#can someone remove the part of my brain that remembers things?

[thecounterfeit-redhead]

How does one go back in time and reread books again to experience the euphoria and joy and pure glee for the first time?

[determinate-negation]

this essentially is a description of a concentration camp complete with testimony from concentration camp guards whos perspectives range from 'occasionally sympathetic to the people theyre overseeing the torture of' to the exact type of matter-of-fact indifference you will be very familiar with if you've read the interviews of nazis. quotes below from multiple people interviewed

"The thing is that when I was there, it all somehow looked normal to me, because there are excuses [for sending them to the camp's hospital], and the medical work takes place in a normal, familiar space. But in the end, what's happening there is total dehumanization. You don't really relate to them as if they're real human beings. It's easy to forget that when they don't move and you don't have to talk to them. You just have to check off that some medical procedure was done, and along the way you remove the whole human dimension of medicine." [...] "When you come to the camp, the first thing that hits you is the smell. The place really stinks, in an extreme way. When there's a little wind, maybe it's possible to shift your position a little so you can avoid [the smell]. But nearby it was intolerable." What does it smell like? "Like the smell of dozens of people who have been sitting in close quarters for more than a month in the same clothes and in insane heat. They let them shower for a few minutes around twice a week, but I don't remember ever seeing that they gave them a change of clothes, in any case not on my shifts." [...] "I came there with the mindset of a soldier. Let us do our time, without asking anything, and then go home. But two incidents happened in the wake of which I couldn't continue there any longer. The first was in one of the pens. Guys came from the escort force, who in my opinion were military police reservists. They came in like big shots, with ski masks, and led three or four detainees out. They made them walk bent over, handcuffed and with flannelette on their faces. Each of them held the shirt of the person in front of him. And then suddenly I saw one of the police officers, right at the entrance to the pen, take the head of the first detainee and 'boom,' smash him with force into some iron part of the door. And then he smashed him again and said 'Yalla.' The moment I saw that I went into total shock. It was simply right opposite me… suddenly I saw someone with the thought going through his head that, 'Fine, this is not a human being. I can simply bash his head against the door. Just because I feel like it.' The nonchalant way he did it stunned me. He didn't look angry or full of hatred, he even laughed at it." [...] "The detainee's story [mentioned earlier in interview], and the fact that he started to cry in the end [made it dramatic.] It was a very human and surprising display after all the preparation and the things they tell you there. They keep pumping it into your brain that you have to disconnect. That they're not people. That they're not human beings." Who said things like that? "The guys, the company commander, the officers, everyone. You know, there was a female officer who gave us a briefing on the day we arrived. She said, 'It will be hard for you. You'll want to pity them, but it's forbidden. Remember that they aren't people. From your point of view, they are not human beings. The best thing is to remember who they are and what they did in October.'

read the entire article. this is a fascist mentality identical to the third reich

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[teaboot]

I seriously hope you can job hop to something else cause you're not chaotic neutral man.

You're still a white Canadian whose actions and job help more the megacorps keep the status quo.

I really looked up to you but that's on me.

And yeah, I know security, cop shit and military pay good money but at the cost of my people? Fuck no.

Listen. I feel you. But there's a lot of cold, power-tripping bastards in this line of work and if I stick where I am then they don't get to have that.

I'm not a cop. I am not beholden to the justice system. Sometimes I get contracted out to people who say shit like "addicts should be put down, if you see any crackheads drag them out" and I nod and say "yes sir", and then I take their money and use it to buy those people coffee and a sandwich and tell 'em when free lunch days are at the church.

Boss sees me walking with someone and thinks I'm kicking them out, gives my boss great reviews. I'm having a great conversation with Connie, who used to by a stylist and wound up on the street after an accident that left her with chronic pain and a heroin addiction. Connie learns that there's a gap between two property lines nearby where technically nobody can call to have her removed.

There's a really sweet guy in town who's normally very nice, but sometimes flies into paranoid rage and yells slurs at people. Sometimes he forgets he's been banned from places and wanders in looking for a wife he hasn't had for nine years. Owner sends me to kick him out, and I ask "hey Mike, how are you?" And see where we are today.

One time there was a guy whose abusive ex kept following him to work, and I got to walk him to his car at the end of every day to make sure she couldn't get him alone.

Another person had a stalker who kept asking receptionists when she was gonna be there, when she was supposed to leave, if she was in today. I'd keep record of every time he came in, every time someone saw him, every time he violated his restraining order or damaged her things.

And when I wonder if I'm actually helping or not, or if I'm part of the greater problem, I remember that other people who work with me call homeless people wildlife and talk about how bad they wanna get an excuse to fight someone and I remember that I'm the one who knows where the blind spots on the cameras are, and thank God it's not him.

My position is fundamentally different from that of the military or law enforcement. I don't *need* to be buddy-buddy with most of these dickheads- I don't *need* to send people into the justice system.

I do single-person foot patrol. Nobody cares how I get the job done. They say, "Hey, faceless goon number three- make that bastard disappear" and I say "on it, boss" and give him tickets to disney world.

I once asked another guard if he knew that one of our regulars used to be an airplane technician. He said, "No, I don't talk to them". Blanket "Them". "Them" as in street people. "Them" as in addicts, or shoplifters, or ex-cons, or sex workers.

I asked why, and he told me, "it's easier if you don't think of them as people."

Anyhow, now I get calls to "watch that sketchy lady who just came in" and I say, "yes, sir" and leave her the fuck alone, 'cause that's Jolene, and people always think she's on drugs and aggressive but she's just deaf in one ear and slurs cause she has brain damage, you dickhead

so yeah, don't worry, I've spent a lot of time weighing the pros and cons of my vocation, and I still think I'd rather be in charge of my locations than someone like Darryl, who dreams of "cuffing a perp" and drives a car with Punisher decals on the hood

Also it's minimum wage but that's kinda tangential

[ozzgin]

I'm the anon who asked if your requests are open and i got busy assignments + presentations that i almost forgot about the request but now i remembered and it's based on my dream i saw that night..

How about a vampire who lost his relic (presumably a ring) and reader happens find it and tries it on, now the vampire is all panicking because guess what? That was a betrothal relic and it has binded the vampire's soul with the one of reader. They can't pull it out/take it of.. oh well, now they are stuck and obviously the vampire hates the idea of being stuck with a pesky human but hey they are kinda stupid..? How tf they tripped on thin air? Or how they are still alive even after being food poisoned 5 times a month? Vampire is now babysitter for his human *sighs * what has he gotten himself in..

(Please add yandere elements later on, my brain stoopid but i want a hot Victorian era vampire being obsessed with me ^^ muah!)

(I'm sorry this is so lengthy TT)

Yandere! Vampire x Reader

Featuring a ridiculously lucky Reader who constantly manages to escape a Vampire's assassination attempts. Did someone order a supernatural edition of enemies to lovers?

Content: gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, romcom

[Monster masterlist] [Original works masterlist]

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" your friends gasp in unison, eyes fixated on the fallen ceramic pot that scarcely missed you, now laying shattered at your feet. You laugh reassuringly and wave your hand in dismissal. "It's the fifth time it happens today. Maybe there's a storm coming?"

From within the shadows, menacing eyes glowing red follow your movements. "Damn it!" The mysterious man curses under his breath. He stares enviously at the bulky ring on your finger. The ring bearing his Family signet, where part of his very soul resides. It has stayed with him for centuries, and somehow, to his utmost shame, he lost it. By the time he rushed back to retrieve it, you were carelessly sliding it down your finger. He wanted to strangle the life out of you right then and there, but he felt it: the immediate surge of contractual power, dominating his will and holding him back from breaking your bones. "It's a little tacky, isn't it?" your friend remarked. You nodded in agreement and tried to remove it, but the metal band tightened around your skin, painfully constricting your digit. It was stuck. It was too late.

Now he has to rely on cheap trickeries like this one. Sure, he may not be able to directly plunge his fangs into your neck, but the bonding curse does not shield you from "accidents", you see. It would be a real shame if that flower pot was to land straight into your head, ending you instantly and thus breaking the connection with him. Except you simply refuse to die. A mystery, a paradox, one that enrages him to no end. It's almost as if the ring is bringing you fortune at the cost of his misery.

"Have you had any luck removing that ugly thing?" the person standing next to you mentions. The vampire lord grits his teeth at the blasphemous words. This is what's become of him: a deceitful buffoon, having to sit and listen to his inheritance being mocked relentlessly. He holds back the urge of shouting that thousands have bled to death in order to forge that magnificence. "Not at all", you respond idly. "I tried taking it to a jeweler, and she said she could try to cut it, but she ended up having a heart attack right in the middle of it. She didn't even look that old, maybe it runs in her family?"

Unbelievable. The thought of reclaiming his relic haunts every second of his day, to the point he's become your shadow. Stalking your every move, your every breath, observing his prey and waiting for an opportunity to strike. He can already picture that pathetic face of yours, twisting in pain, begging for-...huh. Well, look at that, you're reading one of his favorite books. Perhaps you do have a little taste, after all. It won't save you from your terrible fate, but he might skip the prolonged torture.

There's plenty of quotes out there about knowing your enemy in order to guarantee your victory, though one might wonder where the limit of such knowledge resides. Or what counts as useful to begin with. The vampire lord is presently wondering about this very aspect, as he mouths your coffee order from a distance. Less sugar, huh? You did mention losing your sweet tooth. He shakes his head indignantly. Absolutely not! The throb of his heart is fueled by raw hatred and nothing else. One of days he will savour your demise.

Your ridiculous luck might just end today. You've taken a shortcut on your way back home, and didn't expect a shady, burly man to block your exit. A perverted grin stains his face as he approaches you, twiddling with his pocket knife. "Alone at this hour?" You frown and try to find a way out, but the man suddenly begins to heave and convulse before your eyes, grasping at his chest as the skin shrivels and dries. He collapses at your feet, body wilted as if it's been emptied of its vitality. The Vampire Lord clicks his tongue.

To think he'd rush to rescue his sworn enemy, a pitiful mortal like you. He didn't even get the chance to consider the aftermath. You stare at the stranger, confused but observant. Pale skin, crimson eyes, unnaturally sharp canines...and the fact he just drained a living being into a bloodless corpse: everything hints to one possibility. "Are you by any chance a vampire?" you find yourself mumbling. "You must've graduated from Harvard with those deduction skills", he responds sarcastically.

Everything else unfolds in a haze. Wasn't he planning to kill you and retrieve his ring? When the hell did he offer to walk you home to avoid more creeps? Why is he twirling his hair sheepishly whenever you praise his demonic powers? Oh, but it gets worse: why did he suddenly feel the urge to kiss you before returning to his cursed lair? Why did he accept your invitation to spend the night at your place instead? One moment ago, he was doing his best to curse you off this Earth. Now he's tugging stray strands of hair away from your blushing, whining face, asking you if it hurts. Damned human.

"How did you know I like this? Have you been stalking me?" you joke, nudging your undead boyfriend and setting the gift aside. "More or less", he confesses with a yawn. He recalls all that time spent dutifully spying on your oblivious self. "You know, a human like you shouldn't be able to dodge death like that." He turns to you and scans your features. Then, abruptly embarrassed, he ruffles your hair to block you from noticing his blush. "I suppose my failure was the better outcome. It's not too bad, having you around."

[heartfullofleeches]

Pomegranate [Yan Lust Entity] Blurb

[Mentions of Male Lactation, Alcohol, Titty Sucking, Slight Dubcon because aphrodisiac and Reader is big sad]

One sip couldn't hurt....

You've been down on your luck recently- The few friends you still had dragged you out to this party in an attempt to raise your spirits. They swore they'd be back to check up on you when you insisted on clinging to a corner. That was over an hour ago. You even heard one of their names when word of someone passed out in the bathroom got around.

You wish you could remember the face of the stranger who handed you the cup. To thank them or question why they choose you of all people you weren't sure yet. Perhaps they knew you were in need of a release. The potent odor of whiskey jolts your senses as you swirl the dark liquid around the bottom of the cup - lips twitching in horror....and interested. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you throw your head back to finish it all in one go before your brain has time to weight the consequences of your actions.

Bracing for the bitter taste, your lips instead met the soft flesh of someone else's palm. A floral aroma snuffs the sharp scent of alcohol clinging to your nostrils. You look to your right, hoping to see a familiar face - fully aware they've already forgotten you.

"Drinking all by your self, Sweetheart?

Puzzled, your confusion makes it all the easier for the stranger to gently free the cup from your hold, praying each finger from the rim as if carefully removing the thorns from a rose. He never looks away as he relives you of the cup from what you can tell. It's impossible to tell where he's looking with his hair parted over his face like that. You catch a glimpse of his smile, lips painted an unnatural shade. Was it the lights of the room or your wry mind tinting his skin that strange color of purple?

"That's no good. Alcohol can bring out the worst in people. Other times it makes them forget. If forgetting your troubles is all you need I can provide you with a substitute that would be far better for you in the long run."

His hand frames your cheek, fingers pulling around to the back of your neck as he unbuttons his collar. The man cradles your head against his chest, shielding you from onlookers between his body and the very wall you hugged minutes prior to remain unseen by the crowd. Wetness glazes your cheek as he tugs the fabric of his shirt under his pectoral muscles for access to the skin beneath. A trickle of pale white fluid drips freely from his nipples. It carries that same floral scent if not moderately sweeter and ten times more intoxicating. Against all voices screaming in your head, your tongue acts before you can listen to reason. Putting your mouth on a complete stranger's breast wasn't on the top of your list for this evening, but with the week you've had it wasn't the worst thing to happen to you.

