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nebulablakemurphy · 7 months

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Through Love And By Love (Pt. 14)

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse, discussions of trauma and mental illness; reader discretion advised.

18+ ONLY this chapter contains sexual content.

Part 13

"What are you doing?" Albus wrestles the time turner from Scorpius, as the train chugs beneath them.

"It's obvious isn't it? We've got to go back." The Malfoy boy explains.

"No, absolutely not, Scorpius! Bad idea. Time turners are illegal, you don't meddle with time. Delphi must have stolen this." Rose scolds him, in a tone so like her mother.

"Because she cares about my mum, and she wants my father’s name cleared." Scorpius points out.

"They’re already working on clearing it." Rose insists. "My mum told me."

"Hermione is lying!" Scorpius cuts her off. "Everyone is lying! This won't get better and if I don't do something soon, it's going to get worse... If I don't do something soon, I’m going to lose my dad."

"I'm in." Albus says, softly.

"Albus, no!" Rose argues, it's too risky.

"He’s worth saving." Albus pleads his case.

"That wasn't in question, only the method by which you plan to save him." Rose busies herself, tugging at a loose string on her jumper.

“All we need to do is go back to the night he cast the imperius curse and make sure he doesn't." Scorpius shrugs, can't be that hard.

"And how exactly are you going to stop him?" She arches a fiery brow.

"I haven't figured that part out just yet."

"I should remind you, Scorp, your dad was much more..." Albus searches for the words, "intense back then."

————————————————————————

“Finally got Corina down,” Rosanna huffs, flopping onto the couch, beside her husband. The little girl didn’t want to nap, but she was overtired and cranky as ever.

Draco looks up from Rosanna’s notes, everything she’s prepared to submit for his trail. "The sacrifices made by Draco Malfoy, in a desperate attempt to keep Voldemort from rising to power, do not make him a criminal. They make him a hero. Or at the very least, a prisoner of war."

Rosanna moves to take the papers from him.

“You paint a pretty picture of me, love.” Draco admits, handing over the parchment.

“That’s how I see you.”

“You don’t need to lie.”

“It’s not a lie.”

“Tell me the truth of it and I will love you still.”

“Draco, this is the truth!”

“We both know how this ends. I need you to promise me that you’ll try to move forward, once I’m gone. I need you to promise that you won’t spend the rest of your life pining over me. Promise me, Rosanna.” Draco pleads, holding her gaze.

“I can’t promise that, you’re the only person that I-” she breaks off to collect her thoughts. “Sometimes it’s like the whole world is spinning and no one can feel it but me. Everything is rushing around me and I’m always running, struggling to keep up. But you make me feel like I can stand in one place without getting dizzy. You hold me still.”

“Rosanna,” he shakes his head.

“I hate the things that happened to you because of me. Everything you have to answer for is because of me. Because I asked you to, because I thought I was doing the right thing. You have every right to be angry about it. You have every right to hate me.” It’s only fair. “I hate myself.”

Draco draws in a ragged breath. “Don’t say that.” He grinds out, between gritted teeth, as if it were the worst, most heinous, thing he’s ever heard.

“You asked me to tell the truth.” Rosanna fires back, “that is the truth, I hate myself.”

“Please, don’t say that.” His voice is softer now, taking her face in his hands. “I wanted to make you happy, I tried. I-”

Rosanna rests her hands over his. “You gave me an incredible life, with so much happiness and I am so grateful.”

“Then how can you say that?”

“I ruined your life. I put a target on your back, I set you up to be hunted down and prosecuted. I tried to fix it, to set the record straight. I’ve been screaming, at the top of my lungs, for twenty years and no one can hear me.”

“I hear you,” Draco assures her. “I do.”

“If you get sentenced to Azkaban because of something I asked you to do, I won’t be able to live with that.” Rosanna confesses.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Draco sighs.

“If I don’t have you-”

“You have me. You will always have me. You are a part of me. To my bones, I am yours. No time, nor space between us will change that.” Where you go, I go.

Rosanna chokes back a sob, leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

“I hear you,” he says, against her mouth; damp with her tears and his own.

Her hands bury themselves in his hair. “I need you.”

“I am yours and you are mine.” Draco breathes, it was written in the stars before they were born.

Rosanna begins tugging at his clothes, trying to get closer to him. It’s not until they are bare, with his face buried dutifully between her thighs, that she settles. His tongue on her clit is nothing more than a temporary gentling, making her tremble and keen beneath him.

Draco drinks her in, possessive and greedy. Driving her to release, driving her to madness; legs clamped tightly to his ears. And when she cums, draped over the front of their sitting room couch, he can wait no longer. Repositioning her to lie across the cushions. Making her comfortable, keeping her safe.

“Please,” she whimpers. Because it’s not good enough, she needs him inside, so she won’t be alone. For once in her life she doesn’t care about what is right, she doesn’t want to be courageous or brave…or even free. She wants to be selfish and to get what she wants. “I want to be yours.” To be cherished, to be heard, to be loved.

To be loved is to be changed.

“You’re mine.” He is home. He is loved.

The thought comes again, unbidden. Clawing its way out from deep in her belly. “I hate myself.”

“I love you.” I hate myself.

“I love you.”

————————————————————————

"I can’t believe-" Scorpius breaks off, taking it all in. The train car has vanished, they are standing just outside of Hogwarts; forbidden forest howling behind them. It's after nightfall and the castle lights appear exceptionally beautiful, more so than any of them remember. "Did that really just work?"

"I'd say yes," Rose takes a step forward, on shaky legs. "But we need to figure out exactly where we are."

"You mean, when we are." Albus quips, only to be glared at by his cousin.

"By the looks of the Beauxbatons carriage, I'd say we're somewhere around the time of the triwizard tournament." Rose reasons.

"Alright then, let’s get to it." Scorpius nods.

"Wait," Rose stops him, listening closely for a moment. "We'll need some dress robes."

"For what?" Albus asks.

"I think we're going to the Yule Ball."

"Great," Al remarks, shrugging a shoulder. "We're not supposed to be seen, that makes perfect sense."

"We can be seen, so long as we're not recognized." Rose says, tugging the wand from her denims. "Who's going first?"

“Age before beauty,” Albus suggests, pointing his wand at her.

“Honestly?” Rose rolls her eyes, she’s been charmed into a fitted, powder blue, gown.

“Now you look just like a Beauxbaton’s girl.”

Rose configures his own outfit into the deep red Durmstrang robes, in retaliation.

“Oi!”

“As for you.” Rose flicks her wand again, this time at Scorpius. A pristine black dress suit.

“You know,” Albus cocks his head to the side, “now he might get mistaken for his father.”

“That might work to our benefit.” Rose decides, tucking away her wand and twisting her fiery curls into a makeshift updo.

Once they’re through the castle doors, they split up. Scorpius heads over to the refreshment table. If there’s one thing he knows about his mother, it’s that she fancies sweets. He’ll just wait her out.

He uses the ladle to pour a bit of punch into his cup. Something slams hard into his back, sending red liquid down the front of his dress robes. “Oof.” He grunts, turning around to find himself face to face with Rosanna McVay.

This girl has never known loss, or pain. She is innocent, with a thousand stars in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she covers her mouth, with one hand. “I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s fine,” is all Scorpius can manage. It’s physically painful to look at her, yet he can’t bring himself to turn away.

“Here, let me help you.” She grabs some napkins from the table, attempting to sop up the mess from his robes.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll manage.” Scorpius stills her hands.

“Are you sure? I feel terrible.”

“Really, it’s fine.”

“Rosanna,” a new voice, his father’s voice, moving closer.

“I should go.”

Scorpius catches her wrist. Maybe he can undo this; maybe he can save this girl, save both of them. “Do you love him?” Tell me it was worth it. Tell me what to do.

“He’s not like everyone says.” Rosanna tells him.

Time turns again, only now without warning.

——————————————��—————————

Rosanna hears her muggle phone vibrating, on the side table. She makes no move to grab it, smoothing a hand over Draco’s hair. The pair of them are still crammed up on the couch; his head resting against her chest. He looks so peaceful, breath labored as he sleeps. His weight on her is welcome, tethering her to the earth. Holding her still.

After a moment, the vibrating stops. Only to start again.

Rosanna curses, under her breath. Accio phone.

The caller I.D. reads ‘Hermione,’ buzzing to life again.

“Hermione?” Rosanna answers, on the first ring.

“Where are you?” Hermione asks.

“I’m home,” Rosanna tells her, “why?”

“I just received word,” she breaks off, “Ro, I don’t know how this happened.”

“What happened?”

“Rose, Scorpius and Albus…they never made it to Hogwarts.”

“How is that possible?” Rosanna shakes her husband awake, softly.

“They vanished from the train- I- I’m down at the ministry with Ron and Harry. Can you come?”

“We’re on our way.”

————————————————————————-

"What happened?" Scorpius asks. The trio is back where they started, present day. "Did one of you turn it?"

"No." Rose shakes her head, still in her gown.

"Something must be wrong with the time turner." Albus frowns.

"Well if it's dodgy, we probably shouldn't be using it." Rose concludes, turning up her nose. "I have a feeling she tampered with it."

"Who?" Scorpius demands, impatiently.

"You know very well who! The same person who stole it from the ministry." Rose tells him.

"Come off it, Rose." Scorpius scowls, "Delphi is only trying to help."

"She said all you had to do is turn it, therefore she must have already charmed it to where she wanted it to go." Rose takes a step closer, jabbing a finger into Scorpius' chest.

"That's barmy." Scorpius protests, cupping his hand over hers.

"Either way," Albus scratches the back of this neck uncomfortably, he hates when they fight. "I don't think we should play around with this. It's dangerous and we could wind up stuck wherever we land."

"I have to finish this." Scorpius shakes his head. Preparing to turn time, alone.

"Scorp, please," Albus reaches a hand out to stop him. "Your dad wouldn't want you to do this. If anything ever happened to you-"

"I know, I'll be careful...I just need to fix this." Scorpius insists.

————————————————————————

“Any news?” Draco asks, as they enter Harry’s office. Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione are waiting for them there.

“Still nothing.” Harry shakes his head.

“Damn it,” Draco breathes.

“Did you get word to the girls?” Hermione moves toward Rosanna, reaching for her arm.

Rosanna nods, taking her hand. “Leo and Arlo are on the way to my parent’s house. Lucius and Narcissa have Corina. Polaris and Vega left Hogwarts via portrait with James, they’re at the burrow. Hugo and Lily?”

“At the burrow,” Ron assures her.

“Assuming that our families are being targeted, that’s five of the children in one place.” Draco points out. “We need to move Vega and Polaris.”

“We’ll send reinforcements to the burrow,” Harry offers, instead.

“Very well,” Draco nods, mouth set in a firm line. “There are protective wards in place, I set them years ago. Have whoever you send set up a few more.”

“Thank you.” Ginny replies, turning away to make arrangements.

“You set protective wards around my parent’s house?” Ron had no idea.

“And yours,” Draco says, without hesitation, “Potter’s, Granger’s parents, the list goes on.”

“Well-” Ron stammers. “You didn’t need to do all that, Malfoy. We could’ve managed.”

“A simple thank you will suffice, Weaselbee. No need to blow a gasket.”

After all these years, Harry is surprised that Ron doesn’t understand. Draco is a simple being, he serves one purpose. Protect Rosanna and that which she loves. “Malfoy,” Harry cuts in, “I hate to ask, but your mark…do you feel anything?”

Draco’s dark mark is a subject strictly off limits.

Rosanna curls her fingers over the inside of her husband’s left forearm, protectively.

They tried to remove it, twice. The first time, Draco hacked up his arm himself. Mangled and bleeding over the washroom vanity. He sobbed for hours, even after Rosanna found him, healing him with magic, pressing kisses against his skin. He still has the scars.

The second time, Rosanna attempted to pull the dark magic from the mark itself. It was excruciating, as if the mark had twined itself with his soul.

“Not a thing, Potter.” Draco scoffs, “how’s the scar?”

