#was going through for my life & moving the america etc etc

[philosophicallie]

ok time to try to blame someone else instead of me

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄThe Visitꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Au

❦When Y/n makes an impulsive decision to take a trip to Japan, a trip to the wrong room causes her to catch the wrong attention❦

Sano Manjiro, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Red phrases are Japanese

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable.

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

The Visit

Y/n’s journey to Japan was based on an impulsive decision. Wanting to bask in the differing culture compared to America, she decided to take a small break, her plan to only stay for a couple weeks. Unfortunately, her friends, too busy with work and stable living, couldn’t join her sudden trip across the world. Y/n currently works on her own accord, a delivering app where she makes her own schedule. A lot more freeing compared to a job where she’d have to make decisions two to three weeks in advance.

Sure, she’s no doctor or business owner but she still makes enough to afford her living and to take spontaneous outings, becoming bored easily from the day to day routine of driving and delivering all day. After all, she can even work on her vacations, though she’d prefer not to. When she was younger, she had a hard time doing things on her own so as an adult, she’s gained her own sense of independence. Using the phrase, YOLO, as an excuse to go out on her own and make things happen without waiting for others to join. Her personal challenge in life. Which is why she decided to go to a popular night club, all on her own.

Flashing lights beam as the loud music bursts through the speakers, causing the building to vibrate occasionally, chattering and laughing mixing in with the frequency. A euphoric feeling for someone in search of a good time. She walks through crowds of people after she passes the security, slightly shoving her way, light “Excuse me,” and “Sorry,” as she squeezes past the dancing mass. Obviously, nobody hears her apologies as they close their eyes and grind against the nearest person. Finally, she makes her way to the bar, the bartenders tending to the customers with smiles on their faces, conversing and flirting with the newcomers.

She takes a seat on the stool, ignoring the awkwardness of feeling out of place in an unknown world. Most of the conversations surrounding her are misunderstood, as she only knows a few Japanese words. She knows she should’ve studied more, though the anticipation caused her impatience, determining that if needed, she’ll use the web’s translator, no matter how embarrassing it’ll feel. For a second, she zones out in her own world, palm on her cheek as she leans her head, elbow plastered to the table.

“What can I get for you?”

She responds with a fruity alcohol mix, dropping her hand to the table as she watches the bartender make her drink. Once finished, he slides it to her as she hands him her payment. She sips it down fast, emptying the glass within seconds, wanting to free herself from the anxiety that fills her body, calming her thoughts as the alcohol persuades her to get out of her comfort zone. Ordering another after another, she’s finally out of her shell enough to think about hitting the dance floor, after all the crowd should cover her terrible dance moves.

After her fifth drink, she feels great, on top of the world even. Without the weakness of anxious thoughts and tense posture, she takes a selfie to send to her groupchat, her friends responding with likes and support. She smiles to herself, vision slightly shifty as she hops off her seat, shoving her phone in her purse as she walks through the crowd to a good spot.

Considering how lively she is, others fall in line, dancing near or on as everyone hypes everyone up, the music and alcohol causing everyone to lose themselves in the motion of the dance floor. The girl takes a couple photos and videos of all the different people she meets as they laugh and share the moment with each other. Some take photos and videos as well, showing off their night. Time passes as the drinks keep pouring.

Finally, the liquid reaches her bladder, causing her to stumble through the group, walking towards the bar as she searches for the nearest bathroom. Unfortunately, it takes her a while to walk around in frustration, sighing as she sees a staircase towards the balcony. Using the rail as support, she stalks up the stairs, walking until she reaches the balcony. She walks past the people as she makes her way down the hall.

“Damnit, I’m about to piss myself.” She hisses as she continues to look around, no sign of any bathrooms near.

Out of curiosity, she stops near a door where talking could be heard, though nothing she could understand besides the few words she could make out. She rolls her eyes.

“Hopefully, there’s a bathroom in here, or else I’m peeing wherever.” She mutters, chuckling as she turns the knob. When she opens the door, she’s greeted with an empty space with lounge chairs and dimmed lights, pink and red being the main color scheme of the room. The voices are louder as she walks into the room.

Maybe that’s the bathroom.

She shrugs as she walks forward, closing in on the door, the voices raising. Her eyebrows furrow at the language, caught off guard by some of the words being shouted.

“Mikey, please! I just need m-more time!”

A loud thud could be heard followed by a ‘Shut up!’ Y/n continued to listen as the concerning sounds became more apparent. She attempts to make out the words, to no avail, but she could tell that someone is begging, considering the word, ‘please.’

“Please! My wife and kids, th-they need me! God, I’ll do anything!”

“What the fuck?” She whispers. The event behind the door causes her to forget about her full bladder, which feels as though all fluid has disappeared on its own. One of her hands places itself on the door as she leans closer, becoming more intrigued as she attempts to decipher more words. Coming up with a plan, she grabs her phone and searches the web for translation. She presses the button to record and sets the phone as close to the door as she can.

“Boss, do you want me to finish this rat?”

After reading the translation, her breath hitches, eyes widening as she quickly deletes the phrase and sets the phone back in place. The hairs on her body stand as the fear sobers her enough to focus. She’s in disbelief to what she is hearing, yet she can’t find the will to move as curiosity brings her closer to demise.

Silence falls for a moment besides the pitiful man’s sobbing, weighing on her heart as she feels sorrow for what could happen, still unknown to any experiences like this. After what feels like forever, she decides to press the power button of her device and stick it back in her purse.

“NO!”

BANG!

She stops for a second, eyebrows furrowed as she stops breathing. She stares at the door in disbelief. Her hands trembling as her legs barely keep her up, causing her to lean against the wall near the door. Her heartbeat accelerates as her head begins to pound, the ringing in her ears indicating that fear is taking a toll. Before she could take another step, another three gunshots ring, echoing from the room.

“N-no fucking way.” She says to herself, turning on her heel to run out of the room.

“Shit!” She hisses as she runs into a plant, the vase shattering as she falls on the floor. Scrambling to pick herself up she quickly runs out of the room, sweat dripping from her forehead as she breathes heavily, ignoring the sound of the door behind her slamming open.

As she runs down the stairs, she pushes through anyone in the way without any apologies, too scared of getting caught snooping she rushes past the dance floor. She shrieks as shots rang through, causing everyone in the club to scatter and scream. More chaos ensues as she shoves her way to the exit. Some people could be seen falling as they’re trampled by the gathering, too many people trying to leave at the same time. The guards try to help as much as they can while the staff hides behind the bar, some in the rooms as well.

The shots continue as she's pushed against the stools, knocking them over as she stops herself from falling. She continues on, finally reaching the exit. When she makes it outside, she runs down the sidewalk, others bringing attention from the outside as well as they mimic her movements. Police sirens could be heard in the distance as she continued to run.

Breathing heavily, the pain in her stomach forms as well as the tensity in her legs, though she ignores it with the will to live another day. As she runs, she misses the black car passing by, tinted windows covering the group of men sitting in the seats.

“Another successful night of ridding ourselves of another rat, yeah?”

A tall man with short lilac hair takes a sip of his glass, leg crossed over the other as his free arm lies on the top of the seat. Lazy eyes with a side smile on his face as he eyes the men in the car.

“Successful, indeed brother. Too bad the night ended early.”

The man, sitting next to the other guy, positioned in the same way with the opposite leg, says while lighting a cigarette, the driver pressing a button to crack the windows. His hair, lilac as well, but shaped to be a mullet smirks as he pulls the smoke into his mouth, settling it before blowing out.

The two men sitting across from the brothers sit quietly as dark eyes stare out of the window, the platinum hair swaying as the wind blows through the cracks.

“I should’ve tortured him more, the disgusting scum deserved every shot for betraying my king.”

The pinkette growled, his icy blue eyes glaring into space as he imagined doing the worst to the man, violent acts playing in his head. His fingers tingle, an effect from the substances in his system, excitement causing him to smirk as he leans his head back against the seat.

“Kakucho.”

The ride became silent as their boss spoke to the driver.

“Yes, boss?”

“Look into Y/n, L/n.”

The dark eyed pale man eyes the card in his hand as he analyzes the picture and information. Finding the photo id in the lounge room, he realizes that she must’ve been the one to shatter that vase, indicating she must’ve been there during their conversation. If not, it’s good to get a hold on her, just in case.

“Yes, boss.”

“Yeah, it was fucking crazy!” Y/n says as she kicks her shoes off, locking the door behind her as she walks to the bedroom, phone against her ear.

“Is everything okay now? Are you safe?” Her closest friend says on the other line.

“I think so, Leila. I got away and nobody has followed me here so I think I’m good. I just can’t believe I witnessed something like that.” She responds, breathing out a sigh as she sets the phone on speaker, setting it on the bed as she grabs a t-shirt and shorts.

“Me neither. You probably shouldn’t go clubbing for a minute.” Leila suggests, worry evident in her voice. After Y/n is dressed, she grabs her phone and walks to the bathroom.

“Maybe, but I didn’t come here to not party. I’m sure it was just that side of town or something.” She says as she grabs a makeup wipe, starting with rubbing her eyeliner and mascara off before moving to her cheeks and forehead.

“There’s other things to do, plus you don’t know how things are fully run over there. You really know little to nothing about the area you’re in so you don’t know how consistent it is and neither do I.”

She moisturizes her face after using water to wash off any residue. She grabs her phone and pulls it to her mouth.

“I understand that, which is why I’m gonna explore some more places tomorrow, but I’m probably going to go clubbing again. Just not at that one.” She says, leaning on her leg as she places a hand on her hip.

“Okay. Just be careful, especially since you’re alone up there. I have to go back to work, so I’ll text you.”

“Alright, see ya.”

Y/n ends the call, grabbing her toothbrush and brushing her teeth. After she spits, she uses mouthwash and rinses. After her process, she grabs her phone and walks to the kitchen, chugging a glass of water before walking to the bedroom.

When she gets in bed, she pulls up a reading app as she lies in a fetal position. As she pulls up a story she saved, her eyes follow the lines until they become heavy - lidded, blurry vision overcoming until the darkness finally engulfs her.

When she wakes up, she lies for a moment before grabbing her phone and checking her notifications. She yawns, stretching and hopping from the bed, completing her morning routine as well as a shower before getting dressed in simple attire. As she walks out of her door, she cautiously looks at her surroundings, eyeing the people walking on this fine morning. In need of a picker upper, she strolls down the sidewalk, heading towards the nearest cafe, hands in pockets as she walks through the breeze.

After she walks in, she orders her drink and takes a seat in a nearby booth, intrigued by the screen of her phone as she takes sips occasionally. A figure distracts her vision, sitting in front of her, causing her to shift her gaze. She eyes the mystery man who sits in a suit, furrowing her brows as she gazes over the attractive guy. He gives her a lazy smile, greeting her and introducing himself.

“You can call me Y/n. Do I know you?” She asks curiously. She knows that she has no clue who this guy is, but asked anyway, wondering why he decided to sit at her table.

“No, we don't know each other. You’re a lovely woman, and I’d like to get to know you more.” He responds, his smooth voice adding to his demeanor. She raises a brow.

He proceeds to tell her about a club he owns, inviting her to attend that night.

