up with him, which enables all of his behavior. He’s not teaching Jimmy anything. Jimmy had that hate love friendship bc of curly who wasn’t self loathing or instigating competition with Jimmy for who was better or more miserable.

Curly under the grates and gazing at him. Curly is under him, and haunts him. He doesn’t escape his own actions. And Polle will see that. The company will look at all his actions and will not say “good job” and Jimmy knows.

That also plays a theme of “you cannot love or be friends with someone who hates themselves” because ultimately at some point they will resent their other half. A much smaller thing to get out of mouthwashing but you know.

Swansea was not happy with his life, and neither was Daisuke, but they didn’t blame themselves for being unhappy. They didn’t blame others either. Their own problems were their own. Swansea even celebrated his sobriety with shoes instead of self loathing, getting yourself a treat is self love.

[fuck-john-calvin]

(about your thing with relating to shifty)

im more upset that she uses the vessels against LQ while also dismissing them as important viewpoints and perspectives. in my eyes she is just cherrypicking the parts of those lives that she finds meaningful while ignoring how they were real people that had fears and lives.

and yeah a little bit of taking them from their happy endings to be combined into something they never asked for.. she says they are gifts from lq but its not like he ever chose to give them to her.

(i know you said youre okay to debate but im honestly Terrible at it and i just wanted to share my view because i do have my reasons for preferring the princess(es) over shifty)

Ok. Sorry it took me a day to respond. I’ve been putting my thoughts together on this before i write back

a) not gonna argue there. shifty is manipulative and uses the experiences that she's had with us to try to convince, guiltrip, strong-arm, or really use any form of persuasion to get us to leave with her.

HOWEVER. I do not think that she as a whole ignores that they were real people that had fears and lives. Vessels, hearts, eulogies- shifty speaks to us of the identity of each and every princess as she cradles them in her embrace. She is not ignoring 'their' experiences because they are hers as well, because each and every one of those princesses is her, even if they functioned independently for a time. She does ask the Long Quiet to ignore these, but I don't view this as casting aside the aspects of herself less interesting or useful to her, but trying to convince the Long Quiet to look away from these contradictions, and to stay focused on the more compelling cases for escaping together.

So yes. she's a bit of a sophist. but she doesn't ignore the princesses, just ask the long quiet to

b) i mean… i have a lot of thoughts on this. They were always a part of her, they always were her, they just didn’t know it yet. I think all of them were searching for her, they just didn’t know that’s what it was they were searching for. The most aware of this is the spectre- she senses the longing within her, and realizes that she can’t quite explain what it is or why, just that she needs to be somewhere, rather than try to label it as something else, like the other princesses do. At their core, though, all of the princesses know that they need something, and that the slayer is the gateway to it.

Also…happy ending??? I know the game implies that they might have almost gotten this before being taken away, but let’s think about this for a second. There is no way out of that construct. There are only a hundred feet or so of woods and the cabin. What happy ending awaited them? The player and the princess don’t realize it at the time, but they’re not actually in the real world. They can’t reach the real world. They are trapped there until either a reset happens or they starve or kill each other or something along those lines. None of the princesses can actually escape without reuniting with shifty and rejoining the world. They’re just as trapped in the woods as they are in the cabin. If anything, shifty was actually rescuing them.

[storiesforallfandoms]

when it’s wrong but it feels right ~ eminem

word count: 2452

request?: yes!

@noah1986​ “hi again! I didnt know i had to write the idea for the story sorry!

Can you do Eminem where the reader works for him like as his assistant or housekeeper and he doesnt't interact a lot with her but thinks shes pretty and then he falls in love💓

thank you🧡”

description: in which he falls for his housekeeper, but he doesn’t tell her because he knows it’s wrong

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (marshall is 50 reader is late 20s)

masterlist (one, two, three)

Marshall never wanted to become the stereotypical rich celebrity. Coming from nothing made him more determined to stay humble about his sudden celebrity status and wealth. But, with his dedication to his work and his constant need to be away from home, he realized that he needed someone to look after his house. At Hailie’s insistence, he looked into getting a housekeeper for the times when he wasn’t home or too busy to take care of the place.

After a long line of interviews they narrowed it down to one candidate: a young lady named (Y/N). She had plenty of housekeeping experience having grown up the daughter of a housekeeper for famous people, and then her first job being the housekeeper at a hotel in Los Angeles that tended to house celebrities. Hailie figured she would be the safest option as her past with working with celebrities meant that she knew how to keep things a secret and they could trust that she wouldn’t take anything from the house.

On her first day of work, Marshall was in his home studio working on a couple of beats for an artist on his record label. The soundproofing in his studio made him forget she was even there until he came out to get something to eat and saw her putting away the clean dishes from the sink. He said hello, but noticed a wire coming from her back pocket to her ears and realized she was listening to music while she worked. It made sense, but he didn’t want her to think she couldn’t play her music out loud if she wanted to. He may not completely like the music depending on what it was, but he wouldn’t stop her from playing it.

He walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder to get her attention. She shrieked in response, spinning around and, in her state of panic, dropping the plate she was holding. It shattered on the floor, pieces of the broken glass scattering over the floor.

“Shit,” she swore, quickly yanking out her headphones and throwing them onto the counter. “I’m so sorry. I forgot you were even here. I didn’t hear you come up from the studio.”

“It’s okay. I probably could’ve announced my arrival in a better way,” Marshall responded.

He knelt down to start picking up the pieces of the broken plate, but (Y/N) quickly stopped him. “Don’t touch it with your bare hands. You’ll cut yourself. I’ll grab the broom and sweep it up.”

Marshall watched as she swept over the entire kitchen floor, making sure that not a single piece of the plate was left on the floor, before sweeping it into the pan and dumping the broken pieces into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I’ll replace it, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marshall said. “It was just some cheap shit from Walmart that I’ve had for years. It probably would’ve broken if you washed it a little too hard.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I appreciate that. I promise I don’t often break things that belong to my employers. This is the first time I ever have, actually.”

“Well, you can’t exactly blame yourself. I startled you.”

“I shouldn’t have had my headphones in, but again, I forgot you were here.”

“You can play your music out loud, you know. I’m not going to stop you from doing that. I might judge a little bit depending on what type of shit you’re listening to, but I’ll try not to say it to your face too much.”

A small smirk crossed on her face. She unplugged the headphones from her phone and pressed play on the last song she had been listening to. The sound of Marshall’s voice filled the room. He realized it was a song from his most recent album. An amused smile tugged at his lips.

“I haven’t gotten to listen to the entire new album yet,” (Y/N) admitted. “I figured the best place to listen to it would be while I cleaned the house of the man who made it.”

“So you’re a fan.”

She shrugged. “Kind of. My dad always played your music when I was younger and we’d go for long drives. Mom hated it, but he just learned to play it when she wasn’t with us. I guess it just stuck with me ever since.”

They got to talking then. Hours passed and neither of them noticed. (Y/N) told Marshall about herself and her upbringing; her housekeeper mom who had brought her along to some of the higher status houses she cleaned, and her dad who was a well known mechanic in town. She told him that she wanted to be like her mom, so her first job as a teenager was housekeeping for a local hotel, which she ended up working for until she was hired by Marshall.

It wasn’t until the sun went down and the kitchen started to plunge into darkness that (Y/N) realized how much time had passed. A look of panic crossed her face. “Shit. It’s been hours and I haven’t done anything.”

“Hey, it’s fine. You can take the rest of the day off if you want. I’ll still pay you for the whole day and you can start fresh again tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

Marshall nodded. (Y/N) smiled and went to collect her things. “Thanks. I promise I won’t break any dishes tomorrow.”

Marshall chuckled and followed her to the door. They bid each other a goodnight and Marshall watched from the doorway as (Y/N) got into her car and drove off.

Marshall went back to his home studio to keep working, but found it hard to concentrate on what he was doing. His mind kept drifting back to his day with (Y/N). It had been such a long time since he spent hours just getting to know someone and not realizing the time. And it was a genuine conversation. He didn’t once feel like (Y/N) was viewing him like a celebrity. When she first told him she liked his music, he was worried about how things would go between them. Turns out, he didn’t have to worry.

But he also just kept thinking about her in general; the smooth, soothing sound of her voice, the dreamy look she got when she talked about her memories. In fact, just her beautiful face in general. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

It was wrong. It was wrong on so many levels. She worked for him, for a start. As his housekeeper, of all things. He didn’t want to be a rich cliché, and that especially extended to the “rich employer lusting over his young employee” bullshit. Which led to another big issue: her age. She was only a few years older than Hailie, and wasn’t quite Alaina’s age yet. She was quite literally young enough to be his daughter.

It was wrong, but fuck, he couldn’t help but want her.

So he started leaving whenever he came to work. Whether it was to go to work, into his own home studio, or just some excuse to go visit his daughters. Whatever the case, he had the least amount of interaction with (Y/N) as he possibly could. Which was hard when all he wanted to do was see her.

On one of (Y/N)’s off days, Marshall had decided to use the day to relax and catch up on some shows he had been watching. It was early in the day when he heard a knock at the door. Confused, he got up and went to answer. His heart dropped when he opened the door and found (Y/N) stood there.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting you today. What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, crossing her arms. “I know I don’t really have any place to confront you about this, but it’s been bothering me and I need some answers.”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just busy,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Well, for one the look on your face right now says otherwise.” He looked away, which didn’t help his own argument. “And you told me the other day that you were going over to Hailie’s, but she came here looking for you shortly afterwards.”

Marshall wasn’t sure how to respond. He could’ve easily dismissed the claim and told her to go home. Like she said, she didn’t have any place to question his life. She was just his housekeeper after all, he didn’t owe her any explanation for his personal life.

