#they need to bring back sexism for this purpose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pampushky · 3 months ago

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ive been watching him for my entire life

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 1 - 6.1k

TW: Scene of attempted SA, and the abuser never referred to by name. Sexism (but in the A/B/O sense). Self-harm and depressive episodes.

Themes: Exploration of what disabilities, PTSD, and chronic pain look like in the A/B/O world. If you have input about what that may look like, dm me. Slow burn. So much so you're not sure if it's even burning at times.

also yeah Loscar is canon it's my au I can do what I fucking want

Leave your feedback in the comments/feel free to dm me about that shit if you don't feel comfy dropping an anon or comment.

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Mid January. 2024 Paris.

The hallway outside the trial room in the FIA headquarters is deceptively calm. Silent, save for the voices in the room behind you. You’d given your statement. Explained everything that had happened during your past two years at Williams, first with Nicholas Latifi, and then with Logan. Trying to do something with a car that was, in the kindest words, a tractor. Logan sits beside you, with a similar thousand-yard stare, just disassociating into space. Trying to trace the pattern of the carpet.

“I should have been more— more perceptive,” Logan croaks, and you squeeze his hand, and shake your head. “Jesus. I— I tried to tell them everything. Everything I remembered from before–-”

“Thank you,” your voice is faint. Weak. Unlike you.

“Of course,” Logan squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back. “Always.”

You still remember the pit wall. Having to brush against his elbows occasionally. Knowing he did it on purpose some days, trying to provoke you. Going so far as to send you things coated in his scent when you were in heat, to try and provoke a bond sickness. Saved only by your brothers, curled close to you, letting you sleep in their arms as your fever raged. You were lucky your heats weren’t— weren’t consistently like that. More so just like a terrible fever and migraine, thanks to your medication.

One pill to keep you from entering a real heat, morning. Two pills to help ease the brain fog from your head injury, morning and night. Another single pill to be taken whenever the pain gets too bad for you to function, any time of day. Anxiety medication, morning. Hormonal amplifiers to make up for the scent glands damaged by the fire all those years ago, morning and night. Scent blockers to mask your scent, morning. In total eight pills a day at your worst, perhaps nine.

You croon nervously, despite knowing you’re safe here. That just inside the room behind you, past the heavy oak doors, are your grandfather and your uncles brothers. They’d never let anything happen to you. Not again.

His elbow brushing against yours during the last lap of the race, encouraging Alex, despite his pace and his spot on the grid. Logan thanking you for being his engineer and friend during everything. You sit along the pit wall, silently, as celebrations rock the grid, and he appears in front of you, trying to make small talk, before following as you try to escape it, not wanting to talk to him, even as he looms behind you. His grip on the back of your neck, smothering the only bond you had, to Niki, to your pack.

The near-toxic scent smothers you because of how close he is. Pushing you behind a stack of tires as you try to fight back, baring your teeth and thrashing while he manages to shove a need into your upper thigh, right through your pants. You yelp, and kick, trying to get any attention towards you, while most of the garage is empty. You feel him tearing at the collar of your shirt, ripping at it, pushing you into the tires. You bring your head into his nose, feeling the gush of blood against your face as he squeals and falls backward a few steps.

You can’t smell anything besides his blood on your face, the metallic scent making you gag. When he turns to look at you, his face stained red, you growl, your lips drawn back over your teeth, trying to edge along the wall to get away from him.

With a snarl, he leaps at you, pinning you to the wall, both hands wrapped around your neck, cutting off your airway. You thrash, and just as you think you’re going to pass out, the weight of his hands disappears from your neck. You stay where you are, leaning against the wall. Watching as Logan snarls furiously, pinning the other Alpha to the ground with ease, his long canines bared and coming close to the man’s neck, threatening to tear and rip and end whatever pathetic life he lived—

“I should have done more,” Logan leans down, his head in his hands.

“You almost killed him,” you whisper, and that seems to startle the driver even more. “You almost killed him. I think that’s enough.”

The two of you sit in silence until Logan’s lawyer and his manager leave the room, closing the door softly behind them. For the brief moment that the doors are open, you hear him screaming his voice hoarse as the judgment comes ever closer.

“The FIA won’t be pressing any charges,” The lawyer says softly while Logan continues to keep his head down. “Neither will—”

“Don’t say his name,” Logan looks up, interrupting the lawyer before he can even say something. There’s a fire in his words, a rare fury. “Don’t. I don’t— she doesn’t—”

“I apologize, I forgot about that.” The lawyer says, glancing over to look at you. You look presentable now. Nothing like the blurry images the paparazzi had gotten of you without any of your makeup to hide all the burns. Your skin looks more even, the uneven bumps and indents from the mottled scarring across your jaw partially hidden by concealer and foundation. The scars get more severe as they cross your upper cheek and the top of your nose. That’s the only part that’s harder to hide, even when you’ve covered it fully in makeup.

“It’s time to go, Logan,”

He looks at you with uncharacteristic panic. He’s the opposite of most alpha stereotypes. You’re glad Oscar’s found his way back to him, and that you’ve gotten to witness the sweet courtship start. He pulls you into a tight hug, and that’s when you finally crumble.

“You’re gonna be okay without me,” You whisper, voice shaking. “You’re gonna be fucking fantastic, Lo.”

“I’m so sorry,” Is all he can murmur, practically folding over you and holding you closer. “Maybe if I—”

“It’s okay. I’ll still be on the grid.”

“But it won’t be the same,”

“No. It won’t,” You choke out, as Logan pulls away. Both of you newly aged by the experience. You won’t be there to defend Logan from James. Logan won’t be there to understand the odd homesickness for a country you only partially remember, stuck between European and American.

You feel small as Logan is led away by his manager and lawyer. His scent fading as the seconds turn to minutes, and then suddenly an hour has passed. Leaving you alone in the hallway until your brothers can get there. By the time they do arrive (two hours later), you’ve been chewing on your fingers and palms enough to make them bleed. Mathias and Lukas know you well enough to have already brought bandages and towels to help clean and treat the new wounds. Before this, you’d not been chewing or clawing at yourself for nearly a year and a half. Your therapist had looked devastated when you’d turned in the little chip she’d given you for not self-harming.

There’s screaming from inside the room, before Niki bursts out, snarling a remark over his shoulder before he catches your eye, and softens. Your sire, despite his age, despite the fact that he has been told by his doctor many times that he needs to calm down, to be kinder to his aging body and new kidney, despite everything that should be holding him back, bends to knock his forehead against yours. One of his hands comes to the nape of your neck, softly rubbing the paternal bond he’d left there, claiming you as his child rather than a descendant.

“Maus,” The feel of his scarred hands is familiar, comforting. His scent is even more so. Like spruce trees and slightly burnt sugar. Looking at you with red-rimmed irises that show his designation, his secondary sex, while he looms over you protectively. He sees the new bandages around your hands and the new bulkiness of your sleeves.

“Oh, Maus…” Niki leans down, and croons

If he wasn’t in active recovery from the kidney transplant, he’d likely be curling around you in his wolf form, just as he had done when you were little and first placed in his care after—

“You’re safe here. You’re safe.”

It’s moments like this that you’re glad that your sense of smell was so destroyed after the fire. You’re grateful that you could only catch the faint scent of those within a small area around you. Because all you can smell is your father, your sire, who would burn the world down for you if it meant making you smile. That Mathias and Lukas— your brothers, not uncles, never uncles, too close to be considered just uncles to you— mark a silent guard beside you, Lukas in canine form, letting you hide your face in his dusty blond-brown fur. Mathias stands silently beside you, but with his hand held tightly in yours.

Memories of your first moments with them. The terror. Sleeping in the pillow forts and nests you’d built up until this very point in time. Always your guardians. Always by your side. In the hospital and beyond.

You’re chewing on your thumbnail, claw extended, and Niki looks at you with a worried gaze, before softly reaching over and squeezing your shoulder.

The door opens again, and you hear shouting in a voice that haunted your dreams from within the room and then more of it, very quickly coming in your direction. Not the exit that you’d been told he would be made to use when the judgment was finally placed.

You can just barely catch a whiff of the scent— overpowering and choking you as you tried to work, tried to examine all of the strategies that could help Logan succeed in last year’s car while the scent makes it hard to think, to breathe— before it’s nearly upon you entirely, with the Alpha who had made your past two years with Williams utter hell staring down at you, enraged, trying to push past your brothers to get to you, snarling and snapping at you as Niki shoves you forcefully behind him.

“Tell them— tell them you accepted my courtship! You wanted this—”

Two officials start to drag him away. But you can still remember his scent. How weak he’d made you feel when you were trying to work on the car. Hating how he had purred and crooned with your every movement. Making sure you were always choking on his scent. Lukas rumbles in anger beside you, rising to stare down the man, hiding you from further view with his giant body. But of course he continues.

“You accepted my gifts! You wanted this—”

No. You hadn’t wanted any of this. You’d just wanted to work on the cars. To help your friend grow and achieve.

“As if anyone else would have you—”

Mathias snarls, and you can only pray that your grip on his hand is enough to stop him from lunging at the offending man.

“— you useless, crippled omega—”

Niki lunges this time, snarling, the old man’s frankly colossal canine form pining him to the ground with ease. Your sire's teeth just millimeters from tearing his throat out, stopped only by your panicked whine. Such a rare noise from you. You won’t have those you care about kill this man, this weak excuse for an Alpha. You don’t want to think of the heavy scent of his blood when you’re near them, seeking comfort from your family.

“Get him out of my sight,” Niki groans, when just a second later, court officers charge from the room. His canine form melts away, and he huffs, sitting down in one of the stiff chairs with a wince that you are hyper-aware of. Mathias looks at you with deep worry in his eyes. But you’re numb. Watching him get dragged away. Your thigh twinges from where he’d stabbed you with the needle. Part of it had broken off inside of you, removed at the hospital while the FIA officials tried to smooth things over.

It twinges again when the verdict is read as you’re gently shuffled back into the room. He’s not allowed back in. It’s been shown he can’t control himself.

“—Guilty on all counts, and shall be henceforth blacklisted from employment by all motorsports under the jurisdiction of the FIA. Omega Lauda shall be awarded a sum off—”

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as you hold your arms tightly. Claws slowly sinking into the fresh bandages and redoing all the damage your brothers had worked so hard to fix.

Early February 2024. Woking.

Lando knows he’s a big deal. He’s one of the most popular drivers, with a rabid fanbase that was willing to go to bat for him for just about anything, even when he was the one at fault. Edits were made when he so much as breathed. All that he doesn’t have is that elusive first win, but he has a feeling this season will be different. Be it how refreshed he feels after spending some time back in his childhood home with his parents and siblings, just to spend time as a pack for the first time in several years, all six of them together.

His family is perfect. An alpha and omega set of parents, with two alphas and two omegas for pups, all rather successful. His brother, a former world champion in kart racing, now with a loving mate and the cutest pup in the world. His sister, a showjumper quickly rising through the ranks. All successful and perfect and beautiful. Lando can’t help but puff his chest out a bit, because that’s his pack.

There’s an odd buzz in the air when he arrives, and through the giant glass windows, he can see how many people are gathered in the building, all wearing bright orange. As he comes closer, the overflowed parking has been filled. He parks his car in his specific spot, right next to Oscar, who’s already there, just not by his car. He’s just about ready to head to the on-site cafe when Andrea pops out of nowhere to drag him by his arm somewhere, cursing slightly.

“Mate— what’s got you in such a mood—” Lando whines, already feeling like the team principal is doing way too much this early in the morning.

“Did you not read any of your emails or texts?” Andrea hisses, the Beta turning on his heels to grab Lando by both his shoulders, looking straight into the young driver’s eyes with a fury only seen when he’d been messing around in the garage and nearly broke the experimental back wing during testing in the summer. “Lando Norris, I could gut you right now—”

“What did I do?” Lando whines again, high-pitched and childish, and Andrea runs his hands down his face, cursing fluently in Italian, while also asking the Virgin Mary for patience, based on how many times he hears a hail mary tumble past the team principal’s lips.

“You’re late. An hour late. Oscar, Zak, and I have been calling you for nearly that entire time and you’ve been silent.”

“...Late for what?” Lando utters. His phone had been dead, constantly forgotten to get plugged into the charger. Today had been no different.

“O Maria, dammi la pazienza e la forza— your new race engineer is being introduced? Today?”

“What?! But I don’t even know who he is—”

“It’s a she, first of all, and maybe you’d know if you checked your emails—”

The conversation must be attracting attention, because soon, Oscar is also by his side, looking mildly disappointed in the older man. The omega’s scent has just the hint of rotting oranges, but other than that, it’s normal, like seasoned salt, charcoal, and oranges.

“Wonderful first impression, really. She’s already thrilled to not have gotten to talk to you yet,” Oscar chimes in, and Lando groans, sending a withering glare in his direction that just bounces off of the Australian. “Now you just get to improvise your way through a panel about how excited you are to be working with her.”

“I don’t even know who she is!” Lando finally barks, his scent turning a bit panicked. It’s like a thunderstorm and a hot, dry heat, smelling how burnt food tastes.

“Mate, you’re fucking kidding me—,” Oscar starts, only to be interrupted by a polite cough behind Lando.

“She is right behind you, Mr. Norris,” The voice is monotone. Icy. Damn near robotic. And he knows it immediately because you’re the current star of most engineering circles around the grid and the damn talk of every single person they’d interviewed to replace Will when it became clear Lando needed a change. You’d managed to pull decency and consistent points into Williams of all teams. It baffles him, honestly. How you’d managed that, he has no idea, but he assumes it’s through pure spite and fury.

You’re styled elegantly, with a tailored set of pleated, pale gray slacks and a cozy-looking, chunky knit black sweater, tucked into the top of your pants. Black dress shoes. Somehow, the slacks don’t even look bulky, cinching high on your waist, and it’s flattering how slimming the entire outfit is, despite all the known laws of fashion saying that this shouldn’t be such a flattering look. The neck of the sweater is in a mock style, clearly giving the statement of a private individual, hiding any possible claiming bonds. Your hair is in a perfectly messy but neat braid down your back, with two long pieces pulled from the top to slightly frame your face.

So plain. But elegant.

Everything about you sets Lando off a bit. And he doesn’t know why. But you just tilt your head at him. As if he’s some puzzle for you to fix. It doesn’t help that he can’t get even a trace of your scent. Only the sterile odor that came with cleaning supplies and medicine. Almost like you’re on heavy medications or that you sleep in a hospital. It unnerves him. Lando’s heard a few rumors that you’re an alpha, and that you simply want to smell that way so as to not be assigned a certain stereotype or intimidate anyone.

After all, word on the grid was you left Williams because of how they’d handled the situation between the other race engineer and the anonymous omega colleague who’d been assaulted.

So you at least had morals.

“Oscar had mentioned you were…. A bit lax.” You murmur, icy eyes flicking up and down his form, your tone impassive and your stance closed off. “I hadn’t imagined you would be this bad, though.”

“I’m actually quite good, normally.”

“About checking your email and phone? Or should I put a tracker on you?”

“Hilarious.”

“I’m aware I am.” You say so dryly, so bluntly, that Lando feels one of his eyes twitch as a stylist manages to help pull him together to look somewhat presentable using the wardrobes saved. You just talk softly with Oscar the entire time, a fond look in your eyes as you talk to the Omega driver.

Right. Logan. Oscar. You’d been Logan’s engineer before. You’d probably gotten to know Oscar through that. When Lando’s finally presentable enough, the stylist makes a final adjustment to your outfit by quickly weaving an orange ribbon around the end of your braid.

“...I will not be wearing this when I am working,” you examine the ribbon, frowning. “You’re lucky to have me in this now.”

“What, don’t like papaya?”

“No. Red is better.” You just murmur, still frowning at the ribbon, before letting it go. “Vati won in red. All three times.”

“Well, change is inevitable,” Lando fakes a sigh, and this makes you scowl. “I like the orange better, anyway.”

“You’ve yet to win, anyway,” You dismiss his comment with a simple wave of your hand, and go to follow Zak out onto the stage, leaving Lando a bit baffled. Oscar just snickers, patting him on the back and leaving the Brit scrambling to follow the both of you.

The press conference goes immaculately. You’re the darling of the media, who seem to love how dry you are with every single answer. Just like Niki had been, even when you border on insulting most of the journalists asking the question. You look about ready to choke yourself with the wire of the microphone in front of you when someone asks you your opinion on Rush.

“She thinks McLaren looked better in red,” Lando grins, looking at you with a mischievous grin.

“McLaren had more wins in red.” You say bluntly, causing laughter to erupt. Lando’s ears turn pink. “We shall see if that is to change.”

He’s quiet for the rest of the press conference, until…

“Any statement on why you left Williams?”

You go rigid. Just for a second. And from where you sit beside him, Lando catches just the tiniest scent of anxiety on you, under all the sterile, medicinal odor that permeates the air around you.

“....I thought that was obvious,” You mumble into the mic, before clearing your throat. “I, ah, don’t take kindly to anyone— especially someone who was considered my partner— trying to take advantage of someone. So.”

There’s a tremor to your voice, barely detectable. And under the table, you’re squeezing your knee. Your hand shakes as the question repeats in your mind. Any statement on why you left Williams? The crowd is suddenly not safe. As he looks at you from every face, every set of eyes now staring at you, even when you know he’s not there. There’d been heightened security, Andrea and Zak had promised that. Oscar was here, already with a nest in his private suite at the factory, prepared for you to crash in when the press conference was over. You try to speak, to play the part of the stoic Alpha the grid has assigned to you, but your tongue is dry in your mouth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement in the back of the crowd. Your hindbrain croons, and you feel yourself fighting off the urge to turn canine, to simply burst from the stage and run towards where you know is safe. He’s not there, Zak promised. He will never be anywhere near you again.

You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe—

“What a stupid fucking question,” Lando blurts out, a snarl in his voice. “It’s obvious why she left. She has morals and doesn��t tolerate that kind of shit. Ask a proper question or fuck off,”

Zak calls an end to the press conference quickly after, and you make your way off stage quickly, retching into a trashcan the moment you’re hidden from the cameras and watching eyes. Oscar is beside you, stroking your back, trying to comfort you, as he had that first night, curled beside you in your own nest while Logan sits on guard at the entrance to the room. Making sure that he won’t be there to find you. Even when he is being held by the FIA and local authorities for investigation, and Niki is already on a private jet to make sure you’re okay. You’re not in the hotel room in the UAE, you’re in Woking.

“Fucking stupid twats,” Lando spits, as he walks off stage, and nearly misses the fact that you’re puking. It’s almost comical how he does a double take, and scrambles over to you. “Shit, are you good?”

“No,” you say dryly, head still in the trash can. “But— thank you, for your defense.”

“Yeah— I— I’m assuming you knew, the omega. The one affected, I mean.” Lando babbles, and it dawns on you briefly that Lando doesn’t know.

The only people who do know are just Zak and Andrea— it’d been a big part of the negotiations around you being hired— and of course, Oscar, who you’d called the first night after presenting. You’re partially thankful for that, because then it means that even fewer know your designation. He really hadn’t checked any of his emails.

“You could say that.” You mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Oscar’s partially frozen, until he just continues to comfort you, wordlessly understanding that you don’t want to tell Lando. “We— we were close.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Please pass the message on that what they experienced— fuck, man, it’s fucking inexcusable—” Lando runs a hand through his curls, clearly stressed by the entire incident that had just happened at the press conference. So you keep your mouth shut, and clap him on the shoulder. Trying to act like the Beta or Alpha he thinks you are.

“Enough about that. They’re— they got rewarded enough money to retire. They’re doing fine. Good therapist. Good house. Service dog to keep them safe.”

Your voice sounds so empty, but it’s not a lie. You’d been given enough money to quit nearly three times over. And you’d used it to start the search for a service dog that could help you with deep pressure therapy and watch your back in the garage. You’d needed a new one anyway, after your old dog had to be retired around a year ago. You’d needed one, doctor’s orders, to help you with you nearly-destroyed sense of smell, and the fact that you’re now deaf in one ear.

“That’s—that’s good, at least,” Lando mumbles, but he doesn’t look convinced.

An awkward silence stretches between you and the driver for what feels like hours, but is likely only seconds. He’s unconvinced. You know it. Oscar knows it. But frankly, Lando seemed to understand that questioning you right now is the least of his concerns.

“What about a tour of the factory?” Oscar buts in, killing the silence just when you feel like you have to say something. Always the peacekeeper. Always the savior. “It could— could give you time to get to know each other.”

“No time for that, unfortunately,” Zak interrupts softly, uncharacteristic of his normal behavior. He refrains from touching you at all. Which you can’t help but be thankful for— already so different from Williams, and the disconnected behavior of the board.

Had he heard the conversation? Did he understand what you were trying to pass off to Lando, at least for the time being? A glance in his direction as you brush yourself off reveals nothing.

“Time for… a quick meeting. Just to get to know everyone better.”

“I want to be there,” Oscar looks at the CEO, just as Andrea rejoins the group, looking a bit exhausted, after dealing with what would likely be a bit of a PR issue.

“You were going to anyway.” Andrea sighs, rubbing his temple. “Shall we?” And you're whisked into a spacious conference room, decorated with the portraits of champions and drivers all around you.

McLaren is…. Interesting. Leagues different from Williams, as you’ve come to realize. It seems that every step further into the orange-hued team leads you further to this conclusion. It’s mostly discussions of the next month’s schedule, as it heads into the new year of testing before the season starts. You look at the calendar, making notes varying from calling Lando to be sure he’s awake at least two hours before anything starts, to avoid any issue like today happening, to then buying a mini fridge for your office to keep your food.

“And about this morning,” Lando says bashfully, smiling at you in a way that shows he’s used to getting away with things like that, “Won’t happen again. My phone was dead, and—”

“Correct, it won’t happen again.” You say bluntly, and look at him over your laptop, before closing it. Inadvertently, your claws come out, and you start to pick at the edge of the table. An old nervous tick you've never gotten rid of. “It was unacceptable, and shows a severe lack of discipline on your part.”

The table goes silent. Oscar is clearly trying not to laugh. Andrea and Zak look surprised by your chilly tone.

“I mean, I suppose,” Lando says, frowning a bit at how blunt you are.

“There is no ‘I suppose’, there is the truth.” You lean forward over the table to look at him. “Do you want to be a world champion, Lando Norris?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then start acting like it. You’re not the youngest on the grid anymore.” Your claw scratches against the edge of the table again, leaving a faint mark. “I’ll talk to your trainer after this. You’re going to do extra conditioning for every tardy arrival to a meeting, practice, whatever, starting with this morning.”

“That seems a bit much,” Andrea starts, but Zak lets out a low whistle. Almost impressed.

“You’re treating him like a football coach would.”

“I’m treating him as he should be. He is an athlete. He represents a team. Such actions can reflect poorly.”

“It was one time!” Lando protests.

“Was it?” You challenge, raising an eyebrow. Lando has to stop himself from growling, reminding himself he must be civil. “Was it just a one-time occurrence last season, Andrea?”

Lando bites his lower lip. You’re much stricter than Will had ever been. Andrea just holds up his hands, looking back at him with an apologetic gaze while you prompt him to answer.

“I admit… things have been a bit relaxed as of late,” The team principal scratches the back of his head, and you make a little tutting noise, before turning to look at Lando again.

“Then we’re fixing it.”

A long pause settles. And you start again.

“I do have… issues, with the way you run things here,” you scratch your claw into the wood of the table, a low rumble in your throat. The scent blockers you have on are distracting to Lando. He wonders, briefly, what your scent is like when it’s not so medicinal. “You need more discipline. Less media. It makes you seem… soft.”

