#other than the asthma that's real

[usareiis]

Lost my original post of this from the other day but I genuinely don't understand how Black Butler discourse ever shifted into the does Sebastian ~really~ like Ciel or is Ciel just dinner line of conversation that is pervasive as it is because Sebastian is the one that has absorbed his whole existence into Ciel's. Sebastian's face is what Ciel wants Sebastian's whole purpose is doing things for Ciel Sebastian's every hell of a butler yes my lord speech is about how he's Ciel's and Ciel is the one going around saying shit like whatever Sebastian is just my pawn 💅

[parrrty-poison]

i was put on this earth to suffer

[autismserenity]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[ms-demeanor]

fully understand and agree about reiki and prayer and herbs and the rest of that bullshit, but i'm a little confused as to how chiropractic care got lumped in with those

Chiropractors are quacks, full stop.

There is nothing that a chiropractor can do for you that a physical therapist couldn't do better or that a massage therapist wouldn't be able to assist with.

There are specific conditions that can cause joint subluxation, but unless you have one of them, your joints are probably perfectly fine where they are and if they are not that is something that would be better (and more safely) assessed by someone who is actually qualified to provide some variety of medical care (which chiropractors are not, they are licensed to provide chiropractic care, which is pseudoscience on your spine, which is a bad place to do pseudoscience). And if you do have those conditions you shouldn't let a chiropractor touch you with a ten foot pole because you are at even *more* risk of harm from spinal manipulation than the general population is.

When I was in college and didn't have health insurance and was working at a coffee shop I couldn't afford $150 out of pocket to go see a doctor, but I could afford $45 to see a chiropractor.

What the chiropractor didn't know - because she wasn't a doctor and didn't have the diagnostic tools for this kind of thing - was that I didn't have back pain because my spine was out of place, I had back pain because I had a bone tumor in my spine, and her adjustment fractured one of my lumbar vertebrae.

When I did get insurance I finally figured out what was wrong (after using a cane and dealing with excruciating back pain from my cracked spine I had to quit my job at the coffee shop because I couldn't reliable stand on shift) when I got an MRI. The pain was treated with muscle relaxants, oral steroids, and physical therapy, none of which would have broken my fucking back.

Chiropractic, even when practiced "competently" by an expert with the most modern and most rigorous scientific training available, is still more dangerous and less effective than other interventions. All of which is aside from the fact that there are a shitload of chiropractors out there who will claim to treat asthma and autism, which they can't do and are shitty for claiming to be able to do.

Top to bottom, all through its history, chiropractic is a scam that hurts more people than it helps and because of our fucked up medical care in the US specifically has been largely predatory on people who can't afford real treatment for their illnesses and injuries.

Also, if you are ever going to see a chiropractor - though i wish you wouldn't - never, ever, ever, EVER let them manipulate your neck. Chiropractic spinal manipulation of the neck can lead to severing the arteries in your neck, causing a stroke. This HAS killed people, and as long as chiropractors keep doing it, it will kill more people.

Fuck - and I cannot emphasize this enough - chiropractic.

[anonymous-dentist]

Despite what Apa Roier says, Pepito knows a great many things about the world.

Like:

The Ocean is big. It's where Pepito and Apa Roier and all the other Pepitos live, but there's still room for SO MANY other Pepitos!!

Pepito's gills don't work right all the time, so Apa Roier and Pepito's other dads all have to swim slowly so they don't lose him. This is called "asthma", and Pepito is probably gonna grow out of it soon!

Water Pepitos live in The Ocean. Sky Pepitos live outside of The Ocean. Pepito hasn't ever seen a Sky Pepito before, but Apa Roier has, and he says that Sky Pepitos are all ugly and they smell bad.

Apa Roier will return Pepito to the bottom of the ocean and get a new Pepito if Pepito isn't a good Pepito.

Pepito knows that last thing very well. He pretends that he doesn't because it makes Apa Roier said every time Pepito mentions being traded in for a new Pepito, but it's true. It has to be! Apa Roier and Apa Mariana both say it, and they're never wrong!

So, when Pepito does the Very Bad Thing, he doesn't wait for Apa Roier to find out. He swims himself to the bottom of the sea, and he curls into a ball, and he pulls his glasses off so he can cry without getting them all gross, and then he cries.

There's blood under Pepito's claws; he can't get it out no matter how hard he scrubs at them with the sand, it won't come out and that just shows how evil Pepito is, because Pepito is a bad Pepito and now Pepito may as well just die. Apa Roier will get a new Pepito, and they'll be much happier together because that Pepito won't be a monster like Pepito is.

The bottom of the ocean is silent, because the only people who live there are lost little mermaids (like how Pepito and Sunny and Empi all used to be) and bad people. Bad Pepitos, just like Pepito is now.

The worst of the bunch is the Sea Witch, known for his eight long scary tentacles and his glowing white eyes and his evil magic. Apa Roier says that the Sea Witch eats lost little Pepitos, and Pepito believes him, because Apa Roier is always right.

Pepito sniffles and rolls onto his back, staring blindly up at the sun rippling above. It's blurry, and its light barely reaches the bottom of the ocean, but it's pretty. It looks... warm. And Pepito is very, very cold.

Normally when the water is a bit too cold, one of Pepito's dads or Ama Rivers will take Pepito into their arms and hold him real tight until he's warmed up. He always treats it like a hug even if Apa Roier doesn't usually hug back, but that's fine because all the others hug back.

("He's a good boy," Apa Roier says. He glares over Pepito's shoulder at Luzu. "Not a killer. Can you get that through your skull, hmm?")

Pepito's lip wobbles and he covers his eyes with his hands before he gets any bright ideas. He doesn't deserve bright ideas, he's a villain. He doesn't deserve the sun, he doesn't deserve to be a son. He's no better than a... than a... than a pirate!!

Pirates are evil, Apa Roier says so. He met a pirate once when he visited the Sky, and he says that he never wants to see a pirate again. They stink and their teeth are rotten and their nails are blunt and they don't even have tails. All they do is kill and steal and fight and they're horrible- villains!

Maybe that's where Pepito belongs, with the pirates, not in The Ocean. He deserves to have stinky breath and bad teeth and whatever the heck "legs" are (Pepito doesn't know, but Apa Quackity always starts laughing when he describes them, so they have to be stupid.)

The Ocean is where all the Good Pepitos live. Pepito isn't a Good Pepito anymore, so he needs to leave.

There's only one person who can make Pepito into a Sky Pepito, and he lives at the bottom of the ocean.

Pepito whimpers at the thought, but he quickly wipes his eyes and sets his jaw into a firm, determined expression. He slips his glasses back on, and he pushes off of the ocean floor and goes in search of the Sea Witch.

It's what he deserves.

-

The Sea Witch isn't too happy to see Pepito, but he lets Pepito into his house and sits Pepito down with a plate of fish on his couch, and he listens.

With a frown on his scary face, the Sea Witch asks, "Okay, but what did you actually do?"

Pepito's eyes start watering at the thought, but he answers anyway, because he has to if he wants the Sea Witch to help him.

"I... I did a Very Bad Thing," he whispers, curling in on himself. He wipes at his eyes and looks away to the side. "If I don't become a pirate, then I'll have to go to jail down here, and I don't wanna go to jail, Mister The Sea Witch. Pepitos aren't meant for jail."

"Pepitos aren't meant to be pirates, either. You're a good kid! What happened?"

Pepito just shakes his head in response. He's crying again, but that's fine. Apa Roier always cries, and nobody ever notices, so the Sea Witch probably hasn't noticed Pepito's tears. Maybe he's blind? He doesn't have any eye holes in his eyes (what are they called, pupils?)

There's quiet, but eventually the Sea Witch lets out a long sigh and nods.

"Fine," he says. "But-" (He cuts Pepito off as Pepito snaps his head up and starts thanking him.) "-I get to pick the pirate crew you go with. I know a bunch of pirates, I'll find a super evil one for you to go with."

That sounds... scary. But Pepito has to be a Brave Pepito. If he says no, then the Sea Witch might eat him, and Pepito doesn't wanna die. Pepito just wants to live in misery agonizing over his mistake for the rest of his unholy, evil life. That's all.

So Pepito nods and reaches out to hug the Sea Witch (it's how Pepito thanks his parents at home, and they like it well enough.)

The Sea Witch hums and hugs Pepito back. "There, there. It'll all be fine, Pepito. This big, scary pirate is going to take good care of you, I promise."

And that sounds scary, but it's fine! Pepito is brave!!

A moment passes, and then the Sea Witch pulls out of the hug and leaves to go get his spell ingredients.

Pepito sits on the couch, and he closes his eyes, and he imagines feeling the sun for the first time in his life, and he pretends that he doesn't already have a big hole in his heart from leaving his parents.

(But, really, they were going to leave him if he didn't leave them. So it's fine.)

