#so the other point is that the play offered people an opportunity to sort of confront their own doubts in a safe environment

[shredsandpatches]

probably shouldn't be reading about Doctor Faustus and religious trauma at 1 am but here's some good quotes: the top one is from top from Mark James Richard Scott, "'That’s hard': Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus and the Trauma of Reprobation" (Early Theatre 23.2, 9-20) and the bottom one is from David Bevington's intro to the play in the Norton Anthology of Renaissance Drama.

[jnxjoop]

Let it happen

hwang in-ho x reader

Chapter 001

Danger appealed to you. The adrenaline that flooded your veins, and the rattle possessing your bones, in tandem with nauseating discomfort, served as sweet side effects that enhanced your addiction, the craving for more. You allowed fate to steer your path—toying with actions and their consequences.

Gambling had become a hobby of sorts, but lately, it’d grown dull to you, lacking the risk that once kept you entertained, a monotonous back and forth of losing money and easily gaining it back, recycling the same old tricks used by the same old people. You sought a higher price.

It was no surprise when you accepted a suited man’s invitation to play a game of ddakji, hands comfortable around the red-colored piece, eyes drifting between your opponent and the blue origami settled against the subway floor.

Normally, a child’s game would be the last thing to entice you, but this game included a catch; if you triumphed, 100,000 won would be gifted to you, and on the flip side, something that beckoned your interest more so, if you were defeated, you would be rewarded a slap—a potentially painful consequence. You’d have to see.

Exerting no effort, fate being the one to decide if this round was your loss or his, you threw the paper onto the blue piece, the red failing to flip the blue. Eyes lifted toward your opposite, you pointed to the side of your face, tapping your cheek expectantly—a slight thrum in the rhythm of your heart’s beat, a delightful sensation of wait and adrenaline.

The rough texture of his hand to your cheek caused a dull throb, the area tarnished by a pink outline of his hand, the color and pain spreading throughout the skin, nerves seething. Your lips twitched upward for the briefest moment, crouching to retrieve the red piece before regaining your previous position, flipping the ddakji tile around in your hand.

“Not bad,” You compliment, slamming the tile onto the other, successfully flipping it with ease. Your eyes glimmered with mirth, meeting the male’s entertained stare. True to his word, he placed a stack of cash in your palms, an unfaltering smile stretched across his features.

“There are more games just like this,” He spoke, words smoothly cutting across the silence of the station, fingers sliding a beige card from his pocket and extending it toward you. “The risk you want, it’s there, and money? That’s there too.”

You were never one to turn down an opportunity for risk and adventure, anything to quell the thirst for a rush. The card displayed three shapes on the front, an ominous trio of a circle, triangle, and square. Flipping it over, a number was listed, aligned with an unknown symbol.

The mysteriousness surrounding the circumstances lured you in, ensnaring you like an animal—and you found yourself dialing the number later that night, in the darkness of your room and the comforts of your sheets. Back propped against the wall, legs sprawled across the mattress, you lifted the phone to your ear, ears awaiting instruction.

Once the other line answered, they posed the question of if you were interested in joining the game—which should’ve been evident, as you were calling. Nonetheless, you affirmed that yes, you wanted to partake. Questions brewed in your mind, the process of reaching this game was so concealed that it made you ponder—reaching the conclusion that yes, like the man earlier stated, it did offer risk, perhaps more risk than you’d ever taken. But that theory only solidified your decision to join.

“First and last name. Date of birth,” The monotonous voice requested, focused solely on the given task. The user on the other side of the line exchanged no information, nothing that clarified the happenings that occurred within these ‘games’.

“[Y/N] [L/N]. [DOB],” Your head wavered slightly, tipping to the side, fixated on the traces of light seeping inside beneath the crack of the door, which seemed unusual—you didn’t recall turning them on, as you had immediately retreated to your room.

Your attention swiftly returned to the call as the voice began to list an address, accompanied by the date to be there, scribbling the digits and letters on a slip of paper and tucking it inside the page of a book. The call ended shortly after, relinquishing your focus on that matter and directing it to the lights.

Without hesitation, you strode to the door, brandishing a pocket knife that you kept hidden within the hold of your fingers, using your free hand to swing the door open. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone broke in, angered by a loss in gambling—their sums of money yours to surrender to debt.

“If you’re in here, it’s best you just stop hiding,” You coaxed, feet padding softly against the floor as you carefully crept down the hallway, fist clenching around the pocket knife. “You really don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

Something slammed into your head suddenly, stance stumbling back in surprise and colliding with the cold floor despite futile attempts to grip the wall, clutch on the weapon never ceasing. You peered up at the perpetrator, recognizing the features instantly.

“Knew it,” You muttered, standing up, a throb resonating from the back of your skull. “What do you want? Your money back? We played a game, fair and square. You just.. happened to lose,” Your shoulders casually lifted momentarily in a shrug, unbothered by the crowbar directed at your face. Now this was the risk you truly adored about gambling.

Shaky hands wielded the crowbar, sweat glistening on the man’s face. “I need the money—my money- back,” He demanded, mustering a sharp glare that couldn’t intimidate the weakest. You eyed him. “Show me where my money is.. o-or else,” He waved the weapon, to further demonstrate his willingness to use it on you, completely desperate.

“Why? You practically pushed the money into my hands,” You laughed as you slipped the knife further into your sleeve. “If you can’t accept the consequences of gambling, then don’t do it,” You released a sigh, arms dropping to your sides. “Oh, well, looks like I have no other choice, huh?”

“Tell me where the money is,” He ordered, this time his voice held more confidence at the indication of him having the upper hand. He gestured you to move using the object, raising an eyebrow. “Now.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving,” You raise your hands, turning around and continuing to walk, guiding him into the lit kitchen. Your hands grazed the counter, pocket knife gliding softly onto the surface, back facing the intruder, simultaneously shielding the knife block from his sight.

“Is it in here?” He questioned, eyes anxiously darting around.

“Can I ask you something?” You spoke, silently unsheathing one of the gleaming blades, examining your reflection in the shining silver. You didn’t waste a moment in wait of a response, continuing regardless, “What made you decide to gamble all that money, and why do you now want it back? What makes you resort to violence to get it? After all, you lost a game you wanted to play.”

A glance back at him, you could witness the tremble your words elicited from his body, fingers loosely wrapped around the object from the intense quiver in his hands. “My… mother… She’s sick. It was her money I used, it’s… only right,” He nearly whimpered, knees threatening to give out. “I know I’m a bad person, but… she isn’t. She doesn’t deserve that.”

You turned around, knife hidden behind your back. His words struck a chord that rattled your brain, bringing you back to the memory of your late parents and how deathly they appeared in their last moments. You recalled being penniless and in shambles, unable to prevent what happened in any way.

You frowned, staring at his crumpled form before yanking the weapon from his hands without any difficulty. You tossed it aside, kicking him down and aiming your knife at his neck, the blade digging into the skin slightly. “If you’re lying to me, I will gut you,” You gritted out, the edge of the blade summoning a single drop of blood.

You straightened your back, bruises blossoming across the plump flesh of his face as it received a few hard kicks, tears escaping his squinted eyes, although he never attempted to defend himself. “Don’t make me feel bad, you hit me first…” You muttered, a foot prodding his face, a pout tugging down your lips.

Leaving him alone in the kitchen, you entered your room to retrieve the money, strings of incoherence grumbled out as you scavenged the drawer, fiddling with the key to unlock it. When you returned, you dropped a stack of cash onto his chest, his body under intense scrutiny by the intimidating blade. “Now get out. Or I’ll kill you right now,” You stated coldly. “Don’t force me to make a lesson out of you.”

He scrambled to his feet, a clumsiness in his hurried movements, head bowed and hands lifted in surrender, tearing the front door open and hastily exiting, leaving behind an eery silence that consumed all. Your head swiveled from side to side, dismissive of the situation—consequences of your actions, you supposed.

Days passed in haste, the time blurring together, until it reached the given date. You endured the cold, jacket hugged close to your frame, patiently waiting for something to happen, for someone to appear. Eyes traced the barren street, shooting down to your lit phone screen.

You scrolled through empty messages, aimlessly, distracting yourself. You lacked attachments and connections within the world, in constant solitude, and that’s truly why you were so willing to participate, so willing to risk your wellbeing for something you knew nothing of. The money wasn’t what enticed you, it was the danger that was alluring.

A car paused in front of you, drawing your attention. You approached the window, announcing your name for the masked driver. The door to the backseat slid open in confirmation, inviting you inside. You crawled into the vehicle, noticing others were unconscious in the seats, deep in the slumber that consumed them. You relaxed in the seat, head comfortable.

Smoke soon filtered into the car, emitting from the vents, creating a fog of the interior. You struggled to breathe, throat tight, eyes beginning to squint wearily before falling shut entirely, the same, deep slumber possessing your body, settling limp in the seat.

When you awoke, your eyes were confronted by a bright light that encompassed the spacious room, classical music spilling into your ears that engulfed the entire room. A soft grumble left your mouth, pushing yourself up and slinging your legs over the edge. You stretched your arms, the drowsy effects taking their time subsiding.

Observing the room, everyone bore a striking resemblance—by the simple fact that they were all dressed in green tracksuits, varying in numbers. You peeled your eyes away, directing your attentive gaze to the number assigned to you. Eleven.

You scrambled out of bed, trailing down the steps to stand and watch the crowd from afar, shoulder pressed into the metal bar that framed the stack of beds. People appeared to congregate amongst each other, each individual just as confused as the next.

A loud buzzer sounded, the doors at the center of the room opening with them, revealing numerous figures, attire pink and faces masked, each marked with a shape—the same trio of shapes symbolized on the card. They summoned everyone’s attention with their entrance.

“I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you,” Greeted the square guard, center of them all, voice warped and unidentifiable. The anonymity of their front—and authority—stood out to you, head falling forward to analyze the figures closely, still desiring to maintain distance from everyone.

“Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize,” The instructions were simple, almost too simple for you.

“Excuse me,” Shouted someone in the swarm, everyone’s eyes drifting to the individual, who stepped down from the platform, appearing more visibly. Eyes lowered to the patch on her chest, reading 120. “You said I’d be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?”

“I apologize. Please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game’s security.”

“What’s with the mask then?” Another woman mentioned, tilting her head to the side, lips tugged down and arms crossed. “Is your face also a secret?”

The male situated beside her agreed, eyebrows pressed together, a slight irritation twinged their tones, a reasonable irritation given the unusual circumstances. “Yeah, why are you hiding your face?” He added. “Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?”

Being a gambler yourself, you knew not even they followed these measures. There was something more behind this than mere games—a hidden catch that would surely stun everyone, but you arrived prepared for the worst. Bordering on debt, living day to day, being attacked in your own home—how could life get any worse?

“Even the dealers don’t cover their faces in those places.”

“To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality, it is our policy not to reveal the faces and identities of staff. Please understand,” The guard recited, the policy arousing suspicion within the crowd.

“Did you take off my clothes and put these on me?” A girl lifted her jacket into the air, harboring an accusatory tone.

“What’s with these shoes? My shoes are limited fucking edition,” Purple hair entered your view, the displeasure on his face evident, a white shoe being the center focus of his statement. “They’re hard to find. You gonna replace them if they get ruined?”

“These don’t fit and the color sucks,” Griped the previous girl, lip jutted. Her eyes shifted to the guards, eyes lighting up in realization, a smile spreading on her features. “Can I just have what you’re wearing instead? The pink is cuter.”

“I’m sorry, but that is not possible. You must be in your uniforms for the games,” He declined, being the enforcer of rules.

“What about my phone-?”

You rolled your eyes, taking a step back and settling on the stairs, face supported by your palm to study the stir of the crowd. You were thoroughly brought to boredom by the superficial complaints, blocking the voices from your mind until a loud slap reverberated across the room. You scooted closer to view the video projected on the screen.

“—Age thirty, used to run a YouTube channel called MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called Dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappeared. You’re wanted for fraud and for violating telecom and financial investment laws. Current debt level: 1.8 billion won,” The guard challenged, videos of players being slapped plastered across the screen, the figure reciting each outspoken player’s debts for all to hear.

“Player 100, Im Jeong-dae, 10 billion won in debt,” The final announcement elicited gasps, astounding everyone with the large amount, the highest debt in the room quite likely. Your eyes tore through the crowd, searching for the man as was everyone else.

“What are you looking at?” He shouted, startling the people around him, a scowl staining his features. “Do you think it’s easy to get a 10 billion won loan? They don’t lend that kind of money to just anyone, only to those who are capable of paying it back!”

“Yet you haven’t,” You voiced sardonically, the crowd’s attention unexpectedly in your hands. You gestured casually, unbothered by the stares. “All of you are in here for the same reasons, really,” The crowd began to grumble amongst themselves, debating your words between one another.

“All of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff-edge,” The guard affirmed, providing evidence to your claim. “When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will. You have one last chance to decide,” There was a pause in their sentence, allowing everyone to mull over the words carefully. “Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors, or will you seize the opportunity we are offering?”

The lights dimmed and sounds echoed from above, a golden, hollow pig emerging from the ceiling. The golden hue that emanated made it appear more majestic, more enticing.

“What you see now is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored,” The guard revealed, using the sight to persuade the players further. “After each of the six games you will play, the prize money will accumulate in this piggy bank.”

“How much is the prize money?”

“The prize money for the games is 45.6 billion won in total.”

“And one of us will get it?”

“We will give you the details about the distribution of the prize money after the first game,” The guard explained. “For these games, you will be given a special new advantage.”

“What is it?” Interrupted 100, heads turning to spare a glance at the old man.

“After each game, you will be given a chance to vote on whether the games continue or not,” They clarified. “If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point.”

“Are you saying that we’ll still receive the money, even if we leave after the first game?” A player interjected, your eyes shooting toward them. 456.

“That is correct.”

Eventually, after the initial shock diminished and scribbling your signature on a consent form, you traveled through the building in a line, stopping to take an identification photo. Your lips quirked, portraying a knowing smile as the camera flashed, unperturbed. You continued following the line up the staircase that felt as if it would never end, spirals upon spirals. Patterns of taunting color lined the walls, making for a colorful palette.

Another player, 25, cozied himself beside you, choosing to fill the uncomfortable silence and quell his nerves with idle chatter. You had met these types of people before—who wouldn’t have anything to do with you until it served them purpose. But you decided to play nice and entertain him, it didn’t affect you really.

“What do you think the game will be?” He asked, eyeing you curiously.

“No idea,” You shrugged as you maneuvered through the hallway. The curved paths seemed to go in every which way, it would be easy to find yourself lost. Your answer induced a sag in his shoulders, disappointed at the lack of awareness they harbored going into this, but they did sign up for it.

“It can’t be that bad, though. The ddakji dude, you remember?” Twenty-five nodded along to your statement, recalling the individual. “He said they have games like that, so it can’t be anything but child’s play. The game itself doesn’t matter to me as long as it has an edge to it.”

“Shouldn’t you be hoping it doesn’t-? I mean, the easier it is to win the more likely you’ll get the money,” He argued, an eyebrow raised.

“Come on, you can’t be that dumb,” You shook your head, eyebrows furrowed at your opposite, his lips reacting with a frown to your comment. “They’ll make these games as hard as possible to prevent anyone from reaching that cash. Think about it, what person is gonna hand out that type of money so easily?” You persisted in your journey, the pair of you treading the stairs, legs coated in a dull ache. “You should accept that this won’t be easy, life never works that way.”

“Maybe, you’re right,” He sighed, ending the conversation of his own volition. You didn’t mind that conclusion.

Soon after, the players were ushered into an open space, the sight of a large—robotic?—girl greeting everyone, as the monotone female voice overhead welcomed them all into the area and instructed them to wait on the field.

You examined the terrain, the closest you would get to being outside for a few days. The walls were decorated realistically, but not enough to convince anyone they were authentic—only the sky above could be believed, the birds in the sky serving as witness to the happenings.

“Looks like a doll, do you have any ideas now on what it could be?” Twenty-five questioned, a finger aimed at the object, a soft glare shot his way from you.

“How would I know? It’s not everyday you see this type of shit,” You retorted, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets as your neck craned to inspect the doll. “Is there any game you know that involves a giant robot doll?”

“No-“ He was cut off by the doors slamming behind them, shocking the crowd, his attention captured by the sound.

“The first game is Red Light, Green Light.”

“That’s not so bad,” Twenty-five muttered beside you, you could hear the relief in his voice. You weren’t satisfied with the announcement, knowing there had to be more beyond just a kid’s game—could it really be as simple as that? He nudged your side with his elbow, sharing a small smile. “Looks like you might be wrong about this one.”

You scowled. “I wouldn’t be so relaxed yet. You never know what hurdles they might add.”

“Cross the finish line in five minutes without getting caught,” The voice further instructed, though you were sure most didn’t need an introduction to the game.

“Everyone!” Shouted a man, who’d pushed his way to the very front. You recognized him from earlier—456. He waved his arms, gathering everyone’s concentration. “Everyone, listen up! Pay attention!” His yells silenced the field. “Listen carefully! This is not just a game. If you lose the game, you die!” His speech sparked your curiosity, abandoning twenty-five to be in the front, keen to listen to his words.

“We’re going to die playing Red Light, Green Light?” A player scoffed, expression incredulous.

“Yes, that’s right! If they catch you moving, they will kill you! They will shoot you from somewhere!” He shouted, attempting to convince the players. “If you get caught, you die!” He pointed to the doll stationed at the finish line. “That doll’s eyes are motion detectors!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I think he’s trying to scare us, so he can win the prize money,” A murmur of agreement washed over the crowd.

“You should listen to what he says. Who would give money away so easily, there’s always a catch,” You raised your voice, defending the man’s statement despite the insanity it reeked. Irritated eyes flew to your direction. “You think a billionaire is gonna empty their pockets for ‘trash’ like us for no reason?”

“That’s insane! It sounds like a movie,” One sneered, the posse he’d accumulated regurgitating various excuses to one another, lies to comfort themselves from the potential truth.

“If you die, there’s no one to blame but yourself,” You sighed, arms crossed over your chest. They were a herd of sheep, used to monotony, believing everything they were fed.

The whirring of the doll’s movements commanded your attention, the machine spinning around to face the tree and resting a hand against the bark. The sight felt unreal to you.

“Don’t be alarmed or panic!” Called 456 again, his expression showing his determination and seriousness about the matter, which lead you to believe him. His eyes brimmed with sincerity, and you could tell his eyes had been testimony to this before, a witness to something truly horrific. Even beyond his eyes, his face was extremely gaunt, and it seemed as though he’d not been sleeping properly. “No matter what happens, do not panic and start running!”

“Let the game begin,” With that, the timer flicked on, the numbers boldened with red, and the girl began her chant.

“Green light,” Everyone carefully took forward steps, a slight worry dwelling the back of their minds about 456’s words—his words only ignited a rush within you, heart thrumming in anticipation of what could come.

“Red light.”

“Freeze!” He shouted to reaffirm that everyone stay completely stalled, paralyzed in their positions as the mechanical head whipped around, dark eyes scanning each of you. How well, you weren’t sure, the distance between you being a great one, but regardless, your motions stilled.

“Well done! You just need to stay calm like this!” He guided, maintaining his stance. You weren’t far from him, studying him from the corner of your eye, intrigued by his persistence—after everyone labeled him an idiot, scoffing at his claims, he still persisted. “We just have to move and stop at the right time then we can all win and survive together!”

“Green light.” Again, everyone cycled forward, making a rush to stride toward the finish line, feet digging into the sand to halt when it announced red light.

“Freeze! Don’t move and stay still! Just relax!”

You were toward the front, as still as a statue, not even allowing yourself a breath. The time ticked, a countdown that hammered stress into the players. You found the situation entertaining—no one had the courage to move even a muscle and test 456’s theory despite their barrage of insults. Idiots.

Everyone migrated like that for a bit, running as it declared green light and stopping abruptly as it announced red light, a back and forth that didn’t break until a gunshot infiltrated the air—the first contestant to die before them, just as 456 claimed, bodies slamming cold against the dirt.

“Nobody move!”

Not an ounce of sympathy inhibited your body—you didn’t have any connection to them, and they likely weren’t keen to 456’s words; otherwise, they wouldn’t have moved. This only furthered your interest, curiosity bubbling, pondering the next games—was it sick to slightly enjoy this, bearing a risk in every step made.

More shots followed, ringing out as screams echoed throughout, players retracting from the area instinctively, to hide from the bloodshed and violence, which only resulted in their own blood shed.

“No! Don’t move!” 456 reminded, desperation in his voice, yet still, people attempted to flee, gunshots ensuing shortly after. “Stay still!”

Your eyes struggled to keep entertained by the view in front of you, not wanting your eyes to stray toward the casualties littering the sand. Your ears deafened to the shrill sound of bullets, the pound of your heart reverberating across your skull, palms a heap of sweat, veins pulsing with adrenaline—the symptoms an addictive mixture.

Death lingered feet from you, daring anyone to make the irreversible decision to move, the crimson-stained sand proof of what would occur. Death never frightened you, though, and if that was your luck, to die here, you would bear it, having nothing to live for anyway.

“Let me repeat: You can move forward while the tagger shouts, “green light”. If it shouts, “red light”, and your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated,” The overhead voice repeated, the word eliminated being more than described, the irony made you want to laugh.

“Green light,” Everyone remained still, but you challenged them by marching forward, unaffected by the mess of red behind you, needing to continue progressing—there was a finish line for a reason. Your motions abruptly halted when the latter was proclaimed, adrenaline offering a sweet high to occupy you. The risk was truly unlike any other.

You continued this cycle for two more rounds before everyone began to mimic the actions, huddling closely together in lines, as 456 instructed. Rather than guarantee your safety by using someone else as a shield, you were positioned ahead of them all, in the center-front of the crowd, in a situation where you could easily become a target.

