#based on some kid who was high in the hospital

[sunshine-daisies-library]

Speak Now | Steve Harrington x Fem!Ex!Reader

Summary: You were called in as a last ditch effort by Dustin to convince Steve to back out of an arranged marriage with Kimberly Astor, the heiress of a multi-million dollar company. Only issue is that you were uninvited to the affair, but the kids you used to babysit have another plan. 

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, drug abuse, exes to lovers

Based on Taylor Swift's song, Speak Now <3

You shouldn’t be here. You’re being serious, you really shouldn’t be here. But when Dustin called you and pleaded for you to drive over two hours from Chicago to your hometown, you knew this wasn’t a call to ignore. You weren’t the type of girl to barge in on a wedding.

But then again, you knew Steve wasn’t the type of boy to marry the wrong girl. 

“Thank God you came,” Dustin runs over to throw his arms around you. He lets out a sigh of relief as he tosses his entire weight onto you. You stagger back as you try to keep him standing, but it had been far too long since you had seen the boy, he had grown faster than you expected. Three years was enough for him to shoot up and tower over you. No longer was he the short curly haired boy you watched over on weekdays to get some pocket money to go on dates with Steve. Now, he’s nearly an adult, packing his things for college and using his free time to call his favorite people: you and Steve. Separately, of course, because you two were no longer a thing. 

“You called,” you respond, pulling away. “Besides, it gives me a reason to see you munchkins again.” 

“I think we hardly classify as munchkins now,” you hear a voice from behind you. In comes the gang of kids you used to spend nearly every waking day with, all visibly older and dressed fancily for the occasion. Mike, the voice you recognized, leads the group and comes to hug you first. 

You can barely reach up to hug him. “Mike!” you exclaim. “Jesus, you’ve gotten so big.” 

Max steps forward and gives you a small smile, never the one for physical contact after everything that happened. Her glasses frame her face beautifully, and her matured features cause your eyes to water. “Enough of the waterworks,” she tells you firmly. Max cocks her head at the bride’s family, all dressed in tacky pastels. The mom swats at her youngest son’s hand as she pushes his blond hair back. “We have more shit to deal with now.” 

“Is she that bad?” you ask your friends. 

Will grimaces along with Lucas and his far from little sister. Erica was never one for hiding her emotions on her face, and that habit seemed to have stuck as she aged. “She was just yelling at some bridesmaid,” Will replies with a sigh. “Pretty sure it was Steve’s cousin, too.” 

“She looks like a pastry,” Eleven deadpans, causing Max to elbow her. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh at Eleven’s directness. Things never change, you suppose. “Where is he?” 

Everyone knew who he was. It was the very reason why you drove all this way. 

“No clue,” Dustin answers, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kimberly has been bothering him about everything needing to be perfect,” Dustin’s voice went high-pitched and unbearable to imitate the rich heiress Steve called his fiance. 

You never knew why Steve got himself into this. Pleasing his parents was the last thing he ever wanted to do while you were dating. What happened in the three years of leaving Hawkins that made him switch up? This wasn’t the Steve you knew, and you knew from the moment Dustin called that you had to stop Steve from ruining his life. 

Music starts to play, ringing through the halls of the gothic church you were standing in the middle of. The wedding was starting soon. The bells and gonging sound eerily similar to the sounds of the grandfather clock Max vividly described when she was in the hospital after Vecna’s attack. It sends shivers down your spine but you quickly regain your composure. 

“We gotta go,” Max informs you. “Steve made sure to get us seats in the front. You’ll be okay from here?” 

“Yeah,” you reassure them. “I’ll be fine, promise.” Parting ways, you spend the last few minutes looking around for that familiar mop of brown hair. In the distance, you see him and he instantly takes your breath away. 

He’s wearing a pressed suit that shows no sign of wrinkles or age. It’s definitely new and tailored for him, no doubt thanks to his mother. In his suit pocket is a neatly folded white pocket square, and beside it was a freshly picked rose pinned to his breast. He looks like a daydream, but deep down, you knew he was living his worst nightmare. 

This was all wrong. He hates stiff suits and having his hair slicked back. He never wanted a fancy and lavish affair for a wedding; he always wanted it to be intimate and surrounded by his loved ones and definitely not his snotty relatives. And Steve hated roses. It reminded him too much of his parents’ materialistic relationship. The one where his mom thought it was perfectly suitable to drink her problems away with wine and the occasional scotch. It was also the one where his dad would just shower his mom with designer purses and roses whenever she found out he was sleeping with yet another unreasonably young secretary. 

A pained expression rests on Steve’s face as he trails behind the minister. You call out to him through the sea of people. After the third call, he finally perks his ears at your voice and turns to face your direction. A look of surprise replaces his sullen expression. It’s been three years since he’s last seen you. Three years since you broke things off to move to Chicago. How did you end up back in Hawkins? 

‘What are you doing here?’ he mouths to you.

You’re weaving through the crowd, trying to get to him. ‘Saving you,’ you mouth back. 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but before he can do anything about it, he’s nudged forward by a groomsman. Reluctantly, Steve moves forward and walks down the aisle. 

You don’t lose sight of Steve, hiding expertly behind the curtains as the procession continues. He walks down the aisle to the organ’s music that reminds you of a death march. You closely watch the rest of the members of the family follow behind Steve. You were so concentrated on the procession that you didn’t realize Will’s older brother standing behind you. 

“L/N what are you doing here?” Jonathan whispers. 

You jump in shock, gripping the dusty white curtain close to your chest. “Jonathan!” you whisper-shouted. “Nearly scared the shit out of me. I’m here to stop a wedding.” 

“Where do you need me?” Jonathan instantly asks. You cock an eyebrow at his eagerness. “Listen, I’ve met Kimberly. Steve and I were never best buds, but I’m not going to let him toss his life away for a nasty person like her. Especially not when you’ve loved him all this time.” 

You open your mouth to correct him but Jonathan is quick to cut you off. “Cut the bull, N/N, we both know the truth. You never stopped loving Harrington, but what I can’t wrap my head around is why you left him?” 

“I wasn’t going to string Steve along for a hopeless long distance relationship,” you shoot back. “I had to move to Chicago for my job. I knew Steve would come with me no matter what I said, so I cut things off.” 

Jonathan presses his lips together in a thin line but doesn’t say anything else about the topic. “Why are you hiding, anyway?” 

You roll your eyes, peering over the curtains to see the flower girls tossing petals along the pathway. “Seems like I was uninvited by his lovely bride-to-be.” 

The music instantly changes as Kimberly walks out in her enormous dress. Her face exudes class and elegance as she takes calculated steps down the aisle. “Fucking pageant queen,” Jonathan mutters under his breath. 

“She looks beautiful,” you compliment shortly. That’s all you’re willing to say about her. From a distance Steve is looking through his bride, eyes only on you. He wishes the one walking down this aisle was you. 

The rest of the ceremony is a blur to you. Words go in your ear and out the other, and you almost didn’t realize the most important part of the wedding has started. 

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony,” the minister read aloud from his book. “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Taking a deep breath, you emerge from the curtains and raise your hand. 

Horrified looks from everyone in the room but you only look at Steve. Relief floods his face and his shoulders finally relax. 

“You don’t want this,” you speak directly to him. “I know you, Steve. You don’t want any of this.” 

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Kimberly cuts in, facing the minister. “Steven wants this. Right, Steven?” 

“For the last time, my name is Steve,” Steve huffs at his now-ex-fiance. “And I don’t want this. I just want you.” His chocolate brown eyes peer over at you, and a small smile reaches his lips. “I’ll meet you out the back door.” 

Following his instructions, you run out of the church, dodging angry relatives and their shouts. Keys in hand, you hop into your car and start the engine. Pulling out of your spot, you drive down to the back door where Steve is. You quickly unlock the door as Steve practically jumps in, avoiding the yells of the bridesmaids and dodging the bouquets tossed at his head.

Steve lets out an exhausted huff as he loosens his tie. A giddy smile is on his face as he looks back at you. You can’t help but share a similar expression as you step on the gas. 

“Thanks for saving my neck out there,” Steve tells you gratefully. 

“Anything for you,” you respond, glancing over at him. He still looks the same as ever, if not more handsome. Your heart honestly never stopped beating for him. “If I didn’t make it clear earlier,” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m still in love with you, Harrington.” 

Silence follows and you can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Soon enough, your worries are calmed when Steve takes one of your hands off the wheel and covers it with his. 

“I got that, dummy,” he chuckles softly. 

You sigh in relief, laughing quietly along, too. “So, where to?” 

You couldn’t get the glint in his eye off your mind when he smiles at you.

“Where’s the nearest chapel?” 

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Hi!!! I love your Amelia and Emily fics so much, I’ve basically binged them 😂 I was wondering if I could request an Amelia x reader fic where maybe reader is like 6 months pregnant with her and Amelia’s first child and has a bad history with her dad and her dad comes into the hospital with his new wife and her kid and it just stirs bad feelings for reader and Amelia comforts her? Maybe autistic reader? Thank you so much!

Thank you so much! 💕 I'm so, so glad you enjoy them! Also, thanks especially for an autistic!reader request, they're some of my favorites to write! Hope you enjoy! – illdowhatiwantthanks

The R Word

Amelia Shepherd x fem!autistic!reader Warnings: autism struggles, ableism, use of ableist slurs, overstimulation (the autism kind, not the sex kind), explicit language, pregnancy times (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: It's a typical day working with a child in the ER when your estranged father shows up and makes you feel just as small and stupid and alien as he did when you were growing up. Amelia is there to comfort you and remind you of who you really are.

“No, Mommy!” the little girl wailed as she writhed on the hospital bed. “I want to go home!”

Her mom looked at you apologetically as she tried to soothe her child. You needed to get her vitals. Based on the mom’s description, you also probably needed to get IV fluids and an antiemetic in her. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen while the kid felt scared and overwhelmed. This wasn’t your first rodeo with kids in the ER. In fact, the other ER nurses often called you over when kids were difficult to work with. They called you the “bad kid whisperer.”

You knew better. They weren’t bad kids. They were usually just scared. There was a lot to be scared of at a hospital. And you were good with them because you understood better than most what it was like for your body and brain to feel so overwhelmed that you could no longer regulate your emotions. Being autistic was hard sometimes, it made you stand out, but this was a place where it made you stand out in a good way.

You lifted your hands to show the little girl that you were setting down all your medical instruments.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, pulling the curtain closed around the bed. Sometimes making the space smaller helped. You bent down to her height, careful to keep your distance and not to touch her.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer, shaking as she sobbed.

You nodded. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk right now. Do you feel like you can’t breathe or anything?”

The girl shook her head.

“Good. Then all this other stuff can wait, okay? I’m not gonna touch you. No needles, no thermometer, no heartbeat or anything until you feel a little calmer. We can wait.”

She seemed to calm down a bit when she realized you weren’t going to make her do anything, her sobs subsiding to the occasionally aggressive sniffle.

“Here,” you offered, pulling a tiny tech deck skateboard out of the pocket of your scrubs. “Sometimes when I’m scared or nervous, having something to do with my hands makes me feel better.” You rolled the skateboard toward her, and she started running it across the rails of the hospital bed, her breathing starting to calm.

“Better?” you asked.

She nodded.

You started taking her vitals and continued the conversation. “You think you can tell me your name now?”

“Maddy,” she whispered.

You smiled even as you read her temperature: 103.4. Pretty high. She was almost certainly dehydrated. “That’s a really cool name. Now, do you know why your mom brought you here?”

“I threw up,” she told you, lip quivering.

“Oh, man,” you commiserated. “That’s the worst. I hate throwing up.”

Maddy nodded.

“Did you throw up just one time or a lot of times?”

“A lot.”

You exchanged glances with the mom to make sure this information was accurate.

“She can’t keep anything down,” the mom worried, biting her nails.

“Okay. Well, that’s okay. We’re gonna help you feel better. First, we’re gonna get some fluids in you. Do you know what that means?”

She shook her head as you gathered the supplies and pulled on gloves.

“It means your tummy is so sick that when you drink water, it all just comes right back out. And that’s not good because your body needs water. Your heart and your lungs and all the things that make you healthy and strong, they need water. So since you can’t swallow it, we’re gonna put a little tube in your arm and send water through the tube. That way your body gets the water it needs. And we’ll send medicine and electrolytes and all kinds of other good stuff to fight the sickness, too. It’s like we’re sneaking weapons past the sick.”

This explanation seemed to cheer her up a bit. “Like a secret mission?” she asked.

You nodded conspiratorially. “Exactly like a secret mission. But to get all that good stuff in there, we’re gonna have to put a needle in your arm. Just for a second! It makes the path for the supplies to go in.”

Maddy seemed to think deeply about this, then nodded. You had her play with the skateboard while you placed the IV line, ensuring that she was comfortably positioned for a good hour or so of fluid intake.

“Thank you,” her mom mouthed to you, and you gave her a quick thumbs up before adding a few reminders to your chart–what to check in the next hour, etc.

Maddy, now calmer, took a good look at you for the first time, from your glasses to your fingers that twitched by your ears, to your stomach that protruded out past your waistline–you were six months pregnant.

“Why are you so fat?” Maddy blurted out.

“Madeline Grace!” her mom hissed.

“It’s okay,” you laughed. “My tummy looks like this because there’s a baby in there. But some tummies are just bigger than others, too, and that’s okay. All tummies are good tummies.”

“Where’s the daddy?” she asked, reaching out to brush her hand over your stomach.

“No daddy,” you explained. “This baby has two mommies. His other mommy works upstairs. On brains.”

“Brains!?” she squealed.

You nodded. “Yeah. She’s pretty cool.”

Just then, the relative calm of a midday ER was interrupted by a loud, brash voice, bursting through the doors, yelling at the nurses at the station.

“Where the fuck is my daughter!? Middle of the fucking work day. Unbelievable. Am I going too fast for you? Read my lips, sweetheart. Madeline. Y/L/N.”

You froze, any icy stream of panic running from the back of your neck all the way down to your heels. You’d know that voice anywhere. It was an angry voice, a coach’s voice, the voice that had yelled at you to “stay the fuck in the bleachers” when all you wanted was to sit in the car and breathe. The same voice that growled at you to stop “doing that shit with your hands, you look like a r*tard.” The same voice that told you over and over that you weren’t “stupid enough to be on the short bus,” but you were “too stupid to function in real life.”

You felt your brain start swirling, felt panic building in your chest. You knew he’d gotten remarried, of course you knew. But you didn’t talk to him, hadn’t talked to him in nearly a decade. You knew they’d had a kid, but you didn’t know it was this kid.

All the ER noises, the beeps of the machines, the buzzing of the overhead lights–were they getting brighter?–the clang of instruments being set down, wails, conversations, and above it all your dad’s voice. Your dad’s voice. It was too much. It was all way, way too much.

You felt your hands start to shake at your sides, your body swinging back and forth, and you had to stop. You had to stop. Your dad would kill you.

He threw back the curtain, and his jaw dropped when he saw you.

“You!?” he spat, looking down. “Are you pregnant!?”

Maddy seemed oblivious to the tension. “Daddy!” she called. “Her name is Y/N and she gave me this little skateboard and the water is fighting the sickness through my tubes and she has a baby in her tummy and the baby’s other mommy fixes brains.”

You tried so hard not to stim, but it was not working. 

“Don’t tell me you’re a nurse?! God, it’s a miracle you didn’t fucking stab her. You shouldn’t be holding any needles with those flappy arms. Probably shouldn’t be holding any babies either.” He shot out his hand and grabbed Teddy’s arm, which was wild to you. The audacity of the man to assume he had the authority to bother the trauma surgeon. “Yeah, honey, we need a different nurse over here. This one’s a r*tard.”

Teddy looked flabbergasted and deeply offended, but also concerned, as you clenched your teeth, hugging yourself, twisting your body back and forth. “It’s doctor, sir, and that word is not welcome at Grey-Sloan. Y/N is a perfectly capable medical professional. In fact, she’s one of our best, especially with kids.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I feel like it’s my responsibility to tell you,” your dad whispered loudly to Teddy. “She’s got autism. She shouldn’t be handling tools or people or anything.”

Teddy pressed her lips together in frustration. “As I said, sir,” she repeated more forcefully. “Y/N is a perfectly capable medical professional, and we’re lucky to have her. But I’ll get another nurse over here for you. Y/N?”

Teddy beckoned you over, careful not to touch you, and led you to a quieter corner of the room.

“Who the fuck is that guy?!” she asked.

“M-my dad,” you stuttered. Everything in the room–sounds, lights, smells, all of it–seemed to be crashing over you again and again. As if you’d been knocked over by a wave and couldn’t get back up again because they just kept coming.

“You want to hang out in one of the on-call rooms for a bit?” Teddy suggested.

You nodded.

“Should I page Amelia?”

You shook your head. “She’s in surgery.”

Teddy pulled out her tablet to look. “I mean, we could just check.”

“Don’t bother her,” you repeated. “She’s got work to do. I’ll be okay.”

You made your way to the elevator and up to an on-call room, breathing heavily when you shut the door against the rest of the hospital. You turned off the lights, curling into a corner of the bottom bunk and pulling your knees up to your chest–or as close to your chest as they could get with your baby bump in the way.

You rocked yourself back and forth, thoughts spiraling. The movement and the dark usually calmed you down, but you were having a hard time regulating today, and nothing seemed to be working. Your breath just got faster and faster. And the fact that you couldn’t get yourself out of your spiral only made you spiral more.

You knew you were a good nurse. You knew that. You knew because you’d done it. But you hadn’t ever been a mom before. What if he was right? What if the baby made you overstimulated and you yelled or lashed out? What if the baby went to school and you went to parent nights and he was embarrassed of you, of how you couldn’t make eye contact and didn’t start conversations right and didn’t get the jokes. What if being autistic made you a bad mom?

You had tears streaming down your face by the time you heard a light knock on the door. It creaked open and Amelia’s head popped in. When she saw it was you, she quickly let herself in and locked the door.

“Oh, babe,” she said, watching your body rock back and forth in huge, aggressive sweeps. “A bad one, huh?”

“Go away, Amelia,” you hiccuped.

“Hey,” she said, jokingly. Then when she got closer and saw the tear tracks on your face, she said it again, quieter, sitting next to you on the bed. “Hey.”

When you didn’t say anything, Amelia shrugged. “Teddy said your… dad was here?”

You nodded.

She let out a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “Honey, will you let me hold you? Please?”

You nodded again.

“Alright,” she said, waiting for your body to line up with hers as you rocked, then quickly grabbing you up in her arms, like she was catching something midair. “Gotcha.” She rocked with you.

“What did he say?” she asked, her breath warm on the top of your head.

“That I shouldn’t hold medical tools or babies because I’m a fucking re– I don’t want to say it. I hate that word.”

You felt Amelia’s arms tighten around you, and her breath came out in huffs. She was very angry. “As you should,” she told you. “It’s a nasty word. And it’s a word that doesn’t describe you at all, you know that.”

“I don’t know, Amy,” you whispered into her chest. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Babe, I think that ship has sailed,” Amelia said, running her fingers through your hair.

“Not my dad,” you explained. “The baby.”

Amelia was quiet for a moment, then you felt her lips press against the top of your head.

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice soft. “Of course he’ll like you. He’ll love you. You're his mom.”

“But what if I’m bad at it? What if autism makes me bad at it?”

“Y/N,” Amelia said, gently grabbing your face and positioning it so that you had to look in her general direction, if not in her eyes. “Look how good you are with the kids in the ER. You’re gonna be an incredible mom.”

“I’m just scared,” you admitted.

