#Many Thoughts. little coherently written down

[doctorcurdlejr]

Niko!! what'd you think of I saw the tv glow. I finally saw it last night and noticed you posting about it so I wanted to know your thoughts :)

Levi!!! I was JUST wondering what you were thinking about the movie after I saw you posting about it as well... we are so media discussion pilled in this way, it's awesome. ANYWAYS I've had so many thoughts since I first saw it and I've been trying to turn them into something coherent for a little bit now.

Ummm okay I have written 1k+ words about this movie, the suburbs, and escapism via teen TV.... clearly I was dying for somebody to ask this I guess so thank you for indulging me <3

First and foremost, I absolutely loved it! I've seen it twice now and the first time I watched it I got to see Jane Schoenbrun talk about the film right after. I already really liked it from that first watch alone. I found it so deeply relatable to my experiences - both in terms of growing up gay and trans, but where I am now in my 20s trying to navigate adulthood. Hearing what Schoenbrun had to say really cemented my feelings and thoughts about the film.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a big influence on the movie (it's why Amber Benson makes a cameo as Johnny Link's mom). Even though I don't have the same emotional link to Buffy since I never watched it, I recognize it as the same type of warmth I experienced growing up with Riverdale. When Owen says he feels like his insides have been scooped out but that he's too afraid to look and have that wrongness everybody knows is there be confirmed, Maddy simply responds "Maybe you're like Isabel. Afraid of what's inside you." Tears forming but not falling, breathing shallowly, I grabbed the paper and pen the theater keeps at the seats for people to order food with and wrote that line down - the slip of paper is still somewhere in my car. Writing it now almost feels lame in its simplicity, but it felt like my insides were being flayed open.

During the director discussion, Schoenbrun talked a little bit about this idea of how truly fucking bizarre it is to grow up in the suburbs. Like, when we think about the pinnacle of normality in American culture, it's the image of middle-class cis-hetero-white suburbia. At the same time, despite this cultural dream of normality, everybody is hyper-aware that the suburbs are one of the least normal things ever. So, the ACTUAL cultural understanding of it is that it's where we go to, like, passively kill ourselves (*George Costanza voice* WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY YOU KNOW!). This idea isn't new, I mean there are so many films and shows about navigating that specific bizarre dissonance from Rebel Without a Cause to Heathers to Twin Peaks. Probably half the pre-teen to teen TV I watched obsessively growing up, stuff like Strange Days at Blake Holsey High, Making Fiends, Truth or Scare, and eventually Riverdale, were never shy about being weird and morbid and saying "yes, the suburbs are exactly as bizarre and lethal in the ways you can already feel in your bones at 13." I Saw the TV Glow does a really good job of keying not only into that mental dissonance but more specifically into how those of us who have felt so intrinsically weird and different and wrong fell back on these shows like they were capable of doing the emotional version of a rescue breath maneuver after being drowned.

In high school, if there were two things about me that any person who even vaguely knew me could list off it was that I watched Riverdale, and I was a lesbian - and I was mocked more for the Riverdale. At that age, I was, without a doubt, the most miserable I have ever felt in my life. I rarely left the house because my family lived in a development that made me want to scratch my skin off when I walked out our front door. Owen didn't leave the house for days, afraid Maddy could somehow force him out. I sobbed constantly and frequently to depressing indie rock on the floor of my closet while hoping my family would just once read the (honest to god) KEEP OUT poster plastered on my door since I didn't have a lock on it. Owen didn't leave his room for days, afraid of what Maddy recognized in him. I didn't go on dates and kept my chest binder shoved to the bottom of my bookbag while wearing dresses that could've come from a how-to-be the perfect 50s housewife manual. Owen didn't leave his bed for days, afraid of Maddy touching his neck and Isabel's dress. I also watched Riverdale with the kind of zeal you see in a Pentecostal who has found God and started speaking in tongues to let you know it. I own a button that says, "Don't Make Me Go Dark Betty On You," I cherish it in a way that is only achieved by knowing exactly how corny and trite it is and then moving straight past that because well actually, and most people wouldn't get this, she's holding back something deeply dark and wild and- and disgusting. something painful yet intrinsically her. but i get it, obviously. or maybe not obviously! hopefully not obviously, but- basically, I'm just saying I get it: the experience of reflection and recognition through the other and all that.

Whatever, the point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Clearly, I’ve been enchanted by the film’s narrative and meta-textual language. If you're familiar with it, you can see how Schoenbrun built this movie like a long-form dream episode of a canceled teen show filmed in Vancouver. Lynchian? Yeah, sure. Riverdalesque? THIS we cannot possibly deny. Schoenbrun said they included Amber Benson as an act of healing the inner rage experienced at Tara’s death in Buffy. This is a Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa ending Riverdale with a bisexual polycule after his gay Archie play got ceased-and-desisted type move. There’s probably more I could say about the soundtrack and the visuals, but I’ve hit over 1k words on this, so I’ll leave it at I enjoyed this movie a lot. :)

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in!

[majestic-salad]

Nava my Belava!!!!! Blaseballswap for mangatiger <3

This piece comes with a playlist!

[mistywaves98]

Hello hi hi your writing is very nice so like.... scara x bratty reader smut where reader is really condescending and annoying but they get put in their place??? HBsjbejd 😵‍💫😵‍💫

✧･ﾟ:* ->Scaramouche x Bratty! Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, Overstimulation, (slight) Bondage, Degradation + Praise, Dirty talk, Kind of short ngl!

✧･ﾟ:* ->Smut written by a minor!

You'd lost track of how many times you've came by now. It felt like hours since Scaramouche got fed up with your attitude and decided to take matters into his own hands. Now you've found yourself pinned to the bed on your stomach, knees planted into the mattress which caused your back to arch uncomfortably. Your hands were bound behind your back with a piece of rope that dug into your delicate skin, bound to leave marks afterwards. His hand was pressed against the side of your face, pushing your head down into the pillow covered with your drool and tears.

His pace was unforgiving, fast strokes which drove your fucked out face deeper into the fluff. The feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock made him groan as he leaned down, chest flush against your sweaty back to whisper into your ear,"You should hear yourself, moaning for my cock like a common whore...F-fuck—! Tightening around me so well... C-come on, just admit it. Hah...You can't resist me.."

Despite being on the verge of another orgasm, you couldn't help but choke out a snarky response through whines,"A-as if..! I— Mnghh!" Your sentence is cut off as a hand slams down on the back of your neck, forcing your head into the pillow even more. Your entire body tenses and you can't help but let out a cry as you gush around his cock, coating it with more of your essence that seeps through the already- stained sheets.

"God... Got you cumming and whimpering on my dick and yet you still have the nerve to fucking defy me..! Ngh—! Don't worry, b-by the end of this, I'll be sure to have all the attitude fucked out of you...!" He growled, hips meeting yours so brutally that your entire body rocks back and forth on the bed which was now creaking at an alarming volume.

Your consciousness was starting to waver now, the exhaustion catching up to you. It all felt so good, maybe even too good. All you could think about was the feeling of his length sliding in and out of you, the tip kissing your g-spot so precisely you wouldn't be surprised if you climaxed once more soon. Your mind felt hazy and unclear, you couldn't even form a coherent thought, let alone full sentences. Any word you attempted to speak came out as a mere murmur which faded to a moan.

"What was that? Did I finally dumb my bratty girl down to a fucked out mess? Think you can be an obedient slut now? Hah..! You probably can't even register my words..." He mocked, briefly laughing in a satisfied manner. Scaramouche was right, you really were too drunk on pleasure to form a single thought or word in that little head of yours. The sight of you lying there, taking everything he gave you was so arousing, it made him feel like he could keep fucking you all night.

And that's exactly what he planned to do. He continued to thrust into your abused pussy till he finally came with a grunt, filling it with his seed which met with your cum in an erotic mixture of fluids. Scaramouche slowed his pace a bit as he rode out his high, relishing the sweet moans from you as he fucked his cum into you. Before you knew it, his pace increased its speed again, making it clear that he wasn't going to be stopping anytime soon.

Your body was already so sensitive and sore at this point, you wanted to apologize for your insolence but now you could barely get a mere 'sorry' out. As if reading your thoughts, Scaramouche reached a hand down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it back harshly to lift your head out of the pillow. Tears streaked your face, flowing down from your puffy eyes over reddened cheeks before dripping onto the pillow below.

"It's too late to say sorry now, sweetheart. I'm going to ruin you tonight and you're going to enjoy it... Perhaps next time you'll think twice about disobeying me..."

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

may I request an angst with evan buckley

"keep your eyes on me." promt with an established relationship please! but hes been through a lot give him his happy ending please, i love him so much 🫶🏻

Lightning Strike.

28. "Keep your eyes on me."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. my soft sweet buck. thank you for this request <3

Pairing - Evan Buckley x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - sad buck. mentions of a sort of panic attack.

Word Count - 500 ish maybe??

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Buck is the king of putting on a brave face.

Always strong, never faltering. He reassures everyone he's fine time and time again, smiling and cracking jokes. But you see right through him.

You've always been able to read him like a book. You don't even have to try.

After the lightning strike, Buck doubled down on his brave face. He wouldn't let anyone see him upset - not even Eddie. Which is rare. And worrying.

He seems to be coping surprisingly well, desperate to get back to work and resume normal routine. While he's stuck at home, he's been cooking, doing puzzles, watching football. You're greeted with a lovingly cooked meal and a glass of wine every time you walk through the door.

Until today.

Today, you walk into the apartment, and it's dark. No lights on, no TV blaring sound. Nothing.

"Buck?"

Silence.

"Buck? Baby? I'm home," you call.

Now you're worried.

You start striding through the apartment, navigating your way through the darkness. When you hear a sniffle, your head whips around. There's Buck, knees pressed to his chest, jammed in between the nightstand and the wall. He's curled up on the ground, head resting on his arms that are protectively wrapped around his legs.

"Buck? Hey, did something happen?"

"Yeah," he murmurs hoarsely. "I got hit by lightning."

"I remember," you say gently. "Did something happen today?"

"I don't know," he whispers. "I think I've been distracting myself. And today it all came crashing down."

"Talk to me," you urge.

Buck's lip trembles, and so do his hands. Warm, salty tears drip down his face, and his breathing quickens rapidly.

"Hey, hey. Keep your eyes on me, Buck."

He locks his gaze onto yours, and mirrors your breathing carefully. Eventually, he calms down enough to speak.

"I died. I've been so close to death so many times that I'm kinda numb to it. But this time was so real. How am I supposed to go on living my life like nothing happened, when I literally died?"

"You don't have to live like nothing happened, baby," you reassure, moving to sit down in front of him. "No one expects you to do that."

"I just -," he sighs, trying to formulate a coherent thought. "I just don't know how to carry on."

You reach out gently and place a hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears that are spilling over. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone carefully, grounding him back down to Earth.

"I know you're like, totally anti therapy -," you begin, and he laughs. "But talking to a therapist or a trauma counsellor might really help. Or maybe we find a support group. This is LA, there's groups for everything."

"You think there's a lightning strike support group?" he jokes.

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised," you chuckle. "And if there isn't? Well, we'll start one."

"I might be the only person who attends."

"Fine by me," you tease, nudging him lovingly.

You stand up, and offer him a hand. He takes it gratefully, getting up and instantly wrapping his arms around you. He inhales the scent of your vanilla shampoo, and the tension leaves his shoulders rapidly.

"I love you," he murmurs into your hair. "I'm so lucky."

"I'm the lucky one," you reassure. "Well, technically you are, since you got hit by lightning. And survived."

"I've always been one in a million," he chuckles, squeezing you a little tighter.

"Yes, you have. My one in a million, Evan Buckley."

[konigsblog]

I have seen you write about Cthulu König gifting the reader real pearls ...and there's something written in the Kamasutra about this ...the writer advises women to wear some form of pearl jewelry around their neck when riding someone and when the pearls move slowly side to side then you know you are riding right ....do what you want with this information

Lots of love ♡!

freeing you from my cage (the askbox) finally 🫣 how have i only now gotten around to this? what a fantastic idea 🥹

TW: DUB-CON, NON-CON, coercion, eldritch-könig, monster fucking and hybrids. 🐙

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

könig loves to manipulate, he loves to coerce his little mortal to take part in filthy, deranged and sexual behaviour. he likes to tease and fuck you infront of the other sea god's, getting gratification off of your squeals and cries. he's been encouraging you to get closer to him, to spend time and bond with him — well, you know, encourage you ride one his many thick, murky and slick tentacles.

you ease down, the off-white pearl necklace around your neck swaying from side to side as his other many, long limbs moving you back and forth. your little and stretched out cunt swallows the majority of his huge tentacle, stretched to take his thick size, the suckers grazing against your gummy, wet walls as he continues with his taunting and mocking. the sight of your jaw slack, drooling and becoming a mess before his very eyes. he gets off to the perfect and glorious sight, delirium and hunger visible in his silver, blue eyes.

he grinds you back and forth, slightly moving you up and down as the thin tip of a tentacle slaps against your gummy cervix. the thick limbs grip and knead the fat and flesh covering your organs on your pretty waist, playing with your pearl necklace while you pant and heave quietly, too cock drunk — or should i say, tentacle drunk — to think or mutter a word coherently, or even babble more than a plea. :(

“mein perfekter, kleiner sterblicher, ich bin immer so stolz darauf, wie weit du gekommen bist. kein gedanke in diesem leeren kopf, ja?”

TRANSLATION — “my perfect little mortal, i am always so proud of how far you have come. not a thought in this empty head, yes?”