-

(Meanwhile, Roier gets home from visiting Bobby's grave to find an empty house. He, of course, panics. Mariana and Quackity are both on vacation, and Rivers is across the reef sparring with Fit, and gods only know where Carre is, and Pepito literally doesn't go anywhere without one of his parents so. So.

Roier's halfway through searching the house when the entire reef shakes. He dashes to a window and looks out just in time to watch a huge column of light erupt from the drop-off point to the bottom of the sea.

He swears and grabs his bag and rushes out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

Fucking BadBoy...!)

-

The sun is warm. Pepito thinks he loves it, and he thinks it loves him back with how much sunlight is on him as he and the Sea Witch walk through the Sky Pepito town.

It's a shame he can't say as much. His throat hurts, but it isn't from asthma this time. It's from magic.

"Remember, Pepito, you can't talk when you're on land," the Sea Witch reminds him. "I got you legs and lungs, but you had to give me something in return."

A pause.

"If your dad asks, it was your idea. Not mine. I had nothing to do with this."

Pepito nods, duh.

The Sky Pepito Town is huge, though! So many Pepitos, all wearing different outfits and with legs.

Pepito looks down at his own legs thoughtfully. He doesn't know what to think of them quite yet. They look goofy, but he almost likes them better than he likes his tail.

...Liked his tail. Because he can never go in The Ocean again. If he does, then the magic will run out, and he'll have to go home and watch his parents all interact with the new Pepito they'll have gotten while he was away.

But the buildings in the Sky are so tall! They're taller than even Apa Mariana, and he's HUGE!! And all the Sky Pepitos are tall, too! Taller than Pepito, anyway...

Maybe Pepito would be taller if he got shoes. The Sea Witch had managed to magic up some clothes for him before they got into town, but apparently shoes are hard.

Pepito wiggles his toes as he walks. He smiles. Now these? Really silly.

Pepito walks obediently beside the Sea Witch as the Sea Witch leads him through the town's winding streets towards the docks, which is where the pirates live. Supposedly.

"Now, remember, this guy is super evil," the Sea Witch warns him. "So you need to watch out."

Pepito nods, though he only halfway listens as the Sea Witch continues talking about this super scary pirate captain they're going to. Because, really, how much worse can the pirate captain be than Pepito? It's not like he did the Very Bad Thing.

Pepito isn't paying attention, so he doesn't notice the enormous ship in front of him until he's being led up to a bridge leading up to its... roof?

(What are the parts of a boat, again?)

"Cellbit!" the Sea Witch calls, one hand cupped around his mouth. "I have a present for you!"

Pepito winces at the volume, but he doesn't cover his ears. That would be rude, and he needs to make a good first impression if he wants to show how evil he is to the captain.

Pepito watches the ship's roof until he sees a sign of movement. And then... there he is. The pirate captain, the evil one. Captain Celbi.

According to the Sea Witch, Captain Celbi is the most wanted pirate on the seven seas. The Sea Witch says that Captain Celbi eats people, but he didn't say that Captain Celbi murders them, so maybe he isn't that evil after all. Pepito's probably worse than he is.

Captain Celbi looks small when he's on the roof, but he gets bigger and bigger as he walks down the bridge, and then he's huge when he's standing in front of Pepito with his hands on his hips.

He has a sword, is the first thing that Pepito notices. Second is the scar stretching across his face from his left eyebrow down to the right side of his chin. His hair is long, tied back and hidden under a bit, three-pointed hat; but where are his ears? His eyes are so blue that they remind Pepito of The Ocean.

He looks down at Pepito with his mouth twisted into a worried line.

Pepito tries to look intimidating. He puffs his chest out and stands up tall and furrows his eyebrows the way Ama Rivers does before one of her fights.

Captain Celbi looks to the Sea Witch with a couple of rapid, confused blinks.

"Bad," he says, "what the fudge is this?"

Pepito can't introduce himself, so he just waves. Evilly.

The Sea Witch answers for him, how nice!

"This is Pepito," he says, putting a hand on the top of Pepito's head. "He said that he wants to become a pirate."

Pepito nods.

Captain Celbi blinks again before looking back down at Pepito.

Slowly, the captain crouches in front of him, hands on his knees to brace himself.

"You really want to be a pirate?" he asks.

Pepito nods again, firmly. Evilly. He's evil, just like Captain Celbi is.

"It's very dangerous," the captain continues. "Can you handle that?"

Pepito nods a third time. He squeezes his mouth into a determined line. He's got this.

The captain stares at him, and then he stands and grabs the Sea Witch by the arm and says, "Bad, can we talk?"

The Sea Witch doesn't get a chance to argue before getting dragged away and into the crowd.

Pepito watches them go. There's... a lot of people.

A lot of people.

Who knew there were so many Sky Pepitos!?

Pepito steps backwards until his back is against a tall barrel. He looks down at his hands and immediately tears his eyes away from them because there's still blood under his nails even now that his claws have been dulled into weird beige flat things.

Suddenly, and for whatever reason, Pepito misses Apa Roier. He's good with people. He'd be friends with the entire town by now, because he's a good person. Pepito isn't, though. His only friends are going to be the pirates on Captain Celbit's boat.

Yay.

Eventually, Captain Celbi and the Sea Witch come back.

Captain Celbi looks... less confused, but he still looks a little puzzled. He looks at Pepito like he's the puzzle, which is silly. Pepito's Pepito! Nothing crazy about him.

The Sea Witch, though, looks pleased. He bends down and ruffles Pepito's hair briefly before standing and cracking his back with a wince.

"Welp, I'll be on my way. Pepito," he says, looking Pepito in the eye, "take care of Cellbit for me. He might be a super evil pirate, but he can be a bit silly sometimes."

"Hey!" Captain Celbi protests, lightly smacking the Sea Witch's arm. "Fuck you, man!"

"Language!" the Sea Witch snaps.

Pepito giggles, surprising both himself and the Sea Witch. Huh, guess the magic only took away his voice, not his noise.

Captain Celbi's mouth twitches. He blinks slowly, crouching again and extending a hand.

"Pepito, right?" he softly asks.

At Pepito's nod, Captain Celbi continues, louder, "After you shake my hand, you'll officially be part of my crew. There's no going back, okay?"

Briefly, Pepito considers going back home. He never said goodbye; his parents would've said goodbye before abandoning him for a new Pepito, at least.

But he bites his tongue and takes Captain Celbi's hand, anyway. His hand only manages to hold four of Captain Celbi's fingers, but that's fine. Pepito will be a big Pepito soon.

Captain Celbi nods, and he stands.

He looks at the Sea Witch and says, "Tell Foolish I say hi, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." The Sea Witch nods. He glances down at Pepito. "Be careful, okay?"

"Please," Captain Celbi scoffs. "I'm always careful."

The Sea Witch rolls his eyes, and then Pepito blinks his eyes, and then the Sea Witch is gone.

"What a creepy guy," Captain Celbi comments.

He looks down at Pepito and smiles- he has fangs, what!? So cool...

"Come on, Pepito, we should get on board before my crew leaves us behind."

Pepito's eyes widen in panic, and he runs off for the bridge up to the ship's roof, accidentally pulling Captain Celbi behind him because maybe Pepito forgot to let go of his hand. Maybe.

But Captain Celbi doesn't say a thing. He doesn't pull his hand away, either. (He has to be soooo scared of Pepito!)

Pepito gets to the ship's roof and gasps, eyes flicking from the ship's big stick to the big wheel to the group of people watching Pepito and Captain Celbi back to the big stick.

There's another kid in the group of people, Pepito notices. He's glaring, arms crossed.

Pepito shrinks back and steps behind Captain Celbi; he may be evil, but this other kid seems scary. Cool, but scary.

"Everyone, meet Pepito," the captain announces. He's still holding Pepito's hand despite the stares, wow, he's tough! "Bad brought him up from underwater so he can learn how to be a pirate."

A woman in the group raises a hand. "Are we pirates now?"

Captain Celbi shrugs. "I guess. Can't be that hard, can it?"

What?

Pepito snaps his head up to stare at the captain in shock. What?

But...

Oh! They're lying. Just like Apa Roier said pirates do, they're all scumbags and liars!

That makes much more sense.

Pepito pokes his head out from behind Captain Celbi and offers the most evil smile he can muster. He even waves, evilly; to his confusion, most of the other pirates smile back. Except the kid, who huffs and looks away moodily.

(Captain Celbi is the captain, but this kid must be the boss. Hmm...)

"Baghera, can you help Pepito find a bunk downstairs?" Captain Celbi orders. "I need to finish taking inventory with Pac before we can get going."

The woman who had spoken up earlier grins and salutes, stepping forward and taking Pepito by the hand.

"Come on, Pepito," she says. "You can sleep near me. Unlike some people, I don't snore."

The captain starts shouting in protest, but Baghera just giggles and skips away with Pepito by her side.