“I’ll think about it.” She states, giving a polite smile as she thanks him. He nods, standing up from his chair as he walks out of the cafe.

She messages her friend about the invitation from the attractive man excitedly.

Once the evening roars, she finishes the final touches of her makeup. Finally, finished with her process, she grabs her purse, making her way out of the hotel. She rides to her destination, making it to the packed nightclub she was invited to.

Security allowed her in when she said her name, as Ran told her to skip the line earlier and the guards will understand. That didn’t help the slight anxiety she felt from the angry people waiting in the long line. Shaking it off, she walks past security, to the bar that is right outside the dance floor. She looks around the crowd of people, searching for the familiar man, confused as to where he could be. She grabs her phone when she feels a buzz through her purse.

***-***-**** : come upstairs ♡︎

She chuckles at the heart, guessing it was Ran. Though, she doesn’t remember ever giving her phone number to home, nor vice versa. She shrugs, walking up the staircase until she reaches the blocked off balcony, the guards moving the rope to allow her in.

“Ooh fancy.” She states.

Before she could take another step, she was grabbed roughly from behind, pulled into a chest as a cloth covered her muffled screams. She fails at keeping her eyes open, drifting into the darkness.

She awakens, a dim light revealing her to be cuffed to a chair within a warehouse, causing her to struggle against the restraints as tears threaten to fall.

“No, no, no!” She sobs, frustrated with her circumstances. “Fuck!” She hisses.

“Nobody gave you permission to speak.”

Her head shoots up, meeting with four intimidating individuals, one familiar guy she had just met.

Damnit! I’m so stupid. This has to be those people from the other night with that man! They’re gonna kill me!

The pink haired man with a sadistic look of amusement on his face walked forward until he reached the side of her, gun in hand. Lifting it, he raises the barrel of the weapon to her temple, causing her body to tremble as she attempts to comprehend the situation, eyes widening at the man who sat in the middle of the standing twins. His dark eyes boring into hers.

She watches the man pull out a card from his pocket, turning it over to face her; she recognizes her photo id, unable to believe her unfortunate mistake.

“Y/n, I don’t like to waste time. What did you hear?”

“Nothing! I was just looking for the bathroom.”

She grimaces as the platinum haired man narrows his eyes, piercing through her. He flicks his hand.

“Sanzu.”

Said man nods, pulling the gun back and back, handing her with his other hand, her face forced to face the side. She shrieks a curse from the sudden pain.

“Boss doesn’t like liars, Y/n.” The man with the purple mullet states, smirking at her reaction with his hands placed in his pockets.

“Rin, don’t make fun of the poor girl, she’s already having a hard time.” Ran mockingly states, smiling with one hand in his pocket as he takes a hit of his cigarette.

Y/n grits her teeth, embarrassment and anger filling her mood as she glares at both men. The sense of dread already taking over, she becomes reckless with her words considering she’ll die anyway.

“Fuck you, and fuck you!” She growls, breathing deeply as she tries to keep herself calm enough to prevent an anxiety attack. Everyone’s eyes widen, excitement taking over at her behavior, the pale man’s posture slightly straightening as he becomes intrigued. Another harsh smack forces her to scream as she’s roughly gripped by the chin and turned to face the man known as Sanzu.

“Know your place in the face of the king. Watch your mouth.” He glares at her, releasing her as he replaces the gun on her head. She sucks her teeth to prevent herself from speaking anymore, though the glare doesn’t leave her face as humiliation rises by the amused expressions on the brothers’ faces.

“Answer my question.” Mikey states.

“All I heard was gunshots when I was leaving. I just wanted to find the bathroom, that’s it! I’m just visiting!” She exclaimed, ignoring the throbbing sensation of her bruised cheek.

The room goes quiet besides her deep breathing. She furrows her brows at everyone’s dead stare, wondering if she said something wrong considering the silence. She looks around in concern, shifting her gaze around sporadically.

“Hm, do whatever you want.” The boss waves his hand as he leans back into his seat, still criss - crossed as the other men’s smirks grow.

“W-what do you mean? What are you going to do?” She exclaims, terror causing her to pull harshly against the restraints. She shifts in her seat as they get closer, Sanzu using a key to undo the cuffs. Before she could take the opportunity to flee, she’s grabbed by the arm and roughly pulled out of the seat by the man known as Rin, forcing her to her knees, causing bruises to form as the pain of the cold floor aches.

His hands still on her shoulders in a tight grip that causes tension, while Ran places himself standing in front of her. He unbuckles his pants as he pulls out his length from his underwear, giving his infamous smile as he lazily eyes her form.

“Alright princess, no biting, alright? I think you already know what’ll happen so open up.” He uses his thumb to force her mouth agape, her blocking by moving her head away from the veiny girth. Her eyes widen at the pulsating member in front of her face, tears falling as she tries to push herself away, only to be forced back into place by his brother who moves one of his hands off her shoulder and places it at the nape of her neck and head, pushing her forward. He crouches to get a good angle on her.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Sanzu says, placing the barrel of the gun on her head. “Don’t even try it.”

She glares through her tears at both men that she could see and barely opens her mouth. Ran pushes his throbbing erection through her lips, a slight groan escaping his mouth as he slowly forces her to reach his base, causing her to gag. Rin helps by adding force to her neck, holding her in place once more.

“Good. S’ fucking good.” He breathes as he pulls his hips back and pushes all the way in once more. A mixture of precum and saliva dripped from her mouth, falling down her jaw as well as salty tears. Humiliation is the only emotion to decipher as she closes her eyes to escape as much as she could from this reality. A pinch on her nose forces her eyes open as he accelerates.

“Keep those eyes open, Y/n.” Sanzu hisses. The other hand placed on her shoulder disappears as it reaches around her neck.

“We might be nicer if you’re good.” Rin whispers as he squeezes his hand around her neck. She struggles against her pinched nose and neck squeeze as her breathing is blocked. Ran’s thrusts become sloppier as he moans, his hand on top of her head and the other on her ear and cheek as he pulls back and forth.

“I’m so close.”

Mikey watches as the events play out. Despite the bored look on his face, he couldn’t help but be turned on by how she looks as she lacks air while being fucked from the mouth. His erection reflects against the bulge in his pants, slight sweat forming beneath his sweater as his eyes bore into the scene before him.

Y/n’s face, shifting colors as she struggles against the hold, vision weakening as black dots begin to engulf her. Noticing the limping of her body, the two men release her nose and neck, allowing her to breathe through her nose as Ran releases into her throat, ropes of cum shooting as he grunts.

She coughs and takes deep violent breaths when she’s released, makeup smeared as her outfit clings to her body from sweat.

“Let me fucking go! There’s no reason for this! I won’t tell anyone just stop.” She sobs angrily. They ignore her as she’s forced on her back. Sanzu forces her legs open as Rin climbs on top of her. Ran slips his pants on before he sits right above her head as he faces her from above, pulling her wrists up as he grips them, smirking as his brother places himself in front of her, crouching over her breasts.

When she gasps from the wet muscle licking her clit, Rin takes the opportunity to shove his dick all the way to the back of her aching throat.

“Shit!” He hissed as he bottoms out. Moaning with his head pulled back, he grips her head, thrusting in and out at a faster pace than how his brother started. She twitches and shifts as Sanzu sucks her clit thoroughly, flicking his tongue whenever deemed fit. He slightly moans as he licks up her juices, his tongue moving up and down as it makes contact with her bud. His hands grip her thighs tightly, nails leaving indents as he pulls her in more, eyes closed.

Rin’s hair sways as he thrusts in her mouth. Wet sounds filling the room as the cum and saliva mix while he uses her face as a fleshlight. Her body couldn’t help to react to the stimulation of her clit, to her disapproval. She also didn’t want to orgasm considering it would enable them whether they believe she truly wants this or not. In order to speed the process, she sucks his cock to bring more tension, causing him to become sloppier.

“Yes! Like that, good fucking girl.” He breathes as his eyes roll into the back of his head, thrusting harder as he gets closer to release. Everyone’s erections twitch when she unconsciously releases a moan, to her humiliation.

Just hurry up and cum so I can leave! Please!

“Dirty girl, you like this, huh?” Ran teases, as his brother’s moans become louder. Sanzu grips tighter as he rubs his erection through his pants. Mikey grips himself through his pants, enjoying the pain of his own arousal as he watches his men take advantage of this woman. His face keeps his same expression, slowly rubbing against himself as he applies pressure.

Her hands turned to fists as Sanzu used a finger to push inside of her, angling it to gain more twitches from her body. Her hips buck when he adds another, strategically pulling in and out of her vagina. His tongue flicks against her clit repeatedly, suckling as he thrusts his hand.

I don’t care if my body is reacting. I want them to stop! This is humiliating!

Tears fall as Rin finally releases into her mouth, cum shooting out as he fills her throat. She orgasms right after as Sanzu assaulted her core. Rin removes himself as Sanzu and Ran pull back. She breathes heavily as she tries to gain strength in her weakened body, still trembling from the violent acts. She freezes when she sees their boss stand up. Her eyes widen as she picks herself up and sits up, not long before Mikey motions for Sanzu to lie on the floor. The short man shoves her over the pink haired man, her face meeting his amused expression.

She’s forced to hold herself up as the brothers stood up and took the chairs her and mikey used, sitting themselves down as the anticipation of what was to come caused them to grip their erections.

When she realized what was happening, she attempted to push herself out of their grips, to no avail.

“No, please! I’ve never done anal before and I don’t want to, please! Don’t make me do this!” She sobs. Her breath hitches when Mikey shushes her from behind. As Mikey grabs her hips, Sanzu eases her down on his cock, gripping her back so she won’t pull back. She shrieks from the force, slight pain blocked from wetness yet her anxiety makes it hard for her to fully open, causing him to bully his way in.

She cries as he adjusts himself, gripping her head as he rubs her back, causing shivers to run down her spine. The brothers watch with smirks, groaning quietly as they begin to rub their own cocks. Mikey wets his finger before slowly shoving it into her anus, causing her to flinch in pain and legs to tremble. Sanzu pulls her down to lie fully on his chest as Mikey uses his other hand to push her back down, aiming for a better angle as he adds another finger.

Sanzu groans as her walls tighten around his cock, shoving it deeper as he holds it in place, head falling back as he breathes heavily. She whimpers in his ear as she tries to hold back a moan from the head hitting her cervix. It presses causing pressure as it’s still inside her, twitching occasionally as he waits for Mikey to enter.

Finally, Mikey adjusts his head to her hole after wetting his cock, shoving it inside as he ignores her cry of pain. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out, both men groaning as they rub against each other through the lining causing extra pressure. She grunts in pain and stimulation as her body trembles. She breathes heavily in Sanzu’s ear unconsciously bringing him more pleasure as he feels the hot air against his ear, her lips barely touching his neck.

“Oh fuck, M-Mikey, can I please move?”

Forgetting his king’s title in the midst of intense pleasure, the Haitani brothers chuckle as they continue their motions.

“Yes.” He breathes as he pulls back, gripping her shoulders as he leans over, thrusting deeply as well as slowly. Long strokes as he repeats the process. Sanzu syncing with him as he hits her g-spot repeatedly, pressing against with his own long strokes.