“Soft?” Lando leans forward, tilting his head. You look back at him with your constantly blank stare, a slight frown on your lips, and icy eyes that challenge even the famous death stare of your sire. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, looking to Zak and Andrea, who both gesture for you to continue. You then look at Oscar, who bites his lip and makes eye contact with you, and shrugs softly, as if permitting you to say what you were going to say.

“....you will take offense to what I’m about to say, I’m warning you.”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” Lando waves it off, grinning lazily. His nose twitches. The medicinal smell of your scent blockers is getting to him. Do you truly need to cover your scent that much? Are you worried that he’ll act aggressively because you’re also an Alpha?

“.... no. You won’t. I’ve seen your interviews.” You say dryly, and fold your arms. Lando balks.

“I beg you pardon?”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

“I take it just fine!” Lando shoots back, feeling himself starting to get frustrated. Why did you have to wear them? Even if you are an Alpha, the medication provided by the FIA should be more than enough to keep anyone’s tempers from flaring.

“Then you won’t throw a hissyfit when I list out all my problems with the way you work?”

Your tone is icy. Even. Perfectly calculated.

“Oh, you know I want to hear about your issues with me,” Lando slams his hands down onto the table, and you just raise an eyebrow at him. He’s down to his undershirt, his fireproofs hanging at his waist as you stare at him. “So say it! Don’t hold back!”

Andrea just massages his temples as Zak looks like he wants to be anywhere else.

“Only if you don’t throw a tantrum when I’m right.” You state, examining your nails from where you sit, as though this is boring for you. Monotonous and icily calm.

Lando hates your voice. Specifically how robotic and monotone it sounds. What little he knows about you— which is as much as the rest of the world, with how private the Lauda family is— is that you apparently have some vocal chord and brain damage. Nothing substantial enough to impede your thought process or speaking to make you mute, but enough to have caused the monotonous way you speak. A small enough problem that Lando doesn’t feel like a total dick for what he’s about to say.

“Oh, just fucking say it, you robotic bitch!”

That gets your attention. You pause, slowly bring your hand down, and look at him. With that classic, terrifying Lauda glare. Your eyes pierce his soul, and for a second, just a second, Lando considers apologizing. Tucking his tail between his legs, his ears folded back. But then, he remembers who he is, and he meets your glare with his own, lips drawn back to bare his teeth.

“Fine then.”

You push yourself up easily, and stand, looking down at him.

“Firstly, you are incredibly arrogant. You take risks without properly considering the chances of failure. Whenever you do inevitably end up in a lower place than your high-and-mighty ass thinks you deserve, you then take it out on everyone but yourself, when it’s solely your own decisions getting you there.”

You take a deep breath in, and he can hear the rattle of it in your throat as you start to walk around the table towards him as if you’re stalking your prey. Glaring all the while. Eyes glowing in the light. Andrea has his head in his hands behind you.

“Furthermore, you’ve yet to win a single race. Just one. You are not a world champion because you’re a fan favorite and show extreme promise. Everyone is here because they showed promise at one point or another. You’re a brat of a driver with an ego boosted by all of the people who want to get into your pants and the fact that these fuckers,” You snarl when you whip your hand out to point to Zak and Andrea, who at least have the decency to look a bit ashamed, “…don’t discipline you enough.”

And then you stop, and pull him up by the collar so fast that he gets whiplash, looking you right in your eyes, and can see the angry, mottled skin of severe scarring just hidden under the concealer on your face. Zak still seems to be reeling from the comment you made about how soft they are on Lando, and the way that you’re bristling for a fight.

“Thirdly. You’re a fucking jackass who’s mad someone got called over here to stop your ass from having another hissyfit while being interviewed. I hope the food from the races this year gives you explosive diarrhea from all the spices.”

With that, you let go of his collar and storm out of the room, screaming in German the entire way out, while slamming the door behind you.

Andrea only groans, looking at Lando from between his fingers, while Zak has his head against the table. Oscar has his hands tightly threaded in his hair. But then you come storming back in, with something in your hand. Lando just barely manages to swat it out of the way, and listens to it hit the ground, sounding like an empty can.

And you throw your hands in the air. “Oh, so you can react when a Red Bull is suddenly coming at you! Now do it with the fucking car, dipshit!”

Lando feels his eye twitch once. Twice. And then he’s throwing the crinkled can right back at you, the two of you screaming at each other in two separate languages while Andrea pushes himself between you two, with Zak trying his best to mediate the situation. Oscar looks like he would rather be anywhere else than between the two of you, eyes straight to the center of the table when you’re both finally separated. His scent is sour and awkward. Lando’s smells of burnt rubber. Your teeth are still bared, scent hidden. And that somehow makes Lando angrier.

“Never insult my voice again,” You hiss at Lando, eyes burning as the Brit sits in the chair while you stay standing. Oscar is holding tightly to his shoulder, the omega’s fingers digging into his skin. “I’ll gut you like a fucking fish if you do.”

The faintest trace of an American accent makes Lando’s head spin, as he watches you leave, stalking out of the room. And Zak looks at Lando, jaw hanging loose. “Uh. I think… I think we need a five-minute break.” Zak mumbles, looking a bit disturbed, before leaving to go talk to you. Lando just stands there, feeling his anger fade as Oscar slowly approaches him. Andrea has gone after Zak.

"Mate," The omega's voice trembles, with shock or rage, he isn't entirely sure which one, "What the fuck?"

tags: @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @st0rmzi3

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader

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lovebvni · 6 months ago

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repetition (a pick-a-pile)

in honor of my friends kai ( @klxudykai )and nile (who doesn’t want to be tagged), i want to do a little pap! this will be black white and purple themed for them too (their pfp colours)

i know both of them are going through cycles of repeating their actions over and over, and it is hard for them. i know it’s frustrating — hell i hate repetition. but you find peace in it.

this pick-a-pile is just advice for your manifesting and/or shifting journey. there is no real theme, but i asked spirit to bring up something you need to repeat for each pile.

this pap is intuition and shufflemancy-based. i am not using tarot nor cards at all for this. this is also for entertainment purposes. take my words with a grain of salt AND please do not use this as legal or life advice.

now, inhale and exhale. believe in your intuition, and pick a picture.

[1 ; 2

3 ; 4]

pile 1 the spiral.

hi pile 1! here’s confirmation for your pile : cycles, crying, cynical, the letter c (in your name of in the name of your significant other. casey and clark stand out.), puns, clairaudience, crown, clowns, (a lot of words w the letter c jesus christ..), underwater, drowning, sinking, the sea, oceans, water (s), fix your face, black, sexism, activist, reality shifter, cyclones, spirals, “i feel like im not seeing any signs/progress”

well pile one, you could feel like you are stuck in a cycle. just a torpedo and you’re getting hit with the same things over and over. you’re wondering why things aren’t changing, why this won’t end, but it’s because YOU won’t change. this is the harshest i think i have ever been in a pick a card, but you really need to get over yourself. realize you aren’t the person you should be, throw that person away and reinvent yourself. you want a lot in life, and you aren’t going to get it if you don’t decide to change yourself. the universe chose you for a reason, but if you keep having your own pity party, you aren’t gonna get anywhere. stop getting mad when you’re being told the truth. it isn’t there to hurt you. it’s there to help you. the truth is a tool. and as long as you keep ignoring it, you keep hiding from the monster inside your closet, it’s never gonna leave. it’s gonna haunt you. it’s like a negative spirit. lure it out and keep it coming. it is gonna hurt, but it’s worth it.

your required repetition is “continue to listen and change yourself. transformation.”

the waiting season is one where you need to work, don’t keep sulking.

now to interpreting your song, her by poppy. you have been trying to be someone else that you are not, for someone else. the chorus

“I'm getting to know her And all of her anger You won't recognize her If you encountered I'm getting to know her And all of her anger Picked herself up Put her back together”

you need to change and you know it, and you don’t know how. start with your anger, your sadness, a strong emotion and unravel it. unwrap it like a gift. keep pulling to you get to the root of the cause — hold it.. nurture it… and get the mud off it.

see this as a new start, pile one. i love you. you need to know you’re strong, and you can do this. don’t get annoyed, because i know you’ve been told this before. fix your face.

pile 2 ghouls

hello pile 2! here’s confirmation this is your pile!!: fairies, love, purple, green, heart chakra and third eye chakra, shadows, “on a silver platter”, polite, scars, romance, sacred, girl blogger, skull and bones, doja cat, fear of success, screaming, pink, sexuality, white, sensuality, fire and ice, opposites, blood, self sabotage, royalty, alternative, goth, knight, disability, multilingual, this specific dynamic, vampire

simplicity. simplify everything. that’s all spirit is saying. don’t over complicate things. that’s like all spirit is saying u guys 😭😭

they r literally saying clear your mind, just be the person you are meant to be. listen to your intuition, be creative, have love in your heart, even when times are hard, and let emotions flow.

spirit told me your manifestations are actively coming in 😭😭 idek why you’re reading this pac! like there are no notes, nothing else you need to do. just listen to your intuition and be in tune with yourself. god i love this pile bc yall r js so sweet and light hearted — like there’s so much hidden positivity here that’s waiting to come out.

good job on how far you’ve come, and hav fun where you’re going! love you pile 2!

pile 3 — unclear memory

hi pile 3! here’s your confirmation: “even a worm will turn”, disappointment, ditsy, protector, big eyes, proposal, hobbit core, hermitcraft, minecraft, silence, under another’s control, blush, light colours (pastels), resting, new opportunities, distractions, distant, chapell roan, wlw.

you’re over possessive but you cut out your heart. or someone else cut it out. you need to get your priorities straight. there’s so much going on in your brain. they all lead to the same thing, don’t they? like how a spider web meets in the middle.

you’re sad, i can tell, but you won’t let anyone know. you think you’ve done enough, or even too much, but in reality you’ve been distracted. you’re trying to hide your main in overworking. doing too much.

your repeating advice is “get back on track and focus on your morals”.

but dont become some else. become yourself. stop holding grudges. get yourself back.

pile 4 — kisses

hi pile 4! here’s confirmation this is your pile: shadow work, brooklyn nine-nine, wolf pack, furry, july, suicidal but continuing, height difference, jumbled thoughts, flowers, blue and pink, wash off the makeup, ombré, counting crows poem.

this is my dogs favorite song 😭😭

pile four, you have been looking for outer validation when you don’t need it. you’re searching for signs, for love, for confirmation you’re on the right path when you really jay need yourself. you’re putting yourself down and other people/the universe on a pedestal. YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE!! REALIZE THAT!

what you say goes. what you want will happen. and that’s that.

your advice is as follows ; “you need to just rest.”

and i think that’s great advice. sit down and relax. listen to music, meditate, be at peace. work on yourself. try journaling too!! it will help.

thank yall for reading!! <3 i hope this helps someone. finishing this at 5:55 pm btw!!

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thought--bubble · 7 months ago

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Fear is a game for children

Aemond X Aemond Wife Reader X Daemon

Warnings Below

Word Count: 2,716

Canon Aemond Master List

Daemon Master List

Full Master List

Banners by @arcielee

Written for the Dragon friends period smut collab. Based on an ask received by the wonderful @lady-phasma that she so kindly invited us to participate in!

Header by @zaldritzosrose

Please click HERE for the masterlist for this Collab

Warnings:: Mentions of menstruation, Some sexism, Dubious consent, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Multiple partners. (P in V Sex *Brief mention*)

Being married to a Targaryen prince wasn't half as bad as you had initially expected.

Your husband wasn't exactly warm and loving, but he was respectful, performed his marital duty, and made sure that you were comfortable throughout the process.

Yet you yearned for something more. Something other women spoke about. Not just comfort during the act but actual pleasure. The idea is that you did not need to simply be grateful that the act does not hurt but that you could derive actual pleasure from it.

You had brought this topic up to your husband multiple times. Trying to address what you were sure was a sensitive subject with the utmost gentleness.

At first, Aemond would hear nothing of it, only chastising you for your lewdness. But true to form for Aemond, being told that he was inadequate in anything would motivate him, and try he did, and he improved trying difference postions and pacing, preening at your positive encouragement. That came to an abrupt halt once your moonblood reared its head.

You had heard from your mother and other ladies of the court about the benefits of intimate connection with your husband even at this time, yet Aemond was entirely averse to the idea. Unsanitary and of no purpose being his selected terms. You took no offense to this. You knew how stubborn to change Aemond is. His ability to try something new is limited to the training yard or on the back of Vhagar. He had already done more than you had expected.

You learned quickly that the best time to get things from your husband was when he has had some wine. He is much more...... agreeable, in this state.

Viserys' big birthday feast tonight would be the perfect venue. Everyone knew it would most likely be his last so it was expected to be a grand affair, and a grand affair is was.

So, partway through the evening festivities, you find yourself sitting alone with a slightly wine soaked version of your husband. Your fingertips gently tapping on the table. You knew this may be your moment. Your moment to explain to him why this would be a positive for you both and your growing connection.

"Husband," you open conversation gently, your voice soft as snow.

"Wife?" He turns his head toward you, a small wrinkle creasing his forehead.

You love that little wrinkle. The wrinkle that tells you he is listening, that you have his attention even though his eye is not on you.

"Do you remember the conversation we had this morning?"

Aemonds back stiffens slightly, and he turns his head back to facing forward.

"I do. My opinion on the matter has not changed, " he replies dryly. His fingers lightly tapping on the smooth wooden table they rested upon.

"There are benefits, husband." You lower your voice as much as possible,"others have told me....."

He whips his head toward you, bringing his mouth close to the side of your head. "Do not tell me of your lecherous conversations with the dim-witted ladies of this court." He hisses between clenched teeth "it is beneath your station"

You open your mouth to retort but are cut short by a dark chuckle emanating from behind you.

Daemon Targaryen leans against the wall, his frame tall, his shoulders broad. His short white hair slicked back, with a smile that creeps up his face before settling behind his sharp lilac eyes.

"Oh dear nephew! Must you be such a prude? Must be the Hightower in you." Daemon swirls his wine around his goblet, his eyes trained on you, but his words meant for your husband.

"I find myself quite intrigued by your wife's lascivious conversations and would be quite pleased to hear more." he pushes himself off the wall, bringing his free hand to your shoulder, "do continue, princess."

Your words catch in your throat as heat rises to your face. Your husband and his uncle exchange some choice words in hushed tones, but you can't hear them over the rush of blood pounding in your ears.

You are finally torn from your mental whirlwind when your husband abruptly grips your hand pulling you harshly to your feet.

"My wife and I wish to retire. As always, it has been the utmost pleasure to speak with you, uncle. " Aemonds words are polite, yet the venom in his tone could not be clearer.

As your husband pulls you out of the banquet hall and through the corridors of the redkeep, your stomach is doing somersaults. It is not easy to provoke the wrath of your husband. As his wife, he has always used gentle hands with you, though embarrassment is not something he takes lightly.

You try not to imagine the fate that awaits you behind your chamber door, where Aemond will be free to let you know exactly how he feels about the shame you have clearly brought upon him.

The tapping of your feet against the stone floor echoes through the corridors. Your soft steps, your husband's harsh steps, and a third set of steps heavier than yours yet lighter than your husband's and trailing behind you

You audibly gulp before turning your head to glance behind you but before you can fully turn your head your husband yanks you forward.

"Dear uncle. Your accommodations are back towards the hall. I fear you may not be headed in the right direction. " Aemond attempts to exude an air of confidence, but the gentle shake to his voice is unmistakable, especially to a predator like the rogue prince himself.

"You fear a lot of things, sweet nephew, if I am to understand our previous conversation" Daemon continues following you and Aemond through the corridors, even as Aemond increases his pace nearly dragging you along the floor.

"Dragons fly! They do not run!" Daemon chuckles heartily as he picks up his pace as well. You can't help but admire the confidence in his voice, in his swagger. It's something you see Aemond becoming once time has had a chance to mature him.

When you reach your chambers, Aemond practically shoves you through the door. Turning his body hastily in an attempt to get the door shut. Just as the door is near to close in slips, the tip of a boot.

"Uncle," Aemond growls his hands grip the door tightly, his arm muscles flexing.

"Yes, it is me," Daemon chuckles as he pushes through the door as if Aemond is a mere fly he was swatting from his face.

"The hour has grown quite late. My lady wife and I wish to retire... tis hardly the time for company" Aemond holds his arm out towards his uncle in an attempt to corral him back out the open door.

"Oh, but I have been left unsatisfied by our earlier conversation and a dragon...... well, we simply can not go unsatisfied. " Daemon feigns a smile toward Aemond before setting his sights on you.

"Now princess, if you wish for me to take my leave, I will. Just as soon as you tell me the subject of these conversations with the ladies of the court. The conversations that serve to upset my nephew so much." Daemon wiggles his eyebrows at you before settling himself in one of the chairs placed before the hearth in your marriage chambers.

"Well......" You trail off unsure of what you should do. You're placed in a room with two quarreling dragons, and you feel the fire breathing down your neck. You look toward your husband for some guidance, but he simply looks down.

"We speak about girlish things. Things I am sure would bore you greatly, my prince."

"Hmmm...." Daemon scratches his chin, his smirk returning to his face when he sees how uncomfortable Aemond is.

"What kind of girlish things was my dear nephew chastising you for? For I am sure it was not because you spoke of gowns, balls, or childbearing. " Daemon starts to tap his foot, and your stomach curls.

You know the situation you are in. You refuse Daemon and meet his wrath now, or you appease Daemon and meet Aemond's wrath later. You decide you are better off calming your husband then to attempt to avoid the questions asked by the elder dragon prince.

"We spoke of benefits." You clear your throat and pull and the neckline of your gown, the material suddenly tight around your neck and heavy upon your frame.

"This bores me" Daemon drawls annoyed. "What is it?"

"The benefits of...... intimate moments with one's husband... during.... well..... when a lady has her moonblood. " As the words leave your lips, you turn your head to the side in a desperate attempt to not look at your husband.

"Is that it?" Daemon laughs loudly. Though the laughter is not joyful, instead it is condescending.

"Oh, nephew! You are supposed to be a dragon! Yet you fear a little blood?" Daemon stands up hastily from his chair. He casts a sideways look towards Aemond before smirking and making his way to you swiftly, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Uncle......" Aemond voice is a low growl and he stands with his legs spread slightly apart.

"It is wholly unsurprising that you have yet to...... bloody your blade. " Daemon snickers his back, turned away from Aemond, his arm still around your waist. "Such a fearful boy. Now pay attention. I am about to teach you a lesson you would be wise to learn...."

With that, Daemon tightens his grip around your waist, walking you backward toward the bed you share with your husband, pushing you gently until you land softly on your back.

"Nephew. As a dragon....." Daemon leans down, pushing your dress up your legs and around your hips. "Blood is not something we fear." He deftly wraps his fingers around the band of your small clothes, quickly pulling them down your legs before discarding them.

"Come" Daemon beckons Aemond to stand behind him, Aemond stays rooted in place at first but after a sharp look of annoyance from Daemon he slowly walks over until he is behind him.

Daemon brings his hand to your heat opening you up with his fingers. His hands are cold, sending a shiver up your spine.

"Are you sore princess?" Daemon's question pours over you like warm water, the chill running down your spine replaced with a heat.

"Why would she be?" Aemond's voice cuts through your haze briefly.

Daemon pinches his nose before turning to look at Aemond. "Because, ladies can be sore during this time. you tout around all of your knowledge yet do not know this?"

Aemond scoffs and turns his head. "The affairs of women are hardly my concern"

You try to keep the thoughts in your head from displaying on your face.

"The comfort of your wife should be your concern Aemond" Daemon runs his fingers through your folds swiping the pads of his middle and forefinger over your pearl. "however do you cope princess?"

Your back arches slightly at the touch, a soft sigh slipping out from between your lips.

"Such a responsive thing. You are a man of good fortune Aemond. Unfortunate that you have squandered it until now."

Daemon brings his head down between your thighs rolling his tongue over your clit, humming as he goes.

Your reaction is instant. Aemond has never gone down on you at all let alone during your cycle. Your hands quickly find their way into Daemon's hair pulling him closer.

Your eyes shoot open as his slides one cold long finger into your heat, crooking it upwards and exploring your insides. You look for Aemond, slightly raising your head and find him frozen. His one pupil blown and taking in the sight before him.

You moan loudly as the lewd wet sounds of Daemon's mouth sucking and licking at your heat ring loud around the room. You feel that pressure that you have experienced very few times start to build in your lower stomach, tightening like a coil, ready to pop loose at any moment.

Daemon lifts his head from you, your juices and moonblood are a cloudy mixture that drip down his chin.

"Give in for me sweet girl, show your husband what you look like when a man does as he should" Daemon growls as he brings his face back down to your heat, biting gently and sucking harshly on your swollen nub.

The pleasure that had been building in your lower stomach reaches a pinnacle and crashes over you like a wave, your back arching off the bed, nothing else exists for you in this moment aside from your pleasure and the momentary relief you feel from you feminine aches.

The noises you make are unbecoming for a lady of your standing but not even the 7 could keep you quiet now.

Daemon leans back on his haunches, a sly smirk on his face clearly pleased with himself. "And that, dear nephew, is what a satisfied woman looks like, a new view for you, of that i am sure."

Aemond angrily shoves Daemon to the side causing him to lose his balance temporarily.

"You are most welcome princess" Daemon taunts haughtily, he makes no moves to clean off his face instead focused on Aemond who has now lowered his own face to your heat desperately attempting to recreate the scene he just witnessed.

"Slower nephew. There is a build up that must be done"

Aemond slows his movements suddenly, the overstimulation you were feeling calms to a gentle wave of pleasure as your husband flicks his tongue across your sweet pearl.

Daemon gets up and crawls onto the bed kneeling beside you.

"Princess..." He coos directly into your ear while pushing your hair back. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Y-Yes" your breaths are short and broken, each stroke of Aemond tongue across you overstimulated clit cause a small twitch.

"That is good." Daemon brings his lips to yours pushing his tongue into your mouth, the taste of wine and copper fills your mouth heightening your pleasure as it once again builds.

You bring your hands down to Aemond's hair using it as an anchor to hold him in place as you take your pleasure from him rubbing yourself against his prominent nose as he shoves his tongue into your clenching entrance.

Your hips roll as you move climbing up that wall of pleasure once again, Daemon trails bloody kisses down your neck and over your cleavage, before grasping your left breast, kneading the fatty flesh beneath his palm.

"You are taking much longer than I did nephew" He taunts his mouth up against the side of your throat, biting a nibbling at the sensitive flesh there.

Aemond takes this taunt as a challenge pressing two fingers into your core and flattening his tongue against your pearl. His fingers digging into the fatty flesh of your thighs.

The stimulation of your core, mixed with Daemon's tight grip of your breast and needy kisses sends you hurtling back towards your peak.

"Aemond... please Aemond" you gasp as you feel your body tense, a small tremble spreading throughout your entire frame.

"Hmmmm" Aemond hums applying more pressure to your pearl and pushing his fingers into your body at an accelerated pace.

"One more time for us princess" Daemon whispers into your ear, gently biting at the lobe.

"One more!" You gasp out before succumbing to your orgasm.

You gasp loudly, feeling as if you could take all the air in the room into your lungs and it still wouldn't be enough.

Aemond raises his head slowly from between your legs the same mixture dripping down his face and covering the tips of his white hair.

His eye connects with yours as he stands and starts to loosen the laces of his trousers.

Daemon pulls away from your neck and watches Aemond as he pushes himself into your core in one swift motion, his face and hair still covered in your blood, his ravenous eye upon you and his fingers digging so deeply into your thighs you are sure he will soon break skin.