The male coos as your lips wrap around his skin, care not to prod you with his claws as he brushes hair from your face. It's sweet. You can't compare it to any percentage of milk you've had before. The man cups his chest, pumping more of his milk down your eager throat. Your eyes glaze over, legs unable to carry themselves without his support. It's the most enthralling reaction he's seen from a mortal in some type. He was a sucker for a cute face same as the humans he bewitched. He was in the mood for a quick meal, but it wouldn't hurt to keep you around for just a little while.

His knees tremble at the soft whine you make as he pulls you from his chest.

"Can... Can I have more, please?"

So polite too.

"Soon. It's the least I can give you after all you've been through, but before then why don't we start from the top by introducing ourselves? My name is Pomegranate. It is a pleasure to have you."

[theiasthesis]

Shifting can be escapism, and that's OK.

Im going to give you a valuable lesson, so stick to the post, dont skip because every word is important. Don't let that small attention span get to you baby, remember that knowledge is power.

My name is Willow! I'm a non-dualist reality shifter, shifting coach and subliminal creator who's a freak for the multiverse and knowledge. Everything I say on here is based on my own personal experiences and research.

This post can help you with:

Escapism, guilt for shifting, realising you're worthy of shifting.

The self determination theory (SDT) is a psychological theory of motivation. It focuses on the degree to which specific human behaviour is for the self ; self motivated and self determined

Basically, what exactly is it that a human being can do, that isn't manipulated by outside influence, but rather their own human nature?

According to the theory these are 3 self motivated human behaviours:

Autonomy

Having the freedom to decide your actions without outside influence.

Example: Being able to go out with your friends, without your parents restricting you.

Competence

The ability to do something effectively and be useful.

Example: You're a very useful employee at your company, this means you are competent for your job.

Relatedness

Being connected or related to someone, or something.

Example: Having a connection with family or friends

OK, so how does any of this apply to shifting and escapism?

When you lack one of any of these 3 behaviours or feelings, this is a disruption your human nature. Naturally by birth, you are within your birth right to recieve all of this.

Each of these behaviours, have extreme importance in your cognitive behaviour

- Cognitive behaviors are thoughts, ideas, and representations of yourself to others.

If you don't have the will or ability to control your actions independently, you are most likely going to feel stuck, and like everything is out of your control. Doing things that make you happy and activities you find meaningful, will become an issue due to your lack of autonomy.

If you don't feel competent in areas of your life, or people aren't competent when it comes to you, this can create low self esteem and a bad self concept, you may think of yourself as "worthless" "useless" or "incompetent"

You may feel less motivated to taking on new challenges and activities, as you feel like you're just going to fail, and mess everything up anyways.

Connection is what makes us human, love and empathy towards overs and receiving it, is what makes human life so special. Relatedness, is what you need to experience caring relationships, to be part of a community, and overall to feel love. Humans need love, that is a fact.

When these basic needs aren't met, a human being can lack the motivation to commit to any one of these factors, which take up a huge part in life.

Lacking these can make you feel, stressed, anxious, self loath and nihilistic.

When you don't have these 3 factors, this causes a lack of motivation to commit to them, which means you don't have them.

So you turn to something else, escapism.

"Escapism is the tendency to distract oneself from real-life problems. It can also be conceived as shutting meanings out of one's mind and freeing oneself from self-awareness for a while . Escapism has been identified as one of the key drivers behind online behaviors, in both adaptive and maladaptive ways"

- PubMed Central®

Link to study

Think of escapism like touching a hot stove. Imagine you place your hand upon a stove. At first its cold, and you're fine.

Then the temperature starts to slowly rise, its currently warm, its still fine you can deal with it. Now, it's getting hotter, and hotter, and hotter...

And you remove your hand.

Not on purpose, but by instinct.

By reflex, your hand immediately moved away from the stove once it got too hot.

Your nervous system felt the pain, which sent a signal to the brain, that something with your hand is wrong.

Biology isn't my strong suit I fear.

Another example.

You're in immediate danger, there's a tsunami coming your way, it's too big for you to face, if you stay where you are, you're going to get crushed by the water, and die on impact. So what do you do?

You run.

Naturally you escape from the dangerous situation, because who in their right mind would test their luck and try to survive a tsunami?

Are you getting it?

When human beings are faced with a situation that is uncomfortable, causes mental, or physical harm, or even death, their first response is to escape.

It is human nature to run, to escape, to not face the dangerous situation. Sometimes it can be a bad move, like ditching a daye you were nervous for, other times it could be skipping school because you constantly run into a group of serious bullies.

Repeat after me.

If you are in a situation where you do not feel loved, worthy, or free, you are allowed to escape.

You are allowed to escape.

Empathise on that baby, nobody is going to tell you off for it.

However, you must be weary of using shifting as escapism.

Shifting is a wonderful phenomenon, it is not something that determines whether you live or not. It doesn't determine your worth either, nor is it something that causes you psychological stress.

If you find yourself having suicidal or self harming thoughts, with shifting as a way to mend these thoughts, I beg of you to take a step back and evaluate these thoughts of yours.

Shifting is a journey, I preach that it's something that can be done on the first go, but that isn't the case for everybody.

It can be as short or as long as you make it, failure in shifting when using it as an escape from serious issues, is a one way road to psychological distress.

With that, I ask that you first deal with your mental health, before anything else.

Find something that makes you feel good and grounded, something you enjoy.

Please remember, that not everything is something you must be good at, if it came from you it's already perfect.

Meditation, painting, dancing, listening to music, writing, exercise. Anything and everything that makes you feel good, nothing is too silly, nobody is going to think you're weird or bad at doing something you love to do.

I found that talking out loud, writing in my journal, mediation and watching anime helped me a lot when I had "life impacting plans" connected to shifting.

LESSON SUMMARY

1. It is natural for human beings to run away when they are faced in a dangerous or uncomfortable situation

2. Shifting being used to run away from a bad situation, isn't negative. It only becomes negative once you prioritise it over your own health

3. Your mental and physical health always comes first before shifting

4. You deserve to be loved, to feel worthy, to not be let down, and to be free, whether that's through shifting or not!

[wyattjohnston]

turbulent - nico hischier

summary: a bumpy flight forces two people closer together.

word count: 2,790

note: this is for @dunnerlars as part of the summer fic exchange 2k24. i really hope you like it ash <3 thanks to @offside-the-lines for putting up with me going through the five stages of grief whilst trying to pull this together!

There was an element of strangeness to working on an NHL charter flight; most perplexing, even still, to Bonnie was the sudden way they all stripped out of their suits the second the seatbelt sign was turned off. She understood that sitting in a suit for six hours wasn’t comfortable, and also understood that the toilets were not big enough for giant men to reasonably change—she chose to spend time in the galley while they were doing it, because it was impossible not to stare inappropriately if she was walking the aisles.

“I thought you were joking,” Alice said, returning to the galley wide eyed and keeping the curtain closed with a hard fist against the cabin wall.

Bonnie hummed without turning around. “Everyone does.”

Short of holding her coworkers hostage in the galley, there wasn’t much Bonnie could do beyond warning them about what they’d see if they wandered the plane before she told them to. So, without fail, they all got caught in the aisles as some twenty odd men stood in unison and started to remove their pants.

“I know athletes have no shame in locker rooms,” Alice whispered aggressively, still with a firm grip on the curtain, “but this is a plane. There are people out there! Journalists!”

“This happens every flight,” Bonnie stressed. “Everyone is used to it. Some of the journalists might even be changing, too.”

Alice’s eyes widened, so big that Bonnie had a mild concern that they would come out of her head, and they only returned to normal when the captain’s voice came over the speaker.

“Hello everyone, sorry to interrupt your flight so early on, we have just been made aware of some unexpected weather on route to Los Angeles. We’ll do our best to make any necessary deviations to avoid patches of turbulence without adding too much extra time to the flight. For your own safety, please keep your seatbelts fastened and only move around the cabin if necessary. Thank you.”

Bonnie sighed, her chin dropping to her chest, at the thought of yet another turbulent flight. Alice groaned. It had been an uncommonly turbulent couple of weeks across both of their flights, even in completely different areas and directions—it was the first thing they’d spoken about when they met before getting on the plane.

“I can’t unsee any of that,” Alice said, finally letting go of the curtain.

“I mean, yeah, but there are worse things to have burnt into your brain.”

Alice readily agreed, even took a moment to subtly peak back into the cabin.

Bonnie still vividly remembered the first time she’d witnessed it. She would never forget the eye contact she’d made with the team’s captain before her eyes were drawn to his bare chest, the tattoo on the inside of his bicep—

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m just here to see Bonnie.”

Said chest and said tattoo blazed in Bonnie’s mind, and then she made eye contact with the team’s captain and sighed softly.

“Hi, Nico,” she greeted. “My captain said you were meant to remain seated with your seatbelt on.”

He smiled knowingly, “Good luck with that.”

Alice disappeared back into the cabin when someone pressed the call button and Nico moved out of her way with a practiced ease, even as Bonnie began to organise the food trolley for the first pass through.

“I just wanted to come check on you; you weren’t on the last few flights.”

“Just a sinus infection,” she said, as if it hadn’t written her off for a week and a half. “Didn’t want my eardrums to explode, you know?”

“You’re okay?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on her forearm. Concern radiated off him.

Bonnie covered his hand with her own, smiling softly and saying reassuringly, “I’m all better.”

Nico stayed while Bonnie finished filling the trolley. The flights were the three after the All-Star Break, so he had plenty of stories to tell to keep her occupied. The Swiss boys had headed to Mexico, of which she was jealous. It hadn’t been too cold in Jersey, but the need for sun had been growing and growing since Christmas, and the longing had only gotten more intense after being cooped up in her own apartment.

“Have you been?” Nico asked.

“No,” Bonnie said with a shake of her head. “One of my college friends had a vacation home in Fort Lauderdale so we did Spring Br—shit.”

The trolley rattled, a few trays coming half out of their places, and Bonnie watched helplessly as the last knife and fork fell off the counter.

“What the fuck is going on today?” Nico asked, causing Bonnie's eyes to snap up. He had a hand on each of the high cabinets either side of the galley.

“You should go back to your seat,” Bonnie said, picking up the lost cutlery and dropping into what would become the dirty dishes container. “I’ll be out in a second. Put your seatbelt on.”

Nico nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

Bonnie was friendly with all the players, staff and media on the flight. Most of them were familiar faces, especially halfway through the season, but anybody she didn’t know was introduced to her with a startling amount of enthusiasm from whichever player had taken it upon themselves to do so—normally it was Luke, being egged on by Nate. She always made sure they had the same energy for whoever had been assigned to work with her, whether or not they had ever met before. Alice looked delighted by the attention; Bonnie hoped it was just the energy being contagious.

If they lingered a little longer next to Nico, who politely ignored Alice’s doe eyes, and Jesper, so that they could get his round up of the All-Star Game, that was purely coincidental.

Back in the galley, Alice was poised to ask many questions. Bonnie could feel the curiosity bursting from her, it only becoming more obvious with every passing minute of silence. Every now and then Bonnie was assigned to work with someone who couldn’t quite handle it. Bonnie would never put in any complaints herself for some lowkey fangirling, but she had had a few coworkers who had been asked to never work a team’s charter flight again.

“Say whatever it is you want to say,” Bonnie said after Alice’s eagerness became too much to bear.

“Did they ask for you to be on all their flights?”

“Uh…” Bonnie hesitated, rolling the question around in her mind. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t that “I don’t think so? I think it’s just easier to have someone who knows all the ins and outs. I didn’t think they could request people.”

“The Rangers do it,” Alice said casually, as she pulled out a new tray of water bottles from the fridge, “but I think that’s because she’s sleeping with one of the players.”

Bonnie was nodding, distracted by someone pressing the call button, and responded mindlessly, “Yeah, that’s pretty norm—Wait, what? I didn’t know anything about that!”

“That’s what I heard,” Alice said, looking and sounding suspiciously like Alexis Rose. “Super juicy. They wouldn’t tell me which player which was upsetting.”

“I wouldn’t want to know anyway,” Bonnie said, largely trying to convince herself because, though she would never admit aloud, she was not immune to gossip. “I couldn’t look them in the face again.”

The plane rumbled.

“Fine, I won’t tell you when I find out, but I also won’t tell anybody you’re sleeping with Nico. Promise.”

Bonnie’s neck snapped as she turned to glare at Alice. “Yeah, you better not because I’m not sleeping with Nico.”

“Oh, really? Damn.” Alice pouted. “You so could be, though. Should be.”

The thing about that was that Bonnie knew she could be. Nico had never made it explicitly clear, but nobody else on the team spent any time in the galley with her during flights. Nobody else ever got up and sought her out when they needed something.

Nobody else touched her so effortlessly, so naturally, when in her space without at all being in the way or a burden.

Nobody else ever looked at her like she was the best thing to happen in their day.

Bonnie tried her hardest to hide the small sigh that escaped her lips. She made direct eye contact with Alice as she moved the conversation along.

“How did you even find out about the Rangers thing? This is your first flight.”