Eventually, your feet slid across the finish line, kicking up sand with it. You congratulated yourself for being the first player across, without any aid, heart thrashing at the thought of the risk the future games burdened. Were they going to be easier- worse?

More people crowded behind the finish line, relief coursing their veins, falling flat onto the sand, shouldering such heavy relief, as the first game wrapped up.

Twenty-five’s knees were bent, strands of hair clinging to the sweat on his face, accepting deep breaths into his lungs greedily, recovering from the stress. He sauntered toward you—why, you didn’t know, you weren’t friends. A hand patted your shoulder, half leaning into you for support. “You… You…” He heaved, struggling for breath, chest overwhelmed. “You were right.”

You snorted. “That guy knew about it before me,” You flicked a thumb toward 456, who’d guided everyone, raising their chances of survival.

“Why did you decide to go ahead?” He asked, plopping onto the sand beside you, bafflement glimmering in his eyes, knees hugged to his chest. You decided to sit beside him, criss-crossed, resting your elbows on your knees—finding there was nothing else to do while waiting for everyone to cross the finish line, the time ticking.

“Because I don’t care what happens,” You answered, eyes flickering from the field and your opposite, unsure why you were even responding. “You shouldn’t be worried. Just trust yourself and nothing will happen.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Twenty-five grumbled. “It’s hard to accept that you could just die any second, especially from something like a children’s game.”

“I guess,” You shrugged, glancing toward 456, who yelled to the stragglers remaining on the field, encouraging them. “We’ll see what the vote says.”

“Hey,” Twenty-five shook you, interrupting your observing of the field, watching for what would happen next. “What are you gonna vote? To stay or leave?”

Your lips thinned, pressed together as you mulled over the question. “To stay. I think,” You pondered, tone questioning. Truthfully, you were at a loss, 456’s words ringing in your mind, but you weren’t one to be vulnerable. “I don’t really care about anyone here, not even myself, so why would I care if they die?”

“You must really need that money, then, huh?” He snorted, somehow unbothered by the statement, perhaps he could understand the reasoning.

“Sure,” You nodded, aware your debt troubles weren’t nearly as bad as the others—simply floating the line between debt free and debt full.

“Look at that,” Twenty-five’s finger aimed at the field. Turning, you witnessed 456, along with 120, rushing toward the finish line, a wounded man- 444- smushed between them, his arm’s draped around their necks as he limped, their teeth gritted, perspiration evident on their features, the time ticking closer to zero.

You leaned forward, concentrated on watching the scene unravel—stunned, in a way, that they could act so selflessly, a trait you could only wish to possess. Your eyebrows furrowed, nails digging into your palms, a part of you hoping they succeeded. They looked so determined.

The trio fell across the finish line, a second to spare, an exhale leaving your mouth. “That was close,” You breathed, twenty-five wiping the sweat from his forehead, murmuring an agreement.

One last shot fired, deeming 120’s and 456’s risk useless, 444’s body collapsing, blood spilling onto the sand. They truly weren’t letting anyone through easy, one mistake and you’re out.

A noise from above redirected everyone’s attention, the ceiling emerging and concealing the outside as it shut, the severity of everything settling on everyone’s shoulders—unsure faces peering around.

Back at the dormitory, silence swallowed the entire room, everyone shocked by the events, questioning the reality that revealed. You were seated on a stair, quiet as everyone else, near another girl, patch reading 222. She used the frame of the beds to support her head, hands clasped, thumb gliding across her knuckles. Examining a little more closely, you noticed a subtle bulge within her clothes, quick to avert your eyes—pregnant in this situation?

“What’s your name?” Twenty-five whispered, scooting in beside you, a semblance of relief at the disruption of the silence, though you weren’t too fond of his comfortable-ness. A perplexed expression saturated your face, an eyebrow raised.

“Why do you need my name?”

“Well, I don’t wanna just call you by a number,” He said it as if it were obvious. And maybe it was. But you didn’t want to form a semblance of connection to anyone, it would only weaken you. Spending the majority of your time secluded, close with enemies and distant to friendship, it became natural, to be just one—you were all you needed.

“It’s fine, is it really that big of a deal?” You groaned, frowning, head cocking back briefly. “After these games, we won’t have anything to do with each other.”

“You never know, we might make it out of here as friends,” He defended, letting go of an exhale. You glared at the wall, so you wouldn’t be forced beneath his scrutiny, silently listening. “My names Eun-Shin, whether you tell me yours is up to you, but I don’t wanna be called a number for days on end.”

You contemplated, focused on collecting the fragments of your thoughts, piecing them together. Silent for a long moment, his statement puzzling your brain, you finally acknowledged him, expression nearly deadpan.

“My names-“

A buzzer sounded, stirring them from their conversation, alerting that the doors were opening, a multitude of guards entering. Terror struck the people, scrambling to their feet, creating as much distance as possible between them. You stayed still, quiet.

“Congratulations for making it through the first game,” The guard spoke, tone lacking anything joyful. “Here are the results of the first game,” On cue, the numbers on the screen lowered—down one digit to the next. “Out of 456 players, 91 have been eliminated. 365 players have completed the first game. Congratulations again for making it through the first game.”

“Sir! Please don’t kill us!” An older woman pleaded, yanking a male along with her, fright evident in her features. What normal person wouldn’t be afraid, there was so much left unknown. She dropped to her knees, pleading vivaciously. “Please don’t kill us, I’m begging you!” She bowed her head, as if in repent for sins that she didn’t commit. “As for my son’s debt, I will do whatever it takes to pay you back! Please forgive us!”

Hands latched onto her son, dragging him into the floor with her. “Don’t just stand there. Beg for his forgiveness,” She scolded, continuing to bow, cries escaping her throat.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” The son included, hands cupped together in plea. “I promise I’ll pay it back!”

“There seems to be a misunderstanding-“

Multiple people joined the pair on the floor, pleading to the figures to spare their lives. Twenty-five—Eun-Shin—remained beside you, eyebrows creased in concern for the other players. You faced the spectacle, the tiniest lurch of sympathy gnawing your stomach, even potentially second-guessing your choices. To stay or leave. Biting back empathy, you reminded yourself these people wanted to be here—hell, they signed their name on the dotted line just like you did.

“We are not trying to harm you,” Assured the guard, which didn’t ease anyone’s anxieties, after witnessing the exchange outside. “We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

“Clause three of the consent form,” 456 pointed out, voice loud enough for all to hear, approaching the front of the crowd, heads turning to observe the encounter. “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. Correct?”

“That is correct,” The square gave a nod.

“Then let us take a vote right now,” The player demanded.

Everyone clustered at the back, the decision of pressing O or X bringing you dread. O, you told yourself, another fraction of you reciting X. Thankfully, time was in your grasp, as your number would be one of the last few to be called—the voting starting with 456, rather than 1, and unsurprisingly, his palm landed on X, decision having been solidified from the start.

Eun-Shin was no where in your sight, but standing beside you happened to be 222. Glancing at her, your mind debated which button she would press. Recalling her circumstance, the answer was clear, she would likely vote to leave. But you didn’t know her, you weren’t obligated to vote for the wellbeing of others, so you tended solely to your own motives—others’ blind belief not your mistake.

“Are you okay?” Whispered the girl beside you, 222 sparing a glance at you, half of her focus on the votes. Her voice surprised you, shattering your daze.

You eased your muscles, softening the clench of your fists, heart beating so rambunctiously you wondered if she heard it. “Yeah, why?” Your demeanor appeared less than frantic, small mannerisms being the only indication otherwise.

“You looked tense,” She answered, sharing a brief, tight-lipped smile to signify she meant no harm. You managed one in return, facing the front with your thoughts even more discombobulated—pity, or maybe empathy, coiling around your heart.

“Wait a minute, everyone! Wait” 456 interjected as they reached the halfway mark, the purple-haired player, the one who droned about his shoes, having just casted his vote. Your eyes flew to the source. “You can’t do this. Come to your senses! Don’t you see? These aren’t just any games. We will all die if we keep playing!” His arms gestured wildly to showcase his desperation to get the point across, eyebrows drawn close. “We have to get out of here now. With a majority vote, we can! We must stop here!”

“Who do you think you are?” 100 stalked to the opening in the middle, shouting out, irritated. “Why do you keep egging people on like that? You scared us by saying they’d shoot us before the game even began!”

“That’s right!” A female agreed, stepping forward. “He was going on about how we’d die, and I almost did, because I got so nervous!”

“How did you know they were going to shoot us?” Another player pointed an accusatory finger at 456, something that made your jaw clench, encouraging you to brush through the crowd, so you could be at the center of the action. The conflict oddly exciting to you. “Are you one of them?”

“Are you conning us all by pretending to be a player?” 100 accused, scowling at 456.

“You wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him, most of us wouldn’t,” You stated, stirring the pot further, though this was merely the truth. “Use your head, for once, instead of following delusion.”

“She’s right. That’s completely uncalled for,” An X encroached, 390, gesturing to his friend. “Without him, we wouldn’t have survived!” His finger drifted to another player, daring a few steps forward. “And you! I saw how scared you were. Your legs were shaking,” His victim merely scratched his head, eyes downcast. “You should thank him, not treat him like a fraud!”

“And who the hell are you? Are you conspiring with him?” He sneered back.

“Rude. How old are you?”

“Older than you. What are you going to do?”

The mother from earlier swatted 390, intervening before it escalated into violence, grabbing everyone’s attention. “None of us would be alive if it weren’t for this gentleman,” She gestured to 456. For some reason, her plea and desperation made you feel bad, how tearful it was. “So enough with the greed. Let’s put our lives first and get out of this place! Okay?”

Shouts broke out between the voters, the disagreements bubbling to a boil. You found yourself trapped between the urge to join and instigate, or leave it alone, neither option sounding all that appealing. The flurry of comments caused you to question everything even further, skull bouncing with the two choices.

“I’ve played these games before!” In a moment, the room quieted, 456 ensnaring their attention, even you were stunned by the declaration—the expression on his face deriving more confusion from you, mind scattered. “I’ve done this before! I knew about the first game, because I’d played it before! I played the games here three years ago! And everyone who was with me….” He paused, eyes tearful when reflecting on those past memories. “.. died here!”

You blurred with the crowd, eyebrows pressed together, avoiding the confrontation to process your thoughts, split between the two options. 456’s words struck you, the chilling gleam in his eye, traumatized and scarred, was persuasive—but you still desired to play, leaving you at an impasse.

As the numbers thinned to the last chunk, your stomach churned uncomfortably, that nauseating discomfort you normally craved, but this time, it only soured your disposition, pure anxiety that fed off of you. You breathed in, willing the dread to fade in an instant, your assigned number called forward.

Each side eyed you, silently yearning for their desired button to be pushed, all for them—but you weren’t answering for them. You approached the buttons, not an ounce of reluctance in pressing O, the choice yours and yours alone. Every action you demonstrated had either your best or worst interest in mind—risking the wrong action to suffer the oh-so-right consequence. You smoothed an O patch on your chest, joining the lot of blue. Even if X votes overtook the O’s, you wouldn’t mind, you lived life however it occurred and would tolerate the results of it.

The last individual was finally announced, each side waving the symbols of their chosen side, chanting, and you watched the male stride to the front of the room, the final player, who would settle the tie—deciding the fate of everyone inside.

He paused, faced with the two, shining buttons, taking a moment to finalize his decision, hand hovering between the two choices before it finally landed on the O, the decision to stay overwhelming. His eyes scanned the crowd, the slightest quirk in his lip.

You were perched on a bed, simply watching the antics occur. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or not. You also chose O, but you remained internally conflicted—a part of you crippling with sympathy for those who wanted to leave, seeing their pleas and cries to go home.

Eyes followed the tiebreaker, hand supporting your face as you analyzed. Your eyes met his, to which you averted your stare. You weren’t scrutinizing him, you simply wondered why he would want to stay. You certainly had reasons, but what about everyone else? Money, was the blatant answer, but what else—they were willing to throwaway lives for their own greed, each one just as sick as you.

“You voted O, I thought you were gonna change your mind at first,” A voice interrupted—the side next to you dipping as Eun-Shin sat beside you. You noticed the X bright on his patch. “It’s like you forced yourself to press O.”

“I didn’t force myself,” You dismissed instantly, shooting a glare his way. “I just had my mind made up when I voted.”

“If you say so,” He sighed.

The pair of you thought about the occurrences of today, the bloodshed, and the future games to be held, a tinge of excitement streaming your consciousness at the countless ideas of what could happen—but glancing toward your sort-of companion, you couldn’t help but imagine his potential fate, and it made your stomach knot in unease.

—

guys, i apologize for the lack of interaction w in-ho, but i promise u we will get there 😩✌️

chapter two is out now

[wilwheaton]

When you watch The Curse, you are watching two children who were abused and exploited daily during production. No adults protected us.

This was originally published on my blog in August, 2022.

I had a wonderful time at Steel City Comicon this weekend. It was my first time at this particular con, so I didn’t know there was such a huge contingent of horror fans, creators, and vendors who attend.

I love horror, and I was pretty psyched to be in the same place as John Carpenter and Tom Savini, across the street from the Dawn of the Dead mall. Pittsburgh feels like one of the places horror was invented, at least to me.

A number of these horror fans came to see me, and asked me to sign posters and other things from a movie my parents forced me to do when I was 13, called The Curse. I had to tell each of these people that I would not sign anything associated with that movie, because I was abused and exploited during production. The time I spent on that film remains the most traumatizing time of my life, and though I am a 50 year-old man, just typing this now makes my hands shake with remembered fear of a 13 year-old boy who nobody protected, and the absolute fury the 50 year-old man feels toward the people who hurt him.

I told this story in Still Just A Geek, and I’ve talked about it in some podcasts I did on the promo tour, but I’ve never put it out in public like this, in its entirety.

I suspect someone at the publisher would prefer I tease this and hope it drives book sales from people who want to read all of it, but I honestly don’t want to have another weekend like this one where everything is awesome, except the few times people who have no idea (and why should they) put that fucking poster in front of me, and all the fear, abandonment, and trauma come flooding back as I tell them that I won’t sign it, and why.

To their credit, each person was as horrified as they should have been, told me they had no idea (if they didn’t read my book why would they), and quickly put the poster away. They were all understanding. I am grateful for that.

But I really don’t need to tell this story over and over again, so here it is, with a child abuse and exploitation content warning, so I can just tell people to Google it.

After Stand by Me, everything changed. The attention from entertainment journalists, casting directors, and especially teen magazines came pouring in. The movie was a generational hit, beloved by critics and audiences alike, and every single one of us could pick anything to do next.

River’s parents and his agent got him Mosquito Coast, with Harrison Ford, as his next movie. I also auditioned for the role, but I knew even then that River was going to book the job. He was perfect, and I’d have to wait a little bit for my opportunity to come along.

I went on a lot of theatrical auditions after Stand by Me. I had tons of meetings with directors and the heads of casting at every major studio. It was all a very big deal, and I felt like we were all looking for something really special and amazing as my follow-up to Stand by Me.

At some point, a couple of producers contacted my agent with an offer to play one of the leads in an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” The script was titled The Farm. (It would, of course, be changed when the film was released).

I read it. I did not like it. It was a shitty horror movie, and I saw that right away. It was the sort of thing you rented on Friday when the new release you wanted was already out of the store.

My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

I told my parents I didn’t like it and didn’t want to do it. I clearly recall thinking it was a piece of shit that would hurt my career.

It wasn’t the first thing that had come our way that I wanted to pass on, and every other time, it hadn’t been a very big deal.

Sidebar: I was cast in Twilight Zone: The Movie, in 1983. The film tells four stories, and I was cast as the kid who can wish people into cartoonland. It was a GREAT role, in a movie I still love. (Note that Twilight Zone had four directors. One of them got three people killed. The segment I was cast in was not that one. I mention this because too many people zero in on this to deflect from what this whole thing is actually about.)

But I was CONVINCED by my parochial school teacher that if I worked on The Twilight Zone, which she had determined was satanic, I would go to hell. (This woman and her bullshit played a big role in my conversion to atheism at a young age, but when she told me that, I was all-in on the supernatural story they taught us in religion class.) I was so scared, more scared than I’d ever been to that point in my life, I cried and wailed and begged my parents to not make me do the movie. And I never told them why, because I was afraid my dad would laugh at me for being weak and afraid. My agent tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn’t budge. It’s the only thing I deeply and truly regret passing on, and I really hate I made that choice for such a stupid reason.

Okay. Back to The Curse.

This time, when I told them how much I hated it, they wouldn’t listen to me. My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

That is, until they made me take a meeting with the producers of the movie, in their giant conference room on the top floor of a tall building in Hollywood. All I remember about this place was that it was huge; the table was way too big for the five of us who spread around it, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three of the walls, but the room was still dark. There was a weird optical illusion in the center of the table, this thing they sold in the Sharper Image catalog, made from two reflective dishes with a hole in the top of one. You placed an object in the bottom of the bottom dish, and it made it look like that object was floating above the whole thing. They had a plastic spider in it. What a strange detail for me to remember, but it’s as clear in my memory as if I were sitting in that room right now.

One man, who I presumed was the executive producer, was European or Middle Eastern (I didn’t know the difference then, he was just Not Like People I Knew), and I was instantly afraid of him. He was intimidating, and seemed like a person who got what he wanted.

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

I don’t remember what they said to me in their pitch or anything other than how uncomfortable and anxious I was to even be in that room. I tried so hard to be grown up and mature, but I — and my parents — was way out of my depth. I’d done one big movie and that was it. We didn’t have my agent with us, who had lots of experience and would have known what questions to ask.

No, in place of my experienced agent, my mother had decided she was going to be my manager, and she tackled the responsibility with an enthusiasm that was only matched by her absolute incompetence and inability to go toe-to-toe with producers the way my agent did. She was outwitted, out-thought, and outmaneuvered at every turn.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

At some point, this man, who is represented in my memory by big Jim Jones sunglasses under dark hair above an open collar, said, “We are offering you a hundred thousand dollars and round-trip travel for your whole family. We will cast your sister, Amy, to play your sister in the movie.”

It all made sense, now. I was only thirteen, but I knew my parents were pushing me so hard because this company was offering me — them, really — more money than I’d ever imagined I’d earn in my life, much less a single job.

I knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, was to say no. There would be other opportunities, and it was stupid to cash myself out of feature films for what I thought was, in the grand scheme of things, not very much money.

It’s incredible to me that I knew all of this. It’s incredible to me that I could see all these things, plainly and clearly, and my parents couldn’t (or, more likely, chose not to).

So after this man made his offer, all the adults in the room ganged up on me, selling me HARD on this movie.

My mother said, “Don’t you want your sister to have the same opportunities you’ve had? Wouldn’t it be fun and exciting to go to Rome? Think of all the history!”

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

I don’t think about this very often, because it’s super upsetting to me. Right now, I’m so angry at my parents for subjecting me and my sister to this entire experience. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In that moment, I felt bullied and trapped. All these adults were talking to me at the same time, and I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go home and get out of this room. I just wanted to go be a kid, so I did what I’d learned to do to survive: I gave in and did what my parents wanted.

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

But here’s the thing: when you watch The Curse, you are watching two children, me and my sister, who were abused on a daily basis. The production did not follow a single labor law. They worked us for twelve hours a day, on multiple film units (while I work on First unit, second unit sets up and waits for me. When I should get a break to rest, they send me to Second unit, then to Third unit, then back to First unit. I was 13.) without any breaks, five days a week. I was exhausted the entire time. I was inappropriately touched by two different adults during production. I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and ashamed, and I felt so unsupported, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew my dad wouldn’t believe me, and my mother would blame me. Anything to keep the production happy, that’s what she did. That was more important to her than the health and safety of her children. The director was coked out of his mind most of the time, incompetent, and so busy fucking or trying to fuck one of the women in the cast, he was worse than useless. He was a fading actor who was cosplaying as a director, as in over his head as my mother. My sister and I were never safe. Instead of harmless atmospheric SFX smoke, they set hay on fire in barrels and blew actual smoke onto the set. They took buckets of talc, broken wood, bits of wallpaper and plaster, and threw it into my face during a scene inside the collapsing house. My sister is in a scene where she goes to get eggs from some chickens, and they attack her. So they hired Lucio Fulci, the Italian horror master, to direct her sequence. His idea, which everyone was totally on board with, was to throw chickens at my sister. Live chickens, live roosters, live birds. Just throw them at a nine-year-old girl. Oh, and then tie them to her arms and legs so they’ll peck her. All of this happened under my mother’s observation, and with her full participation.

Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

If just ONE of the things I can remember happened to someone I loved, I would have grabbed my kids, gone to the airport, and flown home. Fuck those abusive assholes in the production. Let the lawyers sort it all out. Nobody hurts my children and gets away with it.

My mom says she “had some talks” with the producers. She claims that, once, she wouldn’t let us leave the hotel. (God, what a fucking dump that place was. It was just slightly better than a hostel.) I have no memory of that, but honestly the entire experience was so traumatic, I’ve blocked most of it out.

The movie was the commercial and critical failure I knew it would be. My parents spent the money. I don’t know what they spent it on. I got to keep fifteen cents of every dollar, so . . . yay?

My sister and I hardly ever talk about this. I suspect it was as upsetting and traumatic for her as it was for me. I told her I was writing about it, and asked her if she remembered anything. She told me she’d been lied to her whole life about this movie. Our mother let her believe she had been cast on the strength of her audition. “I was excited to work with you,” she said. She reminded me about some stuff I’d blocked out, including a scene where my character’s older brother (played by an actor named Malcolm Danare, who was kind and gentle, and made both of us feel safer when he was around) shoves my character into a pile of cow shit. When it came time to shoot the scene, the mud they’d put together to be the cow shit looked an awful lot like cow shit. When Malcolm pushed me into it, we all found out it was real cow shit. I was FURIOUS. The director had lied to me and had allowed me to have my entire body shoved into an actual pile of actual cow shit. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember he treated me the exact same way my father did whenever I got upset: he laughed at me, told me I was being too sensitive, reminded me that he was the director and he wanted to get a “real” performance out of me, and concluded, “If it bothers you so much, we’ll get you a hepatitis shot,” before he walked away.

