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whatitshouldvebeen · 1 month

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(no idea if these even go through, first time pls be patient with me) i’ve been going through your blog for a few days and i am loooving it omg i love the way you write so much! i was wondering what you would think would go down when,

a victim using reader as bait to let the victim go

a victim hurting reader (mistook as a family member) or

A victim dragging reader out an exit to escape also (thinking she’s another person trapped there) please don’t feel like you have to answer all, (or even answer at all) you have your own life and you can make your own decisions in life :) 👋

A Dog's Loyalty

I wrote this as a combo of all three requests of yours!

Description: Ana tries to escape with you, but you don't want to leave

Warnings: blood, injury

"Oh my god, Leland, there's someone else in here!"

You looked up at her, your eyes wide. You were huddled in the corner of Johnny's shack, frozen in place. It had been months since you saw another person; you'd almost forgotten anyone but Johnny truly existed.

"Don't worry, hun, we'll get you out. My name is Ana, what's yours?" the young woman asked, working to untie the rope from around your ankle. She had the most beautiful tan skin, her dark hair matted with sweat but still cascading in pretty waves down to her shoulders. The guy she'd called Leland kept watch, peeking out of the cracked front door anxiously.

You hesitantly told her your name, and she smiled as she helped you up from the floor. "I think our friend Julie already unlocked the front gate. We just have to get there without getting caught."

Leland signaled that the coast was clear, sliding through the crack in the door. Ana waited for you to go, and you marveled at how easy it was to get through now. You'd been here so long you'd lost a lot of weight since the first time you'd been sneaking around trying to escape.

You're almost blinded by the light as you emerge on the other side. How long had it been since you'd been outside? You couldn't even remember. Months? A year? Longer?

Ana came out after you, and not long after the three of you heard a chainsaw revving. Ana pulled you into some tall grass while Leland ran away from the exit, drawing the attention of the man you'd heard Johnny refer to as "big boy," who yelled in outrage as he chased after him.

"Come on, now's our chance!" Ana said, grabbing your hand. You stumbled after her, not used to running after so long locked away.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

The voice stopped you in your tracks, only a few feet from the gate. Ana looked at you incredulously and tried to pull you toward the gate.

"Come on! He's coming!!" She screamed, tugging at you. You stayed rooted in place, your ears burning.

"Be a good girl and stay right where you are." Johnny rounded the corner of the white picket fence, walking so slowly you probably could get away if you started running. But you didn't.

"Oh my god, you're one of them, aren't you?!" Ana accused, pulling your back against her chest. She took out a bone scrap and held it to your neck, her breathing erratic.

"Let me and Leland go, or I'll kill her!" Ana said, pressing the scrap against your neck and backing up toward the gate. You winced, but it wasn't anything new to have a sharp edge threaten your life.

Johnny stopped, his eyes narrowing.

"'Fraid I can't do that. Your friend is already in the basement being chopped up as we speak."

Ana swallowed harshly. "You piece of shit! You're lying!"

Johnny grinned. "Stick around fer dinner and I'll let you see him again, all dressed in some nice gravy ‘n chitlins."

Ana's tears fell on your shoulder as her back ran into the gate. Johnny stayed where he was, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Johnny," you whispered, trying not to move.

"Obviously, she wants to stay. Keep her," Ana said, shoving the gate open. She then took the bone scrap and jabbed it into your thigh, throwing you to the side.

You screamed as you fell to the ground, blood welling around the bone scrap. Johnny let out a feral growl before lunging, moving faster than you'd ever seen him move.

"Help me!" Ana screamed, running out onto the road. Johnny moved twice as fast, fueled by rage as he grabbed her around her midsection. He didn't hesitate before dragging his blade across her throat, her blood fanning out through the air and splattering on the road. He let her drop to the road, discarded, and you heard him run back through the gate.

He collected you in his arms, sitting on the dusty ground and holding you close.

"Are you okay baby?" He asked, gently stroking your hair from your face. He looked down at your leg and winced, the first time you've ever seen him queasy at the sight of an injury.

You nodded, though your face was pallid and your fingertips felt cold.

"I… need a bandaid…"

Johnny laughed and nodded. "I'll get ya one. Come on." He picked you up easily, cradling you against his chest. Instead of taking you to his shack, he brought you into Nancy's house for the first time. Once inside he laid you out on the dining room table, much like the meals they'd served over the years.

He rushed to the bathroom and brought back gauze.

"This is gonna hurt sugar. Here." He unbuckled his belt and put it between your teeth. "Bite down on this, alright?"

You nodded, and he smiled. "Good girl. One… two…" He then yanked the bone scrap from your thigh.

You wailed, more thick blood oozing out onto the table. Johnny poured alcohol over the wound, making the pain almost unbearable. He then, as quickly as he could, wrapped your leg in gauze. You felt your vision getting fuzzy as you began to fade. But then, Johnny leaned over the table, took his belt back, and kissed you.

Your heart instantly picked up, and your eyes focused on him as he pulled back, his cocked grin on his handsome face.

"You showed your loyalty today, sugar. I knew you were special." He kissed you again, and even though your arms were weak you still wrapped them around his neck. When he pulled back, he looked happier than you'd ever seen him.

"Welcome to the family."

#johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre game #tcm #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny slaughter x reader #fanfiction

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bokutosbiceps · 11 months

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activities

gojo satoru x f!reader | fluff + smut | 2.9k words

summary: you may or may not have forgotten about reservations that satoru made for your first anniversary…but you find something better at home anyways.

warnings: cursing (both in dialogue + narrative), ass groping, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex (male receiving + female receiving), multiple orgasms, vaginal/penetrative sex

a/n: it took everything in my power to not make gojo’s nickname jojo. we’ll call him satoru…for now 😉 also i think this is the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written. i’m going to confession tmrw.

18+ MDNI

The sun felt so nice on your legs that you had pushed your cozy blanket aside and changed into shorts before laying back out on the couch, resting your laptop on your tummy and scrolling absently through various social media sites and articles that piqued your interest.

Satoru had gone to Jujutsu High to “tie up some loose ends” so he could come back to your place early to spend the rest of the evening with you, since it was your very first anniversary. One year with the idiot, and you had never been happier.

A gentle vibration on your butt brought you out of your social media daze and you arched your back to fish your phone out of your pocket. You answered the call, you already knew who it was.

“Hey, schnookums.” Satoru lilted, drawing out the disgusting pet name for emphasis. You frowned.

“I thought we agreed you would stop calling me that, Gojo-san.” You drew out his last name to bother him. He whined.

“Baby, I told you not to call me that! You sound like one of my students.” Satoru’s cheery tone returned. “Fine, I’ll stop calling you schnookums. How about…sweetie? Sweetheart? My love? My everything?”

“What happened to babe? Baby?”

“We’ve been a couple for a year and you know what they say about relationships after the first year…it’s all downhill from here.”

“Do they even say—?”

“Anyways, I thought new nicknames would spice things up a bit!” You could practically hear Satoru smiling over the phone. You figured he was heading back to your place since you could hear the throaty roar of his car as he no doubt was speeding down the roads in Tokyo, after “tying up his loose ends”. You knew this meant he had had another meeting with Yaga, to discuss his behavior. He was just as much a troublemaker as any of his students, probably even moreso.

“I will continue to call you babes. You can call me whatever you like…as long as it’s not—”

“Late for dinner!” Satoru laughed, you heard him snap in the background and just knew he had thrown up finger guns at the road. You dragged your hand down your face, smiling nonetheless.

“I was gonna say as long as you don’t call me schnookums.” You sat up a little bit, adjusting your laptop on your tummy and continuing to scroll absentmindedly. “Also, keep your hands on the wheel. Could you imagine if you died in a car accident because you were doing finger guns at nothing?” You giggled a little bit.

“Wah, you know me too well, sweetheart!” Satoru chuckled. “Anyways, I'll be by you in about ten. Be ready, okay? I love you.” You mumbled a reciprocation and ended the call, pushing your phone back into your pocket and diving back into the virtual world.

Barely five minutes later, you jolted as the front door opened and Satoru bolted into your apartment, making a beeline for the bathroom down the hall. He placed a quick kiss on your forehead before continuing his race to the bathroom.

“I just have to use the bathroom real quick then we can—” Satoru stopped, hand on the bathroom door knob, staring at you. “What are you doing?”

“I was just waiting for you to get back?” You closed your laptop and sat up straight, relishing in the sight of him. He was wearing a white button up with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black dress pants, and his dark shades. This was his usual outfit when he wasn’t wearing Jujutsu High’s uniform or casual streetwear, but he still looked delectable.

“I told you to be ready.” He chuckled and shook his head, entering the bathroom. You waited for him to come out and watched him as he approached the couch and peered down at you over his shades. “What am I gonna do with you, babycakes?”

“Can you please fill me in on what’s going on?” You stared up at him, wide eyed and bottom lip jutting out just a touch. Satoru couldn't even pretend like he was mad at you.

“It's our one year anniversary.” He started slowly, you nodded, pressing him to continue. “I told you about those reservations I made at that Sugar Factory place downtown. Y’know, the place where they, like, blow sugar to make it look like glass but it's totally edible! They bring out these huge parfaits with sparklers in ‘em and all the waiters sing and dance—”

You reached up and grabbed Satoru’s hand, squeezing it tightly to signal to him that you got the memo. He pauses and looks down at you sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, honey, I totally forgot. I thought we’d be spending the night in. We just went to that super fancy sushi place last week. I thought that was to celebrate this!”

“Nah, that was just cuz I love you. I wanted to take you out, show you off…y’know.” Satoru smiled at you gently. “Anyways, you're not dressed and the reservation’s in, like,” Satoru checked his watch, “ten minutes.”

He looked semi-disappointed, which absolutely wrung your heart out. You wanted to hug him. You tugged on his hand to bring him closer but he flopped down on top of you, causing you to huff out a breath of air. He giggled.

“It's okay, sweetheart. We can go for our two year anniversary!” He sat up on his knees and placed his hands on either side of your head. “You got any ideas as to what you wanna do tonight instead?” His shades started to slide down his nose so you plucked them off his face and set them on the coffee table.