Alice, either oblivious to the redirect or just so interested in the gossip that she didn’t mind, rattled on, “They brought me in for orientation and the woman they left me with is chatty.”

Bonnie knew the exact woman being referred to—in fact, she’d been subtly blacklisted from the Devils’ flights at the beginning of that season for some very inappropriate and entirely unsubtle flirting.

Alice was still talking, even as she left the galley with her tray of water bottles and crossed through the curtain, stopping mid-word to change topics and start a conversation with the person sitting directly on the other side.

A brief jolt came over the plane and Bonnie groaned. It was followed by a considerable rattle.

She was second guessing her career choice as her stomach lurched with the plane when Nico, once again, appeared in the galley. His closed-mouth smile was genuine if not a little cautious and it set Bonnie at ease.

Until she felt more turbulence and was met with Nico’s uncertain head tilt.

“You can stay, but you have to sit there,” Bonnie told him, putting a hand on his shoulder to forcibly turn him around to look at the jump seat she was pointing at. “And put your seatbelt on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. When he sat down, he only broke eye contact to find the seatbelt. “What did you do while we were on break?”

The shelves were rattling around her.

“Worked other flights like I normally do when you guys are at home for a while,” Bonnie answered. “I don’t just sit at home and wait for the team to go on a road trip, you know.”

“That… that makes a lot of sense,” he admitted, his cheeks turning the slightest bit red. “I don’t know why I thought you only flew with us.”

“Sometimes I fly with the Knicks, sometimes there’s some commercial flights. You boys are my favourites, though.”

Nico’s sweet smile turned just ever so slightly into a smirk. “I knew we would be.”

“You didn’t even know there were others,” Bonnie said, laughing.

“Yeah, but obviously.”

Bonnie’s eye roll was good natured, her laughter continuing as Nico’s smirk morphed back into its purest, most genuine form.

She kept looking back at him as she continued to work, sometimes to show she was listening and other times just to look. He was often looking back.

Their peacefulness was interrupted by the ding of the seatbelt sign being switched on and the plane’s captain making an announcement.

“Everybody, including cabin crew, the seatbelt sign has been turned on. Please make your way back to your seats immediately and put on your seatbelt; we don’t expect that to be the last patch and we apologise for our lack of notice on that one. If you need emergency assistance, please press the call button and someone will be with you as soon as it is safe.”

The inclusion of the cabin crew set Bonnie on edge, and she was halfway to demanding Nico return to his seat and hunting Alice down to drag her back when the plane shook even more violently than it had the entire life.

Bonnie’s feet momentarily left the floor. She could hear some shouting from the cabin. She could hear luggage bouncing in the nearest overhead lockers. She made eye contact with Nico—all colour was drained from his face.

“Where’s Alice?” Bonnie asked, holding desperately onto the galley counter behind her back. “She needs to be sitting down.”

Nico leant as far as he could, peeking down the aisle, before saying firmly, “She’s in my seat. Come here.”

Bonnie didn’t let go of the counter as she walked, her eyes never leaving the seat opposite Nico, and she was confident she was going to make it before the next bump. She looked back into the aisle when she could, instantly looking to Nico’s normal seat to see Alice expertly calming down some very nervous men, and relaxed knowing that she was safe.

Naturally, the plane started to tremble just a bit harder the very second she was feeling comfortable, and the oh shit had barely left her mouth before the plane dropped again. Her mind filled with all the things that could happen, where her head and the plane would meet, all the things that would inevitably fall on her if she was unable to get off the floor. And then—

“Gopf.”

She was hauled by the arm with an abrupt and unexpected force, all momentum she’d gained coming to a crashing halt when she collided with Nico’s chest and was held firmly in place by his arms wrapped around her.

“This is the worst flight I’ve ever been on.”

“Go on a date with me.”

Bonnie froze in Nico’s arms; no thoughts being given to the next bumpy patch and all thoughts being focused on his words and the way his arms squeezed just a little bit together.

“What?” she asked, breathless. “Nico.”

“I kind of feel like we might be about to die,” he said—it wasn’t totally clear if he was being serious or not, but he was sincere in his tone. “I don’t want that to happen without at least asking.”

She sighed wistfully, swooning closer to him in their already intimate position. Nico’s eyes dropped to Bonnie’s mouth, causing her to bite her lip and turn her head.

“I shouldn’t have asked?” Nico asked cautiously, his arms loosening around her waist. “I’m sorry.”

Bonnie shook her head, and said in a whisper, “You should have. I’m just—I’m working. I wish I wasn’t working.”

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Nico’s small, pleased expression, and revelled in the delight in his voice when he said, mostly to himself, “I’ll ask again when we’re off the plane.”

For her own sanity, and to remain professional whilst working, Bonnie took the slight break in turbulence as an opportunity to move to the empty jump seat on the other side of the galley. Nico’s hands lingered on her waist as she left, and his eyes burnt holes in the side of her head. She was determinedly looking down the aisle, carefully not looking at anybody sitting down.

The turbulence continued, the seatbelt sign remained on, but Bonnie and Alice were free to move around the cabin. Nico went back to his seat when Alice returned, the smile he sent Bonnie had Alice turning to her deviously.

“Are you sure you aren’t fucking him?”

“I would remember.”

Alice prattled on about maybe the sex being so good that it was affecting Bonnie’s memory, not letting up even as they prepared the cabin for landing—both of them steering clear of the cabin as the players stripped down to change back into their suits. It was amazing how much work she could get done whilst her mouth was moving a million miles a minute, seemingly every thought coming out in a stream of consciousness. It may have been about Bonnie, but it was still enough for Bonnie to tune out the exact words and just let it become background noise that distracted her from thinking about whether or not Nico was in fact going to find her once the plane had landed.

As always, the players were the first off of the plane, most of them thanking Bonnie and Alice, whilst others looked a bit too green to speak. Nico was the last of the players to disembark, slightly uncommon but not unheard of. Bonnie had to keep her eyes trained on his face because she knew if she even looked at Alice for a moment the endless talking would restart.

“I, uh, don’t actually know if I can miss the team bus from the airport,” he said, his eyebrows knitted tightly together and his voice solemn. “But if I could get your number, we could meet up later? For dinner?”

“Yeah,” Bonnie nodded, blushing. “I’d like that a lot.”

Nico pulled out his phone for Bonnie to enter her number, and, when she was finished, she made accidental eye contact with Alice who had, to Bonnie’s dismay, started to dance in the galley.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

🖤 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖆𝖓 🖤

🖤 Pairing: ex boyfriend!choi san x chubby!fem!reader (mingi's spoken about but doesn't appear)

🖤 Genre: angst/fluff/smut

🖤 Summary: You make a living stepping on men's necks, literally and metaphorically speaking. Men spend every dime they have for the chance to be your lapdog. You are their weakness. Your dirty little secret? You have a weakness of your own, one you've tried your hardest to leave in the past, but you've managed to make him jealous and, oh, I think he's knocking on your door right now.

🖤 Word Count: 2.3k-ish

🖤 Warnings: reader works as a dom so she does qualify as a ✨sex worker✨ & it's treated as a positive cause slay queen, jealous /possessive San, unprotected sex, fingering, nibbling, scratching, reader for sure has a lil praise kink, this man does not pull out, San's giving dom vibes & reader's quite subby for him, pet names (baby, my girl, good girl) & that's all darlings

🖤 A/N: My chubby girl smut agenda continues with this fic as it will with all others and the best part is, no one can stop me. Mwahahahaha. No, but really, I hope you lovelies enjoy reading it.

Also a big thanks to @anyamaris for test reading everything my brain throws out all of the time. Love of my life, truly.

Your night routine is sacred. Never more so than on nights like tonight when you take extra steps to make it particularly romantic for yourself. You treat yourself like a lover, running a nice warm bubble bath and preparing your favorite fruits to snack on while you soak in it. You don’t rush to cover your body afterward, instead taking the time to find pleasure in every stretch mark and every curve as you massage rich tropical oils into your skin. 

The rain is your companion, singing to you in the form of raindrops patting at your window. Candles burn on your windowsill, tiny lanterns reflecting shadows in the darkness of this place you call home. Crawling into your bed, you slip beneath your freshly washed sheets and scroll through your phone to find the right song. It doesn’t take long to find it. You hit “play” and close your eyes, ready to be swept away by the sweet notes emanating from your phone. 

This is serenity. This is heaven. This is—

“What the actual fuck?” you shout, shaken by an unexpected knock at your door. The knocking is impatient, the agitation of the person on the other end undeniable. You jump from your bed, the sheet still clinging to your figure, and cautiously approach the door. You specifically didn’t schedule any sessions for tonight and your clients know better than to pop up unannounced. 

“Whoever you are, go away! I have a gun!” You do. You have to. In your line of business being able to protect yourself is a necessity. It’d be silly not to have one and if ever there were an example why, this has to be it. The knocking stops. A brief moment of silence passes and then—

“You have a gun?” San asks, more confused than he is threatened. You don’t notice until now that you’ve been holding your breath this entire time but at the sound of his voice, you can miraculously breathe again. “San? What are you doing here?” you frown, cracking the door enough to get a good look at your ex.

The look is, in fact, good. Better than good, it’s wonderful. For all of this mysterious frustration he seems to be carrying, he still manages to be the most handsome thing you can imagine finding in your hallway near midnight. 

San pushes past you, marching into your cozy studio apartment as if it were his own. “We need to talk. Now.” You roll your eyes, holding back laughter as you close the door behind him. “Someone’s sassy tonight” you tease, watching as he removes his wet boots and coat. He places them exactly where they’re meant to go.

You smile to yourself, finding it sweet that he still remembers how things go after nearly a year apart. “Don’t patronize me.” “I’m not patronizing you,” you say, approaching him with a hand outstretched to stroke his cheek, “Sannie—” 

San takes a step back, the darkness in his eyes intensified by your attempt at affection. “And don’t call me that!” “Lower your voice! This is my home. You can respect me in it or get out.” Seeing you upset cools him down a bit. Enough to question the emotions that led him to drive over here to begin with.

He shouldn’t be here. He has no right to confront you. To care what you do or who you do it with. But it’s been eating him up inside for days, plaguing his every waking thought. Some part of him is still tethered to you and that’s why, against his better judgment, he’s here.

“Are you…” he stutters, the anger bubbling up once more at the thought of what he’s about to ask, “How long has Mingi been coming to you?” “Ah,” you gasp, fully realizing the awkwardness of the situation. Dodging eye contact, you head for the kitchen, busying yourself with the tea kettle. “You want some tea? We should have tea.”

Raking his fingers through delicate strands of pitch black hair, he approaches the kitchen and lets himself, for the most fleeting of moments, enjoy seeing you like this again. He’s missed you making him tea late at night. This would be everything he ever wanted under any other circumstance than this. “I don’t want tea. I want you to answer my question. How long?”

“A few weeks” you sigh, abandoning the kettle on the counter, “We ran into each other at the club one night and we started talking then, I mean, I don’t know, it just sorta happened.” In an instant, he’s on you, fingers squeezing your wrists as he presses you against the counter. “Things like this don’t sorta happen!” “Oh, come on, San. I have bills to pay. If I don’t take on clients, who’s gonna pay them? You?” “Haven’t I before?” Something about being reminded of before makes you as breathless as he is. “That was a long time ago.” 

A long time ago but why does it feel like yesterday when he last had your body pressed against every wall in this apartment? So many hours were spent using your fingertips to traverse every exquisite muscle on his body. There are new ones now, you see them flex when he readjusts his grip on you. How good they must feel to touch. God bless the gym.

Shaking yourself free of your lust fueled daze, you break your wrists loose from him. “If that’s all you can go.” Why are you doing this? Why are you so stubborn? You don’t want him to go. Your body—your heart—begs him to stay even if it’s just to argue for the rest of the night. 

“Fine, I’ll leave, but not until you tell me one more thing. Does he touch you? Like I did?” he asks, his expression cold as he tries to contain his jealousy. “Touch me like you did?” you giggle, reaching to stroke his cheek again. This time he doesn’t step away. He lets you touch him, your soft hand warming the cool raindrops on his cheek. A fire ignites in his eyes, not unlike the flames dancing atop the candle wicks. It’s distant, buried somewhere deep, but you see it and it makes you smile.

“I never let anyone touch me like you did” you whisper, “Mingi just wants someone to boss him around. I happen to be good at that. There’s nothing sexual. I could…” San tugs the sheet tightly around your body, gathering the two loose ends at your hip where his knuckles just barely graze the plush of your thigh. You let out a sound that’s almost a moan but not quite. He smirks, bringing his other hand to your side to massage the softness of your love handles. You're so cute when you’re flustered.

“I, uh, I…” you stutter, watching as his lips grow nearer to yours, “I could stop seeing him if you want.” “You’d do that for me?” San asks, teasing your lower lip with his. “I would do anything for you. You know that.” This is what he does to you and this is why you broke things off with him. San’s love brings you to your knees. You fold for him in a millisecond. You’re supposed to have every man in the palm of your hand yet you find yourself, delicate and fragile, nestled in his. 

“Will you do something else for me?” “Like what?” “Kiss me.” And you do. No hesitation. No time for second guesses. Anything for him. A rush hits you, threatening to knock you off of your feet. San only holds you closer, his tongue tangling with yours, indulging in the taste of you. A craving much overdue to be satisfied. 