As they head down into the bowels of the ship, Pepito takes one last look up at the sun. He waves goodbye to it.

(He just wishes that he got to say goodbye to Apa Roier...)

-

(Meanwhile, Bad hums as he tends to his plants in his garden. He's just returned from dropping Pepito off with Cellbit, and he's exhausted.

He doesn't look up as a shadow falls over him.

"What the fudge did you do to my Pepito?" Roier demands.

He levels his sword at Bad's Adam's apple; its point digs in slightly, drawing sickly green blood.

Bad calmly pulls his neck backwards.

"Look up," is all Bad says in response.

And that's when the shadow of Cellbit's ship passes over them. They'll have been sailing for, what, an hour now? Just long enough for Pepito to have gotten settled in. (Hopefully, Richarlyson hasn't gotten jealous yet...)

"Fuck," Roier swears. He drops his sword into the sand and runs his fingers through his hair, pacing through the water in frustration.

In a flash, he turns back to Bad and demands, "Me, too. Take me up, too."

Bad hums. "I don't know, you'll have to give something up."

"Yes, yes, I know, just- take this."

Roier points to his bottom-most pair of eyes. (Honestly, Bad hasn't figured out what the heck kind of fish he is.) Without those, he'll be down to two eyes, and he'll basically be blind.

Eh, it'll work.

"Oh, fine," Bad sighs. He gives Roier a look. "But we'll have to wait until they make port again. I can't just stick you up there like this, it'll scare him."

Roier frowns. "What?"

That settles Bad's suspicions, then. Roier really doesn't know what Pepito did, huh.

Well. He's going to find out.

Bad just hopes Roier doesn't scare the poor kid when he gets to the surface and realizes that Pepito's new best friend is Cellbit of all people. All those feelings, ew.)

-_-_-_-

A/N:

Hey guys!! PLEASE reblog this! And leave an ask or a comment or a tag or a whatever telling me your thoughts and questions! Let me know if you want more, because there is more!

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Love Sucks II. The Interrogation

Vampire!Steve Harrington x fem!reader He’s just a gloomy, little guy.

The Masterlist 🩸

You scolded Eddie and Dustin immediately. 

But Steve didn’t seem to mind, shrugging in that tired way that he did as he wandered off into the corner of the Wheeler’s kitchen with them. They’d set up an awful interpretation of what you deemed to be an interview room, the dining table pushed into the darker space where the light from the window didn’t reach, Nancy’s old desk lamp plugged in beside the microwave, the bulb shining harshly at the empty seat Steve was told to sit in. 

He blinked as he did, tired eyes aggravated by the brightness but he just squinted and slumped in the chair, looking over at you with that longing way he did. You held up a coffee cup at him in question, smiling. He nodded, pleased. 

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Eddie began as the rest of the party milled around aimlessly. 

Some were listening, others were bickering about what to watch on TV. Nancy was making popcorn and Robin was already asleep in the armchair beside Max. 

Steve nodded, knowing it was only a matter of time before he got the big brotherly talk from Eddie about you. He readied himself for the questions about his interest in you, his intentions, how he planned to keep you safe from— 

“Can you turn into a bat?” Dustin asked instead. 

Steve frowned, confused. 

“Dustin!” You scolded the younger boy from across the kitchen, teaspoon clattering into the mug, coffee grains spilling on Mrs Wheeler’s countertop. “What the hell?”

“What?” Dustin yelled back, arms held out in question. “It’s a serious question!”

Eddie was grinning, wide and a little manic, looking from Steve to you and back again. “Well?” He asked the boy. 

“This is so rude. You cannot be for real, Eddie.” You went ignored, eye roll and all. 

“Um, no?” Steve answered, squinting at the two through the light they were intent on keeping aimed at him.  

“You sound unsure,” Eddie countered, dubious. He wasn’t allowed to smoke in the Wheeler’s house so he was chewing on the end of a bubblegum pink straw instead. He waved it at your boyfriend, suspicious. “Is that because you haven’t tried or aren’t allowed to say?”

Steve looked at you for help. “Why wouldn’t I be allowed to say?” He replied weakly, visibly concerned and confused. 

Dustin shrugged before leaning across the table, bright eyed and grinning toothily. “Vampire overlord, maybe?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. You were still making coffee, too far out of reach for him to hold your hand. Steve loved holding your hand, you were so much softer and warmer than him and sometimes you painted your fingernails a really pretty colour— someone cleared their throat. “Uh, I don’t think I’ve met him yet…”

Eddie and Dustin reacted immediately to this answer, heads bent and producing a notebook from seemingly nowhere, scribbling down notes in chicken scratch handwriting about their ‘findings.’ 

“… does he live around here?” Steve tried once more. “Is he my boss? Am I going to get in trouble?”

You soothed him with a hand over his hair, appearing at his back to place down his coffee in front of him, black and unsweetened in a mug as big as a soup bowl.. “Sorry, baby,” you offered, shaking your head at your two friends. 

Steve loved it when you called him baby. 

It went on like that for a while, Ghostbusters playing in the living room while Eddie and Dustin kept Steve at the table under the spotlight, drilling him about things you could only shake your head at. 

“Can you fly?”

“No.” 

More notes written, a worrying sentence jotting down about taking Steve somewhere high for experimentation. 

“Can you run fast?”

“Uh, I have asthma…”

“What about jumping? Can you jump onto the roof?”

“I haven’t like, you know,, tried. Heights are scary.”

Sighs, heavy and disappointed, came from the kitchen. Steve was pouting, arms crossed. 

“Can you read minds?”

“No.”

A brief pause, and then Dustin whispered to Eddie,  eyes narrowed and still on Steve: “he’s lying.”

“I’m not!”

“Can you turn invisible?” 

“No.”

“Do you sleep in a coffin?”

“What? No?”

Eddie paused, studying Steve. “Unconvinced,” he concluded. “Further investigation required.”

“How come you can come out in the daylight?”

“I don’t know, but that lamp is super bright, guys..”

Stumped, Dustin and Eddie finally relented. Ghostbusters was just finishing, the rest of the kids tired from too much sugar and arguing about who the best team member was. 

“So you’re just a really shitty vampire, huh?” Eddie asked, his nose scrunched and sounding unaffected.

“Kinda boring, actually,” Dustin agreed. 

They were both staring at Steve with a little disappointment, like two kids who’d finally found out Santa Claus wasn’t real. They sighed again and got up, raiding the Wheeler’s pantry for snacks while they left behind a sad and insecure vampire. 

You scowled at the boys as you passed, punching Eddie on the arm a little harder than what would be considered good natured. You nudged your way between Steve and the table, folding yourself onto his lap and into his arms. He wound himself around you immediately, grumbling softly into the crook of your neck about bats and powers and being a poor excuse for a cryptid. 

Later, over dinner, you stole Eddie’s last slice of pizza and scolded him for giving your boyfriend a vampire complex. 

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

it's really frustrating to see people buying into arbitrary and incorrect divisions between "mental" and "physical" disabilities to describe the very real ableist aggression and disparity in social privilege that is better described by the ability to conform to abled hegemony

like... yes, there is a very real phenomenon of the adhd tiktokker with perfect makeup reacting with disgust towards the wheelchair user in their space

this is because that adhd tiktokker is able to fit into normative abled hegemony. their symptoms do not, currently, present as a significant barrier to engaging in abled hegemony to the extent that they exist entirely outside of it and therefore have to question its very roots. they are still able to be seen as productive, attractive, and therefore socially valuable under abled hegemony, and so they find value and utility in that hegemony and are able to use it to punch down on other disabled people who cannot.

this is still true even if their adhd manifests as what many refer to as a "physical disability" (for example, it's not uncommon for adhd to manifest with invisible breathing and heart problems, which i'm not going to get into the methodology behind here because it'd be derailing). i've encountered scores of people with what would generally be classed as "physical disabilities" who exist in this space--asthma, joint hypermobility disorders, chronic pain, limb replacements, hearing disorders--i have seen people whose "physical" disorders do not disqualify them entirely from acceptance into abled hegemony, time and time again, enact violence on people who are incapable of conforming to abled hegemony. i see this in the "spoonie" and "zebra" communities, i see it in "chronic illness" spaces that accept capitalist class interests and breed liberalism.

equally, i've encountered scores of people labeled as solely "mentally ill" or "mentally disabled" who experience the kind of disenfranchisement that is associated with "physical disability" separatism right now--people with ID and autism who are nonverbal/use AAC or who experience severe mobility issues causing them to use mobility aids for purely "mental" reasons, for example. people who tic visibly/audibly in ways that subject them to social violence. schizophrenics who are subject to physical violence simply because of their body language, even if they don't interact with anyone at all. people who uncontrollably faint at certain stimuli due to panic disorders and face public access barriers as a result.

there's a pattern being picked up on, in that what we classify as "physical" symptoms tend to actually be visible symptoms, and what we classify as "mental" symptoms tend to be invisible symptoms. but that is a false and arbitrary dividing line; there isn't a hard and fast line between the brain and the body. as with the sex binary, classifying something into two dialectic categories extremely rarely works as anything other than a thought exercise.

broadly speaking, the more publicly visible your disabled traits are, the less you're able to fit into normative abled hegemony; broadly speaking, the disabled people who enact oppression on other disabled people via utilizing abled hegemonic ideals tend to have more invisible disabled traits. but that doesn't sort into a clean physical/mental divide, because that method of sorting bodymind traits is outdated and unscientific.