“We could order in? I'll pay. We'll get that really gross yakisoba from that little hole in the wall joint you love so much.” You placed your hands on his cheeks and brought his face closer to yours and placed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “As for activities, I’m down for whatever you wanna do.”

Satoru smiled mischievously, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you. He thought for a moment before smiling again. “You.”

“What?” A hot blush spreads across your nose, cheeks, and down your neck as Satoru leaned down, pressing his nose to your cheek. He pressed a kiss to it before moving to the other cheek and doing the same.

“You asked if I had any activities I wanted to do, and I said you.” He mumbled against your skin before moving to your lips and sucking on your bottom lip. He slid his tongue past your parted lips and sealed his lips to yours, running his hands down your waist, hips, and thighs to come back up and squeeze your ass.

Your hands immediately found their way to his hair and started to tug and your legs moved on their own to wrap around his waist as you returned the kiss, much to Satoru’s delight.

Satoru broke the kiss, leaning only a few centimeters away from your face. You could feel his breath fanning against your face as the two of you caught your breath and stared at each other. Without much warning, Satoru hoisted you up by your ass and slung you over his shoulder. As he marched to the bedroom, he dug his fingers underneath the crotch of your shorts and panties to slide his fingers in between your pussy lips.

“Satoru!” You squeaked, fully not expecting the sudden contact against your cunt. He smirked in satisfaction at how much of your arousal he had been able to gather on his fingers in just one swipe, inspecting the slickness that you had left on his fingers before cleaning it off with his tongue.

“So much sweeter than anything we could’ve had tonight, don’t you think?” Satoru lilted as he laid you down on the bed, pressing your back into the mattress as he kneeled above you. “Oh, how rude of me, you didn’t get a taste.” With that, Satoru expertly slid your shorts and panties off your body in one smooth motion before returning his fingers to your pussy, dipping them in and out until he had gathered a good amount of your arousal.

“Open wide, sweetheart.” He cooed, smearing your slickness against your lips. You opened your mouth obediently and sucked on his fingers, earning a moan of satisfaction from Satoru. He watched you hungrily, palming himself through his slacks as he pushed his fingers further down your throat, trying to make you choke. Another moan of pleasure escaped his throat as he watched tears spring into your eyes and felt your throat close around his fingers. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and got to work on undoing his belt.

“I wanna choke on your cock, Satoru.” You begged, trying to help him take off his clothes. He grabbed your hands with one of his hands and placed sweet and gentle kisses to your wrists before placing them in your lap.

“Patience, love. Why don’t you work on taking that top off, hmm?” You obeyed him immediately, gripping the hem of your sweatshirt and bringing it up and over your head. Satoru felt his cock grow even harder as he watched your tits bounce out from underneath the confines of your sweater. He quickly disposed of his pants and underwear, only able to get to the third button on his shirt by the time you had gripped the base of his cock and taken his shaft into your mouth.

His hands flew to the back of your head and pushed you down his shaft further until your nose was pressed against his pelvis. His hips jerked slightly as he felt your throat close around his cock and saw your body tremble slightly as you choked. He sighed, it couldn’t get much better than this. But, yes, it could.

He gently pulled you off of his cock and shivered at the sight of your lips forming a small ‘o’ around his tip right before you parted from him. You watched him expectantly, waiting as he undid the last of the buttons on his shirt and flung it somewhere in the bedroom. He laid down on the bed and beckoned for you to come over to him. You crawled over his body and sat on his abdomen, smearing your wet pussy against his skin.

“Turn around, honey, lemme take care of you while you blow me.” Satoru made a twirling motion with his finger, his eyes filled with amusement and a smirk playing on his lips. You obeyed him for the third time that night and lifted your ass in his face to give him a full view of your pussy while you licked up the underside of his shaft. You circled his tip with your tongue and faltered a bit when you felt Satoru stuff three of his fingers into your cunt, spreading them out against your walls. You moaned against his dick and opened your mouth to take all of him in once more, willing yourself not to gag when he bucked his hips against your throat. You began to move backward to get his fingers deeper inside of you, using your hand to pump up and down his cock as your head lolled down.

Satoru’s fingers pulled out suddenly and you were about to whine in protest when you felt his hands grab your thighs and pull your pussy to his mouth, immediately latching on to your clit and sucking on it. It took all of your willpower to continue jerking him off, but your mouth hung open in pleasure, letting Satoru hear your mewls and moans of pleasure. He slid his fingers back into your pussy as he continued to eat you out.

“That’s it, baby love, you’re taking my fingers so well.” He mumbled against your clit, the vibrations sending a shockwave up your spine and to your brain, effectively pushing you over the edge. Your back arched and you pressed your forehead against Satoru’s pelvis as you came, unable to even focus on jerking him off.

Satoru grabbed you by the hips once more, unraveling you so that you were leaning against his chest and sitting on his lip. He pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder as he reached up with one hand to He sneaked two fingers back to your clit and rubbed until your thighs were shaking once more and you were begging Satoru for him to fuck you.

“Come on now, honey, help me help you.” Satoru chuckled at your exhaustion, body still limp and somewhat trembling from the two quick orgasms he had just ripped out of you. He helped you turn around so that you were facing him and straddling his hips, cunt positioned perfectly above the tip of his dick.

You gingerly lowered yourself onto his cock, eyes rolling into the back of your head once his cock was sheathed completely inside of you. Satoru hissed at the way your walls were already clenching and fluttering around him, taking a few gentle thrusts to loosen you up a bit.

Before long, Satoru’s fingers were digging into your hips as he slammed you down on his cock to meet each of his thrusts deep inside of you. He fucked deep into you and with such vigor that you thought he might split you in half, but you held on for dear life until you thought you wouldn’t be able to take it anymore. You started to clench around him, crying out with every thrust that Satoru drove into you.

“‘Toru, I’m gonna—” You whined the rest of your sentence, too fucked out to form the words that he needed to hear you say.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I need to hear you say it.” Satoru watched as you threw your head back and arched your back while allowing your pussy to milk the cum out of his dick.

“I’m cumming…” You managed to hiss out as your third orgasm tore through your body before slumping against Satoru’s chest. He fucked you through his own orgasm, pressing hard enough on your hips to leave bruises, and moaning your name right in your ear while he filled you up.

Satoru rested his cheek against the crown of your head and ran his fingers over the crevice of your back as you both caught your breath. He held you gently as he moved to the side to pull his dick out of you, unable to keep his lewd smile from playing on his lips as he watched his cum spill from your pussy when he pulled out.

“What are you smiling at, hmm?” You asked, exhaustion laced in every crack of your voice.

“Oh, nothing.” Once Satoru made sure that you were tucked into bed all cozy like, he got up and retrieved a washcloth to clean you up before focusing on cleaning himself up.

He let you rest for almost an hour, no sly quips or awful horrible jokes—just his arm around you and your head pressed into his chest while he cradled you.

“You hungry?” He asked quietly, rubbing your shoulder. You stirred and rolled over onto your back, peering at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Couldn’t just let us have a nice moment, huh?” You teased, mustering enough strength to sit up on your elbows.

“Hey, now, you were practically sleeping on me for almost an hour! Do you want me to starve?” Satoru leaned over and pecked your lips, an easy smirk playing on his lips. You leaned onto one of your elbows while you used your other hand to caress his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, causing your heart to melt.

“Order the food, babes. You know my credit card information.” As soon as the words left your mouth, Satoru was up and out of bed, digging inside of the pockets of his forgotten pants to find his phone. He jumped back into bed beside you with his phone in hand.

“Best anniversary ever! I love you, y/n.” He pecked your lips once more and added a second, lingering and gentle kiss before unlocking his phone, already thinking of the yummy, slimy yakisoba he was going to order.

Satoru shot straight up in bed, staring at his phone with wide eyes. You leaned over and rested your head on his chest to see what got him so riled up after such a sweet moment. Then you saw the email from the Sugar Factory.

A $50 no-show fee has been charged to the card on file. Have a great night!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut

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foxconfessorandthewolf · 20 days

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Okay, so I’m a bit wine drunk but I don’t think I’ve ever really articulated why I love Snarry together and I’m currently trying to finish a fic after taking a three-year-hiatus from writing these two, so this is probably a good exercise!

I’m a bit on the older side of fandom, having been a fanartist and fervent reader since 2003, so my connection was really sparked during that time between OOTP and HBP when Snape and Harry were at some of their most clashing and deeply vitriolic, forced together into hateful vulnerability by Occulmency lessons. Every scene between them was electric, laced with tension as we truly did not know how things would go, or even where Snape’s true loyalties lay. He was an unknown, tied up with Harry’s own family’s mysterious past, connected to Harry in a myriad of odd ways that few other characters were, and - as a rivals-to-lovers lover - I was fascinated by him. From that first moment when they lock eyes in the Great Hall and that frisson of pain shoots through Harry’s scar, I desperately wanted to know who the hell this man was and his story. I think a lot of Snarry shippers come to the ship with a special appreciation for Severus Snape’s character himself. He’s such an incredibly drawn character, rich with complexity, complicated and pretty fucked up, with clearly-held passions, hatreds, weaknesses, and motivations. He’s emotional in a way a lot of other characters aren’t, though I think he’d loathe to hear that. And his character voice! It’s unique and pitch-perfect. You always know exactly who is speaking with his lines. Honestly, the way he evolved from a spy/traitor stock character to become so multifaceted and enigmatic is a masterpiece of characterization, and it’s an aspect of why I’m drawn to him - there’s still so much about his origins and well, what his damage was, that we don’t know. Because of this, I especially love Snarry fics that delve into character studies of him, trying to explore all the shadows left behind. I also admit I have a preference for interpreting Snape as morally grey. I like him petty, sharp-tongued, ambitious, with an incredibly liquid definition of what is right and wrong. He’s self-interested, dripping with disdain, and really doesn’t see that as a problem. What happens to him when he deeply falls in love?

