#to accommodate a flashback

[isagrimorie]

One of the missed moments in Picard season 2, is after Seven gets re-assimilated they try to stop Soong's drones and it always felt like such a cop-out that once again the writers forget that Seven of Nine has engineering skills and can actually hack into things.

The bad thing about knowing a lot about a character in a crossover show is that -- you know the skills of the character.

It's like when Sam Carter moved to Stargate Atlantis and most of the problems that arose during her time in Command -- I can't help but think... but Carter can solve this, we've seen her do this a hundred times in SG-1.

It's the same thing during Seven's time in Picard season 2.

This part -- I appreciate what Raffi's doing but it's just out of character that Seven wouldn't suggest this too. I get that this could be a primitive system Seven's used to-- maybe but its still wires and computers.

But the director didn't even direct Seven to do anything to help Seven's just standing there

And just... Ordering Raffi to go faster and not helping with the electronics or the hacking???

In her younger days, Seven would be mixing it up and helping Raffi. Even Rios was useful in piloting a rogue drone to destroy another.

And Seven is just standing there as moral support and telling them to move faster.

It's so out of character. Every time I get to this part in the rewatch of season 2 of Picard... I just can't reconcile it. More than the part where Seven becomes a badass who kills in cold blood-- it is the part where Picard seasons 1 and 2 disregard that Seven is a scientist and an engineer. At least in season 3 Picard gestures towards that direction with how she helps with the nacelle dismantling, and how Titan is said to be a well-oiled and maintained ship, something a ship's XO has a direct hand in.

Seven of Nine is not just a badass action hero, she is canonically one of the smartest beings in the Trekverse. It's not an opinion, it's a statement of fact. Seven helped create the Astrometrics lab.

And helped develop the Quantum slipstream drive together with B'Elanna Torres that's now being used in Star Trek Prodigy's USS Dauntless.

But sure, Seven is just standing there.

This Seven:

Who was working in engineering despite being critically ill, and who would rather do something than nothing.

Is just standing there. Not helping.

Especially at this point in Picard season 2 when she's been re-assimilated. I wish Jurati!Borg Queen had placed Seven's implants in this version differently. It's not like the body Seven's has pathways for the implants. This isn't her body, this is President Annika Hansen's body.

We've seen that Seven can interface with computers with her assimilation tubules.

I make it work by rationalizing that despite looking similar to her old implants, the newly installed implants don't work the same as the ones she's had all her life.

And another way I try to work around it is that the computer systems are too primitive for her to hack even though the thing about Borg is how Borg can adapt to any system.

One other thing -- I wish again Seven had the space to really articulate how different it is for her to have a purely organic body. How, much she loves it-- the appreciation of color because her eyes and brain process visuals through a green filter. The sensation of everything.

It would also have been great, as I've mentioned in different posts if Seven also realized there were things about her Borg physiology she missed too: Eidetic memory, enhanced senses, enhanced strength. As well as the downsides of having Borg physiology: Susceptibility to the vagaries of technology, and how her joints sometimes misalign. Her different center of gravity without all the weight of the Borg implants and enhanced skeletal system.

Also, I wonder if Seven had any thoughts that they're trying to disable robot drones to stop an attack on Renee Picard when Seven used to be a drone herself.

[caffeinatedopossum]

Thinking about how far I've come from being that terrified 18 year-old, fresh out of an abusive household, having flashbacks and hiding in closets while I cried and panicked for hours

[gayabeilles]

me, a former homestuck cosplayer, seeing all the other alastor cosplayers at the con wearing gray facepaint:

[nerdie-faerie]

I fucking hate sending emails where I'm trying to find out information because I feel like I have to be super specific with my questions in order to get what I need - and this is dependant on me knowing everything I need to ask about - only to still not be given the answers I need

[fingertipsmp3]

That ‘is this UK uni accommodation or a Swedish prison’ game is so funny but also so depressing

[thekingofchungus]

the more i write leviathan lore the more sense it makes for him to be disabled/chronically ill

[thecubes]

living out in the sticks of england sucks because everything happens in london

[buckets-and-trees]

What You Want

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: lawyer!Bucky x curvy!female assistant reader Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Your boss, powerful lawyer Bucky Barnes, insisted he needed his indispensable assistant to accompany him on his trip to Norway. He also promised he would have you home in time for Christmas, but the weather decided to strike its wrath and decimate international travel, leaving you stranded for a few more days.

Content Warnings: modern AU, slight power dynamic, periphery/secular reference to the Christmas holiday, vaginal fingering, use of "plum" as a term of endearment

Logistical Notes: Written for @sstan-hoe Vee's Holly Jolly Challenge - I was given a selection of prompts including "That noise...keep making it," reindeer, and lawyer/assistant power dynamics. Also my December entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the FLASHBACKS prompt. Divider by @saradika.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You heard the door open and close behind you and then familiar footsteps approaching, but you didn’t turn to look, instead keeping your eyes on the beauty of the frozen wilderness on display before you.

“Peace offering?” Bucky spoke as he stepped up beside you at the rail of the balcony, holding one of two steaming mugs in his hands toward you.

You sighed but gave him a small smile and took the mug. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re a very powerful man, Bucky, but I’m relatively sure you don’t control the weather.”

“Not yet, but I’m trying to pull some strings,” he said with a smirk, and you smiled.

“It’s not your fault we can’t get a flight back to the States when a blizzard has taken out half the Eastern Seaboard.”

It was unlikely that even with all of James Buchanan Barnes’ considerable lawyering power and money that he would be able to get you back home before Christmas. The main international airports in New England would have to live through the record raging blizzard, dig out, and then there would be hundreds of thousands of passengers to accommodate in and out of the country. Reasonably your guess was that you wouldn’t be returning until as early as the day after Christmas at the earliest.

“I should still apologize though. I said I would have you home for Christmas.”

You took a sip of the hot coffee. “You should apologize, but you’re not.”

He smiled. “No, I’m not.”

He turned and looked out over the forest and frozen tundra with you, the snow sparkling by the moonlight. This side of the resort hotel Bucky had booked the two of you into looked out over the wilderness.

“How long are you going to stay out here?”

“Until I see a reindeer. You brought me to Norway in December. I want to see a wild reindeer.”

“Fair enough.”

After a few more minutes, Bucky spoke again. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat, though? They said our accommodations should be ready after dinner.”

It had been a bit of a feat to find any place this close to Christmas that wasn’t closed or completely booked, but Bucky had managed to find this place that although they said they didn’t have a place immediately available, they had late check outs that just needed to be cleaned and refreshed for new guests.

“It’s a very fine restaurant.”

“Alright, let’s go eat.”

“If that will be all for the evening, I’ll be happy to escort you to your suite, Mr. Barnes,” the maître d’ said. He had been attentive all evening, but being with Bucky on this business trip you had quickly learned only the most excellent service was a common thing for him.

“Yes, thank you, I think we’re finished,” Bucky replied, looking to you, and you nodded. You both scooted your chairs back from the table and then followed the man out of the restaurant, through the hotel lobby, past the bar, past the observatory lounge and balcony you’d visited earlier, and to a pair of elevators.

Dinner had been quiet, but not an uneasy quiet by any means for the two of you. Bucky was an intimidating man, power emanating from him very naturally, but after the first few weeks as his assistant, you had gotten over your nerves. After sitting with him through many lunches, plenty of meetings, taking notes from him on cases and projects, and a fair few late nights, you had grown comfortable around him, learned that he could be easy to talk to, but didn’t strive to fill a silence for conversation’s sake, something you appreciated.

