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luckyladylily · 1 day ago

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So like, transandrophobia.

To start this out, I am a trans woman, been around in the queer community for a while. I'm also bisexuality, polyamorous, disabled, and aromantic, and I think these other parts of my identity and the crap I've caught over the years for them heavily informs how I analyze something like transandrophobia. My wife is also asexual, so that plays a part in it too.

So every group of marginalized people has their own unique experiences and problems. It's more of a rule than something we've mathematically demonstrated, but as far as these things go it's ridiculously well established, and personally every time I've done even a basic dive into the issues faced by a marginalized group it's been self evident. I could easily list a dozen groups ranging from racial minorities to different kinds of disabled people to different queer identities and analyze their social issues but let's be real, this is pretty well established theory, anyone who needs me to do that is not really interacting with good faith. This is one of the big reasons we talk to people about their own experiences and groups, we cannot reasonably extrapolate the experiences of others from our own.

So like trans men and trans mascs and anyone else that falls under that umbrella has their unique experiences. The idea that we would even question this is weird to me? Like I can't even imagine the kind of evidence someone would need to present to me to change my mind, and given the pattern of the queer community to be shitty in exactly this way to people in our community, yeah that is not happening.

Therefore, we are taking it for granted that the trans men/masc/related umbrella has their own things going on like everyone else ever, and I don't understand how someone acting in good faith can try to claim otherwise unless they are young or otherwise very inexperienced with such things.

The next point of contention seems to be the name, and I gotta be real I don't care and I don't understand why other people do. I've read all sorts of arguments against the word transandrophobia and the majority of them seem to be rooted in a misunderstanding of intersectionality, and even then it's like there is such a thing where people get so mired in theory that they miss the forest for the trees.

Perhaps more important to me, getting overly worked up about something as unimportant as the precise term is... weird. Like exclusionists hating on bi and ace people weird. I remember what it was like a decade ago when exclusionists were trying to police the words of bi women, and five years ago when ace and aro people were under constant attack under the pretense that our language was harmful for some reason or other. You are going to have to work very, very, very hard to convince me that any bickering over language as it relates to transandrophobia is not just more of the same.

Next, "transandrobros hate trans femmes" and similar stuff. I've seen the callout posts and found them completely unconvincing. Again, they read a lot like the old "ace people hate lesbians!" posts I used to see. I'm not convinced that the individuals involved were a problem, I am certainly not able to extrapolate a problem to the rest of the group.

Finally, there is this idea that "maleness is not a vector for oppression" and this invalidates something about the whole transandrophobia thing, ranging from the entire concept of trans men experiencing prejudice to something about language being imprecise all the way to "This is fascist shit, omg these people are basically nazis" depending on who says it. I'm not going to touch any of that and just look at the underlying logic.

This is based off a misunderstanding of intersectionality theory. Many people think of intersectionality as defining intersecting prejudice, like a ven diagram, such that transmisogyny is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny. This is incorrect. Intersectionality defines unique prejudice experienced by people with intersecting identities. Instead of a transmisogyny as the overlap of transphobia and misogyny, imagine adding a third circle that overlaps both but also has its own areas covered by neither.

Applied to transandrophobia, even if we assume maleness is not a vector for oppression, there is no reason to assume that the intersection of maleness with a marginalized identity doesn't result in new issues. Imagine that 3 circle venn diagram that represents misogyny, transphobia, and transmisogyny. Even if you remove the misogyny circle there is still plenty of ground covered by the transmisogyny circle.

This just isn't a valid criticism. It is a pure theory approach based on a flawed reading of theory.

So in summary:

Everyone has their unique shit going on and I've seen no convincing evidence that trans men, mascs, etc. Are the exception.

I not seen any convincing argument that the word itself is bad.

I've not seen any convincing evidence that there is some epidemic of transandrophobia truthers hating and harassing trans femmes on scales higher than normal background queer infighting.

The most coherent objection to transandrophobia I've seen is categorically incorrect and based on a fundamental misunderstanding of intersectionality theory.

I would like to remind everyone at this point I am a trans woman, part of the group that is supposedly a problem for and I've just not see it at all, to the point where it is kind of weird how intensely some people are pushing this.

I'm not trying to be mean or whatever, I'm sure the distress on display here comes from a real place and real trauma, but I've yet to see anything that makes me think there is substance to the objections to transandrophobia as a concept. It feels and reads like the latest round of queer intracommunity exclusionism, and the fact that this time around I'm not one of the target identities doesn't change that for me.

#I was tired of this shit 8 years ago when lesbians were telling me I was evil for calling myself a bisexual femme #You are going to have to do a lot better than this to convince me that trans dudes using a word is some crisis

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wonderjanga · 3 days ago

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Little British Boy

The Batsons were both British people who immigrated to America. As a result of this when Mary and Billy were born, they gained British accents causing them to sound like little Victorian children.

Store Owner: “Thanks for the help, young man.” *hands him five dollars*

Billy: “Thank you sir!”

Store Owner: “No problem-” *has to do a double take at that accent* “A Brit?”

Billy: “No sir. But my parents were. I was raised in America.”

Yeah… It confused some people at first, but after a while of the little British kid coming around and doing odd jobs for money, most store owners got used to it. Then came the time Billy wanted a stable job a.k.a. being the Whiz kid.

Mr. Morris: “So you want to be a radio host?”

Billy: “Yes, sir. I need the money.”

Mr. Morris: “Wow… It’s been a long while since I’ve heard a British accent.”

Billy: “Ah, sorry.” *tries to make himself sound more American, but it comes all across as more transatlantic* “Is that better?”

Mr. Morris: *heard the transatlantic accent and was immediately interested* “Very. Why don’t we have you do a trial run and then we’ll go from there?”

Billy: “I’d really appreciate that, sir.” *thinks he thinks his American accent is good, but doesn’t realize he’s doing a perfect transatlantic*

The Britishness also bled into his Captain Marvel form. Though like with Billy, he tried to sound more American and ended up coming across as more transatlantic. People in the 60s loved it, and when the time bubble popped surprisingly people from the 2000s loved it too. And because in this AU the bubble popped in the 2000s, this was when most heroes were first starting out. He ends up meeting a young Batman. Billy had originally gone to Gotham because they wanted to see if the city was still cursed to heck and sure enough it was.

Batman: “You sound just like the old Gray Ghost movies…”

Marvel: “What was that?”

Batman: “Nothing.”

Somehow, about a couple years after this, they ended up developing a friendship. Marvel was even allowed down in the Batcave on the condition he doesn’t touch anything. (Bruce literally saw the man touch something with his pinky and it short fused. He is not taking any risks until he is sure the Batcomputer can handle enough volts of electricity to take out a power plant.) One of these days while Bruce was working, and Marvel was in the cave pacing and chattering incessantly to Bruce about something random, Alfred came down. The butler distracted the Captain and after a bit, all Bruce could hear was unintelligible words.

At first, Bruce just assumed it was him zoning out of the conversation and thought nothing of it, but then Robin tiptoed over:

Robin!Dick: *pokes Bruce to bring him back to reality* “What are they saying…?” *points to Alfred and Marvel*

Alfred and Marvel: *speaking in Welsh*

Batman: “I… don’t know.”

Robin!Dick and Batman: *stares*

Ah… How could he have forgotten? Alfred’s Welsh. Though, the butler now speaks in a different English accent, likely due to his time as a stage actor. Bruce remembered the man telling him that long ago when he was still a boy. How… unprepared of Bruce. He should’ve learned Welsh by now. He’s a little embarrassed he hasn’t. As for Marvel, Bruce was a little upset he didn’t know the man was from England, let alone the same place as Agent A. But then where did the transatlantic-ness come from?

Robin!Dick: “I still can’t tell what they’re saying…”

Marvel and Alfred: *switched back to English at this point, but the accents are still strong*

So yes, Billy has three accents folks. His mother Marilyn was Welsh so he knows how to mimic the accent and speak the language because I say so. His father had a classic London accent which Billy defaults to most of the time. So, Billy’s double British, or just British and Welsh is you want to separate the two. Then there’s the fail-to-try-to-sound-more-American-accent or accidental transatlantic accent.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics #batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #richard grayson #robin dc #dc robin

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myclovernew · 3 days ago

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hate you, love you [lee myung-gi]

⟢ pairing: myung-gi x fem!reader (basically replacing junhee as player 222 sorry jo yuri my queen)

⟢ fluff but a little steamy near the end...

⟢ word count: 4k

⟢ a/n: hai everyone this is my first ever fic here on tumblr and i haven't written anything in over four years so i apologize if the writing is terrible LOL squid game and myung-gi brainrot had me down BAD

the annoyingly cheerful music blaring at what felt like 7 in the morning woke me up. the last thing i could remember before falling asleep was getting into a white semi-van driven by a man in a red hoodie whose face i couldn't quite make out. so where in the hell was i now?

blinking a couple times before rubbing one eye, i slowly slid up to the point where i could feel the cold, metal backboard of the bed you were in through the thin polyester jacket i had on. that's when i realized i was in a completely different outfit than the one i had on the night before. looking around, i noticed others slowly waking, everyone in the same outfit as mine with only a slight difference. you were all numbered, and my number was 222.

a guy who was in the bed directly in front of mine started waking up at that moment, mumbling something incoherent to himself and then letting out a huge sigh. the number on the back of his jacket was 333. only when he turned slightly to his left is when i realized; i'd recognize that side profile anywhere.

"lee my-" before i could even finish calling out his name, the speaker sent out feedback indicating the start of something unknown. everyone was awake at this point, walking towards the center pool of people.

that's when an alarm went off, and an automatic door let in a group of eerily mysterious people dressed in pink jumpsuits, their faces covered by black masks with either squares or circles painted on them in white.

"i would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," one of the square guards started. i was watching from the foot of my bed, trying to scan the crowd to navigate that piece of shit. i can't believe that asshole is here too, i thought to myself while half paying attention to whatever the square guy is saying.

"everyone here will participate in six different games over six days." games? what are we in, grade school? "those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

now that's what i wanted to hear. when that salesman looking guy approached me a week ago, he had me play a game of ddakji, which i was a natural at. so of course i beat him on the first round. he gave me 100,000 won as a prize and a rustic brown business card with only a number on the back. i debated on calling the ominous number for days on end, but the final straw was having all 58 of my calls to that asshole myung-gi ignored. he had "borrowed" 500,000 won from me to kickstart a stock he was investing in and just never paid me back. a couple of weeks after was when i found out his dumbass had led a bunch of his stream viewers to invest in the wrong coin, causing a lot of not-so-happy, middle aged men struggling to make ends meet to go after him.

anyway, i was determined to make him pay.

a couple of people from the huge crowd started yelling out remarks, demanding for answers.

"what happened to my clothes?" "did you kidnap us?" "why are you wearing a mask?" "show your face!"

then one person started asking for their phone, insisting that they had to check the crypto market.

"player 333, lee myung-gi," the square guard had declared. my head immediately snapped up, eyes glued to the screen that had just turned on. a video of myung-gi started playing and it was him being embarrassingly bad at the same game of ddakji i had played with the salesman. i couldn't help but laugh to myself as hundreds of people watched him get slapped, how humiliating.

"current debt levels, 1.8 billion won." oh you had to be joking.

that made the measly 500,000 won he owed me look like nothing. no wonder he was ignoring my calls, the loser had absolutely no means of paying me back, let alone getting rid of his own debt.

i lost sight of myung-gi when the guards had us line up and sign what looked like a consent form to play the games. it seemed a bit excessive, but i guess they had to keep it all professional. we then had our photos taken before being led up multiple flights of pink, maze-like stairs.

all at once, three giant doors opened up to a large, sand-filled area. the guards instructed us to go in and stand behind the red line drawn on the ground. at the very end of the field was an enlarged cartoonish doll. what could we possibly be doing here?

i looked around for myung-gi again, hoping to catch him by surprise when he saw my face afters months of ignoring me.

"the first game is red light, green light," a woman's voice iterated through the speakers. red light, green light? i hadn't played that since i was a kid. "cross the finish line before the five minutes are up. if you do, you pass."

this honestly felt like a joke. why were we getting paid to play children's games?

"everyone!" i squinted my eyes to see a middle-aged man, his number being 456, run to the middle of the crowd. "everyone, pay attention!" he was waving his arms like a mad man to try and get everyone to listen to him.

"this is not just a game!" what?

"if you lose, you die!" there's no way that was true. did he mean get eliminated? they wouldn't really kill us, would they? i looked around to watch everyone else's expressions. some started visibly shaking, others shaking their heads in pure disbelief.

at that moment, the robotic doll turned around and put her hand up to her eyes.

"let the game begin."

the first "red light, green light" was said and everyone began to move. as soon as the doll stopped to look around, i stayed as still as possible. the man from earlier was still yelling at everyone to freeze, and something in me started to believe in what he was saying about the game. as i froze in place, i scanned the people around me. 239, 009, 176, 028, and 333. found you.

the next "red light, green light" played and i ran towards myung-gi. he might've been a crypto bro who practically lived at the pc cafe, but damn he was a fast runner. the next couple of "red light, green light's" went off and i was just about a feet behind him now. that's when a loud "bang" echoed throughout the hall. a gun shot. more gun shots sounded, followed by ear-piercing screams. stay still, stay still, i thought to myself.

then it went silent. everyone who was still alive was frozen in their places, not even moving when the doll said "red light, green light." my eyes focused on myung-gi. he was breathing so heavily i could hear him.

"red light, green light." the man from earlier, player 456, was the only one to move as he ran past all of us. "red light, green light." he moved a bit further, with his back facing us.

"the doll detects motion," he yelled out as he had one hand behind his back, moving it around to prove what he was saying was true. so as long as the doll couldn't physically see me moving, i would be fine.

"we're running out of time. we have to move!" shit.

"red light, green light." everyone moved then, finding someone bigger than them to hide behind. i was still behind myung-gi, who i admit was shorter than most guys here, but then again so was i. we were almost by the finish line, with a little less than a minute left.

"red light, green light." we moved again in a synced matter. but just as the doll was about to turn her head, myung-gi tripped on someone's foot. he's going to die, i thought. without thinking, i put out my arm, and grasped onto the back of his jacket.

"don't. move," i whisper-yelled, my teeth gritting against each other. myung-gi didn't make a sound.

"red light, green light," i let go and he regained his balance, the two of us crossing the finish line. i bent over, my hands resting on my knees as i tried to breathe normally again.

"y/n?" myung-gi questioned. i looked back up to him, scanning his face. as much as he was confused as to why i was here, he also looked relieved to see a familiar face.

"aren't you going to thank me?" i retorted. i did just save his life.

"oh, yeah," he said, his hand reaching the back of his head, "thank you. seriously." i sighed and gave him a slight nod. frankly, i was too exhausted and too desperate to get out of this place to even demand for my money back from him right now. he opened his mouth again, like he had something to say, but got quickly distracted by the ceiling of the arena slowly closing in. the game was over.

the guards had us all walk back into the room we woke up in. it was eerily quiet; people were scared for their lives. i just wanted to go home. i didn't even care about the money anymore. why would any of this even matter if i didn't make it out alive?

everyone made it back inside as the guards followed behind the last couple of players, stopping in front of the door they first walked out of. some of the players ran down to the middle of the floor and started kneeling to the ground, rubbing their hands profusely, begging to be saved.

"we are not trying to hurt you. we are only presenting you with an opportunity," the square guard declared.