I love a ship that makes me work for it. There’s no obvious line of how Snape and Harry might wind up together, so each fic is a wealth of possibilities of bringing these two together despite their roadblocks. As I mentioned, I’m big fan of animosity in a ship. Give me rivals, give me enemies, give me the sparking passions, the sharp fury, the way they stoke each others’ emotions and seek to hurt, the racing hearts, the raised hackles, the intense emotional reaction to another person. Just throw it at me. I devour that shit. I love the messy and taboo nature of their relationship, the complications raising from their age difference, temperaments, and largely similar and shared traumas. There’s an interesting element of Snape being a foil to James Potter, and how that relates to Harry and their past. Basically, this shit is really good potting soil for incredible fucking fics, packed with nutrients.

The shared natures of their traumas, like Voldemort and each being forgotten and abused as children and how they might be able to understand each other and bond from it is also something that’s fascinating to explore. I love when a writer pushes on Snape’s bruises, looking to make them hurt, cracking his sardonic brain open and rooting around in there, and I love when they compare and contrast to Harry’s. There’s a seductiveness to how Snape is so obsessed with Harry, fixated on his Boy Who Lived heroic reputation, clearly dripping with envy. What, beyond jealousy, might draw Snape to Harry and what, other than hatred, might draw Harry to Snape?

It’s all this, the passionate, electric, dangerous nature of their relationship; the way their characters contrast each other yet have surprising connections; and the question of finding solace that keeps me here, 21 years later. I’ve had wines less complex than this ship. They’re fascinating. They’re messy. They’re everything.

[crossposted from a reddit comment I just left, and wanted to share with y’all]

#snarry #i need them to hatefuck it out #i need snape to be cracked open and see all the tender parts fall out

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eddiessluttywaist · 1 year

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desiderium

an eddie munson series

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie’s odd, forgotten childhood friend seeks him out when he needs her more than he realizes.

pairing: bsf!mechanic!bartender!eddie x eccentric!bsf!fem!reader

word count: 4,752 words

content/warnings: eventual smut so MDNI, angst, swearing, loneliness, mentions of drugs and crime, mentions of imprisonment, family issues, feeling unwanted, slight bullying, anxiety, nightmares, insomnia, depression, loss and grief, mentions of spit, super brief mention of alcohol and vomit, very brief mentions of breakups and inappropriate sexual relations (nothing reader or eddie are apart of). i think that’s it!

a/n: this is my first attempt at a slow burn series so i hope it’s good! i’m also trying a new setup with photos instead of gifs ^ i’ve seen a lot of other people do it and i think it looks really cool so! also creds to who owns and posted these photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

Eddie Munson had grown bitter since you last saw him. To be fair, the last time you saw him was when you were kids but still. You always knew him to be boisterous. Adventurer Eddie. Eddie with the weird ideas and cool drawings. Eddie who made you laugh until your stomach cramped and you would cry out that he was going to make you wet yourself.

You didn’t know it as a kid but even then he couldn’t catch a break from the world around him, and apparently it never stopped spiraling even when it beat him into a hollow shell covered in grease during the weekdays and alcohol—and occasionally vomit—on the weekends. He was worn down by his own worries that never seemed to cease and miserable stories of others admitting things they should’ve never said aloud. Sometimes the stories were fun or at least amusing, but mostly just depressing. This was Hawkins after all.

This wasn’t an Eddie you knew. Had someone told you that man in the garage wasn’t him, you simply would’ve nodded and kept going on your journey to find him.

But it was him, and you were positive he was meant to be back in your life. No matter how much it was hurting right now.

You didn’t know why he left at first. It was as if he ceased to exist, and sometimes—when you were all alone at night—you wondered if he had been a ghost. If he had been an imaginary friend, but surely not? He had his own home you hung out in. His own dad who let you guys eat too much junk food and stay up too late. He looked and sounded real when he would scarf down several bowls of honeycomb cereal with those slurping noises you always hated and would whine at him over. He felt real when you would play wrestle—and unfortunately very real when he won and would pin you down while slowly letting a string of saliva stretch down towards your face in an empty threat. He never really did it, but it was gross all the same, and when he’d let up you’d punch his arm as hard as you could.

One day, you asked if your parents remembered him and your father scoffed at the question while he stared at the newspaper, but at least he acknowledged you at all. Meanwhile your mother had all her focus on putting her earrings in and checking her makeup in the small mirror on a wall surrounded by family photos. Those framed pictures felt emptier than the looming threat of Eddie’s spit touching your face.

“Well his father’s a bottom feeder stuck in prison,” your dad flicked his paper to straighten it out again from where it had begun to bow backwards. “And his kid is probably no better. You’ll make other friends.”

You never understood why he was so cold about the loss of your only friend. You’ll make other friends. Yeah right. No one liked you. Everyone made fun of the way you sat idly on swings just to kick on occasion as you focused more on the book in your hands, or the way you’d squat down and give all your attention to a bug in front of you. Either a line of ants that you regarded with pure intrigue because you wondered how they always filed so neatly and did their best to stay together. Sometimes you left crumbs by them just to see if you could watch them pick them up. You’d watch snails and show them the attentiveness and respect you felt they deserved as they slowly trudged along—so determined, you thought. You’d watch butterflies and try to keep track of all the different kinds you saw. A lot of them were small and fluttery with those buttery white wings, but sometimes you saw a monarch and your eyes would grow large with excitement.

You cried when Zachary McKay would stomp on the anthills or teased you about how the French ate snails—something his dad would say was just more proof of how odd Europeans are. They were one of those arrogant “We love our Country!” households with an “I can do whatever I want—America is the land of the free” ideology and it showed in their unbridled and privileged ass of a child. You didn’t inform him that one Spring of the wasp nest that formed on the underside of the slide he frequented. Maybe it was mean, but you were content in silence over on your swing when you heard him crying out in pain one day. He developed a crush on you in high school that dramatically contrasted how he treated you in grade school—and even tried to make a move at Maddi Ecker’s 17th birthday party—but you could only think of the ants and the snails. You turned him down and he was horrible to you again.

You eventually did make some friends, other odds and ends throughout your school, but it wasn’t the same as it was with Eddie. Maybe it was childish and stubborn, but you could feel it deep in your gut that he was one of a kind. So you couldn’t let him go. All those years you ached for your friend who you considered lost. He always came up with wild stories and (when you were still relatively young) you imagined he had become a pirate and was lost at sea. Or became a gunslinger in the Wild West and didn’t draw fast enough. Maybe he went to slay dragons and wound up a burnt crisp of a human. That last one made you cringe the most, but he probably would’ve liked it the most. He loved mythical creatures the way you adored real creatures. By high school you weren’t as naive. You heard about his dad—caught with multiple charges of grand theft auto, a hit-and-run in one of said stolen cars, and dealing drugs. The hard shit. Not weed or shrooms. But the kind of stuff that really ruins lives.

You always thought Eddie had a good home. His dad didn’t hate him the way you were sure your parents hated you, and he had a nice house. It wasn’t a mansion or anything, but they really didn’t need anything beyond a one story and a sizable basement with only two of them. In hindsight, you supposed he couldn’t find a home in that childhood house anymore than you could with yours. Yours lacked love. His lacked a reliable source of income.

Over time you heard about the night with all the sirens and social workers. The night he turned into a spirit that had finally moved on—an imaginary friend that your growing mind ceased to conjure. He lived with his uncle over in Indiana, rather than your small town in Ohio. Even in your mid twenties, he flashed in your mind like a small blip on occasion and it still twisted your stomach.

You thought of asking if you should go to him whenever you remembered, but you thought you needed a sign. What if you showed up too early? And you messed up any possible grand plans? So you avoided indulging in questions about him to your tarot cards or over your pendulum map. On occasion you caved and just asked a simple question: is he safe? It was a yes every time you broke and just had to check up on him, and the answer reassured you for long enough until the next time the concern rose up to unbearable levels.

But then you started getting those dreams. Sometimes they were just memories playing from deep within the archives of your mind. Sometimes they were nightmares of yelling at someone to go away, only to realize it was Eddie far too late—and when you wanted to run after him to correct the mistake, you couldn’t move as quickly as you knew you were capable of.

It went on for about a month before you finally broke. Your eyes had snapped open, accidentally waking yourself in the middle of saying what you had been shouting to Dream Eddie out loud into your pitch black room. You glanced at the time. 11:11 PM. You felt your heart skip a beat before you shoved yourself out of bed. You had to take a moment to steady yourself against your bedpost from the sudden movement making you dizzy, but then you were flicking on the light and digging through your belongings. You didn’t even give yourself a chance to wipe away at the thin sheen of sweat over your skin from August heat mixed with a cheap fan that really didn’t make that much of a difference, and the stress from the events that had played deep in your mind while you slept.

With a shaky breath, you smoothed out your map on the floor where you were squatting, and steadily held your pendulum over the center. Does he need me? You finally asked and watched as the chain connected to a sphere of rose quartz slowly began to circle. It sped up and then began to dart in different directions before finally swinging back and forth between both of the “YES''s on the piece of cloth.

It took a little over a month to arrange your departure from your life in small town Ohio—not that small town Indiana was really all that different. You had briefly been back at your childhood house after your lease came to an end for the apartment you shared with a friend (who didn’t want to renew because she wanted to move in with her boyfriend, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that the card spread you had laid out all pointed towards a breakup). All of this to say you didn’t have a lease or mortgage to tie you down. You certainly didn’t have a boyfriend (you haven’t had one since college), and you didn’t even like your job at the local mart so it was easy to give your two weeks. Your parents were just as sick of your presence now as when you were a child, and were willing to help you in every way possible to get you to just leave again. Had you not been so focused on your end goal, you might’ve taken a beat to really feel the hurt that always came with parents who only came to your aid when it meant keeping you at arm's length. But you couldn’t focus on it and really (for the sake of your mental health) you shouldn’t focus on it. All of your energy went towards Eddie who seemed so far, even if he was supposedly just a few hours and a state line away.

You didn’t have a place yet, which was a mistake on your part for rushing, but you could stay in a motel for the time being. The prices were pretty low anyways and the owner seemed pleasantly surprised by the sudden source of money and company. The lot belonged to her husband who had passed a few years back, so now it was only her running the place. Her daughter helped sometimes, but she had another job to focus on—only coming to help when the older woman was ill. So even though she appeared kind of grumpy at first, she really softened up to you when you wound up padding out of your room the first night and asked if she wanted to play Go Fish. You had been feeling antsy and lonely, and you were right to assume she felt lonely too.