Harry reels back, as though the question is somehow out of line. “Brilliant.”

They’re both lying.

————————————————————————

"Where are we?" Albus asks, scanning their surroundings. Time travel is severely disorienting.

"Looks like my parent's room." Scorpius whispers.

The trio scampers into the closet, away from view. As footsteps from the hallway draw near.

Rosanna steps in, sporting a lavender maternity dress. Her belly prominent enough to be seen through the material.

Flopping onto the bed, she runs her hands over the growing child, fondly.

The washroom door opens and Scorpius can see his father emerge, through the tiny crack in the wardrobe doors.

Rosanna rolls her head to the side. "Did you have a chance to look at names today?"

"Not yet, love." Draco sighs, turning toward his chest of drawers.

Rosanna's playful tone is gone. "You wanted another girl."

"He's yours, Rosanna, I'll love him."

Scorpius' heart sinks. His father didn't want him. His father who held him up on his shoulders, when Scorpius wasn't tall enough to see. His father who wrote him everyday, while he was away at school. His father who loves him…only because he is Rosanna’s son.

Albus' hand finds his, giving a reassuring squeeze. He knows what it's like to feel unwanted, in a way that Rose never would.

"What the hell does that mean?" Rosanna demands, the angry vein pulsing in her neck.

"I'll be a rubbish father to a son." Draco murmurs, under his breath.

Oh, Scorpius sighs. No, you'll be brilliant. You'll be the best father anyone could have.

"He'll grow to resent me and I'll fail him. I'll fail you." The platinum haired man sits at the edge of their bed.

Rosanna reaches toward him, resting a hand on his lower back. "Draco, no you won't."

Time whirls around without them, again, without warning.

"There's got to be a way we can get this stupid thing to work." Scorpius says, through gritted teeth.

"Let me see." Rose takes the turner, holding it away from her body. "Finite Incantatem." If something was controlling the time turner, it's not anymore. "Give it one last go."

They wind up on the return train to Hogwarts, days before the death eaters are scheduled to appear through the vanishing cabinet.

"Brilliant work, Rose." Scorpius breathes as they scamper into an empty train car, to devise a plan.

Part 15

#through love and by love #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x oc #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #Harry Potter #ginny weasley #Ron Weasley #Hermione granger

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angel-in-shibari · 1 month

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Lune and Dawn

Episode 2: Teacher's Pet "I must admit, searching petplay porn in my class during our lesson on Pavlov is honestly quite pathetic" ~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn Summers knocked on the door of the professor's office. Dr Lune Sinclair was a brilliant psychology professor, and their class was engaging and challenging. Unfortunately, Dawn was falling behind in her studies and her GPA was slipping.

“You wanted to see me, Dr Sinclair?” Dawn was nervous. She had never spoken with one of her professors outside of class.

“Yes, Miss Summers. Please come in and take a seat.” Their voice was smooth and calming, not at all like their loud enthusiasm they had in the lecture hall.

Dawn entered the small office and looked around. The antique wooden desk was covered in papers, trophies, a laptop and a desktop computer. On the dark brown walls of the room were many accomplishments, such as degrees and awards and certifications. Dr Sinclair was a highly decorated professor, and they took immense pride in their work.

Behind the professor was a large window. The dark sky was dimly lit by the lights of a few dorms. Dawn wondered why her professor had requested they meet so late. It was already past 7, and the December air was frigid. Dawn dreaded walking back to her dorm. She prayed it wouldn't start snowing before her meeting was finished.

In the window, Dawn caught a glimpse of something she couldn't quite understand at first. A transparent square floating just above the trees. Until suddenly it made sense; it was the reflection of Dr Sinclair’s computer screen. Although it was difficult to make out, she could see the silhouette of a woman's body. Dawn quickly tried to ignore it and focus on her meeting with her professor.

“Good evening, Dr Sinclair.”

“Good evening to you, Miss Summers. Thank you for coming so late. I wanted to discuss your grade in my class. I’m very disappointed with your recent performance. Your paper on classical conditioning was… let’s just say it was underwhelming”

Their words cut like glass. Although they spoke softly and calmly, Dawn felt like they were brerating and attacking her for her performance. She had put so much time into that paper. To be told it was “underwhelming” was heartbreaking

“I’m very sorry, professor,” Dawn apologized. “If you want me to redo it, I can have a new version by-”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Dr Sinclair interrupted. “You already disappointed me once, I would hate for it to happen again. I actually have an alternative project, just for you. Think of it as… extra credit.”

Dawn shifted slightly in her seat. She was nervous, but willing to accept anything to bring her grade up. She nodded.

“Wonderful!” the professor continued, “I think you’ll find a hands-on experiment much more engaging than a boring research paper. Although you may be apprehensive at first, I’m certain you’ll come to respect my… unconventional methods”

The psychology professor opened a drawer in their desk and pulled out a small plastic object with a single button. Dawn was confused.

“I’m sorry Doctor, but is that a training clicker? For, like, dogs?”

“Right you are, my young pupil. As you know, classical conditioning was founded by Ivan Pavlov. If you had been paying attention in class, you’d know he trained dogs by repeatedly ringing a bell as they received food. Eventually they’d salivate at the ring of the bell even with no food present.”

“Yes, sir. I’m well aware of Pavlov. But what does this have to do with a clicker? Is it the same sort of conditioning?”

“Yes, you’re correct. But in our experiment, we won’t be using dogs. We’ll be using you”

“W-what? Fucking… excuse me?!” Dawn was shocked. Was her professor seriously about to try and treat her like a dog?

“Let me rephrase myself. I intend to test the effectiveness of classical conditioning when applied to helping improve one’s focus and attention. And you seem like the perfect test subject”

“You have got to be joking. Are you seriously gonna be treating me like a fucking dog?”

“Watch your language, young lady!” Dr Sinclair raised her voice. But Dawn didn’t back down.

“What, are you gonna make me wear a dog collar, too?”

“I mean, if that would help with your training, I’m more than happy to accommodate.”

“Forget this shit! You’re insane!” Dawn got up and started towards the door

“Miss Summers, I urge you to reconsider. I’m sure you’d accept failing my class, but I doubt you’d want your entire internet browsing data revealed to the entire campus.”

Dawn froze in her tracks. She turned back and saw the professor turn the computer screen, no longer facing the window, but now towards her. She could clearly see a figure of a nude woman on all fours wearing nothing but a dog collar and pup mask. Dawn knew she had seen that exact image before. She had looked it up on her phone in class last week.

“H-how? How did you get that?”

They tapped a key on their keyboard and the tab switched, this time showing another one of Dawn's depraved search results

“I have my ways. I must admit, searching petplay porn in my class during our lesson on Pavlov is honestly quite pathetic.”

Dawn’s face turned bright red. This was beyond embarrassing for her.

“P-please don’t tell anyone I was looking at that!”

“Of course not, dear. It’ll be our little secret. Just as long as you listen to me and do as I say. Please, take a seat. I want to begin our experiment as soon as possible”

Dawn did as they instructed, and her professor cleared their desk of everything except a clipboard, pen, and the clicker.

“Thank you, Dawn. I want you to trust me. As long as we’re in my office, we’re on a first name basis. I want you to feel safe and comfortable. I’m not your professor right now, but a friend.”

“You want me to call you Lune? Not Dr Sinclair?”

“I mean, I can tell you’ve never taken French by your pronunciation. But yes, please call me Lune”

Dawn nodded, slightly embarrassed. The whole situation was incredibly humiliating. She had no idea how it could possibly get any worse.

Lune spoke again. “Aww, the way you blush is just adorable.”

“Can we please just get this over with?” Dawn blurted at them.

“My my.. So feisty. Yes, dear let us get started. First, a quick recap. Tell me what you remember about classical conditioning.”

Dawn tried to remember what she heard when half-paying-attention in class. “Uh… so there’s the unconditioned stimulus which causes the unconditioned response. But if you associate the unconditioned stimulus with another conditioned stimulus enough, eventually the subject reacts to the conditioned stimulus with the same response.”

“Look at you. So smart…” Lune spoke softly and sweetly, before quickly shifting her tone. “Despite being such a pervert in my class and never paying attention.”

“Uh.. ma’am?” Dawn inquired.

“What is it, darling?”

“So I know that the clicker is the conditioned stimulus and the desired response I guess would be better focus and attention. But… what would the unconditioned stimulus be? Like, what would you get me to associate the clicker with?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked,” Lune said with a sadistic smile. They reached into their drawer again and pulled out another small pink device. They placed it on the table. “Do you know what this is?” They asked.

Dawn just stared at the pink toy, completely frozen. Of course she knew what it was. But she couldn’t admit that to her professor. A mix of contradicting emotions and thoughts raced through her head, completely preventing her from acting. Should she lie to Lune? No, they’d probably know if she was lying. In fact, hadn’t she looked up this exact device on an online shopping website the other week? If Lune had her search history, they would already know that she knew what it was. There was no point in lying. Dawn was completely trapped.

“I-its… uh… a vibrator. One you can control with your phone.”

“Wonderful. I was expecting you would lie and say you had no idea what it was. But I'm glad you realized that was a pointless move. Now, to answer your question, this is going to be the unconditioned stimulus. I’ll turn the vibrator on at the same time as I click, and eventually you’ll associate pleasure with the sound of a click. Do you understand? Is that okay with you?”

Dawn sunk into the chair. Felt like she was about to die of embarrassment. She could hardly even look Lune in the eyes. “If I say no, you’ll leak my search history. This isn’t fair!”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I lied about that to get you to stay. I would never do such a thing. You have a choice, and either way your secret is safe with me. You can leave right now and we can both forget everything about this evening. However, I do want to remind you that you are failing this class. Looking at your record, you already have enough missed credits. One more failed class and you’ll probably be kicked out of school. I’d hate for you to ruin your life over something like this. I want to help you, dear. But this is your choice to make”

Dawn looked up at Lune. They had a fiery hunger in their eyes. But the rest of their face was calm and gentle and sympathetic. Dawn was extremely flustered. Her face was a wonderful shade of crimson. Being treated like a dog and experimented on by her professor was absolutely humiliating. But also… kind of hot…

“Do you promise you won’t tell anyone else? Not about my search history and not about what we do tonight?” Dawn was furious, but she knew what choice she had to make.

“Not a soul. I swear,” Lune promised.

After a moment's hesitation, Dawn sighed “Fine. Give me the vibe.” and grabbed the pink toy off the desk. “And don’t look!” she demanded as she turned around and lifted the front of her skirt.

Lune swiveled in their chair. Dawn fixed the small bullet vibe inside her panties, making sure it was comfortable. She began to regret her decision, but took a deep breath and pulled her tights back up and lowered her skirt.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Dawn said irately. She muttered under her breath how stupid this whole thing was, but Lune couldn’t hear her.

“Perfect” Lune shivered with anticipation. They were way too excited for this. “Now take a seat. I’m going to use the clicker a couple times on its own. I want you to tell me if you feel anything.”

Dawn nodded. She closed her eyes and listened. /click/ … /click/ … /click/ …

“I felt nothing. It was just a clicking noise.”

“That’s to be expected, dear. Right now it’s just the neutral stimulus. Now, let's try just the vibrator.” Lune tapped a button on their phone. And immediately the toy buzzed.

Dawn sharply inhaled and her legs wiggled involuntarily. The pleasure rushed through her body like a tidal wave. The feeling of being pleasured by someone else without them even touching you was a wonderful new sensation to Dawn. And it was over far too quick. After two seconds, Lune released the button and the buzzing stopped.

“How was that?” Lune asked.

Dawn opened her eyes, and readjusted herself in the chair. “Uh… it was alright. Thank you.”

“So, are we ready to continue? I want to combine the vibe and clicker together.”

Dawn nodded, and Lune smiled sweetly. They were going to have so much fun with this experiment of theirs.

Before Dawn even had a chance to prepare herself, Lune pressed the clicker, and then the button on their phone a moment later.