[sleepyhutcherson]

while we were getting high

“how many special people change? how many lives are living strange? where were you while we were getting high?” — ‘champagne supernova’ by oasis.

pairing: clapton davis x gn!reader

word count: 1.1k words

summary: where clapton and you get high almost every weekend except this time some words are exchanged.

tags: fluff, smoking, underage smoking, marijuana use (not mentioned though), honestly the smoking part isn’t really in detail but they’re high, best friends to lovers, oasis being praised and blur hate (i do not condone!), use of y/n, feelings being confessed sort of?

author’s note: i should be working on requests but i really had to urge to write for clapton since there is barely any content for him. why am i writing a fic about smoking when i have asthma. there’s brief discussion/debate about which of two bands are better (the bands being oasis and blur) but is that worth tw? like i feel like some people (by what ive seen) can take that stuff really seriously but i really don’t mean any hate towards oasis nor especially blur, i simply think that clapton would definitely be the type of guy to get into a debate over bands, or which band is better in this case, but don’t take anything seriously!

Your focus is not on Clapton’s rambling, instead you’re drawn to the familiar glow in the dark stars that stick to his ceiling within the many band posters he stuck up there. You’ve counted these stars several times before as this wasn’t your first time getting high in his bedroom.

You groan when you hear the same song start again from Clapton’s Ipod. He was the type of person that would obsess over a song and play it nonstop until he grew tired of it. His latest victim: ‘Champagne Supernova’ by Oasis. You don’t know how he hasn’t grown tired of listening to it on repeat, I mean, you have already! “Do we really have to listen to it again?” You whine, shifting around uncomfortably in his twin sized bed. The two of you were pressed up against each other, it was incredibly uncomfortable and yet you both always ended up in his bed for some reason.

A dumb smile curls up on his lips that you manage to catch briefly before returning your gaze back at his stupid ceiling. You don’t know why your heart quickens but you blame it on the amount of weed you smoked. I mean, it was probably that. “Yes, come on, Y/N, this is music! Real music.”

“‘Real music’?” You question, only to piss him off. A part of you liked seeing him angry, honestly. And you knew just how to push his buttons.

“Yeah. Unless you can name a better band.” Clapton challenges with an arrogant voice.

You could name so many other bands that have had a better discography than Oasis but you choose to name the band that you knew would rile him up. With a grin on your lips now you answer with what he would consider the worst band to name in this scenario.

“Blur.”

The words strike Clapton. Maybe he was being dramatic but honestly he found your choice offensive. He props himself on his elbows, no longer laying down completely. His face is scrunched up with slight disgust and confusion, an expression that resembles a child who’s just had a taste of a lime. “Blur?” He says with disgust in the word.

“Yeah,” you reply with a calm attitude. “They’re pretty good.” You continue to look up at the ceiling but Christ would you love to see the look on his face. “Better than Oasis.” You add for good measure.

You don’t know what reaction you expected from him, or well you did. You figured he would go on a long rant you wouldn’t be able to escape about how Oasis was in fact better than Blur. You did not, however, expect him to get on top of you, it’s so swift and sudden that you don’t even know how to respond. He pins your hands on either side of your head, your eyes now meeting his dark, mischievous eyes. Was he…grinning?!

Now you’re confused.

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he teases, his body pressed up against yours. This is…not good. It feels good, sure, but Clapton was on top of you. Clapton, your best friend who you’ve known since grade seven. “We both know you’re just saying that to get a reaction from me.”

His hands grip onto your wrist, holding you in place. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe you just liked how he held you down. “Am I?” You play along, acting dumb.

His grin only deepens, his eyes frantically flickering from your eyes to your lips, your own eyes glued to his pretty pink lips. Fuck this wasn’t good. “You are,” his voice is deep now, a tease in his tone.

Before you know it, he’s inching closer to you. His fucking grin mocking you. “Clapton, we—“ shouldn’t, you think about saying but fuck, fuck, fuck his lips were grazing the skin of your neck now, his warm breath tickling you a bit. And that stupid song was still playing!

His thumb softly traces circles around one of your wrist. A part of you wishes your hands weren’t restrained down so you could tangle one in his hair. “We what?” He asks, his breath hitting your delicate skin.

“We—“ you can’t even finish. He doesn’t let you, his lips gently pressing a soft kiss against your neck, one that makes you tense up. Such an innocent kiss and yet that locked you. He continues to pepper gentle kisses on your neck, it’s so pure and sweet, especially when you feel his smile in each kiss.

“I’ve wanted this for so long now,” he admits before continuing to kiss your neck, his thumb continuing to trace around your wrists.

“You have?” You ask. A part of you thinks about telling him that you’ve secretly wanted this too for a bit now.

He stops to look at you now, his cocky grin replaced by a gentle smile. He nods with such a soft expression on his face. “Mm-hmm. I thought about what it would be like to kiss you every day, even while we were getting high.”

A crimson colour tints your cheeks. Clapton smiles more at that. God, you look so lovely now: flustered and underneath him, his hands wrapped around your wrists, your eyes boring into his. He would gladly count every eyelash, memorise every colour that paints your eyes.

“You’re high.” You giggle trying to play it off, though you don’t try to move away. Not that you could due to how he was holding you down.

“Yeah, you are too,” he says with a soft chuckle. His eyes don’t leave yours, he desperately wants to hold your gaze for as long as he can, honestly. “But even when I’m not high I still adore you.”

Fuck.

Your eyes widen a little, your mouth slightly hanging open due to his words. Clapton grins at that and before you can say anything else, he leans down to kiss you. Your lips move with his, not resisting his lips. You honestly don’t think you’d be capable of resisting him after all of this.

One of his hands laces with yours, the other still pinning you against the mattress. He continues to kiss you and he really doesn’t want to stop. He’s desperately craved this for so long now. He smiles in the kiss then, realising he has the privilege of kissing you.

His smile felt so great against your lips.

After some time you both pull away, a huge dumb smile on Clapton’s face that makes you smile at how adorable he looks. He plops down, laying his head against your chest, wanting to be near you for longer. You don’t even have to kiss, you really don’t have to do anything but be close to him. That’s really all he wants. All he’s ever wanted from you.

taglist: @cancelledkaley @stanheights-boyfriend @ploty-twist @jhutch-bf @laurrrelise @joshfutturman @gryffindorsblog @sofiehutch @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @helen-on-earth @fallingboba @cassiecasluciluce @maticka @jhutchissupercool ♡︎

[sovksluv]

LOVE IN CHAOS - chapter 1 all by yourself, sitting alone

☠︎︎ . pairing - Clarisse La Rue x fem!Nemesis!oc! Alora Blanie

☠︎︎ . summary - twelve years had been wasted -- and Alora knew that her opportunity window of freedom was closing quickly, so she mustered up all her courage, and finally escaped.

☠︎︎ . includes - sobbing/intense crying, nightmares, trouble breathing/unknown asthma attack, running away from home, oc is specified as a mixed black and hispanic girl with a name !!

☠︎︎ . word count - 3147

☠︎︎ . series taglist - @curlymeme

☠︎︎ . pjo taglist - @perseus-jackass @niktwazny303 @st4rzl7

☠︎︎ . now playing - Not Allowed by Tv Girl

☠︎︎ . a/n - thank you to @curlymeme for the oc creation ! she gets just as much credit for this as me 💋 ALSO, SO EXCITED FOR THIS BTW, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT !!!!!

☠︎︎ . series masterlist

on the outside, her house was bright, standing tall, polished clean with rushed ferocity. perfectly placed bundles of flowers littering the yard, redolent with a fragrance typically only found in expensive perfumes. sat by the front door was a generic mat which mockingly read the word ‘Welcome!’ on it, with decorative cursive letters and a big red heart as the dot of the exclamation mark. the inside was supposed to match the outside. identically polished walls and fake plants that mirrored what passersby could notice from a mile away. 

that, however, was not true. things didn't always look the same on the inside as they did on the outside. the almost-too-perfectly held-up front served one purpose and served it well. to deceive. it’s not wrong to assume that a home so perfect was inhabited by a family just as perfect as its residence. so, people find it hard to believe her when the pristine little “rich” girl has something else to say about it. 

she didn’t want to speak against the judgment, having the basic knowledge that living in a comfortable house with two working parents was supposedly considered lucky. it would seem ungrateful to complain. how could she complain when she knew others weren’t as fortunate as her? kids even younger than her constantly wondered when and where their next meal would be, but not her.

her house sat tall, all the way at the top of the hill, towering over the rest of the neighborhood. there was an eerie stillness that was always washed upon the house. it was inescapable, a labyrinth of ear-ringing silence, with the not-so-occasional muffled arguments from behind her parent’s bedroom door. she didn't want to live her life surrounded by the quiet, but the yelling from the two people who were supposed to love each other were sounds she wanted to dispute.