Over the past week or so, you found a friend in that creaking, groaning motel. You did have a bit of a tendency to befriend the adults around you more often than kids your age when you were younger and it still happened now, apparently. A shrink at university pointed out once that it had to do with the lack of guardianship and guidance growing up. That you were trying to replace something that had always been missing, but you didn’t go back to him after a couple sessions. You didn’t like how patronizing he was, telling you things you already knew. And when you asked your dowsing rods if he was sleeping with any of his clients, the two pieces in your fists whipped open in a blatant “Yes!” But he wasn’t around now to make you feel low with his supercilious commentary and his notes that he always scratched down right in front of you. Your parents weren’t around to remind you of how utterly unlovable you can be. It was just you, Martha at Hawkins’ Blue Bird Inn, and hopefully a pleasant reunion on the horizon.

Today was the day to finally see Eddie, and Martha urged some confidence into you this morning before sending you on your way with the directions to the garage. No matter how many times you clarified he was just your childhood best friend, she got that sly look about her that always showed when an adult was all amused about the novice in front of them being openly or involuntarily blind to love.

So there you were. On a mild Wednesday morning in late September, standing before Thacher Tire after a lot of asking around, a lot of time flipping through Martha’s phone book, and even more odd looks. You let out a careful breath, doing your best to reassure yourself with the knowledge that the people you spoke to knew his name in the first place. He had to be here, and even if he wasn’t working today he should at least be employed here. Maybe you could be told when to come back to speak with him or where you could find him outside of work. Would they share something like that? People don’t tend to care about privacy in small towns, that’s why everyone knew (generally) where everyone else was. Maybe if you clarified that you’re an old friend, they wouldn’t treat you as a customer and tell you where he would be.

You were wringing your hands as you eyed the door in front of you. The glass looking in was worn from age and weather, clearly cleaned so people could see through it, but there seemed to be an aging to the corners where the rectangle of glass met the surrounding wood that couldn’t be scrubbed out. It felt like a portal looking into what could be, and you suddenly felt yourself getting anxious with what exactly meant could be. You had a knack for catastrophizing, and spiraled in all of the worst case scenarios until you were running back to your car and abandoning the lot.

“Trust me, it’s not as scary as it seems. Going for those intimidating opportunities is always better in the long run than letting ‘em slip away,'' Martha murmured to you before biting into the sandwich you brought her.

You bought typical fast food that you always came running back to when you were stressed, but she didn’t like the grease. You learned that over the past week when you brought up your bad habit, and her nose scrunched up at the mention of crappy burgers and overly salted fries. Instead you got her a tuna sandwich from the nearby marketplace, and she shared her big jug of iced, sweet tea with you.

“I haven’t seen him for over ten years…,” you sigh, toying with the crackling paper that was wrapped around your cheeseburger. “What if I’m the only one who clung onto our friendship? What if it’s stupid to him?”

“Mm, us women always do hold on longer,” she hummed thoughtfully and you refrained from your urge to correct her old-fashioned view of gender dynamics for the sake of staying on topic. “I still think you should go for it.”

“What if… what if it’s not what I think it’ll be? What if I’ve turned him into someone more fictional than Eddie in my mind, and when I’m faced with how he really is now I just… I dunno…wish I didn’t come here?”

“They never are what you conjure up. They’re always better up here,” she pointed a bony finger to her temple and you focused on one of the curls in her short gray hair for a second before bringing your gaze back to hers. “I still think you should go for it.”

You huff out a laugh at her repetition, smiling sadly to yourself as you look down at your hands and notice the thin sheen of grease on them. Maybe Martha’s right. Maybe this food is gross. You grab a few napkins from the brown paper bag and wipe at your fingers.

“Just think of it this way: is it worse knowing the truth or worse never knowing?”

Eddie had been having a shit day. Actually he had been having a shit week. If he let himself truly indulge in his pessimism, he’d be acknowledging that he’s altogether just had a shit life, but he was trying not to fall into that trap. It would make him the kind of depressed and bitter that made him snap at others and then feel guilty about it—which only made him feel worse about himself.

He hasn’t been sleeping well, a sudden flare up of his insomnia throwing off his circadian rhythm. He thought with how busy his schedule was that he’d knock out the second his head hit the pillow, but he only seemed to be exhausted until he finally laid down. Then was when his thoughts randomly chose to run and his heart would race with the sudden surge of anxiety-inducing thoughts. He was beginning to feel so overwhelmed by everything that his eyes burned with the beginnings of hot tears but he wiped at them carelessly with the heels of his hands before they could become too real. In his mind, they didn’t exist until they fell.

Eddie ached with exhaustion that only seemed to let up when he could actually get a shot at some rest. He ached with loss and grief. He ached with pure misery and painful seclusion and a silent trailer—besides the occasional buzz of electricity through his lamp that he turned back on when he realized he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, or the groan of the old mobile home settling against its cinder blocks. The upcoming season made itself known through the ever growing chill that formed at night and occasionally blew through every crack and crease of the trailer, making him shiver and pull his blankets up before inevitably growing hot again and kicking them away.

He missed his friends that he rarely saw. Everyone is busy nowadays. He missed Wayne who… god, he couldn’t even think about it. He missed Chrissy who lit up his world Spring of ‘86 just for them to drift apart. People seemed to drift from him a lot. People seemed comfortable with forgetting him and giving a brief call only when they got a pang of guilt at any reminder that they were getting awfully close to leaving him behind. But who was he to drag them down? It was heart-aching enough to live the way he did sometimes, let alone when people acknowledged just how heart-aching it was. Sometimes he even missed his dad, but he always avoided thinking too hard about him before it could sink his mood to a new level that would be hard to crawl out of.

He hadn’t been able to fall asleep Wednesday night until early into Thursday morning. He settled into a deep rest around 4 AM just to be abruptly woken up by his 6:30 alarm to make sure he was at Thacher’s by 7:00.

“Fuck off…,” Eddie groaned out loud and slammed his fist down onto the alarm clock, never lifting his face from where it was planted right against his worn pillow.

He laid there for what felt like forever, but was really only a few minutes before he finally peeled himself out of his spot. Forcing himself from the comfort of his old mattress was never easy, especially when he couldn’t rely on any excuses he made up as a teenager to just flop right back into his bed. He had to get up. He had to work.

He went to make his usual toast just to see there was only the end piece left in his loaf of bread, and let out a guttural groan of frustration as he tilted his head back. He forgot to stop at the store. Grumbling a bitter so that’s how today’s gonna go under his breath, he shoved the sad excuse for a slice of bread into the toaster and then began looking through the kitchen for something else to satiate him until lunch.

He wound up eating what was left in his jar of peanut butter with a spoon after slathering the small piece of toast with jelly. He didn’t have time to clean a travel mug (which he forgot to clean last night) so he took a regular one with him on his commute, and wound up dumping his coffee all over himself mid-sip when he had to stop short for a kid suddenly biking across the road. The young teen laughed at the close call and made his way to the other side of the street. Eddie glanced down at his drenched t-shirt and coveralls, releasing his third irritated groan of the morning while he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling of his van before focusing back on the road and moving his foot to the gas. He focused on taking deep breaths as he gripped the steering wheel and made his way to the shop.

Thankfully, Linda had already started a pot of coffee in the break room which he happily drank and patted at his wet clothing with one of the blue shop towels. Staining was inevitable and it really didn’t matter with the coveralls anyways, but that didn’t mean he had to be damp. Taking that moment at the start of his shift helped with his mood, but the amount of customers bitching over the phone about how long it was taking to get their cars back were steadily draining him back into a surly mood. The most he had to look forward to and keep himself from unnecessarily snapping at someone was the fact that it was almost the weekend—and yes he would still have to work nights at The Hideout, but at least he didn’t have to get up early.

Never knowing was decidedly worse.

You had concluded this after ruminating on it all night—with and then without Martha’s help. And despite all of your anxieties that were just barely buried under the surface, you made yourself go to the garage again.

An obnoxious, tinny bell sounded and a dull voice said from behind a counter: Welcome to Thacher Tire. What can we do for you?

You approached carefully as if you moved too quickly, the depressing gray and beige setting around you—which held far more meaning for you than just fixing cars—would suddenly melt away and you’d wake up.

“Do you know where I could find Eddie Munson?” you asked in a soft voice, and the woman obnoxiously chomping at her gum looked up at you over the top of her glasses before looking back down at the paperwork in front of her.

“He’s in the garage. Is he working on your car?”

Your heart jumped and although you hated to lie, you did.

“Yes,” you said probably too quickly, but it seemed nothing could get this woman to care.

“Wait over there, please,” she spoke in a voice that was just as greige as her place of work.

You thanked her meekly and shuffled over to one of the worn, faux leather and hard plastic seats. The room smelled of cheap pine air fresheners and the potent combination of oil, and that specific rubber scent of brand new tires. The space with the front desk and the waiting area was small enough to be cramped if it was a busy day, but since you were the only visitor at the moment you didn’t have to be confronted by the full potential of such limited space. You toyed with your hands and tried to pay attention to the fuzzy television in one corner of the room, but you couldn’t help listening in on the receptionist’s call.

“…’s a girl here to talk to ya… uh-huh… yeah I know… uh, no I don’t think so. I doubt it. Her voice is different from the one that keeps calling about the Ford. Might be though... ‘Kay.”

You anxiously wiped your sweaty palms over your jeans as you heard the clunk of hard plastic settling back into its cradle. What if he didn’t remember you? What if he did, but didn’t care? What if he thought you were weird for showing up? What if he grew up to be someone who stomps on anthills?