“Do I still have to leave?” he pants, his voice a low rasp as he kisses his way down your chin. He buries his face in your neck, his kisses growing more passionate with each passing second. You smell good enough to eat and he almost does, nibbling at your neck sharply enough to send chills down your spine. You shake your head, wrapping a leg around his waist to grind against him. The simple act of kissing you has him hard enough that not even the few layers of fabric between you can suppress his need. 

“Fuck, baby” he groans, his eyes nearly rolling back from the rhythm of your hips. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him back up for another kiss. “Don’t leave me, Sannie. Please.” You’re prepared to beg more, as much as he wants you to, but your words turn incoherent at the sensation of his thumb stroking your clit. His other fingers dance dangerously close to your entrance, happily collecting the juices dripping from your core.

You look down to find that the sheet barely clings to your body, except for a small corner stuck between you and the counter. Everything has fallen away leaving you completely exposed. San’s favorite way to have you. “You’re so wet for me. My girl” he coos, easing two fingers deep into you, “Still my girl? Hmm?” You’re trembling, gripping his shirt as you ride his fingers in time with the flicking of his wrist.

Only he could do this. Make you feel this unbelievably good with just his fingers. "Always your girl. Always—ah” you moan into his mouth before he’s kissing his way down your neck again. The way your back is arched makes your breasts sit so deliciously that he has to taste them. San needs to feel the weight of them in his hands as he captures your perked nipples between his lips, circling them with his tongue. 

His mouth is so full of you that every moan that leaves him vibrates through your chest making sure that you never once underestimate the intensity of his longing. Your thighs are soaked, your pussy dripping—pulsing—clenching around his fingers. Your little squeaks and moans are too pretty. Too addictive. San picks up speed, his only mission to make a complete mess of you or to make you make a complete mess of yourself. Either or both. Definitely both. 

“Sannie. You’re gonna make me—fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you cry, feeling the pressure build within you. “Mmm,” he hums, releasing your nipple but not without taking one last lick of your overstimulated bud. You didn’t need to tell him. You never do. He knows when you're close, down to the second, which is why his timing is perfect when he pulls his fingers away leaving you hanging on the edge of oblivion.

You whine at the unexpected loss, your clit twitching and your walls greedy for something to hold onto. San moves out of reach, taking his time to shed his clothing. “Not on my fingers, baby,” he says, flashing that devilishly handsome smile of his, “On me.” He disappears around the corner and you trail behind him like a bright eyed puppy who wants more than anything to be the object of its owner's affection.

San sits on the edge of the bed, admiring the way your body jiggles as you skip over to him. He takes you by the hand, lowering you onto his lap, and the skin to skin contact sends a shot of adrenaline coursing through both of you. “I could just look at you all night. So beautiful” he muses, palms slapping your ass. His fingers dig in, keeping your hips raised enough that the tip of his cock almost presses at your slit.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, kissing him on the bridge of his nose, “You can look at me all you want.” One of San’s hands disappears beneath you, stroking his length as he lowers you down onto him. He stops at the tip, letting your arousal run down his shaft. “All I want because you belong to me?” You bite down on your bottom lip, eager to take him. “Yes,” you mewl and he feeds you another inch. A reward for being his good girl.

“No more Mingi?”

“No more. I swear.” 

Another inch and your heart skips a beat. This is evil. “No more anyone else” he demands, taunting you with one more inch before taking it back, “I’ll take care of you, my sweet girl. Only me.” “Only you” you promise, unintentionally batting your eyelashes in the most innocent way. San grabs your hips, slamming you down onto him, “Good now cum for me.”

Being stretched by him, full of every thick rigid inch of his cock, is intoxicating enough. But the feeling of handing over control, of letting him have you completely, has you buzzing. San bounces you in his lap, kissing you everywhere his lips can access, whispering every praise he’s saved up for you over time.

Precious. Perfect. Never letting go. Love you. My everything. My world. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Sannie—” you draw a breath in. A flash of heat hits you and you’re lost to pleasure. Your body explodes and implodes. Heavy and weightless all at once. You gush down his length, every inch of him drenched with your juices. San doesn’t stop, not even when your nails dig deep into the skin of his shoulder. He only goes faster and harder, wanting to break you, his precious girl, and put you back together then do it again. 

But his body’s as sensitive as yours and he can’t hold back, spilling into you to the point of overflow. There’s so much warmth and fullness. It’s comforting, soothing you as you gradually float back down. Lying back on the bed, San cradles you in his arms, not wanting to be anywhere else than right here with you.

You rest your head on his chest, feeling his love for you in every breath he takes. How you ever pushed him away you can’t understand but you know, as he softly kisses your forehead, that you never will again.

[sunderingstars]

zayne x reader + expressing his emotions/feelings via his and reader's heartbeat? Since he's not *just* her doctor...🪐

♡ heartbeat (zayne x reader) ♡

what the stars reveal: no gender signifiers for reader, (but can be assumed fem based off the game’s mc), slight allusions to lore, poetic prose taken directly from my brain at 3am

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thank you for the suggestion, anon !! i feel like this ask was made just for me because i use zayne’s heartbeats as a way to de-stress every day LOL. i got a little bit carried away so i hope more than a few paragraphs is fine :3

It had started as a joke. Some silly, off-the-cuff banter you didn’t even remember starting, much less continuing until the two of you sat face-to-face on the couch in his office. It didn’t really matter, in your mind, how it happened. All that mattered was the thrumming; the steady rhythm of a heart, his heart, resting warm and stable under layers of skin and fabric.

It didn’t occur to you to be embarrassed. Not when you could feel it against your fingertips, burning through the outer layers of Zayne’s frost-tipped skin, coming to rest against you like a flower, like some sort of fragile thing with petals of ice. If you could, you wished to hold it in your hands, softly, tenderly, in the vain hope it would never crack. A prayer, perhaps, to a god you couldn’t remember.

“What is your verdict, doctor?” the teasing lilt of the last word brought you back to yourself, to the man in front of you. Zayne looked at you, eyes sparkling in amusement.

You coughed lightly. “It’s… uh… normal.” You didn’t remove your hand. “But kind of weird.”

Zayne’s heart stuttered along with his chuckle. “Weird?”

“Yes, weird,” you repeated, letting the lull of his heart diffuse from your fingertips to your chest. “I feel like I’m going to fall asleep.”

A beat of silence. “Go ahead, then.”

You blinked. Part of you thought you must’ve heard wrong — perhaps his heartbeat was laced with some sort of hallucinogen — but when you looked back to him, to the soft upturn at the corners of his mouth, you realized he was serious.

“What?” you asked. “Just like that?”

Zayne raised his eyebrows. “Why not? Leading research suggests that eight to ten hours of sleep is best for optimal performance. And someone I know is falling behind in that regard.”

You considered it, humming. Then you leaned forward until the side of your head replaced your hand on his chest. From here, you could hear the tempo picking up pace directly in your ear.

“It’s even weirder now,” you said.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it likes you.”

You smiled against his chest. “Maybe I like it, too. Maybe, even, I want to give it a big kiss on t—”

“Go to sleep.” His tone was faux-stern, the way he sounded when he wasn’t fully committed to deflecting something. You could have kept prying, you knew, just to see how far the heart metaphor would go, but you decided to give his actual heart a break.

“Fine,” you said. “But I hope it knows it belongs to a great doctor.”

Another stutter against your ear. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

Content, you settle against him, not caring that you’re still half-sitting. It’s easy, then, to listen. To wash away. To hear the sounds of rising, falling, cresting like snowcapped mountains and falling stars, and feel as though you’re a falling star yourself, hopeless.

“I wonder if it loves me,” you murmur, half-conscious, half-hopeful, half-blurred.

The last thing you hear is the low timbre of Zayne’s voice, softer than you’ve ever heard it, sending you off into the dark.

“It does.”

💙 bonus hc 💙: zayne has different ways to check heartbeats depending on how close he is to someone. for his normal days on the job, he uses a stethoscope, but when it comes to those he gets close to, he’ll take it by wrist pulse or neck. when the two of you start dating, he becomes a fan of pretending he can only take your pulse if he’s resting his head against your chest, which usually leads to him falling asleep on you.

© 2024, written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[maelialuv]

oh my god. can i pretty please get a part two to Call It What You Want (steve harrington)? steve fails to disregard his feelings towards the reader after sleeping together, but how long can he go until he breaks after seeing she’s completely neglected his existence. smut! (rough sex, but very passionate cause why not lol, perv!steve, jealous!steve and pls add anything if you’d like! thank you love :’)

So It Goes, Steve Harrington .

(part two to Call It What You Want)

Sumarry: Hooking up with your old bully was never on the cards. But Steve Harrington has a habit of getting in the way of plans.

Warnings: SMUT! this is FILTHY! slowburn! breeding kink! perv!steve (a teeny bit), angst! steve is hopeless with women, fluffy ending <3

Word count: 9.5K (ohmygod)

It had been one week since you'd done it. One week since you'd done the most reckless thing in your whole life. Seven days since you'd lost your head and slept with your old bully. Seven days since you'd slept with your, supposed, best friend's ex-boyfriend. Just seven days since you'd slept with Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High.

The morning after replayed in your mind like a broken tape, in torturous clarity thanks to not having a hangover. The way you ran from the Harrington residence played behind your eyes without end. The walk home, unkindly long and silent with nothing but your thoughts - memories of him, and the way he touched you- to keep you company. The way you ran to your bathroom, stripping down and tossing his clothes in your hamper as if they were toxic waste, and the way you scrubbed your body in the shower as if the soap would somehow remove the feeling of his hands on you from your head. You didn't know if you were more disgusted with yourself for doing it. or for the fact that somewhere inside, you wanted it to happen again.

You felt different, like someone else, as you got ready in the mirror each day that proceeded the party. Felt guilty as you looked at the arch of your neck, the feeling of Steve’s lips there still as strong as they were that night. You felt a pit in your stomach as you looked at your nose, remembering the way Steve had placed a delicate kiss there , feather light, as he washed your skin in the shower. You now saw yourself as a reckless idiot, driven by some unknown desire for what? Closure? Or was it power that your subconscious so desperately wanted?

You only hoped your mindless scrubbing in the shower, skin red as you zoned out, would tell you the answers. You found no solace in the space between the tiles, only lime build up.

You wouldn't tell a soul. Your parents were none the wiser, as were your friends, to the battle your brain was at with your heart.

An aggression had settled over you, a dark looming cloud any time he was mentioned. You became snippy, unjustifiably short. Chrissy assumed you were pissed off about the party, still reeling from the belittling interaction with Carol and Tommy, as well as Steve.

She had apologised relentlessly in the days following. On and on, despite your reassurance, Chrissy swore she would never let "the redheaded witch and her flying monkey" talk to to you ever again.

The week had gone that way, Chrissy sending you an apologetic glance any time Harrington, the party or anything relating to them was mentioned. You felt guilty that she felt guilty, but you could never tell her what happened. You already felt like a massive hypocrite, you couldn't bear to have another person know it too.

You'd been stood by your locker, thankful for the lack of a certain basketball player in the halls, having had been able to avoid him for the full school week, when Chrissy bounded over to you. Without a word, she grabbed your hand and - with surprising strength- dragged you into the nearest bathroom.

"Did you hear?" she said, voice a mix of shock and curiosity. Immediately paranoia spread over you like hives, certain that Chrissy was doing damage control. "Steve and Nancy broke up at the party on Saturday." Her voice was even, no hint of suspicion or knowledge or anything, or anyone, that you had done.

"Woah," you said, hoping only you heard the waver in your voice as you tried your best to keep your face void of guilt, "what happened?" you asked, knowing that any account you heard would never be as accurate to the front row seat you had to the argument.

You hardly heard Chrissy as she spoke, her animated words falling on deaf ears as you realised that nearly every person was going to be talking about Nancy and Steve. The It Couple, King and Queen of the school, had fallen apart. Every girl was going to be fawning over Steve again- not that Nancy had stopped them, now they would be more overt- and Nancy would be the One that Got Away. You felt angry when Chrissy mention there were whispers that Steve was holed up in his house, heartbroken over the split. You felt even worse when she told you that Nancy was already dealing with a rehash of last years cheating rumours.

Nancy had to hold you back from ripping Steve's head off last fall over the, now, infamous 'Nancy 'The Slut' Wheeler' graffiti.

This wasn't part of your plan. You'd made such good friends, come out of your shell, cemented yourself as a somebody. Nancy was happy, you were happy and everything was fine just the way it was.

And Steve Harrington was messing it all up.

Your first classes went by in blurry seconds, your attention focused on the cracks in your desk or the clouds outside as you thought about the whole nuclear explosion of a situation. You wished you'd never agreed to go to the stupid party. You wished you'd just shrugged out of Harrington's grip and run downstairs and gone home. You wished you hadn't kissed Steve back when he leaned in, wished you'd pushed him off instead of tugging him closer.

You wished you could rewind time and not allow him to touch you, make time stop and slap yourself for loving it so much. You hoped you would forget how he made you feel; the white hot burning on your skin as his lips travelled across your stomach, the gentle touch of his hands as he dried your hair and dressed you in his clothes.

You hoped you would forget everything about Steve Harington.

Deciding on a healthy dose of ditching, you made your way out to the school's parking lot, intent on walking home and enjoying the empty house whilst your parents worked.