[nateezfics]

you know how Hongjoong likes to take photos? dresses you up in lace and silk, sits you down on his dick and takes polaroid of you absolutely cock drunk as he fucks you, another photo of your lips etched in red lipstick around the head of his cock, another of your chest splattered in his come to show he’s claimed you, the same red lipstick being used so that he can write all over you, another of his name written above your heart on your chest to feed his possessive side, another of his cock resting against your stomach so he can see just how deep he can reach inside you. debauchery.

we love debauchery here, yes we do!

ok, so, this is immensely hot and i’ve been slow to respond to this simply because my brain shuts down every time i read this. like, i can’t form coherent thoughts. so the best way i can go about this is to break it down lol. there’s a lot to take in (heheh;))

hongjoong has a whole portfolio of you in various states of undoing. he would dress you up in lingerie in his favorite colors, he’d also just leave you completely bare because he loves to see you fully exposed to him, but he’d also dress you up in his fav pieces from balmain (whether it’s pieces he got specifically for you or his own balmain garments). and then, just photographs you taking his dick, capturing the way your body goes limp and pliable for him. he loves to save the pictures of you being the best little cockslut for him, those are very dear to him.

hongjoong likes to put the red lipstick on for you. he sits you on his lap, maybe even while he’s in you, and gently colors your lips with the red pigment. pushes you to your knees and watches the way your red lips wrap around his cock (he specifically gets lipstick he knows will smudge, just to see the way his cock turns red from it). he’d love to see how messy the lipstick gets, knowing he’s the one who ruined it (and you). these pictures of your messy red lips around his cock are sinful, and he revisits them often!

the artist in him takes over when he lays you down and begins drawing on your skin with the lipstick. he’ll make your body his canvas, doodling designs all over you, highlighting every part of you he adores (which is all of you). opens your thighs and writes “mine” on your thighs, with arrows pointing to your pretty pussy. definitely writes obscene words like “cockslut” and “pretty whore” and “cum dump” all over you. shushes you when you squirm, and will even finger you with his free hand to placate you while he continues drawing on you. snaps a pic of everything he drew on you.

his absolute fav pics of you are the ones he takes of you with his fresh cum on your chest, dripping between your breasts. his possessive side eats this up. loves to claim you like this, because you’re his and the pictures of you being the prettiest little cum dumpster for him prove that. he has a soft spot for taking pictures of his cum leaking from your cunt. he almost cums again at the sight.

snaps photos of his dick resting on your lower abdomen, absolutely in awe that you manage to take him in full. hongjoong praises you for how good you take him, saying shit like “this tiny pussy takes my cock so good”, “this pussy loves to gorge itself on my cock, yeah?”, “no matter how many times i stretch you out with my cock, your pussy always stays so tight for me”, and “you were made for my cock, baby”.

[chervbs]

safe space — s. harrington

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: steve begins to notice a little quirk that you possess only when you’re around him. while he was initially concerned, the reason behind it is sweeter than he could ever guess.

warnings: reader wears makeup and nail polish, very very brief implication of sex, reader is implied to eat chicken, near death experience??? (reader doesn’t look both ways before crossing the street), tooth rotting fluff, lmk if I missed any

a/n: my first steve fic! technically it’s not the first i’ve written (I have many wips) but it’s the first that’s going up on the blog. it’s a bit short but I wrote it in a day after seeing a tiktok of girls talking about this topic and I just had to write it for steve! let me know your feedback and send in your stranger things requests! gif isn’t mine.

Steve didn’t believe it until Robin and Nancy had pointed it out. At the time, he thought the notion was ridiculous. But then he started to take notice. 

He noticed the way you seemed to depend on him when he was around. How you never seemed to be able to find anything until he found it for you. 

“Babe?” You called out from the restroom. You’d taken to staying over at Steve’s on most days. His parents were hardly around and yours didn’t mind as long as they knew where you were. “Have you seen my mascara?” 

No reply came, but instead a series of footsteps lead Steve to the bathroom, the little trail of hair beneath his belly button catching your eyes for a split second as he pulled his shirt down the rest of the way. 

“What’d you say?” He asked, running a hand through his hair, fixing the strands that had been moved out of place by his polo. 

“My mascara.” You repeated, his eyes suddenly focusing in on the pile of makeup you had laid out on the sink. Your hand shuffled through the products with a huff. “I can’t find it anywhere.” 

Steve eyed the counter, skimming over the various items before landing on a shiny, bright pink tube, one he’d seen you handle a thousand times before. 

“Sweetheart,” He chuckled, grabbing the mascara. It seemed to have rolled across the counter, resting just next to the soap dispenser but clearly in eye view. “It’s right here, silly.” 

It’s then that he noticed your glasses on the counter as well, but he kept the puzzled comment on why you weren’t wearing them to himself. 

Your eyes lit up as if he’d just handed you a winning lottery ticket. “Oh! I must’ve missed it. Thanks, Stevie!” You giggled, toes stretching to wrap your arms around his neck, placing a dramatic kiss to his cheek, ‘mwah’ sound and all. 

“You’re the best.” You said in a softer tone, thumbing coming up to rub off the bit of lip gloss that transferred from your lips to his skin. 

This was the first instance he noticed, but that adoring look in your eyes had his knees week, and the thought was quick to leave his mind, replaced by only you.

-

The second time was more subtle, but much more alarming. If it hadn’t been for the pervious instance, he may not have thought much of it. 

The two of you walked hand in hand through Hawkins Square, the local shops booming with business after the fall of Starcourt. Your group of friends trailed along behind you, all in their own conversations. 

 There were no words exchanged between the two of you, comfortable enough to bask in each other’s presence. Steve didn’t detect anything wrong with you, but you were in your own little world. Being around Steve always filled you with so much warmth and serotonin that it made your brain fuzzy. So much so that any other coherent thoughts often left your mind. 

You remember briefly seeing the walk light blinking from the other side of the street at some point. So when your group to the crosswalk, you didn’t think twice before walking forward. 

You barely had time to blink before a car horn was blaring in your ears, Steve’s grip in tightening and tugging you back at the same time. The car in question sped away and it was only then that you saw the crosswalk sign, this time blinking a bright orange hand. 

As your mind refocused your eyes locked onto Steve, realizing his hands had made their way to your cheeks. 

“Are you okay? You gotta look both ways, sweetheart. What if I wasn’t here to pull you out of the way?” His words were scolding but his voice was light with concern. 

Mentally, you knew that this wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t around. However, no words escaped you mouth, especially after looking over your boyfriends shoulder to see your friends staring at you worriedly. 

Flushing under their gazes, you stuttered, “I’m sorry. Guess I just got distracted.” 

The furrow of Steve’s eyebrows faded as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “That’s okay, baby. Just pay attention next time, okay?” 

You nodded and gave him a strained smile, lacing your fingers with his once again as the crosswalk gave you the signal to go. 

The look Steve shared with Robin and Nancy a moment later went unnoticed by you.

-

The local diner on a Friday evening was packed, to say the least. You and Steve were lucky another party had just left when you arrived, allowing you to a snag a table before anyone else could.

Not long after, Nancy and Jonathan arrived, shortly followed by Robin, Vickie. As much as you all loved the kids, it was nice to just spend time with other people your age for a change. The triple date had been Vickie’s idea, the sweet redhead being eager to get to know her girlfriends group of friends.

The waitress strolled over to your table after you all had been sat for a few minutes. She was middle aged, brunette hair with strands of silver highlighting the front. She smiled warmly at your group. “Evening, kids. What can I get for y’all?”

Everyone rattled off their orders, having skimmed the menus prior to the woman’s arrival. When it got to you and Steve, he easily gave her his order. “I’ll get a bacon cheeseburger and a coke, please.”

She jotted down his order before looking towards you. “And you, honey?”

You blinked at her silently, looking at Steve for help almost instinctively. He quickly realized that he never saw you look at the menu, and told her the first thing that came to his mind. “She’ll have the chicken strips with fries please. And a lemonade.” 

The woman smiled sweetly, unfazed by the behavior. “Alrighty then, i’ll have that right out for y’all.” 

You wordlessly leaned your head back against Steve’s shoulder, where it had been before the waitress came over. 

Steve felt the stares of Robin and Nancy on the two of you. He looked down at you, bringing up his arm to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side. “You feeling okay?” He mumbled just loud enough for you to hear.

You lifted your head to look at him, grinning softly in a way that had his chest bursting with love. “Yeah, I’m okay, Stevie. Little tired.” You replied. 

“Yeah?” He smiled. Glancing up, he saw the rest of your friends had resumed their own conversations. “You gonna stay over tonight?”

Your hands had taken to messing with his that hung off your shoulder, pulling and bending his fingers. “Just gotta drop by kind to get some more clothes.” You were silent for a second, observing the tips of his fingers. “Can I paint your nails?”

Steve grinned. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.” 

-

Later that same night, after you had departed from your friends with full bellies and aching cheeks, you and Steve had made it back to his house.

He’d stopped by your house, letting you run inside to quickly grab a change of clothes for work tomorrow. And also a couple of bottles of nail polish.

Like promised, he let you paint his nails. You were both sat up, his back against the headboard and yours against his chest. His arms reached around you, the length of them allowing you to hold his hands close enough to brush the lacquer on his nails. 

The room was silent apart from your soft breathing and his radio quietly playing. His right hand was splayed across your inner thigh, the emerald green color on his nails having long since dried. The heat of his touch reminded you of your previous excursions that took place almost the second you two got home. The thought brought a warmth to your cheeks.

“Baby?” 

You hummed know response, concentrated on keeping the polish on his nails and avoided the skin around them. 

“Rob and Nance pointed something out to me the other day,” His head sat on your shoulder, voice calm but tone curious. “I wanted to ask you about it.” 

The brush of the nail polish glided over his pinky nail once last time before you were satisfied with the opacity of the color. Capping the bottle, you blew lightly on his fingertips, urging the paint to dry. “Ask away.” You told him. 

Steve hesitated, as if he didn’t know how to put his question into words. “They told me they noticed that, when were together, you kinda…drift away?” He said it more like a question rather than a statement, like he was unsure. “Almost like you don’t think for yourself?”

Realizing how awful it sounded, Steve’s eyes widened. “N-not like that. That sounded bad. I don’t think that you don’t think for yourself. I-I mean, I think you’re one of the most head strong, independent women i’ve ever known, and I’m well aware you don’t need me to think for you but-“

“Steve!” His mouth clamped shut, his body behind you stiff. “It’s okay.” You assured. “I know what you mean.”

Those eyes would be the death of you, you just knew it. Steve stared at you, doe eyed with a hint of worry that he had offended you. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded with a grin. “They’re not wrong, I guess. I do kind of let my thoughts go when I’m around you.”

You felt his body relax, the hand on your thigh sliding up to your waist. “Is…is that a good thing.”

The giggle that left your lips was involuntary, but you just couldn’t help it. Your boyfriend was too cute. “‘Course its a good thing.” You took the chance to pull away from his body, turning around to face him. “As a girl, you know, I kind of always have to have my guard up. I never know when things could go south, and especially in Hawkins, I have more to worry about then just creepy guys.” 

Steve nodded along to your words, eyes never straying from your face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that, when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I have to worry. I don’t have to be strong, I don’t have to be independent, because I have you. Because you’re my safe space.” 

Steve felt tears well up in his eyes, your sweet words feeling like a warm embrace to his heart. “Sweetheart…”

The rest of his sentence was lost as his lips met yours, the love and passion feeling like it was being transferred through his kiss. You only pulled away once your lungs began to beg for mercy, soft pants escaping as your foreheads rested against each other.

“I love you, you know that? You’re my safe space too.” He mumbled, matching grins lighting up both your faces. 

“I love you too.” You hummed, feeling like you could just combust with happiness. Your hands grasped onto his, pulling them up to your eye level. 

“Steve!” You gasped. “You smeared the nail polish!”

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[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

What were you thinking about when that buzzer sounded?

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: The latest chapter is finally here, and it is the penultimate chapter of the series. I hope to update this soon so you aren't left hanging too long for the finale, so fear not, I will put every effort into getting it written! Love you guys, and appreciate all the asks and comments you send me 🥰

Part 9 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️- 

For a moment, while you swam between waking and sleeping, everything was dark. The floor felt like it was shifting from underneath you. Piercing noise filled your ears and rattled throughout your entire body. Barely a few seconds later your retinas were scorched by sizzling orange light. 

This isn’t right.

What’s happening?

You felt yourself frown despite the crackling ache that hammered into your skull, the wrinkle in your brow was more like a molehill. Even in the brilliant glow of the light around you, you couldn’t make anything out. You were only seeing hazy shapes and thinking thoughts that were barely more coherent. The piercing noise turned into a low buzz, though the room still felt like it was on an unsteady foundation. 

What happened?

Where were the others?

You strained a moment, breathing heavily and stretching your body out. Were you lying down? You looked downward at your crumpled form and groaned. You’d confirmed it alright, as if the cold damp ground weren’t proof enough. It was difficult to tell how long you’d been laying like that, however if the prickling in your arms and legs were anything to go by it had clearly been a while. 

You were struggling to try and work out what had happened. It felt like you were fighting for the last plank of wood in a shipwreck, your head feeling like it had been knocked and rolling in the foaming waves for some time before you’d come to. Though finally through the spray of racing thoughts you were able to grasp onto something more, a dull thudding sound that rhythmically beat behind you. A groan of anguish followed not long after, and then something that sounded like a string of choked curses. 

“Looks like your friend has awakened, Captain. Shall we give you a break…?”

You frowned deeper, but you didn’t get long to work out who those words belonged to before you were seized. Suddenly Your body was being hoisted up by a pair of rough hands and you were all but thrown down in a deeply uncomfortable metal chair. As if that wasn’t enough to contend with, the unexpected movement sent your stomach and head roiling into green sickness. As you slowly started to snap out of it, you came to realise you were being bound to the chair that you’d been slammed into. A couple of pairs of hands were grabbing you and fastening you tightly to the cold metal, leaving you all bound up like a christmas turkey. 