"And now nephew....." Daemon chuckles and slightly pushes back his hair. "you finally look like a dragon"

To be added to taglists click HERE

#aemond x reader #daemon x reader #aemond fanfiction #daemon targeryan #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #ewan mitchell verse #daemon fanfic #ewan mitchell fanfic #matt smith fanfiction #jess fics

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wasawattpadkid · 2 years ago

Text

Housewife

Part - 8

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: ⚠️graphic⚠️ murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, canon typical violence, guns, suicide,

Part 1

"Can this skirt go any lower?" You tugged at the fabric. "It can but any lower and your bush is likely to show." Tatum laughed fixing the skirt back where she had it. "Yeah no. I'm not wearing this. It doesn't fit anyways." She rolled her eyes grabbing your bell bottoms. "Okay then, wear these again but I'm going to pick out a shirt." Sydney was already changed. She was busy fixing her hair while you and Tatum fought over clothes. "Here." You changed into your pants and put on the crop top Tatum gave you. "Oh yeah this is 10 times better. Wait." She rummaged through her jewelry box handing you a gold chain necklace.

You pulled it on over your head and she just laughed. "No. Give it to me." She wrapped it around your exposed waist latching it behind you. "There, it's a belly chain." Of course she would have something with a name like that. "Now just fix your hair and we'll be ready to go." You walked into the bathroom with Sydney giving her a look. "Honestly you look really cute. Tatum likes to be a little over the top." She couldn't have warned you earlier? "Thanks." You quickly fixed your hair to the best of your ability.

Your lipgloss was sticky and your purse was light on your shoulder. Dewy looked you up and down quickly looking away when he realized what he was doing. "You kids ready?" He said as he looked around the room. "Let's go party!" Tatum shouted pulling you and Sydney to the car. Dewy barley had time to grab his keys. "Please don't drink too much tonight mom would flip if she found out." Tatum sighed. "I know Dewy thank you."

Dewy dropped you and your friends off at the grocery store leaving you to pick up some food. "Hey can you go grab the cheese dip?" Tatum asked you. "Sure thing." You walked through the store not sure where anything was. Hell you didn't even know what kind of cheese dip she wanted. You grabbed a random one hoping it would do the trick. "This work?" You met the two at the end of the isle. "Perfect." She sat the can in the cart along with other snacks. "Anything else?"

Once everything was paid for Dewy drove you and your friends to familiar house of Stu Macher. "Don't have too much fun." He said as you all jumped out bags in hand. "There's a lot of people here." You said a little anxious. "This is nothing you should've been at the pool party he threw sophomore year." The front door was wide open letting anyone in. You looked around the crowded house of inebriated teenagers. Tatum and Sydney walked with purpose towards the kitchen.

"Oh that's mature." Tatum said watching her boyfriend hold up a funnel that another boy was chugging a beer from. "You're late. The party's done started without you. My man." He high-fived the boy as he stood up. Sydney and Tatum shook their head with a laugh. "Damn I didn't know who you were for a second. Tatum you didn't say you were bringing Barbie to the party." Stu eyed you up and down but it made you feel gross. This outfit wasn't you and "Barbie" is not the nickname you unfortunately grew fond of.

"She cleans up nice doesn't she?" Tatum said proud of her work. "Hand me a beer." You said making Stu's smile fall just a bit. He knew he couldn't break character not when every little thing counted tonight. "One beer coming up." He turned grabbing an unopened bottle on the counter passing it to you. "You'll need this." He pitched you the bottle opener letting you pop the lid yourself. "Is Billy here?" Sydney asked looking at the crowd. "I sent him on a beer run so he'll be late." Sydney nodded deciding to find the nearest couch.

You took a swig of the disgusting liquid trying not to make a face. "Is it good sweetheart?" Stu teased knowing you'd never drank before. "It's great thanks." You said hoping to drink a couple more of those and speed up the night. Tatum soon dragged Stu away leaving you standing in the kitchen. "You're that chick that wears all that I love Lucy shit to school right?" Some asshole asked making you take a big swig of the fermented liquid. It was going to be a long ass night.

An hour passed with no sign of who you thought were your friends. The kitchen had cleared leaving you with a bunch of empty beer bottles that weren't yours. You were barley able to finish the one. "There you are I've been looking all over for ya." Your eyes were closed in all honesty they burned too much to stay open. Stu looked at your sleeping form quickly rewriting the plan. "Y/n?" He poked and shook you but you didn't utter a word praying for him to just leave you alone. "Works for me." He threw you over his shoulder similar to how he picked up Tatum earlier that day. Your purse strap drug into your neck as he held you upside down. All the kids were too excited to notice your limp body being carried around by the host. Quickly he laid you in the coat closet in a what he assumed was a drunken stupor.

It was a better idea than you getting hit in his book. He would hate if something actually bad happened to you. Stu shut the door and checked the time. "All right everybody curfew!" Stu shouted ushering everyone out of the home. "Tatum come on!" Sydney yelled to an almost empty house. "Do you know where she is?" Stu shrugged. "Nah I haven't seen her." Billy appeared at the front door on schedule. "Hmm what are you doing here?" Stu said his acting wasn't winning him any awards. "I was hoping I could talk to Syd alone."

"I'll tell you what why don't you guys go up to my parents room. You can talk or whatever." Stu clapped his hands suggestively. "Subtlety Stu you should look it up." Billy shook his head at his eager friend. Stu bit his lip in anticipation. "No, no he's right. We do need to talk." Sydney said holding out her hand. As Billy walked in he hit Stu in the groin playfully. "Ooh." Stu said in pain. Time went on, Tatum was still no where to be seen almost forgotten while Sydney and Billy holed up in the room upstairs. Stu laid out watching Halloween with some stragglers from the party.

Randy stood up pausing the movie. "There are rules to surviving a horror movie." He went on with his rant the crowd getting rowdy ever so often. "Alright I'm getting another beer you want one?" He asked randy as he walked towards the kitchen. "Yeah sure." Slowly Stu opened his eyes wide about to piss Randy off. "I'll be right back!" He said those forbidden words making everyone shout. "See you push the laws and you end up dead. Okay I'll see you in the kitchen with a knife." Randy proclaimed. Stu had no intention on going back into the living room.

Upstairs Billy started to put his shirt back on. "You okay?" He asked Sydney not really caring about her answer. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She grabbed a hairbrush from the night stand brushing out her hair. "Where's the beer?" She asked as she pulled on her shoes. "What?" Billy asked fixing his shirt. "Well Stu said you were late to the party because he told you to go get beer. I was just wondering where it was because when I saw you, you were empty handed." Billy tied his shoes thinking of a quick answer. "I dropped it off in the garage."

Sydney shook her head to herself not believing him. "You don't think I'm the killer do you?" She breathed out a laugh turning to look at him. "No. I just think the timing is funny thats all. For you to show up at my place after Casey was murdered would be a pretty good alibi. Running out go murder people just to show up here with me after the fact. It would be smart that's all." Billy's eyes were hollowed of emotion as he starred at the woman he so despised. "Really?" His voice was flat different than just seconds ago. Slowly he stood up leaning on the bed with his hands. "What do I have to do to prove to you I'm not a killer?" His whole demeanor scared Sydney. "Oh my God." She said as everything seemed to make sense.

Sydney glanced up seeing the killer slowly come up behind Billy. "Huh?" He asked growing impatient. "Oh my God." She backed away terrified. "Sydney." Billy pleaded. "Billy watch out!" She cried watching her boyfriend get stabbed to death by the masked man. Sydney sobbed as Billy reached his bloody hand out whispering her name with what little air he had left. Ghostface chased after her all through the upstairs of the house. Luckily for the man under the mask it was his home. He knew the layout better than anyone. Sydney opened up the attic window screaming for help. She climbed through praying for someone to save her.

Ghostface grabbed her arm causing her to fall back off the roof and onto the boat. The wind was knocked out of her from the fall. As fast as she could Sydney rolled of the boat onto the ground. Looking up she could see her friend Tatum, hanging bludgeoned and bloody from the garage door. She couldn't bring herself to scream at the sight all she knew was she needed to run. Ghostface disappeared from the window running downstairs to see the coat closet door open with you no longer in it.

"Fuck." He cursed running outside to find Sydney. She had jumped into the news van screaming at the man inside that a killer was chasing her. The camera man stood with the door open waiting for the hidden camera placed by the News reporter to catch up showing where ghostface had went. As he turned around to look towards the house ghostface slit his throat like a warm knife through butter. Sydney screamed trying to shut the door but the man in the mask was faster. The hunting knife now wiped clean by the hygiene conscious killer stabbed the girls shoulder making her cry out.

Quickly she crawled through the van leaving ghostface behind. Dewy and the reporter ran towards the commotion hoping to help whomever needed it. Dewy wanted to save the day while his date wanted the notoriety from it. "Gale use the phone in the van and call for backup. I'm going inside." He said like a selfless hero not knowing what horrors awaited him inside. Gale saw the pool of blood quickly realizing she was in one of the many stories she's exploited. Without much thought she jumped in the driver's seat grabbing the phone.

"What's going on?" Randy asked being met with a phone to the face. She hit him several times till he eventually fell to the ground nose broken and bloody. She threw the phone starting the van instead. If she was saving anyone, it was going to be herself. Blood covered the windshield blocking the view of the road. Turning on the windshield wipers she gasped at the gorey scene. As she drove the car hitting the breaks, the body of her camera man slowly fell into view. She scream trying to fling him from the car. Just as he hit the ground Sydney ran out screaming bloody murder.

The van spun out of control off into the grass hitting a tree head on. Without checking on the driver Sydney ran back towards the house. Her screams stopped once she understood no one could hear her but the killer. She had lost all her friends. Billy, Tatum, and presumably you. She watched as Dewy stood at the front door. "Dewy!" She yelled thankful to have someone help fight off death himself. "Sydney?" He asked as he fell to the floor. The same hunting knife sticking from his back. "No, No!" She screamed watching ghostface pull the knife from his back.

Running back she shut herself into Dewy's car. Hitting a button to lock all the doors. Sydney searched for a key but it was nowhere to be found. Turning to her left she saw the killer shake the keys taunting her. He dropped to the ground out of eyesight. The doors all unlocked at once leaving her to quickly manually lock them back. Seeing the radio on the dash she grabbed the mic clicking the button on. "Hello! Help me please I'm at Stu Macher's house on turner lane. That's 261 turner lane please he's gonna kill me-"

Ghostface grabbed her by the neck but Sydney quickly flipped around kicking him repeatedly. She fell out of the car running to grab Dewy's gun. "Sydney!" Randy screamed. "Sydney, Jesus we need to get the fuck out of here!" She cocked the gun ready to fire if need be. "Stop right there!" Her words were deadly. Stu came from the left gaining up on the limping Randy. "It's him Syd." Stu said distraught. "He killed Billy, you killed my friend!" Randy inched closer making Sydney back up into the open house. "You did." Randy said and Stu yelled back "You killed him!" Stu cried.

"I didn't." Randy defended himself as Stu threw him to the gravel. "Sydney baby please give me that gun. Give me the gun it's him I swear." Stu cried with outreached arms. "Fuck you both!" She spit as she slammed the door in their faces. Stu and Randy beat on the door trying to convince Sydney to open it. "Go away!" She sobbed. Billy crawled to the steps in pain. "Syd?" She gasped as her boyfriend fell down the steps. "Oh my God!" She helped him up as he mumbled almost incoherently.

Billy inched his way to the door. "No the killer's out there!" Sydney warned. "Give me the gun. Give me the gun it's okay." His voice was clearer now lacking the debilitating pain that was evident moments ago. "It's okay." He whispered taking the gun from his girlfriend. He opened the door letting Randy run in. "Woah woah get in." He said looking around outside before shutting the door. "Stu's flipped out. He's gone mad." Randy said scared out of his mind. "We all go a little mad sometimes." Billy delivered his line shooting Randy for dramatic effect.

Sydney cried running to Randy's aid. Scratching his head with the barrel of the gun Billy spoke. "Anthony Perkins, Psycho." Sydney stood up looking at the stranger she's known for years. Sucking the fake blood from his finger tip he smiled. "Corn syrup, the same stuff they used for pigs blood in Carrie." The tired girl stumbled backwards mumbling small protests trying to tell herself this wasn't real.

Stu stood in the doorway to the kitchen looking just as upset as Sydney. She covered her face next to his chest seeking refuge. "Stu... Help me please." She pleaded. Slowly he revealed that little box that has helped end so many lives. "Surprise Sydney."

It was freezing outside but you've been through worse. Slowly you crept around the house trying to find a way in. The front door was opened a brunette walking slowly into the house. You watched as she quietly picked up the gun sitting on the counter. "I'm feeling woozy here!" Stu said in distress having more life threatening wounds than his partner. Billy and Stu turned towards the sound of a pained gasp. They watched as Gale Weathers and the gun hit the floor. "Y/n?" Stu asked as you stared shocked at what you'd just done. "She was going to shoot you."

"Y/n please help they're crazy!" Sydney cried out. "You had one fucking job Stu!" Billy yelled. "Give me the knife Y/n and I won't hurt you." Billy watched the facade fall. Like a scene in a play, the act was over. "Are you serious? You won't hurt me?" Both the boys were obviously confused not knowing what to do next. "Billy Loomis. You really don't remember me do you?" He cocked his head to the side not wanting to do this right now. "I'm not playing your silly game-" You picked up the gun switching the safety off.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm done hearing you talk. Bossing people around thinking you know everything. You don't know shit." Stu looked genuinely scared while Billy was just amused. "Middle school was hell for me. I was being beat up and mistreated every, fucking, day. Until one day you stood up for me. Broke the assholes nose who was trying to pull off my shirt, do you remember that?" His eyes lit up remembering that day very vividly. That was the first time he had ever hit someone. "I fell in love with you that second. You cared about me enough to stop the endless cycle of hate that was putting me on the fast track to an early death."

"I didn't even know you. Any guy would stop something like that." You laughed at that. "You'd be surprised. The teachers I came crying to didn't give two shits, my own fucking family told me just to "stand up for myself or grow a backbone" and things like this wouldn't happen. Is it so wrong to need someone's help?" Stu shook his head as if you were directing this whole thing towards him. "Do you remember what you did the week afterwards?" You asked Billy.

His brain frantically searched for some semblance of a memory. "No I don't." He replied honestly. "Well before school started I walked up to you and your friends. I told you that I liked you and wanted to take you out sometime. The old fashioned way. Your friends laughed because they knew me as the push over slut bag everyone took me for. But you." You pushed the gun forward gritting your teeth. The pain of it all coming right back to you like it happened yesterday. "You were different, you stood up for people. You were a hero, my hero. So what did you do? You saw your friends laughing and felt embarrassed. You laughed in my face calling me a "crazy bitch.""

"And you're not?" Billy snapped feeling like a fly caught in a web. You laughed. "What does all this make you Einstein. News flash you're not Norman Bates. You're just a man. That's scarier than every monster on the screen." You paced back and forth never taking an eye off anyone in the room. "Just give this up the cops are on their way I called them." Sydney cried making both the boys panic. "Did you check the cord to the radio Syd? I cut it after you took a little hike. Anyways where was I?" You tapped the tip of the knife in your other hand to your chin in thought. Sydney spewed curse words at you but you had bigger fish to fry.

"That's right. You laughed but that wasn't enough for you, no. You told your friends you slept with me and they told their friends, eventually everyone knew me as a whore. Funny thing is I had never done a sinful thing in my life. I was just a kid who wanted someone to care about me! To protect me in a way I couldn't protect myself." Tears fell from your eyes but you weren't crying. "I left my grandparents house moving away with my dad. It wasn't until I saw the headline "local woman murdered viciously in Woodsboro" that I came up with a plan."

Sydney hung her head loudly sobbing. "I saw a picture of You and Sydney and it all came back to me. You were good once Billy I could see that from the moment I met you but something rotted inside of you and don't you dare blame it on her or her mother." You pointed towards Sydney. "I dyed my hair, changed the way I dressed, the way I talked, the movies I liked, everything I made specifically for you. And it worked! Your sorry ass fell for it. Everything you thought you knew about me was a lie."

"You called Sydney..." Stu said in astonishment. This should scare him but it didn't in the slightest. Stu realized he had been looking up to the wrong person all along. "I did! That night at my house I put Zolpidem in your food. You two were too busy staring at my ass to notice. While you were both dead asleep I used the voice box I stole from Stu's home Wednesday night to call Sydney. Oh but how did I know about your little plan you ask? Well while I was roaming through your house that night I found the ghostface costumes and your little voice boxes. And Stu baby, you had your whole plan written down in your diary."

Billy's eyes widened with rage. "Don't look at him like that Loomis." You snapped at the boy grabbing his attention once again. "This is about you and me. All I wanted was to take care of you and when I found out you and Stu were a package deal I was down for double the chores. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, the works. I thought we could be our own fucked up nuclear family. But you can't do a damn thing right. I've got yet another mess to clean up." You gestured around to the blood splattered kitchen.

"Like I said before men are cocky. They go in and they play around. So I'll give you a choice Billy. You can finish this." You waved the gun at Sydney and her father causing her to cry out begging you to stop. "Sydney this has nothing to do with me. I'm here on personal business. Now either take care of this and we three walk out of here alive or I'll take care of it and be the sole survivor of the Woodsboro massacre."

"You're one sick bitch you know that?" Billy spat as he picked up his knife. "Yeah well we all have our flaws." You look over at Stu watching him go in and out of consciousness. "Stu get up and come with me honey." Slowly the injured man limped over to you. "I'm going to check his wounds. Don't think you're smarter than me cause you're not. Finish what you started." You walked Stu into the living room sitting him down on the couch. The sounds of Sydney's screams piercing your eardrums. You lifted his shirt seeing how many stabs wounds he had and where. "Why are you doing this?"

"Love makes you do crazy things Stuart. Now, most of these wounds should be fine but the one by your stomach looks really deep so I want you to put pressure on it." Sydney's screams stopped as you continued to help Stu. "I want you to know what you did here tonight was really fucking stupid." You said a little disappointed in your easily manipulated friend. Stu started crying pulling you into a bloody hug. "I just wanted to start over." You knew how that felt. "We will." You whispered as you pulled away. "Keep putting pressure." You reminded as you stood up.

Walking back into the kitchen you saw Sydney's lifeless body. "Okay before you kill him," You pointed towards the tied up man. "You need his DNA under her finger nails. Did she scratch you at all?" Billy shook his head. You leaned down grabbing her hand forcing her nails across her father's skin. "She doesn't look like she put up a fight." Billy quipped acting like a detective all of a sudden. "The moment she saw it was her father she would put her guard down a little thinking she could somehow talk him out of it. This is fine, take care of him and I'll make sure she's dead." You walked towards Gale hearing her ragged breath. "I'm sorry. I couldn't let you hurt them." You apologized before stabbing her once more.

Billy smiled at the words you thought he couldn't hear. He thought you were crazy and you certainly were but you were crazy for him. You could've turned them both in and saved yourself some time yet here you were helping out. Not cause your sick and love to kill. But because you loved them. You were protecting them, the one thing you wanted for yourself that's why you were so mad.

"Give me the gun and leave I don't want you to see this." You laughed rasing your voice slightly to ask Stu a question. "Stu, honey where do you keep your dish towels?" Stu answered with what little energy he had left. "Thanks." You walked over the corpse in the floor grabbing a red colored dish cloth. The gun was soon wiped clean of your finger prints. "Prop him up in the corner when you do it, make sure to keep the towel around the gun when you fire. After that put it in his grip. Do you know if he's right handed or left?" Billy just looked at you stupid making you face palm.

"Which wrist is his watch on?" Billy crouched rolling the man over as he yelled against duck tape. "Left." Billy stood back up waiting for your directions. "Okay so he's right handed. Don't fuck this up Billy." You handed him the gun wrapped in the rag. "We don't have much time. Speed this up." You stood waiting for him to finish it. "Please leave. Just go watch Stu. I don't want you to see this." You didn't understand the change in heart considering the amount of blood on every surface in this house and the body laying at your feet. Billy however actually listened to what you said. You'd never been taken care of and he was going to right his wrongs. He would fix this.

Stu would get his sequel, rom com or not and you would get the security you always wanted. "Okay but don't pull any shit or I'll kill you." Billy laughed at an incredibly inappropriate time. "Understood." You walked into the room with Stu noticing he was asleep. "Fuck. Wake up babe." You shook the boy slowly getting a response. "Hey come on I'm going to take you outside the cold air might help you stay away." Stu mumbled a response as you dragged him outside.

Stu jumped at the sudden gunshot making him cry once more. Blood loss sure does make a person emotional. "Hey, hey, shh. I'm right here." His head rested on your chest as you rocked him back and forth. "My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me." He cried and you giggled. "Nobody's going to find out. It's okay." Billy stepped outside looking at the two of you huddled together. "Y/n?"

"Yeah what's up?" You asked laying Stu down on the porch. "I need help cleaning some stuff up." That's what you were good at. Quickly you got rid of some evidence, cleaned some things, and now came time for more blood. "The rags around it just stab me right here." You pointed to the spot knowing it wouldn't do much damage. Billy held your knife with a now shaky hand. "I can't." You scoffed. "You threatened to hurt me earlier just do it." He shook his head. "I can't hurt you." This conversation was starting to piss you off. "That's bullshit you've hurt me before just fucking stab me already."

"I won't." He said through gritted teeth. "You said everyone has a reason for doing something. I had my reasons for killing whether you think they're bullshit or not is irrelevant. I've got a reason to change now, to be better." You rolled your eyes grabbing the wrapped knife. "Where did you get that thing anyway?" Billy asked pointing to the exact same knife they had. "I just bought the same one that Stu had stashed at his place. It fit in my purse so the rest is history." You held the knife where you wanted it before running right into a wall lodging the knife deep within your skin. "Mother fucker!" You screamed at the pain.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" He said shocked by what just happened. "We've got to convince everyone we are the victims. Neil is a big guy he's killing everyone I'm not an exception." Billy cursed under his breath. "You are the smartest dumb woman I've ever met." Billy pulled the knife from your side making you cry out and hit the floor. Billy's hand rested on your forehead not really sure how to comfort you. "Just breathe?" He asked making you laugh through the pain. "I'm not in labor asshat go put his fingerprints on the knives while I call 911." Billy didn't move. "Now." You said trying to lift yourself up. He stood helping you up to your feet.

Billy laid the one weapon next to Sydney making sure to put Neil's finger prints on it. While the other fit in his pocket. "Now go lay somewhere and don't fall asleep. After all of this you can't die on me." You told him as you picked up the phone. "911 what's-" You coughed into the phone cutting the woman off. "Please help me!" You cried making it sound like you didn't have much time left. "What's your location ma'am?" Fuck you didn't know Stu's address but then again why would you. "I don't know... I- I went to a party with my friends and everyone's dead." You cried throwing in moans of pain. "Are there any mailboxes or road signs around?"

"I've been stabbed..." You said quietly actually getting light headed. "Ma'am I need you to stay with me is there a mailbox or road sign around?" She repeated being absolutely useless. You thought back to when you met them for the first time. Things were simple then. The drive over with Stu laughing and cracking jokes, and Billy spent the whole ride brooding trying not to laugh at your jokes. You could barley remember the bent up road side. "Turner lane." You said as you dropped the phone landing right beside it. "Ma'am? Ma'am are you there?"

Billy laid in the kitchen floor just a little away from the two corpses. As he looked up at the ceiling his body started to ache even more now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He had been selfish he realized that now. Billy had two wonderful people who loved and cared for him and he did nothing but use the both of you. He was going to change he swore on it. That sickening feeling of fear crept into his stomach once again at the thought of something happening to you or Stu. You may have lied to him. One could say he didn't know the real you at all. You were a first for Billy, you were the first person to scare him, the first person to stand up to him, and the first person he truly wanted to save.

