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86-babyy · 2 years

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Trepidation.

I got the idea from this amazing post. Tweaked a little but ran with the theme. 🙃 Eddie!Fem Reader

Warnings— physical abuse, marks/bruises, mutual pining through hate, unprotected sex, possessive Eddie, angst with fluff ending. If I missed anything, let me know.

Tension strung out across the room like perfectly hung Christmas lights, each person twisting and checking individual bulbs of bright green and red, the corded wire connecting each one to make sure the line wouldn’t snap. That’s what it felt like. Every person so high on alert that neither wanted to cause the pending fall— to watch the bursts of colour shatter as it all came crashing down.

But it was too late for that.

“The fuck you say?” Like poison, it was spat with every intention to harm. The venom pooling from every syllable like a dripping tap he couldn’t turn off.

“Did I stutter, Munson.” You hoped that he understood that it was more of a rhetorical question than the latter, surely he wasn’t that ignorant, but then again..

You could see the fury wash over his vision— pupils dilated to the maximum, the way the skin creases at the corners of his eyes in a exasperated glare, it was clear as day, the anger that he hid well behind his deadpan expression— But not if you knew what you were looking for.

“You got a nerve, parading around like you’re something special.”

“Special? Not exactly. But labels really aren’t my thing..”

Snap. Just like that the corded wire broke. Split right down the middle, leaking the tension from heavy to flat out strain spilling around their feet.

You knew you had struck a point, somewhere deep behind the guarded wall he stood behind— If not for the bleeding white of his knuckles, strained to hard into fists that the circulation gave way, that gave it away, it was the drop of expression— If only for a half a second, it was there.

“Alright! It’s enough, Jesus, you guys seriously need to get your shit together.”

Steve. Poor, Steve. Always the middle man. Quick to rescue any situation and honestly, you couldn’t help but feel a prick of regret for causing such a scene when all he tried to do was bring everyone together for a movie night.

A movie. It was that simple. That’s all it was supposed to be. Drinks, laughs, shitty B grade horror movies and too much junk food but somewhere along the line it had turned into a all out brawl between you and Eddie Munson.

You pulled yourself from your position on the couch, knees aching as you stretched out your frame, hoping that a break from scenery would settle things a little— It was the least you could do, for Steve if no one else.

It was a bitter feud that ran between you and Eddie, stemming from as far back as you could remember— So much so you couldn’t even explain how it all started but it came to a head through high school and it gradually got worse and worse. The torment was relentless, constant snide remarks followed by the accidental shoves and bumps in the hallway. The confrontation got deplorable, more personal.

You had reached your destination, the stark porcelain cold beneath your palms, wincing at your reflection. It felt you had been in this situation one to many times— Stood in front of the mirror to repulsed to even look at yourself, it was self sabotage at its finest and yet the ache brought a twisted relief from reality.

Self pitty is a hell of a thing.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is but keep it going, sweetheart.”

In the doorway— He stood a distance away, a considerable space between you both but the heat radiated like crashing ocean waves, descending in height until it breaks into foamy white on impact. You had thought about walking away, ignoring the complete shit show all together but you knew that wasn’t how it was going to pan out— You wouldn’t let it.

“And what is it exactly that you plan to do? You wouldn’t— No, couldn’t, right.”

It was a down right threat, one that caused his frame to go rigid, you noticed the subtle changes whenever he was in your presence— The twist of knuckles, the heavy fall of his chest with every exasperated breath, it was like clock work— Predictable.

“You want to go that far?”

His tone switched, automatically. Something candid about the way he drew his words, spread them out far more than necessary.

“Fuck off, Munson.”

Before thought became reason you had two solid palms splayed against his chest, the weight of what your body could manage heaving his stature backwards with surprising force— Enough to make him stumble on his heel.

“I told you..”

A death like grip made its way around your wrist, bound by Eddie’s fingers mercilessly pressing into the soft of skin, crescent like marks sure to be left behind from his nails.

Boring eyes burnt a trail straight through your own, melted past the exterior and seeped into the pit of your core, the bitter taste hung heavy on your expression— No doubting the churn of unease that peaked like a crisp breeze through winter across your skin, prickling the nerves into tiny bumps.

The weight of his body came hard and fast as the throb of pain was evidence of the strength— pristine tiles moulded to your back in resistance as he came chest to chest.

“Keep fucking going.”

“You have some audacity.. You fucking followed me.”

Your latter hand came down, imprints of raised red flesh painted his cheek in a matter of minutes— Momentarily you wince at your actions, it wasn’t meant to go down like this.

But he doesn’t respond, doesn’t react and that scares you more than the latter.

“You should really watch your step.”

You grimaced at the ringing sound of his voice broken through the crowd of students, the dull throb of the blades of your shoulder transfer pain from one spot to another as the hand tightens around your forearm.

“I think I can manage..”

Straining against the hold on your arm, the motion only sending more pain to radiate through— The grasp much to stable to pull from.

“I beg to differ. Nearly fell on your ass, sweetheart.”

It’s dripping in confidence, the smug form of words matching the growing smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

“You pushed me, idiot. The fuck..”

This time you managed to release from his grip, the burn lingering from the imprints of fingers around your forearm— Shoving past in the process, making sure that the ball of your shoulder didn’t miss the sharp contact to his chest.

It wasn’t the first time, both of you had left some form of mark or bruise before. Your skin littered in hand prints where he had grabbed your arm too tightly or when he had shoved you into the locker, the metal bruising in its wake and you would be just as aggressive— Knocking into him full force and continually throwing objects in his general direction. It was a cruel form of tit for tat that had spiralled way out of control.

You watch your arm come down in a forceful swing from the release of his grip, the joint of your shoulder peaks in pain from the pull but it didn’t come undeserved.

A wash of cold incases around your throat, metal stings the flush of skin and rubs against the friction forced by the air that seemed to be sucker punched out of you. Except there was no impact. Just Eddie, leaning dangerously close to the shell of your ear— You can trace his breath dancing over the side of your cheek.

“You’re going to regret that..”

It had been a whirl wind of a week, school had meshed into one big blur and it had been hard to concentrate on any singular task. The words of your notes scribbled out like nonsense against the pages— even you couldn’t recite what you had written. The hum of the teacher buzzes in the distance until a solid thump against the back of your head drags you from your subconscious.

The crumpled paper lays beside your foot, hesitantly, you reach for it— You knew exactly who had thrown it.

Bit out of it today, better keep focus..

You could read the ill intent between the words, the hint of sarcasm written in inky blue but it lacked the harshness behind it. The pointed jab, the direct response of intent to be cruel.

It was different.

And when the bell rung heavy through the school, like a world wide alarm that sent adolescent kids into a complete frenzy, you were thankful for the days end.

“Come past, trust me, it’ll be good.” Robin had coxed you against your locker, hovering the idea of a barbecue at Steve’s house this weekend— Throwing in that she would bring her potato salad which was exactly her motive when you had reluctantly sighed, you couldn’t turn down a plate of the delicious stuff— It was addictive.

It was subtle but with enough force to pull your attention when the nudge to your arm had you tracking the source— You could feel him before you saw him and that alone had you gagging for the nearest toilet.

“Can I help you?”

Not bothering to even acknowledge his presence but you waited. Aimlessly shoving the lasts of your books into what little space was left inside your locker— Nothing.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the gaze that silently studied you before he shrugs. Shrugs. Like he didn’t have a damn care in the world— No back fire. Smart ass remarks, not even a grimace in his expression.

Even Robin gave a small cock of her head, the crease between her brows dimpling at Eddie’s lack of response, flickering her confusion between yourself and Eddie.

“You don’t have to look at me like I have two heads, Buckley.”

He follows it with a disconcerting laugh but Robin only narrows her lids further, as if the notion will bare through and what she’s looking for will come baring through.

“Hm. Yeah— Okay.”

She gives Eddie a once over before turning back to yourself.

“What do you think?”

“You don’t play fair..”

She perked in response, eyes beaming in animation as she helplessly shifted from one foot to another in the only way Robin would when she tried to dim her excitement.

“Love, my dear, it’s all out of love.”

Bouncing away wilfully you couldn’t help the spread of the stupid smile that forced its way onto your face, she was a beacon of light, that girl— A clumsy, over the top, muddled mess but none the less truly admirable.

“She’s.. Something.”

It’s coated in fondness, soft even, as he copy’s your gaze watching Robin fade between the swarms of bodies.

“Yeah, definitely is.”

It takes you a moment, one that seems to stretch a mile long before you draw your attention to the man still stood beside you. He doesn’t follow, keeps his vision straight ahead like he had a target mixed in the crowd.

“See you on the weekend.”

It’s the briefest of smiles, barely upturns his lips but it was evidently there.

The remaining week came and went and soon enough you were stood on the doorstep of Steve Harrington’s house, equipped with a garden salad— Just for good measure.

It seems like the most impossible task to reach across and knock, suddenly the varnished wood becoming more intimidating the more you wait— It was completely ridiculous. You had been here a million times, knowing the layout inside and out with both eyes closed, every hall, every door, it was like a second home. It was everyone’s second home.

“You made it..”

Steve’s figure came into light, silently thankful that the simple task you hadn’t managed to do, like knock, had been swept away as he held the door open instead.

“You okay? You look out of sorts.”

You watch yourself nod, splay a smile and follow him inside as he takes the salad from your grasp like you’re on autopilot, you wish you had an answer, you wish you had said something like yeah, I’m good, hope Robin brought the potato salad, you would both laugh knowing full well Robin wouldn’t miss the opportunity to show off her love of cooking— But you couldn’t and instead traced his footsteps until you had gathered out back with the rest of the group.

Robin was aimlessly fumbling with the plastic chairs with Nancy, setting up an array of seating around an equally worn out table, you couldn’t help but laugh as the table cloth she was spreading kept flying up at the corners— racing her way to the opposite end to catch failing cotton.

“As I said.. She’s something.”

You didn’t bother to look, you knew, but opted to simply nod instead.

“It’s a little warm for that..”

“Hm?”

“Long sleeves..” He gestures towards the open sky, the sun baring down in a stark heat you hadn’t seem to notice before.

“Yeah, uh, sort of cold.”

It was soft, passable as a whimper, tugging the round of your sleeve further down you arm. You didn’t have it in you to fight, not today.

It was cruel the way he gripped your forearm, wincing behind the bounce of curls as Eddie pulled you inside, ever more up the stairs, ignoring your protests as he shoved you into the sparse of the bathroom.

“Eddie! Jesus, what is your problem—“

“Show me.”

“What?”

Eddie reaches for your arm again, slightly grazing the soft of your wrist before you managed to escape his attempt.

“Fuck off!”

He winces at the sound, it’s small— The way his expression drops, the subtle flinch of his eyes but noticeable, quick as it came he suited up— brows twisted in complex. It wasn’t anger, you knew the signs well, he was predictable— This was different.

Salt water burns the corners of your eyes, the undoubtable destruction threatening to escape— Bleed and make a mess in front of the one person you didn’t really want to do this with.

It was quiet. To quiet. And it was the first thing you picked up on the moment you walked through the door, the gentle hum of static from the abandoned television strung thick in the air around you. You knew what was waiting— Dreading every step, every inch you placed your feet, one in front of the other.

Wishing so desperately you could run, just this once. Leave every useless material thing behind, nothing really held much sentiment anyway, it was all broken memories and evidence of what was no longer— It was haunting.

It didn’t take long, in the split second he had seen your shadow coming into frame, it was all over.

Your body contorting as it was flung across the sparse of your bedroom, heavy hands wasting no time in staining your skin, bone’s bending at the pressure— Your dignity ripped to shreds. It was absolutely filthy, the hatred that spilled from words physically spat in your direction— Untrue lies of adultery and how you wore her face. How it reminded him of everything your mother had apparently strung him along with, ruined his career, destroyed his life— That is what he said.

Once upon a time you may have reasoned with his theory’s if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was him that tore their marriage apart— Susie, two houses down. You remember clear as day. How your mother had perfected the mask she hid behind, ignoring the latter and covering her questions with make up. You clicked on quickly after that she never asked him again.

But she wasn’t here, no. A drunk driver had made sure of that— And now you seemed to be the only remaining option.

Your arm once more tore from the curl around your waist, hasty fingers tugging, pulling, slipping the material covering the expanding bruises that coloured your forearm.

“Eddie..”

Soft, quiet, like if you had whispered it maybe no one else would hear.

He was shaking, his hand uncontrollably quivering as he gently lifted the hem of your shirt— Where your body had taken most of the heat.

“Who did this? Who fucking hurt you.”

You would have missed, the single tear that rolled down his cheek through your own blurred vision, eyes to swollen from salt water to focus, near on unbearable the way your whole frame shook under the pressure— Your entire facade shattered, just like that, and now he knew. He knew.

It was embarrassment beyond measure, the unmissable sin that painted your skin, it even had you feeling like reaching for the nearest toilet, gagging and spewing the disappointment and despair from your very core.

He looked hurt, his eyes held such sorrow that it almost broke you all over again, his demeanour shifted completely, now almost crouched over, shoulders hung so heavy with invisible weight dragging his whole frame forward.

“Who?”

“I— It doesn’t matter. It’s okay..”

He looks at you, really looks, but his gaze is soft— Screaming, silently screaming what part of any of this is okay? Shakes his head, curls of chestnut follow his movement in a soft bounce and it’s oddly beautiful. He squints, expression unreadable but it lingers, you couldn’t ignore it, the quiet statement that whispers— Only me. It was supposed to be only me, who pushes, pulls, taunts you in a way that keeps that subtle smile on your lips for the rest of the day. Not like this— This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

“Eddie, please.”

It comes like a blanket, invading and full of comfort. The kind where you are wrapped up in one to many blankets on the coldest night of winter, bringing warmth and security along with it.

Except it wasn’t copious amounts of blankets, it was Eddie.

Wrapped so intensely around you, arms that seemed to stretch and wrap around twice and you let it— Let your body give way to the feeling. Moulded and shrunk in the embrace of his arms, caring no longer for anything but the present.

It felt like hours, minutes, seconds, uncounted for before you slip from within his arms. Eyes follow you, somber in expression and you hated the feeling of pitty that settled in your stomach. Soft, warm hands caressed your face, fingers skimming the tracks of tears that stained your skin in response. Welcoming the comfort, for it was long over due.

“I’ve got you.”

Felt like a forever, a whole other lifetime since you heard such reassurance and though everything pointed towards the fact that you shouldn’t believe him, that the overwhelming feeling of solace was completely left turn to your usual bitter interactions, it came natural.

Just like the way you hinted your chin upwards, risking it all in the moment of silence, the undeniable pull that craved confirmation. Without hesitation the brush of air escaping past and drifting along your lips, the gentle pull of hands inching you closer, slowly, in silent question. It was soft, careful, tasting of desperation and summer fruit and everything right in the world.

Chaste hands weaved into the mess of curls, each ringlet looping around your knuckles, encouraging the growing need— The tension to strung out, pulled and stretched to the max. It wasn’t harsh, forced, like the conversations before, every pent up emotion bleeding between the mess of lips and spit, tangled hands desperate to cover every surface— It was passion and play, intense and deprived. Hands gripped the underside of your thighs, your body heaved as you wrapped your legs around his waist and this time when your back collided with the pristine tiles it aches for completely different reasons.

Eddie loops the elastic of your underwear around his fingers, expertly dipping beneath your skirt, your position resisted against the strain with no where to go, so he pulls— Fingers twisting the cotton until a steady yank sends the sides splitting in half, tearing away the tattered material behind him.

You hear the clink, the clutter of metal from the distance, still to incased in leaving your presence along the sparse of his throat— Teeth and lips work in union to form Scarlett beneath them, patches of love and need bleed beneath his skin.

The air winded you, your lungs fighting with what oxygen remains when he bottomed out, thick and greedy as your pussy instinctively moulding around the intrusion— Welcoming with every thrust, pulsing and drawing your nerves along with it.

“Promise, fuck, I’ll take care of you.”