Alora sat idly in her room, not making any noise so she could hear her arguing parents who had moved from their room, travelling through the hallway and quieting as they moved down the stairs. she never understood why they continued to stay together, especially since they argued more than they spoke. most of the time they argued about her. about how she continuously acted out, with no “real” reasons for her rebellions. her stepmother wanted to send her away to some boarding school, attempting to convince Alora’s father that it would fix her.

to be honest, the constant complaining from her stepmother had begun to grow on her father, he was considering sending Alora away to whatever school was the cheapest and the furthest. that’s why Alora had shot up the second she heard their footsteps echo downstairs. she hastily packed one small backpack full of her necessities. it was only a few hours before dark and she had to wait until her parents were far enough that they wouldn’t hear her quick movements. 

Alora knew that eventually her father would give into her stepmother’s endless whining and send her away so she had to take matters into her own hands. she was going to run away tonight. no ideas or plans, just anywhere from her evil stepmother and that unknown school she wanted to send her to. Alora would rather be anywhere than there. she wanted to leave on her terms, not because she was sent away. 

she packed lightly, having no clue where she was going or how long she’d be out. she took a few hair things, basic toiletries, and two outfits, deciding to have a three-switch-outfit routine. her bag also held the money she’d saved over the years, a Polaroid camera, a notebook with pens, and snacks and water that she snuck from the kitchen hours prior when her parents were too busy arguing to hear her. on the outside, it seemed like she was ready, but deep down, she was terrified. she had no idea what she was going to do, or how she was going to do it, but she knew there was nothing else she could’ve done. tonight was her only chance to escape.

uncomfortable silence rang through the house, and Alora paid no mind to it, then paused. it was too quiet. she didn’t hear any yelling, stomping, or door slamming. pausing her packing, she tiptoed to her door, putting her ear up to it, attempting to hear anything at all. it was still quiet for a few moments before she heard angry footsteps up the stairs. panic exploded through her entire body as she rushed to her bag, flinging it under her bed and straightening herself just as her bedroom door fell open. 

it was her father, who had collected himself almost as soon as her door was opened. he calmly walked into her room and closed the door behind him, he sat on the end of her neatly made bed, signaling her next to him. Alora didn’t listen, crossing her arms with a knowing look on her face. “don’t let her send me away, Dad. i’m your daughter!” her father sighed, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. she knew her words wouldn’t change anything. he already made up his mind. he’d always pick his beloved wife over his only daughter, the daughter who didn’t need to be sent away, but rather needed help.

“Lora-” 

Alora scoffed, “no, Dad! you always listen to her, and never listen to me! she hates me! all she wants to do is get rid of me, and she can only do that if she convinces you to do it too.” her father stood up angrily from his spot on her bed, taking a stomped-step towards her, prompting her to take an equal step back. you could see her stepmother standing behind him, leaning on your doorframe with a cocky smirk on her face. she was finally going to get what she wanted. “don’t talk about your mother like that, Alora!” he yelled at her, pointing his finger up at her face.

“she’s. not. my. mother.”

her father’s face went red with anger as he stomped out of her bedroom, her stepmother having already left, assuming Alora’s defeat. the door slammed behind him, leaving the walls around it shaking. fury bubbled deep in her stomach, leaving a dark pit inside both her heart and her soul. she was angry and her face showed it, but her actions didn’t. assuming she’d be on her way to the boarding school by morning, Alora moved quickly, perfecting every single plan she had for escaping.

sat uncomfortably on her bed, door locked, window open, and leg shaking, Alora waited. she’d be leaving any time now, just waiting for when she knew both her parents would be sleeping, unaware of the plans she was about to pursue. nerves had crept up into her stomach, having no idea what she was getting herself into. it was too late to change her mind since it was either that God forsaken boarding school or life on her own. 

she tried to convince herself that her dad could change. maybe if she begged hard enough he’d give in. maybe she’d have him remembering that that was his daughter he was throwing out, his only daughter, the daughter he was supposed to protect, through and through. nothing could change his mind. he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to her, her effervescent personality withering away over the years as she grew older. she assumed his deep but hushed hatred for her came from the abandonment of her real mother. her birth mother.

the whole reason for Alora running away was because of her father's relentlessness, his refusal to change his mind. though he was silent, he never failed to show in his face and actions the gaping hole of resentment he felt. even if he disliked her mother, he still told Alora about her. she was no stranger to the fact that her mother was a Goddess. the Goddess of justice and revenge; Nemesis. so she was aware of her lineage, which led her to believe that’s where some of her father's disapproval of her came from.

time was nearing midnight. Alora knew she should’ve felt tired, on the brink of sleep, but she was far from it. anticipation of her next moves kept her wide awake and alert. the silence of her house and her unknowing parents let her know it was time to go. she wondered if they’d go looking for her when they found she was gone. probably not, since they were going to send her away anyway. her father would probably want to look, or at least file a missing person’s report, but with her stepmother here, Alora was sure she’d find some way to convince her father otherwise.

it was a few minutes after the stroke of midnight, and Alora was hastily tying up her shoes and slipping on her warmest sweatshirt. it wasn’t winter yet, but the autumn nights tended to be cold either way, which sucked since that’s when she planned on leaving. with her bag slung over both shoulders and her bedroom lights shut off, she climbed out of her window and onto the roof

kept right in front of it, shutting the window behind her. one of her father’s ladders was previously set up right under her window, which she used to get down from the roof. she felt the chilly autumn wind run through her hair, sending chills and nerves down her spine. her hands felt sweaty and clammy as she climbed down, despite the almost-freezing air surrounding her. as soon as her Converse-clad feet touched the ground, Alora was gone, immediately running into the dark, creepy woods that sat behind her house, not once looking back. failing to notice the flick of a bedroom light going on, right where her parents slept.

it was so cold out, and Alora had no idea how long she had been running. she never stopped running. literally. not stopping to walk or jog, just constant running, without any breaks, wanting to get as far from her home as possible, filled to the brim with the fear of getting caught. one thing she knew, though, was that she was out of her home state of New Jersey and past the state line into New York. it wasn’t far, considering she lived right on the edge of New Jersey, but at least it ensured she wouldn’t be found easily. her parents would probably assume she was somewhere in their local town.

light hadn’t begun to shine yet, but she assumed it would soon, so she slowed down, deeming it safe enough to finally take a break. she was panting, desperate to catch her breath. there was a sign she noticed a few miles back, listing the upcoming gas stations and motels, which she planned on finding and staying in. money wasn’t a problem for her, as she had spent the last six years of her life saving all her birthday, Christmas, couch, and even street money. 

up ahead were the bright shining lights of a somewhat nicely-looking motel. staying there all alone made her nervous, but she had to. she had to get away from the prison that was called her home. she entered the motel check-in building with caution, purchasing a room for one night. as soon as she was in her temporary room, the door locked and lights off, with her head comfortably laying on the pillow, the way she quickly fell into a deep sleep was like she blacked out the second she was in bed.

the bright, screeching laughs of a young girl echoed around, bouncing off the dark walls of her mind. flashes of light blinked around her as she stood, slumped in the middle of a strange room. the little girl’s giggles danced delicately with those of another girl as they skipped around her, hand in hand. it was foggy and blurry around the gloomy teenager. the warm haze of the area around her was unfamiliar, it stirred the war deep within your consciousness. 

things seemed off, however, but whatever it was, was so subtle that she had trouble figuring out what it was, figuring out what was right from wrong. her laughs reflecting over the rounded walls of her mind were ethereal, spewing with remnants of the sun’s humid summer heat. Apollo was being generous – the girl thought, casting the warmth of the bright star across the backs of the three girls, despite the shadows lurking deep in the corners of the endless room. the blinding should’ve been enough for her to turn away, shield her untouched eyes from the hurtful rays.

in her isolated state, she felt nothing, hardly able to feel even herself. but, jealousy, surprisingly a common emotion within the girl, bubbled in the deep depths of her soul, and she had her mother to blame for it. i’m sorry! – she called, to no one in particular, no one who cared to listen, not as if there was anyone there anyway. she pleaded to be heard, begging for forgiveness, but it wasn’t truly her. well, it was her. but it wasn’t?

