#her spirit goes marching on

[aflowerbynoothername]

The Dead will Speak, for not even Death can Contain Us

I want to tell you a story about a trans woman who was murdered, and her surviving friends. The name most of you knew her by was "Emma," so that is what I will call her, here. I shouldn't be the one to tell you this story, I have no right to. But mostly everyone else who could tell it is either dead or dying behind bars. So if I don't, who will?

Recently, Alyssa Vance posted online about how Emma's friends pose a "danger to the community," using the events surrounding Emma's death to scaremonger and spread gossip.

Alyssa's post is highly irresponsible and malicious, since it's trivial to determine that the story Alyssa is spreading of Emma's murder is a lie. It's the same story that Emma's murderer, Curt Lind, has been telling. And Curt Lind is only telling that story because it's the only version of events where he isn't sent to prison for the rest of his life.

But it's not surprising that Alyssa would be party to amplifying Lind's lies. Alyssa has held a firm grudge against Emma and her friends for years. She's now monopolizing on this tragedy to threaten them.

So I want you to know exactly what happened to Emma, and the events Alyssa is lying to you about.

In This Backwards World You Get Rich being Evil and go to Jail for doing Good

Our world is upside down. The justice system represents injustice. Law and order is about creating an illusion of social peace to hide deep and systematic exploitation, violence, and injustice. Follow your conscience, not the law.

-- Subcowmandate Marcos

Curt Lind and his ex-CIA best friend, Patrick McMillan, spent months threatening Emma and her friends.

Unlike what the papers claim, Emma and her friends weren't squatters -- they were tenants who would struggle to find jobs or a place that would lease to them after MIRICFAR called a SWAT team on them in 2019. Members of CFAR's staff called the police and falsely claimed that Emma and her friends brought weapons to a peaceful protest in 2019. Subsequently, Emma and her friends were charged with trumped-up nonsense crimes following that protest, crimes which made it difficult for them to find housing.

Eventually, they managed to find a shady slumlord who would let them park their trucks on his lot. The lot had intermittent electricity, and the only running water was provided by a neighbor's garden hose.

That man was Curt Lind, the man who would eventually shoot Emma's friend SL six times, and murdered Emma.

A picture of Emma and her siblings

Alyssa is still attempting, all these years later, to make MIRICFAR's fake accusations sound legitimate. Because if they didn't sound legitimate, then you might start to wonder what Alyssa and her friends were so desperate to keep quiet.

So Alyssa wants you to believe that it was plausible for members of CFAR to have believed that Emma or her friends had brought weapons to their protest. That's why she continually paints Emma and her friends as violent psychos. She doesn't want you to know that her friends lied and called a SWAT team to threaten and coerce these whistleblowers into silence. She doesn't what you to know what her defense of abusers has wrought, or about the blood on her hands.

When Alyssa, CFAR, and their friends claim they didn't tell the police that Emma and her friends had guns during the 2019 protest, they're lying. The police recorded a 911 call from outside the camp falsely claiming that Emma and her friends had guns.

Veritatem cognoscere ruat cælum et pereat mundus

-- ddosecrets.com

Emma and her friends were protesting CFAR and MIRI's cover up of donor fraud, and accused multiple members of their staff and leadership of child molestation and sexual abuse, allegations which have been substantiated among the rationalist community, a community which had a culture of covering up sexual abuse, and of blaming abuse victims for their own abuse.

The rationalist community has seen multiple scandals, suicides, and heinous rapes, and all of it has been brushed under the rug for the sake of protecting the reputations of the community's pet rapists, sex traffickers, and paedophiles.

Sometime during COVID, Emma and her friends became unable to afford rent, in addition to the cost of their attorneys. They prioritized paying the attorneys, since losing that court case would be a worse fate for them than homelessness.

In 2022, they were still battling those trumped up charges from 2019. The police and Sonoma County court threw out the evidence that supported Emma and her friends' testimonies, including body cam footage. It was a mess of flagrant bizarre lies on the part of the prosecution and police.

So, from what I understand, they couldn't pay Lind anymore, but Lind couldn't evict them due to the COVID moratorium on evictions, which lasted through March 2022. Eventually, Lind escalated to slipping threatening notes under their doors, making sinister threats about how he intended to commit violence, and did harassment, and intimidation.

He and his friends were explicitly transmisogynistic, believing that Emma and her friends, who were trans, were "men posing as women." At some point, it is assumed that he heard rumors from the community that Emma and her friends were members of a cult, and started telling other tenants that they were strange and sinister, in an effort to alienate them from their neighbors.

This may have culminated in one of the other tenants jumping one of Emma's friends on the lot. The tenant tackled her to the ground and started punching her head repeatedly. Curt Lind didn't evict him afterwards, even though this attack was clearly unprovoked.

Meanwhile, Emma and her friends had been continually receiving death threats from various parties in the rationalist community, over the course of years. Ziz's parents were doxxed, Emma herself was threatened repeatedly. There were numerous attempts to blackmail them, all of which failed. Someone even credibly threatened to bomb a rationalist meetup and blame it on her. Others threatened to SWAT her again.

When one of Emma's friends fled an abusive rapist stalker, members of the community fearmongered that Emma and her "cult" were behind that friend's "disappearance," all the while the community was working in tandem with that friend's former abuser to find them. They threatened to call the police and tell them that Emma and her friends had murdered her friend!

That's obviously untrue, and some of these individuals knew that their own allegations were untrue and were using that friend's choice to stop speaking to their abusive ex as a means to create pretext to threaten to have another SWAT team called on false pretenses to Emma's home. It was an unending nightmare for them of terrifying, insane and evil threats from every corner.

A few of these threats were documented on Ziz's blog, though most of the them weren't published. Other adversaries, like John David Pressman, became sexually obsessed with Ziz, and posted an entire website of bizarre lies claiming Ziz was a cult leader who was doing some kind of sleep deprivation gag. It was later revealed that he, Hive (@slimepriestess,) and Ratheka made up the whole thing. But people kept sharing it, and the rumors that Ziz was some kind of malicious cult leader kept spreading.

A selection of some of the threats they've received over the years

People sending threats like these had their legal names, the names of their family members, addresses of their parents, phone numbers, etc.

All the while, they were dealing with a court case, a murderous transphobic landlord, violent neighbors, obsessive stalkers, truck issues, and a stack of problems that would make most people give up in despair. They didn't give up, and managed to tread water for years.

At least, they were up until the day that Emma was murdered by Curt Lind.

In the weeks leading up to Emma's death, Lind made a number of specific threats. Emma and her friends feared that he was a threat to their lives.

They were right to be afraid.

The details of what happened next are graphic. They're the unadulterated experiences of the people who survived his assault. You know that scene from HPMOR where Harry does everything he can to save Hermione, but she dies anyway? This was like that, but so much worse because it really happened. And I'm writing it down here because I want you fuckers in this community to know exactly what you're tittering about.

This is What it's Like when you Do Everything You Can but it isn't Enough

Early one morning in November 2022, Curt Lind left his trailer and walked across the lot, approaching Emma and her friends in front of Emma's home in Vallejo. The night before Emma and her friends were frantically packing their things, preparing to leave the lot. As far as I can tell, after interviews and checking records, there was no conflict that night involving rocks being thrown. Patrick McMillan, when interviewed in the papers, claimed that the night before Emma was shot, there was a confrontation resulting in McMillan calling 911. Then McMillan's story changed: instead of McMillan calling 911, it was Lind who did. I have found no record of them calling 911 that night. I have the records of "calls for service" from that area that night, and there is not a single call that corresponds to that location. Patrick McMillan is a liar.

Lind was angry that Emma and her friends had sued him. He wanted to prevent Emma and her friends from leaving with their possessions, and believed that if Emma and her friends died with their possessions still on Lind's lot, then Lind somehow automatically gained ownership over the solar panels and trucks, which Lind could then sell to cover his debts.

That morning, he decided to walk the length of the lot, all the way from his trailer to Emma's truck, carrying a gun.

It was early in the morning, and that morning, Emma ate her breakfast at her desk, in front of her laptop, at home. When family went inside her house, later, they found an unwashed bowl still resting on her desk. She never got a chance to wash it.

Lind shot Emma point-blank through her heart and lung. From the angle of the wound, it's possible she was already on the ground when Curt fired. She collapsed, and immediately her lung began filling with her heart's blood. She died within twenty seconds, violently coughing up chunks of her lung tissue onto her face and hair, in a futile attempt to clear her airways.

One of her friends was shot five or six times, in a futile effort to save Emma's life. She was hit through the neck and stomach. If she did anything, she only acted only in self-defense.

One of Emma's friend had been asleep. She woke to the sound of gunshots and rushed outside, but hid when she saw Lind staggering about, still brandishing his gun. He'd already emptied his gun, but she didn't know that. Lind left to seek out McMillan, and once he was gone, she found Emma and her fiend lying on the ground in growing pools of their own blood.

Someone ran back inside to call an ambulance.

The friend ran to SL's side, prioritizing saving her, falsely believing that Emma had been shot in the head, due to all the blood and chunks of lung tissue around Emma's mouth and around her head. Emma was her best friend.

SL wasn't breathing. So she ripped off some of SL's clothes, searching for bullet wounds. She missed the shots to SL's stomach in her panic. Didn't realize until later that SL had been shot so many times. But it's an understandable mistake -- SL wasn't breathing, and her focus was on getting her to breathe again. She performed CPR on her, and it worked. SL wheezed, and said something like, that she couldn't feel her legs.

The friend told SL that Emma was dying, that she needed her to keep breathing no matter what.

SL would stop breathing multiple times, that morning. I think I heard that her heart stopped at least once.

The friend turned to Emma, searching for bullet wounds, and found to her surprise that there were no bullet wounds in Emma's head. She began to hope that she could save Emma, too.

She tried performing CPR. She must've not pinched Emma's nose tightly enough, because her face got sprayed with Emma's blood from her nose. So she tried again, pinching her nose tighter.

Emma didn't start breathing, but every breath she breathed into Emma's body had no effect but to pass through the corpse's vocal cords, making Emma's body make a guttural sigh after every attempt to breathe back life into her.

That friend did her very best, cracked Emma's rib cage to try to get her heart beating again. For a second she even thought she heard Emma's heart beat, but it turned out she were just hearing her own blood rushing in her ear.

When the EMTs arrived, she carried Emma's body to them, risking arrest in the hope of a miracle. The cops who arrived with the EMTs threatened to shoot her, gave them contradictory orders -- get on the ground, don't move, put your hands up -- she ignored them, and explained that there was another victim, that she needed to go back because their friend was dying and someone needed to keep her breathing.

The EMTs and cops didn't care. They dawdled, focusing on threatening her and cuffing her over saving Lind's victims. SL survived because someone came back and kept her breathing, only to later be arrested for their efforts.

When the EMTs announced that Emma was dead, Emma's friend howled like a wounded animal.

Everything Matters All the Time; There are no Second Chances

So, that's what so many rationalists have been treating as their entertainment, these last few months. That's what they're making jokes out of. That's what they've been gossiping about.

It's horrifying, right? Emma's friend said afterwards, that when she was in the hospital, she couldn't get the taste of Emma's blood out of her mouth. She kept coughing; some of it had gotten into her own lungs.

Emma was her home. She said she will never be ok again.

Imagine having the love of your life's blood in your lungs because you tried everything you could to save her life, but it wasn't enough. And now she's dead, and you're in cuffs, and the cops are considering blaming you and your friends for her death instead of the fucking sicko who murdered her.

Can you imagine?

It's hard to express the horror of knowing that most the people you've ever cared about are dying or are dead already. Of doing everything you can to save them, and knowing that your best isn't enough and that they will probably die anyway. Of knowing that others could help, but choose not to. That those you ask for help will come up with all kinds of absurd fake "reasons" for why you're being "unreasonable."

So many humans took it for granted that this was all just a game, that the stakes were merely contained to reputational damage rather than to our lives. (But who the fuck thinks SWATing innocent people is a game?) And through all the fearmongering and nonsense, the biggest threat Emma and her friends posed to CFAR and MIRI was to their reputations.

They fought with their words. But those associated with MIRI and CFAR threatened Emma and her friends' lives, for the sake of protecting abusers.

And now Emma is dead, and there are no second chances.

So now, months later, when Alyssa attempts once again to make Emma's friends sound like dangerous nutjobs, I wonder how many in the rationalist community will fall for her bullshit once again.

So many so-called "rationalists" in the past would believe the stories of abusers who have every reason to lie over the words of those who are defending those abusers' victims. How daft are they? Do they like being taken for fools? For a community of supposedly smart people, they all certainly enjoy being taken for some. At some point, they stop looking like fools, and it starts looking like Emma's murder was what they desired all along.

Over the years so-called "rationalists" all let the likes of Alyssa Vance fearmonger and lie with no reproach, so as far as I can tell, here is what the rationalist community want to happen to people in or adjacent to the rationalist community, when they speak up about sexual abuse: they get SWATed, lied about, lose their jobs and housing, are pushed out to the margins and into the hands of murderous landlords, receive death threats for years, and then are shot to death by their landlord, or are accused of murder, and are then further slandered by community members who just can't miss a chance to rep for their favorite pedophiles, sex traffickers, and fraudsters. That is what they want the story of a whistleblower to be, in this community, in order to intimidate and threaten whistleblowers into silence.

So, in the strongest possible terms: fuck you, Alyssa.

Emma and her friends are the bravest, kindest people I've ever met. They've housed homeless folks and abuse victims for months with no expectation of reward, helped multiple people in or adjacent to that community escape their abusive parents, partners, and roommates, and the rationalist community would rather cover for those abusers rather than help those who protect victims.

injustice is contagious, any sustained defense of evil, gets you arbitrarily large amounts of evil.

-- Somni

What you think are "small acts of evil" or "doing the wrong thing for the right reasons," if you're wrong, will snowball into a disaster. It's not worth it. You will bitterly regret it, if you care at all.

-- Dyce

Now, once again, Emma's friends are being scapegoated. Because so many humans in this world would rather kill the best people in it than abandon their abusers.

The Weight of Emma's Body

ur heart cannot die & if ur heart cannot die, u cannot fail

-- Mi

To you who have threatened them and spread lies about them, I lay Emma's body at your feet. You who lied, bullshitted, and covered for abusers, rapists, sex traffickers, and pedophiles. You who SWATed them, got trumped up charges filed against them, so they'd never be able to hold another job or rent an apartment again. Look at the blood on the ground, look at the body. Look what you did. Did you think this would silence us?