"clause three of the consent form!" i turned around to look at the player that yelled this out. it was the same man that was helping everyone in the last game, player 456. "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote. correct?"

oh thank god. we actually had a chance at getting out of here before they had us all killed.

that's when the room went dim, and a golden piggy bank was slowly let down from the ceiling. even i was mesmerized, my eyes glued to the stacks of money falling into it. the guard then explained there was a sum of 9.1 billion won in the bank, and if we all wanted to leave now, it would be split by all current players. murmurs erupted, some people wanting to stay and play more games for the sum to rise, while others still wanted to leave.

"now, let's begin the vote."

the guards started calling out player numbers, starting from the last number, 456. the first vote was an X. each player received a tag with either an X or an O, indicating what they had voted for.

"player 333." i watched as myung-gi emerged from the crowd, and walked towards the buttons. i swear to god.

the sound of the button went off and so did a flash of blue light. he picked O.

he barely even made it through the first game without my help, yet he wanted to stay and continue playing? i scoffed to myself, he really did only care about himself.

"player 222." it was finally my turn. i walked up to the voting stand, confident in my answer. i hit the X button and received my tag. walking back to the group of other X voters, i looked over at myung-gi standing on the opposite side who was also watching me from afar. i narrowed my eyes and made a face full of utter disgust and disappointment, then looked away. in that moment, i regretted saving him at all.

the voting ended shortly, the O's winning by one point. we really had to stay and play another game. it was absurd to me, all these people being blinded by the money after seeing firsthand how one wrong move could literally get you killed.

food service happened after the voting and each person was given a meal. i walked back to my bed and opened up the metal box to find a layer of white rice, topped with an egg, sausage, and picked radish. it honestly wasn't bad at all. i was eating peacefully before myung-gi walked up, holding out his box of food and resting his arms on the foot of my bed.

"you want the radish? i know it's your favorite," i looked up at him, mid-chew of a mouthful of rice and egg. the radish was my favorite, but i was surprised he remembered that at all. without saying anything back, because i was still mad at him, i took the pieces of radish out of his box and put it in mine.

"are you mad at me?" i looked up from my food again. he could not be serious. we were making eye contact now, but the purple-ish, blue ring forming around his left eye caught my attention.

"what happened to your eye?" i asked, ignoring his initial question. i don't even know why i brought it up, i could care less about this asshole.

"don't worry about it." say less! i went back to eating my food, myung-gi still hovering, waiting for the answer to his question. i gave him a "what?" look with a shoulder shrug and seems like he took that for an answer because he turned back around and started walking away without saying another word.

i looked toward his direction ever so often after finishing up my meal. he really was a loser and didn't have anyone else here, not even someone to team up with. he sat straight up on his bed, poking at the rice with his spoon. a couple of hours passed by, and it was soon bedtime. the lights in the room dimmed and everyone was in their beds by this point. i pulled the thin cotton blanket over me and readjusted my pillow so it was leaning a bit against the bed board. i lay there on my back with my hands intertwined across my chest, closed my eyes and desperately tried to fall asleep. but it was one of those nights where your eyes were sleeping, and your body wasn't. hours passed and i was still awake. i tried turning to my side, readjusting my pillow again, but nothing worked. at a loss, i just kept my eyes open and stared at the bottom of the bed above mine.

the older gentleman to my right was snoring like there was no tomorrow, and a woman in her mid-20s to my left kept turning around every 5 minutes. even if i did manage to fall asleep, i probably would've woken up because of one or the other. that's when i heard someone nearby talking, or it was more of a loud whisper. i sat right up on my bed to figure out where the noise was coming from, only to see the source was right in front of me.

myung-gi was talking... but to himself? i slowly peeled the blanket off of myself and threw both legs over the edge of my bed. i stepped on my shoes without properly putting them on, and walked towards his bed, making sure not to make anymore noise that could wake up anyone else. i watched as myung-gi continued to blurt out sentences and random words in his sleep, but i couldn't quite make out what he was actually saying. his eyes were fully closed, but his eyebrows were at a slight furrow with sweat beading on his forehead. he looked like he was burning up. without even realizing, i reached my hand out to his forehead, hovering just an inch above it. i didn't even need to make contact with his skin to know he had a fever. i retracted my hand and bent down to my feet to fully put on my shoes before walking over to the door that led to the restroom. a guard was standing by the door and it took me a good 10 minutes for him to let me use the restroom, finally convincing him by saying it was that time of the month.

i grabbed a long piece of a paper towel, folded it, and let it run under the cold water for a bit. i walked back out the door without the guard noticing the paper towel in my hand and made it back to myung-gi, who was thankfully still asleep. i reached out my arms to place the towel on his forehead, but before i could take them back, myung-gi's hand wrapped around my left wrist. his eyes were slightly open, but i couldn't quite tell if he was actually awake or not.

"stay," he croaked, his voice coming out raspy. i stood there unsure what to do and his grasp still on my arm. "please."

well it's not like i could fall asleep anyway. i used my feet to take off my shoes and climbed into his bed, using his arm as a pillow. i cautiously turned to slightly face him, but myung-gi looked like he had already fallen back asleep. i turned back around, closed my eyes, and without even knowing it, fell asleep right then.

i felt warmer than usual as i started waking up to the same music that played when i first got here. eyes still closed, i turned over to my right side and felt even warmer. it was a nice feeling and i wanted to stay here just for a couple more minutes.

the chatter from the people around me woke me up. vision still blurry, i blinked profusely to make sure i wasn't hallucinating. i was looking straight at myung-gi, our faces almost an inch apart. his eyes were still closed and i could even hear his heartbeat; we were that close. we were also under the same blanket now, not knowing how i even got to that position considering he was hogging the thing when i first laid down.

i didn't know what to do. i didn't want to move now because then he'd wake up and i'd have to confront him. i just kept looking at his face, focusing on the bruise from yesterday, which was now a little darker in color. he didn't look like he still had a fever, but something in me wanted to check anyway. i freed my left arm from my own grip and slowly raised it up to his forehead, but before i could even check, myung-gi opened his eyes. i quickly dropped my hand and closed my eyes, pretending like i had never even woken.

fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit.

then i heard him starting to laugh, myung-gi was laughing at me. i peeked one eye open and he started to laugh even harder. now i felt myself heating up. guards please take me now, just take me now. as i was about to say something, myung-gi used the blanket to cover me entirely and pulled me in even closer.

"what the fuck are you do-" i tried to get out, but my voice got muffled by the blanket as he brought me in even closer. oh my god i thought i was going to explode.

"you hiding something under that blanket?" a voice questioned from outside. i took that as my queue to stay as silent as possible.

"no, why would i be?" myung-gi answered back.

"don't talk back to me, fucker. unless you want a matching black eye." oh, so this must've been the person that beat the shit out of myung-gi yesterday. myung-gi didn't respond this time, but i could feel his arm around me loosen as the footsteps got further away. i reached for the rim of the blanket and pulled it back down enough for my face to show. that was a bad idea, because i was just about touching his chest now.

"if you wanted a hug you could've just said so," he said sarcastically, a one-sided grin forming on his face as he looked down at me.

"in your dreams," i said, all flustered. i quickly pushed myself away before he could pull anything else and practically stumbled out of the bed. i didn't even look back as i put on my shoes and walked out to regroup with the rest of the players.

they had us get into groups of five for the second game, making it a game based on team effort. i teamed up with four older guys, one of them being player 456 from earlier. i was glad i didn't end up with myung-gi this game, because honestly i didn't know how to face him after last night. but i still found myself glancing over at him throughout the game to make sure he was still alive.

we both got through the second game, but it was still silence between us. i didn't go up to him and neither did he try and talk to me. i couldn't fall asleep that night either, but i didn't dare get out of my bed.

the next game came around quickly. i stuck with the group i had made during the previous game, and we quickly got the hang of this new game. we were placed onto a merry-go-round like platform and spun around until the music stopped. the speaker would blurt out a number and the same amount of people would need to run and find a room to stay in. if the room had more or less people than the number that was said, you would die. as a group of 5, we got through teams of 3 and 6 pretty easily. but then the speaker called out 2. i looked up as everyone paired up, and i had no one. my mind went fuzzy, everyone was running around screaming and looking for their friends. i felt like i was going to faint until i felt someone grab onto my wrist and started to drag me off the platform. i picked up on the pace and ran like my life depended on it, because it did.

we ran into a purple room and shut the door. my back was pinned to the wall as myung-gi still held onto my wrist. we were both trying to catch our breath, but then he leaned in closer. my body froze and we were only inches apart again. i was looking into his eyes, then panned down to his lips, just to trace back up to his eyes again. the door clicked shut and we were stuck in here. together.

in that moment, i felt his lips touch mine. i closed my eyes as i let myself melt into the kiss. he let go of my wrist and positioned one hand at my waist while the other creeped up the back of my neck. i could feel my shirt fleeting as his fingertips made contact with my skin ever so lightly. my hands made their way up his chest as i gripped onto his shirt and pulled him in even closer, deepening the kiss and eliciting a whiny moan from him. i wanted this to go on forever.

the door made another clicking sound, letting us know we could go back out. i loosened my grip before myung-gi could get his hand up any higher under my shirt.

"we have to," i let out, mid-kiss, "go." we both came to a stop then, realizing we had to go back out onto the platform. i quickly straightened up my shirt with my hands and reached up to myung-gi's hair which was looking all disheveled now to smooth it back out into his natural middle part.

"we're not done yet," he whispered into my ear as we walked out the door, parting ways once again.

that's when i knew i'd be getting a good night's sleep tonight.

#squid game #player 333 #im siwan #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #lee myunggi

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nadas-dirthalen · 18 hours ago

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Societal Change in Dragon Age: the Veilguard

I've seen a lot of posts about how Veilguard doesn't really "move the needle" with Thedas' politics, so to speak. While this isn't a callout of any specific one of them (note the lack of links! this isn't about anyone), I wanted to talk about some changes I saw during my first two runs of Veilguard.

I also want to say that a lot of the changes we saw happen in the world of Inquisition also did not involve direct input from the Inquisitor. Dorian, for instance, was always going to go back to Tevinter and make change. The mage-templar war reaches a peaceful(ish) ending no matter which side the Inquisitor chooses to back. The Chantry moves forward after Justinia's death no matter who becomes Divine. The nobles are mad no matter who is made emperor/empress of Orlais. The Dalish flock to Fen'Harel after Trespasser no matter what.

That said... here's what I can remember off the top of my head.

Arlathan Forest and the Elves:

The Dalish got their land back. While the real-world Land Back movement is (obviously!) far more complex and far-reaching than can be portrayed within a companion quest in a video game, the fact remains: in my playthrough, not only did the Veil Jumpers (and by extension, the Dalish) get Arlathan Forest back, the magic there also stabilized. (Editing Note: this stabilization is implied through the slide with high faction strength, and stated outright in the ending with low faction strength, which says, "For the Veil Jumpers, the fall of the last elven gods left raw magic and chaos in its wake." Rook, therefore, decides whether Arlathan is habitable or not, since Arlathan's magic is described as fatal for most people during banter with a Veil Jumper Rook.)

The elves potentially also get their ancient knowledge back. Depending on what you chose for the Nadas Dirthalen, the Dalish potentially got a lot of their old technology and knowledge back, potentially putting them even further ahead in terms of magical technology than Tevinter in some areas.

... Or the Veil Jumpers chose a different path forward for the elves. If the Nadas Dirthalen was kept hidden, Rook and Bellara chose a path where the Dalish refuse to become like their predecessors, forever changing the path of Dalish reclamation efforts. The Dalish, then, become something other than what their ancestors were. Either way, the Dalish are significantly impacted.

(if the griffons were given back to Arlathan) An apex predator was returned to Arlathan. If you want to read more about how cool of a change this is, I suggest reading about how cool it is that wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone.

(added in edits) The truth about the Evanuris is well-known, or will be soon. Davrin says that while he did not notify many Dalish about the truth of the Evanuris during the events of Veilguard, it is the Veilguard's duty to inform them after. The same will likely prove true with Andrastians, and the Chantry at large. The truth will soon come to light—and even though rapid religious change has already been undergone once because of the cause of the Blights (Tevinter moved away from the worship of their old gods, save for the Venatori, because their old gods were the archdemons spearheading the Blights), the elves are already victims of prejudice in Thedas. The Chantry's response to the truth will likely be influenced by that prejudice. HOWEVER, it is my firm belief that the Evanuris also exist in the Chant of Light as the Maker's first children, and that truth being revealed or uncovered simultaneously has the potential to change the shape of the public's response across Thedas.

Kal-Sharok, Orzammar, and the Dwarves:

The titans' history has been remembered. Remember in Descent where it was said very prominently that Orzammar had struck all memories of the titans? That something political was motivating how the titans were entirely forgotten about? Now, thanks to the events of Veilguard, there is no turning back. No amount of suppression can make the world forget the titans now.

DWARVES. HAVE. MAGIC. NOW. Read that ending slide again! "The dwarven people rediscovering their lost magic, and their connection to the Stone." This is something the dwarven people have not had for literal millennia, and it's thanks to ROOK and HARDING that this change has taken root! Not Valta, but Rook!

Kal-Sharok continues to become more known to the world after being sealed off. We continue to get closer to understanding exactly what happened to Kal-Sharok after it was sealed off, and this is going to inform our understanding of the titans and the blight even more as time goes on.

Healing the titans has huge implications for the existence of red lyrium. Between Solas doing what he can (in his good endings) to soothe the blight's anger and (more importantly) dwarves connected to the Stone like Harding doing work to soothe the titans' anger on Thedas itself, we will likely see red lyrium gradually fade away all across Thedas.

The caste system of the dwarves is likely to be impacted by recent revelations. Regardless of what, exactly, is chosen going forward, it is clear the dwarves will take a good look at their own beliefs and practices about the Stone now that the truth about the titans has come to light. Their feelings about surface dwarves versus those who live purely underground are likely to be impacted here! I can't wait to see dwarf politics in DA5!

The Grey Wardens & Weisshaupt:

The Wardens don't hear the Calling anymore thanks to Rook's actions. You know... the thing that defines the life of a Warden? The thing that shortens their lifespan? That's gone. This has been a PILLAR of their organization since Origins, and the absence of the Calling is absolutely going to lead to massive change within the Wardens.

The blight is less virulent—AKA, it is greatly weakened, and has died in some parts of Thedas. Yes, completely. Read that again. Read that as many times as it takes for it to sink in. The blight has been a huge, looming threat for over one thousand years. For the first time ever, it is on its way out. Perhaps for good.

For the first time, new growth is coming back to the Anderfels and other blighted areas on Thedas. Discovering this—and keeping the Wardens alive long enough to discover this—is forever going to change the directives of the Wardens and the lands that were previously too blighted to thrive. The Anderfels, we know, are coming back to life—but some other zones that come to mind here are the Silent Plains, parts of Antiva, Denerim... anywhere a Blight ended in the past, or anywhere that the blight completely overtook in the past.

Minrathous:

An abolitionist sits on the Archon's throne!!! For the first time ever, someone who wants to end slavery is the head of Tevinter government. This is a huge step forward for the movement to end Tevinter slavery, which has had to exist in the shadows more or less until now (which we see even in the upper echelons of the altus class, in Maevaris, who was kicked out of the Magisterium for her anti-slavery views).

(added in edits) The Imperial Divine is also an abolitionist. While I did not include this point earlier because Rook has no hand in selecting Ashur/the Viper as the Divine, it is important context by the game's ending. Having abolitionists as Archon and Divine means there is tremendous potential for rapid, popular change in Tevinter. I am very excited to see where this goes in DA5!

The blight died in Minrathous when Elgar'nan was slain. Not just eased. Died. Because Minrathous was the epicenter for what happened to the Veil and the blight at the time, all blight in the city is dead. This proves that the blight can truly be ended, as well as cured. That's not secret knowledge anymore, if all of Minrathous knows it.