it was the little girl. an almost identical, but younger, shorter copy of the towering girl before her. and suddenly, she was aware – heavily aware, even if it was dangerous. is this a dream? – she asked, it was impossible to tell if her lips had moved, allowing the words to leave her mouth. or if it was a thought that had somehow managed to leave the confines of her mind that was in her mind. It was like a labyrinth. it scared her. no – there was no way this could be a dream, instead, a nightmare. one that she felt she was trapped in, with no doors, no windows, and no way out. 

was it possible to feel trapped in your mind? be trapped in your mind? i mean, that’s what she assumed, that it was her mind she was stuck in, feet firmly stuck to the bottomless pit-like ground. maybe her subconscious had led her into the dreams and nightmares of someone else, probably someone she knew, right? maybe it was the other little girl? that little girl who had been skipping around with – what she assumed – was a younger version of herself. 

the young girls flashed by quickly, almost like a glitch on a computer screen. having already seen her close enough, she was able to both memorize and recognize the smaller version of herself, but she was also able to get a glimpse at her nightmare version’s companion. with her fingers tightly grasping onto her friend’s, the small girl skipped around, beaming with smiles and laughter, living a carefree life. despite her young age, tight, defined curls framed her tan face, cascading down her back, and bouncing with each step of her feet on the hazy unlit ground.

she wondered who the girl was, and how she knew the miniature girl meant to represent herself. in her dream state, nothing, none of anything she’s witnessing, – herself, the other girl, the running around, the laughing. – none of it was familiar. not one noise, color, or movement sparked any form of recognition in her intellect. how could a past version of herself have such a vivid, gut-wrenching sense of familiarity, yet feel so unimaginably unfamiliar deep, deep inside her?

the confusion bouncing between the walls of her mind like a ping pong ball, making her head twist and turn with every new direction, always stranger than the one before it. it felt like long, excruciating hours had gone by, where she was just stuck in the middle of the pitch-black darkness, physically – and mentally – unable to pick up her feet and move, even just the smallest inch. She felt held back, physically tied down to the room surrounding her, hands bound, feet changed, ensuring she had no way of escaping. 

all she could do was watch the two young girls as their laughter faded to sobs, their skipping in joy to running away in fear. how quickly Apollo’s rays of sun turned into Selene’s ethereal glow of the moon. a full moon. she had pulled away from her nightmare confinement, slipping back into the real world with the echo of her past self’s ear-piercing scream, rupturing and spilling deep down to the crack already formed in her soul. oh, and the loose thump of a small child’s body dropping on the ground.

Alora flung herself up, blankets pooled around her feet, which then touched the cold floor as her body stood up, wobbling, warm tears sobbing down her face. her side of her cheap motel bed almost completely drenched in sweat, her body shivering in sync with her sobs. she searched desperately for any ounce of oxygen, though it seemed every atom had been sucked away, her lungs deflated, struggling to bounce back. 

it felt like she was dying. her heart refused to slow, even going as far as to pump more blood, increasing the deafening pounding that she heard in her head, her ears, and all around her. weak, shaky legs giving out, her body made a thud on the ground, leaving her a heaving mess on the hardwood floor. mouth wide open, head going numb from the lack of air altogether. her throat burned dry, tears cascading down her cheeks, her clammy hands clawing at her throat as if claws would appear and slice them open, any way to let air in.

she had no idea what was happening to her, or why it was happening. maybe it was connected to her dream? she didn’t know, only wanting to gain back control of her own body. scrambling to collect herself, the shadow looming outside of her room window went unnoticed as it flowed away, eyes casting a strong gaze upon the poor girl. when her body allowed the stuffy air in, she began to calm down, legs curling up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. she had stopped crying, but was sniffing like crazy, shaking, her mind so unbelievably overwhelmed that she struggled to even think about anything that just happened. she couldn’t fathom the idea of sleeping again, mind traumatized from what she had just been through.

Alora rested her chin between her knees, sat and wrapped in a tight ball. it was only the first night of running away and this is how it turns out? how is she going to survive the rest of her time alone? she was clueless, any plans or ideas she once had were long gone, floating around the dark and cold motel room. her body still shook and shivered, numbness filling herself. she had no clue what was in store for her, but only hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as the first night. oh boy was she as wrong as she was naive. 

© sovksluv 2024, please do not repost or translate my work !

[artiststarme]

Picking Sides

When Steve and Eddie inevitably break up, the kids take Steve’s side. They blame Eddie completely and exile him from the Party. All of the kids start excluding Eddie from Party gatherings, belittling him when they see him in public, and outright glaring at him whenever he’s in their sights. They do so against Steve’s wishes and see their actions as protecting a friend.

So, Eddie is left alone, friendless, jobless, and depressed. Without the Party, Eddie has no one. I mean, he has his Uncle Wayne but the guy works far too often to have to deal with his needy little nephew on top of everything else. But he continues on. He mourns the loss of his relationship with Steve, the happiness he felt with the Party, and the sense of belonging that was so fleeting it couldn’t have possibly been real. The breakup was amicable between the two but the fallout with everyone else is anything but.

The Party’s mistreatment of Eddie is actually what gets the two back together. They decide that the reason for their mutual split, having different goals for the future and not wanting to disappoint each other later on, isn’t worth the hassle it created or the misery they both felt.

So, after being broken up for approximately two weeks, Steve and Eddie get back together. But they don’t disclose this to the Party. Oh no, instead they mail them a postcard and a picture of the two of them kissing in front of the ocean. Upon closer inspection, the kids could make out Robin in the background eating an ice cream cone. When the three of them come back a week after they disappeared, it’s to grumbled congratulations for the two and shouted words of worry (from Hopper).

Guys, I am working on the angst prompts! As soon as I made up my mind to be productive, my lungs tried to kill me via asthma flare-up. But it is coming!

My Permanent Tag List: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @ksherlock15 @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschildextra @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @devondespresso @gregre369 @mysticcrownshipper @disasterlia @lillys-weird-world @messrs-weasley @orangesunsets12 @awkotaco24 @pukner @strangerthingfanfic @dangdirtydemons @bookworm0690 @hannahhook7744 @dreamlandforever @marsbars97 @precursorandthedragon @romanticdestruction @5ammi90 @death-thee-nervousqueer @panicatthediaz @justforthedead89 @futuristicnachostranger @breadboi66 @fandommaniac123

[cowgurrrl]

“I want to be great or nothing.”

Summary: When world famous rockstar Joel Miller finds himself in some hot water with the press, his PR team suggests fake dating an up and coming actress to refine his image. However, when they actually start spending time together, the happy couple can’t stand each other. Will they be able to turn it around for the cameras or will it all be for nothing?

Warnings: smut indicated with an asterisk, tlou au, fake dating, enemies to ???, Sarah is alive :D

01. Smile You’re on Camera [1.7k]

02. When The Sun Goes Down [2.6k]

03. BWFW [3.8k]

04. Kiwi [3.8k]

05. A plea for tenderness* [7.3k]

06. Blueberry Pancakes* [4.5k]

07. Losing My Cool [1.1k]

08. Never Thought [3.5k]

09. Layla [2.3k]

10. Pine Point [4.7k]

11. Old Friends Die Hard [3.6k]

12. Too Close [2.5k]

13. The Chain [2.6k]

14. From the Dining Table [4.5k]

15. Wonderfully Bizarre [1.2k]

🎸🎸🎸

Drabbles

A Soulmate Who Wasn’t Meant to Be: You settle into life without Joel

Night Shift: Joel settles into life without you

Tennessee Whiskey: A (somewhat) quiet night as you and Joel adjust to sharing life again

Thank God I Found You: You and Joel talk about going public with your relationship

Gold Dust Woman: Oscars season with Joel

The Actress: Red carpet interviews with Joel

Je te laisserai des mots: You and Joel realize forever doesn’t sound too bad

I Want To Marry You: Joel asks you The Question

Kiss Me Once, and Kiss Me Twice: You and Joel get married

Heavy Metal Drummer: When Joel’s drummer suddenly drops out, who better to fill in than the girl who’s been there since the beginning?