My sister also recalled that, after she survived the scene with the chickens, it was the producers’ idea to give her one as a pet.

Okay, let’s unpack that for a quick second: you’ve been traumatized by these birds, so we’re going to give you one as a pet. That you’ll somehow keep in your hotel, and then will somehow get back to America. It will shock you to learn that neither of those things happened.

She remembered, as I do, the huge fight I had with my parents in our kitchen, where I told them I hated the script and I hated the movie. I didn’t want to do it, and I hated that they were making me do it.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

“This is the only film you are being offered,” my mother lied to me. She made me feel like, if I didn’t do this movie, I would never do another movie again in my life. I had to do this movie. As my father bellowed, I had no choice.

Both of my parents denied this argument ever happened. Can I tell you how reassuring it is to know that my sister, who was also there, remembers it the same way I do?

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them.

But one thing she told me, the thing I did not know, the thing that makes me so angry I want to break things, actually managed to make the entire experience even worse than I remembered it.

There’s a scene after her chicken incident where I check up on her in her bedroom. She’s got cuts and bruises, and I guess we talk about it. I don’t remember and I can’t watch the movie because I’m terrified it will give me a PTSD flashback (I’ve had one of those and I recommend avoiding it). Here’s the thing about that scene: she has some cuts on her face, and those cuts are real. They are not makeup.

I’m going to repeat that. My nine-year-old little sister had actual cuts on her face that were placed there by an adult, on purpose.

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them. My sister told me our mother wasn’t in the makeup room when this happened — honestly, it seemed like our mother was strangely and conveniently absent when most of the really terrible things happened to us on the set — and when my sister told her what they’d done, she “lost her shit” at the production. She was pissed, I guess, which is appropriate and surprising. I wonder what would have to have happened for her to put us on a plane and get us home to safety? I mean, her son being abused daily didn’t do it, and her daughter being CUT IN THE FACE ON PURPOSE didn’t do it.

I just . . . I can’t. I can’t understand or comprehend allowing your own children to be physically and emotionally abused. They were literally selling my sister and me to these people, like we were some kind of commodity.

This was a tough conversation. My sister’s experience with our parents is very different from mine. My sister and I love each other. We’re close. I know it’s hard for her to hear that her brother, who she loves, was so abused by her parents, who she also loves. I was really grateful she made the time to talk to me about it, and grateful the experience wasn’t as horrible for her as it was for me.

As we were finishing our call, Amy also remembered one man, a young Italian named Luka, who was our driver for the movie. I haven’t thought about him in thirty years, but I can see his face now. He was kind, he was friendly, he taught us how to kick a soccer ball, and in the middle of an abusive, torturous experience, he stood out as a kind and gentle man. I mention him because she remembered him, which made me remember him, and goddammit I want at least one small part of this thing to not be awful.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares.

Ultimately, as I predicted and feared, this piece of shit movie cashed me out of respectable films forever. I got offers for movies, but they were always mindless comedies or exploitative horror films. They were never the serious dramas I wanted to work in after Stand by Me. The industry looked at me and River, wondering if one or both of us would become a breakout star. They quickly saw that River was doing real acting work, and I was in this piece of shit. For River, Stand by Me was a beginning. For me, it would turn out to be pretty much everything, at least as far as film goes.

There are thousands of reasons film careers do and don’t take off. Maybe mine wouldn’t have taken off anyway. Clearly, it’s not where my life ended up, and I’m super okay with that now. But when all of this happened, it hurt and haunted me.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares. Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

This annotation is the last thing I wrote before I turned this manuscript in, because opening these wounds is hard and painful. I put it off as long as I could, and I feel like I’m still holding back, because just this small glimpse of the experience has taken me a week to write. I can’t imagine trying to go back and unpack the whole thing. (Note that is not in the book: I’ve made an EMDR appointment to work on this because the nightmares have come back after the weekend).

Fuck The Curse, and fuck every single person who exploited and hurt two beautiful children to make it. You all participated in child abuse, and you all knew better. Shame on all of you. I hope this follows you to the end of your life. I hope that living with what you did to innocent children has been as hard for you as it has been for me, because you deserve no less.

[samkerrworshipper]

exhausted | barca femeni/alexia putellas x reader

reader has insomnia… but doesn’t tell her teammates alexia begins to figure it out though

was gonna make yall wait till tomorrow butttt i rlly can’t fucked lol

Sleep is something that has never come easy to you.

No matter how hard you try, no matter how much melatonin or herbal teas or meditation you tried, none of it worked.

You, quite simply, could not sleep.

It was fine when you were just a student, when you could dip out of your morning classes or sneak in a nap here and there between classes, when you didn’t have to make it through full days of work.

It was fine when you were playing for London City, when nobody cared about what you were doing, only if you could stop other players from getting past.

It had all changed though when the Barca offer had come in though.

It was known to every single footballer in the women's league that Barca had major injury problems, specifically in their backline, injuries that wouldn’t be resolved until long after the season was over.

You’d never thought though that some absences in Barcelona’s star squad would crate an opportunity for you, but for whatever reason, the Barca selectors had seen something in you, and even though it was mid season, had been desperate to sign you, it was a big move to go from England to Spain, but one you were more than happy to make for the sake of your career.

You’d never thought that the move from home would be so much more detrimental to your sleep schedule, but slowly you’d found yourself becoming more exhausted as you struggled to keep up with your new life.

There were a lot of things that were different about Spain, or more specifically the Barcelona Women’s team. When you were playing in London, training every couple of days and playing once a week, you could afford to miss some hours of sleep during the night, especially considering that nobody in London was concerned about making school a priority over there. You could take some naps during the day, laze around as much as you wanted and go to school whenever you could be bothered.

Barca was different, and not in a good way.

It was good for your football, internationally and just in general. Before Barca, you’d been more of a bench player then a starter for the England under 17s, but your game had lifted and you’d been a consistent starter in every tournament and friendly since.

You were exhausted, more than you’d ever been in your entire life, and you were sure it was starting to show.

It was hard enough being 16, in a foreign country, getting hardly any hours of sleep, training at least three hours a day as well as gym sessions and playing twice a week. Trying to be a full time student as well, it was completely unrealistic and it was starting to show.

“Nena, do you want to slow down on the energy drinks? Someone so itty bitty and young like you shouldn’t be consuming any caffeine, let alone two red bulls before noon, we’re lucky you aren’t pinging off the walls yet.”

Mapi’s hands are on your cheeks, pinching and squeezing them as if you are a baby. Instead of paying her any kind of attention you keep your eyes fixed on your laptop screen and lips pressed to the can of red bull that you’ve been tirelessly sipping at for the past couple of minutes.

Integrating into the team had been hard, but you’d actually become far closer with the crew of injured girls, mapi specifically, as well as her girlfriend Ingrid. Frido had also been one of the first people to welcome you, accompanied by two familiar English faces, Keira and Lucy.

Mapi particularly, had taken you under her wing, or had sort of adopted you in an older sister type fashion. It was sort of annoying, the older Spaniard was constantly talking, to the point where you’d learn to pretty much drown out everything that left her lips.

“If you keep touching my face then it won’t just be your knee that’ll be injured, your hands will be broken as well.”

Mapi frowns at you, her pinching fingers moving to brush loose hair from your face and rub at your temples, trying to rub away the frown lines deeply ingrained on your forehead.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning did we, nena? You know you’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, it’s not good for your little baby face.”

You shake your head in an attempt to get Mapi’s hands off of your face, it partially works, but not fully.

“María I am serious, you’ve got three seconds before I tear this can in half and use it to cut off your fingers, don’t you have rehab to do or something more entertaining than bothering me?”

Mapi’s hands fly up in surrender, something you are infinitely grateful for.

“Fine, you want to be grumpy then you can be grumpy by yourself, don’t come looking for me later when you’re bored of school and looking for some fun.”

You don’t bat an eyelid as Mapi retreats from your table.

You take another sip of your drink, praying that it’ll somehow make it easier for you to read the words on your laptop screen, even though it does absolutely nothing.

You’ve read the same page, over and over again and yet it’s done absolutely nothing to make you understand what it is you are supposed to be learning. It’s a mess of consonants and verbs, jumbled up words that just can’t seem to resonate in your brain.

Whilst Mapi has left, unbeknownst to you, you aren’t completely alone in the recovery room.

Alexia has been sitting on one of the massage tables, doing her exercises for the last hour, watching as you’ve gradually been getting far more frustrated with your work.

Alexia’s relationship with you so far has been… rocky.

The captain had made it clear from day one that whilst the club needed you, that your studies were going to be a priority alongside football. If you had known that you’d be going from doing as much school as you liked, to hours of online school everyday, you probably would have reconsidered your move to Spain, but you were here now and struggling more than you cared to admit.

Alexia knew something was up, beyond your clear hatred for school, she just wasn’t sure what yet but she was determined to find out why.

“Everything alright pequena?”

You practically jump at the sound of Alexia’s voice, hand clutching at your heart as you suddenly become aware of a presence in the room that you were unaware existed.

“Perfectly fine.”

You do well to recover from the shock, your eyes darting straight back to your screen almost as quickly as they had left it.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes.”

Alexia notices that your hands are shaking slightly, most likely due to the insane amounts of taurine that your body is processing.

“There’s a lot of writing on one page.”

You take another sip, finishing off the can and sliding it across the table.

“Mapi’s right, it’s not good for pequena’s like you to be drinking stuff like that, it’s bad for your brain cells, and don’t get me started on what it does to your body.”

Alexia moves to take a seat beside you at the table, her concern for you growing even more when she took a look at your face and realised how exhausted you looked.

“I don’t need the lecture, I’m poisoning my body, I’m aware of it, now can I please have slime peace so I can finish this off before training starts?”

Alexia isn’t anywhere near satisfied with your answer, she wants you to argue with her, not admit your wrongdoing like it’s nothing.

“Yes, you are, you aren’t an adult, you don’t need energy drinks, you will do perfectly fine without them.”

Your eyes leave the screen to look at Alexia for a second, a little exhale huffing out between your lips.

“Okay, whatever.”

Alexia can’t get past just how tired you look, so tired that you’re seemingly agreeing with her just to avoid conflict.

“Pequena, how about you take a break for a couple of minutes, go get some fresh air, I’m sure you can finish this up later.”

Alexia’s never let you finish school early, you don’t understand why she’s deciding to today.

“I need to get it done.”

Your body is so tense, Alexia’s scared that you’re going to pull a muscle just from how tight your body looks.

“I’m sure it can wait till later, you’ve been sitting here for two hours now, you need a break.”

Your hands are still shaking, and you’re as hunched over as possible without being asleep on top of your laptop.

“Alexia, I’m fine, I’ve just got to finish this and then I’ll be done.”

Alexia’s hand reaches up to meet your shaking one, somehow hoping that it’ll stop the frantic tremors.

“You’re taking a break, just go and spend some time in the team room, or go for a walk, just take fifteen minutes and I’ll next you when you need to be back. Go, now, I’m not asking.”

You slam your laptop closed with more aggression then Alexia’s seen from you all morning, your body dragging itself out of the room without any regards for your captain whatsoever.

Alexia begins to get worried when twenty minutes later, after multiple text messages, you are yet to return.

She knows you’re stressed, that school isn’t what you want to be focusing all of your energy on. But Alexia knows from personal experience how easy it is for somebody of your age with your kind of talent to disregard things like education, something that she believes is so crucial to any adult's life. You need options, Alexia is trying to give you them, even if you seem to hate them with every single fibre in your body.

Alexia decides to go looking for you once twenty five minutes have passed and you are nowhere in sight and have ignored every single one of her messages.

It doesn’t take her long to find you, although she does almost miss you.

Alexia peeks her head into the locker room, simply to ask if anyone has seen you, the room is silent and empty though.

She almost leaves, but just as she’s about to close the door, she spots your body, tucked up inside of your locker, your head tucked into your knees.

You look frightfully unrestful, you don’t look like most people look when they’re sleeping, most people look peaceful, you look bothered, like your body is fighting against the sleep that you so clearly need.

Alexia walks over to you, now more than ever she’s certain you’re sick, that you’ve caught some kind of cold that’s causing this exhaustion and the short tempered mood you’ve been in.

She brings the back of her palm up to your forehead, an action that has your eyes snapping opening immediately.

Alexia’s sort of surprised when she realises you’ve got no fever whatsoever, although she’s well aware that not all sicknesses result in fever, something about it is putting her off.

“Hola pequenita.”

It takes you a few seconds to realise where you are and what’s happening, but as soon as you do you are shaking Alexia’s hand from your face and pushing yourself out of your cube.

“Sorry, time completely slipped past me, I’ll head back now.”

Alexia’s hand grabs your forehand before you have the opportunity to slip past her, tugging you backwards until you’re standing directly in front of your captain, forced to look at her.

“Are you sick?”

Alexia isn’t sure what’s wrong, but it’s clear something is up and sickness is the clearest option. She knows that you are no stranger to energy drinks, she spends most of her time heckling at you to try and put down whatever drink you’ve got in your hands. She’s never seen you down two in such a short amount of time though and sickness would be a good explanation.

“No, I’m fine.”

Alexia can’t find any deceit in your words or mannerisms, it appears that you are being completely honest with her, something that makes Alexia even more confused. None of the tell-tale signs are there, you are telling the truth.

“I know you aren’t a stranger to a midday nap, but it’s unlike you to be so tired.”

Alexia’s arm moves from your forearm up to your face, gently tracing the deep purple bags that are sitting below your eyes. Her thumb is soft, it feels like she’s mending all of the fatigue that lies there, but as soon as her thumb moves it all comes back.

“I’m fine Capí, just stayed up a little bit later last night.”

Alexia can tell that’s a lie, a cover up from whatever it is that you’re hiding from her.

“Well see to it that you get into bed earlier tonight. The team is out on the pitch, I told Jona that you’d join them once finished up with your work that you’d head out but I think you need some fresh air. Better get moving.”

Alexia’s voice is ridged and your body reacts to it, reaching into your locker with more speed then she’s seen you work with all day, you grab your cleats and before Alexia has the chance to speak anymore you are marching out of the rooms and out towards the pitch.

It’s perplexing to Alexia, she hates being lied to, especially when it’s clear something is wrong. She waits in the locker room for a few minutes, trying to piece together the mystery yet she comes up with nothing.

Eventually she makes the decision to go out and watch the training, pitchside, maybe you’ll have perked up now that you’re out doing something you enjoy.

The first thing Alexia notices is how frantically you are playing, it’s unlike you to be sloppy and yet as she watches you it’s all she can observe.

You are sloppy, messy and uncalculated, something that you are normally the opposite of.

You are a technical player, something that has helped you settle into the Barcelona squad with ease, you adjusted to the Spanish way of playing without much fuss.

What Alexia is watching though, you look like a completely different player. You’re practically passing the ball directly to Salma, goal after goal being put through your legs and around your body. It’s embarrassing, and she’s certain other people are picking up on your abnormal behaviour, multiple people, specifically Ingrid coming to check on you and make sure everything is fine.

You shake all of them off, even though it’s clear that something is up and whatever that something is, it’s big and it’s affecting your game and mood majorly.

Alexia’s not surprised when Jona drags you from the field, already yelling at you and sending orders your way, what she is surprised by is the way that you don’t even flinch as he throws never ending criticism your way.

You just stare at him, neither nodding or trying to reply to him, Alexia’s not even sure if you’re hearing him, if you’re present enough to be listening to the words that are leaving his mouth. For a second she considers the possibility that you’re violently hungover or acting under the influence of some kind of substance, it would explain the drowsiness and weird behaviour.

The idea makes Alexia instantly filled with anger, you are 16 and she will take you to the grave if you’ve been touching any kinds of substances. She’s mad enough as it is over the energy drinks, and she’s going to express that when the two of you are in private later on, but the chance that you’ve consumed something illegal for someone of your age, it sends shivers down her spine.

Jona has you back out on the field before you can even begin to respond to his critiques, back into defence where you are brutally humbled time and time again by the likes of Aitana, Salma and Caro.

Alexia cringes every single time, she knows that you are struggling, what she’s completely unprepared for is for you to fully collapse on the field.

Caro volleys another ball over your head and for a second Alexia doesn’t even notice you crumpled up on the ground of the pitch, she’s too busy watching the sight of Caro’s ball perfectly managing to slot in behind Cata. It’s a truly beautiful goal, and truly there isn’t much you could have done about it.

She only notices you when Cata doesn’t turn around to grab the ball, instead, she rushes forwards, leaving the ball long forgotten beside the bottom right post. She’s rushing forwards, down to her knees, directly beside your crumpled up body.

Alexia jumps up from her spot immediately, running faster than she should considering the current state of her knee, it doesn’t matter to her though, seeing your tiny little body all clumped up against the grass terrifies her.

Cata’s smart, and apparently fast acting because before Alexia is sitting down next to you, Cata’s already got her shirt off, drenched it with her drink bottle and has it folded up over your forehead. The cold water seems to bring you back a little bit, your head jerking upwards in reaction to the sudden change of temperature across your skin.

Just as Alexia’s crouching down next to you, the medics are pushing everyone out of the way, kneeling down next to you and doing the same as Cata had done, placing wet towels across your skin. They’re treating it like you’ve got heat stroke and whilst Alexia is aware it’s a warmer day, she knows that whatever is wrong with you, it most definitely isn’t heat stroke.

One of the medics squirts some water onto your face, something that Alexia doesn’t like the look of, but it seems to bring you back awake, your eyes bursting open and blinking furiously as you take in your surroundings.

Alexia can see you panicking immediately, your eyes flashing to the multiple faces that are crowding your vision.

“Everyone take a step back, give her some space.”

The medics and your teammates take a step back, leaving Alexia to skoot herself closer to you. Her hand comes to rest on your face, gently brushing the water residue off.

“Hola nena, stay calm for me, you had a little fall, we’re going to get you inside now, do you think you can get up for me?”

You nod at Alexia, you can’t remember what happened but you don’t want to be on the floor any longer than you have to be.

Alexia helps you up and off the pitch, the medics leading the two of you inside.

Alexia immediately gets you situated on a table, the medics immediately getting their hands all over you.

“Test her heart for me please, and her caffeine and sugar levels. I’ll be right back nena, I’m just going to grab something from my locker, text me if you need anything.”

Alexia is inexplicably angry and she knows that if she spends any more time in a room with you she’s going to yell, or say something that she’s going to regret. If it wasn’t for all the doctors, she probably wouldn’t care but she doesn’t need to air out private situations in front of people who have no business in your private life.

So she stomps her way to the locker room, set on trying to detangle the mess of emotions that has developed deep in her gut ever since this morning.

It’s been longer than this morning, Alexia’s noticed oddities in your behaviour, ever since you’d arrived. The energy drinks, the constant eye bags, power naps whenever you could fit them in. You live by yourself, something that Alexia deeply disapproves of and after today she doesn’t think it should continue on like this. You’d requested your own apartment for two reasons, privacy and because you didn’t want to disturb the private life of your teammates.

Alexia wanted to punch a wall, or throw something. That was all that was running across her mind as she paced back and forth in the locker rooms.

All Alexia could think about was your body, crumpled up on the pitch and she had no idea why and no idea how to help you.

You were sitting in the medical room, by yourself, beside the many doctors and physios who were poking and attaching you to different things.

You were exhausted, you were finding it hard to keep your eyes open. You’d felt the same way all day, hitting the pitch had been too much, too hard, too much energy for your exhausted body.

You wished that you’d feel the same every night when you tried to go to sleep every night, but alas, it felt like as soon as you got into bed, or as soon as you tried to close your eyes sleep just avoided you.

Alexia was probably two laps of the locker room away from throwing her phone at a wall when Mapi walked in, weirded out by the sight of her best friend grinding her feet into the floor as she walked back and forth in the locker rooms.

“Ale?”

Alexia’s pacing doesn’t stop, but she does take a second to look up at María and for some reason the concernedly smiley face of her best friend seems to help the anger bubbling up inside her simmer down slightly.

“Alexia, what’s wrong?”

Alexia’s hands are fidgeting wildly in front of her, her fingers clicking and toying with each other.

“Somethings wrong with Nena, she’s exhausted and frantic and she looks like she hasn’t slept and she’s downing all those energy drinks and maybe they’re getting to her heart? Maybe that’s why she collapsed or maybe she’s sick but somethings wrong and I don’t know what and she collapsed right in front of my eyes.”

Normally, out of the two, Mapi is the one who confides in Alexia the most. Alexia isn’t an openly emotional person and when she is it’s with Olga, because for some reason that woman can get everything and anything out of her. Here though, it’s clear Alexia needs someone to de stress with and Mapi is happy to take up that role.

“It’s just her Alexia, she’s always tired and drinking energy drinks, it’s how the kids these days do it.”

Mapi’s words are supposed to soothe Alexia, honestly they do the complete opposite.

“But she shouldn’t, she’s an athlete, she shouldn’t need them. Mapi, I am telling you, something is seriously wrong, I can feel it. I know she’s always tired, but she looks like she hasn’s slept in weeks and I don’t know why.”

Mapi, for the sake of trying to calm Alexia down, decides that instead of trying to invalidate her worries, it’s best to just try and reason with Ale.

“Ale, how about we go see her, if somethings wrong I’m sure she’d tell us.”

