#i've been having quite a few of these lately

[mr-mercutio]

So here's something that I have learned about patriarchy I want to share: patriarchy is designed to benefit PATRIARCHS. Being the male "head of the family." It's about power and status and hierarchy. To be a patriarch you have to be in charge of others - generally your family. That includes other men! There's no real way to actually escape this, but the closest thing to escaping it for men is to become patriarchs themselves.

My dad was raised in a very strict and traditional catholic household. My opa (his dad) was very much The Head of the Family - even more so because he immigrated to Canada and his father wasn't around, so there was no one above him. He expected obedience from his wife and children, including his two sons, and that was just The Way of Things.

My dad suffered under this quite a lot. And he did the big hippie thing of vowing not to be like his dad - and to his credit, he did try in many ways not to repeat the same mistakes his dad did when being my dad. But the problem is that he still bought into the system of patriarchy. And the only real way to have power in that system is to be a patriarch. So that's what he became. He got a wife and had kids and expected them to defer to him the way he had to defer to his dad. He expected the cycle to continue, but now in his favour.

Problem was that no one else in my immediate family was fine with that. My mom eventually checked out of that. I cut my dad out of my life about 8 years ago. My sisters barely speak to him. We said no, you don't get to control us like that just because you're The Man of the House. You don't get to dictate our lives to us, to tell us how to behave and what's allowed and what isn't, especially as adults. It was chafing enough as kids, but as an adult he still had this expectation that we'd all still defer to him. He would always be right the same was his dad was always right.

And that worldview of his extended to everything outside the family as well - that's why he buys into men's rights nonsense and is anti-choice and thinks the world is too woke. Because he sees that people aren't willing to just prop up the system, and it means he doesn't get the power from it that he was promised. When he was young, it was clear that if he just held out and did what he was told, he would one day be King. And now he doesn't have that and hates it.

I've cut him out of my life because it's been too difficult to stay connected to him. He's hurt me too much and I can't be okay with him anymore. But I'm SAD for him because he's been screwed over by this system just as much as most people I know. Not in the same ways, but still very palpably. But he'll never acknowledge that the problem is the system and not everyone who refuses to follow it. For him, everyone who says no to patriarchy is just wrong and a traitor to how people should live, and he refuses to see that he doesn't benefit from this system because it's a BAD system. It crushed him and remolded him into something to prop itself up, and that's heartbreaking.

The people who support patriarchy are rarely the ones who are actually truly benefiting from it. Yes, men definitely get privilege from the system because it's designed to put men over everyone else. But very few men in the system actually manage to escape the hierarchy of the other men over top of them who make their lives miserable.

If you can, be kind and try to understand and help. It's too late for me and my dad - there's too much bad blood there now and I tried to help for too long without success. I still hope for his sake that he finds a better way to be happy. But there are lots of men out there who would blossom and thrive if they could let go of the idea that patriarchy is going to make them king - and there are more chances than ever that they CAN understand that. Try to give them that chance.

I want there to be fewer MRAs. Do you want that too? Do you want to know what helps us get there, from a feminist perspective?

You may not like my answer: acknowledge that sexism can affect men. Recognize that, although the patriarchy generally privileges men, they are also subject to restrictive gender roles that are harmful to them (shunning all things “feminine,” not showing emotions, being protectors/strong, never admitting being victims of SA/IPV, having to “earn” their manhood, etc.).

Give young men a place other than the right-wing manosphere to be heard about the issues they experience. If these grifters are telling them “only we understand how hard it is to be a man, the left hates you for your gender” and they look to the left and see “men claiming they have ‘problems’ are losers who just hate women, all men are trash,” do you think they’re going to be drawn towards or away from feminism?

Before you leave an angry response: no, this does not mean to center men instead of women in feminism, it just means including them at all. No, it is not “coddling” men to treat them with human dignity, you can and should continue to hold them (and every other gender) responsible for unpacking sexist beliefs. No, this does not mean it is every individual woman’s and feminist’s responsibility to prioritize men’s issues, it just means at the least not shutting them down when they do speak up about sexism. No, it is not “not all men-ing” to point out that “men are trash” sentiments hurt the feminist movement rather than helping it. Ask questions before you make accusations on this post, please. I have been abused by men too, I get it, this isn’t easy to hear.

[megismyname]

I've been curious why you haven't been doing your 'lives' lately, and really kinda wanting them. The few that you had, brought me a sense of comfort. But tonight, I ventured onto another person's live, and saw that they were having to constantly dodge comments from trolls.

I don't know if everyone feels this way, but I feel we are in a good place right now. We have been given beautiful, chess playing, crumbs recently from Nicola and her 'Team'. Even with the minor setbacks, everything is still good.

So just want to say that I get why you haven't been doing your lives, is because you don't want to let the negative spoil the positive message we've been given.

Hi there!

Short answer: I've been having a phase of being "over" Tiktok.

Longer answer: I am not a person who holds their tongue very well. I speak my mind and I tell people what I think about them when they are in the wrong. There are quite a few "larger" creators in this fandom who were taking it upon themselves to "educate" the fandom and become the moral police. Now to be fair, I am now blocked by most of them so my life is pretty blissful but it doesn't mean their toxic ramifications do not trickle down.

I find it very important to let you know that I am not afraid of trolls or toxic people and I will not cower to them. These are insecure people on the internet who are typically hiding behind the face of a celebrity - around here that's usually Nic - and that empowers them to speak the way they do. I guarantee if you met them on the street, they wouldn't say 75% of the stuff to your face.

Now I also need to say that I needed a break from TT lives because the fandom was exhausting me. This is not aimed at you Anon as I don't even know who you are. I am not a spiral-er because frankly there is nothing to spiral about. In the end, none of this affects my life personally. And as for those background characters, I don't give two craps about them. But there are a lot of you out there who just can't stop yourselves and my inbox was OVERFLOWING with people who needed their hands held and reassurance. After multiple N&J sightings in October, I just couldn't do it anymore. It is not my job to hold everyone's hand through this or tell you what to think and feel and I'm sorry if that offends anyone. We are all adults and we all need to find a way to manage our emotions and if you're going to break down over every little thing then you might need to step back and take a break.

That being said, I do plan on doing a live again one day soon as I know there are alot people who just want to be on there and laugh at silly shit and I'm always down for that. I just needed the fandom to break through a lot of this bullshit first.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Thirty

Couple of things - I've been going through it lately and just wanted to get this bit out. I do have more planned but I need a break after this. The Carpenters song referenced is 'all you get from love is a love song' and if you don't know it you can give it a listen and then you'll get the 'broken arm' joke.

They squish together into the phone booth, Steve hitting the numbers almost on reflex now, going through the motions of briefly speaking to Robin’s mom.

He angles the receiver so that Eddie can hear too, their cheeks practically touching, “Steve! Chrissy’s here-”

“Why?” Eddie cuts her off immediately, “not time to close the shop,” he almost sounds a little critical when he says it, making Steve smile.

“I know I know,” Chrissy says, “but he came back!”

“So we waited for him to leave, and we followed him,” Robin adds enthusiastically.

If Steve couldn’t hear for himself that they’re both at Robin’s place, and they’re both absolutely fine, he’d be panicking now, maybe he kind of is, because he’s sort of snippy when he says, “Robin what the fuck, it’s not safe, you two aren’t- you’re not Cagney and Lacy for fucks sake.”

“Steve it’s fine,” Chrissy tells him, “he went to Starcourt, so we went home and called Hopper right away.”

“Good,” Steve breathes a sigh of relief, “okay, so what now?”

“We don’t know,” Robin admits, “we’re just waiting to hear now. See what happens?”

“Okay we could...Eddie, you want to kill some time in town, and we can call again later?”

“Yeah” Eddie pulls back his sleeve to check his princess watch, “...lunch. And shopping?”

“Sure thing baby.”

Chrissy squeaks down the phone, “oh you’re both just too cute together.”

“Oh my god don’t encourage them.”

“Oh!” Chissy starts, “I met El and all the rest of the kids, isn’t she just, so cool? She made some pens float around!”

“El is the fewest bad kid. She’s quiet,” Eddie agrees, but Steve is absolutely certain Eddie’s warmed to the kids a lot over the last couple of months, so he knows Eddie doesn’t really mean it like that.

“Least,” Steve corrects softly, “she’s the least bad. Probably.”

“Best of a bad bunch?” Robin hazards.

“Maybe,” Eddie tells her, “we can come home soon?”

“Errrr…I mean, see what Hopper says, I guess? We might know later, but you guys shouldn’t come back today anyway, it’s a few hours drive, and you’ll need to pack up and everything, right?”

Steve frowns, as Eddie, very briefly, looks sad, “maybe tomorrow,” he says to Eddie more than the girls, “is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, “I...like the flower shop?”

“You miss it?”

“Yes, and Chrissy. Miss them. I know they’re not gone but...they’re not here.”

“Oh Eddie honey, I miss you too, okay? And when you get back you can come into work, there’s stuff to catch up on,” she whispers then, “Robin isn’t good with the flowers like you.”

“Hey! I’m trying my best here-” but she gives up, everyone else laughing over her.

The payphone starts to beep, “we’ll call later okay!”

Steve’s pretty sure Eddie’s jar will be empty again after today. He’s bought four more records, more Led Zeppelin, plus a Dio record because ‘Rainbow in the Dark’ was playing when they walked in and Eddie really liked it. Steve absolutely certain that the girl with a green Mohawk wearing a Dio shirt sealed the deal, but he's not going to tease Eddie about it.

Eddie comes out of the changing room of the second hand clothes store, showing Steve the jeans he’s trying on. He’s been making do all this time with Steve’s draw string sweats and jeans with a very cinched in belt, so it’s definitely time for Eddie to choose his own things but...Steve wasn’t expecting Eddie to choose anything quite so tight.

“Stevie? What do you think?”

Steve swallows thickly before he answers, he swears Eddie’s only getting away with wearing them because his dicks on the inside, the thing would get strangled otherwise, “you look really good Eds. You like those ones?”

“Yes. Black, like my tail. And look,” Eddie scratches at the ripped fabric, his knees on display, “see my knees. I like to see them, they’re new.”

Steve bites his lips briefly to suppress the chuckle, “you should definitely be proud of those knees, you did grow them yourself.”

Steve frowns at the sight of Eddie in a leather jacket; it’s so very far removed from everything he’s been wearing. It’s so different from all of Steve’s clothes, but Steve can’t deny he’s making it work. It definitely suits the look Eddie’s starting to cultivate. He’s very much leaning towards darker colors, and he was really pleased when he turned up a Led Zeppelin tee shirt out of a pile.

The difference between the Eddie that comes out of the dressing room and the Eddie that went in is startling, Steve’s pullovers and polos all tend to be lighter colors, so all the black is very different.

“You like it?”

“I mean, as long as you like it, sure, you’re the one who has to wear it. But yeah, yeah I do like it. You look good.”

Steve has to stand by while Eddie rummages across a tray of cheap jewellery, “they’ll turn your fingers green,” he warns vaguely. Eddie shrugs, probably not understanding what Steve means as he tries things on, he likes the shiny silver ones that definitely are not silver, “you’re such a magpie.”

Eddie chooses two chunky rings that are so cheap he will get change from his last five dollars, but he clearly likes how they look on his fingers; he doesn’t even take them off to pay for them. Steve knows he’s just here to hold the bags, but he doesn’t mind. Eddie’s worked hard for this money, he should spend it on the things he wants.