Treviso:

The Crows have been changed by Teia and Viago's actions during Veilguard. No matter if Treviso is blighted or not, Teia and Viago have brought the Crows into a different sphere than perhaps they were under Talons like Aranai in Origins. The Crows have a direct part to play not just in the governance of Antiva (which we knew about) but the governance of individual cities and even the organization of Antiva's military power. This was less prevalent before Veilguard (because we weren't in Antiva, but also because Antiva didn't have a Blight to defend against), but now that the Crows have stood against the Final Blight, there's no going back from the precedent their actions have set.

The Crows have a new First Talon—one who will undoubtedly bring reform. While Lucanis is no stranger to murder and there's no doubt in my mind that the Crows will continue doing just that, Teia and Viago now have a lot more pull within the Crows (and their humanitarian efforts by extension) because one of their closest allies is now First Talon.

Rivain & the Antaam:

An influx of former Antaam are potentially joining the existing Qunari in Rivain. By appealing to Antaam deserters, Taash and their allies are showing that there is a life possible for kossith (Qunari) outside of the teachings of the Qun—without attacking/invading under the orders of the Arishok. We have not seen this on this grand a scale before, and it will be fascinating to see what ripple effect this has on the rest of Qunari culture.

There is a gap left by the Antaam within Qunari society, too. While not tackled upfront in Veilguard, the fact remains that one of the three pillars of Qunari society left the Qun. Whether this is the entirety of the Antaam or a significant part of its forces, I don't know, but this will have destabilized the Qunari and will open the way for a lot of questions and change within their own society, too.

Knowledge about the adaari and about who the Qunari were before Thedas is emerging. We've seen with the elves and dwarves that when this kind of history is revealed over time, great changes happen within societies in Thedas. I can't wait to see what that means for the kossith/Qunari!

The Necropolis & the Mourn Watch:

The Mourn Watch are aware that an entire lineage of people on Thedas were spirits that took physical shape by crafting bodies made of lyrium. Knowledge of spirits has tremendously shifted. This changes the understanding of what a spirit even is, versus the soul of a living person.

(if Manfred is alive) It is increasingly apparent that spirits "grow" and mature in the same way that living children do, becoming more complex over time. This has big implications for the recognition of spirits as their own sort of people—not just in Nevarra, but everywhere.

It will soon become more common knowledge that the existence of the Veil is what ended elven immortality. This changes everything that the Mourn Watch knows about what mortality even is!

With the blight less virulent, it is possible that other cultures in Thedas start burying their dead, rather than cremating them. This could lead to a widespread rise in necromancy and/or Nevarran belief!

Orlais:

Orlais endured a rebellion of its noble class. While we can presume that their monarch survived it (and therefore probably cemented themselves as an effective leader, surviving the Final Blight and rebellion), there is just as much to be said for if they did not survive it (which would throw Orlais into political turmoil all over again). Either way, Orlais looks different as a political power going forward.

Val Royeaux—the seat of the Southern Chantry and its Divine—fell. While listed as under rebel control, I think there is just as much to be said here: the Orlesian people were likely shaken by the fall of Val Royeaux, and combined with the knowledge that will come of the Evanuris, the titans, and the Andrastian faith after the events of Veilguard, I can see a shift in how Andrastianism is perceived in Orlais, and the South as a whole.

Ferelden:

The Chasind and Avvar have allied themselves with Fereldan leaders, a shift from their former lives secluded from other Fereldan humans after a prior history of conflict with them.

Ferelden made an attempt at peace with Orlais. Whether this attempt was answered remains unclear due to communication difficulties during the worst of the Final Blight, but the Fereldan envoys were not attacked outright. This suggests that tensions between Ferelden and Orlais cooled, if even a little bit. However, it is unclear if this will remain true, given that Orlais might be in a weaker position than Ferelden due to this late lapse in communication.

Free Marches:

The Free Marches united under Prince Vael. From a quick look at the wiki, it's been 700 years since unification was even attempted.

The Free Marches fared better against the Blight than Orlais and Ferelden, and were even marching south to lend aid to Ferelden by the game's finale.

And there you have it! That's what I can think of that has changed in Thedas, either because of Rook or not because of Rook, in Veilguard. And again: many changes in Inquisition were either not the Inquisitor's choice (like Dorian going home, or the truth of the Evanuris being revealed over time) or did not have consequences that led into the next game (even in DAI's epilogue, before Veilguard, the nobles are upset whether Celene or Gaspard are on the throne).

But one thing is true: whether you enjoyed Veilguard or not, it is not true that nothing happened during the game. Much did! The Veil may not have come down, and Rook may not have had an omniscient perspective looking down on Thedas at changes outside their immediate scope, but the world did change around them.

#dragon age #dragon age lore #dragon age theorycrafting #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #da:v #da:ve #veilguard spoilers #da meta #long post

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jungwnies · 2 days ago

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wreckage - charles leclerc (4/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, angst, fluff ୨ৎ : tws : injury, surgery, medical trauma, emotional distress, guilt, near-death experience, physical pain, anxiety ୨ৎ : wc : 2402

part one | part two | part three | part four

Love is funny, isn’t it? You think you have it all figured out, and then one day, you realize that the love you thought would always be there can sometimes fade into the background. But it doesn’t just fade. No, it burns out, slow and steady, like an ember that’s been left too long. That’s the worst kind of loss—the one you didn’t see coming, the one that happens while you’re still holding on, telling yourself everything will be okay.

You remember when you and Charles first fell in love. The world felt like it was yours, and nothing could get in the way of the connection you had. The world around you blurred into the background, and it was just the two of you. You’d laugh together, make silly promises to each other, the kind of promises that felt forever, like they couldn’t possibly be broken. And in your mind, you believed it. You believed you’d grow old together, that no argument could ever pull you apart. But life has a funny way of surprising you.

The love you shared in the beginning was so full of light. It was easy. It was simple. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between the late-night talks and the quiet moments, you lost that. The arguments crept in. At first, they were small, just misunderstandings, but they grew, louder and sharper, until they couldn’t be ignored anymore. The more Charles drowned himself in the racing world, the more you felt yourself slipping away. But neither of you stopped to listen to what the other needed.

You can’t help but wonder now: If you hadn’t argued so much, if you hadn’t allowed that distance to grow between you, would he be lying in this hospital bed today? Would he still be fighting for his life? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. The thought makes your chest ache with a weight you can’t shake off. You want to believe that everything could have been different, but you don’t know for sure.

---

The steady beep of the monitors is the only thing that keeps you tethered to the present. Charles’s vitals have stabilized since the crash, and you try not to let yourself hope too much, but each small sign of improvement sends a rush of relief through you. You hold onto that hope, even though you know it might be foolish. Every small movement, every little shift in his breathing—each one feels like a promise. A promise that he’s still here.

Pascale’s footsteps break your train of thought. She steps into the room, her face tired, but there’s a quiet strength in her eyes.

“You’re doing everything you can,” she says, her voice gentle, like she’s trying to reassure you that you’re not alone in this. “You’re not to blame for this. The sport… it’s dangerous. We all know that. But Charles loves you. And this—it’s not your fault.”

You swallow hard, your heart heavy with the weight of her words. But they don’t sink in, not completely. You can’t stop the guilt that keeps clawing at your chest. You can’t help but wonder, what if you could have done more? What if you had said something different, done something different? Would he still be here, conscious and fighting? Or would this still be his reality?

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you admit quietly, your voice shaky, betraying the calm you try to maintain. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

She takes a step closer, her hand finding yours. “You don’t have to,” she says, her tone firm but soft. “Just be there for him. That’s what he needs right now. And when he wakes up… when he’s ready, you’ll figure it out together.”

You nod, not sure if you believe her. But you hold onto her words like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, she’s right. But it doesn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful.

---

Hours stretch into what feels like an eternity. The doctors come and go, each update a little less hopeful than the last. Charles is still critical. There’s no telling when he’ll wake up, if he wakes up. And the waiting—waiting without knowing what’s happening to him, if he’s improving or slipping away—feels unbearable.

And then, without warning, his heart rate drops.

The machines beep with a harsh, frantic sound, and the room erupts into chaos. Your body freezes, the air thick with panic. Nurses rush to his side, hands moving quickly, calling out to each other in a language you can’t fully comprehend. You stand there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do. Your mind spins with fear and confusion, and all you can think about is the man lying in front of you, fighting to stay alive.

Charles’s heart rate flatlines.

A scream gets caught in your throat, but it doesn’t escape. You don’t have the strength to let it out. The world feels like it’s spinning, like you’re stuck in a nightmare you can’t wake from. You watch as they work on him—CPR, chest compressions, defibrillation—but none of it seems to matter. It doesn’t feel real. He’s supposed to be okay. He’s supposed to wake up.

But then, just as suddenly as it started, the doctors manage to stabilize him again. His heart rate picks up slowly, steadily, until it’s just enough for you to breathe again.

The doctors exchange glances, unsure how to explain the sudden shift. They weren’t expecting this. They were preparing to pull the plug. Now, it seems he’s fighting back.

But the fear doesn’t dissipate completely. It lingers in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. There’s no telling if this is the end of the battle or just another moment of temporary reprieve. All you can do is wait.

---

Time passes, but it feels like you’re standing still. Charles’s breathing evens out. The monitors beep at a normal rhythm now, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a glimmer of hope.

And then, as though your prayers have been answered, you hear it. A soft groan. His hand twitches in yours.

“Charles?” You whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyelids flutter, and slowly, his eyes open. The confusion is evident in them. His brow furrows, trying to process everything.

“Y/n?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you can hear the recognition in it. The relief that floods through you makes it hard to breathe. You’re shaking, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Oh my God. Charles… you’re awake.”

His eyes flutter again, blinking as he adjusts to the light. He tries to speak, but it’s a struggle. “What… happened?”

“You were in a crash,” you explain, your heart racing. “But you’re awake. You’re okay. You’re breathing on your own.”

His hand tightens around yours, a weak but determined grip. He doesn’t have to say anything else. You know he’s here. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

You lean in closer, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t need to say anything right now. Just rest. You’ve been through enough.”

His eyes close again, exhaustion taking over. But this time, it’s different. He’s not slipping away. He’s fighting. And that’s enough for you.

---

It’s been a few days since Charles woke up. His recovery is slow, but every step forward is a victory. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, and his vitals are improving steadily. He’s no longer on a ventilator, and they’ve managed to reduce the pain medications, though he still winces at the sharp pangs in his body when he moves. His face is pale, his body thin, but his eyes—they’re alive. They’re still the same Charles you love.

His hand rests weakly in yours as he shifts in the hospital bed, a small groan escaping his lips. You watch him carefully, knowing he’s still in pain but feeling so much relief that he’s here, breathing, talking, and slowly getting better. It’s surreal how much has changed in just a few days.

You gently press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering longer than you expect.

“Still hurts?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything hurts,” he replies, his voice hoarse from the tubes and the strain, but it’s unmistakably Charles—weak but teasing. “But I’ll live.”

You chuckle, even though your heart still feels heavy with all that’s happened. “You better. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His hand tightens around yours, and for a moment, there’s silence between you two, the hum of machines and the quiet shuffle of footsteps in the hall the only sounds filling the room.

The door opens softly, and Pascale enters, her eyes lighting up when she sees Charles awake.

“You’re really here,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it.”

“I told you,” he mutters, a weak but determined smile crossing his face. “I don’t give up that easily.”

She chuckles, her relief palpable. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The doctor enters next, checking his vitals and making small talk about his progress. But after a few minutes, you sense that everyone is trying to give you two some space. You appreciate it more than you can say. You need a moment alone with him, just the two of you.

“Can we talk?” Charles asks suddenly, his voice quieter, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His gaze locks with yours, and you nod.

Once the room clears, you move closer to him, pulling a chair up beside his bed and sitting down, your hand never leaving his.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice soft but full of emotion. “More than I ever thought possible. I was… so afraid. I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

Your heart catches at his words, and you squeeze his hand tighter. “You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”

“I know I messed up, Y/n,” he says, his voice trembling slightly as he continues. “The arguments, the distance between us… I didn’t know how to fix it, but I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve done better for us.”

You shake your head, leaning closer to him. “We both messed up. I pushed you away. I let my own fears and doubts take over, and we let the distance grow between us. But we don’t need to dwell on that now. What matters is we have a chance to rebuild. We can start again.”

Charles’ eyes soften as he looks at you. He lifts his free hand and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers are weak, but his touch is gentle, so tender it makes your heart swell.

“I don’t want to waste another moment,” he whispers. “I want to make it right. For us. I want to give you everything I have. I want us to be… forever.”

You feel a rush of warmth in your chest at his words, and you can’t hold back the tears that sting your eyes. “Charles… I love you. I always have. No matter what happened before, it’s in the past now. We’ll get through this together. We’ll be better.”

He nods, his smile growing as much as his weakened body allows. “Forever,” he repeats, his voice firm. “You and me.”

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his gently, the kiss soft and full of promise. You feel the heat of his lips against yours, the lingering taste of the past and the hope for the future mixing together. It’s everything you need. Everything you’ve always wanted.

After the kiss, you rest your forehead against his, the moment feeling peaceful, intimate, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

"I promise I’m never going to leave you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I won’t leave you either. We’re in this together. Forever.”

His breath catches, and you can see how tired he is. His eyes start to close, his body relaxing into the bed. You’re thankful for this moment—this quiet moment of peace between the chaos. It’s all you need for now. His grip tightens one last time around your hand before he drifts off, his breathing steady, but shallow.

As you watch him sleep, your heart swells. There’s so much to be thankful for now. He’s here. He’s alive. And even though he’s still in pain, the fact that he’s awake and breathing on his own, that he can talk and even smile, fills you with a sense of relief you can’t describe.

Time may not have stopped, but you feel like it’s been kind to you in the small ways. And in this moment, with Charles beside you, you’re ready to take on the future. The fights, the love, the challenges—they’re all worth it. Because at the end of the day, it’s you and him. Together.

---

As the days continue, Charles slowly gets stronger. The pain from the crash is still there, but it’s manageable. He’s talking more, eating small meals, and regaining some mobility. He even laughs now and then, the sound a balm to your weary soul.

It’s slow, but progress is progress, and with each passing day, your connection with him grows stronger. The weight of the past seems lighter, and you find yourselves rebuilding, piece by piece, finding new ways to love each other.

You’re not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, you know you’ll face it together. Whatever happens, you’ve found something worth fighting for.

---

A few weeks later, Charles is finally cleared for a short walk around the hospital floor. It’s a small victory, but it feels huge to both of you. He’s still weak, but he’s standing, with you by his side, helping him steady himself.

“You’ve come so far,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles smiles at you, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you could conquer anything. “I’m not done yet. I still have a lot of living to do. And I want to do it with you.”

You nod, feeling your heart swell as you walk beside him, hand in hand. This journey isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

But for now, you’re both here. You’re together. And that’s enough.

Forever.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , @anunstablefangirl , @waytoooobsessedwithlife , @larya810 , @laufeysvalentine (tags closed, story complete)

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ethankyou · 1 day ago

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I don't think we have ever had a canon confirmation that this is make-up or not, but they've supposedly confirmed it outside the show:

Though I couldn't load that tweet. It might have been deleted or the account privated. I also found this nugget:

...and went "Oh boy Garak's doing makeup now too? 👀" Rewatching the episode he does have a some blue applied to the spoon in the scene where he's having lunch with Odo (and the next scene or two he's in). Neat!

I also remembered that Ziyal appears without any blue marks. I can't find any pictures of Ziyal wearing blue - if we saw a canon picture of her wearing blue on her spoon at some point, that would just about confirm it.