Your head shot up at the sound of a door opening and then closing from the back, and a man in filthy coveralls approached the woman behind the desk. He had messy, curly bangs settled on his forehead and the rest of his long hair was in a low ponytail. He was sweaty and clearly exhausted as he wiped at his forehead and left a swipe of grease in his wake, speaking quietly to the receptionist before making his way over to you. The closer he got, the better you could smell the grease and sweat and bitter coffee, but it didn’t deter you. What truly threw you were the circles under his eyes and the sort of pale cast to his skin that people got when they were fatigued or ill. You weren’t sure why a part of you expected to see an eleven year old kid approach you with a god awful buzz cut and big brown eyes, even after fourteen years.

This was it. This was your moment. The time to reclaim your best friend, and have the greatest person you had ever met back into your life. Why was your throat suddenly so dry? You swallowed anxiously and then parted your lips to speak and-

“Miss, I know you’re waiting on your car to be fixed before the weekend—I promise I’m working as quickly as I can.”

You tried not to cringe at the use of “miss” and looked up at him with wide, sad eyes wondering why he didn’t see an almost ten year old girl with a messy braid in her hair that she did by herself, complaining at him to chew with his mouth closed.

“I lied,” You said bluntly and the man stared at you in a way that felt blank and still despite his wonderment.

“I-I don’t have a car here. I just wanted to talk to you.”

He eyed you curiously, his hands slowly wiping onto an old rag. It looked like it had been used so many times, you doubted it was even picking up any filth on his hands but just moving it around instead. He was clearly thrown off by the sentiment which brought a sort of youthfulness to his face in that moment of curiosity before his features hardened.

“Listen. I’m sure whatever prank you have conjured up is hilarious, but I’m tired and trying to do my job.”

“No-- no, no,” you tried to clarify, shooting up from your seat. “I—I-”

But he was already swiftly stomping away from you towards the back, muttering to the receptionist with a quick and surely rude comment about you on his way. You were moments from being politely asked to leave, you’re sure, but the woman hesitated with a gentle expression when she saw you approach her with glossy eyes.

“Could you please just give him this?” you asked in a soft voice that you did your best to keep even, but of course it wobbled just enough to be humiliating. You could feel the heat in your face and (even worse) the moisture in your eyes so you did your best to avoid eye contact.

You outstretched your arm and she met you halfway with a nod, allowing you to drop the old friendship bracelet into her palm.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #mechanic!eddie #bartender!eddie #bartender!eddie munson #angst #slow burn #slow burn eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #bsf!eddie munson #eddie munson angst #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson series

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mokutone · 26 days

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Hey I hope it’s okay to message you! Just wanted to check in on how you were doing… I wanted to DM you but I’m way too shy, I wanted to let you know— in 2023, after four years of complete silence, your art inspired me to start creating again. From 2019 to 2024, I was completely run dry. I didn’t create a single piece of art! But seeing your wonderful drawings, the way your compositions seemed to breathe life into your art, and your gorgeous use of colors… helped me to start creating art once more! It’s almost a year since then, and I’ve still been steadily creating. Thank you so much for bringing joy back into my life!! I had forgotten that it existed all along… I appreciate you and your art so much, I hope that you have many happy things to smile about. Peace and love 🫛🤍

i've gotten a handful of asks gently prodding me to make sure i'm alive (theyre very sweet) and i'm answering this one only bc it touched me deeply if i wait a while to answer it i know the asker won't get alerted so! 1) it's definitely okay to message me! but, that said: i probably will not reply to most asks for a very long time (sorry!) 2) that is, i think, the sweetest thing you could possibly say to me—maybe to any artist. i'm really, really, profoundly glat that my art made you want to make art too!!! other artists have done this for me when i was stuck, and i am eternally grateful to them, and now eterernally grateful to you, for finding what you needed in my art, that's a beautiful thing, and it's an honor as an artist!! i hope that somebody is brave and kind enough to tell you that your art inspired them to create—its a feeling like nothing else. i'm SO, so glad, that art is bringing you joy again!!! 3) (as for how i am doing—life continues, in its own way. most things are not good, but some are! i've made a promise with myself not to post on this blog until i sort out some unfortunately very real life difficulties, and.......it's been a year and i'm still working on it! life continues. good days and bad days. i suppose i'm also in a bit of a silent period of my own at the moment, in many ways! it happens to everyone, and it'll end eventually for me too)

and, with that said—let the silence resume for now.

#follow up questions will probably not receive answers (sorry!)#i still love tenzō dearly and i still think about him fairly often #but i am being good. and i am trying to focus on the problems in front of me instead of creating new more fun ones w/ art #Sigh. It's What Tenzō Would Want Anyway.#one day i will return to your dash #things are just kinda strained atm

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middlenamesage · 2 months

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I’ll let you in on a little secret: “Pretty privilege” is not nearly as real as Venusian privilege. 🤫 💖

Disclaimer: I’m not speaking on the latter from personal experience, as my natal chart does not grant me the status of “Venusian” in the slightest. But Mars conjunct my Venus has made me very motivated to understand Venus; seemingly especially when I’m going through Mars transits because these two characters can not be separated in my psyche!

Before I even learned astrology in depth, I always noticed it wasn’t necessarily the physically prettiest people/women who get all the offers, praise, and support coming to them. The way I used to term it, “personality privilege” is a lot more substantial than the concept of “pretty privilege” that people like to cite. Because I always noticed the privileges were most coming to those whose vibe felt most warm and open, and/or whose vibe had an aura of knowing and exercising their deservingness when it comes to receiving support or attention.

Now I know that this is Venusian energy in a nutshell. And I’ve confirmed the presence of a strong Venus in the people I had always known that struck me as having a lot of offers and support coming to them and being well-liked and recognized by others, but who weren’t necessarily all that conventionally physically attractive.

What matters more if you wish to manifest people giving more to you is in most cases not a major physical makeover; it’s an energetic makeover. Having “I’m pretty and deserving” consciousness and feeling energetically open to people is where the “privilege” most lies!

I’m not exactly the one to give advice on how to project more Venusian energy, and frankly I’m personally not even really trying to gain more of the stereotypical Venus energy embodied by The Empress. While it would be nice to ultimately have a less conflicted relationship with my own Venus, I’m not conflicted about one thing: She’s in fire🔥♌️, so the interpersonal prowess of Venus truly isn’t my main focus with her; learning to self love and self validate has been. I’m proud🦁 of my emotional independence, even if it can be a little extreme, and the stereotype that Leo Venus needs undue attention from others has never resonated with me! Have we forgotten that fire is individuality and independence? Most of my life experiences have given me no other option than to learn how to self validate if I want more validation. This also is due to having multiple neurodivergencies and having built some walls around me due to trauma, that make me seem less open… but I think that still fits a Venus placement not most focused on social graces, and a wounded Venus from a lifetime of being conjunct a stronger Mars! ❤️‍🩹

Maybe other fire Venuses or Martian Venuses or people that have Venus in any setup where she’s not in an advantageous position to charm people with her social skills will relate. 🤗 Our paths might be different; for us embracing that we’re focusing on self acceptance in our journeys to find peace, and recognizing that we possibly also have very emphasized lessons in our journey on how to keep certain people out of our lives, is likely to be the best way to remain authentic to ourselves while helping our Venuses.

So it appears I do have advice for people who have walked a similar path with Venus as me. 🔥♂ And I have plenty of observations about the energy of Venus that can draw privileges from others to it, even though I think that for a fire Venus, continuing to focus on embracing my authenticity even when it’s in no way popular is how I’ll eventually start feeling more capable with the social sides of Venus, and feeling more others appreciating her too.

⭐️🪐 Basic astronomical fact I only learned recently: Venus has the hottest climate of all the planets! And the reason she’s hotter than the planet closer to the Sun is because Venus’s atmosphere is made up of gases that trap heat. To me this represents the way Venusians have honed the skill of radiating warmth themselves. All that alluring heat she puts off can really draw in others. But it’s also her responsibility to use the warmth to be reciprocally giving in her relations with others… if Venus doesn’t give much and just takes, her atmosphere can start to feel more like Hell than like inviting warmth.

Wishing a successful journey for all in evolving with and embracing your Venus… however that may look! We all deserve to know comfort and peace. 🌷

#venus in astrology #venus #astrology #venus signs #leo venus #venus and mars #planets in astrology #astrology blog #astrology tumblr #astrology community #the empress #libra #taurus #venusian #astrology observations #zodiac

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coalswriting · 10 months

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sketches and feelings - shauna shipman

summary – shauna tries to find out what her artist friend keeps hiding from her (approx 2k words)

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you sat on the bleachers, sketchpad held close to your face, shading a doodle of your teammates in action. you were currently benched for taking a bad fall earlier in practice, leading you to twist your ankle. it wasn’t broken or anything, but it was extremely sore.

you looked up after noticing someone approach you in the corner of your eye, and before she could take a peek, you closed the sketchpad, securing the content inside from the prying eyes of your best friend and crush, shauna shipman.

“you drawing me again?”, she teased, ruffling your hair, plopping her tired body down next to you. she leaned against you, inhaling contently, as she felt her muscles relax.

“yes, actually”, you smiled gently, wrapping an arm around her. you felt happy with shauna like this, and though she took your advances as friendly, the buzz in your own heart said otherwise, “and no, i won’t show you.”

she groaned, giving you a playful jab in the ribs. “show me, (y/nnnnn)!”

you shook your head, laughing.

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shauna was sprawled over your bed, leaning over a textbook. her face showed concentration, but the both of you knew that she was probably thinking about anything else other than the content on the pages. your head was also elsewhere, your maths homework abandoned on your desk sloppily. your knees were tucked neatly into your chest as you bent your elbow against the hard wood, eyes flicking between shauna and the page of your sketchbook.

you stared at her nose, then back to the sketchbook shading the soft shadows, then her cheeks, then the sketchbook, and then her lips. your eyes darted back to the page quickly, a blush covering your cheeks. every time you looked at shauna’s lips, you didn’t think about the form or the way the lighting hit them – you thought about how badly you wanted to feel them against your own.

shauna brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, catching your stare. “what’s wrong?”, she asked.

you looked down, closing the sketchbook before safely tucking it into your bag. “nothing, i just think that your hair frames your face beautifully.”

shauna chuckled, sitting up to face you. “i know you’re an artist so you state things in a very descriptive way, but that was genuinely the nicest compliment i’ve ever heard.”

you covered your mouth with a hand in a casual motion in order to hide your (reddening face) grin, “it’s the truth, shipman.”

upon the use of her surname, a cushion was thrown your way.