Whimpering strings of acknowledgment intwine with rugged breaths, fingernails trails the spans of his shoulders. Your whole body ignited in exhilaration against every draw of his cock, expanding your walls and driving into the sweet, tender spot over and over.

“Jesus, Eddie.. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Maybe it was endorphins that exploded like sparks inside each notion that made you admit, maybe it was the thrill after so long— But really, it was the raw truth. And the growl that Eddie groaned, seemingly from the depths of his chest when he brought his hand up to cradle your throat, the pinch of pressure as boring eyes held your vision— Intensely.

“Never again. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You hear me?”

It was possessive and enduring, the lingering promise brought forth a urgency that had you reaching for more, a silent oath bonded by bitter rivals and underlying feelings— It was a complete surrender in the upmost exigency.

“Y— Yours, Eddie, I’m all yours.”

“Good girl. That’s it..”

Your pussy is trembling, contracting around each thrust that relentlessly pounds in and out, your back sure to be decorated from the tiles imprinting with every jolt. The air catches around the dryness coating your throat, the moisture sucked out the minute Eddie brought your face to his, forehand resting against yours.

Sweat and slick echos the heavy walls, rebounding and drawing every moan from Eddie to ring through your ears like a sweet melody.

“Cum with me, sweetheart. Okay? Let me feel you.”

Within moments you were mimicking his cries, the harsh flush washing over your entire body, skin like fire as your orgasm bares down on the cock inside you, pumping and milking his own release along with it. The milky white dripping from leakage around his cock still thrusting slowly, trails along your thigh.

It was bittersweet when he brought you back down to your feet, heavy emotion’s dangling between you both in question to unmissable to ignore. But the tender reassurance of his hands slipping into the dips of your waist, following with a smile— Dimples creases the apple of his cheeks.

“I mean it. I’ll never let you hurt again.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson angst #stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fics #eddie x you

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godotdotdot · 2 months

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I watched the end of evangelion in theaters last night. The last time I watched EoE was a near spiritual exp; I had been going thru a lot at home and needed catharsis, because I was personally grieving a lot of close relationships that had been hurting me, and could not stop feeling shitty for how I hurt my loved ones.

While that evening I had had the entirety of Eva fresh in my mind, and had sobbed accordingly to my heightened understanding and empathic ability, last night I did not. I had not prepared by rewatching the series or Death and Rebirth. It was a last minute chance that I took. I felt I had not "done" the experience properly.

I noticed so many details I hadn't before, thanks to the big screen: the name KAWORU printed on the EVA Series' S2 drives; how fitting it is that Kaworu (the ideal Shinji, the replacement for Asuka, the parallel of Rei) eviscerates Asuka. I also realised why Asuka has the bandage on her arm in the last scene, because her arm... ripped in two... and how insane is it, the arm that is iconically extended with "I'll kill you, I'll kill you" to be the same hand that reaches forward, as she's dying, to cup Shinji's cheek as he strangles her. I saw my favorite character, Rei, commit her revolt against Gendo. I absorbed everything on screen with greater clarity than I ever had before. The big screen magnified the details, the emotions, everything; and I realised with satisfaction that I was watching the movie the way it was supposed to be watched.

And as such, I think the most significant moment was in the actual theater itself. The scene in the film where they're in instrumentality and talking about dreams vs reality, and they pan to the irl audience of one of the first screenings of eoe? It hits different when YOU are in the theater. It's YOU on screen. I remember feeling like an individual and not at the same time. I realised that everyone in the movie theater was there for the same reason as me: for virtue of being human, having a deep connection w the series like me, having their own reconciling with the awe of seeing it in theaters; after all, all the young kids had streamed this movie on the phone like me, and all the older fellows had not been to an Eva screening in North America. We WERE the first audience seeing the movie, just like in the film; we had all gathered here with our rei plushies and our t-shirts and our cosplays like the audience in 1997. But would we be sitting there confused, like that initial audience was?

As it was, there is no sense of confusion in as an eva fan, not after the End. As the film ended, Shinji crying, Asuka still, Disgusting, and then the end card, there was a full 15 seconds of silence as the lights slowly came on. No clapping. No discussion. No laughter or sniffling or breath. The lights came on, and still, I was silent; I was both praying no one would break the silence as I needed it and observed it. I was completely processing the gravity of being the first (N. American) audience (ever!) since the show aired nearly thirty years ago; and with that weight, how SHOULD you react? And then, the silence broke as I heard people take shaky exhales like they had been crying, chuckling nervously, and then more comfortably laughing to their groups, beginning lore explanations--- someone had a beer snuck into the theater that I only noticed when I looked in front of me--- and everyone re-became themselves, imdividuals with lives and problems and things to be excited over. A couple was still crying and were not holding hands. I saw them outside, twenty minutes later, smiling and taking pictures with the poster.

It seemed strange to me that Eva had become such an emotional thing to such a crowd of people. I didn't realise that I was not the only one who cried tears of horror, who cried tears of disgust, who cried tears of sorrow. I had been excited to go to this movie and was left feeling... normal. It was life-changing, but also, not. I was just a person in a theater, and yet, I understood the movie because I had studied it. And so had everyone else, and we were still crying. At the same time, having reflected on my more private viewings, I still thought I hadn't cried enough.

I think to the things Hideako Anno has said about eva; how it's him on screen, his disdain for certain kinds of anime fans, his passing interest in things that people hyperanalyze. I think about the dedication he notes to his team of workers and five women in his life. Who are those five women? What kind of women are they? Why that descriptor, if you're separating them from your work?

I think the most appropriate explanation for my absurd reactions to the film are because the film itself is an absurd experience; I'm trying to assign it an aura (a la "art in the age of mechanical reproduction") but frankly, I believe it is impossible. Perhaps my theater wasn't right. Perhaps my company wasn't. Perhaps I was not. Perhaps the film was not. And most of all, perhaps it was okay for me to be there, because I wanted to be there, and I wanted to go on.

It was a really beautiful experience. The movie is absolutely meant to be played on a big screen, in a theater. I'm so glad I was there, and I'm so glad I got to be apart of eva history. It was not the perfect exp I wanted, but it was such a special occasion that I don't mind too much. One day I will keep going and maybe I will make that experience perfect for myself.

#end of evangelion #eoe #analysis #reflection #evangelion

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napakmahal · 2 days

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Good Looking Boy (Pt 2 to Normal Girl)

Hey, so let’s pretend I didn’t fly off the face of a Earth on not update for like a month but part two is finally here. Enjoy

Tadashi was not doing well. He felt like shit and looked like it too. Ever since your argument, Tadashi had started going through a medium-grade depression. You two didn’t break up, and you still took him out after his hearing but something was off and he hated it. For the first time in history, Tadashi’s clothes were blocking the door to the boys’ bathroom. Hiro pulled on the door handle but the clothes and other crap were making it difficult to open.

“When are you gonna clean your side of the room?” He asked out of breath with a cramped hand.

Tadashi didn’t respond and just pulled his comforter closer to him indulging in shitty reality T.V. When Tadashi goes through seasonal depression, he doesn’t want to watch anything that feels like he’s working. He doesn’t want to watch a murder mystery that requires him to remember tiny nuanced details from the first episode or anything philosophical that would make him think. Enter reality television, it’s dumb, effortless, entertaining, and has in-depth recaps of what happened in case he missed something in the episode before. Hiro hadn’t realized how bad it was until he got home one day from school.

Tadashi was staring at his laptop while chewing on a piece of anti-headache mint gum. (mint helps with headaches)

“What are you watching?” Hiro untied his shoes and threw them into an unidentified corner.

“Vanderpump rules.”

It was like Hiro could hear horror movie music start playing in his ears behind someone screaming “I WASN’T YOUR BEST FRIEND HOE!” It was then he finally decided to call all of Tadashi’s friends, he needed assistance. He already had to watch his older brother self-destructively indulge in The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Love Island every winter and he wasn’t sure either of them could take anymore.

That afternoon, Wasabi pulled up in his yellow Volkswagen with the rest of their friends. Hiro had asked them to drive around the back to the garage and meet him inside the garage. Once they were all inside, Hiro made sure to shut the door and gave everyone a small can of iced tea so they’d have something to spit out at the news.

“Okay, so why have we been summoned?” Fred cracked his can open.

Hiro took a deep breath, “Tadashi’s been watching reality shows, and it’s not December.”

“Shit, is he okay?” Gogo ran her hands through her short layered hair.

Honey urged, “Yeah what happened?”

“Have you guys ever met y/n?” Hiro brought his voice levels down. The entire group nodded, referring to meeting you at a karaoke bar where you were Tadashi’s plus one. “Alright well, I haven’t and neither has my aunt.”

“So?” Wasabi shrugged like it was no big deal because it really didn’t sound like a big deal.

“Sooo, she came by like last week and we had no clue who she was. I don’t know what happened but I know Tadashi and her got into some kind of fight and things are weird now.”

“Did they break up!?” Honey gasped.

“No, they still talk but it’s mad weird.”

Gogo pushed, “Weird, how?”

“Like they talk like strangers. ‘Hey, how are you?’ ‘Good, you?’ ‘Good, what are you doing?’ ‘Nothing, just bored. ‘Me too” over and over again.” Hiro wasn’t exactly a relationship therapist but he knew that was not normal for a girlfriend and a boyfriend that has been together as long as they had to talk to each other like that.

“Did you call her?” Fred leaned forward in his chair.

“Psh, no.” Hiro scoffed.

Wasabi asked, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know her like that!”

Fair enough response. They knew something was going down with Tadashi when he stopped joining their group calls claiming to always be ‘tired’ and when he started leaving the lab hours earlier so he could go straight home and rot in his room. They tried, but nothing seemed to work, and he wouldn’t tell them the problem. He just didn’t want to depress anybody.

“Honestly,” Honey sighed. “I think we have to call her because I’m not so sure there’s anything we can do about it. It’s a problem between them.”

“But they do talk and it’s not going anywhere.” Hiro countered.

Wasabi backed up Honey’s point by saying, “That’s more like conversing, actually talking would be totally different.”

That night, Hiro snuck to the side of Tadashi’s room and typed in his passcode (Tadashi’s phone passcode is Hiro’s birthday and his wallpaper is an old picture of 5-year-old him sitting between his parents in the hospital bed holding onto baby Hiro with the help of his dad.) But his home screen is a picture of you two brushing your teeth in the mirror making faces with toothpaste foam all over your mouths. Hiro clicked on the messages app and sent a text.

——————————————————————————

This was so depressing. You'd been listening to a playlist with 800 different moods to it while you did your makeup to go absolutely nowhere. You hadn’t been exactly normal since the whole ‘my boyfriend didn’t tell your family about me’ thing. He’d reiterated to you that talking about boyfriends and girlfriends in the Hamada house is odd and uncalled for. You understood but still, something was off. This was the longest time you two hadn’t slept over, or just sat in your car talking for hours. You missed your boyfriend so much. But every time you talked to him it was so awkward like he was still feeling guilty over what happened. Sure it hurt but you’d accepted it and they knew you now. You’re grown, learning to accept things with peace is part of growing up. Plus it was just a familial thing and Tadashi loved his family so much. He makes fun of Hiro endlessly but he would rather die than have anything happen to him, he paid his aunt’s light bill without her knowing because he felt bad after seeing her on the phone with a tax collector, and he misses his parents so much. Once he was having a hard time picking out a suit he could wear to an internship he felt overwhelmed and he said “If my dad was here he’d help me.” Still, it still seemed Tadashi was holding back in all of your conversations.

You finished up your double-winged eyeliner and just as you were about to change Hit em up to Something Stupid, your phone dinged. Both your wallpaper and home screen was the picture a stranger took of you, your mom, and Tadashi at your mom’s graduation.

Hey, can we talk?

You texted back: Like rn?

No, in person.

Fuck. That’s never a good sign. But yet you just said: Ok, when?”

Tomorrow, my place. There's an opening on the side where the garage is. Knock.

These tiny sentences were starting to confuse you. Tadashi didn’t text in small sentences. He was the person who wrote grammatically correct paragraphs in text. Usually when he planned things he would tell where what time, when, where, and why he wanted to meet up. So this was starting to scare you. Regardless, you agreed to meet in person. You took off your makeup and tried to get as much sleep as possible.

——————————————————————————

Tadashi wasn’t looking much better the next day. He came down from their room hours after Hiro did. It wasn’t uncommon for Tadashi to sleep in his boxers, especially in the warmer months. But he usually puts on shorts or sweatpants before coming down. Not this time.Hiro was mid-sip of his daily emergen-c (he suffers from low vitamin C) when he saw his older brother looking like he got hit by a cable car walking down the stairs. Hair a mess, wearing a plain white shirt, his blue and white boxers, and eyes like bruised shopping bags. He looked like something Mochi coughed up.

“Good morning.” Hiro said warily.

Tadashi just groaned in response and leaned past him to get to the vitamin cabinet. When he reached to grab the large container of calcium vitamins, Hiro backed the hell up.

“Bro,” Hiro nearly whispered in disbelief. “When’s the last time you showered?”

Tadashi still said nothing and just shot his brother a dirty look. He took his calcium pill and went back upstairs to their room. It wasn’t until he sat down on his bed and stared off into space for a moment that he’d come to the realization.

“Fuck, I need to shower.” He whispered to himself.

He grabbed somewhat presentable clothes and his designated towel and went into the bathroom. Now, for those who don’t really understand depression, this may seem gross. But for a moment, Tadashi just leaned on the door and took a tired breath. Just the thought of exerting roughly 600 muscles to step into a shower, turn on the water, and scrub his entire body for roughly fifteen minutes just to scrub off bodily-secreted toxins made him feel really fucking exhausted. But he did it in the same way he did it when he wasn’t going through a depressive episode. Warm water for skin and cold water for hair. He remembered how appalled you were at seeing him just step into lukewarm water to shower and laughed when he hissed at how hot your average water temperature was.

He missed his girlfriend so much.

Tadashi just let the water run over his head without doing anything at all for like 2 minutes.

“This is so depressing.” He muttered to himself.

Some may think, ‘Dude just take a shower and quit being gross. You’re too old for this shit’ and the truth is, he’s thinking the exact same thing. So he reached for his green tea hair wash and instead of taking a normal shower, he took an everything one. It was tiring and he felt like toppling over and just rotting on the cold porcelain of the shower floor every second he was in there. But by the end at least he felt clean and smelled like classic male body wash.

Meanwhile, the time you were supposed to arrive was getting closer. Hiro was watching the clock profusely as he looked at his aunt who was just watching the Food Network and petting Mochi in her lap.

“Can we go to the mall?” He improvised.

“The mall? For what?” She looked back at him.

Shit. He needed to say something that would actually urge her to take him. “I want to look at new shoes!”

It was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. Hiro had been wearing the same shoes for years and the soles were detaching from the actual shoe part. The old laces were so messed up he was using the laces from a pair that didn’t fit Tadashi anymore. Why did he have to be one of the only teenage boys not obsessed with shoes?

So when he asked to look at new shoes to get, she jumped at the chance. Screaming at the top of the stairs that she was taking Hiro to the store while Tadashi finished showering.

Once they left, a feeling of satisfaction filled Hiro’s chest as he saw your car stop at the red light closest to the cafe. They drove off and you got closer to the cafe. Usually when someone texts you ‘Hey can we talk’ they’re usually about to drop an absolute bomb on them. Was he planning on breaking up with you? Shit. Maybe you could give him as many reasons you could think of and he’d change his mind? Or maybe he didn’t want to break up at all. Maybe he just wanted to see you in person. Regardless of the reason you were sweating bullets.

You walked over to the garage and started knocking on the door for him to open. You could hear him rushing towards the side door.

“What did you forget-” He opened the door expecting to see Hiro. Instead there you were with a look of concern and slight discomfort on your face. He stared at you as little droplets of water from his hair dribbled down his neck and soaked into his shirt. “H-Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Umm, you texted me.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Tadashi reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Had the days blended together so badly that he couldn’t even remember making plans to meet up with you? When he opened his messages with you, he knew exactly what happened. He didn’t text like that but you know who did? Hiro.