Alexia nods at Mapi, taking the extended arm that her friend gives her and allowing the Zaragozan to lead her back to the physio room she’d previously been in.

When she returns, she’s relieved to see that you look a lot better than how you had on the pitch. There are still grass stains across your face, but you’re less pale than you were before and you’re sipping on a gatorade which somehow makes Alexia feel less guilty about the whole situation.

“Hola pequena.”

Your eyes manage to meet Alexia’s, something that kind of shocks her, considering just how weighed down your eyes seem to be by the deep purple bags underneath your eyes.

“Bon dia.”

Alexia would not call this a good morning, she couldn’t even call it an okay one.

“What’s wrong?”

Alexia’s focus is on the physios, not you, she’s saving you for later.

“Luckily, not a lot. I checked her heart and I couldn’t find any abnormalities, it’s clear that she’s tired, she’s told me she woke up a little bit earlier than normal this morning which paired with the warmer weather and some minor dehydration is probably the main cause. She’ll take today off, rest up, but I can’t find anything that would indicate any serious underlying problems so there isn’t any reason why I would say she couldn’t be back on the pitch tomorrow.”

It’s a positive sign, but not what Alexia wants to hear, she wants something to be wrong, so that she can get to the bottom of whatever is happening to you.

“Good, thank you, do you think you could give us the room for a couple of minutes, por favor?”

The physio smiles at Alexia, giving her a nod before leaving the room discreetly.

As soon as Alexia is certain he is no longer within hearing distance, she pivots on her heel, so she’s facing you directly.

“What are you hiding?”

It’s so ominous, even Mapi thinks it’s a little bit far-fetched, as a 16 year old, Mapi was probably hiding more than she was sharing, it’s not really a fair question.

“What am I hiding?”

It sounds like you're even struggling to get words out, your voice is just so tired, like it’s taking up so much energy for you to speak a few simple words.

“Somethings wrong, you’ve been drinking all these energy drinks, which are not only far too caffeinated but also extremely bad for you and you look like you haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

You want to tell Alexia that she’s right, you aren’t sleeping properly, you haven’t been your whole life, but she wouldn’t be the first person who tried to help you and has failed miserably in the process, it’s quite simple, sleep and you just simply do not work.

“Anyone from England would tell you that I just drink energy drinks, it’s not that deep Alexia.”

Mapi is teetering on the edge of having to hold Alexia back from causing you bodily harm.

“Deep? Collapsing on a pitch is not deep? It seems pretty deep to me amor, you can hardly talk, you could hardly read this morning, it’s clear something is wrong and I want to know what.”

You don’t know how to tell Alexia that something isn’t wrong, this is just you, or the new version of you in Spain. Your insomnia had always affected you, moving to Spain had seemed to make it worse but you’d always lived like this, ever since you could remember, sleep was just something that you could never have consistently.

“Nothings wrong, I am fine, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Alexia’s jaw sets and for a second Mapi does truly worry for you.

“I want you to not lie to my face.”

You visibly flinch at those words, you don’t want nor mean to lie to Alexia, but you figure you are saving yourself from a merry go round of painful conversations.

“I’m not lying.”

Alexia knows you are, she’s not stupid.

“Right, well you’ve got the day off, you’ll be coming home with me and staying with Olga and I until you look less like you are on the brink of a coma. María will go get your things.”

Mapi nods quickly at Alexia, walking out of the room as quickly as she can manage, leaving just you and Alexia.

Even though Alexia is mad, she begrudgingly helps you up from the bed, draping your arm over her shoulder to give you somebody to lean on as she walks the two of you out to her car. She’s just gotten you seated in the passenger seat and closed your door when Mapi pops up with your things. Before Alexia can hop into the car and get going, Mapi stops her.

“Be easy on her, si? She’s going through something and I know you want to know, I know you want to help her but whatever is wrong, she’s not talking about it for a reason. Maybe she doesn’t need you questioning her, just take a look, a proper look at her and see if you can get a better idea. For me?”

Alexia knows that Mapi won’t let go of her shirt without some kind of acknowledgement that she’s going to agree to her.

“Okay, I’ll go easy on her.”

It’s a half truth, Mapi seems to accept it though, letting go of Alexia’s shirt so that the Catalan can take her seat in her car and begin to drive the two of you home.

The car ride home is eerily silent, Alexia keeps her eyes focused on the road, her knuckles whitening from the grip she has on the steering wheel and her jaw so set that you begin to worry that her teeth must hurt from the constant clenching.

When the two of you pull up to Alexia’s house you’re feeling a lot better, your head is clearer and you don’t feel as broken as you had earlier.

You clamber out of the car, walking your way slowly to Alexia���s front door. Alexia bothers around with the keys, twisting them in the hole before opening up the door for the two of you.

“Ale? You’re home early.”

Olga’s voice filters in from the kitchen, the two of you making your way through until you spot her.

“Nena, is that you? I didn’t know we were going to have company, if I had I would have cleaned up a little bit for you.”

You shake your head at Olga, giving her a small smile that you’ve reserved just for Alexia’s partner.

“Go sit down on the couch, get your feet up.”

Alexia’s voice is stern, it immediately makes Olga frown at her.

Alexia allows her girlfriend to drag her from the kitchen and into their pantry.

“What’s with the mood?”

Olga’s happy space is her and Ale’s house, it’s supposed to be the one place that the both of them can get away from football and stress.

“Nena is hiding something, she collapsed at training and we don’t really know why but she does and she won’t tell us.”

Olga nods her head, the somehow younger but wiser woman putting on her thinking hat and trying to rationalise what Alexia is telling her.

“Don’t you think it would be smarter to try and be nice to her? I know that she’s fucked up, but it’s clear she just needs some love right now, maybe you should be giving it to her.”

Alexia thinks that Olga doesn’t understand the whole situation, she doesn’t see you everyday, doesn’t see how ragged you are and how deep this issue stems, but she also can’t not listen to her, the woman somehow tends to always be right and she can’t see why that would change now.

“Okay, okay.”

Olga smiles at her, getting up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Alexia’s jaw before pushing her out of the pantry and back into the kitchen.

Alexia is unsurprised to find you dead asleep on her couch, your head lulled against one of her couch pillows. She’s glad, and decides to pocket the inevitable conversation she is going to have to have with you, instead opting to help her girlfriend make lunch.

You sleep for a total of 40 minutes, something that Alexia is less glad about. As soon as she notices you’re awake she’s forcing a bottle of water into your hands and two aspirins. You take them before she shoves them down your throat, taking multiple gulps of the water so Alexia didn’t have another reason to be mad with you.

To be fair, she looked a lot less mad than she had earlier, you wouldn’t even really describe how she looked as mad, more concerned.

Alexia sat down in front of you on the couch, taking a deep breath before she started speaking.

“I’m not going to force you to tell me anything, I understand that you are going through a lot, I just need you to know that I’m here for you, anything you need nena I am here to support you and try and help you however I think best.”

Alexia’s words cut deep for you, it’s a struggle for you not to break out in tears, as much as you really want to.

“I know Ale.”

She nods at you, holding back her own tears, there’s some kind of understanding between the two of you, that you aren’t going to cry or speak, just acknowledge each other for now.

“Olga’s made up the spare room for you, you’ll stay here until you’re in a better place. You’re welcome here and you’ll be no bother for the next couple of weeks.”

You nod your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from arguing back to her.

The rest of the afternoon is fairly similar, you are fed by Olga and then spend the majority of the rest of the day lounging on the couch, occasionally falling asleep, but as Alexia notices, never for longer than 40 minutes. It’s like your body refuses to properly rest.

When dinner comes around you look just as exhausted as you had this morning, you just look a little bit less dead.

After dinner, you head off to bed, alexia’s glad, she’s hoping that you’ll have a nice long proper sleep and that all of this will be solved.

She’s wrong.

Instead of hopping into bed, you pull out your laptop, knowing that if you stand a chance at getting even two hours of sleep it’s not happening any time soon.

You work at your school work, completing the things you hadn’t finished earlier. When 12 o’clock rolls around, you force yourself away from your laptop and underneath the covers of alexia’s extremely comfortable spare bed.

You stare at the roof, every now and again you’ll twitch and for some reason it’ll hurt your brain. You play your favourite song over and over again in your head, praying that it’ll somehow lull you to sleep, it neves does. You stare at the ceiling and try to focus on the sound of the fan. You stare at the ceiling and wonder if the swirl pattern in it is mobing. You think about your favourite film and how the characters used to provide you so much peace. When you remember how much they meant to you, you let a few stray tears fall.

You stare at the ceiling.

Every once and a while, you’ll roll over and press your face into the pillows and pull the covers over your head and hope that if you hide somehow you’ll fall asleep.

Eventually, you’ll fall asleep.

Sometimes it takes hours, all for you to wake up half an hour later feeling as unsatisfied as ever.

It’s how you live, it’s the same routine every night, it’s your normal.

When 4am rolls around and you’ve managed to get a measly twenty minutes or so of sleep, you climb out of the sheets, annoyed that your glass of water is empty. Your eyes are dry and itchy with the feeling of needing to cry, you push that feeling deep into your gut, ignoring the desperate need to ignore your feelings in favour of keeping a strong face.

You try to be as quiet as possible, filling up your glass and taking a seat on Alexia’s couch, looking out of the window of her lounge room at the Barcelona skyline that lights up along her back fence.

“Nena is that you?”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

Alexia is standing in the kitchen, leaning up against the island, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and staring at you inquisitively.

“What are you doing awake?”

The words trigger something in you, it’s probably the half dazed state you’re in, the complete exhaustion and annoyance you’re experiencing at your inability to sleep, but all of a sudden, tears are dripping your face and you don’t know why or how.

Alexia freezes for a second, she’d expected something obviously, but crying was not one of those things.

She’s never seen you cry, she’s never had to deal with a teenager who is breaking down right in front of her eyes. She doesn’t know what to do, or how to help you, all she knows is that you are crying a lot and she is just standing and watching.

The problem solver in Alexia tells her that she has to do something, so she paces her way over to the couch, sitting down beside you and tentatively wrapping an arm around your shoulder. She doesn’t know whether or not it’s the right way to go, but it seems to pay off when you immediately relax into her, your head craning into the pocket of her neck and shoulder. Fresh, warm tears drip down onto Alexia’s skin.

Alexia is tense, her back as straight as a board. She doesn’t normally have to deal with this kind of thing, she doesn’t have to try and sympathise with feelings. She’s not an emotional person herself, she cries once a year normally and that’s on the anniversary of her fathers death.

“Nena, it’s okay, I’m here.”

Alexia’s words are calculated, strategic, like she’s reading them off of google or something. Truly, she doesn’t intend for them to come off that way, but it’s kind of just how they do.

Alexia waits for the tears to stop coming, she figures it has to happen, you can’t just cry forever.

The two of you sit like that, crisscrossed on the couch until you manage to compose yourself, until you’ve cried out all the annoyance and grievances over your current predicament.

In the past, your insomnia would stop you from sleeping for days, but eventually the exhaustion would catch up with you and you would get a good night or a few of sleep, but it had been weeks now of you living in Barcelona and sleep had been avoiding you the whole time.

“Nena, what’s wrong?”

Right now, it feels like everything is wrong, it feels like your whole world is upside and you want it to be normal, you want to just be able to close your eyes and get some fucking sleep.

“I can’t sleep.”

Alexia’s brow furrows.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have had so many energy drinks, no?”

It’s the kind of reply you should have expected.

“No Alexia, I can’t sleep, I have insomnia.”

Alexia struggles with the translation in her head, in-som-ni-a?

“Sorry, what?”

You take a deep shaky breath, pulling your head away from Alexia’s chest so that you can rub the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Insomnia, I can’t sleep, medically. I have a condition that stops me from being able to sleep regularly.”

Alexia’s head all of a sudden starts working, she’s a little bit behind, it’s 4am after all and she’s struggling to keep her eyes open.

“You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, Alexia wants to tell you that you’re being silly, but when she sees the pure heart break and exhaustion in your eyes she knows that you can’t be lying. You look so young, tear tracks all over your face and body caved in on itself.

“I can’t sleep.”

It makes more sense to alexia now, all the energy drinks, the exhaustion, the power naps.

“Have you talked to the team doctors about it, I’m sure they could give you medication or something that could make it better, this can’t go on forever, nena.”

You shake your head at Alexia, your exhaustion turning to fear.

“No and you have to promise you won’t either. I’ve been through it, the sleep tests, all of it. I won’t take drugs, you can't make me and I refuse to.”

It’s like you go from being a mellowed out version of yourself to an attack dog.

“Nena, you need help, you can’t keep playing when you can hardly keep yourself standing.”

You shake your head, so fast that Alexia worries you might pass out from the sudden and frequent movements.

“I’m not taking drugs, you can’t make me, I won’t do it.”

Alexia doesn’t know where this sudden defensiveness has come from, but she knows two things. She needs to make sure that you understand that she can be there for whatever you are going through whilst also trying to figure out what is your random refusal to not take medication.

“Wouldn’t it help some?”

It’s hard to explain your complete hatred for any kinds of drugs. You’d grown up in a household where your mom might as well have been a druggie with how little she was invested in your life and where your dad was a legitimate druggie.

You struggled to take paracetamol, let alone any kind of prescribed drug.

You were scared shitless that somehow, you would turn out like your father and that was the last thing you could ever want.

You didn’t come from a loving home, you didn’t come from a place where you got the newest cleats every year and the best training. You came from a home where grocery money was spent on cocaine and any football money was spent on heroin. You’d been lucky enough that you were good enough for England teams to notice you, for academies to notice you. You were always good enough that you didn’t have to fork out the extra money and if you did it was your own money.

That’s why you’d been so eager to get out of England, to come to Spain. It saved you from the lifestyle that you had been so desperate to get away from.

“I’m not going to take medication Ale.”

For a long time, you’d blamed the insomnia on the constant partying that happened at your house as a kid. Your dad was a revolving door house kind of person, there were always people inside of your house, women, druggies, sex workers, partiers. It was never ending, and for a logn while you’d just thought you couldn’t sleep because of the constant noise inside of your house. When you went away for your first camp at 11, you realised that just simply wasn’t it, you had a serious problem. Maybe it was a byproduct of always being in a house full of noise, or maybe it was just your fucked up ness, you just knew that somewhere along the way, everything in your brain started working backwards.

“Nena, you don’t have to take medication, but can you tell me why?”

You figure that you’ve already told Alexia too much, why stop now?

“My dad has drug problems, always has, probably always will. My mom was never really home as a kid, when she was it wasn’t pretty. I don’t want to turn out like them. That’s why I didn’t go home over the break”

Alexia’s heart drops. She’s been through her own problems with her family, her fathers death and so on. But she’s always had something and that is a safe place to go if she ever needs it. Her parents loved her, they did everything to protect her as a child, Alexia grew up in a space where she could be whoever she wanted and her parents would support her. You, to some extent, clearly didn’t and it explained a lot to her. It explained why you were so hesitant to accept help from anyone, and why you were such a lone wolf, you had to be for survival.

Alexia suddenly wraps her arms around you, all of a sudden feeling an overwhelming sense that she has to protect you, that you need her to keep you safe.

You’re crying again, it hurts less this time, it comes more from a place of exhaustion than annoyance and anger.

“I just want to rest Ale, I just want some peace.”

Alexia’s grip tightens, she’s compressing your bones in the best way possible.

“It’s okay nena, I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay.”

Alexia just holds you, until you exhaust yourself so much from the crying that you fall asleep.

She doesn’t want to wake you, not after everything you’ve just confessed to her, so she lays herself down on the couch, keeping you pulled tight to her chest as she drapes a blanket over the two of you and rests down against the pillows, deciding that she might as well get a few hours in for herself.

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and the smell of bacon and pancakes.

You feel better than you have in weeks, blinking the sleep away from your eyes and slowly sitting up as you adjust to your surroundings.

Alexia and Olga are in the kitchen, talking hushedly as Alexia cooks over the stove and Olga rocks with her from behind. It feels and looks intimate and you are so tempted to sneak out of the front door to leave them to their peace and avoid all the obvious issues that are going to have to be unpacked with your captain.

You’re seriously considering, but your plotting is stopped when Olga turns around to grab something and she spots you on the couch, conscious and awake.

“Bon Dia, nena.”

Alexia pivots as well, sending a smile towards you.

“Good morning, what time is it?”

Olga detaches herself from Alexia, moving towards the fridge.

“It’s just past six.”

2 and a half hours of sleep, that’s not bad at all, it’s better than you’ve had in weeks.

“Breakfast is almost done, if you want to take a seat at the table.”

You nod at Alexia, standing up from your spot on the couch and walking over to the dining table, taking a seat at the table and trying to tame your bed head whilst Alexia plates up the food.

The plate she hands you is full of food, bacon, toast, pancakes, sausages, fruit. It reminds you of home in a weird way, it’s not a truly traditional Spanish breakfast, more English and it seems like Ale’s done it for a reason.

She waits until you’ve started to tuck into your food before she starts speaking.

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with Jona and the medical team this morning, for you.”

Your boyd goes from relaxed and at peace to tense, Alexia knows it’s breaking your trust in a way, but she also knows that she’s now obligated to protect you.

“I told you I don't want doctors or drugs.”

Alexia takes a deep breath, looking over at Olga and being reminded that sometimes she has to do hard things.

“I know nena, and i’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to, I don’t think I could if I tried, but this can’t keep going. I did some research, there are some really good drugs for people that struggle like you, that aren’t addictive and can help lots. I’m not a doctor and neither are you. We don’t know about these things, it’s not our job, but there are people who do know about this stuff and they can try to help you, really help you. You can’t live like this, it’s not sustainable in any way, we need to find some way to fix this. Whether it’s therapy or medication or resting, you need something and you can’t provide it yourself.”

Alexia words are a punch to the gut, but they also make sense, she knows what she’s talking about.

“You promise that I won’t have to do anything I don’t want to?”

Alexia nods her head, she’s shocked that you’re already sort of agreeing with her.

“I promise nena, I just want to help you somehow, however that may be.”

You take a big bite of your food, and a gulp of the orange juice that Olga has set down next to you.

“I slept better than I have in months last night, because of you, I don’t know how or why but something you did made me sleep and if you think that I need help, then I can’t really argue with that. It needs to be on my own terms though.”

Alexia nods, this is so hard for you, accepting help, accepting that you have a problem that needs fixing.

“Of course nena.”

You nod, drawing all of your thoughts together.

“I think I need help Ale, I want help.”

[shuenkio]

Juno | Lhs.

Paring: Heeseung X M!reader | Genre: Fluff.

Synopsis: Thought he'd be disgusted by your love letter however who knows what he actually feels toward you? When your friend accidentally puts that for fun note in your gift that you're about to give him?

Cw: Nothing.

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st lang.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A@N: Christmas's laterally 3 more months away but who cares, I wanna make a change 💪 plus Juno are on repeating, so why not make an inspiration fic about it?

The Earth's spinning, people are living their lives in their own way, especially with their loved ones. You wonder, to the point of this age, should you just grow old as an old bachelor or find someone? Well, looking at yourself in the mirror already answers all your questions; you find yourself didn't match your satisfaction.

Insecure about your look wasn't enough; another thing is you've been hopeless romantic all of your life. Deep down, you wanted to have someone stay by your side, holding your hand while looking at the sky when it's sunset, cuddle when it's rain, compliment all the sweet things you've ever needed every day, and last but not least, you wanted someone to love you.

It's a silly daydreaming; however, every single day you can't go a day without thinking about anyone randomly popping out, riding their white horse, kneeling in front of you, and asking you, Would you be their partner? That's kind of crazy. Ever since then, brushed it all off as if it's nothing.

Continue to work hard for your bill in this messy industry. Surprisingly, God always has his own plan; he won't let you die alone... Right? Apparently, there's someone just moving in next to your apartment, and it's a man. Oh my. No, you can't be thrill just because he's a man; M/N, behave yourself.

That's how thirsty you are; later on, you thought you're the problem and started to behave yourself to be less attracted to a stranger, especially a man. On one holiday night, while back from work as you were unlocking your door, it was a coincidence when the new guy came out at the same time. Both of you never get the chance to greet each other because you're such workaholics. He greets you with a warm smile on his face, offering a handshake, as you hesitated to but still did.

He then introduces himself as 'Heeseung' called 'Evan' for short. He also said he never gets the opportunity to meet someone, mostly who are his neighbors since they are always out of the house just like you. For now, Evan wanted to invite you for a coffee. Oh. Spare a glance at his towering figure up and down; you realize he's positive; no bad energy from him; yes, you happily agree. A day turns into a week, a week turns into a month.

Trying all your hardest not to fall in love with Evan, who likes to do all those weird gestures that make your stomach fill with butterflies every damn time. Maybe you lack affection, sort of. He looks cool, is an ACE in everything, at least he can cook ramen, is a green flag in your perspective, is gentle and respectful of the boundaries, but one thing that made you stop midway was he can't be gay.

Evan is probably a straight guy that you mistake with his clingy behavior. Sigh, a lesson of life learned as a homosexual person. It's not right to force him to like you back, isn't it? Not even right to confess your true heart when he's so straight code, or he's not? Or is it worth pouring away all the heavy weight in your chest? The TV play in the living room, an announcement that today is going to be snow on this special day too, a Christmas day.

Brainstorming to seek out his favorite thing as you pop out an idea by gifting him a logo set; he loves it too much you couldn't understand why. As you were preparing the gift with all your friends together in a room before going out to celebrate in the city, you suddenly wanted to write a confession note for fun—write everything that had been living in your heart for a long time that has been hurting—a poem, to be honest, well, a little freaky, because you know you'd throw them away anyway.

"You make me want to make me fall in love."

"Wanted you to adore me back, hold me like you always did, and always joke, telling me I'm your only friend."