Her eyes snap shut, tightly, as she grips Sanzu’s shoulders. Tears fall on his neck as she begins to cry. Both men’s jaws hang slightly ajar as they accelerate their speed, one going in as the other goes out. The sound of all their juices mixing as her holes drip with moisture.

Their hips snap as they become sloppy with their movements, syncing once more as they thrust inside of her roughly. All four men’s moans filled the room blocking her whimpers and cries as she sobbed for them to stop. The Haitani’s eyed the sight intently, faces bare of any smiles with nothing but undeniable pleasure as their hands bring them closer to release.

Thank god I’m on birth control.

Their grips become tighter as well as their thrusts until finally with one long but hard stroke, they both cum deeply inside her, pressing themselves inside her walls as they hold in place, the pressure causing her orgasm to crash violently, as well as the Haitani brother’s who rubbed themselves until ropes of cum shot out on their clothes.

After a while of everyone’s rugged breathing echoing through the air, Ran began to let out a light - hearted laugh.

“Awe princess, look at the mess you made! This is my favorite suit.” He smiles.

“Slutty girl, all worn out when you made us do all of the work.” Rin taunts.

Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she allows the darkness to take over, closing her eyes and drifting into a deep sleep.

Waking up, she eyes the ceiling in confusion. She sits up, eyeing the unfamiliar room as the memories from before she passed out recollected. Her eyes widen as she dashes from the bed, falling back when her ankle is held by something cold against the bed’s bottom post.

She yanks the covers and eyes the cuffed ankle.

“No! No, no, no!” She cries, the feeling of being violated and stripped of her freedom all taking a toll as she reaches for her head. Finally feeling the cold breeze, she eyes her naked body, feeling shame as she uses the comforter to cover herself.

She looks up as the door clicks open, an unfamiliar male walking in with his white hair to the side.

“Hello, Y/n. I’m here to inform you that your stay in Japan has been prolonged.”

[vasyandii]

I have a question.

On Vernon, with the fact that we know she's a literal sadomasocist, (I think I said that right...) I'm just curious as to why or how this may have come up. Had she always been this "messed up in the head," as to say, or did she develop her morbid curiosity from an event that changed her?

Howdy Howdy! Thank you so much for the ask!💞💞 My Laotian ocs always have some aspect on Lao culture and history. So 2 in 1, you also get a very brief history lesson!

Had Vernon always been like this?

I believe she was always like this, some people are born the way that they are, and the environment they were raised in can further encourage or discourage their behaviors. If it wasn't for the circumstances of her environment, she might've had the chance to change.

Vernon is born in 1952, A year before Laos gained its independence as a nation (before that, the French recolonized, and before THAT, the Japanese).

For the first six years of her life, Vernon was raised lucky by all means; Rich family, A loving mother and father, grandparents that doted on her, etc. she was well liked by her peers for being friendly, charismatic, and extremely intelligent.

Vernon always exhibited a certain cruelty in her play as a child. She would rip off limbs of insects and line them up, have lizards drop their tails to look at the inside of it, peel back the skin of hers/other's cuts and scrapes. Vernon's parents disciplined her of course, it's just what some kids did at the time and that was their job to fix that.

It wasn't until 1960, one year into the Lao Civil War, when she first witnessed devastation. It wasn't much, Vernon (8) didn't see anything but the rubble of homes and buildings. But there was a little urge in her that wanted to see if there was anything left in them she could keep.

She was caught digging through the rubble of a neighbor's house. Her parents, were furious. She wasn't allowed to leave their side now, they were worried sick, her behavior was subdued for the convenience of her parents.

Four years later, 1964 Americans were now dropping bombs to fight the communist uprising in Laos. A planeload of cluster bombs dropped every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day. Vernon (12) saw death, the smell of ashes, burning hair and skin, limbs strewn about. She was terrified, but fascinated. It was meat, it used to be a person but now it's nothing but flesh. She wished she could've held it for a little bit, poked it, dissect it.

Her parents were already planning to leave Laos due to the tension from the civil war over the years, but now? They had to move fast, gathering what money they had to go to Thailand and taking a boat to America. They got out within the first 4 months.

Vernon lived a relatively normal life in Sacramento. Excelling in school, having a good group of friends. It wasn't until she landed her job as an Archeologist that her behavior, subdued for years, went haywire. Her job was just an outlet for it.

If you got this far, thank you for reading :D I tend to ramble a lot so if there's anything you'd like for me to clarify feel free to tell me!

[a-d-nox]

pluto in aquarius: a prediction of what's to come

this is a huge astrological event, pluto is moving into aquarius for the first time since the late 1700s. last time pluto was in aquarius america fought for independence from britain, uranus was discovered, the french revolution began, the bill of rights was ratified, etc.

so for day one, i want to create predictions of what is to come!

some house matters!!!

TWO PLUTO RETROGRADES WILL OCCUR - june 11th - jan 20th, 2024 is the first so we won't see too much wildness just yet as pluto will return into capricorn during this time and THE FINAL RETROGRADE BACK INTO CAPRICORN will be september 1st, 2024 - november 19th, 2024. then we are full steam ahead with pluto in aquarius until march 9th, 2043.

i personally am NOT a witch or anything wild, everything i am saying is purely theoretical - it is not fated to happen just because i am saying it. i am simply socially aware. i know what's up generally in the world today and what was up in world in the 1700s - "history typically repeats itself."

i live in the usa so my post likely will be slightly more focused there examples wise so i apologize in advance! feel free to comment, dm, or reblog with other examples from your country based on my prediction key phrases.

i am going to start light and get darker so mentally prepare yourself for that (tw: STI/STD outbreaks, war, 9/11, COVID-19, and other abrasive topics that may make people uncomfortable depending on where they are currently reading from) - but we are talking about pluto so... expect the unexpected?!

let's do this.

renewable energy sources

aquarius is electricity, light, inventions, electronics, telephones, televisions, etc while pluto can be change! i recently bought a new tv and the back of the remote has a solar panel instead of a battery pack. i do believe we will see more evolution with technology; perhaps we will see solar changed phones! otherwise pluto is also pollution and natural disasters - the climate is in crisis mode perhaps we will see more responsibility and thus changes in our sourcing of energy! example: recently i read that japan has a great source of geothermal energy. currently the conversion to using this source (instead of coal, gas, and nuclear energy) is being held up by a higher up in the hot spring business who claims switching to a new energy system "threatens centuries-old traditions" (bang - a capricorn term - tradition - so perhaps after the retrogrades are through we will see a major shift in energy sourcing).

general technological advancements/inventions

last time pluto was in aquarius the cotton gin was invented; which aided in quicker production of goods and higher demand for american cotton. i strongly believe this is a general indicator that AI is going to become an even bigger part of day to day life. i have seen AI already replace those who take orders in the panera drive thru, there is a higher demand for philosophy/english grads to help teach AI, etc. aquarius is also new teachers/occupations so AI could become the new teachers OR new careers could be coming in the area of interacting with AI generally so it gains more consciousness. so it could be AI or it could be something else that is only just a dream in the back of someone's mind at this moment in time.

altruistic extremists

we may see utopian dreamers rise up! they are likely to advocate for the deconstruction of pre-existing political institutions in favor of either self governance or egalitarian policies. they will likely do whatever it takes to make this statement; we may see more protests / political statements similar to wynn bruce's.

fanatical/extremist announcers radio/tv

we already have biased stations and channels (fox, abc, cnn, nbc, etc). we are likely to see a further rise in politically biased newscasters and announcers.

demonization of astrology

astrology is aquarian in nature but pluto is fanatics, evil, demonics, etc. the community has been saying about the next world war for a while now. we are moving out of conservative pluto in capricorn, so we may find that those of deep belief systems accusing us [astrologers] of conspiring with the devil if/when something militant arises (similar to how the tarot community gets told constantly by christians that they must be satanists).

something with birds

i don't have this nailed down yet specifically, but both aquarius and pluto are rulers of birds. aquarius is large birds while pluto is wading/swamp birds and/or flesh eating birds. no one freak out and start thinking that i am indicating something like the 1963 horror film the birds. if anything i can see more bird-spread illness and/or parasites. OR pluto can be archaeology! there may be a bird related discovery or something to do with the distant relative of the bird - aka the raptor (dinosaur related).

a new STI/STD discovery/outbreak

aquarius represents the distribution of bodily fluids while pluto is often representative of sexual activity. this could either be an outbreak because pluto can be death, extremes, catastrophes, and/or casualties OR pluto can be ph balance in the body (possible new discoveries for feminine sexual health), kidneys (perhaps a discovery will be linked to the diminished functionality associated with syphilis, hiv, etc and how to combat more symptomatic issues), and even purification (aka a cure perhaps to help viral carriers to no longer pass the sti/std to sexual partners).

collapse of congress / house of commons/representatives

i mean it only stands to reason that the bill of rights was created/approved last time pluto was in aquarius that either those rights will disappear (pluto also represents dictators) OR simply the people rise up and demolish the institution as it stands: "...whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government..."

airplane catastrophes

aquarius rules over planes and pluto can represent accomplices, catastrophes, casualties, b0mbs, and t3rr0r!sm. we may experience another event similar to 9/11 OR we may see air strikes in a potential world war 3 scenario.

societal change: crime, war, leadership, and more

world war 3 is on the horizon so say pluto in aquarius (probably in the wake of election year in the US - when the final retrograde into capricorn concludes). but this could also just be governmental restructuring - this could be seen as rebellions (similar to the French Revolution), the rise of organized crime if good become more scarce, religious shifts (pluto is the antichrist, aquarius is freewill (first amendment), and capricorn is the old church (christian schools of thought)), etc.

aquarian terms i can't think of change in but seem important to note / keep in mind: freethinkers, hamburg germany, heart weakness (biden - perhaps the early death of a president in office?), motion picture (already changing as more theaters close), photography, psychology (we are already starting to care more about everyone's mental health), science (general scientific discoveries?), social affairs (there is always something going on - the question is how big will this be?), society, sweden, syria, and xray.

plutonian terms i can't think of change in but seem important to note / keep in mind: abductions (aliens - ufo sights?), aliases, alibis (governmental riffing similar to how no plan was in place when for COVID-19), assass!nat!0n (hopefully not), betrayal, bootlegging (bootleg tiktok if america bans it?), cemeteries (removal of that method if too many are dying at any giving time - mass graves?), convicts (prison release due to overcrowding? the mega-prison of el salvador?), corruption (governmental likely?), demolitions, earthquakes (more environmental issues?), electrocution, executions (war?), fanatic, extremes, floods (environmental? emigration - society is aquarius after all?), liars, massacres (the rise of crime?), murder, nihilism (the rise of philosophy at the time of war?), ransom (war?), satire (rise of political satire?), stolen goods, and taxes (trump-esque no?).

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[wintergreenoreo]

I have decided that i will get out of my comfort zone and actually make a fleshed out Strollonso AU. This idea has been plaguing my mind for a while so i feel like sharing it. ✌️

Its a Stripper!Lance x Bouncer!Fernando AU where Fernando is a gruff security guard at a night club located on the outskirts of the city and Lance is one of the dancers in said night club.

Fernando has sworn to never get infatuated with one of the dancers but when Lance arrives it has him fighting with his own morals. Lance is only there to escape from the pressure of his personal life, has the freedom to be himself, but when he’s on stage and sees Fernando standing there watching him he feels the need to impress him with his moves.