Steve meanders through the store, it’s mostly second hand furniture and ‘antiques’, but Steve figures that term is being used very, very loosely. As near as Steve can tell it mostly looks like house clearances and that sort of thing. He spends a little while at the glass cabinets, staring at all the little figurines. 'Dust gatherers,' his dad calls them. There’s some tiny little jade ones, big tall porcelain ones and everything in between.

He’s distracted away from them by the sound of twanging. Bad, uneven twanging on an acoustic guitar. Steve follows the sound, finding Eddie just fiddling with the strings, the guitar still lying on it’s back. It doesn’t have a case, and looks pretty beat to hell to Steve, covered in stickers and all scratched up, but Eddie is entertained by the noises, and he looks up, smiling, “you going to buy it?”

Eddie shakes his head, “not enough left.”

“How much are you short?”

Eddie checks his pocket, and then the little label hanging from the neck, “six dollars?” he hazards.

“Okay, well, I’ve got four left on me, so maybe you can haggle the guy down.”

“I’ll try,” Eddie grins big, taking the change from Steve.

They’ve dropped everything off at the car and, with nothing left to do to kill any more time, they head back to the phone and smush into the booth together.

“He wasn’t there when Hopper got there,” Robin tells them, and Steve sighs, disappointed, “but! El looked into my head real quick, and she says he’s called Doctor Owens. She knew who he was, and she says he’s...nice.”

“Nice,” Steve repeats, deadpan, “a man who facilitated experiments on little kids. Nice.”

“Well...I mean maybe as nice as he could be given the circumstances. I got the impression he never...he wasn’t cruel about it. If you know what I mean.”

“I guess,” Steve hazards, “Eddie?”

Next to him, Eddie’s kind of staring into space, frowning, “Owens. Yes. Remember that word, maybe?”

“Okay. Okay, so what are they doing now Robs?”

“Well, Hoppers keeping an eye out and he’s going to try the Motel right now, but if he’s not there he’s going to start doing drive bys of Starcourt and stuff, and hopefully he turns up,” Steve can hear in her voice that she's shrugging, “but Hopper says since no one else is asking any questions, he’s hopeful that it’s just this guy working alone, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah okay.”

Eddie listens to his new record while Steve makes dinner. He has his guitar over his lap, and occasionally plays a note or two. He understood the mechanics of it already, but Steve figures he must have seen someone with a guitar on TV at some point.

Steve’s absorbed in what he’s doing, and doesn’t notice at first that the twanging noises have stopped. The record ends, but it feels like it’s been a long time of quiet, and Steve looks over to find Eddie, expecting him to be flipping it.

He isn’t.

Steve turns off the stove, covering the two pots he’s been carefully nursing. Eddie isn’t in the cabin; Steve finds him on the dock. He’s just...standing there, in the near dark. Just...staring out across the lake.

“Eddie? You okay?”

Eddie looks around again, “heard something. Had to check it’s safe.”

“You could have said,” Steve comes up close, wrapping a hand around Eddie’s hip. Eddie turns in reflexively, looking for a quick, soft kiss, which Steve is happy to give.

“Think the trees look like The Upside Down.”

“Do you?” Steve looks around; all the trees have leaves on, they’re dense and alive and nothing like the dead twisted things that litter The Upside Down, “I don’t think they do.”

Wind moves through the trees, the susurration of leaves is kind of loud, “sounds like bats. Many many bats,” Eddie shifts closer, pressing himself against Steve.

“You okay?”

“I don’t...I think I don’t like it here.”

“Oh...well,” Steve makes a decision, “since they’re pretty sure it’s just the Owens guy, how about we go home tomorrow? I mean, you might not be able to go to work and stuff until they find him-”

“Yes. Home tomorrow.”

Steve looks around again, tries to see it through Eddie’s eyes. Tries to see what reminds him so much of The Upside Down. Maybe the panic attack in the shower knocked some stuff loose; Steve doesn’t know. Eddie’s been making do with strip washing from the bathroom sink the last couple of nights, and that’s been fine but not ideal. Eddie’s hair needs a wash.

“Okay, we’ll call when we go through town, okay, let them know?”

“Yes...take my book back.”

“You finished it?”

“Almost.”

“Lets go inside, I can finish dinner and you can tell me what it’s about?”

“So they’re...stealing treasure from a dragon?” Eddie nods, his mouth full of dinner. “Okay, fair enough.”

Eddie swallows, “I want to read The Lord of The Rings.”

“Okay, I’m sure we can get it at the library.”

“You promise dragons aren’t real?”

“Yup. Definitely not real, and there’s no hobbits or wizards or- or elves or any of that stuff. And magic isn’t real- well. That kind of magic isn’t real, at least,” Eddie frowns like the book committed a crime.

“But...dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were definitely real, you have those in your book?”

“Yes...dragons can fly though. And breathe fire.”

“Well...some dinosaurs could fly, and they were big like a dragon, some of them.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes go wide, “I thought from my book like...cow sized?”

“Hu uh,” Eddie excitement is actually palpable, “definitely a dinosaur book next, some of them were like...as tall as trees,” Steve doesn’t actually know, he was most definitely not a dinosaur kid, but he’s pretty sure at least some of them were tall like that.

“All the time, used to do this. When I had a tail,” Eddie’s voice is muffled where he’s bent over the kitchen sink.

“Yeah...I guess I did,” and it’s true, Steve was washing Eddie’s hair pretty much every other day when Eddie still had a tail. He feels the back of Eddie’s head almost reflexively at the memory, following the ghostly, barely there ridges with his fingers through the suds, “it’s getting so long again already.”

“Good. El said Max makes nice braids when it’s long enough.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “oh yeah? That’s going to look great, now eyes and mouth closed, I’m gonna’ rinse.”

Eddie has his head resting on Steve’s tummy while Steve plays with his hair, hand buried in his curls, massaging his scalp, “what you doing baby?”

“Hear.”

“Hear? Oh what, you’re listening?”

“Listening to Stevie’s inside.”

“Anything interesting?”

Eddie nods, his cheek dragging against Steve’s skin, “funny tummy noises. And bumping.”

“Bumping? Oh, beating, my heart right?”

“Yeah. Stevie, we can definitely go home tomorrow?”

“Sure thing babe, we can get packed up in the morning,” Steve yawns, “you want to go to sleep?”

“Maybe. There’s bad dreams here.”

Steve blinks his eyes open to look down, a weird shiver raising goosebumps on his arms, all the way down to where his hand is still buried in Eddie’s hair. Eddie didn’t have to put that quite so creepily. “I think it’s just...maybe it reminds you of things here, so your mind is kind playing tricks on you a little? There’s nothing bad here baby, I promise. What do you think?”

“The water reminds me of Barb.”

Steve frowns, “Barb? How do you know about Barb?” Under Steve’s hand, something crawls unpleasantly beneath Eddie’s skin.

Eddie shrugs, “Nancy told me you killed her.”

“Stevie!” Steve fights, briefly, confused. “Stevie love, it’s okay. Bad dream.”

Steve’s kind of sweaty and panting, but he quickly realizes that it’s Eddie whose holding him, so he quits moving, “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out slowly, trying to calm himself down, “I’m fine. Thanks. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“You want to tell me? Here, water.” Steve takes the glass, sipping it carefully. He can feel the cool water go down, grounding him.

Steve has no desire whatsoever to talk about it, so he deflects, “what time is it?”

“Five?” Eddie leans over, checking his watch before putting it back, “half five.”

“I miss you saying five and a half, it was cute.”

“I can say five and a half,” Eddie takes the glass again before snuggling in.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Already awake...bad dreams.”

“Fucking hell. We need to go home just so we can get a good nights sleep. What did you dream about?”

“You. Lost you, in the trees...we were here but...Upside Down trees? I tried and tried to find you. Could hear you, ‘help help,’ really scared.”

“Maybe it is this place,” Steve settles down again, pulling Eddie close, “weird that we’re both having bad dreams right?”

“I don’t like it.”

“No but...lets just rest a little, and then breakfast and we can get packed up, okay?”

“Okay, Stevie love.”

Eddie waits outside the phone booth, leaning against the car where it sits parked by the curb. Steve calls Family Video today, knowing that Robs should be at work, “hey Bird-”

“He got him! Hopper! He got the Owens guy!”

Steve feels himself relax, one less thing to worry about, “good. Good, we’re coming home.”

“Okay, Hopper does think it was just this guy. He was staying at the Motel, Hop had to wait around a bit, like proper stake out!! But he did get him. Said he couldn’t find any evidence of him like, working with other people, and El’s going to talk to him or something. Make sure. I’m not sure about that bit but-”

“Okay, okay, so where is he?”

“Hopper’s got him at the Motel. Probably like, tied up, do you think? Steve what if he’s like, working for the government though. Or or the Russians-”

Steve rubs his forehead, “Birdie, I know you do love some empty speculation-”

“I do!”

“But how about we wait until we actually like, know?”

“Spoil sport.”

They say goodbye and end the call, Steve offering the keys to Eddie, “want to do a little of the driving?”

Eddie grins big, clearly surprised and pleased by the offer, “yes I do!”

“Okay, careful though, you don’t know the roads like at home. And no getting distracted by the cows.”

Eddie ‘moos’ really loudly in response, once in the drivers seat, he pauses for a second, “should have bought tapes,” he laments.

“Well, unlucky, I’m thinking some Carpenters.”

“Nooooo,” Eddie laughs.

“Shut up, I know you love it. Now sing to me about how the best love songs are written with a broken arm.”

“I think that’s what she said! Broken heart makes no sense,” Eddie grumbles, Steve still laughing.

Eddie had caved after two hours of driving, but still, considering all Eddie had done before today is short journeys around Hawkins, Steve figures he did really well in an unfamiliar place, and he told Eddie so. Eddie has turned into a surprisingly careful driver, Steve doesn’t know if it’s his consideration for Steve’s beloved car, or if it’s Steve’s constant reminders that Eddie cannot afford to draw any attention to himself. Either way, Steve feels safe in the passenger seat.

“Okay, I think I should take you home to unpack, then I can figure out how to call Hop and see if I can go over.”

Steve’s not even surprised by Eddie’s response, “both go, you mean.”

“Eddie...I’m not sure it’s-”

“Stevie,” Eddie manages to make it a complete sentence.

“Look...I’m not going to take your choice away, okay, if you want to come, then that’s fine. But...you get I just want you to be safe, right? And I feel like the less this guy knows, the better?”

“I know...I know,” Eddie has his thinking face on, when he’s wrestling with how to say something. It’s been happening a lot less lately, but this concept must be more complicated. “The people had me in a tank. They...hurt me. I was scared. Now...Owens is in the tank? He has to...he has to say why. To me. And sorry.”

“I...is that what you want? For him to apologize? To...explain?”

“Apologize and explain. Yes. And...I will not hurt him. I’m Eddie. I’m not people.”

Steve shouldn’t be surprised, not really. He feels like he knows Eddie inside and out, but his natural compassion, his...kind of innate goodness still blind sides Steve sometimes. Steve had vaguely considered that a realistic outcome of this may be that he’s helping Hopper hide a body. Maybe. It was kind of an abstract thought he hadn’t wanted to poke too hard but, realistically, they’re talking about a man who experimented on children, on Eddie.

Steve is clearly no where near as forgiving.

Hopper meets them both outside the room. Steve has no idea what to expect, really. The rasp of Hopper stubble is loud when he scrubs at his face, “El thinks this Owens guy is legit. He already knows Eddie has,” Hopper gestures vaguely, “human parts.”