/click/

Just after she heard the noise, the toy buzzed for an instant, causing her legs to shake slightly. She took a breath and tried to recompose herself. But Lune wasn’t about to give her a break

/click/

Again, the vibration stimulated her body. Without realizing it, Dawn began to subconsciously associate the sound of the clicker with the stimulation from the vibrator.

/click/

As they tapped the button on their phone, Professor Sinclair began their usual classroom lecture.

“I’m performing what’s called delayed conditioning. I’m activating the vibe just after the clicker. A short break in between the two causes a stronger association. If I instead pressed the clicker and activated the vibe at the exact same time, called simultaneous conditioning, there would be very little or even no conditioned response.”

/click/

“Uh huh… yeah… makes sense.” Dawn could hardly focus on her professor’s words.

/click/

Dawn couldn’t contain herself. Of course, she was nowhere close to coming. But the sensation was certainly arousing. Her excitement was building more and more, until…

/click/

Dawn moaned, before quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment.

“Oh wow! I didn’t think this was such a turn on for you.” Lune laughed. “Do you want to know the best part? I didn’t even activate the vibrator that last time. That was your conditioned response.”

Dawn looked up at Lune, dumbfounded by the reveal. The sight of her face was too adorable for Lune to not torment just a bit more.

/click/

Dawn moaned again, this time noticing the lack of stimulation down below.

“Look at you. Moaning to the sound of a training clicker. It’s just precious.”

/click/

“mmm… Fuck! Stop!” Dawn begged.

“Aww, darling, I’m not doing anything. It’s you who’s getting turned on by a clicker.”

/click/

“But I think we’ve both had enough fun for tonight. I should send you on your way before I get you even more worked up.”

Dawn tried to gather her composure and readjust herself.

“M-my extra credit?” she asked, almost incoherently.

“Taken care of. If you do well on the finals, you’ll most certainly pass this class. Thank you for your help with my little experiment. You’re fine to leave.”

“Uh… thank you, Dr Sinclair.” Dawn quickly rushed out of Lune’s office before they could change their mind. So quickly did she leave, that she completely forgot about the small vibrator still in her panties.

Maybe Lune would torment Dawn just a bit more. They could turn up the vibration slightly as she walked, and play with her a bit longer. At least until she was out of range of her phone that is.

No, that would be too mean. After all, Dawn would be tormented much more during tomorrow’s lecture, when she discovered that the remote Dr Sinclair used to change slides made the exact same sound as the clicker.

#dostxt #//my writing #Lune and Dawn #🌙+☀️#//dubcon #tw blackmail #//petplay

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mugzymiik · 4 months

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Two Heroes Are Left Alone When It's Snowing. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

(A lot, actually.)

[Story below]

“It’s snowing.”

Gold looked up from his drawing (well, less of a ‘drawing’– it was more scribbling than anything else. He could draw something if he wanted to, but… Nah.), and over to Tsavorite, who was looking out the window and watching as the little snowflakes fell from the sky. “You don’t sound excited.”

“Yeah, I don’t like the snow… It’s cold.”

Tsavorite looked entirely serious as he said this, and, if Gold didn’t know any better, he would’ve said something along the lines of ‘who are you, and what have you done with Tsavorite?’.

However, he did know any better. So, he responded:

“Huh. Surprising.”

Gold looked back down at his drawing, picking up the pencil to continue, before he was interrupted.

“Wait, really?”

He placed the pencil down again, huffing a bit. “Yeah. Knowing you, I thought you would’ve liked snow, to be honest.”

The yellow Hero lifted the pencil once again– but then, he was spoken to again.

“Do you like snow?”

Gold put down his pencil again, pushing it– and the paper– a little to the side, so that it was out of the way. Because, knowing Tsavorite, this was definitely going to spiral into a long conversation. One with many, many subject changes, most likely.

The younger shape was just… Like that, as he’d found long ago.

“Yeah.” He answered, turning and floating up out of the chair he’d been sitting in, and moving to join Tsavorite in sitting near the window. “I like snow.”

A small laugh came from Tsavorite, and Gold glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“And here I’d thought you hated everything!” The green Hero snickered with a large grin.

Gold shook his head in mock-disappointment, and moved his hand to hide a small growing smile. “You’d best watch yourself, lettuceboy.” He gave an attempt to tease light-heartedly. Yeah, he’d heard Orange call Tsavorite ‘lettuceboy’ on occasion, and eventually picked it up himself, so what?

“Ooooh… You stole that,” Tsavorite joked back. Gold could see a smug look on the pentagon’s face without even looking. “Wait a second– you’re smiling!”

Gold held back a little laugh, trying to put on a frown behind his hand– just in case the other somehow managed to pry his hand away. However, Tsavorite’s smile was contagious as all hell (like always), and he couldn’t, even if he did try his hardest. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are! Stop lying to yourself, nacho man!”

The yellow Hero huffed out a small laugh, finally pulling his hand away from covering his mouth to reveal to Tsavorite that his suspicion was, in fact, very correct.

“‘Nacho man’?” Gold inquired, chuckling.

“Yeah!” Tsavorite replied. “I'm ‘lettuceboy’, Orange is ‘fruit man’, you're ‘nacho man’!”

“And what about Cyan and Cyanide?”

“…We don't have anything for them yet,” The green Hero admitted sheepishly.

“Damn. That's rough.”

“Gold–!”

—

After a bit of playful bickering, the two Heroes had decided to get some hot chocolate. But, of course, neither of them knew how to actually make hot chocolate.

And so…

“How long’re we supposed to microwave the water for, again…?” Tsavorite questioned, turning to look at Gold, and the triangle Hero just shrugged.

“Beats me. I'd look at the package.”

“But I already threw both of them away!”

“Check one of the other ones in the box– oh, wait, shit… Those were the last ones.”

Gold sighed. Well, it could be a lot worse… But it could also be a lot better, too.

“Uhh… Try five minutes. I'm gonna try and find the paper I wrote it down on.”

“Alright!” Tsavorite grinned, and put the mug in the microwave for five minutes, as instructed.

Meanwhile, Gold dashed off, beginning to search for that paper. A few moments passed (but, to Gold, it only felt like, what, 30 seconds?), and a yell suddenly caught Gold's attention.

“AH–! IT BURNED MY HAND!”

…Whose bright idea was it to leave them alone together, anyway?

#the pink corruption #pink corruption #tpc #MIGHT BE A LIL OOC????? idk :( sorry if it is #but uhhhh #yea!#besties fr #also a leeeeetol bit headcanon-heavy #I WILL NOT STOP CALLING THEM SUBWAYDUO/lhj #oh yeah this is crimas themed #kinda #um yea #thats it

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 4 months

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By: Jesse Singal

Published: Dec 23, 2023

I’ve written many Singal-Minded posts highlighting deficiencies in both left-of-center journalism and peer-reviewed literature on the use of puberty blockers and hormones as a treatment for gender dysphoria (also known as youth gender medicine).

Each case of lackluster journalism or science is different, but the most common theme is omission. Peer-reviewed articles on this subject regularly omit key information about their data (such as this very important federally funded paper in which multiple important variables simply disappear) and fail to explain very basic facts like why dropout rates were so high or why some kids in a sample went on youth gender medicine and others didn’t, while articles and segments produced for popular audiences by both journalists and academics in this space routinely ignore the fact that a number of countries in Europe have found, via systematic evidence reviews, that the evidence base for youth gender medicine is lacking.

Pediatrics just published a “Perspectives” article on youth gender medicine (an opinion piece, more or less) by Emily Georges, Emily C.B. Brown, and Rachel Silliman Cohen that is one of the worst offenders I’ve come across. Despite clocking in at a brisk two-and-a-half pages, not counting endnotes and a “Ways to Advocate for TGD [transgender and gender diverse youth] Youth” chart that takes up a whole page of its own, the article contains a remarkable amount of misleading information, including a disheartening number of claims that point, via endnote, to resources that don’t come close to supporting them. The fact that Pediatrics would publish this article in its current form — and I’m getting déjà vu typing these sorts of sentences over and over and over — is a really bad sign about the collapse of institutional credibility in this area.

Now, Georges and her coauthors are clearly concerned with overly draconian reactions to the youth gender medicine controversy, some of which go as far as attempting to remove trans children from their parents’ home. But these are separate questions from whether the evidence base for youth gender medicine is good. It can both be true that all those European countries are correct that the evidence base is shoddy and that banning the treatments outright (which has not been the response in Europe) is the wrong reaction to this medical uncertainty.

Naturally, the authors don’t mention the highest quality evidence in question, which is — say it with me — the European evidence reviews. It is, and again I feel that déjà vu coming on, a shocking omission on the part of doctors writing in perhaps the most important journal of pediatrics in the world.

Let’s get into a few examples of how misleading this paper is, because so many of the specific claims are questionable at best and clearly false at worst. For example, Georges and her colleagues argue that GOP laws seeking to restrict access to youth gender medicine “deny children access to routine health care that has been shown to decrease dramatically high rates of suicide and depression for TGD youth.” There are two footnotes at the end of the sentence.

This sentence contains two claims: one is that TGD youth have “dramatically high rates of suicide and depression.” You see this claim constantly: transgender youth have terrifying rates of completed suicide, and youth gender medicine can protect them from it. I don’t want to reiterate the argument I’ve already made that transgender youth do not, in fact, appear to have a terrifying rate of completed suicide, so click that link and search down to “The article then notes” if you’re curious about that.

As for the claim that youth gender medicine constitutes “routine health care that has been shown to decrease” these symptoms, the first citation points to the WPATH Standards of Care Version 8. This is a big document, and it’s usually a sign of less-than-tight reasoning when an academic makes a strong causal claim and then asks you to pore through a big document to find the justification for that claim. Here and there the WPATH SoC does contain claims about the supposedly salutary effects of blockers and hormones on youth gender medicine, but these claims generally reference papers like Jack Turban and his colleagues’ 2020 analysis of the 2015 United States Transgender Survey — papers that are extremely weak, methodologically speaking (click here and search down for “mental and social health” to read more about Turban’s 2020 study). But the SoC also notes that “Despite the slowly growing body of evidence supporting the effectiveness of early medical intervention, the number of studies is still low, and there are few outcome studies that follow youth into adulthood. Therefore, a systematic review regarding outcomes of treatment in adolescents is not possible.” Methodologists disagree with this — you can still do a systematic review if there aren’t a lot of studies. But either way, if according to the WPATH SoC there aren’t enough studies to do a proper review, how can the WPATH SoC support the claim that youth gender medicine has been “shown to decrease” depression and anxiety?

The second citation points to Jason Rafferty’s policy statement for the American Academy of Pediatrics, which is a very strange document that certainly does not provide evidence that youth gender medicine has been “shown to decrease” depression and anxiety.

A bit later Georges and her coauthors write, “Although some individuals make it seem that GAC [gender-affirming care] is a new, experimental area of medicine, GAC is evidence-based.” Here there is some slippage between youth gender medicine and gender medicine more generally. Whether or not that’s intentional, it’s a serious stretch — arguably a misleading one — to call this area of medicine “evidence-based.” While definitions of that term can vary, we already know what the Europeans found about youth gender medicine, and a systematic review of adult care commissioned by WPATH itself found that, well, let me borrow from myself, writing in UnHerd:

The results, published in the Journal of the Endocrine Society in 2021, revealed that there is almost no high-quality evidence in this field of medicine. After they summarised every study they could find that met certain quality criteria, and applied Cochrane guidelines to evaluate their quality, the authors could find only low-strength evidence to support the idea that hormones improve quality of life, depression, and anxiety for trans people. Low means, here, that the authors “have limited confidence that the estimate of effect lies close to the true effect for this outcome. The body of evidence has major or numerous deficiencies (or both).” Meanwhile, there wasn’t enough evidence to render any verdict on the quality of the evidence supporting the idea that hormones reduce the risk of death by suicide, which is an exceptionally common claim.