“You don’t look so good, Sergeant,” the voice from before taunted, sounding from somewhere above you. “But that makes sense, ah? My men already gave you quite the head wound back at the market. I wonder…are you even hearing me right now? Has your head been cracked open too many times now?”

You choked down the lump that had sat heavy in your throat and jerked your head up, facing the dark shape that had cast such an oppressive shadow over your eyes. Whoever it was, was standing in front of the light. You had no hope of seeing them, trying as you were.  

“Fu-...fuck you,” you muttered, blinking your eyes up at the silhouette of your tormentor. 

The man chuckled, a raspy sound that came from deep within his chest. 

“You’re not lost to us yet, I see.”

You gritted your teeth and continued to desperately try and focus your eyes on the man. Something within you was burning, there was bile trying to force itself upwards the longer you held your head up, though intuition told you it wouldn’t be much of a shame if you spat up on whoever it was that had captured you. 

“Who-oo are you?” you demanded, throat too dry to carry the threat you wanted.

“Oh, Sergeant, your condition might be worse than we’d feared. Don’t you recognise me?”

You shook your head up at the shadow man, growing tired of your confused state. Even tied to a chair you still couldn’t seem to piece together how you got there. The last thing you could recall was telling Soap and Ghost to run, warning them of an oncoming party of men that were approaching the back of the truck.

The trucks. 

That’s right, you’d stolen yourselves away on the trucks - you’d all been waiting to see where they’d set up camp. Except…. They hadn’t stopped at any kind of base. The trucks had stopped so that they could get some respite after having to quickly pack up and leave their old haunt - it had been Soap that had said something about that. Soap had translated something they’d said. 

Then König had said something through the comms…what was it again? He’d said-

“Am I not keeping your attention, Sergeant? How rude.”

If the disembodied voice wasn’t enough to tear you out of your thoughts, the slap that knocked your teeth together was. 

Fresh pain blossomed over your cheek and you groaned out. It only served to make you even more acutely aware of the sorry state your body was in. Everything was hurting and nothing felt right. You’d been in some scrapes in your life, but for the second time you were sure this was going to be the end of you. Slowly but surely, whoever it was that held you captive was going to rip you to shreds. 

At the very least, you decided you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of finding it pleasurable. You weren’t going to beg for him. 

“Maybe you need a familiar face to wake you up properly.”

You glared up at the man above you, ready to spew vitriol that could outspark a petrol fire, but you didn’t get the chance. The wind was knocked from you when the chair was kicked on its side and you’d gone tumbling with it. Back on the grimy floor again, you thought, maybe if I’m lucky I’ll fall in a puddle and drown. 

Self pity had stopped you from immediately looking ahead. Though the moment you managed to concentrate on anything other than the searing pain that was winding itself around your wrists, ankles and back, you were unpleasantly surprised to see a thunderous face over on the other side of the room. One that looked much like you felt. 

“Price?” you croaked, locking gazes with his wide eyed stare.

He couldn’t answer you back. Price’s mouth was gagged with a thick piece of cloth, something like an old tshirt scrap. The fabric was wrapped tightly around his face and it was trapping all the expletives he’d normally be hurling from exploding into the tiny room. You strained as you looked at him, what was that that was dripping from his face? Had he been bleeding that much? It looked too thin to be blood alone.

You’d never seen the Captain like this before, he was in a sorry state. His face was sporting a rainbow of different bruises, and, from below that, swollen skin that had bubbled up into painful lumps. His armour and his weapons had been stripped from him, his jacket and hat as well, his hair was limply slicked back on top of his head. His shirt had been partially torn and that too was wet, it looked like they’d used a knife on him - you could see the bloody evidence in the form of a thick cut that striped roughly through his pecks.

“Price,” you said again, not quite sure what else to say. “Captain!”

You’d never seen him look so vehemently possessed by rage. He hadn’t even been this angry when he’d called you out for the whole König debacle. No, now that he was faced with you lying on the ground and lost for words he was the most furious you’d seen him in his life. If it weren’t for the gag, you’d have been convinced that he’d have spit fire.

“Speaking more confidently, Sergeant. This is good. Maybe now we can begin, yes?” 

“Begin what?” you spat. “You think you can learn anything from me?”

The man chuckled, the sound emanating as if from a wide rocky cavern. The sound filled the room uncomfortably, squashing you, causing you to wince just before you were picked up by the back of the chair and set right upright again. 

It was when you finally widened your eyes, that you were more clearly able to see the man in front of you. The sight of him made your heart drop. It was John Rousseau himself. His determined gaze was set on you as if he’d ripped himself free out of the photographs on your briefing documents and sprung to life in all his terrible glory. Though unlike the photographs, - taken when he’d been captured earlier on in his life- he was smiling now. He held something of a more deadly glint in his eyes. 

You were left speechless then. What were you to say to the man you’d been chasing all that time? Now that he was standing in front of you in the flesh, tight black clothes showcasing his rippling arms and powerful legs. You weren’t going to last long if he was going to keep kicking and hitting you, you knew that then. 

“This isn’t an interrogation, soldier - I don’t need to learn anything from you. We’re in the middle of making a very special video, a little gift for your superiors. They will get the benefit of seeing that you are alive - mostly. And they will know we are serious in our demands. In return they will give us back my brothers. If not then…you will not remain alive for much longer, will you?”

Rousseau’s widening smile reminded you of a venomous snake slithering out a dark crevice for the hunt. If that weren’t enough to unnerve you, the sound of something metal being scraped across the ground and the following rush of sloshing water lapping against its edges was enough to do the trick. All at once you realised exactly what Rousseau intended to do. 

Price roared from the otherside of the room, in the corner of your vision, struggling futilely against his impossible bindings. Though you didn’t focus much on him. A shadow crossed the room and you painfully twisted your head to meet the barbarian that made it. You watched as another familiar face, the man from the market that had killed his associate, stood silently above you. He held a cheap old digital camera aloft in his hands and smiled slyly, giving you your last glimpse of cruelty before a cloth was forced over your face and the world went dark once more. 

They were going to do to you exactly what they had done to Price. Finally you knew why he was so wet. Your body shook.. You could hardly breathe. Though you had to. Your training demanded it. You’d been waterboarded before, though now it wasn’t going to be a test. This was the real deal, there was no end goal in sight. You could hear the bucket being lifted off the ground, it was almost too late to remedy your panic.

No, you had to steel yourself. 

Deep breath in, soldier. 

And Hold it.

Hold it.

-☠️-

Ghost and Soap stood over the group in front of them with expressions so solemn that they could've dropped birds from the sky. Soap kept wincing as he’d shift his weight and forget his bad leg, and Ghost couldn’t stop staring off to the side, clearly replaying what had happened, turning it over and over in his mind until his eyes glazed almost grey. It was clear to see that neither one could reconcile with what had just gone down. 

After a moment of empty silence, considering what to say, both the men eventually recounted what had happened to the others, facing Laswell and the rest of the men with their blank eyes and flat voices as they tried to stay professional. No matter how hard they tried though, their minds still lingered on the soldier they’d left behind, ceaselessly wondering what had happened to you.

Around halfway through your impromptu truck ride, with you on top while the two men hid inside, Gaz had reported that his group had reached exfil and regrouped with the rest of the team. Most of the remaining soldiers had made it there, along with a very rattled Laswell who’d explained to everyone that the safe house had been compromised and Price had been taken by surprise, caught in a trap laid out by the first rogue truck that had left the compound. Ghost, Soap and you of course had heard this through Gaz’s comms, one of the last lines to remain working - the other’s had faced multiple blasts and close combat bouts.

From that moment, now that they had contact and were aware of where Rousseau was headed, everyone was concentrating on regrouping with your team. They were tracking your signal and speeding along in the last of the working vehicles, hoping and praying they could reach the trucks and bring everyone back.

The men’s eyes flicked between each other as they let the story unfold, remembering what it was like standing in the almost pitch black of the cargo container while you lay above them. The tension that had yet to leave their bodies, only had them straining their tired muscles more. 

Soap told everyone about you hissing over the line from above, telling him and Ghost about the trucks slowing down. You’d asked for orders and Soap had looked warily at Ghost then, watching as the man loomed over him and quietly searched for an answer. He’d curtly told you to lay low and stay quiet, tell them if anyone got out. It wasn’t long before you reported just that, and Soap had plastered himself to the doorway, straining to try and hear what they could be saying out there. 

His French was rusty, rustier than his Spanish, but he was able to make out parts of a conversation that had broken out. They were talking about how glad they were that they could finally stop, one said something about needing to piss, the other laughed with him and said it was a wonder he’d managed to hold it in through the blasts. Another man had approached them and shouted over, saying that they needed to check the cargo first and ensure it wasn’t damaged or he’d make sure they’d never piss right again. 

It was at that point, that it was evident that you all had to move. Though none of you could think of a way to make it past the small army undetected, especially if Ghost and Soap were required to burst from the creaking metal doors. Therefore, they’d decided to go with the distraction that you’d come up with, not a great one, but one that gave them a semblance of a shot to get away nonetheless. 

König had intervened, he’d cut into the conversation with a new level of fury and demanded that you rethink your plan. ‘You can’t do this! Don’t you dare go ahead with this suicide mission!’ He thought it was sheer stupidity to throw a frag out into the middle of the group and just hope that they were too distracted by the fallout to track the direction it had come from. He’d all but ordered you to wait for the team to reach you all, but you’d argued back, saying that they couldn’t count on not being discovered until then. They were too far away. 

You’d told him you loved him over the line, seemingly uncaring what the rest of the team thought of it now, and said that he had to let you work. Next thing they knew, you were informing Ghost and Soap that you were sending the frag out. It was difficult to hear König’s frenzied screams after that, they were just higher notes floating on top of the discordant din that was soon to follow. 

When you’d pulled the pin all hell had broken loose.

Ghost and Soap clattered from out of the truck and you scrambled down from the top, rejoining the two men before sprinting like hell into the thin treeline. The wood’s were no longer as lush in the place they’d stopped, probably by design so they would know if they were being approached. Unfortunately it meant they were able to track your group running away as well. You could hear the distant sound of their cries start to get closer again. 

Gunfire had broken out, peppering the air with loud shots. What seemed like hundreds of soldiers but was probably a group of around twenty, chased you all down and shot at your feet. They were demanding that you all stop, shouting in English and French and possibly other languages too. 

For a wondrous minute it had seemed like you all might get away with your lives, but just as you hit a thicker portion of the woods, a single grenade was tossed in your direction and all of you were sent flying. 

Ghost took over the report then. Soap’s voice cut out as he remembered the sickening churn of his stomach just before he’d blacked out. He was struggling to keep aloft. Only the thought of you out there somewhere kept him standing, the thought of your determined eyes as you fought like hell for the two men that had been intent on icing you out. All because they thought you were going to break up the team from your fooling around… And what did all that matter now?

Ghost slyly knocked his elbow into Soap, getting him to stay out of his mangled thoughts before he continued. He told everyone how Soap had been knocked out when he’d hit the ground, but you and he were still awake. 

Soap had managed to rouse again, but he was hardly up to walking after his dodgy landing - never mind running unassisted on that bad right leg. Ghost wasn’t feeling a hundred percent either after being slammed into a thick tree trunk, but he was able to carry on. He’d tried to insist that you should help with Soap and you could all run together, but you’d shaken your head and denied him any assistance. You’d told him to take Soap and send the others forward, he had to direct them to you, or they’d never find you all in time you’d said. You could defend yourself from there, you’d assured them you could do it.

Ghost had tried to reason with you, pleaded with you not to be a fucking idiot, but you weren’t hearing any of it. You pulled out your gun, like a knight drawing their sword for the last stand, and told him simply that he could insult you after the job was done and you’d recovered Price. You’d reminded him that when you were all home safe, there would be a meeting to discuss your forbidden relationship, and he could get all of his famous remarks on record as well. Ghost’s face soured at the memory, but from there everyone was all caught up on what had happened. 

He and Soap had reached the others and then they had pushed forward. Only, they didn’t find you by the rocks, or in the place where the trucks had been. That spot was empty save for a few men that had stayed behind to try and fight them off and prevent anyone from following. It was then that they knew they’d lost you and Price and the mission was over. They had failed completely. 

König had heard enough. He’d been listening to their little tale with a curled lip that quickly turned to a full sneer and with every passing second that he spent revising over the details of their quest of incompetence, he felt his body temperature rise by another degree. He was so angry, he was shaking. 

He stormed forward, slicing through the team of men that stood between him and Ghost with precision, ramming the Lieutenant down before he could think to do anything. It wasn’t possible to stop him, he’d borne down on Ghost with an animal force and soon he was swiping and clawing at him like he might take out his throat. The screams that were bursting out of him were nothing short of feral. 

“It should have been you! You should’ve stayed behind, you rat fucking bastard. You lead your team on a suicide mission and yet here you stand telling us all about how we failed. You failed, you failed Ghost! You failed Sneak! Do you hear me? I will tear you apart! I will rip the skin from your bones and burn what’s left of you and then I will piss on your ashes, you fucking swine!”

“König!”

Horangi tried to be his voice of reason, but König was too far gone. He was incensed. 

As if it weren’t bad enough that the love of his life had professed their love while they actively ensured their own destruction, he now had to listen to the Lieutenant prattle on about what had happened as if you hadn’t been pressured into being the sacrificial lamb. It was too much to bear. His head was ringing with your love confession and with the thoughts of what those men could be doing to you even as he tried to tear Ghost apart. The images were inspiring him to further cruelty, echoes of past sins and future vows. 