But his heart wouldn’t let him. Looking at her stood there, concern on her face over the thought of potentially offending him, Marshall knew he couldn't just send her away. It was probably a bad idea, but he figured he couldn’t keep this secret anymore. In fact, it was probably better to tell her now so he could let her go and she could find a better employer.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She stepped into the house that had become almost more familiar than her own. Marshall led her back to his living room and gestured for her to sit down. She sat on one end of the couch while he sat on the other. They were closer than he had meant for them to be, but he didn’t want to change spots now, or ask her to do so.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said.

Marshall shook his head. “You didn’t do anything. Trust me, this issue is all me.”

He took a deep breath, hesitant at first, but decided to continue, “Since your first day, where we spent all that time talking and getting to know each other, I’ve found myself...thinking a lot...about you.”

(Y/N) looked at him blankly.

There’s no going back now.

“You are a very beautiful woman. I can’t deny that. But then talking to you on that day made me feel more like a person than I have in a while. I really enjoyed just talking for hours, and I would’ve liked to do that again. But...it’s wrong. I know that, and the last thing I’d want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. So, if knowing this changes your mind about wanting to work for me, I understand. I can find someone else, probably even help you find another job too.”

She still wasn’t speaking. She was still just looking at him, still with a blank look on her face. He wanted her to speak. He needed her to say something. Even if it was just to curse him out and call him some names. Any sort of reaction would’ve been better than this silent treatment.

She looked down at her lap and finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

The question took Marshall back. His body acted before his mind could even process the question; he nodded. In a flash, (Y/N) was leaning across the couch and pressing her lips against his. It was a shock for the both of them. Neither of them really knew how to react. (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she should keep it going, Marshall wasn’t sure if he should kiss back. It was awkward for a moment, until (Y/N) felt Marshall’s lips move against hers, followed by the both of them feeling an exploding feeling in their stomachs - like fireworks.

(Y/N) pulled away just as quickly as she kissed him, sitting back in the spot she had been moments before. They both looked at each other in shock, before mirroring smiled stretched across their faces.

“I really liked talking to you that day, too,” (Y/N) said. “At first, it was just this feeling of happiness that I was getting along so well with my new employer. But then you started leaving all the time or spending your time in the studio, and I felt myself becoming sad at the fact that I couldn’t see you. I knew that was a strange way to feel, but then I had this...” She trailed off, embarrassment written all over her face. Her sudden stop drew Marshall’s curiosity. She sighed and continued, “I had this dream about the two of us.”

Now she definitely had his curiosity.

“I realized that what I was feeling was more than just liking my employer,” she said. “And that realization, plus just generally feeling sad that I wasn’t getting to see you was enough to push me to come here today and confront you about it. I was worried it would go wrong considering I am just your employee and you’re not entitled to tell me stuff about your personal life if you don’t want to, but it was bugging me. I had to know why.”

“And now you know,” Marshall said.

She nodded. “Now I know.”

Silence fell over them for a moment. They didn’t make eye contact. There was a question lingering over them that they both knew had to be asked, but neither of them wanted to ask it.

(Y/N) soft voice broke the silence first, “Am I fired?”

Marshall shook his head. “I’m not going to fire you. That would look bad on your resume. But I do think it’s best for both of us if you start working somewhere else.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

“I can’t date my staff. That’s just a shitty cliché I would never want to fall into.”

She perked up more at this. “Date?”

Marshall couldn’t help but smile. “That’s what two people who like each other do, isn’t it? They go on a date.”

The happiness radiating off of (Y/N) was contagious. She brightened up more at Marshall’s words. She almost looked like she was about to jump his bones right then and there, but he couldn’t let her. No matter how much he wanted her to, there was a matter that had to be dealt with first.

“I’ll help you find another place to work,” he told her. “Until then, we keep this relationship work based. The minute you have another job, I’ll take you out on the best date of your life.”

“That sounds like a deal to me,” (Y/N) said. “Before we shake on it, can I kiss you one more time?”

“Only if you tell me about that dream you had.”

(Y/N) gasped and playfully hit Marshall’s shoulder. He chuckled and grabbed her hand as she was pulling away from him, tugging her towards him so he could kiss her again.

[scretladyspider]

Happy ace week! Let’s talk about demisexuality —

demisexuality is a sexual orientation in which a person does not experience sexual attraction until a close bond is formed. It exists along the asexuality spectrum.

Demisexuality is not the same as waiting until you trust someone to have sex; that’s a choice anyone, demisexual or otherwise, can make. Being demisexual may influence someone’s behavior and decisions about having sex, as any sexual orientation can.

There’s nothing wrong with waiting to have sex, and demisexuality is not a judgement on people who have casual sex. That said, there is a difference between demisexuality and waiting that can be difficult to grasp from the outside.

From the outside, it looks like demisexuals just wait to be in a serious relationship before having sex with their partner. But the difference is not having sexual attraction at all, to anyone, until that bond is formed, and maybe not even then.

It’s sort of like not being able to see a color. Let’s say red. The thing is, you can’t see what other people see, and they can’t see what you see. So when they describe red as this warm, bright, vibrant thing, and you’re looking at gray, it’s confusing.

Then when one day you’ve formed a bond with someone you haven’t had before and you suddenly do see red, or maybe even just pink, you of course tell everyone you see red — but everyone around you is confused because you’re just describing what they already were seeing.

That’s what being demisexual is like. Not seeing red, no matter what you do, then one day you see it. And maybe over time it fades. Or maybe it changes shade from day to day. Or maybe it becomes gray again, but you still enjoy painting.

But when you explain “I don’t even have red paint, but I found red paint for the first time after I formed a bond with my partner,” people hear, “I don’t make art with my partner with red paint until I form a close bond.”

The thing is they waited to paint with red, and that’s what they expect you to do too. They don’t understand that you literally didn’t have see or even have red in your pallet. Ironically enough they judge those who use red more casually far more than you do.

Therein lies the difference. Allosexuals had red paint the whole time. They’ve seen red for years. Eventually you start to feel like something is wrong with you for not having red paint and you tear your studio apart looking for it.

Then one day someone gives you a new tube of paint. it’s red! and it’s new and to you, very distinct. Sometimes you lose the paint or it runs dry. It doesn’t even always look like red to you. It can turn pink, or gray. And you realize you actually don’t always see red.

You don’t always have red in your pallet. You only even have red paint when you’re in a specific circumstance. But people around you just have it and take it for granted, and so they think you’re just more careful with red paint and trying to feel superior for it.

That’s what being demisexual is like. Adopting the label demisexual is like finding your art movement. Some people judge you for joining the movement. But you’re not doing anything new; you’re just naming what you were already experiencing.

Demisexuality is a part of the asexuality spectrum. It was invented as a term between 2003 and 2006 in discussions about the asexuality spectrum on AVEN forums.

Demisexuality is not just “not having casual sex”. We’re all different. Just like every other sexual orientation.

Everyone is different. Not everyone who waits to have sex is demisexual. Not everyone who has casual sex isn’t. There’s nothing wrong with using the label demisexual if it helps you better understand yourself. There’s nothing wrong with not using it if it doesn’t help you.

Labels are magnets, not stickers. You can put them up and take them down as needed. And if you’re using demisexual on your fridge, I hope you have a great ace week. I’m glad you’re here.

Happy ace week.

[kiirotoao]

Re: Byler and being best friends

Alright, look, I understand that in real life, best friends can appreciate each other’s art. Best friends look for each other when they’re lost. Best friends stick together in rough patches. Best friends fight and disagree. Best friends apologize when they’ve messed up. Best friends give each other gifts. Best friends confide in each other with almost everything. Best friends can do romantic things and be completely and utterly platonic in real life.

But guess what Stranger Things is not? Real life!!

If any story in media is well-captured and well-written, if the camera sees it, if we see it, then it’s supposed to be important. While friends in real life can do the most questionably romantic things and still claim to be just friends or even just best friends, there’s far more nuance to real people to explore if it’s truly romantic or not, and that’s not for others to openly discern. But we who analyze Byler are not doing this because Mike and Will are real people. They’re characters, crafted into this audio-visual story with pre-written and exclusive history and dreams.

While I know that they say they’re just best friends, I speculate on them potentially being more. Why? Because their stories are interwoven and I see chemistry within the threads. It’s as simple as that.

I preach at the end of almost every video I make, “Byler’s endgame,” and really, that’s a sendoff of encouragement more than anything else. Because I hope and believe that Byler can happen at the end of this season and this overarching story. I’m not pushing two people together. I’m hopeful to see two characters come together and realize that their relationship and feelings can blend into a wonderfully written romance amidst this dangerous and unpredictable world that they’ve been put in.

So please stop comparing Mike and Will to real relationships and saying, can’t best friends just be best friends? Look, yes! You’re right! In real life, best friends can be nothing more and choose to stay that way. But on the other hand, hey, best friends in real life can also become more! No one can deny that! But whatever the weather, whatever can be real isn’t relevant. Real lives are not a TV show. Real lives are not being created and publicized (besides some people in reality TV, which is another unrelated issue). By contrast, as characters, Mike and Will’s lives are. And I love the thought of them finding love in each other at the end of the pages. It gets no finer than that.

And so when I look back at their narratives and see the way they treat each other, interact on screen and see how they think, tell me, am I wrong for shipping them? I’m taking the details and looking beyond explicit labels. And I don’t just go around doing this to all people I see in my life who have chemistry. This is specific, this is the love I witness in this thriller-drama-romance. I’m sorry if I end up fighting against you, but I’m not here to crowd you out. Ship what you want. If you love certain characters together, talk about them! There’s a plethora to talk about for Byler! So honestly, I’m curious, why are you compelled to come to me and try to convert me away from what I love when I often don’t even mention your name? Is there not enough for you to obsess over and love? Is there perhaps not enough textual evidence or good moments to enjoy for your ship? I’m just saying.