The hotel Bucky had found was an upscale, moderately sized wilderness and ski lodge. When you arrived on the fifth and top floor, there was a cozy hallway that only boasted three doors, and you were led to the one at the very end, where the man unlocked the door, stepped in to hold it open, and then handed the key to Bucky.

“If you should need anything at all, simply pick up the phone and our staff will assist you,” he said. “Have a good evening, and we hope you enjoy your stay, even though we know it was unexpected for the holiday.”

“Thank you, dinner was fantastic, and the place looks wonderful, you’ve been great, Lucas. Have a good night,” Bucky said, and pressed what you were sure was a generous tip into the man’s hand.

All your and Bucky’s things had been left neatly to one side of the entry of the suite. A quick look around revealed that there were two rooms off either side of the spacious sitting area as well as a small kitchen and bar, and on the far side full floor to ceiling windows and a balcony. You had hoped for two rooms like you’d had at the previous hotel, but two rooms in a suite would be perfectly fine, especially since the stunning view out of the sitting room’s windows wasn’t the only beauty in the place. There was a fireplace with a gorgeous mantle with a roaring fire already ablaze and a stunning Christmas tree with gorgeous trimmings in the Scandinavian style.

“It’ll do, yes?” Bucky asked, watching you take in the beauty of the tree.

You smiled warmly at him, then looked back at the tree. “Yes, it’ll do just fine.” The sitting room was spacious and rivaled your cozy studio apartment back home for size. You stepped further into the suite. “Do you want to take a look at the rooms and pick which one you want?” you asked. All the trip was on the company’s expense account, and as his assistant, although you suspected he might be a gentleman and offer you the better room, you would defer to Bucky to actually pick.

“We’ll share whichever one is better,” he said with a shrug.

You scoffed. “No, there are two rooms in this gorgeous suite, I’m sure they’re both fantastic, I don’t mind taking the one you don’t want. Might even sleep on the couch so I can stay by the tree and look out those windows all night.”

He chuckled, low, and suddenly at your back. “You misunderstand me, plum,” he said, placing his hands on the curve of your hips and pressing his chest up against your back. He leaned in to speak the next words directly in your ear. “I’m having you in my bed tonight.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t move, and a soft, “Mr. Barnes,” was all you could say.

“Aw, none of that, plum, you haven’t called me Mr. Barnes for months, and I won’t it happening again now.”

“We shouldn’t,” you tried to protest, but even as you said the words, a traitorous part of you didn’t put much feeling behind them.

“Shouldn’t we? You’re smart enough to know I didn’t really need to bring you on this trip with me, but I wanted to. Didn’t want to go that long without seeing you, wanted you by my side in a charming Nordic country during the height of its festive season, and you said yes, like the perfect assistant that you are. I told myself that was enough, didn’t go knocking on your door any of the nights we were at our first hotel, kept it professional despite wanting more and more of you every day we spent together away from the office.”

His hand moved from your hips to circle around your front, his left moving over your soft stomach over to the other side to rest over the front of your right hip, and his right further up your torso, his hand brushing the underside of your breast and resting firmly just below it, bringing you flush against him.

“Fate won’t let me get you home for Christmas, so why deny what it’s dangling right in front of me now?”

He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, and a small whimper escaped your throat.

“Let me have what I want,” he murmured, leaving a slow trail of more kisses down your neck. “I know you want it, too.”

“I – no, I don’t – I”

It was impossible to put up the words of protest when he licked the shell of your ear. You shivered in his arms instead.

“Let me ruin my perfect girl,” he pressed, slipping the hand that was at your hip into the waistband of your trousers. His hand stopped when his fingers met the lace edge of your panties. He turned you around abruptly and kissed you full on the mouth, cupping your face with both hands so you had no choice but to take the heat of his kiss, and the flame he’d been sparking started to catch more dangerously in your core.

He had somehow maneuvered you further into the sitting room so that when he suddenly broke off the kiss, you were in the middle of the space, the warm glow of the fire and the tree lights casting over you both.

Bucky stepped back, and you frowned in confusion, still breathless. He trailed a finger up the column of your throat to the tip of your chin, his blue eyes dark and hungry. “Undress,” he said.

He moved to the couch and sat, his eyes returning to you as he settled in.

“Undress,” he repeated.

That commanding tone struck another spark right to your cunt. You knew you were already growing wet for him.

You toed off your shoes one at a time, then took off your socks – those requiring you to move a little less elegantly than you wanted with his searing gaze on you. Standing aright again, your hands moved to the button of your trousers, fingers trembling since you had never stripped in front of anyone before. You weren’t a virgin, but although the partners you had been with before had been eager to have you naked, none had ever asked you to undress for them like this, like they wanted to see your full figure, not just fuck it.

Bucky spoke your name in a way that had you pause and look up at him again.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You know I pride myself on my instincts. I think we both want this, but there are two rooms here.”

You bit your lip.

He was offering the veiled choice if you wanted it.

Your mind raced with flashbacks of conversations and thoughts you’d had over the past few weeks clear back to the first few meetings with your boss.

Insisting to your mother that your boss did absolutely need you to fly with him to Norway to assist him with meetings with an international client the week before Christmas.

Your best friend insisting on a shopping trip for your fancy work trip to a foreign country “because if your hot boss isn’t going to seduce you, have a foreign fling!”

Your heart stuttering the first time your eyes met your boss’s deep blues the day you interviewed with him.

The same eyes that were riveted on you now.

On you.

You unbuttoned your trousers and lowered the zipper. You glanced down as the fell to the floor, then stepped carefully out of them. When you looked back up, you saw even more hunger in Bucky’s eyes, and it warmed your blood. Looking right into those eyes, you reached for the hem of your sweater and lifted it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor as well.

“Mmm,” he hummed in approval. “C’m’ere,” he beckoned, sitting back on the couch again, but beckoning you into his lap as he watched your every move.

You concentrated on his eyes and on keeping your breathing steady. When you were close enough for him to reach for you, he held out his hand. You took it and let him pull you gently down to straddle your legs on either side of his.

“My perfect plum,” he murmured. His hands moved up your thighs, over your hips, up your waist, and back down.

“Your plum?” you asked, watching his face as his eyes roved over you up close.

“My perfect plum - I want to savor every delicious curve of your body,” he said before dropping a kiss to the top of your breast. Your hands went to his shoulders to steady yourself. “When I felt that lace of your underwear, I thought maybe you did want this, too.” His lips moved to the other breast where he kissed the exposed skin, then traced his tongue along the edge of the lacy cup, causing you to shiver. “There isn’t any other reason you would be wearing such pretty lingerie, is there?”

“No,” you admitted immediately.

“Just for me,” he said as he moved his hand to your mound and immediately slipped a finger beneath the fabric to stroke along your folds, making you gasp. “Good girl, already wet for me.”

You keened as his finger traced your warm hole but didn’t go in, instead taking the slick there and pressing it up over your folds. He continued tracing them up and down before moving up to find your clit, knowing he found it the second your head dropped back, and you let a, “Yes,” tumble from your lips. “More.”

His other hand skimmed up from your hip, up your side, to your neck, and then angled your head back down for another kiss. Your lips met his eagerly, mouths parting, you licked into his mouth, and he growled his approval. He moved his finger from your clit, but your whine was brief as he slipped that finger along with a second straight into your cunt, stroking in and out, over and over again. You canted your hips into his hand, and you felt the rumble of a chuckle in his chest, but he didn’t stop kissing you. Instead, he curled his fingers forward with each stroke, quickly finding the spongy spot that made you tremble and moan.