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you admired your best friend from across the fire pit. she was chatting with lottie, another teammate of yours, a red solo cup held securely in her hand. you watched as the dancing flames illuminated her face, casting her in a warm glow that was comparable only to the heavens above.

every time the fire crackled, the orange hues shifted gently, and for the first time in your life, you genuinely felt upset that you had forgotten to take your sketchpad somewhere with you.

lottie nudged a hand towards you, noticing your gaze, causing shauna to divert her attention towards you as well. she smiled, drunkenly, and began to shuffle your way. you felt small as her happy, brown eyes tracked you, a hint of mischievousness twinkling within them.

“no sketchpad today?”, is all your friend commented as she leaned up against you. your brain felt like static as you felt her weight against yours, the alcohol adding a bit of extra clumsiness. you shook your head no, thinking for a moment.

then with a playful glint, you replied, “no, which is such a shame. the glow of the fire makes you look ethereal.”

you could feel shauna stiffen against you, and for a moment, her cheeks looked as though they were dusted in a rosy blush. however, before you could say any more, she gave you a side hug and stormed off. you shrugged your shoulders, blaming her alcohol on the strange interaction. after all, shauna was straight and would never see you the way you saw her.

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the day that the plane crashed was the worst day of your life.

you dragged yourself against the podzol, absorbing the sight of the wreckage. disaster surrounded you, your teammates lifting each other away from the ruin and chaos. you crawled on the ground, hurt, clenching your jaw shut, tears in the pricks of your eyes.

then looking up, you saw coach martinez’ lifeless body impaled in a tree.

that day was the day you lost your passion for art, and despite misty clicking your dislocated elbow back into place, you refused to pick up a pencil ever again. the memory of your deceased friends stuck in your mind like a photograph, and you couldn’t help but think of them whenever you stared at a blank page. they were an intrusive thought, and even shauna couldn’t help your brain bury them. your sketchpad remained shoved in the bottom of your rucksack, collecting dust, for you were too afraid to let it collect memories.

you closed off from others a lot, and everyone’s initial concern turned more into impatience, as you were often caught staring off into the distance. you weren’t harming anyone by staring, per say, but with high tensions came nasty comments, and with nasty comments came arguments.

shauna, despite it all, stayed by your side no matter what. maybe she didn’t truly understand just why your head was in the clouds all the time, but she understood that you were hurting, and she did everything she could to help you.

it was a few months after the crash when you started drawing again. it was a pure coincidence that you had taken your sketchpad on your walk that day. part of you was itching to get back into art, but another part of you hesitated. your first drawing was rusty – you had seen a deer while pondering by the riverbank away from the cabin, and with no weapons on hand, you decided to just sketch it. it ended up being more fun than you thought.

the next thing you drew was much nicer. it was a few days after the deer incident and you were relaxing by the fire after dinner, suffering from a cold. van and taissa were laughing to each other as they flicked bottle caps across a table, playing some sort of made-up game. with a newfound inspiration, you sketched the two, conveying their everlasting joy perfectly in that moment. shauna watched you from the other side of the room, a curious look on her face. she stared as you showed the two lovebirds the drawing, and the way their faces blew up into the widest smiles she had seen since the day the plane crashed.

“i wanna see,” she said with an old familiarity as you scrunched your face up in a flustered shock, shutting the sketchpad.

“no,” you giggled, cheekily, “not yet.”

shauna grew frustrated, huffing in a corner while you gave her an apologetic look. you weren’t ready to show her what you had been drawing, but you would soon. she just had to be patient – she knew that she wasn’t though,

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the day that shauna reciprocated your feelings, you were assigned the task to go and gather water.

the moment the brunette heard the slamming of the front door, followed by a familiar silence, she climbed up the ladder to the attic where your bag was stored. she shuffled through it, almost hungrily, looking for one thing and one thing only – your sketchpad.

after around fifteen minutes, shauna began to lose hope. she had searched your bag over and over, with no sketchpad to be found. as she stood up, disappointment deep in her face, she noticed something out of place in the corner of her eye. she followed her vision, noticing a familiar sketchpad on a beam overhead. with a cocky smirk, shauna reached up to grab it.

she handled the book as if it was an artefact, fragile and gentle, and after sitting down straight, she opened the first page, her heart beating a million miles an hour. this felt wrong – it felt forbidden, and shauna shipman could not help but to feel nervous, wiping her sweaty palms on her filthy trousers.

the first page was a simple lighting exercise with loose figures drawn in various poses. shauna’s eyebrows rose as she nodded, impressed with your technical skill. she flipped to the next page, admiring charcoal scenery of a forest complimented by a night sky. she kept flipping through the sketchpad, taking some time to cherish every single drawing, every scribble, every stroke.

and then, shauna’s heart stopped, as she turned onto a page with the illustrations that she had been looking for – the portraits of her from various angles. she was immersed in conversation in one of the drawings, smiling in another, and then the third drawing – shauna could feel a lump in her throat. it was a drawing of her from afar, staring with a curious expression on her face. it was a portrait of her from the night you had drawn van and taissa. she looked godly in it, like a renaissance statue.

shauna damn near dropped the sketchpad when she heard a gasp to her left. turning her head quickly, she looked at you like a deer in the headlights. you were standing static, staring at her with an indiscernible expression, before you speed walked her way, standing over her.

“what the hell, shauna?”, you growled, bending down to take your sketchpad away from the perpetrator. shauna held the sketchpad tight in her hands, resisting from your pull. she looked at you with her big brown doe eyes, your own frustrated gaze softening. “i told you not to look…”

your crush looked down at the drawings again, then back at you. “(y/n), you drew me wrong”, she said, completely unacknowledging your embarrassment. your face grew red from shame. you just wanted to hide your artwork – no, yourself – away from the world. shauna sighed when she realised you weren’t taking her bait, “look here.”

you looked down slowly, to where her finger hovered over the pencil drawing, careful not to smudge it. “what’s wrong with it?”

“you drew my lips too thin.”

you gulped, imagining her lips. you could never stare at them for too long without getting flustered, so you always made them up when you drew. suddenly, you felt a hand hold you by the cheeks, as shauna’s eyes darkened, “look, mine are plumper.”

your eyes met the sight of her lips, slightly dry, but still flawless. the two of you stayed in this position for a couple of seconds until shauna pulled you in, meeting mouth to mouth. the kiss was tender and sweet, no malice hidden behind it. you felt an unfamiliar dizziness travel from your nape to the top of your head. it felt like you were dreaming, but you knew you weren’t.

after pulling away, shauna put the sketchpad down, pulling you into her chest. she hummed happily, pecking you on the head, “i’m sorry i looked through your sketchpad. i just wanted to see what you were drawing. i won’t disrespect you like that again.”

you moved your head up, to meet her perfect innocent eyes again, “it’s okay, i wanted to perfect my portraits of you before showing them, but this is even better. i didn’t know you felt that way about me”.

you could hear the smile in shauna’s voice as she answered, “i’ve felt that way since the first day you drew me, (y/n). i never stopped feeling these strong feelings for you since then – i thought i’d go crazy not being able to see the thing that made me fall in love with you.”

you leaned in to kiss her again, receiving a similar passion in return. shauna shipman was perfect to you, and you knew you would draw her again and again.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader

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exactlycleverpirate · 3 months

Text

Wild Theories About Rafayel

Spoilers under the cut.

So, I've been contemplating how the various deceptions Rafayel has experienced occured and how that connects in his story over all. He or his story references being deceived at least 3 times: in Anecdote 3, in the Myth, and in Your Fragrance.

Anecdote 3:

"The young boy sits alone in the middle of the coral reef, softly humming “Siren's Ballad.” Waves lap the shores, staining it dark red. The color blends almost seamlessly with the bloody setting sun in the distance. Those who deceived him have long since sailed away on their massive ships, laughing all the while. “Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria.”

Myth:

Amund: “I believe in Your Quintessence. Her method of acquiring the heart wasn’t forgotten, was it? If that island sparked the beginning of our demise, then everything should end there. The Lemurians cannot be deceived again!”

MC: “The Lemurian tales I’ve read said the God of the Sea died long ago… I’m sorry, you must refer to it as a “slumber.” How can there still be a God of the Sea?” Rafayel: “Does Your Highness know why he perished? His heart was stolen by humans.”

Your Fragrance:

“It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…” “Who gave you the perfume?” “Are you trying to run away again?” “I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna lock me up again… You’re with them, I just know it. Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’re about to do. (MC name), I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”

They all seem to be connected to you somehow, but not enough so to make him hate you or lose trust in you, as he is still willing to be incredibly vulnerable with you (Ebb and Flow), give up his life for you (Myth chapter 8-9), deeply love you, and want to be with you for the rest of his life.

So my thoughts are that MC has been used as bait against Rafayel in at least 2 lives. There seem to be events that reoccur in their different reincarnations, such as Rafayel meeting MC when they are young/children and vowing to find MC again. He gives her the blue fish, the Emissary of the Ocean, in both current and Myth lives as well.

So going with this idea of reoccurring events, I think on their first life, which I believe was the Island of Songs life, there was likely a vow made as children. But then as adults, I think there were a group of humans (or perhaps just one in particular) who decided to use her as bait to trap the God of the Sea and plunder Lemuria's riches while he was weak. She is unaware of any of this. She is offered to him as a sacrifice (think Bride of Habaek (manhwa)), essentially becomes something like a temple maiden trapped on an island. What she doesn't know is that those who sent her there are using her as a honey trap.

And it works. She and Rafayel fall in love and bind themselves to each other. Now, I haven't decided yet whether I think the humans knew he would go so far as to give her his heart or whether they just got lucky there. But the end result is, Rafayel is trapped when he is weak, Lemuria is plundered, and I believe they then go into hiding in the deep, becoming the stuff of myth and legend.

MC, meanwhile, is seen as the betrayer by the Lemurians, though not necessarily Rafayel, not completely at least. They curse her and turn her into a Sea Witch (Fragrant Dream). But eventually Rafayel finds her and saves her at the cost of his own life.