(If your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you.)

Part 9

Taglist: @katie-tibo @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607 @pumpk1n-writes @lovekeeho @tojisblood @zeysartzone @bluedevilss @life-of-music3 @flyestvenustrap @littleblondesoprano @imobsessedreader @loomiscorpse @nicciekawegosblog @reneemunson @miss-puregotti @ksgsfsgaj @zoleea-exultant @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @mistydreamscape @l4venderia @nex-crowley @ashreblogsnow @brynaa223 @your-desire666

#billy loomis #scream #ghostface #billy loomis x reader #ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface #scream 1996 #scream fanfic #scream fanfiction #scream x reader #ghostface x female reader #stu ghostface #billy loomis ghostface #billy loomis masterlist #stu macher fluff #stu macher x reader #stu macher

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solar-plant-princess · 11 months ago

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Everything I see and hear about the live action remake of Avatar is just a spit in the face. It’s so disrespectful to the characters. The writing is a mess and unfocused. And they routinely attempt to sanitize and soften all the characters, deflating the value and purpose of their character arcs.

There is nothing they can do to salvage this. The actors deserve far better than to be stuck in this poorly written disaster.

This is the end state of all soulless cash grab remakes. Gut out all the worthwhile character development in order to make room for empty set pieces and gags in a desperate attempt to replace heart with a modicum of entertainment value. They aren’t interested in telling a new or even good story, they just want to cash in on brand recognition and will take out all the worthwhile stuff and add unnecessary fluff the whole way.

Don’t give them anymore money, don’t watch the show, don’t watch the future seasons. Don’t waste your time on a show that will only ever respond to you wanting genuinely good content with a spit to the face.

Also the meta level sexism of removing ALL of Katara’s personality is just disgusting (same with literally every other named woman character, the genuine misogyny from the writers is on full display the entire time), it’s literally on par with the play episode where the actress is constantly whining about “hope” while doing nothing else, that’s legitimately where they are at.

Zuko fights back against his dad, and doesn’t even mention his honor ever, so what’s even the point of his redemption arc if he had that in him from the start?

Aang doesn’t run away from his responsibilities (or the Air Temple for that matter, he just gets caught in a storm by chance) or need to learn how to accept being the Avatar, or even feel guilt about what happened to the Air Nomads so what’s the point of his arc?

Sokka doesn’t need to unlearn his false bravado or learn how to be a real leader, literally being written out of the Jet episode where he was the starring protagonist, so what’s the point of his arc?

I’m willing to put actual money on Toph’s parents actually just letting her leave and in fact will not even condescend to her about her disability. What’s the fucking point of this show if none of the characters are allowed to have any flaws or growth or personality????

(I also simply can’t ever forgive them for the broad daylight murder and butchering of Suki. Taking a strong confident leader who humbled Sokka by force into accepting that women were just as worthy and capable as men and made him not just accept but embrace her culture. To a spoiled brat that spends her entire screen time being boy crazy, and teaches Sokka literally nothing other than some fighting moves while THANKING him for “bringing the world to me”, by which she means being a boy she can oogle at. This isn’t Suki, this isn’t Katara, the writers are beyond sexist pigs for this shit.

They wanted to improve Sokka’s reputation that wasn’t even threatened and in turn reduced every single named woman to flat-caricatures of incapable, quiet, obedient, boy obsessed little girls all of which rely entirely on the men in the show to do anything.

This is beyond the pale in overt but unacknowledged misogyny which is an insult to every member of the audience especially all the women in the audience. They make it very clear they actually just agree with not-that-covert sexism and patriarchy and it’s disgusting. Never watch this show, dear god never show this to kids who might pick up on this dogshit misogyny)

#avatar the last airbender #they did everyone so dirty it’s not even funny #if the only way to enjoy them conpletely butchering characters is to turn off your fan brain it’s just not a good show

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charmingsoa · 8 months ago

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■ Bring it On Home to Me (one) ■ John Egan x OC ■ ■ Multi chapter story ■

⚠ Chapter warning ⚠ Sexual content, physical and verbal abuse, mention of sexual assault, cursing, sexism. Please be advised when reading.

🚨 A/N: Hello and welcome to the first real chapter of Bring it on Home to Me! So, this will start at the very beginning of Vanessa and John's journey and I found it important to focus the first chapter on Vanessa's life before John. It will feature some moments that are tough to read and the warnings have been posted above. It will also feature German and British words - Google was my friend for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy the update and I would love to hear your thoughts, opinions, anything really! My DM is open and ready!!

📣 If you would like to be tagged, please let me know 📣

The atmosphere in the room was thick with a mixture of desire, desperation, and a touch of melancholy. The women moved gracefully among the patrons, their painted smiles hiding a myriad of emotions – from weariness to resignation to a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would bring a reprieve from the harsh realities of war.

The soldiers, their uniforms worn and dusty, bore the weight of the battlefield on their shoulders. For a moment in time, they sought solace in the arms of these women who offered fleeting moments of respite from the chaos and carnage that awaited them outside.

The women, too, carried their own burdens – stories of loss, of shattered dreams, of lives upended by forces beyond their control. Yet in the dimly lit room, they transformed into sirens of solace, offering comfort and companionship to those who sought it amid turmoil.

For these girls, the prospect of spending the night with a soldier meant more than just a temporary escape from the harsh realities of war. A chance to rest their weary bodies and minds in the comfort of a warm bed. The opportunity to freshen up and tend to their basic needs was a luxury in a world where survival often took precedence over self-care.

I was one of the fortunate ones with relatives who still resided in the small town where many of us had sought refuge. My aunt’s house giving me shelter when the night was over. There were times when I would accept the gentleman’s offer to stay until morning, most of the time sneaking out before the rooster had time to crow.

My home in London, once a bustling metropolis teeming with life and energy, now lay in ruins – a somber reminder of the indiscriminate nature of conflict. The streets I had once walked with purpose and pride were now buried beneath layers of concrete and ashes, the echoes of past laughter and conversations drowned out by the deafening silence of destruction.

My family – or what was left of family now only consisted of my aunt – my earned money keeping the bank from taking the house from under her feet. She didn’t agree with what I was doing to make the money, but that didn’t stop her from pushing me to leave every evening, making sure that I wore the dresses that would get the most attention.

“Slow night, huh?”

The bartender smiled as he poured the glass full of the brown liquid that kept my courage high enough to get through to the next day. “Seems that way.” I gave a nod as I nursed the glass.

My last client was over an hour ago – a poor RAF soldier – married to his secondary school love. I could tell he was a nervous wreck, his hands shaking like a leave in a thunderstorm. He explained to me that his CO had sent him to us – to take the edge off before he was sent off into the air. He didn’t want to do much – just talked about Lucille and his hope to finally get back to her once the war was through. Like many of the soldiers that had crossed my path, I wished them the best, saying a silent prayer as they walked out the door, back to a hell that no one could escape.

"Nessa – you're up!"

The words pierced through the subdued ambiance of the room, a sense of purpose stirred within me, pulling me from the comfortable numbness that had settled over my thoughts. With a quick glance in the direction of the older man who requested my service, I took in his features – a strong jawline, broad shoulders – devoid of any telltale signs of military service.

Finishing the last remnants of my drink in a single smooth motion, I slid off the stool with a practiced grace, the fabric of my dress whispering softly against my skin as I straightened it with deliberate care. The air around me seemed to crackle with anticipation, a silent energy that hummed beneath the surface of the room.

Louella, the madame of the establishment, offered me a brief nod of approval before turning her attention to the other patrons. With measured steps, I made my way towards the man, my movements a delicate balance of confidence and allure, honed through years of navigating the intricacies of this world.

"Hello," I greeted him, my voice dipping an octave lower, the cadence laced with a hint of sultriness that mingled with the lilting notes of my native accent. In that moment, as our eyes met, I stepped into the role that had become second nature to me – a performer on the stage of desire, where masks were worn, and truths were whispered in the shadows.

He chose to stay silent, simply nodding his head, his hands in his pockets in a defensive manner. There had been men like him that stayed silent for most of the evening, only speaking when asked what they would like to do. This man felt different – his demeanor feeling like that of an ice block.

I hesitated for a moment, pushing away my gut feeling that this was going to end badly if I continued. I – Aunt Beatrice needed the money. I could do anything for a short amount of time, whether standing up or flat on my back.

Walking into the back bedroom, I stepped inside the dimly lit room, jumping slightly as he slammed the door shut behind us. His eyes boring into my soul. I cleared my throat, breaking the suffocating silence that enveloped us. "So, um, what exactly did you have in mind?" My voice sounded small and insignificant against the backdrop of his brooding presence.

He just stood there, never breaking eye contact as he evaluated me – searching for any cracks that he could fully break. "Take off your dress," he commanded, his German accent adding an edge to his words even though they were barely audible.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly reached up to the neck of the dress, my fingers pulling at the knot as the two pieces of fabric fell. The humid air hitting against my bare skin as the man’s eyes devoured my exposed chest. My hands pushed the remaining portion of the dress down to the floor, carefully stepping out of the ruched fabric as I now stood in nothing but a pair of heels in front of the stranger.

His long, slender finger pointed towards the bed, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the room. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as I followed his gesture, my heart pounding in my chest. I approached the bed, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness wash over me as I carefully took a seat on the crisp linen.

“Lie down and touch yourself.”

My eyes furrowed in confusion at his demand. "Excuse me?" I stammered, taken aback by the unexpected request.

His throat cleared in an annoyed manner, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a knife. I could sense his impatience, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air suddenly charged with a palpable tension.

“I told you to lie down and touch yourself like the whore you are.”

As I held his gaze, I could see the hatred coursing through his piercing blue eyes like a raging river. The intensity of his emotions was almost tangible, a seething anger simmering just beneath the surface. It was as if a storm brewed behind those icy eyes, ready to unleash its fury at any given moment.

Gulping nervously, I gradually positioned myself on the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath me breaking through the hot air. With a trembling hand, I reached up to fan my hair out around me as I laid flat on my back, the cool touch of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

As I stared up at the moldy ceiling above me, a wave of despair washed over me, mingling with the fear and uncertainty that churned in my gut. The damp patches on the ceiling seemed to mock me, their distorted shapes dancing before my tear-filled eyes. Each droplet of water that dripped down felt like a painful reminder of the situation I found myself in.

“I told you to touch yourself, you stupid slut.” His anger spilled over, a palpable force that filled the room and washed over me like a wave. "Are you deaf?" I flinched at the harshness of his tone, the venom in his words striking a nerve deep within me.

I suddenly felt dizzy as I took a few deep breaths, my eyes tightly closed as I tried to compose myself. My hand shook violently as it moved down my body, resting atop my pussy as the first tear rolled off the side of my face.

“Mach es jetzt!” The german words crashing through the room like a loud clap of thunder. “Dumme hure!”

A stifled sob escaped through my quivering lips as my trembling fingers found my clit. The air growing heavy, the silence broken only by the ragged sound of my uneven breaths. I kept my head turned away from preying eyes of the man, my eyes tightly closed as the panic of the situation and the sensual feeling of my own touch conflicted my thoughts.

Soft moans formed in the depths of my constricted throat. Each heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm in my chest, a desperate plea for escape echoing in the confines of my mind. The rustle of fabric filled the room, amplified by the deafening silence that hung between us, as the man’s hand slowly pulled at his trousers. The metallic rasp of the zipper being pulled down cut through the air like a blade, its sharp sound reverberating in my eardrums with a chilling finality. With each article of his clothing hitting the floor, every nerve in my body screamed in protest, a primal instinct urging me to flee from the impending unknown that lay before me. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I heard him step closer to where I laid, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of fear and uncertainty.

With a trembling breath, I braced myself for whatever fate awaited me, already resigned to the harsh reality that my body would bear the brunt of this twisted exchange – the finale being a crumpled up 10 note thrown on my bruised body like I was a piece of rubbish on the street…

“Holy shit-“As Aunt Beatrice took a drag from her cigarette Her gravelly voice cut through the tense silence like a knife. “What in the heavens happened to you?” Her eyes narrowing as they assessed the bruises that adorned my face like a grotesque mask.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, acutely aware of the judgment that seemed to emanate from her every word. The memories of the horrific night flashed before my eyes – the yelling, the shoving, the pain. I clenched my fists, trying to push back the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf me.

Louella's callous words echoed in my mind as well, her nonchalant attitude towards my suffering sending a chill down my spine. "It's the name of the game, dear. Just make him happier next time," she had said, as if my pain was a mere inconvenience to be brushed aside.

The image of the newsstand attendant’s horrified expression haunted me, his eyes widening in shock as they took in the extent of my injuries. I had muttered a barely audible thank you, my gaze fixed on the ground as I hurried away, desperate to escape the prying eyes of strangers.

And now, facing Aunt Beatrice's mocking laughter, I felt the last shreds of my composure slip away. The weight of her words – dripping with disdain and superiority – crashed down on me like a ton of bricks.

"Here's the money from tonight," I said, tossing the notes onto the table in a messy wad. They fluttered down haphazardly, some landing askew. "I think there's close to 30 there or should be at least."

She reached out to straighten the crumpled bills, her brow furrowing as she quickly counted them. “Looks like you’re four pounds short, sweet child.” The use of adoring nicknames not masking the shortness of her tone. “Four pounds short and the bank wants to collect today – are you trying to make me lose my precious home?”

Glancing between her and the money on the table, confusion was etched on my face as I knew there was enough when I counted this morning. "That can't be –" My voice wavered, uncertainty creeping in. "I could've sworn there was 30 there this morning."

Beatrice's head lulled to the side, her dismissive tone cutting through the tension. "You were never the best at counting money, sweetheart," she quipped, a puff of smoke from her cigarette swirling lazily in the air before being exhaled right in my face. The sharp scent momentarily overwhelming my senses.

"I think it's best you get out there and get the money – wouldn't want you to be back on the streets again," she added, her words carrying a hint of warning.

She slowly pushed herself up from the table, the notes disappearing into the depths of her worn nightgown. Her dirty housecoat dragged along the floor as she shuffled towards her rotting chair, the frayed fabric whispering against the dusty floorboards. I stood dumbfounded, my mind racing as I tried to piece together where the cash could have disappeared to.

"Best get going, darling Vanessa," her raspy voice reverberated off the newspaper-covered walls, "Make sure to powder up before you leave – don't need those soldiers looking at you like a punching bag."

My shoulders slumped in defeat as I started walking towards the small room that held all my earthly possessions. Everything I could salvage from the rubble of my London home was now crammed into a space resembling a broom closet. The dresses I had collected through the years hung in a row, most too conservative for the line of work I found myself in.

Among the clothes were photos of my childhood – snapshots of my mother and father, frozen in time, their smiles forever preserved. In those images, there was no evidence of the sadness and despair that would later come to define my life. The young girl in the photographs had no inkling that in just a few short years, her father would be gone, leaving her at the mercy of an ungrateful aunt who would exploit her for the sake of paying the house notes.

“Chop chop, Vanessa – time's not stopping," Beatrice's voice called out. I rolled my eyes at her words, a mix of irritation and resignation washing over me as I reluctantly acknowledged the urgency of the situation.

As I made my way over to the vanity, my heart sank into my stomach at the sight that greeted me. The reflection in the mirror revealed the extent of the damage inflicted by the German's hand. My once carefully painted lips were now split at the top, a deep purple bruise spreading under my left eye. His fingerprints were scattered like dark constellations across my skin, leaving behind dancing indentations that served as a painful reminder of his violent touch. The marks on my neck and upper chest bore witness to the brutality of his actions, his decaying teeth leaving behind their mark.

With trembling hands, I reached for the makeup on the vanity, determined to conceal the physical reminders of the night's brutality. As I applied layer upon layer of foundation and concealer, I pushed the events in the back of my mine, determined to put on the facade that everything is fine and get the money that Aunt Beatrice needed. I readjusted the dress that I had worn through the night – giving myself a small smile in the mirror – the bruises faintly showing through the mask.

My heels clicked against the wooden floor with each step I took back to the main room. Beatrice's gaze trailed down my body as she took in my appearance, her eyes assessing and judging. "It's a real shame," she spoke, her voice cutting through the air as her eyes met mine.

"Pardon?" I replied, a sense of unease creeping into my voice at the ominous tone of her words.

A sickening smirk twisted on her wrinkled face as she continued, her words like venom dripping from her lips. "It's a real shame that American soldier never came back to fetch you." Her words landed like a heavy blow, my heart sinking at the cruel reminder of a past hope that had long since faded. "He was quite a looker – could've gotten you out of this hellhole and away from the hands of all those men," she continued, her tone laced with a bitter edge. As she lit another cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around her, her words hung heavy in the air. “Guess you’ll just have to be another whore on the street who has nothing to show for her life.”

My eyes moved towards the ceiling as I fought back the tears that pricked against my lower lids. "You're gonna ruin all that work if you start crying," her voice gruff and devoid of any trace of empathy. "These men aren't gonna pay for ya if they see those bruises,” The harsh reality of her words cut through me like a knife, leaving a trail of raw emotions in its wake.

"Wouldn't that be a shame," I sarcastically chuckled, the bitterness of my words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. The tension in the room crackled with unspoken resentment and suppressed fury. "I guess no money means no house, right?"

Her eyes shot daggers at me, a silent promise of retribution simmering beneath the surface. "Guess you'll have to join me on the streets, Auntie Beatrice," I continued, my tone cutting and cold. The same sickening smile that she'd give me mirrored on my face, a twisted reflection of the familial bond that had long since fractured beyond repair. "Get those hoses washed and ready,"

This time she chose to stay silent, her rigid posture and clenched jaw betraying the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. I could sense the turmoil festering inside of her, the knowledge that kicking me out of the house would sever her only source of income. There was no way she would go and find a job. No one was gonna hire a crippled old woman, especially with a war raging on like it was.

"Don't come back without my money," she finally spoke, her voice cold and distant. I rolled my eyes in response, a gesture of defiance and resignation mingled into one. I stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind me with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway…

I grimaced as he pulled out of me – his sweaty body collapsing off to the side as his large stomach rose and fell in a fast pace. The whiskey that I had consumed earlier now wearing off, the image of the man lying next to me making me groan internally – the way of his touch making my stomach churn. “Goddamn girl –“ His American accent thick. “Where’d you learn to fuck like that?”

I stayed silent, trying to play off like I was sleeping. The rustling of his head turning on the pillow as he looked over at me, making my heartbeat faster, the prayer that he would just leave repeating in my brain. The feeling of the thin sheet being pulled away from my body caused a shiver to run down my spine as his fingers lightly danced across my breast.

“My oh my –“His smoker laced voice whispered as his mouth closed over my nipple – his teeth tugging on the sensitive skin causing a moan to slip past my lips. "I knew that would wake you up," he chuckled, his rotting teeth revealed a mischievous smile before finding the bud again.

I kept my hands pressed tightly against my side as his callused hands, weathered by countless months of war, pulled me closer to his body. The lingering scent of the day's heat clung to his skin, the smell causing my stomach to roll with nausea. Just as his hands reached between us, a sudden commotion outside the room shattered the moment. The sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoing on the wooden floors jolted him back to reality, breaking the seal that he had on me. His body moved to a sitting position, muscles tensing as his gaze fixated on the wooden door The commotion outside persisted, casting a shadow of unease over the room.

Feeling uneasy, I too rose slowly from the bed, hastily pulling the sheet tightly around me Thoughts raced through my mind, fueled by fear and the chilling rumors that circulated through the town. Whispers of German soldiers raiding taverns, killing the men and taking the women prisoners.

“I'm getting the hell out of here," the man muttered urgently, his movements swift as he practically threw himself to the floor in a rush to gather his clothes and make his escape.

As he frantically gathered his belongings, my concern shifted to a more practical matter. "What about my money?" I blurted out, stumbling out of the bed with the sheet trailing behind me like a makeshift gown. Determined not to be left empty-handed after our transaction, I followed him around the room, my finger jabbing into his shoulder to emphasize my point. "This wasn't free, mister."

His stocky body pushed past me, a look of fear etched on his face, his eyes darting around the dimly lit room. As he reached for his jacket hanging on the back of the chair, I saw my opportunity to grab what I came for – the money that was rightfully mine. After everything I had been through with this man, the betrayals, the lies, the deception, I wasn't about to leave empty-handed.

With determination fueling my actions, I lunged forward and seized the other end of his jacket, my hands frantically searching the pockets, desperate to find any trace of cash. The fabric crumpled beneath my fingers as I dug deeper, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Get your fucking hands off my jacket, slag!” His voice boomed through the room, a mixture of rage and panic, as his grip tightened on my arms, his nails digging into my skin.

Pain shot through me, but I refused to let go, driven by a mix of anger and desperation. The struggle escalated, our bodies twisting and turning in a chaotic dance of conflict. With a sudden burst of strength, he pushed me to the ground, the impact reverberating through my bones. Gasping for breath, I watched as he made a hasty escape, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance.

I ran out of the room, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. The curious gazes of onlookers met mine as I scanned the hallway, searching for any sign of the man who had just slipped away from my grasp.

As I stood there, trying to catch my breath, Louella appeared at my side, her presence always bringing me a sense of dread.

"Well, at least there's some good news in all of this," Louella remarked casually, her tone tinged with a hint of mischief.

I turned to face her, my eyes meeting hers in a moment of silent communication. "And what might that be?" I inquired, my voice hinting with skepticism.

With a nonchalant gesture, Louella reached into the pocket of her nightgown, producing several crumpled notes. I watched intently as she smoothed them out and began to count, the sound of rustling paper filling the tense silence between us. Finally, she held up four bills, neatly arranged between her fingers.

"Germany has surrendered," Louella announced matter-of-factly, her words carrying a weight of significance that resonated in the air. "And there's a gentleman asking specifically for you down in the lobby."

She slipped the bills into the top of the sheet, patting the area lightly before she started walking away. The crisp sound of the bills sliding into place seemed oddly loud in the hushed room. I watched as she started walking away – her signature cane leading the way.

“Oh –” Her voice was soft yet carried a hint of playful suggestion. She paused, slowly turning to face me once more. “I would suggest leaving the sheet on – I don’t think you’ll be wearing it for very long.”

With a coy smile, she sauntered out of the room, my mind racing with thoughts of who could be waiting and her suggestion of keeping my body covered only in the thin, white sheet. Usually, Loella wanted her girls dressed to the nines – giving the man something to fantasize about before they seen what we were hiding underneath.

I snatched the money out of the cloth, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I walked back towards the bedroom. The crisp notes rustled as I stuffed them deep into my purse. Taking a deep breath, I was somewhat relieved that I had gotten the money for Beatrice. The weight lifting from my bare shoulders as I took a seat at the vanity. Checking out my tousled appearance, I did my short routine, giving my face a quick powder and running my fingers through my tangled hair. I needed to compose myself, to present an air of confidence in myself.

Once satisfied with my appearance, I took a deep breath and gathered the bottom of the sheet, preparing to descend to the bottom floor where the mystery man awaited. Each timid step down the staircase seemed to echo in the hushed space, heightening my sense of anticipation. The soft fabric of the sheet whispered against my skin, a reminder of my daring choice to leave behind the trappings of modesty. As I reached the lobby, a rush of emotions washed over me – excitement, curiosity, a touch of fear.

As I entered the room, the crackling fire cast a warm and inviting glow, despite the balmy weather outside. The man, with his back turned towards me, seemed completely engrossed in the dancing flames. His worn brown leather jacket, weathered by time and use, exuded a sense of comfort and familiarity.

I couldn't help but notice the way his short brown hair fell against the nape of his neck. A ruggedness exuding from his stance. His broad shoulders, tense with an unseen burden, hinted at a strength that belied his gentle demeanor. The dark slacks he wore hugged his hips perfectly, emphasizing his sturdy frame.