"Sorry, I like you, but I can't help it."  "Liking you was the best experience in my life, and I hope for nothing but still us to be friends."

Out of the blue, coincidentally, once you finish the note, your friend happens to pull you for a group photo. While you were busy posing, one of your other friends had nothing to do, so they went to wrap all the gifts of all of them. Usually, at every Christmas festival, they are in charge of who does the wrapping. The group united is over; after they're all stepping foot in the city, they've all vanished. Holding your gift like a lost child, looking at the crowd of people who's busy with their own business.

The snow keeps falling down from the blurry sky nonstop, so cold yet it fits the vibe you were going for. Snuggle your hands inside of your pocket; you leave the scenes as you drag your feet to somewhere quiet, your favorite park that used to be lively but now it's a field of snow. Taking a hot breath under the cold temperature, a shadow cast towering upon you, looking up to see, it was actually your greatest neighbors, Evan.

"What are you doing here, Fox?"

"Me? Oh, just chilling; I don't like crowds anyway." response, the tip of your nose turns pink, which makes Evan find it adorable.

"Why? It's Christmas; you should go enjoy yourself!" Taking about Christmas alarms your mind; you take out the wrapped gift and hand it to him. He caught off guard to the gift you have for him. Everyone would give him gifts during this festival; never make him flinch but you, a different story.

"Ugh, don't get the wrong idea; you're my neighbors after all; neighbors gift neighbors, isn't that normal? Take it, unbox it," take a hold of his palm, and give him the gift while waiting patiently for his expression. Hearing you say those, he did as told. Unveil all the tie, tearing all of the paper. Evan sees a cartoon Lego set inside with a small scratchy note that is about to be trash. The corner of Evan's lip, tight into a cocky smile as he takes out the small note, and hands up to the light street nearby. Maybe he didn't laugh at the Lego set but something else.

Seeing a note that you did not put in there and a confession note too, your eye wide open. The heart inside of your chest is pounding and racing far from the beat. You were nervous and panicking. How can it flow in there? Oh, wait, don't tell your friend to put it in there; naur, screw you. Quickly get up from your seat. I wanted to grab that note away; however, who are you kidding, he was 180 cm while you? A tiny little person.

"Evan, give that back; it's not; it's not the right note. My friend mistakenly put them there. DON'T READ IT." jumping up and down, up and down to snatch the piece of paper away, which is no use. All you got was to exhaust yourself.

"Oh, let me see, hmm, mistaken? But I see your name under here from me, M-N. How is that a mistake?" Realizing Evan already read it, you stop there frozen; the outcome would be something you are not going to like. Same goes for Evan too. You thought he'd be all serious and disgusted by your love note yet replaced by giggles. Um what?

"You, M/N, why have you not told me sooner?"

"Because... You look straight, i guess. Sorry to assume, but you did look like it."

"Oh, come on, why should I be straight when you're alive?"

"I beg pardon??"

"The word 'I like you' is out trending, so I'd say I. Adore. You, my M/N. My gift for you is

'i love you too'

🗣️ please mind my English! ><

🗣️ Crd to all the room rightful owner: [divider Alanitalenia]

🗣️ ps: I was dead ass sick writing this, but still cooked anyway 🫂.

[rynnthefangirl]

“I don’t get why people are so mad about the Mad Queen, Dany’s character has been building to this and it makes perfect sense for her!”

Okay, so even if we pretend for a second that Dany burning KL at the time and in the way she did made sense (it didn’t), there’s a whole other element as to why the Mad Queen arc was SO infuriating. And that is because for two seasons the entire logic of the show bends backwards until it breaks in order to get Dany to the point where they could try to justify that act.

Let’s look at some examples:

Tyrion instructs Dany to invade Casterly Rock, leaving Highgarden unprotected. It makes zero sense for a character renowned for their intelligence to propose this. CR is a defensive stronghold that offers no tactical advantage to a Conquerer, while Highgarden is one of Dany’s strongest allies with the funds to support her conquest. Dany loses House Tyrell and the Reach because of this.

Tyrion also advises Dany to send some of her most valuable men Beyond the Wall to capture a wight to convince Cersei of their existence. Again, this makes no sense for Tyrion to propose. He of all people should know that Cersei is a deranged narcissist who could never be trusted. I guess Tyrion kind of forgot his sisters central character traits. Dany loses a dragon because of this.

Dany also would not have lost Viserion if she had not arrived in time to rescue Jon and the others. But lucky for them (and unlucky for Viserion), ravens can now fly from the wall to Dragonstone in a single night.

“Dany kind of forgot about the iron fleet.” Apparently this Conquerer queen heading south for war just didn’t send out any sort of scouts, and entirely forgot about one of the like two forces that she needs to watch out for. None of her war advisors remember this either. She loses Rhaegal and Missandei because of this.

Cersei decides to behead Missandei as opposed to keeping her prisoner in the Red Keep in order to discourage Dany from just burning it down.

The Iron Fleet— which would later fail to strike down Drogon despite firing dozens of scorpions— is able to take Rhaegal down with two back to back perfect shots. Also apparently they can see Rhaegal well enough to do that, but neither Rhaegal nor Drogon nor Dany were able to see them.

Upon coming to Westeros, Dany has three dragons, a huge army of Unsullied, a huge army of Dothraki, a portion of the Iron Fleet, the full support of Highgarden with all their wealth and armies and probably much of their Bannermen, and the backing of Dorne. Dany is told that this is not enough, and she will not be able to take KL without tons of innocent bloodshed. Dany then proceeds to lose 2/3 dragons, Highgarden, Dorne, the Iron Fleet, and a huge portion of her Unsullied and Dothraki armies. In exchange, she gets an army of tired unmotivated northerners. Meanwhile Cersei obtains all of Highgardens wealth, the Golden Company, the Iron Fleet, and a massive force of scorpions. Dany proceeds to take Kings Landing and force a surrender with virtually zero civilian bloodshed.

Dany is portrayed as unreasonable and irrational for wanting to immediately attack Kings Landing with her full force. This perceived irrationality is the basis for her advisors questioning and betraying her. Dany is later proved correct in all of her courses of action when— again— she forces KL surrender quickly and cleanly and with virtually no civilian bloodshed.

Varys, a character renowned for his patience and ability to play the game and wait to strike until the opportune moment, a man who sat through Joffrey’s reign and did nothing, suddenly feels that Daenerys (who has not done anything worse than what Varys already knew her capable of when he decided to support her) is such a risk that he tries to poison her before she has even defeated Cersei for him. Again, the supposed reckless plan that Varys betrays Dany for is later proven to have been the correct plan.

Cersei faces no backlash from any of her actions. Nobody cares that she blew up the Westerosi Vatican. Nobody cares that she murdered the Queen of Westeros. Nobody cares that she helped orchestrate the fall death of Ned Stark and bears responsibility for the subsequent war and massacre of many of the remaining starks. Nobody cares that she is very very unlikely to accept Northern Independence, and very likely to hold a grudge against the north and house stark and seek to wipe them out. Cersei faces zero criticism or opposition from anyone besides Daenerys, and dethroning her is treated as an unnecessary inconvenience that nobody really cares that much about, and are only doing because Dany wants to.

These are just the examples I can think of off the top of my head. There are surely many many more.

Dany was too OP coming into season 7. As such, in order to make the plot work and reach their predetermined Mad Queen ending, the very fabric of the universe twisted and warped for the explicit purpose of taking away everything she had and loved. Dumbass plans from characters known for the intelligence, fast travel, discarding of the “action and consequence” internal logic of the show for Dany’s opposition, forgetting of basic war time strategy. Cersei’s forces are a formidable threat when Dany needs to look reckless and bad for wanting to attack Kings Landing. Cersei’s forces then proceed to not be a threat at all and collapse like a tower of cards when Dany needs to look awful and evil for burning down a city that surrendered so easily.

So yeah, even if in that moment you believe Dany would burn down Kings Landing, the fact that Dany fans had to sit there and watch as every single aspect of the show was manipulated in the most illogical way for the sole purpose of making her the villain…? Is it really in character if the fundamental logic of the universe has to change in order for it to happen?

[doeeyeseddie]

Piaaaaaa "brushing their arm against the other's, hoping the other would finally catch their arm and hold it close" please, we already know they constantly brush arms anyway!

fridaaaa this took me, once again, many months to get to and i sort of only vaguely filled the actual prompt, but i hope you still enjoy it <3

5+1 things, rated t, wc: 4k

[read on ao3]

I.

Eddie’s first day as a probationary firefighter is…interesting. Captain Nash welcomes him with the same warm smile he gave him the first time they talked, then leads him inside and shows him around the app bay.

“We’ll give you the full tour later,” he promises, “after you’ve met the rest of the team. You’re the first one here, if you want, you can change into your uniform now.”

He points towards the locker room – which has glass walls for some reason – and Eddie nods.

He’s just finished buttoning up his shirt when Captain Nash ushers a group of firefighters inside. Eddie runs a hand through his hair to make sure it’s tidy and smiles as Hen and Chimney introduce themselves to him with warm smiles and handshakes, welcoming him to the team.

There’s a third person with them, hovering in the background and glowering at Eddie. He’s young, probably around Eddie’s age, tall and very built, and despite his hostile expression, he doesn’t give Eddie the impression of being an asshole. It’s like the expression doesn’t fit on his face, like he’s not used to wearing it.

Chim grabs him by the arm and pushes him forward, giving Eddie a commiserating smile.

“And this guy is Buck,” he says. “He was our probie before you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says politely, stretching a hand out to offer a handshake. “You’ll have to show me how things work around here, then.”

Buck glowers down at his hand, and when he finally grabs it, he squeezes it too tightly, like he’s trying to prove something. Eddie squeezes back, amused by the pretense this guy is clearly putting on.

Behind Buck’s back, Hen rolls her eyes, but she’s also wearing a fond look, which only confirms Eddie’s assumption that Buck isn’t half as bad as he’s pretending to be.

From Captain Nash, he knows that they’re supposed to work together a lot of the time, so that’s gonna be interesting. He doesn’t know why Buck is acting like this, but he’s gonna find out, and then he’s gonna figure out a way to work with Buck anyway.

He didn’t come here to make friends, but he’ll be spending 50 hours a week with these people, and he has to trust them with his life for a lot of that time, so they at the very least need to bury whatever hatchet Buck is carrying right now.

Eddie lets go of his hand with a nod and a polite smile, and gives himself a week to figure Buck out.

II.

The days between the accident and the funeral are kind of a blur.

There’s too much to do and think about, too many decisions to make, too many people to call, too much to organize. He has help – Abuela, Pepa, the entire 118, but it still feels too much.

Shannon was 27, she didn’t have a will, they never talked about any of this. How is Eddie supposed to know how she would like to be buried, or if she’d rather be cremated? What kind of music she would want them to play at her funeral? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not for a very, very long time.

But it did happen, and now Eddie is somehow supposed to know all this about her, his wife, the woman he’s only just let back into his and Christopher’s lives, the woman who asked him for a divorce and completely pulled the rug from under his feet just a day before she died.

Sometimes, he feels like he didn’t know her at all.

His parents are here “to help”, which should be a relief but really isn’t. They never liked Shannon and aren’t making a secret of it, even now that– now that she’s gone. So Eddie can’t involve them in the funeral planning, and he can’t even leave Christopher with them because he’s scared that they’re gonna take the opportunity to grab him and run, and someone needs to make sure that Shannon’s memory is honored, but she didn’t have any family except him and Christopher, and Chris is seven, so Eddie has to be the one to make this funeral beautiful, something she’d deserve, but he doesn’t know– there’s so much–

“Eddie,” someone says next to him, snapping him out of his spiral. “Come on, breathe with me.”

Eddie stares at Buck’s chest as it rises and falls with exaggerated breaths, trying to match him. When did Buck get here? He doesn’t remember letting him in, doesn’t really remember what he was doing before he started hyperventilating on his couch.

“Chris,” he gasps when he realizes that also means he’s not sure where his kid is. And of course he’s the kind of father who would do that only days after his kid lost his mom, maybe his parents are–

“Is with Hen and Karen,” Buck says firmly, grabbing his forearm. “He’s gonna spend the day with them and Denny, probably getting spoiled rotten. I borrowed Pepa’s key when we went over there so they could pick him up, she told me you might not open – sorry for barging in here, but I’m glad I did. I know you– I wanted to– Bobby and Athena are running interference with your parents. And I’m here to help you with all that.” He gestures towards the couch table that’s covered in forms, leaflets from funeral homes, and cards from grief counselors. “After Abby’s mom– I helped plan her funeral. So I’ve got some experience.”

Eddie just stares at him, biting the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from crying. He trusts Buck, but he still doesn’t want to cry in front of him, doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone. But he does think that maybe he should give Buck his own copy of a key, so he won’t have to borrow Pepa’s next time.

Buck squeezes his forearm and gives him a small, sad smile. “We’re all here for you, Eddie. I got your back, remember?”

Eddie blinks against the tears in his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat that’s keeping him from saying anything.

Instead, he twists his arm from Buck’s grip and grabs his hand instead, squeezing it in a silent thank you.

Buck squeezes back and keeps holding on.

III.

Buck gets to go home earlier than anyone expected, but Eddie has been to his new apartment, so he isn’t surprised when Buck texts him a picture of his couch with a sad face. It’s not ideal, but at least he has a bathroom downstairs and a girlfriend who can help if he struggles with anything.

Until he doesn’t have that girlfriend anymore.

Eddie doesn’t find out until after his shield ceremony, days after, actually, once his parents have finally gone home to Texas.

Buck says he’s fine, obviously, but Eddie starts going over every day he doesn’t have a shift anyway, because he knows Buck and can see how much he’s struggling with the whole situation, with the uncertainty of when and how he can return to work.

He brings Christopher most of the time. They’re not having the best summer either, Eddie still worries that he’s not doing enough to help Christopher deal with his grief, when he can barely keep his own head above the water of grief, guilt and fear.

Carla is doing what she can, watching Christopher whenever Eddie’s working, she found him a grief counselor and is even looking into more permanent therapists.

None of it changes the fact that they’re grieving. 

But when Christopher gets to hang out with Buck, he lights up every time, and so does Buck, which makes this a two birds with one stone kind of situation. Hanging out with Buck helps them both, too, makes their grief not the first thing on their minds for a little while.

Buck can’t move much, so they play board games and try to find one they all enjoy equally – it’s not easy, since Eddie likes luck-based games (he plays poker with his abuela and tía whenever he can), Buck prefers trivia and games relying on knowledge, while Christopher likes strategic games most.

But everyone gets to pick sometimes, and when they don’t want to play board games, they switch to video games instead.

Eddie knew that Buck and Chris get along well, they have ever since the first time they met, when Buck drove Eddie to Chris’ school after the earthquake during Eddie’s second week at the 118. But with how much time the three of them are spending together now, he can see them growing closer every day – and he loves it.

Buck is his best friend, and he genuinely cares about Christopher in a way that feels completely independent from Eddie.

One evening, while they’re playing a few rounds of Christopher’s current favorite video game after dinner, the kid falls asleep between them on the couch.

Buck smiles down at him and lowers the volume of the TV, which means he loses even more clearly to Eddie, but he had the win in the bag anyway, he’s sure.

Buck rolls his eyes at him when Eddie celebrates his victory with big, silent gestures, but he’s smiling, too.

Eddie grins at him, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind Chris, and Buck twists a little to face him. His leg, resting outstretched on the couch table in front of them, moves with him, and Eddie slides Christopher’s glass of water out of the way in a practiced move.

“I know you’re here to keep an eye on me,” Buck says, “and I should probably be annoyed. I– I was kind of annoyed, at first. But it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s here, right?” He nods down at Christopher. “And I guess you’re okay, too.”

“Wow, thanks,” Eddie says, but he knows his glare isn’t convincing. “To be clear, we’re all keeping an eye on each other.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Buck reaches for Eddie’s hand, still on the backrest between them, and squeezes it – just for a moment, like he’s trying to get Eddie’s attention, like he doesn’t already have it anyway. “Thanks.”

IV.

Everything sucks.

It’s the uncertainty that gets to Eddie most, the not knowing how to help, how to stay safe, how to keep his loved ones safe. How long this is gonna last.

Every day, they have to see people die from a virus they know nothing about, and can’t do anything against.

And afterwards, they can’t even go home.

Christopher is part of a high risk group, and Eddie risks exposure at work every day, so obviously, he can’t endanger him by living with him. Chimney feels the same way about Maddie, and Hen also wants to keep her family safe, which is how the three of them ended up at Buck’s apartment, where they’ve been camped out for the past three weeks.

It’s generous of Buck to let them all stay with him, but the loft is not made for four people to live there, and they’re all feeling it.

Eddie loves his friends, but spending every minute of every day with them is starting to wear on him. They all try to give each other space, using the balcony as an extra room or going for runs outside, but there’s only so much they can do. 

He hates being separated from Chris, it makes him feel like he’s breaking his promise to never leave him behind again. Christopher says he understands, but Eddie worries anyway. He trusts Pepa, who’s working fully remote and offered to stay with Chris, and they talk every day, but it’s not the same as being there.

Whenever he talks to Chris on the phone, he feels better in the moment, but worse the second they hang up. While they’re talking, he can almost pretend that things are normal, but it all comes crashing down afterwards.

He hasn’t hugged his son in weeks, and he has no idea when he’s even gonna see him in person again.

Buck joins their calls most of the time, at least for a few minutes, and he sits next to Eddie on the bed now, shoulders slumped where they’re touching Eddie’s. In a world where he has to keep his distance from almost everyone, except the patients he’s treating and the people he’s living with, touching and being touched by Buck is a real comfort.

“This won’t be forever, Eddie,” he says, almost desperately. 

“But for how long?” Eddie asks, and it comes out sounding a little wobbly.

He’s not embarrassed by it anymore – Buck’s seen him in all kinds of situations, and they’re currently sharing a bed, so he’s seen him cry anyway.

“I–I wish I knew,” Buck says. “I wish I could– fix this.”

Eddie wipes at his eye and laughs a little. “The whole pandemic?”

“If I could, yeah.” Buck shrugs.

Eddie presses even closer to him for a moment, a gentle pressure of their shoulders, arms and thighs against each other. “I wish you could, too. But even if you can’t – I’m glad you’re here.”

“Of course.” Buck smiles at him and places his hand on Eddie’s thigh, palm up.

Eddie smiles back and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I think it’s our turn to make dinner tonight – you ready?”

“Ready when you are,” Buck says, but he doesn’t let go until Eddie does.

V.

After Chris has gone to sleep, after Eddie has finally stopped crying, after Buck has wrapped his knuckles and cleaned up the worst of the mess in Eddie’s bedroom – the shards, the pieces of drywall, the fallen furniture, he makes up the couch for Eddie to sleep on. Eddie wants to help him, to tell him that he’ll just sleep in his room, but he can’t seem to move from his seat at the dining table.

Everything feels like too much, his hands hurt and his head worse, and he can’t stand the thought of Buck leaving. He’s exhausted, but he knows he won’t sleep if Buck goes home now.

But he can’t ask him to stay, not after Buck already dropped everything because Eddie couldn’t keep it together. He probably had plans, and Eddie ruined those too.

He can already feel the hot burn of tears behind his eyes again and drops his forehead onto his arms, folded on the table in front of him.

Buck’s hand lands on his back, warm, then travels up to squeeze the back of his neck gently.

“You ready to sleep?” he murmurs, and Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. “Come on, you must be exhausted.”

Eddie shrugs and Buck’s thumb brushes along his hairline.

“You don’t have to go in there, I can get you anything you need,” Buck says quietly. “And I’ll be right next to you in case you have a nightmare.”

“You’re staying?” Eddie asks, lifting his head. Buck’s hand stays where it is.

“Of course, Eddie,” Buck says, like it’s that easy.

And maybe it is that easy, Eddie thinks when they settle in next to each other in the living room, Eddie on the couch and Buck on a makeshift bed next to it. He’s pushed the couch table to the side to make room for it and it looks like he’s dragged Eddie’s mattress here, so at least Eddie doesn’t need to worry about him sleeping on the floor.

They’ve been by each other’s side through so much shit, maybe it’s not such a surprise that Buck wants to be here now too. He’s just not sure he deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at Buck. “You had plans– I’m sure you didn’t want to–”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Buck says firmly. “Of course I’ll come whenever Christopher calls. O–or if you need me. I’m here, okay?”

“I keep thinking about her,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the heels of his hands to his burning eyes. “Mills. Last August– I should’ve– if I’d picked up the phone earlier–”

“This isn’t on you.” There’s rustling and then Buck is gripping Eddie’s forearms, trying to gently pull his hands away from his face. “I d-don’t know what Mills was going through, but I know that you couldn’t have known how bad it was. It’s sad, and it’s unfair, but it’s not your fault. And I know you’re feeling all these things now, but Eddie– I’m so happy you’re still here. I need you to– know that. Okay?”

Eddie finally lowers his arms, but instead of letting go fully, Buck just grabs his right hand and holds on. His eyes are wide and scared, and Eddie has scared too many people he loves tonight.

“Okay,” he says, even though– well. What makes him special? Why should he be the only one to get out? He’s not a better person than any of them, he doesn’t have a right to happiness or whatever he’s been deluding himself into believing he could have. 

But he knows that he can’t tell Buck that now (or ever), knows that it’s a dark road to go down.

Maybe for tonight, with Buck by his side, he can keep the thoughts at bay for a little bit longer. After that– he has no idea. But Buck is still holding his hand, and Eddie may not deserve him, but he trusts him.

He thinks it may just give him enough hope to get through this night.

+ I

“This was nice,” Buck says, holding the door for Eddie as they leave the restaurant. “You, uh, you really didn’t have to pay, though.”