“Fucking Hiro.” He ran his fingers through his wet hair.

“That makes more sense.” You let out a breathy laugh. “S-so do you like want me to go home, orrrr?”

Tadashi yelped a little too loudly, “No!- um, no. I don’t want you to leave, unless you want to go home.”

“No I’ll stay.”

Tadashi invited you inside and sat down at the kitchen island to just sit, silently thanking divine intervention for him taking a shower before you got there . A few beats and declined beverage offers later he spoke up. “So how are you?”

“Okay,” You nearly slapped your hand over your forehead. The two of you could not live like this anymore. “Tadashi, what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” He froze.

“Just we aren’t on the same page. And that’s not us, we’re always on the same page. It’s like we’re strangers to each other. I don’t want to feel like a stranger to my boyfriend.”

Tadashi immediately went into panic mode and started reassuring you. “You’re not a stranger to me and I’m so sorry I’m making you feel that way I just-”

He stopped. You knew about his winter bouts of depression but you didn’t know the extent of how often they could happen. Nobody did. Tadashi wasn’t one to burden people and if he thought he could handle it he wouldn’t bother ask for help. He never asked for help doing projects, never asked for a ride to school, never asked Aunt Cass to turn in a library book for him. He probably should have told you about his new episode, you’d understand he knows you would and thinking about it he can’t really come up with a good reason for not telling you. Because the phrase “I just didn’t want to bother you” is horseshit no matter how true it is.

Your voice got softer as you leaned forward and touched your hand to his. “What’s wrong.”

“It’s back,” He whispered so quietly you could barely hear him. “Since our fight it’s been back and it’s getting worse.”

He didn’t need to say what “it” was. If it was seasonal depression he would call it that but it wasn’t. It was the kind of thing he got whenever his parents death anniverys came or when he just woke up randomly and couldn’t even muster up enough every to roll out of bed and onto the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You cooed at him gently.

I just didn’t want to bother you. But he didn’t say that out loud, instead he just shrugged his shoulders and felt his eyes start to sting with tears. “I-I’m sorry.”

You were going to cry. You leaned forward and gave him a hug, his head resting in the nook of your neck. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Are you doing okay?”

He answered honestly. “Not really, but I’m feeling better.”

You two sat there engluphed together in silence as he listened to your pulse and you ran your fingertips up and down his spine.

Oh my good looking boy.

“Oh no, you know what I just realized.” You said still holding him close to you.

He muttered into your skin, “What?”

“We just had a communication fight.”

Fuck, you’d never had one of those before. Sure you’d get into arguments but you’d never had a problem because of a lack of communication until now. Even though you swore you would never be one of those couples. Shit just happens.

Maybe it was because he thought it was funny, or because you were the one to say it, or it was both but Tadashi started laughing. Truly laughing for the first time in weeks. His back heaved up and down as he laughed until he lifted his head from your neck and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you, so much.” He whispered, loud enough just for you. Only for you.

You ran your thumbs over the skin on his face. “I love you too, okay? Always will, remember that.”

You’ll fight again eventually over whatever. But something had changed since then. Whatever it was you doubted that you would ever run into a communication problem again.

Hours later when Hiro and Aunt Cass came home they found you and Tadashi laying on the floor next to piles of folded clothes. You’d been working to help him clean his side of the room, and a three part murder mystery playing in the background.

#baymax #big hero 6 #big hero six #tadashi hamada #disney #fanfic #hiro hamada #bh6 x reader #tadashi hamada x reader #napakmahal #writers block #update #normal girl #sza #good looking #suki waterhouse

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itookyoudown · 4 months

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for the ask game: top 5 justified episodes?

oh lordy this is so hard to choose. i'm not answering this with any thoughtfulness just going with gut instinct.

5: Full Commitment, season 2. this is my guilty pleasure and comfort episode because of how western it feels and how much tim gutterson we get :)

we even get raylan talking to dan!! i just love how all the pieces of the plot and characters come together in this episode. this also sets up and kicks off the finale of Bloody Harlan. really the last three episodes of this season feel like a mini movie to me, they all flow together brilliantly.

4: The Promise, season 6. this isn't my favorite season or even my favorite season finale, but it's one of my favorite episodes because of how bittersweet it is. it was the perfect wrap-up for a perfect show and the final scene is my favorite final scene in any show i've ever watched.

some characters survive, but nobody really wins and i love that. it feels like such a real true to life ending.

3: The Hunt, season 6. the episode that cinched boyd's characterization and showed us two flavors of domesticity horror (raylan and winona with willa's heart murmur reveal and trying to navigate co-parenting along with raylan's lackluster fathering VS boyd's abduction, terrorization, and assault of ava).

this is the most thriller-esque episode of justified to me and truly does verge into lowkey horror at some points. it shocked and numbed me the first time i watched it and the reality didn't really click until the second rewatch and by the third time it truly sunk in.

the fact boyd became the type of man his father and his brother were...utterly devastating and really changed my perspective on his character. and he chose it, he plotted it and organized it in a cold fashion. it's heartbreaking and at first you can't believe it but upon rewatches of the show it revealed to me that yeah...yeah. boyd was always capable of this and it's no surprise this is where he and ava ended up.

outlaw king and queen they never were and never would have been.

this episode is also fascinating because you can see critic response to it as a disturbing time capsule. look at reviews of this episode back when the show was airing...be prepared to be sickened by how often boyd assaulting ava is framed as "making love" or a reunification/rekindling of their relationship 🙃

this episode is always difficult for me to rewatch, but i still love it.

on a lighter note, i also delight in raylan being a fail dad and with city primeval fresh in my mind i love how it really does confirm his work over family priority from the get-go lol.

2: Outlaw, season 4. in general this is a solid af episode of justified in the best season of the show, but it ranks so high in my mind because it's the culmination of Arlo and Rayan's relationship. look, the truth is abuse is so rarely accurately portrayed in media. usually, it's revenge fantasy or feel-good simplification that reduces things down to evil monsters and pure perfect victims. and i get why that happens, i get it, most people find it healing and those stories do need to exist i'm not knocking them.

but justified has a complex and multilayered way of dealing with abusive relationships (they did it with boyd and ava too) that actually digs into how complicated and messy and painful they truly are.

the fact we get to see Raylan grieve Arlo in such an understated but devasting way...holy shit. one of the best moments in the show imo. because it doesn't matter if you hate your parent and they were shitty and abusive. you still loved them. you still love who they were in-between the abuse and maybe you don't grieve the person they were but you grieve what could have been and what you never had with them.

1: Decoy, season 4: all-time best episode of justified and top-tier episode of television everywhere. the episode is really the pinnacle of justified's genre (neo western). e v e r y t h i n g about this episode honors justified's storylines and honors characterization. heart and soul and brain all in one go.

it respects the lawmen and the outlaws in portrayal. the writing is tight, the dialogue is outstanding, and it comes with one of justified's most iconic and thematic shots (the stairwell scene).

#tooks.txt #justie games #yes season 4 and season 6 are my favorites can you tell

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skadren · 27 days

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Sorry, one more XD

#10, Yuffie and Reno

send me a ship and a number and i'll tell you:

10. what tv shows they watch together, and which ones they hide from the other

ok so this one admittedly took me a while because... i don't ship these two romantically. at all. i can maybe see them eventually being assigned on missions together for the wro postcanon? and getting along like a house on fire (read: constantly arguing and driving each other up the wall as a recreational pastime), but it would still be as casual friends (who constantly try to steal each other's shit). at least once they get past the whole part where uh. shinra committed genocide against yuffie's country and stuff.

anyways. together, they'll watch shitty reality tv, b-list horror films, sitcoms with canned laugh tracks-- anything where they can watch ironically and egg the people onscreen on. their friendship is more for shooting the shit together; neither of them are exactly the type for introspective navel-gazing

on her own, yuffie likes watching long-running tokusatsu series. or whatever the ff7 'verse equivalent of things like kamen rider or ultraman would be. she gets mad when reno makes fun of the practical effects so she prefers watching them alone. she was also a huge fan of magical girls as a little kid and never really grew out of it (see: how she introduces herself in rebirth), although she gets embarrassed and refuses to admit it she still watches it.

reno will watch cheesy romance a la hallmark movies and get very emotional over them. only rude is allowed to witness that (and maybe share a pair of sunglasses if reno needs them). rude is a bro.

#skadren rambles #ask game

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 1 year

Note

For prompt fic:

147: Zombies aren’t real. I promise.

Either Lucian x Peter (Lucian trying to reassure Peter) or Thorne x Peter V (Peter trying to reassure Thorne)

Xxx

Did you know there's a wip in my drafts where Lucian and Peter are in a zombie apocalypse cause I love zombie movies/games and because there were thoughts of having those shitty Resident Evil movies crossover with Underworld?

Anyway, this isn't that, this is something else. :)

Part of the vampire Peter au.

Warning: drinking

On with the fic!

Peter downed what remained in his beer bottle, his sixth in the past... he didn't know. It was nice that he could still taste liquids, but it drove him crazy that he couldn't get drunk like he used to. Stupid, quick, vampire healing powers!

"Alright, so, like, you're... eight hundred somethin' years old, yeah?" He asked when he set down the bottle on the side table, adjusting himself better in his chair as he looked at Lucian, who was seated in another chair around the fire pit.

"Yes, give or take." Lucian replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, like, for someone so old, you've traveled? I mean, I know you can speak a number of languages and shit, so you've seen the world?"

"Mostly restricted to Europe, though I had gone into the north of Africa for a bit, I know there are small packs of lycans hiding there, enjoying their freedom."

"Ever been to the US before, ya know, 2003?"

"A number of times. I was there during a World's Fair once, actually. I was chasing down a vampire who thought it would be smart to hide in a crowd that large. They stand out like sore thumbs so easily."

"Hm." Peter nodded and grabbed for another bottle, cracking it open with ease, and tossed the cap somewhere behind himself. "What about... in those islands, off the coast of Florida and stuff. Like Cuba, or Haiti."

Lucian took a drink from his own beer. "I never went to Cuba, Raze did, seeing about some rumors of lycans there, which turned out to be a different species of werewolf. But now, not to the islands, never found a need to go there. Why do you ask?"

"Damn, was hopin' to know if you saw zombies or not."

"I... what? Zombies?"

"You know," Peter set aside his drink to wave his hands about as he spoke, "zombies! The non-vampire living dead! All moans and groans and eatin' brains, and shit like that!"

Lucian blinked twice. "You mean ghouls?"

"No! Zombies! Like, uh, like the Walking Dead! Or Resident Evil!" Lucian just continued to look at him funny. "Night of the Living Dead? Zombieland? 28 Days Later?"

"I am not really someone who watches horror movies, Peter, you know this."

Peter groaned, knocking his head back, before grabbing his phone and looking up something on youtube. He showed the lycan a clip from The Walking Dead, showing the walkers. "See? Zombies, those guys, are they real?"

"That's a ghoul."

"The fuck does a ghoul gotta do with zombies?"

"As a vampire expert, are you not aware of them? How odd."

Peter scoffed and pocketed his phone. "No, like, I mean, I know what a ghoul is. Often a mindless creation of vampires or reanimated corpses that feast upon human- oh, I see what you mean. But that's what a zombie is too! Have you seen any in all your long, wolfy years?"

Lucian sighed and shook his head. "Not in the sense that you're thinking of. These... ghoul zombies? No, not really. I mean, I have seen a regular ghoul, but they are very rare, and often do not live very long, being reanimated corpses. Decomposition is what typically gets them. But the traditional zombie, the ones from voodoo magic? I did not, but I knew of a lycan who was from a village where one had been made. Just a mind-controlled human, not a threat unless ordered to be one."

Peter looked disappointed. "So... like, no brain eatin' zombies, wanderin' around, looking for a tasty bit of flesh?"

"Zombies aren’t real. I promise." Lucian said. "Ghouls and traditional zombies are a reality though."

"Well, at least there's that. Damn, it's so weird of what monsters are real in the world and which ones are human mythology."

"Which is fine, it often keeps us real 'monsters' from truly being known."

"Eh, true." Peter said, taking another long drink. "Alright, here's another one for you... you lived in the mountains, so, tell me, Bigfoot and the Abdominal Snowman, real or fake?"

Lucian sighed again. "Neither of those are in Europe, Peter. So, I do not know if they actually exist or not."

"Damnit! Useless, useless, sexy wolfy man!"

The zombies we see in media today are technically ghouls, due to George Romero taking inspiration from Omega Man (I am Legend)'s ghouls for his zombies.

Real zombies are people drugged out of their minds on dried puffer fish.

Just a little trivia from your monster enthusiast. :)

and yes i'd like to think there are more monsters in my lucian/peter aus than just werewolves, lycans, and vampires

#lucian x peter vincent #john's drabbles

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sheviolentlyher · 6 months

Text

You can blame The Boys for my obsession with calling everything “mon coeur”

Grand rising my beloved void. Your nothingness is looking a bit bland so let me help. 👀💬

I woke up again today and it grounds me. I feel the soreness from the leaps and bounds I have made. I let it slow me down enough to be present mentally and physically.

I have never had this intimate of a relationship with myself. I am truly impressed by my nature. I am truly impressed with my ability to heal myself when I am hurt. I am impressed by my ability to navigate.

There is so much information being processed even more so at rest, so I’m learning to sit comfortably with my thoughts, not endure them. It takes divine focus of some sort. I’m convinced not everyone has realized how high our endurance levels are as humans. I think we have a pretty high tolerance for thought, but we do not have a high tolerance for boredom, simply because there are now able to plug ourselves into devices that keep are mind seriously occupied. Television, computers, phones, tablets. You will never have to endure feeling alone when you have your phone with you right?

One time I purposely did not bring my phone with me to school pick up and I had to awkwardly stand with a bunch of parents but I felt so present in the moment of everything that it made me want to somehow incorporate more of my pre-tech brain if you will.

I have been removing the unnecessary data and information being thrown at me. Ones I know I could easily learn to detach from. This disconnection was a bit more challenging than I anticipated, but I always felt like I was deleting the right information and replacing it with something worth receiving in hopes it awakens unrealized ideas within myself. Aka creative mind.

I do miss the feeling of community that social media is good at giving. But it’s only because there are many of us. I was able to take what I have learned from that sense of community and apply it to my reality. I know what to look for and what brings people together. Community is connection. I do feel connected with at least four of my neighbors and that’s a big deal I think. All people want is community and like minded individuals, and we are a lot more alike in more ways than not.

We say we need to Netflix and chill but even the television has bore me. It has bore me for so long now. I spent my entire childhood plastered right on the ground in front of a television, all through my twenties, where I was practically binging television. Nothing ever good. Shitty reality and cooking shows that I never gained any skill from 😆

Maybe a year ago? I started watching documentaries pretty consistently. It didn’t feel so fictitious, there was a sense of exposure in them. I have to be drawn to it in a certain way in order to pick one which I like the challenge of finding a potentially hidden gem. I am gaining the patience to watch series but I’m still able to get up and walk away when it bores me. In order to endure my idle mind I had gotten into watching YouTube horror shorts because it was efficient and kept giving short bursts of satisfaction. I still enjoy doing that, but it’s like my taste in things is constantly changing.

I almost feel like I’m grasping at something that can consistently help me endure boredom. Or is the point of life waking up every day and thinking of new ways of the world? With all the information we have at our hands. Movies. Books. Television. How could you ever possibly be BORED?

And that’s when it hit me. Why do we get anxious when we feel idle? What is it about us? I want everyone to shut up about being bored. There is absolutely no excuse to me. Boredom is inexcusable.

We have choice.

I have been delightfully quiet. Only the ones who I am connected to know I exist and I am so in love with that idea. I am enjoying this existence, I am an extremely lucky woman, and I act accordingly.

What do you think the phrase “I took it personally “ means?