“I’m a little scared, too,” Amelia told you. “But you know what? I think we’re gonna be okay. Me and you together? I mean, surely, combined, we can be at least one whole good mom, right?”

You giggled.

Amelia grinned at you. “There she is.”

You were quiet for a moment, playing with Amelia’s finger, with the edges of her scrubs.

“You know what you are?” Amelia asked after a bit, kissing your forehead. “You are smart and kind and empathetic. You’re funny and brave and you work hard. You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

You looked away.

“Hey,” she said, pulling your face back toward her again. “I don’t like people talking about my wife like that. Even you.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around her waist and pressing your face to her chest.

“Are you going back down there?” Amelia asked.

You shrugged.

“Want me to check if your dad’s still here?”

“Would you?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, standing and placing one more kiss on your cheek. “In fact, I’d really like to talk to him.”

“Don’t do anything that’ll get you fired, Amy,” you called after her.

She looked back at you and winked as she walked through the door. “Can’t make any promises.”

[in1-nutshell]

One more before I forget... a delinquent senior in high school Buddy who secretly has a heart of gold, who would defend the kids. They have the mentality of 'You mess with them, you mess with me.' However, it's mostly Jack's and maybe Raf's(?) bullies. And would go against Megatron with only a spiked bat for the kids and for team Prime too. For this scenario, I'd imagine while defending one of the kids against their bullies. They get into a really serious fight with them and practically send the bully to the hospital. So how would the tfp team Prime react to learning this on the drive from school to the base?

Buddy is ready to attack anything that looks at the kids the wrong way.

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy protecting the Kids from bullies with Bulkhead, Ultra Magnus, and Bumblebee

SFW, Platonic, Mentions of injury and fights (nothing detailed), Human reader

TFP

Buddy looked like a heartless person.

They had a resting scowl on their face.

But they were one of the sweetest people the kids and Bots knew.

When Buddy found out that the kids went to the same school, Buddy made sure to look out for them.

They insisted on walking each one of them to class.

Jack coming out of class looking both ways in the hallway.

“Hmm—”--Jack

Buddy tapping his shoulder.

“Ready?”--Buddy

“Ack!”--Jack

Miko coming out of her class, sticking close to the wall.

No Buddy in sight.

Buddy looking over her shoulder.

“Who you looking for?”--Buddy

“AHH! How are you so quiet? And how did you even get here so fast? Isn’t your class on the other side of the school?”--Miko

“I have long legs.”--Buddy

Raf coming out of his class.

Buddy waiting for him by the wall.

“You ready for that test?”--Buddy

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”--Raf

Buddy just wanted to look after their friends, especially since they knew there were some awful people in the school.

The day of the incident was one to remember.

Vince had come up with the dumbest stunt yet.

After school Vince and some of his goons had managed to corner Jack.

“Hey Darby.”--Vince

“Vince? What—what are you doing with your… friends?”--Jack

The group slowly formed a semi-circle around Jack and Vince.

“What happened at lunch? You trying to start something? Huh, Dirt bag?”--Vince

“No—I mean—why would I? You tripped over your own foot—”--Jack

Vince punches Jack in the stomach causing him to fall on his knees wheezing.

“Don’t lie to me Darby! You stuck out your foot and made me trip!”--Vince

“I –wheeze—didn’t—”--Jack

Vince kicked him in the gut again.

“HEY!”--Buddy

The group looking at Buddy, Miko, and Raf behind them.

Buddy walking forward with Miko and Raf trailing behind them.

Buddy is standing between Jack and Vince, while Raf is helping Jack up and Miko is eyeing everyone around them.

“I’m only going to tell you this one-time Vince. Back. Off. Don’t come near my friends or me ever. Got that?”--Buddy

“Please. You think that this is going to work? Just come here and talk. I think its time to finally teach these losers a lesson, right fellas?”--Vince

One of the boy’s grabs Raf by the back of the shirt while another two grab Miko.

The ones who grabbed Miko threw her to the ground and started a few kicks to her sides.

Raf has just held tightly by his wrist trying to surpass the little cries from the pain.

Jack tries to help but gets slugged across the face.

“Guys! Vince, let them--”--Buddy

Vince spits in Buddy’s face as one of his goon’s slams Buddy in the back with a baseball bat, making them fall to the floor.

“Buddy!”—Jack, Miko, and Raf

Buddy shakingly got up with a large cut on their forehead and looked at the offender dead in the eyes with their split knuckles.

The goon tried to hit them again, but this time Buddy managed to grab the bat, twisted it from his hold making him let go.

Now Buddy had the bat and they saw red.

Maybe it was because of the blood slowly dribbling down or it was the pure anger they felt.

Buddy was delivering blows to all of them like they were candy on Halloween.

Did they see a tooth fly?

Yes.

Did they care?

No.

The group eventually had enough and ran away.

Buddy was mostly dizzy from the punches and kicks.

Jack, with his slightly bruised face, helped Buddy sit down.

Miko with a busted lip and split knuckles sat down next to Buddy making sure they didn’t close their eyes.

Raf, with some bruising around his wrists, managed to produce some tissues for them.

Buddy with a smile on their beaten face.

One hand still gripping the bat.

“That… that was something.”--Buddy

“We should call the hos—”--Jack

“No hospital.”--Buddy

“What?”--Jack

“Are you insane?! You look like you got beaten up by a monster truck! You need help! We all need some help!”—Miko

“Miko, we can get in trouble with the cops, which leads to them snooping around which can be bad for the bot’s cover. We can’t go.”--Buddy

“As much as I hate it, Buddy’s got a point. None of us need cops on us. How else are our guardians going to get us? We can’t keep asking Fowler for favors like this.”—Jack

“Finally, someone is making…”—Buddy

Buddy shaking their head a bit, blinking hard.

“Buddy?”--Raf

“Head hurts a lot… Maybe having your Mom look at this thick skull isn’t a bad idea…”--Buddy

“You look really bad.”--Raf

“It looks worse than what it is—hold up—okay we’re good.”--Buddy

“What was that?”--Miko

“The world was spinning for a second, but we’re good now.”—Buddy

“Felt that. Literally.”--Miko

“…”—Jack and Raf

“Now to the million dollar question.”--Buddy

“What is that?”--Jack

“How are we going to explain this to the bots?”--Buddy

“…”--Everyone

“Welp… I guess house arrest it is. Good thing I have some Uno cards with me.”--Buddy

Bulkhead

Bulkhead was sent to go get the kids after a rather late mission.

Since he had the most space to have all the kids ride comfortably, he went ahead.

He knew that it was late, so he went slightly above the speed limit.

The first thing he saw was the kids sitting and huddling close together.

This sent warning flags to his mind.

The kids didn’t huddle this close to each other unless something happened, or it was cold, and it wasn’t cold.

He nearly blows his cover when he sees the bruises and blood.

“Miko?! Buddy?! Jack?! Raf?! What in the name of—”Bulkhead

“Shh! Bulkhead someone might hear you!”--Miko

“But what happened?!”--Bulkhead

Jack and Raf helped Buddy into the back seat.

“Shouldn’t you guys go to a hospital?”--Bulkhead

“And…And risk your cover being blown? I don’t… don’t think so big guy.”--Buddy

“But—”--Bulkhead

“Everything we need is at the base in the med kits.”--Buddy

“And my Mom should be at the base by now.”--Jack

“How do you know this?”--Bulkhead

“…She left with Fowler…”--Jack

“If my chest wasn’t hurting too much, I would be laughing so hard right now…”--Buddy

Concerning car noises intensifies by a tenfold.

“Bulk, you okay—Woah!”--Miko

Bulkhead starts speeding to the base well above the speed limit because screw the law the kids are hurt bad.

Bulkhead comms in the base to get the med bay and the human med kits ready. When he is asked further, he just tells them that everyone isn’t looking too good right now.

Was his message cryptic and most likely sent panic to everyone listening?

Yes.

Did he care at the moment?

Not entirely, especially as he is splitting his attention between the injured kids and the road ahead of them.

When Bulkhead gets to the base, he is almost yelling for someone, anyone to help the kids out of the car.

Blame the yelling on the panic, Buddy and Miko looked like they were going to fall asleep.

There is a lot of audial gasps when the kids are taken out of him.

So far none of the kids have said anything. The beatings and adrenaline were wearing off and no one had the energy right now to recall all the events.

Buddy still hasn’t let go of the bat.

Since Raf and Jack were the two that were the least injured they had the task of telling them what happened.

Bulkhead had never had the sudden urge to squash a human than in that moment.

A little while later…

Jack, Miko and Raf are sleeping in their respective med slabs.

Buddy is awake shuffling some Uno cards the best they can with their bandaged hands.

Bulkhead comes into the med bay as quietly as he can.

“Buddy?”--Bulkhead

“Hmm? Oh Bulkhead.”--Buddy

Bulkhead walking a little bit closer to the group.

“How you holding up?”--Bulkhead

“Eh… Got a big pounding in my head and some bandages, but other wise good. You should have seen the other guys.”—Buddy

“Yeah… Raf said they ran away after you went ‘whack a mole’ on them.”--Bulkhead

“Ha! That’s one way to put it.”--Buddy

“Hehe… Thank you.”--Bulkhead

“Thank you?”--Buddy

“For protecting them.”--Bulkhead

“Bulkhead… they got hurt. I didn’t protect them…If I had tried—”--Buddy

“I’m going to stop you right there.”--Bulkhead

“Huh?”--Buddy

“From what Jack and Raf told us, you did everything possible to try and protect them. You went to fight for your friends. I could mistake you for potential Wrecker material.”--Bulkhead

“Ha… don’t let Ratchet hear you say that now.”--Buddy

“Yeah… but my point still stands. You’re a good kid Buddy and you protecting them just proves it even more.”--Bulkhead

Buddy trying to hold in some tears.

“Do you need Ratchet? Does something hurt?”--Bulkhead

“No—I mean I don’t feel good—but… just thanks… I needed to hear that.”--Buddy

Bulkhead gently stroking Buddy’s cheek from the tears.

“No problem, Buddy. Sleep, will ya? You’ll end up looking like those ‘raccoons’ if you don’t.”--Bulkhead

Buddy nods letting their eyes shut softly.

Ultra Magnus

Magnus is one of the bots helping get everyone out of Bulkhead.

He is the one who gets Buddy out.

In all his years holding injured soldiers, his servos shook more holding Buddy’s beaten body.

They were holding a bat in one of their hands.

“Bulkhead! What—”--Magnus

Buddy gently patted his digit.

“Hey Mags… how’s it going?”--Buddy

“Ratchet!”--Magnus

Buddy trying to soothe Magnus.

“It’s okay Mags… everything’s okay.”--Buddy

Concern truck noises intensifies.

Magnus quickly passed Buddy to Ratchet and June.

Jack and Raf retold the whole story.

Magnus was furious at the dirty fighting.

He goes off to the supplies closet to reorganize it, something to keep his mind off of the incident for a bit.

At least till he cools down.

Afterwards, Magnus is hypervigilant of the children after they are all patched up.

Magnus sits on a crate by Buddy’s side as they retell a bit of the story to him.

His servos clench hearing the boy who nearly decked them with a baseball bat.

“I don’t even know where that thing came from. It was like it came out of nowhere.”--Buddy

“Hmm…”--Magnus

Magnus is glaring with hatred at the bat.

Buddy takes notice and gently pats Magnus’s digit in reassurance.

Magnus and Buddy give each other a smile of understanding before Buddy tries to explain the game of Uno to him.

Bumblebee

Bumblebee feels the world stops the second Bulkhead is telling them to get the kids out.

He rushes over to get Raf out, gently cradling him in his servos.

“Beep bep bop?! (Raf what happened?!)--Bumblebee

Bumblebee gently turned Raf’s wrist to see more of the injury.

Immediately stops after hearing Raf take a sharp intake.

A quick little flashback to when Raf had gotten exposed to dark energon.

“Beep! Beep! Beep! (Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!)”--Bumblebee

“Its okay Bee, it just stings a bit.”--Raf

Bumblebee cradles him a bit closer.

Concern Beeping noises intensifies.

Bumblebee feels his spark drop seeing the rest come out of the car, especially Buddy holding on to a bat.

He is slightly hovering by the med bay with the other listening to the story.

He had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting the meathead once and that was enough for him.

He wants justice for the kids.

For Buddy.

He doesn’t leave the kids out of his sight for a while.

Ratchet walking into the med bay.

Bumblebee sitting on a corner of Buddy’s med slab, watching intensely at the human’s sleep.

Ratchet comes over gently placing a servo on his shoulder.

“They’re safe now Bumblebee.”--Ratchet

“Boop bop… bep beep boop bep bop? (I know… but it doesn’t hurt to have an extra set of optics watching them?).”--Bumblebee

“It doesn’t but you need to recharge.”--Ratchet

“Beep—(But--)”--Bumblebee

“They’ll still be here when you wake up. I will personally let you know when they wake up, as long as you go recharge.”--Ratchet

Bumblebee taking one last look at the kids, whispering a gentle ‘Thank you” towards Buddy, and leaves to recharge.

[blood-and-pizza]

Notable Details from the original "Into The Pit" story (PART 1)

Upon the mill's closure, Oswald's dad works part-time at the deli counter in a store called the Snack Space (a 7-11 equivalent, basically), which requires a red vest as their uniform. Oswald is embarrassed by the fact his dad is wearing the vest as he drops him off at school. Just a neat bit of world-building.

Oswald has a best friend named Ben who moved into the next town over.

Oswald's bullies, including Dylan Cooper, call him "Oswald the Ocelot" after a cartoon character they saw as pre-schoolers, a big pink ocelot named Oswald. Again, more world-building.

Oswald is described as having freckles and a cowlick in the original story.

Oswald has no modern electronics in his home, save for one laptop he shares with his family. His phone is an outdated model he's embarrassed by.

Oswald's teacher, Mrs. Meecham, puts on a movie for her class on the last day of school, which is described as "about a farm with talking animals", "too babyish for a roomful of fifth graders". I'm guessing they might have been watching the animated adaptation of Charlotte's Web... or it could be wishful thinking on my part, since I love that movie.

Oswald has been drawing mechanical animals ("bears, bunnies, and birds") for reasons even he doesn't know, other than lack of anything better to do when he's bored.

Oswald's mom works at the hospital from 12PM to 12AM... yikes.

Oswald's dad can't cook to save his life. If it can't be boiled in water or heated in a microwave, he has to buy his meals... how relatable.

Blue-box macaroni and cheese exists in FNAF, meaning Kraft and its products likely exist, too. Just thought that was funny for some reason.

Oswald's dad squirts ketchup into his mac and cheese. I just think knowing he's the kind of dad who does that is really funny... kinda reminds me of my stepdad's love of ketchup, to be honest.

Other pizzerias that once existed in Oswald's town were Gino's Pizza and Marco's Pizza, both of which closed not long after the mill closed. Both Gino's and Marco's are described as good restaurants, while the food at Jeff's Pizza is described as "decent".

Oswald is into B-grade Japanese horror films, including kaiju movies like Zendrelix vs. Mechazendrelix. Zendrelix is apparently FNAF's answer to Godzilla, making Mechazendrelix an equivalent to Mechagodzilla. They're described like this: "... Zendrelix just looked like a giant dragon thing, but Mechazendrelix reminded him [Oswald] of the mechanical animals he drew when he stripped them of their fur." Zendrelix is also described as being portrayed by "a guy in a rubber suit", solidifying the connection between him and Godzilla.

Oswald and his dad both really love bacon. I just thought that was cute.

When Oswald visits the library, a place he finds "actually kinda fun", he shows interest in a science fiction book from a series, as well as a manga he liked. Based, IMHO.

The library Oswald visits frequently allows homeless people to use their computers and other resources. WE NEED LIBRARIES AND THIS IS EXACTLY ONE REASON WHY!

Oswald's mom, being a nurse, is a bit of a germaphobe and won't let Oswald play in places she considers dirty. A ball pit would be considered one such place.

The pizza Jeff serves comes in huge slices too big for the paper plates they're served on, and very greasy. As someone who was born in NYC and used to eat greasy New York pizza... I think I would have liked eating at Jeff's. Maybe.

Oswald reads a library book while visiting Jeff's Pizza, about "a world where kids with secret powers went to a special school to learn how to fight evil". I wonder how many books that describes...

Oswald plays an online fantasy game at the library that's free to play, but Oswald gets to a point where he can't progress without money. I wonder what game it could have been...

Oswald's dad and mom used to date in high school, often frequenting a roller rink, and are great skaters as a result. Oswald himself can't skate and needs his parents to hold him up.

Oswald's dad only ever buys vanilla ice cream.

There's a video rental service Oswald's family uses called Red Box, but I don't know if it's meant to be the same as the actual existing Redbox. Maybe it is?

Oswald's mom is very good at playing Clue... oh, and Clue exists in the FNAF universe.

Oswald's dad prefers practical effects over CGI in movies. Oswald is the exact opposite.

Oswald's dad is a fan of country music. Oswald... is not.

[clover-system]

The longest list of anti-endo sources I've ever seen

While trying to find something else using Tumblr's infamous search engine, I came across this absolute gem:

NINE SOURCES!!! That's a record!! This is incredible!

@radpocalypse, listen. I am about to tear these to shreds, but before I do, I want you to know that you have my respect for not only compiling the longest list of sources I have ever seen an anti-endo provide, and not only doing so seemingly not directly prompted, but typing out every single link by hand, on mobile, without making a single mistake. Incredible work.

And also, to be completely honest, if I had nine sources supporting a belief, I almost certainly wouldn't look into them this closely. But, hey, that's what strangers on the internet with opposing views are for.

One more thing before the debunk: Endogenic systems do not claim to have DID etc. without trauma. They just don't. Whether it could be possible is often debated as an edge case, usually just to win an argument against someone of the opposing side, but really, it's irrelevant for 99% of the community. A good chunk are questioning OSDD based on later trauma, but as far as I am aware, no one on this website is claiming a completely endogenic plural disorder.

However, I don't want to dismiss entire pages based on this alone without further commentary, and it's a fun intellectual exercise regardless. So, whenever I use green text, I'm just playing Devil's Advocate under the premise of "If I was claiming to have DID without trauma (which neither I nor anyone else afaik is), would this source actually debunk that claim?" My syster will also occasionally pop in with purple, since she was cocon while I was writing this.

My dad just walked into my room and literally said "hey how it's going". You know, like. Like that one post. Amazing.

Anyway, civility established. Now come along with me on this long long journey of ten minutes of reading. Maybe put some music on in the background, if that will help you get through it. I had Near's Theme on while writing.

Here we go.

Link 1: McLean Hospital

Ok, main thing that caught my eye was

According to a 2010 Psychiatric Times article, only 5% of people with DID exhibit obvious switching between identity “states.”

Very interesting! Even with all of the "idk who's fronting" memes, 5% is really not that high. Though maybe online spaces like these help train the ability to identify it? The reference trail leads back to a book by Kluft but I don't really feel like going through dozens of pages for this. Definitely making a note of this though; I wonder if there have been any follow-up studies on this.

Not much to say here other than that. No mention of plurality outside DID.

DID is associated with long-term exposure to trauma, often chronic traumatic experiences during early childhood.

Dissociation—or disconnection from one’s sense of self or environment—can be a response to trauma.

Dissociative identity disorder—a type of dissociative disorder—most often develops during early childhood in kids who are experiencing long-term trauma. This typically involves emotional, physical, and/or sexual abuse; neglect; and highly unpredictable interactions with caregivers.

Why "associated", not "is caused by"? Why "can", not "is"? Why "most often", etc.?