At the end of the day, real life experiences and examples are practically void when we’re talking about art, and please, please let me have fun with my ships. This is the internet. If you don’t like it, use your capabilities and settings and scroll or block what you don’t like, and pursue what you do. Unless you want to join a forum to discuss the arguments, I think that it’s unfair to think that those who don’t ship your ship are going to talk about your ship. I’m not responsible for what you consume and see. Really, no one is but yourself.

I like to think that I’m rather patient, but I don’t know, I think I’m tearing at the seams a little after a few years in this fandom. This is directed to no one in particular, though, so please don’t take this as a direct callout. I just wanted to get this off my chest. Sorry if I got a little harsh in the end, there, too.

Thank you to those who’ve engaged very respectfully with me even if you disagree with my opinions. I hope that I’m respectful, in turn. I love lighthearted debates, but I don’t love repeating myself to some who don’t want to listen. And of course, thank you Bylers. I’ve met so many wonderful people through our silly journeys going crazy together. That’s all. 💙💛

[meeka-chann]

Novel #14

All The Bright Places

By Jennifer Niven (⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Favorite lines from the novel:

• “Sometimes I say and do things without thinking, and people don't like that, people like labels. They like putting you in a box. They want you to be who they want you to be.”

• “People are stupid, but the tiniest few might actually mean well.”

• “He taught me that it was okay to get lost, as long as you find your way back.”

• “The thing I realize is, that it's not what you take, it's what you leave.”

• “You are all the colors in one, at full brightness.”

• “We do not remember days, we remember moments.”

• “The great thing about this life of ours is that you can be someone different to everybody.”

• “The problem with people is they forget that most of the time it's the small things that count.”

• “It's my experience that people are a lot more sympathetic if they can see you hurting.”

• “'Lovely' is a lovely word that should be used more often.”

• “You make me lovely, and it’s so lovely to be lovely to the one I love.…”

• “You have been in every way all that anyone could be.… If anybody could have saved me it would have been you.”

• “Sometimes there’s beauty in the tough words—it’s all in how you read them.”

• “I do my best thinking at night when everyone else is sleeping. No interruptions. No noise. I like the feeling of being awake when no one else is.”

• “We are all alone, trapped in these bodies and our own minds, and whatever company we have in this life is only fleeting and superficial.”

• “I learned that there is good in this world, if you look hard enough for it. I learned that not everyone is disappointing, including me, and that a 1,257-foot bump in the ground can feel higher than a bell tower if you’re standing next to the right person.”

• “I know life well enough to know you can’t count on things staying around or standing still, no matter how much you want them to. You can’t stop people from dying. You can’t stop them from going away. You can’t stop yourself from going away either.”

• “I know myself well enough to know that no one else can keep you awake or keep you from sleeping.”

• “What would I have said to him if I'd known I would never see him again?”

• “She is oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. The same elements that are inside the rest of us, but I can’t help thinking she’s more than that and she’s got other elements going on that no one’s ever heard of, ones that make her stand apart from everybody else.”

• “People rarely bring flowers to a suicide.”

• “I am on the highest branch.

We are written in paint.

I believe in signs.

The glow of Ultraviolet.

A lake. A prayer. It's so lovely to be lovely in Private."

• “Stars in the sky, stars on the ground. It’s hard to tell where the sky ends and the earth begins. I feel the need to say something grand and poetic, but the only thing I come up with is “It’s lovely.”

• “Sorry wastes time. You have to live your life like you'll never be sorry. It's easier just to do the right thing from the start so there's nothing to apologize for.”

• “Because it's not a lie if it's how you feel.”

• “No more winter at all. Finch, you brought me spring.”

• “There are bright places even in dark times, and if there isn't… you can be that bright place.”

• “You got at least a thousand capacities in you even if you don't think so.”

• “Maybe even the smallest places can mean something.”

• “You saved my life. Why couldn't I save yours?”

• “You know what I like about you, Ultraviolet Remarkey-able? Everything.”

• “And in that moment there’s nothing I fear except losing hold of her hand.”

• “What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them.”

The photos used are not mine. Credits go to the rightful owners.

[we-are-inevitable]

fresh of off my weekly reread of i might loosen my grip, but i'll never let you go and i’ve gotta ask if you’d ever be open to write a sequel or a continuation

this fic is so dear to me i know it was a one shot and probably just a quick little thing but i adore it and didn’t know how much i needed the message of it. it would be nice i think to see a followup on how love doesn’t necessarily cure all but of jack learning how to be there and davey learning how to let him if that makes any sense?

but even if this is forever a standalone, thank you so much for writing it

oh my gosh this is so sweet!! honestly i never thought about making a sequel to this fic, but it’s genuinely one of my favorites. i don’t think i’ll ever write more for it, but here’s some tidbits i’ve thought about!

even though they have that first kiss, they don’t really tell anyone they’re together. honestly, things don’t really change much— they were always touching in one way or another as friends, their souls are basically sewn together regardless, and they just… are. they just let themselves be.

they don’t put a label on it. they know they’re exclusive, but something about boyfriend is underwhelming and yet too much, and that’s okay. they’re best friends who kiss a little and go on dates and that’s that. (of course, a few months in- maybe when davey feels more sure of himself- they decide they’re boyfriends, but they don’t mind living in the in-between for a bit.)

sometimes davey doesn’t text jack and that can be sort of worrisome. they come up with a system, a certain phrase or emoji, that davey can text jack with to let him know that it’s one of those days— one of those days where he feels like he’s carrying brick in his chest, one of those days where even scrolling on his phone is too much movement, one of those days where he feels submerged in six feet of packed dirt even though he’s in a comfortable bed in a comfortable room. jack knows that on those days, the spare key is under the mat, and david’s bed is open. jack knows he can hold david as he rests and wash his hair when he can’t bring himself to do it.

like you said in the ask, jack wouldn’t cure him- but i do think that jack would be one of a few catalysts in david’s decision to start therapy, or medication, or both. i think that this david sees himself as flawed because of it— he had a good childhood, he had great educational experiences, he has a good job, so why does he feel so shitty? as one bitch with major depressive disorder to another, it can be SO hard to deal with when you can’t justify why you’re depressed. jack wouldn’t need davey to have a reason. he’ll meet david where he’s at, and that support helps david decide that he doesn’t have to deal with this alone.

i also think that the relationship would be good for jack. jack is impulsive, and excitable, and much more hyper than david— i feel like they both even each other out on good days. david helps jack realize that taking things slow and living in the moment is a good thing, and jack helps david get out of his shell more and realize that spontaneity isn’t always terrifying.

okay. here’s what i think longterm:

i think that they’d be together for a few months before david would have another really bad episode, and he would be convinced that they should cut it off, or at least take a break.

jack understands, and they break things off— but jack is still there. jack checks in on david every day, jack comes by and makes dinner, or brings takeout, or david’s favorite snacks, jack makes sure that david isn’t isolating himself to an unhealthy degree. regardless of if they’re together or not, david is his best friend.

they’re “off” for about a month and a half before david feels like he’s in a good space again, so they get back together. really, they were never “broken up”— they just took the label off, and kissed a little less, and that was enough. they don’t ever break up again, and david learns how to mitigate the bad swings.

they actually play the long game for a while. they date for six, seven, eight years— by this point, they live together and have a cat together, and they’re both successful in their own career fields. it just makes sense to slide into marriage. they get rings from a thrift store and have a courthouse marriage (crutchie, medda, and the jacobs fam are their witnesses), and things are good.

davey still has days where he can barely make it to the kitchen. jack still has days where he feels like a livewire is burning him from the inside out. but they know how to manage now, and know each other enough to help each other through it.

if you know me, you know i love exploring mental health and relationship effects in fics— and i really love doing that with them! these guys mean the world to me.

thank you so much for sending this in hun!!

[emwritesstuff]

DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 5.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: The one where you make a bunch of probably very dumb decisions! This one has 18+ bits, marked by red dividers. MDNI. (warnings: mentions of human experimentation, health related stuff, brainwashing, cursing, smut(!!) ) (5.4K words)

5: OF MOMENTUM

Cap is waiting the second you leave the visiting room. He looks angrier than ever. It’s not like you didn’t see this coming – in fact, you’re actually shocked Fury managed to keep him at bay long enough for you to have a full conversation with Dr. Steiner.

“Before you begin your speech—”

“There is no speech. Start explaining why you went to talk to him. Alone.”

“Because, first of all, I don’t need babysitting, and second—” You round him up, now closer to the door than he is. You’re surprised he’s not actually blocking your path. “he wasn’t going to talk with anyone else! Not even Nat could make him open his mouth.”

And when Natasha fails at interrogation, well. Game’s usually lost.

He follows you along the maze of corridors as you try and find the way out.

“You do realize how this looks, don’t you? Going behind our backs and doing whatever you want is not—” As he says it you turn, getting right into his face and jamming a finger into his chest.

“Don’t you dare imply I’m teaming up with that HYDRA scum.” You hiss. “I don’t do that anymore, I told you. You’re just so used to everyone who doesn’t follow your book being labeled the bad guy that—”

“I didn’t say that. Bu you are putting everyone here in danger by—”

“I’m not! And I’m not on this goddamn madman’s side. I fled from the Brutkasten under a rain of bullets and a snowstorm! I chose to be here. Even though I know I’m ending up at the Raft at some point or another.”

There’s an ache in your chest, like a fishing hook pulling your organs down to the pit of your stomach. Steve Rogers would never trust you. You’d always be just another piece of shit he wants to wipe out from the world.