“How?”

“After Starcourt happened, he went back to poke about, and he saw you both. More importantly Eddie, driving a car,” Hopper’s words are full of accusation, like ‘see I knew him driving would be trouble.’

Eddie waves a hand dismissively, “I can go in?”

Hopper sighs, but Steve isn’t going to fight Eddie on this. He knows what he wants, and he’s so fucking smart. Steve’s sure Eddie doesn’t fully appreciate the risks, not since he doesn’t get fully grasp how stuff like actual governments work but...yeah. It’s Eddie’s life, but Steve still takes his hand. If they’re doing it, they’re doing it together.

Hopper just sighs and rolls his eyes.

Steve figured that, somehow, this guy would just...look evil. He doesn’t. He looks like a harmless old dude, sitting on the edge of a sagging motel mattress, looking over some papers. He cannot disguise his interest when Eddie walks in.

He’s not restrained or anything, he’s just...there. There are books and pens and folders and shit spread out on the opposite bed, like he’s been working.

“Owens?” Eddie checks.

“Yes. Yes hello it is...so wonderful to see you again. And to hear you speak! How good is your understanding-”

“I think we have questions, first,” Steve cuts him off sharply. He doesn’t seem threatening, just...genuinely pleased to see Eddie. The guy has to be up to something, Steve can’t shake the suspicious thought that the guy must be one hell of an actor.

“Yes. Of course. I have everything, all of my notes, from Starcourt, so any questions you have I will do my best to answer.”

“Okay, where the fuck do you get off experimenting on people?” Steve’s pretty sure his voice is reasonably calm. He’s vaguely aware of Hopper coming in behind them, pulling up a folding chair he must have gotten from his truck.

Owens closes his eyes briefly, before addressing Eddie,“yes. Of course. I am so so sorry for what you were put through but..the work we were doing. I was not fully aware of just how intelligent you were. Are. I didn’t at first fully comprehend that we were even dealing with a sentient specimen-”

“He’s not a specimen, he’s a person,” Steve snaps.

“I am very smart,” Eddie adds helpfully.

“Yes. Yes you are. And the transformation you have undergone is nothing short of miraculous, if I could take some bloods-”

“Absolutely the fuck not. What were you doing with the Russians?”

“Oh,” Owens seems genuinely confused by the question, like it hadn’t really occurred to him, “when the original labs were closed, the funding ended. Of course we were aware of the mirror dimension-”

Eddie looks at Steve, “he means The Upside Down.”

“-Oh, is that what you call it? Well, it was deemed for too dangerous, and not worth the expense, to continue, not after such a catastrophic failure. The Russians however didn’t seem to have any such issues and were interested in opening a gate; I had to go where I could to continue my work, you understand. And then they brought you back with them. What should I call you?”

“Eddie. I’m Eddie.”

“And you’re working? And you’ve learned to speak and drive a car...your ability to process new information is staggering. The physical changes, did they just happen? What was the-”

“Stop, just stop. What do you want with him? Why have you been asking around?”

“Stevie,” Eddie says quietly, pulling Steve back a little by his shirt. And yeah, okay, Steve may have taken a step forward.

“I just...want to continue my studies. Eddie’s change...the differences in his make up, his body’s ability to rewrite itself – it could lead to...well, significant discoveries. The data I could gather, imagine the effect on modern medicine, what we might achieve – the potential to help people could be immeasurable.”

“We could...help people?” Eddie echoes.

“Yes, well. We could try. Like I said I would have to do some tests to understand-”

“No,” Steve crosses his arms over his chest.

Next to him, Eddie asks quietly, “what tests?”

“Just...take some blood, for now. Just try to understand how this happened and...what the changes mean on a genetic level.”

“Look, Eddie, you do not have to do a single thing for this guy, okay? This could be dangerous, they could come and take you away again-”

“I would most certainly like to avoid just that,” Owens interjects.

“Oh yeah, right. Sell me on that then,” Steve snaps at him.

“Look,” Owens spreads his hands, he hasn’t moved from his seat on the bed, “I’m the only one who knows about this. The little contact I’ve had with my previous...employers implies that they’re done with the site, they’ve scrubbed the remains of Starcourt, it’s already being filled in. I only know you even exist because I just happened to see you. No one knows Eddie is alive right now, that he didn’t die in his tank, except for me. If I tell anyone they will take him, potentially back to Russia, and I’ll loose access to him. If I inform the American team, I’ll have to admit that I was working for the Russians, which would cause some obvious fall out for me. This way I can just…continue with my work.”

Steve rubs his eyes. It sounds...legit. He guesses. Logical. “Hopper?”

“El says he’s on the level.”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve huffs, walking in a circle.

“Stevie? I want to help people.”

“I know you do baby.”

“Oh, are you two in a relationship-”

Steve finds himself leaning over to point in Owens face, “do not.”

“Okay, okay,” Owens spreads his hands, “look, I think you need to see this from the other side too. What if Eddie gets sick? What are you going to do, take him to the doctor? And what about El, and her powers? What if something comes up with her? I’m more than happy to-”

“I’m sure you are,” Steve stops him, “and you agree with that Hop?”

“I mean, he’s got a point. Don’t think we could take Eddie to a regular doctor, and El was fine with letting him look her over. I mean I maybe don’t agree with the shit he’s been involved in but...I don’t currently have a lot of choice with getting my kids brain powers looked at.”

“I don’t like it.”

Hopper shrugs, “nope.”

“This is such a bad plan.”

“Not as bad as-”

“Don’t you dare-” Steve starts.

“Letting some fish guy-”

“Hopper!” Eddie adds, affronted.

“Bite your toes off.”

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: A little gift fic for @musubi-sama Happy birthday!

You've enlisted the services of Geto Suguru to assist you with ridding yourself of strange dreams. In the world of curses, however, nothing is as it seems ...

CW: Mild sensuality.

There is something of the wolf in him.

Maybe it's the smile he wears like a summer garment, carelessly offered, carelessly discarded, a suggestion of bared teeth beneath. Maybe it's the languid grace, the ill-concealed strength beneath the rich material of the yukata.

It is, possibly, in the way his dark, dark eyes trace something unseen as their gaze glides along your seated form within the spacious, traditional room.

A predator's glance, yes, but one seeking tougher prey than you.

You start to wonder where you'd found the courage to mount those stairs, to follow the airy wave of the attendant, to take such a risk based on hearsay alone. It had been office gossip that had drawn you to this place, after all. It shamed you to say it, or even think it, but it was the truth. You'd been desperate, and you'd heard whispers of a solution, of his reputation in certain circles.

And here you were. It was too late for regrets.

As if reading your tumultuous thoughts, his eyes flick towards yours, the smile growing wider for a second. When he speaks, the afternoon breeze outside seems to still a little, to snake into the corners of the room, ready to do his bidding. Soft, cajoling, his voice commandeers your attention like a single, crisp footfall in a dark forest.

"You're here for my help, I presume."

Your tongue darts out, moistening your lips.

"Yes. I - You see, it's the woman who lives next door to me."

He nods, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Go on."

"She's elderly. Alone. I've never seen ... well, any family visiting her, but I've not been in the neighbourhood for long."

You pause, collecting your thoughts. How could this be phrased in a manner that didn't make you sound like the unhinged party?

"Recently, she's been asking to come over. I humoured her, a few times. Had her over for tea. I even gifted her a plant I'd bought. But then ... as soon she was inside the house, she changed."

"Changed?"

You shift slightly, the floor beneath the tatami mat suddenly harder against your knees.

"She becomes quiet. Weird. Like she's waiting for something. She's ... quite chatty outside, but when she's inside, she just ... becomes different. Anyway, that was just the first thing I noticed. I started to find ... these. Scattered over my doorstep."

You produce the dark, polished stone from your pocket, handling it gingerly. He makes no move, and so you approach, placing it a few feet away from him and settling back into a sitting position.

"And ... I know this sounds ... "

He waves a hand, nonchalant, as if nothing you say could possibly surprise him.

"After the stones started to appear, I started to have dreams. Really vivid dreams. In them, I am riding a train, like the one I take to work. It's a stormy day outside. So I look out the window, and I see clouds. Thick, dark clouds. And they start to form a shape."

For the first time, you see a glimmer of interest in those onyx eyes. The palm cushioning his chin drops away.

"Hmm. In your dream, is the train traveling away from, or towards the clouds?"

"Towards. In fact they ... form the shape of her face. With her mouth wide open. And she ... she swallows the train. It travels right into her mouth, with me in it."

"And what then?"

"I wake up. Nothing else really happens, except for ... "

He waits, fingers tracing idly along his earlobe. You clear your throat.

"Well, I wake up feeling like a ... child. A child who wakes up in the dark. Like I want my mother to come into my room and hold me. Many times, I cry. And it doesn't ... go away, the feeling. Even when I'm at work, even when I'm having dinner with colleagues, I just ... feel the urge to be embraced. By my mother. A parent. Someone. It's so strong that I ... locked myself in a toilet once and wrapped my arms around myself."

Your laugh is higher pitched than you'd prefer, brittle. You blink rapidly, fighting the cloudiness that settles across your eyes.

"My mother's long gone, and I've been living alone for many years now. I've never felt this way before. I can't explain it. I have a feeling. A feeling that it all has something to do with her. That she ... did something to me when she came to my house. The way she watched me. Like she was waiting for something."

He hums thoughtfully, straightening out of his semi-reclining position.

"In cases such as these, I think it works best to visit the site itself."

"The ... site?"

"Your home, of course."

"Oh. My - Oh. I really don't want to make you go out of your way. I live all the way over in - "

He rises, the fall of his dark hair echoing the slide of long sleeves as he gracefully re-arranges himself.

"And you've come all the way here, to me, for assistance. Please don't forget that you've paid us to render you a service. I hate to sound so ... transactional, but you've sought out our help. And you traveled by train no less."

His sly, sideways glance drags a reluctant smile out of you. He bows politely, the corner of his own mouth quirking.

"At your service."

He informs you of the time of his arrival, of course. His communication by text message is light, professional.

You arrange to leave work early that day, hurrying back to your home, eyes flickering across the fence to the door of the neighboring house. That's where she is. There is no sign of her at this time, but your imagination conjures up the twitch of a curtain, the soft shuffle of slippered feet within.

Your key slips slightly as you unlock the front door and you enter, closing it behind you with force. Taking a deep breath, you will your muscles out of their tense state.

He will be here soon. He will end this.

You busy yourself with tidying up, hands drifting aimlessly over dust-free counter-tops, shifting a few items around. Sitting is out of the question.

About forty minutes after you arrive, the doorbell chimes softly. Geto is standing a small distance away from the door when you answer it. He doesn't greet you immediately. His eyes are roving across the front of your house, sliding sideways, and you shiver as you see the look that crosses his face as his gaze lands on her house.

Not unpleasant. Almost eager. Hungry.

He turns to you with a smile, eyes curving slightly upward, and you're struck by how handsome he looks. In civilian clothes, a knitted sweater and jeans, black leather loafers and a silver wristwatch, he looks effortlessly beautiful, the swathe of dark hair gleaming in the mid-morning light.

Everything about him seems casual, luxurious. Besides the eyes, of course. They consume the warmth of the yard and reflect something you can't (and maybe don't want to) put a name to.

"Good morning, Geto. Please, come in."

You bow politely and he waves off the formality of your greeting. Somewhere, to the left, you hear a door creak slightly open. Geto steps forward and surprises you by slipping his warm fingers underneath yours, hooking and pulling you forward. You stumble out into the yard beside him and his smile grows wider. He spreads his arms out.