Does it mean that you, yourself, took spiritual and mental responsibility for something someone said? Obviously there is some odd feeling that ignites.

Does it mean you took a punch of energy right in the gut? Why then is energy only real? When someone takes something personally maybe it makes them feel seen, or alive. I am learning this is the most difficult process to endure. It makes boredom a piece of cake.

The only solution I have come up with is when anyone thinks they know how to manipulate me emotionally and I feel I am going to take things personally, I remember I’m a grown ass woman and I can regulate and dominate my feelings. The fuck. Child watch out. I then gain the ability to detour this into something constructive and understandable. I am able to relieve my personal feelings in exchange for communication and clarity. Teaching myself and others how to set boundaries while also communicating my needs. Helping each other succeed.

I wish to be no one’s enemy. I am working on letting go of the urge to create images of people in my mind. Obviously if I feel there is no advantage to my own existence and no advantage to yours, then I accept the unanswered questions that may possibly be lingering because at this point I can only assume and that is a waste of good brain space. This is where I tend to make people my enemy, but I’m learning how to navigate.

This is where you let in flow. Everything is always going through us. I’m learning this as well. I never like to think I know more than others, I just like to think I feel more than others. I’m learning to express and feel what comes naturally to me and what does not. I’m practicing on putting my mentality at a position in power in order to manage and instill healthy thought discipline and emotional management in order to achieve clear communication and flowing consciousness. No longer jumping to conclusions, I don’t let my curiosity wander too far beyond my threshold for questions. I am becoming increasingly aware of my thought cycles and my ability to articulate.

Is emotional attachment to someone a bad thing? What does it look like when we are emotionally attached to ourselves?

Isn’t this the fucking point?

Feeling feelings you want to feel?

Ew. Looks like I still hate him.

Oh well. At least I know that my rage will keep me warm this winter.

-x

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distinguishedloverbanananickel · 2 years

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For me and to be fair, a relationship with a man like Leo is an a solid A+ static! Not to mention the fact I always wanted my romantic tendencies from fantasy. To reality straight away. Knowing Leo he loves reading books so I would be a social fucking nerd about lord of the rings and alien vs predator novels. Even scary books too like goosebumps!😎 As tv shows he would enjoy of course mines with be something horror or Korean anime drama series depending what the article is really about to get me interested, of course. Frankly, cartoons like Looney toons, knd, grim adventures of Billy and Mandy even Kung Fu fucking panda! Omg I would be such a fucking geek and so much interest with martial arts he'll... Beg me to train with him. Oy😅

As taming him when it comes to his feisty temper. Well, I can have such a shitty attitude myself if he can handle THAT. I would say things like "Leonardo! If you want to make your decisions fucking impossible because your father has strictly wanted you to be a leader! Because you are their big fucking brother babe! You are not fucking dumb or a nuisance since we first met. To be fair, I thought ya never wanted me around ever since my friends gotten close to your siblings. Understand baby.. I love you so... So fucking much. Breaks my heart to see you struggle and forget what needs to be seen. Despite your motive and athletic moments that make it for me pretty complex about your current situations that I rarely understand. So I just leave ya alone. Figure thoughts out for yourself. Making love with you sets off a whole newer levels for my body to react because you did something to make me love you. All of you! Please Leo and I really hate begging. Just listen and open your eyes and see things less of a challenge. This world will always and forever be cruel. Just remember you always got the people who are close to you make your life less miserable than how it used to be for your cold blooded heart baby blue".

As for combat I love wrestling and miz martial arts so I wanna practice with my jumping and more nutritious ways to stay healthy. Maybe Leo can help and after if we do ya know.. hehehe😌😌😌 a little discipline never hurts one person's mind and spirit.

So I never mention this but I'm a pretty hardcore fan for poetry, positivity ways of speaking the mind of human contact, scary true stories of actual dangerous people becoming the monsters underneath my bed. Including being scared of the dark sometimes. Comedy and laughter, not for shadowing. Enjoying romantic and sex comedy films like grown ups one and two, Porky's one two and three, and other exotic films of love or just silly simple stuff for horror comedy or regular funny moments.

Knowing me being random for watching too many old animation films and 3d shows or movies. I say shit like "well a few times or things I could eat the entire shit like a cat crossing over dumb sided from my right eye point of view" and Leo is like '😅😂🙂🤨😆👍". Depending on his mood though. I wouldn't provoke that unless I have no choice. Wish me luck 🤞!

As for zodiac signs... Being a pisces will just take a whole new ride out of Leo because he's aquarius. So it's like opposites attract. I also have a goth like biker chick style so if he sees me pull up with a badass bewitching motorcycle. The expression though his eyes would be like "top me mommy. Now" type of link 😂

Also I'm a big extreme person on cuddling and being a little possessive. So another double A++? Lol we be like twins just talking and being smug playful bastards to each other. Although I would ask if I'm going too far I'll stop. Though I'll doubt he'll care and say "my dark princess never seems to be less amusing as you want to make it be. Don't fret and be you baby" and winks. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!🤩😍💕💕🖤🔥🔥

Also I wouldn't mind becoming his wife and if his genetic mutations allow us to welcome our own children to this welcoming world. We travel to Japan for our honeymoon in the rocky mountains where the water flows and it's not much but silence and the breeze coming through our windows. We sleep peacefully until he knocks me up!

#tmnt bayverse #leo #self ship

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f1nalboys · 2 years

Text

Random Randy Meeks HC’S

here ya go :D thanks to those who were interested in these heheh

WARNINGS: some nsfw stuff mentioned throughout, mostly wholesome tho lol

Randy is Jewish and he takes it super seriously

His family does easter egg hunts though, Randy is so competitive it makes me laugh

He has so many freckles especially on his shoulders and back

His first tattoo is on his thigh and it’s a knife

You know, because of Halloween lol

He wants to get his entire leg done up in horror movie themed tattoos

MATCHING TATTOOOOOOOS

He’d do those couple tattoos where you each write out something in your handwriting and then get the others tattooed in a spot you can always see it

Randy can sing

He is so good at carnival games it almost worrying

He can win you the biggest stuffed animal you’ve ever seen

Randy is also good at those arcade games but he doesn’t really like any of the prizes so

Like a fucking angel

He gives his tickets away to kids who haven’t gotten any

He’s a big fan of DND and magic the gathering

More of a fan for DND though

He does not take it seriously, though, like character creation wise

Him and Tatum are besties and (because they fucking lived don’t talk to me) they hang out even as they grow older

Needs post it notes to keep his life in order and even that doesn’t help

Really neat handwriting

He really loves trashy reality TV, it’s a weird guilty pleasure of his

WEED SMOKER ALERT

Big fan of edibles and he is the type to get ripped off LMFAO

“$50 for a gram?? What a steal :D” and then its oregano

He plays animal crossing with his partner and they share literally everything

He brings gifts for said partner in the game and will text them if they’re not playing at the same time and is like “Check your house when you get on :)”

And it’s a random fossil or something

LOVE NOTES

Randy is a fan of poetry and will write his own even if he thinks they’re shitty

And if you ask enough he’ll let you read it but he’ll be so embarrassed im going to kiss him

He loves kids and is so good with them

He has a big extended family and lots of younger cousins that he watches and plays with on holidays and get togethers

They call him Uncle Randy :,)

He wants a big family when hes older but he wants to have a daughter first

Girl Dad Randy omg

He takes pride in being the ‘cool’ dad so he keeps up to date on the latest trends so he can talk to his kids about stuff

“Have you seen this dope tik tok?” “Dad don’t call stuff dope” “Is swag out too???”

Randy loves hard rock music

He needs glasses to read heheh

Randy will go to college for film but he’ll minor in fashion idc he LOVES fashion and the trends throughout the decades

He’s also a history buff lol

Not one of those WW2 history nerds but he’s super into pirates

He’s a panty sniffer fight with yourself LOL

Randy will never admit it but he loves (and i mean LOVES) shitty horror movies

Like yeah he appreciates the ‘better’ films and has a hard rating system but look me in the eye and tell me he wouldn’t get high and watch Thankskilling????

Randy is a scrapbooker

He’s super sentimental and he writes in his journal everyday to keep a log of everything thats happened

Wants to have an apartment with his significant other with a cat and a few fish and maybe a gerbil

And he wants the place decorated in a way that shows how homey it is and how well loved the place is and he wants to be cooking with his partner and have the radio playing soothe jazz and he wants to wrap his arms around them and dance with them in the kitchen

GOD i want to make out with him so hard

Hes so submissive it makes me want to fuck him

Randy also does paint by numbers hehe

He lets you do his makeup and nails and literally anything else

Big fan of skirts and mesh tops

His happy trail….. God im salivating

He has his nipples pierced

And if he wasn’t super scared he’d get his dick pierced

HE GETS HIS TONGUE PIERCED TOO

Just imagine how it feels when he’s going down on you-

Doesn’t spend money much, more of a saver

But when he buys stuff it’s something he really really really wants

He can go three rounds minimum

Master at using his tongue mhm

I have so many more but i forgot them all lol

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works

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blind-rats · 3 years

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The Rise & Fall of Joss Whedon; the Myth of the Hollywood Feminist Hero

By Kelly Faircloth

“I hate ‘feminist.’ Is this a good time to bring that up?” Joss Whedon asked. He paused knowingly, waiting for the laughs he knew would come at the creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer making such a statement.

It was 2013, and Whedon was onstage at a fundraiser for Equality Now, a human rights organization dedicated to legal equality for women. Though Buffy had been off the air for more than a decade, its legacy still loomed large; Whedon was widely respected as a man with a predilection for making science fiction with strong women for protagonists. Whedon went on to outline why, precisely, he hated the term: “You can’t be born an ‘ist,’” he argued, therefore, “‘feminist’ includes the idea that believing men and women to be equal, believing all people to be people, is not a natural state, that we don’t emerge assuming that everybody in the human race is a human, that the idea of equality is just an idea that’s imposed on us.”

The speech was widely praised and helped cement his pop-cultural reputation as a feminist, in an era that was very keen on celebrity feminists. But it was also, in retrospect, perhaps the high water mark for Whedon’s ability to claim the title, and now, almost a decade later, that reputation is finally in tatters, prompting a reevaluation of not just Whedon’s work, but the narrative he sold about himself.

In July 2020, actor Ray Fisher accused Whedon of being “gross, abusive, unprofessional, and completely unacceptable” on the Justice League set when Whedon took over for Zach Synder as director to finish the project. Charisma Carpenter then described her own experiences with Whedon in a long post to Twitter, hashtagged #IStandWithRayFisher.

On Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, Carpenter played Cordelia, a popular character who morphed from snob to hero—one of those strong female characters that made Whedon’s feminist reputation—before being unceremoniously written off the show in a plot that saw her thrust into a coma after getting pregnant with a demon. For years, fans have suspected that her disappearance was related to her real-life pregnancy. In her statement, Carpenter appeared to confirm the rumors. “Joss Whedon abused his power on numerous occasions while working on the sets of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and ‘Angel,’” she wrote, describing Fisher’s firing as the last straw that inspired her to go public.

Buffy was a landmark of late 1990s popular culture, beloved by many a burgeoning feminist, grad student, gender studies professor, and television critic for the heroine at the heart of the show, the beautiful blonde girl who balanced monster-killing with high school homework alongside ancillary characters like the shy, geeky Willow. Buffy was very nearly one of a kind, an icon of her era who spawned a generation of leather-pants-wearing urban fantasy badasses and women action heroes.

Buffy was so beloved, in fact, that she earned Whedon a similarly privileged place in fans’ hearts and a broader reputation as a man who championed empowered women characters. In the desert of late ’90s and early 2000s popular culture, Whedon was heralded as that rarest of birds—the feminist Hollywood man. For many, he was an example of what more equitable storytelling might look like, a model for how to create compelling women protagonists who were also very, very fun to watch. But Carpenter’s accusations appear to have finally imploded that particular bit of branding, revealing a different reality behind the scenes and prompting a reevaluation of the entire arc of Whedon’s career: who he was and what he was selling all along.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer premiered March 1997, midseason, on The WB, a two-year-old network targeting teens with shows like 7th Heaven. Its beginnings were not necessarily auspicious; it was a reboot of a not-particularly-blockbuster 1992 movie written by third-generation screenwriter Joss Whedon. (His grandfather wrote for The Donna Reed Show; his father wrote for Golden Girls.) The show followed the trials of a stereotypical teenage California girl who moved to a new town and a new school after her parents’ divorce—only, in a deliberate inversion of horror tropes, the entire town sat on top of the entrance to Hell and hence was overrun with demons. Buffy was a slayer, a young woman with the power and immense responsibility to fight them. After the movie turned out very differently than Whedon had originally envisioned, the show was a chance for a do-over, more of a Valley girl comedy than serious horror.

It was layered, it was campy, it was ironic and self-aware. It looked like it belonged on the WB rather than one of the bigger broadcast networks, unlike the slickly produced prestige TV that would follow a few years later. Buffy didn’t fixate on the gory glory of killing vampires—really, the monsters were metaphors for the entire experience of adolescence, in all its complicated misery. Almost immediately, a broad cross-section of viewers responded enthusiastically. Critics loved it, and it would be hugely influential on Whedon’s colleagues in television; many argue that it broke ground in terms of what you could do with a television show in terms of serialized storytelling, setting the stage for the modern TV era. Academics took it up, with the show attracting a tremendous amount of attention and discussion.

In 2002, the New York Times covered the first academic conference dedicated to the show. The organizer called Buffy “a tremendously rich text,” hence the flood of papers with titles like “Pain as Bright as Steel: The Monomyth and Light in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’” which only gathered speed as the years passed. And while it was never the highest-rated show on television, it attracted an ardent core of fans.

But what stood out the most was the show’s protagonist: a young woman who stereotypically would have been a monster movie victim, with the script flipped: instead of screaming and swooning, she staked the vampires. This was deliberate, the core conceit of the concept, as Whedon said in many, many interviews. The helpless horror movie girl killed in the dark alley instead walks out victorious. He told Time in 1997 that the concept was born from the thought, “I would love to see a movie in which a blond wanders into a dark alley, takes care of herself and deploys her powers.” In Whedon’s framing, it was particularly important that it was a woman who walked out of that alley. He told another publication in 2002 that “the very first mission statement of the show” was “the joy of female power: having it, using it, sharing it.”

In 2021, when seemingly every new streaming property with a woman as its central character makes some half-baked claim to feminism, it’s easy to forget just how much Buffy stood out among its against its contemporaries. Action movies—with exceptions like Alien’s Ripley and Terminator 2's Sarah Conner—were ruled by hulking tough guys with macho swagger. When women appeared on screen opposite vampires, their primary job was to expose long, lovely, vulnerable necks. Stories and characters that bucked these larger currents inspired intense devotion, from Angela Chase of My So-Called Life to Dana Scully of The X-Files.

The broader landscape, too, was dismal. It was the conflicted era of girl power, a concept that sprang up in the wake of the successes of the second-wave feminist movement and the backlash that followed. Young women were constantly exposed to you-can-do-it messaging that juxtaposed uneasily with the reality of the world around them. This was the era of shitty, sexist jokes about every woman who came into Bill Clinton’s orbit and the leering response to the arrival of Britney Spears; Rush Limbaugh was a fairly mainstream figure.

At one point, Buffy competed against Ally McBeal, a show that dedicated an entire episode to a dancing computer-generated baby following around its lawyer main character, her biological clock made zanily literal. Consider this line from a New York Times review of the Buffy’s 1997 premiere: “Given to hot pants and boots that should guarantee the close attention of Humbert Humberts all over America, Buffy is just your average teen-ager, poutily obsessed with clothes and boys.”

Against that background, Buffy was a landmark. Besides the simple fact of its woman protagonist, there were unique plots, like the coming-out story for her friend Willow. An ambivalent 1999 piece in Bitch magazine, even as it explored the show’s tank-top heavy marketing, ultimately concluded, “In the end, it’s precisely this contextual conflict that sets Buffy apart from the rest and makes her an appealing icon. Frustrating as her contradictions may be, annoying as her babe quotient may be, Buffy still offers up a prime-time heroine like no other.”

