#permanent injury in media

[eveningspirit]

Chicago PD, I dare you. I dare you to give me Adam Ruzek with permanent injury resulting from being shot, point blank, in the chest.

I dare you to give me Adam Ruzek struggling to deal with his new reality.

I dare you to give me Adam Ruzek being angry and snapping at people.

I dare you to give me Adam Ruzek arguing with Kim, because no, she doesn't get it; her situation was different.

I dare you to give me Kim Burgess being upset, because damn it, she's been taking care of him since day one and he's ungrateful.

I dare you to give me Adam Ruzek working the desk -- with TRUDY freakin' PLATT, no less.

I dare you to give me Adam Ruzek going through however many stages of grief over his lost career.

I dare you to give me Trudy freakin' Platt tearing him a new one for being a whiny baby.

I dare you to give me Kim Burgess defending Adam.

I dare you to give me Adam learning to cope with his new reality.

I dare you to give me Makayla being a loving, upset, scared, joyful, annoying, beautiful, loving child she is. Give me Makayla loving her Dad no matter what.

I dare you to give me Adam Ruzek being grateful for still being alive.

Give me Adam and Kevin being friends. Maybe Kevin being awkward, or maybe not. Just. Reacting to Adam being different now.

Give me Kim supporting Adam in his new reality.

Give me Adam accepting his new reality.

Give me Adam having a setback.

Give me Adam making progress again.

And having another setback, because that's how life is.

Give me Adam and Kim and Makayla being together and having a great life, despite Adam's injury, despite it affecting his functioning in smaller and larger ways.

Give me a character surviving a serious injury, and getting through its aftermath (you have that Chicago Med show for crying out loud; guest appearances anyone?), without resorting to a "magical healing" device.

Can you do that Chi PD?

Can you?

I dare you.

And, if you don't, well... I'm not saying I'll write that fanfic, but I will certainly WANT TO write that fanfic. ;)

[singular-nail]

When a fictional man is physically disabled after torture or other traumatic experience. You agree. Reblog

[clickonmedotexe]

Giving Rex a cane so I can make Dr House his faceclaim

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[bogleech]

We met a really friendly cool lady from Argentina at our friend's house and she asked us if we had seen "THE ANIMAL" from her country, then she showed us photos of a capybara and kept referring to it that way like it's just The Generic Animal and that is SO true. She also told us all about the time a bunch of The Animals pissed off rich people, which I either overlooked or completely forgot about a couple years ago.

“That’s where the conflict started,” says Marcelo Canton, head of communications for the Nordelta Residents Association. The capybaras—known as “carpinchos” in Argentina—ate up lawns and massacred rose bushes. They caused traffic accidents, knocking delivery drivers from their bikes. Perhaps worst of all, for a country fiercely devoted to pets, the capybaras began to face off with dogs that confronted them on their new territory, causing injuries to both sides. “Dog owners were very upset,” Canton says. “Especially because here, the dogs are mostly French Bulldogs or other small dogs. They can’t defend themselves.”

In July, a group of residents went to the press, griping about a capybara “invasion” and calling for authorities to move the animals out to a nature reserve. The complaints triggered a huge backlash in both Argentine and international media. Viral posts on social media accused Nordeltans of hypocrisy, since their luxury neighborhood is built on the capybara’s historic wetland habitat, with some dubbing the animals “class warriors.” It didn’t help Nordelta’s case that capybaras are extremely cute, with goofy rectangular heads and narrow eyes that make them look permanently sleepy." All this time I've only seen memes about them being the most chill and friendly of all creatures but really The Animal will fuck up your lawn and then your little dog too :)

[prince-geo]

literally pleased with almost all of the new atla trailer except as per usual, Zuko's scar, idk why studios are so scared to commit to the intensity of the thing, its supposed to be shocking and obvious and textured and the first thing you see... that's the point, Zuko is supposed to struggle with feeling like it defines and brands him before finally coming to the point in his journey where he defines it.

Hollywood/big studios are known to hesitate or straight up avoid properly and honestly and unapologetically showing people with disfigurements/disabilities/facial differences etc. with the realism they deserve. Which is a shame in general for representation and humanization but ESPECIALLY in this case as its minimization actively harms it's narrative purpose as well

I promise making the scar more intense (shrivel up the ear a bit, make it intrude in his hairline, make his eye in a permanent squint due to nerve damage, for god sake REMOVE THE EYEBROW IT WAS BURNED OFF) will not make Zuko "ugly", (the actor is incapable of looking ugly and also the implication that scars make people too unappealing? yikes) but will actually do the character and his journey justice, not to mention really show Ozai's brutality, another essential narrative tool. Especially when he's bald like hello??? It should be even more stark and intense when he doesn't have hair to distract from it and cover his ear!!!

When transitioning from 2D to live action, of course some visuals are up for interpretation but that usually involved ADDING detail because the constraints of having to stay on modeling frame to frame is gone, not minimizing, removing or airbrushing. Doing Zuko's scar right to me is absolutely essential and I'm disappointed they seem just as as scared to go there as I thought they might. It doesn't have to be gory, if you've ever seen burn victims in real life or in pictures or even cosplayers/artists who are skilled in realistic burn makeup you'd know its possible to balance realism with humanity. It's possible especially with their resources to avoid the "scary Halloween makeup" route while not holding back on the brutality of the original injury.

Budget is definitely not an issue, or "scaring the kids" considering this remake is likely aiming to go a lil darker in tone than the cartoon (which was already super dark with its target audience of nickelodeon 7 year olds so no excuses) Audiences SHOULD be unsettled and upset when they see him but not because he's hard/disturbing to look at but because we are human and do not want to imagine someone doing that to a child.

It's a deliberate choice out of the all too common fear/hesitation to allow someone who is destined to eventually become a protagonist and is meant to be sympathized with to be "too ugly" while this hesitation is very rarely applied to straight up villains (again we come back to media's historic villainization of facial deformity). It's a trend that's always ticked me off in fanart too. The boy's face was melted, for gods sake. Zuko was always portrayed as an attractive boy in the cartoon (fire nation girls fawn over him) even with the intensity of his scar which is something I've always admired! People exist with scars similar to Zuko's in real life, and should not only be permitted to be represented as good guys and/or as attractive when their scars are toned down to be "palatable"

Like I said there's more that I loved than didn't love about the trailer, that can be a whole essay on it's own but I needed to get this very specific vent off my chest because it missed the mark so hard and stands out like a sore thumb in comparison to all the other visuals that hit the nail on the head to me

[house-of-evenmoor]

la danse macabre

Hello everyone! I am Meg (she/her) and I am the author of The House of Evenmoor.

The House of Evenmoor is a work-in-progress interactive CYOA novel with mystery, horror, and psychological thriller/horror themes.

It is inspired greatly by the "classic" gothic literature of Edgar Allan Poe, Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, and H.P. Lovecraft, among others, as well as media such as Crimson Peak.

Please note that this story may contain certain elements, storylines, events, and topics that may be triggering to some readers. Reader discretion is advised. A full list will be available before reading.

Rated 18+ for language, death, murder, gore, etc.

You play an amnesiac who wakes up to find themselves locked in an 18th century manor belonging to the mysterious Evenmoor family. You find that there are 11 other people who are in the same situation you find yourself in. You remember nothing about yourself, except for a name, which you take on as your own.

With little to no memory between all of you and an excruciating headache that occurs when you try to remember, you all try to search around the house to find an exit. The doors and windows are all bolted shut and the glass panes are unbreakable. Outside is a thick wall of dense fog. You're not even able to tell if it's night or day, much less where you are.

As you investigate around the house, you start to uncover clues that reveal the real secrets behind the house and the Evenmoors. But it's not that simple as you and your companions are being actively hunted by a strange supernatural force and entity. As members of your group are picked off, more of the manor is slowly revealed and, while being investigated, more pieces of lost memories come back to you and others, as well as the knowledge of how to potentially leave the manor.

Will you be able to escape with your group unscathed and with your memories or will you become yet another permanent member of the House of Evenmoor?

Play as a male or female. Choose to be straight, gay, bisexual, or even asexual.

Customize your character including your name, appearance, and personality.

Romance 1 of 6 options or none at all.

Bond with the 11 other people trapped in the house with you and find out their stories.

Investigate the mysterious Evenmoor House. Uncover long lost clues and dark secrets.

Discover your long-lost memories and who you are.

Avoid catching the attention of the mysterious supernatural force or the strange entities that reside within the house.

Figure out the truth behind the Evermoors and their strange house.

Main Character - The Amnesiac Truthseeker (he/him) or (she/her)

This is you. You are 25 years old. You remember the least amount of your life before this. You are determined to uncover the truth of the manor and escape. You awake in and are staying in Room Number 6.

Jasper - The Reflective Guardian (he/him)

Jasper is the stoic and brooding person of the group. He is independent and has the tendency to go off and investigate on his own or go into something before everyone else. He often breaks up arguments in the house and seems to have combat experience. He is 27 years old. He is staying in Room Number 1. Romance Option

Vina - The Sensitive Overseer (she/her)

Vina is the caring and motherly person of the group. She doesn't like discord in the group and will leave the room if arguments start. She appears to have experience with medicine and patching up injuries. She is also particularly sensitive to different energies. She is 28 years old. She is staying in Room Number 2.

Edmund - The Aspiring Detective (he/him)

Edmund is the sometimes-bumbling but eager-to-help person of the group. He likes to think himself as a detective and is a bit too excited to search for clues. Despite his conflicting personality, he is actually rather observant and is an adept investigator. He is 26 years old. He is staying in Room Number 3. Romance Option

Beatrice - The Lovelorn Poet (she/her)

Beatrice is the melancholic and pessimistic person of the group. She has the tendency to view things through rose-colored glasses. She spends most of her time in the library or conservatory, composing her poems about heartbreak. She is 27 years old. She is staying in Room Number 4. Romance Option

Hugo - The Obstinate Maverick (he/him)

Hugo is the irritable and instigating person of the group. He is a realist and often picks fights due to his negative views. He prefers to be alone and generally always has a bad attitude. He isn't very helpful either. He appears to be pretty decent with fixing things, though. He is 25 years old. He is staying in Room Number 5.

Laurel - The Enigmatic Huntress (she/her)

Laurel is the surprisingly cheerful and bubbly person in the group. She is very open about what she remembers and what she doesn't. She's also a very friendly person, in general. She appears to have a decent amount of general knowledge. She is 24 years old. She is staying in Room Number 7. Romance Option

Alden - The Fateful Author (they/them)

Alden is the quiet but quick-witted person of the group. They don't speak much, but are happy to assist. They have a journal that they use to take notes in while they're researching. They're also usually found in the library. They are 29 years old. They are staying in Room Number 8.

Ian - The Expert Weaver (he/him)

Ian is the unspoken but de facto leader of the group. He is calm and level-headed. He does his best to keep everyone alive and well. He tends to spend his time near Vina. He appears to have decent experience with textiles and related subjects. He is 30 years old. He is staying in Room Number 9.

Willa - The Skeptic Historian (she/her)

Willa is the resident skeptic of the group. She is very book smart and has a pretty hard time believing in the stranger experiences in the group. She is very honest and is perhaps a bit too blunt. She tends to get into arguments too. She is 25 years old. She is staying in Room Number 10. Romance Option.

Pearl - The Romantic Heiress (she/her)

Pearl is the youngest person in the group and it shows. She's very idealistic and hopeful. She doesn't have many relevant skills or experience and is rather impulsive. She's also very open with what she remembers from before. She is 21 years old. She is staying in Room Number 11.

Cecill - The Tortured Artist (they/them)

Cecill is the prickly and cold person in the group. They're dramatic and aren't very helpful around the house. They spend a surprising amount of time with Beatrice. They also seem to have some kind of connection to the supernatural energies. They are 24 years old. They are staying in Room Number 12. Romance Option

[giuliettagaltieri]

Chase for Prestige

Pairing: Presidential Candidate!Coriolanus Snow x Strategist!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Performer

Warning: elitism, morally gray reader, greed, mentions of drugging, self induced injury, violence, death

Word Count: 3738

3 of 6

After graduating from the University, you and Coriolanus set your plan in motion.  With your minds working together, and Dr. Gaul and the Plinths behind him, it was not that difficult to do.

Coriolanus was a perfect man to become a President.

He has the intellect for it, the support, the charisma, and the right name.

It was not a wonder how in just a couple of years, young Coriolanus Snow was able to climb high in politics.  A fresh graduate, already contending with veterans.

With the media on his side, he showed them that what Panem needs is something fresh.  Someone new to govern them.

President Ravenstil is an old man, he has suffered too much.  And it seems he was only waiting for the young Snow to fully come to age and take the seat that was rightfully his.

When Coriolanus announced that he is filing candidacy for President, you were with him.

Thanatos Swansworth’s daughter.

The Districts felt an old fear creeping up their bones, similar to what they felt over two decades ago.

But Coriolanus Snow was not the only candidate.

There was also Hilarius Heavensbee.

Not the greatest politician but he did have the money and influence.

“Heavensbee visited the grave of Felix Ravenstill.”  You say from the couch in Coriolanus’ office.  “Claimed to avenge his good friend when he becomes President.”