Breathless, it was you who had to break off the kiss first, but you pressed your forehead to his. “Feel good, plum?” he asked, and you registered that he sounded as earnest as you felt, his voice deep and a little breathless, too.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped.

“Mmm, sir? I like that,” he said, and rewarded you by moving his thumb to start circling your clit.

You moaned openly.

“That noise…keep making it.”

He sped up his motions just slightly, seeming to feel how your body was tensing up, building toward a powerful release.

“Ready to cum for me like a good girl?”

“Yes, sir!” your answer was more like a plea. “So close.”

Keeping up the rhythm on your clit, he applied more pressure with each thrust of his fingers up inside of you, hitting that sensitive spot on the front of your walls, and with just a few more strokes, the wave crested and rolled over you.

“That’s it, plum,” he cooed as you trembled above him, his other hand coming to smooth unhurriedly up and down your back as his fingers continued to stroke your channel, slowly extending your orgasm. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He removed his fingers and brought them up to your mouth. You sucked them in, laving your tongue over them. “Can’t wait to see you come for me again,” he said. And too impatient for you to lick his fingers clean, he withdrew them and crashed his lips back into yours.

“Earlier tonight when I said I should apologize, and you called me right out for not doing any such thing?”

“Yes?”

“This is why I didn’t apologize. I was in no way sorry that I had more time with you, and I’m going to use it to take you apart and put you back together all night.”

You would think about all of this later. But he emptied your head of anything but him and the pleasure between you, making more than good on his promise to take you apart until you were completely spent and ruined in his bed.

READ THE SEQUEL: NOW THAT I SAW YOU

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[pawberri]

People too often frame trigger warnings as "an opportunity to disengage," which opens up a whole debate about if it's okay or necessary, etc, to disengage with x material. I feel like for me and most people, trigger warnings actually Help us engage. If you tell me "this will contain your trigger," I can usually consume that content without having flashbacks. If I'm blindsided by content, it has a way bigger impact on me. I'm way more likely to "disengage" because I'll be freaking out and incapable of handling the material. I don't even feel the need to justify my right as someone with PTSD to disengage with X thing, because I don't want to disengage at all!!! I want to be present!!!!!!!! That's why I'm asking you to attempt to accommodate my disability!!!

[reschatzi]

SIMON RILEY ── YOU GET ME SO HIGH

🕸️·˚ ༘ warnings. top male reader. bottom simon. high typa shit. flashbacks. smoking. mentioned drinking. public sex. cockwarming. breathplay.

ִ ࣪𖤐 ࣪ by the end of it all, the smoke you exhale transforms into a kiss. ◞

the exact date when it began is something you’re unsure of.

he, lieutenant simon riley, simply walked into your room without a knock. no words were exchanged, not that they were really needed. your mouth opened, agape. a “what?” is what you want to utter, but his lips catches your own.

simon riley groans when he feels you return the kiss. the faint taste of malt liquor on your tongue has him pushing you back, onto your bed, as he straddles your lap. you remember that he asks,

“do you want this?”

his voice was breathless. heavy pants meeting your neck.

and you do. you agree, the next moments a blur. he lowers himself on your cock when he’s ready. he already was before he barged in.

strangely, something blooms. a progression you won’t know where it’ll lead. nothing worrying, nothing out-of-place. at least on the outside, it won’t attract that much attention. yours was focused on the feeling of simon’s hole stretching to accommodate to your size. it was stupid.

no, really. it was late at night, but that didn’t mean no one would wander around these hours. you were in the hallway, supposedly on the way to your room when simon couldn’t take the wait anymore. there’s not much plot to this story. fuck then leave. that was it. you hated that, and you were projecting your one-sided feelings onto his prostate.

“ah, ah, ah. fu—fuuck. shit- ggah! mhng... wait—”

your hand clasped his neck and he gasps. alarms blared in your head, you shouldn’t do this. this was territory you haven’t spoken or even thought of.

guilty, you wanted to whisper an apology. thrusts shifting into slow grinds, handing him a way out. but he only leaned into your palm, the coldness, near emptiness, emanating from your glove contrasting to the warmth of his shrouded flesh. “don’t... don’t stop.” he breathes, like there’s no more oxygen in his lungs.

exhale.

that’s what you did.

you puff out the smoke you inhaled from the cigarette that was in between your index and middle fingers. the dirty air landed on his half-masked face. his cheek went to rest on your shoulder, hips lazily lifting themselves up and back down. you lead the cigar to his mouth. sharing something like this, in this situation, with this person, was beyond unbelievable.

fuck, what even happened?

the events that were replaying in your head moments ago were quickly fading. you’re too tired. too unfocused. you hear him call your name. then another time. then another. he gently pats your face. “look at me,” your eyes dart downwards to him. “what’s going on in that head of yours?” he says as he brings himself back down on your cock.

“nothin’... s’ just—” he clenches around you when he feels the tip of your dick graze his sweet spot.

simon hums like he’s done an achievement. maybe he did, earning a whine from you. in some way, the weight of both of your chests were lighter. passing on the cigarette to one another, it was a repeating process. taking turns and the pace he set doesn’t change.

you think you’re losing the logical part of your brain. your thoughts are jumbled and gibberish. the temporary pleasure couldn’t outweigh the actual one you were experiencing now. your fingers find themselves attached to his neck, flexing as they try not to tighten their hold too much.

the last puff was yours. without thinking, you press the butt of the cigarette on his thigh to put it out.

he hisses, but the dizziness in you can’t find the moment to care. matter of fact, he enjoys it.

you don’t miss the way his thighs trembled, not missing the way he rocked against you hard. his cock throbbed and you show mercy. your free hand finds his length, causing him to see stars. he curses, lowly. “oh, shit, ‘m c-close.”

the lieutenant finds himself stuttering, losing his voice. how couldn’t he? you were hitting all of the right spots inside of him. both of your hands were on him, one working him up further to his release while the other bruised his neck. it was like you were claiming him but no one would know. they can’t find out unless you tell them or they’d catch a glimpse of his skin.

the combination of pain and pleasure was too good. his head was clouded, and so was yours. maybe he was at peace for once, all warm and tight around you. maybe, by the end of it all, the smoke you exhale transforms into a kiss from him.

and maybe, just maybe, you’re right.

𓍢‧₊🕷️ ࣪˖ knight’s phoning. wanna be apart of my taglist? fill out this form so you can be immediately notified for future fics. masterlist

[autiebiographical]

Flashback Friday: Originally posted March 4th, 2020

Golly gosh! It's almost like living in a society that doesn't accept or accommodate you is hard or something! How would've thunk.

[doorhine]

One of many things I like about Blue Eye Samurai is how it portrays its disabled characters. There's a lot to talk about with each of them but for this post, I want to talk about, not the step dad, but the dad who stepped up, Sword Father!

*Spoilers below

Him and Mizu's relationship is one of my favorite dynamics in the show and seeing how that developed over the years was one of my favorite things about the pilot. It felt very symbiotic and good for the both of them emotionally to have that company and support, especially on Mizu's end.

I really liked seeing how the two worked together and how Mizu accommodated to his needs. I also liked the respect given to Sword Father's ability to take care of himself as an adult even without Mizu's assistance. He's been blacksmithing for years and he's respected in his line of work. Losing his sight did not and does not change that.

I personally think the show does a good job at balancing the reality of him being blind and the accommodations he needs while also respecting him as an autonomous individual and talking about his blindness in a way that feels natural and respectful when it's relevant.

But my favorite thing about this dynamic and Sword Father as an individual is probably the use of audio design in the show in relationship to them. As we see the two of them become a family, and develop this language with each other/way of interacting, sound becomes a key element and that carries over into the entire show.