And before anyone else mentions that she is only half cardassian, I'm aware. But if the blue colouration was sexually dimorphic instead of makeup, we should expect to still see some colouration either on the spoon or neck. Though I will admit we don't know that for sure.

When I was pouring over pictures of Ziyal I did find this though:

Which was labelled as Ziyal in a fanwiki of some sort, but this is just a shot of Kira in the episode Second Skin. So still notta for Ziyal. Interesting they dabbed some blue on that thang before they woke Kira up though! Maybe this weakens the make-up theory, idk!

But for now at least I feel that the blue being makeup is about as conclusive as it can be without having a character say "I applied blue pigments to my spoonamathing and neck rufflidges!"

Now as far as blocking out certain wavelengths of light, that is possible! So as I said before, the blue pigment would block everything except for blue light.

If we presume that is the purpose, we have to ask two things:

What benefit does blocking all light except blue on a parietal eye give cardassians?

Why do females (typically) apply this pigment and not males?

But first we gotta talk about something I mentioned previously, which is the cardassian sun.

Our sun in the sol system is a yellow dwarf sun and gives off a majority of light in the visible spectrum. Is that lucky for us being creatures that just so happen to be able to see this light? No it's not luck! We see this light because we evolved from species who adapted to the light given from our sun over millions of years!

Astrophysics is not my field, but I understand that other types of suns would still give off light in our visible spectrum, but may produce a majority of light in other wavelengths. So a sun that produced more infrared light (such as a red sun) would produce nore infrared and less visible (to us) light. Light with shorter wavelengths are cooler colours (purples, blues) while longer wavelengths are warmer (reds, oranges).

But "visible" light of course is a very human-centric perspective as even on earth there are many organisms who can see outside of our visible range (and some who struggle to see our visible range at all!). We just evolved from organisms who adapted to the light that was the majority produced by our sun.

If humans were to have evolved on a planet with a different kind of sun, such as an orange sun, then we might have adapted to view whatever range of light was the majority produced. This would probably lean more into the infrared compared to our yellow sun and our vision would be adapted for that. If you took this hypothetical human who has adapted to a visible light spectrum that has leaned towards infrared, they might have a harder time seeing shorter wavelengths of light - what we perceive as blues & purples.

Now researching the cardassian sun, low and behold it's an orange sun!

So would you look at that, the Cardassians are our hypothetical humans!

But I'm not sure there's any evidence to suggest that they perceive colours differently from us, or that they perceive infrared or other longer light wavelengths than we do, despite their different sun. On the contrary, we know Cardassia Prime is dark. What does that actually mean for a planet to be dark? Well its a hot planet so they can't be far from the sun. It's a humid planet ao there might be a lot of cloud cover. But if the more of the light the sun gave off was outside of the visible spectrum, the planet would certainly appear darker to us and them.

So unless evidence is given to the contrary, we'll have to assume they perceive the same visible light spectrum that we do.

Now. What benefit does blocking all light except blue on a parietal eye give cardassians?

The best working theory we have about the spoon is that if it has a function at all, it functions as a parietal eye. That is the assumption I will be making here.

In species on earth, the parietal eye detects the presence of light and uses this to regulate circadian rhythm. Some species can also use it for navigating or to detect predators (if it's light above you and then suddenly dark, you might be about to be eaten!), but I'm not sure that's relevant to this question. Or rather we don't have a way to explain, test, or find supporting evidence for it. So I wont.

The parietal eye is basically a cluster of photoreceptors, usually rods (black & white) but sometimes also cones (colour vision). A blue pigment would filter out everything but blue light. If their parietal eye was just rods, then a blue filter means it would only detect the presence of light if it was blue spectrum. If their parietal eye was rods and cones, or just cones, then it might distinguish between multiple wavelengths of light, but the blue filter would restrict all but the blue spectrum.

If blue light has the same disruptive effects on cardassians as it does us, then this blue filter would not protect them. In fact it would ensure that is the only light that affects them! So what are the disruptive effects then?

Blue light acts as a signal to our brain to stay awake longer. Our brain does this by suppressing the production of melatonin. All light does this to some extent, but studies have shown blue spectrum light has a much stronger effect on this than other spectrums of light. It's also been theorized that blue light can have damaging effects on our eyes, which is why little devices held up to your face - such as the one I keep writing out these theses on speculative cardassian xenobiology - can cause eye strain and thus damage as well. Try to remember to take lots of breaks from your phone and don't forget to blink folks!

So will the blue pigment protect from this? Well, no because blue light is the only light getting through. But even if it was an orange-yellow pigment to block out blue spectrum light, kind of like our blue-blocking glasses, it probably still wouldn't help. Studies have shown our blue-blocking glasses don't seem to do the things they claim to do.

Either the technology isn't there for us yet or there's more going on with light and our bodies than we understand. Who would have thought, we are complicated biological machines afterall!

If we assume that blue light has a similar effect on cardassians as it does to us, perhaps there is a benefit to just allowing blue light through? Blue light messes up our sleep but put another way it reduces fatigue - what better way to stay awake than to bombard your eyes with the Stay Awake Beam? There is also some evidence to show that blue light can increase attentiveness, but there's not a large enough body of evidence to say this conclusively, but we're already speculating about the theoretical organ of a fictional alien species so sure, we can have a little unsubstantiated claims as an treat. So dabbing that thang with some blue would allow this to happen. But you know what would also allow this to happen? Not dabbing that thing with some blue! Having no filter means just as much blue light would pass through, but it also means that other spectrums of light would pass through too.

So perhaps spectrums of light other than blue have the disruptive effects on cardassians that blue light has on us. We can speculate on that but that's pretty much all we can do. So what else might be happening?

We said Cadassia Prime has an orange sun. If we are assuming that cardassians see the same spectrum of visible light that we do, this means their orange sun would produce less purple snd blue light. Still some, but less than our yellow sun. If there is less blue light produced overall, perhaps having a filter that allows you to detect the presence of blue light at all, might have a benefit in the environment they adapted in. What that benefit is, we can only guess. But if there's less of something that you want to find, having an enhanced ability to detect it would be an advantage!

But if it's an advantage, why do females (typically) apply this pigment and not males?

As I've mentioned before, cardassians are an intelligent and ruthless people. If dabbing that thang with blue would give them an advantage men would do it too. So why don't they? Except for Elim Garak.

There could be a sex difference in how light is perceived by the spoon between males and females. But if there is, then we don't have any evidence to back that up. Sadly we can count on our hands how many female cardassians we meet through the whole of star trek and it ain't many.

In fact I'll do it off the top of my head!

There was Gul Ocett, girlboss, and i believe first cadassian we see with blue on the neck ridges. There were those two female cardassian scientists. There was that one cadassian that put O'Brien on trial. There was Natima Lang who also had a little chest spoon that we haven't seen before or since (though we don't see a lot of cadassian chests). She also had a female student. There's the cardassian that Kira was gaslit into thinking she was. There's Ziyal, of course. And who could forget Elim Garak's nanny. There's certainly more I missed, but the fact of the matter is there isn't many! All of which (except Ziyal) have blue on their forehead spoon. Some have blue on their neck ridges, but that seems to be less consistent.

We can speculate about how wavelengths of light might effect females differently from males, but beyond the presence of blue pigments, we don't have any evidence for differences between the cardassian sexes. But even if we assume there is a difference, and that the blue pigment serves a function on the spoon, why do some cardassians then also dab a little blue on their neck ridges too? Certainly there can't be parietal eyes there too, and if there's some other special organ what are the odds that an additional pair of theoretical organs on the neck would benefit from the same blue pigment as the head spoon.

The simplest explanation is of course, it's just make-up. Without some evidence to suggest that there's a sex difference, if dabbing blue gave some kind of advantage males would use it just as commonly. Garak is the only male we have seen dab that thang and it goes unremarked the single time we see it.

That might also seem like the boring answer, but it's interesting to think about what social dynamics or pressures may have led to them dabbing some blue. Is blue associated with arousal and this is like a blush situation? Is this ornamental, but just something that females do (and also Garak), like when women from earth wear different colours of eyeshadow and other makeup? Is this a hierarchical thing that female cardassians do and this is why the neck ridges are inconsistent? Why only blue? Are we just dead wrong in assuming it's make-up and it's actually a dimorphic trait? Still lots to speculate on even with the "boring" answer! But perhaps that's more the realm of specualtive xenoanthropology than specualtive xenobiology.

The funniest explanation to me however, which I've needed this whole post of background just to reach, is that perhaps cardassians just cannot see blue - we established on their orange sun planet they may have shifted their visible spectrum of light - and the pigment they dab on is just some sort of "colourless" salve or ointment that is used more by females. It goes unremarked by other cardassians because it blends in with what they perceive as fleshtone, and it goes unremarked by everyone else because no one wants to ask the ladies the insensitive question of "why you got blue up on there?" Which leads to countless starfleet debates on the social or biological purposesnof the blue, but the reality is just like "sometimes the spoon and neck gets itchy."

As a quick but important tangent, a lot of cardassian uniforms also seem to emphasize a tear or diamond shaped mark on the chest right where Natima Lang's was. This might imply that all cardassians have another spoon right in the chest. And if they do have a matching chest spoon to their forehead spoon... It kind of begs the question of why? If it's another parietal eye (i guess it would be more like... A thoracic eye?) they don't mind covering up so it certainly doesn't have any function that cardassians care about. The reality of all this is the killjoy one that i mentioned at the top if my last post, which is that a lot of this stuff was just designed in the 90's without a thought about functionality.

However I would like some to write me a 4-5 page essay on the function of the chest spoon next. Chop chop!

And for the love of the prophets people it's not a bullet or phaser hole... They don't even use bullets anymore unless evil Picard packs a six shooter just for executions...

I have been thinking about gul dukats skull all day and I need a moment alone with the cardassian lovers to discuss why the spoon would have a Hole. Its like the soft spot of a babys skull… what are the anatomical implications here…

#cardassians #cardassia #xenobiology #speculative biology #speculative evolution #star trek #star trek ds9 #ds9

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the-modern-typewriter · 3 hours ago

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Hiii! Could you please write some hurt comfort hero and villain? Where it has a “who did this to you” vibes! Thanks! No pressure if you don’t want to!

"You look..." The villain's gaze travelled slowly up the hero, taking in the hard lines of them, the uncanny iciness that had replaced a once warm, familiar face. "Different."

"And you look like hell. Let's get you out of here."

Despite the fact that the hero had just blown the villain's chains to smithereens, the villain didn't move. They leaned heavily against the cold concrete wall of their cell, still staring.

The hero's fingers flexed agitated at their sides.

"I can - if you're hurt, I can help you stand. I don't - you're safe now."

It was like an act they didn't know how to play any more. The script was the same, but the tongue behind the words was a sharper thing. A whittled thing. Made hard and venomous with desperation. Like the world had taken an axe to everything that made the hero them and started hacking.

"Who did this to you?" the villain demanded.

"What?"

"You're all..." Their head lolled, as they tried to tilt it customarily to one side. Their broken fingers hurt too much to wiggle them effectively in the hero's direction, but they did their best. "Not you. All..."

"They hurt you," the hero said. Flat. Deadly.

The villain wet their cracked, swollen lips. Their voice came out raspy. "I heard screaming."

"Yeah." Something dark and protective simmered in the hero's eyes. It looked awfully a lot like 'they deserved it'. Like how the villain's eyes used to look, through a mirror darkly, until the pain scorched through everything cold and steely inside them.

"You killed people. You killed...you came for me."

"We need to go," the hero said, through gritted teeth. "We need to get you out of here. Come on." The hero ducked down, only to falter when their gruff tug immediately made the villain's whole world go fuzzy with hurting. The touch turned gentle as the villain flinched. The hero's hands floundered, like they no longer knew the language of caring, but still remembered that they wanted to try.

A stupid prickle of tears stung the villain's eyes.

"Who did this to you? Who-"

"-Please," the hero said. "Put your arms around me. You need to work with me here. Please."

The villain wrapped their aching arms around the hero's shoulders. The hero lifted them up, holding them oh so carefully. Being upright was still enough to make the villain's vision pop and then blacken.

When they regained consciousness, they were walking through a slaughter house. Blood everywhere. As if a hurricane given teeth and claws had ripped through the building.

"Did I do this?" the villain asked.

"No, love."

But that wasn't quite right.

"No, I mean - I was gone," the villain said. Their head felt so fuzzy with everything they had been given, but the sharp edges of the hero were so clear, if only they could find the words to paint the picture half as well, let the knowledge swirling inside them settle. "You were on your own. How long have you been trying to rescue me?"

"It's going to be alright, okay? I've got you. You're alright."

"Are you?"

"I'm not the one who's been tortured!" It came out a snap, and maybe the villain should have flinched after an eternity of raised voices and raised weapons, but they didn't.

"You don't do so well on your own," the villain said instead, softly. "You never have."

The hero's throat bobbed as they swallowed, convulsive, choking something down. "Don't."

The villain raised a hand, rubbing their thumb over the gaunt line of the hero's face.

The hero flinched back.

"It's going to be alright," the villain said. "You're going to be alright. I've got you."

"You -" The hero laughed then, a broken thing. They jerked their head to the side but it didn't hide the tears glinting in their eyes. "Maybe let's not focus on me right now. You were - what they did to you - they told that they - I should have got here faster."

"I'm sorry they used me against you."

"Don't."

"Tell me their names?"

"They're all dead."

"Tell me anyway."

"I killed them."

"I know, love. Tell me anyway."

The hero swore, but the villain could practically watch some life creep back into those icy eyes. Some horror. Some thing that wasn't a stranger. Their hero. The hero held them a little tighter, cradling them a little closer against their chest.

"Just - later. Let me get you help. You need help."

Well, the villain couldn't argue with that. Still. Their own body didn't feel half as perturbing as the way the hero's eyes iced over again, determined to see through the job, to not shatter no matter what they'd done to get to where they were. To get the villain back. To save them.

They tucked themselves closer to the hero's chest, to their heart - thumping proof of life, proof of hope, proof that maybe they hadn't entirely lost the thing they cared about most of all.

Who did this to you?

But the villain didn't really need to ask.

The answer was always their own name.

#not quite hurt/comfort #but it's something #comfort was attempted by both parties #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #hero and villain #villain and hero #writing snippet #my writing #story snippet

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alchemistc · 2 days ago

Text

Listen I know @cecilyv and @liminalmemories21 are slow cooking an absolute masterpiece of a Mummy AU that I am going to eat like a gourmet meal, but I just watched The Mummy again and spent the whole time thinking about this, so here have a completely different take:

"No, Maddie, absolutely not. Do you remember what happened last time? There were boils, Maddie. Boils. On this face? Never again."

Maddie mumbles something that Buck can't quite parse but one word sounds vaguely like a name he's spent seven years trying to forget, and it's only when Chim pops up behind her like the freakiest Jack-in-the-box he's ever seen that things kind of become inevitable. "They took Jee, Buck."

---

It's not that he doesn't love this shit. He does. He loves it despite the fact that it's a hand me down interest from parents he's still struggling to have any sort of relationship with. He loves it despite the literal boils this particular special interest have caused him. He loves it despite the fact that he's pretty sure he met the love of his life on one of Maddie's little expeditions, and then the guy had disappeared into the wind. Not before a mind-blowing celebratory night and the most tender forehead kiss he's ever experienced (and he's including Maddie, here, so that really should say something) with the hazy dawn light filtering into Buck's hotel room.

He'd thought he was getting breakfast in bed. A coffee, at least.

Instead he'd been ghosted.

Which is incredibly ironic, considering.