Coriolanus puts his pen down as he listens to you read from the newspaper.

This is not good.  This will garner the attention of the Capitol.  And with President Ravenstill stepping down, it seems only fitting to have someone who will avenge Felix as a replacement.

“I regret telling you that.”  You sigh as you make your way to the refreshments table to pour yourself a cup of tea.  “Focus on your speech for tonight.”  

He bristles.  “How could I when my enemy has the upperhand.  He offers kindness and empathy.  What do I have to offer?  The name of my father and games?”  Coriolanus snaps at you.

But you don’t respond to him as you check the teapot for remaining hot tea.

“What are you doing?”  He grumbles, eyeing you with frowned brows.  To his surprise, you plunge your hand inside.  “Y/N!”

Your hiss as Coriolanus yanks your arm away, making the teapot drop and shatter on the hardwood floor.  “What has gotten into you!”  You have never heard him so angry.  Not even when they stripped him off his name and status and sent him to District 12.

He rushes you to the powder room and places your hand under the faucet.  His teeth were grinding against each other as he observed your skin for any permanent damage.

“What were you thinking?”  His voice is low and barely contained.  He was behind you, trapping you between him and the lavatory.  Every rumble of his chest sends a shiver to your spine.

You smile as you gently move your fingers.  No serious damage.  Your skin still stings though.

“Giving you a chance to be kind and empathic.”  You laugh, one cut short by how he squeezes at your hip warningly.  “You’ll have to cut my steak for me later, Mr. President.”  The frown in his brows deepen as he hears the smile in your voice.  “I will make you do everything for me, Coriolanus Snow.” 

He did not like what you did.

Not when you grimace at the slightest touch to your hand.

The Plinths held the dinner party for Coriolanus, a celebration before his District Tour.

Many influential people are present in the party and for those who could not come, the party is being televised, all throughout Panem.

You are by his side the entire time, your good hand holding on to his arm, whispering information to his ears for every person that comes to shake his hand.

It was fascinating to watch how easy it was to inflate their ego.  They genuinely thought that Coriolanus Snow had the time to know their name and worry how their orchids were thriving this year.  No, it was all you.

You with your sweet smile and alluring voice.

Many expressed their worry for your injured hand but you always manage to turn it back to Coriolanus.  Telling them you had a little accident with your tea this morning, that it could have been worse had it not been for Coriolanus Snow.

They were so touched by his concern for you.  They start to see him in a new light.  He was not only good to Sejanus Plinth, but he was also doting on you.

Coriolanus Snow is a firm politician but he is also capable of warmth.

Many of them sneakily tried to ask about your relationship, but you were smart enough to deflect their questions.  Not confirming them but also not denying, just enough to keep their attention on you.

And it was finally time for the speech.

Coriolanus made people shed tears that night, fueled the narcissism of the Capitol citizens, but also gave a smidge of hope to the people of the Districts, it is not much but they do learn to start trusting this young Snow.

You are at your table, sharp eyes glinting at Coriolanus, sipping your champagne as you watch your handiwork.  You were careful enough to wear a gentle smile, for the cameras, lest the public mistake you for plotting something malevolent.

For the grand finale, he walks over to your table, his eyes on you the entire time as roars of applause ring heavily in the air.  He gently holds your elbow, careful not to hurt your hand and places a featherlight kiss on your wrist and closes his eyes, making the public believe that you are his anchor, grounding him.

Your lips part at his display of affection.  It almost seemed real.  You place your good hand on your chest as you smile up at him, your eyes turning glassy from all the emotions you are supposed to be feeling.

The ruse does not end there.

Just as you asked, he cut your steak for you, excusing himself from the conversation with the president to focus on the task.

You kick him under the table, it was sweet but this is the president he is talking to, and to put it to a pause just for your meal-

“What a sweet boy you are.”  The President’s wife coos and the President nods in agreement.

“It is hard to come by a good woman, especially for men like us.”  The President tells Coriolanus who chuckles.

“Indeed, sir.  That is why I have no intention of letting this one go.”  Coriolanus nods at you, making everyone around the table laugh.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”  You place a hand on his forearm.  “You are stuck with me.”

The President laughs harder at that.

It seems like Coriolanus knows what he is doing.  It made him look committed.

The Capitol is sad to see you off in your District Tour.

Hilarius Heavensbee, calls it foolishness in an interview once.  So many can go wrong on the tour.  You can be ambushed in the middle of speeches, poisoned in the homes you stay in, and even road accidents are a possibility.

You indulge a reporter as you are about to depart with Coriolanus, you smile at the camera as you hold on to his arm.  “Hilarius Heavensbee is right to be afraid, but a coward to hide in the walls of the Capitol.”

The ratings for Coriolanus rose dramatically after your comment, and the man cannot be more proud of you.

Or so he thought.

District 4 was fairly a peaceful place.  The land was beautiful due to it being situated on a large body of water, one that you do not see much from the Capitol.  The stench was something else but with the position of being President on the line, Coriolanus managed to tolerate it.

The mayor was wary for some reason.

He was sweating intensely.  His eyes darted all around, jumping at the slightest of sounds.  It did not sit well with either of you but you smiled for the cameras still.

He was nearly rushing you and Coriolanus to a fairly sized yacht.  

The ship you saw your father buy on an impulse once could collide with this one and your father’s ship will not even feel the slightest tremor.  It was exceptionally gigantic, especially to a four-year-old girl.  Your father bought it for your family should the Capitol fall in the war.  You never got to see that ship again when he got his head blown up with a sniper.

When you manage to get to a considerable distance from the port, the mayor was able to breathe more calmly.

“Is something the matter?”  Coriolanus smiled kindly, but you hear the sharpness in his voice.

The man stills his movement, his breath coming to a stop too as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.  He opens his mouth and closes them quickly.  He looks like he is about to burst into tears.

“You-you see, Mister Snow, sir…”  He stammers.

“Yes?”  Coriolanus raises a brow.

The mayor heaves a rather large sigh. 

“We m-might have received word that a…a group of people might have been uhm, they might cause…a smidge of trouble.”  He scratches at his head, trying to make it sound light and funny but he is obviously failing, soaked with sweat now.  “But there is nothing you should worry about.  We are taking care of it.”

You wanted to punch the man.

“And you thought it might be wise to bring us here in the middle of the ocean when someone declared a threat against us?”  You ask coldly.

“We thought, this way…w-we can select who could be around you, Miss Swansworth.”  He grimaces at your tone.

Coriolanus looks around the deck.  The reporters are stationed on one side, waiting to cover the party that will be thrown at dusk.  Peacekeepers are also deployed in the area.

You pull Coriolanus close by his tie, the mayor looking away with his cheeks flushing.  It seemed too intimate for him to see.

“We cannot have rebel attacks in the news.  It would prove everything Heavensbee said to be true.  Everybody would laugh at us!”  You say through gritted teeth.

Coriolanus clicks his tongue, hating how true your words are.  He places a warm hand on your back and leans down until his lips brushes against your ear, tickling you.  

The reporters are going haywire at the romantic gesture being offered to them.

“We will proceed as planned.”  He whispers lowly.  “For now, let’s retreat to someplace more private.”  Coriolanus straightens up and looks at the mayor testingly.  “Mister mayor, could you provide us a quieter deck?  Miss Swansworth would love to rest before the party begins.”

The smile you gave the mayor did not reach your eyes.

“Of course!  Right this way, please.”  He guides you inside the yacht and Coriolanus had his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close.  Peacekeepers stationed themselves inside and outside the doors.  A silencer now attached at the tips of their guns.  The mayor opens the door leading to a smaller deck, an empty one, one you’d love to explore.

“You can rest here, Miss Swansworth.”  He smiles nervously at you, his feet sweating at how you look at the place with indifference.  “Mister Snow, I would send refreshments for you and the Miss.”  He walks over to the door.  “Excuse me.”  He almost runs away from you.

“How rude.”  You say plainly.  “Acting as if I will bite his head off if he breathed wrong.”

Coriolanus leaves your side to rest on a plush sofa.  “You wouldn’t?”  He busies himself with a pile of magazines that featured successful men of the Capitol.  He is somewhere in there too.

You scoff, walking over to the empty deck.

“Stay where I can see you.”  He reminds in a manner that is intended for children.

Rolling your eyes, you venture further into the deck, the sun is setting beautifully, it would be a shame to stay indoors.

You close your eyes at the soft breeze, listening to the gentle lap of the waves and the seagulls flying above.

“My my, what a stubborn girl.”  Coriolanus sighs as he comes to stand next to you.

“You are not my father.”  You quip, brow raising at him. 

He only smiles darkly at you.  “No, but I expect the same obedience from you.”

Coriolanus chuckles when you huff, your lips forming a delicate pout.

In the calmness of the descending twilight, you both share a comfortable silence. 

Behind the beauties that publicity offered you during the tour, one thing that you appreciated is the places you got to visit.

Coriolanus was not the best company but he is slowly becoming more and more tolerable.  At times you even begin to have trouble trying to guess if his actions are part of your ruse or not.

A mistake.

You inhale sharply, turning away from the tangerine glare, your back to him.

Coriolanus Snow watches you as you walk away from him.

“Problem?”

He leans on the rails, his arms crossing.

You sigh as you grip your wrist behind your back and rocked on your feet, still not looking at him.  You appear rather insecure and it bothered him greatly.  Y/N Swansworth can be a shy girl but never insecure.  Not even once.

“Yes.”

Coriolanus strides over but you take another step back.  He narrows his eyes at you warningly.  “Tell me.”

You purse your lips, doe eyes glancing at him before looking away.  “I should not.”

Patiently, he waited for you to continue talking.

You started walking further and further until you were farthest from him.

“Are you asking for a chase, sweetheart?”  He says playfully.  Coriolanus found it comical to watch your eyes widen.

“No.”  You are quick to rid your face of vulnerability.   “I would like a moment alone.”  You spoke distantly.

Coriolanus knew better than to force you to do something that you quite obviously do not want to do.

He straightens up and gives you a charming smile, similar to the ones he gave to the cameras, you hated it.

“I will leave you to yourself then.”

You bite your tongue as you watch him head to the direction of the door.  You wanted to stop him.  To get him to stay…with you.  But your longing eyes, hidden by the dimming nightfall, can only look at him.

A soft thud from behind you steals both of your attention.  Coriolanus pauses his steps by the door.

“Y/N?”  He calls.  “Come here.”

With the lack of light, you struggle to see clearly what is happening, but with the mercy of whatever gods are looking down at you, you manage to see a silhouette of a person on top of the rails.

He was startled to see you, his movements freezing.  But that moment of shock did not last long as he seethed at you, his hand fished something from his pocket and you did not wait around to see what it was as you ran to Coriolanus as fast as you could.

But the man was not having any of that.

You yelp as a heavy mass slams against your back, knocking you to the ground.  It takes everything in you not to scream when your foot lands badly, now twisted in a weird angle.  Tears spring in your eyes as a burning pain rips from your head as your hair is being held in harsh fingers.  A cold sting against your neck had you squeezing your eyes but a muted bang stills every movement.

You look up to see Coriolanus still pointing a gun not very far above you, his eyes wide and afraid.  The fillet knife clatters on the deck and you groan as the man collapses on top of you.

Loud footsteps echo around the deck and you are yanked by your arms but as your feet make contact with the floor, you cry out in pain.  

You sniffle as you collapse on your bum, pretty dress splayed around you as you try to be brave, swallowing your sobs as you shiver from the fright.  Rough hands grab at your tear stained cheeks, turning you from side to side.

“It’s alright, I got you.”  He murmurs as the peacekeepers fill the area, the body being dragged away and taken care of.  You clutch at Coriolanus’ arms as you sobbed openly at his chest.  “You’re safe.”  It was the only promise he made that you found yourself believing.

The mayor was hysterical.  The doors and blinds shut, separating you from the people in the main deck.  He is kneeling in front of you and Coriolanus, sobbing like a newborn child deprived of his mother.

“We cannot let the people know about this.”  You spoke sternly, the ice on your foot had a biting cold, not making you feel any better.  “This never happened.”

Coriolanus’ leg is bouncing without a pause, his eyes livid as he refuses to let you get as far away as a meter from him.

The peacekeepers offered a drink to the Mayor before he leaves, which you think might have been tampered with as he was unnervingly happy afterwards, perhaps a bit loopy.  He joins the party with a glass of wine that a peacekeeper thrusted to his hand.

“You’d have to follow him.”  You spoke gently, trying not to wake his anger again.

“How many times would you have me tell you?”  He asks, agitated.  “I will not be leaving your side-”

“You have come this far, Corio.”  You spoke quietly, eyes looking anywhere but him.  “Surely you don’t intend to make a mistake now.”

This gets him to reconsider.  You turn to him with your most convincing smile. 

“Nobody is foolish enough to attempt another attack after that.”  You do not know that of course but you will say anything just to get him out there.  “We are doing so well, Coriolanus.  Do not ruin this for us.”  You plead.

Coriolanus looks away from you, contemplating.

“We were supposed to do this together.”  He sighs, eyes downcast.  It is a look you have seen often in his youth.  “And I let you get hurt.  On my watch.”