Now fast-forward to current day Rafayel. He has once again made a vow with her when they were children. And I think he is deceived by the same person/people as before, be they gods, reincarnations or some other immortal. And I think now that they are behind Ever Corp, Onychinus and related organizations. (I also like the idea that Astra from Zayne's Myth is somehow a part of all this.) So, they use MC as a lure, to draw him away from Lemuria, since even as a child, he is their protector. They once again plunder Lemuria, this time nearly wiping it out.

Meanwhile, I think they know MC has a Sea God’s heart, and were experimenting on her to find a way to use it. Hence the Aether core and what not.

Sometime in the far future, they will use what they learn from it to remake Earth into Philos, with a fake core that keeps all humanity immortal, except those sacrificed to it. Eventually, MC's immortal heart is essentially connected to the core like a battery, to drain, die, recharge the core, then be reborn to do it again. Essentially making all human life on Philos leaches off of Rafayel's immortality, draining him as well and eventually condemning him to eternal slumber if he does not reclaim it from her.

What do you think? Wild and crazy? Has some merit? What are your own theories? Let me know in the comments or PM me!

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #zayne

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tmntxthings · 11 months

Text

∑一 Gasoline・゜・。

author’s note: so I started this months ago and came back today and somehow finished it? it’s now 4 am and idk what I’ve written but we posting it babyyyyyyy

song: reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine, ben kessler

warnings: cursing, narcissism, over-dramatics, cringe, sarcasm, flirting, confessions, unedited

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Okay, I’ll admit. I’m not the best when it comes to..following the rules? Heeding caution? Listening to anyone??? Yeah not the greatest in that department.

But! I’m practically flying high in all others. Better brother, better turtle, cooler weapon, and not to mention handsome as fuuuck. So handsome in fact, I know I’ve snagged your attention. Heh. Call it what you will, intuition or gut-feeling, I know I’ve been occupying your mind.

But the thing is, you won’t admit it. No matter how much I prod, tease, or blatantly ask. It’s always “Leo, no.” “Leo, stop!” “Leo, shut up!!” And never “Yes, I think about you endlessly Leo, you’re right, and super handsome, be my one and only turtle”

…

Yeah…

It’s never ever that. And maybe that’s the reason why I can’t let this go. Because I know I’m right. If I wasn’t why would you keep coming around? Why would you spare glances my way? Why would you wear blue? It was all so infuriating to see these little details only to be denied again and again.

Raph says I’m getting a little obsessed. Donnie doesn’t give two fucks. And Mikey says something even worse, that I’m in love. Barf. Gross. Me? Love? Hell no. I collect admirers. I flirt with everyone. Unabashedly. Why would I fall in love with someone who is so clearly in denial that they are in love with me??? All I’m doing is getting them to admit the truth, and then they’ll be another tally mark. Another addition to the ever growing list of admirers I have.

It comes with the title of being the Face Man and all of that. Perks of being me I guess!

And so I was up to my usual antics.

“Keys Y/n, keys babe!” You scoffed pushing my hands away. “Keep your grabby mitts away, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive.”

“I curbed one time Y/n. Once! Give a turtle some slack here!!” I’m practically begging at this point. Because I have a plan. A genius plan to get you to finally admit the truth. It’s going to be epic.

“I think you’re also forgetting the three times you purposely ran into trash cans. You almost backed into another vehicle. And don’t get me started on how many times you accidentally forgot the keys in the car!”

…Okay so maybe there are a few more reasons as to why I shouldn’t be driving. But no matter! I’m a master manipulator. I can sway those around me like a pro. Plus since ya have feelings for me, I’m sure you actually really do just wanna hand over those keys. You’re just like playing a little hard to get is all.

“Whaaaa?? Are you sure that wasn’t Angelo? Pretty sure that was totally him and not me.” A big cheesy smile lights up my face trying to turn that frown of yours upside down. “Plus in any case I’ve got super rad portal powers to snab the forgotten keys!”

“Leo. No.”

And the actual begging and groaning and bemoaning ensues. I don’t throw temper tantrums that often. Only when necessary. After many ‘pleases’ and promises to drive extra careful. I finally get my long awaited—

“Leo, I said noooooooooo!”

A hard flick resonates against the space right above the middle of my eyes. Dramatically I flinch backwards crying out in faux pain. My hands going up, one covering the space that has just been so grievously wounded. “Oh c’mon that didn’t hurt…”

“Did it?”

Peeking through my three fingers I see the wisps of concern on your features and it’s at this moment where my all-of-the-sudden-plan enacts. As you draw closer out of worry it’s just too easy to create a small portal with my other hand that is behind my back. Don’t ask how the dagger got in my palm. Sometimes being a ninja just has its perks.

And just like that the keys to your car are securely in my hand and I bolt before you can realize you’ve been…hand-pocketed? Pick-pocketed? Whatever the case!

As I gloat from the driver’s side window, with the locks safely on so you couldn’t just rip open the door and strangle me like you were threatening to do right now. I make a show of raising the volume in your car and celebrating more with a little dance in the drivers seat. It’s not until you shake your head and the flames extinguish from your eyes do I dare to unlock the passenger door for you to get in.

You do slam the door close though. “Dramatic much?”

I can’t help but tease. I love winning. I love rubbing it in everyone’s face. And it makes my bones sing to see you get so riled up all over little ol’ me. You glower, somehow holding your tongue, perhaps giving me the silent treatment as you take over the music.

Driver gets veto power though. So I skip a bunch of songs you choose until I feel the flames start to rise again and I worry we (or rather I) may never even make it out of your driveway before I turn into roasted turtle. And that can’t be tasty.

So I let this particular song play. Humming along since I don’t know the words as I start to pull out and drive on the road. You stay silent for the most part and that just won’t do so I may or may not get a little too close to a curb for comfort on your side of the vehicle.

“God damnit Leo if you curb!!” You hiss as you clutch the handle on the car door. “Whoopsie!” I laugh getting back to the middle of the lane easily enough. “Where did you want to go so badly anyways?” You grump. But at least you’re talking now! “It’s a surprise!” I sing-song.

Now initially, my plan to force your admission of feelings was to continue to drive really recklessly and maybe almost die in a car crash or something like in the movies. And while you think I’m about to die you just have to tell me that you are helplessly in love and like magic. Confession secured.

But now thinking about it more seriously there are plenty of unknown factors like, what if I do actually kill myself in the process. Or ya know, you get hurt? Or I just wreck the car and we both are totally fine?! I don’t see myself surviving much longer after that if that ends up being the case. So I have nothing. Zilch. Nada. No back up plan was really made.

So I just drive.

And as previously mentioned, I’m not the best driver…

So you are on edge the entire time and constantly telling me to “Watch out!” “Don’t curb!” “Don’t hit that dude crossing the street!” “Red means stop!” “Yellow means slooow!”

Thankfully I know what green means. Aka turtle. Aka go ninja go ninja go. I’m proud of that one. Anywho, the drive winds up and down the backstreets of New York until even I don’t know where the fuck we are.

I pull over, parallel parking. Miraculously it’s one of the few tricks I can do with a car and you breath out a very unnecessary sigh of relief. “So this is the surprise?” You are looking around the low rise buildings with slight curiosity but more confusion than anything.

Nothing here is really special. No shops. No bright sparkly lights. It’s actually pretty grim because a few of the streetlights are out making the dark night even darker. It’s probably the least romantic place in the world. Definitely holds no sentimental value for an awe-inspiring confession.

My head hits the steering wheel as I close my eyes and say “Yup!” As bright and false as possible. I feel like a jerk and even worse than that a failure. I’m greeted with silence and I don’t open my eyes to check your face. I’m sure it’s turning into disappointment right now.

“Leo, everything okay?”

My head turns slightly, if only because your voice sounds a little different. I mean you usually are quite serious, but it’s also one filled with… care? “Just thinking.” And that is not a lie, just a very vague statement.

“Wanna talk about it?”

I mull it over. What am I even thinking? Driving around in the middle of the night. Being chaotic. Being a nuisance. Being with you. Dragging you along. Trying to get you to say something you’ll never say in a million years. And turtles sadly don’t live that long.

“Y/n, do you like me?”

I don’t dare take my eyes off of you now. Truthfully I feel like spewing out nonsense to cover up my mistake. I just had to open my big fat mouth. To actually say shit I actually mean. Or in this case something I really want to know. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and you tilt your head as if you hadn’t even considered that a possibility. Liking me.

I’m instantly filling up the silence. “Like better than Mikey right? Pretty sure I don’t have to sweat over Donnie. And Raph may be second place but I’m definitely number one right?”

This way it’s easy. This way it’s safe. This way no one gets hurt. This way I don’t get hurt. This way I can play it off.

“I do like you.”

My thoughts empty and I straighten up. Swallowing back the spit that’s suddenly filling up my entire mouth. “Right duh, of course you do. Everyone does!” I laugh, smiling big as if nothing you just said affected me. Like I totally won’t be thinking about this even later tonight back at the lair. Overthinking it. Surely you meant it as a friend… but a turtle can hope?

“Even though you are so annoying.” You tack on, but your smile is too much. It’s genuine. It’s not plastered on like mine. It doesn’t hide anything.

Oh shit.

I just continue on, blabbering complete and utter nonsense at this point. Because part of me can’t believe it. That you really said it. That you do like me. That this surely isn’t possible, that you’re about to laugh and say that this was all some funny joke.

“Do you like me?”

And where there was nonstop chatter, it turns to silence. I avoid your stare now. In fact I turn my whole face away because I can feel my red marks heating up. Which is never a good sign. Blushing will only end in embarrassment. More than I can handle.

“Whaaaat? Me? Like you?”

I leave it open ended. To be inferred that I couldn’t possibly. But I think I just continue shooting or maybe slicing myself in the foot. Over and over and over again. Because in the window I can see you’re still looking my way. And your lips are pursed together in a small know-it-all smile. I whip my head back around, forgetting all about the embarrassing heat that covers my face.

“Y-yeah. I do.”

And then you lean forward.

Time slows.

And I feel your lips on mine.