König continued to pummel Ghost, trying to target his weak spots with prejudice, but he didn’t get to keep the upper hand for much longer. The Lieutenant wasn’t going to allow himself to be turned into mince. He wasn’t any good to Price or you if he let himself face König’s punishment.

Ghost grabbed out at König’s wildly swinging fists and caught one, using the moment of struggle to punch him in the ribs and swing round so that he was on top of the Austrian. König howled and flailed like a banshee, but he couldn’t do much of anything once he was on his back. Gaz and Horangi had joined Ghost, they assisted in pinning König down and now his shouts were reduced to heavy breaths as he stilled against the pressure. He was like an alligator with its mouth taped shut, the moment that the binding came off he was determined to strike again, bite through his prey in one clean motion. 

Soap stood watching in horror from above the little skirmish. His face was paling to an ill shade. It was then that it finally occurred to him that maybe you hadn’t thrown away your position on a stupid fling. You weren’t turning your back on your family, you had just found someone else worth letting in. Why else would König sound as if he was ready to face death itself for you? You both had to be far closer than anyone could have comprehended. 

Soap was left blinking silently as he gazed up at Ghost and then to Gaz, wondering, had they realised the same thing?

“König you need to calm down,” Ghost advised, voice straining as he fought through the pounding headache that blossomed in the base of his skull. 

“Ghost…” König trailed, thinking on his words for a moment. “Unless Sneak is returned safely, I will never be calm again. In fact, I will make it my personal mission to break you. I will take you to some god awful hole somewhere and make sure that you live long enough through your torture to forget what daylight looks like. Only once you’re empty, will I bury the shell of you alive!”

Ghost’s left eye twitched, the lid took a moment to settle. König could hardly have known that he’d strike a nerve, but as he saw Ghost’s expression behind his mask he let his mouth curve into a smug grin behind his hood. Even if he couldn’t hit him physically he could settle for mental warfare. 

Ghost struggled not to take his revenge. There was a brief moment of inner turmoil where he wanted to reach out and smash every tooth out of the mercenary’s head, but there was a voice in his head that demanded he didn’t. They needed every resource they had to retrieve their missing Sergeant and Captain. As much as he hated König, he couldn't deprive the team of an effective member, and loathe as he was to admit it he knew you’d need someone to come home to.

Ghost rose up off of König then, silently glaring down at him before he looked over at Laswell. His golden lashes caught the light, and then so did his eyes, showcasing the dangerous glint that settled just underneath the surface. 

“Well, until we find Sneak and Price, why don’t you just keep yourself under control. Yeah?” He said gruffly, stepping away from König before he got second thoughts about beating him to a pulp. 

König was allowed back up again, only when the others were sure he wouldn’t try and tackle Ghost. He hated having all their eyes on him. He’d never felt so afraid in all his life and now he was being put under a microscope by people that, as much as he tried not to for your benefit, he despised. 

Horangi was his saving grace. His old friend turned to the others and shooed them off with a jerk of his head before he turned back and gave König a sympathetic tilt of his head. He knew better than to try and offer any words of comfort or to try and stick around. König was beyond calming, it was obvious to see from his flexing hands and narrowed eyes. 

König’s mind was a storm of emotions. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much, so deeply. He was furious with you, upset that you would throw your life away just to try and save the stupid teammates that had gotten you into such a predicament in the first place. His heart tore thinking of you trying to salvage your relationship with your brothers while they let you fall to the enemy.

Most of all though König felt terribly frightened. For once he had no control over the situation. He couldn’t smash his hulking body at the problem, nor threaten his way to the outcome he wanted. He just had to wait and hope that you would be alive somewhere and that you were ok. He could feel his breaths shorten at the thought of you being hurt by those awful men. Men just like him - men with no qualms about ignoring any sense of empathy in order to get a job done.

Was the world punishing him?

For some reason König couldn’t help but feel that whatever happened to you was his fault. Was it the divine justice? After all the people he’d torn through, all the faces he’d beat unrecognisably in the name of getting the job done, was one of his most treasured people going to be lost to him in exchange for his misdeeds? You were the one that had called him out on it all, how could you be the one to pay? 

König felt dizzy, as if the world were spinning double time and the sky was waving and distorting in his vision. The light blue and purple hues were starting to fade with the closing light, and soon enough the sky would fall completely to black. Were you being kept somewhere dark? Did they have you bound and screaming? 

He thought he was going to be sick. 

All of a sudden he was locked in a glass cage, everyone around him was muffled and his body was constricted. He couldn’t breathe. He was cursing internally, gasping for air all the while. 

Why couldn’t you have fucking taken me instead?

“König.”

König’s eyes flicked up, he jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly he realised he’d been standing with his arms wrapped tightly around his body like a safety harness and let his hands drop to his sides. He peered down at the man connected to that stupidly brave hand and then locked eyes with Soap.He sneered, throwing the appendage away from himself before he gave into the compulsion to break it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” König hissed.

“Laswell’s ordered us to move, mate,” Soap answered softly. 

König looked off to the spot that everyone had been gathered in before, and realised that they’d all begun dispersing into the transports. Everyone was heading along to the beaten up trucks and piling in like cartoon clowns. Ghost was at the head of them all, König didn’t miss him, keeping a wary eye on Soap and König  as he directed everyone else. 

König laughed darkly to himself and started walking. Ghost didn’t need to worry yet. There was still time to save you, they were all safe for the time being. While you remained alive. 

“Kind of you not to leave me behind,” König said, his voice coming out harshly through his gritted teeth. “Better you stay away though. You’ll convince me give into my temptations if you give me too much opportunity, Sergeant.”

König expected Soap to turn tail and run ahead of him then, but was surprised and annoyed when he noticed him keeping pace as they walked to the trucks together. It made König wonder if Soap wanted him to break again. 

“You and Sneak have been seeing each other off base, haven't you?”

König stopped in his tracks again and locked eyes with Soap, looking for whatever evil had to be lurking in the abyss of blue. However if there was any ill intent, he couldn’t see it in his body language. Soap looked at him in earnest.

“Why would you bring that up?”

Soap ran a hand through his frayed mohawk and looked away for a second, nervously meeting König’s eyes again once he gathered his courage. 

“Well you’ve been…” Soap paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “datin’, right?”

“This is hardly the time for your morbid fascination with our relationship,” König sneered, finally walking ahead again. 

“It’s not morbid fascination.”

“Then what?”

“This team has been Sneak’s life for a long time now - we’re a family. When I thought they’d gone behind our backs and fooled around, was going to break up the team for the sake of some fun I was angry…but I know that’s not what it was now. So I just wanted to say I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry are you? I would never ‘fool around’ with Sneak,” König growled. “You all wanted to see our relationship with each other as a stupid crush because none of you think of me as a person. I’m not some dog that they picked up off the side of the road, I’m a man the same as you. I love Sneak with everything that I have. And now you’re claiming to love them too after the way you acted? Sorry doesn’t cut it. You and Ghost, fuck, the whole 141 failed Sneak. Don’t come to me with your pathetic apologies, Sergeant.”

König didn’t give Soap any time to answer his verbal lashing, not that he had much of anything to say to that. How could he stand and defend himself when he’d been the cause of your guilt and the reason that you’d felt pushed to send him and Ghost to their safety while you fell? He was motionless as König picked a truck to settle into, picking a relatively empty section of the bed that only grew more sparse as the other men inside scrambled to keep their distance.

Soap stared a minute longer, but he was forced to move when he realised he was one of the last to load up. His feet marched automatically, but his head never left the conversation. He’d think about it until the moment he knew you were safe again. He had to be able to get his chance to apologise properly, he had to prove that he loved you no matter what, even if Price wouldn’t let you stay on the team. He could live without working with you, but he couldn’t go on knowing he’d been the cause of your death. 

König watched Soap trudge toward Ghost and closed his eyes, willing his breaths to remain steady and for his tears to stay safely welled behind his lids. He couldn’t let himself cry. It felt too much like admitting that you were dead already. Then where would that leave him?

Instead, he put his hand into his trouser pocket and clasped at the little wooden bird that had stayed safely hidden inside. His thumb traced along the smooth stretch of the swallow’s back and towards its beak, gently landing on the tip. He silently hoped that wherever you were, you’d feel the gentle kiss of his spirit and know that you would be safe again. However improbable that was - it was the only thing that could give him any thought of comfort.

-☠️-

It’d been a long and sweaty ride over to the next town, for the start of the journey anyway. Toward the end, night was falling and the temperatures cooled dramatically, suddenly leaving the soldiers glad for all of the heavy layers they were wearing. It made some of them look at König, Horangi and Ghost jealousy, for once, wishing that they too had full face coverage in the chill of the dark winds.

Ghost’s eyes had remained far away for the duration of the ride. No matter what Soap or Gaz said, they couldn’t get him to focus much on them. He was completely distant. It was as if his consciousness was held hostage from within his body, like his mind was replaying the days events over for him and holding him to his mistakes. Though when Soap had been brave enough to try to confirm his suspicions of Ghost’s guilt he was greeted with a ‘fuck off’ for his efforts. 

Gaz put his hand on Soap’s shoulder, then gave him a gentle look. It had Soap swallowing thickly at the lump in his throat and soon enough he was looking away, doing everything not to turn into a screaming wreck in the wake of his dark eyes. Gaz looked away too. 

“We’ll get them back,” Gaz mumbled, patting Soap’s shoulder again before he removed his hand. “At least for now, we know that they have each other.”

“Aye, and how do we know that?” Soap said bitterly.

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t know that they’re together. They could be holding them separately or could have them blindfolded and gagged. Hell, they could’ve killed one of them and only taken one back with them - there’s a lot more risk having two soldiers. We have no idea if Price and Sneak are-”

“Shut the fuck up, Soap,” Ghost growled. 

Gaz and Soap’s eyes flashed over to Ghost in an instant. His tone was hard, and his slouched posture straightened back and returned all of his missing height. 

“We’ll get em’ back,” he vowed. “Or we die trying.”

Ghost had no way of knowing quite how daunting that promise would be in light of things to come. Though when they finally reached a safe place to stop and reconnect with command back home, the severity of the situation landed upon all of them like a ton of bricks. 

Laswell and Ghost managed to wrangle an empty room and took a private call with General Morrison. It was then, in the dark of that claustrophobic room, that they learned about the ransom video that had been sent over during their journey to their makeshift base - a tiny village with a few homesteads and farm land. 

The general didn’t seem to want to give much detail about the video, he was shifty with them both. It was only from some not so polite prodding from Ghost, that the General revealed that they weren’t permitted to have any dealings with the terrorist group. 

“They’re going to splash this all over the fuckin’ press general. This is going to be a disaster, and you’re saying that our response to this is to just do nothing?” Ghost spat.

“It’s all about optics, Lieutenant, you know that. The Captain and Sergeant will be a great loss, but we can’t be seen to be releasing criminals like stray dogs after said dogs were convicted of kidnapping civilians and blowing up markets. We can’t make the deal.”

“Then fuck the deal!” Ghost said, glaring into the camera lens with hot fury.

Laswell baulked, quickly realising that Ghost was going to get himself into trouble if she didn’t step in. She put a hand on his arm and looked pointedly toward the laptop, hoping to appeal to any shred of decency that might be lingering in the greying general’s arsenal. 

“I think Ghost is trying to suggest that we put a team together and we track them down. We get our people back and take down that bastard Rousseau once and for all, sir.”

The harsh lines in the general’s old leathery face settled and his stare was neutral once again. Laswell untensed too. Only Ghost was left seething, he wasn’t going to be calmed at a time like this. The only thing that would put him at ease was knowing that you and Price were going to be returned safely. That wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

“John Price is a good man,” the general said after a long pause. “I can grant you a small team, but it can’t be on record. If this blows up, you’re on your own.”

“And if it goes well it was all a great effort organised by the cunning officers who sat bravely by their desks.” Ghost muttered. 

Laswell kicked out at Ghost from under the table and was grateful that the general didn’t seem to catch his snide remark from through the terrible connection. She quickly smiled toward the laptop and nodded curtly. She could work with a few men, and she was pretty sure she knew of where to get a few more. 

“Thank you, General Morrison. We’re grateful for the aid. I’ll have my people try to find out what we can and once we gather enough intelligence we’ll move in on the target.”

“Good luck, Laswell,” The general said warmly, face going cold when he stared to her left. “Ghost.”

From there the screen went black. Ghost and Laswell were left discussing plans, Laswell messaging her contacts as they talked, both agreeing that they would find a way to reach out to Farah while they formed a potential team. It was all a matter of muscle memory. They sparingly used your names while they were talking. It helped to keep emotion out of it. 

However, they didn’t get to remain like that for long. 

They had to find the video so that Laswell could send it to her intelligence sources and as soon as they were exposed to those first few painstaking seconds, it was all so real again. This wasn’t one of their usual jobs, this was a rescue effort to save two of their own. Two of their family members, that as they were speaking, were being hurt in all manner of horrible ways just to emphasise the sincerity of Rousseau’s threats. He was so morbidly calm as he stood making his demands from in front of the horrible abuses just inches behind him. 

When it came time to tell the others what was going on, Ghost and Laswell were practically as flat toned as the general. It was taking a lot for them to go through it all, to explain that at that present moment they had to sit tight and wait for transport to take them away so that they could go back to base and refresh and resupply while you and Price passed the hours in unknown amounts of agony. 

No matter how matter of fact they tried to keep things, it didn’t stop König from speaking up and forcing everyone into reality. He waited until everyone had been dismissed to reappear in front of Ghost. His steps were heavy and slow, his strides purposeful as he got into the Lieutenant’s face once again.

“I want to see the video.”

“No.”