You smile, a real one this time.

In that moment, the peacekeepers and the people outside seemed to have disappeared as you were certain that it was just you and Coriolanus existing at that moment.

“I will never forget what you did for me.”  You caress his face.  He killed a man for you. 

“You still got hurt.”  He frowns, jerking away from your touch. 

Coriolanus Snow is sulking.

Laughing softly, you place a kiss on his jaw as you give him a knowing look.  He keeps his face straight but he looks at you from the edge of his skeptical eyes.

“Don’t play games with me.”  He warns you but you only giggle.

“I will be seeing you in a while.”  You say as you fix the ice better on your swollen foot.

Coriolanus wanted nothing else but to pull you back to him but he decides against it and he gets on his feet.  He gives you one last look before heading to the party.

Peacekeepers were quietly deployed around the yacht to prevent the public from noticing anything unusual.  The party was already packed with them by the time Coriolanus joined in.

You watch a live feed of the party from a channel that broadcasts all over Panem.

They are all expressing their disappointment in your failure to attend the party.

Coriolanus charmed them by saying that you had fallen asleep while the two of you watched the sunset, he told them you were too precious to be awakened from your slumber.

The people of the Capitol will believe you of course, but your enemies will plant seeds of doubt from this error.

You cannot let that happen.

The mayor was laughing at something Coriolanus said, others present at the table laughing along with him.  They did not know that the Capitol politician knew how to jest.

Coriolanus laughed along with them, though his eyes often wander to the closed doors that separated you from him.

“Missing Miss Swansworth?”  The mayor wriggles his eyebrows at him.  Perhaps the peacekeepers added a little too much on the drink.  He is starting to get too friendly than Coriolanus would have tolerated.

He chuckles lightly.  “I am.”

Everybody in the table looks at him dreamily, their hands in their chests.

“I have the perfect distraction.”  The mayor exclaims.  “You must try this, Mister Snow.”  The mayor pushes a plate of Lobster Thermidor to him.  Coriolanus knew better than to try anything that is not approved by the food taster you hired. 

He smiles and pats his toned abdomen.  “Oh, no.  Thank you, but I have satiated my appetite.”

The mayor frowns at him.  “But these are the best lobsters in District 4!”

Coriolanus nods at him.  “And they are exquisite, Mister Mayor!”

With such flattery, the mayor blushes, smiling bashfully at the others who praised him.

As the night progressed, Coriolanus kept glancing at his watch, dreading the speed of time.  Time was moving so slowly, he wondered if this was a form of punishment.

“I cannot believe you started the party without me.”

Coriolanus never looked up as swiftly.

There you stood, in a long evening dress he had not seen before, smiling brighter than any stars overhead.  You are standing on your feet, posture perfect, with no trace of injury.

He was in disbelief and he wanted nothing more than to tell you to get back inside.  His brows pinch when you glide with perfect steps, face as angelic as ever.

Coriolanus was quick to get to his feet and pull the chair next to him for you to sit on.

“Thank you.”  You smile at him.

The media was quick to cover your arrival.

“You’re not supposed to be on your feet.”  He seethes.  His smile barely kept together and you can see his teeth gritting.

In a closer look, he can see how your eyes are a bit glassy, lips quivering, and your temple moist with sweat.  You lean closer to him and beam.

“The show must go on.”

Hunt for Glory

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Miracle Cure

The miracle cure is a trope with a pretty negative reputation in disability circles, especially online. It describes a scenario in which, a disabled character, through either magic, advanced technology, divine intervention or some combination of the three, has their disability cured throughout the course of the story. Sometimes this is literally, as in the disability is completely and entirely cured with no strings attached. Other times, it looks like giving an amputee character a prosthetic so advanced that it's basically the same as "the real thing" and that they never take off or have any issue with, or giving the character with a spinal injury an implant that bypasses the physical spine's break, or connects to an exoskeleton that allows them to walk again. Sometimes, it can even look like giving a character some kind of magic item or power that negates the effects of the disability, like what I talked about in my post about "the super-crip" trope. Either way though, the effect is the same: The disability is functionally cured and is no longer an "issue" the author or character has to worry about.

But why would this be a bad thing? In a world with magic or super-advanced tech, if you can cure a character's disability, why wouldn't you?

[ID: a screenshot of Roy mustang from Full metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white man with short black hair in a hospital gown. In the corner of the screen is the hand of another person holding a small red gemstone. /End ID]

Well there's a few reasons. First, lets talk about the purely writing related ones. If you've been around the writing or even media critique communities for a bit, you've likely heard people voicing their frustrations with tropes like "The fake-out death" where a character is either implied to have died, but comes back later, or is explicitly shown to be dead and then resurrected. Often when this happens in media, it leaves the audience feeling cheated and like a character's actions and choices don't really matter if even the worst mistakes and consequences can be undone. In the case of the latter situation, where they die and are brought back, it can make the stakes of the whole story feel a lot lower, since even something like death is shown to be reversible, so the audience doesn't really have to worry about anything bad happening to their favourite character, and once you've used this trope one time, people will constantly wonder why you wouldn't use it every time it comes up.

The same is true for "fixing" a character's disability. It sets a precedent that even things as big and life-changing as disability aren't permanent in this setting. We don't have to worry about anything major happening to the characters, there's no risks associated with their actions if it can all be undone, and it will lower the stakes of the story for your audience. Personally, I also feel like it's often used as a cop-out. Like writers wanted to include a major injury the leads to something big like disability for shock value, but weren't sure how to actually deal with it afterwards, so they just made it go away. Even in cases where the character start the story with a disability and are cured, this can still cause issues with your story's stakes, because again, once we've seen you do it once, we know its possible, so we won't feel the need to worry about anything being permanent.

Ok, so that's the purely writing related reasons, but what if that situation doesn't apply to the story you're writing? What if they're "fixed" right at the end, or the way they're cured is really rare, so it can't be used multiple times?

I'm glad you asked, because no, this is far from the only reason to avoid the trope! In my opinion, the more important reason to avoid it is because of how the a lot of the disabled community feels about the miracle cure trope, and the ideas about disability it can perpetuate if you're not very, very careful.

You might have noticed that throughout this post, I've put words like "cured" and "fixed" in quotes, and that's because not every disabled person wants a cure or feels like their ideal to strive for is able-bodied and neurotypical. For many of us, we have come to see our disabilities as part of us, as part of our identities and our sense of self, the same way I, as a queer person might see my queerness as a part of my identity. This is an especially common view among people who were born with their disability or who had them from a young age, since this is all they've ever really known, or who's disability impacts the way they think, perceive and process the world around them, how they communicate with people or in communities who have a long history of forced conformity and erasure such as the autism and deaf communities. Many disabilities have such massive impacts on our lives that we literally wouldn't be who we are today if they were taken away. So often though, when non-disabled people write disabled characters, they assume we'd all take a "cure" in a heart-beat. They assumed we all desire to be just like them again, and this simply isn't the case. Some people absolutely would, and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's not as universal as media representation makes it out to be.

Another reason it's so heavily disliked is because this trope is often used in conjunction with other ableist and harmful tropes or it's used in ways that perpetuate misinformation about living with a disability and it can have ableist implications, even if that's not what the author necessarily intended.

If the miracle cure is used right at the end of the story for example, as a way to give characters a happy ending it can imply that the only way for a disabled character to be happy in the long run, is for them to be "fixed", especially if they were miserable all the way up until that point. If it's used earlier in the story as a way to get said character back into the action, it can also be read as the author thinking that disabled people can't be of use to the plot, and so the only way to keep them around is to "fix" them.

Of course, there's also the fact that some authors and writers will also play up how bad being disabled is in order to show why a cure is justified, playing into the "sad disabled person" trope in the process, which is pretty much what it says on the tin. Don't get me wrong, this isn't to say that being disabled is all easy-breezy, there are never any hard days and you should never show your character struggling, not at all, the "sad disabled person" trope has it's place (even if I personally am not a fan on it), but when both the "sad disabled person" trope and the miracle cure trope are used together, it's not a great look.

This is especially bad when the very thing that cures the disability, or perhaps the quest the heroes need to go on to get it, is shown to be harmful to others or the disabled person themselves. Portraying living with a disability as something so bad that it justifies hurting others, putting others at risk, loosing yourself or killing yourself in order to achieve this cure perpetuates the already harmful idea that disability is a fate worse than death, and anything is justified to avoid it.

I've also noticed the reasons the authors and writers give for wanting to cure their characters are very frequently based on stereotypes, a lack of research in to the actual limits of a person's disability and a lack of understanding. One story I recall reading years ago made sure to tell you how miserable it's main character, a former cyclist, was because he'd been in a car accident where he'd lost his arm, and now couldn't ride bikes anymore, seemingly unaware of the fact arm amputees can, in fact, ride bikes. There are several whole sports centred around it, and even entire companies dedicated to making prosthetic hands specifically for riding bikes. but no, the only way for this to resolve and for him to be happy was to give him his arm back as a magical Christmas miracle! It would be one thing if the story had acknowledged that he'd tried cycling again but just had difficulties with it, or something was stopping him from being able to do it like not being able to wear the required prosthetic or something, but it really did seem as though the author was entirely unaware it was even possible, which is an issue when it's the whole point of your story existing. This happens a lot more often than you'd think, and it's very clear when an author hasn't even bothered to google search if their character would be able to do something before deciding the only solution is to take the disability away.

There's also the frustration that comes from being part of an underrepresented minority, finally seeing a character like you on screen or in a book, only for that representation to be taken away. Disabled people make up roughly 16% of the population (though many estimate these numbers are actually much higher), but only about 2.8% of American TV shows and 4.1% of Australian TV shows feature explicitly disabled characters. In 2019, around 2.3% of films featured disabled characters in a speaking roll, and while it's slowly getting better as time goes on, progress on that front is very slow, which is why its so frustrating when we do see characters like ourselves and so much of their stories focus on wishing to be, trying to become or actually being "cured".

An finally, there's the fact this is just a really common trope. Even if we ignore the issues it can cause with your story's tone and stakes, the harm it can do to the community when not handled with care, the negative perceptions it can perpetuate and everything else. It's just a plain-old overdone trope. It shows up so often that I, and a lot of disabled people, are just getting tired of seeing it. Despite everything I've said, there are valid reasons for people to not want to be disabled, and just like how I made sure to emphasise that not everyone wants a cure, it's important to recognise that not everyone would refuse it either. So long as it's not done in a way that implies it's universal, in theory, depicting someone who would want and accept a cure is totally fine. The issue is though that this trope is so common and so overdone that it's starting to feel like it's all we ever see, especially in genres like sci-fi and fantasy (and also Christmas movies for some reason).

[ID: A Gif of a white man in a top hat nodding his head with the caption "Merry Christmas" down the bottom. /end ID]

Personally, because it's so common, I find even the few examples of the trope used well frustrating, and I honestly feel that it's at the point where it should be avoided entirely where possible.

Ok but Cy, you mentioned there are ways to use this trope well, what are they?

So, like I said, I'm of the opinion that this trope is better off not being in your work at all, but if, for whatever reason, you can't avoid it, or it's use is really that important to the story you want to tell, there are less harmful ways to implement it.

Don't have your only disabled character take the cure

If you really must cure your disabled character's disability, don't make them the only disabled person in the story. Show us another character who, when offered the same cure, chooses not to take it. This at least helps push back a little against the assumption of "of course everyone would want this" that these kinds of stories often imply and doesn't contribute (as much) to disability erasure in the media.

Don't make it a total cure

In real life, there are cures for some disabilities, but they rarely leave no trace. For example, an amputee's limb can sometimes be reattached if it was severed and they received medical treatment fast enough, but it usually results in at least a little nerve damage and difficulties with muscle strength, blood flow or co-ordination in that limb. Often times, these "cures" will fix one issue, but create another. You might not be an amputee anymore, but you're still disabled, just in a different way. You can reflect this in your fictional cures to avoid it feeling like you just wanted to avoid doing the work to write good disabled representation.

Do something interesting with it

I got a comment on my old tumblr or possibly Tik Tok account ages ago talking about their planned use for the miracle cure trope, where their character accepts the cure at the cost of the things that made her life enjoyable post-disability. Prior to accepting the cure, she had found other ways to be independent to some extent and her community and friends helped her bridge the gaps, but they were all taken from her when she was "cured" forcing her into isolation. Kind of like a "be careful what you wish for" sort of thing. The story was meant to be a critique on how society ignores alternative ways of getting the same result and how conforming to other people's ideas of "normal" isn't always what you need to bring you happiness. This was a genuinely interesting way to use the trope I think, and it's a perfect example of taking this trope and twisting it to make an interesting point. If you must use a trope like this, at least use it to say something other than "disability makes me sad so I don't want to think about it too much". Alternatively, on a less serious note, I'm also not entirely opposed to the miracle cure being used for comedy if it fits the tone. The Orville has some issues with it's use of the Miracle Cure trope, but I'd be lying if I said Isaac amputating Gordan's leg as a prank, knowing it could be reversed in a few hours did get a chuckle out of me.