Why such weak language?

Not that it couldn't be weaker.

I vaguely remember McLean getting into some hot water regarding a video they posted about DID, but didn't find anything concrete. Half-remembered anecdote aside, the author seems well-qualified.

C-tier debunk of this position. It's not nothing but it could be a lot better.

Link 2: Psych Central

It occurs in women 9 times more often than in men.

Very interesting statistic, but no citation provided.

Alters can show striking differences. For instance, one alter may speak with a different accent or have a softer way of speaking. They might have different opinions or a different gender identity, and even physical differences — like left- or right-handedness, or the need for a glasses prescription.

That's quite a stark difference here compared to the McLean article. What happened to "alters aren't that noticeable"?

But whatever, these are just interesting tidbits. None of this has anything to do with endogenic plurality. Nothing like "this is the only way to be multiple", no comment whatsoever.

DID is usually associated with adverse experiences in someone’s past and traumatic memories.

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is a mental health condition with strong links to trauma, especially trauma in childhood.

Bruh. This again?

In fact, the American Psychiatric Association reports that 90% of people with DID have a history of childhood abuse and neglect, based on research from the United States, Canada, and Europe.

Bruh. Seriously? 90%? You know what that leaves, right?

According to your own source, 10% of DID systems are endogenic.

But let's break this down. There's a big difference between the system being endogenic, and the DID being endogenic. This statistic is specifically referring to childhood trauma.

The wording's plenty vague though. This can absolutely be read as completely endogenic DID.

One review article from 2017 about the causes of DID noted that there was relatively little research on the condition to date.

The authors said researchers hadn’t yet investigated potential genetic and epigenetic factors. With epigenetic factors, the experiences and behaviors of your parents and ancestors can influence the function of the genes they pass down to you.

The authors of the review said scientists needed to do more research to investigate whether a person with DID might carry genes that can influence if they develop the condition or not.

This is particularly promising because studies have already shown that genes can influence dissociative disorders in general.

So you're telling me DID might be able to be passed down one or two generations? Wow. Again, this still has nothing to do with endogenic plurality, but I'm really glad I decided to play with this second angle, because it's so much more fun. We're certainly not at intentional self-inflicted DID here, but we are at this point a long way from certainly needing childhood trauma in all cases.

And also the reviewer is a military psychiatrist who specializes in ADHD. So uh. Not bringing our best here.

Link 3: Mayo Clinic

Gotta love an article that's nice and short. This is just a brief summary of a bunch of dissociative disorders. Again, nothing about endogenic plurality.

Starting to run out of things to say about this. This whole post could probably be a fifth the length if I didn't feel like playing on hard mode.

Formerly known as multiple personality disorder, this disorder involves "switching" to other identities. You may feel as if you have two or more people talking or living inside your head. You may feel like you're possessed by other identities.

Each identity may have a unique name, personal history and features. These identities sometimes include differences in voice, gender, mannerisms and even such physical qualities as the need for eyeglasses.

Hey, that reminds me of someone.

There also are differences in how familiar each identity is with the others. Dissociative identity disorder usually also includes bouts of amnesia and often includes times of confused wandering.

Again, McLean looking really odd with its declaration of DID's covertness against great detail like this. However, its author is so far the best qualified. This one just says "Mayo Clinic Staff". Can't even know which of them worked on this. Some of them are psychs, but if any of them specialize in dissociative disorders, it doesn't say so.

Dissociative disorders usually arise as a reaction to shocking, distressing or painful events and help push away difficult memories.

I won't bother quoting even more wishy-washy language because this post is already at an ungodly length (about 1300 words so far) and we're barely a third done. But yeah, suffice to say, no nail-in-the-coffin 100% link to trauma.

Link 4: Rethink

We are a trusted information creator and accredited by the Patient Information Forum (PIF).

Their bold, for once. That's an alarm-ringing corporate phrase if I've ever seen one. Also, first thing on the PIF's website is "balancing the risks and benefits of AI in the production of health information". So this article might've been written by GPT. Awesome. And yeah, a lot of this whole website looks to me like a bunch of interconnected pages with stupidly long articles written by stitching together LLM generations. Does pass GPT0's test though.

This one is so long. I'll take the ten minutes to read through every word, which I don't think @radpocalypse did, just to make sure there's nothing here, but one thing that does catch my eye scrolling down to near the bottom is that they misspelled their first citation.

A quick look at this Carolyn Spring shows a lot being sold and credentials nowhere in sight. Awesome.

So already I don't need to read this. The information here is not at a high level of trustworthiness. It's maybe better than nothing, but seriously, one can and should do better. But I'll read it anyway, just for bonus points. Thanks to AccelaReader for making this bearable.

Many people will experience dissociation at some point in their lives. Lots of different things can cause you to dissociate. For example, you might dissociate when you are very stressed, or after something traumatic has happened to you.

Some of the symptoms of dissociation include the following:

You may have clear multiple identities.

It‘s important to remember that you could have the symptoms of dissociation without a dissociative disorder.

So according to this, multiple identities can be caused by intense but non-traumatic stress, and might not necessarily be a disorder. So, while I admit this is a little bit of a stretch, we're four links in and this is the first mention of plurality in general, so I'll take it. One point for endogenic plurality. (And again, none of this really matters anyway because this is the worst source so far.)

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is sometimes called ‘Multiple Personality Disorder.

If you have DID you might seem to have 2 or more different identities, called ‘alternate identities.

Two missing closing quotes. Really not a good sign.

They suggest that DID is caused by experiencing severe trauma over a long time in childhood.

Aha! Finally, something concrete against endogenic DID! Too bad it's buried in the worst source yet. If we believed we had DID, we would absolutely not reconsider that based on a sketchy webpage with suboptimal syntax and no credentials.

Ugh, finally done with that one. What a slog.

Link 5: DID Research

Aha! The infamous psych student's blog! That's what Sophie said, anyway. Not taking her word for it though. Let's see what we can find here, independently.

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is the result of repeated or long-term childhood trauma

Why wasn't this first? First sentence, so crystal clear. No two ways about this, transDID destroyed right out of the gate.

DID cannot form after ages 6-9 because individuals older than these ages have an integrated self identity and history.

Why wasn't this first? It's so plain, so refreshing after four pages of strategic ambiguity. Nothing left here for green. But still no mention of non-disordered plurality.

The author is impressively credentialed but doesn't seem to specialize quite near this area. She's certainly better than most, high above any random Tumblr user talking out of their ass, but the good stuff would be to get a DID specialist to explicitly spell out that endogenic systems are not possible.

Also should make note of this big fat legal disclaimer:

While the author strives to make information on this website as complete, reliable, and accurate as possible, the author makes no claims, promises, guarantees, or warranties about the accuracy, completeness, or adequacy of the contents of this site and expressly disclaims liability for errors and omissions in the contents of this site.

If we did claim to have DID, this would rattle us a little but could ultimately be brushed aside.

Link 6: SANE

As usual, literally nothing about endogenic plurality. I'll just greenmode this.

The majority of people with DID have been through severe trauma in early childhood

And now back to our regularly scheduled nondefinitive language.

Fun fact: highlighting text on this website turns it invisible. Awesome.

A person needs to meet the following criteria to be diagnosed with DID:

- Two or more distinct identities or personality states, each with its own way of thinking and relating. - Amnesia and gaps in the recall of everyday events, personal information or traumatic events. - The experiences are not part of normal cultural or religious practice, or part of childhood imaginary play. For example, a child having an imaginary friend does not mean they have DID. - The symptoms are not because of substance abuse or other medical conditions.

Ah finally, a direct quote from the good ol' DSM. Notice the lack of a trauma requirement.

Funny enough, using only these criteria in isolation, we actually would count as having DID due to our grayout memory gaps when switching. DID is also listed in the dissociative disorders section of the DSM, not the trauma disorders section, so there is no implied criterion there either. However, there still remains the universal criterion of distress, which we do not fulfill. We are quite happy with ourselves.

DID is caused by severe childhood trauma, such as physical, verbal or sexual abuse.

Well, which is it?? Is it a majority association or a direct cause? Why the contradiction? Or is the emphasis on early childhood trauma?

Eh, whatever. Point is, green is once again shut down. But there is still no mention of endogenic plurality anywhere here!!

And no indication of who wrote this article, though the citation for direct cause is a dissociative disorder specialist. Does he actually say that in the cited paper, though?

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is multifactorial in its etiology. Whereas psychosocial etiologies of DID include developmental traumatization and sociocognitive sequelae, biological factors include trauma-generated neurobiological responses. Biologically derived traits and epigenetic mechanisms are also likely to be at play. At this point, no direct examination of genetics has occurred in DID. However, it is likely to exist, given the genetic link to dissociation in general and in relation to childhood adversity in particular.

I hope you have a dictionary on hand. That sure is a lot of big words that aren't in Firefox's built-in spellchecker. Still, after making sure I got everything, it's clearly not so cut and dry here. And we're back on the "it could be genetic" point.

Tangentially related: I do like the dismissal of the iatrogenic model on the basis of the brain scans.

Neurobiological differences have been demonstrated between dissociative identities within patients with DID and between patients with DID and controls. Given the current evidence, DID as a diagnostic entity cannot be explained as a phenomenon created by iatrogenic influences, suggestibility, malingering, or social role-taking. On the contrary, DID is an empirically robust chronic psychiatric disorder based on neurobiological, cognitive, and interpersonal non-integration as a response to unbearable stress.

Anyway, we're not even on the original page anymore, so I'll call it here. No mention of endogenic plurality, and the citation that claims to dismiss endogenic DID doesn't.

Link 7: NAMI Michigan

While the causes [of DID] are unknown

I'm tired. Aren't you tired?

Treatment for DID consists primarily of psychotherapy with hypnosis.

Yeah I'm calling BS on this one

And no citations on this entire page, nor even the author's name.

Statistics show that DID occurs in 0.01 to 1 percent of the general population.

Research has shown that the average age for the initial development of alters is 5.9 years old.

No sources listed. This is definitely the worst link. Literally on the same level as a rambling Tumblr user in terms of credibility.

Doesn't matter that it says

This disorder is believed to be triggered by physical or sexual abuse in childhood

Couldn't even get this dogshit source to be firm.

This one gets an F.

Link 8: The Psychology Practice

Got scared for a moment there that it said ai. No, that's AL, a name. Also this was written in 2022, so we're definitely safe. Can't actually find any other info on this AL character, but at least we can look up the co-author.

Hm, can't find anything on her, either. Well, at least this is a step up from the previous link. Let's see what it has to say.

According to the Dissociative Identity Research Organisation (2018), DID is formed in childhood due to repeated trauma in early childhood (before age 10) before the personality is fully integrated.

I do like that these later links are direct with this. They don't seem to have a citation for that DIRO, though. Unless...

No. Oh no.

Ok, so this one was written by a couple of clowns who definitely didn't do their homework. Cool. I'm getting tired of humoring awful sources like this, so moving on to the grand finale.

Link 9: NAMI

Wait, this is the same group behind the zero-citation article from Michigan! But that was just Michigan. Maybe the main site can do better.

Ugh, it's just another list of dissociative disorders instead of DID specifically.

The symptoms of a dissociative disorder usually first develop as a response to a traumatic event,

Aren't you tired? Aren't you tired? Aren't you tired?

Often these identities may have unique names, characteristics, mannerisms and voices.

Often? Wow. Sure is a far cry from 5%.

Dissociative disorders are managed through various therapies including: - Psychotherapies such as cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) - Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) - Medications such as antidepressants can treat symptoms of related conditions

No mention of hypnosis, allegedly the primary method of treatment?? (/sarc)

and there was no mention of plurality being exclusive to dissociative disorders

Oh, and no listed authors either.

So, after three thousand words of analysis, all we've come up with are nothing burgers, dogshit, and dogshit nothing burgers. Out of nine links, only one briefly and indirectly touched on endogenic plurality, and it was in favor. Even the argument against the traumaless DID strawman is weak at best. These sources are bad, to put it lightly.

@radpocalypse, if you're reading this, firstly, thank you for powering through your ADHD and dyslexia to read thousands of words dunking on your masterpiece. Secondly, if you have any more sources that you think are backing you, feel free to send them my way. Just uh, maybe read them more closely next time?

And that goes for everyone here. If you think you have a better source, or if I made a mistake or missed something here, I am open to correction. I am open to the idea that I'm wrong and I have some unknown trauma to work through, but I certainly won't go digging unless I have good reason to believe it's there, and I haven't seen any good reason. And if you haven't either, maybe it's time to reconsider your position.

One last thing before I go.

Have you ever actually seen a pro-endo carrd, let alone one cited in standalone? I haven't.

Here's a much longer list of much better sources than yours supporting endogenic plurality compiled by the traumagenic Guardians System. I don't expect you to read anywhere near the whole thing; just pick a few links at random. And yes, while many of them are peer-reviewed papers, some of them are Tumblr posts, but those Tumblr posts cite peer-reviewed papers, so it's all good.

Thanks for reading.

[orchidyoonkook]

Under The Willow Tree | MYG

Title: Under The Willow Tree   

Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life

Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.

Word Count: 7401

Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM

A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process. 

A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k​, @katykatmeow​, @here4btsfics​ and @phthartic-fox​​ for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness. 

It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.

Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.

It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.

The one under which you had your first kiss.

You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.

But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.

It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.

To get away. From anyone and everything.

There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.

Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.

Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.

Copy. Paste.

Copy.

Paste.

You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.

You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.

You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are. 

And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.

Copy. 

Paste.

It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.

You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.

You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.

What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.

You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.

Of leaving.

But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.

It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.

You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.

You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.

Seen how they treat him.

Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.

You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.

The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.

Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.

Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.

They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.

As if he were acid.

As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.

You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.  

And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.

You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.

You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.

And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.

You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’  having not once in your life resonated.

You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.

The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.

The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base. 

Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.

No one bothers you here.

Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.

And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.

So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.

Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.

Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.

Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.

So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.

You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.

You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering. 

You’re always elsewhere. 

And he’s finally figured out where that is. 

He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did. 

Not to him.

But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer. 

Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.

So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house. 

For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.

After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves. 

You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you. 

Soft. Wistful even.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.

Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.

And as he does, you get your first real look at him.

He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.  

The ones now focused on you.

“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”

So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?

…Why you?

You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.

To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.

It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Can you trust him?

No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.

All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.

“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.

“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

Those four words alone are all you need. 

He gets it.

“Yeah.”

Maybe you can trust him.

Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.

And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”

You think about it for only a second.

No. No you didn’t.

“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”

He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.

And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.

“Yoongi.”

An introduction.

“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.

His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff. 

So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.

Releasing, he settles in.

What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.

It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.

Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.

Your favourite.

Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.

Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.

The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.

You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.

On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.

    “Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.

    Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.

    “Pride and Prejudice.”

    That was the last answer you expected.

    “Why?”

    He lifts his head to look at you.

    “I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”

After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.

    “Just have to save up enough money first.”

    You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?

    Who knew?

    Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.

    He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.

    That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.

    You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.

    “Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.           

    “Getting there,” was all he gave.

And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.

    Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.

    “My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”

    You grieved for him as he told you his story.

    How he had to raise himself.

    Just like you did.

    “I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.

    Knowing how it felt to be alone.

    You understood.

    You did, you did, you did.

    Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”  

    It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.

    And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.

    How you’d…treated him.

    A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.

    Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.

    “My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.

    Even though it was August.

    “He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”

    You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips.     He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.

    He understood.

It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.

The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.

Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.

Just him and his bike.

You turn sheepish.

“Can I tell you something?”

He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.

Brown and endless.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take a deep breath.

“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”

A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.

“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”

There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.

He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”

You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too. 

But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.

“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”

“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.

“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”

“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.

“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”

Oh. Well then it must be,

“Your pants pocket?”  

“Nuh uh, try again.”

Damnit!

You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?

“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.

“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”

Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.

It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.

He holds it against a palm to show you.

“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.

With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”

A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.

And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.

An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.

One he doesn’t know if he deserves.

Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.

“Yoongi,” you hesitate.

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.

You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.

What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.

You falter. “W-what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”

“But I—”

“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”

It never leaves your neck.

“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.

“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.

“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”

He was kidding right? He must be.

For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.

What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.

So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.

But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.

“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.

“Because I’ll be there.”

And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,

“Okay, fine.”

Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.

Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.

“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.

“Oh.”

What a weird place for an ignition. 

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”

Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.

“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.

He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”

Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.

You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.

Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”

You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.

The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.

“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”

“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.

“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”

Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.

Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.

Holy shit!

You’re riding a motorcycle! 

You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?

Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.

Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.

He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.

You’re positively giddy.

“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.

Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate. 

But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.

“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.  

Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.

And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.

The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.

Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy. 

“Really?”

He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’

You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.  

Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.

And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,

“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours. 

What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well... 

“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided. 

Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen. 

Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.

He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.

You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.

You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.

You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to. 

Literally.

But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.

Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips.  A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you. 

Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.

Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.

Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.

He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.

And you’re worried.

Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.

It’s not like you can go looking for him.

And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.

But you can’t help it.

Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.

Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.

They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

Six days.

It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.  

And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.

“B-but why? What happened?”

“I got fired.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”

Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.

Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.

The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.

The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.

The Yoongi you fell for.

Your Yoongi.

The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.

He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.

You don’t know this person.

And you hate it.

You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.

He’s—he’s leaving. 

Actually leaving.

This place, it’s people.

You...

The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.

“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.

Don’t let him see you cry.

He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?

You don’t get to feel this way!

Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.

Make it go away. Far, far away. 

Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.

In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.

His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.

He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.

Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”

But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.

You’re crying.

He made you cry.

And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.

“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.

Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.

Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.

You have no one, aside from Yoongi.

And now you won’t even have him.

So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.

But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help. 

And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.

An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight. 

He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.

He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.

You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.

When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.

“I got you.”

“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do. 

This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust. 

Of course he’s got you. 

You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”

The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.

“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.  

“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.

It doesn’t meet much resistance.

Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.

He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.

Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.

It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.         

You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.

So close, yet so far away.

Because he’s leaving.

And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.

He’s as special as they come.

Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.  

Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.

Like him.

You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.

It’s funny, really.

It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere. 

Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

Anywhere he can reach.  

Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.

You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.

And then you’re scared.

Terrified, actually.

To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.

What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?

Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?

What if you just ruined everything?

Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.

For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.

Is it shock? Or worse.  

Disgust?

Doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“

Lips on yours shut you up.

It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.

It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.

He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.

You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.

Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.

The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.  

Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.

He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”

You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”

“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”

Yoongi looks so serious but..

He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.

And now?

Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss. 

“Come. With. Me.”

It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.

So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.

You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.

“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”

He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.

Your salvation.

And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.  

Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.

In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.

In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.

Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years. 

Something he never wants to lose again.

He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.

Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.

Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.

For not being like one of them.

Because you’re not one of them. 

You never have been.

And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.

You don’t have to anymore.

You’re free.

A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

[xdaddysprincessxx]

Pieces of Him

Cult leader Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Dead Dove! Horror! 18+ only! Ritualistic cannibalism, angst, death, blood, cameo from Ezra, made up religion, betrayal, infidelity, p in v, non/dub con (heavier on the non but added dub just to cover my bases), oral (f receiving), squirting, pregnancy/breeding (they literally just had sex so no actual fetus, Joel is just delulu) reader can be picked up, and oh yea Joel is out of his damn mind, pretty sure that’s it. Not beta’d, lightly edited, all mistakes are my own! Moodboard made by me(:

Joel was a young man when he married the love of his life. High school sweethearts. They were only twenty one when Laura got pregnant. Joel immediately got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife. The two had a cozy little house on a few acres, about an hour outside of town. When Laura went into labor, Joel about fainted. He was terrified of becoming a dad, he wanted his girl to have better than he ever did. Unfortunately right after Laura pushed little Sarah out into the world, things took a turn for the worst. She lost a lot of blood and kept losing blood. The doctors took Sarah and pushed Joel out of the room trying to save her. He’ll never forget how cold that hospital waiting room was when the drs finally came out and told him Laura had passed. The loss of his wife took a toll on Joel. Not only did he lose his best friend and wife, he had to raise a newborn on his own. Thankfully he had his brother, Tommy, who helped out a ton with Sarah. But life was not kind to Joel Miller. Twelve years. He got twelve years with his Sarah before the day his sweet girl got struck by a drunk driver and killed. He became a shell of a man, void of all emotion and life. That was until he met a very charming man one day.