“You’re not—” Before he can make an empty promise, you walk out the main door and into the open air.

“Rogers, listen to me: I’m making the conscious choice to believe I have friends now – not you – even though I know this is all business. I know what I was part of. I know it now, but I didn’t then. They raised me to think that place was salvation.” You let out a shaky breath, crossing the cement pavement towards the helicopter Fury had arranged to bring you here. Cap’s motorcycle parked right next to it.

He’s still following you, looking at you with a heavy frown as you hop inside the transport. “I will not spend the rest of my life atoning for sins I didn’t know I was committing. But if you feel like hating me for it, go ahead. I can’t stop you. You’re Captain-Motherfucking-America, after all.”

You want to laugh at his lack of words. All you needed to get him to stop with his constant nagging was reverse verborrhage and a little oversharing. Who knew.

“But maybe not right now. You’re gonna want to meet me at the conference room when you get back. I got some potentially interesting intel.” You say, finally revealing the SD card between your fingers. “See ya, Cap.”

You slam the helicopter door right into Rogers’ face, slapping the pilot’s seat twice to signal you’re ready for take-off.

You could’ve kept this all under wraps. Could’ve said the conversation with Dr. Steiner was no dice, and opened the contents of the drive alone in your room.

Maybe you should’ve. And yet, something had truly shifted in you. This information had little to no use in your hands, and you’d have to share them with Dr. Banner anyway if you wanted anything to change in regards to your health and your powers.

Which brings you to the conference room, the entire Avengers chorus line sitting around you, waiting expectantly. You’ve already got an empty computer a malware couldn’t get anything from. Plugged the drive in. Entered the password, the obvious one.

7463000195. The same one you have under your sleeve. Easy.

He wants you to see what’s inside.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Fire it up, Sparky.” Tony earns himself a glare, and you’re about to speak when your answer walks in the door. The blonde hair slightly messy from the helmet, but you don’t spare a second glance for further detail.

“Couldn’t have given me a ride on that helicopter?”

“And you’d just leave your bike there?” Rogers shakes his head in defeat, and to celebrate, you do the honors and hit play on the video.

The only content inside the card Steiner had oh so benevolently given you.

It starts with a black screen, a location and a date.

Brutkasten. 24 März 2010.

You’re sitting on a chair inside your bedroom back at the Incubator. Baron Von Strucker is in front of you, watching as doctors and other staff fuss around. You’ve got the classic black HYDRA gear on.

There’s a bed, a small desk and bookcase. Lots of books. An old tube TV. No windows.

The date clicks. “It’s my first solo mission. I was 15 there.”

Fury nods. Steve frowns at you, and Natasha has an empathetic look on her face. You don’t dare notice anyone else.

Namen?

Asset. 7463.

Gut. Mission?

Ziehen.

“Extraction mission. In and out, invade a lab containing a serum for cell regeneration. I never seen it work on anyone when they tested it.” No one’s breathing. All you can see is yours and Strucker’s shapes on the screen now.

Wiederholen: and blood-black nothingness began to spin, a system of cells interlinked within one stem.

15-year-old you repeats dutifully after him. “What’s he doing now?” Sam asks.

You don’t answer. Hands grip your seat tightly. Shocked by the Doctor’s move.

Vernetzt. Vernetzt. Change of momentum with change of time. Noether-Theorem. Hail HYDRA.

Bereit?

You stand in the video, your hands lighting up blue, then your arms and the rest of your body. More power than you can summon now, seemingly without the pain that comes with it. Strucker claps once in satisfaction, and the video ends.

Heads turn in your direction. “That was my programming…Something like Bucky’s—”

You can see the people around shift into a defensive stance, like they’re getting ready for you to explode. You groan. “Not like that. They didn’t need to control me like that.”

It’s true. You did it all willingly. You didn’t know you had other options.

Natasha relaxes, and you could cry of gratitude “What’s it for then? Do you not remember?”

You wish you didn’t remember – but you do. You remember everything, every second, because that’s who you are. You’re sharp; your memory is sharp, your tongue is sharp, the edges of you are all sharp, and they leave you to bleed out whenever you see the numbers branded on your skin.

Covering them feels dishonest. It feels like a lie, so you wear your numbers like you wear everything else: right at the brim of your sleeve and open-faced, bared to the world, and people have to deal with it just as they have to deal with you.

“I do— it’s just… they don’t exactly tell the Assets all the reasons for their methods, you know?”

Fury takes a seat, turning the computer towards himself and playing the video again. “Maybe you could make use of it and find out.”

“No, she’s not doing that.” You sigh, surprisingly thankful fro Rogers, even though his reasons were obviously more about distrust than concern.

“In a controlled environment, of course.”

“Nick.”

You raise a hand when he tries to get Fury to shut the laptop down, getting up and closer to the big screen where the image of you is being mirrored.

It seems so… easy for her. Second-nature, like breathing.

A million questions run through your head, like what went wrong with you after that or why on Earth did Steiner want you to see this. Gave it to you on a silver platter, sure you’d come back to him. How could you harness so much energy at once? And so easily?

Is it the programming?

You access every piece of your memories you can, trying to retrieve an answer. They never told you what the words were for. Always used before missions. A similar ritual after them, during wind down.

During missions you were stellar. Flawless, unlike now. You remember most of it.

The only difference between you two is eight years and the use of the programming. When you fled HYDRA, you decided you were going to keep that part of you locked away forever and never think about it again.

The others behind you are discussing multiple theories when you speak up.

“It’s a fail-safe.” You turn around, hands shaking and bile rising up your throat. “Has to be! They put a fail-safe in me so no one could use my powers but them. The words unlock the rest of my – stuff – and make me function…”

You’re pacing, and Sam gets you to stop by grabbing the back of your t-shirt.

“Perfect, then!” Fury says, tapping his laser pointer on the table. “This solves everything. All of those side effects gone and we get a fully-functioning human taser on our roster.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve is still protesting, but your head is torn between the two choices. You want to stay here and for that you need to be useful. Fully-functioning. You also don’t want to be tied to whatever they put inside you. There’s so much pain interlaced with that.

If you keep using what HYDRA gave you, how are you ever going to be able to say you’re not a part of it anymore?

You don’t want to go back to being an asset. Being dysfunctional gave you character, as ironic as it was, like a chipped vase or a stain over otherwise pristine sheets.

“I’d rather… not do that, yeah.” You swallow, taking a seat again. Picking at your nail beds. Steve nods, and you watch his shoulders sag in slight relief. It’s not as contagious as you wish it would be.

The number of eyes on you makes your skin itch. Fury sends you a message through his one-eyed glaring – S.W.O.R.D will surely have feelings about your refusal to take the quickest route to becoming functional – the price matters too little to them.

Sliding the laptop closer, you remove the SD card after shutting everything down. “I’ll take this to Banner – see if that green brain has any brilliant ideas.” You don’t wait for their permission to leave the room, only halting when Steve calls out your name.

“Training tomorrow. Seven-sharp.” You roll your eyes. Back on schedule. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, seeing that today was a big reminder of how ingrained HYDRA was with your very being. Steve Rogers hates HYDRA. And you, who said with very big words that you weren’t going to be the one to stop him.

You mutually hate Steve Rogers.

Your mood is sourer than the entire sour patch at 7 in the morning. It doesn’t help that Bruce didn’t have any Eureka moments after listening to your theories about your programming. You don’t want to use it and you don’t want to go back to Dr. Steiner, and the feeling of being stuck makes any good spirits you have left in you shrivel and die.

Rogers is sitting at the edge of the fighting rink when you enter the gym, listening to something on his blue iPod. It looks too modern on him, but you have already teased him about carrying a Victrola around last week.

“What’s your soundtrack today? Gregorian chant?” It’s the first genre of music that comes to your head that could be traced back to the middle ages.

“Pink Floyd.” He says, removing the earbuds.

“Wow. Something about Another Brick in The Wall hitting home?”

He scowls and you smirk, but your lips curl back down pretty quickly. “Start warming up, Sparky.”

He hasn’t yet given up on the damn sparring sessions twice a week. You know his game now; he’s trying to get you to submit, so he can mold you into whatever he wants. Into a brick for the Avengers wall.

It’s safe to say you’re more sand and broken glass than you are clay - and today, like most days, you don’t mind the cuts that’ll give to his hands.

You pull a dirty move once you and Rogers have fallen into a rhythm consisting of verbal provocations and physical hits. Asking about his latest TV interview made Cap’s movements stutter. He goes on a lot of them, most go well - his charm and charisma to be credited for that - but some don’t. A lot of people like sharing with Captain America their bullshit opinions on the job only he can do.

You mention the one where he was pressed by the media about Bucky not being locked up and the risks concerning that - if it wasn’t a technical infringement of the Sokovia Accords. When you sense his concentration shift, you kick your heel up to his jaw, a flash of a grin when you hear his teeth clink.

You savor the victory until he catches his breath and gives you a side glance. “If they’re worried about Bucky, imagine what they’ll say when they hear about you.”

You’re hovering over him in an instant, snarling like a feral creature as your fist connects to the same place your heel did then. It’s almost surprising that you land the punch successfully, as if he’d let you. “I’m not a mindless killing machine.”

There’s no meaning behind your words. You never thought of Bucky this way, not after you met him here and he seemed more like a shy forest creature than a highly trained assassin. But in front of Steve Rogers, anything goes.

“I’d still trust the Winter Soldier before I trust you.”

“So being an idiot is also one of your super powers! Was that enhanced with the serum or—” Rogers manages to flip you over on the mat, face down. He presses his full body weight on you, locking one of your arms against your back and the other under you on the mat. His legs tangle with yours, barely allowing you any movement. Your shoulder starts to ache from the position.