It starts off slow but progressively gets more heated when Fernando starts to give in to temptation and finally lets Lance take him into one of the private rooms. 🤭

Some characterizations i made at 3 am last night:

Lance (24) Son of rich entrepreneur and car salesman Lawrence Stroll. In line to take over the company and is placed in a business school to learn the basics. Hardly goes to class. Skips to hang out with his best friend Esteban. Due to the stress and responsibilities his father places on him, at night he has found escape in being a stripper at the downtown night club where he can feel alive, wild and free. Only Esteban knows he does this. Stage name is Lancey Angel.

Fernando (43) Former bodyguard for Lawrence Stroll. Took care of Lance for a bit before he got fired due to an intense argument with Lawrence. Lance does not remember him cause he was still very young when he got fired. Been a bouncer ever since Lewis agree to hire him at his night club. Mainly guards the middle area and the stage. Immediately recognizes Lance as soon as gets hired, knows that Lance probably doesn’t remember him, but when he sees him dancing up on stage Fernando goes through hell in this mind. All he knows is that Lance is beautiful and should be protected. Personally volunteers to escort Lance to his car after Lance’s shift is over. Mentored the other bouncers Max and Carlos.

Esteban (29) Best friend of Lance. Works at a car garage and fixes rich peoples car. Hates the people but geeks over the cars they bring to him. Allows Lance to bug him while he works cause telling him to stop skipping class is a fruitless endeavor. Helps with the business school work Lance brings to him. Covers for Lance when he goes to the night club and tells Lawrence “he was with me the whole night” etc.

Other main dancers:

Charles: (26) Stage name is Lord Perceval. The prettiest and most requested one. Gets the most amount of money but is the most tired after every shift. The others are either jealous or feel sorry for him most the time. Lance likes to gossip with him in French. Max and Carlos fight for his attention and throw hands every time Charles asks someone to escort him to his car after a shift.

Lewis: (39) Stage name is Sir Lewis. The veteran and basically the boss of the nightclub. Started out as just a dancer but had to step up when the previous boss just abandoned the place one day. Wanted the dancers to still have jobs so he took over to help them. If a guest in the club is making the dancers feel uncomfortable they go to him and either he takes care of them or has Fernando take care of them. Had a fling with Fernando in the past but things ended badly, now they can’t stand each other, and only interact if it’s work related.

Alex: (28) Stage name is Alexander Allure. The most sweetest and kindest soul. Is always there to lift the other dancers self esteems up when they start to feel insecure. Lance has been in the presence of his encouraging words a couple of times. At the same time being the most kinkiest of them all. Has a whole different side of him he brings out in the private rooms. Stories of his raunchy escapades with guests in those rooms dont match the soft person that Lance is familiar with.

Logan (23) Stage name is America’s Sweetheart (Sweetheart for short). The youngest and newly added member of the club. Came in a month after Lance and is being trained by Alex. Very shy but overcame stage fright thanks to Alex. Doesn’t do the private rooms yet. Is the one Lance feels most comfortable talking with because Logan is going through the whole “getting away from all the pressure and responsibilities put in place by someone” thing so they bond over that.

Other bouncers:

Carlos (29) Fernando’s second in command. Usually handles the entrance and checks the people coming into the club. Inside he guards around the entrances and tables around that area. Very handsome so drunk patrons try to flirt with him all the time. Has his eyes on Charles and goes into the back to talk with him on his breaks.

Max (26) The strongest and the most hardworking of the three. When he was hired he simply just brought in supplies and inventory for the club. Fernando noticed how easily he lifted up the heavy boxes and got everything done in record time, so Fernando offered him a bouncer job cause he saw potential in him and thought he’d do good. Guards the back of the bar and around the private rooms. Also has his eyes on Charles and goes into the back to talk with him on his breaks.

Other people of note:

Lando (24) Dj of the club. Announces the dancers names in the most frat boy-ey way possible. Always succeeds in hyping the crowd up. Plays the most outrageously loud music and is so oblivious that everyone in the club thinks he’s going deaf.

Valtteri (35) Bartender of the club. Chillest dude in that entire building. Longtime friend of Lewis and you’ll always find Lewis sitting at the bar chatting away with him when he’s on break.

Zhou (24) Server of the club. Valtteri’s little buddy and helping hand around the bar. Usually very efficient in getting drinks to the guests but can occasionally get a bit clumsy. Fernando had to chime in one time and kick dude’s ass cause he wanted to fight Zhou over a little mistake. Has looked up to Fernando ever since.

[fencer-x]

My newest Drarry (and Severitus!) fic has been revealed! This was posted for the 2024 Severitus Big Bang, a fest celebrating the father-son relationship between Harry Potter and Severus Snape, in all forms (bio parent, father figure, mentor, etc.). I explored an alternate reality where Severus married Lily, not James, and the ways in which that might have led to Harry's life being drastically different from how it was shown in canon.

Title: The Fall of the Hosue of Evans Rating: Explicit Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy Word Count: 142,000 Summary: After spending fifteen years living in hiding in America following his mother’s murder and his own near-death experience, Harry Evans and his father Severus are obliged to return to England for a compulsory year of education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But never fear—everything’s gonna be just fine, he just has to get through nine months of maintaining a secret identity, putting up with a trio of really weird godfathers, feeding the fantastic magical noodle he found in a sewer, and dodging the wrath of the surliest, prickliest, finickiest roommate one could ask for. Associated Works: This gorgeous typeset from my partner on this project, kitsunerei88! Notes: Be sure to read the tags on AO3, and the lovely cover art was commissioned from @ muraeaka on twitter!

Read it on AO3

Teaser

“Quodpot,” Harry said, still marvelling at the slick subway tile lining the showers and gleaming fixtures. The ceiling overhead was already blanketed in a thick fog of steam, and the air was getting heavy with humidity. How was it the bathrooms here were nicer than his and his father’s entire apartment back home? “And I haven’t actually played.” He hadn’t even flown on a broom before, honestly, but confessing as such right now might send Malfoy into cardiac arrest. “Ugh, ghastly name,” Malfoy groaned, shucking his Quidditch jersey and pelting Harry in the face with it as he set to work on his bottoms next. Harry quickly turned his back, letting the jersey drop to the floor. He wasn’t Malfoy’s house-elf, even if Malfoy spoke to him like one. “Step lively,” Malfoy called out, voice fading with distance. “I haven’t the time to bring you up to speed so you don’t embarrass our House and then shower.” “Surely there’s a book or something I could read on the subject…” Harry groaned, carefully stepping backwards after Malfoy. If he slipped on a bar of soap and got an eyeful of Malfoy’s undercarriage, he was going to leave, just leave, Apparate right through whatever wards were blanketing the campus and damn the Trace and all threats concerning it. Blessedly, though, he bumped up against one of the long benches fronting the stalls and settled down, focusing on the far wall while Malfoy told him all about the evolution of the Snitch from bird to ball and then moved on to a lecture concerning the different broomstick manufacturers and their respective strengths and weaknesses. “And frankly, the Nimbus line hasn’t matched the quality of the Firebolt since—towel.” Malfoy snapped his fingers at him. “Towel, Potter.” “Summon it yourself.” “With what wand?” “The one you’ve got up your ass…” Harry grumbled beneath his breath.

[hairstevington]

Do I wanna know?

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Somewhere in the multiverse, there is a world where everyone has a choice - If you had the option of reading a list of everyone who's ever been in love with you, would you do it?

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Modern day AU sort of?? It's not based in realism, just go with it. Best friends to lovers, Robin & Steve & Eddie all live together because I said so, mutual pining, fluff, confession of feelings, lots of denial but they figure it out eventually

A/N: This idea came to me during my stats class, and then it became very difficult to continue focusing on my stats class. (I wrote it as soon as we were dismissed lol). Enjoy this cute little Steddie one shot! Ao3 link here :)

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

“Dude, did you see what they just announced?” Steve asked as he played video games with Eddie.

“Yeah, it’s some wild shit,” Eddie replied. “How is it even possible?”

“I think it’s fake,” Robin called from the kitchen as she made them all pizza rolls. 

“Not fake,” Steve insisted. “I was reading about it on the internet and a bunch of people are saying it’s legit.”

“Well, if you read it on the internet, it must be true,” Robin remarked sarcastically. 

“Whatever,” Steve said. “I’m gonna get mine and find out.”

The deal was that, somehow, everyone had the option of getting a list of statistics about their lives. It was advertised with a variety of categories to look through - some of them could have been retrieved through bank statements and background checks, like the number of countries visited, money spent, etc. Other categories (let’s be real, the most intriguing categories), were far more mysterious.

Number of near-death experiences. Every book you’ve read, with a total word count. And, the most exciting of the bunch - How many people have been in love with you, and who.

“Don’t waste your money or your time,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s bullshit. Probably just another way for the government to squeeze more money out of us.”

“Come on, it’s not some conspiracy, Eds,” Steve replied. “I’m just curious, that's all.”

“Oh, I bet,” Robin chimed in. “Just be honest and admit you want to know about the love thing. You and your ego, Dingus.” Steve smiled. He couldn’t argue with her.

“As if you’re not also dying to read yours,” he countered. 

“I’m pretty sure mine would just hurt my feelings,” Robin said with a sigh. “Robin Buckley - loved by her platonic soulmate Steve Harrington and Creepy Carl from band camp.” Eddie snickered.

“Carl wasn’t that creepy,” he said. 

“You’re only saying that because you were also kind of creepy in high school,” she replied. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Eddie responded with a shrug. “But I think I speak for all former creeps when I say we were just socially stunted and awkward. Most of us grew up to be half-decent people.”

“Way to humble brag,” Steve teased. 

“I’m bragging by saying I’m half-decent?” Eddie replied. Steve laughed and nodded. Meanwhile, Robin quickly scrolled through her phone until she stumbled across what she was looking for with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Creepy Carl’s most recent post is about how the patriarchy is a myth.” Steve laughed again and pushed Eddie playfully. Eddie flopped over on the couch and groaned.

“Dammit, Carl, I was rooting for you!” he joked. 

“We were all rooting for you, how dare you!” the three of them shouted in unison. 

That was, of course, a reference to America’s Next Top Model, which Robin showed the boys clips of one night during a rant about the toxicity and absolute batshit nature of early 2000s reality TV. That quote, for whatever reason, stuck. They had a lot of inside jokes like that.

This is how life had been for the three of them the last few years. They’d become best friends straight out of high school, then all moved in together. Life was comfortable and nice. 

-

Steve somehow convinced Robin that they would both get their lists together. Eddie, on the other hand, downright refused.

“I don’t need any of that shit,” he insisted. “It’s not gonna do me any good, and I’m perfectly fine staying in the dark.”

“Okay, I get it,” Steve said, holding his hands up. “You’re scared and lame, that’s totally okay.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, dickhead,” he replied. “This whole thing is stupid anyway. And - and it’s not like we can seriously trust whatever it says. It’s probably just…all lies, anyway.”

“Yeah, but they’re fun lies,” Robin countered. “It’s like hearing gossip about your own life.”

“Exactly!” Steve agreed. “It’s just for fun.”