A 2016 Atlantic piece, adapted from a book excerpt, makes the case that Buffy is perhaps best understood as an icon of third-wave feminism: “In its examination of individual and collective empowerment, its ambiguous politics of racial representation and its willing embrace of contradiction, Buffy is a quintessentially third-wave cultural production.” The show was vested with all the era’s longing for something better than what was available, something different, a champion for a conflicted “post-feminist” era—even if she was an imperfect or somewhat incongruous vessel. It wasn’t just Sunnydale that needed a chosen Slayer, it was an entire generation of women. That fact became intricately intertwined with Whedon himself.

Seemingly every interview involved a discussion of his fondness for stories about strong women. “I’ve always found strong women interesting, because they are not overly represented in the cinema,” he told New York for a 1997 piece that notes he studied both film and “gender and feminist issues” at Wesleyan; “I seem to be the guy for strong action women,’’ he told the New York Times in 1997 with an aw-shucks sort of shrug. ‘’A lot of writers are just terrible when it comes to writing female characters. They forget that they are people.’’ He often cited the influence of his strong, “hardcore feminist” mother, and even suggested that his protagonists served feminist ends in and of themselves: “If I can make teenage boys comfortable with a girl who takes charge of a situation without their knowing that’s what’s happening, it’s better than sitting down and selling them on feminism,” he told Time in 1997.

When he was honored by the organization Equality Now in 2006 for his “outstanding contribution to equality in film and television,” Whedon made his speech an extended riff on the fact that people just kept asking him about it, concluding with the ultimate answer: “Because you’re still asking me that question.” He presented strong women as a simple no-brainer, and he was seemingly always happy to say so, at a time when the entertainment business still seemed ruled by unapologetic misogynists. The internet of the mid-2010s only intensified Whedon’s anointment as a prototypical Hollywood ally, with reporters asking him things like how men could best support the feminist movement.

Whedon’s response: “A guy who goes around saying ‘I’m a feminist’ usually has an agenda that is not feminist. A guy who behaves like one, who actually becomes involved in the movement, generally speaking, you can trust that. And it doesn’t just apply to the action that is activist. It applies to the way they treat the women they work with and they live with and they see on the street.” This remark takes on a great deal of irony in light of Carpenter’s statement.

In recent years, Whedon’s reputation as an ally began to wane. Partly, it was because of the work itself, which revealed more and more cracks as Buffy receded in the rearview mirror. Maybe it all started to sour with Dollhouse, a TV show that imagined Eliza Dushku as a young woman rented out to the rich and powerful, her mind wiped after every assignment, a concept that sat poorly with fans. (Though Whedon, while he was publicly unhappy with how the show had turned out after much push-and-pull with the corporate bosses at Fox, still argued the conceit was “the most pure feminist and empowering statement I’d ever made—somebody building themselves from nothing,” in a 2012 interview with Wired.)

After years of loud disappointment with the TV bosses at Fox on Firefly and Dollhouse, Whedon moved into big-budget Hollywood blockbusters. He helped birth the Marvel-dominated era of movies with his work as director of The Avengers. But his second Avengers movie, Age of Ultron, was heavily criticized for a moment in which Black Widow laid out her personal reproductive history for the Hulk, suggesting her sterilization somehow made her a “monster.” In June 2017, his un-filmed script for a Wonder Woman adaptation leaked, to widespread mockery. The script’s introduction of Diana was almost leering: “To say she is beautiful is almost to miss the point. She is elemental, as natural and wild as the luminous flora surrounding. Her dark hair waterfalls to her shoulders in soft arcs and curls. Her body is curvaceous, but taut as a drawn bow.”

But Whedon’s real fall from grace began in 2017, right before MeToo spurred a cultural reckoning. His ex-wife, Kai Cole, published a piece in The Wrap accusing him of cheating off and on throughout their relationship and calling him a hypocrite:

“Despite understanding, on some level, that what he was doing was wrong, he never conceded the hypocrisy of being out in the world preaching feminist ideals, while at the same time, taking away my right to make choices for my life and my body based on the truth. He deceived me for 15 years, so he could have everything he wanted. I believed, everyone believed, that he was one of the good guys, committed to fighting for women’s rights, committed to our marriage, and to the women he worked with. But I now see how he used his relationship with me as a shield, both during and after our marriage, so no one would question his relationships with other women or scrutinize his writing as anything other than feminist.”

But his reputation was just too strong; the accusation that he didn’t practice what he preached didn’t quite stick. A spokesperson for Whedon told the Wrap: “While this account includes inaccuracies and misrepresentations which can be harmful to their family, Joss is not commenting, out of concern for his children and out of respect for his ex-wife. Many minimized the essay on the basis that adultery doesn’t necessarily make you a bad feminist or erase a legacy. Whedon similarly seemed to shrug off Ray Fisher’s accusations of creating a toxic workplace; instead, Warner Media fired Fisher.

But Carpenter’s statement—which struck right at the heart of his Buffy-based legacy for progressivism—may finally change things. Even at the time, the plotline in which Charisma Carpenter was written off Angel—carrying a demon child that turned her into “Evil Cordelia,” ending the season in a coma, and quite simply never reappearing—was unpopular. Asked about what had happened in a 2009 panel at DragonCon, she said that “my relationship with Joss became strained,” continuing: “We all go through our stuff in general [behind the scenes], and I was going through my stuff, and then I became pregnant. And I guess in his mind, he had a different way of seeing the season go… in the fourth season.”

“I think Joss was, honestly, mad. I think he was mad at me and I say that in a loving way, which is—it’s a very complicated dynamic working for somebody for so many years, and expectations, and also being on a show for eight years, you gotta live your life. And sometimes living your life gets in the way of maybe the creator’s vision for the future. And that becomes conflict, and that was my experience.”

In her statement on Twitter, Carpenter alleged that after Whedon was informed of her pregnancy, he called her into a closed-door meeting and “asked me if I was ‘going to keep it,’ and manipulatively weaponized my womanhood and faith against me.” She added that “he proceeded to attack my character, mock my religious beliefs, accuse me of sabotaging the show, and then unceremoniously fired me following the season once I gave birth.” Carpenter said that he called her fat while she was four months pregnant and scheduled her to work at 1 a.m. while six months pregnant after her doctor had recommended shortening her hours, a move she describes as retaliatory. What Carpenter describes, in other words, is an absolutely textbook case of pregnancy discrimination in the workplace, the type of bullshit the feminist movement exists to fight—at the hands of the man who was for years lauded as a Hollywood feminist for his work on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.

Many of Carpenter’s colleagues from Buffy and Angel spoke out in support, including Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar. “While I am proud to have my name associated with Buffy Summers, I don’t want to be forever associated with the name Joss Whedon,” she said in a statement. Just shy of a decade after that 2013 speech, many of the cast members on the show that put him on that stage are cutting ties.

Whedon garnered a reputation as pop culture’s ultimate feminist man because Buffy did stand out so much, an oasis in a wasteland. But in 2021, the idea of a lone man being responsible for creating women’s stories—one who told the New York Times, “I seem to be the guy for strong action women”—seems like a relic. It’s depressing to consider how many years Hollywood’s first instinct for “strong action women” wasn’t a woman, and to think about what other people could have done with those resources. When Wonder Woman finally reached the screen, to great acclaim, it was with a woman as director.

Besides, Whedon didn’t make Buffy all by himself—many, many women contributed, from the actresses to the writers to the stunt workers, and his reputation grew so large it eclipsed their part in the show’s creation. Even as he preached feminism, Whedon benefitted from one of the oldest, most sexist stereotypes: the man who’s a benevolent, creative genius. And Buffy, too, overshadowed all the other contributors who redefined who could be a hero on television and in speculative fiction, from individual actors like Gillian Anderson to the determined, creative women who wrote science fiction and fantasy over the last several decades to—perhaps most of all—the fans who craved different, better stories. Buffy helped change what you could put on TV, but it didn’t create the desire to see a character like her. It was that desire, as much as Whedon himself, that gave Buffy the Vampire Slayer her power.

#Joss Whedon #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #Ray Fisher #Charisma Carpenter #Feminist

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juiceboxman · 3 years

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Advice for New DMs

I’ve been lucky enough to have DM’d a weekly game for over a year now and I’ve had conversation with people irl and online about how they think about DMing but aren’t necessarily too confident in their own ability or don’t even know where to start. So here’s some things I would suggest to get started, things to keep in mind and advice about general stuff. Here we go;

1) Familiarise Yourself with the Rules. You can read the DMs Manual or the Player’s Manual for rules. You can find rules explained everywhere online from Roll 20 to DND Beyond. But if you don’t like reading, and I get that cause the thought of reading a 200+ page instruction manual on how to play a game does sound daunting, I would suggest watching or listening to Actual Play Shows. If you watch like a few episodes of Critical Role or Dimension 20, you kind of get the basics of DnD. That’s really all you need to start DMing, just the basics like “what which Dice do”.

2) Know your Players. DnD is a collaborative game and all good collaboration necessitates some base understanding of who you’re collaborating with. You don’t necessarily need to know the people you’re playing with very well, but just enough to get where you can decide whether these people are chill to play with. So say if you’re gonna be playing a horror/scary campaign and you know one of the people in mind for playing isn’t too into horror- maybe don’t have them play cause it will make them uncomfortable. That example is perfectly fine but it delves into extremes when you’re dealing with people who are just difficult. You can look up online and find tons of stories relating to bad dnd experiences with just rude, shitty people. I would like to clarify that by saying that these experiences aren’t a DnD problem- it’s a social group problem. If you hang out wih a shitty person they will inevitably do shitty things, and honestly its better that a shitty outburst occurs at a controlled environment such as a DnD Game than say a house party where all sorts of shit could happen. So know your players. If they’re cool people, they’ll make cool players. If they’re kind of shit heads, they’re going to cause a lot of issues and not the fun kind. Know the difference between “shenanigans” and “open disrespect” because you as the DM put a lot of work into the game, if the players don’t respect that- maybe don’t play with them. No dnd is better than bad dnd

3) Know Your Game. This rule helps a lot if you are familiar with lots of DnD shows, which gives you a frame of reference for the type of campaign you wanna run. If you wanna go big dramatic epics with a lot of strict survivalist rules, Critical Role is a good place to reference. If you wanna go for balls to the wall humour with a lot of heart and emotional moments, NADDPOD is a good place to reference. You want a proper scary campaign, watch Sophomore Year from Dimension 20- it is primarily a comedy show but when they do drama they do DRAMA. Knowing your players allows you to know the game better. It took me quite a while in my own campaign t realise “Oh I’m not running a CR game, I’m running a NADDPOD game” and ater I realised that I was able to play it better. Know the game, know the genre, know what you and your players like and enjoy and try to maximise that fun.

4) Preparation. DMs do a lot of preparation whenever they intend to run a game. I would argue that the amount of preparation you want to do should be equal to the amount of time you’re willing to spend. Sad fact of life is that DnD, and other activities with friends, are all dependant on IRL scheduling. A campaign can fizzle and die out at a moments notice, not all stories get finished and if you wanna start any creative process that’s a reality you have to accept. I’m a creative person, I do quite a lot of writing and stuff on the side so when I do prep for DnD I don’t want to spend too much of my creative juice on a project that only six people at a table will know about compared to one that would feature a larger audience. Also if you have a busy schedule you might not have time to worldbuild, so short cuts help. So in those respects I don’t see anything wrong with being lazy. There are plenty of websites online where you can randomly generate maps, towns, characters- you name it. You don’t need to spend hours on end developing streets of a city that no one will walk down or lore behind businesses no one will ask about. You just need to be familiar enough with the history or your world, its vibe and tone in which you can effectively improv the rest. I’ve been DMing a game now for well over a year, I spend less than an hour a week doing prep. I write a few bullet points for stuff to bring up in the session, I make a brief map for encounters, I’ll look up monster stats, maybe draw up some homebrew and heroforge pictures of the NPCs- that’s it

5) Improv. I think 90% of DMing is pure improv. Depending how well you know your players and their characters, you can predict certain behaviours. So if you have an NPC say or do something that you know will gaina certain reaction from a player, that’s something you are certain about. Everything else however can be improv based. Players will surprise you. They’ll do weird dumb shit and they will do really cool game breaking shit. You have an NPC who was supposed to be a big villain? Well the PCs all teamed up and with an effective strategy, that NPC is now dead. It’s the lay of the land. The goal with prep is to have enough prepared that you can effectively pull stuff out of your ass with no issue. Improv isn’t necessarly difficult, all you really need is to listen. When a player responds to something and you feel its worth rolling for, have them roll for it. If tey roll well, tell them they did the thing. If not, tell them they didn’t. If the thing they asked for is impossible, tell them it’s impossible. You can come up with all sorts on the fly

6) DND isn’t like TV/BOOKS/MOVIES. DND is a weird medium of entertainment. Its a collaberative game where you all make a narrative, but a lot of strange stuff happens in between. Like if youre watching a movie or a show or reading a book you might think to yourself “why is this character spending twenty minutes talking to this waiter that genuinely isn’t that interesting?” or something like “why did the main villain die five pages in?” DND doesn’t follow a beat structure or format. Plot armor doesn’t fit here, it’s all decisions and luck- that’s it. Don’t be dissapointed in your work in regards to storytelling. Don’t worry about plot holes or inconsistencies, just focus on player engagement. If the players are having fun, then you’re playing the game right. You as the DM have to make sure that everyone is playing fairly and having fun. Treat your players equally, don’t be a dick, don’t be a pushover. You have to know what your players want, but also know what they don’t want. If your players like a weird NPC, have that NPC show up more cause they enjoy it. If your players discover an ability ot a magic object that left untouched will alter game play (e.g. one of my PCs recently gained an ability in which they gained the breath weapon of an ancient red dragon) that if used effectively could elminate all threat from any boss fight ever- don’t be afraid to NERF that. You need to be considerate about your enjoyment and the players enjoyment, its all in the balance.

That’s the main six points I have so far. If I have anymre I’ll be sure to add them. If anyone has any advice, feel free to add below. Hope this helps! Also; Brennan Lee Mulligan has a good podcast giving DM advice called Adverturing Academy. Has a lot of cool guests. The episode featuring Carlos Luna from Roll 20 is actually good career advice and gets me motivated just thinking about it. Definitely worth checking out!

#dimension 20 #critical role #naddpod #adventure zone #dunegons and dragons #dnd #d&d

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imagine-the-fanfics · 3 years

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Seized

Characters: Goro Majima x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, involuntary imprisonment, implied attempted rape

Inspiration: Request by Anon – “Uhh can I get a fic where the reader gets kidnapped by Majima if you'd be fine w/ it? 👉👈”

A/n: Okay, so this got… A little intense. I was able to water it down a lot, but please look over the warnings and take them seriously. Hope you enjoy it none the less, Nonny. Also. My autocorrect keeps trying to change “eye” to “eyes” and I’m sorry if I miss some of those. This fic is dark (much less so now than it was originally) and I am sorry. I don’t support anything in this fic and it is not meant to glamorize.

When you came to, your head was pounding. You tried to yawn, but you couldn’t seem to open your mouth. You tried to see what was stopping you, but you couldn’t move your hands. Your eyes opened, but you couldn’t see. You started to whimper, struggling to get out of your bindings.

“Oh good, yer awake. Fuckin’ finally,” a man’s voice said.

A chill ran down your spine as you realized the position you were in. The hood you didn’t know was on your head was removed, and you found yourself face to face with a man you didn’t know. The sudden light was blinding, and you struggled to keep your eyes open from the sudden light.

“Oh, what the hell,” the man grumbled. “I told ‘em none of this tape on the mouth shit.” He reached over, working a bit off to grab. “This is gonna hurt, darlin’,” he said before immediately ripping off the duct tape, causing you to let out a loud but short shout from pain. “Exactly why I told ‘em not to fuck with that shit,” he sighed, crouching down so the two of you were eye-level. “How are ya? Ya feelin’ okay?” His tone was softer, more concerned, as if he actually cared about you.