“Get off me.” You squirm, huffing the last bit of air that was in your lungs.

“Are you going to calm down?” He gets his answer when you tell him to fuck off, and presses down harder. “I’ve had enough of bad your attitude.”

The way he nearly snarls it against your ear sends a shiver down your spine. The corners of your lips curl up at the aggression, at how he ditches the façade of the perfect, straight-spined soldier only for you. It makes you feel powerful, how you can make the marble crack so you can see the flawed human inside.

“You don’t get to say this crap - that you don’t even mean - just to get a rise out of me. What the hell is wrong with you, huh?” What the hell does he know? You try to kick his legs away, but you’re not even a bit successful. “You’re not like this with anyone else. Why me?”

“‘Cause it’s fun,” You pant, his weight on top of you only getting more overwhelming.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see me lose it,” He drawls, his breath tickling your neck. You squirm again, half because you want to get out of his grasp and half because of something else. “Or maybe you just like it rough…”

The heat of his body makes you feel like you’re being burned alive. You’re completely out of air now, panting helplessly under him. “I can’t…breathe,”

It’s unbearable, even after he lowers the pressure on your shoulders and you can take a deep breath in. He’s still holding you, tight, and you squirm but not to get out of it. The lack of air made your thoughts feel fuzzy.

That’s surely the reason.

Not Steve’s big, warm hand on your hip. His fingers grazing the exposed part of your lower abdomen. “Maybe you want my hand because yours alone isn’t enough.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckles. Cocky, over-confident asshole. You remember you can free the arm that’s under you and try to hit him with it, get back at him for saying that. He takes your meek punch on his bicep, then pins the guilty hand with your other.

Traitorous heat pools between your legs. You hate Steve Rogers. You hate the hand that sneaks under your pants and the way you body arches to make his access easier. You hate how he says, “One word and I’ll stop.”, and you hate how you only bite your lips in response.

Until he slips two fingers into your wetness and a moan escapes. “Damn. I knew you got off on this, dirty girl.”

“Rogers—oh,” He moves skillfully, like he’s not an old man from the 1940’s that clutches his pearls every time someone utters a curse.

But you’re not the only one who’s - although somewhat reluctantly - enjoying yourself. You can feel Steve hardening on your behind and his breath become ragged as he buries his head on the crook of your neck. The realization makes your cheeks heat with both pride and shame. “You’re not much better than me,”

It’s torture how slow he is going. His palm presses against your clit, and you bite back a moan, not ready to give in that easily. Steve is already full of himself as it is. “We’ll see about that.”

You roll your hips in response, earning a groan from him. It makes you chuckle and him curl his fingers inside of you. It’s like a fight, balanced at last.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as he plays you like his favorite instrument. The sounds that he gets from you are wet and unholy. You almost want to turn and admire the focused lines of his brow. Lips pursed in a tight line.

Kissing them would be crossing another.

No, you don’t want to get to that point.

“Look at us. This so… innapropriate. So wrong.” Steve says those words but there is no signs that he intends on stopping the sinful act. Who would’ve thought? You grin, a wild flash of teeth cutting through your flushed face.

“What would everyone think, huh, Cap?”

“No one has to know.”

You can’t help but agree - you don’t even want to think about how mortifying it would be if someone caught you. Not only in the middle of the fighting rink, but at the mercy of Steve Rogers. But it’s off your mind when he speeds up his fingers and pleasure coils on your lower belly.

“Fuck, fuck—” You’re breathless, nails digging on anything you can reach, his large hand and wrist mostly. “Steve.”

“You close, hm?” He whispers condescendingly, and your nearly cry from the humiliation as you nod yes, yes, yes. “Ask for it. Then I might let you finish.”

It’s too much. Your eyes shoot open, and you start struggling again. Now he wants you to beg for it, to fold, to submit, and it’s just too much.

Asshole. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

“No.”

Steve removes his fingers from you, still keeping his hand there as a veiled promise. Or a threat. You have to bite back a whimper at the emptiness.

“Then no deal.” The way his voice is smooth and calm makes you want to growl. “You didn’t think you’ll have it your way, did you?”

His hand releases yours and you finally turn, cunt still pulsating from being so close to your release and having it so cruelly denied. Then, you spot the volume on his sweatpants and tilt your head.

“Doesn’t seem like you have it all under control, Rogers.”

He smirks. His cheeks are flushed, and the sight would be heavenly if it wasn’t so utterly aggravating.

“I was at war for two years. Frozen for seventy.” He stands up, palming himself but acting like nothing out of ordinary is going on. “I know how to wait, sweetheart.”

Your legs feel like jelly, and there’s not much you can do except watch as Steve walks out of the gym. There’s not even enough strength in you to tell him to shove World War II up his ass.

You really, really hate Steve Rogers.

“Hello? Earth to Sparky?”

“Huh?”

“Peter here has been talking to you for like five minutes now, come on. At least answer the kid.”

You blink. This has been happening for a few days now, you being out of it. You wish it could be blamed solely on your last sparring session with Rogers last week - but your powers had been the main source of frustration in your life lately. The little control you have over them comes paired with raging migraines, fatigue, black spots, the whole package. You’ve tagged along on Nat’s mission two days ago, and it almost went badly. You’re basically useless without your abilities working properly; although your stamina and combat skills have improved greatly since moving into the compound, they stilll can’t compare to everyone else’s - and that include the bad guys you’re supposed to be fighting.

So, yes, your head has been heavy with anxiety and your throat tight with some pills you can’t swallow: S.W.O.R.D, HYDRA, and undeniably, Steve Rogers.

“Sorry. What was the question?”

Peter Parker perks up a little. “Oh! No question, Miss Sparkles, I was just saying how cool are the electrical manipulation superpowers, I mean it’s so—”

Sparkles?

“Should see how my brain tries to short-circuit every time I use them. Real cool shit.” You chuckle bitterly, and he blushes and fiddles nervously in his seat. You don’t even need to register Tony pinching the bridge of his nose to feel bad about it. “It’s pretty cool when it works I guess. Fury called me a human taser the other day.”

Tony pauses his tinkering of your suit cuffs and turns around. “Personally I am a fan of Sparky.”

“No way, you need a better name than that!” The mood shifts instantly, like a ray of sun peeking through storm clouds.

“Hey! I’m great with names. And Sparky already stuck so—”

“What do you suggest, Peter?” A second passes while he’s thinking. Then another. “Well?”

“…I’ll think of something.” Peter decides that his time is better spent going back to observing Stark work on your suit, giving some ideas on how to make it better and more functional. Tony completely vetoes giving you access to FRIDAY like they both have, claiming he doesn’t trust you not to change his alarm music to Careless Whisper. It makes you laugh, because that’s actually a great idea.

When they both become focused on their genius thing, you resort to resting your head on your arm and making one of Peter’s dead spider drones move using little sparks from your fingers. You’re almost getting it to turn on when the headache starts.

“Dammit.” You can almost hear Dr. Steiner’s laugh all the way from his cell. It doesn’t help that you accidentally overheard a conversation between Bruce and Tony after they both started researching how to fix you, or at least keep you in one piece. Something about an aneurysm. As if you needed extra confirmation that your brain is trying to explode. They were startled when you walked in, but at least now the whole keep-Sparky-in-the-dark thing is over. It’s why you’re in Tony’s lab, today, why he’s working on giving your suit more precise vital scans, energy measuring and emergency protocols.

A fail-safe of sorts.

You don’t notice as he comes closer and puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Sparks.”

You nod.

Although you can’t help but think that their effort is pointless - and the solution is right in front of you, held by Steiner’s grubby hands and words that resound in Baron Von Strucker’s voice.

It takes you another week and another mission that could’ve gone better for you to make your decision. Although, surprisingly, it’s not one of your bad days that settles it for you - it’s one of Bucky Barnes’.

You’re sulking after the debrief of said subpar mission. For the others, a small success. The hostages were now all being brought into safety and the terrorists neutralized. For you, a power outage that cost precious intel and 20 minutes of Fury’s classic glare on your forehead. It’s not all him, you know that much - he’s got S.W.O.R.D on his tail and your time to prove yourself to them and the United States Goverment seems to be running out.

After the fiasco, you want nothing more than peace and quiet. So when Bucky starts roaring and the sound of furniture being thrown around bursts your little bubble, you let yourself be annoyed for a minute. Then you take the elevator upstairs. Rogers is there, of course - they share the floor, and he’s already got Bucky in a headlock although a bruise seems to be forming on his cheek. You can’t bring yourself to rejoice and you don’t know what to do with yourself, proceeding to hide in a corner after Steve gives you a look and Bruce runs in with a sedative.

You feel bad for Barnes. There weren’t any casualties, except for his own dignity, the aforementioned furniture and a record player - and because you’re not any good with comfort words, you resort to coercing Sam on running to Best Buy for a record player replacement.

There’s no doubt in your mind that if Bucky had a way to switch off the malware HYDRA installed in his mind, he’d be making use of it. You figure you shouldn’t be wasting yours.

When the time for your next mission comes, you already have a game plan ready. Your words have been passed onto a little notepad, but you have the audio of Strucker’s voice at the ready. You took note of whatever you remembered from the old wind down process too, because you’ll need to come off of whatever state you’ll be at by the end.

It’s easy enough. You get into your gear, drag a chair to the center of your bedroom. Your hands are shaking furiously as you put on your earbuds and hit play on the audio. Your heartbeat roars inside your chest as you repeat the words. Until it slows down, all at once, like flicking a switch. You examine your steady hands, the anxiety from a minute ago vanished. In fact, you can’t bring yourself to feel anything, although bewilderment would be precisely what you’d be feeling when you make your hands and arms light up blue, energy flowing through you like a river.