The point is. The point is coming back home with a bunch of gold and maybe a broken heart hadn't killed his enthusiasm for digging into this stuff, following the research trails until every literal and metaphorical stone was turned. He loves it.

He would absolutely not be here if this were anything but family.

"Oh good, you made it," says a familiar voice from somewhere to his left, and Buck tries to give Maddie the evil eye, but she's too busy grinning at her husband.

Buck twists just enough to get a good look at the cleft before he's stomping his way back towards his suite.

---

Tommy is, of course, flying the fucking plane that's going to get them where they need to go.

Buck will admit he'd done a deep dive into piloting during one of his lamer spirals. He knows all sorts of facts about every helicopter known to man and quite a few of the planes.

"We're going to crash," Buck says, when the engine to his left makes another sputtering noise and then starts blowing smoke behind them.

Tommy frowns. "We're not going to crash," he mutters back, and then tips his chin, calls out loudly over his shoulder. "Maddie, Howie, you two strapped in?"

Buck isn't a fan of the tenor of his voice.

Who is he fucking kidding? He's a huge fan of that voice. He's been hearing it moan his name in his dreams for more than half a decade. Any version of that voice is something Buck wants to latch onto and never let go.

"We're not going to crash," Tommy repeats, and glances over at Buck like he's trying to drink in the sight of him.

---

They manage to salvage a good two-thirds of the water, two of Bucks suitcases ("You don't pack light, do you?" Tommy had asked, getting the bag that was almost entirely books over his shoulder like it weighed next to nothing. "Sorry my baggage is such an inconvenience." hadn't been his wittiest rejoinder of all time but it had made Tommy flush an interesting shade of purple.) and about twelve guns from the wreckage.

"Guns are notoriously not great at stopping ghosts."

Tommy glowers and continues cleaning his gun. In the firelight, his eyes have taken on a shade of blue that Buck absolutely isn't trying to memorize.

"Good thing human men took your niece, then, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that was great, no."

Chim whispers something to Maddie that makes her grin, and Buck scowls at them both.

---

"I'm so goddamn tired of boils, Maddie!"

"It's - you look fine. We just have to send Billy back where he came from and they'll clear right up. Just like last time."

"And if they don't? Your brother's going to die loveless and alone because no one's gonna want to kiss a face full of boils!"

Tommy hums to his left, shuffles, checks his watch, which definitely got broken in the crash. Buck is absolutely not thinking about the full-on make out they'd had in the middle of a graveyard full of fucking murderous ghosts while the boils were still definitely there on his face.

---

Apparently he should have brought a gun to a ghost fight, he thinks, when he glances down and catches sight of the red stain steadily growing on his shirt.

"Evan!"

Maddie's doing her chant thing over by the dias, and Jee's safely tucked in Chim's arms, and -

"Tommy," Buck manages, when Tommy catches him mid-fall and leans him back against the side of a truly hideous mausoleum.

"Hey. Evan, hey. You're - Maddie's just gotta finish up a few more lines and then you'll be good, okay? No more boils. You'll get thousands more kisses from however many people you like, alright?" He sounds a little panicked. Which is fair, considering. Ghost bullets fucking hurt.

"God, you're an idiot," Buck manages between wheezes. Things are - things are looking a little blurry around the edges. Buck lowers himself to a sit and sinks hands into the earth beneath him. "I'm gonna die still in love with the stupidest man who ever lived."

"You're not going to die," Tommy says, and he's eye level now, pressing at the spot where Buck's life is leaking out of him. Blue eyes, cleft chin, that stupid curl that never failed to release itself to settle over his forehead.

"Perfect time to completely miss the point," Buck manages through clenched teeth, and when Tommy's eyes catch his they look - terrified.

He's expecting it, maybe, a little, because he's being a little shit and that had always driven Tommy a little wild. Still. The press of lips against his is nice, and the tongue and teeth are even better, right up until he can't hold in the cough any longer and spits up blood right into Tommy's mouth.

"You're not gonna die," Tommy says, desperate now, as the world starts to tilt on its axis, and Buck curls a hand over Tommy's forearm and smiles.

---

Death isn't great. Kinda boring, actually. He's been here for five minutes or maybe an eternity when things start to go a little wonky. The endless nothing is either shrinking or expanding and Buck can't quite figure out if it's black or white or maybe just nothing and then it's shattering and shaking and gone.

---

"Ow," Buck says, and blinks open his eyes to find blue ones staring back.

They stay like that for a moment.

"So, you're O for two," Buck says, and Tommy immediately starts crying.

---

Tommy shifts a hand over Buck's jawline, calluses catching on a bit of scar tissue the boils left behind this time. Apparently they only clear up completely if you're still alive when the curse is broken.

"So there's a job," Tommy says, grooves on his face deepening, leg shifting restlessly over top of Buck's thigh. It's a trick - he knows it is, but he's still coming down off the high and Tommy's smile could probably make him do anything even if he hadn't just given Buck a Top Ten orgasm.

"No mummies. No ghosts. I swear to god Tommy if it's anything haunted I'm going to get those thousands of kisses somewhere else."

Tommy's grin is a little smug for his liking. "Have you ever heard of a Dybbuk box?"

Against his better judgement, Buck immediately begins spewing every bit of knowledge he's ever retained about them.

#bucktommy #bucktommy ficlet #vaguely bucktommy mummy au #maddie and chim as evie and rick #buck and tommy as jonathon and ardeth #🤷‍♀️

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thebreakfastgenie · 3 days ago

Note

I'm not anti-vote or anything, but I think some of the liberals on here greatly overrate how much damage a bunch of bored kids (most of whom probably can't even legally vote) talking shit on social media can actually do to the Democrats. So what if they turn out braindead "Genocide Joe" memes by the thousands per week? No meaningful voter would pay attention to those, and anyone who does never had a vote worth chasing in the first place.

The problem is that it's not just a bunch of bored kids. It feeds a larger social media ecosystem. Remember "cancel culture?" Remember how that became a right wing talking point that conservatives whined about in mainstream settings? That has its roots on tumblr. If you ever doubted that fringe social media movements affect mainstream politics, 2024 should have been the final nail in the coffin. JD Vance has very signifcant (and, frankly, underreported) ties to online far right communities (known as "groypers" to the terminally online) and it absolutely influenced his campaign and now he's bringing those interests to the vice-presidency. Elon Musk (the owner of twitter) and Vivek Ramaswamy want to run a government office named DOGE after a meme. We're sharing the internet with the people in power; we're all playing with live ammo. It's often a ripple effect or butterfly effect, so it's very difficult to predict what memes and posts from "bored kids" will make it to real life politics and how they'll be transformed along the way. Because it's so hard to predict, we need to be aware of the possibility and act with care. "Genocide Joe" memes contributed to a general feeling of dissatisfaction with Biden that, intentionally or not, played into the Trump campaign's "everyone hates Biden" narrative. A similar thing happened with Hillary in 2016.

Elections are also won and lost on the margins. Campaigns spend billons on ground games that persuade a very small percentage of voters, but it's better to persuade that percentage than not to. If you don't know if something is going to make a difference, you act as if it is when the stakes are high. Is the drag from a constant negative social media narrative going to hurt a campaign? Maybe, and either way it's definitely not going to help, so it's better not to have it. 2016 and 2024 were both very close elections.

Liberals also tend to interpret bored kids' posts as statements of action. If someone says they don't want a Democrat to win, will try to stop it, and will tell other people not to vote for that candidate, liberals are going to object to that.

It's usually not "meaningful voters" who decide elections. It's low-information swing voters who make up their minds on the way to the voting booth. These voters are, consciously or unconsciously, often influenced by perceived popular opinion. A lot of people don't have deeply held values that they've spent time examining, but have moral compasses more akin to "if everyone I know thinks this, it must be right." The danger of social media is that is also distorts the meaning of "everyone I know." Your meme about how you hate Joe Biden finds its way into an algorithmically-generated bubble and someone says "gee, it seems like everyone I know hates Joe Biden, I generally trust my social circle, he must be really bad." And it's self-reinforcing. They start sharing it or making similar posts of their own and it spreads to their contacts in their own bubbles.

I don't think the exact mechanisms or limits or this phenomenon are fully understood yet because social media is still too new, but it's very real.

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pencil-n-pen · 1 day ago

Text

SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

#girlblogging #eddie munson #soft eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #angst #angst with a happy ending #x reader #hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie x reader #that’s such an ambiguous tag #which eddie??? eddie DIAZ???#maybe i should start writing for him actually

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trippinsorrows · 2 days ago

Text

wicked games + one

authors note: here we go again. i have no excuse atp. none whatsoever. this is more a prologue than anything, because the following parts will show just we ended up here...

words: 4k

**gif belongs to @dejameflorecer

warnings: angst

Her laughter haunts him.

Once an anodyne for any and all of his bad days, now the source of his bad days.

That same laughter echoes through the hotel room, radiates from the phone in his hand as he watches one of the many videos she took.

“I want to remember these moments,” she once told him as explanation for why she seemingly couldn’t go one date or outing without snapping a photo or recording a video of them together.

The video in question that serves as his punishment is one she took when they were at his place. One of the times where he didn’t take her somewhere special or have elaborate plans. He just wanted to be around her and vice versa.

Roman sees himself sitting back on the sofa, remote in hand, probably trying to decide between the options of movies she gave him.

She then shifts the focus back onto her, and he’s immediately moved by how she’s wearing only one of his shirts, signifying she’d spent the night.

Roman’s chest tightens.

He hasn't had a good night’s rest in months, the absence of her, in all the ways, chasing and overwhelming his every waking moment.

“Ro!” She giggles, moving around again, now on her knees on the sofa as she holds onto him from the side. “Can you at least smile for me? You look like I’m torturing you.”

Present Roman watches past Roman cast an irritated glance to the camera followed by a significantly relaxed one to her. “You know I’m not a camera person like that, Sol.”

She rolls her eyes. So big and pretty. Innocent. “Whatever.” Her dismissal is followed by her kissing his cheek and smiling wryly. “I know how to get your attention.”

A misunderstanding on her part, because she always had his attention.

Still does.

More movement followed by music playing in the background.

G-A-N-G baby, let me B-A-N-G, baby

Let me fuck some'

G-A-N-G baby, let me B-A-N-G, baby

Let me fuck some'

He’d heard the song before, played at the gym and club a couple of times, but the song is not the focus. She is. Always. He watches her her climb onto his lap, that sneaky look on her face replaced with a new angle.

The angle of her holding the phone so it’s focused on her ass as she twerks on top of him, cheeks and hips moving perfectly in sync to the beat of the song.

If that ass fat, better shake that shit (Baow, baow)

Put a hand up if you take dick (Tryna fuck some')

Keep shit P, I'll never be a trick

But the way she fuck, make me spend that shit (Let me fuck some')

A viewing at a different time would probably evoke a different, more physical, carnal reaction from him, but present Roman is too focused on the sound of her laughter when past Roman slaps her ass and tugs her against him.

She bites on her bottom lip, focusing the video back on them as he whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes go wide.

She gasps, smiling and blushing as she turns to him, “Roman!”

The video stops, and the emptiness returns.

Roman locks his phone, gripping it. His eyes shut, the memories crashing into him like waves of suffocation and devastation.

He’s not sure why he continues to do this to himself. To torture himself with constant reminders of what will always be his biggest regret in this life.

The same reason he’s unsure why he’s even doing this.

He needs to leave her alone. He promised he would leave her alone.

But, that was before.

Before he was informed. Before it was told to him. Not a sure thing. Just a rumor. But a rumor, nonetheless, that resulted in him hopping on the jet and flying to Mexico. A rumor he needs to know is either just that—a rumor—or a secret that’s bound to change everything.

For better or worse remains to be seen.

It takes another ten minutes for him to exit the vehicle, ten minutes of going back and forth if he should just get back in his car and drive straight to the airport. It’s tempting, but not enough.

He needs to know.

And that’s what he keeps reminding himself of as he makes his way through the mall strip, partially confused due to the fact that it’s all in Spanish. He keeps in mind, however, the name of the shop and the pictures she showed him. Pictures that included promises of him to come see it in person, for her to give him a personal tour of all of her home, one day.

Promises and dreams that lie in the wastelands of what could but will never be.

Bypassing a couple, the woman wearing a bright green bikini top and shorts brings him back to a memory.

She runs over to him, giggling, holding onto her chest, the thin straps of her lime green bikini top failing to properly secure those beautiful breast of hers.

Sitting and straddling his lap, she takes the phone from him. "Let me see."

He watches her eyes survey the photos he snapped, his hand moving to her hips, holding her. "They alright?"

Her eyes flicker up to him. She nods with a small smile, kissing his cheek. "They're perfect."

Roman says nothing but thinks the same.

She is perfect.

Placing the phone down on the towel that he sits on, she moves her arms around his neck. "Guess what I've been thinking about?"

He makes a sound, hands massaging the meat of her hips. "No idea. Tell me."

She bites on her bottom lip, answering in a giddy tone. "Us."

Funny. He thinks the of the same thing. More often than not.

Roman lifts his hand to her chin, gaze softening. "What about us?"

Her eyes alight with elation. "When we're married and have a house full of kids running around."

Her answer surprises him. To some extent. Not entirely. She's brought up marriage before. Voiced her desire for them to one day be wed, but it's always marred by the dark secrets he continues to sit on.

Continues to withhold from her.

Solana nods, moving her hands up and down his broad shoulders. "I want to get married back home in Mexico, but I want us to live here in the states." She explains, sighing in awe. "I want us to have a house in the country though."

He chuckles quietly. "The country, huh?"

Her smile is warm and loving as she leans forward, holding him, burying herself against his safety. "I want to be away from everyone. Just you. Me. Our kids." Solana sighs as he moves his hands up her back and kisses the top of her head. "Us.....that's all we need."

Detaching from distant times, Roman does his best to push away those uncomfortable feelings and heartbreaking memories to stay focused on the task at hand, his dedication eventually bringing him to his destination.

Dulce's.

He stands outside the building, recognizing the outside, the beautiful flower arrangements that line the window. It's all so her.

And for a second, he considers turning around once more. Fears this place of purity and sanctuary will be polluted by him, polluted by the stench of betrayal that follows him wherever he goes.

But, the desire, the almost need to have his question answered is overpowering. Is enough to take him to that next stop.

And Roman walks into the store.

“Buenos días!”

Months.

It’s been months since he’s heard her voice in real time, having to make do with archival footage. But hearing it now, after so long, the happiness in it, it’s….difficult, to say the least. Roman swallows, studying the back of her head as she stands behind the counter, clearly working on a bouquet, the seconds stretching to minutes in terms of how long it takes her to turn around. But, when she does, he’s wishing she didn’t “Cómo puedo ayudarle—”

Solana is silent the minute her eyes land on him, the terror and shock in her pretty brown hues filling him with all the shame.

She’s far from pleased at the sight of him.

Her mouth parts slightly, and he swears he can see her chest gradually moving up and down, indication of panic. “Roman?” It’s been months since he’s heard his name on her mouth in real time, and it nearly kills him how horrified she sounds saying it. “Wh—what—how—”

Roman didn’t think of what exactly he was going to say when he was standing in front of her, didn’t think he needed to. Now, he realizes that wasn’t the smartest decision. Her very strong reaction to seeing him shouldn't surprise him, shouldn’t bother him. After all, what he did to her…the way he hurt her….he’s surprised the door isn’t slammed in his face.

“I—” Struggling with verbalization has never been a thing for him until this moment. “I needed to see you. We—we need to talk.”

For better or worse, his words seem to trigger her out of her state of shock. Her brows furrow slightly, her hands tightly gripping the counter. “How did you find me?”