If your villain's motivation is finding a cure for themselves, don't use it as justification for hurting people

Disabled villains need a post all their own honestly, but when a villain's motivation for doing all the terrible things they do is so they don't have to be disabled anymore, it's especially frustrating. Doubly so if the writer's are implying that they're justified in their actions, or at least that their actions are understandable because "who would want to live like that?" Honestly, as a general rule of thumb, avoid making your villains disabled if you aren't disabled yourself (especially if they're your only disabled character), but if they are disabled, don't use the disability as a justification for them hurting people while finding a cure.

So are there any examples currently out there to look at where the trope is used, if not well, at least tolerably?

Yeah, I'd say so, but they're few and far between. Two examples come to mind for me though.

The Dragon Prince:

[ID: A Gif of Ava the Wolf from the Dragon Prince, a light brown, fluffy wolf who is missing her front right leg. /End ID]

The Dragon Prince on Netflix uses the miracle cure twice, but I still really enjoyed the show (at least I did, up until my Netflix subscription ran out, so I've only seen up to season 4). The first time the trope is used in the series, it's actually a fake-out. Two of the main characters, while looking for someone to help them heal the dragon egg they're carrying, encounter a young girl named Ellis and her pet wolf Ava. The two explain their egg is not looking good and they need to find someone to help it, but no one they've found had the knowledge or ability to do anything to help. Ellis says she knows a healer who can help them, and tells them that this healer even restored Ava's amputated leg when she was a pup. When we actually reach this "miracle healer" however, she is revealed to be simply an illusionist. She explains that Ava is still missing her leg, she simply made it look as though she had restored it because Ellis's parents were planning to throw the puppy out, believing it would not survive with its disability and would only be a drain on supplies. This was not actually true and Ava adapted to her amputation very well, she simply needed more time, and hiding her disability and making her appear abled gave her the time she needed to fully recover and adjust. When they return to the healer with the main characters, she removes the illusion and explains why she did it, emphasising that the real problem was never with Ava, but with how people made assumptions about her.

While I do feel it was drawn out a bit too long, I do appreciate the use of the trope as the set up to an overall positive twist. Disability does come with down-sides, it's part of the deal and it would have been nice to see a bit more of that, but for disabilities like amputation in particular, the worst of our problems often come from a lack of adequate support and people's pre-conceived ideas about us, and it was nice to see this reflected, even if it is a little overly simplified.

The second time this trope comes up in the series is when one of the antagonists, Soren, is injured during a fight with a dragon, becoming paralysed from the neck down. His sister, Claudia is absolutely beside herself, believing it was her fault this even happened in the first place, but Soren actually takes his new disability very, very well, explaining that he understands there are things he can't do now, but that there's a lot of things he can still try, that his previous job as a soldier just didn't allow time for. It's possible this reaction was him being in denial but it came across to me as genuine acceptance. He is adamant that he doesn't want a cure right from the beginning because he knows that a cure would come at a cost that he doesn't want his sister to pay, and that he is content and happy with this new direction his life will be going in. Claudia, however, is not content. It had been shown that she was already using dark magic, but this event is what starts her down the path of using it in earnest, disregarding the harm it will cause to those around her. She ignores Soren's wishes, kills several animals in order to fuel the healing spell that will "fix" him, and Soren is pretty clearly shown to be horrified by her actions. What I like about this use of the miracle cure trope is that it touches on something I've seen happen a lot to disabled people in real-life, but that rarely shows up in media - the fact that just because we accept ourselves, our disabilities and our new limits, doesn't mean our friends and family will, unfortunately. In my own life, my mum and dad were always accepting of my disability when I was younger, but as I got older and my support needs changed, my body took longer to heal and I stopped being able to do a lot of things I could when I was little, they had a very hard time coming to terms with it and accepting it. I'm not alone in this either, a lot of disabled people end up cutting contact with friends and family members who refuse to accept the reality of our situations and insist "if we just try harder maybe we won't be so disabled" or "Maybe you will get better if you just do [xyz]". Unfortunately however, some disable people's wishes are ignored completely, like Soren's were. You see this a lot in autistic children who's parents are so desperate to find a cure that they hurt their kids through toxic and dangerous "treatments" or by putting them through abusive therapies that do more harm than good. Claudia has good intentions, but her complete disregard for Soren's decision still harm them both in the long run, leading to the deterioration of their relationship and causing her to spiral down a very dark path.

Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood

[ID: A Gif of Ed from full metal alchemist, a white boy with blond hair, staring angrily at a jar of milk on the table. His brother Al, a sentiant suit of armour, is in the background looking directly at the camera. The caption, spoken by Ed, says "So we meet again you little bastard" /end ID.]

The show does begin with Ed and Al looking for a way to cure their disabilities (which they gave themselves when trying to resurrect their mother as children went horribly wrong). However, when the boys discover that the object needed to do that - a philosopher's stone, can only by made through absolutely abhorrent and despicable means, and using one, likewise, comes at the cost of potentially hundreds or thousands of people's souls, they immediately stop, and shift their focus on finding the stones that had already been made so it can't fall into the wrong hands, and preventing the creation of new ones. The core theme of the show is that everything has a cost, and sometimes the cost is simply too great.

However, right at the end of the show, several characters are healed in a variety of ways. Ed gives up his ability to do alchemy to get his brother's body back, as well as his arm so he can save his friends in the final battle, but neither of the boys come away from this completely "healed". Al's body has not been used since he was a child, and so it is shown he has experienced severe muscular atrophy that will take a long time and a lot of work to recover from, acknowledging that he has a pretty tough road ahead of him. When we see him in the epilogue, he is still on crutches despite this being several months after getting his body back. Likewise Ed is not fully healed, and is still missing one of his legs even if he got his arm back.

The more... interesting use of the trope, however, is in the form of Colonel Mustang who was blinded in the final season. Mustang is shown to take to his blindness pretty well given the circumstances, finding a variety of ways to continue doing his job and reaching his goals. When other characters offer to let him use the philosopher's stone to heal himself however, he takes it, acknowledging that this is a horrible thing to do and that Ed and Al would be extremely disappointed in him if they ever found out. He uses it both to cure his own disability, and to cure another character who was injured earlier in the show. While I'll admit, I did not like this ending, I can at least appreciate that the show made sure to emphasis that a) Mustang was doing fine without the cure, and b) that this was not morally justified. The show spent a very long time drilling into the viewer how morally reprehensible using the stone was, and it didn't try to make an exception for Mustang - you weren't supposed to like that he did that.

When I talk about these tropes, I do try to give them a fair chance and discuss the ways it can potentially work, but I really do want to reiterate that this particular trope really is best avoided. There are ways to make it work, but they will still leave a bad taste in many of your viewer's or reader's mouths and you have to be exceptionally careful with your wording and framing, not just in the scenes where this trope is used, but in the lead up. If you really must use it, I highly recommend getting a few disability sensitivity readers and/or consultants (yes, even if you are disabled yourself) to help you avoid some of the often overlooked pitfalls.

[samkerrworshipper]

twos a company, threes a crowd pt.2 | alexia putellas x reader x lucy bronze

lucy and r decide to try and dom alexia but it doesn’t turn out to well….

part 1 - just more smuttttt for my horny girlies

warnings: smut smut smut 18+ minors dni.

You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. There was something so incredibly wonderful about plotting against Alexia. Lucy, Alexia and you had fallen into some kind of rhythm with your lives, it was this perfectly orchestrated symphony that none of you were ready to label or even try to define. You just knew that it worked and that the sex was out of this world and that was all that really mattered. You were all young, and having fun was all that really mattered to you, you were all caught up in the cohesiveness between the three of you for anything else to matter.

Lucy had in a lot of ways moved into yours and Ale’s shared house. You’d never extended the invitation but she also knew it wasn’t necessary, and whilst the older woman might have acted like she had no idea how she’d wormed herself into you and Ale’s lives there was evidence of her everywhere in your house. Whether it was the coffee mug of hers that now permanently resided on the kitchen island, the sets of her clothes that now lived beside yours and Alexia’s in the wardrobe, her weird snacks that now inhabited the pantry or the hook at your door that Alexia had installed beside your own to hold Lucy’s keys that were on the hook more often than not.

She’d become a part of your lives, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. The feeling of waking up with the two women beside you, even just the complete peace that seemed to overcome your house in the mornings as the three of you moved around making breakfast in the kitchen. It was all perfect, just pure incomparable happiness.

Navigating back to the sex though, it was incredible. Alexia had kept you above satisfied, she was exceptional, but having two women who knew exactly how to make you boneless and hot in all of the right places was celestial.

There was one thing that you and Lucy had been working on for the past few weeks though and the whole plan had you giddy. In the few weeks that Lucy had wormed her way into your house and lives she had been clearly getting a little bit agitated by the power that Alexia held in your bedroom. She loved the sex as well, but she wasn’t as used to being bossed around. In all honesty, she didn’t really mind, the pleasure that Alexia and you gave her was completely indomitable. But it was the challenge of one upping Alexia that had her plotting and somewhere along the way she’d managed to brainwash you into helping.

You were innocent, a true sub, especially for Alexia. She had you wrapped around her little finger, and you didn’t mind. You loved the way that she bossed you around and made you quiver just with her voice. Lucy had observed that, in the lead up and one Sunday afternoon, whilst Alexia had been out doing some media work and the two of you had been staying in watching a film and eating pizza she’d gotten to you. It had started with a rough, deep order and had ended with her edging you six times on her lap until you’d been at your wits end and ready to do anything to get your high. Somehow, in your orgasm obsessed haze you’d agreed to throw La Reina off of her throne.

It was a plan that had been a few weeks in the making. You’d been anxious about it to say the least, and Alexia had picked up on it. You’d pawned it off as being some injury concerns, you’d managed to obtain a small hamstring injury that had seen you doted over and not leaving bed without the assistance of Alexia or Lucy for three days.

Lucy was patient, she played the long game and the simple figment of her mind that knew that eventually she would get her moment was good enough to keep her plotting. She kept you informed, not enough that if Alexia managed to catch a whiff she’d get much out of you, but enough to keep you up to speed.

She knew that there was a part of you that yearned to get a little bit of power over your dom, that whether or not you wanted to admit it there was a bratty side of you hiding somewhere underneath and she was fairly certain that under the goody two shoes facade there was something lurking beneath.

So she plotted silently, in the dead of night, at training, every waking moment alone in her brain she spent trying to find the last puzzle piece to her plan, the perfect moment to take action.

It had come up when the three of you had received the news of a two week break that you had.

The three of you had decided to take the opportunity of the two week break and get away, making the collective decision to take a well earned trip to Greece. It was a dream, the three of you spending all of your spare time by the pool and drinking bottomless cocktails. It was also what Lucy considered as a vulnerability, an opportunity. During the season, all of you were so busy, you hardly had enough time to have normal sex, it was a luxury. So when you did you took what you could get, but right now, Lucy had what she considered a lot of leeway, and she was very ready to use it, especially to put her plan into play, and use Alexia’s innocent good girl as the main pawn in her plan.

It had started with letting you know her plan. It was the fifth day in your holiday and all of you were blissed out, the sun, sex and alcohol making you all much happier than you had been when you’d been working tirelessly in Barcelona.

She’d waited for that stage, waited patiently for Alexia to lull herself into calm, happiness, she was taking advantage of it and you were too amused by it to care very much.

You’d fallen into a routine, waking up with sleepy morning sex whilst the sun seeped up from the horizon, then you’d all have some wake up shower sex and make a decision on where you’d go for breakfast. After that you’d go for a morning walk, eat and then return to the holiday house to change into your bikinis and then you’d either head out to the pool or down to the beach. After a dip and some quality tanning time the three of you would trail back into town typically, feeding yourselves lunch before the two older women took an afternoon nap and you typically sat down and took some time to yourself, whether it was reading a book or catching up on the phone with some friends. Once they woke up the three of you would all get ready for an early dinner and then go out, before coming back to the house and fucking until you were all happily spent and tired from your day.

One thing Lucy had come to realise was that Alexia on holiday and Alexia at home were two completely different people. Alexia at home was a wild insomniac, she hardly slept and when she did it was light and fairly restless. However Alexia on holiday was a lot less stressed and a lot more content, she slept soundly and very deeply and Lucy took complete advantage of it.

So on night four, under the blanket of stars Lucy had whispered in your ear her plan for the following morning and you’d just let yourself feel giddy at the simple idea of what Lucy set out to do.

You’d woken up to Lucy rubbing circles along your back and murmuring good morning in your ear and it had been your sign to get into action. The both of you had discreetly slipped out from Alexia and the covers, Lucy retrieving her tools and you readying the room as quietly as possible for her plans.

She really was using you in relation to getting to Alexia, knowing that you being a brat would lessen the blow for her when Alexia clocked onto what was happening, you didn’t really mind. It wasn’t often that you misbehaved, you were Alexia’s angel, always a good girl but often you’d contemplate acting up just to earn yourself a little bit more attention from her. You’d never tapped into it, never let yourself out of fear that Alexia wouldn’t enjoy it, but with Lucy egging you on it was too good not too.