Right after that, the authors explain that “When indicated, TGD youth may start gonadotropin-releasing hormone analogs, which have been used in pediatrics since the 1980s. They also may go on to receive gender-affirming hormones or surgical interventions, all of which are supported by a wealth of research on their safety and effectiveness.” First, “used in pediatrics since the 1980s” is exceptionally misleading, because the context there was (generally) precocious puberty, meaning that after the kids ceased blockers their natal puberty (presumably) kicked in, whereas research shows that the vast majority of kids who go on puberty blockers to treat gender dysphoria subsequently proceed to cross-sex hormones. That’s a very different use case, and one for which we have almost no high-quality evidence, so the “decades of use” argument really is a canard. Second, there is no footnote on “wealth of research on their safety and effectiveness,” which makes sense given that there isn’t a wealth of research on their safety and effectiveness in a youth gender medicine context.

Later, the authors write that youth gender medicine “decreases many negative health outcomes, including rates of depression, and improves well-being for children and adolescents.” The footnote points to this letter Texas Governor Greg Abbott wrote to another state official attempting to institute a policy of investigating instances of youth gender medicine performed in that state. This is clearly an error on the part of the authors, who definitely didn’t mean to cite this here. Next sentence: “GAC has not been shown to lead to short- or long-term negative health effects, and in fact, the benefits of GAC have been shown to far outweigh the risks.” Another strong claim, and this time the footnote points back to the SoC 8. I do not believe that document contains any language stating, conclusively, that all gender medicine is this safe and has such a lopsided benefit:risk ratio, but I could potentially be wrong. Either way, again, if someone makes a strong claim and then asks you to find the evidence for it in a haystack of a document, you should be skeptical.

A bit later on, the authors argue that youth gender medicine is not “medical child abuse,” as some conservatives have argued. I agree: for myriad reasons, that’s a really extreme claim, and the sort of overheated language that doesn’t really help get this conversation back on track.

But again, the specifics of the authors’ argument are quite strange and ill-founded:

GAC is not MCA. Although caregivers are vital supports in a child’s gender journey, the provision of gender-affirming medical and surgical care necessitates an alignment of the child’s goals with the evidence-based treatment plan determined most appropriate by the medical team. As a testament to GAC being patient driven, studies have found that the vast majority of youth who initiated medication intervention continue these treatments when followed in adulthood.

Setting aside how odd it is to see “child’s goals” used so breezily in this context, let’s once again check the footnote. It points to this study out of the Netherlands, which indeed showed a high continuation rate. But under that protocol — and this is very well-known to anyone who studies this issue — youth seeking blockers or hormones could be excluded for a wide variety of reasons, including mental health comorbidities, insufficiently severe symptoms, unsupportive parents, and so on. It’s really not “patient driven.” This is a misdemeanor compared to some of the misleading statements and miscitations in this paper, but it’s another sign of sloppiness and what might be genuine unfamiliarity with the contours of this debate on the part of the authors.

A bit later on the authors repeat that “The benefits of GAC, most notably on mental health,

self-esteem, and development, outweigh the risks in the majority of circumstances.” No footnote at all this time, although I guess, to be fair, we’ve already been told to read the 260-page SoC to find out where this claim is supported. Then an even stronger claim: “GAC is, for many, lifesaving.” No citation. This is the top journal Pediatrics! How can such a claim be allowed with no evidence?

This next part tips over from sloppy into genuine medical misinformation:

Research highlights how transgender youth disproportionately experience negative mental health outcomes, including anxiety, depression, and suicidality.12 However, when children are supported in their gender identities and have access to GAC, they have better mental health outcomes.12,13 Some studies demonstrate that appropriate GAC, in the context of caregiver support, entirely mitigates the increased risk of depression and suicidal ideation for TGD youth.12

Footnote 12 points to “Baseline Physiologic and Psychosocial Characteristics of Transgender Youth Seeking Care for Gender Dysphoria,” a paper published by Joanna Olson (now Olson-Kennedy) and her colleagues in 2015. As the title suggests, it simply captures the baseline characteristics of kids who showed up to their clinic. Therefore, it definitionally can’t tell us that “when children are supported in their gender identities and have access to GAC, they have better mental health outcomes,” and it definitely can’t tell us that “appropriate GAC, in the context of caregiver support, entirely mitigates the increased risk of depression and suicidal ideation for TGD youth.” The authors have severe problems getting their citations straight throughout the paper, but this is a particularly galling instance because this miscitation communicates such a strong claim about adolescent suicide.

Footnote 13 points to Diana Tordoff and her colleagues’ 2022 study of outcomes at the Seattle Children’s Hospital gender clinic, which readers of this newsletter might remember because I wrote about it twice.

Tordoff and her colleagues at the clinic and the University of Washington–Seattle (Seattle Children’s is the teaching hospital of the UW School of Medicine’s pediatrics department) watched as a group of kids at their clinic were given blockers and/or hormones and showed no meaningful mental health improvement over the course of a year. Then, by torturing various statistics so severely it’s a miracle they weren’t dragged to The Hague, they published a study basically claiming the opposite. It was one of the more noteworthy examples of genuinely pernicious medical misinformation being published by youth gender medicine clinicians in recent years — a complete breakdown of the important barrier between researcher and activist. You can read my posts for more details, but the fact that a doctor at Seattle Children’s Hospital, Emily Georges, would lead-author a Pediatrics Perspectives piece that treats this research as solid evidence represents a serious mortgaging of trust on her and the institution’s part. It’s 2023. She must be aware of the critiques of this study and how little evidence it provides for the efficacy of youth gender medicine.

This is not going to be an exhausting look at every claim in this piece. But I’ll leave you with one last example of how sloppy it all is:

Denying GAC not only represents medical neglect, but it is also state-sanctioned emotional abuse. In addition to the basic physical needs all people require for survival, humans have vital psychological needs. The degree to which these needs are met during childhood impact a child’s identity, capacities, and behaviors into adulthood.14 Emotional abuse involves actions, either as a repeated pattern or an extreme single incident, that thwart a child’s basic psychological needs.14 This form of abuse can be especially damaging because it undermines a child’s self-worth and psychological development.14 Policies that prohibit or limit a caregiver or physician’s ability to provide necessary GAC force caregivers and providers to perpetuate psychological distress.

The footnote points to a study that does not mention the word child or its variants, and which has nothing to do with the matter under discussion. The authors didn’t even give their paper a rudimentary proofreading to ensure the footnotes were correct before publishing it.

Of course, it isn’t just their fault. It would be quite easy for Pediatrics not to publish a Perspective this wildly off-base and disconnected from the real-world debate over youth gender medicine. It would be similarly easy for Pediatrics to insist on the rudimentary proofreading of citations. Pediatrics chose not to take these steps. This is a pattern.

#Jesse Singal #Leor Sapir #gender ideology #queer theory #medical malpractice #medical scandal #medical corruption #gender affirming care #gender affirming healthcare #affirmation model #misinformation #disinformation #gender cult #religion is a mental illness

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fanficsfromyesteryear · 7 months

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𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘❜𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄

⟶ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ////////////////////////////////////

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prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 synopsis: there’s a new monster terrorizing the small town of hawkins, indiana, and it’s not one from an alternate dimension. with halloween quickly approaching and everyone’s nerves already on edge, the last thing anybody wants is a prankster serial killer running amuck, but alas, hawkins’s residents aren’t exactly known for getting what they want, are they? warnings: major(??) character death, mentions of animal death, violence, language tag list: @maackiimoo

“What are you looking at, creep?” Carol snapped, gaze trained on the hunched figure across the hall.

Jonathan’s gaze slid from Nancy, just beyond Carol, to the accusatory redhead with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth to stutter out an excuse, but Eddie stopped him.

“Don’t listen to her,” he muttered, barely paying Carol any mind as he scribbled in an open notebook.

With a nod, Jonathan pulled another textbook from his locker and shoved it into his bag before focusing on Eddie again. “What’re you working on?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

“Campaign stuff,” Eddie answered with a shrug, but as Jonathan leaned over for a peek, he angled the paper away. “Top secret campaign stuff.”

Carol scoffed. “You saw what happened to Billy,” she told Tommy H., who flanked her. “No way he killed himself. Everyone was at that party, too, so it could’ve been anybody, but my money’s on one of them.” Her gaze was still trained on where Eddie and Jonathan were now turning to leave, and Carol moved as if to follow them, but Tommy grabbed her arm.

“You think they’re cold-blooded killers, and you wanna go start something with them?”

“Well—”

“Carol!”

Y/N and Tina pushed their way past Tommy, Y/N throwing her arm around Carol’s shoulders as they neared. “Meeting in the bathroom,” she announced, already beginning to urge the redhead toward the ladies’ restroom.

Tommy H. started to trail after them, but Tina interjected, palm to his chest as she nudged him back. “Girls only,” she clarified, grinning mockingly before joining the others as they pushed through the bathroom door.

Carol stood at the mirror, rifling through her bag on the sink for her Chapstick, while Y/N checked beneath the row of stalls in search of any indication that they weren’t alone. At last, she announced, “It’s clear,” to which Tina smiled and produced a cigarette from her pocket, bringing it up to her lips. Y/N passed her a lighter and entered the nearest cubicle, taking up post against one wall and leaving space for Tina to follow suit.

“You should really be more careful who your friends are,” Carol said, at last breaking the silence that had settled over them, save for the sound of Tina exhaling a cloud of smoke before giving the cigarette to Y/N.

It had been the elephant in the room for weeks now, that Y/N had taken a liking to Eddie Munson. Carol and Tina didn’t think he was good enough, but they’d bitten their tongues for her sake—it wasn’t their business what Y/N did when they weren’t around to stop her, but Billy’s death had struck fear and an odd sense of determination into Carol, and the mysterious phone call she’d received was the kick to the pants she needed to meddle in what she considered “problems” that weren’t even hers to solve.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N asked, peering around the door at Carol’s reflection, the warning glare that Tina sent the redhead going unnoticed. “I’m friends with you—is there something I need to know?”

“I’m serious, Y/N! You know, I’m surprised you can stand to be around Eddie after what he did to Billy.”

“Woah! Back up.” Y/N shoved the smoking stick into Tina’s grasp. “Eddie didn’t kill anyone. I was with him, like, all night. Just because someone has different interests than you, doesn’t make them a murderer or give you the right to call them one.”

“I don’t know,” Carol pressed. “He likes that weird game they’re always talking about in the news. He could be a Satan-worshipper, for all we know—he sure looks like one.”

Y/N scoffed. “Nancy’s Wheeler’s little brother plays D&D. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“He’s probably a freakshow, too, then.” Carol heaved a sigh, fingers working to fluff her hair. “Back me up, Tina.”

Tina had fallen silent for the duration of the exchange and wasn’t looking to get involved now. While she’d agreed with Carol’s points a couple of days ago when they’d first talked about it after Eddie had dropped by her house to pick Y/N up, Carol had no tact. It was one thing to be concerned for a friend but another to point blame and confidently accuse someone of stabbing another classmate to death, and personal biases aside, Tina couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing. As Tina waited for a half-assed excuse for an exit to the conversation—at the very least, a change in topic—to come to mind, she flicked the cigarette into the toilet, foot lifting to press the handle. The water swirling in the bowl reflected her turbulent thoughts, but at Carol’s insistent, “Well?” she started, “I—”

The door of the stall next to theirs flung open, effectively cutting Tina off before her embarrassment could, and Y/N reached out, grabbing the closure to their own compartment and yanking it closed in the case a teacher had entered their midst.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Carol asked. “You’re a little late—Halloween was last week.”

Y/N and Tina exchanged a quizzical look, but before they could voice their curiosity, Carol said, “Hey! What are you doing? Get away—” Her angry words fizzled out into a pained screech, though the noise was muffled—by what, the girls didn’t know, and they didn’t dare ask. Instead, they waited with bated breath, hands clasped over their mouths and panic clawing at their throats like a wild beast desperate to break out of its cage as they listened to their companion struggle against her assailant. At last, Carol’s body slumped to the floor with a soft thud, and Y/N and Tina expected to be next, both of them shifting their weight to lean on the door in a poor attempt to keep it bolted shut, but the threat never came.

Only silence.