My bare feet made no sound as they padded softly against the floor, bringing me just inches away from the man. With a silent resolve, I took a breath and extended my hand towards him, the cool leather of his jacket meeting the warmth of my palm. His muscle tenses under my touch, my body backing away slightly as he began to turn to face me.

John Egan

My heart nearly shattered into hundreds of pieces as the face that invaded my dreams nightly stared back at me – the same blue eyes that caused me to melt in the back of that bar all those years ago now stared back at me. Memories flooded my mind like a relentless tide, carrying me back to that fateful night when our paths first crossed. The fear that he had died on the frontlines haunted me daily as I would picture us together. His promise to come back for me and take me away from this world was something I held onto – praying to the Lord above that he would be the one to fulfill that promise.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and still, there was no sign of him. The war raged on, claiming the lives of so many brave souls, and I was left to wonder if he had become just another casualty of the brutal conflict. But deep down, a flicker of hope remained, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished.

His callused thumb reached up, wiping away the tears that had fallen. His towering figure loomed over me, his eyes filled with a mix of weariness and determination.

"I told ya I'd come back for ya,"

#john egan #callum turner #callum turner imagine #callum turner smut #callum turner x reader #callum turner x y/n #john egan smut #john egan imagine #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #masters of the air imagine #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air #bucky egan smut #bucky egan imagine #bucky egan x oc #Spotify

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danieyells · 7 months ago

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I feel like bc vagastorm is mostly male (usually it's pretty even when we see female and male NPC but vagastorm we see like 4 male designs and just 1 in hotarubi or I just remember her hahahs) and he went to juvenile, Alan is accidentally sexist in the benevolent sexism way if you know what I mean?

Like it can be as small as giving the MC the last canned coffee or his jacket when it's cold to refusing to think the MC did something bad on purpose bc he believes they have a better moral compass, to even ban them from the pit bc they "shouldn't be around so much violence" and leave that to boys to fight while you read or something.

Yeah, I agree there are probably a lot more men there, or at least not a lot of feminine people. Leo is legit probably one of the most feminine people there lol

But yeah I think Alan would definitely lean into an almost 'chivalrous' set of behavior with girls, or at least with girls from outside of Vagastrom and the MC especially. He doesn't realize he's being sexist in any way, he's just trying to be helpful and do what he's been taught is the right thing, but he'll definitely treat mc a little differently than other people.

According to Leo he walks around in winter with short sleeves so he probably doesn't usually have a coat to share if it's cold but when he does he'll absolutely drape his coat over the mc if she seems cold while they're out, maybe gently chide her for not dressing warmer. Doesn't understand why he likes the sight of her in his jacket so much. He does tell the pc not to come to the Pit in the game, though! I think, as time goes on and he starts to trust her, he'd be okay with her spending more time there, but he'd assign someone to make sure nothing happens to her with all the rowdy guys around. Or he wouldn't fight/train and just be her bodyguard if she really wants/needs to be in there.

But yeah he definitely like. Tries to open doors for her or keep her out of danger and discourage her from dirty places and gets mad when men are rude to her. Always asks if she'd prefer to hang out somewhere else instead of sitting around in the garage with him, but he's never really sure where to take her. But I also feel like he's not offended or bothered or upset if she's like 'you don't have to do that' or 'i don't really like when you do that' or what have you--maybe a little surprised and embarrassed that he was doing something wrong all this time. And she has to explain no it's not wrong just, y'know, she doesn't wanna be treated differently for being a girl. Maybe she's not very strong but she's fine with getting her hands dirty or being in dangerous places if she's got backup. Yeah those are nice gestures but. . .not if it's because she's a girl, y'know?

On the other hand the mc is the usual type where she's very much just there as a view into the story and she just rolls with what comes her way--and compared to some people on campus I think Alan's Benevolent Sexism would be a breath of fresh air lmao better than everyone else who makes her do their bidding! Especially when he starts to feel comfortable around her and instead of pushing her away while he does something he thinks she shouldn't do or wouldn't want to do is like "sit here and wait for me" and he like. Brings her something to drink or apologizes for not having something to do while she waits.

(lmao now i'm imagining the pc asking him what he's doing to a car and he's like 'stay back, you'll get dirty. I don't think you'd be interested?' and she's like 'honestly i like cars i'm really curious about all the anomalous vehicles' and he pauses then he starts explaining and showing what he's doing. And over the next few days they all notice he seems a little down and finally pc asks what's wrong, he's been acting a little upset since that day and he just

Gets embarrassed and apologizes

And admits he was thinking he might have feelings for her but when she said she was interested in cars he realized she liked girls and it got him kind of down but he'd get over it and liked having her around as a friend anyway and he didn't wanna overstep by saying something

And she is BEFUDDLED AND CONFUSED and leo from wherever he's hanging out or eavesdropping just cracks tf up

And they have to explain to him that girls having "masculine" interests does not make them lesbians oh my god alan even if she does like girls it's not necessarily exclusively

And that ends up being the very awkward story of them deciding to go out, just alan being completely blockheaded)

#alan mido #danie yells at tokyo debunker #danie yells answers #danie yells with anons

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collectivecloseness · 11 months ago

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Steve and Robin both holding your hands at the same time, that’s all, send tweet

Absolutely you are 1000% correct and in fact I need to talk about this forever

I can’t imagine them doing it as much in public as they do in private, for fear that looks will turn into talk, but they absolutely do this when they’re finally with you. Or comfy enough with you as a friend, but I presume you meant this as a poly.

They’ll do it in public sometimes if you’re all drunk. Trying to keep each other up, which with Robin’s coordination, Steve’s strong hold pulling you both one way that he thinks is right, and you all being drunk, actually probably causes you all to be even less balanced. At least, if someone falls you’re all going down together.

Steve will try and coordinate last second so you or Robin or both fall on him, to be the selfless little martyr that he is, if you’re aimed that way. And while he swears he doesn’t mind doing so, you are giving Steve some kisses over his small bruises when you notice them when you get home (a long while later), while Robin’s throwing ice lollies at the problem (ie chucking them at Steve’s body with sentiments) since one of you forgot to refreeze the ice pack from an earlier incident.

But it happens a lot at home too. You all live in Steve’s house, since it’s big and his parents are probably not living there long term again, and it’s nice for all of you to have a little home together. Where you all feel safe.

Forget holding hands you’ve got a leg on both Steve and Robin when you’re sat with them on the couch. That or your head is in someone’s lap and your lap is in the others, both of them holding you, and petting you, as you all watch a movie from family video together. That or they’ve pinned you there for some good old fashioned teasing.

Robin and Steve are only fake possessive over you, only when it’s funny, they are literally platonic soulmates, they get on amicably in your home and then more. They’re also experts at outbitching each other, which means no one ever really wins the war. You are caught in the no mans land of snark.

Which sometimes results in you being put in a literal tug of war between those two. Steve pulling at you with his strong grasp and giving you the big brown puppy eyes and thick lipped pout, with Robin holding her ground in a power pose and yanking on you in surprise attacks whilst telling Steve he’s homophobic if he doesn’t give in. She’ll up it to sexism too if he keeps making her grip slip.

Usually this also results in you falling on your ass.

But then Steve and Robin can both be on top of you, maybe even play doctor, so it’s a win win for those two! 😁

When you realised last time that they were faking their sass to pull you to the ground on purpose so they could dogpile you on the carpet, you wondered if it was the first time those two had conspired behind your back about you. I mean, it definitely wasn’t, they’ve both surprised you before with nice things, but how long had it taken them to realise the advantage of playing this particular game of theirs?

But it’s hard to do things with both of your hands being occupied. Your lovers say that’s why you have two hands, obviously, but you swear you’d need eight to be able to occupy them enough into blissful silence, and get on with your daily tasks.

You three did nearly piss yourselves laughing once when Robin and Steve held one hand of yours each, then took their other free hand and slid it under your pits, trying to do the dishes that were in front of you together, as if they were puppeteering you. You swear you didn’t know anyone as uncoordinated as those two when they were working together, but any bickering between Robin and Steve, about bringing a plate forward or sponge to the left, was wheezed out between tears in their eyes. Actually choking with laughter on each direction they tried to give their best friend. And the broken bowl in the end was no match for you all crying with laughter as you grip onto each other, to avoid meeting the ceramics fate on the floor.

But they love both holding your hands. They just feel right with you and being a home like this. It all feels safe. Like they truly have a home, for really, the first time in their lives.

They bring your hand up to wave at the other from the side of you, both laughing as they do so. Or use your hand to flick the other in the face, and then swear you just did it all on your own, you’re wild, and so cruel, they’d never do something like that to their best friend.

You even caught them squeezing your hand in morse code to the other, something you’d all decided to learn. Which you only noticed when you saw Steve staring at your hand Robin was periodically squeezing, with a look so puzzled he seemed almost offended, and Robin mouthing to him and giving him a look as if he was the biggest doofus on earth.

Sometimes they go to grab something but forget they’re holding your hand. Usually this ends with a couple of laughs, sometimes you grabbing the thing for them, or them letting go to move to what they were doing. Occasionally accidentally yanking you and the other person across the room because they forgot you were all linked; Robin once quickly reaching for her favourite snack she thought you two monsters had eaten, and accidentally forcing you and Steve right into her body, and thus all onto the floor.

Importantly, they looooove just being able to have your hand. To hold. To play with. To kiss.

It’s hard to escaped being tickled when one of them starts tickling your palm, and the other decides to join the team of their platonic life partner and get involved with torturing you. And then since they have both your hands in their grasp, it’s pretty easy for them to raise your arms and get in there for another tickle, if you’re so inclined to ‘let them’.

They both love playing with your fingers. Just tracing them, looking at your fingerprints, the lines in your hand. Robin once brought a palm reading book back home, which was a really cozy night on the couch as you three held each others hands, and looked to see what was in your pasts, in your futures. Also seeing if any of you had any visual hand styles in common.

That part, finding those similarities in the intricacies of your born hands, those links you held that seemed to pass superficiality and link you together from the beginning, from what you were made, not quite the scars that all of you had, but the etches of your lives, connected in such small but miraculous ways in the universe that you all knew now was so big... that part you all loved.

Even pulling on your fingers, biting them, using your hand to plop it in their hair and letting go so you knew what the job was, or keeping hold of your hand to make you stroke them. Both of them commonly like taking your hand, and moving it to press their face into your warm palm. Pressing their cheek into your cupped hand, and looking at you. Both of their hands holding your wrist gently, as they fawn up at you. You’ve spent many a night with the both of them like this.

Kissing your hand being one of the greatest prizes of them all. Of course you get them kissing your hand a bit in public, Steve slightly more than Robin, and oh is he so suave with it.

But kissing over your hands in excitement as you agree to something. Or checking in on you by taking your hand up with a soft squeeze, and kissing it as they ask how you’ve been. Or just as a romantic gesture, with sparkling eyes up at you as they press their lips down to say, hey I love you.

Then just mostly kissing all over your hand, in a loving display of their true affection. Kissing the back, your palm, your heel, your fingers, the knuckles, your finger tips, those etches you have in common, every inch. This also includes them licking your hands sometimes. Holding them in theirs and looking at you as they flatten their tongue and lick a long stripe up your hand, while maintaining eye contact. And with your fingers in their mouths? Sometimes you spend more time with your hands free than not being pressed past their lips, and resting on their tongues. Sometimes gently being sucked on, or swirled around, or lovingly lapped at, but sometimes just sitting in their mouths. Steve and Robin both enjoying the comfort of having you just be there like this, with them.

#I could actually go on about this I love them so much <33 #platonic stobin x reader #Steve Harrington x reader #Robin Buckley x reader #platonic stobin #Robin Buckley #Steve Harrington #platonic stobin fluff #Steve Harrington fluff #Robin Buckley fluff #platonic stobin thoughts #platonic stobin blurb #platonic stobin hc’s #steve harrington thoughts #Robin Buckley thoughts #stranger things #anon #ask

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horizon-verizon · 6 months ago

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You misunderstand me. I'm not saying it has no bearing on the story because it's from Yi Ti, I'm saying that since the Blood Betrayal hasn't yet been confirmed as the official reason why the Long Night began, HotD wouldn't be interested in referencing it. Also I doubt Condal and Hess read TWOIAF.

Anon speaks of this post.

Not sure why you think I misunderstood. I addressed your point about how "we can't know" that this legend explains or thematically explains the connection of misogyny to how we lose the dragons.

Rhaenyra -- Amethyst Empress --- woman who lost her throne and life to an evil younger brother through force

Aegon II -- Bloodstone Emperor --- both usurp their elder, chosen sister

Daenerys/Amethyst Empress/Rhaenyra --- women of authority and power

Viserys (III)/Aegon II/Bloodstone Emperor --- brothers who have endangered, abused, or killed their sister and meant to displce them from their own rights, innate or sociopolitical, for their own power advancement.

As for Condal and Hess, they can't do pattern recognition, now? Condal especially said he was a "fan" of this series and world. He didn't read TWoIaF and he claims to be a AsoIaF "fan"?

It is similar here, with the Bloodstone Emporer/Amethyst Empress and that particular legend's explanation for the Long Night. This legend doesn't have to be totally real, and I mean that it doesn't have to be true that there was a 1000 year old emperor as the Yi Ti are told to believe abt some of the known Emperors. These are metaphorical in the first place.

All the legend is clueing us in on is that this betrayal, whatever it was, was one between relatives, a man undoing a woman's place, and thus speaking to how it threw off the balance of the world's magic. That women are a critical part of that balance. That's the central idea being conveyed, the purpose of this legend--everything points to Dany vs the Others (yes the others of the Big Five are still relevant, but they have no chance without her).

We don't need to know the actual details of who these particular people were and what they weren't when they loved or died, just that something like this usurpation definitely happened and there was a notable affect on magic in the realm those emperors ruled over, as Yi Tish people are also very active in magic wielding...most of Essos is, unlike Westeros.

I'm going to repeat myself in this post, but: this is not a real history book where we'll likely not know much of anything...GRRM provides more answers in his fictional history than real history books do.

All this is important to the theme of F&B: greedy men sideline, abuse, uproot women they are blood connected to for power (just as the Bloodstone emperor did), the women suffer for it/lose their political authority therefore their ability to as actively direct the direction of the House, and eventually the entire house and Westeros loses dragons to use against the Others and the world's magical & biological ecosystem is totally thrown off kilter until Dany literally sets it right again by bring the dragons back. The dragonglass candles at Oldtown, they light up again when she does this. The last of AGoT:

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

So again, why do you need "more" "confirmation" when there is so much evidence, when that's not how fiction works (that you need things totally spelled out for you to be true), etc?

Honestly, this seems a literacy and latent sexism issue that causes this cognitive dissonance in fans that makes them deny these types of connections as canon, real, whatever. Bc you have people caliming Jon is Azor Ahai up the wazzo simply because he's the son of a Targ and a Stark (fire and ice), male, the "sword" of the prophecy they take as literal, etc. etc. But "song" means "war" and Jon has done nothing/nothing has happened around him to predicate a connection the Azor Ahai prophecy in-text. Yet so many people ride for this stupid idea, this stupid unsupported idea!

This idea that has never been "confirmed" and never will be bc there is and has never been evidence to how Jon Snow, a Westerosi Stark through and through, relates to an Essosi prophecy when Dany--who grew up in Essos and was born in Westeros thus is a connector of the two continents; is actively dealing with dragons and having dragons dreams; in Essos where the Azor Ahai prophecy originates; comes from a dragonriding lienage ("fire"); the enemy of "fire" has always been "cold" and Jon is more Stark than Targ, so "cold" must be the ecological and magical threat that is the Others that even GoT has had us anticipate since its very 1st episode as THE enemy before that atrocious last season!!!; when we know "prince" is a gender neutral term form High Valyrian (Prince that was Promised)--has all the evidence of being Azor Ahai.

And why does it matter they they haven't read it when they could have asked GRRM or just read F&B to properly understand the point of the Dance?

Condal can't clock that this legend is narratively important just as much that the CotF/"those who sing the song of the earth's connection to Dany and Westeros' future? Just bc a thing is in Essos, doesn't mean it will not affect Westeros just as real life Ancient Asian societies have been able to make physical trade as well as intellectual "trade" or influence on stuff in the West. He can't clock Rhaena the BB and Elissa's connection to Daenerys? Condal read how Dany is connected to Braavos and how Dreamfyre's eggs went there and didn't put 2 and 2 together?

This is why you don't bring non-fantasy readers to write a fantasy show. who then, bc of said ignorance, want to somehow "make the story better" or different...the same story they don't even understand. Also why you don't bring a marketing guy to write any adaptive as intricate and rich as ASoIaF and to not understand the depth or the patterns of magical phenomenon that good faith fantasy readers have habitually done since their childhood (most readers anyway have read fantasy since childhood and religiously so to understand its conventions) when that's not what they look out for in the first place.

The fact that Dany's eggs are Dreamfyre's also haven't been "confirmed" by GRRM or revealed in The Winds of Winter or A Dream of Spring. That doesn't make this any less true.

1- from his website

What really happened during the Dance of the Dragons? Why did it become so deadly to visit Valyria after the Doom? What is the origin of Daenerys’s three dragon eggs? These are but a few of the questions answered in this essential chronicle, as related by a learned maester of the Citadel

2- It's pretty much fact with how these are THREE eggs that petrified when they are away from Dragonstone; IIllyrio Mopatis had them to give to Dany and she eventually awakens them; F&B takes the time to painstakingly show Rhaena the BB's conversation w/Jaehaerys abt the consequences of THREE dragon eggs going missing. What other reason was there for F&B--a text that aims to contextualize Daenerys by telling the stories of her ancestors before the loss of the dragons and a little after--to do so hard abt 3 dragon eggs stolen during Rhaena's time, from her dragon's clutch, under her watch?! A text that traces the existence of dragons and their maintenance/use by the Targs? Then there is the fact that Elissa Farman--the egg thief--sold the eggs to the Sealord of Braavos, another thing necessary to Dany's arc. None of this is an accident or a red herring, esp since there is literally nothing as damning as evidence or suggestion for the argument of Syrax being the mother...at all. Nothing in the text.

Not everything in ASoIaF is a great and complex mystery; sometimes GRRM gives you clues to a simple "mystery" to deduce the truth of, esp when we already have much evidence of Danyxher dragons being necessary and critical for the coming Long Night against the "ice/cold" others. That she/her dragons are the "fire" in the Song of Ice and Fire, a coming magical war for the world. This is the type of chain of clues that are retrospective and not anticipatory. We already have the result (Dany and the eggs); you were tasked to recognized the line of causation pretty quickly. This is still a fiction series with correct answers.

All this is evidenced just in the main series, TWoIaF acts as a support piece...Condal is a fan, but he can make deductions? Sure.

#asoiaf asks to me #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targaryen #daenerys stormborn's characterization #yi ti #agot characterization #hotd writers #ryan condal #hotd critical #defending Daenerys Stormborn Khaleesi Targaryen #awoiaf #asoiaf #agot

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kengan-daddies · 1 year ago

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I know your gonna like this one a request for saw paing x reader (your choice I just like the idea you can pick what happens if not please ignore this 😄)

You must know me well, I did like this ask the moment I saw it (😏), I just had to think of a story but then I was 'eh, I'll just guess the story as I write like I always do.'

Our Beginning Child! Saw Paing Yoroizuka x Child! Fem Reader

Anime : Kengan Ashura Character : Saw Paing Yoroizuka Warning : Fluff, Childhood, sexism

Our Beginning Child! Saw Paing Yoroizuka x Child! Fem Reader

The first time you met Saw Paing, you were a young girl in The Village of Dawn, Your parents owned a fruit stand, and once you were old enough, you were finally allowed to help. You loved the fruit stand, it granted you so much. Friends, meeting new people, sense of purpose, excitement, and good health. You were 7 when you first officially met him, the loudest boy in the village, he'd run around asking people if they needed to help with their heaviest items, and he was always determined to get stronger.

He ran up to your stand, a large smile on his dirty face. "HEY!! YOU GUYS NEED ANY HELP!!" You cringed at the loudness of his voice, your mother chuckled from behind you as she placed her hands on your shoulder. "Why yes we do, Saw Paing, we just got some new shipment crats and we need to fill them up with fruits, why don't you and Y/N go and fill them up and you can bring them back." She said. You didn't mind collecting fruits, it's what you and your father did all the time. His smile widened, and you stared at him in wonder. 'How much more can he smile?' You thought.

"THAT'S A GREAT IDEA!! LET'S GET STARTED THEN!!!!" He shouted as he ran off, both you and your mother leaned over the counter as you watched him run off. You sighed. "He didn't even grab a crate and he ran off in a random direction." You said, your mother chuckled. "Oh my, just like his Mother." She said in a nostalgic voice. Your mother placed a crate in your arms. "There you are, just head on down to the fruit trees, I'll send Saw Paing your way once he comes back." She said. You stared up at her with a questioning stare. "How do you know he'll come back?" You asked.

She gave you a knowing smile. "Oh trust me, I know." She said. You stared at her a little longer before you sighed, you walked out from the stand heading towards your father who was waiting for you with a few crates in his arms. You both walked to the field of fruits, fruit trees as far as the eye could see, the trees were all free for the public to use, but many people were too lazy to walk way out just for an apple or two, so they bought them from your family instead. Your father placed the crates down, one under each tree, and you placed yours down under an orange tree.

Your father had four crates and you had one which made five in total, so five trees had a crate up against their trunk, you both climbed up a tree, going high to get the best fruits, you inhaled deeply, the scent of oranges overwhelming your senses as you smiled. You pulled at a plump orange, struggling to pluck it and once it did you smiled in victory, placing it between your legs so it wouldn't roll off and you continued to do that a few more times before you were satisfied. You looked down at the six oranges, you then looked to your side, seeing the crate at the base of your tree.

One by one, you dropped the oranges down into the crate watching as they bounced a few times before they settled. You were able to pluck 12 oranges before the sound of yelling sounded out, you looked through the leaves, trying to see what was happening. "What in the?" You questioned as you watched as Saw Paing came running at you both with three crates over his head, his ever-present smile on his face as he ran towards the field. "Wow, mom was right." You said, as you watched him stand in the clearing, your father's voice ranged out, giving Saw Paing instructions on what to do, he nodded and smiled, a gremlin-like chuckle leaving him as he raced off to a tree without a crate.

You went back to what you were doing, sitting there another 3o minutes before you sighed in accomplishment. "Finally done." You said as you leaned against the thick trunk, your legs swung as you relaxed your tired arms limply in your lap. You heard shouting and you rolled your eyes. "There he goes again." You said as you listened to Saw Paing's victory shout about filling up yet another crate. "That's his fifth one in less than 30 minutes, that's wild." You said to yourself as you shook your head. You looked down at your hands. "How is he so strong?... We're like the same age." You said as you remembered what your mother taught you.

"Children and women are naturally weaker than men, it's the flow of the earth, so never feel lesser or troubled when you can't do as much as your father. Not even I can do as much as he can, I can try but I get tired much quicker than he does, so never feel weaker or more insignificant, but you're not alone." She said. You thought over her words. "But, how come I'm weaker than you then, Mama? Aren't you a girl too?" You asked her. She chuckled. "That's just simply because your muscles aren't as developed as mine are yet, all children are like that, boys and girl, hence why they always say 'Gather the women and children.'" She explained.