Not even in death will we be silent. Our words and Emma's body will haunt you for the rest of your days.

No one good ever regrets doing the right thing. We'd do it over an infinity times, no matter the cost, no matter that some of us are dead or in jail. And we won't shut up, we won't stop talking about what you did, how the MIRICFAR leadership covered up fraud, participated in sex trafficking, and pedophilia, how their allies raped people, abused them, and covered it up.

And if I too should fall, another will take my place.

今日までの自分を 潔く　脱ぎ捨てる　裸にな 自由を舞う薔薇のように たとえ２人離ればなれになっても 私は世界を変える -- From this day, I will take myself and Bravely strip down to nothing at all, Like a rose spinning free. Even if the two of us are ever separated, I will change the world. 輪���-revolution

[princessbrunette]

rafe had been trying to pick a fight with bunny!reader all day due to his bad mood. however, due to her being a little ray of pink glittery sunshine — it just wasn’t happening.

first, the problem was the pink glittery dildo in your dresser that he found whilst snooping due to boredom, waiting for you to be done in the shower. he argues with himself whilst you sit at your vanity, giggling and happily doing your makeup.

“you tellin’ me you need that shit? ‘cus… ‘cus if that’s the case, don’t come begging for dick every thirty minutes when clearly you could be fixing your own problems.” he rants, huffing as you carefully brush mascara through your eyelashes.

“its not the same! pluuuus, i haven’t used that thing in ages. dont even know where you found it, daddy.” you’re clearly amused and it’s making things worse, locking eyes with your boyfriend through the mirror as he stands with his hands on his hips.

“think i’m stupid, right? if you weren’t still using this thing you would have thrown it in the trash.”

you spin on your stool, giving him a convincing pout. “i only use it when you go away on business trips with your dad, ‘cos i just miss you so much.”

he blinks, clearly not out of juice.

“you need to learn a little patience and self discipline, alright — you’ll appreciate this dick more without the fuckin’ silicone version.” he drawls and you giggle again at his word choice before bringing your manicured fingers to your lips to stop yourself.

“m’attached to it rafey. i like it. its pink and glittery and i’m not throwing it away.” you stand your ground, and his jaw ticks, looking around once more at the toy laying on your bed.

“cant do all the shit i do n’you know it… right? you call me when that toy fuckin’ chokes you out how you like it or spits in your damn asshole and shoves its thumb in there. yeah?” he mouths off before leaving the room, caring less and less about the argument as time goes on. now you really couldn’t fight him — he was playing dirty, and that made you horny.

his fighting spirit is given a new lease of life downstairs in the kitchen, when you accidentally blurt out the wrong name whilst speaking to him.

you’re giggling uncontrollably once more, grabbing at his shirt in the kitchen attempting to pull you closer as he holds his hands up, pretending to be totally disgusted.

“nah, who the fuck is that — huh? nate?”

“gosh, rafey — he’s from gossip girl! i was just thinkin’ about the show and your names sound similar! was an accident!” the fact you don’t sound sorry in the slightest is grinding his gears, not hugging you back when you manage to wrap your arms around him. “daddy hug me back.” you pout, and he peels you back with his hands on your shoulders.

“on thin fuckin’ ice today… alright?” he raises his eyebrows. you smile and nod, earrings jangling like there wasn’t a thought in your head.

it’s on the way to the country club that he’s really had enough, insisting on playing your music in the car, constantly winding down the volume to ask questions that didn’t need to be asked. your delicate hand reaches out for the volume toggle once more and he smacks it away.

“if you’re going to ask me if i’d still love you as a worm, or whatever bullshit you’ve conjured up — i suggest staying quiet, yeah? already told you that you’re pushing it today.”

he doesn’t have to look at you to know your smile is spreading.

“that wasn’t my question, but would you?”

the car pulls over to the side of the road with a swiftness, and he turns his body in his seat. you look unbothered as ever.

“why’d we stop?”

“you’re uh, you’re goin’ in the trunk. okay?” he rasps slowly, nodding his head like it would hypnotise you into agreeing. somehow, it worked — because your grin remains.

“okay!”

he marches over to your side and yanks you out before walking you round the back and opening the trunk. “i’m serious. get in.”

you do with no complaints — and by the time he is back in the drivers seat, he believes he’s taken it too far. however there’s no banging around, no crying, no screaming for him to let you out — so he drives away. the silence is rewarding, but he doesn’t feel great about it.

when he pulls up to the country club, he’s quick to walk around the backside of his truck and open up the trunk, relieved to see you happy as a clam — and lifts you out from under your arms. “that was fun! it was like you were a kidnapper, but also my boyfriend.” your eyes have a twinkle to them as he marches you towards his group of friends, gawking with questioning gazes.

“yeah you like that shit? ‘that turn you on?” he bites back sarcastically, but you nod anyway.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Link 1, Link 2 :)

Digital Good Omens 2 Sountrack is coming out in 4 days! 🥳 CD version in October! :) ❤ Coming soon on vinyl…

Out to Stream/Download from 25th August. Out on CD 13th October. Coming soon on vinyl…

David Arnold’s ‘end of the world’ complex and multi-genre soundtrack.

From the Award-winning composer of Sherlock and Casino Royale comes a follow up to the hugely successful, Emmy nominated Good Omens soundtrack.

Good Omens series 2 premiered on Prime Video on 28th July. The series follows the odd couple, angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and demon Crowley (David Tennant) in their quest to sabotage the end of the World. The six-episode sequel to the popular adaptation of the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, concerns the Archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm) arriving without his memories to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to find out what happened to Gabriel, whilst hiding him from Heaven and Hell, both eager to find him.

The Soundtrack

David Arnold’s soundtrack to Good Omens was first released in 2019 to favourable reviews, with BBC Music Magazine calling it “a rollicking trip to hell and back”. Blueprint Magazine described it as “a great listen” and Sci Fi Bulletin commented on “plenty of memorable themes” to conclude that “This is another work of art from Arnold”. At times nostalgic and eerie but always varied, beautiful and full of excitement, the Good Omens 2 soundtrack showcases Arnold’s every skill from his composer arsenal. Featured here are orchestral arrangements with sprinkling of Sugar Plum Fairy pizzicato and percussion, jaunty strings and mighty choral sweeps from Crouch End Festival Chorus. Added to the mix are rock guitar riffs, and psychedelic 70s sounds and all together they create a haunting otherworldly feel, complementing the fantasy and the quirky humour of the show. The spirited Waltz of the opening theme is also present in the second series and it wonderfully sets the scene for fantastical mayhem. In series 2, this robust, evocative, and funny music entity, becomes yet again another character in the story. Award-winning composer David Arnold is well known for his blockbuster scores, including Stargate, The Chronicles of Narnia: the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Hot Fuzz, Paul, Independence Day, 2 Fast 2 Furious and Casino Royale as well as for his TV work such as Sherlock and Dracula. Also available: The original soundtrack to the first series of Good Omens >

Tracklist

– Disc 1 – Chapter 1: The Arrival 1. Before the Beginning 2. Good Omens 2 Opening Title 3. Into Soho 4. Something Terrible 5. To The Bookshop 6. Maggie and Nina 7. He’s Smoking 8. Tiny Miracle 9. Heavenly Alarm Bells Chapter 2: The Clue 10. Avaunt! 11. The Song is the Clue 12. It’s What God Wants 13. A Mighty Wind 14. Whales 15. Gabriel Returns 16. His New Children 17. Am I Awful Now? 18. Fallen Angel Chapter 3: I Know Where I’m Going 19. Police Arrive 20. Scotland 21. We’re Going to Hell 22. People Get a Choice 23. My Car is Not Yellow 24. Beelzebub in Hell 25. The Book 26. The Fly 27. Mr. Dalrymple 28. We Need to Cut 29. I’m Going to Save Her 30. Crowley Goes Large 31. Not Kind 32. Beelzebub Isn’t Happy – Disc 2 – Chapter 4: The Hitchhiker 33. Hell-O 34. Nazi Zombies 35. March of the Nazi Zombies 36. Crowley Pep Talk 37. The Magic Shop 38. Catch The Bullet 39. Zombies in the Dressing Room Chapter 5: The Ball 40. I’ll Let You Have It 41. We’re Storming a Book Shop 42. Monsieur Azirophale 43. The Candelabra 44. Here Comes Hell 45. Gabriel Gives Himself Up 46. Shax 47. The Circle Chapter 6: Every Day 48. Bin Through the Window 49. Gabriel Leaving Heaven 50. The Halo 51. Gabriel Revealed 52. Gabriel’s Love Story 53. Leaving The Bookshop 54. Gabriel and Beelzebub 55. Crowley and Muriel 56. I Forgive You 57. Don’t Bother 58. The Biggest Decision 59. The End?

[varpusvaras]

Jason and Jade met on some mission before Jason went back to Gotham, and they continued to sometimes meet up afterwards as well. Mostly on missions, again, but sometimes Jade would just come up at Jason when he's having breakfast or something and they would chat a little bit.

Perhaps they, in some way, felt like kindred spirits. Both on a mission that they feel like they need to do, even if it's not necessarily all that they want out of life, but they also don't know if they can live another type of life, either.

Anyway a few years in, there's a knock at the front door, and when Roy goes to open it, Jade is standing on the other side, in civilian clothes and with a very expensive pair of sunglasses on her eyes and even more expensive bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hi?" Roy says. "It's not like you to come knocking on my door like this."

"I'm not here for you", Jade says (though it's not unkindly).

Roy completely understands.

"Lian's at Ollie and Dinah's", he says. "I can call them-"

"I know, I will come visit her too", Jade says. "But right now I'm not here for her, either."

"Okay?" Roy is now officially out of the loop, it seems.

"I'm here for business", Jade says, very unhelpfully, and then masterfully steps around Roy and into the house. "Bird Boy!"

Jason makes a sound from the kitchen, and Jade marches in there. Roy follows her, and steps into the kitchen just in time to see Jason hand Jade a cup of tea, and for Jade to pull out something wrapped very tightly in plastic from her bag. It makes a very loud thump as it hits the table, and Roy realises very quickly that this is going to be a very long day.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 60

part 1 | part 59 | ao3

cw: reference to canonical minor character death

Max slams the phone down, knocking her forehead against the wall. Sixteen calls in a row and still no answer. “I give up,” she sighs. “You should just go.” “Seriously?” Steve protests. “And just leave you here? Alone? After—?” After all that? He throws his hands out like an umpire calling a safe. “No. No way.” “Look, my mom will be home soon, you can’t—” “—I’m not letting you get hurt—!” “—What are you gonna do? Fight my nightmares for me?”

“Maybe I will,” Steve mutters under his breath, pissed off and replaying the conversation on repeat while he gets ready. Feels like a psycho for doing it; feels certifiably unhinged just going about his evening after everything that happened, putting on a clean shirt and choking himself in a cloud of Farrah Fawcett spray so he can go pick up the sweet-but-stupid girl named Brenda he promised to take to the game tonight; so he can go cheer in the bleachers like he didn’t almost die.

(Or like, very vividly hallucinate his own death, which... Yeah. Doesn’t feel any less horrific.)

But whatever. Max is right. Without El, there’s really nothing to do but wait. Hop’s dead, Bob’s dead, Joyce is thirty hours away. Owens is off the table, too. What’s Steve gonna do? Call the government and tell them to come nuke the boogeyman? He doesn’t have any proof. 

He also doesn’t want to freak Dustin or any of the other kids out without knowing for sure what’s going on and what, if anything, can be done about it, so...

Fuck.

Fuck!

He gets dressed; he goes out. Picks up Brenda and does his best to be nice to her even though she gets on his nerves the moment she gets into his car, and he buys them sodas at the gas station and doesn't say a word when she spills Sprite down the side of his passenger seat.

The school is packed when they show up — the crowd in high spirits, the marching band leading chants. Nancy's reporting from the sidelines, Lucas is laughing with his teammates on the bench, and Steve leads Brenda toward the bleachers and does his best not to think. Not about the graveyard, not Max, not the looming threat of cosmic terrors. Not about the fact that Eddie is somewhere in this building, probably looking all hot and menacing while he leads tonight's campaign. Probably perched on a prop throne drinking Mountain Dew from a painted chalice like a fucking dork; probably making it look sexy, anyway. Tight jeans, legs spread, an air of casual command…

Steve could go find him. He could make everyone else leave; he could get on his knees and crawl between Eddie's legs—

"Does it bother you that we might win the championship, like, right after you graduated?"

Reality comes back like a slap in the face. "Yeah, that's an excellent question, Brenda, thank you so much for bringing that up."

They get settled into their seats, and Steve wishes he were more excited when the ref throws the jump ball, but he mostly just wants to go home. ("You always want to go home," the Robin in his head reminds him, and the Robin in real life throws him a weird look when she catches him snorting to himself about it.) He's just tired. Worn down in his bones, hollowed where he thinks his marrow should be, and he's clinging to normalcy with a sort of sweaty desperation that he’s pretty sure Brenda can smell on him because the date just sucks; it’s so bland, so mutually boring and bored. He spends most of the night mouthing stupid shit at Robin or keeping a sharp eye on the court — anything to ignore his proximity to Eddie; anything to drown out his messed-up head and heart. 

When the game finally ends Brenda gets a ride to a party with some friends. Steve goes back to Dustin’s place and paces a hole into the carpet. Stays up until 3 A.M., humming a Fleetwood Mac song.

In the morning, he tells himself as he drifts into fitful sleep. 

In the morning it’ll be fine. 

In the morning Max will come by the store like she promised, and they’ll keep trying until they get ahold of El, or Owens, or someone, and that someone will know what to do and how to help.

—

In the morning the TV tells him there’s a dead girl in his house.

—

part 61

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

My Home Is You Part 1/3

A/N: I am so obsessed with this movie, I've seen it twice. Enjoy. Leave a comment, like, or reblog if you've enjoyed it. Thank you to @kingliam2019 for requesting.

Fandom: The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare

Pairing: Gus March-Phillips x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, Nazi's, canon typical violence, possible spoilers for the movie, and mentions of sexual assault.

Part 2 Part 3

“What’s that?” Freddy points to the lump behind Gus’s coat. 

“Nothing,” Gus shrugs, “shall we.” 

“We shall not,” Freddy shouts exasperated, “it’s moving! Unless you became the hunchback of Notre Dame in the ten minutes I left you, you got something hidden behind your back!” 

“He’s got a point, boss,” Hazy shrugs. 

Gus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I think the jig is up,” he pushes the coat up and out you pop from behind his side, disappearing behind him with a shriek. 