Then you saw him sat on the hood of his car, a cigarette dangling from his lip as he brushed a frustrated hand through his hair. Your feet felt as though they were glued to the floor as his eyes met yours, unable to move like his gaze willed you to stay there. It was the first time you'd seen him since then. It was only when he raised the carton to you - a peace offering- that you were able to move your limbs and walk over to Steve. He was wearing a blue sweatshirt and jeans, and your mind was cast back to the sweatshirt sitting in your hamper getting buried under clothes like that would make it disappear. When you took a cigarette, Steve held the lighter out and lit it for you. An entirely too flirtatious gesture given the gossipy climate.

"You took off on Sunday," he said, a statement and not a question. His voice was indifferent, but his brows furrowed as he spoke. "Left your clothes behind."

"Yeah, I did." You took long drags, hoping the edge in your voice was a clear enough message to Steve that you didn't need to talk about that. He scooted over on the hood, an invitation to sit. You remained standing, and Steve pursed his lips.

You didn't need to be told to relive the awkwardness you felt when you'd woken up. The way Steve was already awake , tall silhouette in the doorway as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom. The room was suddenly too small, Steve's clothes suddenly suffocating. You heard the shower turn on, sensing time for escape. You'd thrown on your shoes, crept out of the room and booked it out of the Harrington house. Steve had watched as you disappeared down the street from the bathroom window. You'd caught a glimpse of his figure as you threw a nervous glance over your shoulder, fearful of prying eyes seeing you do a walk - or run- of shame from the house.

"Been looking for you, you know." He said, almost shy as he squinted into the sun.

"Not very hard, clearly." you scoffed. When Steve just looked at you, eyes soft, you went on. "Why?"

"Why do you think," it was Steve's turn to laugh, though his was not mocking. It was sincere, too kind. Real. "I want to talk to you."

Knots formed in your stomach, and your brows knit together in a tight line. "What is there to talk about?" you said harshly, feeling a pang of guilt as Steve recoiled, "we slept together, Steve. It happened, cool. End of story." You said, turning to walk away when Steve reached for your elbow.

"Well, hang on there a second," Steve said, stubbing his cigarette out and standing, hands on his hips, "I think there's some stuff to talk about." He looked around, nervous for prying eyes. "Like the fact that that," he said, astounded, "was the best I've ever had." He took a step closer to you. You shrugged him off when he rested a hand on your arm. "There's clearly something between us, here."

You hated to admit it, or agree with him in any way, but Steve was right. You'd had your share of guys, but Steve was unlike any of them. The sex was incredible, as was the chemistry. You'd had to re-live it, in excruciating detail, most nights since the party. But Steve was not a good guy to get involved with, and not someone you could forgive yourself for forgiving. So you remained stand offish, cold, to the boy.

"Sex is sex , Steve, you'll find another 'best' in a month." You dismissed, wishing you'd ignored him and gone straight home. His face was pleading, and it made him look younger, like a lost child looking for their mother. “Look, it was a one time thing. Go back to Tommy and Carol, and forget it ever happened. Got it?”

Steve’s face contorted, a mix of frustration and confusion and a little bit of anger. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. He was meant to find you the day after, be there at your door with a speech prepared about how truly sorry he was for how things went. But he was so taken a back by your escape, the only proof that you had been there being your clothes strewn about across his bedroom floor, that he just sat by his pool staring into space. He was meant to call you, convince you to come over so you could talk it out. But then he couldn’t find your number - and god forbid he call Nancy to get it.

Steve was conflicted. He was heartbroken about his breakup with Nancy. He loved her , or thought he loved her, with everything he had. But this part of him, this nagging part that wouldn’t shut up, was more hurt by you leaving. Upset that he couldn't drive you home or kiss you goodbye or convince you to stay just a little longer. He regretted not saying more in the moment, because maybe then you wouldn't have skipped out on him. If he'd just talked more, maybe stood up for you a little, then perhaps you would have stayed.

"Can we just go somewhere and talk?" he said, eyes pleading and a little desperate. "Please?"

His begging made your stomach churn. You had to get away from him, before whatever magnetic bullshit he had on you went into full effect and you threw yourself into his arms and agreed to hear him out. You stubbed your cigarette out with your shoe.

"I'm going home, Steve."

You hoped that your curtness would deter him. A nagging part of you felt bad, worrying that maybe - just maybe- you should have heard Steve out, that you were robbing yourself of some kind of closure both for your past and for that night. The other, more logical, half felt firm and strong. Finally, finally, it was you making Steve Harrington feel defeated. For once it was him feeling wronged.

You threw his clothes in the laundry when you got home.

It was seven thirty when Chrissy called you, and you were laid back on your bed. Her sudden excitement caught you off guard. "Woah, Chris, slow down," you said, "in English please."

"We're going to a pool party tomorrow!" she all but yelled, and you could imagine her riffling through her dresser for swim suit options. "And before you say no, it's the last pool party of the season before it gets so cold that we have to look like artic explorers for the next three months." There was a clunk, and then Chrissy let out a euphoric squeal. "Found it!"

You rolled over on to your side, twirling the phone cord in your hand as you laughed at your friend. "Okay, okay, I'll go. Who's throwing a pool party this close to Halloween?" you asked, face screwed up at the thought of the late October breeze on bare legs.

"It's Steve Harrington!"

You sat right up in bed, almost dropping the phone off the side of the bed. Of course, of course, he was throwing another party. And of course, you'd already agreed to go. "Oh," was all you could say.

"Look, I know Saturday was pretty intense," Chrissy argued, not realising just how correct her statement was, "but you can just stick with me, and even Eddie is going so he'll be there if you feel the urge to kick Harrington into the pool."

The knowledge that Munson - a long time friend and supplier of party materials for you and Chrissy- would be in attendance made the nausea somewhat subside. But the thought of going back to the Harrington residence, the thought of seeing Steve there again after the way today had gone, made bile rise in your throat. "Okay," you said to Chrissy, knowing you would be able to show your face for twenty minutes before convincing Eddie to let you smoke in the back of his van before getting a ride home, "I'll see you tomorrow."

You fell back on the bed, wishing the mattress would swallow you. It was like you were an alcoholic going into a bar, or rather a masochist for allowing yourself to relive what had caused you significant pain. You didn't even know if you had swimsuit still.

Digging through your dresser, finding sparkly denim from middle school, you thought your search was over. But then, in the very back of the bottom draw, you found your old prized possession.

The red sports illustrated bikini from 10th grade.

You'd bought it as a joke on a hot summer's day in 1983, a mall trip with Nancy on one of the many days you spent together attached at the hip. The poster next to the rack of bikinis had Brooke Shields, posed flirtatiously on a rocky beach, in the red suit. "You should get this for the pool!" Nancy had suggested, picking up the material and holding it to your chest. "It would look amazing!"

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head as you looked at it in Nancy's hands. "Are you kidding?", you exclaimed, holding the flimsy bikini in your hands, "it looks like an eye patch!" You fought with Nancy over it, citing that your mother would have a heart attack if she saw you wearing it. In the end, Nancy bought it for you, told you that you should save it for "knocking boys dead in college." At the time, you agreed with her. Looking back, it was a put down.

Nancy was an expert at the accidental back handed compliment.

Holding the suit in your hands, your senior body much more equipped for the top than your 10th grade self, a sly smirk etched its way on to your lips. You were going to knock the boys dead, after all.

You had arranged with Eddie that he would pick you up the next night at 7:30, parked down the street near the pay phone. The Munson boy called you at 7:25, letting you know he was on the corner of your cul-de-sac, ready to roll. When you walked to his car, Eddie rolled down the passenger side window with a slack jaw. He looked you up and down without shame, eyes wide. You were wearing a pair of denim shorts, the red bikini top and a denim jacket.

"How much for a ride around the block, sweetheart?" he smiled wolfishly, fishing his wallet out of his jeans.

You smacked his shoulder as you buckled your seatbelt, though you knew he was being tame. "Careful , Munson, before my mother hears you from the house." Eddie let out a hysterical chuckle.

"Oh, I think we both know you can drop the innocent act, sweetheart. Let's not forget I've seen you dance on bars after some Special K." He started the engine, music blaring through the speakers. Turning the corner of your street, he looked at you. "You're not fooling anyone."

You hoped you would fool some people, as the ride to Steve's house seemed impossibly shorter than the week prior. You gripped the seat next to you as Eddie found a spot on the street to park. You felt worse than last Saturday, entirely out of your depth and swallowed by nerves. Eddie cut the engine, a worried knit in his brow. "You good?" he asked, waving a hand in front of your eyes.

"Eds," you said, worried waver in your voice. "What...have you got on you now?" You said, eyes speaking the words the nausea prevented you from saying. "I think I need a boost."

The crinkle between his brows deepened. In the years that Eddie had known you - both loner and in your party days- you had never asked him for supplies before a party. There was a small, but concerned, frown on his face. "What's going on man?", he asked, turning completely toward you, "you freaked or something?"

You wracked your brain for any excuse other than the obvious. You'd known Eddie a long time. If anyone was going to let you spew your guts, without judgement, it was Eddie Munson.

"Listen," you started, " I did something really stupid at that party last week. Like, catastrophically stupid." When Eddie stayed silent, you went on. "I'm going to tell you something, and you have to swear you won't tell anyone."

"Who am I gonna tell?" He laughed, cutting himself short when you face hardened. "Okay," he said, "I swear. Girl's Scouts honour."

You told him everything. From the interaction with Carol and Tommy, to hearing Steve and Nancy break up. You told him about the kiss, the bathroom counter.....the shower. You told him how you'd run the next morning, how you'd been so sick from guilt. You told him every last excruciating detail. Eddie's eyes were wide, in an unreadable mix of shock, confusion and almost pride.

"What....the fuck," he whispered, a teasing smile on his face. "That's intense, and I'm not judging, but," he leaned in close, whispering to you. You leaned in as well. "You let Steve Harrington shoot his load in you?"

The way he said it, unforgiving and entirely true - making you realise just how reckless the entire thing was- made you cringe inward, hiding your face in your hands. "Eddie!"

"Hey, no judgement....," he grimaced a little, another laugh causing him to smile, "except maybe a little judgement here, the dude's a tool!" When you continued to hide your face, Eddie pulled a small bag out of his pocket. "Just a little alright? Lord knows I'd need it if I were you."

That's how you ended up doing a few bumps off a Motley Crue CD in the passenger seat of Eddie's van. You were raring to go, the nausea lurking back into its hiding place as you went through the side gate to Steve Harrington's back yard. You called Chrissy's name from the pool steps when you saw her playing chicken with Jason and a few of the other cheerleaders. The moment Chrissy locked eyes with you across the pool, her own jaw went slack.

"HOLY SHIT."

Her exclamation made almost every head turn your way. You'd taken off the jacket, giving Eddie the job of holding your things - which he begrudgingly excepted-, your red bikini top now on full display. Several eyes on you at once, the buzz of Eddie's special K and the continuous thrum of the music made you feel exceedingly alive. What's more, you felt a certain someone staring daggers into the side of your head, having noticed him in the corner of the pool the very second you stepped foot into his back yard. You kept your eyes forward, looking anywhere but at him.

This was a party.

Chrissy jumped off of Jason's shoulders, sending him flailing back into the water as she swam over to you on the side. Hoisting herself up, she enveloped you in a dripping wet hug. "Just where have they been hiding, huh?" she said, eyes darting to your chest and back again. You laughed at her candour, her inability to hide her every thought. "Don't just stand there, come get a drink! Mind if I steal her, Eddie? Promise I'll give her back." She said with a giggle, swaying your connected hands between the two of you.

"She knows where I'll be," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come find me if you need me, alright?" He said. You smiled at him, thankful that he had been there for you. You felt tons lighter now that someone else knew your secret.

Chrissy dragged you to the make shift bar on a table by the grass, coolers of beer and the notorious punch bowl calling your names. She grabbed you a glass, giving you a generous ladle full of punch that was so strong it had a resemblance to the smell of paint thinner. "So," she said, getting herself a drink, "what's going on with you and Eddie?" You nearly choked at her words.

"Me and Eddie, no way," you said, turning to look at the boy. He was wearing dark swim trunks and his guitar pic necklace. His chest full of tattoos was on full display, earning him the attention of several girls. "There's nothing going on there." Chrissy was watching you intently, the way your eyes travelled down Eddie's toned chest, lingering on the ink closest to his hip bones, pool lights accentuating their v shape. "No way."

"His eyes are up there, babe." She said, giggling as you turned back to her with a face the same colour as the red solo cup in your hand.

Eddie and you had been friends for too long, seen each other in every awkward phase, to be anything more than close friends. Sure, you both found each other attractive. That much was clear from the occasional oggling you each gave each other. You had even kissed once in 9th grade, the memory of said interaction haunting you both so much that any thought of being anything other than each other's friend sent a ghostly shiver up your spines. You'd been denying dating accusations from your mother and Eddie's Uncle Wayne for years. Uncle Wayne still had his suspicions, citing that no two teenagers needed to spend that much time in Eddie's room with a locked door. He just didn't know you were doing Special K and not each other.

"No way," you said again, taking a large swig of your drink, "way too much history there." Beside you, Chrissy smirked. With a quirked brow, she looked from you to the Munson boy, then back to you.