Once Lucy collected the supplies, that was when the plan truly fell into place. She passed you a variation of silk ties, pressing them into your palm as you anxiously smiled at her and then Alexia’s sleeping form, the woman was still deeply sleeping and you couldn’t help but watch her. She looked so peaceful when she slept, it was the rare moment everyday that you knew she was truly relaxed for, that all of the anxiety and pressure that was normally on her was completely gone. A part pf you felt bad for disturbing her, a part of you also had been thinking about this for weeks and now that you had the opportunity you knew that you and Lucy couldn’t waste it.

So you clambered as gracefully as you could onto the bed, and nudged Alexia onto her back, an action that had you taking a deep breath as she stirred slightly but didn’t awaken, thankfully. Once she’d settled back into the sheets you’d reached carefully for one of her hands, quickly tying one of the silk pieces around it and then tugging her lifeless arm up to one of the bed posts.

You repeated the same process with her other four extremities, Lucy watching you with a deep smirk on her face from her position sitting in a chair that she’d tugged out from the dining room, sitting directly in front of the bed so she had a full view of the show.

She watched keenly as you finished with Alexia’s extremities, the woman still completely unconscious, something that was equally unsurprising and surprising at the same time. That was phase one of the plan done, and arguably the easiest and one that would have lesser consequences. Once you’d double checked each of the bonds to make sure they were secure you’d reached onto the sheets and retrieved your other supplies that Lucy had handed you, supplies that you were certain would awaken the Catalan.

You took a deep breath, building up the courage in your chest as you passed the object between your hands.You and Alexia were in similar states of undress, in that neither of you were dressed whatsoever, your bodies on complete show to Lucia as she surveyed you. You could feel her eyes on you, raking up and down your naked form as you fiddled anxiously with the object.

“Can I?”

Your voice quivered, this was uncharted territory for you.

“Bebita, you don’t have to ask, Ale’s not in charge today and she’s given us full permission to be awoken by you like this, I promise you that I’ll keep you safe from her.”

Lucy’s final words were said with a snort that had you frowning deeply. You knew there was going to be repercussions for this, it was unavoidable that this whole scheme was going to end with you and Lucia in the sexual doghouse, but the risk was worth the reward.

You anxiously looked down at the purple silicone bullet vibrator that was balancing in between your index and your thumb.

“Y/n, don’t make me tell you again.”

Lucy’s voice was sterner, and your subbed out brain couldn’t do much more than listen to her. You pressed down on the on button, watching as the vibrator whirred to life in your palm and began to pulsate in your palm. Without a second glance at Lucy you reached down to the apex point between your thighs, pressing it directly to your clit and immediately moaning at the sensation.

It didn’t take long for you to do as Lucy had requested, get yourself hot, bothered and dripping. Once you did it was time for phase 3 of the plan, the part that involved the awakening of Alexia.

You began by very carefully straddling your legs over each side of her hips, hovering above Alexia, your juices dripping down onto her as you worked up the courage to do as Lucy had asked of you. Before you could second guess it, you reached down to Alexia’s own apex and before you could even begin to think about how this was going to end for you, you pressed it down onto her waiting clit and sunk yourself down on her abs, beginning to work yourself up and down the tanned skin.

It took a total of two seconds passed by before Alexia’s eyes popped open, a look of complete pleasure and terror washing over her as she took in her surroundings. It took a total of 5 seconds before she realised exactly who was hovering over her. 7 to discover what was Occuring to be causing her such pleasure and 8 to realise that she was completely restrained by the bonds on her arms and legs and your hips that were straddling her body to the bed.

Alexia looked like a mix between dumbfounded and gobsmacked, this was not what she’d been picturing the night beforehand when she’d been drifting off to sleep with you pressed up against her and her arms wrapped around Lucy.

Alexia just laid, absolutely stock still, sleep still in her eyes as she took in her surroundings. She struggled in the restraints for a total of 2 seconds before acknowledging that it was pointless, whoever had tied her up had done their job well and she knew from experience. She took in your form, observing you as you worked your way up and down her abs, your head propped backwards as the moans rolled from your mouth, the feeling of Alexia’s tense muscles brushing up against your entrance and sensitive little nub.

“Bebita.”

Alexia’s words were controlled, extremely controlled for a woman who currently had a vibrator pressed directly against her pussy with absolutely no way of moving away.

“Y/n, look at me.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, her voice as clear as crystals. You forced yourself to look down at her, a big frown looking up at you with both of her eyebrows raised up to her hairline.

“Bebita, I’m giving you the opportunity to be a good girl. I know that Lucia is using you to take advantage of me, and trust me she is going to be punished for it, but if you stop now and untie me, and stop whatever little stunt this is then I won’t punish you, you’re my good girl, you know it and so do I, don’t let Lucia manipulate you.”

You looked back at Lucy. She’d conditioned you in the past few weeks, told you that Alexia would do this, would try and use the good girl card, knowing just how much you craved her praise, Lucy knew that you wouldn’t slip up, or she trusted that her training had been enough to at least get you past this point.

“Mm sorry Ale, but I can’t.”

You continued to rock back and down on Alexia, the woman completely unable to do anything to stop you from approaching your orgasm, something that Alexia was so protective of.

“I swear to dios that if you cum baby then you won’t for a month. You don’t want that, remember the two weeks I spent edging you, you broke everyday, it was torture, don’t make me do that to you again, not when I’m giving you the opportunity to give up this stupid ploy.”

Alexia’s words were bitten out through gritted teeth, she was trying to stop herself from succumbing to the pleasure that she was inevitably feeling, trying to keep a brave face, trying to take proper control of you before her body betrayed her mind.

“She’s not going to break, Reina, I’ve got her well trained.”

Lucy stood up from her seat for the first time, allowing Alexia to get a proper view of the older woman, who was grinning down at her like the Cheshire cat.

“Don’t even get me started on you Lucia, trying to manipulate our little angel.”

Lucy just smirked at Alexia, reaching down in between her legs and taking the vibrator from your hands, pressing down on Alexia by herself.

“She’s no angel, hell she was practically jumping at the opportunity to get a one up on you, you should have seen the glint in her eyes when she was tying you up, and now you get to watch the glint in her eyes as she comes undone all over you without your permission or help.”

Alexia’s jaw locked and you could tell that any pleasure she was feeling was being completely washed out as she watched you becoming a complete mess on her stomach, slowly melting all over her.

“Bebita, don’t you dare cum, lo juro por dios, if you cum then I will edge your ass and spank it raw everyday for the next month, that’s a promise.”

Lucy just smiled at you, reaching her free hand down to the gap between your thighs and pressing down hard on your sensitive little nub, forcing you to see stars as you teetered on the edge of release that you knew Alexia was going to kill you for going over.

“It’s okay sweetheart, go ahead, cum for me sweetheart, don’t listen to Reina.”

You smiled at Alexia, sugar sweet before looking back at Lucy and nodding, waiting for another wave of pleasure to wash over you before Lucy roughly pinched your clit, sending you directly over the edge.

You spasmed into Lucy’s arms, feeling Alexia’s body tense aggressively below you, the older woman clearly extremely displeased by you. As you came down from your high you got a flash of Alexia’s deep frown, you were in the shit as soon as you untied her, but why end your fun prematurely?

You reached down to Alexia’s lips, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, not lingering for long enough for her to have the opportunity to deepen it or even try to bite you, just a form of kindness that you rewarded her with.

“Untie me, right now.”

Her jaw was set as stone, the unhappiness and disdain clear across her facial expression.

“I don’t think we’re done yet, I think that I’m going to go and fuck our good girl over the kitchen bench, we’ll leave the door open though, so you can hear what’s happening.”

Lucy was pushing, toeing the blurred line that was Alexia’s restraint. There was a certain point of joke Alexia could get to. There were limits though. Number one on that list being your orgasm, without her permission. It was a safely guarded thing that Alexia was possessive of and having Lucy walk in and purposely take advantage of that was getting on her last nerve.

“Lucia Roberta, don’t push me.”

Lucy just smirked at Alexia, picking you up off of her hips and having you straddle Lucy’s own hips as she lifted you. You immediately secured both of your arms around her neck, holding on tightly to the Lioness.

“M’ sorry Ale.”

You gave her a sad smile, you felt a little bit bad, but only a smidge enough for the look in her eye to make you feel a tad bit guilty.

“Baby, listen to me, Lucia’s already in a lot of trouble, but if you stop here, if you prove to me that you can be a good girl, I’ll lessen the punishment for you, prove to me that you can still be my perfect angel.”

Your lip wobbled in between your teeth, you wanted to give into Alexia. But you were already getting punished, and you figured so was Lucy, anything you were getting she’d receive the same, so at least you were going through it together.

“Can’t do that Ale, I'm Luce's good girl today.”

Alexia was possessive, more than anything else and you claiming you were Lucy’s girl set off bursts of anger across her body. She was happy to share you with Lucy, but flat out being ignored and taking her power off of her was taking it a step too far.

Lucy secured to vibrator to Ale’s thigh, smirking at the Catalan as she carried you out of the room and into the kitchen. Lucy’s heart swelled with pride at your defiance, her heart thrumming with pride at your continuing resistance to Alexia.

Lucy rewarded you, roughly bending you over the kitchen counter and hardly giving you enough time to think before she stuck two fingers into your pussy, beginning a relentless, pistoning pace. It had you very quickly becoming a moaning mess on the kitchen counter, your breasts pressed against the marble slab and your nipples hardening against the surface. It was pure ecstasy, Lucy focusing all of her energy on making you feel good, and getting you as loud as possible to ensure Alexia could hear.

“Luce, please, another finger.”

You were a panting, muffled, moaning mess, the pleasure of Lucy’s fingers pumping in and out and curling against your sweet spot being so incredibly pleasurable.

Lucy obliged your request quickly, adding a third finger to your entrance and slowly working it in, it was a stretch but your hole very quickly accommodated to the extra digit, your hips rocking back against Lucy to push her deeper on every pump. It was pure celestial ecstasy and the feeling of your nipples rubbing against the cold only added to the sensations that your body was feeling, the irresistible pleasure completely fogging over your brain.

“Luce, mm, fuck going to cum, going to cum all over your fingers, please let me cum.”

Lucy only began to roughen her pace, completely unrelenting in her rapidity. There was something so enjoyable about knowing how much you were ticking Alexia off, how wrong this was in so many ways.

“Cum sweetheart, cum for me, my good girl.”

It was Lucy’s praise that sent you tumbling over the edge, your hips bucking wildly against the marble counter, a movement that you were sure would leave bruises along your hips bones, although by the end of today you were fairly certain they wouldn’t be the only bruises on your body.

“You two are in so much trouble.”

It was the low and grumbly voice of Alexia that had your head immediately picking up from the kitchen counter, your pleasure cloud no longer glazing over your brain.

Alexia was standing, a metre in front of the kitchen counter, arms crossed across her chest grumpily as she watched you and Lucy.

Lucy looked absolutely terrified, like she’d just seen a ghost.

“How the fuck did you get out?”

Alexia smirked at Lucy’s exclamation, pulling up her right wrist which was looking fairly inflamed.

“I dislocated my right wrist, fairly easy if you know how to do it right, then I untied the rest.”

Alexia was smirking like a full psychopath, a shit eating grin spread all over her face as she watched the two of you realise just how fucked you were now.

“I’m sorry Ale, I’m sorry, Lucy told me I had to, that, that she’d tie me up if I didn’t help with you.”

It had come to your realisation that there were two paths you could go down right now, and that was Lucy’s or Alexia’s. Seemingly, you were middle ground, and Alexia had the higher ground, so jumping ship earlier was only going to do you better.

Alexia smiled at you, Alexia also knew that you were fair game and whoever had their innocent baby girl on their side was always going to win.

“There’s my good girl. Don’t get me wrong, you're still in trouble, two orgasms, that’s completely against the rules, but I’ll deal with you another day. I think it’s about time that Lucia reaps the consequences of manipulating our sweet little girl.”

This was what Alexia lived for, Lucy and I knew it. I came out from under Lucy, walking towards Alexia like a kicked puppy and walking into her open arms.

Lucy stayed at the kitchen counter, frowning deeply at your betrayal.

“Come here Lucia, don’t prolong the inevitable.”

Within a few seconds Lucy was joining you in Alexia’s embrace, the both of you allowing the Catalan older woman to lead you into the bedroom for whatever punishment she had planned for the two of you for the rest of the day.

“Now, considering the two of you planned on leaving me tied up in here all day, your going to do the same, except I’m going to put your vibrators in and for every single orgasm that you two have today it will equal a day that you both spend being edged, understood?”

Alexia’s voice was painfully stern, as she led the two of you to the bed she’d previously occupied, for a much worse fate than she’d had.

[sincerelyygigi]

How to become that girl in 2025

happy new year! to kick off 2025, i want to share some ways that y'all can permanently glow up and become the best version of yourself!

health & fitness:

- find a workout that you actually enjoy and stick to it! it doesn't have to be an hour, but at least 10 minutes is good to start with!

- if you need help or inspiration for workouts, i personally love content from the learmann twins, taliyah joelle, savannah pesante, gisselle giron, taylor groulx, luisa giulietta, and monet zamora

- on that note, have a good stretching routine for before and after your exercises to stay flexible and to keep your muscles healthy and to help prevent injuries

- get enough sleep at night! it may seem like something that you hear all of the time, but getting enough sleep really sets the tone for your day. try to get between 6-8 hours at night, and if you have trouble with this, having a set bedtime and a good wind down routine may help!