“Where the hell did you find a woman?!” Freddy looks around, then goes silent putting two and two together, “Oh, I see.” 

“She’s coming with us,” Gus reaches behind him and you grasp his hand, trembling hard at being surrounded by so many men. His touch is warm, and you take a moment to breathe before stepping out from behind him at your full height. 

“Hello,” you whisper, giving an awkward wave. 

Gus lets go of your hand and claps making you jump and his face quickly turns apologetic, “Fuck, sorry about that, love. These are the boys,” he points to each man giving you a quick rundown on his merry band of miscreants. He turns to you with a proud smile, “I never did catch your name.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Freddy puts his hands on his hips, sticking out one finger towards Gus, “you find a random woman hidden in a Nazi garrison, fight your way out with her, and decide to bring her with us, without asking her name first?” 

“Probably did it a bit backward,” Gus rubs the back of his head with a chuckle, “but I’m making up for it now.” 

You clear your throat and they all turn towards you as you say your name, a small smile spreading across your face when they repeat it to you. “Welcome to the team,” Anders bows before putting his bow over his shoulder, “shall we get back to the boat, we got somewhere we need to be.” 

“After you,” Gus says, frowning when he realizes Anders is already halfway back to the boat. “That’s the spirit Lassen, lead the way!” Gus slings an arm around your shoulder and helps you walk, it’s slow and painful; your foot aches with every step but you keep it to yourself. These men have already done enough liberating you and agreeing to take you with them. The last thing they need is for you to be injured. But nothing gets past Gus. 

He doesn’t ask, just leans down and swings you up into his arms. You gasp, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck. “Wh-what are you doing?” you whisper. 

“You’re limping,” he whispers back, almost like two children sharing a secret, he grins. “I’m not about to let you hurt yourself worse before I can take a look at your injuries.” 

“I’m fine,” you bite your lip looking away, “you’ve done enough already.” 

Gus stops, the others moving around him to toss the rope down the cliff side, “Darling, I know you’ve just spent gods knows how long with the worst creatures imaginable but not all of us are monsters.” 

“I didn’t say you were,” you turn back to him, and catch your breath when you notice how close he is. “I don’t think you’re a monster at all,” you whisper, swallowing hard, “I just don’t want to cause you any more trouble.” 

“Do you know what I thought when I saw you tucked behind that wall crying and holding your ears?” You shake your head, and he grins, “She looks like just my kind of trouble.” 

The first smile in months spreads like wildfire across your face and you nod. “Ready?” Apple interrupts, “We managed a pulley to get her down.” 

Gus nods, lifting you into the makeshift pulley and working with Apple to lower you down. When you reach the ground Lassen lifts you into his arms while Gus and Apple come down and re-wrap the rope around their arms. 

When finished, Gus reaches his arms out for you and Anders smiles, tugging you closer. “I think I’ll hold on to her for a while. Give you a break,” he looks down giving you a conspiratorial wink. 

“Give me back my damsel,” Gus holds out his arms wider, “I’m not going to ask again.” 

“Who are you calling a damsel?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, and Lassen lets out a joyful cheer. 

“You tell him, honey,” he turns walking with you back towards the dinghy. His glee makes a ghost of a laugh appear in your throat before you toss your head back in delight. 

Apple pats Gus on the back as he climbs into the boat and you look back to see Gus smiling, a full-blown smile just for you and you rest your head on your arm and look back at him. “It’s good to see you laugh,” he mouths, and your cheeks ache from smiling as he sits down and begins to row. 

“Row row, row your boat,” Lassen mumbles under his breath, the lull of the waves and the feeling of safety making your eyes droop. “Oh, the little lamb is tired, no?” he whispers in your ear, “You rest, no one will harm you ever again.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you repeat your fathers words aloud. 

“Little lamb, with the way Gus is looking at me right now. You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you for the rest of your life.” He rubs a hand over your arm and chuckles, mumbling, “if looks could kill.” 

“He won’t always be there,” your words are drowsy as you burrow deep into his arms, letting out a yawn. 

“Ah, little lamb, I highly doubt that,” Lassen chuckles softly, before you feel yourself being lifted into anothers arms. The scent of smoke, cologne, and leather lull you into a deeper sense of calm and you snuggle into his arms. Gus looks down, brushing a knuckle over your cheek and committing your face to memory as you fall asleep, breathing softly. “Take a picture,” Lassen teases, “it will last longer.” 

“Her cell was next to mine,” Apple interrupts, “she was always so nice to me. Tried to patch me up the best she could through the bars. I tried to return the favor, everytime they brought her….fuck I can still hear the screaming.” The men are silent, the waves crashing against the dinghy as they get closer and closer to the boat. 

“Well,” Freddy clears his throat, “she’s safe now.” They reach the boat, helping Gus aboard and watching as he disappears below deck with you. 

“Heaven help the man who tries to take her away from him,” Hayes clears his throat, and the rest climb aboard and continue on toward Fernando Po. 

Below deck, Gus tucks you into his bunk and watches the rise and fall of your chest before he moves towards the end of the bed, and lifts the blanket to remove your shoe. He curses when he sees the bruising around your ankle. He removes the other shoe and has to control his breathing when he sees the same markings; shackles. 

“Never again,” he whispers, grabbing bandages and ointments and applying them to your ankles. The bottom of your foot is no better, and he grabs the tweezers removing several shards of glass and bandaging your feet. “No wonder you were limping,” he talks to himself. He takes the next twenty minutes checking over the parts of your body he can see, treating every little cut and bruise. When he’s finished he walks over to a basin of water and washes his hands before pouring a glass of scotch and sitting down at the map. 

He loses track of the time, his head snapping up from the table when the screaming starts. He pushes the chair out, climbing over the table to grab your thrashing body. He repeats your name over and over again till your eyes pop open, gasping you reach towards him throwing your arms around his neck and letting out a sob. “I thought it was a dream,” you sob brokenly into his skin, almost crawling into his lap, “I dreamed I was back there,” you take a deep breath, “that they were…” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pulling back to put both hands on your face, his thumbs brushing the tears from your eyes. “You’re safe,” he repeats once, then twice, “do you hear me?” 

“I’m safe,” you repeat back, the tears silently streaming down your face. From the stairs, the men stare at the scene before them. “Uh oh,” Freddy shakes his head, and the others turn to him with various questions. “Look at them,” he points back to you and Gus, “he looks at her like he just realized what love was.” 

“I didn’t know you were a romantic, Freddy,” Apple claps him on the shoulder with a laugh. “I’m not,” he shrugs, “but I’m also not blind. That right there,” he points a finger, “that’s love if I ever saw it. You just wait, I bet you ten pounds she goes home with him at the end of this mission.” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Hayes tosses over his shoulder. 

Apple raises a brow, “you don’t think they’ll end up getting hitched once we’re home.” 

“That wasn’t the bet,” Hayes grins, “he bet that she’ll go home with him at the end of the mission. I think we’ll either be dead or in jail so she probably won’t be going home with him.” 

“Never bet against yourself, Hazy,” Freddy shakes his head, “have I taught you nothing.” 

“It’s your deal,” Henry reminds him before shrugging past to go back to the deck, “let’s go, give them some privacy.” 

Their steps recede and Gus rubs the last of your tears away, “do you want something to eat?” 

“Yes,” you nod, moving from his lap and tugging the blanket around your shoulders. When you step down, you quickly look at the bandages around your feet and ankle before meeting his eyes, “thank you,” you whisper, “for everything.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he puts the kettle on, “any decent human being would do the same.” You sit down at the table seeing the maps and confidential files spread across the surface. Gus grabs the papers and puts them into a pile before putting down a cup of steaming tea before you. 

“I have a few questions,” you wrap your hands around the cup, absorbing some of the warmth. 

He takes a sip, blowing the top with a grin, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” 

“What were you doing in the Garrison?” 

“Rescuing Appleyard,” he takes another sip, “we needed him.” 

“For what?” 

Gus puts down his cup, crossing his arms over his chest and your heart beats a little louder at how strained the fabric is over his bulging biceps. You quickly take a sip of your tea, burning your tongue when you meet his eyes, seeing amusement sparkle. “Enjoying the show?” you cough, the tea spilling down the front of your dress. “Shit,” he shouts, grabbing a towel and pulling out the chair beside you to sit down. You grab it and soak up the liquid from your dress, the top sinking lower with each tug. 

When you’re finished you glance up to see his eyes on your chest before he quickly averts his eyes and clears his throat. “Enjoying the show?” you smile softly when he coughs and lets out a strained laugh. 

“Very much,” he turns his head and your mouth goes dry. Neither says anything for a moment before he goes back to the pile and tugs out the map. You take another sip of tea to prevent being parched when he spreads it over the table. “We’re on a secret mission for the English government.” “Come again?” you clear your throat, sitting up straighter. 

He grins, “We are on an unsanctioned, unofficial mission to destroy a ship and two tug boats holding enough supplies to supply the German U-boats for six months. We destroy those ships and we regain control of the Atlantic.” 

“And how do you plan to do that?” 

“Explosives,” he pushes a tin of biscuits towards you, “tons of explosives. What do you think?” 

You sit there for a moment, processing everything he’s said before reaching into the tin and pulling out a ginger snap. You dip it into your cup before taking a bite with a grin, “where can I sign up?” 

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

i think its weird that the story has allll of this time to explore the archeron sister dynamics but never does. there's a good six years of time that goes by before the real rift between the sister starts (when feyre goes hunting). we know that papa archeron favored feyre and elain - why doesn't the story delved into what that may have felt like for nesta to lose her mother and then be placed in a dynamic where she isn't liked anymore. and then to add everything on top, they're poor, they've lost their status, everything that gave nesta value doens't exist anymore. and not only that - she's lost her only source of validation. the kind of cool exploration of jealousy and girlhood. that's a huge shift for all of the girls.

or how does feyre factor into this new dynamic. we can assume that for her formative years, she was neglected or isolated from her sisters. and while that allows freedom, in some sense, it breeds loneliness, and resentment. or even an eagerness to please. exploring how feyre may subconsciously looks for validation through martyrdom would be very interesting. it’s something i felt like was at least present on a surface level. the hunting doesn’t even have to be about love for her sisters, it could have been an aha moment; a moment where feyre realizes how she can establish value for herself in that household. think about it: no one ever saw feyre, no one ever saw her as valuable, it would make sense if the story played into the absurdity of feyre’s hunting. like it makes no sense logically to us as readers, but to feyre as a character it’s the only way she feels she can make her family actually see her. this could even develop into creating the idea that feyre's love language is through acts (which I think is actually something substantiated in the text). if we were to continue onto

and even the 'favoritism' that's shown toward feyre and elain is something to be explored bc its not something the sister's actually 'benefit' from. it just exists. its not like feyre gets extra meals bc papa archeron may like her better, and its not like elain benefits from that dynamic as well. it just obvious he's very offput by nesta - that he viewed nesta oftentimes as a woman instead of a little girl.

and then what happens with nesta, feyre, and elain have to grapple with the ways they’ve been abused.

during feyre’s formative years, she wouldn’t have received the physical abuse and harassment that nesta received from mother and grandmother so her understanding of nesta’s dynamic with their mother would have been more romantic. feyre may associate any type of attention as positive due to the result of her own neglect by her mother. so she would’ve gone on not understanding nesta’s turmoil.

on the flipside nesta would have romanticized feyre’s “freedom.” and grown jealous of the kind of free-spirited person feyre she perceives feyre to be bc of such. there is no fear of not following the rules, of being perfect, of having to sacrifice your happiness for a good match. and while some of this is true for feyre, it’s not necessarily positive. it doesn’t negate that feyre’s neglect was just abuse too. the book could even explore the jealousy nesta feels at not being to be ‘master of her own fate.’ and how her childhood made mental roadblocks that make it hard to just march to the beat of your own drum.

these are conflicts that can (1) still reiterate the theme of abuse and abusive family relationships. (2) this reads into an actual feminist lens in which these women are complex characters dealing with a complex sitituation. the expectation is not that nesta, feyre, and elain remain these morally good paragons of virtuousness.

we have elain - who arguably operates one of the most interesting portions of the sisterly dynamic by being the middle sister. i think that could breed a character that’s much more organically perceptive to the world around her. i even think the story attempts this initially at the end of tar before there was a hard reset in maf. think about it - she’s could be placed in situations that hallmark that gradual loss of self in this dynamic; how does elain feel about the arguments between feyre and nesta? perhaps she follows nesta bc there is jealousy? resentment? or does she envy feyre’s ability to take charge of her own life? i would have it where elain has to grapple with these false perceptions of her sister and how she can find her own spine. we could even argue that maybe the sisters (feyre and nesta) are tangibly holding her back (not just implied) and have the sisters deal with how they contribute to elain's initial lack of a spine.

the story could play it in so many directions. mutual jealousy between all three sisters, all envious of one another bc of how isolated they were to each other. if the story wanted to, it could even still play into the idea of an abusive nesta with this dynamic - flesh out her abuse in ways that still (1) emphasize the tragedy of these women and (2) establish that feyre is a victim in this scenario (see: azula). if the story moved away from moralization and just told a story the existence of an abusive nesta would not be this controversial (considering all of the male leads are kind of abusive). i also think the exploration of a tangibly abusive nesta could factor in a broad thematic discussions around abuse.

[relaxtimestwo]

Kafka 🕸 Witch Hat Atelier AU

It is finally complete! BrimHat!Kafka's character sheet!

If you would like more context, check out the "hsr x wha au" tag!

More on Kafka's AU lore under the cut ⁀➷

Using forbidden magic, Kafka has altered various part of her body. Most notably are her ink claw and her augmented vocal cords. The ink claws are hollow inside and hold ink, allowing her to cast spells on the fly easily. The augmented vocal cords are a key component for her Spirit Whisper spell. Her voice is capable of speaking in a frequency that can only be heard by the spell's victim.

---

Kafka belongs to a group of Brim Hats called the Stelleron Hunters, who, true to their name, collect Stellerons.

Not much is known about stellerons, except that they are harbingers of disaster. Is they remnants from before the Day of the Pact? Perhaps ancient contraptions? Or maybe signs of divine wrath? Rumour has it that knowledge of it's true nature is only know by the Three Wise ...and the Stelleron Hunters.

---

While travelling on its usual route, the Express suddenly screeches to a halt. It's stuck. As the the crew members (Pom-Pom, Himeko, Welt, Dan Heng and March 7th) rush to the front to check what's wrong, the power goes out. Neon pink webs shoot up from the floor. Then, illuminated by the glowing webs, a woman with striking purple-pink eyes appears.