"Whatever you say," she said , tone full of disbelief. She bumped your shoulder with her own, prodding a teasing finger into your still flushed cheeks. "But I've got a radar for these things."

You held back a laugh, self deprecating and and entirely inappropriate, as you thought of how off Chrissy's radar was last weekend, how you and a certain brown eyed boy had completely forgone her so called sixth sense.

The party was in full swing by the time someone suggested a Keg Stand. You were in the pool with Chrissy and the other cheerleaders, laughing as the boys - including Eddie, which made you smile as he'd never gotten along with Jason and the basket ball players- relentlessly splashed you. All the while, you continued to feel a pair of eyes on the back of your head. You hadn't spared him a glance , enjoying the water and the company and the drinks without the reminder of the pit in your stomach. A circle was gathering round the edges of the pool as Tommy was picking his contenders for the Keg Stand, always too much of a coward to attempt and embarrass himself. "Jason, my man! Come on, show us how its done!"

Jason rolled his eyes at Tommy's antics. "I don't know man, someone's gotta be a designated driver."

"Come on, don't be such a pussy, Jase."

A serge of confidence - maybe down to the heat of the moment, or maybe the two bumps in Eddie's van- made you raise a high hand.

"I'll do it. I'm not driving." You were already hoisting yourself over the edge of the pool as Tommy stuttered over his words, trying to find a reason to say no, or a way to put you down. It was every guys fantasy - a girl in a dripping wet bikini on a keg. You may as well have been the sports illustrated cover you bought the swimsuit from.

"Alright, then. Steve!" Tommy called, and a cold jolt rain through you, "we found you a competitor!"

You felt him stand next to you, felt the heat of his body radiating toward you. You didn't dare look at him. An awkwardness threatened the air, looming. You risked a word.

"May the best man win."

You were hoisted up on to your keg by Jason, the rest of the basketball players gathered round and cheering you on. Steve was thrown on by Tommy, Carol next to him, and a gaggle of girls had come to watch. "Alright, " Tommy began, "two minutes for the whole keg. No breaks. Loser has to leave the party."

"It's my party, dip shit." Steve barked, frustration clear through his gritted teeth.'

"Guess you better win then, Harrington."

Your hands tightened on the side of the keg, knuckles going white with nerves. Tommy counted down from three, blowing a whistle to mark the start of your time. You were never a beer girl, but in the face of loosing to Steve Harrington in front of a crowd of people it could have been mistaken for your favourite drink. You chugged the cheap booze like you were a desert explorer stumbling on an oasis. The cheers of the crowd were silent on deaf ears, your only focus being the tube in your mouth and your grip on the keg. Your eyes were closed, the world drowned out. You were definitely going to puke, and you were definitely going to loose. Your brows scrunched in anger at the thought of the humiliation. Steve Harrington, getting the glory again. It made your eyes burn with the threat of angry, embarrassed tears. It made you question why you'd even agreed to come tonight.

The tug on your legs brought you back to earth, jovial cheers from both Chrissy and basketball teams as they pulled you down before lifting you on to Eddie's shoulders being the first indicators to your short circuiting brain. You'd finished your keg in one minute and thirty two seconds. The pool was alive with celebratory splashing. The crowd around the kegs began chanting your name, following Eddie's lead as he cupped his hands and heckled.

"All hail the new Queen of Hawkins!"

You caught Steve's eye as he glared at the scene unfolding around him. He tossed his cup on the ground - you had to hold back a laugh at his childish antics- as he stormed off, disappearing inside the open door at the edge of the house. A smug grin stretched from one ear to another as Eddie let you down to the ground. "You showed him who's boss, that's for sure," he chuckled, eyes following Steve's retreating figure. "Who knew he was such a sore loser."

"Maybe I should go and talk to him." You said, the beer telling you it was a fantastic idea. The devious smile on Eddie's face told you otherwise. "Oh yeah, because there'd be so much talking going on," he said, making an O shape with his hand before shaking it, "so much to talk about, isn't there."

You nearly ripped his arm off. The look on your face was murderous, and Eddie's laughter only grew louder.

"I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Ouch!", Eddie cried, devilish grin driving you nuts, "Lucky boy!"

You made your way to the kitchen of the Harrington house, which was the last place you saw Steve go. He wasn't there, no body was. The whole lower floor was desolate, every room a ghost town of empty cups and discarded shoes. You braved a peek up the stairs, craning your neck to see if he was lingering on the landing, to no avail. You crept up the stairs, foot steps leaving damp spots on the carpet and creaking on the old wood. Just as the rest of the house was, it was deserted.

All doors were shut tight. Harrington clearly did not want to be found. You would allow him space to wallow in his loss, already missing the glory and attention of the pool. You were reaching for the banister when a warm hand grabbed your shoulder and dragged you back into a linen closet.

With a yank of a light, Steve's face was illuminated. His face was stony, annoyed, eyes dark. It would have been scary, had you not just seen him throw a tantrum like a toddler.

Your hair dripping water on to the floor of the closet was the only sound other than the both of you breathing ragged, laboured breaths. There was a long silence before either one of you spoke.

"You sure have a flare for the dramatic," you said, gesturing to the light and the confines of the closet. "You couldn't fit in the pantry?"

Steve just looked at you, jaw set in a tight line. His eyes, however, darted all over your face; your eyes, lips, nose, cheeks. Bored of his silence, you tried for the door. He stepped in front of you., You got a dreadful sense of deja vu. "Okay, we're not doing this again."

"Hell yes we are," Steve finally said voice gruff. He had a brooding stare in his face, eyes frustrated and a little desperate - fearful. It looked as if he were worried you'd skip out on him again.

You glared up at him, irritated beyond measure.

"I came up here to see if you were okay after your little outburst out there, but you're acting like a real entitled douche here, Harrington." You pushed his shoulder - a little harder than you intended, only meaning to move him. He stumbled back a bit, the stacks of towels on the shelves cushioning his back. "Get out of my way."

He finally stepped to the side.

You were twisting the door knob when he spoke, barely above a whisper and muffled by the sounds of the party. "I cannot, and I mean cannot - as hard as I try- stop thinking about you."

Your head was screaming at you to go. To run down the stairs, say goodbye to Chrissy and find Eddie to drive you home. Every part of you was telling you to go. The door was open a crack, you could hear the voices of people outside more clearly now.

"You're all I can think about," Steve continued.

'Move', you thought. 'Move, god damn it.'

You felt Steve behind you. You could feel the warmth of his skin brushing against yours, feather light in touch, as he stepped closer to you. When you didn't move away, not an inch - part of you electrified at the scene unfolding before you- Steve's arm came over yours, hand resting on top of your own. "Close the door," he said, lips against the shell of year as he spoke. You shivered as his breath tickled your skin. With deliberate slowness, his hand on yours closed the crack in the door, shrouding the space in the warm glow of the singular lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

It was as though your whole body was on fire. Every nerve in your body on full throttle, tingling with anticipation.

"I tried to stop," Steve began, "thinking about you, I mean." His voice was quiet, soft. Ridiculously alluring. "Tried going back to how it was before. Tried to hate you again." He looked down at this feet, as if the words he was so desperately trying to say would be written in the carpet. "But I just couldn't stop thinking about it. Us."

"Steve-"

"Then you show up here with Munson? Of all people, to what, rub it in my face a little? Make me feel worse?" He raised his voice a little, his sudden and overt jealousy making your stomach flip. "Felt like my chest was gonna explode, I was so pissed." He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall. "Munson, of course." He muttered.

"There's nothing going on with Eddie, Steve."

"Oh, spare me," he said, "I saw you two together. The way he touched your shoulder? Earlier, by the pool?"

"Oh god, not my shoulder." You said, voice mocking.

"Come on, I see the way you guys watch each other." Steve argued, arm waving up in annoyance. "He looks at you like you're his girl!"

"And that bothers you because?"

Steve was silent after that, unable to speak the words he really wanted to without sounding like a jealous lunatic.

You took a step closer to him. His eyes met yours, frustrated and wide and even a little tormented. In a strange way, you liked it, that he was so beaten up over you. It made you feel a little better about being so haunted by the encounter, as well. Another part of you was revelling in the knowledge that Steve Harrington was hung up on you, after only one night. With a gentle hand, you grabbed Steve's wrist. "Steve," you said in a low voice, "there's nothing going on between Eddie and I. Okay?"

"How do I know that for sure?" he whispered, insecure.

You lifted his hand, eyes on his, and placed it on your shoulder. When you let go, his hand remained there. "Because," you said, " a shoulder means absolutely nothing."

Steve visibly relaxed, his shoulders became less hunched and he took a big sigh of relief. All the while, his hand remained on your shoulder.

You took another step toward Steve then, brain screaming at you to run, but the fire in your stomach telling you to stay, stay, stay. You leaned up on your tip toes, lips an inch away from his ear. "Besides," you said, "my shoulder is reserved just for you."

Steve sucked in a ragged, deep breath.

"You really shouldn't have said that." His voice was hoarse, gruff. It fanned the flames in your stomach to a blaze.

"And why's that?" you taunted, head cocked to the side as you looked up at Steve. A wicked, wolfish grin had stretched across his lips. He backed you into the wall, almost no space between you as his nose brushed against the shell of your ear. "Because," his lips grazed over your temple, "if you thought before was good," his hand grabbed your chin, making you look him in the eyes. "We're just getting started."

It was as if a switch flipped inside him as Steve crashed his lips to yours. While he was passionate before, now he was animalistic. He was all teeth as he kissed you, nipping your bottom lip in a way that said 'this is something only I get to do', and it made you groan aloud. Your hands crept up to his hair, only for him to grip your wrists and pin them above your head.

"Uh uh," he said, teasing and with entirely too much enjoyment. "Those stay right there."

You panted, out of breath, staring into Steve's lust blown eyes. You were completely shocked by this side of him. It was, quite possibly, the hottest thing you'd ever witnessed. In the brief pause, the quiet catching of breath, Steve's face came closer to yours.

"Is this okay?" He said, concern on his face, realising he may have been too intense. His brows were knit together in a soft V shape. You nodded, slow and sure. You were perfectly content to have Steve do anything he wanted to you. "Yeah, it's okay." You whispered. The teasing smile crept back on to his face. "Alright then."

And then he was kissing your neck, most definitely leaving marks as he sucked and nipped the skin on the hollow of your throat. You bit your lip at the thought of having to hide them, of being marked by him, thankful for the approaching cold season and the invention of turtle necks. One hand on your wrists, Steve's free one crept up your sides and found purchase on your hips, gripping them tightly. "God," he groaned, "do you have any idea," - a particularly hard bite on your collar bone- "how much I've thought about you this week?" His grip on your waist was impossibly tighter in the moment, pulling your hips into his own. Your only response was a breathy moan as he bucked into you.

He loosened the grip he had on your wrists, allowing your arms to slide down the wall and into his hair - he fell apart at the way you touched him, having thought about it all week. "I thought about you," he dropped down to your chest, placing kisses there. "Every," - a kiss to your torso- "single"- one to your stomach- "night." He sank down to his knees, staring up at you with swollen lips and blown out eyes. "It's like I was haunted by you. Couldn't get you out of my head." He kissed his way back up to your lips, his fingers tugging on your bottom lip with a twisted smile. "Thought about you so much, had to throw out your panties."

"You pervert." You said against his mouth, but the thought of Steve, bent over in pleasure, as he jacked off into your panties made you throb.

His hands toyed with the strings on your bikini bottoms, the flimsy material begging to be ripped off. He raised an eyebrow at you - a silent ask- and you nodded hurriedly. He pulled the knot free at an agonizingly slow pace, taunting you as your chest heaved in anticipation. He was torturous. Devilish, even. You loved it. He ripped the other knot open off hastily, making you gasp. Your lower half was completely exposed. "Do you want me?" he asked, and though his voice was hoarse and undeniably confident, his eyes wavered as he looked into your own with the slightest hint of uncertainty. You nodded, breathless and a little desperate. Steve tilted your head with his hand, thumb resting on the column of your throat, mocking smile on his lips. "I'm not touching you 'til you say it."

"Yes, God yes, I want you Steve."

"How much?" He was getting cocky then, and as much as it irritated you, it turned you on immensely. "Tell me how much."

"I thought about you, too," you said, breath hitching as he trailed a finger up and down your leg. "Couldn't help myself." That same wicked smile was on Steve's face as you spoke. "Couldn't get the feeling right again, tried so hard."

"Show me."

When your eyes darted to his, you could hardly see his irises. His eyes were practically black with lust, mouth agape as he took you in. When you didn't move, half embarrassed and half in disbelief, he guided your hand to your centre. "Show me how you touched yourself," he pushed your hand down, thumb swiping your clit. You gasped, desperate for any friction as the ache in your stomach flared. "He placed a kiss right under your belly button, eyes boring into yours. "Show me."

You felt the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck and on to your cheeks, thankful for the dim light. You sank you hand down, closing your eyes to save some semblance of your dignity. Steve Had other ideas. "Uh, uh, uh," he said, taunting. "Eyes on me."

You opened your eyes to see a completely, utterly hypnotised Steve. Every twitch, every half-movement was caught by his eager eyes. Knowing that you had so much power over him gave you a power trip, a major boost of confidence. The sight before you - a wild haired, wide eyed, practically drooling Steve Harrington- drove you crazy.