You sat there, listening to him yell another victory scream, you looked up from your hands, clenching your small fists. 'I'm starting to think that not everyone follows that flow of life.' You thought.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, that's when you, your father, and Saw Paing all made your way back to the fruit stand, you didn't have a crate in your arms, they were all too heavy for you to even pick them up. You looked over at your father and Saw Paing, they were each holding some crates. Your father carried six on his shoulder with ease while Saw Paing carried two on his. You stared at Saw Paing, bewildered at how he was even strong enough to even carry the crates. It almost felt unfair, seeing how strong he was... It just wasn't right...

After that, it became an endless cycle of Saw Paing coming to help once a month, he was always so eager and ready to help, always covered in dirt from helping everyone in the village with their restocks. You would go with them, and help pluck fruits but that was about it, you were starting to feel useless, you wanted to stop tagging along, it seemed pointless. You sat in the apple tree, resting your arms after pulling 13 apples nonstop, they burned and ached but you had a job to finish. You felt your thick branch shake some and you looked around in panic. 'An earthquake?' Your frantic mind thought, but then a hand grabbed onto your branch and you relaxed some, seeing Saw Paing hoist himself up on the branch, he smiled at you as he sat on it.

His legs gaped as he faced you. "Hey!! Your dad told me to come help ya!!" He said happily. You pouted at him as you crossed your arms. "I don't need any help." You said. He kept his same smile as he stared at you. "I don't make the rules, I just follow them!!.... But you do look tired." He said. You huffed as you sat up straight proving your point by grabbing a nearby apple, by twisting it a few times before you were able to pluck it off. "I'm not tired." You said beginning on the next apple. He stared at you a little longer before his smile seemed to widen. "GREAT!! I'LL HELP THEN!!" He suddenly shouted as he turned around on the branch facing away from you and he began plucking them off like grapes on a stem.

You watched as he just plucked them without a care in the world, you watched him a little longer, trying to copy him, but finding it impossible to even snatch the fruit off without weakening the stem. You wanted to cry. It wasn't fair.

Once you all made it back to the fruit stand, Saw Paing bid you all farewell as he ran off to who knows where, you were exhausted but you swore that you hadn't done anything aside from plucking a few fruits. You helped your parents close up the stand, before retiring to bed, you plopped down on your bed, sighing as you watched your dangling feet. The sound of light knocking on your door sounded out. "Y/N, sweety, can I come in?" Came your mother's kind voice. "Yeah." You said. She came in, a small smile on her face as he stared at you. "Are you upset with Saw Paing?" She asked. You looked up at her quickly, wanting to deny her claims, but the knowing look in her eyes made you sigh.

"Yeah." You said. she chuckled lightly as she walked over to your mattress, she sat down next to you, rubbing your back gently. "Oh sweety, you shouldn't feel bad, it's only natural... When I was your age, I didn't like the fact that I was getting pushed out of the way either, My brothers would take over the tasks that I used to help with. It felt so unfair... I felt useless, so I tried to prove myself, but it never worked in the end... I'd just end up tiring myself out in the end." She explained. You cringed as you thought of how tired you were earlier.

"It's okay to be weak... It's okay to not be strong... To be honest, it's the weak that makes the world spin." She said. You looked up at her, confused. "You see, the world goes around because of weak people. We make guns, knives, and armor to protect us, we make patterns, designs, and art to keep us entertained, we make technology, tools, and clothes to help us. Weak people are some of the most important people on the earth, without us, the world would be a pretty boring place." She said. You thought over her words. 'That's pretty true, a strong person doesn't need protection, they can protect themselves already, they don't need entertainment they get that from gaining strength, and they don't need help when they don't really use the stuff.' You thought.

Your mother smiles, seeing the gears in your head turning, she gives you a kiss on your forehead and a tight hug before she stands up. "Tomorrow, how about you help me make some fruit pies? Mr. Yoroizuka is going to need some for the festival." She said, your face brightened up with a smile. "OH YEAH!!! I FORGOT ABOUT THE FESTIVAL!!" You shouted as your eyes gleamed in excitement. Your mother chuckled as she walked to the door. "Get some good sleep okay? You'll need it. Goodnight, sweety." She said. You got comfortable under your blanket. "Goodnight mom." You said. She gave you one last look before she closed the door.

You lay there, looking at the stars through your window, your mind racing with thoughts from what your mother said to the festival. The sound of an excited yell sounded out over the village and you smiled to yourself. 'Maybe being weak isn't so bad.' You thought as you listened to Saw Paing's excited screams.

#kengan ashura #kengan ashura x reader #kengan ashura x y/n #kengan ashura fanfiction #kengan ashura saw paing yoroizuka #saw paing yoroizuka #saw paing x reader #saw paing x y/n

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waywardrose-archive · 2 years ago

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 12

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

9.2k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Added two more songs to the playlist. Also, heed the updated tags for this chapter. If you need spoilers, DM me.

“Of course, magic’s real,” you said.

He sat back on his heels with hands on his thighs, his limp cock hanging between them. He sighed and stared at the floor.

Only the nearest candle-flame had survived the rush of magic. The scent of incense lingered despite the heating blowing new air into your room. The floor was cool enough to feel clammy.

You followed his attention. Thick spurts of come striped the smudged chalk. One spurt lay close to your knee.

Now that the spell was complete, you felt different, though not as expansive as you once had. You couldn’t feel Eddie like you had in Chicago. Even though he was in contact with the sigils, you couldn’t feel him like you’d expected. Something had changed, though, and that was a start.

You concentrated on sparking a flame for a blown-out candle. Lighting a candle had been easy just weeks ago. You thought of the purpose of a wick, of the tiny fire, of the heat, of the illumination—

But nothing.

You slumped onto your calves.

“It didn’t work, did it?” he asked.

“No, it worked. I’m just... Not the same.”

“Hey, maybe that’s a blessing.”

“Why?”

“Well, if I was a wizard and wanted more power, it would be convenient to drain the same person of the same magic again.”

“You think with different magic, they’ll leave me alone?”

“Maybe like this you’re off their radar.”

You nodded, hoping that was true.

“Shit, let’s get off this floor.”

He rose onto his knees, appearing at ease with his nudity. He had nothing to be embarrassed about. Especially not in front of you. He’d helped you when he didn’t have to. He was brave to stay by your side.

And damn if he wasn’t beautiful to boot.

You grabbed his wrist as he leaned to the side to bring a foot forward. He paused to study you. Some mix of emotions must’ve colored your features, because he shuffled closer.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

You shook your head as you got to your knees.

“Just... thank you.”

You placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. His features softened as he bent to meet your lips. You closed your eyes and sunk into it. His soft lips dragged across yours when he tilted his head. His nose pressed alongside yours as his free arm wrapped around your back. The memory of pain and nightmares you’d begun to associate with magic dissolved.

Magic was with Eddie. It was what you shared with him.

You knee-walked a little closer to him. Something cold and slick squished under your knee. You pulled away to look down. You’d knee-walked into his come. You laughed, grossed-out, but still giddy. His face scrunched as he laughed.

“Shit, let me...” He floundered for something to use to clean you. “You got tissues or something?”

“It’s okay,” you said and stood.

You’d stashed a fresh roll of paper towels and glass cleaner on the desk chair. If glass cleaner would wash away chalk, you were sure it would do the same for cooling spunk.

You went to the desk, sprayed a paper towel with the cleaner, and wiped off your knees and shins. After folding the towel, you sprayed it again and offered it to Eddie, who looked bashful. He cleaned his dusty, pink knees, then threw the towel in the wastebasket nearby. It landed with a splat.

He barked a laugh. “Can’t believe my jizz ruined the moment.”

Amused, you shrugged and stepped to the bed for your robe, asking, “You plan on leaving?”

“No, but... ya know...”

You slung on the robe before handing him his boxers.

“We’ll get another one.”

He said nothing as he pulled on the boxers, appearing disappointed. You gave him his Metallica t-shirt before asking if he was thirsty. He nodded, saying whatever you were having was fine. He followed you to the second floor only to separate to use your bathroom. You continued to the kitchen, where you took two cans of Slice from the fridge and a bag of BBQ Fritos from the pantry.

You met Eddie on the second floor. He studied the framed print of Rothko’s Yellow, Blue, and Orange that filled the space between the bathroom door and the guest bedroom. The canvas edge was a vivid, fiery orange that was nearly red. The top two-thirds was a rough-edged square of butterscotch yellow with the bottom one-third a rectangle of true blue. Orange leached into both top colors, adding depth and texture.

You stood beside him, your fingers cooling from the icy cans.

With the tone of someone in a museum, he said, “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

You hummed. “I feel different things each time I look at it.”

“Yeah, at first I saw a calm ocean. Now, there’re ruins on the horizon.”

“Do you like it?”

He nodded, then asked, “What do you feel now?”

You tilted your head as you thought.

“Floating and warm? Like feeling the sun? I see waving grasses in the blue. It’s like a meadow.”

“I can see that.”

After a quiet moment, you said, “Here,” and gave him the cans and bag. “Bathroom break.”

When you finished in the bathroom, you ascended to your bedroom. The desk light was on. Eddie stood at the edge of the chalk circle, blue boxers billowing from his thighs. The bottle of glass cleaner was in one hand, a few paper towels in the other.

“Didn’t know if it was cool I clean or not,” he said as an explanation.

“No, it’s cool.” You pointed to the roll of paper towels lying at the far corner of the bed. “Let me help, though.”

He fetched the roll and handed it over. You tore off a few sheets as he sprayed the cleaner on the circle.

“I guess that makes sense,” he said, throwing you a smirk. “Since we both made the mess.”

You grinned and knelt, placing the roll to the side.

To tease, you said, “Some more than others.”

He made an offended noise, yet knelt across from you to begin wiping away the chalk.

“Are you implying one of us is culpable for this untidiness?!”

Your grin widened to a smile. You hid your face to school it and cleared your throat.

“I’m more than implying, sir,” you said, swabbing the floor.

“Why, I never.”

“Judging by the state of your room, I call bullshit.”

He lobbed his used towels to the side.

“You wound me, milady!”

“Say that about the full ashtrays in your room.”

“How do you know I haven’t emptied them?”

You raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes, conceding the point with a grin.

You returned to cleaning until you met him in the middle. After tossing the last of the used towels in the pile, he starfished across the floor and touched your knee.

Giving you an upside-down grin, he asked, “Soooo, what now?”

“Now, we feast and test my magic.”

“And have a smoke?”

He gave you an imploring-puppy look.

“You did this just to get at my Djarums.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“Guilty as charged.”

You twisted around to give him a crooked kiss. He purred into it, his hand going to your nape.

An inch from his lips, you said, “I think you’ve earned it.”

“I concur.”

You awarded him a couple of quick pecks before standing. He groaned as he rolled onto all fours while you brought out the heavy — and clean — ashtray you used to burn spell components in. Together, you righted the room and gathered what you needed on the window seat. Before settling, you lit candles the mundane way and clicked off the desk lamp. You sat in the opposite corner of the window seat from Eddie, tucked the afghan over both your legs, and cracked the window.

He opened the cans of Slice as you lit two Djarums. You traded a cigarette for a can and toasted to a successful spell.

After taking a sip of soda and a drag off the Djarum, you asked, “Did you feel anything when the circle glowed?”

He thought for a moment, exhaling smoke towards the sliver of chilly night air.

“It felt warm. Good.” He hummed, lips pursing. “Then again, getting off always feels good.”

“So, nothing beyond getting off?”

“No, I felt the warmth in my chest. It was different than heating up from being turned on.”

You nodded.

“Maybe you have a spark of magic.”

“Me?” He shook his head. “Nah. No magic here.” He winked. “It’s all you.”

You nudged his knee with a toe and scrunched your nose at him, which made him grin.

As you both ate and drank and smoked, he told you about the D&D campaign he hoped to finish before Christmas break. It was his take on the Scourge of the Slave Lords module. He’d changed the creatures his players had to fight and the species the slavers were targeting. He wanted his players to question their own morals and argue amongst themselves. As a DM, he said, it was entertaining — though the arguing prolonged the campaign.

You asked after the newest members of Hellfire. He replied Sinclair had unofficially dropped out by sacrificing his character in the labyrinth, thus saving the party. Since basketball season was gearing up, Sinclair could no longer split his time between practice and Hellfire. Eddie, of course, saw through the excuse. Sinclair wanted to run with the popular crowd.

“Then let him,” you said. “That’s his choice.”

“Yeah, fucking sucks, though.”

“Hey, my offer to join Hellfire still stands, you know.”

“Let me think about it. If you join for a module, I want it to be epic.”

Headlights flashed at the end of the driveway. You pulled down the window’s roll shade to block the view. Eddie froze, eyes wide. You hoped the candles weren’t strong enough to throw sharp shadows on the shade. The garage door rasped open as the low rumble of your father’s sedan grew louder.

“Should I hide?” he asked.

“No, they won’t come up here.”

The garage door closed. The house was still.

You closed your eyes, thinking, ‘Here goes nothing,’ and reached out. The mental image of your parents wasn’t distinct. You had a sneaking feeling you were pulling from memory. You felt their drunkenness, though. You got the impression your father was feeling pompous, like he’d gotten to show up a snooty waiter. That sort of stunt always made his night.

You opened your eyes to meet Eddie’s gaze. He looked expectant, with eyebrows raised and dark eyes round. You shook your head, unworried. Your father never wanted to see you after a date. Mom was probably too tipsy to manage the extra set of stairs to your bedroom.

As you sensed their proximity, you whispered, “They’re coming up the stairs now. Listen.”

The lush carpet muffled their footsteps. Your father’s voice was a wordless grumble. Mom giggled like a schoolgirl. You couldn’t discern the click of their bedroom door, but you knew it had. Luckily, noise didn’t travel far in the house and your bedroom was isolated.

“They sound...” Eddie’s brow wrinkled. “Happy?”

You shrugged.

“They’re drunk.”

“That’ll do it.”

You grinned, opening the window’s roll shade enough to close and lock the window.

“You felt them,” he half-asked/half-stated.

You wagged your head as you said, “Pretty much.”

“Could you do that before?”

“Yeah, but it used to be clearer. This’ll do until I can find another way. Or the person that drained me dies.”

Eddie’s eyes rounded again.

“What?”

“They stole my magic,” you said. “If they’re not alive to keep it, I’m pretty sure it’ll come back.”

“Planning a murder now?”

You looked over your room, mulling over options. It hadn’t occurred until now. You’d been too shaken and too focused on recovering magic to think about revenge. On top of that, you didn’t know if you were powerful enough to do it. If you fucked up a curse like that, it would mean your death.

“Not yet,” you said.

Alternatively, tracking your attacker with magic and hurting them the old-fashioned way was an option. Your father had a pistol he’d inherited from his father locked in the safe in his office. It was unregistered. The bullets were in there, too. It didn’t take a genius to work out the lock combination, either. It was your parents’ wedding date or his mother’s birthday.

“So, that’s possible?” he asked.

Distracted, you nodded and murmured a ‘yeah.’

“Shit, what else can you do, sweetheart?”

You blinked as his question registered. It was an interesting topic. There were things you’d been good at, but you didn’t know if you still were. Perhaps it was sensible to start with something you’d always struggled with. Your expectations would be low, then.

“I was never very good at psychometry,” you said, and held out a hand to him, palm up. “But I’m willing to give it another shot.”

He looked at your hand, saying, “Psych equals mind, -metry is for system, but I don’t get it.”

“It’s learning things or seeing events through touch.”

“You want to learn things about me by holding my hand?”

“Well, I mean, I wasn’t good at it. It might not work.”

“You could just ask.”

“But that’s not testing my abilities.”

With a guarded sigh, he took your hand.

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“No, let’s do this.”

“Okay then, just relax.”

Wryly, he asked, “No breathing exercises?”

“No, just trust me.” You stuck your empty Slice can between the window and your hip, then held out your other hand. “And close your eyes.”

He leaned to the side and dropped his empty can in the wastebasket. He got comfortable, took your hand, and closed his eyes with a deep breath. You gave his hands a tender squeeze, which he returned.

You’d been honest when you said you weren’t good with psychometry. Typically, you’d gotten a fragment: a phrase, a snapshot, a passing feeling. It never amounted to anything. Then again, you’d gotten more than a fragment from Eddie’s carving on that picnic table. Maybe you could read him better than others — or had been able to at one point.

Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes and let your shoulders loosen. You focused on the feel of Eddie’s hands holding yours, their weight and warmth, his skin texture. Images came one by one:

A plaid bookbag open on his small bed.

Running through the woods and dueling friends with sticks.

Getting black grime on his hands, under his nails, as he fished through a tray of lug nuts at the garage where Dad worked.

Watching Momma clip coupons at the kitchen table.

You paused. His mother was pretty, with wavy, caramel-blond hair and a heart-shaped face. Eddie had inherited her eyes, lips, and bone structure, though his jaw was squarer. However, there was a weariness about her that Eddie lacked.

While all that was interesting and painted a picture of Eddie’s childhood in broad strokes, it didn’t tell a story. He’d revealed his father was dead, but never anything about his mother.

In a flash, you sit on sun-warmed concrete stairs. The metallic clank-clank from the school’s flagpole counts off slow seconds. Your bookbag full of that week’s projects and graded homework leans on the stairs next to your scuffed sneakers. You play with the mend at the knee of your corduroys.

From behind you, an adult voice says, “Eddie? It’s almost five. What are you still doing here?”

You pivot on your butt. Breeze from the passing cars ruffles your hair. Mrs. Russell stands at the top of the stairs. The flared hem of her tan slacks undulates in the breeze.

You shrug.

Mrs. Russell descends a few stairs. The corners of her mouth turn down as a wrinkle mars the skin between her thin eyebrows. Her expression makes you feel squirmy in the worst way. You’ve seen that look from adults before.

“Did you miss your bus?” she asks.

You open your mouth to answer, yet swallow the reply.

This morning Momma said she was going to pick you up after school and take you for super-secret ice cream. That’s the best kind of ice cream, in your opinion. You threw your arms around her waist, telling her what flavor you were going to get today. She shushed you repeatedly and combed through your hair with her red nails.

“Eddie, did you miss your bus?” asks Mrs. Russell again.

You nod, because something tells you Mrs. Russell shouldn’t know Momma forgot about super-secret ice cream.

“Do you need a ride home?”

You shake your head, because something tells you Dad wouldn’t like Mrs. Russell there.

“No, I can walk home.”

You grab the handle of your bookbag and stand.

As you walk down the stairs to the sidewalk, she says, “Have a good weekend...”

You cross street after street, looking both ways twice each time. Barking dogs in backyards turn into barking dogs chained to front stoops. Some sound more friendly than others, but you want to pet them all. The old lady across the street with fake flowers planted in pots on her front porch watches you. She doesn’t like Dad and won’t talk to Momma. Dad calls the old lady an old bag, which is a silly thing to call a person. She doesn’t look like a bag at all, but you understand it’s an insult. You hope no one ever calls you a bag.

You walk around the side of your house. Only the car Dad works on is parked in the backyard. You open your bookbag to unpin the house-key from the lining and unlock the backdoor. Inside is dark and quiet. Cooking smells linger in the kitchen.

Going to the threshold of your parents’ dim bedroom, you call for Momma.

No one answers.

You’re not allowed in their room unless they’re home, but sometimes you sneak in anyway. You usually smell Momma’s perfume or Dad’s cologne — both are harsh until it’s on them — and look at their clothes hanging in the closet.

Maybe Momma is getting ice cream from the grocery store.

It’s not as good as the super-secret variety, but you like it all the same.

You go to your room to continue building your racetrack castle with Lincoln Logs and the pitted Erector set. After a while, you get bored and lay on your side.

The slam of the front door wakes you. Footsteps clomp through the kitchen, too heavy to be Momma’s. You sit and return to constructing, because Dad doesn’t like it when you’re lazy.

“Hey,” Dad says from the doorway. “Where’s your mom?”

You straighten your back and look him in the eye how he likes.

“I don’t know.”

Dad grunts and leaves the doorway. You creep to your bookbag to clean it out before Dad notices. You cram all the papers with the other school stuff in the bottom drawer of your desk. The drawer is close to overflowing, seeing as the school year is almost over.

Your parents’ bedroom door closes with a bang. Though you’re sure you’re not supposed to hear him, Dad talks to someone on the phone. His voice gets louder and louder until something thuds a few times across the floor. He yells some bad words before something else smashes into the wall.

You stand by the desk as silent, tense minutes tick by. Nothing makes a sound, not even the fridge. Once you’re sure you won’t get in trouble, you crawl to the racetrack castle. You sit in front of it, a Lincoln Log between your fingers.

Too many thoughts zoom through your head. You don’t want to think about anything. You want to switch on the radio and crank the volume until music beats away the thoughts. You want to escape outside and explore in the alley behind the house. There’s always something to see back there.

Eventually, it gets dark. You turn on the desk light. Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t risk leaving your room. Instead, you sit at your desk and read Where the Sidewalk Ends until Dad calls you for dinner.

Dad doesn’t mention Momma during dinner. He doesn’t mention her on Saturday or Sunday, either.

On Monday, you take the bus home.

With your heart aching, you withdrew from the memory. You didn’t need to see more. Abruptly, the world blurred. It spun so fast everything became strings of color. You couldn’t pull away. Then the strings wove together to make a tapestry you understood.

Eddie stands next to his van. He doesn’t look much different from what you’re used to. There’s a healing zit on his chin. Sunlight catches the gold undertone of his wind-blown hair, which is about the same length as it is now. Though, his over-grown bangs obscure his eyelashes.

It’s late spring. Last day of school for seniors. The birds chirp and flitter in the trees at the edge of the trailer park. He watches them with angry, red-rimmed eyes. Wayne watches him from the front porch.

Principal Higgins summoned Eddie to the office to inform him summer school wasn’t an option. Wayne sat in the other guest chair next to Eddie, missing sleep before his second-shift. Higgins continued, saying there was no way to make up the missed tests and homework. Besides, Eddie had too many absences. He’s a problem student, disruptive in class. He antagonized fellow students (see: Meathead Jocks). Wayne protested the assessment while Eddie tried to explain the absences. Higgins wouldn’t hear it, advising Wayne to withdraw Eddie from Hawkins High and have him take the GED test somewhere else.

Eddie’s grin was full of malice when he stood and declared Higgins would see him next year. Higgins’ fat face reddened, but Eddie hadn’t stuck around to hear more. Actually, he left school while the rest of the seniors were in the gym for commencement rehearsal.

He was going to be a super senior, and he was going to make it everyone’s problem.

“Don’t you fucking talk, boy,” Dad yells as the cop walks him out of the apartment. “You keep your mouth shut!”

A big hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder. He wants to shake it off, but knows better. Adults don’t like it when you reject their touch. The flashing lights on the patrol cars hurt his eyes, yet he refuses to look away from the frosty living-room window.

“Where’s your mom?” the second cop asks Eddie. “Can we call her? Or another family member?”

He thinks of Uncle Wayne. Though Uncle Wayne lives in town, he’s never home. Eddie doesn’t know his number, anyway. And no one’s heard from Momma in years. He tells people she’s dead if they ask, because she might as well be. Not like anyone asks at his new school. It’s a small school — just like the town they moved to. Dad says the town — Hawkins, Indiana — is the Munson family hometown.

None of the students recognize his last name, though. They think he’s a weirdo because he wore a Kiss t-shirt on the first day and only ate a squished peanut-butter sandwich at lunch.

“I don’t know,” he says as he watches Dad get hustled into the back of a patrol car.

The second cop sighs. “Pack a few things. Get your school stuff.”

“Where am I going?”

“To the police station.”

“Am I in trouble?”

The cop snorts. “No. We just need to keep you safe.”

“I’m safe here. I’ll go to school tomorrow.”

“With who your dad was selling to? No, kid. We need to know where you are until we can find your mom or a family member.”

He doesn’t know who Dad sold the cars to, though he knows Dad drove them to a warehouse an hour away.