"Kafka." Himeko stands protectively in front of her fellow crew members, weapon at the ready.

"Relax, Astral Express." Kafka's smile curls up further but doesn't reach her eyes.

"I've brought gifts~"

[gyuswhore]

Pure Math 171

choi seungcheol x reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, humour

warnings: math. (1) dirty joke. thats it i think (lmk if there's more)

synopsis: Walking into the first class of the semester shouldn't have been as eventful as it was (not that you can complain for long)

masterlist

(A/N): I haven't posted a fic in a while so i hope i redeem myself with this one hehe. a million thank yous to @toruro for beta-ing for me (even at the dentists lol) you can thank her for this too shes the reason i finished so quickly kjvkdfjg

It takes a lot to surprise you. 

It’s not that you enjoy it, but your friends simply make it easy to read them. It took Soonyoung seven human years to learn the art of surprise birthday parties. You know, the ones where you aren’t supposed to know he’s throwing a party just for you. Or Minghao, before he learned the art of deceit, and held his disdain like a badge on his face. 

You seem to have honed the skill of psychics better than most, confident in your ability as a higher-risk party trick. 

Skipping into the new semester at uni, you enter your lecture hall at the reasonable hour of 8 in the morning, expecting nothing but the usual. No surprises were to come your way today, just another first day back, fueling for the coming months.

You push the doors of your lecture hall open, ready to greet your professor for Pure Mathematics 171, pushing your spirits high to commence your per semester buttering. What you find though, is the front desk crowded with students wanting to do the exact same, all for the professor that would be teaching the most dreaded unit of the course. Of course. 

You spot Soonyoung among the crowd as he spots you at the door as well. You note how gleeful he looks at this hour. This can’t be good. Hao too presses his mouth together in an attempt to conceal his budding smile, hand to mouth when he miserably fails.

What on Earth was so funny? 

Attempting to crane your neck, over and under, to catch a glimpse of the ever popular professor, you find yourself blocked by the sea of math nerds and ass-kissers just like yourself. Curiosity was becoming a little too much for you to bear, not that your friends sniggering and whispering while looking directly at you was helping at all. You were just about to march up to the two and demand to be put on their shoulders to see what the fuss was about. Until—

“Alright! It’s almost 8, let’s save the chatter for after class, how about?” you hear a voice boom in the centre of the anthill. 

You knew that voice.

You watch in slow motion as the hoard of bodies disperse, not missing the pointed glances of both your friends directed at the teacher’s table. 

And then you see it. Standing there, looking down at his folder sheets, dry-erase marker in hand. 

Choi Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol was your professor.

Your boyfriend was your professor.

How did this happen? Did he know about this? Was he keeping it from you? Were you blind when you read the clear ‘Dr. Kim’ next to your unit code? 

Seungcheol doesn’t notice you standing there slack mouthed and frozen in his classroom. Until he does. 

Instead of mimicking your shocked expression, you watch as his mouth goes to pull what you recognise as a smirk. 

Oh, he thinks this is hilarious. 

His eyebrows are raised as he questions you, “Will you be taking a seat, miss?” 

It’s then that you realise you're in the middle of a lecture hall with about a hundred eyes watching you as you gape at your collective professor. Could they be mistaking your imminent horror as you checking him out? 

If this was another situation maybe you would have, but this was starting to sound like a sick joke. 

But alas, you could not confront your professor like that, at least not in front of an audience. So you find it within yourself to slowly slug towards the staircase to plant yourself next to your friends. Both of whom were having the absolute time of their lives watching your dazed expression. 

You might have committed murder that day. 

You’re forced to snap out of it as you hear Seungcheol - professor Choi - begin to speak at the front of the class.

“Good morning everybody,” he starts, hands on his desk, a pleasant expression on his face as he awaits a response from his borderline comatose students. A chorus of good mornings greet him back, excluding your own.

“Hope you guys had a good break, welcome to Pure Math 171, my name is Professor Choi” he moves to scribble his name on the whiteboard, “And I would like to be referred as such.” 

His gaze finds you in your seat as he utters those words. He is quick to shift.

“We’re gonna be starting light today, I’ll be going through our unit guide and grading system…” 

Seungcheol talks. And talks. And talks. And you don’t listen. You watch instead.

You’re mad at him. Really mad at him. But you can’t help but wonder as he walks around looking like that. He’s in the simplest dress shirt and slacks of a neutral colour, but he wears it oh so well. 

You’ve watched him every morning as he gets dressed for work, knowing his attire has always suited him. Your friends who have been in his classes have expressed their disappointment when told he wasn’t single, and promptly draw open in shock when they realize it's you that’s snagged him before the world could. 

Seungcheol, for lack of a better word, hits different when he’s in his element. His hair is pushed back and out of his face, noting how his glasses look so much sexier when he’s pacing the room with hands dipped in his pockets. He’s speaking tongues of numbers and symbols, and it’s suddenly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

But you're mad at him. It shouldn’t be that hard to remind yourself. 

“You know, you’re being real ungrateful for a person who just got a free pass on the hardest class this fucking insitution can cook up,” Soonyoung whisper-shouts next to you.

Minghao quips beside him, “Look alive, sister, you’ve hit the jackpot.”

“Were you two in on it?” you finally snap, irritated at their apparent glee. 

Soonyoung snorts, “Fuck, no, we saw him when we walked in this morning”

“So did he know?” 

“Oh, I think Professor Choi would be glad to tell you himself after hours,” Minghao sleazes while Soonyoung throws you the greasiest wink known to man. 

Disgusted and disturbed, you turn your attention back to the front of the room. You’re still disgusted and disturbed. Seungcheol is still there, looking like he does, scribbling some example equation on the board. 

“Hmm. I think professor Choi ought to know his favourite student’s having trouble paying attention? We can’t have that, you should move up front.”

You do move. Away from your friends to the seats higher up. 

It’s a mind-numbing two hours in which you think you experience every emotion possible. 

You think of your friends who have sat in his classes all semester, that have ogled him and admitted his apparent attractiveness. There were people in this room that were thinking the very same thing in this very moment, and it was making your skin crawl. You wanted to get up and scream: This is your boyfriend.

But alas, you are but a tired, tired college student. He wouldn’t fail you, would he? Then again, he has a ruthless streak of keeping you from the lights of life when you’re slacking in dire times. You might be the love of his life, but he remains a man of discipline. 

It’s an annoying trait, but only ever in the moment. He might be the sole reason you haven’t completely lost yourself in the sea of academics. 

“I think we can wrap up with that, it’s basic stuff but it won’t hurt to revise on your own before next week when we really get into it,” Seungcheol’s voice booms.

There’s a churn in your stomach for some reason, and you have to neutralize your breathing as you watch the lecture hall slowly empty out. A few students remain lingering at the front desk for yet another round of buttering. Seungcheol entertains them, pleasant smile on his face, nodding along to something. You remain seated, arms and legs crossed as you stare daggers into the top of Seungcheol’s head as he speaks with his students. 

The remaining students file out as well, and you notice how Soonyoung and Minghao are long gone, leaving just you and Seungcheol alone in this big, big room. 

It’s only then that he looks up searching, to check if you had left yet.

He remembered quick. 

His eyes finally land on your, disgruntled, tight form, refusing to make eye contact for more than three seconds before huffing audibly, moving to put away your things. Seungcheol moves around his front desk, hands in pockets, hiking his way up the lecture steps to where you were at the top row. 

You’re shoving your laptop in your bag by the time he’s done with his trek, planting himself on the chair next to you loudly. You ignore him.

“Do you think we’d get in trouble if they caught us like this?” he muses after a few silent moments.

“Caught us like what?” You snap. There goes your pledge to remain silent.

“You can’t possibly think a teacher and his student caught in a classroom by themselves is necessarily a point in our favor” 

“I’ll do the honors then” with that you’re swinging your bag over your shoulder to trudge behind him to the steps leading down, wanting to be out of his presence for the time being. 

You’re barely past him when there’s a grip on your wrist, firm and purposeful, that tugs you backwards in a harsh manner. The bag on your shoulder is sent to the floor while you, in your entirety, are sent straight into Seungcheol’s lap. 

Bastard. 

The smirk on his face is enough to send you into a pot of livid fumes, right after you’re done balancing yourself on his shoulders. You try not to grip on too tight. 

“What makes you think you can leave without being dismissed?”  

“What the fuck.” 

“Language, miss. I don’t tolerate obscenities in my classroom.” It might’ve been a menacing threat, but with what lay behind the glint in his eyes you knew he was being a little shit. 

It takes you every fibre in your body to refrain from thinking too much about him. Him and his hands that rest on your thighs, him and his hands that are placed near your waist, stroking and pressing into your shirt. 

No, you're mad at him.

“Did you know?” you ask finally, tired of the back and forth.

“Nope,” he replies, “Found out when you walked in.” 

“Do you not read your attendance sheet? Isn’t that your job? You had the entirety of summer to give me a heads up, this is your fault!” 

“Dr. Kim got into an accident last night, she’s out of service for the rest of the semester. I didn’t know until I came in for my other class I was being switched over—” 

“How does that happen?!” you almost yell.

He’s silent for a moment before beginning again, “Do you want me to ask for another class?” 

Wait, what. 

“I didn’t say that—” You can’t finish because your being pushed off your seat on his lap to stand while he gets up as well.

“I’ll go talk to the co-ordinator then, class isn’t working out for me.” With that he’s trudging back down the steps, making a beeline for the door.

You’re left stunned at the top of the stairs, not knowing if he was being serious or not. Were you about to let his presence bother you that bad? To the point he had to switch classes? What were you even that upset about? 

Twirling around in place trying to look for the bag that was strewn about earlier, you grab the straps and race down the steps. If Seungcheol can hear your bounding footsetps, he doesn’t show it. Instead you crash into his back just as he’s about to leave the room, to which he turns around. 

The smirk seems glued to his face and you realize right then you may have been lured. With the 180° that had become of your perception, you couldn’t be mad at him anymore, cooling off the simmer that had been brewing for the past couple hours. 

“Maybe…Maybe I can live with seeing your face for a couple hours a week,” you mumble, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact.

He lets out an incredulous laugh, “Couple hours a week?! Do you realise we sleep in the same bed at night, pretty sure that’s more than a couple hours.”

“You know what I meant!” you huff, arms crossed and turning your head away. You cringe slightly at how you voice echoes across the large lecture hall. 

Feeling his hands enclose yours, pulling your body slowly towards him, you bring yourself to look back up at him. His hands come up behind you when you’re close enough, snaking up your back and waist. You try not to shudder, but it’s hard when you know he’s doing it on purpose. There’s warmth that radiates off of him, a stark contrast from the chill classroom, your fingers finding purchase around his own waist.

There’s more of that same warmth when he kisses you, short pecks, yet ones that have you smiling against his lips. The curve remaining as he rests his forehead on yours.

“Let’s go home, just need to grab my stuff,” he says, but makes no effort to move from his position.

“Are you already done for the day?” you frown.

“No,” he muses, “But it’s only the first day. Besides, I wanna sit in bed with my girl while I map her out for the first assignment of the semester.” 

“Does your girl get premium access?” 

“Hm, maybe.” 

Before you can refute, the door of the room bursts open with a bang that reaches straight into your soul. With the way Seungcheol’s eyes widen, you don’t doubt the same was happening in his own chest. 

There isn’t enough time for you to pull away before hearing gasps alluding from the threshold. 

Soonyoung and Minghao stand at the door, scandalized looks complete with hands over their faces. Hao shakes his head in mock disappointment, eyes pointed. Soonyoung pulls out his hands, framing them like he was taking a picture of the both of you gripping each other.

“Now what would the bulletin look like with these two on the front cover? You’re friends with Seok, right? D’you think you could put a word in?” Soonyoung yaps, the most insufferable look on his face.

Seungcheol laughs, to your surprise, and looks over to you, “What d’you think the bulletin would look like with his F on the front cover?” 

“D’you think you could put a word in?” you raise your eyebrows. 

His smile widens but he’s being pulled away as both your friends move forward to surround him. You vaguely register Soonyoung cupping your boyfriend’s face delicately, singsonging about their years of friendship, or how Hao has his arms wrapped around him in a back hug, head on his shoulder. 

You vaguely register any of it, because you’re smiling too hard at the scene. Smiling too hard when Seungcheol catches your eye, before bursting out laughing, attempting to wrestle the two off of him. 

You bring your phone up to the chaos instead of your hands, wanting to frame the scene for real this time. 

[hangingslothcentral]

looking for a new audio drama?

If you like weird philosophical sci-fi and cyborgs, and hate AI and capitalism, check out Clockwork Bird!! it's the first show I ever made so it's a bit rough around the edges but it's an exploration about the rights of the dead, the limits of science, and the nature of personhood. it's all told through scattered 'found footage' recordings as listened to by Shelly Croft as she looks for her missing journalist girlfriend, Alice, who disappeared whilst she was investigating the welfare of Robin Jaeger, the posterchild for advanced synthetic limbs who may be more, and less, than he seems.

Clockwork Bird as 30 episodes, each 10-25 minutes long.

If you like spooky stories with a lot of heart, long series with lots of moving parts and character arcs, check out Spirit Box Radio! This show has a ton of original music and an accordian cast which grows as the show goes on, topping out at about 27 VAs. Sam Enfield is the happy-go-lucky host of Spirit Box Radio's Enlightenment Segment in the absence of its previous host, but something fishy is going on, and Sam's actually at the centre of a plot with apocalyptic stakes. SBR is a show about grief, storytelling, and what happens when a people pleaser has potentially unlimited magical powers. Find it @spiritboxradio.

Spirit Box Radio has 93 episodes, each 15-30 minutes long, with season finales that are up to 50 minutes long.

Do you like vampires? Gay vampires? Gay vampires that suck (blood. and other, uh, things)? Not Quite Dead may be the show for you. Join Alfie, a former A&E nurse who's knee deep in horrors because of his boyfriend, Casper, who is a vampire. Cas is missing with no indication of when he will return, but without his blood, Alfie is going to die. As time runs out, Alfie records everything he can remember about the months leading up to this moment. This show is gory and horny. Season Two has a tiny blonde guy who sounds French but who is older than the concept of France. This love story bites, viciously, multiple times, for fun and profit. Find it at @notquitedeadpod.

Not Quite Dead has 40 episodes, each 20-40 minutes long. The final season will be out in 2025.