“I wanted to,” Eddie says with a smile, glancing right towards their cars and then left to where the beach is only a short walk away, and finally back to Buck’s face, finding him already looking back. “How do you feel about taking a walk?”

Buck grins, turning left. “Let’s go.”

They’re not on a date, or at least they haven’t called it that, but Eddie has been thinking that it feels like one all night. Technically, they’re two friends trying out a new restaurant together. They drove here separately, no one pulled anyone’s chair out, they talked the same way they always do.

But Eddie spent half an hour picking something to wear tonight, Buck is wearing a shirt that looks new and gorgeous and fit for a date, and every time their eyes caught across the table, Eddie thought that maybe, Buck wouldn’t pull away if he reached out and took his hand.

It’s not the first time Eddie has thought that. Ever since Buck and Tommy broke up, it’s felt like maybe they’re heading towards something, familiar touches lingering and turning into something new, gazes catching and then holding instead of looking away.

Buck was upset for a little while afterwards, but he admitted to Eddie that it was more about another failed relationship – and his first one with a man, after he thought he’d finally figured out what was missing, than about Tommy as a person.

He went on a couple of dates, with men and women, but nothing ever stuck.

Eddie was going through his own stuff at the time – he eventually came out to Buck a week before Chris finally came home, and Buck hasn’t been on a date since.

Sometimes, Eddie wonders (hopes), if the two things are related.

Still, neither of them has called tonight a date – yet.

Eddie glances at Buck’s profile while they’re walking, and wonders what he’s waiting for.

Yes, it’s scary because Buck is the most important person in his life right after Christopher, but it’s also not, because this is Buck. Who has been by Eddie’s side through the worst, most painful, most humiliating times of his life, and is still here. Buck, who Eddie trusts with his life, and his son, and his heart.

Buck smiles at him and Eddie smiles back, heartbeat picking up. He’s doing this, he’s gonna tell Buck how he feels. Any minute now, he’s gonna be brave enough.

“Hey,” Buck says, “it’s just me.”

“I know,” Eddie says, and his heart thumps against his ribs. He lets his fingers brush against Buck’s on their next swing and watches as Buck bites his lip, smiling down at the ground. Hushed, like a confession, he adds, “Are you nervous, too?”

Buck looks back up at him then, eyes glittering in the dark. “Y-yeah. I am.”

They’ve reached the edge of the beach by now and bend down to take off their shoes without having to talk about it.

When they start walking again, they’re even closer than before, the backs of their hands, their elbows and shoulders all brushing with every step.

Eddie keeps stealing glances at Buck, and almost every time, Buck is already looking back.

There aren’t many people at the beach at this time of day, so they don’t come close to anyone else, and all they hear is the sand beneath their feet and the waves crashing a few feet away. The moon is big enough to be reflected on the sea, a beautiful sight, but Eddie still can’t look away from Buck for long.

“So, this is, uh, kind of romantic,” Buck blurts out after a few quiet minutes. “Right? I–I’m not misreading that?”

“No,” Eddie says. “I mean– you’re not misreading it.”

“But you’re nervous.”

When their knuckles brush again, Eddie stretches out his fingers and catches Buck’s, holding on. Buck’s own fingers tighten immediately, and it gives Eddie the last bit of courage he needs.

“Well, yeah. Buck–” He stops walking, and Buck follows, turning so he’s facing Eddie. He’s close enough that Eddie can see his expression despite the dark, and he looks terrified, hopeful, nervous and excited at the same time, all of which Eddie feels, too. Eddie takes a deep breath. “I’m nervous because– nothing…no one’s ever been this important.”

A smile spreads out across Buck’s face, slowly deepening the crinkles around his eyes. “So this was a date?”

“Did it feel like one to you, too?”

Buck’s smile widens. “Yeah, i–it did. And I’m–I’m nervous too, of course. Eddie, if we do this, there’s no going back for me. I can’t– lose you. You and Christopher, you’re too important.”

He pulls on Eddie’s hand a little, and Eddie takes another step closer, drops his shoes in the sand and places his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb resting against his collarbone.

“It’s the same for me,” he says quietly. He shivers when Buck grabs his waist, the warmth of his hand seeping through Eddie’s shirt. “I– We don’t know what’s gonna happen. But, Buck– I love you. I love you so much, I have for…way longer than I was aware of it, and I just don’t see that going away. And I don’t think it’s fair to us to deny ourselves when I really think we could make each other– so happy. I know I can make you happy, and I want to prove it to you every day of my life, Buck.”

Buck is just staring at him with a dazed expression, his lips slightly parted, and Eddie suddenly can’t stand not kissing him for a second longer.

He slides his hand from Buck’s shoulder to the back of his neck, watches Buck’s eyes flutter shut and feels his fingers tighten on his waist, and then he’s finally, finally closing the distance between them.

Buck makes a soft sound against his mouth, like he’s still somehow surprised this is happening, but he gets on board very quickly, and Eddie stops thinking entirely.

When they pull back breathlessly, Eddie’s hair is a mess – he can feel the loose strands on his forehead – his lips are still tingling, and Buck’s got both arms wrapped around him tightly.

“In case that wasn’t clear,” Buck gasps, and lifts a hand to cup Eddie’s cheek. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s chin and caresses his lower lip, and Eddie presses a kiss to the pad of it. “I love you, too.”

[finniestoncrane]

Could you possibly write a smut thingy with Egon Spengler as the reader(female) professor? Love your work!!

Egon Spengler x Fem!Professor!Reader, word count: 1k i am refreshing my memory on learning styles and turning my least favourite word into a positive thing with this one anon lmao ❤ he gog on my ped until i geeeeeeeeee👻 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: i've attmpted a bold reader once more, confident reader, masturbation/handjob, ruined orgasm ehehehe

As your students filtered out of the small seminar room, you noticed Egon trying to push against the currents, standing a whole foot taller than most of them, some of them more, and catching your eye with a small, awkward smile as he managed to get through the throngs.

He stood silently for a moment, awkwardly fiddling with his glasses before he spoke to you.

"Your attendance is impressive."

"Is that surprising?"

You teased him with a coy smile, watching the way he was flustered immediately. He was usually so firm, unflappable, especially given his line of research, but around you he seemed to lose all confidence.

"N-no, I was admiring it. Pointing it out. That almost seemed like more students going out than have your class on their schedules.

"What can I say? I know how to keep them interested."

You turned, walking to the desk in the corner of the room with a distinct wiggle to your hips. Egon's pupils widened as he watched you, mumbling to himself.

"I can see why."

"How can I help you, Doctor Spengler?"

He was snapped out of his daze, eyes flitting swiftly back up to meet yours in a panic. Not only had he been caught drooling over your backside, now he had to think of a lie on the spot.

"Uh... I wanted to... discuss with you the... importance of..."

It hit him, a strike of inspiration, a good follow-through from his previous statement.

"... The importance of adapting your teaching methods in order to engage with the largest proportion of students. I imagine it's something you're very familiar with, given how interested your students are. Is this something you work on? Or does it come naturally?"

You smiled softly, watching as he relaxed into his excuse and deciding to punish him, just a little, for not being more straightforward with you.

"Well, I think it might be slightly natural on my part. I can read people very well, Doctor Spengler."

"You can?"

He tensed up as you walked out from behind the desk, taking slow, purposeful steps towards him.

"Oh yeah, I know what's going on inside their minds. What they need... or what they want. You might even consider me an example of your psychic studies."

He swallowed deeply, pronounced Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he pushed his nerves down, his face remaining as calm as was possible in the face of your bold approach. You were close to him, and only coming closer, backing him into the board on the wall, with nowhere else to go.

"So... how does this help with your students?"

Egon's efforts to keep up the facade were admirable, but you could see the slight blush on his cheeks, the way his eyes darted from your body to the ceiling, and youhad to admit that this more sheepish nature, as opposed to his often blunt and dry responses, was doing a lot for you.

"It helps to know how best to reach them. I know that some students prefer to listen and learn, that works for a majority. Audio and visual learning is the sort of default state. But others need a different approach, and it's important to facilitate that. I find it benefits those who can't just ask for help to offer them a more... tailored approach of my own accord."

He seemed to get the message, as his cheeks flushed a deeper hue, his glasses steaming up slightly in the center of the lenses. Sensing that you were perhaps offering a more suggestive opportunity to him than he had expected, he continued to play along.

"Can you... can you provide an example?"

"Of course, Doctor Spengler, let's take you for example! I think that you're probably the kind of person who learns better in a one-on-one environment. Perhaps you would be better suited to some private tutelage."

Ever stoic in appearance, even now as he felt his pants beginning to tent with his growing arousal, Egon nodded, considerate and firm.

"Yes, that does sound very appropriate."

"Mhm... and you strike me as a kinesthetic learner... Someone who requires a very tactile, hands on approach..."

He had begun to agree with you, but the words were strangled into a soft yelp as your hand met his crotch. You felt his cock pulsing against your palm, a twitch of the length as your fingers travelled up towards the belt of his brown slacks.

Undoing it with ease, you turned your attention to his fly, undoing it and reaching into the fabric to pull his cock free. His body fell against the wall, completely undone by that first gesture, quivering as you began to stroke him.

A heat rose within him, bringing with it a confidence that bolstered his own movements as he leaned his head down, nuzzling against your neck. His soft curls tickled at your skin, his breath soft, panting, into your ear as you worked his cock.

Egon's hands pulled at your waist, tugging you, bringing you closer to his body, wanting to feel you on him as he threatened to reach his climax. But as he began to cling tighter to you, body keening, you pulled away, watching him stumble after you. He bucked his hips once into the air, an instinctual urge to search for friction, to continue his impending orgasm, but instead all he found was your knowing, mischievous smile, arms folded across your body, eyes lidded as you watched him push his cock back into his pants.

"I do think that's all we have time for, unfortunately. But did you learn anything valuable from our discussion, Doctor Spengler?"

He grumbled a little, disappointment on his face.

"I think I did."

"Good. Well. If you ever need to recap anything, my office door is always open."

As you walked away from him, he raised an eyebrow, smiling with suspicion, but hope. He was quick to follow you, however, following like a lost puppy. If you weren't going to your office now, then at least he could take a seat outside and wait for you. He was very willing to put off the rest of his day's work for the chance at some more of your private tutoring.

[destiny-smasher]

What do you like about Nemona

Gahhh, fuck me, that's a bit hard to summarize.

But I have been meaning to do a write up to explain it to people in my personal life. Maybe this is a good excuse to get around to doing so. I'll try to cover the important stuff while not getting as deep into specifics as I honestly could. It'll still be an informal short essay, though, lol

In Pokemon SV, the player enrolls in a fancy Academy on a remote island nation of sorts (inspired by Spain). They meet Nemona after choosing their starter Pokemon, and Nemona offers to the school's director to adopt a starter herself to 'coach/mentor' the player character. You see, unlike any other 'rival trainer' before her, Nemona is already a Champion. Before your character sets foot in the Paldea region, Nemona has already gone through the entire song and dance of Gym Battles and all that, and attained the highest rank a trainer can in the region. She's completely obsessed with Pokemon battling and has become bored of being 'the best' because no one wants to battle her, for various reasons. So she views you, a newcomer, as an opportunity to test herself as a 'mentor/senpai/big sis' figure as well as essentially 'New Game+-ing' herself for sheer love of the game that is Pokemon battling.

People consistently call her 'the girl Goku', but I ain't seen Dragonball Z, so I can't comment on that much. But she is a very enthusiastic, cheerful, determined, battle hungry person who is very into self-growth and self-improvement. At the end of the day, she wants a true rival, someone she doesn't need to hold back with, and who she can look to as a consistent figure in her life. She is very eager and hyperactive about connecting with people through battling.

A lot of people who play the game get offput by her, and she gets branded as a 'yandere' archetype (ie obsessed with the player character to a horror-inducing degree). She gets meme'd as being 'creepy' and 'obsessed' and all that, depicting her eagerness as mental illness and a bad thing.

(gif from a fan animation)

When her behavior stems from positive emotions and a desire for mutual growth and connection, not specifically ownership or possession -- to Nemona, a person who just obeyed whatever she would want of them would defeat the point. That's not what a rival does -- they push back, after all. Within the context of the SV plotline, she is bored of being Champion all by herself, and wants to train someone else to reach her same level, which is why she is so invested in you, the player character, following you around everywhere and being that 'big sis' archetype. There's some selfishness in there, for sure -- she wants a proper rival for herself, someone she never has to hold back with -- but given her social obligations and reputation within the Academy/region, she also I think wants to prove she is capable of handling herself as a mentor figure, prove to herself that she didn't become a Champion by luck or accident (if she can help someone else do what she did, then it wasn't just a fluke, she really does know what she's doing, etc.), and also help prove to her fellow students that she's really not as intimidating as they think she is.

And yet, people both in AND out of the game are quick to write this intense, protective behavior off as 'insane' and 'creepy' -- and as someone who very regularly got called a 'creep' through to the end of college for literally just trying to make friends,' I almost take it personally when I see people label Nemona as a 'yandere' type. It has its comical use and all but I still find it kind of hurtful in a way.

(Art by MagDraws)

Because that's the thing -- if you pay attention to what little story there is in SV (it's not exactly a complex narrative), Nemona's character is essentially a metaphor for neurodivergent/queer people who have hearts bursting with affection and passion for their hobbies yet who struggle with loneliness and isolation as they put off most people from keeping them around.

But at the end of the day, Nemona is just neurodivergent, her special interest is Pokemon battling, and she is simply desperate for human connection -- and battles are just the way she feels most comfortable doing that.

And the world would be a better place if people like me or Nemona were able to become self aware at a young enough age to start managing our behavior, (which she is shown to be learning to do!) while ALSO having a general population that is more open-minded and understanding to the idea that 'oh huh that person's brain is electrically overcharged and they love people and hobbies maybe way way more than I do but that's FINE as long as they're not hurting anyone'

As a youth, I just... kinda got great grades, made honor roll, etc. And it felt like I wasn't really trying? So adults around me thought I was 'gifted', or 'naturally talented'. But in reality, I think I was just neurodivergent, and since I struggled to make friends, and physically wasn't able to see them outside of school due to various factors, I just... ended up focusing on my schoolwork instead. So that's one way I relate with her retroactively -- she is a model student, yet ironically has a bad reputation amongst many.

(HOWEVER, Nemona comes from a RICH family and I came from a poor one, there was some big racial tension dynamics at play in my early gradeschool years, familial breakup shit, soooo there's some very different dynamics at play there)

Another thing I adore about her and connect with in a way no one else in my life does -- she loves one-on-one competitions with others through battles. I don't love physically fighting people, I'm a super non-violent person in reality. But I love fighting games, it's my favorite genre. And there's specific philosophical elements to enjoying fighting games that I think most people don't click with that she and I do.

She is here to GROW, to learn, to improve, to have fun regardless of winning or losing, because the act of spending time engaged with another person, figuring each other out, testing yourselves mutually, is enjoyable and edifying regardless.

That 'warrior's path' of self improvement and enjoyment and growth regardless of the outcome of battle is something I very much connect with and it's great to see a character who feels likewise while also having elements of interpersonal struggles in spite of or even because of the way she functions differently than other people. Again, I don't know much about Goku, but I get the impression he is good at making and keeping friends, while Nemona is bad at it.

On top of this, Nemona has extra wrinkles to her character -- she's physically disabled. The game is vague about it, as Pokemon always is. But she wears an arm brace because she throws a LOT of pokeballs with all the battling she does, and she seems to have some kind of issue there, physically. Also, despite how GOOD she is at battling, she is terrible at catching Pokemon, and seemingly at doing the exploration aspects of being a trainer. She canonically has poor stamina and wears herself out easily -- which, given how high-energy she is as a person, probably happens constantly. So it's also strongly suggested that she spends time not just training all of her Pokemon (she juggles multiple teams, yet another fighting-game esque thing I relate with, as I tend to juggle many characters and not stick to a single main or team), but she also trains herself, physically, to try and keep up with her 'mons, but also as a means of self-growth/improvement in general.

I won't post the examples but trust me, there are many subtle but intentional nods alluding to her being physically disabled, and being BAD at core elements of what we expect a Pokemon trainer to be -- exploring the wilderness, catching Pokemon, etc. But she's so passionate about it, she doesn't let her limitations stop her,

So it creates an interesting internal tension imo because she is not only very queer coded, very neurodiverse coded, but ALSO disabled coded. But she hides her internal struggles by essentially avoiding having to confront them, generally speaking (which itself is ripe for narrative development). Sadly, the game never brings this to a head in way (it's Pokemon, so of course it doesn't). But the ingredients are all there, especially when you add characters like Penny, Arven, and Scarlet into account -- as well as implied expectations from her rich family, or from the leader of Paldea, Geeta, who implies she wants Nemona to be her protege. And I haven't even mentioned that Nemona is Class President, meaning she's actively taking on social responsibility for her peers even though she gets shit talked behind her back for being so obsessed with battling and getting in people's faces with her over-eager desire to bond with/battle them.

This right here -- this is the specific core element of her character I personally connect with that, somehow, no fictional character I've met so far has put into the exact right words with enough context for me to believe them.

From my youth to even now as a full grown adult, I have experienced this feeling my entire life, whether with family, at school, at the workplace, even in most online spaces -- an 'invisible wall' between me and everyone else, and for a VERY LONG TIME I had convinced myself it was because something about me was 'broken' and 'not right'. But now, in part thanks to characters like Nemona, and the discussions around/about said characters, I can see that my brain just functions differently from other people, and a I grow and self-teach myself how to manage my own behaviors/expectations, I can better appreciate all kinds of relationships in life without needing to let go of or sacrifice that internal flame that used to threaten to consume most people I cared about -- that fear of being 'too much' or 'too intense' in my own ways (ways better expressed through text interaction than in person, to be fair, but again, MOST of my social life has been online my entire life, so yeah).

Like Nemona, I found people in my life who accept me for who I am, and blablabla all that cliche shit. But in Nemona, as I do with a rare few other characters in media (Vi from Arcane, Luz from The Owl House), I see a specific element of myself I don't elsewhere, and sadly did not see often growing up. A balance between ferocity and determination paired with unending affection and love. A desire to never give up on people, no matter what, and to be open to change both internal and in others. In Nemona's case, specifically, that element of neurodiverse passion matched with sheer loneliness -- that 'invisible wall'.

No matter what, she never gives up, in battles or socially.

I could go on into specific examples but I've said enough here to get the ideas across, I'm sure.

Oh, and as a sidenote, I think she has a great character design -- it's SIMPLE but recognizeable. The combo of color-coded gear (red/white/black, my favorite outfit color scheme), a arm brace, and accented hair. Her design feels like a plausible human being, but with a bit of 'anime bangs' syndrome.

I should probably mention -- I don't like Pokemon SV as a video game! I am like 160k words of fanfiction into telling a Pokemon story and I think the game itself is stinky garbage barely holding itself together with duct tape and a corporate prayer.

But unlike any other generation of the franchise, Pokemon SV presents a cast of characters with defined personality strengths, weaknesses, and varied backstories, who start the game as strangers, and by the end begin to dip their toes into 'found family' territory. For the first time in the entire franchise, I actually give a shit about the characters, about seeing them grow and connect with each other, because the overarching theme of SV's story, what little it has, is about isolation, outcasts, loneliness, and how found families form.

And Nemona's kind of the heart of all of that, the endlessly hopeful, energetic, eager one that will never give up on you, that irrationally throws affection at you, seemingly for no 'good reason' -- because just being a person who tolerates her and her 'too much'-ness is itself reason to be grateful for your presence in a world where she feels isolated from most everyone else simply by being herself.

Maybe this answers your question!

[just-a-ghost00]

Fall energy check and advice from spirit

Group 1

Energy check | The Explorer, The Revolutionary, The Creator, Play

These are very intense energies but I feel like they bring a lot of positivity into your life currently. You may be going through a very busy time right now, especially creative wise. There may be a lot of projects going on, whether that's on a personal or a professional / educational level. You may be going through a lot of changes as well. Though this may be tiring for you, your mindset towards this phase of your life is pretty optimistic and playful. I feel like you are enjoying your time and excited about what the Universe has in store for you. You may be getting a lot of opportunities, invitations from friends and family, unexpected offers also. You're in a very proactive energy which allows you to influence others and provoke change around you. People around you may be more receptive to your energy and willing to give credit to your ideas and plans. You may also feel a bit more rebellious, adventurous, confident. You may be starting new hobbies, traveling, picking up new habits in your routine and so on. You're also in a very sensual energy. So on a romantic level, that may transpire as you being more playful with your partner and exploring your connection a bit more. If you're single, you may be more receptive to being flirted with and may even initiate contact with people. Overall I get a very good vibe coming from this group, especially if you have a lot of fire sign energy in your chart. I'm also picking up on someone being more free spirited and laid back, allowing themselves to do things they wouldn't usually do. Letting go of the need to control and be open to surprises.

Advice from spirit

Astrophyllite - Unlock your highest potential : this card encourages you to make bold decisions and get out of your comfort zone. Your proactive and assertive attitude is being highlighted here by your spiritual team. If you keep going like this, you will be on the right track and manifesting what is meant for you.

Chrysocolla - Be your own mama : this card highlights communication and the issues that relate to it. It reminds you of the need to be gentle with yourself, especially when it comes to the things you may say about yourself in conversations, the perception you have of yourself. You're also encouraged to support yourself by being confident about your own decisions. You may use positive affirmations daily to remind yourself of all the good there is in you. If you're in a situation where something or someone is making you feel small, don't be afraid to step up and express your genuine opinion and feelings.

Emerald - Point your heart towards grace : this card highlights love in all shapes and forms, especially self love. You're encouraged to remind yourself that you are deserving of love and capable of love. It is important that you bask in this loving energy and that you radiate love around you. Express self love through aesthetics, the way you dress, what you eat and communicate. Receive love through the comforting words and actions of others. Surround yourself with loving things and people.