- walk for at least an hour a day, especially if you have a remote job or attend school online! put on a good playlist or podcast

- eat a healthy, balanced diet that keeps you fueled and energized including fruits, vegetables, fiber, protein, carbohydrates, and healthy fats

- drink 2l of water daily. you can also drink green tea, kombucha, or any other beverages that support skin/gut/heart health

- get sunlight or fresh air every day

- take your vitamins and supplements daily

mental wellness:

- do grounding exercises and journaling! doing these twice a day, in the morning and at night, can give you a great start and end to your day by reflecting on things going on in your life, your goals, highs and lows, or anything that's in your mind!

- listen to self help podcasts and read books about mental health and wellness to learn more about how to love yourself, set boundaries, and be your best self

- go to therapy if you need to! sometimes, there are things that we can't deal with on our own and it can help to talk to a professional who can guide you and give you the tools you need to face any problems in your life

- take time to take care of yourself and do things you enjoy, like reading, drinking tea, taking naps, or talking to friends

- if you're religious, having a healthy prayer life, going to worship services regularly, and being around people of the same faith as you can greatly help your mental and spiritual health

- listen to positive affirmations

- designate one day a week for a social media detox

self care:

- find a good skincare routine and do it in the morning and at night! if you aren't sure what products to buy or what your skin type is, you can go to your local dermatologist or esthetician. another alternative is looking at health and md websites to find your skin type and research good and effective skincare brands! no matter what your routine is, though, don't forget to use spf!

- have a good body care routine, as well, including a good body wash, exfoliator, lotion/butter, and body oil

- have a good haircare routine, consistent wash days, and try nourishing treatments like hair masks, hair oiling, and scalp massaging/steaming

- take good care of your teeth with brush, flossing, mouthwash, and whitening strips. you can also invest in a tongue scraper for extra fresh breath

- keep your nails and toes either painted/manicured or clean (depending on your preference)

organization:

- keep a google calendar with all important dates and assignments/projects

- have a daily to-do list of everything you need to do every day

- use notion to create a cute daily planner

- budget and track your spending for the week/month

- write down your goals for the week/month/year

- have weekly resets to rejuvenate yourself and your space and clear your mind

i hope this post helped you a little bit in starting to create a better you in 2025! let me know if you like this kind of content and if you want to see more posts like this. until next time, xoxo 🤍

[lets-try-some-writing]

What’s your thoughts visually on how bots habsuites/ quarters look like? And would they differ between frame types ? As prime big lol Wish we got some media on it :0

Hmm well I do imagine things would differ wildly between each continuity. However, some generalizations might be the following:

Autobots as a whole: Generally speaking, I do imagine the Autobots have habs that match their size and their rank. Rank and file soldiers are bunked together in rooms filled with recharging stations crammed shoulder to shoulder. Most don't mind since they are all together and it's not as if they have anything of their own anyway more often than not. Those further up the chain of command get rooms with less people in them until they finally get a roommate or possibly, if they are super duper special, their very own closet sized space. Actual berths are reserved for those with rooms big enough for them. Most just use recharging stations since it's generally more useful to making the most of a space.

Rank and file soldiers: The average soldier is bunked shoulder to shoulder with his or her comrades. They are each given a standing recharge station boxed right up against everyone else's unless they have an injury which warrants the usage of the handful of berths given to soldiers lower on the chain of command. Generally, such soldiers are kept in huge facilities meant to keep everyone safe and secure rather than comfort them. As such, decoration simply does not happen unless the military position a soldier is stationed at is more permanent. In which case, the soldier might paint their station with odd doodles, splotches of color, or if they are lucky enough to find some, they might slap some stickers on it.

Company commanders and the like: Directly above regular soldiers, various commanders of lower rank get bunked together as well, but they are given a tad more room. This is not a privilege as one might expect, but an actual necessity. Commanders can get called on at any time, and each of them need a little more room to work on reports and whatnot since there simply is not enough space to give each of them an office of their own. As such, their stations are a little farther apart, and between them are their personal effects and maybe something to play the part of a makeshift desk if need be. Decoration is the same as regular soldiers, with the possible addition of medallions, the odd set of fairy lights if one gets lucky, or even a poster or two.

Lieutenants and up: Now this is when a bot would start getting their own space, kind of. Bots of this rank are still bunked with a buddy or two, but they are actually issued rooms in order to supply them with the privacy needed to handle sensitive data. They also get actual berths (which can and often do double as desks). Getting a room means a bot can do almost whatever they like to decorate so long as it sort of aligns with military orders. Most often, lieutenants and the like decorate with weapons on the walls, trophies, artwork, or even murals. It depends on his strict the command center is.

Generals and Prime's Inner Circle: Inner circle bots get privileges, and one of those is a private room. A bot can do whatever the heck they want with their space so long as it doesn't disrupt workflow and the like. Decoration depends entirely on whoever owns the hab. In the case of Ultra Magnus, he lives in a mountain of datapads. Ratchet keeps mementos but will die before admitting it. Jazz has what few instruments he's managed to save. Ironhide decked his room with weapons... the list goes on. There are no limits for the most part. Comes with being constantly under threat of being assassinated.

Prime: Technically, he should be living in a high end facility, never to dirty his digits. But because this is Optimus Prime, he tends to wander. He rests wherever there is a free space and will gladly rest with the soldiers without a worry in the world. The only reason he has a hab at all is for the sake of morale amongst the troops. Although more often than not, it doubles as an extra room for injured troops in need of protection.

Not sure if this is what you wanted anon, but these are my thoughts!

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Space Oddity, Part 2

“Fuck the rest of them. Fuck ‘em all. Fuck ‘em all, but us.”

Word Count: 4,509 words (gahdamn)

Tag List (please lmk if you want to be added!): @melodymunson , @ali-r3n , @amandahobblepot , @twihard28 , @hiimjulie

[Chapter One]

Author’s Note: Fuck me Freddy, at last I have completed fanfic. This chapter was so much fun to write, especially after watching Dinner in America and feeling so seen and validated about the weird, off putting girl and the badass boyfriend relationship.

Interesting fact about this chapter, I actually did have two friends who decided one day to randomly exclude me from their friend group. They wrote me two actual, dumb ass letters I pretended to read about how they thought I was weird and they didn’t want to be my friend. The first one they put in my locker and I pretended I didn’t get it. The second one they handed to me in PE where I proceeded to laugh at them, rip it up, then throw the pieces in the trash. People think that only happens in bad 80’s movies, but some high school girls can actually be that stupid and comic book villain mean.

*****

“Mike! Jesus Christ, don’t just throw her!”

You and Eddie were fumbling with the spilled contents of your trapper keeper, trying to collect each sheet of xerox and graph paper. Every so often, Eddie would accidentally bump your shoulder or accidentally knock into you, and when you both went in to pick up a caricature you’d done of Angus Young, his head hit your nose.

Hard.

“Augh! Sorry, buttercup!” He said, quickly reaching out with his hands, “You okay?”

“My nose hurts…” you mumbled.

“Come here, lemme see.”

His hands were on your cheeks, you were in too much pain to realize Eddie Munson was actually touching you.

“Owie… Yup, I can see where I bonked you.” He winced in sympathetic pain as his thumb brushed your injury, “But you’ll be alright, it’s not broken. Come on. Upsy daisy.”

Mike and Dustin were at each other’s throats. Dustin was reprimanding Mike for turning you into a human football, while Mike was defending his actions for making sure you “stopped acting like a tool”.

“Knock it off, assholes!” Eddie snapped.

Mike and Dustin immediately ceased their caterwauling, and looked like scolded chihuahuas, ducking away from Eddie who looked like he was going to throw a chair.

“God dammit, you’re giving me a headache.” He hissed, then turned to you.

All you could do was stand there, awkwardly digging the tip of your shoe into the carpet. Avoiding any and all eye contact.

“You look real familiar…” Eddie said, pointing a ringed finger at you, “I know you… Where do I know you from?”

“… I sit behind you in Mrs. O’Donnell’s Economics class.” You whispered.

Pure, unapologetic joy made his face bloom pink, a dimpled smile gracing his features as his dark brown eyes sparkled with stars. Eddie clapped his hands, jabbing a finger in your general direction and then pacing side to side with his arms crossed.

“I knew it! I do remember you! You’re the funny chick who drew Figment the Dragon on the chalkboard, and then did the T. Rex thing with your hands when The ’Donnell tried to erase it!”

Eddie tucked his arms to his chest and made a terrific mimic of your high pitched screech, causing his friends to laugh hard and their eyes to light up in recognition. Your eyes widened, and you wanted to immediately die. Naively you didn’t think anyone had remembered your stand against O’Donnell and her dislike for Disney related media. She told you this wasn’t Mr. Miller’s art class. Of course, you let her have it, and it almost cost you a detention — and permanent placement in Hawkins High School’s joke of a Special Education program — until your mother came down to the school with her attorney from Indianapolis and raised hell, both of them threatening Principal Higgins, Mrs. O’Donnell, and the school Superintendent with a discrimination lawsuit. Since then you’d done even more outrageous shit to make everyone forget and keep away the bullying, surely this one time would have been buried in the numerous instances of other out of pocket things you did?!

Nope. Evidently the Figment Incident was the talk of Hellfire Club, and your crush could replicate your noises to a T.

“Oh shit! You’re the Dragon Lady!” said a guy in a Black Sabbath raglan with blue sleeves.

“The Badass herself in the flesh!” interjected one with curly hair.

“You’re a goddamn legend, dude!” laughed one guy that was eating Doritos by the handful, “We even made you into a character in one of our campaigns! She’s a wizard with a purple dragon — of course we named it Figment — and they communicate in Draconic Tongue to one another!”

“Like this!”

Eddie screeched again, and the guys burst into laughter.

You couldn’t help but cover your face with your trapper keeper. If there was a God, you wanted him to burst out of the sky in a puff of smoke and smite you and everyone else in the room with lightning bolts.

“After that time, you didn’t ever get out of your desk chair again.” Eddie said, crossing his arms after he stopped laughing, “Always sitting in back, keeping to yourself. I don’t think I’ve even heard you say more than three words to anyone all semester.”

Stepping lightly, Eddie began to circle you. Looking you up and down, cocking his head to the side and doing a little bit of an arrogant head waggle.

“Didn’t peg you for a D&D nerd, buttercup.” He said, his voice gaining a sudden confidence as he stepped to you, “By the look of this dandelion yellow sweater, I would have guessed you’d be more the Seventeen Magazine and like, naked slumber party pillow fights with fellow screamers kind of girl.”

You shook your head. You stopped buying Seventeen Magazine when your attempts to apply their makeup lessons to your everyday routine made you look like a KISS reject. And you’d never even had enough friends for a slumber party.

“You like to draw, huh?” He asked.

He was fishing for a reaction. Trying to make you talk.

You nodded.

“What else?”

“… I like to read…”

His head tilted to the side.

“Yeah? What do you like to read? You ever read anything by Rose Estes or Fritz Leiber?”

“Are you two gonna stand there flirting all night, or are we gonna roll some dice?” Cried out one of the boys, the one with the curly hair.

“Yeah man, does the lady even have a character?”

“Oh she’s got a goddamn character!” Mike interjected confidently while Dustin nodded.

“The best character, a tanky character, real hardcore shit.” Dustin said.

Eddie chuckled darkly, looking at you with a menacing grin as he got in your face.

“What’s your character, buttercup? Level one human fighter?” He teased.

“A cleric…” you whispered.

Eyebrows raised. He looked up, thought for a moment, pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Okay. Yeah… yeah I can see that.” He nodded, looking you over, “A little tough tootsie badass, but you’ve got a soft spot as a healer for a holy order. I can dig it.”

Rapid fire, he then began tossing a million questions your way, so fast and in a run on you had to stop to listen to keep up.

“You didn’t tell me your race though. What is it? Hengeyokai? Gnome? Half-orc? What domain did you choose? Life? Arcana? How about your weapon, did you pick a claymore?” With each question, his sneer grew.

Mike and Dustin looked on fearfully, worried that you could not answer him. They knew Eddie was sizing you up, setting a trap with his trick questions. The claymore was a clever way for him to catch you on your bullshit, to see if you were even paying attention.

Suddenly, as if possessed by a cambion, you began to unload on him in a trance-like monotone. Pulling out a character study where you’d spent all last period drawing the same Siouxsie Sioux-esque vamp beauty of a character that made up your D&D creation, you waved the character sheet in his face while you began monologuing.

��Um no… so, Shadowmoon is a level ten half-elf cleric of Shar — I picked Trickery domain for her — and she’s like cursed by the Lady of Sorrows so her morals are like, super flexible and kinda fucked up. And she’s got like, a Sharran morningstar because I know that clerics in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons can’t have any other weapons besides a morningstar and it’s really useful for her, and I wanted to make her a healer for the party because Dustin said everyone else mainly tanks but no one wants to play support, and I think a cleric could be useful because then maybe she could help be the face of the group — do you already have a group face? Shadowmoon would make a good face because she’s gothic and really pretty. And then like, Shadowmoon would be good at lying because she could like… cast Guidance to help with her high charisma modifier-…”

“How did you end up choosing Trickery?” Eddie interrupted, snatching your character sheet from your hands.