Being blind, Sword Father relies a lot on his hearing. But we as the audience don't just see this aspect of his character. We're actually made to hear from his perspective and apply that sense to how we perceive the entire season even when he's not present.

The most obvious example is the sound of metal which is used to indicate things like:

Mizu revealing to Sword Father that she forged her sword from the meteorite they found before the camera pans up to the space it used to occupy

The symbolism around Mizu and mixed metal in general

Sword Father realizing that Mizu's at his front door when Ringo brings her and Taigen there which revealed to us, the audience, where Ringo brought them before we see Sword Father come on screen (I loved that moment so much)

and emphasizing the moment of shock the characters in the show had when they heard the sound of gunshots for the first time in the finale in contrast to the clang of swords that we as the audience have gotten so used to hearing.

But the reliance on hearing doesn't just apply to that. In the second episode Mizu encounters Chiaki, a man from her past who she defeats in the present. And you know the biggest tip off the show gives us to recognize him before he reveals himself? His laugh. A noise we would've recalled from the flashbacks he was featured in.

LIKE I JUST THINK THAT'S SO FRIGGIN COOL XD

There's a lot more that can be said about Sword Father and how the show portrays him and his blindness. I personally can't speak on this as a blind person so I'd love to hear what people who are think about it. These are just my 2 cents that I felt like sharing.

[juniperskye]

It had to be You.

Sneak Peek: Modern Day AU! (kinda think late 90’s early 2000’s) Running into your ex at your mutual friends’ engagement party, that was something you had expected and were mentally prepared for. Him looking that damn good and the chaos that ensues…you were not expecting. Flashbacks are bolded.

Eddie Munson x Artist! Fem Reader

Angst/ Fluff (at the end)

Word count: 2301

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! My blog is 18+, minors DNI, explicit language, past relationship, mention of reader having a troubled past, Steve, and Nancy are together in this (they work ok…sorry not sorry), nobody is dead!, no use of y/n, lovers to enemies to lovers, Eddie is unnamed until the end...idk I felt that it worked for this story (despite you knowing it's him), let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You were elated when you got the call. Steve had called you to let you know that he had officially done it, he had asked Nancy to marry him! You knew he was planning it, hell, you helped him pick the ring for her, you just didn’t know when. You expressed your excitement and congratulated the happy couple asking them about the possibility of an engagement party. Nancy had let you know they weren’t planning one but would love it.

You immediately begun planning the party, creating an evite and curating the perfect guestlist. You called Enzo’s to see if they could accommodate a party of this size. Once that was confirmed and booked, you made sure to call in some reinforcements.

You had called Robin, Chrissy, Max, El, and Dustin. Chrissy had stayed in Hawkins; she went to the community college there and now teaches at Hawkins high. Max, El, Dustin, along with some of the others (Will, Lucas, and Mike) were finishing school at Indiana University, Robin had gone to Butler, and currently resided in Indianapolis. Nancy and Steve had recently moved back to Hawkins after finishing school in Chicago, Nancy was offered an editing position at the Hawkins Journal.

You on the other hand had been living in New York City ever since graduation. It hadn’t happened exactly as you had planned it…which is the exact reason you were nervous to return to Hawkins.

“We’re gonna graduate, then we will pack up the van and hightail it out of here babe.”

“I was thinking New York. You know…that way you can pursue your music, and I can pursue my art.” You replied.

“That sounds perfect baby! Just a few more weeks and we can go.” He grabbed your hand and the two of you laid back against the pillows in the back of the van.

**One Month Later**

You pulled up to the trailer with your car packed full of your belongings. You were ready to get to New York and start your life! You were even more excited to start your life with him. You stopped the car and made your way up the steps, knocking gently.

“Hey kiddo.” Uncle Wayne greeted.

“Hey Wayne! Is he ready to go?” You asked.

“He better be, with all the noise he was making. Head on back.” Wayne gestured for you to go down the hall.

“Babe! Are you packed and ready to…” your voice trailed off as you entered his room, noticing the severe lack of moving boxes or suitcases. “What the hell? Why aren’t you packed?”

“I uh, I don’t think we should go.”

“What do you mean? We’ve been planning this for months; you were the one who always said once you graduated you would get the hell out of here.” You shouted.

“I know, but I just, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I can’t just leave Uncle Wayne, and who’s to say we don’t get to New York, and everything goes to shit? At least here we know things work.” He challenged.

“We’ll never know if we don’t try. Also, we’re stronger than that, just because we move doesn’t mean this is automatically falls apart.” You replied.

“I can’t go, why don’t you understand that? It’s not going to work. We can stay here and build a life. I have a job at the garage, and you can paint here.” He huffed.

“Well, I can’t stay here.” Your gaze drifted to your feet. “Hawkins is too small, we were destined for something bigger, which is why I need to go to New York.”

“So that’s it then? You’re just gonna leave?” He muttered.

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make me feel guilty for following through with our plans. If anyone should feel guilty here it’s you for tricking me into thinking that you were actually going to come with me. But instead, you’re bailing on me, just like everyone else.” You bellowed, quickly making your exit.

That day you had left for New York and didn’t look back. You had travelled to Indianapolis and Chicago to visit your friends, but you hadn’t stepped foot back in Hawkins since then, and you really weren’t looking forward to it.

You spent the next week coordinating with everyone, in hopes of planning the best engagement party for your friends. You guys worked on decorations, who would get the happy couple to Enzo’s on time. And in just two weeks, you’d find yourself standing in the nicest restaurant in Hawkins Indiana.

“Oh my gosh, you look gorgeous!” Chrissy squealed, jogging over to embrace you.

“I could say the same about you! Congratulations by the way.” You beamed, gently caressing Chrissy’s now prominent bump.

Chrissy and you caught up with one another, and as the others arrived you greeted everyone and began decorating. Pretty much everyone had arrived except for Robin, she had been the person you assigned to get Steve and Nancy to Enzo’s.

You had been placing the last floral centerpiece on its designated table when you heard his voice. Loud and boisterous as always, greeting Dustin, and the other boys as he made his way back to where you were setting up.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Max inquired.

“The day I left for New York.” You replied, shaking your head as you straighten out the vase.

“You know he came to New York.” Dustin mentioned, having butt into your conversation. “It was about six months after you left, he went to the studio you were renting and saw you painting, he said that he didn’t want to mess anything up for you and that he wanted to make something of himself before he saw you again.” Dustin concluded.

You couldn’t help the look of shock that took over your features. “It doesn’t change anything. He made his choice.” You said with a sense of finality and walked away.

Fifteen minutes later, Robin entered the restaurant with Nancy and Steve trailing in behind her. The room erupted in cheers for the newly engaged, the two of the were passed from person to person for a warm embrace. There was nothing to do but smile at the radiant glow that the two of them wore. The longer you were surrounded by all this happiness, the tighter your chest became, you needed air.

The minute you reached the exit, you felt relief, the cool night air surrounding you, finally allowing you to take in a deep breath. You took a few steps away from the exit and leaned up against the brick building.

“Was the cheerful mood suffocating you too?”

You’s recognize that voice anywhere. It was once something that made you swoon, but now it felt like a knife to the heart. You wanted nothing more than to run far away and hide forever. You had really hoped that by the time you needed to confront him, you’d have already moved on and started a new life.

“I didn’t realize someone was out here. I’ll just go.”