Remember that you are doing a good job <3 You can be proud of yourself and I love you to the moon and back <3

Group 2

Energy check | Shadow, The Wildling, The Warrior, Play

This energy feels a bit more conflicting and challenging than group 1's. Though, your energies may be linked, as you both have the same card as the back of the deck (Play). You are in an energy of working on your past trauma, healing your inner fears and overcoming whatever has been holding you back. You may feel a bit tense, guarded around people in general. You may be in a bit of a mischievous, rebellious energy where everything feels like a competition or a provocation of some sort. You may feel triggered by people around you for no reason, especially if you feel like people are making fun of you or their intentions may not be as innocent as they portray. You may find yourself in a lot of debates or arguments with people. There's also a need for clarity and honest communication here. It's like you think that everyone around you has ulterior motives or that the good things in your life may hide something darker. I feel like this comes from past experience that has hurt you and left you feeling used and abused. You are in an energy of wanting to fight for yourself and what you believing, protecting your energy and accomplishments. You may be a bit closed off and trying to isolate yourself a lot more than usual to avoid any trouble. I feel like you are seeking tranquility and space to make your own mind about certain things and people. You may be in an inner turmoil about something or someone, needing space to decide on the best course of action.

Advice from spirit

Lepidolite - Enter your chill zone : you are encouraged to set boundaries and keep yourself away from conflicts, especially if those are matters that do not concern you directly. Practice mediation if that is something you are into. Do not let the energies of others rub on you.

Barite - Get answers to your biggest questions : here spirit reminds you that you don't have to say yes to everything. Let go of your tendency to people please and instead, ask yourself what would please you. Also, if you are feeling like something is your life is missing or not right, you are encourage to investigate further about that feeling.

Jasper - Strengthen your foundation : find and pracice activities that help you ground yourself. Restore your balance through breath work, any kind of physical activity, gardening or spending time in nature in general. Get back to your roots, literally and metaphorically.

Group 3

Energy check | The Wildling, The Warrior, Ascension, Self love

If you felt attracted to group 2 you may want to check their reading as well. Two of your cards are similar to group 2's spread for this section. Here I feel like you energies are a bit challenging but compared to group 2 this brings about a lot of positive change and growth in your life. You may even purposefully put yourself in challenging situations as you know these will help you become a better person. You are in an energy of learning, figuring out what is best for you, changing certain habits or beliefs. This feels like a spiritual reset. You may be trying to seek answers to certain issues you've been faced with. Also, you may be faced with a lot of decision making that will help you progress on your journey. For this group, I feel like most of you are going through a spiritual awakening. The challenging energies that you may be going through are balanced by the intervention of your spirit team as well as certain people around you. You may be connecting with people that help you question your perceptions and interpretations, but who also remind you of what is essential to you. People that help you bring the focus back on yourself and regain your balance so that you can overcome whatever challenge coming your way. You may be receiving a lot of downloads, encouraging messages from people around you. You may be feeling like things in your life are taking a turn and starting to reflect the reality you've always dreamed of. You are going out of a stressful and difficult time of your life.

Advice from spirit

Chrysoprase - Grow from your heart out : you are encouraged to forgive yourself and others for the challenging times you went through. You are reminded that you are a human being with needs, desires and dreams that should be respected and heard. That love exists and that you are worthy of it. You are encouraged to keep believing in yourself, in humanity, in love.

Tourmalined quartz - Restore your perfect light : cut out of your life anything or anyone that makes you feel unworthy, that belittles you or hurts you. Cleanse your energy, your mindset, your space.

[potatomountain]

We Will Never Die

Pairing: Rocker Hongjoong x fem!reader

Au: Friends to lovers, band au

Genre: fluff, a lil angst, suggestive

WC: 1.4k

Summary: You stood by your best friend's side all your life, building up his dream because you were always a part of it to him. You underestimated how much, ready to leave, just for him to remind you that what the two of you have will never die.

Warnings: 17+, suggestive, a lil toxicity and implied smut

AN: was gunna have smut but was struggling and this is for the @lapydiaries January event! "Garnet" so today was the last day to post. Anyways. Enjoy the brainrot of one Kim Hongjoong. Didn't turn out how I wanted but eh, I'll play out the rest in my head. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk!

Banners and dividers by Me. Blank blogs WILL be blocked!

Make a band with your best friend, they say. It’ll be nice, they say.

Wrong.

So very wrong.

For starters you weren’t the musical genius he was. Playing an instrument to a skill that wows the audience. He also had the charisma for it.

Kim Hongjoong, your childhood best friend, was born to be on stage. You… weren’t.

That didn’t mean his dreams of touring the world excluded you however. In fact every time he talked about it, you were a part of his speech. All throughout high school as he got better at the guitar and his voice charmed more than enough people, you fell more into his shadow.

Your self confidence plummeted at first, but Hongjoong did everything he could to change that. He made his band, and you were part of it. You were there at every practice, every rehearsal. You helped him with auditions, Hongjoong saying he didn’t want anyone you didn’t trust. By the end of your high school days, he had a decent band and you were their honorary member.

What you didn’t tell him was you had decided to go to school to learn how to manage. You wanted to help, learning all about the trade and what it takes to become successful outside of good music.

Hongjoong protected your self-esteem all throughout high school. He hyped you up when you felt down, reminded you he believed in you, and never once doubted your presence in his life. So you wanted to do everything you could to protect his dream.

That was fine and all until you were both in your mid twenties and Hongjoong and the group “Garnet” had a decent following. Just earlier this year they had a single that played on the radio, really taking off their career.

He was getting offers to sign with other labels, better management, and in your opinion they were damn good opportunities. But that wasn’t the only reason that had you regretting this all.

Chicks lover rocker guys after all. And he ate that up, dominating the hearts and cunts of all sorts of girls that came to his show.

You were the one who had to make sure the girls didn’t try anything afterwards.

Sure, out of the whole band, Hongjoong had his bed preoccupied the least, but it was still enough to get your heart hurting. As if you could pinpoint when you started pining over him like a man and not a friend.

They were all teases, all eight of them to an extent, and you weren’t no saint either, but you avoided their advances. At least until the other night. The drummer, Wooyoung, really did enjoy eating you out. Too bad his mouth was so loud he bragged to the others.

Now, for whatever reason, Hongjoong was mad at you.

He never said he was, but there were signs. The change in wardrobe, the offhanded comments, the way Wooyoung also seemed to be in his bad graces.

And his teasing. God his teasing. He wore tank tops, talked about getting more tattoos and then would point to more intimate places on his body. He even joked about getting your name. Seonghwa, who did their makeup, started giving Hongjoong heavier makeup, and now he had a new piercing on his brow.

The crowd loved it, signs that were definitely not kid friendly were at the venue this night. Girls in skimpy outfits, fishnets and leather skirts. His type, and they were all vying for his attention. And he gave it. He winked and flirted, flicking his tongue out, but now after every instance, he glanced to the side of the stage and right where you were standing.

He was flirting to tease you, as if saying he could fuck anyone he wanted, rubbing it in your face.

You weren’t sure when he became an asshole, but you were going to give him a piece of his mind.

The band of course stayed and had a drink or two after the show while you oversaw the equipment back to the bus. It was mid cross country tour and you were not going to let his antics screw it up. So once it was all settled and you knew the men were back at their hotels, you went right to his room and barged in, not caring if he had a woman with him.

Which, he did. “Get out.”

“But we were just starting to get to know each other.”

“Is she someone important?” The woman on his lap, who was shirtless, asked.

“Just my manager.” He drawled, staring at you with that same angry look you couldn’t decipher. “Can this wait.”

“No. It can’t.” Blood boiling with anger you clenched your fists at your side. “Either we talk now or I had your contract over to someone else and walk out.”

That got his attention, pushing the woman off and grabbing her shirt. “Scram.” He climbed off the bed and over to you as the woman left, seeming hesitant as he stopped before you. “You wouldn’t actually do that… would you?”

“Why the hell not? It’s not like you need me! You’re getting better label offers and contracts that could really take your career to new heights. You can get any fucking woman you want, a better manager, probably one that doesn’t sleep with the bandmates so why the hell should I stick around? Because we’re friends? Ha, is that why you have been rubbing it in my face all night?” You let your insecurities and anger boil over, tears pricking your eyes.

You just didn’t feel good enough for him. You let yourself believe if you worked hard enough and gave him his dream then you deserved to stand by his side. You deserved his love.

The realization you might have been in love with him all this time shook you, a few tears breaking free from your lashes while he could only stare.

“Rub it in your face? No! No that wasn’t-” With a groan he slapped his palm against his face, running it up to pull off the red and black striped hat he had worn for the show earlier. “I was trying to make you jealous.”

“What?” Frozen in place, you gawked at him. He was trying to make you jealous?

“Yeah.” He avoided your gaze, looking down. “The teasing wasn’t working and I wasn’t sure how else to get your attention. I was too scared to approach you about it-”

“About what? Kim fucking Hongjoong what are you getting at?” Despite the threat your voice was barely a whisper, hope lodged in your throat.

He blushed, he actually blushed, playing with the hat in his hands. It was very rare you saw Hongjoong as anything other than confident and sure of himself. “I was jealous you got intimate with Wooyoung. I thought beforehand it’ll be okay as long as you stay by my side but…” He finally looked up at you, raw emotion in his eyes. “But then I realized I didn’t want anyone else to touch you like that. You’ve always been my other half. I was so sure that what we had could never die, even if we did…”

The hope blossomed in your chest and you swallowed hard. “Are you saying… you were mad and did all that because you want to be the one I fuck?”

He shrugged. “I want to be the one for you for everything. Me and you. That’s how this started. My dream isn’t anything without you, don’t you know that?” He stepped closer and reached out. “Through thick and thin it’s always you.”

You let him pull you against him, chest to chest, your breath knocked out of you. “Hongjoong… this sounds like a confession.”

“Maybe because it is?” He was already leaning in as if to kiss you; not that you were making any effort to pull away.

All it took was one moment, one kiss, and you were on the bed beneath him, lips locked and clothes flying off with a desperation you couldn’t recall seeing him with before. At least until you were completely on display for him, shy as he pulled away just to admire your body.

You tried to close your legs and cover your chest but he just shook his head and pinned your hands at your side. “I’ve waited for this, please let me have it.”

Even if you wanted to deny him, you couldn’t. His hair was a mess, made even worse now that his shirt was tossed somewhere but he still had his accessories dangling from his neck.

The sight of him like this would never grow old in your mind. Your desire and love for him, brought out by his touches, would never die.

[gambleofstars]

Electrician Reader as Vox’s Assistant (Pt. II)

₍ ⌨ ᶻᶻᶻ gambleofstars is typing ... ₎

↳ ❝ [a/n: i’m on a roll, expect a third part also haha, i kind of love this concept to be honest, not to mention i work an office job too so, pretty relatable to me. also minor content warning for smoking, but it's just casual, really] ¡! ❞

Part I

⋆♡* In fact, you liked hell, because people were much less judgmental.

⋆♡* In the overworld, your coworkers would judge you for every move. You were polite? You were a suck-up. You were cold? You were rude. You were professional? You were distant. So when you started calculating your every move? You were scheming.

⋆♡* But here? Your scheming qualities were greatly appreciated and utilized.

⋆♡* Your boss would let you stay in the conference room for business holder meetings. He doesn’t want you to know, but Vox definitely observed your reactions during these meetings. Every twitch of your brow and rolling of eyes you thought went unnoticed, were important.

⋆♡* And having a boss who sees your abilities is a sure way of making a loyal employee. Maybe this was also scheming on Vox’s part but hey, who judges who in hell?

⋆♡* If Vox’s honest, the 8am coffee and your faint groan of annoyance at his client was a bit of a highlight of his day, if you will.

⋆♡* He has to listen to either: boring meetings or other vees’ tantrums every day, so your small presence is welcome as a solidarity of someone seeing what he has to deal with.

⋆♡* (Even though his own hissy fits are no less ridiculous and much more dangerous)

⋆♡* You do get bonuses for putting up with them though. Don’t be mistaken, this is a business transaction, after all.

⋆♡* Sometimes though, you wonder who he was on earth? Or if you crossed paths in any way. You get this sentimental feeling at times that you can never explain…

★゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

“FUCK!” Vox exclaims as he slumps down on his desk (?) chair after raging about the PR management team messing up their work. Yet again. At this point, his bowtie is all messed up and his button-up is half wrinkled.

He’s still seething, but you can see the anger is slowly sizzling out. Good, you were really not in the mood for playing therapist this evening. You already had a long day of sorting out the PR nightmare that is Valentino’s social media (which was partially the reason for Vox’s current exhaustion).

Usually, you’d listen to Vox yap about 99 problems in his vicinity. Let him let it out and then distract him with an upcoming business opportunity - kinda dealing it like you would with a teenager.

For some reason though, this evening the soft breeze coming through the open windows of the office and purple dust color of the hell’s sky, you felt an olive branch form in your heart.

“Would you like a cigarette?”

It always worked for you. After the stress of sorting out numerous affairs for the Vees (primarily your boss), a cigarette felt like a piece of heaven, really. So, why not? Bonding time with your boss or whatever.

He eyes your outstretched hand that’s holding a pack of Malborry Red (delivered straight from the gluttony ring); he seems almost suspicious, which makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry boss, drugs is Mr. V’s style. This is just tobacco”

“Fuck it”

He grabs the cigarette out of the pack and sighs like a single dad of 50 kids. Before you can laugh at this pathetic little man, you get out your lighter and light the cig up as courtesy, seeing as you’re the one who offered it.

There’s a tense moment when he just looks at you. You don’t know what he’s thinking at times and this is one of them. It bothers you a bit, like you can’t read an open book.

Either way, when he takes the first drag, he slowly goes to lean over the balcony railing with his elbows as you light your own stick. You don’t join him though.

Both of you stay silent in the comfort of an otherwise empty wing. The only noise is from the city down below and the quiet whirring of Vox’s fans to filter out the nicotine-filled smoke.

It’s kind of relaxing, in all honesty.

“Maybe I should just jump off here” he says out loud. The casual tone makes you scoff with amusement as you join him on the balcony as well. You stay close to the door though.

“Please think of the company’s integrity sir” you remind him, taking a drag of your own cigarette “Also, you can’t really die here. There are 75 electricians and technicians on standby at all times.”

Vox groans and puts the screen of his head down onto his forearm, his cigarette hanging off the 50 story building with just his two fingers as a safety measurement.

“Then maybe I’ll go out of commission for a week and ignore everything and everyone for once” he concludes with the same casuality.

“You need to be present at the shareholders meeting tomorrow afternoon or it won’t commence” you explain, honestly a bit delighted in deliberately pissing him off.

“You go do it then”

“No thank you”

Another sigh and a comfortable silence. You’d think Vox fell asleep if his fans weren’t still whirring. Even though feeling pity for the rich is a bit ridiculous, you find yourself approaching him and leaning with your back on the railing.

“Tell you what boss, I think you need to present the angelic security plan by tomorrow at 4:45” you suggest, eyeing his reaction.

He looks up at you a bit confused “Right after the meeting?”

You chuckle a bit mean-spirited “What are they gonna do? Leave?”

He picks up at what you’re putting down and a wicked smile crosses his face “So that means I won’t have any meetings until Friday”

You pick up an ashtray on the coffee table next to you and hold it out for him. But seeing as he doesn’t even notice how his cig is burning away as he plans his Thursday, you pluck it out of his hands to put it out for him.

It’s almost laughable how perplexed he looks, but you resist as you put your own stick out too and place the tray back down.

“Do you need me to plan anything for Thursday sir?”

“Do you think on earth we ever crossed paths?”

Well that was out of the blue “I don’t know sir, never thought about it” that’s a lie, you’ve thought about it every time you left the office with a feeling of deja vu.

“Whatever, who gives a shit” he said, aloof and walked back into his office “You’re more useful as my assistant down here anyway”

Maybe. Not like your life was any less stressful on earth, right? (please, do note the sarcasm).

Still, watching your boss blow up like a bomb every other morning was enough entertainment to make this job amusing.

Not to mention, on earth, this fleeting moment of fondness never crossed your heart. How ironic that you find the most vulnerable part of yourself in the flaming pits of hell filled with sinners alike you.

Maybe that’s why. The fact that you found someone who can keep up the pace with your deliberate chess-piece kind of thinking with no guilt, is a bit of a blessing in disguise.

How a string of your heart happily tugs at his victories.

You won’t let him know that though.

i'm really liking writing out my office work frustrations in these small drabbles ahaha >:) anyway, my request box is open if you wanna drop by :) &lt;3

signing off, gambi 💋

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLETT (IT WAS MAROON) - CHAPTER TWO: DON'T YOU

"DON'T YOU SMILE AT ME AND ASK ME HOW I'VE BEEN. DON'T YOU SAY YOU'VE MISSED ME."

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, mentions alcohol use/abuse, mentions of drug use/abuse, minors dni

☆ WC: 4K+

☆ A/N: please heed all warnings when it comes to this fic - it's gonna be a ride of dealing with heavy topics. also, if you ever see me miss a warning, please message me to let me know.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

The days had all started to blur together for Eddie at some point.

Wake up in a new city, enter unfamiliar venues that all sort of looked the same, play the same tired riffs on his guitar that had become more habit than passion, drink himself to the point of unconsciousness in his hotel room after the shows. Rinse and repeat. Occasionally, the monotonous routine of it all would break in reprieve with an unexpected party where Eddie would find endless opportunity for more trouble. Drugs freely offered to him in private rooms, others willingly waiting on him hand and foot, women clinging to his arm in hopes of a chance of ending up in the rockstar’s bed.

They never did come back to the hotels with him. He always woke up to cold and unfamiliar beds. 

He’d stopped keeping track of most menial details. If someone were to ask him what city he was in, he’d only offer pathetic shrugs in answer. If someone inquired what the date was, he’d be lucky to even get the month right. Things like that didn’t really matter anymore. He had people for that. He had a person who took care of all his travel arrangements, only making sure he was in the right car or on the right flight. He had a person who took care of all his meals, some fancy chef he never bothered to learn the name of because he rarely touched the expensive meals. Someone to do his shopping, someone to do his emails. Someone to run his social media accounts and someone to keep his name out of the tabloids to the best of their abilities. 

You name it, he had a person. 

And at some point, between all the chaos handled and responsibilities shoveled off, Eddie Munson himself had stopped feeling like a person. 

“Munson, are you even listening to me?” 

No. He hadn’t been. He had been staring at an empty space on the shelf across the room, a clean circle formed by an object that no longer sat amongst the layer of dust. The sun was hitting it just right so even with the height, he could see the contrast in the wood where dust hadn’t been able to reach for some period of time. He hadn’t been listening – he’d been wondering what object had once occupied the space, what thing had been lost. Or maybe removed. What had been taken away from the shelf. 

It was probably just a vase, or a meaningless trophy. Something shiny without meaning to his agent. 

“Something about a tour, yeah?” he guesses baselessly, “You were asking me about tour dates?” 

Matt, his agent, scowls, “Not even close.”

Eddie waits silently as he looks to the older man, leaving an empty space in the conversation for him to continue on. 

Empty space. It was funny, the way nothingness could be so suffocating. The nothingness on the shelf that had suffocated all of Eddie’s attention, the current silence batting between him and his agent that was gripping his throat in irritation. 

Matt didn’t say another word. He was going to make Eddie contribute, to beg and barter to be let back in on information he would have been privy to if he had just been listening. 

It made a sigh of annoyance leave Eddie's lips, “Then what were you saying?” 

He was just doing his job. Matt had been a good enough agent to Eddie, to the entirety of Corroded Coffin, but he’d never catch any of the guys saying so. Not even Jeff, the kindest of the boys. And especially not Eddie, the roughest of the members.  

Matt had been hired two years ago, right at the tail end of the tour that had sky-rocketed all of the newfound fame. He was older, more experienced, better equipped to handle a band on the rise as quickly as Corroded Coffin was. A salt and pepper beard that spoke business, thin wire frame glasses that he always let rest just slightly lower than necessary on the bridge of his nose so he could look up at the boys over them with that specific look of disappointment only a father could muster. Heavy sighs when the boys were lashing out, muted patience every time he’d requested in person meetings with Eddie specifically only to slide another unpleasant magazine cover across his desk. 

For a while, all that father figure potential had made something ache within Eddie. Made him think of someone back home, consider the disappointment someone back in rural Indiana was experiencing just the same in him. But Matt wasn’t a smoker, he had a head full of neat and quipped silver hair, and his voice wasn’t very gruff when he lectured Eddie on why what he did was wrong. 

And most of all – Matt, unlike someone back home, still spoke to Eddie. It was only due to a paycheck, out of obligation more than genuine caring for his well being, but an incoming phone call is still a phone call all the same. 

Eddie had hated him for every single second of those two years. He hadn’t wanted someone new involved in the band’s business, but it had been necessary. Because change, according to Jeff, was necessary. 

Eddie fucking hated change. 

“I was discussing the release, Eddie,” Matt sighs and adjusts his glasses to perch in that damn fatherly position, looking up from the paperwork on his desk before him, “We need to start planning the album launch.” 

“What about it?” Eddie sinks further into the uncomfortable office chair, trying to keep his eyes focused on the large oak desk before him rather than that shelf. He doesn’t need to keep reminiscing on things that are missing, “We release the single, we release the album, we go on tour. Same thing we did last time.” 

“We were actually thinking about a release party.” 

He says it expectantly, as if the promise of a party should entice Eddie. And Eddie supposes that he brought that expectation about himself. 

“I don’t want an album release party.” 