"Why go in when we can experience this glorious sunshine? Let's stay here for a bit."

The door of the neighbouring house is now open. You can hear the protesting squeal of old hinges, but you ignore it and play along with Geto's charade. It must have some meaning.

Shrugging, you finger the slightly frayed hem of your own cardigan.

"I haven't really stopped to soak up the sun for a while now."

He flicks your forehead in a manner that almost reddens your cheeks and by his knowing grin, he is aware of exactly what kind of effect his actions have.

"I've told you so many times. You're looking too gloomy. Flowers like you need sunlight and care."

It takes all of your composure to keep the soft smile on your face as you hear the slide of slippers across the paved garden path on the other side of the fence. Geto glances up and feigns surprise. Reluctantly, you turn to regard the face that has haunted your dreams for almost a month now.

She is openly staring, gaze fluttering between you and Geto with something that looks like alarm. You clear your throat.

"Miss Okoyama. You're out early."

She nods, but she is still scrutinizing Geto. Her voice is reedy, as always.

"Oh, I just ... saw you out. Thought I'd come over and say hello. Haven't seen you in a while."

Her tone sounds slightly accusatory and you feel a tinge of anger. Gesturing to the man beside you, your introduction is almost brusque.

"This is Geto. He's ... a work colleague."

"Ah."

Geto bows politely, playfully. He steps closer to you, and her eyes follow where he places his palm lightly on the small of your back. You feel the warmth of him through your clothes. Feeling more than a little flustered with how this entire situation seems to be unraveling, you grasp his sleeve and tug slightly.

"Let's not keep Miss Okoyama out too long. She needs rest."

Geto greets her politely and follows you back in. You can feel the interrogator's beam of regard on your back, the icy hot trail of watchfulness passing between you and Geto once again.

Once in the safety of your living room, you drop heavily onto the sofa, hands coming up to massage your temples.

"Well. At least you got to meet her."

He laughs and settles down opposite you.

"I'm beginning to see the problem here."

"You are?"

"All too clearly. You mentioned before that this ... strange behavior started last month?"

"Around then, yes."

"And you said that she changed when she stepped into your house?"

You nod, wringing your hands slightly.

"I don't know. Yes. Maybe. I just ... had a weird feeling come from her."

He rises and motions for you to stay seated as he begins a cursory inspection of your home. As he peers into various corners, a stream of questions keeps your attention focused on answering accurately, as opposed to wondering what he is searching for.

"What did you speak about? When she was here?"

"Different things. Our lives, I guess. My job. My family. Her family."

"You mentioned your mother to her?"

You hesitate slightly, watching him as he traces light fingers over the kitchen counter, moving towards your bookshelves.

"Oh, yes. She asked me."

You're not quite sure why you sound so defensive, but he appears not to take notice. He is now examining the books on your shelves.

"Interesting collection you have here. Have you ever leant out any books to her?"

"What? No, never. I mean, after I started having the dreams, I never invited her back here."

The wandering fingers have now flitted from the bookshelf to the stand beside it, holding a small basket for your keys and a potted plant. Feeling a sudden surge of impatience, you stand and make your way to the kitchen.

"Would you like some tea? Coffee, maybe?"

"Oh, don't mind me."

He is now softly brushing the leaves of the pot plant, and you're reminded of how those hands felt a short while ago, fingers coiled around yours. Large, substantial, warm, their strength beyond your ability to guage.

You busy yourself preparing coffee, the rich, decadent scent as enticing as his presence here, in your space. You hear a faint clink and rustle, but when you turn, he is making his way towards the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively.

"Actually, I'd love some coffee."

Your fingers drum across the counter-top.

"Did you ... find anything?"

He doesn't reply immediately, picking up the package of ground coffee and examining the label.

"Does she often ambush you in the yard like that?"

"Once or twice. I ... usually manage to avoid her."

He sets the package down, deceptively delicate. You raise your eyes to his. This close, you can smell the ocean bite of his cologne, cleaner and lighter than you expected. The faint shadow of long lashes falls against his cheek, magnified by the overhead light. His breath fans warm across your cheek, shockingly intimate in the small space. His voice, when he speaks, is soft, so soft.

"Do you know about curses?"

"Curses?"

He wags a teasing finger.

"Dont look at me like that. Curses are very real. They inhabit our world, and us."

You're aware of the line of confusion forming between your brows.

"I don't think I follow. Are you saying that she's cursed me?"

"Not quite. You see, a curse is something that can only be knowingly placed by an expert. And yet, so many of us go about our lives, unaware of the curses that others place upon us. The curses we place upon them. The curses we harbour within ourselves."

You're not sure about the source of your uneasiness, but it is growing. You place the blame on his proximity, the way you can hear his lips part when he speaks.

"You miss your mother, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I - "

"I can feel it. It's here, in the air. Your longing for her."

"After those dreams -"

"No. Before them."

His contradiction is matter-of-fact, a contrast to the feathery contact of his fingers with a stray lock of your hair.

"You must have missed her terribly, to be holding something like this inside yourself."

"What are you talking about?"

You don't mean to whisper. You never meant for that hoarseness to find its way into your voice. The fine balance of terror and desire, now on a honed blade's edge, glides across your skin alongside his fingers.

"I'm talking about your curse. The one you placed on Miss Okoyama."

"That's nonsense and you know it. I've never - "

The black pebbles clatter across your kitchen counter, falling from his fist like a miniature, contained hailstorm. Your muscles lock in place as you watch the sleek, dark grey stones scatter, as if following some unknown law of impact.

"Where did you get those?"

"From your pot plant. These stones are just beneath the surface of the soil. Was it a plant like this one that you gifted her? Did those pebbles on your doorstep really come from her?"

The marble of the counter digs into your back as you lean away from him.

"You need to leave. Now."

His laugh is easy, full of merriment, as if the conversation you've been having isn't fraught with confrontation, tension and (on your part), anger and fear.

"Now, now, there's no need for that."

He straightens, and suddenly, you're aware of how much taller he is, how that gnawing edge of perpertual starvation in his glance has focused its full force on you.

You are prey.

You can't let him go further, and so, you attempt to defend yourself.

"What are you doing? Are you blaming me for all of this?"

"I am. But not in the way you're thinking. You missed your mother. You invited this woman into your home, a presence who may have subconsciously reminded you of her. You gifted her this pot plant, and you began to see a change in her."

He reaches across, ignoring the way you flinch, and gently places his forefinger on the region of your heart.

"You carry a desolation in here. You don't even know it's there, most days, because does one question the desert one inhabits? The drought that came without another's love has been here for a long time. Your dreams of Miss Okoyama reflect your desire to be consumed, rather than escape her. It doesn't change the fact that you are fearful of this need."

He taps the stones.

"You fill the pockets of your heart with stone weights, and you drop them into a lake deep inside yourself. You unknowingly ensnared Miss Okoyama with these same little tokens. But curses never stay silent, do they, my dear?"

Your breathing has migrated to the realm of rapid, shallow pants, dampness breaking out across your brow. You are afraid, so deathly afraid. You want someone to hold you. You want arms wrapping around your body, around and around, a meteor belt lashed to the gravity of your never-ending need.

You want -

His hand is cupping your jaw, so warm, so warm, tilting your head up, your panicked gaze meeting his bottomless hunger. You have so much to give away, this curse as he names it, and if he can help you, then -

"Please."

You hear the desperation in your own voice, and hate every drawn out syllabyl of it.

"Please take it from me. Remove my curse."

"With pleasure."

His head dips with slow, dancer's grace, his mouth covering yours like a drift of autumnnal leaves over the cold earth. It is only chaste for a moment; he is now languidly prying you open with his tongue, lapping at you. The heat of his lips, the soft hum of approval that rumbles through his chest, the final firm slide of his arms around your waist seals in the perfection you have been craving.

This, this, is what you needed. It's all that you -

He licks a stripe across your lips playfully, and then, impossibly, deepens the kiss, your head tilting back under the force. You let out a small sound of pleasure, but your eyes snap open again when you feel something else.

He is hungry. That much is evident in the way he shifts his head from one angle to the next, dampness crawling over your lips and smearing hot along the sides of them. Something is different, though.

There is a strange coil in your stomach, one you'd initially mistaken for arousal. It feels almost as if ...

Gasping, you place your hands on his chest, as if to shove him away, but he is too strong. Keeping his mouth fixed over yours, he drinks of you deeply. And he draws something out.

Eyes widening, you go limp in his grasp as his teeth latch onto your bottom lip, nipping harshly. Those large hands map out the curves of you, tracing the valley between waist and hip, sinking into your flesh, tugging it relentlessly out of you.

For one, long, agonizing moment, you feel a tearing separation within you, one that makes you cry out, breaking the kiss, you head whipping back and forth. He speaks soft words of encouragement, unrelenting in his hold on you, pressing you back against the counter as equal parts arousal and fear war within your ravaged mind.

You eyes open, briefly, but you see it. It hovers in the air, a grotesque apparition of rolling eyes, spidery fingers and an oversized head, claws reaching for you, before it is drawn into a crushing black hole of darkness.

Geto's mouth opens, wide, so wide, and you watch, paralysed, as that black sphere disappears within him, gliding along the velveteen length of his tongue, drawn behind the pearly cage of his teeth, down, down, an eclipse of the throat, until nothing is left.

A terrible rush of fatigue assails you, turning your limbs to lead weights. And yet, there is such relief. It feels as if you've emptied your pockets of every stone you've collected, every little increment of isolation you've endured for such a long time.

Before your vision swims beyond the recoverable, darkness creeping in at the edges of it, you see the satisfied look on Geto's face.

He has swallowed your curse, and the heaviness it brings to your heart.

You regain consciousness hours later, tucked safely into your bed. There is no note, no communication on your phone, and yet, you lie for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling more complete than you have in years.

The gnawing hunger was something you'd never known was there, until it was gone. No wonder Geto had seemed so familiar to you in his presence. The thing inside you was just as much of a predator as he was, just so much weaker.

You do wish that you'd regained consciousness before he'd left, though. You'd have liked to thank him for what he's done for you. Glancing across at your phone, you know, with some kind of visceral certainty, that he will never contact you again.

Your fingers rise, trace softly over your lips, and your eyes close once again.

Maybe it's just as well that you were passed out. You hadn't seen Geto leave, hadn't seen him pause on the stairs and glance sideways before nodding slightly, finding no trace of your curse left hovering at the door of that hapless woman's abode.

Miss Okoyama would return to her regular self soon enough.

Geto paused on the street, sliding a small spray bottle of disinfectant from a pocket, as if by instinct. He raised it, the nozzle facing him, before considering it thoughtfully.

He smiled and tucked it away.

[celticcrossanon]

If King Charles is the one stopping the media from reporting on Harry and his wife's use of a surrogate he's protecting himself as much as he's protecting Harry. All three would have knowingly tampered with the line of succession which is against the law and it's considered an act of treason as well. King Charles would have to answer for this and the consequences he faces would be greater than those Harry would.

There are some who still predict King Charles having short reign and abdicating. I've never thought of him a someone who would abdicate as he's waited to be king for so long but if he doesn't have a choice there would need to be a valid reason for it to happen.

I and I think a lot of other people just want to know the truth. Main stream media is a joke nowadays so I'm not surprised they've agreed to keep quiet. I wouldn't be surprised if they're trying to find a way to blame Prince William for it or the late Queen.