Ezra was a gypsy of sorts. Never staying in one place, always on the move. And spreading this gospel about this amazing creator and all the good things he does and can do for you if you please him. Joel met him when Ezra was walking past his house. He happened to be outside when Ezra spotted him. Joel didn’t even notice him until he was already standing next to him as Joel looked out over his big yard, depressed because there should be kids out there playing. Sarah should be out there, running around, while him and Laura cook dinner on the grill. When Joel did notice the stranger standing next to him, he tried telling him he didn’t want whatever he was trying to sell. Joels efforts to shake the man went unnoticed as Ezra rambled on and on. Not too long into the conversation, Ezra told Joel about The Children of Ares. Not like any religion Joel’s ever heard of, he was intrigued. Ezra promised eternal life, salvation. A guarantee Joel will be reunited with Sarah and Laura. There was a small group in town who also followed the same practice. Not long after meeting Ezra, Joel went to a meeting in town and soon found himself deeply immersed in this religion.

Fast forward ten years, Joel is now a high priest in The Children of Ares. It’s grown a lot since he’s joined. And even more so since he’s taken this position of power.

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Strolling down the main street on a Friday night, you, your boyfriend and your three friends are all laughing and joking enjoying the brisk fall night. Halloween decorations line the store shop windows, there’s orange and black fairy lights strung up along the sidewalk, going from post to post. On the corner in front of you is the towns crack head spewing his usual nonsense about “the masked freaks who eat people out in the woods”. You’ve never paid him any mind but for some reason his words have you on edge.

“Hey Steve why don’t you go hit the crack pipe again and shut the fuck up!” Your boyfriend, Liam, yells to the man.

Steve narrows his beady eyes at your group, “You’ll regret that boy. The big man is coming. He’s gonna get you and there wont be a lick of you remaining.”

The unease of his words pours over your body and you don’t notice the man standing there, waiting to cross the street when you bump into him.

“Oh oh I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you okay?” You quickly say as you bounce off of the man you bumped into. Not only is he tall, he’s practically a human wall. The man turns and looks at you, at first with a scowl on his face. But once he gets an eye full of who bumped into him, he quickly replaces the scowl with a smile.

“Oh it’s no problem honey, shit happens,” he says with a chuckle, “I bump into things all the time. Joel. Joel Miller” He says to you with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye as he reaches out his hand for you to shake.

Smiling, you shake his hand and tell him your name. You can’t help but notice how handsome he is. The salt and pepper hair, scruffy facial hair, that smile and those eyes! Not to mention his body! For an older man, he is jacked. You can just tell through his jacket he’s got thick biceps and these meaty thighs. You envision a soft tummy under those clothes. You can’t help but get lost in thought as you stare at the older man.

Joel notices you just staring and let’s out a little chuckle, “Well hey I’m apart of this little group. We’re having a bonfire tonight if you and your friends wanna swing by. There’ll be drinks, food, the works. Here have my card, I can text you the address if you want.”

“Oh yea for sure! That sounds fun!” You say over enthusiastically as you take the card from him and pull your phone out of your jacket pocket to type his number in and send a text. Right after you hit send, his phone dings

“That’s me! Just text the address and we’ll be there!” You give him a big smile as he smiles back at you before nodding his head and giving you a little wave.

Your friends were a little ahead of you, waiting for you to catch up.

“Ooohh someone’s gotta crush!” Your friend Aaliyah said in a singsong voice. The twins, Salem and Violet, standing next to her giggling, covering their laughs behind their hands.

“Oh shut up I bumped into him and he invited us to a bonfire. Besides I already have my handsome, wonderful boyfriend right here.” You say as you look at Liam, sliding your arm around him, looking up at him with hearts in your eyes. Liam snuggles up to your side but keeps his eyes trained on Aaliyah with a shit eating grin on his face.

Scrunching your face up in confusion you look where he’s looking and the unease gets worse. You stand there watching the two have this little flirty stare off.

“Come on guys let’s go check this thing out. It’ll be fun.” You say to break up the tension you now feel between your boyfriend and friend.

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You, Liam, Aaliyah, and the twins all piled into Liam’s truck as you made your way to the bonfire. Joel lives out in the middle of nowhere. After driving for awhile with nothing but corn fields and woods as far as the eye can see, you notice a bright orange flame off in the distance. That must be the bonfire.

Soon you pulled up and turned onto crunchy gravel driveway after traveling on a dirt road for a good portion of the trip. Joel has a nice one story house with a huge yard. The bonfire is behind the house, off a good distance, closer to the tree line but not close enough to accidentally set the woods on fire. There are several cars in the driveway, Liam parked his truck in the grass beside the driveway. As you and your friends got out of the truck, you stood there looking up at the night sky. You could see all the stars and the moon. It was very peaceful, a nice reprieve from the horrible gut feeling you’ve had.

“Hey! You guys just get here?” Some guy yells at you as he walks towards you from the bonfire.

“Yea! We were invited by Joel!” You yelled back

“Well come on back new friends of Joel’s.” He says back with a smile.

You smile back as you walk around the truck to join your boyfriend and go to grab his hand. Except he pulls his hand away without looking at you and follows the guy to the bonfire. Your group walks in silence, music fills the air. You end up in the back of the group, following in silence, feeling left out like everyone is in on this inside joke and they’re all laughing at you but you don’t know why.

Just as your passing the deck attached to the back of the house, you feel a hand grab your arm making you jump, forcing you from your thoughts.

“Hey darlin. It’s good to see ya came.” Joel says in a low baritone voice. Seeing the older man’s face and hearing his voice is already lifting your spirits. And awakening something else within you, between your thighs.

“I’m glad I came too. It’s good to see you again.” You get out breathlessly with a giggle. You literally sound like a love stricken school girl. You have got to get a grip on yourself.

“If ya want something to drink or anything, my door is open darlin. Help yourself to whatever alright?”

Nodding your head yes, a comfortable silence between you two as you share a smile before heading towards the fire.

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Sitting around the bonfire, you laughed and joked with all the others that are there. Joel almost hardly ever left your side, even going as far as putting his arm around you. In a friendly way of course, but your pussy didn’t see it that way. Whenever his big, meaty hands touched you, your body would heat up almost as if he lit a fire on whatever part of your body he touched. Your friends keeping more to themselves, acting stuck up almost. It makes you feel bad you dragged them out there. You didn’t want them to ruin your newly made friends’ night. At one point you looked over and saw Liam and Aaliyah sneak off toward the trees. That bad gut feeling rearing it’s ugly head, as strong as ever. Joel had gone somewhere, so you got up from your seat and followed them as unsuspiciously as you could. Just before you reached the tree line you could see your boyfriend and friend standing there, kissing. Nausea hit you like a truck, the world around you spinning. Your heart dropped out of your ass. You couldn’t believe what your seeing. How could they? But also this is making everything make sense. No wonder Aaliyah always seemed jealous of your relationship. No wonder Liam’s been acting more distant lately. Tears slipped out of your eyes as you turn around and walk all the way back to Joel’s house.

Walking in through his back door, your head hanging down you don’t notice the scowling old man standing on the other side of the sliding door until your shoulder bumps into him.

“Oh! Oh Joel I-I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t m-me. . “

“Darlin don’t you say sorry again. You ain’t do nothing wrong,” he says as his hand reaches out to cup your face, “I saw what happened honey. If anyone’s sorry it’s those two. You don’t deserve that. Not one bit.” His thumb slowly caressing your check as he swipes away a stray tear. You reach up and grab onto his wrist of the hand holding your face. Joel moves closer to you as you look deep into his eyes. Slowly you inch closer to his face, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes before bridging the gap and bringing your lips to his. His lips press back against yours, feeling plush and warm. Lighting up every nerve in your body. You feel him breathe in deep through his nose as he begins to kiss you back harder. You break the kiss just to press your lips back against his, repeating the action several times. The two of you just kissing each other before you pull back and stare up at him with wide eyes,

“J-Joel I- I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, you don’t want me I-“

“What did I tell you, darlin? Stop saying sorry. And don’t you dare say I don’t want you. I’ve been dying to have a taste of those pretty lips since we first ran into each other.” Joel’s hand that’s still cupping your face slides down to your chin as he grips your face between his thumb and fore finger and brings your face back to his. His lips bruise yours as he kisses you deeply, parting your lips with his tongue as he begins to slowly lick into your mouth. You gladly open up and let him in, softly moaning into the kiss, and you enter your tongue into his mouth. Your tongues twirling around each other before you suck his tongue, causing him to growl. His other hand grabs the back of your head, smashing your face even more into his. His aquiline nose smashed into the side of your nose as you continued to passionately kiss Joel. Your hands wrapped around his thick torso, holding him tightly to you, your hands gripping his flannel. Joel bends at the knee as his hands grip the backs of your thighs and hoists you up. You quickly wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you further into his home. You bury your face in his neck and start to lightly suck on his neck causing him to let out this deep growl as his grip tightens. Soon he’s tossing you like a rag doll and your back hits a soft bed. Wasting no time Joel leans over you and begins to take your pants off. You lift your hips to help him and begin to pull your shirt off, tossing it to the side. Now only clad in your bra and panties, Joel just stares at you with dark eyes as he looks you up and down. Devouring every curve of you with his eyes alone.

“Tell me you want this darlin. I gotta hear those words. I gotta hear you say you want this before we go any further.” Joel says as he goes to grab your chin and pull you towards him.

“I want this. I want you Joel. Please.” You beg. Eyes blown wide open as you drink in the sight of this beautiful man in front of you.

Joel wastes no more time and begins to pull his shirt up over his head before unbuckling his pants and quickly getting rid of them. He crawls up the bed, hovering over you before lowering himself. His plush lips meet yours as he kisses you deeply. Your hands raise up to cup his face as he wraps an arm around your shoulders as his other arm reaches down and pulls your leg up on his hip. The two of slowly grinding your bodies into each other, tongues conversing with one another. The heat from his body lighting your body up like the Fourth of July. The hand on your leg moves in between your bodies as Joel finds your sweet wet haven and rubs your slit up and down causing your slick to leave an even bigger damp spot on your panties. Every touch, kiss, grind has you so wound tight. He pushes your panties aside and dips a finger in, gathering your wetness before trailing up to your clit, going in soft circles.

His light touch has you gasping into his mouth. Joel just smiles as he kisses you one more time before moving down to your neck. Wet, open mouthed kisses leaving a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, in between your breasts. He makes his way slowly kissing down your stomach, Joel looks up and sees you staring back at him. Those gorgeous brown eyes staring back at you, you swear he can see your soul. His hands tug on your panties and begin to peel them off of you. Once removed, Joel’s big hands land on your inner thighs as he spreads you even wider as he admires your body.

“So fucking pretty baby. This for me?” He asked as he dips a thick finger in your entrance. Moaning and shaking your head yes, just barely hanging on.

Chuckling, “This sweet little slice of heaven belongs to me now honey,” he says before dipping his head down and giving your clit a couple kitten licks. His hand travels up your body and cups your breast, squeezing, before he pinch’s your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

“It’s yours Joel. I’m yours oh god I’m yours” your head thrown back as you babble incoherently. Joel smiles into your pussy before his tongue is back, licking wide stripes up your cunt before finding your clit and giving her a few sweet kisses before he closes his lips around the button and sucks. His hand still on your breast rotating between squeezing and rolling your nipple while his other hand has snaked its way to your cunt. Two thick fingers curled up in you have you gasping for air. His mouth and hands alone have already brought you close to the brink of tears. Never feeling ecstasy as good as this before. His fingers find rhythm curling up, hitting that sweet spongy spot inside of you. His sweet mouth never letting up on its assault on your clit.

“R-rrright there!! Oh god right there don’t stop oh fuck please don’t stop j-Joel oh Joel!!!” You start to scream his name as he brings you to the ultimate euphoria. Your cunt spasming as you squirt all over his beautiful face. You grab onto his curls and try to move his head as he continues to lick and suck on you. Barely able to even catch your breath, your cunt starting to hurt from the overstimulation from his mouth. Unable to move his head, you just grip his curls and hang on for dear life already on the brink of a second orgasm. His tongue and fingers are relentless never once letting up. Before you can even register what’s happening, your coming again. Squirt just dribbling out this time rather than shooting out at Joel. Your whole body shaking, boneless as he looks up at you. His face wet as he gives you this shit eating smile,

“That’s it baby give me every drop of your sweet essence.” He says as he admires your sore cunt before running his tongue through your folds one more time.

Joel sits back on his haunches as he grabs your hips and flips you over on your stomach, pulling your butt up slightly as he notched himself at your entrance.

“I think your sweet little pussy is ready for me now darlin. Whatcha think baby? Think she can handle me?” He says with a dark chuckle as he starts to feed you his cock inch by inch. You feel yourself stretch to accommodate his girthy length. Every little bit of his cock sliding along your walls has you quivering. The pace he’s going feels like forever before he hits home and buried his entire length inside you. His cock punches all the air from your lungs, all you can do is fist the sheets beneath you as your mouth drops opens in a quiet scream.

“Fuck she’s squeezing me so tight already honey. Poor baby hasn’t been fucked right, has she? Awe I don’t think she has. Needs daddy’s big cock to stretch her out how she likes huh? Yea she does.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. Your face smashed into the bed, all you can do is nod your head. His filthy mouth has you ready to beg for more. Ready to beg him to fuck you hard. Too see you so pliant and ready to take whatever he gives you has Joel’s eyes rolling back as he pulls out until the tip is left before pushing back in with a quick thrust. He finds his pace with ease, giving you hard, unrelenting thrusts that push you up on the bed as you try your hardest to push back, wanting to fuck yourself back on his cock. But all you can do is lay there and take him. Joel leans down, his chest covering your back as he bites down on your shoulder. You moan loudly as your head lifts off the bed, tilting back. His hands find yours, his fingers interlocking with yours as you continue to grip the sheets. His pace slowed ever so slightly so you feel every thrust, every vein, every inch go in and back out. You swear you might black out from how delicious his cock feels deep inside you. Feeling fuller than you ever have,

“Jj- joooeeeeelllll nngh I-I’m gonna - oh. I-I’m gonna cum daddy fuuuckk oh please don’t stop!” You manage to get out as you move your head to the side, managing a whisper in his ear. Joel moves his face from your shoulder to your face and does his best to kiss you. It’s rather sloppy as you both go to lick into each others mouth, only to barely make it in, getting the sides of each others mouths more.

“Oh good baby good. Give daddy what he wants. Let me feel this sweet fuckin cunt cum all over me. That’s it, that’s fucking it sweet girl oh fuck I can feel her baby I can feel her coming nngh oh.” He moans into your ear as you hit your third orgasm of the night. Your whole body seizes up and you begin to come, your cunt milking his cock for all its worth. Judging by the grunts coming from Joel he’s close too. His thrusts become sloppy before you feel him thrust all the way in and begin pulsing. His thick load coating your walls, you swear you feel him in your womb. He stays inside you for awhile after, resting his head on your back as you both catch your breath and come down from your highs.

He pulls out and moves to lay next to you, helping you to roll on your side. He wraps you up in his blanket before holding you tight to his chest. You bury your face in his chest, taking a deep breath in. His woodsy, musk scent filling your nostrils. Your so spent, sleep finds it’s way to you with ease. The both of you holding onto each other, you eyes finally shut as you drift off to sleep.

💀♥️💀♥️💀♥️💀♥️💀♥️💀♥️💀♥️💀♥️💀♥️

You roll over, trying to find warmth as you start to open your eyes. All too soon it hits you, you slept with the older man you had just met. Joel. You’re still in his bed but he’s gone. Your friends!! The bonfire! You sit up quickly before the memories of what you saw flood back into your consciousness. Fuck Liam and Aaliyah. How dare they betray you like that? You climb out of Joel’s bed and grab a red flannel off the ground and pull it on. The shirt covering what you need it to cover as you button it up a little bit, leaving the top four buttons undone. You decide to go out and find Joel, bring him back to bed. As you walk into the kitchen, you look out the window above the sink and make out the bonfire is still going strong. The clock on the wall reads 3am on the dot. Curious you open the sliding patio door and step outside, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. You keep on walking towards the bonfire. As you get closer, it seems like everyone’s gone. Suddenly you notice a robe swishing behind a tree, you decide to follow. Walking into the woods, it doesn’t take long before you find everyone. The sight makes you stop in your tracks. Everyone’s backs are to you, all dressed in white robes with these masks covering the top half of their faces. The bonfire still close enough to give you enough light to notice red. The sleeves and bottoms of the white robes are covered in red and they’re all eating? What looks like red, raw meat in their hands, feasting as if they were animals. You move to go back to the house when your foot hits something and you look down and notice a severed arm. You gasp loudly, putting your hand over your mouth. Jumping back in fright, you hit a solid wall. Turning around, you find Joel.

“What are you doing out here darlin? You aren’t meant to see this. Not right now. Not good for the baby.”

Terrified and absolutely confused by what he meant by that you start to back up.

“I-I Joel please. I-I’m sorry I didn’t know I-“ swinging your head around, everyone has now stopped and are looking your way. An endless sea of blank white masks staring at you. You can see the pile of bodies they were circled around. You make out Liam’s head laying next to a pile of intestines. Human flesh hanging in their hands as they’ve all come to a stop. Your eyes wide in horror as you realize those were your friends. Their bodies laying on the cold hard ground, filleted wide open. Severed body parts scattered about. They were eating them. Actually eating their lifeless bodies.

You turn back to Joel before you trip and fall on your ass. You start to slowly crawl backwards, away from him.

Slowly getting down on his knees before getting into a crawl position, “Now don’t do something stupid honey. It’s okay. I built this community for us. For you. I’ve been waiting for the day my queen came home to me. This is our kingdom to rule.” He says in a low, gravelly voice as he begins to crawl towards you. A terrifying predator coming for his prey. You do your best to crawl backwards while still facing him but he reaches out and grabs your ankle, pulling you toward him.

Thrashing your leg, trying to get out of his hold, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Joel please! Let me go! I won’t tell anyone just let me go!” You try to beg, hoping he’ll take mercy on you as you grab onto the leg he has a hold off and try your hardest to yank back out of his grasp.

Joel just smirks at you as he climbs on top of you. His hands grab both of yours and holds them together, pinned to the ground.

“Don’t you see? I did all of this for you baby. I gave you a beautiful home, a community of people who love you. Why can’t you see that? Those others only hurt you, betrayed you. I love you darlin. Always have. I need ya to calm down now honey this is for your own good.” He tells you as you continue to struggle to get out of his grip. He manages to grip both of your hands in one of his as he brings his hand to his mouth. He bites into the fatty part of his hand, drawling blood. He shoves the bleeding hand into your open mouth. The metallic taste hitting your tongue, making you gag.