They don’t get it. They never really do. The drugs, the alcohol, the women that never make it off the club’s front steps with him – they think of these things as Eddie’s indulgent vices. Things he realized he had the money and the status for finally, and so he’d taken to gorging himself. They think of them as treats to dangle before him. They think of them as pleasures, as rewards, even as punishments when they threaten to take them away as if he’s a child to be controlled. 

They almost get it. They’re so close to getting it. 

Eddie’s eyes find that blank space amongst photographs of other clients and rewarded plaques for albums gone golden, “Why the fuck should we start throwing parties now? It’s just an album.” 

Younger Eddie claws at his throat and chest alike, screaming ferociously at the way he’s dragged down the significance of the music. But younger Eddie isn’t the one in this chair, the boy who had started a band out of a friend’s garage and had spent endless nights up late giddily writing songs about sticking it to the man has long since died. Eddie buried him years ago, and never bothered with a gravestone. 

“It’s your sophomore album, and it’s highly anticipated,” Matt argues, the space between his brows creasing with both stress and confusion, “We’d be idiots to not make a big deal of it.” 

“If it’s already highly anticipated, we don’t need to make a big deal out of it.” 

“We’ve already hired an agency. We have a meeting with a planner tomorrow to help with all arrangements.” 

Another change, another person. 

“I don’t want a party,” Eddie goes stoic, white knuckling the arms of the chair he sits in as his teeth begin to grind each other in a desperate attempt to reign in his temper. It’s only acceptable when he’s drunk, when there’s cameras and the image of a rowdy rockstar serves to garner the band more attention, “Cancel the meeting.” 

Matt pulls off his glasses completely, leaning forward with hunched shoulders as he pinches that now empty bridge of his nose, “This isn’t negotiable. This is happening with or without you-”

“Like Hell is it happening without me,” Eddie snaps immediately, temper now flaring and tugging on the fragile leash he had on it, “It’s my fucking music, my fucking band-” 

“The band has already agreed.”

Eddie’s anger hits a brick wall. Matt’s gaze is unstaggering as he lets the revelation settle amongst the dust. 

The band has already agreed.

This wasn’t Matt coming to Eddie first to pitch an idea. This wasn’t a meeting to seek out approval. 

Eddie was the last to know. He was simply the last in the lineup, an obstacle to take care of for a plan he didn’t have the capability to derail. 

“I don’t care,” he spits out in disguised desperation, “I don’t want a pa-”

“It’s happening,” Matt repeats himself, not backing down even as he watches Eddie’s anger rise, “I’m sorry, Eddie. It’s happening. I expect you to be in attendance at the meeting tomorrow – I’ll send a car.” 

Eddie’s eyes are no longer focused on the blank space on the shelf. They’re zeroed in on Matt’s pupils, looking him right back in the eyes as he sees an empty pocket there, too. Something missing. Something lost. 

His only option is to lose this fight. This is a battle that must be lost in order to win the war. A war that everyone else is unaware of, a war that has been raged mostly only between Eddie’s own two ears. 

Something missing, something lost. 

Eddie’s grin as he raises his white flag is salacious, aware of the bloodshed to come.

Let it happen, he thinks bitterly. Let them watch it burn. I’ve got nothing to lose. 

Eddie gets what he wants — the meeting ends suddenly upon his giving in. 

And so another routine begins; Eddie is dismissed, Eddie is rounded up into a car, Eddie is left on the front door step of his apartment building with a doorman who doesn’t even smile at the rockstar these days. He’s probably seen Eddie at his worst one too many times, stumbling in drunk and incoherent, lucky that the paps had given up swarming the building this last month.

“Morning, Fred,” Eddie still greets him regardless, grinning behind dark sunglasses, wiggling his fingers in a taunt.

The doorman’s name is most certainly not Fred. Eddie forgot his name within his first week living here, though. And greeting the familiar face with a new name every time brought a little reprieve amongst Eddie’s tedious schedule of repetition. 

“It’s three in the afternoon,” the man replies in a flat tone.

“Ah,” Eddie pauses by the standing desk, “In that case – good afternoon, Frank.” 

The driver is long gone, probably eager to end his short day. Eddie couldn’t care less, lingering just a few seconds longer in the warm sun outside before he locks himself away in his self-built prison for the night. 

The man, certainly not Frank based on the unimpressed look he wears, forces out a stiff, “Good afternoon, Mr. Munson.” 

It’s Eddie’s cue to leave him alone. To walk away and stop pestering. 

When Eddie was younger, he would have loved the game. He would have stayed planted and seen how much he could truly bother the poor man. A pest in its truest form, he would have hounded the man from the first day he’d forgotten his name until he had relearned his name. It never would have carried on this long – a whole year of being too prideful to just admit the game he was playing at. 

Unmarked grave. That spirit, that essence, would lay restlessly beneath soil for another day. Another month. Another year. Another lifetime. 

Eddie’s apartment is on the top floor of his building, making his knuckle ache when he punches the 10th button on the elevator. His stomach lurches as the mechanics carry him up, and he tells himself it’s just gravity resisting; it couldn’t possibly be loneliness catching flight within him, making its presence known with each increase of distance he puts between himself and others who dwell on the streets. He’d had the option to move into the same building as the rest of the band, each boy having taken turns in groveling when he’d announced he’d be moving out of his old apartment. He had turned every single one down.

His old apartment. That small one-bedroom apartment that still exists on the other side of town, the one he can’t pass the building of and deliberately demands all his drivers avoid the street of. It never really felt like just his. Even when he returned to it empty. It was never just his. It had already been tainted as something more, and he’d dished out quite the pretty show of money to get out of his lease early. It had only taken him paying up front with cash for the remaining months of his lease, a price that at the time had felt a bit light. There had been half an amount missing. Half a responsibility handed off to someone else. Someone his mind can’t risk to think about, not tonight.

But his new apartment doesn’t feel like his either. 

And with each echoing footstep from the sole of his heavy boots, each click of each extensive lock that had been installed into his front door, he knows who he’s going to think about. Even before he pours the whiskey. Even before he catches sight of an old framed photo, folded with care and intention inside a frame to only see three quarters of the original picture. 

Himself in the center, Gareth with crossed arms leaning into the camera’s view on his left, and a wild hand in the blurry corner that surely belonged to none other than Dustin Henderson. And if anyone viewing the old frame squinted, truly leaned down to focus, they’d catch it — the phantom hand’s nimble fingers curled around Eddie’s right shoulder, and the rubber toe of a shoe, creased from the wearer perching up on their tip-toes. The tiniest of details of someone no longer visible from the fold.

His night was always going to end up this way. Thinking about the ones he’s lost, even as they still exist within reach. The ones he had given away. The ones that were missing. 

An empty sliver of space in the frame, where the missing quarter of the photo would fit perfectly. He doesn’t have to wonder where that absent item, person, has gone.

—

In deciding that the only way forward was to raise Hell, Eddie should have considered the consequences. 

Agreeing to the meeting meant a plethora of inconveniences, one after another, hit after hit against Eddie’s already sour mood. 

It begins with an early wakeup call. 

Pounding on the front door of Eddie’s too big and too empty apartment wakes him up, head still spinning from the night before. He hadn’t drunk that much – at least, that’s what he had convinced himself after his fifth glass of whiskey straight. 

He hadn’t even poured the liquor over ice. Leaving something to be desired, something missing, but telling himself he deserved the burn all the same. 

After he had been rushed through his morning, Matt himself arrived to escort Eddie to the meeting as if he had sensed the impending trouble from the easy succession the day before, it only got worse. The headache lingered, and Matt only made it pound against Eddie’s temples more aggressively as he spent the entire drive going over details that were entirely insignificant to the frontman. Nothing more than talk of a release party Eddie was still adamantly against. 

The black and tinted SUV had never more resembled a prison on wheels. 

“I figure we have time,” Matt focuses down on his phone, thumbs flying as he no doubt replies to an email in relation to this entire plot, “We haven’t announced the album yet, or the single. Release date is set for…” he pauses, checking the calendar on his small screen, “November sixteenth. So we’ve got about six months. We outlined more of the specific timeline in the contract with the company, but I’m thinking the first single should be released in three months…”

Eddie tunes him out slowly but surely, his tone eventually muddling with the hum of the tires on asphalt. He knows when the album deadline is. He knows when the first single will be released, having been involved in every step of the mastering process. 

He knows, he knows, he knows.

That’s the problem.

He knows this album better than the back of his own hand. He’s painstakingly aware of the memory of writing every single line, formulating every single guitar riff and going as far as to override Gareth on the drums when it came to perfecting beats during recording. He’s acutely aware of the ticking countdown in the back of his mind until this album no longer belongs to just him, to just the band – the day it becomes something for others to own, to analyze, to decide to relate to their own experiences. 

The thought makes Eddie physically ill. 

Because it’s not their experiences or their emotions to reclaim. It isn’t their blood, their sweat, their tears across every track. It’s not even the rest of the band’s – it’s Eddie’s. They had all known the first day he’d stormed into the studio, beginning the process two years ago, this was going to be his journey to take. The band had become a vessel, the album a labor of his own demise. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts and swirling nausea, he doesn’t realize the car has come to a full stop until Matt’s hand comes down on his shoulder. 

“You ready?” 

No. But I never will be. 

“Let’s just get this shit over with,” Eddie mumbles, shrugging off the palm meant to be comforting but only being smothering. 

The ache only returns whenever someone touches him. Whether it be Matt, or Jeff, or Gareth, or Grant, or random women at unnamed clubs Eddie hardly remembers the insides of. The ache of something missing, something lost, something he’s tried to forget but can’t seem to erase from the back of his mind. 

The building is nice. A large skyscraper to fit in amongst the rest of the city skyline around it, no lack of large ceiling-to-floor windows or modern decor. Something about the minimalistic approach, abstract artwork and fake plants that are almost convincing if it weren’t for their plasticky shine beneath fluorescent lights, leaves Eddie feeling even more empty than when he first entered the building. He didn’t even realize that was possible until he caught sight of one of the receptionist’s blank smiles. 

Not a single word is spoken during the elevator ride up to the sixth floor. It’s fine; Eddie has already spent the last two years trying to find solstice in the silence, he can survive another minute.

He’s almost prepared to ask Matt if the rest of the band is even here, but the question is answered for him after he’s guided through a series of hallways by another soulless receptionist, only to enter a large conference room in which two security guards flank the door of and the rest of Corroded Coffin occupy.

“Finally,” Gareth says, far too dramatically, as if Eddie was late. 

Matt had made sure he arrived a full five minutes early. A personal record, Eddie’s pretty sure. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry to keep you all waiting,” Eddie sarcastically snaps, bowing for a bit of theatrics before he rounds the long table to go for the empty seat at the dead center of his friends. Right between Gareth and Grant, Eddie slips into a stiff-cushioned roller chair that creaks beneath his weight, “What is this place, anyways?” 

“An event planning agency,” Jeff answers from the other side of Gareth. 

Matt takes the seat beside Grant. 

“You do know what the meeting is about, right?” Gareth asks, genuinely quirking an eyebrow with such little faith in Eddie. 

It rubs him raw, offended despite understanding where his bandmates were coming from. He had become fairly disconnected from the business aspect of the band for a while now, “Of fucking course, I do. I’m not entirely oblivious.” 

“You sure do act like it,” Gareth mutters, barely audible, in return.

He doesn’t reply. Not with his immediate offense, and certainly not with the snarky reply that begins to materialize in his mind the longer he sits with the insinuation. Even if it hurts, Eddie won’t let it show. He numbs it, compartmentalizes it, packs the emotion tightly away and leaves behind nothing more than an empty space. 

Matt anxiously checks his watch, Craig begins to tap his knuckles against the large table before them all, Jeff begins to bounce his leg, and Gareth seems hellbent on now pretending that Eddie doesn’t exist. 

Don’t let it show. Even if it hurts. 

“They’re late-” Matt starts to mutter just as the door finally swings open. Eddie doesn’t move an inch, keeping his arms crossed and posture slack in his chair, as if he couldn’t care less. 

The person who storms in first clearly cares. “I’m so sorry, gentleman, there was just some… complications with your security measures-” 

Eddie doesn’t care who this woman is. He doesn’t care for the sudden sweep of her overwhelming perfume that follows her into the room, he doesn’t care for the bleeding edges of her mauve lipstick, he doesn’t care for the startling slickness of her pin straight blonde hair. She smooths her free hand over a pencil skirt he also feels little opinion towards, nothing more than another addition to a dreadfully boring corporate dress code. She’s nothing special – she doesn’t take his breath away. 

It’s the person that follows her into the conference room that sucks all the air out of his lungs. 

Frizzy hair, glaring eyes over a shoulder at one of the guards. Arms full of manila folders and a pen tucked behind the ear. A far more casual attire of jeans and a wrinkle-free shirt that fits well. If his eyes could tear away from the person’s face that had yet to turn cheek towards him, he’d probably glance down to find a pair of comfortable sneakers rather than heels like the first woman wore. 

A ghost. A phantom from Eddie’s past that had spent the last two years haunting every dream, every melody, every crowd, every drunken night. The one face that ruined every other set of eyes that had ever landed on him with the worst intentions.

You. 

You haven’t spotted him yet, not like he’s spotted you. You’re full of fire and spunk, so unlike the last time he’d seen you with his own two eyes. No burning cheeks like the first time he’d met you. No downturned gaze full of brimming loss or sadness, only a fierce gaze you won’t back down from. 

And then, from across a deathly still room, your head turns and your eyes find his. 

Like the first breath of wind amongst an impending hurricane, your fire exits you in a singular exhale. Eddie swears it travels across the room for him. Snaking its way over more than just physical distance, reaching out for him in a whisper of loss – no elongated conference table, no narrow room, no amount of time could deter its pathway to him. 

You, who he hadn’t seen in over two years. You, who had once been his end all and be all. You, who had chewed him up and spit him out without ever once sharpening your teeth. 

The entire room pauses for the two of you. Every single member of Corroded Coffin is staring, the corporate machine in a pencil skirt stills, and Matt glances at Eddie with blissful unawareness.

An empty space on a shelf, surrounded in dust. A glass half-empty, lacking in ice. A cold bed and an echoing hallway, a picture frame never quite filled as it should be. 

Something lost, something missing.

All Eddie is capable of is the sigh of your name.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar

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[pellelavellan]

@quiisquiliae from here

"There is always a lesser evil." The inquisitor insisted.

He expected backlash for the choices made at the masquerade ball from a number of people: his advisers, the people of Orlais, shit even people who weren't Orlesian. He'd done what he had to, and as far as he was concerned had done nothing he wasn't told to do. He was told to make a decision, and he did. The circumstances were not perfect, but he saw an opportunity fall in front of him and he took it.

He wasn't happy about cozying up to people who would certainly sell him for a crust of bread, doing them favors, smiling and thanking them for backhanded compliments. He hated every second of it. But that was the game had to be played. It was necessary to play people, get them to think he was on uninformed of their political squabble or they'd keep their mouths shut. If he knew anything about the sorts of people that wandered that ballroom, it was that they loved to talk about themselves, and thought their opinions and ambitions were the most interesting thing to be heard. So he let them think whatever they wanted if it got them babbling.

Truth was he had done his research, and he had actually hoped he might meet Briala at the ball. There were questions that needed answers. Some she could tell him herself and some her body language and inflections would tell for her.

He needed to know if somewhere down there she still cared for the Empress, or the Empress for her. He got that answer, and he used that information accordingly.

"I know what you must think. I acted with an agenda to impose. I manipulated two women who have no business together into forgiving each other, one of which as I see it has no right to forgiveness. I put in a precarious situation to prove a point, and used their affections for each other against them. But do you not think it is better this way for them to see that two people, and one who they would otherwise overlook can work together? Do you not see that men who will do anything to seize power are better off removed before they become a deeper problem?" He sighed. Talon wasn't really the person to argue this with.

It wasn't like Talon was deeply involved in the political turmoil that was the Orlesian court, or that he could perchance offer a better solution. He had asked a question, he hadn't accused him or anything.

"Listen, I don't know if I did the right thing. That's kind of the shitty part about all of this isn't it?" He was very stressed, visibly so. Pacing around the war room babbling all his concerns to no one in particular. The feelings he had were somewhere between anger and fear. Angry that he was certain some would see his actions as a threat, or a ploy to force his ideals onto an entire country, and afraid of the consequences those notions would create. "I don't think anyone knows really. We all just do things and hope they don't come back to bite us in the ass. This certainly will, and I know, I fucking know it will!"

[alphacentaurinebula]

I need to talk about the Edinburgh minisode, because I have SO. MANY. THOUGHTS.

It's sort of an afterthought minisode in some ways. Before the Beginning gives us so much giddy joy (despite the ominous foreshadowing). 1941 gives us all the giddy romance. Job gives us so much insight into both characters histories and how they came to be who they are and work together...

The Resurrectionists gives us a morality play, basically, but also gives us Crowley high (and HIGH) on laudanum and plenty of bright shiny bits...

...so the morality side maybe doesn't get as much focus.

Which is a shame. Because the Edinburgh episode demonstrates perfectly the flaw in Aziraphale's understanding of the world that leads to him going to heaven.

When we start out in 1827, we are introduced to grave robbing and Aziraphale immediately decides that it is Bad (a sin). He does all he can to prevent the young woman he meets and likes from doing Bad (sinning), assumably to try to pave her way into Heaven. And Crowley tries to help her with her grave robbing, much to Aziraphale's chagrin.

Grave Robbing = Bad; Crowley supports Grave Robbing; Crowley=Bad

When they meet Mr Surgeon, and Crowley starts to ask some pointed questions meant to poke holes in Aziraphale's certainty, he flips entirely the other way, without noticing any of the other moral greyness (like the fact that Mr Surgeon would never take the risks or do the dirty work himself. Which is pretty important, since we learn in Edinburgh in the present that Mr Surgeon was so convinced of his own superiority and importance later on in his life that he started murdering people (probably "unfortunates" like Elspeth) when he couldn't get corpses fast enough).

Grave Robbing = Good; Crowley supports Grave Robbing; Crowley = Good

When he is then confronted with the idea of selling Wee Morag's body, and Crowley points out it is different when it's someone you know, Aziraphale is basically frozen in indecision. He doesn't know what the good thing is anymore.

He spouts the party line about the fact that starting off poor somehow gives Elspeth an advantage when it comes to Heaven, but is unable to explain why or how, not even to himself. And when he's put on the spot as Elspeth tries to kill herself, he doesn't have any arguments to offer.

CROWLEY: Say something! That... convinces her that poverty is ineffably wonderful and that life is worth living. Go on!

But despite all the moral ambiguity present throughout the episode, Aziraphale still sees everything as black and white. First, grave robbing is bad, then it is good. First, Crowley is bad (when he has the opposite position to Aziraphale), then he is good (when he has the same position). Aziraphale never understands Crowley's constant questions are a challenge to the very idea that there IS a 'good' in this situation. He never examines or questions the complex systems of class and sexism and capitalism which force Elspeth to this desperate recourse, or the laws which prevent Mr Surgeon from accessing bodies for research via legal means.

He doesn't see the systemic injustic. He just sees individual moral actors making either good or bad choices.

(and just to deviate slightly from the Edinburgh minisode -- while he says he understands that sometimes things are not just black or white but also grey, in 1941 - I don't actually think his grey and Crowley's grey mean the same thing. The 'greyest' thing that Aziraphale does in 1941 is help a showgirls theatre and hide information from Hell - this is not the same thing as truly seeing that some situations simply don't have a Right Thing to do, or understanding that systems shape and control individuals' decisions, so the idea that humans all have the same ability to choose Right is an illusion.

AZIRAPHALE: You know, they cannot be truly holy unless they also get the opportunity to be wicked.

So it is no wonder at all that when the Metatron offers him the opportunity to run Heaven, he doesn't see a broken institution or systemic oppression/injustice, but rather a series of bad actors preventing Heaven from achieving the Goodness it is meant to represent.

[revvethasmythh]

So I went and watched all the possible endings, and it confirmed something I had been thinking, which is that the redemption ending choice is, perhaps, the most immediately regretful one--but that they all come with some form of regret. In the redemption ending, Rook has to knowingly deny themselves the catharsis of retribution (should they desire it, which, at least for me it felt difficult not to) in order to offer Solas one last, painful chance to do the right thing. That willful denial of your own catharsis feels like an immediate regret. Giving Solas the opportunity to pursue atonement might very well be the best choice all around, but it is also incredibly painful to offer that to someone who has done so many terrible things (not a small amount to you personally). Why does he deserve another chance? Especially when so many dead (including a beloved mentor) lie in his wake? Which, I suppose, is the point: he doesn't. But you offer it anyway and it SUCKS ASS, because how could it not?

I don't know how this plays with other story choices (a sacrificed Davrin or a Harding who embraced her anger, for example), but within the context of my own choices, I can imagine an immediate satisfaction to either tricking or fighting him--especially the trick ending, where you can actively name drop Varric--but it feels like the sort of thing that would feel worse as more time passes. Once you've calmed down and are able to ask yourself if that's what the people you've lost really wanted. Varric, in Regret Superhell, didn't want vengeance. He just wanted his friend to walk a better path. And Harding always believed there was another chance for anyone, so long as you kept reaching a hand out for them--even when it sucked ass. So the redemption ending feels like a sort of indignance, an instant regret for not doing worse, for not getting comeuppance, for being forced to eschew satisfaction (related: I wonder if the Inquisitor feels those things as well coming out of this ending, considering how long they've lived under the shadow of Solas' actions). Conversely, the other two endings feel like an immediate satisfaction, because you got to trick the trickster with all the wits Varric taught you, or because you finally got to punch him in the face and it felt really good. But I feel like those endings would come with a creeping regret, something that sneaks up on you later, especially when remembering the fallen and what they would have wanted you to do. Ultimately, because of that, it feels like no ending is devoid of regret. Which I suppose, is rather thematic.