Are you into mysteries and characters who eat hot chip and lie? Do you enjoy listening to shows as they air? Are you a person who likes to have conspiracy-board-level theories about the media you engage with? My new show, Remnants, might be just up your alley. Remnants follows the Apprentice as he learns how to read the objects that come to the First and Last Place. He's watched over by Sir, but Sir isn't much help. Thier purpose is strange and confusing, and the more remnants the Apprentice reads, the more he wonders at what the meaning of it all is, and if there might be some connection he's been missing... Find it at @remnantspod.

Remnants S1 will have 30 episodes of about 30 minutes. S1 started airing in July, and will finish in March 2025.

[fieldsofwriting]

Please write dad March I'm begging respectfully ❤️❤️❤️

Well since you asked so nicely. (And i’m stuck at work with nothing better to do)

Dad March HC be upon ye:

When you first tell him you’re ready to have kids/pregnant he is so fucking nervous. He can’t be a dad?? He’s an asshole! But after some reassurance from both you and probably half the town he’s ready.

Man goes full dad mode. He is panting the nursery- do not even try and help! You will be told sit your ass down and focus on growing the baby or whatever you do.

He gets Ryis to help him build/design the crib. Those are the only nails he doesn’t complain about making. He also refuses to have Ryis do anything but the bare minimum to assist.

“I’ve gotta do it, or how else am I gonna be a good dad?” His logic is flawed but he’s got the spirit.

When he feels the baby kick for the first time? He has genuinely never had a bigger smile. Looking at you with the most genuine and sincere smile, “That’s our little guy…”

He wouldn’t care what you’re having, he’d still insist on “teaching them the ways of the forge” from a young age.

You settle on a highchair a safe distance away.

He’s so protective over his baby. Like, no one gets to hold them until they wash thier hands, are positive that thier not sick, and have been through vetted by him.

It’s even worse if you have a little girl. “No man will ever be good enough for her. She is a princess.” “March you’ll give her an ego.” “Good, just like me.”

This would also be the #1 way to get him to be soft. I feel like that is something people seldom see. But when he’s rocking his baby to sleep, talking to them quietly about his day to them it just makes you fall harder.

You know that meme where it’s like Dads when thier kids are babies vs toddlers and it’s like one picture of them cradling a newborn vs throwing a toddler in the air? That’s him.

He would love to hear thier laugh, so he’d throw them up as high as he could manage, put them on his shoulders.

You know how cats have the scruff? He just picks up your kids by the back of his shirt and lifts them up like a little briefcase.

He has full on conversations with your kids. Even if they don’t make sense he is so invested. He just talks to them like tiny humans rather than babies.

You know how thier like big players with carpenter tools? he’d do that but it’s the forge and he’d use playdough to help show them how to do it. “It’s the family business!”

This man would cry the first time your baby goes to school. He’d try to pretend he didn’t but if they run off like nothing happened? He’s DEVASTATED.

Okay I could continue but I’ll be done for now-

[midnight-mourning]

Better Strangers. (Unless?)

Well it took a bit more time than I expected, wonder why THAT is (side eyes the wizard that put a curse on me, currently tied up in the corner) but it's here now, so I hope you enjoy! She's long, and I had to cut some stuff because it wasn't working, but such is life

If you've never read Confused Spirit, this will make a lot less since to you lol, so I recommend reading it first (though it's not a requirement). Again, this bad boy is canon to the story, but will never be directly mentioned in it

Word count: 7500

Song rec: Tommy's Party - Peach Pit (ignore the lyrics, it's the vibes that matter here)

Also posted on Ao3 if you prefer reading that way.

Content warning: Mentions of self-depreciation, self-gaslighting, depression, bits of yelling, etc. Small bits of using alcohol as a coping mechanism. Additionally, if you've never experienced what it's like to be anxious-drunk, you're in for it. Reader discretion is advised

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

"Okay, money's on the counter, Lisa needs to do her math homework before cartoons, and if you could do some flashcard practice with Gabe that would be super great but no worries if not, okay bye!" You say in a rush before opening and closing the front door. 

You lean back against it briefly, take a deep breath, and force yourself to march over to your car. 

It's your least favorite day of the quarter, second only to your least favorite day of the semester.

Parent-Teacher Conferences.

Comparable to Report-Review day at work, or tax season. The reason it was your second least favorite was because the other Parent-Teacher Conference day usually landed on a Friday, meaning you had one more night of the week you had to go out. 

This one was just a bit more bearable in that yeah, you had work afterward, but at least you could use all of tomorrow evening to recharge. And you certainly intended to. 

The school parking lot is filled with parents coming and going, chatting with those they know. You briefly greet anyone who says hello, but keep on your way, you want this to be quick, you've only got an hour or so before your late shift.

The meeting goes about how you'd expect, Lisa's the perfect little angel at school, it's just with you that she's a complete and utter menace. You'd considered the evening to likely being end on a high note based on this, but you'd be wrong. 

Very wrong. 

It's as you're walking out that you run into what would be your catalyst. 

"Oh, funny seeing you here, dear!" Helen says as she approaches. 

Inside you're saying every swear you can think of, outwardly you smile, "Hi Helen. It's parent-teacher night, of course I'd be here."

"I know, I know, merely joking." 

You stand there, awkward, head nodding once, "Well if that's all then I'll be on my way then-"

"Well it's just, how do I put this," She tutters, shaking her head, "I can't imagine what your meeting must've been like. And I won't speculate of course, I just want you to know that I'm thinking of you, is all."

Your brows furrow briefly, but you try to remain neutral. Chill, you're chill. You can kick Helen's ass in a fight if you wanted, it's fine. 

"The meeting went well, actually. Lisa's a good kid, I only stopped by because Mrs. Isley's been wanting brag on her in person."

This doesn't deter Helen, which you'd been, actually you can never tell what to expect with her. Doesn't matter, she keeps that sad look on her face, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "Well, I wasn't sure if she was aware of the tumultuous situation with your family is all. It sounds like something that would greatly be affecting Lisa's performance. But I'm so glad to hear that's not the case."

"What, what do you mean?"

"Well, I ran into your aunt, Hannah's her name, right?" Helen tsks, "She told me all about your situation. Just awful to listen to, you know."

It occurs to you to glance over to where Helen came from, her typical group of parents she gossiped with. They're looking at you now, that same, bullshit look on their face. And you can just catch some of the things they say. 

"To think someone like that's taking care of Lisa."

"I know, could you imagine, being so cruel to your family?"

"Typical twenty something, has no regard for anyone but themself."

"It is selfish, isn't it? Their parents would be ashamed."

You freeze then, something in you shutting down. You don't know what to say, how to react, how to even, think, for a moment. 

This is possibly one of the worst case scenarios you could ever imagine. Helen knows an exceeding amount of information about you that you've done your best to hide for the sake of your siblings. Stuff that would otherwise be harmless, where you work, where Lisa goes to school, what daycare you use, etc. But could be incredibly dangerous when the wrong person find out about it. And at this point, you have no idea one way or the other if they have. 

Has Rick's family tried shit in the past? Of course. Have they ever taken it that far? Debatable. You'd done your best to keep your personal life unknown to them for a reason however. But did you really know what their limits were? You had absolutely no clue.

And that terrifies you.

And it's your fault in the first place.

"Are you alright?" Helen asks, in a tone that is so fake you swear you can taste plastic. 

You snap out of it. Not here, not now. Instead, you beam, "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

This throws her for a loop finally, "I, well I-"

"I appreciate all the concern, Helen, really, I do. But we're doing just fine," Your hand pats the one of your shoulder and she flinches back. Ironic, you know. 

You laugh, it's loud and fake as hell but it does what you need it to, "I don't know what you've been told, but let me assure you, there's a reason we're not on great terms. Didn't file that police report for nothing!"

At this, people start to turn towards you both, muttering quietly. Usually, such a thing would embarrass you. But you're channeling your rage to smother your panic. Your shame.

Hannah and the rest of Rick's family lives on the complete other side of the city. Helen would have had to go out of her way to manage to run into any one of them. And it sounds like she had. 

If you had to guess, it was probably incidental, you have no social media, they all do. All it would take is a bit of profile browsing to find the connection and if she ever came across any of them, could easily strike up a conversation. Still crazy, but slightly less crazy than other options.

"Is everything okay over here?" Looking to your side you see Mrs. Isley, glare on her face, pointed toward Helen, before sharing a concerned look briefly with you. 

You nod, "We're just fine, but I do have to get going now. Thanks for the, words of encouragement, Helen."

Her face has grown red, and can't even muster a response. Satisfied, you lean in as you pass her by, voice low, but still loud enough for the teacher behind you to overhear, "Hope you got what you wanted from that. Because next time, I won't be so nice and just say outright how the PTA president goes out of her way to find someone's toxic family members and delve into their personal life for no damn good reason."

You give her a rough pat on the back, and march out of there. Behind you, you can hear Mrs. Isley start to lay into the soccer mom who had so much free time on her hands to try and upset the 23 year old who, apparently, must be doing a better job at parenting than she was, as that what the only explanation you could come up with for her vendetta against you.

Once you make it out of the building is when you allow the facade to start to break down. You're panicked, you're freaking out. You're trying to determine if you're going to have to switch school districts now or what. You really don't want to uproot Lisa because of a mistake you made, which was believing that Helen Chase would mind her own damn business and-

Someone is calling after you. You look up from unlocking your car to see it's Mrs. Isley. 

You raise a hand as she makes it over to you, out of breath, "It's fine, Aubrey. Just the typical bs. I'm okay."

"I'm sure you are," She says, pointing back to the school and shaking her head, "But that, was unacceptable behavior on her part and I am not going to let it fly by, rest assured. She's the head of the PTA, she's well aware of the school's 'no-contact list'."

"I-"

She raises her hand now, "No. Not this time. I get it, you don't want to make waves. But this was too far, and it's not fair to you in any which way to just leave it lie. She will be reprimanded, and if anything happens because of it," She shakes her head, "Well, I'm not going to let it."

"Thanks," You manage to choke out. The stress and relief both getting to you in that moment, due in large part to her firmness on the matter. 

The teacher hugs you then, squeezing tight, "We have rules in place for this kind of stuff. And I'm sure once her husband hears wind of this he'll do his best to make sure nothing comes of it," She pulls back, hands on your cheeks, "Okay?"

You nod, hoping she can't see the tears pricking your eyes, "Okay."

Aubrey lets you go, "You're sure you're fine?"

"Yeah," You shake your head, "Just the words of someone who doesn't know how to mind their own business. I've had worse."

She nods, "Alright. Have a good night, and be safe."

You say goodbye and she walks off. You have to grip your wrist with your free hand to keep the one that's shaking steady enough to grab the door handle. 

You drive in silence to the Plex, both hands tight on the wheel. 

You're not going to let it get to you, you're not going to let it get to you, you know she's wrong, she's always wrong, she's just an asshole and you know that you're doing your best, you're doing great! Lisa's proof of that, Gabe's proof of that. You're fighting and you're trying, you're trying, you're trying-

The doors to the Daycare shut behind you, interrupting your thoughts. 

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you look around for your beanbag, finding it absent. 

"What are you doing here?"

You turn, finding Sun cleaning up art supplies across the room. 

You shake your head, "Not in the mood for this tonight, Sun. If you didn't want me around you could've just said so."

His rays flick back and forth, "What are you talking about?"

"Uh, my beanbag?" You nod to the empty spot, not ignoring the confusion he also displays, "Not the end of the world, really, but still."

He just stares over at you. 

Then, "Bright Eyes, it's Friday."

Shit. It is Friday. You'd lost two days. Too caught up in work and stress and so on, to the point you'd hired Clara for the night and hadn't even realized. Not that it was her fault, she had no reason to question your foolishness. Your fault. Your mistake. Your fuck up. 

Like always.

"I, right, yeah."

"Now, as much as I'd be thrilled to continue to entertain you, I have a preparations to be making," He walks over and starts to guide you, not gently, towards the door, "You understand I'm sure."

You shrug him off, embarrassed, not helping your already growing negative feelings and thoughts, "Yeah, I got it. Night."

You walk out, a bit aimless now. You're frustrated, you're upset, and you really, really, are feeling a bit shitty. There's tears pricking your eyes again, and honestly, you don't know what you need right now to fix it.

"Boss? What are you doing here?"

You turn, "Pete? It's eight o' clock on a Friday, why aren't you home?"

He puts both hands on his chest, "I'm here for my best buddy Jacob's birthday. See the hat," He points to his head, where indeed, he's wearing a party hat, "Did you want to join?"

"I, you know what? Yeah. I would."

"Great! Come on," He slings an arm around your shoulder, changing your direction to the West Arcade, "Some of the gang's upstairs. Savannah was busy, and Jesse's out of town, like a loser, but you'll know most everyone I think."

"You're not going to question me anymore?" You ask. 

He shrugs, "Well no, not my business what you get up to. Unless you want it to be?"

You shake your head instantly, you didn't need to embarrass yourself by telling your coworker you let a middle-aged woman's words make you cry.

He nods, looking forward again, "Besides, you looked like you needed a distraction. For a bit anyway."

"Thanks, Petey," You sigh, "I do."

The atmosphere inside the West Arcade hits you instantly as you walk inside. 

People are chatting, dancing, drinking and making fools of themselves, what you'd typically expect from a Plex party. Or really, any party with a bunch of burnt out twenty-somethings. 

You meet up with Liv and Tyler, and are given a party hat and a drink shortly thereafter. 

You stare down at it for a moment, briefly, and check the time, you have Clara until 11:30, you can have one and sober up in time. 

You say the same thing after the second, and after the third argue that you can just, pick up your car tomorrow, grab an Uber. 

After, drink four, you take the time to sober up for just a moment, which ends up being a mistake. Because now you're alone with your thoughts, and after the night you've had, that's the worst place for you to be. 

The words said to you by a bunch of women in their 40s should not upset you like this, they're the ones choosing to pick on someone half their age. Sure, maybe they weren't wrong but that didn't, that didn't give them the right to talk like that, right? 

You weren't just thinking about yourself, right?

They wouldn't be disappointed in you for not trying to make ammends.

Right?

Fuck, you really should sober up, sober up and go home. 

"Hey, you alright?"

Liv's sitting next to you now. You give a practiced smile, "Just need a little more water. I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" She waves over the bartender to get you another water and order another drink for herself.

You nod, "Positive. If I wasn't I wouldn't be here."

Lying through your teeth is somehow so much easier when you're drunk. 

You drink another water, and don't feel any better. You just feel more, aware. Aware of how you don't fit in, how you're here because Pete took pity on you, how awful of a friend, a sibling, a daughter, a partner- No, not that last one, we're not getting into that mess tonight. 