Hi Nonny,

I just want to know the truth as well. All the lies and evasions are tiring and tiresome. I think whoever does tell the truth will get a few brownie points just for being the one to come out and say it. I have heard rumours that Harry was supposed to reveal the truth as part of his rehabilitation process, but he changed his mind and backed out of doing so. I'm not sure how true the rumours are.

I don't know how much plausible deniability The King has in this matter. Her Late Majesty made it quite clear with Archie's birth announcement that the palace was just reporting what they had been told, with no medical people to back it up, but if The King is deliberately keeping the truth from the public then that puts him in a different situation.

I wouldn't be surprised if the palace is not so much looking for someone to blame as trying to pin all the blame firmly on Meghan so they can gloss over Harry's complicity.

[starlost-mochi-x]

lonely st. ✧ chapter iv : falling

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: lonely reader, school!au, hyunjin's knees are finally healing, someone else is kinda mean to y/n, swearing, descriptions of panic attacks and forced isolation, hyunjin is the sweetest softest boy ever

a/n: ...this took a while

series masterlist | skz masterlist

"Yah, Hyunjin, what the fuck did you do to your knees?"

Hyunjin looked across at Jisung, pulling his basketball jersey on.

"Oh," he said calmly. "I fell."

Jisung tutted at him, waggling a finger in Hyunjin's face. They were the last three boys in the changing rooms, having been split into smaller teams for longer, more individualized training. Felix watched the interaction with interest, piping up.

"You fall over a lot, you know," he observed. "Surprisingly often for the school's star basketball player."

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, turning back to his locker, tying the cords of his shorts. His gaze flitted down to his knees, where he'd stuck the bandaids Y/n had given him. They were quite sticky considering the designs; Hyunjin had seen Jisung buy colourful bandaids that didn't last more than ten minutes.

Two of the bandages were stuck to his left knee, one yellow with a smiley face across it, and the other solid stripes of light pink and purple, like a Cheshire cat. The one on his right knee was lime green, with solid black writing that detailed 'I'M OKAY' in wobbly writing. He loved them so much.

The fourth bandaid he'd stuck to his face, replacing the little chicken one that had peeled off. It was white, with a little pink and black spider in the middle, his favourite one so far. Truthfully, the little cut on his cheekbone had practically healed by now and didn't need anything covering it, but Hyunjin liked wearing the bandaids. It made him feel connected to Y/n, and he felt brighter somehow, as if he was one of her colourful keychains or pins.

Shaking his head, he turned back to Jisung and Felix with a smile. "Just a clumsy spell, I guess. It should heal before the championship."

Felix side-eyed him from his own locker. "It better. Jisung is hopeless on offense-"

"I'm not!"

Hyunjin let a small laugh escape his mouth. He looked across at his friends, neatly folding his uniform and placing it neatly on the shelf. He paused in his actions.

Jisung was holding his shirt above Felix's head, clearly attempting to hit him, the other boy's arms braced against his temples. They were both frozen, staring at Hyunjin with gaping mouths.

Hyunjin blinked, cutting himself off. "You know, I- what?"

Jisung whispered. "You laughed."

Hyunjin frowned. "What? Is it illegal now?"

Felix scrambled up from his position. "No, no, it's just- you've been so downcast lately. We thought something was really wrong."

Jisung chimed in. "Yeah. First it was the falling over at practice, then the being distracted during class. We were pretty worried, dude."

Hyunjin felt a little guilty at having worried his friends. His cheeks flushed and the bandaids on his knees and face suddenly felt like burning beacons. Jisung had promised not to tell anyone about his attempts to befriend Y/n, but he hadn't approved or disapproved of it. And Felix was a close friend too, but Hyunjin felt there would always be a possibility that they might not like it. Either that, or they would think he liked her. Most likely the second option.

His voice was quiet as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. "I just felt stressed the last few days. I've just had a lot to do."

Felix's eyes narrowed. "You're literally never busy...?"

Panic set into Hyunjin's gut, frantic and buzzing. He stuttered a little, trying to come up with a quick lie to fool his friend.

"It's because of Y/n," Jisung blurted out suddenly.

Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation. "Jisung! I told you not to say anything!"

Felix's eyes bounced between them. He walked closer to Hyunjin, his gaze confused. "Y/n? You mean the weird loner girl in our class? The one who always disappears at breaktimes?"

"She's not weird," Hyunjin snapped at him, voice echoing in the locker room.

Felix's eyes widened a little, clearly taken aback. Jisung shut his mouth immediately, his friend's unusual outburst blanketing the room in a thick, heavy silence.

"You don't have to be such a jerk, Felix," Hyunjin flared at him again, well aware of the nastiness in his voice.

"Alright, man. Sorry."

Felix's voice was quiet, subdued, and Hyunjin felt a rush of remorse settle heavily in his stomach, the feeling sour in his mouth. He exhaled and sat down on the bench, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Just- she's not weird."

Felix gingerly sat down next to him. He was shirtless, having been halfway through taping his shoulder, and Hyunjin could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Felix placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as Jisung moved to sit down on his other side.

"I didn't mean it, Hyunjin," Felix's voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Hyunjin exhaled, running a hand through his dark, sleek hair. "It's fine. Just- she's not mean and intense and cold like everyone thinks she is. She gave me the chicken bandaid after I fell that time at practice, and all of these too." He gestured to his knees.

"I was wondering where you got those from," Felix chuckled, touching the one on his friend's face. "They're cute. Did you ask her for them?"

"No," Hyunjin replied softly, the ghost of a smile on his face. "She noticed both times and gave them to me. Felix, you don't understand, she's really sweet. Maybe a bit shy and awkward, but not cold. Not at all."

Felix smiled across at Jisung as Hyunjin talked. Jisung pouted cutely, pressing a hand discreetly to his heart in an 'aww' gesture.

"I wonder if she carries them around," Jisung said thoughtfully. "Maybe she's clumsy just like you, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin nodded silently in response. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't actually recall seeing her wear any of the colourful bandaids, not even on her hands or under the hem of her skirt. He wondered what she could possibly need them for.

Jisung leaned his head against Hyunjin's shoulder as Felix spoke up.

"Are you gonna get mad at me if I ask if you maybe, possibly, sort of like her?"

Hyunjin shook his head. "No, I don't. But there's no harm in being her friend. I don't know her that well, like, at all, but if I can make her life a little easier, then I should."

Jisung smiled. "That's sweet, dude. Maybe, once you get closer with her, we could start talking to her too."

Felix grinned, agreeing.

"Thanks," Hyunjin said softly. "I'm just going to be cautious around her from now on because I don't want to scare her off again. But maybe, once she opens up a little bit."

Jisung stood up, slapping his friend on the back. "Alright, that's settled, then. Let's go out to practice now. Oh, and Hyunjin, don't worry us like that again, man... It was weird not hearing your 1000 decibel laugh."

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, Felix snickering in the background.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't."

Y/n kept her head down as she weaved throughout the students laughing and shouting in the hallways. The corridors were always busiest at lunchtimes. She ducked her head to avoid a tall senior who was wildly gesturing his arms in an animated retelling to his friend.

Looking behind her to make sure she wasn't about to get hit in the head, Y/n came up short just as she almost bumped headlong into Yeji. Her heart sank.

"Hey!" she greeted, smiling. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Y/n's fingers tightened around her sketchbook, fingers digging into the smooth, sticker-bombed surface. She gulped, palms beginning to sweat as she stared at Yeji. She'd been friends with her for almost three years, and there were not grudges between them, but for some reason Y/n found she couldn't reply.

"Um, yeah," she replied rather stiffly.

Yeji tilted her head, waving a hand in Y/n's face. "Helloooo? Anyone home?" She giggled.

Y/n flinched as Yeji's perfectly manicured hand waved in her face. She felt a searing pang of frustration and irritation shoot through her. Stepping back, she clutched her sketchbook to her chest, not knowing how to get out of the situation. The air around her suddenly felt hotter, and her shoulders were tense, like stretched rubber bands.

"Hey, Y/n!"

Y/n let out a tiny, gasping breath as Hyunjin jogged up to them. His hair was mussed and slightly slick, his tie loose and shirtsleeves rolled up messily. He must have come straight from playing basketball on the courts. Y/n saw Yeji subconsciously reach up to fix her hair, drawing a pale, pretty hand through the dark orange locks, pressing her lips together to even out the sparkly pink gloss smeared across them.

But Hyunjin paid her no mind, his smile directing its force towards Y/n. She noticed a textbook under his arm.

He tilted his head at her, inviting. "Did you wanna go to the library?"

Y/n was taken aback. There was a look in Hyunjin's eyes, some sort of layer to them that Y/n had never seen before. They were sort of slitted, his eyebrows slightly raised.

He's trying to get me out of the situation, she realised.

"S-sure," she stuttered, cursing herself inwardly.

Hyunjin gave Yeji an effortless smile and gestured for Y/n to walk alongside him. Yeji's smile dropped as he walked a few paces past her to Y/n.

Dropping her head, Y/n shuffled to him and he began to make casual, friendly conversation as they walked down the hallway. clearly attempting to distract her.

Yeji glared after them.

Hyunjin glanced across at Y/n as she slumped down into her usual seat, the table hidden from the rest of the library by the tall, slightly dusty shelves. He sat down delicately next to her, shuffling his chair a little bit away from her so as to give her space.

Her head was down on the desk and Hyunjin sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, wondering if he'd messed things up. But she hadn't looked exactly comfortable when he'd seen her talking to Yeji. He'd calmly observed from a distance, until Yeji had waved her hand in Y/n's face.

He knew she probably meant no harm, but it was clear that Y/n was beginning to panic after she flinched, so he had jogged up to her to try and give her an excuse to leave.

Hyunjin wondered if Y/n and Yeji were really friends. He'd seen them together a few times, talking, usually in a group with Ha-eun, Aeri, and Sangmi, but for some reason Y/n always seemed like she wasn't enjoying herself, usually quietly listening to the others talk excitedly or with her face buried in her sketchbook.

Hyunjin frowned a little, running his fingertips along the side of his closed textbook. If she had friends, why did she choose to be alone? Were they bullying her?

"Hey," he whispered. "You okay?"

He could hear tiny, short gasps coming from her side of the table and he fidgeted desperately, not sure what to do. He was pretty sure she was panicking. He'd heard Jisung do the same thing a couple times, usually after really important basketball matches. But he didn't understand why it happened, or what it was. Jisung kept it quiet, and Hyunjin didn't wish to intrude, so he'd patted his friend on the back and fetched his coach.

Then he had left.

You can't do that to Y/n, Hyunjin thought. I can't leave her, but I'm afraid if I stay, I might make it worse.

He scooted his chair just a tiny bit closer, keeping note of her breathing. His hand hovered unsurely over her back, wanting to offer some sort of comfort. Jisung had told him that different people liked to be comforted in different ways. He wondered how Y/n preferred to be treated when she was upset. He made a mental note to ask her later.

Leaning down to her level, Hyunjin placed one arm on the table, turning his head towards her. He exhaled and the warm breath stirred Y/n's hair. She didn't move. Hyunjin could see one hand pressed to her mouth, covering it. The other was hidden by her blazer lapel, pressed against her chest. Her knee was bouncing up and down rapidly and Hyunjin bit his lip, reaching out a feather-light hand to gently still it. Her knee stopped bouncing.

Hyunjin whispered to her worriedly. "Y/n, are you sick?"

A slight shake of the head. Hyunjin looked around for someone who could help, but he couldn't see past the library shelves. He stood up slowly, bending down to whisper to her.