This is good. This is great!

You don’t know why you haven’t done this before. Actually, you know why - you’ve been scared. Scared about what it would do to you, to the last bits of your soul that you’ve been holding on to so tightly ever since you learned what HYDRA wanted to do with the world. Too scared to even imagine the satisfaction on Dr. Steiner’s face. Like he won.

But he didn’t, and you’re not scared.

You’re not happy, either. You’re not… anything.

Not even Steve brings up the feelings he usually does (and that other, new thing). He has one of his eyebrows raised as you walk in and strap yourself down in a single firm motion.

“Good mornin’ to you too, Sparky.”

You know you should be annoyed right now, huffing and puffing. Your eyebrows don’t even pinch at the nickname. “Good morning, Captain.”

Your voice comes out a little too smooth and a little too robotic, but you hope Steve isn’t paying too much attention - even if he is, soon enough Nat and Sam are walking into the Quinjet and his focus on you is diluted.

You don’t feel the need to clap back at his orders and instructions as the jet lands near another HYDRA base. This one isn’t empty, at least of dozen former members have made it into a makeshift HQ. It’s more of a hunting shack than a fortress, and you’re the first to walk down the ramp, fingers already crackling.

Not even the successful mission brings you joy, with secured intel and that same dozen on their way to prison. You took five of them down yourself, only making the lights flicking a little in the process. You don’t feel pride as Fury debriefs your team, a pleased gleam in his eye.

You don’t feel anything at all.

It catches up with you as soon as you sink into an ice bath and repeats your words in reverse order. Now you remember why this process was such a struggle.

You feel like throwing up, like crying, like hitting Steve Rogers square in the jaw; you feel euphoric and proud and terrified. A migraine as a cherry on top. It’s too much.

You try your best to keep quiet.

“Is everything alright, Miss Sparky? Should I call Dr. Banner?”

You’re startled by the disembodied voice. “Fuck, no, FRIDAY. Everything’s… fine, just… go away.”

“I’ve identified sounds of distress. I need a confirmation you are well, please.”

The chattering of your teeth fills the bathroom.

“I’m peachy. Go to your… computer bedroom or whatever. Jesus.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me if you need assistance.”

Blood is roaring in your ears as your heart beats wildly and you breathe in sharp puffs of air. You basically crawl back to your bed, a naked wet mess.

Your bed.

You have a bed for another day. Another week, even.

“Miss Sparky, Tony? Seriously…”

It makes you laugh a little. Then, you cry until you fall asleep.

Two days. Two days of peace. Of wondering if your programming had reset your brain somehow, and you finally evicted Steve Rogers and his hands out of your mind.

Foolish of you think that the repressed feelings all have come and gone that night after the mission.

It hits you like a train, and has you squeezing your thighs together for friction. You try your best to focus on Weekend at Bernie’s for a good 15 minutes, to no avail. It’s like the universe is taking a piss out of you, because everyone else has left the compound for the evening, for a reason or another. Even Bucky. But you know he is home. You’ve seen the bike on the garage, the memory of him on top of it not helping your case. It’s not just because of that fatidical morning that you’re like this - it’s because of the other times, too.

Maybe you want my hand because yours alone isn’t enough.

You let out an irritated groan, kicking the blanket off your legs like a bratty child.

You already know working solo won’t work. You’ve tried. What you need is to get it done, get it - him - out of your system, so you can move on.

Goddamn you, Rogers.

“FRIDAY?” You close your eyes, shaking your head when the AI responds. “Give me Roger’s location. Now.”

“Captain Rogers is currently down at the compound gym. Boxing area.”

Of course he is.

You don’t bother dressing up - the bath robe you’re in will have to do. You don’t even put on shoes, but it doesn’t matter because the way down to the gym is mostly carpet and ceramic.

Do you know what you’re going to do when you get there and face him? No. But you’re fixing this problem here and now. You’re either kicking his ass or… good lord. No matter. You’ve held on long enough, and your torment ends today.

He looks away from the punching bag when you slide the door open, raising his eyebrows as you march up to him.

“Can I help you?”

Yes. You can help by undoing whatever you did to me with those hands, dammit.

He’s panting from his workout, shirt clinging to his body. His eyes roam yours, a bit too exposed now from the knot of your robe loosening up.

“We have… unfinished business.”

Steve smirks. He steps towards you, and he’s so… tall. Overpowering, like looking up at a marble statue in a museum. It takes everything on you not to run away.

No. This ends today. You’re having it your way.

“And what am I supposed to do about that, darlin’?”

Jesus H. Christ.

Get it together.

You’re not sure if you want to punch him in that stupid pretty face or—

“Start by shutting the fuck up, Rogers.”

Or grab him by the collar and slam your lips onto his.

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Warm Fragrance Date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Arriving As Promised Free SR Event | Prologue+Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6-9 | Warm Fragrance Date (You're here!)

"I think, rather than a good little assistant, it's more accurate to say that MC is a very talented gardener lady."

"Huh? Why do you say that?"

Lucien doesn't directly answer my question, instead, he pulls my hand and places it on the location of his heart.

I immediately understood the words he didn't say.

"This beautiful flower continues to grow, connecting all the veins that are linked to you."

[T/N: VERY RECOMMENDED to read the event story first because some convo on this date will make more sense if you read the event stories first]

[Date – Video ver]

(T/N: As always, I always recommend watching the video for a more comprehensive experience.

If the direct video doesn’t work - [Use this link]

(Besides, tumblr doesn’t allow us to use an old text editor anymore so I can’t add up more than 30 pics in this post. Tumblr post alone won’t capture the change in background and sprite as usual(for reference I always have like 60+ pic in one post LOL)

[Date – Transcript ver]

[Part 1]

The gentle morning sunlight pours down, passing through the vines on the wall, casting specks of light and shadow.

I look around, and as far as my eyes can see, various types of plants occupy my surroundings. However, I don't catch sight of Lucien's figure amidst the lushness.

MC: …Is Lucien not here?

I double-check his text message, then I put down the jasmine flower pot I've planted and the "OPEN" wooden sign. Afterward, I turn around and walk deeper into the greenhouse.

Today is the official opening day of the "Flower Shop." Perhaps 'Shop Manager' Lucien is currently preparing in some corner.

Following the path through the greenhouse, I continue forward. The comfortable temperature in the air makes me feel as if I'm in an oasis.

Under the towering green plants in front of me, dozens of calla lilies are cozily undergoing photosynthesis.

Next to the one blooming the most vibrantly, there's a label that reads "Reserved." My fingertips brush against that familiar handwriting, and I mutter softly.

MC: Miss X?

MC: ...I can't believe there's a reservation already.

[A throwback to Dance SP MQ and main story Dr. X :"]

I can't help but sigh, and I bend down to carefully observe these well-taken-care-of plants and flowers.

The snow-white petals of the calla lilies bloom brilliantly, and the leaves stretch energetically. The red and yellow tulips nestle against each other as if even the falling patches of light have become gentle.

??: Have you been here for a while? Why didn't you call out to me?

A familiar voice sounds behind me, and I quickly turn around.

The sunlight filters through the glass roof and falls upon Lucien, outlining a faint halo of light around his figure.

His white shirt appears exceptionally bright amidst the lush surroundings. His collar is unbuttoned, and he casually rolls up his sleeves, revealing his slender forearms.

The blue work apron he's wearing is loosely tied, and he doesn't seem to have noticed. A warm smile graces the corner of his lips.

With the jasmine pot I had just set down in his arms, he slightly bends forward and reaches out to hang the wooden sign on a nail above the railing.

This version of Lucien catches me off guard, and I find myself laughing with a belated realization.

MC: Pfft.

Lucien: (laughs, then playfully says) It seems my outfit is indeed a bit funny, isn't it?

MC: Of course not, "Shop Manager Lucien" is much more handsome than I imagined!

Lucien: Oh? Is that so?

Lucien slowly approaches me, and as his familiar scent envelops me, my heart rate instinctively quickens a little faster.

Lucien: (chuckles) So, can you tell me, what did you imagine 'Manager Lucien' to be like before?

MC: Manager Lucien's appearance right now has completely erased any other imagined images I had in my mind.

I hook my arm around Lucien's neck, a smile playing on my lips.

MC: Right now, my heart and eyes are filled with just the one before me.

I retie the loosely knotted apron behind him smoothly. But as I start to pull my hand back, he captures it in his grasp.

The next second, a gentle kiss carrying the scent of grass lands softly on my lips. Before my eyes could fully close, all that was left in my vision were those eyes brimming with joy.

Lucien removed his glasses at some point, and the gentleness in his eyes reflected my gradually reddening cheeks clearly.

Lucien: (whispers) Everyone else is busy in other greenhouses. Today, there are only the two of us here.

He slightly increases the distance between us, his brows and eyes curved.

Lucien: I remember that a lady once said that on the day she visits my "garden," she would buy the most beautiful flower from me.

MC: I remember that. I won't easily back down from my promise.

Lucien: Then, how about becoming my assistant? Consider it as payment for the flowers you intend to buy.

I tiptoe and peck his cheek on the side.

MC: Of course I'm willing to.

[Part 2]

As we walk through the corridor built with flowering vines from the entrance hall, the floral fragrance becomes even more rich and fragrant.

Lucien leads me through the corridor, and a lounge surrounded by flower walls comes into view. A row of bookshelves and an innovative instrument sit quietly in the corner.

Lucien: This is a newly introduced instrument from the Bioscience research center. It can measure various values of the brain's nervous system to detect the brain health of residents.

Curiously, I approach the instrument, looking around with keen interest.