“Stop it! Stop moving dammit! This is for your own good! You need me! You need my life essence baby! The baby needs it! Take it!” He shouts at you as he continues to shove his hand into your mouth. Unable to get out of his grip or close your mouth, you finally give in and stop moving, letting his blood flood your mouth. Tears stream down your face as you realize you aren’t getting away from this. From him. He’s convinced you’re with child even though it’s only been hours since you’ve had sex. It’s literally impossible for that. Yet he sure thinks so. And on top of that, he’s convinced you belong to him and you need his blood and then there’s the fucking human eating monsters behind you. You aren’t getting out of this alive. Playing along is the only option you have.

“That’s it baby there’s my good girl. I love you darlin. Don’t you love me?” He asks as he removes his hand.

“I love you Joel. I’m so sorry.” You whimper out, only audible enough for him to hear. Joel leans down and captures your bloody lips with his. Kissing you deeply, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. You kiss back, not really having any other choice but to kiss him back.

Joel’s free hand moves down to your cunt, dipping a bloody finger in between your folds, giving you a couple quick rubs on your clit before removing his hand to pull himself out of his pants. His leg nudges your leg to open more as he swipes his cock through your used pussy. After a few swipes, Joel starts to push into you. You’re just wet enough for it to not hurt too bad but it feels so much more intense than last time. The stretch really burns as he continues to push into you. Pinned down on the ground, all you can do is take him. Having been completely occupied by Joel, you had temporarily forgotten about your audience. That’s when you notice a low hum of voices surrounding you. You break the kiss and look to the side and see masked people surrounding you two chanting something in a language you’ve never heard before. Next thing you know, they all get down on their knees, arms extended in front of them, bowing towards you and Joel.

“Eyes on me darlin. It’s okay, you’ll know soon enough what’s happening. It’s a good thing baby. Ffuck oh honey I love you so much. My sweet girl. M-my beautiful Queen, that’s it, take daddy’s cock nngh” Joel tells you as he grunts, bottoming out inside of you again and again.

You can’t help but to grunt as he continues to thrust deep in you. You’re barely able to comprehend anything that’s happened nor the fact you have an audience who also happen to be bowing down and chanting. You are well and throughly screwed.

~Fin~

A/n: I’ve had this idea for awhile, wrote some of it, had a creative slump and had a visit from the horny monster today and wa- la! I hope y’all enjoy this! I love you all and appreciate all the feedback!♥️♥️

Tagging some moots(: - @bonezone44 @multiversed-daydreamer @toxicanonymity @lumoverheaven @wannab-urs @neverwheremoonchild @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beefrobeefcal @josephquinnswhore @juletheghoul let me know if you want me to untag you!

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

fandom: alice in borderland

characters: chishiya shuntaro, banda sunato!!

summary: they meet you again in the borderlands, thinking they'll never see you again after getting there.

warning(s): medication, psychiatry, badly written feelings (i gotta get a hang of it, it's my first writing with them )):), past is in italics

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐀

word count: 1.682k

coming home to the beach after a game, he felt a little tired. nothing special happened, watching other survivors running around in the hallways of a building was quite interesting. 

suddenly, something got into his eyesight. on the beach, on his favourite place on the top of the building, someone stood. they didn’t notice him, they just stood there, looking down at the people without any movement. who was that brave to stand there? it was dangerous, they could fall in any minute, and it was only used by him and sometimes niragi —he knew he smoked some weed up there with his friends, he heard it when he wanted to go up there to think. this person wasn’t a scaredy cat, he thought. who were them? before he began to walk into the building of the beach, where the tárgyaló terem was, he saw the hatter sitting on one of the sunbeds, between pretty girls. maybe he knew, if he let them there. 

“hey, hatter.”

“chishiya, hey! come, sit here, there’s plenty of seats.” the girls beside hatter smiled at him, but he wasn’t affected.

—

before y/n, he wouldn’t think that he could ever feel flustered by a girl, or even a person. he merely knew other people’s reaction, sometimes even by just looking at them. but with y/n, he didn’t know what was gonna be her next move or words that came out from her mouth. she wasn’t even a normal girl, with abilities like hers she couldn’t even be simple. they got to know each other when y/n were at the psychiatry in the same hospital as him. he got to know that she went there with her little brother, but instead of her brother, it was her who needed help in the end. for the first time, he talked to his colleagues from psychiatry. it turned out that y/n had the highest iq in her age in the whole of japan, based on tests. but her emotional intelligence lacked things like guilt, or spaced out and slept for whole days. he got to know that she even skipped school just to sleep or be with herself in her room, generating conflict with her parents and her teachers from school. y/n loved one person and one person only; her brother. her love for him was stronger than anything, she always protected him and even bullied other kids in his brother’s class when she saw them bugging her brother, to the point that some of the kids needed to change schools because of their mental problems. not to say that she was beautiful too; sure, her mother and father were also fine-looking, but as she sat there, in the chair, like a statue of psychopathism, she was something else. 

the first time he met her, it was an accident. he wanted to get some snacks and to relieve stress with a little walk around the hospital. going down to the vending machine, he noticed somebody else. great, now he can wait for another clumsy being to pick out their snacks with high cholesterol and sugar intake. when he got there, he noticed that it was a girl, with the same h/c hair and the same body type. 

it was y/n. 

she waited for her snack to come, but then, the curled steel that could roll out the bag stopped. instead of doing anything, y/n looked at the glass window, trying to press buttons. she really wasn’t the violent type, instead, she analyzed the situation. but with a vending machine, there weren't many things she could do. chishiya walked up beside her, bumping the side of the machine. the snack fell down, so the girl could take it out. the perfume of her crawled up to his nose. her hair smelled good, it wasn’t the cheap shampoo the hospital gave to their patients, her hair was silky and shiny, like she didn’t just lay everyday on the couch of one of his colleagues. 

“it needs a little push.” 

y/n nodded, grabbing out the bag from under. as chishiya picked his snack, she stayed there, just watching him. glancing to the side to check if she still was there, and not just disappearing like a ghost, chishiya saw that she was still standing there, and she didn’t even look away when he caught her red-handed. her eyes were a little bit wide, and they were talking about her feelings. and now, they told chishiya that she was curious. 

“did you figure it out for a long time?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. chishiya looked at her, as she pointed to the side of the machine. it was full of handprints and little signs that he and his colleagues as well tried to get out their snacks in a way, until they found the right place to push. she really was smart.

“yes. i’m chishiya, pediatric cardiac surgeon.” he said, as he reached out his hand for her to shake. 

“i know.” y/n answered, shaking his hand. “it’s on your card.” she added. 

“why are you here?” he asked as they sat down. y/n looked away, like she was thinking. 

“my parents think i’m a psychopath. but i just don’t like anybody else other than my family… my little brother.” she said. she wasn’t keeping things from him, her speaking tone was clean and simple. 

“so you think you’re fine?” he asked as he picked a piece from his snack. y/n nodded. she was so small in the big building, yet he knew that she wasn’t there without a reason. sliding her snack on the table, she smiled a little bit. 

“do you want some?” 

a little after that, it came out that y/n was hypersensitive, and since his brother was the closest to her, she fixated on his feelings since his childhood. it was like some separation anxiety she couldn’t beat down when she was a child, and they had nothing to do with her smartness. 

“wait, why are you so interested in her?” his colleague, who y/n’s psychiatrist was, asked. chishiya shrugged his shoulders. 

“just never found anybody like her.” 

and it was true. 

—

“hatter, don’t you know who that person is?” he asked as he pointed up to the top of the building, still seeing his lover. hatter looked up too, nodding. 

“yeah, yeah i know her! she came today when you were at your game, but she didn’t say anything. she had four cards, gave them to us, and it contained two cards we didn’t even have! other than that, she didn’t even say her name. although she didn’t seem troublesome, she didn’t react to anything when niragi or aguni threatened her. niragi fumed and wanted to shoot her, but what could we do with a dead brain as good as hers? we agreed that as long as she stays, we have a better chance to escape from this world. can i ask you something, chishiya?” 

chishiya nodded, eyes not breaking from the girl’s form. 

“what would that be?” 

“please follow her or watch out for her. she didn’t promise that she would stay here, and i don’t want to lose her because of her brain and abilities. might give her a rank between us, but i want you to think about this too.” 

he nodded again. watching out for her is gonna be easy, and deciding that she would have a place between the leaders is gonna be easier. with y/n’s mind, they should watch out, but he didn’t worry. walking up on the stairs and opening the door, she was still there. the wind blew her hair, as she stood right before the sun, her figure curved out black. sure, he would notice if she walked down beside her, but just like their first meet, he wanted to make sure. stepping closer and closer to her, he knew she knew he was coming up to him, but she didn’t turn around. when he was only two steps away from her, she sighed. chishiya felt happiness. calmness. relief. that he can sleep again with her in his arms. that he can hold her hand if he wants to concentrate. that he can look at her for reassurance, as she always knows everything. that she remembered her, against the fact that they didn’t get here together. that she found him again. that he isn’t alone in this world, just like he was before he met her in the empty hospital hallway. before he could know everything about her, before he got to know that the only other person she can truly love is him. and that he can truly love him too. 

stepping behind her, his lips were beside her ear. her hair held the same pure, sweet smell he first smelled. 

“you found me.” 

turning around, he could finally look her into her eyes. they held happiness and the same relief he felt. grabbing a lock of his hair, she smiled a little before she kissed him. bringing y/n away from the edge of the top of the building so nobody could see them, chishiya brushed her face. in the next moment, soft lips crashed into each other, just like they used to, grabbing the back of her head and her waist, she held one of his hands with hers, the other held his face. he couldn’t get enough of her, only her movements and the way she hold onto him woke up the fire in him, what he thought he never gonna feel again as he was separated from y/n. 

“hatter told me to look after you and not to let go of you”, he said as they heavily separated from each other. y/n blinked. “but i wasn't planning on either. how long did you plan to stay on the beach?” 

the girl leaned into his hand that slid from the back of her head to her cheeks, looking up at him. 

“as long as you stay too. i don't go anywhere without you again.” 

—

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀

word count: 1.954k

she was the craziest girl he ever knew. 

not in the fun and simple meaning of crazy, but crazy crazy. doing things without a second thought, laughing at serious situations from the deep of her lungs, not caring about the meetings with her psychiatrist, not taking her meds. they were friends since childhood, but when y/n moved away, they lost contact, the first meeting as two grown people was when banda’s friends dragged him to a party. there were around thirty people dancing to the music, drinking as much as they could, and doing usual things people do when they’re at a party on a friday night. banda knew he felt something for her even when they were twelve years old, beside that even then, she was showing the signs of madness –burning her skin intentionally, chewing violently at her nails, or doing dangerous things against her parents’ yelling and hollering. maybe this was the cause that she moved away, he didn’t know back then. and now that he saw her again, he couldn’t care less. banda was listening to his friends’ talk, but then, a blood-curdling scream sounded, and as he heard, a bottle clashed against something. 

“i said, that leave me alone, fucker!” a girl screamed, and everybody looked in the way of the noise. for a moment, everybody stopped. banda saw the same girl he used to know; her hair and makeup was different from the past, but it was the same way she carried herself, the same way she screamed, the same way she held something –now the broken bottle, beside her, a guy was lying with a bleeding head, moveless. so he was the one who tried to step over her boundaries, banda thought. y/n looked around, wiping her nose. “what? he… he tried to rape me! don’t look at me, just be busy with your own business, fuckers!” she yelled as she stormed out of the door. 

“that’s a crazy bitch” one of his friends said, sipping from his drinks. 

“yeah, maybe the sex could be good with her, sex is always good with crazy chicks. but i would be scared that she’d cut off my dick” another said, but banda couldn’t concentrate anymore. what if he can never see her again? disappearing into tokyo’s streets, he didn’t know her phone number, where she lived, or what she did. 

“i have to go now”, banda said as he ran after y/n. some of his friends shouted after him to have a good time and good luck with her, and to protect what he has to protect. he ran as fast as he could, hoping she stopped at some point of the street. he had luck; y/n stood in front of the crossway, trying to lit her cigarette. as she cracked again and again her lighter, she became more and more nervous. picking out his own, banda collected all his courage. 

“hey, uhm… do you want mine?” he asked, and y/n turned her head into his way. she nodded. 

“yeah, yeah… thank you” she said, as she accepted the fire and lit her cigarette. “what do you want?” she asked, like she was testing him. banda gulped; she was the only girl from the beginning who could make her nervous, but in a good way. 

“just… saw that you broke that bottle against that guy’s head, and… wanted to ask if we knew each other from somewhere.” he knew that his speech was curved to another way, but she didn’t mind. maybe because her thoughts were the same twisted ones. examining his face, y/n’s eyes began to get bigger. 

“you are familiar from somewhere… but i don’t know, sorry, the meds take away all my memories…” she muttered, holding her temple. banda furrowed his eyebrows. medicines? for what? was she ill? 

“i think… we know each other from the past, i think. childhood? i’m banda sunato.” 

“banda… banda… hmm… i think i know that name. were you the boy who gave me flowers that he stole from the cemetery?” she asked, grinning. banda took away her cigarette, blowing it into her face. 

“i think you forgot that like every other girl.” 

y/n shook her head, laughing, linking her arms around his neck as she took back the cigarette. 

“i didn’t even forget when you said that you love me.” 

later, the night was spent talking, eating, and after a couple of drinks, they ended up having the most mind blowing sex they ever had with other people. y/n scratched his back and clawed at his shoulders and waist, but banda didn’t mind it –after all, he was all hers and never looked after other girls, only for a quick hook up, but nothing else. y/n’s body and soul was eating him up, and he didn’t want to dodge her bites –instead, he wanted to crawl into her mouth to feel the constant tingling in his whole body. y/n slept away quickly, and until banda was awake at dawn, he brushed her hair, kissing her forehead and the crown of her hair often, like they weren’t even met tonight, but they were together for years. banda didn’t want anybody else, he wanted y/n with all of her craziness and little antics that she showed. his mother even asked him when he was going to settle down, but he didn’t say anything, only shrugging his shoulders. he saw the meds on y/n’s drawer, they were all kinds of psychiatric stuff that could control her mind. they were all half empty, but as the dates showed, the last pieces should have been taken a few days ago too. is y/n really crazy? those things that she had as a little girl didn’t get better, but worse? before he could type the names of the medicine into the search bar of his phone, he heard a little shuffle behind him. 

“are you gonna leave me because i don’t take them?” y/n’s voice was quiet, as she crawled up to him. her breasts pressed to his back. banda turned around, kissing him, tilting up her chin as her drowsy eyes drank in his sight. 

“no. but you have to tell me why you gotta take them.” 

— 

he was wanted for killing four women. that’s what everybody knew, as the ‘tokyo ripper’ hid in one of the empty hallways of tokyo at midnight. but the main reason was to see y/n in a sedated state. they come to get her, since she didn’t signed up at her psychiatrist’s session from months now on, and her doctor signed her up into the ward of the incurable. when he went to see her in visitor's hour, she only nodded and looked behind him as banda talked to her; like he wasn't even there with her. the glint and shining went out from eyes, and while yes, she was crazy, but now, she was just an empty body without a soul. banda couldn’t watch her any longer; he felt desperate, and felt the need to change this somehow, but he couldn’t know how. the killing of four women was meaningless to him, he wanted to do the same crazy things so he could get together again with y/n, if he tells the police that he did these things because of some sickness in his mind. without y/n, he felt emptiness that nothing could satisfy; not even murder. 

“i’ll come back, y/n” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she was in his embrace, only a white hospital dress covering her body. y/n tilted her head into the crook of his neck, brushing his neck and hair with shaky moves. 

seeing the red and blue lights of the police cars illuminating on the walls, he began to run again. banda hoped that he could see her again; maybe in the psych ward, maybe before his death sentence. 

—

after the game ended, banda went out to breathe some fresh air. a little blood remained on his shirt, but he didn’t mind it –he could be himself in this world; he could do anything with anyone he wanted to, even in game, even outside of games. as he headed to the next arena and to get some food, he heard little klicks, like when someone wanted to light the cigarette. he slowly walked there; maybe they had weapons, or they were just making sounds to stalk anybody they could find. 

“fucking lighter, again? fuck this!” he heard a murmur. banda’s heart began to beat faster –it was familiar, so familiar. wasn’t dull, but sharp and clear. stepping out from behind the wall, he saw her again. 

y/n was off meds, sparkling and full of emotions –not the very best emotions a person could imagine, but she was there again. her soul in her body. she was fortunately the complete opposite of what he saw as when they last saw each other. before his arrest, before her dictatorial medication, before this strange world. banda gave up the hope to see her, he thought that she stayed in the normal world, if the normal world even existed. as she noticed him, she turned around, grabbing her knife from behind her back, ready to strike. however, as soon as she realized who was standing in front of her, the knife fell out from her hand. 

she began to run, and stopped right before him, stumbling a little. lifting up her hand to reach his face, her hand was slow, like she didn’t believe he was there. banda took her hand, and made it touch the skin of his cheek, dragging it across his face, down to his pulse on his neck. he didn’t know he needed her touch so much; every little brush with her little fingertips woke up parts in him he thought he forgot long ago. y/n’s breath agitated; she gulped with teary eyes. 

“you came back to me.” 

she remembered what he said to her, when she was at her lowest. banda smiled, brushing the hair out from her face. banda felt as if his heart missed a beat at her eyes, full of hope, that only he saw when he promised her on their first morning after that he’s never going to leave her. never going to leave her by his choice. only life was cruel to them. 

“i promised you.” 

before he could say anything else, y/n pulled down his head to kiss him with full force; they were biting, licking and gasping into the kiss as banda gave in everything he could too. pulling her closer by her waist, he wanted to swallow more and more from the familiar, sweet feeling he felt every time he made love to her. 

in that moment, as they communicated with only touches, kisses, moans and gasps, they both knew they didn't want to get back to the normal world, the world they lived in before. y/n didn’t want to take meds, and banda didn’t want to see her again in that hopeless state. whatever tantrum or attack she gets, he’s gonna help her, as he did before. and banda, he didn’t want to get back because of the death sentence, and because this was the most beautiful world he ever lived in –with all its brutal rules and games. y/n didn’t want to be away from him too, they wanted to be crazy and bad together as long as death didn’t take them apart. 

they loved each other stronger than any law and boundary. and in this world, nothing could stop them from being together. 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃.

author's note: hope you enjoyed it just as much as i enjoyed writin this little thing. requests are open for alice in borderland now, according to this post !! love y'all girliez xoxo

(ask for requests in comment or here)

[xoxobuckybarnes]

February 2024 Stucky Fics

Completed

Keystrokes and Music Notes (Rated: M, Words: 32K) by goblininawig / @goblininawig

Summary: Bucky is paying Steve for help tracking down his stalker. Nothing happens until something happens: Steve falls in love.

Mr. Brick Wall & Mr. Overshare (Rated: T, Words: 7K) by LilyElk13

Summary: Based on the Tumblr post that's like "half of college professors are like 'you can know nothing about me except my name' and the other half are like 'and that's why my wife left me! anyway what's up with y'all'" and the response "There were two professors like this in my department and I was one of like 20 people who was taught by both of them so there was a very small gang of us who knew that Professor Brick Wall and Professor Overshare were married with two kids." except in this it's high school teachers instead of college :)

A Company Man (Rated: E, Words: 75K) by mambo / @whtaft

Summary: It’s the way that Bucky smiles at Steve from across his desk. No, it’s the way that Bucky’s hand brushes Steve’s as they stand side by side in an elevator not crowded enough to justify their closeness. Or maybe it’s the whispered conversations every Saturday night, the way Bucky saves Steve’s number under a different name in his phone. No matter what it is, the truth is the same: Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes, a married man.