"I'm gonna go find someone, okay?" He told her determinedly. "They can help-"

"No," she whimpered, almost inaudibly.

Hyunjin's eyes widened. Sitting down again, he leant close to her. Her hand, much smaller than his, moved to grip his wrist. It didn't even go all the way round. Hyunjin blinked, taken aback, but Y/n's tiny, hiccupping voice directed his attention to her instantly.

"Don't leave me," she gasped, a tiny sob leaving her mouth. Her head was still down on the desk. "Hyunjin, don't go, please-"

Hyunjin's brow creased in worry and he couldn't hold himself back any longer. Placing a gentle arm around her, he shuffled closer and leaned his head on the table next to hers.

"It's okay," he said as comfortingly as he could. "I won't leave. Just try and breathe, okay?"

He suddenly became aware that telling her to breathe wasn't really helpful advice, but he didn't know what else to do. What were you supposed to do when things like this happened? Was he supposed to stay? What was he supposed to say to her?

Tears pricked at the corners of Hyunjin's eyes.

Help her, Hyunjin. Do something.

Not knowing what else to do, he quietly began telling her about his day. About how he had to do his homework while the teacher was collecting it because basketball practice ran late last night and he didn't have time. About how he had seen Jisung, his friend, inhale half his food the second the bell went so he could go talk to a girl he liked from his English class.

"They spent literally the whole first breaktime flirting," he told her quietly. "My friend Felix had to grab him by his collar because we all share a class. Jisung always makes us late."

Hyunjin fought a relieved smile as he saw Y/n turn her head just a little, indicating she was listening. Her breathing was evening out and Hyunjin kept talking in a low, reassuring voice until he was positive she had calmed down completely.

"We had practice again this morning, and championships are soon, so we got split up into teams. Coach also told me after practice that he liked my bandaids. See?"

Y/n turned her head a little more as he shuffled back in his chair, facing his legs towards her. He pointed to the lime green one on his right knee, with the 'I'M OKAY' wobbly black writing.

"That one's my favourite," he said softly, sincerely. He pointed to the pink and purple striped one. "And this one reminds me of you, because it's like your bag, all these cool, colourful pins and keyrings."

He tapped his cheek, where the white bandaid with the pink and black spider symbol was stuck. "This one's my favourite, so I put it on my cheek. The cut's actually healed now, but I like it. I feel all decorated."

Y/n lifted her head slightly, a tiny sniff coming from her. He still couldn't see her face, so he brought his arm up a little, giving her comfort. He knew people didn't like to be seen crying.

"Hey," he whispered to her sincerely. "Are you feeling a little bit better?"

She nodded, lifting her head. There were tear stains down her cheeks, and her nose and eyes were red. Hyunjin dug in his pocket and produced a tissue, handing it to her. He always carried them around, finding them useful at random times, but he'd been secretly keeping one in his pocket in case his new friend needed it.

He silently congratulated himself as Y/n took the tissue with a tiny nod of thanks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Hyunjin met her eyes with a soft, worried gaze. "Why would you be sorry?"

"I wasted your time and now you have to sit here with me while I be a drama queen and cry-"

Hyunjin cut her off determinedly. "No, Y/n... I saw you were uncomfortable, and I did it because of that, but also..." His cheeks flushed, feeling warm. "I wanted to spend time with you." He finished quietly, admitting.

Y/n's gaze flitted to him, confused. She sniffed. "Why?"

He smiled back, a little embarrassed, but intent on telling her his intentions.

"It's actually really nice here. Besides, sometimes I don't feel like hanging out with my friends Jisung and Felix, or playing basketball, or talking at all, to be honest. Especially when I'm tired. But I always did it anyway because I didn't have anywhere else to go during lunchtimes."

He poked her shoulder gently, smiling. "And now I do, and I've got a new friend to do it with as well. Or classmate, who likes talking to me... At least I hope you do."

Y/n looked anywhere but him, feeling that strange, warm feeling settle in her stomach again. For some unknown reason it only happened around the dark-haired basketballer.

Hyunjin let out a little cheer of joy just as a tiny, reluctant smile cracked Y/n's mask.

Felix turned to Hyunjin as they walked down the little path leading to the bus stop. Jisung was walking ahead, seemingly in a better mood than usual; for Felix and Hyunjin, that meant supervising him while he bounced off the walls and stole random leaves off the trees on the sidewalk.

Felix huffed and called out a warning to Jisung who had almost tripped up ahead, before turning to Hyunjin.

"You catching the bus with us today?"

Hyunjin shook his head. "I found out that me and Y/n pretty much live really close, and we both go down the same street, so I asked her to walk with me like I did yesterday."

Felix grinned. "Seems like she's coming around."

"I hope so," he said quietly. "Sorry about leaving you with Jisung. I think he had one of those sugary energy drinks earlier between classes."

Felix rolled his eyes. "I'll be lucky if I get him onto the bus without him tripping and starting a fire of some sort."

Hyunjin laughed and squeezed his friend's arm just as the bus rolled up. He waited until Felix and Jisung had both entered and sat down, then he began turning and walking back the way he'd came. He'd asked Y/n to come with him while he walked his friends to the bus stop, but she had shyly declined, shaking her head before he had even finished his question. She seemed avoidant of being around large groups of people, Hyunjin observed.

She'd settled to wait at the school gates while he had walked the short distance to the bus stop. Looking up, she noticed Hyunjin approaching with a smile.

"Hey," he greeted. "Thanks for waiting for me."

Y/n nodded and they began to walk in silence. Hyunjin kept up a constant stream of cheerful chatter as they walked, skipping over stones. They passed the spot where Hyunjin had fallen and scraped his knees, and Y/n took his arm cautiously, eliciting a small, affectionate smile from the boy.

Reaching the willow tree, Hyunjin rounded the corner, gesturing for Y/n to follow him with a smile. She tilted her head in confusion.

"Let's go for a while longer, down to the shops," he told her. He hurriedly corrected himself at her expression. "Y-you don't have to. If you want to, though...? It doesn't have to be for long-"

Y/n nodded solemnly. "Okay."

Hyunjin let out a breath of relief as they continued walking. It felt new and different walking past the usual route to his house. He glanced sideways at Y/n, who was busy looking up at the sky. He let one of his hands fall from his pocket and dangle at his side so he could catch her just in case she fell. Looking down at the pavement as they walked towards the shops, he let his other hand fall from his pocket too, mistrusting his own steps, though he was being as careful as he could.

He had enough bandaids on his body already.

Y/n's phone buzzed. Setting her sketchbook down, and slightly jarred at the interruption, she crawled across the bed and picked it up from the bedside. Turning the screen on, and hissing at the brightness, she slammed it down on the pillow.

Staying up late at night was one of Y/n's favourite things to do. It was the reason her eyes were always dark and strained, but the night brought a peace and serenity the daylight could never give her. She'd been sketching in her pad by the light of a little pocket torch when her phone had gone off.

Sighing and turning the torch off, she squeezed her eyes shut tight, adjusting them, before picking up her phone once more. Swiping into her home screen, she noticed several message notifications. Her heart jolted unpleasantly.

It was none other than Yeji. The last message had been sent a minute ago.

yeji 🌷: you up?

Y/n gulped before texting back.

y/n ⛓️: yeah y/n ⛓️: what's wrong? it's late yeji 🌷: i was just wondering something... i couldn't sleep so i thought i'd ask you anyway. sorry if i woke you y/n ⛓️: no, it's okay. what is it? yeji 🌷: today, when we were talking... you and hyunjin yeji 🌷: are you dating him?

Y/n buried her face in her pillow, letting out a muffled groan. She knew this was bound to happen. Not that she didn't appreciate Hyunjin's help for getting her out of the situation. She had no clue why she had become so upset when she'd run into Yeji. Maybe it was the fact that Yeji was smart, pretty, funny, loved by most of the girls in their grade. She was just so normal.

Y/n was well aware that she had no reason to really hate Yeji. After all, they were friends.

Then why did Yeji irritate her so much?

y/n ⛓️: what makes you say that? yeji 🌷: you guys have been hanging out a lot lately... yeji 🌷: i didn't think he would be into someone like you

Y/n frowned, turning the screen off suddenly. What did she mean, 'someone like her'? Someone as quiet or lonely as she was? Someone who was the outcast of the school?

She turned the screen back on, flicking into the messages.

y/n ⛓️: we're not dating yeji 🌷: then why does he keep talking to you? y/n ⛓️: because he's my friend, and he's in most of my classes too. why? yeji 🌷: just wondering, haha

Huffing, Y/n glared at Yeji's reply message. Just wondering, totally. Anticipating an argument building, Y/n exhaled before typing out a final message.

y/n ⛓️: my phone's about to die. sorry.

Then she turned it off.

Hyunjin absentmindedly tossed his basketball between his hands, watching as the sunlight cast patterns across the vibrant orange material. It was pretty early, with some students milling through the halls, but mostly the corridors were empty. Basketball practice had finished pretty early that morning. His knees were healing well, and he was feeling ready and prepared for the upcoming championship matches.

Jisung and Felix had stayed behind to run some training drills. Hyunjin knew that 'training drills' meant messing around and trying to hang from the hoops by their arms while their coach wasn't there. He appreciated the opportunity to quietly walk by himself nonetheless, smiling as he thought of the way Jisung would excitedly tell him about the morning's antics in form class.

Turning a corner, he ran directly into someone, dropping the basketball in surprise.

"Yeji," he said, blinking. "Sorry, I didn't see you."

She grinned at him, teasing. "Am I that short, Mr. Hwang?"

Hyunjin chuckled. Him and Yeji were somewhat close, having been in the same inner circle of their old friend group before it had eventually split. Hyunjin went with the boys on his basketball team and Yeji stuck with the other girls, some of which he'd seen with Y/n. Or around her, to be more specific. They usually ignored her, chatting excitedly, while she was left in the dust. Maybe they thought that there was no need to talk to her unless she talked first. The thought made his fingers tighten around the basketball as he moved to pick it up.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Yeji."

She smiled back, clearly pleased to have ran into him. "Yeah. How's basketball?"

"Good." They began walking down the hallways in silence. Yeji was seemingly expectant, and Hyunjin wondered if there was a group event or hangout he'd missed that she was about to pester him about. Maybe she was just waiting for his reply.

"So," Yeji began, eyes glinting as she looked up at Hyunjin. "You and Y/n, huh?"

There it is. Hyunjin fought the urge to roll his eyes as he replied.

"No, we're friends."

"That's what everyone says. Why else would you befriend her?"

Hyunjin stopped in his tracks, basketball slipping a little under his arm. He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

Yeji flicked a long strand of orange hair behind her shoulder, looking up at him innocently. "I mean," she said breezily, "she's kind of an outcast."

Hyunjin fought the urge to snap at her, or throw his basketball in her face, or tug her hair out. Or all three, preferably. But he kept his cool with some effort, masking his anger with the fake guise of coughing suddenly. His breath suddenly caught in his throat and he actually started coughing.

Yeji placed a manicured hand on his back in concern, leaning closer to him.

"You okay?" she said gently, in concern that Hyunjin had a feeling was entirely fake and most likely an excuse to get closer to him.

"Yeah," he said wheezily, knocking a fist against his chest. "All good."

Yeji tilted her head and they kept walking. Hyunjin wanted nothing more than to slap her in the face, but something in his gut told him to play along and see what Yeji said.

"So, about Y/n," he started hesitantly. "What do you mean, 'why else would i befriend her'?"