“I—”

“Juuuust kiddin’,” he said before standing up. “I don’t give two shits. Yer pops probably does, though.” He looked down at you and you looked up at him, speechless. “Oh, ya didn’t know? Yer dad’s neck deep in with the yakuza, sweetheart. Owes a lot of money to a lot of people, including me.

“I thought, ‘Maybe if I take his kid he’ll know I mean business,’ but so far that ain’t been the case. ‘Course, ya ain’t been here too long, maybe he just needs some time.” His eye raked your body, taking in every ounce of what you had to offer. He’d be lying If he said he wasn’t attracted. You were so quiet that he was a little surprised.

Truth was, you were embarrassed. You hadn’t worn these pajamas expecting to get kidnapped, but who ever expects to get kidnapped? You were in maroon short shorts, a sports bra, and a white tank-top. Panties, too, of course, but nothing that was fun or exciting just plain and black, matching the sports bra.

Memories of getting here were nonexistent. The last thing you remembered was laying down in bed to sleep. You, again, tried to move your hand to your pounding head and found it couldn’t move. That was when you started to assess your surroundings.

The man continued to watch you; being under his gaze made you feel like a small rabbit about to be devoured by a mad dog. You felt small, afraid. The look in his eye was enough to chill your soul. “Ya realizin’ the mess yer in now?” The man asked, pulling up a chair you hadn’t noticed and sitting in it. You were starting to panic as you looked around the room. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt ya.” You were tied to a chair, arms bound behind you and legs bound to the respective legs of the chair you were in. Another rope was tied around your chest, just under your breasts. You struggled a little bit.

“Well, not yet at least,” the man sighed. “Yer just… So delicious to look at.” The man’s eye raked your body again, stopping at your chest for a moment before lowering, pausing again and then meeting your gaze again. “I could eat ya right up,” he grinned wickedly at you.

“Maybe I will,” he said, still grinning.

You tried to meld with the chair, hoping to get as far away from him as possible, but that wasn’t possible.

“But not yet,” he said, sounding too happy, clapping his hands once as he stood up. “Let’s get ya some water. Gotta stay hydrated, after all.”

You blinked, watching this enigma of a man as he walked out of the room you were being held in. You took the moment too look around and fully take in your surroundings. There was a bed, a hook in the ceiling, and a chain on the ground with the far end connected to the floor that had a cuff on the other end. “What kind of sick place is this?” You gulped as your gaze shifted to the windowless cinderblock walls that surrounded you.

When the door opened you jumped and yelped.

“Here’s yer water. Gotcha a straw,” he said with a proud grin, as if the straw was a thoughtful gesture when you were literally tied to a chair in a room that looked like it belonged in a horror movie.

“Thanks,” you muttered, sipping the water through the straw.

“’Course!” He smiled at you. “Gotta keep ya hydrated, like I said.” He continued to hold the cup and straw for you until you finished. “There ya go,” the man said with a smile. You just stared at him. “Alright. Let’s try callin’ yer dad and see if he’s gonna pay up now.” He took out his phone and called, holding it to his ear.

“Ahhh, Mr. Y/L/N, yeah?” the man said into the phone. You could only hear half of the conversation. “Good. I got yer kid here. Ya ready to pay yer debt yet?” A pause, the man’s face turning sour. “Fine, here.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and put your father on speakerphone.

“Y/n?” Your father’s voice asked, sounding a bit worried.

“Dad,” you gasped, not really expecting to hear your father. “Dad? Is that you? I don’t know where I am. Please help!

“Ohmygod, Y/n!” He was sufficiently panicked, and the man took the phone back holding it up to his ear.

“Easy, easy, Y/L/N-san. Focus.” Majima’s face contorting in frustration. “I said to calm the fuck down!” He shouted into the phone, looking pleased as he continued. “That’s better. Now, when I can I expect yer payment?” A pause, another sour face. “Do ya really think Imma let ya have until tomorrow when yer just gonna skip town. Ya got two hours, otherwise I’m keepin’ the girl.” The man hung up the phone, sliding it into his pocket. “I guess we’ll haveta see if yer Dad thinks yer worth payin’ his debt for.” He paused, looking you up and down again. “I’d pay for ya.”

You squirmed, looking away. He knelt down in front of you and looked into your eyes with his eye, watching you curiously. “I might have some fun with ya later. We’ll see. For now, I gotta get some work done. Tata~” He said, standing up and waving as he walked out the door. A moment later he came back in. “I almost forgot.” He pulled your chair over, clasping the cuff around your ankle and then cutting the ropes off that had you tied to the chair, freeing your wrists as well. “There, that’s gotta feel better.” You just stared at him, unable to move in fear. “Alright. Bye, for realsies this time, Y/n-chan~!” He walked out, waving again and you were left sitting in your chair, still too deep in shock to do anything.

What felt like hours passed and you stayed in the chair, still coming to terms with what happened and where you were. You had always thought that you would be stronger in this situation, that you would fight back – but you weren’t, and you didn’t. You just sat in your chair, rubbing your wrists, and feeling the cold metal of your ankle cuff on your skin. You felt tears floating around in your eyes, looking around as the reality of your situation settled in.

Eventually you stood up, walking around to see how far your chain would allow you to go. Not very far. You couldn’t reach any of the walls, and you could barely reach the bed and lay on it. You couldn’t even get near the door, not that you could break it down if you could reach it. From the look of it and how it sounded when it closed, it was solid wood.

You settled on sitting on the bed, looking up at the hook in the ceiling, wondering what it was for. Images of hanging slabs of meat floated through your mind and you looked away, trying to find something else to distract yourself with.

It shocked you that you weren’t crying. At this point you didn’t feel scared or sad enough to cry; you just felt numb. You didn’t feel like you were in your body. You laid down, resting you hear on the shitty flat pillow, curling up in the fetal position for warmth since there was no blanket, and closed your eyes.

/// You were awoken by the angry slam of the door and the one-eyed man looked even more angry than he had when he was on the phone. “Yer dad still ain’t payin’. Do ya know what that means?” You shook your head. “Means I gotta rough ya up a bit to show Daddy just how much I mean what I’m tellin’ him.”

You heard your dad’s voice panicking on the phone and your stomach turned sour. You cowered on the bed, not sure what was coming. The man set his phone down, climbing onto the bed with a pair of handcuffs he pulled out of his back pocket, wrestling with you until your hands were cuffed together and you were crying. What was he going to do to you?

“Majima! Don’t touch her!” Your father’s voice called out.

So this one-eyed monster had a name, and that name was Majima.

He grabbed the cufflinks and pulled you off the bed, bringing you below the hook and effortlessly putting the links into it. You tried to wiggle out of it, but you could barely touch the floor on your tiptoes, and the hook was too high to maneuver the links over it. You whimpered, knowing whatever he was going to do next was something.

“I gotta say, Mr. Y/L/N, yer daughter is… well. Ya see what I’m seein’ ain’tcha? That tank top is just… So tight. Leaves nothin’ to the imagination. Them shorts are just…” Majima’s voice trailed off and he looked over to the phone on the chair. “Ah, s’pose not. Lemme fix that.” He maneuvered the chair and phone so he could see exactly what was happening.

“Let’s begin,” the man said, pulling out a tanto, unsheathing it.

You heard your father protest, but you couldn’t understand him. Your heartbeat was whooshing in your head as you feared the worst was coming.

He was going to rape you, wasn’t he?

“Da—Dad?” You whimpered, crying. “Dad—Dad please don’t let—”

“All yer dad has to do is pay me what I’m owed, and then yer free to go,” Majima assured, approaching you. “I don’ wanna hurt ya, but I gotta get my money. Sorry, darlin’.”

“Let—Let me go home, please! Please! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t!” You begged, crying. “Please don’t—”

“This is yer dad’s doin’. All he hasta do is pay. Once he pays, yer free!” Majima laughed. “Easy as that.”

“MAJIMA!” Your dad shouted; you closed your eyes when you heard his voice crack.

You felt the tip of the blade against the skin of your neck. It wasn’t pressed enough to draw blood, but you tilted your head back in an effort to pull back from it, it didn’t work. Majima looked to his phone, and your eyes followed, seeing yourself on the screen and trying not to shriek. The blade slowly slid down to your collarbones, tracing the edges of them. You continued to whimper.

“Last chance, Y/L/N-san,” Majima’s eye was raking your body yet again, and you felt his hand playing with the fabric of your tank top. “It’s like she dressed this way just ta tease me,” he sighed, removing the blade and replacing it with his lips. “She tastes good, too,” he continued to kiss and lick your neck, maneuvering to each side. As you tried to get away, you only gave him more access. At one point he grabbed your throat. “Quit. Moving.” You did, closing your eyes and whimpering some more.

By this time, you were sobbing. You knew what was coming, and you were powerless to stop it.

“MAJIMA! STOP IT!” Your father shouted again, falling on deaf ears.

“If yer neck tastes this good, I can’t wait ta try yer pussy,” Majima growled, causing you to whimper louder, trying to lean away. He back away for a moment, turning to look at his phone, making sure your father had a good view. “Well, Daddy, what should I take first?” He asked, tapping his chin with the flat of the blade.

“Majima, please! I’ll pay! Just give me a little—”

“Ya had yer time,” Majima responded so coldly that it felt like the room temperature dropped.

He approached you, your crying and sobbing having shifted to tears and mindless babble that was begging him to stop. He wasn’t going to. He took your tank top in one hand and used the tanto to start cutting your shirt off. Once it was completely ripped open, he took another step back. You were sobbing, looking at the floor. Terrified and ashamed of what was happening.

“What’s next, Y/L/N?” Majima asked, looking at the phone, listening to your father beg him to stop. “You keep beggin’ me to stop, but you beggin’ ain’t gettin’ yer debt erased.”

“I’ll give you my home, my car, my daughter— just don’t make me watch this anymore!” Your father begged.

Majima hesitated, and it took you a moment to process what

“Deal.” He hung up the phone, looking at you, watching you cry for a moment before unlocking the cuffs. “I can’t believe that fuckin’ asshole would sell his own kid like that,” he grumbled. “She’s yer kid, dipshit, yer supposed to protect her, not sell her to clear yer fuckin’ debts.”

You didn’t care, you were just crying. You fell to the ground once you were no longer being held up by the cuffs. Majima caught you, rubbing your back as you clung to him. It was strange, clinging for comfort to the man you were sure was going to rape you not even a full minute ago. Yet, here you are, clinging to him. He picked you up, carrying you to the bed and sat you down, undoing the ankle cuff and then sitting on the bed next to you. You leaned away from him.

“I wasn’ gonna hurt ya,” Majima sighed. “Just hadta make yer dad think I was. Figured he’d pay that way, can’t say I expected him to sell ya to me.” You dived into his arms, sobbing violently. “Shhh… It’s okay,” he assured, resting his cheek against your head as you cried.

All you wanted was to wake up in your bed back in your apartment. That you could call your dad and tell him what you dreamt about and how much it hurt. He’d comfort you; tell you that would never happen, that you were more important money or material items. That wasn’t going to happen, though.

All you could do was cry, waiting for Majima to decide what he was going to do with you.

#Goro majima #majima #Goro Majima x reader #Majima x reader #yakuza

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aliendes · 4 years

Text

Natural Borns - Chapter Eleven (TRIGGER WARNING)

Banner by @thebannershop

Series info/genre: Angst, fluff, smut (NSFW)

Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual)

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNINGS!!! depictions of unwanted medical procedures, depictions of sexual assault - take this warning seriously, thoughts of death, suicidal thoughts?, wanting to die, restraints, needles, blood, crying, shitty medical descriptions (probably), depression, cursing, anxiety, a whole lot of sad and angst. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.

Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it?

Word count: 8.1k~ it’s a big one

A/N: hi there! I apologize in advance for this horribly written chapter. I did not edit it, like I said I would, because life happened. This chapter is fucking heavy, man. But I wrote it in a way that you can completely skip this chapter if you want, and move on to the next one when it comes out. This chapter focuses entirely on what YN goes through at the facility and her escape. It will eventually be explained in later chapters in less detail, so if you don’t want to read about sexual assault, etc, then skip this one. I can’t stress this enough, if you are sensitive to any of the topics listed above, DO NOT READ THIS. You’ve been warned.

The younger two fall asleep rather quickly, having been spent from hiking all the way into town, but what Hoseok wouldn’t tell them is that he laid in bed until the early hours of the morning, listening to the soft sobs of Jungkook next door.

Your body was so dehydrated from crying over the last day, that even as you try to cry, no tears come.

The testing started this morning, with a nurse you didn’t recognize bringing you to a new room, a sterile, metallic room with a lot of medical equipment you’ve never seen before. It looked like an operating room out of one of your mom’s kdramas. It scared you, more than you were expecting, to see such a cold, lifeless environment.

Once you were alone with the nurse, she had you strip out of your white clothing, letting you know they were going to run some tests. You were hesitant, not wanting to be even more vulnerable in front of these strangers, but Yeonjun’s words echoed in your head. You need to comply, need to submit, or else - well, you didn’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t.

Once you were undressed, you handed over your folded clothes to the woman, who put them into what looked like a laundry hamper. She had you lay on the bed, where she placed a thin white sheet over top of your body. For a moment, you felt like a corpse, ready to be sliced open and given an autopsy. The room you were in kind of reminded you of a morgue, at least, the temperature definitely resembled one.

Your time with the nurse wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though it was nearly freezing in the room, your naked body shivering every few minutes from the frigid temperature. She ran some basic tests, like checking your temperature, blood pressure, and drawing a few vials of blood. You felt like you were getting a check-up at the doctor’s office, and idly thought that if this was what it would be like, you supposed you wouldn’t mind being here too much. You were never really a fan of needles, but you’ve had your blood drawn a handful of times, and it was never too scary. The worst part about this was the freezing temperature, which you made a mental note to ask Soomin about later, if you saw her.

When the quiet nurse finished checking your ‘vitals’, as she had called it, she left you alone in the room, telling you to rest and a doctor would be in later to run some more tests. You complied, laying back on the stiff bed, and closed your eyes.

When you awoke next, you were met with a pair of icy grey eyes, behind a pair of round spectacles, staring down at you. You jump in surprise, head bumping against the hard table you’re laying on, making you grunt out in pain.

The man above you didn’t seem phased what so ever, and continued to stare down at you, clipboard in hand. When you take a moment to look at your surroundings, you realize that he isn’t the only person in the room, in fact, there are four other men in here with you, all staring at you with inquisitive eyes.

When you look down, you gasp out loud, realizing the thin sheet you had been covered with earlier had been removed from your body, leaving you completely nude and visible to these men. “I- I,” you start, bringing one arm up to cover your chest, the other coming down over your crotch, trying your best to shield yourself from their prying eyes, “I - hey!”

The man with the unnatural eyes moves closer to you and without your permission, grabs a lock of your hair gently, looking at it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Your eyes widen as you stare at him, mouth slightly agape, feeling strangely violated, even though he didn’t actually touch your body.

“Seems natural,” the man stated, another, shorter, man behind him writing something down on his clipboard, “take note of the freckles.”

Your eyes get even wider as you watch the man take what looks like a pen… maybe a stick? You aren’t sure, and drags it down your cheek and under your chin, tilting your face up at him. Your breathing starts to quicken, as you feel almost like cattle at an auction, or a purebred dog at a show. It doesn’t feel natural, it feels wrong… dirty, like you’re about to be sold to the highest bidder.

“Perfect lip shape, even,” he tuts as he turns your head to the side, grey starting to dot your vision as your head swims with confusion and embarrassment, “ears are uneven though. We may need to fix that.”

Fix that!? What the hell did this guy mean?