“Are they gone?” Tina whispered, her voice shallow and broken.

Y/N nodded. “I think so.”

Timidly, Y/N stepped out of hiding to find that they were alone. Carol laid on the tile, a red puddle oozing out from beneath her limp form. Behind Y/N, Tina’s scream alerted her added presence, but Y/N was hardly able to muster a reaction—all she could do was stare. This wasn’t her first dead body, and at the rate things were going, it probably wouldn’t be her last.

As Tina ran out into the hallway, calling for help, Y/N ambled along numbly in her wake. Several people rushed past, knocking into her, and she nearly fell if not for the strong hand that reached out to steady her.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, dark eyes blown wide with concern.

Y/N shook her head. “Carol—somebody killed her.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed, and his mouth fell open to speak, but down the hall, Chrissy called Y/N’s name, her words accentuated by frantic footsteps and a bouncing, blonde ponytail. Once she was within reach, Chrissy clutched onto Y/N’s arm, pink fingernails digging into the thick fabric of her sweater’s sleeve. “Let’s get out of here,” Chrissy urged. “This place is giving me the creeps.” Then, sensing she’d interrupted something, she turned to Eddie. “Do you need a ride? I’m sure Jason won’t mind.”

Jason scoffed as he walked by, clutching Chrissy’s shoulder and tugging her away. “He doesn’t need a ride,” he countered. “I’m sure the Freak can take care of himself.” Jason glanced back to his girlfriend’s prior companion with an impatience in his cold gaze. “Y/N, are you coming?”

Y/N hesitated, gaze darting between Eddie and the couple. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll call you later, okay?” and jogged to catch up with the pair of jocks.

────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

The shrill tone of the telephone went unnoticed by most in the room, save for the woman sat at her desk, flipping mindlessly through a magazine. At the first ring, she exhaled, pushed the book aside, and slid her small notepad over into its place, pen already poised in her grip to jot down a message by the time she answered, “Hawkins, P.D.”

Florence rose to her feet, shuffling around the corner of the table in front of her, and diligently strode down the dimly lit hallway. She paused at the shut door of the Sheriff’s office, knocking once out of forced politeness, then entered without an invitation.

Jim Hopper’s muddy boots were propped precariously on the corner of his messy desk, chair leaned back as he licked off the donut glaze that had crusted onto the fingertips of his right hand, his left prying open the blinds for a clearer view of the tree line behind the station. He started at the woman’s sudden arrival but gained composure quickly with a dissatisfied grunt. “What is it, Flo?”

“Carol Perkins is dead.”

“Shit,” Hopper muttered, righting his seat. He threw back the rest of this morning’s coffee—cold from lack of attention—and stood, grabbing his coat and hat. “Where is she?”

“They found her over at the school.”

Hopper burst out of his office with Florence in tow as she returned to her spot in the office. The man threw on his coat as he strode toward the door, drawing the attention of some of the others as they took in his hurried state.

“Where ya goin’, Chief?” Powell asked, hand slowly creeping toward his hat as an unspoken question of whether or not he should be accompanying Hopper.

“The high school,” Jim answered. “A student died.”

“Jesus,” muttered Officer Callahan. “Another suicide?”

Hopper paused his movements, fingers stalled on the doorknob. “I’m not so sure it is.”

────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

“I let it happen.”

The muted strumming of guitar strings halted as Eddie shifted on the floor to get a better view of Y/N. “What?”

“Carol,” Y/N explained. “I was there. I heard her getting attacked, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

Eddie tilted his head, studying her. Y/N was perched at the edge of his bed, her fingers fiddling anxiously with a loose thread at the hem of her sweater. If she didn’t stop, she’d unravel it, but she didn’t appear to care. A deep furrow had taken up residence between her brows and didn’t show any signs of budging, the corners of her mouth turned downward to match. She stared at the space beside Eddie, one of the only bare sections of his wall, as if afraid to meet his eyes, that the information she’d just revealed to him would somehow negatively alter how he viewed her.

Setting aside his instrument, Eddie hesitantly scooted over until he was sitting crisscross on the carpet in front of Y/N. “It’s not your fault,” he began. “You know, I can’t think of anyone outside of a comic book that would’ve done anything other than what you had. We’re only human, and there’s nothing wrong with being scared.”

“That’s all I am, though,” Y/N answered, a tearful crack in her words. “Every day now, I’m scared, and I don’t even know what I’m scared of.” She inhaled sharply. “Maybe Carol was right. We shouldn’t be friends.”

No matter how much Eddie had braced himself to hear Y/N utter that sentence, it hadn’t done anything to soften the blow. He’d allowed himself to become too comfortable, something he’d always been wary of when it came to letting new people into his life, and she’d stolen his breath with a punch to the stomach when he wasn’t looking. No. Eddie had been punched in the stomach before, and this felt worse.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

Y/N gave a helpless shake of her head, strands of hair catching in the dampness that now coated her reddening cheeks as her sadness overcame her. “I think I’m cursed. Everyone close to me keeps dying, and I can’t—I don’t want you to be next.”

Eddie’s lips twitched. Oh. “Don’t worry about me,” he assured, risking a timid smile. “I’m tough. I mean, you heard Carver today—I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Well, sweetheart,” Eddie said, “that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He reached up, hand finding purchase on the side of Y/N’s face. His thumb brushed away water droplets as they trailed along her skin, urging her to meet his eyes. “If you’ll let me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.”

He was going to anyway.

As the sun sank toward the horizon, the shadows cast through Eddie’s thin curtain grew longer, reaching toward the opposite wall of his room and threatening to creep down the short hallway toward the kitchen. The seemingly endless lull in conversation that had settled over the duo was ended only when Eddie pointed out that it was getting dark. “C’mon, I’ll take you home,” he said.

────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

The front door had barely slammed into place when the phone started ringing, its demanding calls bouncing off the walls of the dark, empty house.

“Jesus Christ,” came an irritated mutter.

Steve had been with Dustin Henderson for hours of his life that he’d never get back, spent in a vain search for the boy’s supposed cat-eating lizard. He was tired—the teen wanted nothing more than to take a shower, scrub the dirt from his hair and wipe the grime from his face, and crawl into his inviting albeit cold bed.

“Hello?” Steve asked, pressing the receiver to his cheek.

“Remember me?”

“Look, buddy, I don’t have time for your bullshit tonight.” Steve moved the speaker away from his ear, phone angled back toward its cradle, but the voice crackling from the other end was still audible, and what it said stopped him in his tracks.

“I’ll take that as a yes. It’s a good thing, too, because I haven’t forgotten you. That future deadbeat and the girl were just bumps in the road, but your time will be here soon enough. Better keep that bat handy, Harrington—never know when you might need it. Not that it’ll do you any good, of course. You won’t see me coming, just like poor Barbara in that swimming pool of yours. At least you’ll deserve it.”

#stranger things #stranger things series #stranger things x scream au #eddie munson #carol perkins #tommy h #jim hopper #jonathan byers #steve harrington #carol perkins x tommy h #eddie munson x f!reader #tw: character death #tw: death

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kadavernagh · 4 months

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One flew over the banshee's nest || Regan & Elias

TIMING: Current-ish LOCATION: Elias's apartment full of unpacked boxes PARTIES: Elias and Regan SUMMARY: Elias isn't doing so well reckoning with the reality that fae are real -- and that his friend is one. Regan reluctantly offered to answer some of his questions, but they don't get very far before Elias spirals. Gandalf is there.

This was not the address that had been on Elias’s employment papers. Regan was sure the luxury apartment downtown came with the move, the new job, and the assistant. His life was full of newfound fame and wealth yet instead of flying away with it all, he dragged himself back to where he had been before, obsessing over things he was probably better off not knowing. The draw was fierce with him, wasn’t it? He was like a dog with a bone. Except it was her bone.

As Regan stood outside his door, guild lodged in her throat like a hardened scream. That this was difficult at all was an insult. Why could her body not be as steeled as her mind? Regan would do this because she must. Because… as deeply unnecessary, even offensive this would be to her grandmother, to any banshee, it was necessary in other ways that Regan was only beginning to understand. She felt that in her bones, just the same as any other thing she knew to be true. But any reasoning she could supply herself verged on the impermissible.

This – answering anything – was something she had never offered anyone. And already, regret flooded her. She trusted Elias as much as she was capable, but this was a subject matter that had previously destabilized him, one that Regan did not particularly enjoy discussing, and something he had been educating himself on with search engines and some mysterious benefactor. And then there was that guilt. That unshakeable guilt. She truly had spat on his kindness. It all seemed like a lethal cocktail.

As much as she wanted to stand in the hall thinking about lethal cocktails (and not guilt), that wasn’t why she was here. In a moment of boldness, she knocked on the door so she could speak to the man inside who by all metrics other than her stupid self-imposed ones, was a friend. She tilted her head as the door opened, looking for signs of doubt, signs this was a poor idea, and finding none. “Hello. I… can I come in?” The place barely looked lived-in, and she thought of her own apartment, which now harbored a child after months of containing nothing at all. What he did have was nice, neat, clean. It was surprising. She expected those bobble-heads staring down from every shelf, and posters of elves and that wizard, Gandolph the Gay.

The words I’m sorry wanted to gush out of her. But there was too much tension in the air, even more than the smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce. So Regan extended her hand instead. She waited, looking up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “I thought we could start with a handshake. If you’re going to know me. Last chance to back out.”

To say that Elias had wanted to talk to Regan after what happened with what he now knew to be worms would be a lie. No, he didn’t want to talk to her. Part of him was still angry. But he also knew that she had answers that she was willing to give. And after all he’d been through with her, he wanted to hear what she had to say. What her truth was behind fae.

The night he had sent that message calling her out, he was sitting alone on the plain black couch in the pre-furnished apartment, staring down at his phone with wide eyes while biting at his nails. It hadn’t been a good night for him, all things considered. Elias’s anger had mounted into betrayal, which had caused him to send the message he did. It made him feel awful, accusing someone of something they clearly weren’t ready to admit. But still, he deserved the truth! He had been nothing but patient and kind with Regan, even when she was acting really weird about, well, everything!

The pizza had arrived not even five minutes before someone knocked on the door for a second time that night, and Elias let out a sigh through his nose as he realized he’d have to face the music eventually. And Regan wanted to give answers. Well, wanted was a strong word. He didn’t really know if Regan wanted to do anything. He opened the door, staring at her with a guarded expression, leaning in the doorway before backing up and holding the door open. “Yeah, come on in.” He answered with a nod of his head. The apartment was furnished only with the necessities. A modern layout with modern furnishings and modern clinical blandness. It was clear that Elias was only staying in the apartment out of obligation. Boxes were still stacked around the living room, the tape not even ripped off of them. He hadn’t unpacked despite being back in town for long enough to have done so.

The pizza was on a modern black table with modern chairs. Two paper plates were stacked on top of the box. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I stuck with cheese.” Elias explained as he walked over to the pizza box and opened it up. “Mice not included,” he spoke in an apologetic tone, though it was also stifled. He was holding back a lot of himself at the moment. Instead of the normal happy-go-lucky Elias, it was a muted shell of himself.

Then, he turned to see her sticking out her hand to shake. Elias frowned. No going back. Right. There was a large part of him that wanted to stick his fingers in his ears at all the talk of faeries. He wanted to shout loudly over the facts being presented to him so he could ignore it all. He wanted to pretend that none of this had happened and that he, in fact, did need his medication and deciding to go off of them was a bad idea. But he knew deep down that medication wouldn’t solve the answers to the problems he had. Faeries were real, and he wasn’t as crazy as he previously believed himself to be.

So, he walked over to Regan and took her hand, shaking it once before letting his hand drop. Elias’s expression was schooled and slightly cold. He was clearly waiting for what she had to say instead of speaking himself.