Has it really been that long since the last time you drank this much? You check the time, it's been an hour or two. You still had time. Fuck it, have another drink and try to have some fun. Something's gotta distract you from this feeling eventually, right? 

When you check the clock again and realize it's 10:40, and it'll take at least twenty for an Uber to get here, you fumble for your phone and call Clara.

"Hey, I'm uh, gonna be home a bit later, is that okay?" You ask against the loudness of the room. You should have went outside instead of going to the quietest corner you could find, but you're kind of losing your logic. 

You have to strain to hear her response, "Yeah, not an issue, I'm mid breath of the wild playthrough so time has no meaning to me."

"You've got breath of the wild? Jealous," Focus, you need to focus so you don't sound stupid, "Anyway, I'm guessing another hour or so, and if it gets too late you can stay over so you're not driving home so late."

"As long as you don't mind me gaming in the living room into the late hours of the night that's cool with me. What are you up to out of curiosity?"

You swallow, "Birthday party."

"Oh, Jacob's yeah? Savannah told me about it but since I was busy I couldn't swing by."

"Oh?" Why does that make you feel bad? Why do you feel so excluded now? That your coworker's sister got an invite and you didn't? Or did you get an invite and you forgot? Why do you care? You're not friends with Jacob. You’re not friends with these people out of work, really. Right?

"-speaking class."

You don't know what she just said, "Gotcha, gotcha. Well, I'll see you later tonight then."

"You got a ride?" You can just make out her button-mashing, followed by a sigh, "Sorry, if you've been drinking I mean."

"Yeah, I'll be good. Thanks."

After hanging up, you just stare down at your drink, then out to the dancefloor. You see everyone having such a great time, so why can't you? Why do you have to be like this? Why can't you just let yourself be happy? What does it take to make you relax and just, chill the hell out? 

You haven't relaxed in months you realize. Not after what happened that night. Ironically, at the last Plex party you attended. If anything, you think being here, doing this, has just made everything that much worse. 

You need to get out of here. You need to go somewhere else, do something else, be someone else. 

Too bad you can't make that last one happen.

You finish your drink, and after a small head rush, walk over to where your friends? coworkers? are and say your goodbyes over the music. 

"Hey, it was really good seeing you tonight!" Pete says, then nods to where Jacob's at on the dancefloor, "Jacob appreciated it for sure."

He's lying. He's just being nice because you're his boss. 

Liv gives you a quick hug, "We should hang out outside of work more often. Maybe somewhere a bit more quiet."

She doesn't mean that. She's pitying you. 

"Yeah, that'd be great!" You smile. 

Tyler raises his fist and you bump it, "See you Monday, broski. Stay safe out there."

"Can do, have a good night guys."

"See you!" And "Be safe!" are shouted out behind you.

You believe the genuity of that. You may know that they hate you, but they're nice people. 

Your feet walk you in the direction you don't want to be heading. Split between this impulse decision and just going home. But you can't make yourself go home, you can't go home, home just remind you of everything, and everything you're not-

The Daycare doors feel heavier than usual, which makes sense considering how much you've had tonight. Inside, you find it's, pretty much the same as usual, you don't know what all the fuss was over on Sun's part. 

Speaking of, where is he? 

You shuffle in, taking note of the small plastic tea cups and saucers sitting on a table that's been moved to the center of the space. Along with... snacks? Right, Chica's supposed to be here. Seems she hasn't shown up just yet.

You're trying to remind yourself why you came here as opposed to calling for a ride, when you hear the doors open again. 

"Oh. You're back."

You turn, Sun is holding a tray with a teapot, and there is indeed, steam coming out of it. Now you know. 

"Did you want something or are you just here to bother me?" He swiftly walks past you, setting the pot and tray down with pointed showmanship.

Something about his tone sets you off. Not unusual. But because you're not sober, you speak your mind in a way you otherwise wouldn’t. Unfortunately unusual. 

"You know, starting to wonder that myself."

"Really now?" He speaks with a bored enthusiasm that grates on you.

"Yeah, really. You know, I don't sleep at night because of you," You shake your head, "My dreams are just, filled, with nothing but that night. Over and over again, it plays in my head. And you see, the worst part is that it's not even the idea of seeing him in that stupid machine. You know what keeps me up? You. And what you did to me," You take a deep breath, looking back to him, "And what I did to you." 

Sun's rays tick a few times. 

Then, "You're intoxicated."

"Yeah, no shit, glad you finally got up to speed."

"I'm just rather surprised you'd be interested in taking such risks again considering what happened to you last time."

You scoff, "Don't even try to pull that, I wasn't wasted, I had a concussion."

"I was referring to being at the Plex so late alone, Starshine," His gaze narrows, "But rest assured, you're increasing my concern the more you speak."

"Concern for what? Because we both know it isn't for me. And that's fine, shouldn't expect, don't deserve it. Even if I-" You stop yourself, you're not out of it enough for that, "I'll just give it to you straight; you have no reason to be concerned. For my siblings? They don't need me, Clara sees more of them than I do and she does a hell of a lot better job. My work? Someone else would fill the gap when I'm gone, my team's more than competent without me. My friends? They've got each other, or, or partners. And our little investigation? You," You slow down for a moment, "Well, I'm sure with that charming personality of yours you could trick another sorry sucker into helping you with ease."

You throw up your hands, laughing, "So, no need for concern here, Sunny. If something happens to me no one will notice!" Your face feels wet, "No one's going to fucking care. So, you can take your concern and shove it."

You bring a hand up to your face, confirming that you are crying, "Fuck, exactly what I needed to top off the night."

You sniff once, and then turn around, you seemed to get everything you'd wanted to say out of your system, maybe you can go home and be happy now. Or something. 

"Why did you come here tonight?"

You pause, then laugh quietly, hand coming up to run through your hair, "Hell if I know."

A hand is set on your shoulder, one that makes you spin around. The motion slightly jogs you.

Sun's gaze is down at you, rays spinning once or twice but otherwise motionless. 

"Stop that. I don't like being analyzed," You mutter, averting your eyes. 

His other hand comes up to guide your focus back to him, "You're in no condition to go anywhere. Not right now."

You manage a half-hearted chuckle, "Give me some credit, Sun. I'm calling an uber as soon as I'm out of here."

You think if he could frown he would, instead, his eyes narrow and grip tightens just a tad, "Not wise. Not if you're alone. I suppose there's other options. Hold still. And don't look down."

"What are you-hey hey hey, what are you doing?" You argue, anger flaring momentarily as he takes hold of you, your feet coming out from under you as he lifts you into his arms. 

Before you know it, you're up in the air, having to squeeze your eyes shut so you don't get dizzy from the change. You feel Sun land on solid ground again several seconds later.

"You say a word about anything and I'm putting you in the theater instead," A brief pause, "Or on a naptime mat down below."

You open your eye, "Wha-Oh."

"I mean it. Not. A. Word."

You put your hands up, "Okay, okay."

He didn't say anything about making private observations to yourself. 

The Attendant's room is somehow exactly what you expected and not at all. Your first thought is organized. Your second thought is empty. 

Clean also comes to mind, there's not a speck of dust in sight. You take note of the different standout features. An old, Hollywood style dresser with matching mirror and lights, string lights hang from the ceiling among the rafters. There's a set of cubbies containing spare toys, and some seemingly ongoing craft projects. 

You spy your bean bag in a corner with a few others. There's also a large pile of blankets and stuffed animals, almost like a bed. Lying nearby you see a charging port. 

The most interesting thing to you, however, is the green tube in the left wall, leading obviously to somewhere, you just don't know where exactly. 

You don't get to find out, Sun sets you down on the blanket pile, and if you weren't so hypervigilant you'd sink right in, exhaustion is starting to hit you after the combination of drinking, yelling, and crying. 

You hear a click and realize he's left the room. It's the perfect opportunity to snoop, but the desire for rest outweighs this urge. Besides, it's rude. And you're not that rude.

You feel like all you did was blink and he's back again. You rub your face and pat it a few times to try and wake up, glancing over to the bot.

"I've already taken the liberties of informing your babysitter that you will be home after several hours of sleep. And agreed upon compensation." Sun answers your look of concerned confusion by raising his hand with your phone, "You dropped it when I picked you up, she had asked about your well-being. You can check to confirm I did nothing else if that eases you."

The fact you can't recall that happening proves it's probably for the best he did that.

"God she's going to hate me," You groan, rubbing your face with both hands. 

Sun sets your phone down beside you, and sits down in front of you, glass of water in one hand, "She does not. Drink."

You eye the glass with suspicion.

"Are you seriously debating whether I've tampered with it?"

"Should I not?"

A scoff, "It's a glass of water, I've done nothing to it."

"Sound like something someone who did something to it would say," You muse.

Another scoff, and he leans down, rays clicking, "If I was going to do something, Bright Eyes, it would have already been done. And need I remind you, I can't cause harm even if I wanted to."

"Fine," You huff, taking the cup and muttering as you sip, "I'm surprised they let you have glass."

No answer. You look over, eyebrows raised. 

Then it clicks, "Ah. Contraband. Noted," You finish the glass and wipe your mouth, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

No words for a bit, your head hurts, but this helps. That might be a good thing to bring up, you're not a fan of this kind of silence.

"Why did you help me? Or I guess, why are you actively, helping me?"

Sun shrugs, hands clasped in his lap. You expected a snarked out comment that you're strangely not receiving.

Then, "I'll get you another glass. You should rest in the meantime." He stands up, and in your current state the action panics you. 

"Wait," You reach out, grabbing his arm, "Don't go. I'm, I don't want to be alone. Please." God, you sound pathetic.

You also realize what it is you're doing, and to whom, and you let go, "I, shit, sorry. Just, yeah just go get the water. I'll be fine."

You pull your knees up to your chest, controlling your breathing. You didn't need to start crying again. You're fine, you know you'll be fine.

A soft jingling sound interrupts your thoughts, and looking up you see Sun unwrapping one of the ribbons from his forearm, then his wrist. Once he's finished, the ribbon and bells piled in one hand, he holds it out to you. 

You furrow your brow, but take the offering. 

"It's the best way I can think of to assure you I'll be back. I'd look rather silly if I went around like this, right?" He waves both hands up by his face. 

You sniff, "Yeah."

"And if you're truly, concerned, just ring, and I'll be here," He stands straight again, taking the glass, "I'll just be a moment."

"Ok."

He leaves the room, and you're alone.

Having nothing better to do, you lean back against the numerous pillows and stuffed animals behind you, hands clasping and resting on your chest. 

You take note that the ceiling has a few glow in the dark stickers you recognize from the Daycare proper. Someone must've snatched the extras when they had the chance. The thought makes you laugh softly. 

It also occurs to you then that Moon is additionally assisting in this, mess, you've created, given that the theater is probably dark, and you don't believe that door leads anywhere else. 

You close your eyes, shame welling up in you. This is pathetic on your part. Truly and utterly. You're an adult, and you can't take care of yourself after a night of drinking? You can't manage to drink responsibly, avoid the typical stereotype and make a fool out of yourself saying shit you shouldn't? God, you're so-

You're being gently jostled awake, "You can't sleep like that, friend. You'll regret it." More quietly, "And he won't shut up about it, for that matter."

You open your eyes, they feel a tad heavy from the short nap you got. Your senses perk up however, when you smell something greasy yet heavenly. Pizza, currently in Sun's hand, soon to be in your stomach if you have anything to do with it.

"Thought you were just getting water," You say, as if you're not two seconds away from devouring that pizza whole. 

He scoffs lightly, setting the pizza in front of you and handing you the water, "I had a feeling if I told you what I was doing it would only make things worse."

"You'd be right," You take a brief drink of water, then open the pizza box and grab a slice. It's divine. And you don't say that lightly when it came to Fazbear pizza. 

You groan mid-bite, leaning back against the plushes behind you, "God, I wish you could taste how good this is right now. Like," You take another bite, "So frickin' good."

You're too focused on eating to overhear Sun laughing quietly at your antics. You managed to scoff down three slices before he takes it away from you. 

He places it over on the dresser, "You'll get sick. And preferably, I'd rather not be cleaning up vomit at 1 am, if it's all the same to you."

"Just one more! Come on," You whine, then pause, eyebrows shooting up, "Oh I am not sober, that's for sure."

You realize Sun's staring at you, and your face heats up.

"Don't look at me like that, it just makes it worse," Your hands come up and cover your face.

At that Sun laughs. And maybe you're a bit out of it, but it doesn't sound mocking, or pretentious. It's genuine. 

You feel a compulsion to right your wrongs from earlier, or at the very least, try to.

"I'm, I'm sorry for what I said. You didn't deserve that."

"I don't accept." Sun states. 

You cringe, and nod, "Fair."

He chuckles, "I don't accept, because it wasn't directed at me. You may have said those words at me, but I think we both know their true target."

You think for a moment, nodding solemnly, "Helen."

"Who? I-" He shakes his head, "Starlight, I meant yourself."

"Oh. That makes a bit more sense." You decide to give him a bit more context to save some trouble, "She runs the PTA. My third worst enemy, behind you, and Grab Ass. You got a Katie Chase in that little directory of yours?"

"Yes? But-oh. That one." 

Your brows raise for a moment, "Wow, I've never heard you speak with that much disdain before."

"We all have limits, friend," His tone shifts, like he's about to boil over with rage, "We all have limits..."

You yawn, and his attention shifts. He motions for you to take off your shoes and the likes, and you get the hint. You lay back into the bed-you're pretty sure there's a mattress buried under here somewhere, feels like it-letting loose another yawn.

Sun takes one of the blankets and tosses out over you, it falls slowly down on top of you. Then, he bends down and presses his smile to your forehead, pulling back after a moment and patting your head.

"What was that for?"

His rays spin, eyes widening a fraction. Seems he's just now realizing what he did, "An unfortunate matter of programming. One I'm hoping you'll forget by morning."

You scoff, smile on your lips, "That's not how being drunk works, you know. Only if you've drank a lot."

That seems to relax him.

"So explain it to me then," He sits at the end of the blanket pile, "I'm curious."

You sit up slightly to make eye contact with him, "Really? All the stuff you could learn about and that's what piques your interest?"

He nods.

You stare at him a moment, then lay back down, "I mean, alright. Do my best here."

You explain. Sun asks you a question every now and then. You just, talk. You talk to each other for, awhile it feels like. You talk until your throat starts to get sore. You, you haven't spoken with someone like this in a long time. Long enough you can't remember when the last time you did was. 