You dropped your hand down your stomach, fingers tracing the skin as they got ever closer to where you needed them most. You thought back to the nights after the party, the way you'd arched your back off your mattress pretending it was Steve's fingers getting you there, that it was Steve making your legs tremble.

You grazed your clit with your index finger, sighing as you made small circles there. You moaned, your pace picking up as you grew more impatient that Steve wasn't the one touching you and more embarrassed as time went on. You rested your head against the wall, gazing at Steve across the small space. He was shifting the front of his swim trunks around, growing impossibly more aroused every second he looked at you. Your chest began to tighten with short breaths as your hand grew quicker, the band in your stomach on the brink of snapping. You were sent over the edge at the sight of Steve palming himself, mouth in a silent 'O' shape as he watched you fall apart. The small closet felt like a sauna as you caught your breath.

"Jesus Christ," Steve said, a hoarse whisper as though his throat was bone dry - which it was. He'd never seen anything so hot in his life. "Get over here."

You launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck as his own caught your waist. Your lips met in a brawl of need, smothering yourselves in one another. Steve gripped your face with a strong hand, guiding your chin so that his tongue could slip into your mouth with ease. He backed you against the wall, hands roaming all over your skin. You may as well have been on another planet, the raging party below having no influence on either one you letting out loud moans and groans. You felt on fire, sure that if you opened your eyes and looked down your body would be a scorched mess. Your core ached, desperate for any friction as Steve's clothed front rubbed against your centre.

"Steve," you whined against his lips, loud and high pitched. He was pressing into you now, and you felt you were going to go crazy if you weren't thrown on a bed in that very second. "Let's go somewhere else." When he pulled away to look at you, he quirked a brow cheekily.

"Aye aye, Captain."

Stuffing your bottoms in his pocket, Steve cracked the door ajar and peaked out. The coast was clear. He threw you - naked from the chest down- over his shoulder, and ran to the bedroom closest to the closet. It was his own, thank god. The door closed with a slam, and then you were against it, head cushioned by the coats and towels hanging from the hook.

"If you don't do something in the next thirty seconds," you said, voice desperate as Steve kissed your neck whilst his hands trailed up and down your bare back - fingers fiddling with the draw string of your bikini-, "I'm outta here, Harrington."

"Oh yeah," Steve challenged smugly, "to do what?"

You felt like pushing his buttons, testing him. His dominance displayed in the closet made you unbelievably wet, and you were hoping it was going to reappear. "Well," you began, voice full of mock innocence, "not what, rather who." Steve's arm tensed up around your body. His head whipped toward you, eyes darkening with lust and annoyance. "Who knows, maybe Eddie can help me out-"

You didn't even have to finish your sentence before Steve was scooping you up in his arms, limbs wrapped tightly around your middle as you both crashed on to the mattress. He was hovering above you with the most addictive expression on his face - a look that said "I need you, I crave you,"- and you wished that every time you closed your eyes you would see that look. Steve ripped off his shorts in a flash, stroking himself as he leaned down to you.

"You think it's funny, huh? To tease?" he said, voice wracked with desire as he watched you. You'd begun to slowly peel off your bikini top. He pulled the strap back and let it snap against your skin, grinning when you yelped. "You're in for it, babe."

The nickname had your stomach swirling with arousal, and you were sure you were leaking on to Steve's sheets from how turned on you were. He made his way between you, knee up against your clit as he ground in to you. When you bit your lip, he smiled. He sat up on his knees, stroking himself as he looked down at you. A rosy glow had donned your cheeks, both from the heat of the room and the heat of having a very attractive man tease himself in front of you. A sheen had begun to cling to your hair line. You looked entirely wrecked, and Steve had hardly touched you. His stomach flipped at the sight. He pushed your legs apart with his knee, pressing the head of his cock through your folds , delighting in the whiny pleas you let out.

"Say something for me," Steve asked, hissing as his head brushed your clit as he bucked into you.

"Anything, god, please, Steve." You would recite a whole Shakespeare play in that moment if it meant that he would fuck you. "Anything."

"Say you forgive me."

You suddenly weren't miles away. You were now hyper aware that you were in Steve's bed, in Steve's house, with Steve. Steve, who had ruined your life for so many years. Steve, who had stood by people and watched as they hurt you. Steve, who had taken your best friend from you. Steve, who had bared a piece of himself to you. Steve, who had wanted you. Steve, who had shown you who he really was. Steve, who you also desperately wanted, despite your complicated feelings about the past you both shared. The room was silent for a nano-second, before you grabbed his face in your hands.

"I forgive you."

In the midst of a very heated moment, Steve leaned down and pressed a very gentle kiss to your lips. "Thank you" he said.

Then he pushed into you, all the way, without warning and your choked moans filled the room. The stretch, while slightly painful, was glorious. Steve filled you up entirely, and you felt as though you were being split open while simultaneously feeling whole. With both hands beside you head as he hovered over you, Steve panted ragged breaths. "Oh my god, you feel amazing," he groaned. His face contorted in pleasure as you clenched around him. "God, can I move? Please, baby, can I?"

"Yes, god, move." Was all you could stutter out before Steve was rocking into you , pace wild and hard. The head board of his bed clanged against the wall, and you were thankful for the thrum of music outside. You held back screams as Steve hit that spot inside you with every single thrust.

Your legs felt like jelly as Steve grabbed your thighs, pulling himself into you with vigour. "Fuck," he moaned, unapologetically loud and undeniably hot, "fuck, I'm not gonna last long." You hands were gripping the sheets, hardly aware that he was talking as his stomach grazed your clit with every movement.

"Let me on top then," you said, and Steve wasn't a religious man, but he swore that was the moment he died and went to heaven. Steve flipped the two of you over, his back against the head board with your chest in his face. 'Heaven,' he thought as you swung your legs over his and grabbed him in your hands, sinking down on until he was all the way inside of you. "Oh my god." You said breathlessly, the feeling entirely different and absolutely better than before.

You used Steve's shoulder for leverage as you moved up and down on him, whining out high pitched moans as he thrusted up to meet you, gripping your hips tightly. You felt the coil building in your stomach. You looked down at Steve, his eyes drawn to where your bodies connected. "That's the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen," he said, eyes dilated and face red. He was right, it was unusually hypnotic to watch as your aching centre swallowed Steve's cock with every movement.

Steve's brows were knit together, determined to last but the reality that the two of you were going to come undone was fast approaching. "I wanna fill you up, wanna see my cum drip out of you. Can I cum inside you, baby?" he panted into your hair, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around your torso as he sat up, thrusting even harder up into you.

"Yes, yes yes, please Steve," you cried as his fingers crept down and began fast, tight circles on your clit. "Cum inside me, fill me up, god, please please please."

Steve let go the second you did, one final - particularly deep- thrust sending you over the edge and into Steve's chest. You felt as hot ropes of his cum shot deep into you, felt as it began to drip out o you and down your thighs. You panted into Steve's ear, chest heaving as you both came down from your highs. His hand, still between your legs, swiped up your centre, gathering the mixture of your arousals. He ran the same finger across your lips. "Open, " he said, grinning wickedly as you sucked his finger clean. "Dirty, dirty girl."

You hopped off of Steve, legs numb as you collapsed next to him on the bed. You didn't bother to cover up, the two of you no longer shy. There was a brief pause, and you felt like the prickly stickiness of sweat- and other things- on your skin. You mustered the strength to stand, stretching as you did, and made you way to the bathroom connected to Steve's. When Steve remained in bed, you turned over your shoulder as you stood in the door way. "You coming?"

Steve moved faster than you'd ever seen, practically tripping over himself, to meet you in the bathroom. Gazing at the shower, you opted to run the taps of the bath instead. The room quickly filled with steam, the mirrors fogging up. Once the tub was full, you hopped in and sat down, sighing as the warm water covered your sore legs. Steve sank down behind you, legs coming to rest beside your own, and you didn't move when his arms wrapped round your waist. Instead, you leaned back and rested your head on his shoulder.

Steve's hands ran soap up and down your arms gently, rinsing and repeating with mindless softness. he just wanted the excuse to hold you longer, feel you against him more. When his hand came down your arm again, you caught it. You fiddled with his fingers, a shyness washing over you slightly. Steve just intertwined your hands, and continued to rinse the soap off of your skin.

"What is this now?"

Steve's question hung in the warm air like the steam clung to the mirror glass. It was like you could see it in front of you, floating in a taunting cloud. It was the thing neither one of you wanted to ask, perfectly content to stay in the bath and ignore every nagging though that urged both of you to ask the other 'do you want me outside of these walls?'

You sucked in a deep breath, turning to look at Steve from where your head rested on his shoulder. "I don't know." You admitted. You didn't want to say the wrong thing and ruin the moment. "We can talk about that, though."

Steve smiled gently, resting his head on top of yours. "What do you want it to be?" He asked softly, your hand still in his.

"Is this your very long winded way of asking to be fuck buddies?"

"No," Steve chuckled to himself, "no, it's not." He sat up slightly, facing you more. "I'm saying that," he paused, struggling for the right words. "I know how I felt when I thought you and Munson were, whatever I thought you were." He said, eyes soft as he looked at you. "I know how much I missed you being round after you left."

You dropped your gaze , ashamed of your behaviour. Steve's hand moved your chin to meet his eye again, smiling that stupidly attractive smile. "I know I want you."

"I want you too, Steve." You said, almost sadly.

"Then we have something in common," he smiled again, and you rolled your eyes at him. "We can start there, and see where we go."

You didn't talk about what people might say, how you'd probably have to hide in his room or yours, secluding yourselves in VHS tapes in living rooms and candle lit dinners in kitchens. You didn't talk about how hard it would be, to keep the secret, to not talk about one another for a while. You didn't mind though. The two of you enjoyed the idea of the coming winter, the cover of darkness that meant you could walk to one another. The image of you huddled in one of Steve's sweaters as the first snow fell flashed through Steve's mind, and he felt his heart thud in his chest as he looked at you.

Warmth spread through your chest as you imagined Steve beside you on the tiny couch in your living room, fighting over the last slice of pizza as the credits rolled on a cheesy movie he'd rented. You revelled in the thought of getting to know Steve, not the King of Hawkins High, just Steve. And the thought of him knowing you as you were now, the matured and hardened version of you, made you stomach do flips as you looked at him.

"We'll see where we go." You agreed.

-----------------------------

PEOPLE THAT ASKED TO BE TAGGED:

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[criminalamnesia]

Okay okay, now hear me out.

Instead of reader not forgiving them...

They do something that makes the team feel even worse...

They *understand*.

*****

Imagine reader waking up in that hospital bed, squinting at the bright lights above and feeling the cables and tubes and oxygen mask, when they suddenly remember everything.

They squirm against the bed as they hear a deep and soft voice, "Calm down, kid. It's okay."

Price is next to the bed, sitting a distance away in a chair. He looks exhausted, thick circles under his eyes.

(Basically everything that was in the actual fic happens, except when Price begins to apologize, reader instead goes:)

"It's okay Price..." They whisper in a cracked voice.

The room is quiet as Price processes what you said.

They repeat, "It's okay..."

"It's not okay, love," Price says in a quiet demand. "We were wrong... You were framed like you said you were..." he leans back in his chair with a tired and sad sigh. "We didn't believe you and you suffered for it-"

"Captain," they interrupt gently, "I understand why what happened, happened." They drop their head slightly to the side, looking at Price sideways. "It was a tough situation, you couldn't take the risk to trust me. You're the Captain, you have to make tough calls, you have a team to protect. I understand."

Prices brow creases as he frowns deeply, "You were a part of that team. I was supposed to protect you too, why are you not angry-"

"I am angry." They say almost venomously. "You are not an easy man to trick, Price." they state in a slightly louder voice, hoping their voice doesn't fail them. "Neither is... neither is Simon. I know that whatever evidence you were given, was *good*. Believable."

They swallow thickly before continuing, "I *am* angry, but I understand that you needed to remove me from the team, I understand that you had to treat me with caution and suspicion. I'd have done the same..." Their eyes unwillingly starts brimming with tears as they still feel the ache of their injuries. "The torture? Captain, I-" their voice finally cracks and the tears spill.

Price moves to stand up, likely to comfort them, but at their wince at his movement he freezes. He slowly sits back down, clenching his jaw.

Price knows it's not that simple. They were a part of the team, but the boys all turned against them so easily, and instead of doing what they should have, and held them in isolation, let caution take over, they got angry instead. The men let their anger get the best of them to the point of torturing someone they trusted. And Price says this to them, but they shake their head.

"I know it's not that simple sir, I'm the one with the injuries. I know. But you believed it was the right thing to do. It's not fault. You were lied to, and you believed it." they take a breath to calm their tears.

Price looks down at his hands, "We don't deserve this sympathy, kid. You didn't deserve to be tortured for something you didn't do. But you were, we did."

"It's not about deserving, sir. No one deserves anything and I owe no one anything. I get that, but this is a tricky situation-"

"You shouldn't forgive us this easily." Price bites out as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We don't deserve that."

"Then isn't it a good thing that's my choice to make and not yours?"

Price looks up to meet their eyes as they smile sadly at him.

"And don't call me naive, sir. I can understand that I'm being kinder than I should be. I have the right to be angrier, to scream and curse at you. This kindness isn't naivety. I know that I have the right to be cruel. But just because I *can* be more cruel, doesn't mean I have to be."