Just A Boy: Joel struggles with your newest cast mate

Small Bump: You tell the girls you’re pregnant

Beautiful Boy: You and Joel find out the gender of your baby

Hayloft: Joel being protective of his family

Choreomania: Sammy tries to figure out if he likes what his dad does

Brooklyn Baby: You and Joel welcome your son

Iris: Sarah and Ellie hold Sam for the first time

Hey Me, Hey Mama: Mother’s Day

Jackie and Wilson: A night in the Miller household

Little Wonders: When Mom Guilt takes over, Joel finds a way to support you

Mama’s Boy: Sam’s going through a phase

Daydream Believer: Daisy seems to know something you don’t

As It Was: You and Joel have an announcement

At Last: Sam doesn’t seem to know the difference between real life and acting

Daylight: An almost perfect Texas day with the Millers

Yo Gotti: You and Joel read thirst tweets together

Beautiful Girls: Your first night at home with your twins

Love You: Joel being the best dad to tiny baby angels

Unknown: You find out Violet has asthma

I’m Still Standing: Actors on Actors: You and Carolina Garcia-Long

My Girls: The first of many Sophia and Violet days

Lucky: The girls are going through a phase

Girls On Film: Joel accidentally starts discourse

I’m Just Ken: A Halloween fashion show with the Millers

Live from New York: You and Joel take on SNL

Please Come Home for Christmas: The Christmas season with the Millers

Bug: The BuzzFeed Puppy Interview

So This Is Love: A Beach Day

Salad Days: The t-shirt coup

The Millers: A Year in The Life: A documentary about your lives

Good Old Days: A SAG-AFTRA Career Retrospective

🎸🎸🎸

Extras 🤠

Joel and sundress season*

Dancing with Joel

Your instagram story 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

ACL with the Millers

Joel’s tattoos

You and Joel find out you’re having a baby

Your reaction to questions about kids

Family headcanons

Random thoughts 1

Random thoughts 2

Honeymoon with Joel

Actress!reader freaking out about Joel on Instagram

Talking about your relationship with Joel

Sammy Insta posts

Family instagram posts

Sophia and Violet

Birthday headcanons

What the kids do later in life

Text threads :D 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

The kids’ instagrams

Grandpa Joel

Grandpa Joel pt. 2

Instagram stories: Barbie edition

Random family thoughts

[bronx-bomber87]

Good evening Fandom :) Gonna try and be more concise and mini this time haha Wasn’t so mini last time. Imma really try LOL Also the gif library just refuses to pull anything that's new and its driving me nuts. Guess all the pretty gifs will have to wait till summer when the library gets it's act together and I can be more in depth. LOL This is supposed to mini anyways. I'll do my best to make this brief but impactful haha This is a new gear for me.

6x02 The Hammer

Their first interaction is fraught af. Tim is radiating hurt still not that I blame him. He is trying to sweep it under the rug but the man is hurting. I do love Lucy trying to let him know not how healthy communication works. heh She's not wrong. You know I was so Tim in this moment before therapy. Surprise surprise right?

Deeply hurt but when it gets brought up I shirked it off. Try to put it in a box and bury it. Lucy is right it’s not healthy. But he isn’t in the place to receive that right now. I do love her saying they have stuff to talk about if she ever goes under. Yes.... yes you do. Lucy seems to have calmed down at this point and Tim isn’t there yet…

Credit to This post for this image

Lucy getting roped into the ring thing LOL Their tension is immediate as they sandwich Angela in their fight. Angela is the fandom as she watches them bicker. My goodness not hiding how they feel whatsoever….Tense af while they’re fighting. Could cut it with a knife. Sniping at each other. Tim saying he knew she wasn't really over it.

Which kills my 'calmed down' theory for Lucy haha Even though they're at odds Tim still offers his help because it's his girl. Lucy saying she will accept it even if she doesn’t need it. These two.. Angela's final words had me laughing. Wanting to come and enjoy their fight with popcorn. Tim saying she’s not funny on the way out hahaha Not in the mood for his bestie either.

Love Lucy reaching out to touch him and make a joke bout Hammer's real name. Tim full of sass asking if he can finish? Well I never Timothy. LOL He has a warrant out and it’s outstanding that'll make this easy.... Even worse he loves to fight cops. Oh boy. Ladies first lmfao oh Tim I love you so. Putting his hand on her back. She’s smiling though.

OMG I can’t believe Tim tried to get her to fight the Hammer. My love no.... Her argument is solid af that she has to look amazing. That no one cares what he looks like. I mean I care what he looks like but it’s true she needs to look hot at haha Tim caving because well it's Lucy. Like fighting the sun right now. heh Lucy telling him he’s got this. Oh my lord it's so cute.

Lucy wanting to jump in but Tim stops her. My heart. He’s getting his ass kicked at first oof. Tim launching off the bed to kick Hammer into the closet. Holy shit that was sexy. I hope this fight gets gif'd it was great. He wins though. Well done Tim that was fine as hell. Got my motor revving.

Oh my goodness him bending on one knee and looking at her. The looks are LOADED here. Especially on Lucy's end. Getting me all in my feels goodness. Especially Lucy’s face. Myriad of emotions going on there. Foreshadowing at it's finest Oh my. I have a feeling when do the summer review I'll have a novel on this. Tim passes the hell out shortly after. Getting asthma attack just looking at him.

Love the set up girls night/boys night and their talk bout their relationship. Celina asking Lucy to have less baking at her party HA! Naww love Celina thinking in those terms. Lucy saying that's way off. Seeming worried it’s not in their future. Heart clutch. Adore this back and forth between Lucy and Tim at the parties LOVING Chastity telling Lucy like it is. Calling her out really. Even she can see it. I mean feel like Lucy is scared and just won't back down from this path.

It's not just Tim. It's her too but she is digging her heels in. I can’t say I don’t agree with Tim on the projection. Lucy using Isabel as an excuse for that. I think she is using it more than he is IMO at this point in time. She usually is right on the money with Tim. This time doesn't feel like it. Almost as if she’s using Isabel as a scape goat for being scared more so than Tim. Lucy saying she’s fine. Lying liar my love lying liar.

Poor Tim wanting to show he’s not the problem my love. That he's not the only one. There is clearly still a lot to sort through for them. This scene is proof of that. Lucy gets a call from Tim to meet at the station. This has to be the lie detector test. Harper telling her to run I was dying.

Credit

How cute is Tim in his black shirt all wired up for her? I'm dying how precious it was. The way she crosses the room sweet lord. Eyeing her prey. She basically is straddling his thigh. Imma pass out. Getting as close as she can to him. Basically hugging his thigh with hers. I’m getting hot under the collar already. She is so ready to ask him anything but UC questions to start this off. Clearly wanting to ask him specific things on her mind since he's hooked up to the machine.

The bug question LMAO. The most Tim and Lucy thing ever. Of course that man doesn't release the bugs haha. Very her to ask him to do it though. God this was so cute I cannot. Small little insight to their relationship we don't usually get to see.

Then she went right after it with asking if he loves her? A question I think has been weighing on her mind for awhile. Knowing she can immediately see if he's lying. Gah look at him light up. The way he leans into her. Reminding of his posture in 5x09 when he asked her out again. Just as serious now as he was then. Saying he loves her ugh my heart. Our big softie in action in this moment.

Lucy couldn’t be happier with this answer. Same look she got whenever he complimented her in the past. They be beaming everyone. Then he get’s a big fact lie with the UC question crap. Now I feel this isn't fair. Because the man LIVES to support her but he is a struggle bus about this path. To me that 'lie' wasn't because he doesn't support her. To me just those damn demons that won't rest for him.

Credit

Tim looking fine af. Looking for his girl of courses sigh. Cool cool cool fun angsty glances. Damn you gif library was primo angsty looks. Even though they’re sitting next to each other it’s the most physical distance seen between them really in ever. Yeah their arms are touching but not much else. More angsty looks between them at the reception. Gah they’re intense as hell.

Credit

Tim coming to find her my heart. Being the one to break the distance. Asking her to dance and confronting this issue. So proud of him and what he tells her. What a man. He's owning the trauma he still carries. Which is HUGE for him. Lucy thanking him and saying they'll make it through. I love this. Always love us touching back on. 'Unless it is.' moment. Because yeah this is hard but they're worth it and they continually see that and show it.

Now do I love it squarely being just on Tim this UC Fight? No I don't. I do think she is still having doubts but love him laying it out there. I think the issue's Lucy is having just haven't been confronted yet. Their fight from 6x01 was about Tim's issues for most part. Her's were for sure in there just not as prominently. I'm hopeful we touch on her's later this season.

This still feel unresolved to me and imbalanced. Especially now that Tim has admitted some fault to their problems as of late. I feel like I have a really good grasp on these characters. To me my gut is telling me Lucy is scared, having doubts, worried about a long term assignment. What it'll mean for them. Her side of it still needs to be delved into. 5x20-5x21 shook her more than she is letting on. Truly think this just hasn't been explored yet. Because they both have things to resolve with this career choice.

Credit

Also wanna note in this lovely scene. Lucy has her hands all over her him and I’m about it my god. The intimate swaying and leaning into each other. That magnetic force of their's bringing them back together. Their bodies relaxing for the first time in this entire episode. Just happy to be near one another. They're glowing when they come back together in this moment.

Gah their chemistry is out of this world. Her hand on the back his head too phew lord and we get a return ILY. *heart clutch* Lucy's eyes searching his face hoping her saying as such soothes his wounds a little. The cute lie detector line I cannot. It’s was so precious. Their smiles have me on cloud 9. Couldn't be more in love if these two tried. *happy sigh*

Lucy and Tim leading the charge hot damn they pretty. Tim in formal wear and his badge? Lord help me. Phew this was a HEFTY one. So many things to sort through. Like I said in my OG post these are first thoughts. Should be interesting to see how they change come summer and we're in the hiatus.