Elias was carrying himself differently – heavy steps on tired bones. It reminded Regan of some of those times he’d shown up to the morgue, shortly before he took off. The bags under his eyes like darkened contusions, the wrinkle of irritability in his voice. None of it was surprising. And something inside of her wilted at the thought that she’d contributed to his current, sorry state. There was something different this time, though. Something open about the way he was looking at her. Ready to receive, rather than closed off and buried in his obsessions. Regret flickered across her face, despite her best effort to hide it. Regan warily toed inside after him, that same yearning to apologize pushing against her sensibilities. She didn’t fight it this time. “I’m sorry. You deserved – deserve – far better than someone who would consider leaving you in the woods the way I did. You deserve far better in general.” By the look of his face, she wasn’t sure if that was what he was expecting her to say. Maybe she was supposed to walk in and pour the contents of her brain on him. But the apology came out practically of its own accord – which was strange – and anything else would need to be drawn out with questions.

She took Elias’s handshake as assent that he wanted this, wanted to know everything, and as if on cue, a hard stone formed in her gut, pressing itself against her lungs. She would control it. She had to. She refused to look around and take inventory of how much glass was in Elias’s apartment (but yes, she did it anyway). The plates, at least, were paper. Regan picked one up and held it in both hands in front of herself like a shield. The thought of eating anything right now made bile swim into her mouth, and they were both in some quiet, awkward dance of having both nothing to say and everything to say. Regan opted for nothing now that she’d apologized, and didn’t answer him about the cheese or acknowledge the mice comment. Nerves clamped her mouth shut; she loathed whatever this was – feeling like a skeleton ready to be picked clean. It seemed like an odd thing right now, pizza. Was this the “hanging out” he had wanted for so many months now? The backdrop to it definitely wasn’t what he had in mind. Speaking of backdrop… Regan stared at the stacks of boxes, which were practically the only sign this unit was not actively being shown. “Why haven’t you unpacked?”

Elias looked at Regan with bemusement. She was apologizing. He didn’t take her for the type to apologize. Always thought she was too good for it or something. But here she was, proving him wrong again. “Apology accepted.” He spoke in a meek tone, arms crossing over his chest protectively. “Though,” he began to say, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ll have to make it up to me by giving Lord of the Rings a try. I won’t make you watch the extended editions the first time through, either. Though they’re way better that way.” His eyes darted back and forth. He knew exactly what he was doing. Whether for better or for worse, Elias forgave easily. He had been hurt by her actions, true, but she also hadn’t followed through with them. In the end, she did help him, and that had to count for something. He watched her curiously, noticing her clear discomfort and apprehension. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Skeleton got your tongue?” He asked, a flash of amusement crossing his features. He could tell how uncomfortable this all made her. But she was trying, and that’s all he could ask for.

When she pointed out the fact there were boxes everywhere, Elias frowned. “Oh, that.” He looked over to the pile of boxes that were by the sofa. “When I got here, I launched right into working again. I don’t really give myself enough time to do anything else besides trying to perfect the prosthesis and work on the next one.” His gaze fell downward, weight shifting back and forth on his feet. He was the one that was uncomfortable now. “There’s a lot expected of me right now. If I get distracted, I’m… I don’t know.” He waved a hand, clearly not wanting to delve too deep into it. “I will eventually if this trial stuff ever slows down and my fame dissipates.” He made a face, looking over at her. “I really hope it dissipates.” It had to, right? He was tired of doing interviews and answering emails asking him about his research. Why did he have to be the face of the project? He was a perpetually nervous guy with legs that were too long. Surely, the doctor would have been a better candidate.

Something reminiscent of relief washed through Regan. Why did two words – apology accepted – have that pull? She decided to stuff that question down all the way to the back of her surely-atrophied amygdala and never revisit it. As her eyes once again roved over to the completely intact lightbulbs in the ceiling, she felt good about that decision. But there was a condition. An unsurprising one. Regan had spent at least a few hours Googling Lord of the Rings and she felt no closer to understanding it, but… if that was Elias’s cost, she would pay it. “Fine, I will allow you to show me the hobbits, and Mordor, and Gandalf the Gay. It is not the least I could do. The least I could do is nothing. But I will do it.”

Her face scrunched up in a frown at his waving hand. He was at least acting more like himself again, some of the weight lifted from his voice (though not all, she noted). “No…” She said, slowly, finding her voice again, paper plate bending between her antsy fingers. “This does not seem like a pizza occasion, is all. I don’t know why you insisted.”

Even people dedicated to their work eventually moved out of cardboard boxes, right? There was something else. Was he thinking of cutting and running again? Was it insurance in case he needed to flee? She narrowed her eyes at Elias, and though she was far from an expert on human emotion, she wondered if he didn’t even realize it was more than just a full calendar and endless interview requests keeping him from settling in. “Your work ethic is and has always been admirable, but your life is also short, and you should live it for yourself.” She suspected he did have a lot of fondness for his new position, his new life, but not all that came with it. Part of him still seemed to be scrambling for an escape from it all. Maybe that was why there was pizza. “Hope is a toy. It will dissipate or it won’t. Consider both outcomes and what you will do.”

Regan let silence fester for a second before asking what had been needling in her mind since her apology was inexplicably accepted. “So if I’m forgiven… does that… mean I can leave?” She cocked her head, more confused than desperate. “Or should I watch you eat the pizza?”

Elias raised a brow at the ‘Gandalf the gay’ comment, but it was quickly overtaken by the fact that she knew what hobbits and Mordor were. “You… did you look it up?” There was a twinkle in his eye, one of mischief and overwhelming excitement that so badly wanted to be let out. He tamped it down, knowing it would be a bit too much for Regan right now. No, he had things he needed to know. Still, he was touched. She had gone through the effort not only to apologize but also to research something he was passionate about. Even if some of him was still hurt, Elias was touched all the same.

“Oh, the pizza comes in while you tell me what you know. You’re not getting out of this one.” He spoke, walking over to the pizza box and flipping open the lid. “Like I said in my message. Banshee, huh?” He looked at her expectantly. “I did my research, looked over the presenting evidence like a good scientist.” He plucked up a piece of pizza and plopped it onto his place, his brow raising at her once again. “Either the evidence is damning, or you have a lot in common with something that doesn’t exist.” Elias took a pointed chomp out of his pizza, then let the plate drop onto the table behind him. Fuck the pizza. He wanted to know from a first-hand source. “And even if you can’t talk about what you are, what basics should I know? Because the guy who told me what he knew seemed to know a lot, but it’s not the same?”

Somehow, Elias asking about whether she’d looked up Lord of the Rings information was almost as dreadful as the fae-related questions Regan knew he was dying to ask. She crossed her arms, taking a step back from the table, and the pizza. And Elias. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Her stomach flipped. Ugh. “Yes. I can look up things too, you know.” She returned his odd look. “Oh, wipe that smugness off your face. I needed to know who was on the cover of my new planner.” At some point she had decided it was hers, now. A token to take back to Saol Eile when the time came. She wouldn’t ponder why.

The only thing worse than being opened up like a cadaver on her table was doing that while pretending to eat pizza. She watched Elias take a bite and set the plate aside, somewhat relieved he was dropping the pretense. For now. He’d probably push it later. Currently, though, determined curiosity spun behind his eyes, and Regan could predict what was coming. The word banshee, spoken aloud, made her stiffen. She had wondered how sure he was of that conclusion, and now she had her answer: pretty screadaíl sure. And despite her insides feeling like they might spill out of her open mouth, she had told him she’d answer anything he wanted. And Regan was, if nothing else, true to her word. She waited for his speculation to run its course and then shot him an even look. He had better be pleased with himself after this.

Oh, she wasn’t shrinking back from answering that. He already knew, and her pride demanded it at this point. He wouldn’t be left adrift to browse the internet. Regan stared at him, unflinchingly. “You’re right. I am a banshee. But whatever Wikipedia told you is a load of scat. And probably this mystery guy of yours, too.” Humans didn’t just know about fae. So what was that all about?

Okay, so she was losing her confidence a little as the seconds ticked by and she felt his eyes on her more. Regan paced across the spartan room; glancing toward him every few steps. There was no such thing as “the basics,” only a maddening truth that grew more vexing with each layer that was peeled back. “You already know about the iron, know to be careful with your words. Banshees… um… death, screaming, discipline.” She held up a counted finger for each word. And at some point, she’d stopped roving from wall to wall, halting in the middle of the room. “Privacy.” A fourth finger. “Is this helpful?” Definitely not. Regan closed her eyes, her shoulders sinking, and then she looked at Elias with a little more tenderness. “I went through this, too, you know. Knowing nothing, and then everything at once. I suppose, in some way, I wished to spare you of that.”

Elias nodded dumbly as he was instructed to wipe the look off his face. It took some convincing, but he eventually did as he was told. For Regan’s sake, he told himself. “I know I can look things up. It’s why we’re stuck in this mess, right?” He shot her a half-hearted smile. Of course, he had wanted to save it for when maybe Regan would have been ready to tell him on his own, but he had just been so angry that he had convinced himself that the moment would never come unless he acted on his own accord. Before he could stop himself, he had sent the message. He’d only regretted it after he’d already hit send.

He frowned, thinking back to his online conversation with Parker. “He kept trying to convince me that fae are inherently dangerous and would kill someone because they felt like it.” He pulled a face, one of discomfort and disbelief. “He kept wanting to give me a knife to defend myself with.” He shook his head. “And before you tell me that fae will kill me, I’m a runner. Did cross country and track throughout school, even in college. I know how to run the fuck away from a dangerous situation. I’m not going to hurt anyone. But… there are people out there that want your kind hurt just because you exist, don’t they?” Elias blinked once. Twice. “I don’t want you to get hurt just because you exist. Just because you’re a different species than humans doesn’t mean that you deserve to get killed for it.” He sniffed, realizing he had been going on for a long time.

He went back to listening. Death, screaming, discipline, and privacy. That was an interesting four tenants to live by, but Elias supposed if he were inducted into a cult, he’d believe it, too. No, not a cult. Just… weird fae communities where they learn their own rules and clearly know nothing of the outside world. No, it was definitely cult-like. There was no way that Elias could shake that feeling. As she asked if it was helpful, he simply nodded his head again. “I mean, it’s not the same as you. You learned it because you are it. I’m sure that was far worse.” He swallowed thickly. Suddenly, that pizza was even less appetizing than it had been in the first place. Of course, he’d ordered the pizza to appear normal. Nothing about this situation was fucking normal. “You can’t spare me from the truth of the world. Living in this town, I was bound to find out eventually.” He took a second, remembering everything countless people had told him. “You weren’t the only one dropping hints. Some even screamed in my face about it and held a knife to my throat about it.”

As Elias told her more about this mystery man, a realization clicked into place. A human who knew about fae and was telling other people they were dangerous? Either this was someone who himself had been tormented to the extreme, or… death eternal, Regan was growing tired of hearing about these individuals called wardens. Had Elias not been questioning his sanity, and had she been capable, she might have barked out a dry laugh. He was incredibly naive. “They are inherently dangerous,” Regan said flatly, “and many would kill you. You can be the fastest runner in the world; it will not help you.” His concern was touching, but misplaced. “Some, sure. They are not worth a spared thought. Not even worth a patch of the driest dirt in a cemetery.” Regan crossed her arms, flicking her eyes toward him. He really did look concerned, and that made her drip with discomfort. Why was he such a bleeding heart? Compassion would be his downfall, she was sure. “Do not approach other fae in the manner you approach me. I am not defending murder, we are in agreement. But fae will mock your concern and then murder you. Or eat you. Or make you streak through the forest in the nude.” She hated pixies.

Far worse. Something surged inside of her, some instinct to defend the others, and what she had gone through while acclimating, but she suppressed it. Elias had no idea of the complexity of her situation, and Regan wasn’t sure she could explain it well even if she wanted to. But she would defend the banshees. As she thought about it, though, he seemed to be referring to the massive amount of cognitive dissonance he was going through. Regan tried to burn her own experience with it out of her brain. She let the matter rest and moved on. “Plenty of people live here and never learn about these things, you know. Especially when they don’t want to see it. You’re referring to the man who assaulted you outside of the bar, right?” With the context she had now, she had to wonder if this was yet another warden. Was this town lousy with them or something? It did not matter. Regan found herself pacing again. The smell of pizza was an unpleasant accent to this conversation. “Is that all? You say you don’t want me to get hurt. You should be more concerned with your own skin. Consider the knife.”