The strange man let the pen drop and your head snapped to the side as you saw two female nurses, who you hadn’t noticed standing behind you until now, come up to flank either side of you. When you looked up to your right, you saw the quiet nurse from earlier, and she sent you an apologetic smile as she gripped your right arm. You looked on in horror as the nurse, whom you didn’t recognize, on your other side, grabbed your left arm, essentially pinning you to the table.

Now, with nothing to cover you, you try to squirm away from their grasp, wanting nothing more in the world than to be able to cover yourself. You felt so wrong, so violated, being on display for these people. It felt inhumane, and you wished with all of your might that it would end. There are salty tears streaming down your cheeks, mixing with mucous from your runny nose, as you plead with the two men who are nearing closer to you.

“P-please, please!” You squeal when one of them grabs your ankle, bringing up a restraint from under the table, locking it in place. “P-please!” You scream, your voice breaking as you plead with them to stop. Your cries are becoming erratic and you can feel yourself getting lightheaded at the lack of oxygen, but you don’t stop, you can’t stop thrashing and yelling as he grabs your other ankle and attaches it to the bed.

You’re so focused on trying to escape their clutches, that you don’t notice one of the other men step up to your side and inject your thigh with something, but you do feel the sting of the needle and the immediate cold shot that travels through your leg and up to your chest. Your eyes snap open at the feeling.

“W-what is happening, w-hat a-are you doing to me!” You scream, your voice cracking with the high pitch you’re involuntarily using.

The men around you don’t even seem to hear you, too engrossed in their disgusting survey of your body. It’s surreal, the way they continue their business like you don’t exist. You almost feel like you’re in a movie, and you’re watching this happen to someone else, someone you don’t know, but when you feel a cold, gloved hand on your calf, it snaps you back to reality.

Jerking your head up to get a better view of what’s happening, you see a different man from before, this one is tall and skinny, blonde hair, and has a scar on his right eyebrow, grasping your calf, squeezing at the muscle there. “Athletic muscles, I would say she either played a sport, or ran track.” The other men hum and nod as your mouth drops open as you continue to sob. What was happening to you?!

Before you can even start to process the absurdity of what was going on, you feel something cold poke at your crotch. Immediately you try to flinch away from it, looking down to see one of the men holding what looked like one of those metal things the gynecologist uses to do a checkup.

“N-NO!” You screech, trying with all your might to back away. It’s no use, as you are fully restrained, but you can’t watch this happen to you, you cannot bear to witness what was about to take place. “N-no! PLEASE, s-s-stop!” your voice waivers, but you do your best to keep your eyes trained on the man holding the tool.

Finally, for the first time, the man acknowledges your presence by looking at you. He’s middle-aged, salt and pepper hair with a black goatee. Your face twists further in pain as he looks as you, a cold stare almost as if he’s looking right through you. The expression he wears is one of boredom, like you’re nothing but a nuisance to him right now. You sob harder at the thought that you were no longer seen as a human, a person with feelings and thoughts, but merely as a test subject, a body, flesh and bones.

“I-I’m a virgin,” you whisper in the smallest voice you think is possible, eyes unable to focus on anything as your pupils twitch nervously. Your mouth is falling open and snapping closed like you want to say more, but you’re unable to form anymore words.

You look down in horror as the man’s expression doesn’t change, instead, he seems to… smirk. You throw your head back against the table and scream out as he inserts the tool into your body, the foreign stretch painful. Your body is wracked with painful sobs as he continues his inspections, gloved fingers entering you and feeling around. It hurts, it hurts so bad, and it feels so fucking wrong. You feel so disgusting.

All you can do is cry on the table and let them finish whatever the hell they were doing, when finally you feel him pull away from you. You let out a sigh, eyes slipping closed as you feel like it’s finally over, blood rushing to your head, making your ears pound.

“Definitely a virgin,” the man says to his colleagues, “we will run a few more tests to make sure she’s fertile, but so far it seems she will be the perfect specimen.”

Yeonjun’s words from before rush back into your head, swimming around your brain. They were going to breed you, to use your body and your eggs to create more human beings like you. Like the boys. And you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“We can start the hormones tomorrow, but we need to make sure her eggs are viable. We can do an extraction today.”

Your eyes pop open at this, your breathing still ragged as you listen to the men talk about you, the female nurses still holding your arms tightly, despite the fact that you’ve long since given up fighting. You don’t think you have any more fight left in you.

“Yes sir, we’ll get it done within the hour,” another man answers the other before walking out of the room. Your crying has turned into wheezing sobs as the rest of the men follow after him.

“Don’t feed her,” the salt and pepper man says to the nurses, “hook her up to an IV and get some fluid in her. She can’t be dehydrated for the procedure.” His tone was cold, uncaring as he spoke to the nurses who nodded in response.

When he turns to leave, he makes it all the way to the door before turning around, one hand on the doorknob, and looks directly at you. “I’ll be back for you later,” he starts, looking down and seemingly chuckling to himself, “you’re going to be fun.”

You pale at his words as he exits the room, leaving you and the nurses in utter silence. You don’t have much experience with people, other than your schoolmates, Mina, Woo, and the boys, but you understand the hidden meaning in his words, and it absolutely breaks whatever resolve you have left to stay strong. Your walls crumble down, silent sobs wracking your small frame as you weep on the exam table.

You’re so far gone in your dark thoughts you don’t realize the nurses have inserted an IV drip into your arm and secured both arms to the table with some kind of elastic restraints. Before they leave you to the depths of your mind, they drape the thin sheet back over you. They tried to speak to you, to let you know they’d be back, but you didn’t hear them. Their words fell on deaf ears as you lose yourself to the memory of Jungkook’s lips on yours.

Your first kiss. You mentally smile at the image of the two of you standing together near that stream, a storybook setting where he stole your first kiss. You hold on to that, because if you could have one first that is by choice, you’re glad it was with the sweet bunny boy, in a place so beautiful.

You’re so lost in the pitiful depths of your own mind, that you don’t notice a doctor and the two nurses from before entering the exam room. You’re still strapped to the table, but have long since given up struggling. It was no use, your arms were tightly at your sides, ankles locked onto the table. You’re resigned yourself to silently sobbing, thinking about what your life is doomed to end up like.

You long for the things you never got to experience before you were taken here, and a dark, self-deprecating part of you blames yourself for being so prude and stubborn. Your first kiss was just yesterday, and you’ve never done anything more than that, despite the plentiful offers from boys and men in your town.

You’ve never had a boyfriend, never properly held hands or cuddled with someone you shared feelings with, you’ll never have the chance to choose who you want to have sex with. You shudder at that thought, another sob making you heave.

“YN?”

You’re so weak, so entirely not yourself, you don’t have the will nor the energy to look at whoever is speaking to you. Instead, you continue staring up at the bright white ceiling, tears still silently rolling down your cheeks. You haven’t been able to wipe at them, and the wetness is starting to pool uncomfortably at your ears.

“YN, I’m Dr. Kim,” a kind voice continues, despite your lack of answer, “I’m going to be performing your procedure today.”

Your eyes slip shut, waiting for him to explain just what ‘procedure’ he means. He sounded kind, maybe, but you’ve learned not to trust anyone here, so you just wait.

The nurse next to you grunts in exertion as she drags a heavy cart to your bedside, beginning to set up what you assume are tools for whatever is about to happen to you. “YN we’re going to attempt an egg extraction. I’m going to numb you, so hopefully it’s not too uncomfortable for you, but I’m not going to lie and say it won't hurt.”

You almost roll your eyes at his caring tone of voice, you know it’s all fake. They don’t care about you, about your body, you’re just a sack of flesh, or you suppose eggs, in this case, to them. The nurse to your right starts removing the thin sheets from your body, making you wince away as much as you can at the touch. Every single touch against your skin makes you shiver, you wish they would just stop touching you.

Once the nurse has the sheet down low enough, exposing your arm and entire upper half, she gets to work inserting an IV into your arm, to which you don’t react. Maybe whatever they pump into you will make you sleep, or forget, or maybe die. You let out a humorless, dark chuckle, making the nurses look at you wearily. It’s anything but funny that you’ve been put in a position where you’d rather die than continue, but it’s a little ironic, isn’t it?

Your parents kept you shielded your entire life, never letting you have many friends, never letting you explore the town on your own, hell, you couldn’t even attend college. Your life was planned out for you from the beginning, since before you were even born. You were promised to a fate that was now a reality. Had you gone against their wishes, maybe you would’ve been able to experience some of the things that are now being violently ripped away from you, or maybe you would’ve been met with a nefarious end, but it couldn’t have been much worse than what’s happening now.

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t realize the nurse has already administered something into your IV that is making your head feel a little floaty. When you try to wiggle your fingers and toes, you can still feel them, but they feel tingly, almost. It’s a strange feeling you don’t think you’ve ever experienced before. You furrow your brow as you feel your legs being moved against your will. When you try to pick your head up to look at them, you can’t, which freaks you out even more, but before you can voice your thoughts, an oxygen mask is placed over your face, aiding in making you even more dizzy.

Your eyes must’ve slipped closed at some point, because all you see is black. Are you sleeping? If you’re sleeping, then why do you feel so much pressure in your lower stomach? You try with all your might to open your eyes, but you fail every time. Next, you try moving your arms, your hands, anything, but nothing will move.

Absently, you feel the pressure in your abdomen increase, but you aren’t sure what the feeling is, as you’ve never felt something quite like it. It almost feels as if someone is trying to push out of your stomach from the inside. It’s weird, and almost painful. You try to focus on the feeling, hoping that it might ground you and make you more lucid than you are currently, but all it does is make you hyper focus on the almost-pain and that makes it more intense.

You want to yell out, to say something, to scream at whoever is pushing (pulling?) on your guts to stop! But you can’t. All you can do is lay there, stiff as a board, while whatever is happening to you continues to happen. Just when you think the pressure is starting to let up a bit, you feel an intense sharp pain on your left side of your body, near where you think your bladder is located.

If you were more conscious, you would have definitely rolled over or keeled over in pain at the feeling. It was sharp, like a needle or a knife, jabbing into you and then immediately pulling back. It felt kind of like if you were to pinch your skin really tightly between fingernails and then let go. The pain was instant and is slowly starting to subside, but left behind is a deep burning sensation that is akin to rug burn that you get when you skin your knee on the carpet. What the fuck is happening to you?

After the sharp pain, you feel the pressure retract from your body, and you are just mentally aware enough to remember your pelvic exam earlier. Whatever pressure you were feeling must’ve been through your vagina, if you had to wager a guess. The thought, while foggy, made you want to vomit.

The man in the room earlier said something about an extraction, was that what they just did to you? Were they extracting your eggs? Or were they inserting something into you? Whatever it was, it absolutely terrified you. Your mind flashed through all the possibilities: a tracking device, some kind of contraption, contraceptives, an embryo?! The last one terrified you beyond measure. Yeonjun had mentioned how they wanted to breed you, like some animal from a farm, was that what they were doing to your body?

While you were so caught up in your racing thoughts, you realize that whatever they did to you left behind a pulsing, burning, feeling where the initial pinch was felt, and you idly wondered if they would be putting pain medication in your IV, or if they would let you suffer. Probably suffer, you thought. Before you could really think much about it, you felt the strange pressure again, only this time you were certain it was between your legs.

Whatever they had given you earlier to make you loopy felt like it was slowly starting to wear off, and you started to hear voices talking beside you and you felt the sharp, pinching pain again, only this time it was on your right.

“They seem viable,” a man’s voice trailed off. You’re unsure if he stopped talking or your just stopped hearing, but the next voice you heard was distinctly female.

“She’s bleeding, doctor.” The voice sounded so calm. Surely blood couldn’t be a good thing, right? As you thought this, you felt something being roughly pulled out of you, making your whole body jerk downwards on the table. This time, the burning sensation was stronger, intense, in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend.

It felt like a hot knife was being twisted inside your middle, hot, sharp, but also, wet? The pain was so intense, even if you could move, you don’t think you’d physically be able to. You were still too out of it to move your body or open your eyes, but you could feel the pain full fledged now, sending alarm bells off in your brain.

You were dying.

You had a gut feeling of impending doom, one of which you haven’t ever had before in your short twenty three years of existence. You were bleeding out on this damned table. You could feel it. Aside from the fact that you felt like your stomach had just exploded from the inside out, you could feel the blood running out of you. It was warm, almost hot, sticky, and wet. You could feel it begin to pool under your thighs and start to seep up your back. You were so certain that you were about to meet Death himself.

Would that be such a bad thing, though? You try to temporarily distract yourself from the pain, and now pressure of someone pushing on your abdomen, by wondering what it might feel like to die. You were shocked that you even had the wherewithal to think these things, when your lower half was literally on fire, but you always have had a high pain tolerance. If this was dying, you thought, it wasn’t so bad. Maybe you would finally be out of your misery.

Your last coherent thought after you heard the shouting of multiple people around you, was of the bunny boy, and his lips against yours.

Cold. Bare, and cold. Those were the only two words running through your mind as you hugged your arms tightly to yourself, eyes squeezed shut, as you sat shivering on the cold ground. Where were you? You looked down at your body, only to gasp aloud at what you saw. You pull your hands away from your legs, seeing you are completely naked, covered in blood from the waist down.

Immediately you try to stand up, panic settling in your bones as you spin around, taking in your surroundings.

What the fuck is happening…

You’re completely surrounded by darkness. Is this a dream? You look down to see you’re standing in what looks like really shallow water. You can’t feel any pain, even though you look like you’ve just been brutally stabbed, so you realize this must be a dream, or some sort of creepy purgatory.

You lean down to tap at the water substance, only to find the surface of it to be completely reflective, and you see yourself staring back up at your pale, thin face. You can’t remember what you look like in real life, but you blankly think that this isn’t what you looked like last time you looked in a mirror.

You look sick, dead, even. Your face is so thin and sunken in, it looks like you’ve been starved for weeks. Quickly, you tear your eyes away from the reflection, not wanting to dwell on why you’re dreaming up these things… You furrow your brow as you wrap your arms back around your frame.

It’s chillingly cold, wherever you are. Dreamland, purgatory, Hell, you aren’t sure anymore. All you know is you don’t want to be here anymore. You want to go home. Home. Where is your home, now? You silently let even more tears fall down your cheeks at the reminder that you’re stuck in that god forbidden laboratory, and you’ve suddenly wanted nothing more than to run into your mother’s arm. She took care of you, right? She must harbor at least some sort of love for you.

You sniffle, shaking your head back and forth, trying to rid yourself of your thoughts of them. They aren’t your family. You don’t even know if they are your biological parents, as you haven’t had the chance to ask any questions in this hellscape.

This hell… you start to recall what was happening right before you lost consciousness. Floating, you remember the feeling of floating and falling all at the same time. You remember not really being in the right frame of mind, but you also remember an intense pressure.

You gasp, hands flying down to grip at your lower abdomen. The pain, the pinching and burning, originated in your lower belly. When you look down to the spots your hands are covering, you don’t see anything, no outwards signs of abuse or pain. But it’s then that you see the steady drops of blood that have been falling from you, from your…

No. No, no, no. You slowly reach a hand down to run a finger through the crimson blood trailing down your inner thigh, only to bring it back up towards your face. With shaky eyes and gaping mouth, you realize that whatever they did, whatever caused the bleeding, had to do with your reproductive system.

How much blood had you lost? You blink away the tears as you fall to your knees on the wet ground, black water splashing around your pathetic frame. You let out a sob, only to realize you aren’t actually making any noise. Now that you think of it, you haven’t heard any noise since you ‘woke up’ here. You haven’t even heard your own cries or sniffles. You must be dead, that was the only thing your muddled brain could think of seeing how much blood was pooled underneath you.

A sinister smile spreads across your face as you close your eyes and throw your head back. If you were really dead, that meant you were far, far away from those monsters. You could finally rest, even if it was in this soundless, black abyss. Regardless of how bloody you were, you felt no pain, not like the excruciating pain you had been in before you lost consciousness. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. You think you’re lightly laughing, relishing in the thought that you could be rid of Big Hit, rid of your family, and rid of pain, but you can’t hear anything coming from your throat.