“Solana—”

“How—” Her voice is harder, a new emotion rising: anger. “did you find me?”

He straightens, jaw fixed. “I’ve always known where you were.”

And, it shouldn't come as a surprise. It only made sense after everything he did to her, the pain he caused her, that she would return to her safe space. Be around her family.

That she would go home.

Her expression seems to indicate she recognizes this as well. Recognizes that it was maybe unwise to think Roman, of all people, would not know where she disappeared to. “Well, you’ve wasted your time, because I have nothing to say to you.”

It’s then that she tries to turn away from him, but he takes a step closer, hating how she leans back against the counter. It’s almost physically painful to see and feel her disgust towards him. “You don’t want to talk to me, I get that.”

Solana’s eyes widen, her voice harsh and unforgiving. “I don’t even want to see you, let alone speak to you.” She shakes her head, reaching and pointing to the door behind him. “Now, I won’t tell you again, get out.”

Roman does his best to shove away the emotions that only seem to come up when he’s with and around her. “Solana, please just—”

“Don’t you get it!” She snaps, gesturing again to the door. “I don’t want anything to do with you, Roman! I don’t want to think about you, I don’t want to remember you.” Emotion imbues her voice and face. “I’d give anything to be able to wipe you and the past year from my memory.”

A slap. Verbal. Painful.

He straightens, reminding himself of his objective. Reminding himself that everything she’s throwing at him is deserved, no matter how much it kills him to know just how she feels about him.

About them.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need—”

“You don’t get to need anything from me!”

Another fair statement. Understandable. But, it doesn’t negate the fact that he needs to talk to her about this. He needs to know.

And, it’s only then that Roman allows himself to take her in. Her face and breast both look fuller, a certain glow to her she’s always had but seems….brighter. He’s also just now noticing the way she keeps adjusting her dress.

Specifically around the stomach area.

He….he doesn’t know what or if anything to make of that.

Solana, however, seems to notice his gaze that’s focused on her stomach area and clears her throat, moving past the counter to walk away. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to please lea—”

Roman knows being forceful isn’t the best move in this situation. However, he’s not even sure if there is a right thing to do, but what he does, whether right or wrong, manages to answer his question in the most unexpected way.

His arm reaching across, serving as a barrier that prevents her from walking away. An effective barrier, but also a source of reveal. Because when Solana jumps back slightly, that movement causes the material of her dress to flatten against her stomach, revealing an unmistakable swell.

A bump.

A baby bump.

There was already a million and one things going through his mind from the moment Jimmy mentioned to him that he overheard Bayley tell Naomi that Solana was pregnant. And normally, he wouldn’t think anything of it. Would try to come to peace with the fact that not only had Solana truly moved on, but she was starting a family with someone else. A quick turnaround time, but not anything he could judge. Not fairly, anyway.

But, this nagging, insistent voice in the back of the head wouldn’t leave him. Wouldn’t trickle away. Because he knows Solana.

Knows how major her letting him take her virginity was for her. Sacred. Special.

He couldn’t envision a world where she could just fall in bed with someone else so soon and end up pregnant, at that. And, it’s all of that that led him to his suspicion that if Solana was in fact pregnant, it wasn’t by another man.

It was by him.

An almost inconceivable thing he sat on for almost a week before feeling an almost requirement to fly down to Mexico and see for himself.

And seeing, he certainly is.

“It’s true.” His voice is barely above a whisper, shock and a million other emotions swirling around his entire being. He doesn’t even really register the way her face turns red, undecipherable emotions coming over her. “You’re pregnant….”

Somehow, they both seem to snap back to a more logical state, Solana covering her body. “That’s none of your business.”

His eyes snap to hers, and for the first time since stepping foot into her shop, he’s hit with something else other than an insurmountable amount of regret.

He’s hit with anger.

“None of my business?” His voice is leveled and even. “You’re carrying my child, Solana. How the hell is that none of my business?”

“No, it’s my child,” she counters, voice just as firm as his as she reiterates, “my baby, who I will raise by myself. You don’t get to be in their life.”

Just like that, anger morphs into burning rage at her words. It’s one thing to keep him completely in the dark about the existence of his own child but to still think that she can keep him in the dark once the light is on is beyond him.

Roman knows he hurt her. Did her wrong. Broke her heart, and he’ll always live with the regret of that. But, their unborn child has nothing to do with what transpired between them, and it’s unfair to try to keep him away.

And he responds as such, from that place of hurt. “The hell I don’t. You’re crazy as hell if you think I’m gon’ let you keep me out of my child’s life.”

A poor choice of words, the wrong thing to say, clearly.

“Roman….” Her name leaving his mouth is a thing of disbelief, like she’s incapable of comprehending just what she’s hearing. “In what world do you think you have any right to be involved in my child’s life?”

It’s the singular possessive word of ‘my’ that continues to grate his already paltry nerves. “Our child!”

“No!” She yells, jumping an octave and a level of vulnerability. “I won’t let you be in their life, Roman! I don’t care if I have to—if I have to move to do it. I’ll—I’ll go into hiding.”

Roman can’t deny the fear that creeps into him at her threat. Solana leaving and going home to Mexico is one thing, nothing really, because he knew where she was. But Solana disappearing and going off the radar, with their child, is something entirely different.

He won’t have that.

He can’t have that.

“I’ll find you,” a quiet, truthful vow. A promise. “I’ll always find you.”

She lifts her chin, reiterating, “then I’ll keep moving, keep running for as long as I have to to keep this baby away from you.” Her voice breaks, her jaw trembling, as she admits in a quiet voice, “I won’t let her hurt her the way you hurt me.”

His shoulder drop, anger melting away, incapable of remaining in the face of such hurt.

“Solana….”

He tries to step toward her only for her to jerk back, arms almost protectively wrapped around her stomach.

“Do you have any idea how empty I’ve felt?” A rhetorical question, he’s sure, but one that cuts him. Cuts him deep. “How I—how I cry myself to sleep most nights. How stupid I feel at believing you ever cared about me, ever loved me. How–how I try to not think about how this baby got here, the lies she was created from?"

“Solana, my love for you has never and will never be a lie.” And that has and will always be the God’s honest truth. “Baby, I love you.”

“Fuck you, Roman!” She yells, tears leaking down her face. “You don’t do what you did to me to people you claim to love! You don’t even know what love is! You’re not capable of it!”

He swallows. “Solana—”

“You are a heartless monster. You feel nothing for people. You use them for what you need, and then you throw them to the wayside like they’re trash. You broke me!” She looks away, covering her mouth to conceal the sob she’s doing her best to hold in. “You—you don’t deserve to be a father.”

Roman refuses to show her deep her words hit him, the pain she clearly still feels from how they ended, from what he did. He knows he deserves it, that he broke her heart, that he fucked with her head. But still, he never thought she’d be the type to hold their issues with each other against him when it came to a child.

Their child.

He swallows, doing his best to not allow the verbal daggers to consume him, because although deserved, it’s still a devastating, excruciatingly painful experience. One he wasn’t fully prepared for.

Roman looks down, taking a breath, wanting, needing to be careful with what he says next. “Solana, I—”

“Hermana?”

A new voice introduced into the conversation. Male. Unfamiliar. Unwanted.

A scowl appears on Roman’s face as trepidation overtakes Solana.

“Wes….”

Roman’s scowl falters ever so slightly. Wes…..

He’s heard that name before.

It takes a second or two for it to hit him. Wesley.

Solana’s brother.

Fuck.

She angles her body more toward him. “Wh—what are you—”

“Roman Reigns?” He’s clearly not listening to her, his suspecting, almost challenging gaze focused on Roman. “What the hell?”

Solana shakes her head, nervously twiddling with the material of her dress. “Wes, plea—”

“What the hell do you want with my sister?” Wesley’s angry question is directed toward an irritated Roman. He doesn’t have time for this shit. Wes takes a step closer. “Leave her the fuck alone.”

“Wesley, please,” Solana implores, her eyes pleading. “It’s not—”

“How do you even know her?” The questions are fair and ongoing but simultaneously increasing Roman’s irritation and Solana’s apprehension. “Why are you even here?”

“This doesn’t fucking concern you,” Roman snaps. To his credit, if it was anyone else, he’d have them unconscious. Or dead. But, this is Solana’s sibling, so he’s doing his best to remain calm. As calm as Roman Reigns is capable of being.

“Anything concerning my little sister concerns me, motherfucker.” Roman has to smile, has to look away, jaw clenched and flexing. This son of a bitch truly doesn’t know who the fuck he’s dealing with.

Solana must detect as such, pleading with her brother once again, “Wesley, please, just—just give us a minute.”

Roman returns his gaze to the two of them, watching as Wes temporarily redirects his focus from the Head of the Table to the woman standing between them.

“Solana, what’s going on?” A calmer delivery combined with a suspicious gaze. “How do you know him?”

Roman couldn’t give two shits about Solana’s brother right about now. Doesn’t care that even while carrying his child, she’s still keeping the truth about them, about their prior relationship, a secret. It was always something she preferred.

“I just want to enjoy us. Without all the opinions.”

A shared sentiment during nicer, happier, simpler times.

“I—” She’s clearly at a loss of words, unsure of how to handle said situation. “I—” But, a cardinal, betraying mistake is made the minute she, most likely unintentionally, tightens her grip around her belly. A protective, telling thing, because Roman is also very much aware of the second recognition dawns.

“No…..” Wes eyes widen from the disbelief that accompanies said recognition. “He’s the father, isn’t he?”

Solana sniffles, voice quiet, “I can explain, Wes—”

However, Wesley's attention is completely on the object of all his anger and rage.

Roman

“You son of a bitch!”

A verbal lashing accompanied by Wes charging for Roman who easily moves out the way. An active effort considering his first instinct is to lay this bastard out, because in what universe does he think he stands a chance one on one with Roman Reigns?

“Wesley, no!” Solana’s attempts to settle her brother are all in vain as he once again tries to swing at the Tribal Chief. “Stop!”

“She’s 24, you sick fuck!” And it’s up until this point Roman was doing a well enough job controlling himself, maintaining his composure, all things considered. But, it’s Wesley’s next accusation that all but snaps his self-control. “You fucking predator! You raped her!”

In that very moment, whatever hold Roman had on his temper is nonexistent. He’s blinded and consumed by anger, by rage, because Roman is a lot of things. But that has and never will be one of them.

Both hands formed into fists, Roman doesn’t try to dodge or even avoid Wesley as the shorter man once again attempts to come at him. He’s ready this time.

But so is Solana.

“No!” And just like that, she puts herself in between them, a hand on his chest and her brother’s. She says something in Spanish, rushed, pressured, aimed toward Wesley. And then she’s looking at Roman, eyes begging, switching back to English, “please leave.”

For a second, Roman considers it. Doesn’t want to cause her anymore stress—or pain—than he already has. But that fucking brother of hers twist the knife even more.

“You should be in jail, you rapist!”

“Stop calling him that, Wes!” Solana snaps, urgency and anger filling her voice. “He didn’t rape me! It was consensual!”

“You’re fucking 24, Solana! He’s almost 40! Nothing is consensual about that!” It’s not even the words and accusations as much as the fact that Wes is practically screaming at her that has Roman’s rage growing.

“Watch how you fucking speak to her,” Roman growls, mindful of Solana’s hand still on his chest.

“Fuck you!” Wesley spats, hate in his eyes. “I should kill you for what you’ve done to her!"

“Wesley, please!”

“Shut up, Solana!” He screams, the volume and force of which make her jump, her eyes filled with shock. “Are you too stupid to even see—”

“What the fuck did you just call her?”

“I swear to God, if you say one more fucking thing to me—”

“What the fuck you gon’ do, huh?” Roman snaps, completely unhinged, seeing and feeling nothing but red. “You ain’t gon’ do shit!”

It all happens fast, so fast, too fast. Because one minute Solana is doing her best to separate two men she loves in two very different ways, and the next, an unconscious, unintentional act occurs. Unfocused, distracted gaze on the other person followed by a set of arms that push and shove her away.

Solana’s balance is lost from the force of the push, her body stumbling backwards, a set of eyes—horrified, shocked, repentant—filled with abject horror and her name being called with matching said emotion, the last thing she sees before a brief, intense, painful thud against her head against the corner of the counter and the consumption of the dark abyss.

#roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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b3ach-bunn7 · 3 days ago

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MORE DAD! TOUYA PLEASEEE I BEGG 🙏🛐 The fic you just posted was so so cuteast one in reading before going to sleep and it's all I can think abt<33

ISN'T SHE LOVELY

Touya's home alone with your daughter and they're baking cookies

noquirk!au, domestic, soso fluffy

same storyline as this fic but u don't need to read it to read this!

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Touya winces as tiny fingers tug at his white hair. He’s slumped against the edge of Zuki’s bed, back bent at an odd angle so his head is low enough for her to reach. Touya thinks she thinks she’s braiding it, but all she’s succeeded in doing is tangling little hair bands and clips in it. In all honesty his body is hurting from the position he’s in, and he’s kind of hungry, but the little giggles coming from above him are squeezing at his heart so badly he’d die here if she asked him to.

Touya didn’t think he’d ever be a father. He didn’t even think he’d have a relationship that would last long enough for him to even consider children. Touya hooked up with people occasionally, he took girls out to bars. But nothing lasted, nothing until you. You’d been the one to ask him out after countless days of flirting with you in front of the coffee shop counter at your work. You both went to the same university, and one thing led to another, and you were dating, and then you met his family, and then he proposed five years later.

And the day you told Touya you were pregnant? It might’ve been the happiest and most terrifying day of his life. He could see it in your eyes, eyes that knew him too well, the nervousness at how he’d react. And if he’d started crying, that was business between you three and nobody else.

Touya knew his father and he knew the childhood he and his siblings had suffered through. So yes, of course he was terrified. Him? Of all the Todorokis he’s sure he's the least fit for fatherhood. All he could think about was what horrible traits did he pick up from his father? And it kept him up at night, and you let Touya ramble to his heart's content about all his worries, in the middle of the night with your hand holding his. And you reassured him every time that this is how parenting works. Nobody knows how to do it and they’d learn together. It didn’t do much to quell his fears, though.

And then Mitzuki popped out, bright red and screaming his eardrums off, and he fell in love. And when she blinked up at him, with eyes that rivalled his own with how deep and bright their blue was, he cried. Again. And Touya decided when it came to his daughter, he’d learn how to be good at anything.

Except for a hairdresser's customer. Touya winces as Zuki tugs especially hard, and he grabs her two hands in one of his own.

“Alright, sweetheart. That’s enough.” He says softly.

Her face falls in a pout as he lifts her up, and he nearly relents. But his scalp is hurting and he is sure her baby brain will be distracted by something different soon enough. He lifts her up behind his head, and she giggles, the sound enough to tug a smile onto his face.

It was your first week off of maternity leave, and your worry at leaving Mitzuki had gone, now distracted with getting back into work. He’d been quite terrified the first day, but he had the hang of it now. Enough.

She babbles incoherently and Touya hums a song he can't remember the name of underneath his breath. He walks them into the kitchen, grabbing a juice box for Zuki and a coke can for him. He glances at their reflection in the shiny door of the fridge, and she looks so much like him. You hadn’t been happy she’d taken his eyes and the weird gene his family harboured that produced bone white hair, but he wasn’t complaining. It was like a mini him. The next ones could look like you.

He drags over the baby chair and sits her down. He pops the straw into the juice box and slides it over to her.

“Alright, Zuki. Your mother says we need to make…”

Touya huffs and squints at the paper in his hand. Of course you’ve printed the recipe in the smallest font possible. He sighs, fumbling around the kitchen for his glasses. He can never keep track of them, and he refuses to wear contacts because ew. Zuki squeezes the juice box, apple juice spurting out the straw and Touya tuts.