Sometimes, he was the lookout. That was always exciting. They were like Robin Hood. The other week, Dad finally let him hot-wire on his own. Dad said he’d done a good job since the steering column wasn’t scratched.

He turns to the cop. His gaze has to travel up and up and up. The cop is taller than Dad, with deep-set eyes and a big jaw. He looks gruff, but not mean. However, Eddie knows not to trust him. He’s a cop. Dad said never ever trust a cop.

“Go on,” says the cop. “Get your stuff.”

Eddie packs some of his clothes, the library book he’s reading, and a toothbrush in an old gym bag. His school books and folders are scattered over the coffee table since he was doing homework when the cops barged in. After he packs all that in his backpack, the cop takes it and asks if he has a key. Eddie shows him the one on his necklace, which he only takes off when he showers, and slings on a coat.

Together, they turn off lights, lock the front door, and walk to the remaining patrol car. The cop deposits his backpack and gym bag between the crates of official gear. Eddie wants to rummage through the crates, but the cop closes the trunk before he can. He sits in the front seat for the ride to the town’s lone police station and studies all the extra equipment bolted to the dash.

Once inside the station, the cop takes him to a wood-paneled room with two military cots and promises him snacks in an hour. Eddie finishes his homework. He explores the room to find nothing interesting. He hula-hoops the necklace around his neck, then twirls it around his finger. It sails across the office behind the other cot.

The cop returns to find him crawling under the cot. Eddie pops to his feet, covered in dust-bunnies, his heart in his throat.

“You got a little—” The cop gestures to his head with an unopened can of soda. “—in your hair.”

Eddie bends and swats at his buzzed head. It rains gray dust.

When he straightens, the cop nods. He hopes the cop won’t tell Dad he was embarrassing himself.

“We got in touch with your Uncle Wayne’s dispatcher. He’s in Arkansas right now,” says the cop. “They’ll have him back soon.” He thumbs behind him. “You can come out if you’re bored.”

Eddie shakes his head.

“No, thanks.”

The cop hands over the soda and a little bag of pretzels without comment. He tells Eddie he’ll find him a blanket and that the bathroom’s to the left. The cop comes back with a felt blanket and leaves the door open.

They don’t take him to school in the morning. Instead, the secretary makes him a bowl of Frosted Flakes with sliced banana and calls the school to get his assignments for the day. The cereal becomes gross mush in his mouth when he realizes with that one call, everyone will hear about Dad’s arrest.

He says nothing as she sets up a tray table for him to work at by her desk. It’s difficult to concentrate with the phones ringing and the clack of typewriters and the cops across the hall talking or walking to the break-room. He can’t cover both ears and work, but he covers his left and lays his right on his shoulder. It helps — a little. It still takes him all day to finish his schoolwork.

The same cop from last night brings him a cheeseburger and fries from Benny’s for dinner. They eat together in the break-room while other cops stop at their table to gossip. One of the county judges bought land near the Eno River for a new house. The cops share a look that Eddie takes to mean the judge is corrupt. Annie Roark kicked out Earl again. Bradley’s is running a five-for-five deal.

After dinner, Eddie retreats to the quieter cot-room to wait. He reads his book. His mind strays. He reads another paragraph. He wonders where Dad is. He walks to the big room by the front door where all the cops hang out to ask just that.

The closest cop doesn’t know, but calls for ‘Hop.’ The cop who brought him dinner perks and swings his crossed feet off his desk. Hop explains Dad is still in jail, but his case was already heard by the judge, who ruled Dad remain in custody. Eddie bets it was the corrupt judge. Hop says Dad will appear in court in a couple of days. In the meantime, Eddie will stay with Wayne.

Eddie returns to the cot-room to wait some more. He lies on a cot with his book winged across his chest, tapping a rhythm on the cover as he thinks. There has to be a way to overrule the judge, or to explain, or conceal evidence, or pin it on someone else. He’ll say Dad didn’t do anything; he was with him the whole time. He has to think of some scenario where Dad couldn’t have done it.

He mulls over the situation until his eyelids get heavy.

A knock on the doorjamb wakes him. It’s Hop, who says Wayne is there to pick him up. Eddie dumps the book on the floor and runs for the front of the building. Wayne will know how to get Dad out of jail. Wayne is smart. Dad said the Army wouldn’t let Wayne be a grunt during ‘Nam because he was that smart.

Like a movie, Wayne turns to him right in time and opens his arms. Eddie tackle-hugs him. Wayne ‘oof’s and doesn’t scold him for running inside or being a wuss.

An arm wraps around his shoulders while a warm hand cups the back of his head. Wayne’s coat smells like cigarettes and cold-night air.

Voice rough, Wayne asks, “How you holdin’ up, kiddo?”

“I’m okay,” he says against Wayne’s coat.

Wayne hums and rubs Eddie’s shoulder.

Hop tells Wayne what he told Eddie earlier, though he adds Dad’s scheduled court appearance. Wayne thanks Hop before giving Eddie’s nape a squeeze and asking if he’s ready to go. Eddie is so ready to go. He’s been ready since he had to leave home, and he almost says that.

He releases Wayne as he nods. Wayne juts his chin towards the cot-room and tells him to pack his gear. Eddie salutes as a joke, then runs to the cot-room. He reloads his backpack and gym bag, and pulls on his coat.

Wayne ushers him out of the station and to his regular truck. Eddie had hoped to ride home in the big-rig, but Wayne had explained the first time Eddie saw it that it wasn’t his exactly. They stop by his home to pick up more clothing, bathroom stuff, and his pillow.

The air in Wayne’s trailer is stale, but it’s clean. Wayne flips on some lights, runs the kitchen faucet, and turns up the thermostat. Eddie studies Wayne’s mug collection, trying to pick out the latest addition. He squints at the mug from Minnesota as he racks his brain if it was there the last time. Unfortunately, Wayne breaks his concentration by telling him to get ready for bed.

As he and Wayne make the couch up for Eddie to sleep on, he asks when Dad will get out of jail. Wayne replies that it’s up to the judge. Eddie tells him what he heard about a corrupt judge. There has to be a way to use that to get Dad out of jail for good.

Wayne gives him a considering look that’s a little stern. Eddie picks at the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Edward,” Wayne says, and Eddie knows he’s going to refuse. “That ain’t practical.”

His shoulders slump, but he nods.

“I understand your loyalty, though. I got it, too. I don’t want your dad in jail, either.”

Eddie opens his mouth to further argue his point, but Wayne holds up a hand to stop him.

“We can’t do a thing about that right now. He got caught again — and everybody knows he did it.”

Tears burn at the corners of his eyes. He ducks his head to hide them. Boys shouldn’t cry.

Wayne’s gentle ‘hey’ has his tears overflowing the banks of his eyelids. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. It’s just everything all at once. Dad’s gone and so is Momma and he didn’t stop it and he could’ve. He knows he could’ve stopped it all, but he doesn’t know how. Maybe by being a better, smarter person.

Wayne gets on one knee in front of him and pulls him into a tight hug. It’s a little awkward, because Eddie’s a little too tall to snuggle into Wayne’s chest. He drapes his head over Wayne’s shoulder, letting his tears wet Wayne’s flannel shirt, and snuffles back snot quietly.

They stay like that for a long time.

He doesn’t go to school the next day. Wayne takes him out for breakfast, then grocery shopping. He helps him with his school assignments at the kitchen table. They eat chicken pot pies in front of the television.

He goes to school the next day. People avoid him. Teachers don’t call on him. He sits alone at lunchtime until a boy in his class — he thinks his name is Johnny or Joe — swings into a chair across the table. Eddie bets his friends dared him.

“Is it true you were arrested?” asks Johnny-or-Joe.

Eddie nearly laughs.

“No,” he says and takes another bite of his ham sandwich that he stuck potato chips in.

“Everyone said you were.”

He tongues the food to the side of his mouth to say, “Well, they’re wrong.”

“What happened then?”

Eddie narrows his eyes.

“Why do you wanna know?”

Johnny-or-Joe shrugs.

“Just wanna.”

Eddie swallows and leans in with a lie brewing in his mind. Johnny-or-Joe leans in, too.

“My dad uncovered a huge conspiracy.”

Johnny-or-Joe’s eyes widen as his lips part in shock.

Eddie whispers, “There are mind-controlling aliens in the government. They’ve taken over the country. They’re here in Hawkins, my dad swears. And there’s only one way to stop them: playing rock-and-roll reeeeal loud. It makes their brains—” He hovers his hands on either side of his head, then throws them out. “—explode.”

“Bullshit,” Johnny-or-Joe says, though he looks shaken.

“Swear to God, man. You play that music near a government building, and they’ll have you surrounded in minutes.”

Johnny-or-Joe stands and shoves the chair in. One of the legs plows into Eddie’s shoe. He leaves with a grumble.

“Play that music and keep ‘em out of your head!” Eddie says to Johnny-or-Joe’s back.

Johnny-or-Joe flips him the bird.

Eddie smiles and takes another bite of his sandwich. Fuck these asshats.

On Monday after school, Wayne sits him down on the couch and tells him the judge convicted Dad of a felony with two years in prison. Eddie curses for the first time in front of an adult. Wayne doesn’t admonish him.

“You wanna keep on with me?” Wayne asks.

“Like there’s another option.”

“You can go live with your granny in Ohio.”

They’d visited Granny a few times. Dad and Wayne called her Mommy. Her assisted-living apartment was tiny, too warm, and smelled weird. All the windows looked onto a dull courtyard. He’d be the youngest person in the whole boring building.

No, he doesn’t want to move to Ohio. Besides, he likes Wayne.

“Can I stay with you?” he asks.

“‘Course you can.” Wayne nods. “We’ll bring your things here and go visit your dad when he’s settled.”

Eddie nods as his stomach growls.

Wayne smirks around the cigarette between his lips.

“You want some supper?”

Eddie nods again.

After two years, they release Dad on an unseasonably warm autumn day. Wayne picks Dad up from Plainfield Correctional while Eddie’s in school. By the time he gets home, Dad’s a few beers into a twelve-pack and has sprawled across the couch on the porch.

Dad greets him like a buddy from work, offering him a beer. From the grill a few feet away, Wayne pointedly clears his throat. Dad laughs it off and tosses the can in the cooler, but gives Eddie a wink. He then cheerfully demands Eddie put away his school crap and bring out his guitar.

“Which one?” Eddie asks.

“What?” Dad asks.

“I have two.”

Wayne bought him an acoustic and a few instructional books for their first Christmas together. It hadn’t been out of the blue. Eddie always mimicked guitar solos in songs. Wayne took the hint. When Eddie zipped through the books, Wayne bought a few more. With some of the money from Granny’s estate, a second-hand Stratocaster and Fender amp.

“Well, shit,” says Dad.

Wayne suggests the acoustic since it takes no time to set up. Dad tacks on he doesn’t want to hear anything ‘fruity.’ Eddie plays him some AC/DC and Led Zeppelin. It’s a little rough. He’s better with AC/DC on the Stratocaster.

During supper, Dad talks about moving to Indianapolis and Eddie coming with. They’ll pal around and get to know each other again. Dad will get a job. Eddie will go to school. It sounds like the good old days until he remembers the hollow feeling of watching Dad being driven away in the back of a patrol car. It’ll happen again, he knows it.

Eddie’s face must show the realization, because Dad’s smile disappears and his face goes red. Eddie looks at Wayne, who has the best poker face he’s ever seen. He knows Wayne will support his decision — whatever he chooses.

It’s not as though he’s thrilled about living in Hawkins. He doesn’t like that Wayne had to give up his trucking career to take care of him...

Dad’s elbow clunks on the kitchen table as he points an accusatory finger at Wayne.

“You turned him against me!”

Calmly, Wayne says, “That ain’t true.”

“My own goddamn son!”

“Now—”

Dad snaps to his feet, almost upending the kitchen table. Glasses and deli containers topple. Their drinks flood the tablecloth. Dad grabs Eddie by his t-shirt and swings him against the wall oven. He gets in Eddie’s face, yelling about obedience and loyalty and duty, and shakes him hard enough his head thunks on a dial.

Wayne shoves at Dad’s shoulder, gets between them. Dad tries to bully around Wayne, but he’s too drunk and uncoordinated. Spittle wets the side of Dad’s freshly shaved chin. His fists fly wild.

One catches Eddie in the jaw. Eddie’s teeth crunch into his tongue. He grunts and holds his throbbing cheek. His eyes water from the pain as he tastes hot iron.

Dad stumbles away, forearm knocking into the pendant light over the table.

Wayne pushes Eddie towards the hall.

“Bathroom, now.”

Eddie backs away as Dad stares at him with furious eyes. He’s never seen that look before. He doesn’t want to see it again and escapes into the dark bathroom. It’s the day Momma left all over again. He doesn’t dare make a sound.

With metal in his voice, Wayne says, “Get the hell outta my house.”

“But—”

“No, out.” It’s quiet for a beat. “Now.”

“Where will I—”

There’s a shuffle and crinkle of paper.

“Here. Bank of Hawkins. Your share of Mommy’s money.”

After a tense moment, the front door snicks closed.

They don’t hear from Dad for a year. When he finally calls, it’s collect from a Peoria, Illinois police station. He needs $500 for bail. Eddie doesn’t have the money, and Wayne’s already at work. Dad needles him about having a job, though he just turned fifteen. He can’t even drive.

Dad sighs, then asks about the rest of Granny’s money. It went to a new furnace for the trailer and a transmission in Wayne’s truck. Maybe he can pawn a guitar. The thought makes Eddie’s supper curdle in his stomach. Surely, Eddie has some money saved. He does, but not enough to make bail.

And the last suggestion nearly has him hang up: Take it from Wayne’s account.

So much for familial loyalty.

He says he’ll talk to Wayne when he gets home. Dad sounds annoyed, but gives him the station’s phone number and reiterates the bail amount. Eddie writes the details on a sheet of notebook paper and leaves it on the kitchen counter for Wayne.

Over a bowl of Fruity O’s in the morning, Eddie asks Wayne to not send the money. Wayne lifts a brow for clarification as he takes a drag from his cigarette. Eddie says if they send the money, they’ll never see it again. Dad will run.

Wayne nods in contemplation, ashing the cigarette.

“Think so?”

Eddie says, “Know so.”

“How’s that?”

“He never said anything about coming home or seeing us. Or even missing us. He doesn’t fu—freaking care. We’re a Get Out of Jail Free card to him.”

Wayne hums. “You wanna let your old man cool his heels in jail, huh?”

“We don’t have the money, anyway.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Wayne scrutinizes him over the rim of his mug. “Ya sure? He may be in there a while before his trial.”

He nods while ignoring the pangs of some ugly assortment of feelings. He spoons cereal in his mouth and chews like it insulted him.

“Edward... Eddie—” Wayne inhales through his nose. “Son, what my brother does ain’t no reflection on you, ya hear? Same with your momma.”

He stares at the bloated rings of cereal drifting in the milk.

“You’re a good kid. Always have been.”

He can’t look at Wayne’s face as he says, “You’re the best uncle I could ask for.”

Wayne ruffles his hair. He evades with a laugh. He meets Wayne’s eyes to see them glassy for the first time. Wayne holds his gaze for a second before fishing another cigarette from the pack.

Eddie is seventeen — and high as shit — when the phone rings on a rainy Thursday evening. He answers on the third ring, positive it’s a local looking for weed. However, it’s a chaplain with Greenville Federal in Illinois. They ask for Wayne. As per usual, Wayne’s working second shift. He typically wouldn’t identify himself on the phone, but he does this time.

Like ripping off a bandage, the chaplain breaks the news that Dad passed away less than an hour ago. Eddie stares at the basket of clean clothes on the washing machine. The chaplain reports Dad had a cardiac incident while out on the unit floor. They took him to the medical ward, where he stabilized. Shortly thereafter, he went into cardiac arrest. Staff did their best to resuscitate, but all attempts were unsuccessful.

Eddie blinks. Dad is dead. The floor disappears. Or rather, he can’t feel the floor under his feet. Dad is dead. He looks down. His socked feet are still on the brown linoleum.

Dad is dead.

The chaplain calls him Mr. Munson.

He nearly laughs.

He isn’t Mr. Munson. He’s Eddie. Just Eddie. And his dad is dead.

Words come out of his mouth that aren’t his. They feel like Wayne’s. He asks what he and Wayne need to do. He finds a pen and the closest piece of paper as the chaplain speaks. Being out-of-state makes claiming the body of the deceased more complicated. Fax machines are involved. He doesn’t know anyone who has a fax machine. He writes what the chaplain says, though.

After the conversation ends, he places the phone handset back in its cradle and sits on the couch. He needs to call the plant, get Wayne on the phone. A commercial for Wheaties plays on the TV. He takes a couple of deep breaths and closes his eyes. His mouth is dry — as are his eyes.

He waits for tears to come. When they don’t manifest, he figures he’s too high.

The days after Dad’s death blur with trips to the library to fax documents, calls to officials and relatives, and leftover pizza for breakfast. Wayne opted for a direct cremation in Illinois and the remains sent to Indiana. There are fees on top of fees, and Social Security is being a big bastard about everything.

Eddie pauses in the middle of scrubbing the bathroom floor — because, you know, he cleans now — and remembers he forgot to remind Wayne to call school on Monday. It’s Thursday afternoon. He flings off the pink rubber gloves and runs into the living room.

Wayne is on the phone with family in Kentucky they haven’t heard from in years.

He waves his arms. Wayne holds up a finger for him to wait. There can be no waiting with this. He grabs his notebook, turns to a fresh sheet, and writes ‘school’ in capital letters. He holds the notebook in front of Wayne, whose eyes round.

“Aunt Virgy, lemme let ya go,” Wayne says. “Yes’m— Yeah, my boy— Yeah, our Eddie— He’s doin’ fine, thank you for askin’—” He smiles. “Yup, growin’ like a weed.”

Eddie smirks to himself about the idiom.

Wayne continues, “Yes, ma’am, we’ll do that— Thank you for the invitation— Yes, sometime this summer— Okay.” He nods. “Talk with ya soon— Alright, bye-bye now.” He hangs up the phone. “Shit.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“No, that’s not on you. With all this goin’ on...” Wayne shakes his head. “I’ll call ‘em right now.”

Eddie brings him the school calendar from the fridge. He stands on the other side of the coffee table, gnawing at his cuticles. They taste like rubber. He doesn’t know why he cares. School is bullshit.

As Wayne talks with a secretary, his expression gets darker. Eddie doesn’t have much hope when he overhears all his absences — regardless of reason — have been considered unexcused this school year. That’ll affect his class standing. Wayne speaks to Principal Higgins, who puts off a meeting until the end of the school year.

Eddie knows what that means: Higgins is going to screw him over.

It’s like the universe is conspiring to keep him in Hawkins. Maybe he should’ve left when Dad was released and wanted to move to Indianapolis. He could’ve helped with money, so Dad wouldn’t have gotten caught again. He could’ve learned to cook some healthy meals. He could’ve started a band in Indy, too. He probably wouldn’t have the Warlock guitar, but he’d be out of this shithole.

Not anymore, though.

He leaves the living room with a clenched jaw and prickling eyes.

It’s been one bad decision after another. Staying with Wayne wasn’t one of them, of course. Not really. It wouldn’t have been better in the foster system or with another relative. It would’ve been different. Likely worse. He’d probably be the cremated remains Wayne is having shipped.

He shuts the bedroom door, lifts the Warlock from its wall mount, finds a random pick, and sits on the corner of his bed. It’s just the two of them. He goes through a few warm-up exercises. His fingers are stiff from scrubbing, but loosen with a few legatos and rolls.

He inhales and begins playing Metallica’s “The Call of Ktulu”. He rocks with the rhythm. Tension in his gut melts. His chin wobbles, yet he won’t stop. He won’t resign himself to whatever role Higgins — or any other asshole — wants to assign him. Fuck them all.

Tears burn their way down his cheeks. He wipes them on the shoulders of his t-shirt. His breath stutters, yet he continues.

You gasped to the present. Eddie watched you, concern evident in the crease between his brows. His thumbs stroked the backs of your hands. You glanced at the bedside clock. It had only been a few minutes. It felt like months.

You met his gaze, having no words. Psychometry had never been like that, and you weren’t sure it was supposed to be.

“What did you see?” he asked.

You shook your head while squeezing his hands.

“That bad?”

“No,” you said. “I just... I didn’t know— I mean, of course I didn’t know. I—” You sighed. “It’s never been like that.”

“Like what?”

“You showed me all these things. Like, these pivotal things.”

He frowned.

“I didn’t think of anything.”

“What?”

“I didn’t think of anything.”

It was your turn to frown.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, what did you see?”

“I know about the last time your mom promised you super-secret ice cream.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He released your hands and tripped off the window seat. The afghan went with him. You pivoted on the seat to watch him pace around the room. His elbows winged out as he put his hands on the top of his head.

“What else?” he asked.

“I...”

“No.” He stopped and faced you. “No holding back.”

“I know you hot-wired cars with your dad, but he got caught. You spent the night at the police station.” You tried adjusting the lower half of your robe to cover your thigh, but you’d have to stand to do that. “I—uh...”

“What else?”

“Wayne picked you up at the police station the next day. You spent the night there.”

With a gritted curse, he resumed pacing.

“Your dad died in prison. In Illinois.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. “You missed too many days of school and had to repeat senior year.”

“Yeah, the first fucking time.”

“I don’t know about the second.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“That all?”

You stood and adjusted your robe, because you didn’t want to tell him.

Eddie said your name like a doubt.

Here you were again with him distrusting you. It had been stupid to get magic back. It was going to cost you Eddie. He’d never be able to look at you again without remembering you knew. And you knew some things were better left in the past.

You braced yourself and said, “I don’t want to lie by saying yes.”

“Then don’t.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

“I can take it.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

“So, you get to know whatever it is, but I don’t get to know what you know about me?”

You paused, because he was right. It was his past and his memory. He’d lived it. You’d been a mere observer.

You wiped your palms on your robe and inhaled deeply.

“I saw your dad hit you.”

His face went blank and bloodless. He blinked — once, twice.

“Eddie, I—”

“Nope,” he said, and darted for his clothes on the bed. “I’m out.”

“Please, don’t.”

You grabbed one leg of his jeans as he took hold of the other.

“You think I won’t leave here without pants?”

“Don’t go.”

“Why? So you can have a little pity party for me?” He yanked the jeans hard enough for you to put a knee on the bed. “Let go.”

You didn’t.

“I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it. ‘Oh, poor trailer-trash kid got knocked around by his felon of a father.’”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, ‘cause that’s not what I think.”

“Sure you don’t.” He released the jeans and went for his flannel. “I was too much for my mother, and my dad resented me.”

You didn’t seize the flannel for fear of ripping it. Instead, you climbed onto the bed and caught his forearm. He glared, but there was no malice behind it.

“You aren’t too much,” you said. “You aren’t.”

He stilled, as though waiting for you to contradict yourself.

You reached for his jaw, giving him enough time to back away. When he didn’t, you touched where his father had punched him. He allowed it, despite his mouth tightening.

“I don’t feel sorry for you, okay? You’re the strongest person I know.” You scanned his expression to spot any softening and found none. “There’s so much to love about you, and it’s a shame your parents didn’t see it.” You cupped his jaw. “But Wayne sees it.”

“Wayne has a big heart.”

“So do you.”

He swallowed and averted his gaze. Beneath your hands, his muscles unwound.

Softly, you said, “You know, I didn’t expect to find someone like you.”

The corners of his mouth turned up as he placed his hands on your hips.

“A super senior with—” He gave you a self-deprecating grin. “—all the issues?”

You rolled your eyes.

“No, dillhole, a person I really care about.”