Ghost’s answer was simple, no nonsense. There was no room for discussion. He folded his arms and straightened his back, ensuring that he was able to steady himself against the bigger man’s potential attacks. Luckily for him he could see Soap and Gaz nearby should he try to start a scrap again. His personal animal control unit. 

“What do you mean no?” König grit out.

“It’s not a good idea” Ghost reaffirmed. “You don’t need to see that.”

“I have to see it. I have to know what they’ve done! Show me the Video!”

“It won’t help, König,” Laswell said, appearing at Ghost’s side. “We watched it to the end and it was…it’s something that will haunt me for a long time. It was bad, but Sneak and Price don’t seem to have any permanent damage. Take that as a comfort and refrain from watching that awful thing.”

König clutched harder at the little bird inside his pocket, holding it so tightly that the beak felt like it was going to pierce a hole through him. He was so hot. Even despite the dreadful cold of the night, he felt like he was going to overheat and his limbs were going to vibrate out of their sockets.

“No permanent damage,” König repeated. “What have they done then?”

Ghost and Laswell exchanged a brief glance. The air was thick between them, like they were looking through water. 

“We need to know,” Soap said, coming to stand by König. “When we find them, we’ll need to know how bad they are.”

“Soap, don’t do this,” Ghost sighed.

“He’s right,” Gaz said, taking his stand between the two parties. “Tell us what happened.”

“Or show us,” König said darkly. 

Ghost glared through the dark hollows of his skull mask,  it really did feel like he was the grim reaper. He was the harbinger of doom. It chilled him to have to think about the horrible sounds and the terrible things he’d seen. He even wished he had just looked away at some point, but he couldn’t, he had to force himself to face it. It was his fault they were suffering, he’d thought to himself.

“They were waterboarding them,” Ghost revealed, “beating them too.”

Everyone was quiet, taking in the information. 

“That’s not all, is it?” König asked.

“They stripped them down with knives and left em’ tied up and naked on the chairs while Rousseau spoke. They posted it up on social media, the video is everywhere despite the efforts to get it deleted. They weren’t doing very well. I think Sneak had taken in a lot of water, they were covered in sick.”

König felt his palm slicken and looked down, tilting his head when he noticed his trouser pocket turn from beige to bright scarlet red. One of the swallow's wings had broken off under the stress of his grip and lodged itself splintered side down into his hand. Now he stood motionless, looking down at the mess with empty fascination. He didn’t even feel the sting of it. He couldn’t get past the sight of his blood, the same colour as the tint in his vision. 

He slowly withdrew his hand and inspected the tender flesh, gently pulling the wing from his cut and depositing it back into his ruined trousers with the rest of the broken bird. From there his plasma continued to drip, a flow of bright red washing over his hands like a tiny trickling fountain. 

“You said, your people are on this Laswell, yes?” König asked, not looking up to see the disconcerted stares of the 141. 

“...yes,” Kate confirmed, hesitating to answer. “They’re trying to see if they can find a source or get any clues from the room they’re in.”

She was scared that this was going to König’s final tipping point. The room was too quiet, there was too much electric energy charging through the air. It felt too much like the calm before an earthquake. 

“Ok,” König replied, his voice sounding far away. “I should go deal with this…I will clean this up. I will fix it. It will all get fixed”

With that he disappeared like a spectre, trailing out of the room and out into the night as if he might completely disperse into nothing. It was like watching a plastic bag float away in the wind, no one could be sure of where he was off to. 

“Should one of us…y’know?” Gaz asked, directing his head toward the open doorway. 

“Maybe go find Horangi and see what he says,” Ghost shrugged. “He knows König best.”

“And the rest of us?” Soap asked, feeling his own fists clench at the thought of the video. 

“We rest up and wait until we can give those cunts the pincushion treatment,” Ghost said, looking down to Soap’s leg. “You think you’ll be able to heal?”

“I feel better already knowing we’ll take those fuckers down,” Soap said, a ghost of a smile playing on his face. “Payback’s gonna be a bitch.”

-☠️-

“Bloody hell.”

Your eyes snapped open and you looked over to Price, watching as he slowly rose up against the wall and struggled to right himself. Your gaze flashed off to the side as soon as the ratty old blanket that’d been draped over him started to slip. Not that you hadn’t seen what was underneath it already, at that point you were just trying to do him a courtesy. 

“Good to know you haven’t left us,” you said weakly. 

From out of the corner of your eye you noticed him rush to fix his blanket, the whoosh of material sweeping up his body was like music to your ears. Knowing that he had the wherewithal to cover himself seemed like a good sign. You offered him the best smile that you could, more of a grimace really, and scanned over his face. It didn’t look much better than from when he’d been sleeping. His left eye was swollen almost completely shut and his mouth was still flecked with dried bits of blood and god knows what else that had stuck to his beard. 

If there was anything to be grateful for in that moment it was the fact that they’d dropped the buckets of water over you after they’d finished recording that awful video. It’d at least cleared the putrid sick from crusting into your battered bodies. Some relief. Not that it helped with the pain that pulsed through you like a lightning strike. 

“Where the fuck are we?” Price groaned, spitting out a clump of phlegm to his side. 

You winced.

“No idea. I only woke up maybe a few minutes ago,” you sighed. “I remember them dragging us down a hallway and then being outside…I dunno, things are spotty for me.”

Price nodded and cast his sore eyes around the cell, looking from the dark metal walls to the crackling painted floors, to the little lamp in the corner that cast long shadows from your bodies and to the few feet between you, and finally he looked to the solid door on both your right sides. He groaned then and shifted his position, almost fumbling and crashing forward as he forgot to account for the bindings on his wrists and ankles. 

“Fuck me!”

You remained quiet, glueing your eyes to the floor. There was something that felt so inherently disrespectful about looking at Price when he was like that. You’d never caught him in such a moment of vulnerability before. It was like seeing your father cry. 

“I think we’re on some kind of transport, a truck maybe,” you said quietly. “They probably have us on the move so that they can’t be infiltrated again.”

Price grunted, barely acknowledging you as he struggled piteously from his side of the tiny cabin. 

You tested your own restraints again, peering down at the cable ties that were painfully stretching around your wrists from over the scratchy blanket. The fabric was old and stained, a faint smell of fish emanated from it that you preferred not to think too much about. Nothing about the situation gave you any hope- it seemed awfully like you were the characters in the movie that wouldn’t make it. Maybe they’d give you both a few medals for your sacrifices.

You shivered at the thought.

“Have you tried to break the ties?” Price asked, pointedly breaking you out of your stupor. 

“I attempted it when I woke up, but I don’t have much strength,” you said. “My ribs feel fucked. They’ve bruised them, if they haven’t broken them all the way. Hurts to move.”

“Bloody mediaeval cunts!” Price cursed. “They must’ve been planning this for months now. We fucked ourselves listening to anything those animals had to say to us.”

“I guess we underestimated how far Rousseau was willing to go to get his brother back. All those other men too.”

“Didn’t count on a snake like him to get sentimental.”

“Well, he seems plenty sentimental. Got us back something bad for that little redecoration job we forced him to make,” you noted, seething as you tried to laugh off your predicament. 

“Some upgrade he got,” Price said sourly, “Wonder how the fuck he managed to set all this up. By all rights he should barely have any men left after what we’ve done.”

“I dunno, he had a whole lot of pick up trucks and a couple transports on the move. Probably had about one hundred men still loyal to him in just that group. No telling who else he has scattered around.”

“There were other trucks? I only saw two. The one that I was chasing and the one that came up behind us. How many did you see? Matter of fact, how’d you even end up here in the first place, Sneaky?”

You held your breath - though not for long. Your lungs still dully ached from doing that too much already. At the sound of the whooshing air leaving your body and bouncing off of the metal walls, Price immediately narrowed his one good eye. 

“What happened?”

“It’s…a long story,” you said quietly. 

“I have time,” Price snorted, looking around the cabin for effect.

You huffed out a breath at him and clutched at your side, feeling the pain shattering up your ribs like the crack of a whip. This was it. Who knew if you were going to live to even see the end of the day. You didn’t even know what day it was, or if it was even day time at all. You were finally going to tell him the truth.

“Me, Ghost and Soap were all tracking the trucks after they blew the old base. Gaz, König and Horangi went to exfil to try and regroup with the other teams. We were all supposed to reconvene and try to find you together but...we got held down by their forces and Soap took a bad hit to his leg.  I told Ghost to take him and go get the others. They didn’t make it in time though,” you said, voice cracking as you recalled the foggy events like a broken down projector.

“Why the hell would Ghost leave you by yourself against an entire force of men?” Price growled, body snapping to attention. 

“Because I forced him to.”

“Why?”

“Because they can go on and do some good, they’ll be able to avenge us and keep taking down the Rousseaus of the world. I wasn’t worth saving,” you said bitterly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare say that. Why the fuck would you say that, Sneak?”

The look in his eyes was enough to shatter a million hearts. His anger could’ve melted the walls down, it beat so palpably between you both. It only made you hang your head in shame to think you were going to disappoint him. To think that that fierce protectiveness was going to be overridden by disgust.

You couldn’t keep lying to him anymore. You couldn’t leave the world weighed down by your secret. 

“Because I was only going to be kicked off the team after this mission. I…I went against your orders. I’ve been seeing König for months now. The guys found out about the relationship. It wasted time and caused an argument that could’ve got us killed if we’d hung around the base much longer. I fucked up Price, I went against my word to you and I’ve only gone and gotten us killed! This is all my fault!”

You threw your head against the metal behind you, feeling the tears weigh you down like canon balls and sobbed. No matter how pathetic you felt, you were at a complete loss of control. Everything hurt, your throat constricted and dried like sand, the noises you emitted were barely human. 

It was all crashing down on you, the full weight of your cursed  fate coming to fall on your lap. 

This was all you deserved for going behind the team's back. You were probably going to die a slow horrible death, getting thrown in front of camera after camera until there wouldn’t be enough of you left to send back home. Every piece of you would be ripped away by whatever dark hole they chose to make a stop at, until you would become another part of the world’s fabric. Another soul for someone with willing hands to take.

Even despite that horrible line of thought, the thing that hurt you most was knowing that König would remember your last moments together spent in bitterness, and that would be all he’d have to hold onto. He’d think that you had turned on him again, he would be so full of hatred for what you’d done to him. You’d burst down his walls only to go and reinforce exactly why he’d had them in the first place. You wished you’d told him more than just that you’d loved him. You wished you could tell him that despite everything that had happened, he was worth it all, you loved every second that he shared himself with you. 

You would still rather walk willingly to your death a thousand times than put König or anyone else at risk. 

“...Sneaky. Hey! Are you listening to me…fuckin’ hell. Oi! Sneaky!”

Price’s voice somehow managed to break through the impassable swell of your emotion and soon his face was in front of yours, demanding to be looked at. You felt yourself frown, sniffling as you wondered how on earth he’d managed to shuffle all the way over to you in his condition. Even with his hands and feet tied, and his vision probably barely there, he had launched himself over to you and exploded through the barrier of your guilt. 

“Listen to me. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Breathe with me! In and out. In and out…”

You gulped sickened gasps of air and tasted the salt of Price’s body in the back of your throat. It didn’t matter though. You didn’t care that he, and probably you, fucking stank. It was just nice to have him there, bringing you back from the brink of a full on mental collapse. 

The same mental voice that had coached you through your torture, was the same that gruffly directed you now. Price always had your back. He didn’t let any of his soldiers go easily, and he had always tried to do his best for you. Even if you had spited him for keeping you from König, he was always going to be the man that felt like another father to you. 

“Sneak, do you really think that this is your fault?” Price asked, finally breaking from his instructional regime. “Do you think it really matters to me who you’ve been shagging right now? I need you to stay on the level with me here Sneak, you’re not to blame for any of this happening.”

“Why?” you asked, coughing harshly as your throat tried to adjust. 

“Why aren’t you to blame?”

“No, why aren’t you angry with me?” you wheezed.

You could hardly believe it. Your Captain was perched in front of you, a blanket barely covering his battered skin, and he was telling you that he was ok with the fact that you deliberately disobeyed an order. Had the torturers knocked a screw loose after all? You gawped him as if to convey just that. 

“We might very well die here. I’m not going to waste my last moments angry with you. Especially when the reason I warned you off of that man in the first place, was in case he got you killed…It already happened once. I already lost Alex to love on the field, I didn’t want to lose you too, not to a man with enemies in the numbers of god knows what. Now you’re trapped here with me because you were too stuck on your own guilt to save yourself. You didn’t fail me or anyone else. I failed you, Sneak,” Price affirmed, bowing his head in shame.

The rough spikes of his hair were glistening and the skin on the back of his neck was washed out by the pale white light. He looked like a ghost of himself already. You shivered and bit the flesh inside your cheek, trying to process everything that he’d said. 

Had you really been absolved? Just like that?

“Captain…”

He slowly lifted his head up and offered you a small smile, his grime speckled moustache lifting cartoonishly with it. You found yourself choking back your stupid tears and smiled at him in return, relaxing into the wall and soon into Price as he ambled to the wall and laid back with you, settling into your side. 

“On the off chance we do find a way to survive this, I need you with me, Sneak,” Price said, his hoarse voice buzzing through you. “You can’t check out on me, ok?”

“Is that an order, sir?” you deadpanned.

“Affirmative. And If you go against this one, just know that my Ghost is going to make your ghost move puddles and dig ditches in the afterlife. Got that sergeant?”

“Loud and clear, sir.”

-☠️-

“Do you understand what you’ve done! You are sending your precious special forces to their deaths! Know this; fellow brothers and sisters around the world,” Rousseau shouted, his voice booming off the dour cement walls. “Your government does not care about you, it is you the people that must rise up from nothing and take what is rightfully yours. I will continue to take down your soldiers until you give me back my family and allow us to take our territories without interference. Let's see how many deaths it will take until your governments take us seriously, uh!”