A hand gently gripping your wrist stopped you. Your head whipped around, fully ready to tell him off, but the look on his face stopped you dead in your tracks. He wore an expression that you were very familiar with. It was the same one that stared back at you when you looked in the mirror. Sunken eyes, dark circles, dull looking skin, clearly missing that glow that your best friends currently wore.

“Please just talk to me.” He pleaded.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You murmured.

“Then listen. Please, I have something I’d really like to say to you.” He released your wrist and his gaze shifted up his eyes begging you to stay.

“You have five minutes.” You didn’t have it in you to hold back the eyeroll.

“Thank you!” He hollered. “Okay sweetheart, where do I begin? I um, the reason I didn’t go to New York with you was because I was scared. And I know that sounds like some bullshit excuse, but I mean it. I was terrified that we would get there, and you would become this successful artist and I’d just be like this bum that was holding you back from being great. I just figured that if I stayed here that I’d have the band and the job at the garage, and nothing would have to change. Only everything changed, the guys graduated and went off to college, the band broke up and worst of all, you were gone. I really fucked it all up, which is why I worked so hard to make something of myself.” He explained.

“Dustin told me you came to New York. Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked.

“When I saw your studio, I saw you working on this piece, it was a big charcoal piece, and I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to fuck things up for you more than I already had.”

“The charcoal piece, it uh, it was. Did you see what the piece was?” You pressed.

“No, I didn’t. I bet it was great though. Sweetheart, I uh, can I show you something?”

“Okay.” You nodded.

He led you over to a motorcycle, he grabbed the helmet and went to put it on and turned toward you, offering you the spare. You glanced from the helmet to his face, and he offered a subtle nod. You placed the helmet on your head, and he reached up to tighten the chin strap for you. You let out a sharp breath at the contact, releasing a cough to try and cover it.

The two of you rode through the city, stopping in front of a garage you didn’t recognize. The logo was in large red letters outlined in white. A bright contrast of the black painted brick. He assisted you off the back of his motorcycle and led you into the building.

“This uh, this is my shop.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“So, uh after high school, I kept selling for a while, saving up my money. Then Rick got picked up and sent to prison. So, I got the job at the garage, I worked as many hours as possible, putting in the work. Anyway uh, I got pretty close with the owner and he uh, he left me the place when he died two years ago.” He replied.

“This is great. I’m really happy for you bub.” The nickname slipped out faster than you could comprehend.

“I have something else I’d like to show you.”

“Okay.”

This time, he drove you through a neighborhood you recognized from your youth. It housed beautiful (affordable) family homes, the ones that you had imagined raising your family in. These were the homes you still visualized when you pictured your future. And he was the man that you woke up next to in these images.

When he pulled into the driveway of one of the homes you were confused. He had always expressed his distaste of these homes. You had always known that the reasoning behind his upset was that it was the childhood he was robbed of.

Once you were dismounted his bike, he ushered you to the front door, gesturing for you to enter. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked around the home. You couldn’t help but notice all the details in this particular home, it had a large bay window with a window seat, a big open kitchen, and a breakfast nook.

“What is this?”

“It’s not done, I still have some work to do. But Wayne has been helping me put in all the things we had talked about. Upstairs we put in a clawfoot tub, and we’re working on the flooring.” He gushed.

“This is all a bit much, I uh, I…” Before you could finish, you were out the door and desperately trying to catch your breath in the front lawn.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’ve been working on myself, trying to be better for you. I was gonna come to New York when the house was finished and talk to you and ask you to come home.”

“Bub, this isn’t home anymore. Hawkins isn’t my home. It never was. That’s why we planned to go to New York. Ugh! I just…fuck! You bailed on me; don’t you get that? You did the one thing that I begged you not to! You broke your promise and you let me believe that I meant nothing to you.” You sobbed.

“Sweetheart, I know I fucked this up before, but please give me another chance? I will spend the rest of my life trying to make this all up to you.” He begged.

“It’s my turn to show you something. Drive me back to Enzo’s.” You demanded.

He drove you back to the restaurant and pulled up to your car per your request. You dragged him to the trunk and opened it to reveal a folded-up canvas, a box of your art supplies and a photo storage box. You reached into the trunk and grabbed the folded canvas, slowly opening it to reveal the piece you had been working on when he had come to New York. When you opened it completely he let out a breath.

“It’s me.” He whispered.

“They all are.” You stated.

You opened up the photo bin to unveil hundreds of photos of your work, all varying portraits of the man in front of you. You looked down to your shoes, watching as you dug your toe into the gravel parking lot.

“You see, I realized something through my art. Hawkins isn’t my home. But New York isn’t either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eddie, you’re my home.”

Let me know if you want to know what happens next!

[interesting-interludes]

the comforts of creatures (6)

creature comforts:

↳ material/bodily comforts, such as food, warmth, or special accommodations, that contribute to physical ease and well-being

→ pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

→ genre: supernatural!au, soulmate!au, hurt + comfort + recovery, angst with a happy ending, fluff, eventual smut

→ word count: 4k

→ summary: you share a meal with your rescuers.

→ trigger/content warnings: PTSD (nightmares/flashbacks, mistrust), mentions of torture + forced sensory/sleep deprivation

→ a/n: a little comfort before more hurt

past part ← series masterlist → next part

part 6: the first breakfast

The last thing you want to do is sleep. Bad things always happen when you fall asleep.

You remember all the times you were strapped to the chair, headphones taped onto your ears, blindfold blocking out every bit of light, completely devoid of all outside stimuli. They would keep you there for hours, waiting until your head lolled or your body sagged, any indication that you weren’t wide awake.

Then came the electricity, flowing through your veins like liquid fire, shocking you awake. Again and again and again, until the mere thought of sleep made a jolt run through your body.

All the times they drugged your food, sinking you into a deep state of unconsciousness, then waking up with whip marks and bruises that felt bone-deep.

Then there was the nightmares. Unspeakable nightmares.

No, you can’t sleep. You don’t care how safe this place may seem, you still can’t let yourself slip.

You sit there in that massive bed for what feels like hours, feeling the strange sensation of a cushioned mattress and soft sheets. To feel warm and comfortable is still completely foreign to you.

You don’t dare lie down or rest your head on the plush pillows in case you fall asleep. Or worse, someone sees and punishes you for being on a bed and not on the floor where you belong.

The men here don’t seem bothered by it, but something deep in your mind tells you it’s all a lie. They’re only pretending to be so kind, so generous. It will all come crashing down soon enough.

So you shuffled off the bed and pressed your back to the wall, wrapping your arms around your legs with your knees tucked under your chin.

The strange feeling in your chest is back, and you don’t like it.

You watch as the moonlight seeps through the curtains and crawls across the walls, shifting with the changing hours. All throughout the night, the feeling in your chest blooms and dulls, like a pulsing radar that senses something random and unknown.

This whole thing is so strange. You haven’t decided what you’re going to do yet. Stay or leave, run or linger. There’s no guarantee that you’ll find someplace as accommodating as this one. There’s also no guarantee that the men here are exactly what they seem to be.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyeing the smooth cool linen you were just surrounded by.

They didn’t show any sign that they were bothered by you using their bed, dirtying their sheets with your non-human skin. But you still don’t want to risk it.

Sleep tugs at your resolve, it makes your eyelids flutter and your mouth hang open. You have to fight it off, rapidly blinking your eyes back open and straitening your posture so you don’t go limp.

You can’t be asleep, you just can’t.

After the moonlight fades, you busy yourself inspecting the rest of the room, crawling on the ground so no one will hear you snooping around. Even the carpet is plush and pillowy. This place is so soft, it doesn’t make sense.