You slowly lay yourself down in the cool water, rolling onto your side, as you let the blood continue to flow. If you were going to die, at least you wouldn’t feel it.

“She lost a lot of blood,” a woman’s voice speaks into the quiet room, “we did our best, but there was a lot of damage to the ovaries.”

“What do you mean, damage?” A gruff tone asks the female.

You furrow your brows, your brain getting whiplash from seeping in and out of consciousness so often. You could hear a conversation taking place above you, but you weren’t sure who was there with you, or even where you were. You didn’t feel cold and wet anymore, but you could feel a dull pulsing in your stomach.

“Well, Doctor Kim said that only one was a viable ovary before the procedure, the other never having produced eggs…” the voice trailed off.

“But?” The only sound that could be heard over their conversation, was the beeping of a machine in the distance.

“But the other ovary was lost,” the woman says, reluctantly.

Confusion takes over you as the pulsing in your abdomen increases, bordering on painful.

“Fucking hell,” the man mutters, anger taking over his tone, “I told you idiots to be careful with this one. We need her. We can’t further this research without her.” The man sighs, exasperated, before he adds hotly, “Get out. Now!”

A door can be heard opening and closing quickly, leaving the only sounds in the room the faint beeping and the man's heavy breathing.

A few beats pass before the man approaches your prone body, running a hand up and down your arm. “Pretty little thing,” he tsks, “such a shame.”

Your barely conscious body tenses at the man’s words and touch. As he leans over you, caging your body in, you recognize it’s the salt and pepper man from before. Your eyes snap open just as his lips are about to collide with yours. Eyes wide and panic stricken, you abruptly sit up, smacking your face into his and making him stumble backwards, hand clutching his nose.

“You bitch!” he stutters out, knocking into a small metal table holding medical tools.

Your heart rate picks up, sending you tumbling into a fight or flight response, of which your body chooses the later. Jumping up quickly from the bed you were sitting on, you try to make a run for the door, but scream loudly when you feel the man’s hand around your waist, pulling you down to the ground on top of him.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” he screams, gripping onto your hips tight enough to bruise. You’re screaming bloody murder, trying to get out of his grip. You can feel the burning sensation in your abdomen grow with the exertion, but you don’t give up, trashing and twisting in his grip. “Stop fucking moving you whore!”

The man’s large hand leaves your middle, allowing you to move slightly away from him, before he reaches out and grips your long hair, pulling you roughly to the ground, the back of your head cracking sickeningly against the linoleum. Your eyes squeeze shut at the piercing pain shooting through your skull, a silent scream on your face.

The man moves himself so he’s on his knees, hand still wrapped tightly in your hair. He picks your head up slightly, only to slam it back into the floor for good measure. You whimper out in pain, unable to open your eyes at the searing feeling in the back of your skull. “You really think you can go anywhere? You’re fucking trapped in here, and you just made a very, very terrible mistake, young lady.” His tone was sinister, deep, and taunting. He was enjoying this, chasing you. “You could’ve laid there and taken this, could’ve been a good girl. But no, you chose this, remember that you slut. This is your fault!”

He stands up abruptly, taking your body with him and letting your body flail in his grasp as he moves back towards the hospital bed. He drags you behind him like a caveman, throwing you roughly onto the hard bed and immediately crawling over top of you. As soon as he is over you, you bang both of your hands against his chest, but it doesn’t make him budge. There are tears streaming down your face, and you don’t realize you’re still screaming until he slams a hand over your mouth, making your eyes bulge nearly out of your head. You try your hardest to shake your head back and forth to get him to release his tight grip on you.

“You’re going to shut. The. Fuck. Up. And take what I give to you, you stupid fucking bitch.”

The panic starts to rise, ten-fold in you, as you thrash even harder under this man. His grip on your mouth doesn’t let up, not even a little, as he brings his other hand up to land a slap to your cheek, making more tears flow down your face. The weight of what is about to happen to you sits heavy on your chest as you squeeze your eyes closed again.

“Such a pretty whore,” he whispers, bringing his hand to your chest, groping at your breasts under your hospital gown, “I’ll fuck this fight right out of you, girl.”

You scream as loud as you can against the palm of his hand as he rips away the front of your hospital gown and throws it behind him blindly. You’re screaming and crying, sniffling as snot coats the inside of the man’s palm. You’re screaming ‘no’, over and over again, but it’s only coming out as muffled noises. You don’t think anyone would even be able to hear you if you were able to scream, the doors were made of a thick metal.

Your mind briefly flashes to Seokjin, the gentle man with large hands that would soothingly rub up and down your back. The man on top of you continues to rip at your clothing, the thin white sports bra you don’t even remember someone putting on you, comes off you at lightning speed, being thrown behind him like the gown. You try to focus on Seokjin and what his soft, gentle hands would feel like. You try to remember what it felt like when he gently wrapped your wounds and rubbed your back in the shower.

Slowly, your tears start to let up, your sniffles getting lighter, as you imagine Jin’s hands are the ones touching your breasts, groping your thighs. It’s hard, because the man above you is so rough, his hands are nothing like Seokjin’s. They are rough and cracked and calloused, and you want nothing more than for Jin to be here, to soothe your wounds, to take care of you. The opposite of what is currently taking place.

You’re ripped from your thoughts when the man dips his thick, gross fingers under the hem of your white panties, pulling them roughly from your body with a snap. You barely register the pain of the elastic snapping against your hips, distracted from the searing hot pain in your lower belly when the man pushes your hips down.

You try to scream out in pain again, but it comes out as a garbled yell that turns into a sob when you feel his hands trailing down your stomach and dipping between your legs. This can’t be happening, you open your eyes only to find the man staring back at you, lust in his gaze. It makes you sick, and you think you’re about to vomit when he speaks again.

“You’re so wet, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you, slut?” He bites his lip and your eyes widen as he runs a finger through your slit. The pain that shoots through your body is immediate, your vagina still incredibly sore from the earlier events. You let out a high pitch noise in pain, trying your hardest to move your hips away from his touch, but he doesn’t let up, only pushing you down into the mattress harder by his hand on your face. “Gonna fuck this virgin pussy until you’re screaming for more.”

Before he can say anymore, you move your head up slightly and bite down as hard as humanly possible on the top of his hand. He immediately releases you, stumbling back off the bed, cursing loudly, as blood flows from his hand.

You spit out the blood that got in your mouth, to your side. When you look down, your eyes widen in horror at the spot of blood already on the mattress, presumably from his earlier ministrations on your already battered vaginal area. You’re panting, heart racing as you meet the man’s eyes again, only this time they are filled with anger, not lust.

The man charges at you again, making you back into the wall the bed is pushed against. “You fucking whore! Didn’t I tell you to shut up and take it?!” He screams in your face as he kneels on the bed, you try to scramble away from him, but you’re just met with the wall again, making you scream out as he pulls his fist back, before colliding it with your jaw. As he pulls back to land another hit, the door slams open.

“Dr. Byun!”

The man in question whips his head around towards the source of the sound, only to find the yellow haired therapist, Yeonjun.

“Your hand! Sir, you’re bleeding!” Yeonjun rushes forward, quickly taking in your broken and tattered appearance, pursing his lips, and turns towards Dr. Byun.

“T-This isn’t what it looks like, boy,” the doctor starts, standing up and cradling his bleeding hand against his chest, “you didn’t see shit, you hear me?”

“Yes sir, I understand. But you should really get that looked at, it looks deep and you could need stitches.”

Yeonjun looks like he is purposely ignoring you, trying to coax the older man out of the room. You cower into the corner as far as you can, pulling the thin white sheet with you to cover your form. You can’t help the sobs that emit from your small frame, sending a shiver down the therapist’s spine.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dr. Byun mutters, walking towards the door, “call Jiwoo to take care of the specimen.”

You flinch at the name. Specimen, that’s all you are, right?

“Will do, doctor. Please, get yourself fixed up.” Yeonjun turns towards the man, bowing ninety degrees as he exits the room.

He waits a moment before turning back around, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what he’s about to see.

When he turns around, you’re curled into a small ball, face against your knees, bawling likes he’s never seen anyone cry before. He’s worried you are going to suffocate yourself with how ragged your breathing seems to be, so he approaches carefully.

When he reaches the bed, he is unsure of how to proceed, so he gently reaches out to try and touch your elbow to let you know he’s there, but you jerk back, eyes snapping up to his as you let out a panicked scream. Yeonjun flinches and pulls back immediately, holding both hands up to let you know he means to harm, but you can’t focus on much else than what just took place. You were almost raped, you were raped. Your mind was starting to regress, trying to pull you away from the horror you just witnessed, and Yeojun, a trained therapist, could see it clearly.

He needed to get you out of here, fast, or who knows what would happen to you.

“YN, listen to me, honey,” he spoke quietly, making you look up at him helplessly, tears still actively flowing from your red rimmed eyes, “I want to help you, okay? I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to protect you from that man. Protect you from this place, okay? Can you hear me, YN?”

You look up at him, fear in your eyes, but nod along to his words anyways, trying your hardest to not let your mind slip, but it’s getting more difficult as you start to hyperventilate. Yeojun inches closer to you, taking your nod as permission, and places a gentle hand on your arm. His hand is warm, and soft, nothing like Dr. Byun, and it just makes you cry harder.

“YN, hey, look at me, please?” Yeojun asks quietly, prompting you to stare at the yellow haired male, “breath, sweetie. Deep breath, hold it. Relax.” You nod your head as you let out a deep breath through your nose, your fear addled mind deciding it would be okay to trust him. “Good, very good. Now, YN, I need you to listen, okay? I’m going to get you out of here. This isn’t a safe place for you, right?” You shake your head, biting your lip so hard you draw blood. “Okay, good. This is risky, YN so I need you to listen carefully.”

Silent tears slip down your cheeks, but Yeojun is quick to wipe them away, making your eyes slip closed at the kind gesture. “I’m going to wrap you up in that sheet, okay? It’s 2 AM right now, and there aren’t many guards on duty. We’re gonna sneak out of here, but I need you to be as quiet as a mouse. Can you do that for me?” Yeojun spoke softly and slowly, making sure to tap into the childlike mindset you were starting to fall into.

“O-o-okay,” you mutter out, tears, snot, and blood running down your face as you sniffle again. Your breaths are coming out in hiccups, and Yeonjun runs a soft hand carefully up and down your arm to calm you down.

“Shh, YN. Relax for me, I’m gonna get you out of here. Away from the awful man. I need you to trust me, do you trust me?”

You nod your head quickly, wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare.

“Good. I’m going to pick you up now, is that okay?” You nod your head again, but tighten your grip on the thin sheet, now stained red with blood from various places on your body. Yeonjun utters a curse under his breath as he notices just how much you’re bleeding.

Without another word, Yeonjun scoops his arms underneath you and picks you up, cradling you against his chest. True to his word, he wraps the sheet tightly around you, but you still shiver, nonetheless. Moving quickly towards the door, he maneuvers his body so his scan card attached to his belt loop, scans on the door, opening it up. Peeking out in both directions, he slowly makes his way towards the cargo elevators located at the back of the building, careful to stay away from the security cameras along the way.

He knows this could get him killed, but a lot of things he’s done in his two years working here could get him killed. This time he wasn’t planning on coming back, no. They would realize quickly that you were gone and would figure out it was him that took you. You both had to run, preferably far from here.

Hugging you closer to his chest, Yeonjun runs up to the elevator, scanning his badge against the wall again. As he enters the elevator, he hears your soft whimpers against his shirt, and realizes that you’re shaking violently.

“Shit. YN, YN hey, I need you to stay awake for me,” Yeojun whispers, adjusting you so he can look at your face. Your eyes are closed and you’re having trouble keeping your head upright, letting it loll against his forearm. “Ah fuck! Hey, sweetie, we’re almost to my car, but I really, really need you to focus on my voice, okay?” Yeojun whispers loudly as he steps off the elevator and into the parking garage, running quickly to his dark blue sedan. You let out a soft groan as he jostles you slightly to reach his keys in his back pocket.

“I’ve got you, YN,” he says, opening the back door and laying you down against the cool leather. “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Hold on just a little longer.”

Yeojun closes the door and jumps into the driver’s seat, starting up the engine and making his way out of the garage unseen.

From the backseat, your drowsy state was making it hard for you to pay attention, but you tried to listen to Yeojun’s words from earlier, you wanted to be good, wanted to make him happy. You needed to focus.

“YN, can you hear me?” You let out a small groan from the back, letting him know you were listening, “Good, I need you to focus on me, okay? I’m calling Namjoon, I’m gonna let him talk to you.”

Your ears perk up at the thought of hearing Namjoon’s voice, and it’s that excitement that keeps you awake while you listen to the ringing of a phone echo throughout the small car. You head lolls to the side, giving you a full view of the blue lights on the dash. It’s blurry, but you try to focus on all the little buttons, trying to make out what each picture was, a feeble attempt to stay awake.

“Hello?” Namjoon’s deep voice, plagued with sleep, rings through the car.

“Joon, are you still at Wonho’s place?”

You hear shuffling on the other side of the phone before his voice rumbles out, “Yeah, yeah. What’s up?”

You whimper at the sound of his voice, wanting nothing more than to yell out for him, to scream and cry and beg for him.

“YN? Is that YN? What the hell is going on?”

“Calm down, Joon,” Yeojun soothes in the soft voice of his, “I have her. I had to get her out, I couldn’t wait any longer. W-what I walked into…” he trails off and you flinch at the reminder. Yeojun notices through the rearview mirror and decides he won't go into further detail.

“Yeonjun, what the fuck do you mean?”

“Shh, Joon, please. She’s not in good shape, please just let me bring her to you. She badly needs a doctor, she’s lost a lot of blood.”

“B-blood, what - what the fuck do you mean,” Namjoon’s voice wavers, and you hear shuffling again, “YN? Can you hear me?”

“She can hear you, but she’s barely conscious.”

You make a small noise again, trying your hardest to let him know you’re there, you’re alive. “YN, baby, please stay with me,” more shuffling and grunts from another male sound through the car, “we’re all here, we’re all waiting for you, okay? Please, please make it back to us.”

You hear a faint echo of your name in the background, and then footsteps and doors slamming as Yeojun tries to calm him down again, “Namjoon, I need you guys to stay calm, okay? I’m almost there, and I need you to prepare yourselves for what you’re gonna see. Keep Kook and the twins away, yeah?”

“YN?!” Seokjin. You let out a pitiful wail at the sound of his voice, and you can hear audible sobs on the other end of the phone. “YN, love, I’m so sorry, so so sorry.” You hear Jin’s choked sobs, and it only makes you cry harder, longing for him to be there.

“She’s going to need medical help, Jin, are you going to be able to handle it? I need you to pull yourself together, do it for YN.” Yeojun soothes again. You can barely make out the sounds of a phone moving around through the car speakers, before you hear Namjoon’s voice again.

“We got it Yeonjun, please, just hurry.”

“Almost there, give me ten minutes.”

You cry softly as Yenojun hangs the phone up and turns slightly to smile at you from the front briefly before turning back towards the road. “We’re almost there, YN,” he whispers, “you’re gonna be okay, just stay awake a little longer.”

You try, you really do. But the soft hum on the passing cards outside, and the gentle tone of Yeonjun’s voice lull you to sleep, the last thing on your mind is Seokjin’s warm embrace.

To be continued...

2nd authors note: hi. sorry for the horribly written, yet sad and graphic chapter. it was a little cringe, so I apologize. this was meant to give perspective to how YN is going to be going forward in the story. she is definitely going to be changed. let me know what you think!

Taglist: @jooniebias10 jooniebias10 @sammiilynn10192 @minifruity @mrcleanheichou @arantxaglz @chim-possible @kooksremedy @irishhbamb @sugashaye @lovelyseomin @strawberrygatorade @kookiebbyxx @itneverends15713

#bts x reader #poly bts smut #poly bts angst #bts angst #bts smut

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