A swarm of emotions hounded Elias at once. Of course, they had the potential to be dangerous, but to watch his every move as if any second could be his last? To believe that there were monsters that lurked about wanting him dead just for asking questions? A wave of emotions crossed over Elias’s face. Confusion. Dread. Anger. Back to confusion. “I refuse to believe that people are innately murderers.” He snapped. It was one thing to completely overturn his view on what was real, but to tell him that there were people out there who killed for the fun of it? More than already existed in the human population? It was all becoming overwhelming all over again. “I’m not considering the knife,” he growled.

Suddenly, he wasn’t the normal, carefree Elias Kahtri that he portrayed to other people. It was an angry, grizzled man who was sick and tired of being played for a fool. “I just want, for once in my fucking life, to know the truth. Since clearly, I’ve been lied to about everything for my own ‘protection.’” He put air quotes around the word protection, suddenly left pacing around the apartment, ready to throw things at the wall. “I’m not, and never will be, someone that stabs someone. I don’t care what they’re doing to me. It will never be an option.” He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to keep his anger at bay. It wasn’t working.

Before he could think better of it, Elias walked over to the pizza box and smacked it, making the pizza go flying everywhere. Sauce covered the table and the floor, leaving Elias staring at the mess, chest heaving as he attempted to bring himself back down to earth. The dam had finally burst, and it was met with a reaction that he hadn’t expected: anger. “You should go.” Elias finally said, shaking his head. “I’m not… right. Not right now.”

Elias’s face was changing rapidly, and for a moment, Regan thought she hadn’t gotten through to him. But it was the opposite, wasn’t it? She’d gotten through to him too much. She knew this was a bad idea the moment they’d agreed to this. And now Elias’s sanity was about to walk off another cliff. She stood stiff against his snapping, seeing it as an emotional human folly and not a personal grievance, but didn’t know how to handle this situation. What would a human do to prevent him from sliding to the floor? She couldn’t remember. Once upon a time she might have. Maybe she really did need to peel him off. No – no, it was the pizza that needed peeling, apparently. She didn’t flinch as he smacked the box, sending carnage across the room.

She looked down at an upside down slice of pizza and then up at him. Finally, she interjected. “You say you want the truth, that you’re tired of being deceived. I’m giving it to you.” He probably wanted to hear that fae were harmless. That this contact of his was wrong. That he wasn’t at the bottom of a food chain he didn’t know existed. Regan was confident that had she told him more – told him things he had insisted he was ready to hear – he might have just exploded all over the walls instead of shoving the box of pizza. She’d already turned toward the door. Had planned on listening to his request that she leave him. But something nagged at her conscience, even if it was only at the fringes. If she walked out that door, what was she leaving him to? Some kind of implosion. Maybe doing something stupid, risky, getting himself killed. Sending him into a riptide with no one to pull him out.

All of the air left her lungs, and she turned back toward him. No. She wasn’t leaving like this. The decision solidified inside of her. “Let me help you clean up.” Regan kept her voice level, patient, referring to more than just the food. She unspooled some of the paper towels on the counter and picked up some of the pizza-turned-roadkill from the floor like Elias wasn’t a ticking time bomb. “Do whatever it is that you need to do. I’m not leaving you for the worms.”

He buried his head in his hands for a long moment, dragging his fingers over his eyes and down his cheeks and tugging at his lower lip before dropping them back to his sides. “You said you’ve been in my shoes,” Elias finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still teetering on a dangerous edge he wasn’t sure if he could move back from. “What did you do?” He finally looked over in Regan’s direction, expression unreadable and a million miles away. “How did you deal with the warring of what should be and should be impossible?” He stared down at his hands as if they would reveal a secret. They didn’t. They never did.

Elias took in a large, deep breath through his nose, then exhaled. He stared down at the pizza box, the regret seeping into every fiber of his being. He should have never moved to Wicked’s Rest, he should have never taken that stupid job he should have never– it was too late. What’s done was done, and he had to live with the knowledge he now had, or let it slowly drive him off an edge from which there was no coming back. He felt like a windup toy that was marching its way off of the edge of the table, there was no coming back up once he slipped. So why did he keep letting himself get so close to the edge? No. He had to pull himself together and accept the changes in his life.

He blinked at the pizza one last time before looking over at Regan, this time seeing her for what she was. A banshee. A creature that didn’t have the same connection to the human world that he did. Someone who was dangerous but chose not to be. At least, not with him. Her words were simple. And maybe they weren’t intended to be interpreted as deeply as Elias did, but she wasn’t running away. She wasn’t leaving him for dead. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, dumbfounded that she was helping him pick the pizza up off the floor. “I…” the words were getting stuck in his throat, and he wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m not supposed to say the gratefulness thing.” He muttered, realizing that he wouldn’t be able to properly thank her without getting stuck in some kind of trap. “So… appreciated. Does that work?” He walked off into the kitchen to grab paper towels and a cleaning spray, then returned to start wiping off pizza sauce. “I don’t know what this means for me, but I need to… need to know how not to get myself hurt.” He stared down at the red-stained paper towels, swallowing loudly.

“I don’t want to end up dead because I was underprepared.” He spoke, hands shaking slightly as he realized how many times he had been that close to ending up a smear on the sidewalk for simply being human. He took a deep breath and shook his head to dislodge the disturbing thoughts from his mind. “I know you don’t see it, and you’re afraid of what it means or just plain don’t understand, but… and I know this might be hard to believe but…” his voice cracked, realizing just how vulnerable he was choosing to be with Regan in that moment. “I’ve never had close friends before moving here.” Elias bit his lower lip, unable to meet her gaze. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a best friend, so. Do with that what you will. Throw it out, tell me that it’s a bad idea, but. There it is.”

She wasn’t sure what Elias was going to do. The upside down pizza smeared across his floor really was a perfect metaphor for how his brain was coping with all of this. So Regan let the silence wash over her, and tried her best not to notice the mental breakdown happening right next to her. She sopped up more of the sauce and waited. Waited. He was not in need of physical affection, was he? The thought made every hair on her body bristle. No, suddenly there was nothing more appealing than cleaning up tomato sauce and melted cheese. Graciously, he came out of his stupor enough to ask something. Not something she was expecting. Regan paused and looked up at him, some confusion knotting her forehead. “Yes.” She couldn’t figure out what he wanted. He didn’t seem to be looking at her, really. She narrowed her eyes at the question, giving it some thought. Elias wouldn’t like this answer, but it was all she had. Ironically. “I gave up. The person I was before is dead. I learned that there is no sense in looking to the past.” She paused for a moment. Then: “Let go of it. And don’t look ahead, either, do not try to anticipate what will or could happen. Because it doesn’t matter. You are where you are, and the facts are what the facts are.”

That seemed to pacify Elias, which was yet another surprise courtesy of this evening. And… wait, was he trying to avoid saying – well, at least he was listening. Regan was practiced at hiding amusement. “You can thank me. Not all of us are so skilled.” A little string tied itself around her bitterness and tugged. “At that, I mean. It is learned.” She hesitated, but she knew that if she did not elaborate, she was just dragging him through the same thing – providing no answers when he was dangling so close to the edge of both understanding, and insanity. “Cinniúint screadaíl,” Regan muttered under her breath, realizing her mind had been made firm in a way she did not prefer. Her tone softened a bit. “It is promises I know. Oaths. Others may take thanks. I could promise you something and you could hold me to it. You could promise me something and I could do the same. Thank you does nothing.” She shrugged in a tight, nervy way that was not at all casual. “Appreciated works, though. I tend to be cautious. Force of habit I suppose.” None of the banshees ever thanked each other; it was only since coming here that those words re-entered her vocabulary. She was surprised to see him helping to clean too now. Had her staying really made that big of a difference? That question twisted inside of her gut like a tapeworm.

“I don’t want you to get hurt either,” Regan admitted with ease, too much ease. That was a big part of why she’d plowed her way into his life to begin with. She thought she could spare him from all of this, but now the way forward was to prepare him, instead. Was he about to ask questions about how to kill fae? Avoid them? She would provide answers. He needed to be smart. Needed to– Regan’s mouth fell open when she realized this was going in a different direction entirely. Best friend smacked her in the tympanic membranes and out came a slicing sharp gasp that made quick work of one or two of his lightbulbs. “Don’t – you can’t – how can you say that?” Regan closed her eyes, feeling the glass sprinkle around her. But that certainly illustrated the point, didn’t it? This could not happen. She needed to deny herself. Needed to fix this. Her half-assed training and fading discipline were harming others almost as much as an untamed scream would.

Regan’s eyes slowly opened, her shoulders sinking in defeat, growing as small and agonized as her heart. “It’s the worst idea. You’ve become friends with my failings. I’m not supposed to –” She hesitated. Her throat seemed bunched up, like a scream was getting strangled. She stood, abandoning the pizza, knowing she needed something other than napkins to get the glass, and preferably before she shattered more of them by mistake. Plus, with her hand on the cool countertop, she felt more grounded, the scars on her palm making their presence known against the flat surface. Even a couple of glass splinters bit into her flesh. She needed to find a way to explain this. She owed him that. Before, and especially now, after he’d said – “I have worked hard to become what I am. Cold, unmoving as the dead, in control. This town is ruining all of it, every day of the last 8 years undone by some…” Her throat tightened. Which was better than loosening, because her lungs felt ready to spill out. “I had no control when this began. I was like a bomb. I did what was necessary to gain that control, and now it unravels. So I cannot. I cannot receive you the way I would have once liked to. I don’t speak of regret often, but the person I was once would have called you the same. I’m sorry that I cannot.”

He frowned. The idea of Regan having to give up who she was before the whole banshee thing sounded scary and awful and nothing like what he was experiencing now. But she had persevered and accepted the new reality of her life, and it was Elias’s turn to do the same thing. He pressed his lips into a thin line, absorbing Regan’s words as she spoke them. “Just don’t know how many earth-shattering revelations I can keep taking in.” He admitted in a thin, barely there voice. “What’s next? Vampires?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Elias seemed to calm down, knowing he didn’t have to worry about thanking her. It was hard to undo 35 years of manners that his parents had instilled into him. He’s sure he’d messed up a lot since finding out he had to watch himself. He was almost certain that he had. He didn’t like the idea of having to defend himself, to have to kill anyone. But if the situation rose, he’d have to meet it. He wasn’t going to be someone’s plaything anymore. He was going to make sure no one took advantage of him like that ever again.

Staring down at his hands, Elias looked up to see glass and a distressed Regan. He’d said the wrong thing. He would never understand fae, and he certainly wouldn’t understand Regan’s kind of fae. Cold and unmoving, emotionless and detached. How could anyone want to live like that? “This town is giving you human emotions.” He realized with an owlish blink. She was a danger to everyone around her. She was scared. And Elias had a hand in ruining everything for her. In part, this was his fault. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say, standing there in the middle of the room with dirty paper towels in his hand.

“The person you were wasn’t a danger to herself or others.” Elias finally spoke, listening to his head instead of his impulses for once. “You’re scared of what could happen if you let your training undo itself completely.” The pieces were finally slotting into place, he was finally understanding. “That’s why Jade is nothing more than an associate. Why I’m an acquaintance.” He finally looked up at Regan, who was clutching the counter.

How was it that Elias, after finding out about fae and her obfuscation, after bringing her here and buying pizza, after cleaning up the glass from a lightbulb she blew up, was apologizing to her? Regan’s whole body stiffened. This conversation felt more liable to break than the lights that remained in his ceiling; even her own face felt fissured, like whatever was underneath would become exposed if he kept chipping away. She despised it. “You have nothing to apologize for. If I were better, this would not have happened. It is my failure that brought me here, my failure that has kept me here, and my duty to correct it.” The reminder to herself helped firm her back up, but he knew where her fault lines were, now. In a way, he had always known, hadn’t he?