Rock You Like a Hurricane (Rated: E, Words: 112K) by CelticCross

Summary: Bucky Barnes is an author, he's written many books in his Winter Soldier series, starring Lloyd Hansen and Nick Fowler. He hasn't written a word worth writing in the past three months and his agent, Sam Wilson, forces him to take a break. Sam books him a rental beach house in a place called Plum Cove in Mass for three months, hoping to break him out of his writer's block. The owner, Steve Rogers, retired Plum Cove Police Captain, landlord and part time surfer is surprised to get such a lengthy off season booking but takes it anyway. He doesn't expect to spend a lot of time with the person renting his house, but then he wasn't expecting the storm to be that fierce.

Closing Time (Rated: M, Words: 10K) by RecoveringTheSatellites / @thisonesatellite & art by maichan /@maichan808

Summary: Steve works in a Brooklyn dive bar. A tall, guarded guy comes in to drink at regular intervals. He always sits in the back corner. Steve leaves him alone. He looks like a guy who deserves some peace and quiet. He does find out the stranger's name is Bucky. Finds out what he likes to drink. And little by little, conversation happens. Connection happens. Until one day a cock-flock of dudebros comes in (i made up cock-flock, but really, is that not their collective term) and the heckling goes up to eleven once they’re good and drunk. Bucky gets asked to take it outside. Steve will have none of that, thankyouverymuch. . A tale of love and hope in unlikely places, sprinkled with a bit of PTSD, and the occasional sarcastic quip.

Use Your Agency (Rated: E, Words: 15K) by romanticalgirl

Summary: Bucky is given the assignment (punishment) of being the agent whose job it is to integrate the newly-thawed Captain America into life in a new century. Only maybe it's not so bad. Because Bucky ends up dealing with Steve Rogers, who is nothing like the Captain America in Bucky's history books. From coming out of the ice through AoU.

Stay with Me (Rated: E, Words: 79K) by maikurosaki / @allegra-dreams

Summary: When Bucky Barnes accompanies his family to a ceremony dedicated to George Barnes' activity, he expects free food and drinks, the occasional boring speech, and watching his dad blush furiously as he gets to finally meet his childhood hero. What he doesn't expect is saving Captain America's life and getting shot in the process. What follows is a slow road to recovery, eating hospital food (still disgusting), making new friends (Avengers!!! Seriously, the Avengers!) and pining over Captain America (he won't comment on that). It sounds simple, but it really isn’t!

The Steadfast Soldier (Rated: E, Words: 12K) by danielosbourne

Summary: Bucky returns to Brooklyn to help his sister navigate a family crisis.

twelve twenty-five (Rated: E, Words: 43K) by burning_brighter / @burnin-brighter

Summary: “I have to say,” Winifred says, a mug of cocoa in her hands. “When you say you were bringing someone home, I thought you meant you were bringing a boyfriend. But I’m glad you brought Steve.” “Who says I’m not?” Bucky teases, laughing when Steve lets out an exasperated groan. “You two finally got your respective head out of your respective ass?” asks George, looking at Steve and Bucky intently. “No,” Steve says pointedly, “Bucky just thinks he’s so funny.” - Ever since they met, everyone assumed it was just a matter of time before Steve and Bucky became a thing. Ten years later and it has yet to happen. But when Bucky invites Steve to spend the holidays with him and his family in upstate New York, things start to change.

WIP

Every Me and Every You (Rated: M, Current Words: 38K) by deadto27 / @deadto27

Summary: Bucky Barnes is doing his best. He’s getting by after the blip, after Sam became Captain America, after Steve…well, it’s best he doesn’t think about that. The point is, his life is different now, and he’s trying his best. He just wishes the hollow feeling in his chest would go away.—–Bucky gets blinded by a bright light as the tear seems to implode in on itself and there’s an odd little jolt as the pulling stops, and then Bucky’s blinking, trying to get his vision right again as he loosens his grip on America.“You okay?” he checks, still squinting. He’s probably not blind, he thinks. It just feels like it right now.“I’m okay,” America tells him and he sees her nod shakily as his vision starts to clear, and he carefully lets go of her, seeing that she can support herself, hands pressing onto the floor next to her.“Uh…I don’t think I am,” says another voice, and Bucky turns his head so fast he might give himself whiplash. Because he knows that voice. He knows that voice better than any other voice on the planet and he’s missed that voice, so, so much.

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) (Rated: E, Current Words: 103K) by dorian_burberrycanary / @burberrycanary

Summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

[gibsongirled]

the two strangers.

description: schlatt's used to smuggling weird stuff to people, but never a girl. you don't make it that easily for him to smuggle out either.

warnings: mentions of guns

The water stains on the walls of Schlatt’s rundown apartment looked like they could be a part of the Rorschach test.

Sometimes he’ll sit in the living room on his off days and just stare at the wall, trying to make out what shape or pattern the stains had for him that day. The walls would offer splotchy dots of insects, two people dancing off rhythm, or his mother’s face- the last one makes him squeeze his eyes shut until he sees stars behind his eyelids. Curse those damn water stains.

Schlatt’s work wasn’t all that much. He got drafted into the fun job of burning the dead, infected bodies five months into the apocalypse when the military found him wandering on the side of the road with a bat in his hand and the clothes that he looted from some shop, and took him to a quarantined zone with the other members of civilization- and Ted, he was surprised and glad when he saw him. And when he wasn’t burning bodies, he was running supplies for all sorts of people for extra ration cards. First aid kit in this economy? Yeah, that’d be five ration cards. Ted ran his own operation too, it wasn’t just him swiping shit under the government’s noses, and he wasn’t the only one in the business. Sometimes Schlatt hated how Ted managed to get in situations that were not easy to get out of.

Ted and his group of acapella boy scouts (okay, maybe that wording was a bit harsh) had found you near an abandoned mall at the edge of the quarantined zone with your hands scraped and caked with dirt and grim. You were scuttling around in the dark like some rat and jumped at the sudden flash of light that was pointed at you, raising your arms in a defensive stance as if you were expecting someone to attack you. That was probably five weeks ago and you’re not that sure because you’re basing the time on the worn out calendar that hung on the wall in your room- a firefighter calendar, seriously?

The weekly questionnaire had become embedded in your brain to the point that you were sure you could recite all the questions in your sleep. What’s your name? Would they mind if you gave them a fake name? You weren’t even in the database - the lab you worked at made sure before they ushered you and everyone out - and you doubt they’ll even know your actual name, but you were a good sport and gave them your name anyway. How old are you? Simple, your twenty-fifth birthday is next week… or next month. Seriously, you needed to find an actual calendar that wasn’t stuck in 2021. Some math question you knew off the top of your head. Stand on your left foot, stand on your right foot. Hold both arms out. Jesus Christ, you haven’t done stuff like this since high school gym class, but you complied and they left you alone until you have to do that all over again next week. Be a scientist, they said. You’ll get good money, they said. No wonder those people are dead now.

“Jesus Christ- you’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me, Ted!” Schlatt erratically waves a hand in your direction, making a face that looks like a scowl when he meets your eyes. You lean on the doorframe, watching the conversation between the two men unfold in the hallway. The sun peeks through the cracked windows, specks of dust dancing along with the light. Ted sheepishly glances at you before returning to his friend, trying to explain the situation with exaggerated hand movements. Eugh, theatre kids.

“She’s worth a lot-” he gets cut off by another scowl from Schlatt, who gives you a stink eye. You mirror his expression, scrunching up your nose as you cross your arms. “And I’m giving you half the share, Schlatt. You just need to take her to the hospital - you know the one - in Salt Lake City.”

You knew the hospital too. It was connected to the lab you worked in Little Rock before the outbreak, and it was also the first hospital in the system to lose contact with your lab a few days before the outbreak. You and the others didn’t think much of it- systems go offline sometimes, plus with the shitty old equipment, it was either you or them who were bound to lose contact at some point. But you waited for it to come back online with no luck, thus cutting connection with another lab that was trying to help you cure the flu. You couldn’t even call it the “flu” now.

“Why can’t Charlie take her?” Schlatt asks, rolling his shoulders back. “I thought he did most of the smuggling.”

“He’s busy… with other stuff,” Ted replies back, “look, you’d be doing me a huge favor here.”

Schlatt grunts, knowing how many favors Ted owed him over the years. He thinks the deal over. Getting half of the share wasn’t that bad- smuggling some random girl out wasn’t the greatest idea that Ted had, but if it pays then sure, he was doing it for the money anyway. “Ugh, fine.”

The small room that you had in Ted’s apartment looked better than Schlatt’s apartment.

The stripped, oddly colored wallpaper’s peeling down, exposing the grimy, white paint underneath. Your eyes dart around the splotchy dots, trying to connect and make odd shapes. You sit on the couch, your bag of supplies that Ted gave you beside you and hands on your knees as you intently stare at Schlatt, who sits on the armchair opposite from you. He gives you a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” comes your quick reply. Schlatt leaves it at that, not wanting to engage further in the already short conversation with you. You tap your fingers on your knees, seemingly bored at sitting still in a room with a man who didn’t look too thrilled to talk to you.

“We’re waiting for night, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, cool.”

Night came faster than you expected. Of course, the added bonus was that you slept upright on the couch to speed up the time faster. Though now you had to deal with a kink in your neck. The edge of the quarantined zone is surrounded by guards on the night shift. Whether it was walking on the grounds or on top of the lookout, you couldn’t really get past them unless you were one of them, or invisible. Schlatt shushes you, index finger against his lips and you nodded, giving him a slight thumbs up at which Schlatt looks at you with a confused look on his face before going back to scanning the layout of how you two were supposed to go out undetected.

Schlatt spots an exit that was left unguarded and he beckons you with his hand to follow behind him. The two of you crouch behind the sandbags nearing the exit until Schlatt gets spotted, a flashlight points at him. The source of light then points at you, you look up to see the perplexed look on the guard’s face. So much for wanting a quiet exit.

“Hey, don’t move! Don’t you fuckin’ move!” The guard starts, darting the flashlight between the two of you. You freeze like a deer in headlights, staying in your crouched position, looking at the guard who probably isn’t even paid much to deal with shit like this.

“Hey, Jack-” Schlatt starts, slowly standing up and gesturing with his hand for you to do the same. You straighten back up like those inflatable balloon men at car dealerships, hands at your side as the heel of your boot digs into the coarse dirt.

The guard cuts him off, “It’s James.”

You make a face at the name. Damn J names. “Oh yeah right,” Schlatt forces a smile on his face. “Look, man, you know me. I ran shit for you” Schlatt raises his hands up in surrender and you do the same. “We’re friends, right? Just let us through.” The guard - unamused with his words - raises his gun, pointing it towards you and then at Schlatt. Shit.

In a quick flash before you could even process what had happened, you feel Schlatt grab your hand, pulling you hard after him as a shot goes off in the air and the guard limps on the ground, clutching his leg. You almost trip on your legs, unable to follow the fast pace that Schlatt had set out, dragging you behind like a rag doll.

“Come on, Doc! Catch up!” Schlatt barks his words at you, his grip on your hand tightening as you try to match up to his pace.

Eventually, the two of you stand outside the quarantined zone. You can hear the alarms ringing out in the distance behind you, your heart thumping in your chest as you pant. In the dark, Schlatt lets go of your hand, opting to adjust the strap on his backpack. You look at him, squinting in the darkness, trying to make out the features on his face.

“So, where to next?”

[archivalofsins]

It's nice to think of kindness- Wrong which Milgram character would kill you and why?

(Before we get into it, none of these are meant to be theories on what the prisoners did or why. These are just incredibly general statements on why they may possibly kill you with some references to canon. I don't want someone taking this thing I wrote for fun too seriously.)

Haruka: You take up all the attention even though you swear you don't. Then complain to him or near him about how unfair all this is and overbearing it feels to be fawned over all the time. He thinks it's bad to hate you, but you're pressing all the wrong buttons.

Yuno: You keep fawning over her. Well, not her actually, just whatever you decide to project onto her. It's at a point that she's certain you've made a completely different version of her up to love and she the person doesn't matter. She's kind of fine with it. You're clearly having fun, and who is she to be a kill joy. But you keep bothering her based on conclusions you jumped to and she's running out of patience.

Futa: You pretend like you care a lot about doing the right thing online. You know all the buzz words and playing the caring saint is second nature to you. Your reputation is spotless and from experience he knows that means you've probably got the worst shit in your closet. That you might be a hypocrite who puts on this nice rule abiding front just to excuse harassing others under the guise of anonymity. He's not entirely sure but he's dealt with enough bad actors to kind of see a pattern. It's none of his business though unless you point that sort of attention at him or someone he cares about. Which luckily you haven't, right?

Mu: You were just such bullied kid material. I mean look at you- Being the nail that stuck up and her the hammer that hit you back down. It could be for a lot of reasons. You're bad at reading the mood or you're good at it but just don't care to play along and indulge her. You're uppity and think things should work in some purely righteous or good way. You just can't let the people around you have fun. Why are you being so mean and judgmental, huh? It's not like Mu did anything wrong? Honestly, I think you kinda deserve this one- She's been nothing but nice and accepting of you and your whims but suddenly you wanted a high horse to ride when it came to hers. It's like you only care about something being wrong when it's convenient for you. It's either wrong when everyone does it or no one. Fair is fair, after all.

Shidou: I'm sorry you needed medical care and came to this private organ harvesting farm disguised as a hospital. It sucks that you came here for an out of your control health emergency, but he just can't help himself. Maybe this time, what he's trying to do will work out. You won't be alive to know, though. Take some solace in knowing he probably won't even remember your name after the paperwork is filed. This truly was a random act and nothing personal. Well, unless... No, it's best not to say. At least then you can pass on without the knowledge that your life was weighed like cattle for a state fair. Maybe your inferior existence can save another's superior one. Then your life will have really meant something even after all that. You just need to hurry up and die already so he can check.

Mahiru: You know I should feel bad for you, but how did you even start this? No, seriously? How did you manage to get Mahiru's attention. Even you don't know, it's not like you're particularly interesting. Honestly, you wouldn't even say you did anything that nice, just the bare minimum. Well, whatever you did, I guess you better keep it up. Who knows what will happen when she loses interest- Huh, where'd you go? Hmm... weird. They're probably fine.

Kazui: No. Man, you really have a bad habit of saying that word to the wrong sort of person, huh? That's unfortunate. It gets more and more difficult to let a person down easy these days. But damn didn't think you'd get killed over it. Well... Now you know how women at bars feel.

Mikoto: Is it really self-defense if all a person is defending is their reputation. I mean all it takes is a few ridiculous accusations to ruin a person's entire life these days. So, maybe- just maybe you should have shut the fuck up. Don't worry you won't be able to talk for much longer. His problem and you will disappear at the exact same time.

Kotoko: Why are you evil? Less than human in every way? Oh, I'm not asking that seriously. These are just the things you'd be wondering when she hunts you down until you have nowhere else to run. Everyone makes mistakes from time to time, but you didn't think any of yours would make you deserving of something like this. But a crime is a crime. Evil is evil. This is just what happens when the same punishment is used across the board. You just never thought that board would include you.

[cherrycola27]

Whoever's in Lemoore

Hello, loves! I wrote this for @roosterforme 's #tgmrocktober challenge!

This fic is based on the Reba McEntire song "Whoever's in New England"

Warnings: Language, cheating, pregnancy and related complications. Angst

...........................................

Bob Floyd was the best husband you could have ever asked for. He was kind, smart, hard-working, and attentive.

You were an elementary teacher, and Bob was a WSO. The two of you probably never would have met, had your best friend Jennifer "Boston" Lyons not set the two of you up. The two of you grew up together, and Jeni was a member of Bob's squadron in Lemoore.

Unfortunately, when Bob was called back to Top Gun and then eventually given a permanent station in San Diego, you had to leave her behind, but it was fine. You two had always made a long-distance friendship work. Honestly, it had helped prepare you for the times that your husband was deployed.

You were thankful though, that with his new station, deployments would be less frequent.

After buying a house and settling down, the two of you decided to start trying for children. Bob had three siblings, and while you didn't have any, both of you agreed on the fact that you wanted at least three kids.

You both also knew how stressful it could be on a couple when trying for children, so you decided to stop taking your birth control and have fun for a year. If you got pregnant, great, if not, after a year, the two of you would get serious, start tracking cycles, and see a specialist if needed.

You had really hoped that each month, you'd get a positive pregnancy test, but month after month, they came up negative.

Bob was extremely supportive of you, and after a year, the two of you buckled down. You tracked your cycle, both of you watched your diet, and you even saw a fertility doctor who assured you that both of you were healthy and to give it time.

Give it time.

You tried to give it time, you really did. But you were so desperate to be a mother that it started to take a toll on you, Bob, and your marriage.

Suddenly, trying for a baby wasn't as fun as it once was. Sex became more of a chore rather than a thing of enjoyment.

But finally—finally you and Bob got the miracle you'd been hoping for. Only, you seemed to be more excited about it than he was.

You chalked it up to shock.

Unfortunately, pregnancy was not easy for you. Early on, you were diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, which caused you to experience dehydration and a short hospital stay. Your blood pressure was also dangerously high, and your blood sugar wasn't at a level that the doctors were happy with.

Which is why, at sixteen weeks, you were put on bed rest until your child was born.

It was hard for both of you. You couldn't eat or sleep. You were moody and irritable. You libido was also in the toilet. You hated your life, but you knew it would all be worth it.

At first, Bob seemed so supportive, but as time passed, be became cold and distant.

Looking at it now, you can pinpoint where the cracks in the foundation of your marriage started. If only you'd seen them sooner.

................

"Honey, I'm home." Bob called as he entered the kitchen. You were sitting on the couch watching TV. It was late. Almost 8pm. You had already eaten dinner, showered and changed into some comfy clothes.

You offered Bob a weak hello as he came in the door. He'd been getting home from work later and later.

In the darkest part of your mind, you thought the worst—that he had someone else. But he wouldn't do that to you. He was your Robby. You were carrying his son for crying out loud.

On a particularly bad day, you asked him about it. He was almost heartbroken that you could even think that.

He soothed your worries by telling you, "I'm working on important things for our future. I'm an officer on his way up. I'm trying to make sure you and the baby are taken care of." You believed him. You cried as you apologized to him.

"How's my favorite girl and my favorite little guy?" Bob asked as he came and kneeled in front of you on the couch. He pressed a few kisses to your stomach before moving to your lips.

"We are fine." You sighed as he trailed his lips across your jaw to your ear. "Fine? Is that so?" He whispered. His hot breath fanning across your skin.

Bob trailed one of his hands to the apex of your thighs before you stopped him.

"Bob, not tonight. I've been sick all day, and I've finally been able to keep something down." You told him with an apologetic smile.

He didn't say anything. He stood up, muttered something under his breath, and wordlessly went to shower.

You sat there and wept. You hated yourself. You felt like the worst wife on the planet.

Later that night, you tried to make it up to Bob, but you got sick halfway through. After you had puked your guts out, Bob had tried to hold you, but you didn't want to be touched. It led to an argument and him sleeping on the couch. What a Monday.

Tuesday, Bob came home and told you he'd be going to Lemoore Wednesday afternoon to help with a training workshop on Thursday and Friday and he would be back late Saturday evening.

"Again?" You sighed. "Bob, that's the third time this month! And you went several times the past two months. Doesn't Admiral Simpson understand that you have a pregnant wife at home who is high risk?" You ask him.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry, but just a few more weeks and everything will dial down. I promise." Bob said as he kissed your head and went to pack a bag.