Almost the entirety of the room is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows covered by gauzy curtains. The ceiling too has a large skylight that shows the dark sky above.

You can’t remember the last time you were in a room as open and airy as this one.

There’s the massive bed with all its fluffy pillows and plushies, like the giant stuffed bear and cute yellow duck tucked in the corner. Along the edges of the bed are some little tables with softy-lit lamps and candles.

There’s a simple fireplace against the opposite wall, surrounded by two large bookshelves. Overhead is a projector mounted to the ceiling, pointing to the blank wall directly across from it.

By the time you’re done inspecting the room’s every nook and cranny, the first few rays of pale sunlight are starting to peek through the clouds.

You crawl over to the closest window and gently draw back the curtain.

Morning mist drapes over the dense forest and rolling hills. The sky behind it is gray and cloudy, showcasing the chill of the outside air.

It’s then that you decide to stay here another day. You’d rather take your chances here for just a bit longer than venture out into that wilderness. Because by the looks of it, this place isn’t near any obvious civilization.

Curiosity stirs within you. Your hand hovers over the latch to the window, asking a silent question you’re not sure you want answered.

A flick of your fingers, and the latch comes undone without protest. The window slides open with ease, and a gust of fresh wind hits your face.

You aren’t locked in. You aren’t trapped.

The wind is sharp and refreshing. There’s the faint smell of pine, then a brisk slightly floral scent that makes the breath in your chest hitch slightly.

It’s a luxury you’ve dearly missed.

You stay there for a while, just breathing in the outside air, until a deep growl from your stomach makes you realize that you haven’t actually digested a proper meal in a long time.

Then the empty glass and pitcher of water on one of the side tables catches your eye. Another luxury you haven’t known for a long while: clean water.

You grab the glass and shakily fill it to the top, tipping your head back to down the entire thing in a few gulps. The thought that it might be spiked does cross your mind, but you figure that if they wanted to drug you they would’ve done it by now. So you drink until the dry ache in your throat has subsided.

The door is still open a crack. Holding your breath, you push it open a little more and peer through the gap.

The hallway is empty. You poke your head out, cautiously looking around before stepping out of the room.

You don’t know where you’re going, but there’s an appetizing smell tugging you in the direction of the grand staircase.

Slowly placing your foot on each wooden step to make the least amount of noise, you enter the living room. It’s empty too, and also lit up by morning light from the tall windows lining the walls.

The smell draws you into the kitchen, where Jin is standing over the sizzling stove.

He doesn’t turn around when you enter the room, but he knows you’re there. His heightened hearing picked up on your soft footfalls from upstairs.

“Good morning,” he says warmly.

It startles you a bit, shocked that he noticed let alone acknowledged you.

Jin gives you a smile over his shoulder.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, his expression open and nonjudgmental as he waits for your answer.

You nod after a hesitant pause.

Jin’s chest lights up with pride at the fact that you’re starting to feel comfortable expressing your wants and needs.

You feel the shadow of it in your own chest, but to you it just feels like a strange dull ache. It’s confusing and slightly alarming, but you keep your face expressionless.

“Have a seat at the table if you want and I’ll get you something to eat,” he says, setting a large kettle on the stove and turning on the burner.

For a minute, you just stand there watching him, almost mesmerized. He has broad shoulders that add to his naturally commanding aura, but the way he moves is nothing but calm and steady. There’s a fluidity to everything he does, and a timeless grace that’s somehow just as firm as it is gentle. Maybe it’s because of his vampiric blood.

He’s dressed in slacks and a white button-down, polished black dress shoes on his feet. His hair is neatly styled, bangs pushed back from his forehead.

There’s no denying that he’s a very attractive man.

The feeling in your chest starts to burn again, and you hurriedly make your way to the large dining table before he notices your discomfort.

You shift your attention to the details of your environment.

The table occupies the open space between the kitchen and living area, so you can easily see into both rooms. Dried herbs and hanging plants drape from the kitchen ceiling, along with the modern yet elegant light fixtures.

You almost can’t fathom the sheer size and quality of this house. You suppose seven men would need a lot of space, but you can’t help but wonder how they maintain it all.

Because something deep in your memory tells you that you came from humble beginnings. You don’t belong in a house like this.

The next second, a small bowl is being set down in font of you. A scoop of vanilla yogurt, fresh blueberries, a sprinkle of granola, and a drizzle of honey.

“Let’s start with this,” Jin says. “And if you can keep it down I’ll get you some else, okay?”

You nod, briefly meeting his eyes before looking down at the table again.

He steps back into the kitchen as the kettle begins to whistle and release a swirling tower of steam into the air.

You bring a spoonful to your lips and swallow it down, pausing for a few minutes to see if it will crawl back up in a fit of nausea. After nothing bad happens, you quickly shovel the rest of it down. It’s sweet and juicy and smooth down your throat. 

Footsteps sound from the hallway. The man called Yoongi enters the room, looking half-asleep. His dark hair is tousled, eyelids drooping as he waddles over to the kitchen counter. He’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants. The clothes are so big they make the man seem small and even...cute. Despite the fact that he seemed so intimidating before.

Jin doesn’t look up at the sound of the younger man’s bare feet padding against the tile, but he does extend his arm to brush against Yoongi’s back as he walks past him.

“Go sit down, love. I’ll make the coffee,” Jin says, carefully spooning dark powder into a stovetop espresso pot.

The dark-haired man blinks sleepily, looking like he wants to protest, but he eventually stumbles over to the table and sinks down across from you.

Jin knows that Yoongi is probably still drained from the effort it took to break through the wards of the facility. A spell of that magnitude takes an immense amount of strength, especially for a single caster.

Under any other circumstances, Yoongi would’ve stayed in bed to rest, but he felt the same twinge in his heartstrings that Jin felt when you responded to his offer for food. He dragged himself out of bed to see how you were doing.

He doesn’t doubt that the others felt it too, they’ll probably be joining them any minute now. 

Yoongi tries to give you a warm glance, but all your attention is directed down at the table.

By the time Jin sets the freshly packed espresso pot on the stove, you’ve practically licked the bowl clean.

He’s quick to notice, at your side the moment you set down your spoon.

“Ready for more?” he asks with another calming smile.

He thought of simply bringing you more food, but he didn’t want you to think that they expected you to finish everything they put in front of you. He wants you to know that you have choices here, and hopefully it will make you more comfortable expressing yourself.

You nod, and both Jin and Yoongi feel their chests swell.

Jin glides back into the kitchen to grab the still-sizzling pan and steaming kettle from the stove. He pours the boiling water into a large white teapot on the table, already prepped with tea bags, and slides the cooked meat onto a large tray.

It’s then that you notice that the table is set with enough plates, glasses, and mugs for eight people. There’s a pot of fresh rice in the center of the table, along with a platter of cut-up fruit and a plate stacked with some kind of fluffy pastry.

The next moment, two more sets of footsteps sound from the stairs. It’s the fair-haired man, Jimin, and the muscular one. Both of their faces are puffy, their eyes half-closed as they stagger down the stairs. Jimin’s form is dwarfed by an oversized hoodie, while the muscular one is wearing a white tank top and sweatpants that hang low on his hips.

Usually Jungkook would forgo the shirt and sometimes the pants, walking around the house in just his boxer-briefs. But then he remembered that even though you’ve seen his body thousands of times, you’re essentially a stranger to them now.

Jimin looks at you from under his hood with sleepy eyes, through the tufts of fluffy hair, and waves with a smile.

The chest-feeling is getting more distracting.

He sinks down beside Yoongi, who is sat directly across from you, and Jungkook moves to sit next to you on the other side of the table, but chickens out at the last second and sits in the chair one space over.