Yeji sighed. "Hyunjin, literally no one likes her. I'm only friends with her because she hangs around me like a fly. I was just wondering why you were friends with her."

Hyunjin's mouth pressed into a thin line. Yeji had always been pretty upfront and honest with him. But it was still jarring listening to her admit that three years of friendship with Y/n had been a lie. That she was just a pity friend. Hyunjin was disgusted.

But he couldn't tell Yeji that. Otherwise she would tell everyone and perhaps make up a few lies along the way. He'd seen her do it to another guy from the soccer team and it hadn't ended well. He'd left the school.

"It's just that I need help to pass English this semester," he said to her as honestly as he could. It was surprisingly convincing, considering it was a complete lie. "She's pretty smart."

Yeji blinked up at him through long lashes. "Is that why you keep going to the library with her? So she can tutor you?"

Hyunjin nodded.

Yeji continued, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Y/n's pretty socially dumb, but not that much. What did you offer her in return for the tutoring? I doubt she would've done it for free."

Hyunjin blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "A date with me."

Yeji let out a short, high-pitched laugh. "No waaayyy, Hyunjin. That's so sneaky of you. I bet she didn't suspect a thing."

Hyunjin let out a short, forced laugh. "Yeah. I just really need to pass English, otherwise I might get kicked off the basketball team..."

They reached the end of the hallway. Yeji stopped and turned to him, tilting her head and smiling. "You don't have to rely on that loser to tutor you. I'm doing pretty well in English right now. I'll tutor you instead."

Panic seized Hyunjin's gut. "Oh, uhm- I'd hate to trouble you. Wouldn't wanna take up any of your time."

Yeji shook her head eagerly. "No, it's fine," she pulled out her phone and waved it in Hyunjin's face. "Text me a time and then you can come over to mine tonight, okay? It'll be fun."

Hyunjin had no choice but to nod. "Um, sure. I guess."

Yeji giggled, touching his arm. "And remember, this conversation stays between us. Don't tell your little friend Y/n, okay?"

Hyunjin nodded, forcing a smile onto his face.

"Sure, Yeji."

taglist (open) : @kozumesphone @bangchansgirlsblog @ms-flowergirl

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[statisticalcats2]

Shout-out to any mindreaders who may exist and have had to ever pass by me and get fucking bombarded by my insane mental ramblings and screaming about Spider-Man: Far From Home

[waterfallofspace]

Allergic To Concepts

Is anyone else still into the M/agnus Archives? Maybe, maybe not, but I have had this fic sitting in my google docs for months, and I just finally managed to get myself to finish up the last bit, so here is part one of a possible two part fic, if I can ever manage to get myself to write the next part!

So, if anyone wants, please enjoy a little Allergic to concepts Jon. aka, Jon is so allergic to dogs that just the idea of them gets him a bit worked up~

I'll never be over this podcast, and I might start sharing small (tiny) drabbles of these guys if anyone would be interested <3 or even just to start coaxing myself back into writing~

Characters: Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha Word Count: 2.7k

“-so to conclude, we absolutely, most certainly, cannot do that,” Martin finishes, hands woven into his hair. Seems to happen more often nowadays; getting a job you’re not exactly qualified for tends to bring on a touch of added stress. What brings even more stress, however, are the faces staring back at him, twin smiles painted across worryingly calm canvases. Seems once a poet, always a poet, even in your own thoughts. 

Tim chuckles, mischief running through his eyes. “How do you even know that? You been stalking our new boss?” 

“W-well no, it’s just that…” Martin starts, beginning to study the floor as his rambling starts to take over. “Well there may have been an… incident, of- of sorts, with a uh… well it was, I was trying to open this door, but see I was holding files, and there was this dog, and they kinda just- well I was trying to stop it but it got in and- so I went to Jon’s office and he was just kinda… and then I-” 

“So what?” Tim interrupts, mercifully saving Martin from his own tongue. “Why should his issues stop us from havin’ a good time?” With a snap of his fingers, Tim casts Sasha a devious wink. The colour seems to drain from Martin’s face as he holds up a shaking finger, aiming somewhere behind Tim’s shoulders. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Sasha mutters, her smile never wavering. 

Spinning on his heel, Tim turns to greet the newest arrival to the hallway. “Fancy seeing you here, boss! Burning the midday oil?” 

Jon pauses, papers nearly spilling from his crowded arms as he fumbles with some keys. “That’s not an expression. And what are you all doing cramped in the hall? Don’t any of you have work to do?” 

Martin nearly keels over as Jon’s glare settles against him, seemingly deeming him responsible for this lapse in progress. As if! In fact, he’d been the one begging them to get back to work. Honestly, Jon should appreciate the fact that he talked them out of-

“Actually, we’re thinking of heading off for the day,” Tim cuts in, leaving Martin’s mouth nearly hanging open. Had they not just gone over why this was a horrible idea? As if to answer his unspoken question, Sasha joins in with support for Tim’s cause. Martin’s pretty sure there’s actually a gap between his lips. 

Jon, having opened the office by this point, merely stops and stares. Seconds pass, though it feels more like minutes. There appears to be some sort of staring match between the three of them. 

Finally Jon breaks the silence with a short… well, it’s hard to call it a laugh, more like a huff. His posture tightens as he attempts to pull himself to his full height, casting Tim a wary glance. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Quite serious in fact! See, me and Sasha have been thinking,” Tim pauses, gesturing to the aforementioned with a sickly sweet smile. Merely performance charm, which given the eye-roll she shoots back, Sasha’s well aware of. “All of us here need a chance to bond.” 

“Bond, you say,” Jon’s monotone voice offers no insight to how he’s taking this suggestion. As Martin’s mouth begins to dry, his hands start working their way back into his hair. 

“Indeed!” Tim continues, seemingly oblivious to Martin’s rapidly increasing heart rate. “We’ve all been stuck here together, figured we should become more of a team, you know? A team-building exercise you could call it. Something to get us more on the same page.” 

“And what is this ‘team-building exercise’ you have in mind?” 

Well, his heart may have been racing before, but it’s not anymore. In fact, he’s almost entirely convinced it’s just stopped completely. Jon’s eyes meet his own, and Martin drops his gaze fast enough to leave him dizzy. 

This time Sasha speaks up, her coy tone doing nothing to alleviate the heart attack symptoms Martin’s now convinced he’s feeling. “An animal rescue cafe. They rescue dogs and cats, the ones that need rehoming, and bring them there so you can get to know them before you adopt. One opened just down the street from here, and me and Tim have been looking into going. We figured, might as well drag you and Martin along with us.” 

Jon’s glare narrows further, a single hand coming up to rest between his eyes. The movement is completed by pushing up his glasses with a sigh. “And how exactly does drinking tea in a room full of animals qualify as team building?” 

“You can tell a lot about a person from the way they treat animals,” Tim offers. “Not to mention the fact that there’s a whole study about how psychopaths are more likely to hate cats, which is mostly due to the fact cats have willful behaviour.” 

Martin can almost taste his heartbeat at this point, a fact he’s finding quite alarming. Still rummaging through papers, Jon steps into his office. Much to Martin’s chagrin, they all seem to be following him. 

“Are you suggesting someone working in this office is a psychopath, Tim?” Jon continues, huffing out another sigh as he notices the entourage entering his office. Jon’s glare lands on Martin once more, something he’s almost gotten used to at this point. 

Laughter begins to flow from Tim, Sasha joining in with a mild chuckle. “Of course not, but hey, this job’s all about researching things that probably aren’t true. Better safe than sorry, right?” 

Seemingly the only one noticing Jon’s growing apprehension, or maybe just the only one that cares, Martin can’t peel his eyes off their boss. Unaware of the scrutiny, though perhaps expecting it nonetheless, Jon pushes up his glasses again. Martin doesn’t miss the way he lets a single finger brush against his nose during this action. Nor do his eyes skip over the light scrunch forming at the bridge of said nose. 

Oblivious as always, Tim’s still going on about the cafe. Something about which animals are available, what tea they serve, scones, and more useless information. Sasha’s typing something in her phone, apparently fact checking his current ramblings. Still, all of that fades into the background as Martin’s attention is drawn to Jon once more. 

At first, he can’t figure out why he’s watching. Jon didn’t speak, and from his posture he hasn’t made any significant gestures. There doesn’t seem to be anything specifically that should have caught his eye, and yet-  

And then it happens again. Jon’s brows tighten, his eyes begin to flutter shut, and his lips part just enough for his tongue to peek out between them. There’s a beat of silence, then a single breathy inhale, barely noticeable above Tim’s monologuing. 

“ihh-” 

Just as quickly as it began, Jon crushes it back once more, a hand roughing swiping against his nose. There’s a quiet feeling of– perverse excitement as Martin watches him. Why? No earthly idea. It’s not as if there’s anything specifically… exciting about the action. There’s no physical stimulation beginning, to phrase it politely. 

Still, there’s something… almost electrifying, about bearing witness to a moment so personal and private. As if the only person in the room is Jon, and he’s opened the door for Martin to join him in his world. Which, as you think about it, just becomes more and more– creepy as hell! Damn it! 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Martin manages to peel his gaze away from Jon. Zoning back into Tim’s rambling, he just barely catches the tail end of a rant about different toppings on cinnamon buns. His silence was entirely unnoticed. Understandably, given only Tim had said anything in minutes. 

“Personally, I’m a fan of the regular cream cheese icing,” Martin offers, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Tim as another soft sniffle sounds behind him. The others don’t notice it, Sasha rolling her eyes as a light begins to dawn in Tim’s. 

“Well, interesting you say that Martin, they actually have those at the cafe down the street! Isn’t that such a wonderful coincidence?” Tim swirls his body towards Martin, casting a playful glance back at Jon as he continues. “Wouldn’t you like to stop by and get yourself one of those delicious buns?” 

Martin feels his face begin to pale again, and barely manages a meek, “W-well… I don’t need to… get one right now… but if you want-” 

Thankfully he’s saved from himself as a gasp sounds out from the desk. Everyone in the room turns, Martin included, just in time to see Jon duck into his wrist with a tight, “ih’nGXt–uih!” 

“Bless you!” Sasha calls, Tim and Martin echoing the sentiment. A flush begins to spread over Jon’s cheeks, but it’s brushed off as he waves a hand, continuing to scribble on some papers. Casting a glance over to Tim, Martin sighs as the mischief floods the other man's face. He’s very clearly not letting this go. 

“Was that actually a sneeze?” Tim laughs, mimicking the sound as Sasha suppresses a giggle. 

Jon keeps his head down, pen still moving across the paper in disjointed movements. “It was in fact a sneeze, yes. Happens to everyone from time to time, no need to make a big deal out of it. Now, I believe you were going to a cat and do- hiHh! rescue cafe?” 

The hitch manages to escape from Jon’s tight grip, his posture shuddering slightly with the force of continuing the sentence. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Martin that just the word dog seems to leave him breathless. 

“A dog cafe, yeah! You’re coming too, right boss? Come see all the adorable little puppies?” Tim offers, gesturing towards the door. Apparently it didn’t go unnoticed by him either. 

An audible gasp sounds out, and all eyes turn back to the rapidly hitching boss. Jon manages to stifle the first one almost silently, only a rush of breath escaping at the end. 

“Bless you, boss.” 

Jon waves a hand, wiping away the water beginning to flood his eyes. “Was just sihh… sighing, Tim.” He finishes the statement with another stifle, this time his whole body jerks along with the rough exhale.  