You start to get tired and Sun notices immediately. He mutters a brief goodnight to you, and the lights are shut off soon thereafter.

You roll over to your side to watch Moon appear. 

"Thank you. Both of you," You say, as he walks back over to you, "You didn't have to do all this, it's, appreciated."

He nods, "You are welcome."

A sudden realization hits you as sleep begins to take over. 

"My stuff..." You mutter, "I, left my stuff back in the West Arcade, if it's not stolen already."

Moon stands, "I'll retrieve it for you. Will you be alright?"

You sleepily raise your hand, bells jingling in your grasp, "Got these. And I'm a bit more sober now. I'll be okay."

Moon nods, "Then I'll return shortly."

"I might be asleep by then," You yawn, "So I'll preemptively say thank you, and goodnight."

"Goodnight, Diana. Sweet Dreams."

You huff lightly, "What, no goodnight kiss?"

It takes you all of 0.5 seconds to realize what you just said.

"Oh goddammit-"

Moon leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead, his tone cheeky as he pulls away again, "Is that satisfactory, your highness?"

Your face is hot with embarrassment but you refuse to lose. 

"'Twas," You turn over and away so he can't see your wide-eyed 'holy shit' stare, "But I'll have you know that I'm not that demanding when I drink. This was a one-time thing. Won't happen again."

"Of course not."

You snuggle further under the blanket, mumbling, "It won't. I mean it. It was a stupid mistake. One that's going to haunt me for a while."

Quiet. You feel him sit down beside you, "Everyone makes mistakes, Icarus. It's how we learn from them that matters."

"Trust me, I know."

A hand on your shoulder presses down and makes you lay back on your back. You stare up into red eyes, narrowed with concern down at you. The gaze makes you uncomfortable. You try to brush it off.

"I don't need a pity party, Moon. I gave myself enough of one earlier."

He tilts his head, "It's funny how you always assume care to be pity. I wonder why that is?"

You're about to say it, and play it off as a joke, but he beats you to the punch. 

"Well, it's not fair to speculate. So I'll just tell you, you don't have to suspicious of such with me. Or either of us for that matter," His focus goes back on you, "We mean what we say."

You raise a brow questioningly.

"For the most part, I should say."

You chuckle, "Yeah, I know."

"Your friends mean what they say too, you know. They care about you. As does your family. It's obvious to anyone that sees it. You just simply need to allow yourself to." He pokes your forehead. 

You sigh, looking up to the ceiling briefly, "Oh, that's a lot harder than it sounds, Moon-man."

"I never suggested otherwise. I merely intended to remind you."

"I've been reminded," You smile slightly, "And I'll do my best to continue to do so."

"You'll have assistance." You can't tell if that's a tease, a threat, or a promise. You'll just be on the safe side and assume all three. 

You smirk, "Goodnight, Moon. For real this time."

"Goodnight, Andromeda. For real." He rises from the bed, giving a quick two-finger salute.

You snicker, shake your head, and close your eyes. 

A few moments later you hear the jingle of bells fade out into the Daycare itself.

Your hand clutches the bells and ribbon in your hand a tad tighter, and you feel yourself start to drift off into sleep.

You find yourself awake some time, you're guessing, much later. Your head isn't nearly as heavy, and you feel as if you slept for at least a decent amount of time. 

Groggily, you fumble for your phone, finding that it's been about three hours since you fell asleep. 

You become keenly aware of someone staring at you, and scanning the room find Moon staring down at you from the rafters. 

Normally, this would be an alarming sight at 4 in the morning, for you and your half-asleep mind, it arouses mild surprise. 

"Why are you awake?" He asks. 

You sit up, fumbling for the glass beside you, "I become very awake in the hours after drinking," You gulp down the glass, "For a very short period of time. I'll probably start feeling tired again in a few minutes."

You wipe your mouth and look up to the Attendant, "Why were you watching me?"

Moon shrugs, "Bored."

"Yeah right," You scoff, "Not with the amount of shit you get into on the regular. What's your real reason, sport?"

"Sport?" He asks.

You wave your hand, "It's a combination of sleepiness and leftover drunkenness, just ignore it and save me some embarrassment."

"Noted."

"You didn't answer the question. Don't think I didn't notice," Your arm moves jankily as you point your finger at him. 

His faceplate spins, "We simply wanted to ensure you were alright."

"We? That's a shocker. I'm surprised he isn't having a hissy fit about you making such an implication."

There's a bout of binary before Moon answers with a sigh, "He is now."

You giggle, "Sorry."

Quiet for a few moments.

"Your belongings are located beside you," Moon points to where your bag sits on the floor not too far from the bed, "They appeared to be in order, though I can't say for certain."

Your eyes widen for a moment before you nod your head slowly, "Oh yeah, forgot about that. Thanks."

Moon nods.

"Sorry if I um, ruined your evening plans."

The Naptime Attendant chuckles, "Plans? What is it that you think we get up to, Pandora?"

"You know what I mean, I know you don't just sit and stare at the wall for hours until open," You shrug, "You explore, fuck around with your mechanics, which I don't approve of still," You send him a scolding glare, then continue, "Sun has gossip night with Chica, seems to be a bit crafty as well."

Moon whistles, or plays the sound, at least, "Impressive."

"Yeah, yeah," You wave him off, yawning.

"Seems you've expended your remaining energy."

You settle back into bed, "Getting there."

"Anything I can do to help?" He asks, shifting position to hang upside down from the beam, feet hooked over the other side. 

You scoff lightly, "You, aiding those in desperate need of rest? I don't buy it."

"It's my specialty." He insists, and you both quietly laugh.

"Want me back to bed that bad, huh?" You ask, hands clasping on your chest while you stare up at him, thinking.

"Have any good bedtime stories?"

His faceplate spins, "More than you'd imagine."

"Pick one for me then, and I think that'll do the trick," You nod once, affirmingly.

"Very well."

He starts, voice smooth, soft. Really, perfect for storytelling if you're being honest. It helps your mind to settle again, and well before the end, you're asleep again.

Waking up the next morning, you find yourself face to, back? with a yellow animatronic. 

Sitting up, you see Sun is slouched beside the bed, facing away from you. Examining him more closely you see there's a charging cord plug into the back of his head. 

Curiously, you reach out to poke him. 

"I'd appreciate the ability to recharge in peace, friend."

You jump back, cursing under your breath. 

Then, you huff, "There's no way you could tell what I was going to do."

"No, but a bot can have his suspicions," He turns to look back at you, "And plenty of mine have been right about you."

"'Plenty of mine have been right about you.'" You mock quietly. 

"How are you feeling?"

You sigh, shrugging, "Fine. Maybe a little hungover. I'll live, if you were worried."

"I wasn't," He retorts as you snicker, "But good to know."

You nod to the charging cable, "Thought the two of you switching kept you from using that too often."

At this, Sun flusters. Taking a moment to articulate himself.

"Typically. However, Moon felt-" A bit of binary, before doubling down, "Moon felt it would be unfair to have the lights on in any manner of speaking while you slept. So they remained off throughout the night."

You muse on the words for a minute, nodding thoughtfully. Inside, part of you is overjoyed, and the other is a mixture of shocked and maybe touched? You're not going to think on it further. Point is, Sun gave up his hours-willingly or unwillingly-to give you the chance to sleep. 

"Well, it's appreciated," You reach up and flick his forehead, narrowly dodging around him to grab your phone as he shoos you away. 

He grumbles a response you don't catch. 

Checking the time, it's around 8 am. Looking at your messages, Sun told Clara you'd be home by 10. Yikes. Good to know how little faith he had in you. Well, best not waste it. 

You stretch, giving a final yawn, "This place have a breakfast special? Feel like I swear I've heard about it at least once."

"It does, but I'll inform you it's not one that's served in bed."

"Relax. I can take care of myself just fine now," You throw off the blanket and stand up, "I'll be back. Hold down the fort in the meantime, yeah?"

Sun sputters, a "What?" As you pat him briefly on the back and march out of the room, on the prowl for food to satisfy your hunger. 

Once you find it, you sneak your way back into the Daycare. The Plex is still pretty much abandoned at this point in the morning, but you don't want to have to explain yourself if you don't have to. 

Walking in, you plop down on the bed beside Sun and dig into your breakfast sandwich. Either you're much more hungover than you thought, or this is delicious. Potentially, both. 

"Sorry you missed out on your shit talking session," You say between bites, "As a fellow disgruntled employee I know how important those can be."

Sun scoffs.

You turn to look at him, "And thanks for taking care of me. It's appreciated."

This appears to surprise him, rays ticking to one side, "You're welcome."

"You're not the worst person I've ever met, you know," You take another bite, "Up there, but you have your good qualities."

"That means the world coming from you," He says, hand on his chest and voice syrupy sweet.

You nod, "I know."

He huffs, it turns into a laugh after a moment.

"You're not the worst person I've met, either," His gaze meets yours, "Not as much as you believe yourself to be."

You pause, surprised. Then, you swallow, coughing, "T-thanks."

He turns away again. You continue to eat. 

A thought crosses your mind. 

"You know, if you were really worried about the light, you could've just closed the curtains."

Sun freezes. Then, he sighs, heavily. Hand coming up to run down his face before falling into his lap. 

"Yes. I suppose that would have, been an option."

You burst out laughing, which only grows as the two attendants seem to argue back and forth with each other. 

As you bask in the moment, you find yourself thinking back. 

Yeah, you weren't perfect, but you cared. A lot. And you think that says a lot. Means a lot.

To someone, at least.

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

Well, you can probably see now why this bad boy was scrapped as a chapter. Believe me I had the full intentions of saving it, but I'll admit once I saw an out by using it as a one-shot I jumped on it lol 

I don't know if it's everything that I wanted, but I think I hit the main points I'd originally set out to. 

To those who wanted affection with the CS boys, you got it! Just maybe not how you were expecting :) Ah, who am I kidding, you knew it was going to come at the price of angst

Sorry that I went awol for a bit, the antibiotics DID knock me on my ass and it was, rough, to put it plainly and I'm still going to have to get a scan lmao

idk man, I just want to be better already, I gotta propose (MY THESIS, I MEAN MY THESIS, I AM SINGLE) in a few weeks I don't have time for this >_< (she says, as if this hasn't been a 3 month saga)

Gahhh, anyway, hope you enjoyed! Have no idea how I'll feel from one day so you may or may not see me but know I'll be writing in the meantime (and enjoying it i promise, it's my hobby afterall) thanks for reading!

Tag list (hope I did this right, if you did not want tagged simply let me know and I'll remove you!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @eternal-soup (IT WON'T LET ME @ YOU I'M SORRY)

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse

If you want to be added to the tag list, or check out my other stuff, see this post here for more information, bye!

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 10

A/N: I told you we weren't done with Dove and Jumbee! This is right after their wedding and kind of leads into the next phase of their relationship. I hope you all are in this for the long haul with us!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, they'll be smutty from now on probably. Cussing, kissing, references to oral sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of pregnancy

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Word count: ~2.1k

"Goodnight, Mrs. Presley."

"Goodnight, Mr. Presley." They go to sleep wrapped in each other and never look back.

******

Elvis and Dove go to New Orleans for a week-long honeymoon before he resumes filming King Creole. They spend most of their time in bed together talking and having sex as often as physically possible. They don't leave the room except occasionally in the middle of the night to eat at a restaurant or see a movie at a place Elvis has paid to stay open late for them. By the end of the week, all nervousness about being together intimately has completely faded and they don't hesitate to walk around naked in the hotel room. By day three, they don't even shower separately anymore. They are wholly and completely married.

Dove goes home to Memphis while he finishes the movie and wanders around the house dreaming of decorating a nursery. She cries when she gets her period at the beginning of March, having hoped that they might have a honeymoon baby. It's early, she knows that, but with him leaving, she'd like to have something of him to keep with her. Something to keep her occupied wouldn't hurt either.

Gladys notices that Dove's mood has changed and tries to see if there's anything she can do to help. She hasn't been feeling well recently, but maybe a problem to solve is exactly what she needs. It would be nice to have a distraction from the worrying.

"Baby, what's wrong?" She pulls Dove aside one night after dinner. Elvis will be home for a few days soon before he leaves for basic training. Dove should be excited, but she's moping around the house like he's already gone again.

"Oh, nothing, mama." She's taken to calling Gladys 'mama' since the wedding. It's just easier and she feels so motherly that it's natural.

"Now, you've been mopin' around this house like a kicked puppy. What's goin' on?" Dove looks up at her with teary eyes. She hesitates, but decides she needs someone to talk to and Gladys feels like the right person.

"I'm just... I'm not... there's no baby yet and I..." She chokes on the words. Gladys wraps her in a hug and she sobs on her shoulder for a bit while the older woman strokes her hair. Eventually, she pulls back and holds Dove's cheeks in her hands.

"Hon, it's been one month. Really it's been one week. And it probably wasn't the right week. I know it's hard, but you'll have a baby before too much longer. I feel it in my soul."

"The right week?" Dove's eyes are wide with confusion.

"Oh, hon. Alright then." Gladys launches into a monologue about reproduction and cycle tracking and everything else Dove needs to know. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes, mama. I think it does. So I need to figure out the right week."

"If you'll tell me when your cycle is I can help you." Dove smiles and nods, feeling some hope for the first time in days.

******

Elvis is home for a few days between filming and having to leave for the army. Dove has established it's not the right week, but she doesn't care. They tumble around naked and sweating an impressive number of times in the days that he's home.

The night before he leaves, they lay together in bed after a spirited lovemaking session, both of them naked and panting. She lays in the crook of his arm with her hand on his chest.

"I love you so much, Jumbee."

"I love you too, honey."

"I don't want you to leave." He looks down at her and tips her chin up to look at him.

"I don't wanna go. But I'm gonna find a way for us to be together. We're married. Surely that means something to the army." He leans down and kisses her lips gently. She thinks about telling him that she wants to get pregnant, but decides against it. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

******

Elvis goes to Fort Chaffee and then on to Fort Hood in March of 1958. He writes to Dove that he's been spending a lot of his free time with some friends that live in Waco and that if she ever wants to visit, she's welcome there.

April comes and goes and Dove decides that letters and phone calls aren't enough. She and Gladys establish that the last week of May is the one where she's most fertile and she makes plans to visit him in Waco. When she finally arrives, he's so glad to see her, he can barely contain himself.

Eddie Fadal and his wife happily welcome her to their home and that first evening is spent around the piano. Elvis struggles to keep his hands off of her, eager to get her back to his bedroom. When they finally do get back to the room he asks a question as they kiss and start to strip each other's clothes off.