MC: Can brain health really be determined using these two lines on top?

Lucien: If you're curious, you can put it on and give it a try.

Lucien noticed my eagerness and took the instrument's wires, guiding me to position my head correctly.

Lucien: Bring this wire over here, and place this device on here…

Following Lucien's guidance, I carefully placed the device from the instrument's wire onto my head.

Lucien: Now, let's take a look at Visitor MC's brain health, shall we?

MC: …Um!

I stare at the screen intently, and after a while, a green curve with a centered slope appears on the display.

MC: How is it?

Lucien: Hmm…

MC: I-Is it very bad?

Lucien: (chuckle) Very healthy.

MC: Phew…

MC: Back then, you were worried I might not adapt well, but the truth is, my "vitality" is quite resilient as well.

Lucien: How come I remember that it was a certain lady who was more concerned about me at the time?

Lucien: You prepared all sorts of emergency medicines for me, yet you only brought a small amount for yourself.

MC: Well, that might be because I've been eating well, sleeping well, and thinking about you a lot…

Lucien: From a medical perspective, perhaps "thinking about me a lot" played the most significant role.

MC: Although you're right, 'Professor Lucien' shouldn't go against medical principles just to prove the importance of "thinking about you".

Lucien places his hand on the top of my head and proceeds to explain seriously.

Lucien: Medical studies have confirmed that positive emotions, or good moods, are beneficial for brain neurons.

Lucien: I believe this 'Professor Lucien' hasn't gone against medical principles.

Lucien: People, scenery, animals, objects... all can serve as triggers for positive emotions.

Lucien: Including the plants we are cultivating now, it's all for studying the effects of different species on brain neurons.

MC: Does that mean that even for the same species, the experience could be different for different people?

Lucien: Exactly. The factors underlying the generation of positive emotions vary from person to person, and the feelings evoked by the same external factors can be completely different.

MC: Hmm... just like how I feel happy when I drink sweet milk tea, and Professor Lucien feels happy when savoring a cup of tea?

Seemingly amused by the interesting analogy, Lucien chuckles softly.

Lucien: (chuckles softly) Yes and no.

Lucien: If we slightly modify the reference in the comparison to "savoring tea alone and drinking milk tea with MC," for me, the latter naturally brings more happiness.

MC: Oh~ So the Great Professor's sweet words must also vary from person to person, right?

Lucien: Hmm... Not exactly.

Lucien: To be precise, I'm only like this with you.

I can't help but raise my lips; a kind of subtle tenderness seems to be quietly emerging from the depths of my heart, making me feel light and I can't help but indulge in it.

MC: I'm only like this with you too.

The conversation is interrupted by the hum of the instrument, and the fluctuation in the green curve produces new monitoring data for the device.

MC: Huh? Is there a new change?

Lucien: Mm, it seems that at this very moment, this little lady is happier than before.

The rising curve on the screen dances exuberantly as if it wants to reveal my thoughts in full detail.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I remove the device, afraid that the next moment it might detect those beautiful feelings in my heart once again.

MC: Alright, alright, I admit that indeed "thinking about you" played a significant role.

MC: So... Professor Lucien, do you think about me a lot too?

Lucien: Yes. Because I miss you so much, it feels as if the flowering period is endless.

Lucien's gaze softens, and the corners of his eyes curve like a gentle spring, causing the humidity in the greenhouse to quietly evaporate, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.

[Part 3]

After becoming familiar with the structure of the greenhouse, Lucien guided me through the final preparations before the official opening.

Since he has already completed most of it, my next task is to transplant the calla lilies into the flower bed.

Lucien: Here are these new gloves for you, and take this too.

Lucien hands over a brand new pair of gloves and then takes out a beige headscarf, naturally tucking my hair behind as he ties it on me.

His slightly warm fingertips inadvertently graze the back of my neck, creating a subtle and ticklish sensation.

Lucien: Hmm, you indeed look very cute with it on.

Lucien places a small red trowel in front of me and begins to demonstrate personally.

Lucien: Calla lilies thrive in a humid environment but are sensitive to waterlogging. They have high water requirements, so the root seedlings are crucial.

MC: I remember you mentioned in the email that Calla lilies, being plants adapted to humid regions, are much more challenging to grow in the desert compared to other plants.

Lucien: That's correct. Therefore, during the transplanting process, be careful not to damage the root seedlings with the trowel.

I nod and carefully take the calla lilies that Lucien has prepared, ready to transplant them into the flower bed.

The delicate and fragile root tendrils seem as if they could snap at the slightest inadvertent touch, and I take a deep breath subconsciously.

Lucien: (gently) Take it easy.

Lucien gently squeezes my hand, and the familiar reassurance gradually soothes my emotions.

I nod and readjust my breathing.

First, plant the flower seedlings into the small holes that have been prepared in the flower bed. Then, rearrange the positions of their roots, and finally, cover the soil from the side onto the flower seedlings…

I'm mentally rehearsing the steps Lucien taught me, carefully following the instructions as needed.

MC: Wow! It's a success…

Before I could even finish cheering, the next moment, the flower seedling drooped in front of me.

MC: ...Oops, did I just waste a flower seedling?

Thinking that each of these flower seedlings was personally nurtured by Lucien in such an environment, I can't help but feel a sense of guilt and regret.

Lucien: You didn't, it's just not fully acclimated yet.

Lucien: Don't worry, let's try it again.

Lucien said as he leaned closer to me, his palm gently cradling my hand. He carefully adjusts the position of the flower seedling and then presses the soil down slightly.

As if by some kind of magical spell, the delicate flower seedling trembles and sways, but it never topples over.

MC: Is it... a success?

Lucien: Yes, you did great.

With the experience of this successful attempt and Lucien's hands-on teaching, I learned some small techniques, and the subsequent transplanting process is going much smoother than I had imagined.

MC: Phew, just one more pot to go until we're done!

As I said this, I raised my hand to wipe the sweat from my face. I was about to dig out the seedling from the pot when Lucien suddenly chuckled.

MC: ...What's wrong?

He raises his hand with a smile and the clean back of his finger brushes against the tip of my nose.

Lucien: You've turned into a spotty bunny.

MC: …!

Thinking about the "fertilizer elements" in the soil, I hastily raise my hand and start randomly wiping my face.

Lucien can't help but laugh, then he grabs my hand.

Lucien: (laughs softly) If you keep rubbing like that, our spotty bunny might turn into a black bunny.

Lucien: Let me help you instead.

He uses the clean part of his palm to gently wipe across my face, bit by bit.

The delicate touch of his fingertips and the warmth from his palm gradually amplifies.

His breath, accompanied by a warm breeze, audibly falls on my ear, and my earlobe subtly starts to feel ticklish.

At some point, his gaze has shifted from my face to my eyes, and his finger lightly taps on my cheek.

Lucien: Now it's clean.

I can't seem to take my eyes off his face for a moment.

Lucien: (smiles) Do I also have something that needs wiping on my face?

MC: Ah? Well, right here on the chin…

I lift up my sleeve and gently wipe away the almost invisible speck of dirt on his chin.

The scent of flowers blending with the earthy aroma lingers in the air, and a gentle kiss softly grazes my cheek near my lips.

Lucien: Thank you, Miss Gardener.

[Part 4]

After a day of busyness, the flower shop's business is doing quite well.

People keep coming to buy flowers and admire them, and Lucien can smoothly carry out his experiment. He has printed a thick stack of monitoring data alone.

Until the sun sets in the west, everything except for that reserved calla lilies has been sold out.

MC: Looks like it's time to flip the signboard and announce the closing time~

Lucien's gaze falls on the back of the wooden signboard, his fingers tracing the patterns on it.

Lucien: Unexpectedly, there is a "gardener fox" on the other side?

MC: You noticed it!

I said as I leaned closer, my fingertips lightly tracing the slightly crooked wood-carved design.

[So it's her 'artwork' that she mentioned in the event :"]

MC: I carved it based on the desert fox's appearance and added a little touch of my own creativity.

Lucien: It's a nice touch. A little fox wearing glasses, an apron, and holding a pot of flowers.

Lucien: Hmm... Is it like this?

Lucien speaks as he raises the sign next to his face, mimicking the posture of the little fox on the wooden sign.

MC: Hahaha, it seems I carved it quite lifelike!

MC: By the way, after closing the store, let's go see the desert fox together~ I saw it last time near the sand dunes near the guest house.

MC: This time, I have Mr. Fox with me. So who knows, we might just have a smooth encounter with it.

Lucien: Of course, that's great, but I'd rather have a chance encounter with a desert rabbit.

Lucien: This little fox seems a bit lonely. I think this wooden sign leaves me some room for creativity.

[He also wants to carve a dessert bunny to accompany the dessert fox so it won't be lonely🥺]

Lucien carefully puts away the wooden sign and retrieves cleaning tools from the greenhouse.

Lucien: You've been busy all day, take a break. I'll handle the cleaning.

MC: There's no way the little assistant can take a break and let the big professor be busy.

MC: Besides, I've been resting well these past few days, but you've been in the experimental greenhouse all this time. I think you should be the one taking a break.

I say this while playfully pushing his back, half-forcing him to go rest on the sofa next to the flower hall.

Lucien accommodates and sits down but takes the opportunity to hold my hand.

Lucien: Well, there's no reason for the little assistant not to listen to the professor.

I can't resist this demeanor and tone at all, so I have to compromise and sit down next to him, nuzzling up against his side.

MC: The little assistant is now obediently resting. Professor Lucien, do you have any more requests?

Lucien: I think an obedient little assistant like you should receive her well-deserved reward.

Lucien promptly gets up and when he returns, he's holding the only remaining pot containing the calla lily with "reserved" written on it.