*************

(My brain isn't properly letting me write what I'm seeing in my mind, but yesterday I had a very cinematic daydream and the dialog is just not coming to me again, I'm for sure writing it whenever it comes to me again

It just makes me feel like that hurts Price and the team infinitely more, knowing that despite the awful pain the men made reader feel, they're being kind.

The men tortured reader for things they didn't do, refused to give understanding. And here reader is, giving understanding for awful things that *were* done to them

Imagine the psychological impact that'll have on the team, especially Simon, who in this daydream of mine is eavesdropping from just outside the room, because he's too afraid to look you in the eyes.)

oooooo your mind!! it’s so powerful. I could definitely see this as an au scenario in the traitor fic universe!

(also this is what simon wants lol. not necessarily forgiveness, but understanding. understanding that they did what they had to do, what they thought was right (even if it wasn’t)).

[unironicallytes]

HELLO EVERYONE I HAVE SOME THINGS TO SAY ABOUT ASTRID!!!

(Discussion and sharing of thoughts encouraged even if they're opposing viewpoints, please join me in the sandbox)

In working on Dear Brother's timeline, I've been revisiting a lot of the canon even around the Skyrim era, and I find Astrid so much more compelling and sympathetic nowadays. I used to dislike her a lot, because I was coming fresh off of Oblivion and also hadn't deep-fried my brain in lore yet. I was playing the Skyrim DBh with @orfeoarte last night and we got to talking about her again, specifically about how she's probably having a crisis of faith during the game.

Like, in thinking about the entire Dark Brotherhood questline from Astrid's perspective ... she's the matron of the last Sanctuary. They haven't had a Listener since 4E188 - that's 14 whole years without a religious leader, organizational leader, or any of the Black Hand for that matter. (As far as I can tell, Rasha sounded like a Speaker from Cheydinhal, and he lasted until 4E189 according to Cicero's journals.)

Basically, up until this point, Falkreath stayed functional due to Astrid's leadership alone, and Astrid herself went through that bearing the knowledge that their gods had probably abandoned them. That's a lot to deal with. Imagine the absolute inner turmoil of turning your back on the Brotherhood's religion, because there's no point in holding to a spiritual leader that refuses to lead. Maybe Astrid had spent a few of those 14 years mourning, wondering why she'd received no guidance; but eventually, she had to amputate that part of herself and move on because no one else was going to do it for her. She would've needed to focus on the survival of the order that was left, rather than cling to the ashes of the one that was dead and gone. Besides, the latter seems to have collapsed in on itself because the Hand couldn't even agree on how to move forward, so why would she follow their lead?

All that being said, 14 years pass, Astrid keeps it together, keeps the last remaining family together ... then suddenly out of fucking nowhere, Cicero shows up with the Night Mother herself, spouting the old ways. A bit jarring, a bit poor taste - it's not his fault, he has no idea what this Sanctuary might have been through. He hasn't interacted with family members at all for these 14 years, and he probably expected them to be exactly as he remembered them. And then, barely any time into Cicero's arrival, the Night Mother finally chooses someone, and it's Astrid's newest recruit.

Like, how dare she, after all these years of abandonment? Wouldn't that infuriate you? In Astrid's eyes, the Night Mother hasn't done shit for her. No wonder Astrid's immediate reaction and tone is basically "are you fucking kidding me" followed by "I need time to process this." It makes a lot of sense that she resists the return to tradition, both from a leadership level and from a personal level. No wonder she shatters through Tenet 1 in front of Cicero and everyone, no wonder she tries to get you removed from the equation, too.

Extremely interesting character right there!!! I am spinning her on the microwave plate-- ..... ....... ah, well, uh. I suppose the Penitus Oculatus did that already, poor choice of words.

[butch-reidentified]

Pitching New Terminology: GLAP (Gamete-Linked Anatomy and Physiology)

A little while back, I remember seeing someone on here talk about 2nd wave feminist attempts to coin new terminology/alter existing terms as part of their feminism ("herstory" and "womyn" for example) + my wife and I have been talking a ton for a few months now about how language can feel so limiting, as counterintuitive as most people likely would find that. One of the things my wife brought up is that it bothers and bewilders her that "sex" can refer to biological categories, to the state of being male or female, but can also mean intercourse. She said this feels very male to her, and thinks that this word being used to mean both of these things (both of which are very charged concepts with heavy connotations - but only because of patriarchy) is not only unnecessary, but arguably harmful to the feminist cause as well.

Not only that, but sex (as in maleness/femaleness) is itself very much in contention these days - its existence itself is challenged in addition to its definition and the parameters of its categories. Even outside of gender identity ideology (GII) and the conversation surrounding transgender identities, there is a fair amount of inconsistency in what exactly people think makes a human being male or female, be it large or small gamete production, the presence of either a penis or a vagina, some sort of checklist-like combination of sex characteristics, karyotype, hormone dominance, the infamous pseudoscientific "brain sex," or something else.

I agree with Dr. Rashad Rehman's succinct statement that "sex is defined by gamete production," from his paper (which I've posted on several previous occasions and you can read at this link) refuting both GII and the catholic church regarding human sex biology & intersex conditions. As I've said countless times on this blog and he says in his paper, this manner of categorizing human beings as male or female does not require successful production of large or small gametes. Rather, it defines a human being's sex according to which of two overall developmental pathways their body follows; has your body (your anatomy and your physiology, as referenced in the GLAP acronym's A and P) developed around the "intention," so to speak, of producing large gametes or small gametes?

This is what led to the acronym GLAP (for "Gamete-Linked Anatomy and Physiology"), which I introduced in a recent reblog. She and I coined this term together to offer a more precise, better delineated alternative to "[biological] sex," and an alternative bearing zero denotative or connotative relationship to sexual intercourse.

By not only defining sex in relation to gametes, but placing the very word "gamete" at the literal forefront of the term itself, GLAP leaves little room for debate or misunderstanding when it comes to discussions of maleness and femaleness in human beings. The importance of this is well-stated in Dr. Rehman's paper, particularly in the following section containing two quotes from the writings of MIT philosophy professor Alex Byrne. The first of these two quotes references Brown-educated feminist scientist (and GNC lesbian!) Dr. Anne Fausto-Sterling, and the second cites Simone de Beauvoir's "The Second Sex."

[Please let me know if image description is needed; screen reader test worked on my end, but who knows?]

We believe this terminology has the potential to combat misinformation surrounding human biology as well as to open doors within the discourse pertaining to GII and transgender issues. We suspect - and hope - that removing the word "sex," thus removing the messiness that tends to come along with the word, could perhaps reduce tensions and reactivity in order to allow for conversations to be had that otherwise would rapidly escalate or be avoided entirely. Additionally, introducing a new term like this requires providing an explanation of its meaning and purpose, the process of which we believe will help facilitate such conversations. We also feel that the novelty and hint of silly-sounding-ness could support the goal of reducing the tension and emotional charge currently embedded in gender discourse.

[mrsparrasblog]

Girlie your brain is wrinkly 🧠 can u write kyle being in a competition against Rudy to woo reader? Only one of them will get her in the end🥺👉👈 personally I am rooting for Rudy but you decide in the end😘

Hey first of all Thank you <333333 wrinkly brain is now my favorite new word thingy. It feels criminaly wrong to let my character pick someone over Kyle but Rudy deserves everything too. Just enjoy my midnight thoughts.

He had been pining after you for six years—six terrible, long years—where you had several shitty boyfriends or were too oblivious to realize he even liked you. At this point, it was tiring for Rodolfo to love you, but how could he stop? He had never met someone like you: so eager, beautiful, loving, and funny.

He remembered the day he first met you like it was only yesterday. You were so curious and full of passion, almost more than Alejandro had. Since then, you had grown up to be one of the most essential parts of the vaqueros. If you weren’t a medic, you would have been the third in command five years ago, but saving people was just your thing.

Alejandro, Rudy, and you spent most of these five years together on duty, and even in your off time, you went to bars with them, family gatherings, and even on vacation in Cancun. And all these times, Rudy didn't have the guts to ask you out. Alejandro always told him that he should just try, the way you looked at him or how you screamed and cried as he almost died—this is love, but he didn't believe it. And you thought he saw you more like a sister than someone to love, so you both silently gave up.

When Graves' betrayal happened, you fought alongside Rudy's, Ghost's, and Soap's side. You were so happy to have the help of their captain and another Sergeant. What surprised you was that the other Sergeant, Kyle, was so attractive.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but after the great win, you were in a pub with all of them—141 & Vaqueros—sitting on Kyle's lap. You were a bit too tipsy to realize Rudy's jealous glance and Alejandro's disappointed look. All you noticed was the pretty boy whispering sweet nothings into your ear, "Such a beautiful woman. Mhm, the most beautiful girl I've seen in ages." His hot breath tickled against your ear as he slowly wrapped his lips around your neck, eliciting a moan from you, much to Rudy's annoyance. He was almost fuming, and as you noticed it, you couldn’t stop yourself from making him a bit jealous.

So, you ended up in the corner with Kyle. His hips were pressed against yours as he pulled you into a deeper kiss. His tongue fought for dominance, his hands grabbing your ass and squeezing it lightly. "I want you, Kyle."

"Want you too Doll"

It took seconds for your luck to disappear when you went to the bathroom, returning to see Rudy punching Kyle. "Leave her the fuck alone, pendejo."

"She wanted it."

"Who cares? She’s mine."

"Rodolfo, Kyle, both of you stop," you commanded, pulling Rudy by his ear outside of the shady bar of Las Almas.

"What was that?" You asked, lifting your brow in question.

"Mhm, sorry, mi amor."

"You're a childish idiot stop punching every men I give a bit of attention, and now let me fix your cheek," you said, gathering a napkin out of your bag and removing the blood from his cheek.

"I know."

"What did you mean with 'I'm yours,' Rudy?"

"Come on, don’t act like you don’t know." he rolled his eyes, he couldn't believe you were so oblivious, you should have noticed ages ago like everyone else.

"What know?"

"That I've wanted you all these years, just couldn’t stand seeing you with another idiot again."

"You're joking, right?"

"No."

"Oh, Rudy, you should have told me."

"Why?" he mumbled not seeing the point in getting rejected

And with that, you grabbed his face, and after all these years of longing, you finally had Rodolfo where you wanted him: right beside you.

"Finally" Alejandro whispered in the corner of the bar, his two best friends were finally where they belonged.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

(I usually ask anonymously because I'm shy asf but I wanted to ask non-anonymously because I don't think anons get notified when their ask gets answered.)

I feel like you know enough about Killer to tell me If this sounds solid or if it's dogwater. (Also to know if this idea had already existed or not sksksk). Please tell me if I made any mistakes, though! My brain is kinda fried lately and I had the strong urge to yap :'D

So I think it has been established that Killer's bones are constantly melting due to the high amounts of determination inside of him, and he'll eventually melt away and die. I think it is also mentioned somewhere that Color promises to find a way to 'fix' his soul?

I think the viable solution would be the Determination (DT) Extractor machine. In the Undertale game, in Alphys's True Lab we see the DT Extractor machine, it is used to extract DT from the human souls to be later injected into monster bodies. I wonder if we hypothetically can use this to solve Killer's perpetually melting problem? Has anyone thought of it?

(I do think there's some sort of like Sans fights animation where Killer is thrown to the DT Extractor in the middle of battle and he loses his DT. But my memory is fuzzy...)

Thank you, have a nice day (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

I suppose that’s an option they could try, especially since Color said he knows a guy and perhaps he meant his AU’s Gaster, but would it work, and would it work without killing him or grievously injuring him? Is killer willing to risk the possibility of being changed yet again.

Would it do anything to his code? That’s changed now too.

He’s arguably spent more time with DT as apart of his being than without it. Is it just a part of him now?

It invaded his soul like a parasite, perhaps it’d be hard to remove at all (almost like it doesn’t want to be removed) (stage 4 is described as pure Determination. perhaps in a way its also like rejecting 4.) and any intense pain and trapped feelings would provoke stage 3 into instinctively fighting back and trying to survive.

which is ironic, considering how 3 could remember the feeling of invasion and wants the invading parasite out.

Perhaps killer’s biggest struggle in trying to ‘fix’ himself is himself. And instead he should focus on trying to heal and recover.

I imagine it’d be a strange feeling. watching your body struggle and fight against something you wanted and willingly agreed to, as if it doesnt understand that this was going to (supposed to) help.

maybe they make or find a smaller syringe like version to slowly take out and remove small amounts in certain times of the day, if only to prevent more damage on his body and further slow down the melting and rotting.

I’d imagine this would not only bring up trauma around his soul and people touching it or injecting/extracting things in and from it; but may also bring up a whole lot of concerns about becoming weaker, unable to protect himself and worries about having to rely on someone else.

Not only do i still feel like 3-4 would cause rather violent resistance against the idea of extraction DT (one instinctual, the other because it means losing connections to chara/the player and failing the deal), and 2 wouldnt want it for the mentioned above.

1 likely would, even if it kills him and especially if it weakens him (he’s accepted death a long time ago, it’s the final rest for him, and losing DT just means freedom and less pain and less suffering for others and him he thinks), while 2 may bury his wants deep down and go along with it if it seems to make Color happy.

But of course, if Killer doesn’t seem fully on board and enthusiastic about it, Color’s not going to make him.

{ @dseval }