“Really? Because that sounded like another sneeze,” Tim taunts, poking a finger towards Jon’s face. “And given the way your nose is twitching, you seem far from done.” 

Jon seems to consider debating, but another frantic hitch decides it for him. Giving up the ruse, he ducks into his shoulder with another, “eh’tNGxt–uh! ih’NTchhuh!”  

“Bless yo-” 

“eH’DGZSHhh –uu!”  The volume makes everyone jump, seeming to surprise even Jon. 

“Oh- mby apologies, I seeb to be… hiehh–” Jon trails off, one hand frantically searching for a tissue, nose visibly trembling behind the other. In a move of uncharacteristic pity, Tim pushes the box within reach. Jon mumbles out a thank you, before swinging his chair around for a touch of privacy. 

The silence is almost deafening, cut up only by the rustling of fabric as Jon attempts to subdue the onslaught. “eh’nGNt –oo!” And fails miserably. 

“Do- maybe do you want… well possibly we should, actually I think you might- I mean he might want–” Desperately trying to find a way to fill the space, Martin rambles on, gaze bouncing between all three of his coworkers.

“Martin,” Jon cuts him off, “just say it.” 

The annoyance Martin’s come to expect seems unaffected by the breathy quality of Jon’s words. Unless you notice the flushed nature of his ears, which… is kinda hard to miss when his nose is starting to match. 

“S-sorry! I just figured you may want a touch of uh… privacy..? You seem… itchy,” Martin offers, already beginning to back out of the room. 

Jon glares, lining up a retort before pausing as the first syllable comes out muffled with congestion. A sharp sniff and quick rub later, he continues in an easier tone. “I’m quite alright. No need for such concerns.” 

“I mean- If… if you’re sure…” 

Tim interrupts this time, draping an arm across Martin’s back. “You heard the boss, he’s fine. Now, onto that cafe?” 

Before Martin can get a word out, Jon stands from his chair, dropping the tissues in the wastebasket next to his desk. Sasha chuckles out her approval, sticking her phone into a pocket and beginning to exit the office. Tim follows suit, leaving Martin standing alone with Jon. 

There’s a beat of silence, Martin watching, horrified, as his body refuses to move an inch, silently waiting for Jon’s approval. 

“Well?” 

It’s not exactly an invitation, but it’s more than enough to send Martin scrambling for the door, muttering more sheepish apologies under his breath. If Jon heard them, he gave no indication, busy rustling through a desk drawer. A few more muffled stifles make their way through the noise, no indication given they were heard either. 

As Martin makes it into the hallway, he catches Tim waving from the door. He’s propping it open with one foot as Sasha waits outside, once again on her phone. Martin waves back his acknowledgement, before gesturing towards the kitchen. Tim simply shrugs, calling something about ‘not waiting around’, before joining Sasha in the crisp autumn air. 

Making his way back to the kitchen, Martin pauses at Jon’s door. He’s not eavesdropping, just… listening in, to see if Jon’s alright. It’s his boss after all, and he’s an assistant! He’s supposed to… assist! Perfectly natural thing to do, isn’t it? 

A harsh double pulls him from his spiralling, Jon’s voice coming through audibly in the groan that follows. Alright, enough listening in, this is starting to feel more creepy than curious. 

With what little confidence he can muster, Martin works his way through his plan. The mugs are where they always are, but the water in the kettle was a bit more cold than a proper cup of tea would allow. Flipping the switch, Martin began heating it, and hurried out of the kitchen to his desk. He picks out a fairly bland tea, Jon seems the bland type… right? 

Another few sneezes sound out from the boss’s office, and Martin almost starts to feel guilty for still being in the office. It’s obvious Jon assumes he’s alone, if not from the sneezes themselves, from the groans that come after them. Ever the stickler for a Professional Appearance, he’d never allow himself to be seen or heard in such a state willingly. 

The kettle sounding pulls Martin from his thoughts once more, and he pours the water over the tea bag. Moving carefully, as not to spill, he makes his way back to Jon’s office, knocking softly on the door. 

“Yes?” The reply is sharp, a frantic sounding shuffling occurring as Martin begins to slide open the door. 

“Hey, yeah sorry I just- you sounded like… I just thought that maybe you’d want… you might need some…” 

“Spit it out, Martin,” Jon sighs, giving his nose a subtle swipe. Unfortunately for him, this seems to have been the wrong choice. His nose twitches, eyes beginning to unfocus, and Martin finds himself pausing for the interruption. At least, until Jon gestures at him to continue. 

“Well, I just ma-” 

“ih’tNGT–uu!” 

“Bless you. I just made you some tea, it seemed you cou-” 

“hHUh’dNT–uh!” There’s a pause, Jon’s breath catching dramatically, before he swivels around in the chair and aims a harsh, “eH’dZSHH– eih’DSCHhhh–oo!” at the fistful of tissues he managed to grab. 

It wasn’t exactly quiet, and Martin finds himself flinching against the noise, but holds it together as he places the mug on Jon’s desk, hurrying through the rest of his sentence. 

“Seemed you could use some tea, bless you again by the way, anyways I’m gonna head off with Sasha and Tim, I’ll see you there I guess! Or, well- not just me, we’ll all see you there, as a group, if you choose to come that is! Which of course you don’t have to, though we’d lik-” 

“Martdin,” Jon, mercifully, cuts him off, congestion seeping through his words. With a deep sigh, he finishes his sentence. “Thagnk you. You mbay go ndow.” 

Taking the out, Martin gives one last nervous smile, sliding out into the hallway. Another desperate sneeze leaves him wincing, Jon’s vocal groan sounding out yet again. The poor guy sounds miserable, and Martin almost considers going back in and telling him not to come. If he’s this bad from just the thought… well… 

But he’s embarrassed himself enough for the day, and, albeit hesitantly, Martin heads off to meet Tim and Sasha at the cafe.

[pics-pizza-peace]

some traditional doodle crap I lazily drew over. not gonna finish this one it's just silly :^P

[stardestroyer81]

Inspired by this post by @artpro86, I wanted an excuse to draw my latest blorbo, Cindy Bear, in a similar fashion... it didn't take me too long to be struck with an iconic reaction image to redraw with her instead.

[mysecretwindowuniverse]

1x16 | The Blind Fortune Teller 🔮🃏

And to think the way this scene - and the absolutely masterful performance by Cameron Monaghan - snowballed into what can only be described as Schrodinger's Joker for the rest of Gotham's run

[ratcandy]

Are non-mutual boops accepted. Would you allow that.

Non-mutual boops are incredibly accepted. Get over here I'll bap the shit out of you in return

[zeroducks-2]

Could I ask for a number 10 or 21?? Whatever you want. Both sound insane for sladick. <3

10. "Don't you dare" + 21. "Say my name" - Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson

(TW drowning, non-descriptive torture)

Waterboarding isn't the type of torture that should be attempted by amateurs, given that everything can go very wrong in a matter of seconds.

Dick is well capable of holding his breath underwater for more than five minutes. Not that much more than five minutes, but still. And it's probably because of it that his "interviewer" gets a bit overexcited, and decides to just... hold his head into the metal vat, without letting him up. At all. Dick makes a show of thrashing and trying to kick after less than ninety seconds, but it doesn't work and the asshole clubs him at the base of his back, strong enough for something in his pelvis to break, and Dick's focus is gone.

Water starts getting in his lungs and panic is quick to set in, but adrenaline fuels his burning muscles as Dick forcefully emerges with a snap, nape colliding with that fucker's face accompanied by the telltale crack of a nose breaking. And just like that he's out of the water but he still can't breathe. Regardless of how much he tries to cough and hack, his lungs stay full and it's with more rising panic that he realizes to be suffocating on the floor of the interrogation room.

He doesn't really feel it when someone lifts him up and cuts the rope around his wrists, he just registers that his arms now are free and there's pressure just below his rib-cage, then nothing, then a blow that forces him to bend over and expel a mouthful of water.

«Don't you dare.» A snarl comes from behind his back, then there's another blow to his upper abdomen, upsetting his already broken ribs, and Dick would likely scream if it wasn't that there is no room for air in his lungs. More water comes out. «Don't you fucking dare, kid. Breathe.»

Dick tries his best, fumbling for air and managing a strangled cry when more pressure forces him to cough, and finally he manages to gasp and draw a sliver of air in.

Again he's not sure exactly what happens after that, but at some point he's being held against someone's side, still mildly coughing but he's pretty sure he isn't going to die at this point. He chances a look around and sees the man who was interrogating him; he's lying face down in a pool of blood, and Dick's eyes narrow, he can't have killed him. He broke his nose, didn't he? But just that, the man shouldn't be dead. What the hell.

«There you are.»

Dick's head gets pulled up as he's held more upright, and he manages to sit up with a grunt, ignoring the pain all over. He frowns at the black and orange of the man's mask, and his addled brain puts together that Deathstroke is the one who killed Dick's torturer; all that blood comes from a bullet in the head, not a stupid broken nose. «Look up here.» There's a quiet hiss of smoke and then the man's helmet goes, showing gray hair and a sharp blue eye. Dick winces at his frown and looks away, but the other snaps his fingers and makes him reflexively look back. «Say my name.»

«Hn. Slade.» He croaks, but a moment later he's surprised to see the man's expression distend in relief.

«Yeah.» Slade roughly runs a hand through his damp hair on the nape, and weird as it is to acknowledge it, holds him tighter for a moment. «You're okay.»

«Were you... hah... doubting it...?» He rasps out, forcing a grin, and the man replies with a glare.

«What the hell came into you.» Slade pinches his chin with his usual "no arguments" tone, his glower staying. «I'm the one who decides when you work alone and when not. You were not supposed to take initiative.»

«What are you gonna do?» Dick coughs, having to turn around to expel more water. Slade lets him, helping him stay up in the process. «...punish me?»

«You know very well that I should.»

That's what Slade would normally do for a job badly done. It hasn't happened in a while though, and it's not like Dick remembers it fondly, but also... well, he kind of thinks he deserves it, because he really did mess up this time. He's gotten himself captured, to name one. Fledgling nonsense, that's what this is. At least he didn't speak a word and revealed absolutely nothing, even if it resulted in almost an entire week of starvation, a leg broken in two parts, a dislocated shoulder, contusions over the entirety of his back...

«Did they-» Slade narrows his eye and a flash passes through it, something wild that in another situation would make Dick wary. «Did they touch you...?»

Dick knows what that means. He shakes his head, not that it would change the fate of the people who captured him. He knows they're all dead already, or anyway they will be soon. But... at least it can help Slade's peace of mind. It's going to take a bit more convincing though, given the searching stare and the way the man grips him tight. Dick sighs and it sounds wet like he's had a chest infection, and tightens both hands on the man's biceps, forcing his swollen left arm to move.

«They didn't.» He says, trying to sound as assured as he can. «They didn't, Slade, I swear. They just beat me up. They wanted to know about you but they didn't make it personal... just this one,» he nods to the body of the man who went this close to drowning him. «I guess he had a few screws loose. But the others were, heh... pretty professional.»

The lines of Slade's face remain hard but there's something that unspools in his expression, Dick can tell. «Alright.» He concedes, touching a thumb to Dick's cheek subtly and briefly enough that Dick isn't sure he hasn't imagined it. «Now let's get out of here.»

Thank you for asking anon ♥ Here's the prompt list for whoever wants to peruse it, or send me another prompt :)

[dracimexidae]

What better workout for my arms than working this beast of a thread right here 🥵

[poisonouspastels]

[lilac-melody]

:)