You winced as Rousseau grabbed you by the neck, though you could barely summon the strength to fight back. He’d taken you out from the transport and into dark deserted buildings more times than you’re sure that you can accurately collect. There was so little of you left anymore, you could barely hold onto your promise to Price. That last blow would be the one that ended you. 

You cast a weary eye over to Price, tilting your head slightly to your left, watching him as he struggled to stay upright. He’d been wheezing for days now. There was a time you’d become convinced he’d already died on you. You couldn’t really remember when that was. They hardly fed you or allowed you to drink. They didn’t want to deal with the toilet trips - or the open bucket trips more like. 

You’d both held on far longer than what you might’ve predicted, but now your time had run out.

You’d kept Price entertained with your stories about König, tried to force him to stay awake. After telling him a little about your relationship, they started flowing out of you like a great epic. You'd told him about the time you’d made him wear a bright floral surgical mask after he’d lost a bet to you, and then an old lady had approached him to say how stylish he was. You’d laughed till you’d fallen into a coughing fit when you remembered him surprising you back at your little apartment that you shared together with a rose in his mouth, and you’d had to clean the blood after he forgot to remove a thorn - he’d moaned for days about his stupid cut lip. You’d melted at the thought of him hugging you tightly after, not telling Price that König had huffed out to you in a pathetic whimper, telling you that he was sad he couldn’t kiss you with his mouth so sore. 

Oh, König.

You whined, closing your eyes as you watched Rousseau arcing his thick metal bar high above you. Rousseau was ready to strike, this was really it. For both of you. He was going to make Price watch his Sergeant die and then he would surely be next. 

You zoned out, falling back into the dark recesses of your mind.

Even if he was far away, it felt like König’s lips were whispering quietly in your ears. His spirit was with you, even if his form was elsewhere utterly devastated. 

Think of better things. Think of me, Schnuckiputzi, and how you’d threaten to slap me for calling you that. I love you.

There’s nowhere you can be sent to that I won’t find a way to reach you.

Just keep your eyes closed and think of me. 

Next Part Here

[olderthannetfic]

Although I agree that the Bechdel Test isn't the best way to wage if a film is feminist or not (remember that mess of Blue is the Warmest Color? Yeah), I do think it's a great way to highlight just how lazy some writers are, independently of their paycheck/time period they're writing in/many other historical and geographical factors.

We have very successful and praised writers who do this constantly, and have been doing so for their entire career (Christopher Nolan, Paul Thomas Anderson, Sam Mendes, etc), and no one thinks it's weird that we can get through 90~ movies of a story without these female characters either interacting with other female characters or that these two discuss something other than the male characters.

Sometimes these movies are delightful, technically superb, extremely well acted, but then I can't stop myself from going back and thinking about just how little women were in it, and how this very easily translates into how little consideration these screenwriters have of us. How forgettable we are, in their eyes.

I hate Tumblr's use of "X doesn't exist in a vacuum," but I do think it applies to these instances. Writing an entire script, which averages to 110 pages of story, and never noticing that there aren't two women with names who talk to each other isn't just something that comes out of nowhere (and, most times, I feel like the requirement for these writers to be able to pass the Test isn't even "Are there two women with names talking about something other than men?", but "Are there two women that aren't there just for the male characters?" It's basically a mixture of the Sexy Lamp Test and the Bechdel Test).

And, to conclude and pivot back to my main point about laziness: Tommy Wiseau's The Room passes the Bechdel Test; Lisa and her mother, Claudette, sit down and discuss Claudette's recent breast cancer diagnosis, as well as Lisa's employment situation. If a barely coherent movie written by a guy who didn't know what he was doing can pass it without issue, there is no reason as to why renewed, famous, extremely well-paid screenwriters can't do the same.

--

It's useful as a thought experiment, same as "Black people spoke X lines of dialogue in 2023 in [whatever]" type stats.

They're helpful because people go "Wait, how can it be that little???"

It's like all those experiments where people think women are "dominating" the conversation once there are over 30% women in the room or they're speaking 30% of the time or whatever it is. You knock people out of their unconscious bias with some hard numbers that get them thinking.

As long as we understand it as a "Wake up! The bar is in the floor!" thing about the whole industry and not a real test where a passing grade for a given movie means anything, it's fine. It's fine if some movies don't pass.

[lorcandidlucienwill]

Many people have a headcanon that the stranger who appeared at the Archerons’ door asking Papa Archeron to invest was Lucien, so I decided to write the scene! This is the first coherent thing I’ve written in ages so don’t judge me too hard😭 Also I have no idea what currency is used in acotarland so I’m using pounds because it’s based on Britain.

Lucien had not even seen a human house yet and he already felt like an outsider. He was no stranger to the feeling; it was how he’d felt when he’d first shown up in Spring, covered in his brothers’ blood, steam curling off his body from the fire in his veins, his ember smell and red hair both clear signs that he didn’t belong. However, at least, while his magic had felt weaker outside of his home territory, it had still felt potent. Even with Amarantha’s stupid curse. But here… By the Cauldron, this place was so dreary. So ordinary. If this was where Feyre had grown up, no wonder she was such an ignorant mortal fool. Her human life was so mundane compared to his. Lucien couldn’t imagine living here his whole life like this. 

Tamlin had offered to send an entire entourage to protect him, but Lucien had insisted that just a horse would do. He needed to look wealthy, not like a prince. He wasn’t going to be slain by two girls and their absentee father. Andras had only been killed because he had willed it. Lucien shut down that thought, not wanting to think about the pain he’d felt when Andras had died. His closest friend in Spring, most likely. Tamlin was his friend too, but he was also his High Lord; the relationship was inherently unequal, unlike with Andras.

At last, Lucien exited the forest. The clearing was even more boring than the trees. The ground was a yellowish-green reminiscent of dying grass, and every step was a loud crunch under the horse’s hooves. Pahhh. No wonder Feyre was half-dead when she’d first arrived. Then Lucien felt guilty for thinking that way. It wasn’t her fault the humans were left like this. Prythian before Amarantha had ample resources to help out the humans, but they hadn’t. They’d freed them from slavery to the Fae, only to make them slaves to their basest instincts. 

They were even worse off than the lesser faeries. Lucien’s eyes stung as he remembered Jesminda’s dream of an equal Prythian, the dream Tamlin was working hard towards. She would’ve loved Tamlin and the Spring Court. 

Calm down Lucien, he chastised himself as he urged the horse onward. Holy shit, Tamlin hadn’t exaggerated; these homes and buildings were tiny. He moved through bustling streets with little humans pushing carts full of wares of some kind. Several stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Excellent; he set himself apart plenty simply being astride this mare. 

As Tamlin had said, the Archeron home wasn’t hard to find. Mostly because of the lingering faerie scents that he followed all the way to their house. He didn’t remember human etiquette as it had been ages since he’d met one, but it couldn’t be that different from Faerie etiquette, right? Right?? Cauldron boil him, he should’ve done more research, but he didn’t think it would be that big a deal. Tamlin’s glamour magic that he’d cast as he kidnapped Feyre should hold, plus Lucien’s own glamour magic. 

He didn’t have anything to tie his horse to, so he gently descended the horse and led her near the side of the house, praying that she wouldn’t run. Then he knocked on the door, internally cussing at this infernal hat he was wearing. Some gentlemanly human fashion that he despised.

The door opened a minute later. Lucien looked down at a small woman who looked a lot like Feyre- only, her features were sharper, stronger. Her dirty blonde hair was up in a braided crown, her angled brows were arched as her silvery-blue eyes assessed him with a courtier’s precision. Lucien instantly recognized this one as Nesta- the older sister. Cold, cunning, and more beautiful than Lucien had expected. He gave her a practiced courtier’s smile as he bowed to her. “Hello, Lady. I was wondering if your father was home?” Nesta stared at him suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “What could you possibly want with him?” Another feminine voice in the background gasped, but Lucien maintained his smile, only replying, “He is a merchant, is he not, Lady? I have a proposition for him.”

“Our father hasn’t been a merchant in many years,” Nesta said coldly. Oh, she was a viper, alright. She’d fit right in at the Autumn Court. Unfortunately for her, Lucien had far too much experience with people worse than her. “Perhaps what I suggest will convince him to get back into it.”

Nesta looked him up and down again. Somehow, Lucien got the feeling that she could see through the glamour. Impressive. Lucien’s smile morphed into a smirk as Nesta continued to stare her displeasure. “See something you like, my lady?” Nesta’s eyes instantly snapped back to his. “How dare- oh just come in; let’s get this over with quickly.” 

Lucien bowed again, and unable to help himself, he sent a wink and grin Nesta’s way before he turned towards the man sitting on the chair. Lucien repressed his wince of sympathy at the ruined leg. That must have hurt a lot when he got it. He didn’t know the story, but it made Lucien’s face twinge in memory of his own eye getting carved out. “Does that hurt?” Lucien asked the man, nodding at the leg. The man blinked, as though surprised to be addressed. “Often,” he admitted. “Particularly when I try to stand up.” Unable to help himself, Lucien blurted, “I could give you supplies to help you with that, you know, Lord.”

The man cringed. “Please just call me Tristan. And I couldn’t possibly accept-“

“Please, Tristan. I insist. It’s just in my satchel here. Give me one moment.” He bowed to him and turned around, the scent of jasmine wafting into his nose. That’s when he saw her.

The younger sister: Elain. She had the same burnished gold hair of her sisters, but her eyes were wholly different; she had lovely doe eyes that you could drown in. She had a slight blush on her face, and she had an inviting smile on her face as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Won’t you tell us your name, my lord?” Lucien had fully intended on giving them an alias, but he fumbled on his words, instead saying, “I-my name is Lucien.”

“Lucien.” His name on her tongue-

“Pretty name for a pretty lord,” Elain teased, and Lucien felt his face heat up. His shirt sleeve sparked with fire, and Lucien hastily patted it down. Why was he so nervous? Elain wasn’t the first beautiful woman he had ever seen. “Why, um, thank you, Lady Elain.”

“How do you know her name?” Nesta cut in, and Lucien sighed. She was even worse than Feyre. He turned to her, letting that practiced smile return. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t know about the family of the man who I’m trusting with my money, did you?” Lucien tried not to laugh at the expression on Nesta’s face as he sauntered out of the cabin to get the faerie pain killer and tonic. He made a mental note to get new ones once he went back home. This man needed it more than him, and he could just get more when he went home.

 Thankfully, his horse was obediently standing near the side of the house, and Lucien rustled through his satchel, getting the two bottles he always kept on him. Then he strolled back towards the front door, knocking politely again. This time, the door was opened by Elain, who gave him that adorable smile again. “Lord Lucien.” Lucien gave her a real grin, replying, “Lady Elain.” “Please don’t worry about my sister. She can be a little…overprotective, but she means well, I promise.” Lucien lifted a hand to place on Elain’s shoulder assuredly before he remembered that humans were really weird about physical contact. 

“Rest assured, I understand your sister’s misgivings. I’m a strange man entering your home, and I know of the struggles ladies must go through in this world. I do not resent her for her attitude.” Elain beamed. “Does that mean you’ll visit us again?” While Lucien had been careful to avoid physical contact, it seemed Elain had no such qualms; she grabbed his forearm with her small, surprisingly strong hands. Lucien stiffened slightly in surprise. He was going to say no when he caught a glimpse of her expression and scented her mood. Her excitement was so contagious. “You seem a worldly man. Have you traveled much?” Lucien blinked. “Yes, I have.” He opened his mouth to say more, but his mind was blank. Cauldron boil him-

“Excellent! Then it’s settled then; you’re coming back so you can tell me all about your travels,” Elain said firmly. Lucien blushed again. Think of something intelligent to say! “As you say, my lady,” Lucien finally managed. Then the two of them walked back to her father, Elain’s hand still on his arm. Lucien felt Nesta’s glaring at it, but he didn’t care; he was glowing at her hand on him, and he was too giddy to wonder why. “Here it is, Tristan. When you feel pain, take two sips of this red liquid and your pain shall go away. Rub this purple liquid into your leg every day to help relieve the bones in that area. I shall leave them on this table.” Lucien placed them on the wooden table where he noticed Tamlin’s claw marks punched into the table. By the Cauldron, Tam. You went all the way with the theatrics, didn’t you?

“Now, for my request: I know of your reputation, so I am asking you to invest some of my money for me.”

Tristan inquired, “And how much do you wish me to invest, Lord Lucien?” “Twenty thousand pounds.” Elain gasped and Nesta moved to cover her younger sister’s mouth. Tristan stared at him in disbelief. “Twenty thousand? Really?” 

“Of course. Will that be a problem?”

“Well…it’s just so much money…”

Lucien resisted the urge to snarl at him. His patience was waning. “No, it’s nothing to me. Just a small sum to see what you can do. I’ll think of investing more if I am interested.” Tristan stared at him some more. “That sounds like a wonderful idea!” Elain exclaimed, walking forward as her sister tried to shush her again. “My father would be delighted to accept your investment, my lord.” Lucien sighed slightly in relief as Elain met his eyes. “Thank you,” he mouthed at her. She merely winked at him, and Lucien blushed again. Something was wrong with him; must be the human weather. 

“Erm, yes, of course I would,” Tristan said with slight confusion. “Father-“ Nesta began, but Lucien spoke over her. “Splendid! I could not be more grateful.” Lucien reached his hand into midair, searching for that small bag of gold Tamlin had given him and stored in the ether. At last, he found it, handing it to Tristan. “Here’s another token of my gratitude.” Tristan blinked, as if he could not possibly believe his luck, and Lucien handed him another back, this one with the twenty thousand pounds. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Tristan, and meeting your wonderful daughters.” He bowed to each of them in turn before exiting the room. 