You paused, thought it over carefully, then tried again.

“Uh… Shadowmoon was already part of my story I’m writing, so, I thought Trickery fit her personality best because she’s like, pretending to be this honest healer to everyone when really she’s on a mission to deliver an artifact to her temple on a mission from her dark goddess. She’s um… she’s a Chaotic Neutral so like, she could get along with everyone and either murderhobo her way through encounters or maybe she can change into good halfway...”

You trailed off when you noticed that Eddie hadn’t really reacted at all to your lore dump. He wasn’t really paying much attention to you at all. Nose pressed to the paper, he was engrossed in your character sheet.

Immediately you panicked, thinking Dustin and Mike had been bullshitting and lying to you about Eddie liking girls who knew what they were talking about when it came to Dungeons & Dragons. He almost had that look on his face: the one you dreaded where the eyes would glass over, and you could tell someone wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying. As if they were bored of your rambling. Bored of you. It was the look that made you want to scream and cry, and lash out.

But to your surprise, Eddie handed you back your character sheet, and smiled.

“Not only do you have your backstory mapped out, but you’re making connections to your own story setting… You’re a full on closet nerd, aren’t you, buttercup?” He said.

“… I like fantasy and sci-fi.” You muttered.

Pause, and then he laughed.

“The cyberman fighting the chimera you drew in the corner near the Special Abilities area kind of tipped me off to that.” He smiled, pointing to the drawing on your sheet.

Quickly you snatched Shadowmoon’s sheet back. Tucking it into your body, you shrunk in on yourself and avoided looking at Eddie.

“So you wanna join Hellfire, yeah?” He asked, once again crossing his arms and pacing around you.

“You think you can handle sitting with the freaks at lunch? Take a couple hits to your social life? Maybe even take a few blows…?”

You nodded eagerly. Of course you wanted to join! Your heart was pounding, and your mouth started to salivate. He’d even offered to let you sit at the lunch table with him and his friends!

“You certainly seem like you’re okay with it, but let me ask this…”

Eddie got right into your face. So close, you could smell the lingering notes of Old Spice deodorant and Sea Breeze. Hell, you could even see the areas of his chin that were lightly spotted with acne and the blue of his incoming beard. His breath was warm on your face. Steaming even. A waft of sweet tobacco hit your nostrils.

“What makes you think a mousy little buttercup like you would even fit in with a group of degenerates like us?” He asked, voice so low you had to lean in to hear him better.

“We’re not the chess club, and we’re not the Doctor Who club. This is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. We’re the freaks, the underdogs of Hawkins High. The losers with too much time and imagination on our hands to do shit else.”

You gulped. He was pressing almost nose to nose with you. Staring you down and following your gaze when you looked at the floor.

“We are the weirdos your momma warned you about, little miss. You think you can handle us?” He murmured.

“… ‘malreadyweird…” you mumbled.

Immediately he pulled back, blinking.

“Huh?”

“I said: I’m already a weirdo.”

The rest was automatic. Shoulders up, arms and trapper keeper tucked further to your chest as you turned away from Eddie, insecurity creeping up into your heart as you grimaced.

“I’m the weirdo bitch who doesn’t have any friends, and who according to Shelley Warab in first period is ‘a fucking lunatic who is always drawing attention to herself’.” You said.

Eddie had looked confused, until the weight of your words sunk in.

“Drawing attention to yourse—… oh, hell no…”

“Drawing” attention to yourself, that was Shelley Warab’s attempt at a double entendre. But it was the furthest thing from the truth. If anything, you hid your drawings after the Figment Incident, and only drew during lecture on your own paper, when no one would talk to or look at you.

“And because Shelley Warab thinks you’re “drawing” attention to yourself, the other girls pick on you too, don’t they?” Eddie asked softly.

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed.

A large hand engulfed your shoulder. Shaking, with righteous fury. You looked up at him.

Eddie looked ready to burn down the school.

“They’re jealous. You know that right? Those jealous bitches are lost souls.” He hissed, “All they know how to do is steal daddy’s money to pay for acid, because they can’t come up with one goddamn original thought while sober. You can conjure up these elaborate, creative pieces like magic, and they hate it. Your talent makes them feel inadequate, so they try to drag you through the horseshit to make you stop. Don’t listen to them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You looked down shamefully, the Bitch of Hawkins High had her walls ripped down at last.

“Come on Eddie… look at her.” Dustin said softly, “You told us to look for the little lost sheep who didn’t fit in.”

All of your classmates said you were worse than the freaks. To them you were a mean girl. A bitch. The weird asshole who screamed at people and didn’t let boys like Tommy Hagan or Billy Hargrove come within five feet of your person before you started throwing sharp things at them.

“You’re damn right, Henderson.” Eddie responded, his voice just as soft as the fluff on a kitten.

“She’s exactly what we’ve been looking for: a shivering, lost little lamb… with no flock of her own to follow.”

His grip loosened, and he began to gently massage your shoulder.

“What say you, buttercup?” He asked, voice sweet and smooth as mulled honey wine, “You wanna be my little sheep?”

…

It had taken four years.

Four long, arduous, horrible years… Four years of screaming meltdowns. Uncontrollable rage bubbling up in your throat at the frustration of being excluded. At the lack of understanding. Nobody ever invited you to anything. No parties. No sleepovers. Not even to go to the bathroom together in solidarity.

Four lonely, long, miserable years… and someone had finally invited you to their group, saying you could belong…

The tears spilled out of your eyes in microseconds.

“Hey, hey! Sweetheart, don’t cry…”

Calloused ringed fingers were immediately wiping tears from your soft cheeks, patting you softly to calm you down. Eddie’s expressive, dark cognac colored eyes looked almost watery — like he was going to cry too — his brows furrowing into a frown as his facade of an intimidating freak immediately dropped.

“No…! None of that, sugarplum. You’re alright. There’s no crying in Hellfire Club, okay? You belong here, don’t cry…”

“R… really?”

His dimpled smile was so genuine, it made you ache.

“Really. You’re one of the black sheep now, buttercup. Welcome to Hellfire.”

The leather of his Schott jacket squeaked as his arm wrapped around your shoulders, free hand rubbing your deltoid as you instinctively pressed closer to him. You would have never guessed, but Eddie was particularly touchy. It was as if he wanted to be close to you at all times. Even if you pulled away a little bit to readjust, his hand came right back to the same position.

“Come on, let’s introduce you to the rest of the weirdos.” He said, leading you towards the others.

You rode the high of the night. You made new friends in Jeff, Frank, and Gareth, as they were chomping at the bit to get to know the infamous “Dragon Lady” who had doodled a near perfect copy of an obscure Disney character. Frank was in the middle of asking you to design a tattoo for him of Maleficent in her draconic form when Eddie called the session to order.

“So we’re going right into our main campaign for tonight, and I’ll give everyone an opportunity to introduce themselves to our new party cleric…” he looked at you and held out a hand from behind his DM screen.

“Shadowmoon.” You corrected him.

“Ah yes, the ever so cunning and duplicitous Shadowmoon; our very own half-elf Cleric of Shar, the shadowy seductress that is Our Lady of Loss.” His voice took on a low, deadly tone, as if evoking the name of Shadowmoon’s goddess would provoke divine wrath, “Hope you and Shadowmoon can handle a few good curveballs tonight, might be overwhelming… but any girl who can pick Lady Shar as a patron can handle my brand of freak.”

“I’ll work hard.” You nodded.

“Good girl.”

The campaign’s overall atmosphere was a success. You asked genuine questions, feeling comfortable when you noticed Dustin was right. No one had all the answers. The boys still looked at their character sheets and flipped through the handbook if they needed to look up an effect (even Eddie did it a few times when a player question gave him pause).

You got to name the party. Gareth had drawn a rather regal coat of arms for your ragtag group, and because he’d added the silhouette of a game bird that Frank argued looked like a chicken, you began to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asked, his serious facade slipping when he saw you smile and show teeth.

“We… it… with that chicken on our coat of arms… We’re the Band of the Cock!” You shrieked.

Immediately there was a cacophony of screams, chaos, laughter, and a few d4’s launched at your spinning, grinning head as you laughed into your hands. Playing with the boys, belonging to a group… it was all so fun!

Eddie laughed at your jokes, even when they fell a little flat. With the group’s combined social awkwardness and typical behaviors, your own tics didn’t even phase them. If you popped your mouth in a certain way, it would set off the person next to you until everyone was doing it. The guys helped you with math if you fucked up adding modifiers, but they did it in a way that didn’t make you feel stupid. Even Eddie helped you look up spell effects if you didn’t know offhand.

Hellfire Club was fucking fun.

And you were having a blast showing off and earning the affection of Eddie the Freak.

You were sorry when the two hours were up, and everyone was packing their things up and heading home for the night.

“Do you need help cleaning up…?” You asked.

Eddie looked up from rolling up his butcher paper map.

“Hmm? Nah, I got it.” He said, shaking his head as he continued, “You did good tonight, you know. Your timing was perfect, you did well managing your spell slots for Healing Word, and you even took Cornell Notes for our party. None of my little misfits even writes down their damn inventory, let alone takes Cornell Notes for the party.”

You shrugged, chewing on a hangnail.

“I just wanted to be of help… to really try.” You said.

“You didn’t just try, you killed it out there! Now I know I can rely on you to mother hen this gang of muppets that makes up our party.”

There was comfortable silence between the two of you. Even though it was late, you were willing to walk home in the dark if it meant you could just be around Eddie for a little while longer.

But something had been nagging the back of your mind… Ever since you had found out that Eddie Munson was DMing this campaign, the memories of the inception of your middle school crush on him had come back in full force.

“Um… Eddie?” You ventured.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He looked up.

“Um… do you… in middle school… do you remember finding a note in your locker…?” You asked softly.

“… I do, yeah.” He said cautiously, “Why do you ask…?”

“Do you… do you remember the poem in it?”

He stopped what he was doing, looked up at you with wide, dark eyes.

“It um… it was about light and stuff, and uh… it didn’t have a name signed on it, but there was a picture on the bottom of a fairy holding a lantern…”

“How the hell do you know about that!?” He asked.

He began to approach you, his chest heaving.

“I never even told anyone about that poem-… Did… did you write that note? Is that how you know about it?” He demanded.

“… yes…” you whispered.

“Why didn’t you sign it?!” He asked.

His face was contorted. A desperate look. As if he was going to cry.

“… because I was scared…” you said.

“Scared of what? Of me?!”

“No…”

Never. You could never be scared of Eddie. He was amazing. He was the definition of cool. You desired him biblically.

“No… I was scared that… that you wouldn’t like me…” you said softly, “I loved your performance at the talent show so much… and I wanted to talk to you after, but then you got sent to Mr. Coleman’s office for playing Exciter. So I wrote the poem for you, and… I didn’t ever find out if you liked it because I was too shy to ask if you’d read it. Then you went on to high school, and I didn’t see you anymore.”

There was silence. Backing away from you, he wiped his mouth, exhaling a deep sigh.

“I can’t believe it…” he said, shaking his head and running his fingers through his shaggy hair, “I thought about that poem for years… First I thought it was someone playing a prank, but it wasn’t mean. It was so… it was earnest, and heartfelt… and you didn’t even sign it.”

He looked back at you.

“How could you think I wouldn’t like you after you wrote something like that for me?” Eddie asked.

“You always stared at every other girl but me.” You said, “And then I heard a rumor you almost left for California with this punk rocker chick during senior year, and I thought… Well, I knew I didn’t stand a chance because I’m not stylish. And when I heard you got held back, and that you’d be in my year, I wanted to talk to you. But… freshman year I tried making friends, and because I fucked that up, all the rumors started and everyone called me a creepy, angry bitch...”

It all in the end came back to Shelley Warab. She had been the first person you’d tried to make friends with. Moderate popularity, middle class, dirty blonde hair, she should have dominated in the halls as the queen bee. But the cheerleaders hated her because she always tried to hang off the arm of the nearest quarterback or point guard, and the cheerleaders happened to already be dating said sportsmen when Shelley tried to get in their pants. Her locker was often decorated with the word “WHORE” written in red Maybelline lipstick.

So Shelley decided to form her own clique if no others would accept her. That included you: a bright eyed freshman from the middle school that everyone overlooked because you never talked to anyone, along with several other girls of varying degrees of loneliness. She ruled over all of you with an iron fist. Trying to mold you all into her own idea of a clique that would make mean girls like Carol Perkins (the main culprit of the Maybelline insults) kowtow to her self-made band of bitches.

One day at lunch forever changed your fate. Shelley decided to go through each girl’s knapsack and dump out the contents on the lunch table, judging her subjects on the personal effects they kept within. A particularly timid friend was being dressed down for balled up gym socks, and you stood up and asked how Shelley would like it if you took her Avon tote bag over to the garbage, tipped it upside down, and dumped every single bit of its contents into the slop created from a mixture of coleslaw and uneaten sloppy joes.