"Why did you wait so long, baby?"

"I was waiting for the right week." She says it without really thinking about it, but he pauses and pulls back.

"Right week for what?" Her cheeks turn bright pink as she stands there in his arms, half-dressed.

"It's... not important."

"No, Dovey, right week for what?" He looks down at her inquisitively, loosening his grip on her. She looks down at her feet and whispers.

"Right week for making a baby." Understanding hits Elvis. He doesn't know the details but he's heard about women not having sex at certain times to prevent pregnancy.

"Wait, are you tryin' to get pregnant?" She nods, keeping her eyes down. He tips her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Dovey?"

"Yeah. Is that not what you want?"

"Honey, I'm about to be gone for 2 years. It's not really the best time." She knits her eyebrows together.

"But I would like to have some part of you, something to keep me busy while you're gone."

"I don't really wanna miss my kid's first two years." His voice is more intense than she expected. She never dreamed he wouldn't be on board.

"You really don't want this?"

"Not yet, honey. Is this the right week?"

"Yes. That's why I'm here."

"Then I can't make love to ya." He puts his hands on her upper arms and moves backwards away from her.

"Elvis, please!" She whines pleadingly.

"I'll go down on ya baby, but I'm not doing anything more."

"Elvis!"

"I'm sorry, honey, I'm sayin' no." He walks to the bed and lays down on the right side of it. She looks at him with her eyes wide and her lips in a full unintentional pout. "Oh, now c'mere. Don't be lookin' like that."

She crawls into his arms on the bed. He does exactly what he promises and nothing more. She's reminded of all those nights they were together before the wedding and it makes her sad, but he doesn't break his resolve through the whole trip.

Until the last morning she's there. They have to take her to the airport later that day, but they shower together like always in the little white bathroom. They've done this everyday since she's been there, but Elvis woke up in a mood on that particular day.

In the shower, he presses himself up behind her and runs his hands over the front of her body. He whispers in her ear as his hands roam.

"You're so sexy, honey." She whimpers as he runs his hand down between her legs and starts to rub circles on her.

"Somebody is awake this morning." She reaches back and palms his rock hard member as he touches her. He moans softly and his hips buck into her hand.

"God, Dovey, it's been so long." She swears she can feel the throbbing ache in his cock.

"I'm not the one stopping you." She half-moans as he nibbles on her neck and earlobe, his fingers still rubbing against her clit. She feels her orgasm gather in between her legs and whimpers.

"You gonna cum for me, Dovey?"

"If you keep that up, I will." She bites her bottom lip to stifle a moan.

"Good. Good girl. Cum for me, honey." She's so close to the edge and he's so good with his hands that it only takes a few more seconds for her to fall, electricity coursing through her like lightning out to her fingertips. Her orgasm is too much for him to stand.

"Fuck it." He bends her over a little, lining himself up from behind and pushes into her. She yelps with the sudden overstimulation, but doesn't protest when he starts to slam into her. She's needed it so badly for so long, she's not about to stop him now just because her clit is a little sensitive.

He holds her hips so tightly she worries he might leave marks, but it feels so good to be taken like this that she doesn't complain. He moans loudly with the sensation of her wrapped so tightly around him. He's not sure he'll ever get enough of having her like this.

His hands run up to her breasts and squeeze gently as he fucks into her frantically from behind. But he wants to see her face when he cums, so he pulls out and flips her around, pinning her back against the shower wall. He slides his cock back into her and resumes pounding her. Sometimes they make love slow and gentle, but she kind of loves when it's like this; when he needs her so badly that he can't do anything other than fuck her silly.

She moans as he slams into her and then leans forward to whisper in his ear.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me."

"Ohhhh!" He moans loudly as he freezes , his cock pulsing and throbbing inside her, filling her with his release. She sighs, satisfied as he pants and holds her against himself. "Well fuck, baby, I meant to pull out."

"I'm sure one time won't hurt. We've been good all weekend. And I'm sorry. We can wait until you'll be home to have a baby." He kisses her forehead and holds her close.

"We'll have babies. Don't you worry about that Dove Presley. We will." She smiles and snuggles into him, hoping he's right.

******

Elvis continues basic training through the summer. He comes back to Nashville in June to record and Dove is there in the studio with him. They also get word from the army that since he's married, and he's Elvis Presley, he'll be able to live with his wife and family instead of in the barracks. This holds true for when he's in Germany, too. Dove is positively ecstatic that she's not going to have to be without him for two years. But she's unusually tired and not really up for celebrating too much. The champagne makes her nauseous and she's dying to crawl in bed.

When they do finally make it to the bed in their hotel room in Nashville, Elvis wraps himself around her. She's already fast asleep and he wonders if she's okay. She doesn't usually sleep like this. He chalks it up to excitement that he's home, or close to it anyway, and the knowledge that she'll be reunited with him very soon.

At the beginning of July, Dove moves into a house in Killeen, Texas with Gladys and Vernon. Elvis lives there too, anytime he's not busy with army business.

Overall, things are going along quite well.

Until Dove realizes she's missed her period for June. She tells no one. It's too early to know for certain and she's not sure how Elvis would take the news anyway. Maybe it's just her body adjusting to the increase in sexual activity.

When she misses her period in July too, though, she knows it's time for a professional opinion. She finally goes to the doctor and the tests confirm what she thought was true: she's pregnant.

She comes into the house one August day bustling with excitement and nervous to tell Elvis about the baby. But instead, he's sitting on the couch in tears.

He explains that Gladys is ill and they've put her on a train to Memphis. The army should give him emergency leave, but it won't be for another couple of days. His eyes flash with terror and Dove tries to stay strong for him.

"I can't lose Mama. I just can't." He leans against her and sobs. All thoughts of her pregnancy fall by the wayside as she comforts him. She strokes his hair as he weeps and tries to swallow her own tears.

"It'll be okay, Jumbee. Whatever happens, I'm here. It'll be okay."

But she's not sure she believes it either.

******

Now what?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@wildhorseinkansas @ccab @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity

[pluralzalpha]

Genuine storylines from episodes of The Real Ghostbusters and Extreme Ghostbusters (final round of insanity):

Ray discovers Manhattan Island is held up on a rotating pole, which is now causing earthquakes because ghosts have stopped it being lubed up.

The ghost of a jazz musician manipulates time by playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" on the trumpet.

The spirits of Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson and James Moriarty, plus a nasty looking Hound, manifest due to collective belief.

The Busters get hold of the shears used by the Fates of Greek myth to end the lives of mortal men.

Actual Cenobites come out of a book and start mutilating people.

The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man is released three times. Once he goes on the rampage, once he hosts a convention, and once they use him as a mascot for a commercial.

Winston has to solve the plot of an unfinished murder mystery novel while manifestations of its hideous cast of characters menace the team.

An elemental spirit infects a television set and starts showing the future.

A demon breaks out of a statue and starts stealing people's eyes (it keeps them in its mouth).

Cartoon/comicbook characters come to life, I don't know, four times?

The guys accidentally wager their souls on a gameshow run by a demon in a snappy tux.

They adopt a baby ghost while they try to find her ghost parents who will take her back to her ghost dimension.

Teenage Phantom Surfer Lizards

[ultrameganicolaokay]

Jenny Sparks #1 by Tom King and Jeff Spokes. Variant covers by (1) Homare, (2) Guillem March and (3) Saowee. Main cover (4) by Spokes. Out in August.

"The wild storm begins! What could four strangers have to do with the fate of the world? Find out as Captain Atom goes rogue, threatening to destroy the planet he once swore to protect. Can any hero stop him? Well, it may take the most unconventional of them all… Jenny Sparks, the one woman tasked with keeping ALL the heroes in line, no matter the cost. With a snap of her fingers, she’s entered the fray and won’t quit until the job is done! The Spirit of the 20th Century returns for the 21st in this action-packed new miniseries by Eisner Award-winning writer Tom King (Wonder Woman, Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow) and artist Jeff Spokes!"

[my-dear-hammy]

Warping the Veil: A Sovellan and Rookanis Story

When the Dread Wolf attempts to sunders the veil, it all goes horribly wrong. He should have listened to her. The world burned. Everything. The Humans, the Elves, the Spirits. And the Evanuris delighted in their massacre. Lavellan offers the chance of a hail Andraste, one last attempt to save the world. And it may very well cost her life. Together, a spell is crafted and they send her spiraling through time to try and prevent it all. If only it hadn't gone so dreadfully wrong. Lavellan wakes up confused and disoriented to an angry seeker. There's much more wrong here than there should be. With spirits whisper to her and memories not her own warn her of the future, she must muddle through this dangerous landscape. Memory can only help so much. Nightmare is waiting. The Dread Wolf howls. And Lavellan stands in the center of it all. In another world, broken and torn by catastrophe, a sacrifice is made to give this world a second chance. This story deals with the plotline of Veilgaurd, including a Lucanis and Rook romance. Beware of spoilers. The Lore surrounding what happened to Lavellan expands with every new face that appears as the story marches on.

I began this story in 2021, long before the events of Veilguard. Now that the game has released (2024), I'm excited to include a lore that fits so closely with this fic I designed. I rewrote vast swaths of this story, but the parts that were published previously have largely remained. I hope you all enjoy the Revamp of Warping the Veil. I am posting this first chapter for all of you to get introduced to the story. It's the Prequel Chapter and largely follows the events of the Prologue of Dragon Age: Inquisition. After this, the chapters will start to see more content straying from the original plot as the struggle against the future develops.

Full Chapter Available on Ao3: Prelude: Shattered

Prelude: Shattered:

Lavellan

Pain. Lancing up her arm in a sluggish, dream-like state is what finally pulls her back to the surface of consciousness. Her head pounds and her body aches. The stone is cold beneath her legs, but it helps anchor her back into the world rather than her dreams. A cold draft raises goosebumps along her skin. Didn’t they get that fixed forever ago? There shouldn’t be any cracks in the formidable walls. Though, the latest siege surely left more repairs wanting.

"Dorian—” she gasps out weakly, the skin of her head dragging against the stones as she pulls herself to her knees. Metal shackles announce themselves with a tale tell rattle with each shift, loud in the silent room. Finally, her eyes open, clearing away bits of blurriness with each blink. Thankfully, it’s a dark room. Lavellan doesn’t think her splitting headache could handle any level of brightness.

Everything shatters apart and scatters about her like puzzle pieces when a sharp, blinding pain spikes up her arm. It’s too sudden to scream. It’s too much to cry. She can only gasp in shock. Familiar and foreign. This pain is not natural. This pain shouldn’t exist. It’s not a phantom pain of a lost limb. It’s real.

Lost limb? She’d never lost a limb. Where had that thought come from? An echoing lance of pain stabs her mind and she groans until both the oddly green mark on her hand and the ache in her skull pound to the same rhythm of misery. Why isn’t she panicking? Anyone else would be panicking to find some mark upon their hand, causing enough pain to long for unconsciousness again. In fact, it’s almost comforting to find it there. Why?

Fragments of answers shaped like memories or dreams swirl around her, and she tries desperately to reach for them. Before any progress can be made, she’s disrupted by a door banging open and two figures joining her in the damp cell. Soldiers standing guard around her all sheathe their swords. Had they been there the whole time? Why did they need to keep their swords drawn? Her manacles clink. Had they been afraid of her? By the Dread Wolf, Shems really would use any excuse, wouldn’t they?

But they’re not important. The two that had entered are. Lavellan squints through the darkness, stuffing the glowing mark between her legs to dampen the glare of its light. Immediately, the name of one the women jumps to her tongue, even if she does not say it. The other floats near the surface of the murky lake of her mind but quickly submerges again before she can grasp it.

Cassandra, dressed in the familiar armor of a Seeker, stands tall and proud despite the heaviness of catastrophe. Stomach full of mantra, she burns like a beacon. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now?” Cassandra asks. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Lavellan shakes her head, trying to clear it as flashing images surface and submerge again, too rapidly for her to comprehend. Screaming. Nothing tells her anything of where she is or what’s going on. She should know. No matter how hard she claws for them, they do not return. Even if her memory refuses to comply, everything here is far too familiar. Can’t they see something is horribly wrong?

Cassandra reaches down, grabbing Lavellan’s wrist in a near fracturing hold and forces the mark onto display. “Explain this.” The Anchor flares slightly for dramatic effect, as if it knew people were talking about it. The sickly green light casts the room and her mind in shadows, illuminating only the sharpest angles of Cassandra’s face and reflecting off her armor.

Words whisper around them, words that only Lavellan hear. Incomprehensible riddles and phrases, lost before they’re found. Why is the air so loud?

“I—can’t.” Lavellan’s eyes are glued to her hand. To the anchor. Its light dances between them. The only thing keeping her alive and the very thing damning her to death.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Lavellan insists. Finally, her gaze pulls free and snaps to the face of the Seeker. She can see it now, where she couldn’t before. Anger, yes. Anger risen out of fear. Terror. The world has come crashing down and there’s nowhere to go. Nothing to defeat. Only a hole in the sky and endless, devastating death. Wait. Hole in the sky? Her head is jumbled again, tripping over itself. What’s real? What’s delusional? That’s a matter of debate.

“You’re lying!” Cassandra insists, gripping Lavellan roughly by the collar. An act of desperation made by a terrified woman, grasping for answers in a world gone mad. The sudden wrench of her muscles sets her whole body into dull aches, as if she’d tripped and tumbled down a steep hill.

“We need her, Cassandra,” the other woman intervenes. The Left Hand. Left. Reaching. The Left Hand remembers a knife slipped to her in darkness and wonders why the flower blooms.

“It blooms because even in the darkest of night, there will always be dawn,” Lavellan mumbles, dizzy and aching.

The Left Hand freezes. “What did you say?”

Lavellan shakes her head, forcing her eyes to focus on the familiar face. “Did…” It takes her a moment more to pull back together. “Did you say people died?

The Left Hand frowns. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

“I remember…so much screaming.”  Her eyebrows knit together in thought. Cassandra paces. There’s a steady drip of water somewhere distant in the cell. Several sets of lungs breathe, in and out. “running,” she finally says. “Things were chasing me. And then…a woman?” It’s starting to come back to her. Her clan. Her mission. The Conclave.

“A woman?”

“I don’t know,” Lavellan says, looking up at them. “I can’t remember.”

Cassandra studies her for a minute. Her steely eyes against vivid green. Lavellan can see the moment she makes up her mind. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Full Chapter Available on Ao3

Tagging those that expressed interest earlier this week ^-^

@junewhenitrains

@manuveninvhenan

@bi-panic-in-my-closet