“Careful, sweetheart. I don’t wanna bathe you until later.” He says, wiping her cheek with his finger.

God. He’s so sappy with her it makes him cringe. If a fifteen year old, black-haired Touya could see him now.

He finally finds his glasses, pushing them into his face. They’re thin frames you’d bought him for his birthday and you insisted daily that they suit him. He thinks he looks like a nerd with them on, and you tell him that’s what you like about them the most.

“Alright. We’re making snickerdoodles. You ever made snickerdoodles?” Touya glances at Zuki. She throws her straw on the floor.

“Me neither. But your mother is counting on us.”

It seems simple enough. He’s watched you bake before. It can’t be that hard.

“Okay, Zuki. You can be my sous chef.” He picks her up and places her in the middle of the counter, dropping a bowl in her lap.

Touya grabs a block of butter and sugar. He measures them out, dragging the bowl to the front of the table. He drops the butter in the bowl and Zuki immediately reaches in and grabs it.

“Fuck- Zuki, drop it.” He grabs her hand, cursing underneath his breath at the iron grip she has on it.

They tussle for a second before he manages to make her let it go, not before half of it is squished between his hands.

“Jesus, why are you so strong?” He mumbles, wiping her hands with a tissue.

Maybe leaving her so close to the bowl wasn’t the best plan. He’ll keep a closer eye. Everything is fine. It’s a workout and a half ‘beating sugar and butter’ together. Whatever the hell that means. He grabs two eggs from the fridge, and Zuki shuffles over.

“Okay. Very carefully.” He sits Zuki in front of him. “Here, hold it with me. And. Tap it against the side of the bowl and. Done.”

Touya is careful to make sure she doesn’t try to grab the raw eggs. The last thing he needs is to give his daughter salmonella. They crack the other one successfully and Touya quickly mixes it together before she can get her hands on it.

“Okay. Now I need. Vanilla extract. Where the hell is the vanilla extract?” He mutters to himself.

And, of course, in the one second that Touya is shuffling through a cupboard, he feels the hit of batter on his shirt before he hears Zuki’s giggle. When he turns the whisk is in her hand, and Touya winces at the sight of batter splattered against the wall behind him

“Zuki, come on. We’re a team here. My sous chef can’t coat me in fucking batter.” He sighs, tweaking her on the nose.

He grabs the whisk out of her hand, and puts it to the side. He also slides the bowl away from her because he’s had enough casualties as is. There’s an apron hung up behind the kitchen door. It’s pink and frilly and Touya huffs. Unfortunately, it’s his only protection from his overager assistant

“Does pink suit me? I think it does.” He chucks the apron on.

Touya finally finds the vanilla extract, and the flour. He has to stop Zuki from drinking saidextract as he tries to pour it in the bowl, her little fingers reaching for the bottle.

“Enough, Zuki.” He pushes her hands away gently.

God, Touya doesn’t know how you do it. He gets Zuki after she’s been showered and calmed down, the hours before her bedtime where it takes seconds for her to knock out on his chest or easily play with him however she sees fit. But you, with her early morning tears and the feeding (which is very messy by the way), you’re there for the harder things. He admires you for it even more when Zuki decides that the whisk would be better in her mouth than on the table.

Touya decides to hold her on his hip, which is much harder than you make it look, as he measures the flour with his other hand. He’s careful not to drip it on the table too much. He doesn’t think he has it in him to clean anything else.

“Perfect. Three hundred grams seems like a lot, but I’m no baker. Isn’t that right, sous chef?” Zuki squeals as he dusts flour on her nose.

“Okay. And now, we just add this, carefully, and mix.” He clicks the button on the stand mixer and lifts Zuki up, until her feet rest on his face.

“Beautiful girl. So helpful.” He says, kissing her stomach and putting her back on the table.

He sighs. “Now I need to wash up. Shame you can’t help. Wait, don’t touch that-“

And for a baby she has such speed, because Touya can’t reach forward to stop her before she’s leaned across the table and turned up the dial on the mixer. A puff of flour instantly explodes into the air, but mainly all over his face and chest. God bless the apron after all.

Touya’s eyes shut, defeated. He clicks the mixer off.

“Mitzuki. Our snickerdoodles.” He groans.

Zuki fiddles her fingers through the flour dusting the table. God, with a face like that, how can Touya be mad?

It takes thirty minutes, with Zuki a safe distance away in the high chair, for Touya to clean up the kitchen and fix the cookie dough. He wraps it up in clingfilm and all but throws it into the fridge. He’s sure there’s going to be something wrong with the taste. But these are for his family, so he can’t say he cares too much.

It’s just as he shuts the fridge that the door clicks open and Touya looks up, the relief evident in your face as you walk through. Your voice rings out as you greet them both, and Zuki squeals in his arms at the sight of you walking into the kitchen. You look tired, your movements slow as you drop your bag on the floor and take off your coat. But despite that, you immediately reach for Ziku, then reach up to kiss Touya.

“Hello, my babies.” You coo, kissing her all over her face.

Touya just watches, face softening as you turn to him. You look at Touya properly then, and it takes all of two seconds before you start laughing. Touya rolls his eyes as you tug at the apron, flour falling onto the floor.

“Oh, my beautiful housewife. How are the cookies?” Touya scowls as you fuss over him, a teasing smile gracing your lips.

“In the fridge. Chilling. Did you know Zuki loves to eat? And just- just grab everything in front of her? Constantly?” He says and you pat his arm, the other holding Zuki on your hip.

“Yes. Trust me.”

You reach forward and cup his face, fingers tapping the side of his glasses. “You look so cute with these on.”

“I look like a nerd.”

You nod, kissing his cheek. “I know. I love it.”

Touya’s hand reaches up and covers yours, dusting it with flour. “I could wear them more often.”

“Goodness. What a beg for attention.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

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gosh this took me so long to write but.... guys i watched we live in time and i yearn for motherhood and a husband so badly it may kill me

is dad touya probably the most far fetched headcanon ever? yes,, this man would never have kids i fim being fr but.. IDC! its called fanFICTION for a reason...

i also forgot to tag my last fic and it did so horribly so guys plz check it out!

anyways i hope u enjoy this because i very much did <3

#oneshot #fluff #b3ach bunn7 #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #dabi todoroki #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi/reader #bnha touya #todoroki touya #touya x reader #touya todoroki #mha #dabi mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #bnha

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jirsungs · 1 day ago

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NO IDEA | 14. meeting the ncu freaks?

word count: 1.3k words

You wish you had mentally prepared yourself for the chaos you were about to enter when Donghyuck jiggled his spare key into the keyhole of his shared apartment.

To surprise you both, the door immediately swung open with Jeno standing there. You're both caught in headlights at the taller male, and Donghyuck’s key is still snuggled into the keyhole.

His lips formed in a smirk, his eyebrow comedically raised, “Wow, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here.”

You laugh at the familiar face. “What's up, Lee?”

You glance at Donghyuck briefly, and when you do, he's rubbing his forehead in pure embarrassment. You found it… kind of endearing.

“Jeno, please.”

The said male drops the act at his friend's embarrassed remark and gestures to you both to come inside. Once you do, you're met with three other sets of eyes blinking at you.

Their physical appearances were familiar since they were recurring people seen in Donghyuck's social media posts. But seeing them in front of you felt different—in a good way, of course.

Speaking of Donghyuck, your awkward boyfriend stands beside you, his hands in his pockets as he discreetly rocks himself back and forth. “Guys, meet Y/N, my, uh—girlfriend.”

You wave politely at the three boys, fearing they've frozen before you.

“Um… Are they okay?” You whisper over to Donghyuck.

“Yeah, yeah.” Donghyuck glances at you quickly when you look over at him, but once you turn towards his friends, he shoots threatening daggers at the four guys, “They’re just in shock that you're actually here.”

Jeno luckily breaks the silence with a hit on Jisung's back; the ladder exaggerates his wince with a loud whine.

“Ow! What the fuck!”

Now that the silence has finally been broken, Jaemin takes the opportunity to get up from his place on the rug-covered floor and approach you. Your eyes follow him, and you're left in shock when he takes your hand and leaves a kiss on it.

“‘Ello, m'lady.”

Donghyuck quickly reacts, smacking his black-haired friend away from you. “Hands off my girlfriend, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

Jaemin pays no mind as he cackles. But you don’t spare Jaemin any attention for a split second because your brain mainly focuses on how easily the word girlfriend rolled off Donghyuck’s tongue like that. It sounded more confident than the first time he said it, and you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t spark something in your chest.

“So, are we playing this game or what?” Renjun blurts out, sadly breaking the moment.

It turns out that “The NCU Freaks” weren’t as bad as Yuqi suspected them to be because you were enjoying their presence and silly group antics by the end of the night. You could see Mark and Chenle becoming just as competitive as the guys were in their current third round of Halli Galli. This game was meant to end way quicker than they intended, but to the guys' dismay, Donghyuck was always competitive and did not back down until he was satisfied with the result.

A red flag of his, they call it.

You’re surprised you could remember what round they were in since you found yourself spacing out by the first one. All you remember is that they’re fighting over who has to clean up the ignored pizza boxes and scattered soda and beer cans left on the dining room table.

As Halli Galli grew more aggressive, the guys ended up forfeiting and choosing to end the endless discussion with rock-paper-scissors. You’re left confused about why they would use such a childlike game to settle their problem, but the sight of them shouting was too funny not to laugh at.

“Rock-paper-scissors shoot!” The five guys in front of you shout in unison.

By the third try, you began to zone out until—

“HAH! Jisung, you idiot! You lost!” The booming voice of your boyfriend shook you out of your trance.

The next thing you know, the younger male is found distraught as his older friends giggle and tease him about his loss.

And that's when you found yourself loving them more than you expected.

Maybe you could get used to this fake relationship after all.

Enjoying so much of their company, you found it hard ending the night as Donghyuck reminded his friends that he had to get you home soon. It tugged at your heart a bit seeing them be just as sad about it as you were.

“Y/N, what if you sleep here for the night? We could have a sleepover and everything—I mean, we've never actually had a girl over for that before, but it would still be cool.” Jaemin's ramble gets cut off when Donghyuck shoots Renjun a shut-him-up look, resulting in Renjun elbowing Jaemin.

It still flatters you and makes you giggle either way. “I would love that, but, uh,” you glance over to your anxious boyfriend beside you, “I think that'd be a little bit too fast. Me and Hyuck promised to take things slow.”

Hold on. Did he hear that right?

The four boys eye you two down, and having all the attention on you ironically makes you sweat. So, you turn to Donghyuck for help. “Right?”

He turns to you, his brain not forgetting that you just called him the nickname only his family and friends call him, but he puts on his game face anyway. “R-right. Yeah.”

Game face, my ass. He thinks.

“Well, goodnight, lovebirds! Get her home safe, man!”

Unfortunately, there's Jeno, who always knows when to make things so much more awkward as he rushes the two of you out the door.

“So… Hyuck, huh?”

Unfortunately for you again, your boyfriend's sudden switch in behavior once you're left alone catches you off guard, and God, was it attractive.

But of course, this was the first real show of your “relationship” and reminding yourself that this is all fake is more important than dwelling in feelings that 100% won't happen.

“Never speak of it.”

But once you saw the teasing glint in Donghyuck’s eyes, leading you to make a beeline to the elevator down the hall, you knew that this would be mentioned again and again. He's lucky you liked the taste of his nickname on your tongue.

It was nearing 10 pm when Donghyuck parked his car in front of your apartment complex, which led him to ask you the one-million-dollar question.

“Alright, lay it on me. Did we scare you? And trust me, you can be honest. I won't be offended. Or I'll try not to be, at least.”

“You want my honest opinion?”

His assured demeanor drops right in front of you by the look of his face, and you fight the urge to laugh.

“Oh my God, we did scare you, didn't we?! Fuck, I’m so sorry. Was it Jaemin? It’s always him, dude.”

“Donghyuck, no! It wasn't—”

“He gets nervous around girls, and he reads this dumbass book Jeno gave him ‘cause Jeno told him it works like a charm—”

“Donghyuck.”

“And apparently, it has a bunch of tips on how to make a girl feel comfortable, and I think that whole ‘kissing your hand' thing was because of the book, and I—”

“Hyuck!”

“And also, you with that goddamn nickname. Why did you pull that? We never agreed on that! Do you even realize what that does to a guy?”

He finally shuts up when he feels you shake his arm and hears your fit of giggles. “Calm down, you dummy. I was just messing with you.”

“Y/N. I crashed out in front of you, and you’re giggling.”

His reaction only makes you laugh even more. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You let yourself calm down before you continue, “I enjoyed tonight, really. I adore your friends. They made me feel welcomed, and if it makes you feel better, Jaemin pulling that stunt only made me laugh. I loved them, Hyuck. Thank you for introducing me.”

“You’re serious?”

“Very.”

“Like 100% positive?”

And with a nod, you say, “100% positive.”

If your words didn't assure him, your hand resting on his as an action of comfort definitely did.

Once Donghyuck escorted you to your door and you said goodnight, Seulgi and Yuqi bombarding you with questions wasn’t a surprise. The night ended with you telling them detail by detail, even acting it out at some parts, with their teasing reactions making everything seem more real.

You fell asleep with the biggest smile on your face. And little did you know, so did Donghyuck.

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note: it's my birthday, guys!!!! i'm officially 18!!!!! as for my birthday gift to yall, i have finally locked in on this chapter and gave yall what you deserved :3 BIGGG apologies for keeping this beloved story in the dark for two months 💔 i missed this couple and i missed yall! 2025 IS THEIRRR YEAR GUYS, TRUST!

🖇 (open!): @skeetyeetyote @junviadinho @n0hyuck @yewshi @marvelahsobx @hqech @sunflowerhae @loveholicness @sfswithfs @222brainrot @dudekiss3r @aek1ra @nosungluv @miyawwn @haechology @chenlesfavorite @alethea-moon @polarisjisung @lionzyon @mystverse @insaneanddrained @starfilledgaze @onlyhyunjin @swee7dream @haechsworld @markspossibilities @schatjze @minniesbae @multifandomania @neozon3nha @zzurao @hoshipills @nessaassen02 @lavender-roses-06 @ohwowzersthatscool @sunghoonsgfreal @https-lvesick @taeeflwrr @do-you-remember-summer-127 @hyuck-me @injunnie-lemon @txthyuck @jeongintwt @starwonb1n @413ktz @haechansbbg @galacticnct @keeryverse @kosmicbomb @thegracerammy

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snowysosturn · 3 days ago

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Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 2

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, bickering, mention of toxic relationship, aftermath of a toxic relationship, arguments, tension

I step carefully through the wreckage of my apartment, trying to see what’s salvageable so I could have a few things to live out of, staying with the triplets. Most of my things are either smashed, torn, or covered in a fine layer of dirt and glass shards. Ethan didn’t just take his belongings, he left destruction in his wake.

I sigh, kneeling down to inspect what’s left. A lot of it can be replaced, I tell myself. Furniture, dishes, even the picture frames, it’s all just stuff. But as I rummage through the mess, a sinking feeling sets in. Something’s missing.

My heart races as I scan the countertop near the bathroom. I dig through drawers, lift pillows off the bed, and even check the edge of the shower where I remember setting it.

“My locket..” I whisper.

The small, gold locket my grandfather gave me before he passed. Engraved with his writing, something I felt always brought me good luck. I only take it off to shower, but this morning, in the rush of everything, I forgot to put it back on after. Now, it’s gone.