“Have your fun, then,” Eddie said devilishly. “I’ll be in my room, not being an idiot.”

Robin and Steve put their names and date of birth into a search engine and, within five minutes, each had their respective documents in their inboxes. Steve opened his immediately and eagerly, skipping past all the boring shit until he found the good stuff. 

Number of people who have had crushes on Steve Harrington: 436.

Number of people who have been in love with Steve Harrington: 85.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, looking at the long list of names. He looked up from his phone to see Robin staring at the wall. “Why aren’t you reading?”

“I don’t think I can do it,” she said. “I’m chickening out.” Steve scoffed. 

“What? Robs, come on. You already ordered the damn thing.”

“Yeah, but -” She sighed. “But now it’s, like, real.”

“Do you want me to read yours for you?” he asked. She shook her head. 

“No, I think I’m just going to keep it unread for now,” she decided. Steve shrugged.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.” Robin scooted herself over on the couch so she could look at Steve’s phone screen. 

“Wait, they even have crushes on there?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Jeez, Harrington. That’s quite the list.” Steve smirked, realizing it very much did give him an ego boost. He continued scrolling to see even more categories.

Number of people Steve Harrington has had a crush on: 63.

Jesus, Steve thought to himself. That’s kind of embarrassing. In his defense, some of them were celebrities. He continued reading.

Number of people Steve Harrington has been in love with: 3.

Steve didn’t even have to read the list to know who was on it. He quickly clicked his phone off before Robin could see.

“Hey!” she said. “What was that for? It’s not like there are any secrets between us.”

“No, I just - I’ll read it later,” Steve said. 

Robin would usually be right. She was almost completely right. It’s just that Steve had one secret. And it wasn’t even really a secret, it was just something he kept to himself, because it didn’t really matter. 

Nancy Wheeler

Robin Buckley

Eddie Munson

He had barely admitted it to himself, honestly. It’s not like anything would happen. Him and Eddie were best friends, and if something was going to happen between them, it would have already happened. Now, they were too close, and living together. It was different. It didn’t matter. Besides, Robin was on his list, and he wasn’t running off to date her.

Steve put his phone away and didn’t check the list again for a couple days. 

-

“So, how’s the list?” Eddie asked one morning as he made a pot of coffee. “You haven’t said anything about it.” Steve shrugged.

“It’s like a million pages long,” Robin chimed in. Eddie clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“That’s not surprising,” he said. “It’s a shame Harrington isn’t much of a reader. It might take him years to get through.” Steve glared at Eddie, who grinned in response.

“Are you ever going to stop poking fun at me about that?” he wondered. 

“Aaaaabsolutely not,” Eddie replied. “Steve, The Hobbit is 310 pages. 310. Even one page a day you would have been done in a year, and you’re still not done.”

“Okay, listen,” Steve responded defensively. “It’s not my kind of book, alright?”

“He likes the ones with the pictures,” Robin teased. Eddie laughed and high-fived her. 

“Wooow, okay,” Steve replied. “I see how it is. I’m just gonna grab my cereal and go, then.”

“Nooo, don’t leave on our behalf,” Eddie said.

“We’re soorrrryyyyyy,” Robin added. Steve chuckled and shook his head. 

“Whatever,” he resigned. “I haven’t read the damn list. Not all of it, anyway.” Robin’s ears perked up.

“But you’ve read some of it, right?” she asked. “Spill!”

“Just the first ten names or so,” Steve said. He had gotten a glimpse when he skimmed over it the first time. “I think it’s in chronological order.”

“Anyone surprising?” Eddie wondered. Steve shook his head. 

“No,” he said. “Although it did confirm my suspicion that Katie Crystal was into me, after all.”

“I’m thinking maybe I should read mine,” Robin said quietly.

“Yeah, well duh,” Eddie replied. “You paid for it.”

“It’s just - it’s not a big deal, right?” Steve looked at Eddie to survey his reaction. Eddie just shrugged. “It’s like you said, Eds. We don’t even know if it’s accurate.”

Steve didn’t really know if all of it was accurate, but some of it sure as shit was.

“Exactly,” Eddie agreed. “So, Steve, there’s a chance that Katie Crystal actually hated your guts. Who’s to say?”

Steve rolled his eyes. Another few days passed. 

Robin flip-flopped between whether or not she wanted to read her list every few hours or so. Steve and Eddie placed their bets on how long it would take her to crack. 

Meanwhile, Steve counted his lucky stars that Eddie decided not to buy his list. It was clear that they were bros and nothing more, so Eddie finding out would have made everything incredibly weird.

This was for the best.

-

Things carried on as they usually did, until one day Steve was so bored, he decided to revisit the godforsaken document. Plus, he’d been on a few dates that ended in disaster, and reading about the hundreds of people that were into him was bound to put him in good spirits.

He had no idea just how right he was.

The names were all relatively normal. Steve tended to know when girls had a thing for him, especially back in high school. There were some names he didn’t recognize, which meant that there were total strangers crushing on him. He wondered how that was even possible. Like, at that point, they were just basing it on looks and vibes alone. 

Eh. Steve had crushes on people in the past over less. He kept reading.

He made his way down the list until he reached Eddie’s name. He read it again and again to make sure he was seeing it right. 

Eddie had said repeatedly that this thing could be total bullshit, though. Steve had to take it all with a grain of salt. Besides, crushes meant nothing. Hell, Steve was pretty sure Eddie had mentioned once that he thought Steve was hot when they first became friends. 

Steve made his way to the list of people who’d loved him. None of the names mattered except one. 

Eddie Munson. 

“Oh, shit,” Steve muttered. “Oh, shit!” He jumped up out of bed and paced the floor. He had no idea what to do with this information.

It could be bullshit. It could be nothing. 

Or maybe, Eddie had kept saying it was bullshit because he knew what Steve would find. 

“OH MY GOD.”

Robin came bursting into Steve’s room a few moments later. 

“What? What’s going on?” she said. She looked to see his phone on the floor and his hands in his hair. “Oh my god, you read it! What was it? What’s got you all freaked out?”

“I gotta - uhh - I gotta -” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence with Robin in the room. He had to find Eddie - that’s what he had to do. But his head was spinning too much to do so. 

“That’s it. I’m gonna read mine right now,” Robin decided. She swiftly left to go back to her room while Steve continued to pace. 

“Holy shit,” he said to himself. He thought about it for a few minutes, scrawled something on a piece of paper, and then walked down the hall to Eddie’s room.

Eddie opened the door a few inches, still wearing his sweatpants. He hadn’t left his room yet that day, but his guitar was lying on his bed, which meant he’d been practicing. 

“What’s up?” Eddie asked. 

“I finished the list,” Steve replied. Eddie’s jaw clenched just enough for Steve to notice, and then he shrugged. 

“And?” Steve continued to look at Eddie until he broke his composure. He sighed, then opened his door wider. “Come in,” he said. 

Steve had been in Eddie’s bedroom a million times. They’d watched movies in there and stayed up all night talking and smoked together and dear sweet lord I am so dumb for never noticing.

“Is it bullshit?” Steve asked. Eddie started spinning the ring on his middle finger anxiously, refusing to make eye contact.

“Uhh, is what bullshit?” Eddie replied. Steve put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. 

“Come on, you know what I’m talking about,” he said. “I just - is it bullshit? Tell me the truth.”

Eddie stared at him for a few long moments before gently shaking his head. 

“It’s not bullshit.”

Steve’s hands fell back to his sides, and he felt himself get lightheaded. 

“It’s -” he began, struggling to find the words. He cleared his throat. “Wow, I uh -”

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Eddie interjected. “Just so you know. I like what we have. We’re, ya know, we’re friends. Roommates.”

“Do you still -?” Steve started to ask. He noticed Eddie’s eyes flooded with fear, a sight he rarely saw. “I mean, do you still?”

“Steve, I -” Eddie began, his voice tired. “I really, uh. I don’t know what to say.” 

Steve dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he’d ripped from his notebook. He held it out for Eddie to take, and when Eddie didn’t reach for it, Steve stepped closer and stuffed the page right into Eddie’s hand. 

“Read it,” Steve encouraged.

“What is it?”

“It’s your list.” Eddie’s faced scrunched with confusion. “Yeah, I made it myself.” 

“I told you, I don’t wanna know,” he said, trying to give the paper back to Steve.

“Trust me, you do.”

Eddie sighed, then unfolded the paper and read it. 

People who are in love with Eddie Munson:

-Me

-(Steve Harrington)

Steve waited and watched Eddie’s eyes travel up and down the page, similar to the way Steve’s had when he read Eddie’s name on his own list. Finally, Eddie looked up. 

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft. Steve smiled and nodded. 

“Really.”

In that moment, they both knew this changed everything, and yet it changed nothing at all. They’d just skipped a bunch of steps of dating - blown past the getting-to-know-you stage straight into living together and doing all the domestic shit. 

Eddie and Steve each stepped toward the other until their hands met. 

“OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!”

Robin’s voice pierced through their intimate moment and completely obliterated it. The boys glanced at each other in confusion and then ran out to see what Robin was yelling about. 

She was already out the front door by the time they got to the kitchen. If this were a cartoon, she would have left behind a cloud of smoke. 

“What do you think that’s about?” Steve asked. Eddie felt his phone buzz and checked it to find Robin had texted a screenshot to the household group chat. He smirked.

“Vicki’s on her list,” Eddie said. Steve chuckled, happy that everyone managed to find their happy ending. 

“You know what that means?” Steve asked. 

“That you owe me 20 bucks?” Eddie teased.

“Well, that," Steve replied. "But is also means we’re alone in the apartment for a while." Eddie grinned and took Steve by the hand. 

“I like the way you think.”

They ran to Steve’s room together, and if the confession of love hadn’t already changed everything, sleeping together certainly did.

It was the good kind of change, though. The kind that moved mountains and cleared all the clouds from the sky. 

At last, the idiots were together. All it took was years of denial and one payment of $44.49.

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

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Strand to find later: 🏃‍♀️ 🚓 🔥 🏦🔥

AITA for helping my mother ostracize my father from the family?