The only thing you had to look forward to was that Jeni—or Boston, as she typically went by her call sign now, was supposed to visit this weekend.

However, se called you Wednesday night telling you that she was sick and wouldn't make it.

So, you spent the rest of the week alone, sulking, in your all too quiet house.

When Bob came home on Saturday, you were feeling good. The best you had in all thirty weeks of your pregnancy.

You made him his favorite dinner and greeted him at the door with a big kiss. He was more than happy to sit down and have a meal with you.

After dinner, you urged him to shower, with the hope that you'd be able to spend some sensual time together.

While he was showering, you grabbed his bag to unpack it and do some laundry.

As you were taking his clothes out, a feminine scent washed over your extra sensitive nose.

Perfume—and it wasn't yours. But you were sure you smelled it before, you just couldn't place it.

You shook your head before letting your mind wander. Bob worked with women, and he was friendly—one of them probably gave him a hug and was wearing a lot of perfume—it made sense. Bob wasn't that kind of guy.

You dismissed the feeling in your gut and started the washing machine.

A few minutes later, Bob's phone rang. You checked the caller ID only to see that Jeni—your best friend was calling him.

"Jeni?" You said as you answered the phone.

"Y/N!" She exclaimed, almost as if she was surprised to hear your voice.

"Jeni, why are you calling Bob?" You asked her. There was a long pause.

"Jeni—why are you calling my husband?" You ask, this time a little more forcefully.

"Oh, Y/N, it was supposed to be a surprise. I'm coming down at the end of the month because I was going to throw you a surprise baby shower, and Bob has been helping me with it." She tells you.

"Aww, Jeni, that's so sweet. Well, I'll have him call you back so I don't ruin anything else!" You cheer into the phone before hanging up.

"Why do you have my phone?" Bob asks you. You turn around, surprised to see him.

"Jeni—er—Boston, I guess, called you to talk about the baby shower that you're helping her plan. I'm sorry I ruined the surprise, but Robby, you're the sweetest!" You say as you wrap him in a hug.

"Baby shower—right." Bob breathes out. "Let me call her back." Bob says as he takes his phone. You leave to give him privacy, but before you can make it down the hall, you hear him speak in harsh, angry whispers. You hate that you ruined his surprise, but you wish he wouldn't be so hard om Jeni. It's not her fault.

Another week passes, and Bob becomes more distant from you. You hyperemesis gravidarum is acting up again and your mood is all over the place.

He's coming home from work later, and you can't help but wonder if something is amiss. But you dismiss it time and time again.

One Wednesday afternoon, you decide to surprise Bob on base with his favorite lunch.

You walk into the rec room where his fellow aviators are waiting and they look at you like you have three heads.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Rooster asks you.

"I came to bring Bob some lunch. Where is he?" You ask them.

"Bob left early today. He said the two of you had some appointments this afternoon." Phoenix tells you.

In that moment, the world around you stops. The container of chicken pot pie and chocolate chip cookies slip from your hands and crash to the floor.

"Shit!" You exclaimed as you saw the mess you made.

"Y/N! Are you okay?" Hangman asks as he grabs some paper towels to clean up the mess.

"Yes, it's just I forgot, and I'm so late." You say as you turn on your heels to go to the hallway as you try to hold back tears.

"Y/N!" Phoenix calls after you. She intercepts you in the hallway.

"Is everything alright?" She asks you.

There's no point in lying.

"No. Nothing is alright. Between how hard this pregnancy has been and Bob having to go to Lemoore to teach classes, and him lying about where he is today. I think—I think he's having an affair." You finally admit.

"What do you mean he's been going to Lemoore?" Phoenix asks you.

You look at her blankly.

"Oh my god, I'm so fucking stupid. He's told me that almost every other weekend that he's had to help teach some classes in Lemoore. But that's when—that's when he has been going to see his mistress! That's where he is now! Oh my god!" You cried. Phoenix took you into her arms before leading you down the hallway to her office.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, maybe there is another explanation." Phoenix offers, but you can tell she isn't sincere. "I smelled perfume on his clothes, and he's been hiding his phone. I should have seen the signs, but I've been busy growing a human." You cry harder.

"It's all my fault. I've pushed him away. I've been so moody and sex—I haven't had the desire to—I drove him into another woman's arms." You sigh.

"Hey now, this isn't your fault." Phoenix tells you. "Let me take you home. You're in no shape to drive." Phoenix says. You agree and she helps you to her car.

"I need to call my best friend, Boston, she's a pilot, too. She was supposed to come down next weekend to throw me a baby shower, but now I don't want her to. I can't—I can't believe this." You sob as you dail her number, but it goes to voicemail.

"Your best friend's name is Boston?" Phoenix asks you. "It's her call sign." You tell her.

Phoenix swallowed thickly, praying her gut was wrong.

Phoenix offers to stay with you until Bob shows up, but you tell her you need to be alone.

You grab one of Bob's duffle bags and start stuffing his things in it. There's no way you are letting him stay in your house. At thirty-three weeks pregnant, you probably shouldn't be stomping up and down the stairs, especially with you being high risk, but you have to.

You make your way through the house every time you see a picture of you and Bob. You tear it off the wall or shelf it's on and throw it across the room.

He comes home late that night and hears you screaming. He rushes in the house and finds the living room destroyed and sees one of his duffle bags packed on the couch.

"Honey, Y/N, are you okay?" Bob asks you. You look at him, he looks so concerned.

You don't say anything to him. Instead, you march up to him and slap him so hard that his glasses fall off his face. He picks them up and looks at you like you're a wild animal.

"What the fuck was that for?" He curses at you.

"You know exactly what it's for, you liar." You spit at him.

"Honey, what are you talking about?" He asks.

"How long? How long has it been going on?" You question him.

"How long has what been going on?" He feigns ignorance.

"How long have you been sleeping with someone in Lemoore?" You accuse him. Bob tenses at your words. A day he had hoped would never happen, has.

"Don't even try to deny it. I looked through our credit card statements and saw the hotel charges." You say to him.

"Y/N, I'm sorry." Bob says.

"Sorry? You're sorry? Why? Because you cheated or because you got caught?" You laugh. "It doesn't even matter. I packed you a bag. You can go stay with your mistress. And when whoever is in Lemoore is through with you, don't try to come back to me. Also, I'm telling you now, you will not be a part of this baby's life." You say as you try not to cry.

"Y/N, please, don't do this, I'm sorry, Boston, and I never meant to hurt you, it just—"

"Boston? Boston—as in Jeni? As in my best fucking friend who is like a sister to me? As in the person who introduced us? You've been fucking her?" Rage thrums through your veins. "I can't believe you, Robert. Take your things and leave. There's the door."

You turn away from him.

"Well, what did you expect, Y/N? You've pushed me away. You're moody and sick all the time. You never want to be physical. I was lonely. I needed someone, and Boston was there for me." Bob defends himself.

"You needed someone? You were lonely? That's rich. You don't think I've been lonely? You don't think I needed someone? The two people who were supposed to be there for me are the ones who betrayed me.

Bob opens his mouth to speak, but he quickly shuts it again.

"I packed a bag for you. We can work out a day where you can come get the rest of your things. Because when Boston decides she has better things to do, you don't have a home here anymore." You tell him as you sit down in the kitchen.

"Also, I called your mother, and while she and your family are more than welcome to be in this child's life, you won't be." You say.

"You called my mother?" Bob asks is disbelief. "Yes, Rebecca is very disappointed in you and told me to say that you weren't welcome in her home." You state.

Bob shakes his head. "So that's it? You're just giving up on us?" Bob asks as he stands at the door with his bag in hand.

"Don't try to spin this around on me. You're the one who gave up on us, Robert Floyd." You deadpan. There's no remorse in your voice as you ask him to leave.

Bob knows there is no point in trying to argue. He hangs his head and walks out the door.

That night, the Dagger Squad comes over to comfort you. Maverick asks you if you'd like to move to have Bob and Jeni dishonorbly discharged for their actions, but you turn him down. There's no sense in dragging it out.

Coyote and Hangman work to change all the locks for you in the house. Payback and Fanboy clean up the broken glass and thrown items in your floor.

You tell Maverick and Rooster where to find Bob's things, and they pack all of them in trash bags for you.

Phoenix sits with you on the couch, your head on her shoulder and she holds you as you cry.

Two weeks later, you find out that Bob put in a transfer to Lemoore after you serve him with divorce papers. You make sure to clean out your joint accounts before he can touch them.

Four weeks after that, your son is born.

Connor James Y/L/N is absolutely perfect when he is born. He has your features, and you're thankful for that. You don't know what you would have done if he'd come out looking like his father.

The Daggers and your family rally around you. True to your word, you let Bob's parents and sisters be in Connor's life. It's not their fault that Bob messed everything up.

You know, one day that your son will ask about his father, by then, you hope you'll have the words to tell him.

You also know that one day, you'll see Bob again. When you do, you'll ask him if whoever was in Lemoore was worth it.

You hope he's says no.

Taging somw who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @wkndwlff @thedroneranger @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook01-blog @desert-fern @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @beccaanne814 @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @rhettabbotts @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @sunlightmurdock

[nixedsignals]

confession // Captain John Price x reader

summary: a mission gone wrong leaves you in the hospital and Captain Price hasn’t come to see you yet.

warnings: descriptions of torture and injury. language. angsty, fluff at the end

a/n: tbh i just really wanted to write a Price thing <3

“It’s been a month, boss,” Gaz leans in the doorway of the hospital room, his voice pitched low. Next to him, John Price stands with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving your sleeping form under clean, white, hospital linen.

“I know that, sergeant,” he murmurs, glancing for a second at his subordinate before returning his gaze to you. “What’s your point?”

“She thinks you’re pissed, sir,” he pauses, seemingly considering his words before adding; “Are you?”

“Am I what? Pissed?” the captain turns his sapphire gaze on Kyle, who nods. “Yeah, I’m pissed. I’m fuckin’ furious. They could’ve killed her, an’ when I find ‘em-“

“She thinks you’re pissed *at her*,” Gaz clarifies, gesturing to you. “Sir.”

“Christ, ‘m not. How’d she get that into her head?” John returns his focus to you, watching you roll halfway under the covers before wincing and rolling back.

“Well you haven’t come to see her when she’s awake. For all she knows, you haven’t even been here,” John nods along with Kyle’s words. He’s right. A second passes before John speaks, voice almost completely absent of his typical commanding tone.

“I’ll stay, talk to her when she wakes up,” he claps a hand on Gaz’ shoulder, a tight smile on his face. “You should go home, get some rest.”

“Yes, sir. Be careful with her though. She’s been through it already,” Gaz casts a last look over you before nodding at the captain and taking his leave.

John sighs, quietly entering the room and sitting in a very nearly comfortable armchair next to your bed. He knew you deserved better than his last month of treatment. The memory of *that* day was fresher than he’d like to admit.

You’d been infiltrating an enemy base. It was supposed to be an easy op, in and out, low hostile count. Easy.

What a joke.

They’d set up on two buildings: Ghost and Soap on one, Price and Gaz on the other, ensuring overwatch cover. You had been sent into the bulding. Alone.

Christ, John wished he could take that order back.

At the time, it’d been a good move. The target building had open floorplans and cieling high windows. They should’ve had no issue covering you. Until you’d radio’d in:

“Cap, there’s a stairwell going down in the back corner of the first floor. Wasn’t in the floorplan,”

And you’d gone down.

The dead air time alone was enough to make the ever-stoic Captain John Price sweat in his fatigues. And after 20 minutes of incrimental “What’s your status?”-es, he finally received a response.

“Boss, I fucked up,” your voice was hushed over the comms and Price’s heart dropped.

“Status, sergeant?”

“This place is crawling. Fifty hostiles, maybe more. Entrance is blocked and there’s not another way out,”

“Find another way out, now. That’s an order,”

“Can’t. ‘m sorry. Gonna cut comms and strip my fatigues. They won’t know who sent me. Won’t give anything up. Promise,”

Before Price could stop you, the snap of the walkie cord and static filled his ears.

It took a week to get you back. They found you in a back room, ankle chained to the bars of the dog cage around you. Malnourished, dehydrated, sleep deprived.

It took everything he had to look at you long enough to recognize the muzzle flash burns on your temples and telltale scars running aross your chest and legs from cigarettes being put out against your skin.

Now, your muffled voice drags him from his thoughts. You look better, curled into the stark white sheets. Your cheeks are regaining their fullness and color, and the dark circles under your eyes have all but vanished.

Can still see the scars on your temples though. He shoves that thought away, willing his blood to a light simmer instead of the boiling rage that threatens to consume him.

“Sorry, what’d you say, kid?” His eyes find yours, now fully paying attention.

“Water, please?” you rasp, gesturing to the cup on the bedside table. He nods, grabbing the cup, gently pulling you into a half-sitting position and holding the straw to your lips.

You take a few sips, wincing a little before nodding, a gesture that your finished for now. John sets the cup down, eyes on your throat, brows furrowed.

“They waterboard you?” his voice is even. Clinical. He doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crosses your face, however.

“Yes,” you mumble, turning to face away from your superior. “Is that why you finally showed up? To get my report?”

“No, no it isn’t,” he closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. “I’m sorry, for not being by ‘til now.”

“S’fine. What are you gonna do now?” your voice grows softer and he can hear tears in the back of your throat.

“About what?”

“To punish me,”

John’s gaze snaps to yours, only just catching a tear on your cheek before you wipe it away.

“You—you think you’re in trouble?” he asks, voice dropping to a deadly low tone. You nod, face contorting at the motion for a brief second. John shakes his head. “Bloody hell, you’re not—I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? I’ve been in here a month and I haven’t even seen you,” now your tears flow freely, streaking down your cheeks. “For the first week, I figured you had paperwork to do, but after a month? Even Ghost came by and you know how he is about going out.”

You curled your arms around yourself, bringing your knees up to your chin, sobs ripping from your chest in a hellish attempt to keep you from breathing evenly.

“I’m sorry, lo-“ he stops himself. He can’t say it, the ‘L’ word. Even as a nickname, it could open the floodgates.

“Tell me then,” you whisper, hiccuping through your tears. “Tell me the truth, why would you stay away like that?”

“Christ, I just-I couldn’t. It was too hard,” he drops his gaze the the floor, suddenly finding the linoleoum tile fascinating while waiting for your response.

“Hard? It was too hard? You don’t think it was hard for Soap or Ghost or Kyle? He’s been here every goddamn day!” your tears begin running down your cheeks, hot and fast as anger replaces sorrow. “You don’t think it was hard for me, sitting in this fucking room thinking that my captain was mad at me because I messed up our mission and lost the intel and got tied up and beaten and—“

“I know that, love,” John snaps, standing quickly and turning away. “I know that it’s been hard. And I know I should’ve come sooner. And you want the truth?”

You nod, eyes wide. John drops back into his seat, reaching out to brush some of the tears from your cheeks with calloused fingers.

“You almost died. You’re lucky you didn’t. An’ the whole time you were in surgery I knew that if I saw you, I’d say something stupid,”

“Why?”

“Because-Christ-because I love you. An’ I shouldn’t ‘cause I’m your captain. But I can’t lose you, knowing I never said it, hell. I’m sorry. For all of this. I’ll never bring it up again. An’ if you wanna put in for a transfer, I’ll approve it. Promise,” he slumps back in his seat, looking more defeated than you’ve ever seen him. His hardened outer shell has worn hundreds of missions and storms and losses, and this is what broke him?

You start to laugh, a small giggle, but it grows and John’s head snaps up. You look happier than you have in a while, even before the incident, and warm blue eyes widen in wonder at your sudden change.

“Say somethin’ funny, did I?” he grins, charming and a little bashful and it only makes you laugh harder. After a minute, the sound dies down, leaving you to ask for your water again, throat shredded from the rollercoaster of emotions.

“I’m sorry, just-didn’t expect you to say that,” you quietly start, hand venturing from under the blanket to find Price’s much larger one. “I, um, I love you. Sir.”

“Don’t-have to call me ‘sir’. Not when it’s just us,” then a pause, his eyes find yours and he lets out a slow breath.

“Will we get in trouble?” your voice trembles a little and John winces, knowing you might cry again.

“No, no, I’ll-I’ll talk to Kate, sort something out. Promise,” he gently moves his fingers tighter around yours, thumb brushing over you knuckles. You smile, brighter than the sun and he swears he gains ten years on his life everytime he sees it.

“Can you kiss me now then?” you ask breathlessly, and John laughs, standing and leaning forward. His lips gently press against yours. It’s chaste and soft and short, but it’s perfect.

-—————-———-—-

“They’ve been like that since I got here,” Kyle Garrick stands in the doorway to your hospital room, arms crossed. Soap is leaned against the opposite doorframe, while Ghost sits in a chair a few feet away.

“‘Bout time too, I swear they’ve been makin’ eyes at each other for ages,” Soap shakes his head, gesturing into the hospital room.

The topic of conversation there, you sleeping soundly in the haze of white linen around you, fingers holding the hand of their captain, who’s snoring at a truly ungodly volume from the chair beside your bed.

“Laswell, 10 o’clock,” Ghost mutters, glancing at Gaz.

“I say we let her try to wake up the captain. ‘Cause I’m not gonna,”

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

A few days ago, you wrote about Harry's (Meghan's) red flags that would make them a security threat. Which got me thinking ... In the past 3 weeks the level of security risk for William and Catherine (and the children, by extension) must have gone up considerably.

When this forat started off as a joke, it was mostly about handling Catherine's privacy and her medical history. And someone somewhere must have realized that the London Clinic would be an easy source of security breach. I'm assuming that the hospital has top notch NDAs and everyone is expected to be absolutely discreet since many many high profile patients get admitted there. Maybe even some, whose medical diagnosis and history, if disclosed, would rightly tilt the world on it's axis.

So maybe that was this angle was not top priority, because the agencies assumed they would be discreet. Everyone also assumed that actual news agencies and media outlet wouldn't print any info obtained illegally from hospital sources, even if they had the capacity to pay the source for the info.

Nobody thought some two-bit Instagram influencers would gleefully pounce on the chance like vultures.

Another angle, and this is very very serious IMO, is that once the conspiracies started all blame was falling on William. He was the villian who had allegedly done dispicable things to C to put her in the hospital and was then hiding things. The number of threats he received from randoms of social media must have been mind boggling. He is the heir, he has to be physically protected and kept safe at all times. And doing that effectively, without addressing the rumours head on would have been very difficult. Especially if they still wanted to maintain Catherine's privacy and dignity while doing so.

(And I said dignity because how you handle your own medical diagnosis is absolutely a matter of your dignity and boundaries and space)

Not to mention, nosy people would have started stalking the kids at the schools and playtimes. If at all that happened it would never be disclosed.

I think the utmost priority for people someone like William and Catherine their safety, merely based on their constitutional significance. And handling a looming PR crisis was not at the top of the palace list. Blaming the "palace" for not handling the PR crisis better is just wrong IMO.

The palace is not some big bad shadowey shady entity. The palace is essentially the principals, their immediate staff who work for the pricipals, and that includes different agencies that work towards ensuring their safety and security at all times.

If the palace was keeping their cards close to the chest, then that means it was Catherine and William who were keeping their cards close to the chest. Mainly because as normal humans their priority was to understand and absorb what was happening, what could happen and how to plan their lives in the immediate aftermath of this devastating news.

Their priority couldn't and wouldn't be to make sure they look nice and are seen doing nice, cute things together just so some lame Karen sitting in a dark, damp, mouldy room likes them. Karens will Karen on. So catering to Karen's sensibilities will never ever be part of the palace PR and crisis management strategy.