“Wait!” Elain cried, just as Lucien mounted his horse. Lucien turned to Feyre’s sister. He tried not to get distracted by her big brown eyes as she said breathlessly, “You will come back, won’t you, my lord?” He hadn’t planned on it, no. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that to her. “I swear it, my lady Elain.” She grinned then, her fully smile so brilliant it took Lucien’s breath away. “Until then, my Lord Lucien.” 

That expression remained imprinted on Lucien’s mind all the way back to the Spring Court.

[jedimasterbailey]

WARNING! AHSOKA SHOW RANT DOWN BELOW! SPOILERS!

Furthermore, I’m going to be completely honest in this review so if you’re someone who truly enjoyed the show, you’re a Rebels stan, etc. then this post isn’t for you. Haters will be blocked immediately so take your negative energy elsewhere. You have been warned!

For everyone else, buckle up because I’ve got a lot to say and I’d love to hear your thoughts on this as well. All comments are welcome so long as they are respectful to everyone.

Okay, so now that the show is done for now. I’m going to be listing some major talking points. We’re there some aspects of the show that I enjoyed/appreciated? Absolutely! But overall, I’m leaving this show very disappointed, confused, and frustrated. The finale left me feeling empty and never have I personally been more silent after a Star Wars show. Now mind you I think this has a lot to do with the fact that I love Ahsoka’s character dearly as well as the Clone Wars and the prequels so there is bias here. Furthermore I am pretty indifferent with Rebels so going in knowing that the Ahsoka show wasn’t going to be…well about Ahsoka but rather a Rebels sequel, that already put a bad taste in my mouth and I was very nervous how this show was going to go and well…it was exactly what I expected from a Filoni/cheap Disney production. Without further ado, here’s a list of all my beef.

1.) Lack of a Coherent and Cohesive Story

So I’ve mentioned this in a previous post, but my main issue with Dave Feloni productions is that the story seems to be going all over the place and there’s a lot of moving parts that don’t necessarily meld well together. I often think to myself that Ahsoka is an example of a poorly written fanfiction brought to the screen. So the plot of the show initally was focused on Ahsoka bringing Ezra home. Okay, that’s simple, there’s many different ways we can make that cool and interesting but that’s not what happened here. We’re just filled with a ton of confusing information and we’re in for a very boring journey heading for a very anticlimactic and unsatisfying ending.

For starters, we the audience are informed that Ahsoka and Sabine had started an apprenticeship (which I have ALOT of issues with but that’s for another talking point) but they got into a tiff (which we never find out about and/or see) and now things are just depressing and weird between them. First of all, anyone who has seen Rebels KNOWS that Ahsoka and Sabine literally had very little to do with each other; I can’t recall a single conversation those two have had in the past, nor was it ever eluded to us that Sabine is Force sensitive.

Second we see that Hera and Sabine don’t have anything to do with each other for some reason? Which is weird considering all that’s happened and their history but okay suddenly Sabine, a grown ass 30+ year old woman is Ahsoka’s responsibility, which again why? We don’t get any background information, we’re just expected to accept and go with it.

Third, Ahsoka and Hyuang are reunited and working together immediately but again do we know how that became to be? No. We see none of that.

Fourth we are told that Morgan Elsbeth, a one off antagonist from the Mandalorian that Ahsoka fought is suddenly a Dathormirian woman even though she looks nothing like one besides her outfits in the show nor was that eluded to previously.

Fifth, we are introduced to these two new…I don’t even know what to call them “dark siders” “non Jedi” Shin and Baylan (who is apparently a former Jedi from the Clone Wars but did we see that or see how he knew Ahsoka and Anakin? No.) but we aren’t given any reason to care about them other than they’re in Ahsoka’s way of completing her mission. They end up being more like time fillers that anything else and end up walking away from the big conclusion. Like…why are they even in this show and why should we care?

Perhaps Dave Feloni has this big grand story in his mind but he’s so far up his own ass that none of us get to see this story. It’s like seeing a little kid play with their action figures and they’re super passionate about it but as a outsider you have no idea what’s going on. Now this isn’t good not only for the sake of good storytelling but it’s bad for business too.

Disney wants to make as much money off of Star Wars as they can. That’s extremely obvious. However here you have a show that isn’t going to pull in a casual Star Wars viewers (they would have to watch so much content to catch up on whose who and what is going on) nor is it really going to pull in fans of Clone Wars and Rebels because while they overlap, the fandoms are different and Feloni hasn’t done a good job melding those worlds together thus the divisive opinions on this show. This leaves for an incredibly small niche of people and honestly I think whatever toy sells they make from this show will do better than the actual ratings. I would be shocked if they greenlit for another season because I’m pretty done with this story as is many of the people who would be willing to watch.

All in all this is embarrassing how Feloni and the gang with all the money and resources can’t pull off a simple and epic show when there are thousands of unpaid fanfic writers that could pull off a much better story and build these beloved up characters, which leads into my next point.

2. The Characterizations of Ahsoka, Sabine, and Hera Are Bad

Now I have mentioned previously how much I love Ahsoka but damn it upon watching this show, she may as well be dead. Ahsoka has been given the Luke Skywalker treatment in that Ahsoka has been stripped of everything that made her lovable in Clone Wars and Rebels and is left as a sorry shell of who she once was. Her dialouge is hollow and lifeless not like the lively Ashley counterpart that made us all love Ahsoka in the first place. And no don’t give this “well she’s older now” bullshti excuse because Obi Wan Kenobi never lost his cheekiness and charisma as an old man, neither did Yoda, or Leia, etc. Just because you age doesn’t mean you have to be lifeless. Maturity does not equate to emotionless. Secondly for a woman whose well into her fifties and still acts very much like a Jedi Ahsoka’s views on the Jedi and their philosophy seem very warped and the audience is again left confused as to where she stands on the Jedi. I mentioned in a previous post how I couldn’t stand Ahsoka’s negativity towards the Jedi and how nobody seems to matter but Anakin (even though he’s put her through a ton of trauma and has tried to kill her as Vader) because it’s just so distasteful to the people who raised her and loved her that died by genocide no thanks to Anakin. Ahsoka has zero character development other than she seems to forgive Anakin for his wrongdoings despite the nonexistent apology. For a show that has her name on it, she sure is boring. Makes me miss Ashley and old Ahsoka even more.

As for Sabine I probably could write a whole thesis on how unlikeable she is but I’ll keep it short. One, I find it sick on Feloni’s part that he’s having a grown 30+ year old woman act like a teenager and be snarky with just about everyone. Ezra, who annoyed me immensely in Rebels, was WAY more mature and grounded. And again I’m sick and tired of the Mandalorian excuse of you getting to be an asshole because youre Mandalorian. Shut up. No one is above manners and decency. Sabine’s actions in this show have been far from Jedi like and thanks to her immaturity, she left Ahsoka for dead once and is indirectly responsible for the death of New Republic officers who were trying to stop this very dangerous mission that could possibly bring Thrawn and the Empire back ensuing more death and destruction of innocents. Ahsoka deserves to be angry with her for her words and actions, but of course Sabine gets a free pass and her bad behavior will continue to be enabled.

As for Hera…when did she become such a Karen? Just because you’re an officer doesn’t mean you get to abuse your power for your own personal agenda. That Senator was right about her. Finding Thrawn is a threat to the galaxy and using resources and putting lives at risk for it is a big deal. Hera was depicted as honorable and responsible in the Rebels series and I swear I was watching a different person on screen. Also she is a major Sabine enabler and that needs to stop. Sabine is grown and needs to grow up and fix her attitude.

3.) Anakin’s Role In the Show

Now don’t get me wrong, I love Hayden and I love Anakin, I have the dude tattooed on me for Force sake so don’t come at me for that, but I had some issues on how his character was used here. First, I’m tired of Ahsoka’s relevance to Anakin being the only defining trait about her. Second, I’m continuously annoyed by Anakin’s lack of accountability in these shows; he never once apologizes to Ahsoka for all that’s happened, he never once’s has a meaningful conversation with her; he just basically beats her down until she finally lets go of her past. Did I love the Clone Wars flashbacks! YES! They were my favorite part of the entire show and I want MORE of that; but I so wish Anakin could have been reflecting on his own actions with Ahsoka instead of being like “Is ThAt WhAt ThIs Is AbOuT?” Like come on 🙄

4.) Ahsoka’s “It’s Time To Move On” Line

Are you kidding me Ahsoka? There is still so much more to unpack with her past such as all the other relationships she’s had that completely changed her trajectory like BARRISS and REX and she could also be a mentor figure to Luke and Leia, etc. But nope the only thing that matters is getting over Anakin and all is well despite being stranded in another galaxy and Thrawn being unleashed back home. Like THIS IS NOT OKAY!

5.) The Cheap Ass Production of this Show

I’m not normally one to comment on production but it was so obvious in this show how many corners were cut. For one characters like Thrawn look god awful. Dude looking like a blue Elon Musk instead of an intimidating villain. The use of fog and the volume were very obvious and the places we went to were so boring minus the red leaves forest. The worlds of Star Wars used to be so cool and otherworldly but that’s not the case nowadays and it’s sad. Also why does Force ghost Anakin look better in the 2000’s than it does now? I prefer quality over quantity so I really wish Disney would quit churning out these cheaply made productions and have the audacity to rise their Disney plus subscriptions and not pay their people well.

6.) THE RACISM

I’m so fucking tired of this y’all! 🤬 of course make the Jewish actor in the shipyard be greedy and power hungry. Of course make the Asian Senator the asshole and not any of the white protagonists. The antisemitism and racism against POC is unacceptable to me and it should be unacceptable to you too.

Conclusion

I’m sure I’m missing some talking points but these are my biggest grips and as an Ahsoka fan I’m disappointed. Being a miserable Jedi not Jedi responsible for bringing a new evil into the galaxy but being content being stranded in another galaxy is not the future I believe Ahsoka deserves and I sincerely hope they don’t continue this story. It’s just bad all around. Except for the Loth cats… the Loth cats can stay. And Clone Wars flashbacks.

[rusquared]

drabble idea so i can enjoy the act of sharing my thoughts without the time investment of writing shit down:

han sooyoung stopped writing. she couldn't hold a pen with the same careless ease anymore. not after everything that her own hands had caused. she can grade essays and she'll even bicker with dokja about the quality of the random books he picks up. but she won't write. she still flinches when joonghyuk brushes past her and is so real. she won't write.

joonghyuk pisses her off, as usual, about something or the other. in return she leaves a sticky note on top of an embarrassing gift for him. something petty and annoying. joonghyuk tries to ignore her. so she starts leaving them on his door. "yjh is a bastard" "supreme king, 33, unemployed" etc. they increase every week and yjh, for all his cleanliness, never removes them.

sometimes she gets risky. "yoo joonghyuk will do as i, han sooyoung, command". she pretends she didn't already do this to him in two separate worldlines. "today, the supreme king shall make tteokbokki for the black flames empress" "tonight, the supreme king shall not complain about the dishes being done" "this week, the supreme king will not say no to karaoke night"

something about referring to him in the 3rd person is funny, and she keeps it up. but she finds herself leaving sticky notes in her room, too. "what does it mean to be an actor?" "young girl. creates underground fight club" "what's a good magic system in a world based in space?"

han sooyoung never prided herself for creativity, or passion. she just knew how to write, and how to write well (ignoring the one time she wrote in the sloppiest, most verbose, and most passionate way possible). so these little notes don't mean anything to her. it's nothing of note. the view from the window just looked interesting this afternoon. "kim dokja still uses government name in online forums" "yoo sangah -> sadist? enjoys arguing with senators" notes. notes. notes. she's just making observations, is all.

without the avatar skill, and with the system barely there, her mind is quiet. no predictions being made. whatever plot comes to mind is no longer the most probable or best written.

one day, dokja bursts into her room to complain about something or the other. she's asleep at her desk. in front of her, the wall is a rainbow of colors. dokja can't peel his eyes away. what he had always reached for. what none of the other books, as good as they were, could give him. tls123's writing.

it's disjointed and mixed, multiple plot ideas picked up and dropped, no coherent order to it all. but he gathers as many as he can without her noticing, and tiptoes to his room. joonghyuk, watching from the doorway, says nothing. he places the tea he had prepared next to sooyoung's sleeping figure and covers her with a blanket.

when sooyoung slips into dokja's bedroom on another sleepless night permeated by what if he's not there?, she freezes. he has placed all the sticky notes he could gather on his own wall. lovingly arranged in order. some even having miniature sticky notes of their own with his thoughts and questions. the boy so hungry for her stories went ahead and pieced them together on his own. han sooyoung won't write again. but kim dokja will always be her #1 reader.

[the-ragbros-are-okay]

okay so i'm STILL thinking about the hidden strife event btw. and the symbolism between diluc keeping the letters from kaeya out in the open where he can see them, and the fact that he kept ALL the letters

every single one.

do you think that while he was away from mondstadt, sheltering from the biting wind in shenznaya, he thumbed between the few letters he had and committed them to memory? do you think he sat there, with all the time in the world to think about what happened, and about what he could've done differently? do you think he took special care to not let any of his tears fall onto the letters, just in case the ink smeared and became unreadable? do you think that the second diluc got the chance to write back, he stared at the parchment for what seemed like forever, mind filled with words and apologies that refused to be written down?

how often do you think diluc doubled checked his mail after arriving back in mondstadt? how long did diluc stay up at night before finally writing "take care of yourself, instead." ?

and kaeya,,,

kaeya, who keeps everything close to his chest, hidden away in a corner only he knows. how often do you think kaeya slipped onto the roof of the KoF HQ before diluc had responded to his letters, his fingers gently tracing over the shells he kept tucked in a pouch. do you think he looked around every corner with the hopes of seeing diluc, only to be disappointed every single time when he wasn't there?

when diluc still hadn't returned, and yet he'd sent a letter anyway, how quickly do you think kaeya rushed to hide it away with his other treasures? how many times did he read that letter, committing it to memory while diluc did the same thing miles and miles away?

do you think, in that moment, kaeya finally felt hopeful?

anyways, i have a lot of thoughts about them now that i'm a little more coherent about that event (it took like eight months holy shit) (and i'm STILL mentally unwell??? wtf)

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

…i would like to request a Stewy Hosseini smut with the prompt "You like it when I'm mean to you?"