Justice was swift. Carol Perkins overheard your threat and laughed at Shelley for “getting gutted by a freak”. Shelley told you to leave, and the next day at lunch had the audacity to present an honest to god manifesto written in purple pen about how no one at the table wanted you to sit with them anymore, complete with signatures. Carol had of course laughed at you next for this rejection, so you lunged at her and screeched like a pteranodon in her face, ripping up the letter like confetti and dumping it all over Carol and Shelley’s watery cafeteria spaghetti, before turning over their trays in their laps.

It was a chain reaction of outbursts afterwards. Then the Figment Incident happened, making you untouchable, because the students knew your mother wielded her attorney like a sword. Even bullies like Billy Hargrove who didn’t care about any authority figure or law enforcement officer avoided you like the plague because you weren’t afraid to threaten to use your pencil to blind them.

Your rage kept everyone away. The one armor you possessed.

“You think I give a shit about rumors?!”

Eddie once again had you by the shoulders, his grip tight as he almost shook you with rage. His eyes burned with hurt, betrayal…

And… desire?

“Those rumors… that’s all just fucking bullshit!” He snapped, “You’re not a creepy bitch. You’re funny, you’re exciting, and you make all these adorable noises-…”

“… I am angry and bitchy all the time though…”

“Okay maybe a little, but I am too.” Eddie conceded, “But that’s because everything and everyone in this town sucks. But you don’t suck. You’re smart, and sweet, and kind… and… damn it… you’re beautiful.”

He was so close… So indignant, his righteous fury lighting a spark in his eyes that made you lean into him.

“All of that hellfire in you, that anger… god, it makes you a bonafide badass.” Eddie said, pulling you in close to his chest and rocking you side to side.

When you felt his fervent kisses pepper your scalp, you began to cry again. He pulled you in tighter, his kisses trailing down to your forehead, thence to cheeks, thence to capture your lips in a fiery, passionate make out session where he bit your lower lip to slip the tongue. You both pulled away breathless, and he kissed you one more time before pointing a finger right in your face.

“You’re the most metal fucking girl in all of Hawkins High. And anyone who says differently is a goddamn moron.”

[b5withextrachicken]

a/n: soo apparently i'm stupid and i accidentally posted the unfinished version, had to delete it and then lost the request but here's a picture of it.

caught on camera - jamal musiala

pairings: jamal musiala x fem!reader (ft. leroy sané)

summary: the req

genre: fluff

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

international break. two words that always managed to wrap the atmosphere in excitement. this time however, it was muffled by the fact jamal wasn't able to play. sure, you loved watching the german national team but it just wasn't the same without your boyfriend on the pitch. but when leroy invited you both to sit with him in the grandstands, you still enthusiastically accepted, leading to the three of you now waiting in the icy weather of autumn.

the match hadn't even started, yet leroy already complained about his ass freezing off. totally not because he chose to wear a statement piece instead of an actual winter jacket. you chuckled at his dramatic antics, before offering him a blanket from your bag, that you only brought because you knew he wouldn't layer himself enough. besides, you didn't need it anyway, being comfortably settled in your boyfriends side. jamal was like a portable heater, always warm even under these conditions. your head lazily resting on his shoulder as his arm lingered on your side, holding you close.

he was still a upset about his injury that kept him from contributing to the team, but being here with you and leroy seemed to already cheer him up. his chest lightly vibrating from chuckling every now and then over a joke leroy told.

it was a beautiful night in the allianz arena. on the pitch, you could see the players warming up while fans cozied themselves in the seats, dressed in their countries representative colours.

during the player-walkout, jamal and leroy were still deeply indulged in a discussion. something trivial about who had the prettier cleats.

"bro my pink ones definitely beat yours. i mean they glitter."

"yeah and you get fined for it at every game. trust me mine are better."

"but they make your feet look weird."

"excuse me?!"

you smiled absentmindedly at their banter, your palm resting around jamal's arm when you suddenly felt his hand on your thigh. as you turned to him, he was still vividly talking to leroy, but his fingers continued to softly stroke over the fabric of your jeans. the action felt so sweetly intimate, a warm feeling settling in your chest as you pressed a kiss to his cheek in return. when leroy was wrapped up in a conversation with someone next to him, jamal gave you a peck on your forehead, a small smile evident on his lips.

"you okay?" he asked, feeling bad for not paying as much attention to you. you nodded "all good, i'm just appreciating this right now." lost in the feeling. jamal agreed, slightly tightening his hold on your waist, his focus entirely trained on you as he spoke "we didn't really have a night out for a while... " he paused, his gaze flickering to your mouth for a second "i missed this." he finished before closing the small distance between you and locking your lips in a short but loving kiss. your surroundings seemed to blur for the while, muting the noise. it didn't last too long though, as you heard leroy coughing exaggeratedly "guys stop sucking off eachothers faces. the game's down there." he exclaimed, trying to sound somewhat serious but failing miserably, not able to stiffle his teasing tone. you pulled away from jamal sending the other man a glare. he really knew how to ruin a moment.

the game was in full swing, but your attention lingered elsewhere. your hand rested in jamal's as he stole sweet kisses from you, his lips ghosting over yours, now mindful hide it from leroy. the blush on your cheeks was almost permanent, partially because you felt like you could swoon at any second but also because this level of pda caught you off guard. jamal usually tended to keep the relationship private. off the media. but you enjoyed it nontheless, leaning your head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you, shielding off the cold october breeze.

as the night went on it flourished in tension, on and off the pitch. as the 62nd minute rolled around it was evident jamal couldn't get enough of you and you weren't the only one who noticed. apart from leroy, there were other heads turning and cameras clicking. you two would definitely end up in some news the next morning, but jamal couldn't care any less, he just wanted to be with you.

however, leroy was in his ear the whole time, childish and teasing like a toddler. he was really acting as if he wouldn't be all up on his wife if she had been at the game today.

after the game had ended and germany won, the stands emptied fast as fans hurried out of the stadium. leroy, jamal and you squeezed your way through the masses of people. your hand tightly in his grip. the plan was to catch up with the teammates that had played today, to show support and give congrats. besides, jamal and leroy really wanted to annoy flo.

your trio eventually made it to the locker rooms, it didn't take a second before leroy disappeared inside, leaving you and your boyfriend in the hallway. you both stood in a comfortable silence before jamal spoke up "i can't wait to get home. leroy really is a dumbass today." a chuckle escaped his throat as he looked over to you, a small sparkle in his eyes.

"just today?" you replied teasingly, raising a brow, "you always complain about him." jamal grinned "yeah well but it's like he rocked the level up to 200" . a few beats pass, jamal's gaze still studying you. "you look very pretty." the words left his mouth, causing a blush to creep on your cheeks. jamal smiled, liking the effect he had on you. with a step he was next to you wrapping you into his arms again this evening. it was a feeling you would never get tired of.

"see?" a voice, leroys voice, interrupted the moment. again. both of your heads snapped to him, a confused expression decorating your faces.

leroy had left the locker room, now accompanied by flo wirtz. both of them mustered you with judging but amused faces. "they've been like this all night!" he added and flo laughed, breaking the act, "you really are all up on eachother." he grinned, gesturing between you and jamal. your boyfriend gasped "wha- bro we just hugged!" shock painted his face while leroy retaliated "yeah sure, you probably would've done a lot more if we weren't here...keeping watch" he scoffed jokingly, heating up the drama.

"oh my- just let me love my girlfriend." jamal spoke clearly jokingly offended. you couldn't help but smile at their boyish arguing. "as long as you stay decent, sure" this time it was flo's voice speaking, a smirk tugging at his lips. jamal just shook his head but couldn't help the smile spreading on his face. "okay fuck you, we're going home. have a day." jamal chuckled grabbing your hand and dragging you out with him as you quickly said your goodbye's to them. "sure!" leroy yelled after you, "but remember to use condoms." this little fucker.

when you were out of sight a laugh broke from your throat. "oh god, they really are like toddlers." jamal scoffed but smiled after, heat rising to his cheeks.

"and i will never hear the end of it during next practice."

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

that's it hope you like it!

[creatorbiaze]

why do i keep getting tagged in that post about a "raid".

im not in either of the fandoms it "targets" and don't believe i know people who are really active in them.(mouthwashing & some two letter acronym i cant bother remembering)

plus if someone you aren't following sends you a media ask it's automatically blurred by Tumblr. just. don't fucking unblur images from blogs you don't know or trust, and don't click links if they're sent by people you don't know??? If someone you DO know and trust sends it, then that pretty obviously means it's time to cut ties with them permanently anyway. it's pretty simple internet safety shit, i genuinely dont understand why People are so scared that they're closing asks entirely 3 days before it's supposed to happen or whatever???

"but they're sending child gore-" if a blurred image has red then delete the ask. if an anon sends you a link delete the ask. deactivate media & anons in asks if you cant control the morbid curiosity of clicking on every image and link

my complete lack of sleep might just be making me unable to feel empathy rn but genuinely whats the issue? & im saying this as someone who's deeply disturbed by gore & literally any mention of injuries

[semidecentpoet]

What gets me ab western mainstream news coverage of the genocide in Palestine—besides the obvious lack of morality—is that it’s, frankly, shit journalism.

(For context, I’m a journalism major with a focus in print reporting. This is literally what I’m going to school for.)

(Forgive me if this is slightly disorganized. Harder to write when I’m pissed.)

My instructors tell me ab the importance of active voice over passive voice all. The. Time. There’s a difference, for example, between “More than 30,000 Palestinians have been killed” and “Israel has killed more than 30,000 Palestinians.”

More recently, I’ve had instructors tell me to be more skeptical of official sources (e.g. police), fact-check their claims and get alternative sources whenever possible.

But, from what I’ve seen, a lot of outlets seem to just take Israel’s word as fact without searching for further evidence. For example, when Israel made that claim—with no real evidence—ab the 40 beheaded babies and it was everywhere. And then they said they can’t confirm shit, and now these outlets have to backpedal.

And of course, on top of the blatant misuse of language (beyond just active vs passive voice) and the false/unsupported reporting, there’s the lack of reporting.

I don’t see western mainstream outlets quoting the assholes who call Palestinians “human animals.”

I don’t see them pointing out the sickening abundance of social media posts of Israelis celebrating the genocide, of IDF posing in front of the rubble of what once was Gaza or with the undergarments of the Palestinian women and girls they raped.

I don’t see them setting their headlines ablaze with the countless historic holy sites Israel has destroyed, mosques and churches alike that were some of the oldest in the world. (But when Notre Dame was on fire—)

I don’t even see the context of the more than 75 years of Israel’s bullshit leading up to now.

Where is the coverage of the entire families Israel have wiped out? Where is the coverage of how Israel treats its hostages? Where is the coverage of the Palestinian people’s injuries, physical and mental, and the reason for the lack of proper medical aid?

Countless children in Gaza have to undergo amputations in unsanitary environments without anesthesia. Where’s the coverage?

Who is asking Biden the important questions? Like, if you’re trying so hard for a ceasefire, why has the United States vetoed United Nations resolutions for an immediate ceasefire three times since Oct. 7? Why a temporary ceasefire instead of a permanent one?

How ab Israel’s attack on Rafah during the Super Bowl?? Rafah the designated safe zone?? While airing a $7 million ad?? During what is arguably the most famous and most-watched sports event in the U.S., which has given billions of dollars in support of Israel’s genocide?? How are these outlets not blowing up????? This is a U.S.-funded slaughter during a national event???? Is this not newsworthy enough for you??????????????

Maybe they include some of these things in their articles. But when and if they do, is it a full-fledged story or just a brief?

Is it toward the top of the page or buried lower? (Journalists typically use the inverted pyramid style, which means the most important information in a story is at the top.)

I understand that, as journalists, we have to be objective. But this is not objective reporting. It is clearly biased in favor of Israel. If it were any other country, any other people under siege, this would all look a lot different.

On the topic of objectivity, I’ve heard a few arguments along the lines of, “We can’t pick a side.” But is there truly more than one side to this crisis?

One instructor of mine has said that “both sides” is a false dichotomy, meaning there are rarely ever exactly two sides to any given issue. Sometimes that means there are more than two sides, and sometimes that means there is really only one.

Coincidently, an example he gave of only one side was the Holocaust in Nazi Germany. Even though there are assholes who say otherwise, it was real. It happened. It was wrong. There’s no other way to look at it.

Ik that journalists bending objectivity and imposing morality in reporting is a relatively recent and controversial debate within the media industry.

But.

If we do some actual goddamn reporting—take the numbers and the quotes and the experiences caught on video and add them all together—we start to paint a pretty clear picture of who is the victim here. And who is responsible for the atrocities.

Just bc our government supports Israel does not mean Israel perspective is on equal footing with, much less more important than, Palestine’s.

When Palestine’s death toll is roughly 30 times that of Israel’s, there’s only one side.

This is some pretty shit journalism.

I’d look forward to hearing from other journalists/student journalists what they think ab coverage of the genocide.

Personally, I’m a little heartbroken that some of these outlets I’ve looked up to and dreamed ab being a part of someday have been so lacking in their coverage—to say the least. Especially since journalism is so important and is supposed to be a major means of holding people in power accountable for their actions.

Life’s bitter irony, I suppose.

Free Palestine.