My mother has been a stay-at-home parent my entire life. She’s also been entirely responsible for me since day one, while my father would attend his job, come home, eat dinner with us and then retreat to watch videos on his phone and then go to bed at like 8:30. She has been responsible for 99% of the cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping in additional to being my emotional/physical support while sacrificing her own emotional well-being. She has no real friends in this country, all her acquaintances are known through my father (I. E. Wives of my fathers friends and colleagues etc), and can’t really leave since she’s financially dependent and America is EXPENSIVE to live in. And she wholly resents this situation. (he also not-so-subtly operates under the assumption that he’s the only one who works in the house, and my mother has it easy. I would like to point out that the man has never lived independently once in his life. He went ~10 years into the marriage before learning how to use a washing machine)

recently they’ve hit a rough(er) patch in their marriage. He’s gotten a promotion, and she feels bitter about the fact that he is getting more money while she still wouldn’t be able to independently if she wanted to. she has resorted to taking it out on him (and me) more often in the form of verbal assaults. The slightest thing can set her off and make her start screaming. Or, Whenever he’s around (talking to me OR her) she gives him the silent treatment and starts to slam things down (I. E. Throwing plates into the Dishwasher, slamming doors, muttering angrily). So my father had started to avoid any interaction with us entirely and spend his days in his room, only leaving it when it’s lunch or dinner. This makes her angrier since the whole reason she’s pissed is because he’s not pulling his weight as a father and basically ignoring me, so it just perpetuates the cycle. (I would like to point out that I am also not making things easier for him. Although I had never really noticed his absence until it started being brought up verbally— my mother was always there so it was less noticeable— I still react bitterly and try to avoid any interaction with him).

the way she treats him (and me, whenver he’s not available) could be described as verbally abusive but I struggle to feel any sympathy for him. Abuse implies control, and she is certainly not the one in control here. He can leave whenever he feels too oppressed (and he has— he has gone to live in another house/state for several months, more than once), and the rest of us are very much stuck there.

we’ve (mostly her, and me by extension) started to hide things from him (snacks, movies we’re watching, any interaction) to avoid having him join in on any family activities. We sometimes go weeks without saying a single word to him (and him to us). I am aware that this is only perpetuating the cycle (again), and is probably psychologically damaging.

so am I (and mother) the assholes? (For the isolation bit— I am aware that she is definitely TA for the abuse (?), since it’s not a valid move esp. when communication is RIGHT. THERE. But alas she’d rather die before calming down when it come to him. I’m not that much better)

What are these acronyms?

[heliomanteia]

Everyday I wonder how Rick could have made the Greek Gods and Olympus based in, you know, Greece, instead of America and have the story go that the Greek Gods always roamed around the world and had kids at random locations, which could then lead to the existence of multiple CHBs across the globe in almost every country. This would not only help maintain the integrity of Greek culture but also make a lot of sense - because is Rick really trying to tell us that the demigod kids from places on the other side of the globe have to necessarily come to America in order to live a safer life?

Hi hon! 🌻

You hit me in the "agh, I've been thinking that this entire time" with your ask because ever since first getting into PJO as a child, I've been getting a weird vibe over how America-centric it is. It only hit me later on what exactly has been annoying me so much.

There are a few very questionable ideas in the core of PJO as a series, which are:

The Mediterranean is a "dangerous" place for Mediterranean Gods and their descendants.

Modern day America is a "good" place for Mediterranean Gods

America is the cradle of Western civilization so "of course" Greek Deities would move there

Let me just say that I find it ridiculous that Riordan never dwells on the Mediterranean in his Mediterranean Deities series. Sure Nico goes back there at some point for a bit but Nico's proposed to be a Northern Italian boy from Venice of all places. It's like trying to represent, say, Egypt by picking someone from the wealthiest home in Cairo - or Ancient Greece by talking about just 5th century Athens. Venice is a rich place that was under control of France of all places for a long time. Did you know Italy was colonized by at least three wealthy European powers? Not talking about Magna Graecia now. It's not representative of Italy, and it's definitely not representative of Italo-Greek people, which Nico is supposed to be. In my opinion, Nico should be Sicilian or Southern Italian. Venetian Nico does not exist to me.

But! I just find it a little weird that across dozens of books about the Greek myths we never hear about Eastern Mediterranean? Lebanon, Turkey, Iran and more? I cannot emphasize how important Islamic influence was in Ancient times, and how much interesting and fun stuff you could find there, not to even mention the ethnicities you can represent.

Now, the "cradle of the Western civilization" talk is notably frequently used to make Greece/Ancient Greece more palatable for Westerners even though it's arguable how "Western" Greece is/was. There's a lot of talk about the degree of Eastern influence in Ancient Greece and how an average Ancient Greek would probably be closer to the Eastern civilization than the Western one. Music, culture, art, way of life, trade routes, you know? But, again, no mention of that. And I know he knows because he mentions extremely episodic characters of Greek folklore - he has to know about all the talk on Lycian/Carian/etc. influence on Ancient Greek culture and life.

The whole "Mediterranean is a dangerous place" thing is just gross to me. If he talked about the gradual anti-pagan (word used loosely) views building up in Italy and Greece, he could just say that. But even then, moving is unnecessary - polytheistic heritage organizations exist in modern Greece and Italy. They are not always the best but they exist. Also, the religion never died, families from the area have carried it through generations, but I shouldn't be even specifying that. "Dead Gods that need to be resurrected" is a savior plot.

Westernization is weird. I'm Eastern European and I feel more relation to Greek concepts of the life/afterlife/Deities than I will ever feel to a common Westerner (British/German/French/British American conceptual clusters, etc.). I just find the whole "moving Deities from their native habitat to some American city" idea very gross and borderline colonizer-mindset-aligned.

I do have to comment that he doesn't handle the topic of "otherness" well and it's especially prominent in Nico.

Nico moved to America in the beginning of the century. If you didn't know, Italians were treated like scum back then, and because most Italian immigration to the US was from the South, they would be called racial slurs, forced to work low paying jobs, and eventually be forced to naturalize and "drop" their language/culture/heritage to align themselves with the growing "white" cluster in America when anti-Black hatred was coming to its full power. But, there's plenty of period literature talking on how first Italian immigrants closely worked with/related to other immigrants (Irish, African American, etc.) and how quickly anti-Italian hate crimes grew when the general Italian populations started establishing businesses and earning money. All the same story ain't it!

My point is, Nico di Angelo would absolutely be treated like shit when he moved to America. "Otherness" is his entire character theme, and we NEVER see it explored past the gay stuff. He's an immigrant, a "time traveler", a gay boy, and so much more. Where's all that, Richard? I also have to point out that he's not handling diaspora talks well either. Italian Americans exist. Greek Americans exist. Somehow he kinda brushes over that and grabs random American kids, then assigns them Greek/Greco-Italian heritage, then drops the topic altogether. Sometimes you really get reminded that an American man wrote this.

NOW TO YOUR POINT!

YES it would be SO MUCH BETTER if he wrote about Greek and Italian Deities traveling the world because that's what HAPPENED when sailors crossed the Mediterranean and went from Greece to Lebanon to Egypt to Turkey; when they crossed into modern Central Europe, into Scythia/modern Ukraine and Caucasus, and more! That would be correct and historically respectful because you don't just remove local fucking Gods from their culture and add American flare to it.

It would be so much cooler to have LOCAL CULTS TOO because the way someone in Syria experiences adopted Deities would be so much different than someone who moved to America and retained their national faith - and so much different than someone in modern day Italy or modern day Egypt would. There's more! Imagine the cultures you could get! The local versions of Deities! Imagine not having the dumbass militarized Camp of Jupiter and instead having local cultural clusters across Europe and American places that Mediterranean immigrants settled in?

It would be much better of a series, and would actually be respectful of local cultures without assigning them to singled out nationalities.

[covenofthearticulate]

Have you decided what your fav characters’ favorite plays are?

NO I'M TOO OVERWHELMED LMAO HELP!! Okay but here are some thoughts about what sort of theatre I think they enjoy:

Lestat: Obviously since he got his start doing commedia dell'arte I think he'll always have a soft spot in his heart for those old comedies. (Honestly, I think Lestat is one of the only vampires who enjoys "lowbrow" comedy and I love that for him.) The style of traveling street theatre Lestat would've been performing during his time as Lelio was largely improvisational, and though it moved into a more scripted form over time, I think Lestat is an improv queen. I also get all giddy and happy thinking about his reaction to the fact that commedia dell'arte is still performed today! Like, I did a production of Servant of Two Masters in college lmfao it's still viewed as one of the foundational tenants of theatre to this day and I think that would really tickle him.

He's also a Shakespeare fan but historically speaking we know Lestat would've had to have read French translations which of course weren't impossible to come by, but given all of Lestat's circumstances in his early life (poor, uneducated, etc) it's definitely worth noting that he would've had to have worked hard to get at Shakespeare. I think it's so funny that his favorite play in canon is Macbeth and that he sees himself as Macbeth, whereas Louis and Claudia totally saw him as Lady Macbeth (which is why I wrote a lil ficlet about it LOL)

Okay LASTLY I also just want to say I think Lestat loves loves LOOOOVE restoration comedy and the comedy of manners that was a little before his time but just really focused on like. Outrageous comedy and satire. Lestat likes to laugh, okay!! He loves Moliere just as much as he loves Shakespeare! Tartuffe and She Stoops to Conquer are definitely plays he can quote by heart.

Armand: Shakespeare, yes, but very specifically: Jacobean Revenge Tragedies. These were a lot darker, a lot more hardcore and angsty (as the title suggests!). One day I'll have to get Armandblr's input for some meta and psychological background as to why Armand would be obsessed with plays where the protagonist is wronged so egregiously that they go down a path of murder and (gruesome, often cannibalistic) bloodshed and rage-induced hysteria that ultimately ends in their own demise. But for now I'll just say that I feel it in my bones. I think he staged The Spanish Tragedy at least a few times at the Theatre des Vampires.

Also I think he'd definitely be into theatre of the absurd, especially in his Devil's Minion era! He goes through phases where he really leans into the existentialism and finds it amusing and thought-provoking, but sometimes it also majorly fucks him up (similar to Lestat)

Louis: He's a Romantic at heart, and certainly he loves the classics, but we've already been over Shakespeare so I'll say that I also think Louis has a soft spot for the American canon. Think Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, Eugene O'Neill, etc. He's a modernist girlie, and I think those plays would be a good guiding light into understanding modern America for Louis. I think Louis often sees middle class America as a fascinating subject to study (rather than, like, a reality that real people live), and I think modernist plays are really good at toe-ing the line of like, being deeply humanizing and beautiful and tragic if done right, and also still being somewhat performative and maybe even a bit artificial and contained behind a fourth wall. I think that dichotomy would be fascinating to Louis. His favorites would be A View from the Bridge and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

Marius: Unfortunately there are like 0 Roman tragedies that survived in writing, but we know that they existed and were actually slightly different than Greek tragedies in that the characters actually voiced more of their internal psychological conflict, and also apparently the playwrights were influenced by the development of new rhetorical theory, so a lot of the writing incorporated like public persuasion. So I do think Marius would've been into those but listen I also happen to know for a fact that Marius' favorite play is Shakespeare's Coriolanus. He told me himself. I just read over the wiki synopsis to refresh my memory and I'm losing my mind over this line: "The two tribunes condemn Coriolanus as a traitor for his words and order him to be banished. Coriolanus retorts that it is he who banishes Rome from his presence." like PLEASE that's so petty I love it. Real talk though Marius loves a good political drama and look I know I've brought up Shakespeare a lot in this post already but no one is doing it like him, especially with the Romans!!

Daniel: he's a theatre of the absurd queen <3

[jackmercerenthuiast]

☆Number - Jack Mercer x Reader

☆ idc Jack Mercer doesn’t have enough fanfics so I’m here to serve justice.

☆Would recommend listening to ‘You Can Be The Boss’ by Lana Del Rey

Content: Mentions of drugs alcohol, suggestive language, mentions of gang violence

~و✧…彡☆ - btw pretend Jack survived x

彡☆ 2005          19:36PM

‘This job is honestly ass’  I said to my most common customer, and closest friend, Sofi. It was true, I hated my job, it was a fucking shithole, I mean it was a dingy bar in the rough parts of Detroit, a little girl’s dream clearly.