Needy.

24. "You like it when I'm mean to you?" + 33. "Been thinking about you all day."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested. i've had so many stewy requests, oh my. i love writing this gorgeous man!! think i got a little feral creating this one. combined two requests here!!

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! cursing. mean stewy needs his own warning too.

Word Count - 1028

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

The minute he steps foot in the front door, you're on him.

He's all you've thought about all day. His big hands, rough palms, long fingers. His broad chest, strong shoulders, muscular back. His calculating eyes, soft beard, clever mouth. He's indoctrinated your thoughts. He's positively ruined you.

You're convinced you've spent hours today just staring into space, dreaming about him. What is he doing right now? Is he thinking of me too? Is he replaying the events of last night in his head just like I am?

You're surprised you've lasted all day. At one point, you were ready to put on your shoes and march over to his office, demanding that he take you right there and then. Instead, you rewatched the videos you'd filmed together, and allowed your blood to run hot with anticipation. You vowed you weren't even going to let him take off his coat before you jumped him.

He steps through the door and you're lunging at him, smashing your lips to his with vigour. He's slightly taken aback, almost stumbling, before he grabs your hips and steadies you both. You're whining into his mouth, pressing yourself against him as if you haven't seen him for 8 months rather than 8 hours.

"Hello to you too, honey," he chuckles against your lips. "What's gotten into you, huh?"

You can't answer him coherently. All you can focus on is the way he smells, his scent enveloping you and making you crazy.

You simply whinge in response, pawing at his jacket to try and get it off. You push it from his shoulders, and immediately work on unbuttoning his shirt.

"Look at you, pretty girl," he coos. "Always so desperate for me, aren't you?"

You're nodding frantically, going insane because your hands are shaking with need and you can't get his shirt off. You want to feel his warm skin, the hair that covers his chest, the way his muscles tense beneath your fingers. You need him more than you need to breathe.

"You want me to help you?" he teases condescendingly. "Has my baby gone so stupid she can't even get my shirt off?"

Stewy is mean. Plain and simple. Sure, he's soft with you. His tender, sweet, loving side is reserved for you and you only. Kisses on the forehead, opening doors, always holding your umbrella in the rain. He's a sweetheart in everyday life. But when he's riled up, when arousal replaces the blood running through his veins? He's ruthless.

You're panting, vibrating with need. You abandon his shirt and decide to pull your underwear down and off, shoving them into the pocket of his trousers. You pull your shirt over your head, allowing him to take in the sight of your heaving chest. He licks his lips, and places his hands on your waist.

"What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

His tone is so sickly sweet, it almost makes your blood run cold. You love it when he gets like this - patronising and cruel. It gives you a glimpse of business Stewy, the Stewy that everyone else sees.

"You," you finally sputter. "You, Stewy, need you."

"You've got me, baby. I'm right here, aren't I?" he's teasing you mercilessly, reveling in seeing you so needy.

"Please. Wanted you all day. Been thinking about you all day. Please."

He laughs at you, and it sends a shudder straight down your spine. It shouldn't turn you on as much as it does.

He gives in slightly, and moves his hand between your legs. When he feels how you're dripping down your thighs, he groans, deep and gutteral.

"Oh, honey," he sneers. "This is kinda pathetic. Haven't even touched you and you're soaked."

His tone makes your knees buckle. He spins you so you're the one pressed against the wall, and grabs you by the thighs to pick you up. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, your slick soaking the material of his dress pants.

"Use your words, pretty girl. Tell me what you want."

You buck your hips, attempting to find some friction. Stewy grabs your ass and stills you, holding you so you can't move.

"Fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please."

He's never been able to resist you when you beg. In one fluid movement, he's unbuttoned his pants and slid home inside you, filling you up the way you've been imagining all day.

He cants his hips upwards, setting a steady rhythm. He watches your face carefully, never taking his eyes off you. All you can hear is the sound of skin on skin, and the way the two of you are panting. He brushes a certain spot inside you, and the moan you release is borderline pornographic.

"Yeah? Right there, honey?" he teases.

When you don't reply, he slows the movement of his hips, coming to a complete stop.

"Answer me when I ask you a question. Have you gone stupid, baby, is that it? Have I made you dumb?"

You whine in response, but he keeps mocking you, condescension dripping from his tone.

"My dumb baby. My pretty, stupid girl."

You clench around him at his words, the insults just turning you on more.

"Oh, honey. You like it when I'm mean to you?"

Miraculously, you find your voice.

"Yes, fuck. Yes. I love it, Stewy."

You're practically crying, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks if he doesn't start moving again.

"And so she speaks. Good girl. That's all I wanted."

He thrusts up into you again, harder and faster this time. It doesn't take long before you're tightening around him, throwing your head back against the wall as you reach your high. You're whining his name, and it sends him over the edge with you.

You both stay connected, sweaty foreheads pressed together as you take heaving breaths in and out. Suddenly, you start giggling.

"What?" he asks curiously. "What's so funny, huh?"

"Just thinking about how you're kind of a sadist," you tease.

"And yet you love me anyway," he retorts, grinning as he kisses you.

"I do," you reply. "So much."

stewy tag list -

@616wilsons

@isuspectitwasthenargles

@justacaliforniandreamer

[the-s1lly-corner]

Give me the GOODS

Angst

What would happen if eyeless jack didn't eat for a REAAALL long time, like he put it off and that back fired.

Bc his s/o happened to come around at the wrong time, and got attacked by him (accidentally)

If they live or die, that's up to you. But what do you think?

Aftermath of Eyeless Jack accidentally harming the reader during a frenzy

two things; idk how to title this andddddd i already wrote something like this a few months ago but i think im going to add more to it! beware linked post is very badly written because ! uhuh! anyways errrrm jack being an involuntary vessel for some funky demon shit my beloved hc anyways obvious cw for mentions of. well jack harming the reader on accident; in this post and the one linked above first post of the new year and its angst

assuming this is right after the events of the linked post, or within the days following that i think he would bar you from entering his cabin not long after he gets his... "meal"

emotions are definitely running high in this one, even if he tries not to show it. i mean you were the one he decided to bite a chunk out of, he doesnt care that he immediately spit it out. he didnt care that he scraped his tongue clean that night. in his eyes (or rather, his empty sockets) what he did was truly unforgiveable and he always feared something like this would happen

all of the reassurances you gave him now meant nothing now

honestly i think this might be grounds for him to break up with you; you did nothing wrong. hes putting all the blame on himself

torn between him having the balls to break up with you to your face or if hes going to pussy out and tell you through the door when you try to ask him to let you in

hell if it comes down to it he might even migrate to a new area if you keep trying to come to him and try to talk things out

heres the thing i talk a lot about how jack hates himself and how he was tricked into this whole botched human sacrifice thing that made him the way he is now. but i dont talk much about just how much he hates himself and how much of a toll that takes on his mental health

i mean think about it, overtime his humanity is literally slipping from him and theres nothing he can do. his 'blood frenzies' as i like to call him are eventually going to get worse and more frequent. not to mention hes going to keep losing more of his human features as time goes on. can you imagine what that does to someone? one day hes going to forget who you are and its going to end in disaster; assuming youre still alive and well when that happens... be it because he simply outlives you thanks to his new pseudo-immortality or worse

im kind of getting off topic but the point is hes going to sit in those thoughts and feelings for a LONG time, really for as long as hes still capable to form a coherent thoughts that isnt about his next meal

like the last post had at least a little bit of hope that maybe you guys will be able to move forward, but the more that i think about it i dont think you guys can bounce back from it. at least jack cant. doesnt matter how much you try to tell him its okay, or how many times you reassure him. if you dont scar its not going to help at all

but if the wound does scar? oh boy thats just going to make him sink deeper into his thoughts, probably making him lean more of cutting himself out of your life

no happy endings for you guys the moment this man slips up around you

[sincerely-sofie]

Hi! This may come across as a dumb question, but I wanted to write my own PMD:EoS fic, but I’m kind of lost on how I want to organize my thoughts and the plot. Additionally, I get new ideas and then I end up struggling with what I want to do. How did you organize things for your story?

This isn't a dumb question at all! It's something I've struggled with for a long time as a writer, and I'd be happy to share what I've come up with to solve my fight with story organization! I’ll try to speak coherently, but this is something I’m really passionate about, so I might ramble a bit, haha. Keep in mind that this is what works for me, and what will work for you may be very different. Take from this post what serves you well and ditch the rest :> 

Organizational Tools

You can use pretty much anything to organize your story— I’ve used everything from loose printer paper in storage clipboards to expansive Google Docs that are hundreds of pages long in the past. But what I’ve found that really works for me is an app called Notion. You may have heard of it— it’s really popular with productivity enthusiasts and small business owners, but it works like a dream for organizing creative projects! There’s a bit of a learning curve, but you can find a lot of templates out there for free that work really well if you don’t want to set things up yourself.

This is how my Notion page for TPiaG was set up:

The “Cheat Sheets” dropdown list was full of character sheets, links to Bulbapedia articles I’d refer to while outlining or writing, and also my completed outline. “Fun Stuff” was full of memes and jokes about the characters, an empty page that I’d start filling once I received kind comments on my fic, as well as ideas for additional stories relating to the AU— stuff like oneshots and possible sequels or diverging AUs. Fun fact: this is where I first wrote down my idea for The Present is a Gift: Paradox Edition AU!

“Chapters to Write” and “Chapters I’ve Written” were dropdown lists where I divided my outline into little sub-dropdown lists in “Chapters to Write”, and everytime I wrote a chapter, I would move it over to “Chapters I’ve Written”. Nothing is as reassuring when you’re stuck in the middle of writing a nearly 60k word fanfic as seeing the chapters slowly migrate to the right.

Organizing the Story

Outlining is a big part of my organization process, so I’ll be talking a fair bit about it. The first part of any story is your premise / core idea (it sounds like you’ve already got some of your own, so I won’t discuss coming up with those). The next step is brainstorming what you want to revolve around that premise. I already knew the characters fairly well, so what I did for TPiaG is write out a bunch of ideas for scenes on scraps of notebook paper and start arranging them on a table in different ways. I eventually settled on an order of events (many of which ended up cut for clarity in the actual fic), and then I started structuring them into chapters. 

How I structure chapters is inspired by the Kishotenketsu structure that is used fairly often in Asian storytelling. I divide each chapter into 5 parts: an Introduction that provides a starting point for the chapter, Development that builds on and adds context or tension to the introduction, a Twist that causes a new perspective on either the situation, characters, or something else in the story, a Resolution that helps wrap things up in a satisfying way, and then a Hook that leads the reader to want to read the next chapter. This is a structuring method that works way better for me than the Three Acts or the Hero’s Journey— I prefer the stronger focus on character vs. plot— and so I try to use it as often as possible. Here’s an example from my outline (if you’ve read TPiaG, you may notice some differences between it and the actual published chapters of the fic! It’s chapter 4 instead of chapter 3, for one thing!)

Organizing Characters

I’ll be honest— I didn’t fill out character sheets like I should have for this project. I kind of just went with the flow as I wrote them. Twig and Grovyle are the only characters who got sheets at all, and Grovyle still only got a half of one. However, I do have a blank copy of a character sheet I can share as reference!

I think most of this is pretty self-explanatory— but if anyone wants clarification on anything or what goes into the individual note sections, let me know! This is what the topmost part of Twig’s character sheet bio looks like: 

The Torment of the Human Mind, or: How to Deal with Idea Overload

This is an ongoing struggle for me. I’ve mentioned having ADHD in the past, but it really turns idea generation and shiny object syndrome into a purgatory of unspeakable proportions. Before TPiaG, I had never finished a creative project because I would constantly ping-pong back and forth between newer and funner ideas, inevitably abandoning WIPs, come back to them for a few weeks at a time, and then dart off to the next thing. This feels awful because you never finish anything when you’re stuck in this cycle, and having all those ideas as open tabs in your brain is exhausting. 

My greatest advice for figuring out what you want to do and then doing it? Figure out a fun idea— maybe not the funnest idea, but an idea you enjoy and can create with your current skills and a good helping of hard work— and then commit to it with a story priority hierarchy. Every time you want to work on another idea, you have to work on the idea you committed to first for 30 minutes (or a different block of time, whatever works for you!). After that allotted time is up, you’re free to work on whatever other projects you like— but you have to start at the top of the priority hierarchy. That way, you still get work done on your #1 project, but you’re not restricted to it. 

Alternatively: Write until that priority project is done. You can make notes on ideas, you can make Pinterest boards for them, and you can make playlists— but you can only write for your priority project. I’d recommend doing this with a deadline in mind. Something like Camp NaNoWriMo or a similar month-long challenge. Novelty is an important part of my workflow! I get it. But for some people, bouncing back and forth between ideas is detrimental to their ability to focus / write, and committing to a single project at a time is extremely beneficial. I thought that I was someone who needed total freedom to work on any of my projects, but it turns out that being handcuffed to a project and a word count goal for a month was exactly what I needed to finish my first ever complete manuscript.

Yikes, this was a lot. I hope I answered your question well enough. If not, ask again and give me another shot! I love talking about creativity, and I would be overjoyed to help you create however I can.