And my eyes are so wide. I don’t know what to do but just stare. I don’t move. I don’t breath. Your eyes are closed and your lips are soft if only a little chapped. You pull away slightly, and I can feel your breath fan over my face.

“Good.” Is all you say. And I nod like a dumb pile of rocks is all I have for brains. “Now how about I drive?” Again I’m nodding.

The only thing that breaks the trance is the warning beep from your display signaling that I’ve just wasted all of the gas left in your tank.

…

Whoops!

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transhuman-priestess · 10 months

Text

Lesson

A short story, by Ivy Michaels.

The following story contains a graphic depiction of surgery, with all the drugs and violence involved. It also includes graphic descriptions of pain. That is, in fact, the idea behind writing it.

And yes, this is smut.

“You know, dear, you’ve been such a good pupil these last few weeks.” Her voice comes to me through the curtain. I hear the click-clack of her heels on the linoleum floor, making an off-beat rhythm with the beeps and hums of monitors and pumps. She draws closer, and continues, “I think we’ve worked enough on theory, it’s time to move on to your practical lessons.”

The curtain is drawn back and I open my bleary eyes to see her. She’s dressed in the uniform she always wears. Rubberized olive drab canvas, sleeves pulled over the gloves, all seams taped over. Her face is mostly obscured by a surgical mask. Her hair is tied up under a paper hair net, though I can see a few strands of raven hair. All this despite the hood she wears with the clear face plate. I think she likes hiding her face from me, she’s never let me see it. Not all of it, not all at once.

“My darling,” she says, as kind and bubbly as ever, “you did so well on your nephrology unit last week, that I thought I’d give you a little treat!”

Images flash in my head. A slideshow of dissections. Parts of organs labeled. Ureter, renal artery, nephrons.

“Ah!” she says, approvingly, “I see you remember well!”

This is how it always is. She always knows what I’m thinking. I don’t know how that works. I have vague memories of sitting in a chair with my head in a device to immobilize it, but I can’t remember if that was a dream or an actual procedure. Memories are like that here. I know I haven’t been here long, but it feels like forever.

“I know you don’t understand, honey,” her voice falls to a gentle coo, “but don’t worry, I promise you will, eventually.”

I don’t mind it here, really. She’s very sweet to me. She teaches me things about myself I never knew. The other day, I think, she showed me where the vagus nerve is. I had forgotten what the bones in my palm are called, so she showed me how easily I could be disabled simply by applying a small electric shock to that nerve. The name of the bones was “metacarpals”.

That might seem harsh but she means well. Not in the sense that I’m rationalizing, either. I may not be able to remember why I’m here, but I sense that I am here by choice. I know it in my core It is, in fact, the only thing I know for certain.

“So, dear, are you ready?” she asks, “I’ve prepped room #5. The one with the seafoam green tile. I know it’s your favorite."

I hardly have to think about an affirmation. The bed thunks beneath me as she releases the brakes and begins rolling me into the hallway. One of the few things I recall from my time outside is this sensation, when I was very small, of being rolled through a hospital corridor on a cot. I can’t remember why I was there.

We turn a corner and my eyes come to rest on a pair of two-way doors, steel painted beige, with thin sheets of stainless to protect the doors from the impact of a gurney. Small windows of reinforced glass. The doors swing open and the cart jolts with the transfer of momentum.

Inside there are three other figures, all dressed identically to her, save for tinted, opaque faceplates. They are standing off to the side. Sometimes, they observe closely, sometimes they aren’t present at all, but always they listen to her commands, and never do they touch me without her explicit instructions. It makes me feel safe, knowing that she is the one in charge.

“Alright, dear, hold still while we move you to the table.” She grabs me by the shoulders, gently cradling me. One of the other figures grasps my legs, and together they move me onto the operating table. A second figure connects an IV line to the port in my arm. There’s a large mirror on the ceiling, so that I can observe.

“For this one, dear, you have a choice. Would you like the pain, or no?”

I want the pain. I always want the pain.

“Very well then. Paralytic only.” She nods to one of the figures, who hangs the appropriate bag on a hook above the table.

“Flex your fingers, dear.” She commands. I comply. After a few seconds I experience the sensation, curious as always, of being unable to move. An electric thrill of anticipation flies through me. It is almost time.

She unbuttons my gown, starting from the top, exposing first my breasts, then my stomach, and finally my groin. “Oh!” she says, “someone’s excited.” Of course I am. She’s never taken off my whole gown. This is something special.

“Oh,” she says, “I almost forgot, we’ll need to intubate.” One of the trio of assistants wheels over a cart with a ventilator. She takes a tube from it and tilts my head back, ever so sweetly. I feel the tube go down my throat, down past the epiglottis, my body trying to fight but finding itself disarmed by the paralytic. For ever so brief a moment I cannot breathe, and then I feel the beautiful sensation of air returning into my lungs.

“You did so well. I’m so proud of you!” she praises me as she applies tape hold the breathing tube in place.

“You know, this hood is very warm.” She says, and reaches up to unzip the hood from her suit. This is new. She hands the hood to one of the assistants, before bending down next to my ear and whispering, “I’m so proud of you.” And then she kisses me on the forehead, through her mask.

Standing back upright she says, “Okay, I’m going to make an incision…here.” she traces a line gently with her finger, from my sternum down, around my navel, ending at my pubic bone. “Are you ready?”

I am so ready that, if not for the paralytic, I think I might sob. She looks at me through the overhead mirror. I can see her smile through the surgical mask. “Very well then.”

She presses the scalpel to my flesh. Just a light pressure at first. Then, a stinging, and finally the burning, electric sensation of nerve endings being torn from their neighbors. It is the most incredible, all-consuming feeling. I can feel my brain trying desperately to force my limbs to push her away, to run from the room. I don’t want to, but I cannot, by myself, suppress the survival instinct. I feel tears well up in my eyes and flow down my cheeks.

“Very, very good.” she tells me, reaching up and stroking my hair. “You’re doing so well. Now, let’s see if you can tell me the names of everything in here.”

And gently, ever so tenderly, she slips her hand into my abdomen. I can’t remember what sex feels like, but I’m sure it doesn’t even come close to this. Knowing she’s so close to me is intoxicating. I feel her hand touch my small intestine.

“Very good!” she says, as she works her way up, to my stomach.

“That’s right” before moving on to my liver.

“That’s three for three! Very good!” the warmth in her voice fills my heart with joy. She’s so gentle. The pain is incredible, but it feels so good, because I know she’s the one causing it. I know she loves me, and I love her.

“Moving further down,” she continues, pulling her hand out, much to my disappointment. “Oh dear, don’t worry, I’ll be right back in in one moment”

And once again she plunges into my abdomen. The white-hot fire of the incision has faded slightly to merely red-hot smoldering. I feel her touch my sigmoid colon. “Excellent.”

Her hand moves to my left kidney. “Very good!”

I feel her grasp my bladder. “Perfect.”

She sighs, “It’s a shame I can’t reach your prostate from here, love.” A laugh.

“But that will be for later.” She stands and looks at one of the assistants. “Okay, sew her back up. Be gentle.” She must sense my disappointment, though, because she turns back to me. “Oh don’t worry, my dear, there’s one more thing left.”

It takes a while for the assistant to finish closing the incision in my abdomen. Time moves strangely in here, so I couldn’t say how long. By this point my body has numbed the incision area all on its own, leaving only the faint pulling and tugging of the sutures to be sent to my brain.

She walks back over and stands at the foot of the table. “You did so well there. I’m so proud of you. As a reward for how well you’ve done so far in your lessons, I’m going to perform one last procedure today.”

And with her most gentle touch yet, she pulls my legs to either side. “I know how much these bother you.” For a moment I panic, but she’s quick to reassure me. “Oh, not your legs, hon.” And it clicks.

“I’m going to cut right here.” she traces a line down the center of my scrotum. “And you’ll be rid of these forever.”

I feel the cold steel of the scalpel press in. The faint sting followed by the roaring thunder of pain. That high, heady feeling of endorphins rushes in again. I feel her, very faintly, reaching in and grabbing my right testicle.

"So, I know you hate these things. I hated mine, too.” She squeezes, hard, sending yet another rush of pain up and into my abdomen. “So I figured, why not simply take them away?” I feel the odd sensation of cold steel on my vas deferens. “Are you ready?”

I am.

I feel, for the briefest moment, a zing of pain and then the loss of signal that indicates a part of my body was severed. I feel her tying off the end.

“That’s one down. Time for the other.” Another hard squeeze on my left. “You’re taking this all so well! I’ll be sure to reward you when you’ve healed.” That same zing, that same loss of signal. I feel tears welling up. Not tears of pain, but joy, and love. I feel the repeated sting and tug and sting and tug as she sutures me back up.

“Okay love,” she says, at my side now, stroking my hair. “we’re going to push the painkillers now, and bring you out of the paralysis.” And with that, I feel the rush and the heady fuzz of opioids entering my system, the relief washing over me like a cool shower on a hot summer day.

“I want you to flex your fingers. Just keep flexing them.”

At first I can’t. I try and I try. But slowly, I start to feel them twitching, and after not too long I feel myself able to make a weak fist.

“Very good. You’re such a good girl.” Before I can say or even think anything, she reaches up, and removes first her cap, and then her hair tie. A shoulder-length crop of raven curls falls out. And then, to my amazement, she reaches up to her ear and removes the mask.

I see her face for the first time. I’m able to take in her sculpted jaw, her chin. She has a beauty spot on her right cheek. Her green eyes fill with warmth and, for the first time, I see her smile. “Let’s get that tube out.” She removes the tape on the tube. “Okay, I need you to take a deep breath. On three, I want you to exhale as hard as you can. One, two, three!” I blow and the tube slides out. I cough quite a bit.

Rather uncharacteristically, she tosses the tube aside. “You did so good today babe.” She comes in close, leaning over me, and our lips meet. Her kiss is so soft, so tender. I’m so lucky to have her. After what might be hours, or maybe no time at all, she pulls away.

Shakily, with a voice that hasn’t seen use in a long time, I say, “Thank you, Teacher.”

#Ivy Michaels Writing

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