“I don’t have human emotions,” Regan said defensively, too defensively, and her stomach lurched, “And I do not get scared. But I won’t deny that it has been impossible to maintain my previous standards of… impassiveness, since coming here. There is a lot that rests on that.” She found a minute shard of glass on the table and pinched it between two fingers, the edge biting her skin. Staring for a moment, watching a tiny bead of blood form, she then flicked it into the garbage. “Glass is fragile. Humans are not much more durable. In fact, they seem tougher when they’re dead. Stripping your way through layers of muscle, sawing through the ribs – life could never tolerate such insult. I am not so suited for the living.”

Elias obviously thought differently. She wasn’t even sure if it could be chalked up to ignorance at this point. One look into his eyes told her that for a second, he saw the situation for what it was. Regan didn’t like that. Hiding behind layers of ‘you don’t understand, you aren’t capable of it’ was easy, but when enough strands weaved together and Elias or Jade or Marcy looked at her like this, she could not fall back on what was easy. Regan looked uneasily at the counter, then forced her gaze onto Elias. “I don’t know what I have done to earn such loyalty. It is wasted on me.” Annoyingly, she knew exactly how Jade would respond to that, to all of this. ‘LOL! You’re so dramatic.’ Her mouth flattened even more at the imagined response. “You deserve better.” At what point did Elias clinging to her become some strange form of masochism? Were they already past that point? Yeah, probably since the worms.

Leave? Regan once again refused to leave him alone in his apartment, picking up the literal pieces. “No. I’ll help with the glass.” She eyed the floor, catching a few remaining shards twinkling. “It’s the least I could do. And… if you wish to put something on in the background, I will allow it.”

Something told her she was about to meet Gandalf the Gay.

Elias blinked. He wanted to fight her on her absolute refusal to have human emotions. He’d watched her push them away time and time again. In his eyes, she was so much more than ‘just a banshee.’ She was, well, Regan! She was the person who had saved him from becoming a laughing stock, who had given him a chance when no one else would. And now here she was. Helping him clean up the glass and equating his kind (humans) to it. Yeah, that was the Regan he knew.

He opened his mouth to squawk a protest, but the words failed him as soon as she offered to let him turn on a movie. “You know I’ve got just the one.” He spoke, voice going from ready to argue to ready to jump around in a circle of excitement. He hurried over to his TV and began to dig through the box he’d set by it. After tearing the tape off of it, he opened the box and pulled out the extended edition Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring. “Behold!” He exclaimed, eyes alight with childlike excitement. “My precious.” He murmured to the DVD before inserting it into the DVD player, a truly archaic piece of technology by today’s standards (though not nearly as bad as Regan’s Blackberry), but there were just some things he didn’t want to stream, things he held special. Like his Extended Edition box collectors set of all three movies.

“Feast your eyes!” He declared as he pressed play on the movie and worked at a breakneck speed to finish cleaning to force Regan to watch what he saw as the pinnacle of cinema. The music began to play, and Galadriel’s voice spoke overhead, “It began with the forging of the great rings…”

#c elias #writing

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therealprismcat · 2 days

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Top 5 rpgmaker games, Go!

(can be as mainstream or obscure as you like)

OOH I LOVE RPGMAKER GAMES!! I’m gonna make a whole ranking for these :3

(Honourable mention to paper lily rn, because I already know it’s not made with rpgmaker even if u weren’t referring to the specific engines used, but yeah!! I love paper lily!!!!)

5. It’s not me it’s my basement

It’s a short rpgmaker game about a kid who has a monster in their basement!!

4. Aconite

I had to go searching for it because I hadn’t played it in around a year and forgot what it was called- but it’s about a kid who tries to befriend his entire class and later his school, but it gets complicated. When I played it, it only had one day to play. There might be more to it, but it still says beta so likely not

3. Flesh, blood and concrete

It’s a game where you explore a creepy abandoned apartment. I wasn’t really expecting much when I played it, but it’s really interesting and I love the lore!! It’s also pretty short, and easy to play.

2. Pocket mirror

A game where you play as a girl who doesn’t remember anything, not even her own name. This one’s a lot longer, I don’t remember how long it took me to finish it though. There’s also a remake for it and a prequel (which I don’t know if it’s out yet?) But I’ve played neither. The remake is probably a lot less buggy, but the classic one is free.

1. Dead plate

MY CURRENT HYPERFIXAITON IM LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS GAME. my friends have unwillingly been subjected to it. It’s a tycoon themed horror game where you play as a waiter trying to earn enough money at a fancy bistro in order to win his ex girlfriend back!! If you’ve seen any of the fan content for this game you’d think it was a BL. ITS NOT. DONT TRUST THE FANDOM.

anyway yeah!! These r just my favs, check them out if you want!!

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artemfication · 1 year

Text

Sticky Notes

Classes at RAD are for the most part interesting, especially for exchange students from the human realm. But the basics like human history, geography and English classes are deadly boring for MC. They were already in university before the exchange program and now they have to relive the hell that was high school subjects?! There was a reason why they had decided to go to the art academy. Not that they would get much out of the study except for a fancy paper and unemployment, but it was better than rotting away behind the desk with lots of text on paper.

Today they were just wasting their time in English class again. It didn’t help that the teacher was known to speak with a monotonous voice so the entire class was bored out of their minds. The only fun part was that the teacher didn’t really care about the use of a D.D.D. But they had to be on silent mode.

To MC’s delight they had found a lost stack of sticky notes in their bag so they decided to doodle a bit to pass time. They doodled classmates, random objects, little anatomy studies from their phone, sometimes animals or a stupid human inside joke only Solomon understood. At the end of the class, their entire table would be covered in sticky notes with all kinds of doodles and since it was their assigned seat, they could just leave it at as it is.

So imagine MC’s surprise when they found their seat completely clean. Not a single sticky note in sight. There was nothing harmful about that, but they wondered who took them. Did the teacher remove them? But the teacher denied having touched any doodles, he thought it added a nice atmosphere to the classroom so he left it alone. All seven brothers shook their heads when asked if they took any sticky notes. Class was starting so MC didn’t have time to ask others. That didn’t stop them from making more though, Solomon enforced the behavior by searching for memes and making MC change the people into the brothers. It was a miracle the two still had oxygen by the time the class ended, they were trying really hard not to laugh too much. Again they left the doodles on their table and went to the cafeteria with Purgatory Hall crew. During lunch, the demon Prince came by as well looking quite…giddy…? It was a strange look on him and no one could really guess nor did they dare to ask. Perhaps Barbatos allowed something be wanted to do? Hopefully it’s nothing…strange…

After lunch they return for classes, looking up some more reference material but they are met by a surprise.

They walk into the classroom and the moment they look at their seats, everything is squeaky clean! All the notes are gone.

“Shit…”

“What’s shit?” Satan has joined them and he is a little confused why they’re staring at their tables. Isn’t it suppose to be clean and in order?

“Ah…it’s uh…we drew some memes and…”

“We left it on MC’s table, but they disappeared somehow…?”

“Hmm…suspicious. It wasn’t any of us, that’s for sure, otherwise Lucifer would have gotten your asses already.”

“The only ones who have access to the closed classrooms are the teachers, but none of them claim to have taken any.” MC adds and the three simply stare at the tables, before the teacher tells them to go to their own seats.

However, MC struggles to follow the class as they keep getting distracted by their own thoughts. Why would anyone take some silly doodles?

After two hours the bell finally rings and it marks the end of their day. MC is still in their own world and Solomon has to snap his fingers in front of their nose to wake them up.

“You’re still thinking about who took them?”

“Yeah, it’s all just really strange to me.”

“How about this. We make some new doodles tomorrow and leave them on the desk. I’ll place an all-seeing-eye in my PE bag and leave it in the classroom. If the culprit comes back for more, we can catch them.”

“They’re silly little sticky notes, I’m just overthinking it.”

“Did I hear you say catching a culprit?” Satan butts in, being curious as always with his big love for mystery novels. His room is full of them and MC has had the pleasure of borrowing them a few times. Satan’s room is basically MC’s personal library. But the price for delay or loss is way greater than RAD’s…Asmodeus is the only one who lived to tell the tale. It still haunts him to this day and he has sworn to never borrow a book from Satan ever again.

“Yeah, why?” MC asks as they raise an eyebrow.

“I want to join.”

“It’s really not that dramatic though.”

“I don’t care, if it happens to be Lucifer, I’ll have some blackmail material and otherwise I have something interesting for the day.”

The next day, the three of them mumble amongst themselves for a bit, before leaving to “get lunch”. They pretend the leave their side of the building and Solomon looks around as he quickly puts an invisibility spell on them. They sneak back to their classroom’s corridor and hide in their lockers, waiting for someone to enter the space.

It feels like hours have passed when they finally hear heavy voices and footsteps approaching their lockers. Unlike Solomon and MC, Satan has heightened senses as a demon, thus he can make out the culprits by scent and aura.

“Your majesty, I still can’t help but wonder why you insist on taking all those silly drawings. Is there something special about them?”

Diavolo?!

“The special thing about them is that they are made by MC. I think they’re absolutely adorable, though some of them are quite odd, I enjoy looking at them. Perhaps if I use them as research material, I might be able to understand human culture better.”

MC feels a little funny and looks down at their green pactmark on their hip to see it faintly glowing. Satan’s pactmark, he is experiencing conflicting emotions. They quickly grab their D.D.D. to text him, asking if everything’s alright.

“I’m fine…it’s just so weird to me how obsessed he seems with humans…particularly you…but you’re mine already…”

So it seems he is worried, a little possessive but also a bit amused. It could also be that his wrath is acting up faintly.

“I agree that it’s strange, but you don’t have to worry. I’m sure his curiosity is the reason for all this, not me as a person. He might be the Demon Prince of Devildom, but you’re my Demon Prince.”

“I swear on Mammon’s creditcard, if it weren’t for this damn locker and those people inside the classroom, I would’ve kissed you.”

“Looks like we’ve got plans once we’re home ;)”

“Wrong fucking chat you nasty rabbits.” Solomon interrupts them and MC can feel themselves blush out of embarrassment. It’s a good thing they’re in separate lockers.

After a little while the door opens again and they catch a glimpse of a bundle of sticky notes in a box, along with the previous lost ones. There’s a ton of them. Has he been collecting each and every one MC’s been leaving around for the past few weeks or something?

When the professor has left, the three bust out of their lockers to confront the Demon Prince who’s ears and cheeks have gone red. Barbatos seems unfazed, he probably saw all of this coming some time ago.

“So you’re the one who’s been taking MC’s sticky notes, your majesty?” Solomon crosses his arms in amusement as he questions the throne’s heir.

“I don’t quite understand why you have to be sneaky about it when you could’ve asked MC or Solomon directly.”

“Was that why you were looking so happy lately?” Satan asks forcing the prince to give in.

“When I first saw them I thought they were cute and wanted to study one from up-close. And I guess from there my curiosity took over so I kept coming back to see if you made more…”

“Curious about humans as ever I see…I’ll let you off the hook this time since they’re just silly little drawings, but if I ever catch you taking something more personal without permission, you can forget about any favors.” MC squints their eyes at Diavolo who nods in agreement, relieved that they aren’t mad at him.

“Great, problem solved. Can we go home now?”

“It’s lunch break Satan…”

“Argh! I just wanna go home...” Satan signs as he leans his forehead against MC’s shoulder.

“Let me talk to the headmaster. The least I could do is gives you early dismissal from class for causing trouble.”

“Would you really?!”

“Leave it to me, you three can pack your stuff and go home.” Diavolo nods at Satan, who seems as happy as one can be and the blond rushes trough the classroom to pack his and MC’s bag, before dragging his S/O out of the building like a kid going to the amusement park.

“Satan slow down!” MC giggles, but gets swept up in his arms as he runs home with them.

“No time to lose before the others are home! Don’t forget what you told me over text.” He says with a mischievous grin.

Rip levi’s ears I guess if u know what I mean 😏

#obey me headcanons #obey me #obey me satan #satan x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #solomon x reader

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