I stand still, gripping the edge of the sink. Of all the things Ethan could have taken or destroyed, why this? I close my eyes, trying to steady myself, but the loss feels heavier than the rest of the chaos combined.

“Y/n?” Nick’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“I’m almost done” I call back, my voice cracking slightly.

“We’ll wait in the car, take your time.” Nick says, as the three of them leave my apartment.

I grab my suitcase, throwing in whatever clothes and keepsakes I can save. My heart aches as I step over broken memories, knowing I’ll never feel at home here again.

As I walk out of the apartment, I take one last glance at the space that used to be mine. Now it’s just a reminder of what I’ve lost, and what I need to leave behind.

Outside, I see the triplets waiting in Chris’s car. Chris is leaning against the driver’s door, scrolling on his phone. Matt is in the passenger seat, looking like he couldn’t care less about the situation. Nick spots me and jogs over, taking the suitcase from my hand without saying a word.

“You okay?” Nick asks softly.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Chris looks up as Nick loads my suitcase into the trunk. “You sure you’ve got everything?”

“Yeah..” I reply, forcing a weak smile, wanting to grab the empty space on my chest where my locket would’ve lay, knowing the one thing I promised to never lose, is now gone.

Matt lets out an exaggerated sigh as I climb into the backseat. “Thank god, I’m still starving.”

The drive to their house is tense. Chris hums along to the radio, Nick tries to lighten the mood by cracking a few jokes, and Matt stays silent, occasionally scrolling on his phone. I stare out the window, trying to focus on anything but the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. But for now, I had no choice but to figure out how to move forward.

We pull into the garage of the triplets’ house, a place I’ve been to more times than I can count. Between my friendship with Nick and working with Chris, this house isn’t unfamiliar territory. The three story house is a place full of energy, chaos, and, right now, tension.

Chris parks the car, and I step out, clutching my suitcase in one hand. Nick is already out of the car and at the door, holding it open for me like the good friend he is, while Matt trails behind us, dragging his feet like he’s walking to his own execution.

“You know where everything is” Nick says as he ushers me inside.

I step inside, suitcase in hand, the stairs creaking slightly as I lug my suitcase up to the main living area. Chris floated off into his bedroom on the way in, and Matt made comfort for himself on the couch. From there, I follow Nick up the next flight to the top level of the house. My new “room” is just outside Nick’s.

The podcast room, or what used to be the podcast room, is a tiny square area tucked at the end of the top of the stairs. The artificial walls are still standing, flimsy and paper thin, painted in mismatched shades of white, pink, and turquoise. It’s like stepping into a DIY project someone abandoned halfway through. The floor is covered in black and white checkered lino, glaringly out of place against the rest of the house.

“It’s not the Ritz” Nick says, scratching the back of his neck, “but we can make it work. I’ll help you get set up.”

“No it’s fine, I appreciate it” I reply, offering a small smile. “You’re saving my ass right now.”

I drop my suitcase on the floor and glance around. The space is.. A space. Let’s go with that. It doesn’t have a door, just an open entrance directly leading to the stairs, and Nick’s bedroom door opposite me, but I can’t exactly complain. I knew this was a temporary solution.

Nick gestures to the far corner. “We can fit a bed over there, maybe a little shelf or something for your stuff. I’ll start looking for furniture now.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

He grins. “What are best friends for?”

I glance at the walls, noticing faint pencil marks where posters and soundproofing foam used to be. The room is oddly quiet, considering how thin walls are, I know on a day to day basis they aren’t much of a barrier, but they’ll give me some semblance of privacy.

I roll my suitcase over to the corner and I unzip it, beginning to pull out my toiletries, placing them on the floor beside me as I try to figure out the best way to organize everything. Toothbrush, toothpaste, skincare stuff, my shampoo and conditioner.

“Uh, Nick?” I call out, glancing over my shoulder at him. “I’m not really sure where to put my toiletries. Using your bathroom would mean I’d be going in and out of your room all the time, and that could get pretty inconvenient.. especially if you’re asleep or something.”

Nick tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, that might get a little awkward. You could always use Matt’s bathroom, I mean it’s not in his room, and everyone uses it anyway.”

I freeze for a second, side eyeing Nick. “Matt’s bathroom?”

“Yeah” Nick says, as if it’s the simplest solution in the world. “It’s easier, and you won’t have to tiptoe around me.”

I glance down at the stairs knowing Matt’s down there, already dreading how this conversation is going to go. As if on cue, Matt’s voice echoes from somewhere below. “Wait what?”

Nick leans over the railing. “I said Y/n could use your bathroom since it’s easier. It’s not a big deal.”

Matt appears at the bottom of the stairs, his expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Why does it have to be my bathroom? You’ve got one. Chris has one.”

“Because it’s not in anyone’s bedroom” Nick explains to him. “And it’s right down the stairs.”

Matt runs a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed.

I sigh, standing at the top of the stairs, crossing my arms. “Look, I’ll keep my stuff out of the way, and I won’t use it when you’re in there. It’s not like I’m going to live in your bathroom.”

Matt narrows his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Feels like it.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Stop being dramatic. It’s not like she’s going to redecorate your shower.”

I shoot Matt a pointed look. “Believe me, this is just as awkward for me as it is for you. But I’m not exactly drowning in options right now.”

Matt throws his hands up. “Fine. But if my stuff goes missing or gets moved, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “You’ll survive, Matt. Trust me.”

Matt mutters something under his breath before heading back to sit on the couch. I turn to Nick, who just shrugs with a lopsided smile.

“Don’t worry about him” Nick says. “He’ll get over it. Eventually.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Yeah, let’s hope that happens sooner rather than later.”

Deciding that keeping my toiletries in my little makeshift room for now is the safest bet, I arrange them neatly in the corner. I’ll just grab what I need when I need it and take them down to Matt’s bathroom individually. No reason to make this situation worse, or give Matt another excuse to complain.

Nick, still leaning against the doorframe of his own room, looks up from his phone. “I just checked some spots online for a bed. Macy’s has a decent one we can go pick up today.”

Matt, who’s clearly eavesdropping from the couch below, calls out, “I’m not driving. Ask Chris.”

“You’re so helpful, Matt. Seriously.” Nick yells down the stairs.

I sigh, standing up. “It’s fine, I’ll go ask Chris.”

Leaving Nick and Matt to bicker, I head down the stairs to the bottom floor of the house where Chris’s room is. His door is slightly ajar, so I knock lightly. “Chris?”

No response. I push the door open a little more, peeking inside. Chris is sprawled out on his bed, fast asleep, with one arm draped over his eyes. His phone is charging on the nightstand, and a half empty bottle of pepsi sits next to it.

For a moment, I debated whether I should wake him up. I decided against it since I’ve just moved into the place, the last thing I want to do is make demands or step on anyone's toes.

I turn on my heel to walk back up the stairs, Nick and Matt still bickering in the distance, I hesitate at the bottom, my hand gripping the banister tightly as I hear Matt's voice. His tone is sharp, laced with irritation.

“I just don’t get why she has to live here” he hisses, clearly unaware that I’m within earshot. “Like, does she not have any other friends?”

My stomach twists at his words, and my steps slow, barely making a sound.

“She does, Matt.” Nick retorts, his voice firm. “But she’s also my best friend, and I’m sure Chris would consider her one of his too. This will also make things easier for them both for work purposes. Like you’re the only one with an issue here.”

I stay frozen in place, torn between storming up there and pretending I didn’t hear a thing.

“Yeah” Matt scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “and I bet Chris only gave her the job because he wants to smash.”

His comment lands like a punch to the gut, my heart sinking. I stand there, gripping the railing, trying to push away the sting of his words.

Nick lets out a frustrated sigh. “Seriously, Matt? That’s low, even for you. Chris gave her the job because she’s good at it, and you know it. Maybe if you actually got to know her instead of acting like an ass all the time, you’d see that too.”

There’s a brief silence, and I think about heading back to Chris’s room to avoid hearing any more, but my feet feel glued to the spot.

Matt’s voice cuts through the pause. “Whatever, man. Just don’t expect me to be all buddy buddy with her. She’s your friend, not mine.”

I take a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. I’ve always known Matt and I didn’t get along, but hearing him talk about me like that feels different.

Determined not to let them see how much it affected me, I make my way up the stairs, forcing my steps to sound casual. As I approach, Nick glances over his shoulder at me, his expression softening into something apologetic. Matt doesn’t even look my way, his jaw set and his arms crossed.

“Chris is asleep” I say, keeping my voice calm. “I didn’t want to wake him.”

Nick sighs, pushing himself up from where he was leaning against the wall. “Alright, guess that leaves us with Plan B.”

Matt immediately looks skeptical. “What’s Plan B?”

“You.” Nick says as if that was a stupid thing to ask.

Matt groans, his head tipping back dramatically. “Are you serious? Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you’re here, you have a car, and Chris is asleep” Nick counters, folding his arms. “Stop being difficult and help.”

Matt looks between the two of us, his jaw tightening. “Fine” he finally says, his tone clipped. “But if I’m driving, you both owe me food, since I never got it earlier..”

Nick smirks. “Deal.”

“And I’m not spending hours out here either, I’ve places to be later.” Matt says firmly, as he grabs his keys.

Nick, already halfway down the stairs, doesn’t even look back. "Relax, Matt. Looking for bedding isn’t going to make you miss your date later."

I glance at Matt, who scowls, his expression hardening even further. "Good. Because I’m not ditching plans to play chauffeur."

“Yeah, yeah, we get it” Nick says with a dismissive wave as we step outside toward the car.

I follow behind, trying to suppress my irritation at Matt’s attitude, silently wishing this entire situation didn’t feel so awkward, and I didn’t overhear that conversation.

As we climb in to the car, I silently promise myself I’ll try to stay out of Matt’s way as much as possible. If only it were that easy.

a/n: my sleep pattern is FUCKED so parts might be all over the place

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers

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hollowed-theory-hall · 1 day ago

Note

Do you think the colour of a polyjuice potion says anything about a person?? I just remembered that Harry's turned a bright gold and wondered if it meant anything

Yes, I think the color does say something about a person (and also the taste). We know different people cause the potion to turn different color and taste:

“Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, “Oh, you now what I mean—Goyle’s potion looked like bogies.”

(DH, Ch4)

So, let's look at all the Polyjuice potions we see.

Harry Potter:

Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold. [...] Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats.

(DH, Ch4)

Bellatrix Lestrange:

“She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots! Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you . . . .”

(DH, Ch26)

Mafalda Hopkirk:

Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope color [purple]

(DH, Ch12)

Millicent Bulstrode's Cat:

The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow

(CoS, Ch12)

Vincent Crabbe:

Crabbe’s a dark, murky brown.

(CoS, Ch12)

Gregory Goyle:

Goyle’s turned the khaki color of a booger

[...]

Pinching his nose, Harry drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage

(CoS, Ch12)

And Ron actually calls the Polyjuice someone's "essence":

“Urgh — essence of Millicent Bulstrode,” said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. “Bet it tastes disgusting.”

(CoS, Ch12)

And I think he isn't far off.

I think Polyjuice does reveal the "essence" of a person in a way.

Hair and nail clippings have been used in irl alchemy (there are theories that the "hair" is a code name to refer to other minerals and it's sometimes unclear, but sometimes it definitely refers to hair. Really depends on the book) for centuries. Now, hairrepresents a residue of the body. When taken from a living person (like with polyjuice) the hair would represent the person, who they are.

Albertus Magnus (13th-century alchemist) wrote that more gold can be found in the hair taken from a human's head. Now, the gold he wrote about isn't actually gold, but gold in alchemy refers to purity. Basically, human head hair is good for extracting the pure essence of a person. Like Aristotle, he calls hair mostly a mix of Earth and Water — the elements of the physical plane, the body. But head hair, specifically, due to it's closeness to the brain is more than just the physical aspect. It's mostly the physical aspects, but it includes elements of the spirit of the person.

So, head hair is the best way alchemically to get the purest essence of someone's appearance (body and a bit of spirit).

So what do we learn about characters from their polyjuice?

Well, bitter people, taste bitter. Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent, and Bellatrix all tasted terrible according to the Golden Trio. They tasted terrible because they were terrible people.

What I want to note a bit here, is that Harry's didn't taste great either. Better than Crabbe, Goyle, or Bellatrix, but the Order is still described as gasping and grimacing at the taste. My guess, due to the language used, is that the taste of Harry's polyjuice wasn't exactly bad, per se, but was kinda strong and unexpected. What the taste was, we unfortunately don't know, nor could I find the color of the potion for Bellatrix (my guess would be an almost black dark green that's a bit translucent like you added a bit of coloring to water). But, let's look at the colors we do have.

Crabbe - Murkey Brown. Goyle - khaki color (both shades of brown), Millicent's cat - sickly yellow, Mafalda - a pleasant deep purple, and Harry is gold, but I'll keep him for last.

Brown (both Crabbe and Goyle) is reliable, simple, stable, and consistent. But it's also boring, dull, timid, and predictable. Since both are described as ugly browns, the intention is to evoke the negative symbolism of brown.

Yellow can be optimistic, intelligent, and warm, but it can also be cowardly and deceptive. Millicent's cat's yellow is specifically described as a sickly yellow — so, to me, it suggests her cat's unpleasant. But it's also not a potion meant to be used with animal hair, so who knows.

A purple like Mafalda's is interesting. It's described as a nice color, the positive symbolism of purple includes: wisdom, compassion, and royalty. But purple can also symbolize: oversensitivity, immaturity, or hypervigilance. I think, what it says about Mafalda is that she is a pleasant and compassionate person who is just invested in a shitty institution (the ministry). From the color of her potion, it seems she isn't a bad person. Additionally, heliotropes represent the sun, fire, and abundance — positive things.

Now, Harry's potion tuning gold is one of these really interesting things. You see, in Alchemy gold is everything that is pure and good and perfect. Gold is the purest form all materials want to achieve. The Philosopher's Stone, the symbol of immortality and perfection (it's the perfect material), can turn anything into gold. The Elixer of Life produced from the stone, in theory, would be in gold in color. Gold is the color of immortality and purity and perfection. It's the sun and fire and life and abundance and good fortune. Gold is the cure-all and be-all. Alchemists considered it indestructible, pure, and perfect:

But the alchemists were most deeply impressed by its apparent indestructibility: it does not tarnish in air or water, is not appreciably volatilized or oxidized in melting, and is not attacked by any chemical reagent then available. It was therefore regarded as the 'perfect' metal.

(Prof. Dorthy Wyckoff note in her translation of The Book of Minerals by Albertus Magnus)

This honestly really strengthens my theory that Harry was always the Master of Death. If the color that represents Harry's essence (his body and spirit, aka life) is gold — the color of immortality, perfection, and purity — it means he already is in his perfected form. He already is the philosopher Stone AKA Master of Death.

See, in alchemy, in the process of making the Philosopher's Stone, the alchemist is also working on themselves. The work is both on the minerals and on the alchemist. The alchemist would become their perfect, purest self while doing the "Great Work" and would only be able to create the Philosopher's Stone when they themselves, are also their purest ("golden") selves.

What I'm saying is that Harry, by his essence being bright gold, is implied to already be there at the perfection point. He is already at the point where he could make the Philosopher's Stone. So, him being the MoD and already sorta immortal, just really fits that.

Even in the world of HP the color "gold" is associated with immortality. The fire from Harry and Voldemort's wands is gold because of the Phoenix Feather core. Phoenix's in HP are associated with gold, which also connects gold to immortality. Again, this all hints at Harry being the MoD all along.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anonymous #hollowedtheory #harry potter meta #harry james potter #hp magical theory #alchemy #bellatrix lestrange #gregory goyle #vincent crabbe

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