What I don't get is why were the British press baying for William and Catherine blood. From what's come out in the last 2 days, it seems that at least some journalists had an idea that this was a very serious matter. That it was absolutely not about W being an violent abuser or a cheater or Catherine wanting to look pretty, nor was it about KP staff giving up on W+C because they are secretive exasperating, inept bosses.

It was simply about a family trying to come to terms with a devastating news that was drastically going to affect the lives of all 5 of them for a long long time. It's something that you never plan for, no matter who you are.

Knowing that, why were they so cruel, so callus. Where was their sense of nationality or even simple human decency?

They stood by Catherine when she was wrong called a racist. So why did they not stand by her when she is going through the worst time of her life emotionally and physically?

They made a mountain out of a molehill, to the point that from a security POV the powers that be concluded that the best way to mitigate the security risk would be breach her emotional safety, to ensure her and his, physical safety. I truly think this was the #1 reason on the list of reasons why they disclosed it the way they did.

Old ask from March 24th.

Simple. It all boils down to whom the press declared their enemy.

When they were defending Kate over the racism claims, they were defending her from Meghan, UK's Public Enemy #1.

When the Waleses were dealing with Kate's health crisis, the press didn't do anything, and even joined in on the attacks, because Kensington Palace was the enemy since KP refused to give updates on or access to Kate, which the press didn't like. So they stood by and piled on.

[ghostcatssecretblog]

Attack On Titan: Modern AU

(Or as I call it the highschool sweet heart au.)

Some of you may have seen my post based on my Attack on Titan Modern AU! But I've only ever posted photos. (I have more on my tiktok. Feel free to check it out)

So I'm gonna share my notes from this AU and my personal take on the characters in a modern universe.

Some starter notes:

I tried to bring elements from the original story over, but obviously, it's not just a complete modern retelling, and to be honest, I mostly focused on Eren bc like...that's my boy. I have some thoughts on the others and they're listed below but I don't touch on everyone bc I just don't have enough thoughts about them.

The modern AU does not take place in our world. It's still theirs, so the setting and map is the same just...modern. You can honestly take this as a reincarnation AU.

So let's go!

Eren:

• Eren's mom died in a car accident when he was nine. He was there to see it but luckily was mostly unharmed. His mom however died due to the impact.

• His father is a doctor, and because of this, he is rarely ever home, so his brother Zeke has to take care of him. Zeke is overly protective and tries to prevent Eren from doing things he considers to be reckless.

• Zeke and Eren have a weird relationship because while Zeke is the one who raised him and took care of him, Eren resents the fact that Zeke mothers him so much, especially as he gets older and tries to have more freedom to do what he wants with his life.

• As kids Armin, Mikasa, and Eren stuck together. Eren defended them from bullies, but the trio always managed to find themself in trouble. Mostly due to Eren always getting into something or starting fights of his own.

• He was already a bit of a trouble maker, but when his mom passed, he seemed to spiral. Zeke, only being 20 when he started taking care of Eren, means having to juggle college, a job, and raising a child. Needless to say, Eren went unsupervised a LOT in middle school.

• During freshman year of high school, Eren started attending Scout High, where he met a lot of his friends. He struggled at first but eventually formed a rag-tag group that only grew. One of those is Arte, who, like Reiner and Berthold, is a year above him. Their friendship was rocky at first, but they eventually came to an understanding.

• During freshman year, he joined the soccer team. By junior year he became captain.

• During sophomore year, the changes slowly began. Zeke became more overbearing, pushing Eren to be sneaky, and his father was around less and less.

• Then the incident happened. It was during a house party At Historia's right after homecoming. Everything was fine at first until Reiner made a foul comment about Eren's mom being dead. A fight broke out between them, resulting in Reiner having to go to the hospital. Because Arte, and a few others vouched for Eren and said that Reiner instigated the fight Eren got left off easy but was made to go to therapy and was put on probation.

• During junior year of high school, Eren becomes more reckless and starts to isolate from his friends more. He hangs out with the wrong sort of kids (Floch and Samuel), gets into fights more often, skips class, and overall stops caring as much. He picks up skateboarding as a hobby.

•

Extra notes:

• While he plays soccer he also does skateboarding as a hobby.

• He's into metal bands such as 5FDP and SOAD.

• His grandparents (dad side) are very conservative. They also don't approve of Grisha divorcing Dina and Marrying Carla (partially bc she was younger than him). They tend to favor Zeke and consider Eren to be nothing more than a trouble maker.

Arte

• In contrast to Eren's more middle class suburban life, Arte grew up your stereotypical white trash sort of home with a neglectful mother and an alcoholic father

• They grew mostly isolated, living too far from the city to make friends and considered too much of an odd kid to make any at school.

• That is until middle school. When they met Winnie.

• Winnie comes from upper class. She's rich but considered the back sheep of the family and because of this her and Arte become close friends. Closer than friends even

• But in 8th grade they split. Winnie wanted to stay in public school to be with Arte but Arte pushed her away, ensuring Winnie would go to boarding school. Art thought she was better off there.

• Arte then attends the same highschool as Eren their freshman year.

• Arte is friends with Annie (both are lower class and have bad parents) and Hitch - designated sunshine and rich girl of the group.

• Absolutely loves automotive and English classes. They help fix Eren's car on the regular.

• Their relationship when they first meet is weird and mostly bickering. Very friend/enemies through Eren's freshman and Sophmore year.

• Around his junior year he's getting in a lot more fights. Arte helps patch his face up in the boy's bathroom. There's a heart to heart and they become actual friends soon after.

• Arte Annie and Hitch start hanging around Eren's friend group more - leads to Armin and Annie dating.

• For the rest of Junior year Arte and Eren end up sneaking out (arte sneaking into his room, going to the skatepark, wandering the neighborhood, late night McDonald's runs)

• Eventually they end up dating but it's a bit of a slow burn bc neither wants to admit they like the other.

• Arte keeps Eren as far away from their home life as possible bc they don't want him seeing how awful it is but also bc they're fairly certain if he were to their dad hitting them Eren would end up in prison for murder

• Eren does find out via seeing the scars and bruises on Arte and loses his shit

• The one time he did catch Arte's dad putting his hands on them Arte had to drag him back into the car to avoid a fight.

Extra notes:

• AAH have matching friendship bracelets

• Likes music like Radiohead, Nirvana, Deftones...

• They go to football games (hitch is a cheer leader) and Eren's soccer games together. As well as Parties, homecoming, prom (Arte asks Eren for their senior year and vise versa for his), haunted houses, carnival, etc.

• Arte stays over at Eren's a lot bc bad home life.

• They also get Eren into smoking weed. Zeke does not approve.

• Arte graduates first but takes a gap year to wait on Eren so they can apply to colleges together (with zekes help)

• During this time Arte temporarily moves in with Zeke and Eren.

• Unfortunately neither knows what they want to do with their life atm

• I really feel like Eren would be the kinda person to go to a lot of protest though. He probably organizes half of them.

• Arte -> Enginering Major

• Eren -> Social Justice Major

• Zeke and Yelena are married. They end up moving to Liberio, Marley and try to take Eren with them.

• Eventually end up getting dog together named Titan. He's a chow and Tibetan mastiff mix

Armin:

• He still lives with his grandpa

• His parents are alive they just travel a lot for work so he doesn't see them very much

• It's part of the reason he wants to see the ocean and travel.

• Ends up a marine biologist

• Armin x Annie !

• Takes a lot of IB classes in High-school.

• Likes softer music. I'm thinking Cavetown vibes.

Mikasa:

• Her parents are alive! Yay!

• Her, Armin and Eren all lived in the same neighborhood. Armin and Eren were friends first and she joined them when her family moved into the neighborhood.

• She almost had a little brother but he didn't make it. Thus, she projects big sister energy onto Eren and Armin.

• Listens to Lana del Rey and Mitski. Unless she's working out, that is.

• Ends up a physical trainer after highschool.

• Jean x Mikasa bc that boy adores her and would actually give her the domestic life she craves.

Friend groups:

1. Eren Armin Mikasa

2. Jean, Sasha, Connie and Marco are all friends.

3. Annie Hitch and Arte

4. Reiner and Bertholdt

5. Historia <3 Ymir

Porco, Piek, Marcel aren't really ever relevant but I imagine they go to a rival school in Libero. Porco is on the boy's soccer team and he and Eren have beef bc of it.

Reiner:

• Reiner's issues in this AU stem from growing up in a conservative household. His mother is reglious and his dad went out for milk...

• He's also a closeted homo. His feelings for Historia are merely him hetero-compensating. Hence, his issues towards Eren, who is very openly Bisexual. (Also idk but there's homoerotic tension there. Have you seen them fight??)

• But by college he figures his shit out. He's a changed man! I like to think he ends up dating Ploam's OC Logan.

• Anyway, just imagine your stereotypical closested football joke but then he grows up, gets him a bf and a shelter dog and LIVES HAPPILY

Annie:

• Kinda already summarized her in the previous notes but

• She's still adopted in this au. Her dad still sucks. Her and Arte have bonds bc of it

• AruAnnie! They get cats when they get older. Colossus the maincoon and sphinx (idk what to name it)

• I like Yama's take on her music taste. She definitely listens to Evanescence and Avil Lavigne.

• Professional MMA fighter after Highschool

I don't really have thoughts on Bertholdt, and I'm sorry I just don't have any thoughts on him :p

Sasha and Connie are still best friends! I think It would be really cute if Niccolo was from the same school as Porco and Piek and Sasha met him during a bake sale and liked his baking so much he went into Culinary after HS and ofc eventually got his own restaurant. Sasha is a food blogger and is constantly posting his dishes on the gram which just brings in most business for him. (Listen I need these two TO BE HAPPY)

Marco doesn't die! For once, omg. He and Jean become good friends. He, just as with the show, that starts Jean's character arc. Instead of dying, he ends up having to move away but it forces Jean to realize he needs to open up and make friends with other people too.

That's all I have so far! But feel free to ask questions about the AU!

[mrsstan21]

A Night to Remember

GIF credit: @21jumpstreet-x-reader

Summary: The gang heads to prom!

Tom Hanson x Reader 

A/N: Based on season 1, episode 6 "The Worst Night of Your Life"

Warnings: None! Fluffy as one can be

Word Count: 1.9k :)

Hobbs and I were put on a case together at a catholic school for girls.

 Apparently someone in the school has been committing Arson. 

It was a pain being in a place like this. It brought back so many memories from when I was in High School. 

Hobbs, and I were in health class, it was sex ed week. 

We were about to watch a video on the “wonderful life of marriage”. 

A girl in the class made a smart comment causing us all to break out into laughter. 

When the video started it was far from a perfect marriage, but more like the honeymoon at its extreme. 

The sisters quickly took out the tape as more laughter filled the class room. 

Just as we were about to get a lecture the fire alarm went off all the girls began to panic frantically running down the halls. 

***

We got back to the chapel completely tired, and exhausted. 

The guys all concern asked if we were ok.

“Medium well, thank you” Judy spoke taking a seat next to Jenko. 

I took a seat over next to Hanson. 

“How much longer do we have to be on this case I’m starting to get tired of wearing this god awful uniform” I spoke losing the tie around my neck. 

“Until we figure out who is trying to set the school on fire” Jenks answered. 

“Hobbs anything on today” he asked.

“Two kids got trampled on went to the hospital from smoke inhalation, and bruises, but they’ll be ok”.

“Those girls were like a herd of wild horses almost ran over me as we got out of the school” I spoke. 

Jenks was growing with frustration we were getting no where with this case. 

But Hobbs and I still had a ray of hope we’d close this case. 

Hanson spoke out on some files we had of some of the girls that attend the school. 

One of them had a very distinct background check and was on the prom planning community. 

“looks like you girls are joining the prom community”.

I groaned leaning onto Hansons shoulder. 

“What’s wrong with you” Ayoki asked.

“I’m reliving my senior year of high school that’s what’s wrong”. 

I got tired of this stupid tie that I finally just tore it off my collar.

“Oh yeah didn’t you go to catholic school” Penhall chimed into the conversation.

I rolled my eyes.

“You went to catholic school?” Hanson raised an eyebrow at me. 

“St. Mary’s Academy school for girls class of 78”. 

“Oh man that must have been hell” Ayoki commented. 

“It was…”.

***

The next day Hobbs, and I joined the prom community, and it was pure torture . 

These girls bickered over a stupid theme and how most of them didn’t have dates. 

Hobbs, and I payed very close attention to three girls who were there. 

Jane, Margie, and Patty. 

It was clear as day that Patty, and Jane hated each other. 

Patty made a hurtful comment towards Margie causing her to run out of the gym.

Yup I was reliving my old high school days. 

***

Hobbs stayed back to see if she could get any sort of information out of Jane. 

I changed out of the uniform, and into some casual cloths before catching the trolly back to the chapel. 

When I arrived Doug was frantically searching for a girl who had robbed him last night. 

“Still looking Penhall” I asked sitting on the table that Hason sat near. 

“Hasn’t stopped since this morning” Hanson informed me.

“Ah that’s the girl” he practically screamed.

Ripping out the photo of her he walks over to where I was leaning on the table. 

“Looks like you’re my date to the prom” he spoke looking over at me. 

Jenks then interrupted informing us that there would most likely not be a prom. 

Jane was caught last night almost setting fire to mother superiors office. 

Hobbs, and I couldn’t believe it. 

We made an agreement she’d blow her cover while I stayed back and see if we can clear her name. 

I had a strong feeling that Jane was not our girl. 

***

The rest of the day I wanted to do nothing more than to relax. 

I laid down on the couch near Hanson reading one of my books I keep in my drawer. 

“Hey y/n you remember your prom” Penhall asked from his desk. 

“Vividly” I spoke turning the page. 

“Well what happened?” He asks grabbing a chair and sitting closer to where I was. 

I looked over at him, and chuckled. 

“You guys do not want to hear that sob story. 

“Uh we very much do don’t we Hanson”.

I looked over at Hanson giving me a smile. 

“Alright then” I huffed.

Sitting up I took a deep breath. 

Can’t believe I am about to tell this story. 

“It was senior year of high school. Jake Russel captain of the football team over at Peters Prep for boys had asked me to the prom. Which was strange considering he was the most popular guy at his school, and was asking me captain of the debate team to the dance...But hey I was stocked I had a date. I remember working long shifts down at the record store to save enough money to buy this beautiful lavender dress. Well come prom night I got ready and waited for him to pick me up. But as time passed the clock stroke 11 and the dance was over. I had officially been stood up”.

Penhall, Hanson, and Ayoki all gave me sympathetic looks.  

“That guy’s a jerk” Hanson commented.

“Yeah he was. The next day at school I found out he took Laura Penning-way to the prom instead”.

“Let me guess captain of the cheer team" Penhall asked.

“Yup”. 

“Jesus y/n that’s terrible” Ayoki spoke.

“It’s whatever...really not like I cried myself to sleep that night. Just sucks that dress never got to see a dance floor or even got to slow dance”. 

“So maybe this can be like a do over for you” Ayoki smiles.

“I don’t think so guys I think I might sit this one out with Jenko. Be there as backup” I got up and walked over to get a coffee. 

***

Before night fall I went back home to grab all the files we had on the girls. 

I knew we were getting close, and tonight we would crack this case. 

I sat by my coffee table examining the documents when there was a knock at my door. 

I opened it reliving a smiling Hobbs.

“Shouldn’t you be at the chapel getting ready for this lame dance” I looked down at my watch. 

She comes in with a big black cover draped over her shoulder.

“You are going tonight” she smiles. 

I laugh crossing my arms.

“Hobbs I already talked to Jenko…”

“Well he changed his mind, you’re still going undercover tonight whether you like it or not”. 

I roll my eyes knowing there was no way out of this. 

Then I remembered something.

“I don’t even have a dress”.

“That’s what the bag is for” she motions towards it. 

I had only owned one dress in my entire life, and couldn’t possibly think it was the one. 

Unzipping the bag was the lavender dress from my prom night many years ago. 

“You broke into my storage unit” I laughed. 

“Maybe I did, but we don’t have time for that the guys are waiting for us at the chapel so let’s go”.

I was then dragged out of my apartment.

***

“I can’t believe this thing still fits after all these years” I said fixing the bottom of my skirt. 

“You look great y/n” she smiles.

Jenko yells for Hobbs and I to come downstairs.

Making our grand entrance the guys took notice at both Hobbs, and I. 

After all they weren’t use to seeing us all dressed up.

“Alright you both looking stunning…now you’re dates Hobbs you’re with Ayoki, y/n your with Penhall, and Hanson your date is Jane” Jenko spoke.

We then left to the prom.  

***

At the dance I was a little uncomfortable in the beginning, but slowly started to have fun. 

Penhall, Hobbs, Ayoki, and I were all dancing like there was no tomorrow. 

The song quickly changed into a slow dance. 

I looked over at Hanson who was left all by himself. 

“Dough you think I can sit this one out” I asked. 

He nodded knowing where I was going with this. 

I made my way over to Hanson who was already smiling. 

“You plan on standing here taking notes all night”

He laughs looking over at me.

“I thought you were dancing with Penhall” he asks.

“Nah you looked like you needed some company” I smile. 

Hanson stares at me for a while. 

I took a moment looking into those dark brown eyes of his.

Before I knew it he grabbed my hand, and lead me to the dance floor. 

But before we can even begin I saw Margie walk in with a blank stare on her face. 

Everything then began to happen so quickly. 

She slapped Doug, then rushing over to the wall with a lighter. 

Flames quickly emerged, and everyone began to run out of the gym. 

I lost my grip on Hanson when i was pushed around by the crowed.

I then fell onto the floor only inches away from the fire. 

Feeling the sweat already form on my forehead. 

“y/n!!!” I felt a pair of arms wrap around me helping me up, and out of the gym. 

“You ok” I saw the look of concern plastered on Hansons face.

I nod. 

He pulled me into his chest wrapping his arms safely around me.

***

Looks like Margie was the one setting flames to the school.

 She was arrested and we successfully closed another case. 

The dance ended early, but me, Ayoki, and Penhall weren’t ready to go home. 

Hanson ended up suggesting something to us. 

We found ourselves at a bowling alley that Hanson plays on with a team. 

Doug, and Ayoki were not amused. 

I kinda enjoyed Hanson get so into this game. 

I laughed every time he shouted. 

“Another slamerino!”.  

Hours went by until we were the only one here.

“Hey Hanson can we leave they’re about to close, and we’re the last ones here” Penhall shouted..

“Alright let’s go then” Hanson spoke putting away his bowling ball. 

Doug and Ayoki were the first ones out. 

I began to follow. 

“Hey y/n wait” I heard Hanson call for me. 

I turned back around and saw him begin to get a little nervous. 

“What’s wrong” I ask. 

“Hey Joey hit the lights” he says to the guy at the counter. 

Confused at first, but then I saw all the lights go off and a large disco ball fell from the ceiling. 

A slow song came on shorty after. 

I chuckled looking over at him shyly smiling. 

“Hanson what are you doing”. 

“I believe I still owe you a slow dance” he walks over, and grabs my hand. 

“Hanson you don’t have to do this” I tried to hide my blush. 

“Oh but I want to” he smiles pulling me closer. 

I couldn’t help but smile as I wrapped one arm around his neck while he held my other, and began to dance. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” He asks staring into my eyes. 

“Hanson you are too much” I smile resting my head on his chest. 

I wrapped my other arm around his neck, and felt both his hands around my waste. 

His head rested on mine. 

Time suddenly stopped. 

I could hear the sound of his heart beat increase as I was in his arms.

We danced for the rest of the night. 

This was a prom I would never forget.