He gave you a sly grin.

“You wanna kiss this dillhole.”

You shuffled forward, pressed your front to his, and twined your fingers behind his head. His hands slid across your lower back.

“So what if I do?” you asked and wet your bottom lip.

“Well, I’d say you better hurry up. There’s quite the demand for dillholes in this town.”

You swayed him with a smile, even though a seed of uncertainty of how he felt remained. He might be open to being physical with you, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything beyond that now. Regardless, you needed him to know nothing had changed for you.

“I’m sorry for...” You shook your head. “Everything? I didn’t know that was going to happen. I mean, I figured I’d see what you had for lunch or something.”

“More than you bargained for, huh?”

“Yeah, but I’m glad I know more about you.” You toyed with the hair at the back of his head. “I still want to know all about you.” Lifting a shoulder, you said, “I still want you.”

He whispered, “Yeah?”

“Of course, honey.”

His dark eyes glanced down.

“I want you, too.”

You quirked an eyebrow.

He grinned, rolling his eyes at his wording.

“Like that, yeah, but I want you in my life, too.”

You hummed. “Sweet and horny.”

“Two great tastes that taste great together.” He smiled, big and bright and genuine. “Who’d be the sweet?”

“Let’s see,” you said while moving in to kiss his jaw.

With an inhale, he tilted his head. You placed a delicate kiss on his jaw, then kissed under it. You mouthed down his neck until reaching his collarbone. His hold tightened. You nipped at the silky skin there before sucking at it. He gasped as his hips jerked forward.

You held his nape with one hand as you left a hickey. With the other hand, you trailed fingers down to find one of his nipples. He breathed a ‘fuck’ as you stroked it with a thumb.

You kissed the hickey before pulling back. The skin was red and splotchy. It would turn into a nice, dark bruise before morning — and a good reminder he was yours now.

“I don’t know about sweet,” you said. “But you’re certainly delicious.”

You can see Rothko's Yellow, Blue, and Orange here, and listen to Metallica's "The Call of Ktulu" here.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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treasure-me · 2 months ago

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An Amateurish Text on Censorship, Sex and how nice pretending a perfect World is

Censorship is derived from fear, conservatism and the human need for things to stay the same. Any man seeking to censor an artwork, speech, symbol or practice is morally wrong. However, the manipulation, personally or societally, the lack of education and the purposeful lack of distinguished ideas in politics, and the lack of honesty in society at large, counters that statement. You cannot be free if your place of education is corrupt to a certain ideal, and you cannot be free if your system is not free. Freedom is impossible without certain aspects of moral cleanliness, and a correct moral compass, one that is wholly absolute, requires a lack of censorship. However, many people advocating for complete freedom of speech clearly are biased. A republican man in his thirties, who wishes to be able to personally insult a member of the transgender community by calling them by their birth name, for example, and then complains about "freedom of speech" when there is backlash against his actions, is an idiot. If you advocate for freedom of speech in an aim to further your ability to target a minority, the same logic applies for that minority; they should have the freedom to call you whatever they want as well. It should be noted I do not condone either side of that argument; it's simply unnecessary. The lack of respect required to insult a person purely due to your own desire to see yourself as better is shocking. It's simply just disrespectful, immature, and a clear window into a person's mindset, where their goal of protecting their own fragile ego is prevalent. However, insulting a person back is not going to make your situation any better, it will instead bring you down to your opponent's level. I digress.

For a man to be fully "free", he must not only be educated to function in a world where he must able to decide his own opinions, organize his morals, and have a fair position where he is able to choose these opinions and morals where he will not be swayed unequally, he must also be able to do, to an extent, anything. A man who is well educated, and lives in a system that is free from misogyny and toxic masculinity, and has a fair and kind environment has no reason to "do" a thing that is morally corrupt (e.g. rape, murder) for he is free to chose, and well educated enough to function, and input himself into a group of people (who are all persons are also subject to the same fair utopist environment) he is most comfortable with. If you are educated on topics that are currently prevalent in our current society, such as race theory, the concepts of fallacy, theories around sexism, ideas around freedom of choice, and ideas around bodily and mental freedom, you are not going to be in a position where you would, for example, recreate hate symbology or participate in an environment where groups and ideologies such as Nazism. However, who should get to decide what is inside or outside the realm of what is "good" or not? Much of the world of hate speech, violent crimes and more and built on fallacy, corruption and a some higher power in control, but what is considered good? Things that people experience an attraction to, such as degradation, humiliation or pain may be considered acceptable, but what if these things are purely the result of negative environments? Would these acts continue?

My answer to that, "that" being the question "if, in the conceptual and utopistic society that was described, assuming the society is transformed from what we see today as the present, modern day western (western purely because of a higher level of prevalence in S&M acceptance, and for my own ease of mind, being a person living in a western society, who also doesn't like having to stretch scenarios to the point where a computer simulation or a dose of psychedelic drugs is required to imagine a make believe world) society, would we still continue to experience, in a world where all forms of expression is free, and where peoples are well educated, sadism and masochism? would sexual deviancy be relevant?" is quite simple in my mind. Yes. A world where the youngest generation suddenly gains the traits of education, thought, freedom and intellectualism would still be affected by the older generation. Although this perfect generation would not have any trauma, negative experiences or unfair amounts of bias inflicted onto it, the very nature of fair inflictions of bias and opinion means that these people must be introduced, at least partially, to the concept of S&M. These persons would also be able to view texts, films, and documents of S&M material. These persons would also be aware of the nature of emotional impacts of degrading culture, such as rape, but there is proof that well educated and intellectual persons can still affiliate themselves with sexual cultures such as communities who enjoy consensual acts of non consensual sex. Not to mention the ideas that some fetishistic ideas are instilled either by chance, genetically or through introduction to these ideas.

This text will be updated when I remember what I was talking about. I would like to point out that my use of examples of a man, and his function in society, is because of my discussion on manipulation, misogyny, etc.. primarily purported by a male group.

"For a man to be fully "free", he must not only be educated to function in a world where he must able to decide his own opinions, organize his morals, and have a fair position where he is able to choose these opinions and morals where he will not be swayed unequally, he must also be able to do, to an extent, anything."

"Any man seeking to censor an artwork, speech, symbol or practice is morally..."

examples of my use of masculine terms. This is, again, because censorship, lack of education towards morality and corruption is largely a male issue. I will, when the topic strays from a discussion on masculinity, alter the correct terms to ambiguous and feminine, respectively.

Many thanks to @evidence-based-activism for being inspiration on writing this. Your texts are a great example of how this platform can be used, and you speak very well. Professional diction aside, you seem like a very cool person, and I agree with much, if not all of your views. I have yet to find something I do not agree with you, and that heartens me significantly.

#essay #text #feminism #writing #philosophy #conversation #intelectual

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kariachi · 2 years ago

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Part of what pisses me off about all the bullshittery in the Pern series is, it’d be so fucking easy to just- Not make it that? It is literally a bippity-bobbity-fuck-that situation. Because the vast majority of the time it doesn’t add anything to the story. The majority of the time it’s just random examples of Anne’s ableism, or sexism, hypocrisy, her fucking kink, that don’t actually bring anything to the table that’s necessary or that couldn’t have been made into a better story if done another way.

The Harper Hall doesn’t except girls except it’s actually that girls don’t want to come so we just said they weren’t allowed for some reason? Tell me that makes for a better concept than ‘Harper hopeful works with her teacher on a plot to get her free from her abusive family so she can apprentice at the Hall, only for things to go horribly awry when her flight to a secret pick-up location is interrupted by an out-of-pattern Fall and she’s presumed dead’.

‘Dragonriders are infallible except when they aren’t but even when they are they aren’t because who are we to say a rider is ever wrong?’ Not only serves no purpose from a story and worldbuilding standpoint when you refuse to have it pushed back against in any real or meaningful way, but just serves to make the characters seem even worse for the lack of acknowledgement and justice.

There is literally no reason for the sheer level and depth of ableism, misogyny, heterosexism, and racism is this series. It adds literally nothing to have it be so rampant that even our heroes are talking about how all women are horrible creatures that should shut up and do as they’re told.

How the fuck is ‘Robinton doesn’t acknowledge his son because the boy’s mother said he didn’t have to and also he’s severely disabled’ the story you settle on when ‘Robinton is uninvolved in his son’s life out of fear he’ll find himself pressuring him to reach heights that aren’t possible and hurt him in the process, especially after the emotional abuse he suffered at the hands of his own father, not realizing that this has just left him a neglectful parent rather than an abusive one’ is right the fuck there?

What does the rapey-tones of the whole Flights situation add to anything besides appeal to what I assume were Anne’s own kinks? It’s only truly plot relevant once, and again why would you go for ‘dragons fuck whoever so their riders have to fuck whoever (except when they don’t, but ignore that, it’ll never really enter into anything-) no matter what either wants’ when the potential for ‘bronzers all working to ingratiate themselves to suspicious goldpair so they’ll let them chase/choose them when they Rise’ or ‘dipshit bronzeriders try to prevent ‘all dragons are loyal to only their riders above her’-Ramoth and Lessa from learning about mating so they can be caught unawares while F’lar and his allies realize they have a singular moral between them and scuttle the attempt’ subplots are right there? Letting the risers have the power you say golds have and the power loads of female critters in nature have over who they mate with, let fuckers communicate and coordinate beyond Kylara trying to convince Prideth to fun for Mnemoth (which, forgive me if I’m wrong but I’m pretty sure that’s the closest we get to this shit in canon and it’s from a fucking antagonist), it is so fucking easy to fix that shit and it makes for more interesting stories with more emotional depth!

There is no reason and no need for so much shit (this is just an ‘off the top of my head’) and just-

It’s so fucking easy!

#achi rants #''achi if there's so much wrong with this series why do you love it?''#''because the dragons because some facets of the worldbuilding are so fascinating and have so much potential #because the problems are intrinsic but also so meaningless that you can just shear them off and for the most part harm nothing #because the fix is right there and so easy and between me and bondable talking dragons *i have to fix it*''

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wasawattpadkid · 2 years ago

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Housewife

Part - 13

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, homophobic slang

Part 1

Monday night came and went with Billy somehow convincing you to let him stay. The two boys slept in the guest room staying up till four in the morning. Billy reminded Stu several times to keep his voice down but it did no good. You could hear the incoherent ramblings of the two psychopaths all night long. It didn't really matter if they were quiet or not. You couldn't fall asleep anyways. Thoughts of the last couple weeks plagued your mind. Even the nice talk you had with the cops at the hospital replayed in your mind over and over.

They pitied the pretty girl laid up in a hospital bed. Being a "helpless woman" worked in your favor when you played the part. Dewy had told his coworkers about his distaste towards the two boys who somehow lived through the slaughter at the Macher house. He didn't like Stu when he dated Tatum and he definitely didn't like him now. Billy was simply guilty by association. What really set Dewy off though was seeing how cold Billy looked at the funeral. "We don't want you to feel pressured or scared to tell us the truth. We can protect you." The officers said wanting you to change your story.

Of course you lied. What else were you supposed to do? Wincing in pain and a few fake tears simply pulled at their heartstrings. You thought you made the right choice. This was all for love wasn't it? You liked to picture your movie as a horror spin off of When Harry Met Sally. Billy was the brooding love interest with a enemies to lovers trope. Stu was the dopey, loveable, side kick, who's purpose in the film was to be the comedic relief. What did you bring to the movie? You needed to be different but in being so you were just like every other girl on television.

The week slowly passed with Billy and Stu staying at your place. Wednesday Stu decided to go back to school with Billy leaving you at home. You hated to say it but you loved the quiet. It felt like your husbands went off to work leaving you get things done around the house. Maybe you were delusional and your thought process was probably sexist but you enjoyed it. The job didn't feel forced upon you so you didn't see an issue. You cleaned up the guest room making sure to wash both of the boys laundry. After that you started on dinner.

Wednesday rolled by with both Billy and Stu thanking you for everything you did. You ate up the praise happily. They couldn't make it on their own and that's why they needed you. Thursday started with Stu and Billy kissing you before they left for school. Billy actually started to enjoy school now that Stu was there. The students of Woodsboro high thought the almost happy mood both boys seemed to be in was odd. It wasn't how a boyfriend was supposed to act when their girlfriend was brutally murdered.

Thursday was a breeze considering your side was almost completely healed. You actually started to get used to living with Billy and Stu. They helped with chores if you asked and they didn't complain. Well they almost didn't complain. No one could predict what Stu would say. Friday started just like the other days. "See you when we get home babe." Billy would kiss you grabbing his bookbag you held for him. "See ya Mrs. Crocker." Stu said kissing you a little longer than Billy did. They were arguably happier than you were. They weren't sure what they did in their past life to deserve you in this one but they were more than thankful.

You watched Billy's car pull away seeing Stu wave at you through the window. A smile tugged at your lips. Life was perfect. You shut the door locking it like always. The house was clean and you didn't have to start on dinner till later. For once you were at a loss for what to do. After weighing your options you decided to snoop through Stu's room. You had been in there several times to do laundry or fix the bedsheets but you'd never really looked around.

Stu was a cleaner person than you thought he'd be. Billy however took the cake for the cleanest. His clothes were folded and tucked away while Stu's sat in a crumpled pile on a chair. You had told Stu when he settled in that he could fill the drawers with his clothes and whatever else he brought. From the looks of the top drawer he decided to bring porn magazines. The woman on the cover had a simple blanket covering her crotch as her boobs fought the thin crop top holding them back. You wanted to ignore it. Ignore the feeling of inadequacy that made your stomach hurt. You slammed the drawer closed not caring who the magazine belonged to.

Billy pulled into the driveway with Stu laid out in the backseat. "If she made desert I might marry her Billy, I mean it." Stu was only half joking. "She wouldn't say yes. She's a smart girl." Billy smiled at his friend causing the boy to pout. You could hear the car doors slam outside letting you know the boys were home. You thought about screaming, maybe ripping the magazine to shreds. Every possible outcome had crossed your mind. You remained calm deciding to follow the rules you helped put in place. "There's my wonderful girlfriend." Stu skipped in the house immediately lifting you off the ground. He smacked your ass spinning you around before your feet found the floor.

You almost forgot you were mad. "You made brownies!" Stu chirped sending a look to Billy. He picked the chocolate square up from the glass dish popping it into his mouth. Billy closed the front door before he hung up his jacket. "What ring size do you wear?" Stu asked looking up at you with heart eyes as he sat down. You bit the inside of your cheek wanting to back out of the conversation to come. "What's wrong baby?" Stu asked sensing something was off. Billy walked into the kitchen joining the both of you. "What's the matter?" He crossed his arms leaning back on the counter. With a deep breath you spoke. "Can we talk about something?"

Stu thought it was silly question while Billy's expression stayed the same. "We can talk about whatever you want." Stu eyed your ass in the dress you were wearing as he leaned back in his chair. "I was cleaning your room when I found something." Panic flooded Stu's veins. Billy was too busy focusing on the fact you called it "their room." It was as if they lived there with you. "Found what?" The brownie he ate earlier seemed to dry up his throat within seconds. "You had a Hustler magazine in your drawer." Billy quirked up an eyebrow interested in where the conversation was going.

"So?" Stu asked genuinely not seeing your problem with it. You tried to keep your cool knowing this was a new experience for all of you. "So, I find it degrading. It's perverse and overall upsetting. I don't watch porn or read it. I would like it if you did the same especially in my house." You wanted to say more but you decided against it. The fact they even brought it to your house was alarming. You wanted to be the only thing they needed. The fact is you couldn't compete with an airbrushed woman.

Stu almost made a joke. It wasn't until he saw the serious look on your face he dropped it. You were actually upset. He was a little worried about you going through his things. But this was your house and you've done more for him in the past week than anyone in his whole life ever had. Porn wasn't a need but it definitely helped when the only thing on his mind was you. Billy had been more than accommodating thank God so he really had no reason to carry the magazine around. "Okay I'll get rid of it." Billy was surprised at Stu's immediate cooperation. He had always been a more submissive fellow. Billy had certainly used it to his advantage in the past. You were the only other person he's seen Stu behave this way with.

You didn't catch the way Billy looked at you in awe. "Really?" Even you were surprised. Stu nodded. "Yeah? I can still use my hand though right?" He pretended to jerk off making you look away. The show unfortunately made you feel a certain way. Billy took note of you and Stu's behavior. It's what he did. He studied people. "Um yeah I have no problem with that." It was an honest answer but now all you had was a sinful image in your head. "This is all very moving but I actually have plans for today." Billy spoke as he grabbed one of your brownies. Stu knew about his plans but he was still excited.

"You have plans?" You asked and Billy nodded after swallowing the bit he took. "Yes and they're with you two. So I suggest you go get ready." He wasn't sure how you would take the tone in his voice. If he knew you like he thought he did you'd smile and run off to play dress up. "Where are we going? I need to know what to wear." Stu thought the simple house dress you had on looked great but then again you could wear a burlap sack and he'd fall to his knees. "Wear something comfortable because we'll be walking a lot." That did nothing but raise more questions.

"So I can't wear heels?" Stu stood up from his chair creeping up behind you. In one swift motion he lifted you up again holding you like a princess. "You can wear heels. I'll carry you when your feet get sore." Billy rolled his eyes glad he had someone to share Stu with. Stu's antics worked wonders on you. "I think I'm going to wear jeans but I appreciate the thought." You kissed his lips making him grin. He sat you down letting you run upstairs to your room. Stu found a seat at the table once more.

"Please don't fuck this up." Billy huffed at his partner. "Why would I fuck this up?" He opened the fridge grabbing a bottle of Coke from the back. "Because man, you have a habit of getting comfortable and bored." He'd seen it before with Sydney. When they started dating Billy was over the moon. He bought flowers and chocolates, anything to show his love for the girl he knew for a few months. Once things slowed down Billy grew bored. The kisses were the same and so were the hand jobs. Billy assumed Sydney would cling to him after he murdered her mother but she did just the opposite. Pushing him away rather than pulling him in.

"I do not. Shit with Syd was different. Y/n is different." Stu would like to believe his friend but it was hard. Billy was troubled. That's the word he liked to use. Stu knew himself to be somewhat insane. He liked to please and be pleased. Billy asks him to murder he'd do it again and again. You ask him to stop? He'd never even look at a knife again. Billy looked out for himself. He would drink from a well till it ran dry. Leaving everyone else to die of thirst. Stu loved Billy but he worried about you more.

"I'm ready." You said throwing your bag over your shoulder. The silk button up you wore glistened in comparison to the brown dress pants you paired it with. "Where's the disco?" Stu jumped up getting a full look at your outfit. "I'm not sure yet. Billy how do I look?" You turned around giving him a full view. "You look great." His hands found themselves in his pockets. It was an anxious thing you picked up on. Stu over compensated with his words where Billy did the exact opposite. "Thanks. So we ready to go?"

Billy won the game of rock paper scissors making him the driver for the night. "It's not even fair I love this car more than he does." Stu complained as his arm lay draped over your shoulder. Billy's hand rested on your thigh as he drove. You didn't like him driving your car with one hand but you couldn't bare to make him move. The physical affection from both men made you the happiest woman in the world. "Can you please tell me where we're going?"

The smile on Billy face was aggravating because he knew something you didn't. "Can you stop asking every five seconds you're starting to sound like Stu." Stu leaned over your lap getting close to the driver. "Please, please, please, where are we going?" He whined just to piss of his partner. "Sit back shit face before I kick your ass." The threats were so common between the two of them they barley counted as threats. "How come you never threaten to kick my ass?" You ask leaning back on Stu. He placed a kiss on your head before locking his arms around you. "Do you want me to kick your ass?" Billy took his eyes off the road just for a second to see your face. "I might." You said enjoying the way your words seemed to sit underneath his skin. Billy hoped tonight ended the way he had planned.

"No fucking way!" You said as you practically pushed Stu out of the car. "Jeez don't mind me!" He said with a laugh. You looked up at the sign wondering how you didn't know the place existed. "We figured you'd like to go to an antique store." Billy and Stu knew they made the right choice once they saw the smile on your face. You walked into the store leaving the men to follow your shadow. "Good afternoon, how are you?" You asked the old man behind the desk. "I'm doing well, how bout' yourself?" Billy thought your immediate warmth towards strangers was dangerous. Some creepy old man might get the wrong idea. "I'm great." You said with a smile as you looked around.

"Billy come here!" You picked up the movie poster looking at the date. "That's awesome." Stu marveled as Billy read the print. "That's an original Exorcist poster." His fingers traced the frame. "Do you want it?" You asked happy to get it for him. The sad reality was he didn't have a place for it. "No it's okay. I wouldn't have a place to hang it up anyways." Stu sneezed grabbing your attention. "Bless you." You said laughing at his goofy sneeze. "I'm allergic to dust." He wasn't the best person to take antique hunting. Stu grabbed your hand walking around the store with you. Billy lingered around making sure you were the only people around besides the owner.

"Oh my god!" Stu looked at the room full of old clothes like it was a room full of old clothes. You acted as if it was filled with gold. "I'm going to spend so much money." You cried knowing you had no self restraint. "I'm paying for it." Stu chimed in happy to help. It was something you couldn't accept. "I can pay for myself. You should spend your money on stuff you want." It had bugged you since you went to the mall how Stu felt the need to buy something for everyone. Never once picking something out for himself. Billy caught up with the both of you being immediately uncomfortable with the racks of clothing.

"What's with the face Loomis?" Stu asked looking through the shirts with you. Billy just shook his head. The idea of used clothing bothered him. He'd wear hand-me-downs if they were washed but just touching every piece of used fabric wasn't for him. "I'm getting this and neither of you are going to stop me." Stu said pulling a t-shirt from the rack. You read the shirt Stu held out loud. "Orgy organizer. Yeah that screams Stu Macher." You tried to sound unamused but you couldn't hide the humor in your voice. "Do you know what else screams Stu Macher?" He leaned down like he was going to whisper the answer but instead he pinched your ass making you yelp.

"You should be a comedian." You rolled your eyes seeing Billy actually laugh at his friend's stunt. Billy had done nothing but scan the place for possible on lookers. You tried to come up with a way to get him to loosen up. "Billy could you come here for a second?" You beckoned him over with your finger making sure you were both out of the eyesight of the shop keeper. He walked over to you not being able to ask what you needed. Your lips met his making the world around him disappear for a brief moment. His lips parted letting your tongue roam the new space. Billy's hands started to play with the button on your pants before he remembered where he was. "What the hell was that for?" He whisper yelled aggravated and slightly turned on by your stunt.

"I'm not sure but I need to see it again. For scientific purposes." Stu shrugged as Billy glared at him. You smiled liking the red tint slowly creeping up on Billy's cheeks. "You're trying to get yourself into trouble." Billy ran his hand through his hair trying to compose himself. If Billy was just now realizing you liked to instigate he really had a lot to learn. The rest of your time in the store Billy kept his eyes on you and Stu. Your little "stunt" as Billy liked to call it worked. He was more worried about what you would do rather than anyone's wandering eyes.

"Do you seriously need more dishes?" Stu asked as you sat the pyrex dishes in the back of your car. "You spent twenty dollars on a "hot dogger." You have no room to talk." Billy said making you laugh. "It electrocutes the hot dogs! Who wants one when we get home?" You loved old things but you'd have to pass on the offer. "This is why we don't let him cook." Billy told you as he started the car. You and Stu piled in ready for the next destination on the list. This time around you decided to trust the man driving. Stu chose the music on the way there. For the first time in years you felt like a normal girl. Your situation was far from normal you were well aware of that. Most girls didn't have two men they considered their boyfriends and most girls didn't kill. You couldn't help the situation you found yourself in. All you could do was make the best of it.

(if your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you)

Part 14

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