Seeing me blink in confusion, Lucien smiles and speaks.

Lucien: From the moment it miraculously survived, I selfishly reserved it in your name.

MC: My name? Does that mean…

At this moment, I finally realized belatedly why this unique pot of calla lily had been reserved early on and kept until now.

That Miss X is actually myself.

MC: So this calla lily…. is the first one that survived as you mentioned in your email?

Lucien: Mm. You mentioned wanting to see it with your own eyes, and now it's yours.

A gentle voice brushed against my heart, and I quickly took a few steps in his direction.

He cradles that pot of calla lily in his hands so dearly, and I feel as if I can hear something blooming in my heart.

MC: It's really beautiful... From this angle, the outer edges of the flower look like the shape of a heart.

Lucien: Perhaps that's why the calla lily's flower language is "the veins of our hearts are connected together".

The pure white petals sway gently in the soft breeze of the flower hall, the sunset's light casting a golden shimmer on Lucien's eyelashes. The picturesque beauty momentarily left me a bit entranced.

It's only when he bends down to place the flower in my hand that I realize our distance has somehow become so close.

Lucien: I think, rather than a good little assistant, it's more accurate to say that MC is a very talented gardener lady.

MC: …Huh? Why do you say that?

Lucien doesn't directly answer my question; instead, he pulls my hand and places it on the location of his heart.

I immediately understood the words he didn't say.

Lucien: This beautiful flower continues to grow, connecting all the veins that are linked to you.

A soft feeling wells up in my heart, his warmth in my hand, and before me is his most familiar expression.

The accumulation of longing and his gentle words make me unable to resist leaning my head against his shoulder and nuzzling it.

MC: I'm the same.

MC: Every move you make, it's all connecting with me.

MC: Sowing, nurturing the soil, watering, fertilizing, and then the flowers bloom…

MC: Every time you share these with me, it's like I can feel your emotions in that moment.

MC: You sharing your happiness with me makes me feel even happier.

Lucien: Mm, I like sharing with you.

Lucien: (softly) It's like we're taking care of them together, and you're right here by my side.

MC: If that's the case, then I'm just like you.

MC: When I see the photos of the seedlings you post, I imagine how you planted them.

MC: When I'm planting jasmine flowers, I also feel like we're nurturing them together.

MC: I get incredibly happy when I receive emails from you, and I imagine the world you see through the things you share.

MC: I feel like I have something to look forward to every day because of the promise I'm about to fulfill, it’s as if... all the waiting and longing is sweet.

Lucien reaches out and pulls me into his arms, affectionately nuzzling the tip of my nose.

Lucien: (tenderly) Endless is just a broad concept of time, it doesn't even begin to capture a fraction of my longing to see you again.

Lucien: MC, I miss you so much.

Lucien: Even though you are right in front of me.

The gentle breeze, carrying the fragrance of flowers, rustles the branches and leaves inside the flower hall. In my ears, there is the gentle rustling of leaves and Lucien's slightly sinking voice.

In a moment of reverie, the hues of the sunset have a scent, and the fragrance of flowers has a sound.

I submerged myself in the veins of his longing, where love flourishes abundantly, lush and verdant.

[itsallaboutthebirds86]

Peace (A CR Drabble)

(Downfall’s got me thinking so much about The Matron and her predecessor so I wrote this. Enjoy the death angst lol)

He can feel it already. The edges of his power, frayed and ebbing away from him. Mortals usually feel pain by this stage, and he supposed the sensation he’s experiencing could be called pain, but honestly he has nothing to compare it to.

But he is still a god, for the time being. His light will take quite a while to fully fade. And so he looks upon her. Funny. Mortals always seemed so small, wrapped in his embrace as he ushered them off to the After. This woman nearly matches him in height, standing before him in this place that could be called a palace. She looks at him, not with anger or with pity. It’s something new, something he’s never seen in the eyes of a mortal before, and he suddenly realizes— she is looking at him like an equal. Like a brother.

“How do you feel?” Her voice echoes in this place.

He can’t help a dry laugh. “I’m surprised you care to know.” His fingertips have gone cold. Huh.

“Call it my final piece of research.”

Ah yes. This started as a grand experiment for her. He is silent for a moment. “Honestly? Mostly I feel a bit embarrassed.” She inclines her head, patiently waiting for him to continue. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

“I suppose that’s why you didn’t put in much effort to try and stop me?”

“Would you have, if you were me?”

“Yes.”

That makes sense. Paranoia comes from the knowledge that other people could end you if they catch you off guard. “Well, perhaps that was a flaw of mine. One you will improve upon.” His heart - one he wasn’t aware he possessed until now - begins to slow.

“You don’t seem angry with me.”

“Where I’m going, I doubt I will have much use for anger. My siblings, however… I cannot say how they will react. Half of them were labeled Betrayers for lesser crimes than this.” His siblings. He is struggling to remember their names in this moment. What is his name? “But I suppose they will be your siblings from now on. And you will be their sister.”

“Will they remember you?”

“Unlikely. I doubt you will either. They will know that someone came before you, and that you killed me. The rest will fade. Death can only ever have one face. You will serve as my headstone, young one.”

She looks taller now. She was always taller. “You seem so sure. This has never happened before.”

He manages another laugh. “No, I suppose it hasn’t.” He doesn’t have to tell her about the others that went Away. His siblings will do that for him; or they won’t, and he’ll take the secret to his grave. A bit of poetic justice in that. “But this has a sense of finality to it, doesn’t it? And that has always been my domain. And so it will have always been yours.”

He feels his legs give out. To his surprise, her hands, firm and cold, catch him, leading him backwards to his throne. Her throne. She helps him sit, and she kneels beside him, locking eyes once more.

“So,” he begins again, “what happens now? Will you share your secret with your fellow mortals, have them each take down and replace my siblings one by one?”

She considers. He sees many things in her eyes. Curiosity, greed, anger, fear. Apathy. “No.” She finally says. “This is my victory. And even now, I can feel that part of me fading away. They are no longer my people.”

“Interesting.” A cough - another strange sensation - rattles through him. Ah, fuck it. Guiding one last soul won’t hurt. “One piece of advice, if you’re open to hearing it.”

She regards him evenly. “I am humbled by your offer of any advice given the circumstances.”

“We both know humility is not in your wheelhouse. Nevertheless, I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least try and make sure you knew what you were doing.” He almost sees a smile ghost across her lips. “I recommend a mask. You may be one of us now, but I can see that mortal part still inside you. That part may be a great strength or a terrible weakness. Conceal it, and you’ll always be able to use it to your advantage.”

He blinks. He realizes she was always wearing a mask. A white expressionless mask, carefully and intricately carved and decorated. He smiles. A fast learner.

She’s glowing now, with a strange monochromatic aura, just slightly tinged with glitters of gold thread throughout. He feels very small.

“I believe it is time.” He whispers. It’s all he can manage now.

“Shall I escort you? As my first task?”

“No, no. Where I’m going is beyond your dominion. Just tell my siblings… tell them I have gone Away. My light has finally settled.”

“… I will.”

“And remember, Goddess… if you could do it, someone else could. Death comes for us all. Even us. Do not be surprised when it comes.”

He cannot manage anymore. He closes his eyes. He can still feel her hand on his. It is cold but somehow still comforting.

Perhaps now he will finally know if Away is better. Perhaps now he will have peace.

[the-rockinahard-place]

I’m a relatively fresh convert and I really agree with your post about how queerstake is important. The hardest pill to swallow with my conversion is the rejection of LGBTQ+ people and identities in the church.

As reference for my age, I’m a young YSA. I’ve identified as a lot of things over the last ten years as I’ve grown up, and I think I’ve generally settled on bi or queer as my label in terms of sexuality. I’m cis-ish, so I don’t face gender/presentation issues at church (besides the regular issues of being a woman in the church), but I experimented a lot with gender over the past eight years. I’m comfortable now identifying as a cis woman, but I experienced a lot of dysphoria in my early teens, and to know that five years ago I would probably not be welcomed in the church — at least to the degree I am now — is painful.

I feel like I can’t express my bisexuality/queerness and my previous struggles* with gender with church people IRL, especially as a new convert. It’s like I have to prove that I belong. I’m also very very active, which makes it harder.

Like you, I really appreciate queerstake as a community and resource to know that Heavenly Father loves and accepts me. We will not be resurrected and chastised for being too loving, too accepting, too “ourselves” in this life. That is not what Christ lived and died for.

*To be clear, I do not in any way think transness or questioning is a “struggle” that needs to be solved. I say “struggles with gender” only to refer to my own personal experience with internal and external pressures wrt my gender.

This is everything^^^ talking about our personal experiences like this is exactly why queerstake is so important. I hear you, being gay, ace, trans, bi, pan, & etc is a struggle in our church!! When some days feel harder than normal, I have to remind myself why I do it, I have to ask myself Why do I show up? but the only question that gives me answers is Why does God want me to show up? the way I see it is that we are here for a reason, God put us in the world at this time for a reason as you said 5 years ago in the church is different to today and 5 years from now its only going to get better. We serve as the church’s reminder that there is progress to be made and we aren’t something you can get rid, thats not what God wants. If the only change I could provide is showing up to church on Sunday in a suit and forcing those around me to accept it, then so be it. I’ve met plenty of members who have just relaxed when then realized they weren’t the only queer one here. We must simply find eachother and hold on. (ik I talk a lot about dances but its relevant trust me) I was my best friends date to prom because she was too scared to bring her girlfriend. She didn’t want people to see her different and its little stuff like that, that truly hurts me. All we can do it hope, and “fight” the harmful church beliefs that push us away, one day, someday, who we are will be seen as special, and not something to be afraid of.