“Did you sleep well?” Jimin asks, tearing open one of the pastries and spreading jam onto the flaky layers.

A beat of silence passes before you realize that he’s talking to you.

Looking, they’re all looking at you. Lungs hitching, you fix your gaze on the wood of the table and clench your teeth.

You didn’t sleep at all, but you’re not about to tell them that.

You probably couldn’t get your voice to work if you wanted it to, so you sit in the awkward silence, praying that their eyes fall on anything but you.

“I slept pretty well. You, hyung?” Jimin replies to his own question nonchalantly, quick to dissolve the tension.  

“Like a drunk rock,” the older man answers just as casually.

Jin glides back into the room, placing the now steaming espresso pot in front of Yoongi and adding more cooked meat to the tray in the center of the table.

“Like a tranquilized rock. I could hear you snoring from across the hall,” Jin quips before practically floating back to the kitchen. His steps barely even make noise as he walks.

They all know that Yoongi only snores when he’s in the deepest of sleeps. People of Yoongi’s kind don’t technically need sleep, but after the effort it took to break down those wards, he definitely needed it.

“I think it’s going to rain today,” Jungkook says as he plucks pieces of fruit from the platter and pops them in his mouth.

It’s a pretty obvious statement. It’s early spring, so it rains almost every day here. They can all see the dark clouds and brisk, cutting wind through the windows, but it’s an attempt at small talk. Because JK can hardly stand how uncomfortable you look. It makes him want to snatch you up and hide you in his room and smother you in all the affection you missed out on while you were gone.

But he knows he can’t, and it makes his heart sag as you shift uneasily in your seat, eyes downcast.

Because you can’t help but wonder how can they just sit there rattling off pleasantries when you’re a stranger in their beautiful house.

You’re an outsider, a charity case. You can’t even tell them your name, and they’ve let you invade their peace without so much as a unfriendly glance. 

Just as a burning question starts to crawl up your throat, another set of footsteps enters the room.

Hoseok, the lean dark-haired man, shuffles to the table. His eyes are barely open and his lips are puffed up in a groggy pout.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice tinged deep and thick but still cheerful.

Jimin pulls him into the seat next to him, playfully ruffling his already messy hair.

Namjoon is right on his heels, sauntering into the room with his nose in his notebook. He’s already dressed in a gray suit, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, pen twirling in his right hand.

He takes a seat at the left end of the table, looking up to give you small smile. You would’ve missed it if his presence wasn’t so demanding of your attention.

“Lovely sight first thing in the morning,” his husky voice calls, and it seems to send warm sparks of...something throughout your chest cavity.

Jin appears again, coffee pot in hand, circling around the table and filling everyone’s mugs. He then takes a seat at the right end of the table, so him and Namjoon can survey the rest of them.

They’ve all started loading their plates, sweetening their coffee with milk and sugar and caramel drizzles.

Jin pours himself a cup of tea from the large white teapot, spooning an almost ridiculous amount of honey into the amber liquid. But the honey suits him. Warm-tinged, naturally sweet, heavy on your tongue. He seems to leave a trail of it wherever he goes, along with the tangy scent of citrus.

Namjoon looks up from his notebook, scanning the table.

“Where’s—” He’s answered a second later when the curly-haired man descends down the staircase. He looks just as sleepy as the rest of them. Well, maybe not Jin and Namjoon, but his eyes are dark-rimmed and his mouth is set in the same half-awake pout.

But all of that seems to flicker away in an instant when he catches sight of you. It’s like your face is a bucketful of ice water, chilling him into a strange sense of alertness.

He surveys the table, noticing that the only open seat is the one directly next to you.

You look away before you can see the realization play out on his face. Reading people isn’t exactly your expertise, but you can tell when someone looks at you with disdain. Of course you do, it’s all your scattered memory can recall. And you know that Taehyung doesn’t like you.

He ducks his head as he reluctantly sits down at the table, stiff in the limbs.

If the others notice, they don’t show it.

Jin is busy making a plate for you: seared meat on a bed of rice, a side of sliced fruit, and a pastry smothered in butter.

He places it in front of you with that same nonchalance. It says eat what you want, no one here is going to judge you.

It’s a little surprising how easily you believe him.

You hesitantly pick up the fork beside your plate, eyeing the others to see if they react negatively. None of them do, there’s only slightly curious and attentive expressions thrown your way.

They’re trying hard not to stare, trying hard not to look hopeful as you survey the food.

You poke at the meat, mouth watering at its savory aroma.

You bring a forkful to your mouth. Just chewing the protein makes you feel more full than you have in months.

The boys try to contain their joy when you start to eagerly eat mouthful after mouthful.

Jin and Namjoon exchange a near ecstatic glance across the table. The others look at each other too, endeavoring to suppress their excitement.

You don't know it, but this is a significant moment. Breakfast has always been important to all of you. Jin and Namjoon leave for work early in the morning. The rest of them are freelancers, but they wake up early so you can all eat together at least once a day, in case Jin and Joon aren't home in time for dinner.

This is the first time you've all been together to share a meal like this since your disappearance.

A comfortable hush falls over the room as everyone eats and sips at their coffee, with the occasional comment or question tossed into the air.

You barely hear it, too focused on the food. It's all so luxurious, the well-seasoned meat, the fresh fruit. You can't remember, no matter how hard you try, the last time you had a meal like this.

Your mind starts to clear once your plate is licked clean, and thank heavens it seems to be staying down.

The men, they're talking about the weather. Here you are, a stranger, a nuisance, at their table. And they're talking about the weather, treating you like you're one of them, when everything inside is screaming that you are anything but.

The slam of silverware, and everyone looks up in slight shock. It's only after a few seconds that you realize it was you who made the noise.

Everyone's eyes on you, but you don't care. The questions itch too bad.

"What now?" you say, voice shaking despite your best efforts.

They all look at each other.

"What do you mean, love?" Jin replies, his expression calm.

You scan each of their faces, trying to answer the indefinable question floating in your mind. They're all looking at you with something heavy and strange in their eyes.

"What happens now?" you say, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

"Well, you're still getting used to things. I'd say the next step is a brain scan, to see if there's any more damage, and maybe if we can recover some of your memories," Jin answers.

You want to ask how he knew that you were missing your memories, but Yoongi interrupts the thought.

"Today we can show you around the house, maybe you can meet the pets if you'd like," he says.

They'd kept the animals separate from you, knowing that they'd all rush to jump all over you after your absence, especially the dogs.

You look down at the table.

"What other questions do you have?" Jin asks kindly.

You can still feel their eyes on you, but your gaze is fixed down at your empty plate.

"Why were you there?" you ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

A pause, and you look up to find a mixture of confusion and hesitation on their faces.

"At the facility. Why were you there?"

You remember them busting down the walls, mowing down guards, Jin cradling you in his arms like you were a long lost lover.

"The F&F has a reputation for taking atypical prisoners. We were hoping to rescue them," Namjoon says. It's not a lie, they did free all the other atypicals in the building, but he left out the fact that they were there looking for you.

"Why?" you ask. There's a heavy sensation in your chest.

"Because the F&F deserves to rot in hell for what they've done," Taehyung blurts out before he can help it. Jungkook puts a hand on shoulder, a gentle warning not to scare you.

Namjoon sighs when confusion clouds your features.

"Because we look out for people like us," he says.

You don't know what to say to that. A moment of silence falls upon the room.

"Well," Jin says, wiping the side of his mouth with a napkin and getting up out of his seat. "I think it's high time we show you around."