‘Aye (name) don’t be so silly, it pays the bills, and plus, you get a lot of guys working here.’ She wasn’t wrong, I mean it did pay the bills after all but the amount of guys that I didn’t want? Uncountable.

‘I know Sof’, but they’re all ugly most of the time, plus, when they’re that pissed out of their minds, ‘no’ doesn’t compute easy, they got determination I’ll say that. Gets me a few tips I suppose.’ I laughed, cleaning the nearby table where Sofi sat. ‘Speaking of guys, can’t believe you’re seeing that Angel Mercer again!’ I asked, sitting next to her and nudging her shoulder.

‘I don’t like the way you said ‘Again’ but at least I have a man. Though, how old are you now?’ She asked, smiling at the ground when she answered about Angel, absolutely smitten, is the only words I could describe her.

‘Twentyyy... one?’ I questioned myself as I pulled out my ID, just double checking I was actually 21. 

‘You really think that checking your ID is going to help? How many fake IDs did you have when you were 17 to get cigarettes?’ Me and Sofi go back to when I was 17 and freshly moved to America, she lived in the apartment next to me and we’d been best friends since she welcomed me into the new apartment.

‘Shut up girl, this is a real one, and I am right I’m 21.’ I laughed, smacking my ID on the table.

‘Okay okay, anywho, Angel has a brother, Jack who’s the same age as you, and he got shot recently, he’s getting out of hospital today and a little birdie told me him and his brothers are coming here in an hour or so to celebrate.’ She suggested, walking over to the bar.

‘Oh yeah? Well from what you’ve told me the birdie is actually quite big.’ I smirk as I pour myself a pint from the tap, Sofi hit me on my arm, telling me to shut up in Spanish. I love Sofi but she loves to overshare about her sex life, but it’s fun to mess with her about it. 

…彡☆      19:54PM

A few moments passed, as me and Sofi just talked about random things, about how crazy it was that Victor Sweet had finally been killed, what Sofi wanted to do career wise etc. When all of a sudden, a bunch of loud men burst through the door, as I recognise a very familiar face.

‘Jerry!’

‘(Name)! What’s goin’ on baby?’ He said as he approached the bar, politely shaking my hand, Jerry was like a big brother to me, always nice and fair.

‘Nothin’ much, your wife know you here? I can call her right now if she don’t.’

‘Nah she knows, I’m truthful to my lady, and seeing as I’m so truthful, can we get a few rounds free?’

I laughed and nodded saying as long as I got tipped I’d give them whatever.

‘Bullshit Jerry, we all keep secrets here.’ A bloke in leather, with a goatee sort of thing going on says, laughing and hitting his back.

‘Man shut the fuck up before I woop yo’ white ass. (Name), these are my brothers Bobby, Jack and Angel, I guess you’re already acquainted with Angel here.’

‘Yeah man, it’s hard not to know who Angel is when all I hear in my apartment is those two getting it on.’ I say, lighting a cigarette whilst directioning my hand to Sofi and Angel.

Then I looked at Jack, and all I thought was ‘Damn he’s fine’.

‘So you lovely ladies want tables or are you gonna keep me company and sit at the bar?’

‘I think the guys are alright with sitting at the bar, right guys?’ Jerry said, asking his brothers, they all nodded and agreed as they took seats at the bar.

‘Can I get a beer?’ The one who I assumed was Bobby, asked.

‘Can you be specific, Guiness? Heineken? A pint? Half-pint? And I don’t know maybe a please?’ I chuckled, directioning to the amount of beers there were to choose from

‘She had you on that one Bobby, she’s very passionate about her alcohol.’ Angel said. 

‘And why’s that, you an alcoholic or somethin?’

‘No, I don’t know if you can tell from the accent but it’s just from being English really.’ I could see Jack’s eyebrows raise slightly, he was really cute.

‘Ah, I don’t know man just give me a bottle of Guiness.’

‘Please?’

‘Please.’

…彡☆           20:20PM

About half an hour passed before I finally talked to Jack, I slid down the bar, making my way to where he sat, leaving the rest of the brothers and Sofi to do whatever.

‘You’re Jack I take it?’

‘Yeah and you’re.. (name)?’

‘Indeed it is, what drink you want Jackie?’

‘I don’t mind really, can I get a cigarette? The hospital wouldn’t let me bring ‘em in.’ He laughed, god damn his laugh. I’ve known this boy for 45 minutes and I’m whipped

‘Yeah sure and I’m sorry to hear that you got shot by the way, you ‘re lucky you survived love.’ I could see him the try to hide the fact me calling him love got a reaction out of him, it’s not particularly uncommon for me to call customers love, but it’s usually older customers, just out of respect, though for him? I just said it to get a reaction.

‘Thanks, how long you been working at the bar?’

‘Not long really, few months? I’ve only been in America for a couple of years, I think four years.’ Passing him a cigarette and a lighter whilst taking a puff of my own.

‘Ah cool, how come you moved?’

‘I don’t know really, I suppose to just be with my mum, seeing as she wanted to just get away.’

‘Your parents split?’

‘Yeah but it was probably the best choice they collectively made.’ I laughed, pouring him a drink.

‘Fair enough, you do anything else other than be the only good-looking bar tender in Detroit?’ Um sir? 

‘Don’t flatter me Jackie, but yeah actually, I play the bass here and there.’

…彡☆ Jack POV  …彡☆

‘Don’t flatter me Jackie...’ Man, I haven’t even known her that long and I can’t help but want to take her out. 

‘Ah bass? That’s cool man, I play the guitar, before I moved back to Detroit I was actually in a band, believe it or not.’ Flicking my cigarette ash in the nearby ashtray, when I had an idea. I asked her for a pen and she handed me the one in her shirt pocket.

‘I certainly believe it, but anywho I can’t concentrate on your pretty face all night, I’ll serve some other customers and I’ll be back soon.’ She said winking at me, I felt my face go so warm, Sofi definitely knew I was going red, and to my misfortune, so did Bobby.

‘Woah Jackie, did the bullet knock the fairy out of you or what?!’

‘Shut up man, you probably haven’t been flirted with in the last 10 years.’

‘Sure fairy whatever you say.’

…彡☆    22:17PM     your pov

‘Okay boys we’re gonna leave now, because for some reason I got designated driver duty so come on! You too Sofi vámanos!’ Jerry yelled, dragging Sofi and Angel by the collars of their shirts, I laughed to myself as all of the brothers continued to leave in a drunken mess, the night was full of brotherly love, teasing and intense flirting between me and Jack, as he had more drinks he got more bold with how he spoke.

I was absolutely whipped, and as Jack left, he gave me a cigarette and said, 

‘Don’t light it right away.’ with a drunken but genuine smile, I responded, ‘Don’t worry Jackie I won’t, see you soon.’ and I pecked him on the cheek as I left for the room where I kept my coat to close up my shift, taking the cigarette with me.

Later in the night I was certain there was something I had forgotten to do, and then it hit me, I probably was meant to look at the cigarette or something, and then I thought, ‘Where’s the cigarette?’, and I trudged to my sofa and grabbed my coat, luckily the cig was still in my pocket.

I twizzled it in my fingers, when I saw numbers written on one side, and a note saying, ‘Call me - Jackie’ with a heart next to it on the other, that smooth motherfucker. I unravelled the cigarette, putting the nicotine in a spare pouch and attached the note to my fridge with a magnet with the intentions to call him in the morning.

…彡☆     The End!

Please let me know if you liked this, if so I might write a part 2 to it or just continue to write Jack mercer fics seeing as there just aren’t enough! Love ya x

[thedreadvampy]

ok like not to be a cunt but day 1 of pride month During A Genocide, During An International Rollback of LGBTQ+ Rights In Europe And North America, and STILL all the Pride posts I'm seeing are either wahoo rainbow gay or rehashing the exact same 2 talking points as we go through every year for the last decade.

should there be kink at pride? (yes on fact there should be much more filth)

do ace/aro people belong at pride? (frankly at this point it's been about 8-9 years since I saw a single person not actively obsessed with this discourse say they shouldn't but ok)

don't get me wrong I understand why these things are important to people. but fuck man it is EXHAUSTING that in my entire adult life we haven't moved forwards and also that from 00:01 on June 1st the SAME EXACT DISCUSSIONS come so loudly back into rotation that basically nobody is discussing any OTHER imo slightly less uhhhh navel-gazey? issues around Pride, pinkwashing and the issues faced by LGBTQ+ people in our communities.

by which I mean not only are these two discourses stultifyingly static and unchanging, but also they're literally just about Who Goes To A Parade? there's shit that is directly to do with Pride which feels more relevant, like the idea of Pride as a marketing brand rather than a political or personal statement, or the fact that Pride events are being sponsored by companies like Barclays who are funding genocide, or how Pride provides pinkwashing cover for politicians, corporations, police and arms dealers. and we're also looking at that in a political climate where trans people in particular are having their rights and safety and access to public life removed, where homophobic rhetoric and violence is seeing a huge resurgence, etc. but no by all means let's for the billionth time spend the whole month rehashing who we think are the Correct Sort Of Queer in the exact same Sisyphean cycle with absolutely no movement or advancement of any side.

(my disdain for this shit btw is entirely unconnected to whether I agree with it. I personally think Pride should be a tits out leather chaps and kink gear challenge to what is and isn't considered socially acceptable sexuality, and I personally think that there's no serious reasons to exclude aro/ace people from People Pride Is For. but I think it's dumb as fuck to spend your whole time dying on that hill and it's dumb as fuck to spend your whole time dying on the opposing hills because after the 10th year doing this in circles it has truly got so old all round when there are other conversations at could be having that MIGHT ACTUALLY MOVE FORWARDS AT SOME POINT.)

(and the thing specifically about the ace inclusion at pride thing is - ace people ARE AT PRIDE and have BEEN PART OF PRIDE FOR YONKS. I've never been to a Pride event where ace people weren't both welcome and visible present in significant numbers. ace people are welcomed at pride by the vast majority of people. the war is won. bring the troops back home. can we please move on to some of the CURRENT problems that are happening NOW?)

[booksandabeer]

Catching up

I got tagged approximately one million years ago by @burberrycanary 💙 and @somanywords 💛. Sorry it took me so long! 😬

Last song: I don't know the exact song, but I've been listening to the album Cat Power Sings Dylan: The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert a lot. I'm not a particuarly big fan of Bob Dylan, or a fan at all, really. However, I am absolutely a die-hard fan of Cat Power and I think that Chan Marshall is probably the best cover artist of...all time? Well, certainly of her generation. That's not to shade her original compositions, which I also love, but she's brilliant at taking songs that you thought you could no longer listen to because they've been played ad nauseam everywhere for decades, and then teasing something fresh and original and truly moving out of them. Listen to her covers of "I'll Be Seeing You" or "Mr. Tambourine Man" or even "New York, New York" and tell me they don't excite you in any way (if they don't, I suspect you have no soul). She's even great at covering herself! Please go and listen to her 2008 cover of her own 1998 song "Metal Heart" right now. It's one of my all-time faves and also, yes absolutely a Stucky song.

Relationship status: I have a person.

Sweet/spicy/savory: Everything all at once, please.

Favorite color: Blue, blue, blue. International Klein Blue to be precise. I cannot get enough of it. Also, I will die on the hill that chartreuse is actually a great color.