[saintmuses]

❝𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙗𝙤𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩❞

Pairing:

Jealous!Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary:

Despite they were not even together, Jonathan Crane made her suffer the consequences for flirting with Bruce Wayne.

Warning(s): implied future SMUT. Slightly Dub-con. Dominant and implied possessive Jonathan. Spanking. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 954

The steering wheel groaned slightly under the pressure of Jonathan’s hands that were curled into fists around it.

He couldn’t stop the moments from spilling over in his head like flashbacks in a film reel on the screen.

She was…so gorgeous tonight. In that sparkly dress that drew the attention of everyone.

Even Bruce Wayne walked up to her with intentions in his eyes to take her home with him.

Jonathan didn’t…he didn’t think she would be the one to flirt back with that godforsaken man who considered himself as the savior of Gotham, to feed the fuel to the fire of brimstone and ashes inside of his mind.

He was violently screaming inside of his head, unraveling as his rationality fell apart by each word that repeated back to him as a sacred prayer he refused to kneel for.

One of the things he dealt with on a daily basis as a symbolism of insanity that sometimes shone in his icy blue eyes, through words from his tongue, or even in his laughter when he was alone in empty space with four walls around him.

Jonathan was breathing heavily, the pure rage within him having reached its height.

No one had a claim to her, but him. He had always been secretly possessive over her in many forms. When they were in college, she became his friend, and he went so far as eradicating her other friends that way she could only go to him in the name of friendship. However, he had always knew he wanted her, but never as far as doing anything because he never had to worry about her finding other people to be with.

Now that chain that held them together was weakening as it was clear the bond was going to be threatened by others.

She was his.

He steered the car toward the edge of the dirt off the road, then he slammed his foot on the brakes causing the tires to screech as he did so. He pulled the vehicle to a sudden stop causing her to turn her head to look at him with confusion in her gaze.

Jonathan turned towards her but said nothing, his eyes locked on her as his body trembled from the intense rage and he felt like he could burst.

“You really are something special, you know that?” He finally said something, although icily, eyes blazing with brimstone as he stared straight at her.

He was furious to the point that he couldn’t see or think clearly, but he couldn’t deny how much of a lure she was to him.

“I’m not sure why I haven’t given you a good spanking yet,” he huffed, storm began to take over his irises as his lips curled into a snarl.

Her breathing hitched as her eyes widened before narrowing it. “I dare you.” She hissed, eyes narrowing in fury as she challenged him.

Oh, she should know he would accept it.

He heard her yelping when he reached across the passenger seat and dragged her over onto him in the driver’s seat where she was forced to accommodate her knees around his thighs on the leather. He then dragged the hem of her dress just under the curve of her ass, and she gasped when he landed a hard smack on the back of her thigh.

He wasn’t going to stop with one spanking, and he continued to slap one of her thighs until she started to let out little gasps, ending with whimpering.

“You deserve every red mark that’s going to be on your skin, sweetheart.” He said lowly, informing her with monotonous tone.

He reached for her thighs to grab the hem of her dress, pushing it up until it bunched up around her waist. He did all that too quickly that she did not have time to react to his ministrations. She hissed in surprise when his hands grabbed her ass; fingers squeezing her flesh firmly in a possessive hold, ignoring the lace of her panties before using one of his hands to land a harsh smack on her ass. “You’re mine.”

Of course, he knew she was surprised by his behavior since he had never acted like that towards her. He continued to alternatively swat her thighs and her ass, enjoying every second he could spend making her feel the sting of his slaps.

“Am I making myself clear to you, sweetheart?” he growled, glaring at her through the glass bounded by his metal frames.

He withdrew one of his hands from her ass until he reached between them, reaching down towards her legs. His lips curled into a smirk when he smacked her hard between her legs, enjoyed hearing her gasp.

Jonathan noticed the sudden change in her body language and the way her eyes widened as he crossed the line.

Her eyes were a bit strung out, and before she could respond, he reached behind her and grabbed her ass with his fingers, digging into her raw skin with his fingertips which made her thighs quiver in response while whimpering. 

He knew he was getting to her, and he was enjoying it. A part of him could never see himself taking this far, but he couldn’t stop himself now.

He looked at her with a slight maniac grin and continued to slap the inside of her thigh, then he reached for the thin fabric of her panties, curling his fingers into the underwear before pulling it aside until her cunt was exposed as he gave her another slap. He mentally noted a slick sensation that came from her cunt.

“Enjoying this, sweetheart?” he said condescendingly, his voice growing lower and more deeply with each word.

[taahko]

I just found your blog today can you please explain or point out a post that explains the MASH timeloop thing? I love the show but I've never heard anyone talk abt it that way before

oh yay hurray ive been waiting for an excuse to talk about this lmao sorry this is long

ok so basically maeve (my gf) and i started watching mash for the first time about a month ago and we started joking about it being like the characters were stuck in a time loop mostly because the same basic episode format is repeated over and over, because it's a sitcom from the 70s and the episodes arent meant to be watched en masse where you can start noticing all the little repetitions and plot holes and inconsistencies that naturally occur in longform tv

but then i started to pay attention to the dates being mentioned in the show - famously the korean war never technically ended, but american troops were involved in active on the ground fighting between 1950 and 1953, so the entire 11 seasons of mash have to be squeezed into that three year period. with 251 episodes occurring within 1,129 days, that gives every episode about 4.5 days of real time. so it works right? no time loop right? well wait a sec

for the first 5 seasons or so of mash they give very consistent dates about when things are happening. for example, bj arrives in korea in september of 1952, at the start of season 4. colonel potter arrives about a week after him, and talks about how he has 18 months left before his retirement. that gives us about 7 months for the shows final 7 seasons to take place in, meaning that by the episode 'point of view' in season 7 we should be around december of 1952. in that episode the pov character starts writing a letter home and in the corner he writes the date:

september of 1951. ok, could be that this episode isn't meant to take place in the regular timeline of the season - maybe for some reason its just like, a random flashback episode. but bj, charles, and potter are all present, even though none of them got to korea until 1952. now i KNOW that this is not like, the True Hidden Secret Lore of MASH, this is the writers realizing they were running out of road and turning back the clock a bit to accommodate for how long the show was running on. but play in my time loop space with me please

more talking points:

consistent jokes about time zones and how difficult it is to call the states because "our today is their yesterday but if you call them now it might not reach them until our tomorrow and by that point our yesterday will be their today"

hawkeye's increasing mania over the seasons and his conviction that the war will never end, comparing the camp to dante's inferno multiple times. maeve once pointed out that the closer hawkeye comes to realizing that he's trapped in a time loop the closer he gets to being institutionalized - and what does the series finale cold open onto ? hawkeye in a mental institution. the only way out is to lose yourself etc. sidenote frank also escaped the time loop by going insane and getting institutionalized

in a war for all seasons bj potter and charles are all present at the 1951 new years party as well as the 1952 new years party

there are three christmas episodes, two of which bj is present for even though he should only have spent one christmas in korea

details of people's families and lives shift around - sometimes potter's got multiple grandchildren, sometimes he only has one, sometimes its a girl, sometimes its a boy, sometimes she's 5, sometimes he's 2

we're not the first people to talk about this either, here's a good video compilation posted a couple yrs ago of time loop moments

overall ive been using the time loop thesis to add another layer to my mash viewing experience. it increases the already present sense of constant dread, anger, frustration, and disgust with their situation that the characters feel, plus it feels like a very poignant take on the united states' constant warmongering and violent existence. it really never ends, it just goes on an on. the future's been canceled by the war department- we're just gonna replay the past.