Last movie: The Last Stop in Yuma County which was a fun neo-western/crime thriller that didn't take itself too seriously and didn't outstay its welcome. Imagine that! A 90-minute movie. They still make those! Wild. If you like Tarantino and/or the Coen Brothers, but played at a faster, snappier tempo, you will probably enjoy this one too.

Last show: So many. Bodkin, which is the epitome of "this show doesn't know what it wants to be." Is it a quirky comedy? A crime show? A (very tepid) satire? It's not like you can't combine these genres, but the show doesn't combine them, it swings wildly between them. The ending was terrible. I've finally started watching Hacks (a delight!) and I'm still slowly making my way through Kings (only 2 episodes left). Also following along with the new season of IWTV, which remains an absolutely bonkers show. If *this* is what made it into the final cut, can you imagine what didn't? Oh, to be allowed to read the studio notes for this one!

Last thing I googled: The origin and meaning of a Norse/Russian name. For reasons.

Current obsession: The Terror brainrot is still going stong. I have learned so much about Arctic Exploration in the 1800s over the past few weeks. Also, in a curious turn of events, I have started reading Masters of the Air fanfic? I was unfortunately pretty disappointed with the show. I had hoped it would trigger a level-11 hyperfixation but instead it just kinda came and went and I didn't even think about it anymore. Then an author, who I still follow because they used to write Stucky, started posting one Buck/Bucky (yes, they are two different characters) fic after another, and one day I said, 'Why not give it a shot?' Well, here we are, tens of thousands of words later, and for the first time in my life I'm beginning to understand the people whose general fandom attitude is 'I don't care for the source material at all, but the fic! Oh the fic compels me!' I have been compelled. I'm now a person who reads fanfiction for a pairing that includes a character played by Austin Butler (sorry Butler heads, I just don't get it).

Wonders never cease.

--

Like I said, I got tagged for this ages ago, so I don't know who's done this (recently). I'm gently tagging @bromcommie, @aimmyarrowshigh, @zenaidamacrouras1, @shackleton2 and @hail-americas-ass. Also, I mean it when I say I want to know what everyone else is watching/eating/obsessing over/etc. Tell me! Open tag for everyone who wants to do this.

[qqueenofhades]

I hate to rain on today’s much needed joy parade, but do you think the USA is headed for civil war in the near future? It’s increasingly feeling like 2024 is going to be a make or break year and with division at an all time high it feels like there’s going to be complete chaos in the streets even if we avoid crisis at the polls. Like, even though I’m in a “safe state” (for now) I’m seriously considering strategies of fleeing the country, just in case. Don’t know what I’m asking for, help? Reassurance maybe? Advice?

I think my answer to that is... yes but also no, and no but also yes, and yes but also no. Which I realize is not entirely helpful and not as clear as anyone would like, but let me try to explain:

The far-right has always been militant, violent, and prone to apocalyptic and fascist rhetoric. This isn't a new thing in American history, and it's come to the fore at moments of particular stress and division. Trump's presidency obviously gave much-unwanted oxygen to them, right when people were starting to claim that Obama's election meant that America was in a "post-racial era" (LOL), but they themselves are not new. We had the Civil War itself, we had the lynchings and racial terror and Jim Crow/Ku Klux Klan era, we had the Bund (the American Nazis) holding huge public gatherings in the run-up to WWII and enjoying substantial domestic support, etc etc etc. This is all scary and unsettling, and most of us don't have a personal memory of dealing with it before, because we're not old enough. But that doesn't mean it hasn't happened before, and that we haven't survived it.

Let's take yesterday, for instance. Trump spent all week promising fire and death and vengeance and playing literal videos of January 6th at his campaign rally in Waco, Texas (famed as the site of the Waco Siege of 1994; look it up). He insisted his supporters would rain vengeance on anyone who dared to arrest him and otherwise threatened mass-scale disturbances and the other tools of public violence that fascists use to enforce their will. And what happened? It's 12+ hours since the first indictment went through (30 counts of business/document fraud, which is not a piddling charge) and we've had bupkis. We've had a lot of Republican politicians tweeting their performative hypocritical outrage, yes, but we haven't suddenly had the country explode in fire and flame either. I'm sure there have been localized protests, but I haven't heard about major anything. And one set of indictments has gone through, others will be empowered to follow. In a way, I think it's a good thing that non-political crimes went first? Yes, the Republicans are screaming about a political witch hunt because that's literally the only thing they can do, but starting by nabbing Trump for relatively low-level (but still extensive) business fraud and then moving onto the treason sets a pattern and makes it easier to comprehend.

The thing is: Nazis, at heart, are cowards. They like to paint themselves as bold and valiant soldiers fighting for the Right Way of Life, but it's all fantasy, delusion, and cosplay. They were empowered to do January 6th because Trump was literally the sitting president and told them to do it, but that's no longer the case, and they're shit scared of facing anyone who might enforce real consequences on them. (Once again, if you take nothing else from following me: Nazis are punk-ass fucking pissant cowards who think they're tough and are in fact a bunch of asshole morons, the end.) The mantra of "Make Racists Afraid Again" is working, to an extent. Yes, we have hellholes like Missouri, Florida, Texas, and Tennessee where the state GOP is working as hard as they can to enforce the worst and most regressive laws imaginable, but that's still not universal. As I also say a lot, the reason Republicans attack, discredit, and outlaw voting so much is because they can never win a fair election on the merits. Their ideas suck, and on some level they know that. They just care about being cruel, fascist, and stupid, and while that's certainly a troubling and significant minority in America, it's not as big as anyone thinks.

Almost 60% of Americans think both that "woke" is a good thing and the cases against Trump should permanently disqualify him from holding any office again. Yet again: the GOP is in the minority, and that's why they use so many dirty tricks to establish and enforce their power. Also, I can guarantee you that not one of the keyboard warriors fulminating about how The Democrat Party Is Being So Mean To President Trump is ever going to actually go out and start an actual civil war. They have established interests, money, benefits from the system, and they don't want to overturn that. They want the masses angry and stupid, yes, but they want them angry and stupid in support of keeping discriminatory structures and systems in place. That can't work if there are no systems at all. Yes, we will still have white supremacists and fascists committing ongoing individual acts of violence, i.e. school shootings, and it's hard to argue that this doesn't constitute a civil war of some sort, or at least ongoing stochastic terrorism. But while you have people like Marge Two Names Greene out there blabbing about a National Divorce, I can guarantee you that if it ever came to actually DOING it, Marge and Brave Brave Sir Kevin would be nowhere to be found. Again: they want to derive power and money from the operation of an unfair system, not the end of that system. It sucks, but still.

Honestly, I want the Dominion lawsuit to keep going on, and dragging all of Fox News' hypocrisy, deception, and disinformation into the public eye. Fox is the biggest cancer on this country, as is the case with Rupert Murdoch's global disinformation empire overall (when, WHEN will HE fucking die, if we're talking death lottery wishlists?) But the lawsuit and its subsequent publicity has had an effect: a small but significant number of Fox viewers (26%) realized the network was lying to them, and 13% said that they no longer believed the 2020 election was stolen after reading about the Fox efforts to lie about it and then cover up their lies. So while the right-wing media bubble is huge and terrible, it's also not impenetrable, and taking Fox down/substantially discrediting it would have a major effect on the pay-for-play misinformation media sphere.

This is getting long, so let me try to sum up: the far-right advocating separatist fantasies of violence/war/fascist domination is not new, and has been a thing in American history for as long as there has been America. But at least in the current moment, it is not the majority, it is not widely popular, it will never be embraced by ordinary mainstream Americans and not just the insane cultists, its so-called devoted soldiers yell on Twitter and cable news and will never once be spotted actually fighting for it, and it's the cynical last gasp of a hate movement that is seeing its institutional and generational hold on America (and the world) finally on the brink of permanently shifting. So of course it's trying to make itself look as big and scary as possible, like any wounded animal, but it's on the back foot, and we have a chance to really kill it. Not permanently or forever, since that's the nature of human history, but at least for now and buy us some more time, and despite everything, I remain cautiously optimistic about our likelihood of doing so. I know it's scary, I know it's awful, I know it feels overwhelming, but it is still not winning, and it won't. As long as we do our part.

Hugs. Hang in there.

[tellatoast]

Enter Maggie Francesca Harrington.

Moved to America from Italy when her father struck it big there.

Lives in Hawkins, Indiana for awhile, she goes into high school and meets Richard “Rich Dick” Harrington.

They fall in love and get married early(she’s 18, he’s 20). Her father, Francesco Giorgio Ricci, despises Richard and doesn’t give his blessing.

Francesco doesn’t approve of Richard, but he’ll be damned if he can’t walk his Pippi down the isle.

They have a beautiful wedding, beautiful reception, everything is paid for by the Harrington family(of course).

Her Maid-of-Honor is none other than Joyce Byers. Joyce was Maggie’s first American friend and has been with her through everything.

Mama and Papa Ricci move back to Italy for 4 years before moving back bc Maggie is pregnant.

April 29, 1967 - Stefano “Steve” Otis Francesco Harrington is born.

Maggie’s mother, Serena Paola Ricci, is full on in love with her little grand baby, her tesorino.

Spoils little Stefano to the max.

Francesco took to teaching him how to cook when he got a little older, as well as teaching him Italian.

Back when Serena still lived in Italy, she was a full-on fashionista: making dresses, taking in the waist, adjusting the lengths, adding, subtracting, the full shebang.

Serena would make Stefano little clothes, accessories of all type whether it be supposedly meant for girls or boys.

Richard had the most problems with this bc his son was not going to become a queer from his grandmother’s influence.

Maggie and Richard fought the most about Serena’s influence on Stefano.

Maggie all for the clothing, she didn’t spend money on clothes, even though they were well off, when her mother could make them for free.

Richard against Serena dressing Steve with whatever she made.

“The clothes make him look like a queer, Maggie! What are we gonna do when people start talking?! If anything, their influence on him needs to stop-” “Who cares?! He’s dressed and gets to spend time with his grandparents! They love him, Richard! Do not take that away from them. Don’t take it away from Steve.”

After that, Grandma and Grandpa don’t come over as often as they used to.

Steve’s confused on why grandma and grandpa aren’t around a lot and Maggie explains that they’re old and wanna have some romantic dates before coming back.

So, Steve starts watching his mother draw and paint and what-not and decides he wants to try too.

She teaches him the works and he takes off, in love with the hobby, then Richard finds out.

He goes off about these kinds of things making children queer and berates him for it.

Richard signs him up for baseball the same day.

Maggie knowing this, still draws with him in secret, teaching him more, both occasionally doing drawings together.

This is the start of Richard’s business trips.

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Italian!Steve has a very special place in my heart.

Also, someone said they envision Sophia Loren as Steve’s grandmother and I can’t unsee it.

Like, I can imagine this is one of the only pictures Steve has of his grandmother.

And someone sees it and interrogates him about it (maybe Robin), and he just gets all sad like, “That’s my grandmother, Serena Paola Ricci. She passed a little while back before all this happened…”, just telling her about how she’s had a big impact on his life, all the activities they used to do together, what she taught him, etc. etc.. And Robin is immediately pulling him into a hug and he sobs cuz he loved his grandparents so much, Serena especially.