Thank you to everyone who liked the premiere post. These are a different gear for me glad they're liked ha Imposter Syndrome is real ya'll lol Feel free to comment your thoughts I love chatting about them and this season best part of going through it together for first time. See you all next week!

~~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

Lmao the cold open. Daddy cop was always a fav one of mine.

Hey Henry is back sorta. ha

Love Luna checking in on Aaron. Then having a little ptsd poor love.

Oscar is back too LOL

‘Miss Cleo' nickname LMAO

Poor Aaron having a rough time of it. I was worried he was leaning on Celina too much tbh. Also that kiss yikes my man yikes...

[mothmoonle]

Mystreet Zane Headcanon:

Garroth threw a rock in at his eye.The eye is a delicate organ, something like a rock being thrown at it would permanently damage it. Especially when the kid throwing it has SUPERSTRENGTH. He probably couldn't go to school for weeks after that.

His eye got badly damaged, so much it had to be removed. Not only that, but they rock also broke his nose, and fractured some of his skull around the eye area. He has scars on his right side from surgery, and his nose is slightly crooked. Because of that, Zane covers that side with his hair and wears the mask. Children aren't the best at caring for themselves, so the scars healed terribly.

So Zane doesn't have an eye anymore, he just has an empty socket, which isn't that comfortable. So I imagine he got a fake eye, in a colour that matches the other. It doesn't move as well as his real eye, so its more for comfort than looking 'normal'.

Apparently you're supposed to go to eye doctors or whatever every 6 months to clean it, and get revisions and whatever necessary, so that's in his schedule.

Sometimes for halloween, or to fuck with his brothers he'll wear different eye or just take it out mid conversation

Sometimes he will use concealer, just for fun.

In the beginning he found it hard to judge distances, and bumped into things or knocked things off, ball sports were off the table for him. By PDH he got used to seeing like that, but he still didn't participate in sports (didn't like it, and asthma ect.)

He's insecure of his face and eye, so comments like "cyborg" or "one-eye" even though they refer to him just covering it, hurt a fuck ton. He considers himself disabled, would strongly advocate for the community and anyone in real life, without referencing himself though. Zane would pretend to be fine with it as a teen, but getting it was pretty traumatic. Once he got older he started accepting himself.

I can't decide between 2 things: Zane hiding the fact, or being really open about it and making jokes.

If he never told anyone and only his family knew, then people would talk about things about him, exactly like in cannon. And he would just have to deal with it, probably making snarky comments in his head.

Aphmau: "Did you see that?"

Zane: "No?"

Aphmau: "How?? It was right there! you were looking at it!"

Zane: grumbles

He purposefully stands to the left of people he doesn't want to see, and always stands to the right of people he does. Imagine your ships yourself.

If people knew, well, they'd probably not be as much of a prick about it, it would be interesting to see people who made fun of him (jokingly or maliciously) realise they bullied a disabled guy. (Gene. I'm talking about Gene, but of course there's others.)

Regardless, I think Garroth (and possibly the rest of the family) for the longest time after the incident, wouldn't speak about it at all. So regardless, the only way people would know is for Zane to tell them, or see for themselves. But I feel like if Garroth was present when someone mocked Zane about his sight, whether they knew or not, would be going to the hospital. He won't stand for that shit.

Garroth: "You don't talk to my brother like that!"

Zane: "I couldn't care less if-- Well that wasn't necessary."

Essentially, Zane should be fully blind and scarred, and it shall be explored in literature.

[traumatizedjaguar]

MASTER-POST: Psychological Abuse Terminology

Parentification: A form of role reversal, in which a child is inappropriately given the role of meeting the emotional or physical needs of the parent or of the family’s other children. There is emotional parentification and instrumental parentification.

Intrude and Interrupt or Enmeshment: The manipulator has no respect for another person's boundaries, they will say and do whatever they please in front of, behind the back of, or towards their victims, regardless of objections or morals. If done covertly the victim will have no idea what damage has been done until it’s too late. The goal is to cut the victim off from speaking up, gaining support, or making positive changes, either for themselves or the people around them.

Infantilize: The manipulator does not acknowledge their victims maturity either emotionally or psychologically. The victim is treated as if they have no knowledge of life or experience dealing with life's challenges. The goal is to reduce a person to that of an infant or child, lowering their status in the social order, and stripping them of the ability to make choices, both in the victim's mind and the manipulator's. Abusers who successfully infantalized you and kept you behind your peers in life will then use your trauma symptoms as an excuse to say, “see you are childish and can’t do this in your own, here let me do it for you” thus continuing to treat you younger than you are and keeping you in this cycle. This keeps you in a childish state against your will, sometimes living under a rock, or not knowing things people your age should know - but this goes for all complex trauma survivors as well.

Dog whistling or Double Entendres: It can be used to set the victim up to look hysterical, it is a coded and suggestive language that only the victim will understand the true meaning of. Used to abuse the victim in a covert manner. It is a statement your abuser uses with double meaning to be able to abuse you in front of others or just play mind games with you to make you lose your mind. Abusers tend to use “double entendres” to secretly cover abusive language. (Google the definition of double entendres).

For example: with the dog whistle tactic my abuser used on me, that my abuser would tell me and other people, “I fucked a girl so hard she had an asthma attack!” My abuser gloated to everyone she knew about how she hooked up with some chick and fucked her so hard that the girl ended up having an asthma attack my abuser thought this was cool to gloat about - this didn’t actually happen; The true hidden meaning behind that statement was that she and her friends gang raped me and I woke up (from being drugged) having a panic attack and hyperventilating that someone handed me an asthma inhaler and it worked and stopped the panic attack. My abuser told me in private she was telling everyone she knew and gloating about raping me with that double entendre.

DARVO: Deny abuse allegations, Attack the victim, Reverse Victim and Offender role. The abuser pretends to be the victim of abuse while vilifying the real victim, and making them out to be the abuser.

Projection, Deflection, Denial: Projection is when the abuser accuses the victim of what they’re actually doing, this is chronically used as a part of the personality pattern of psychological abusers. If the abuser is cheating, they will accuse the victim of cheating. Deflection is when the abuser brings up things the victim “did wrong” when the victim rightfully confronts the abuser about their abusive actions or brings up something the victim supposedly did to take the blame or eyes off the abuser. Denial speaks for itself, when the abuser denies things when the victim confronts them, even when the victim has irrefutable proof.

Insinuating Comments: The manipulator knows the victim's weaknesses and buttons. They purposely push and pull on these to get a reaction. Often they will speak with double entendres or innuendos to confuse and hurt the victim simultaneously while maintaining plausible deniability of any hurtful intention. The goal is to drain the victim emotionally, wear them down, and to feed the manipulator’s ego or sense of power/control.

Feigning Innocence or Confusion: The manipulator tries to suggest that any harm done was unintentional or that they did not do something that they were accused of. The manipulator may put on a look of surprise or indignation. The manipulator may also try to play dumb by pretending he or she doesn't know what the victim is talking about or is confused about an important issue brought to their attention. The abuser may pretend to not know certain people they’re using to help abuse their victim, this is why the abuser has public friends and private contacts. The goal is to make the victim question his or her own judgment and possibly their own sanity. When others are deceived by a manipulator this way the victim feels powerless.

Triangulation

There are 4 main types of triangulation recognized. It is a situation in which one family member or friend will not communicate with the victim, or will be friendly with the victim, while turning other family members or friends against them. This can take many forms and usually incorporates gaslighting. There is always a covert element which leads to pitting the victim against others without the victim being fully aware of what is taking place. The goal is to isolate (divide), and conquer the victim while controlling their support system.

Killing Two Birds With One Stone:

To obtain control, attention or adulation, abusers will often inform their partner about a third-party such as a mutual friend or co-worker, etc., who has been flirtatious with them. This third-party person is brought into the relationship to kill two birds with one stone! First, it stirs up feelings of jealousy and insecurity in their partner and subtlety warns the partner that they’re replaceable. Instinctively the partner tries harder to please the abuser so as to not be replaced. Second, it creates an illusion of desirability and encourages rivalry, both of which fill the abuser with abuser-supply, adulation and control. So not only does the abuser get their dose of supply, they also increase the amount of power they have over their partner. Psychological abusers are obsessed with jealousy and envy to feed their insecurities and lift their self-esteem. Power is the way they go instead of looking for healthier alternatives to make themselves feel better; it’s just how they are wired. They’re wired for drama, power, control, and chaos.

Recruiting Reinforcements:

One of the ways abusers use triangulation to manipulate their partners into siding with their point of view or acquiesce to their wants and needs is by using third-party reinforcements to substantiate their opinions. This is a form of recruiting allies when taken to the extreme is a form of bullying. The abuser tries to manipulate anyone who may hold a different opinion or belief by using the help of a usually innocent third party, which of course, has only heard the abuser’s rendition of the truth.

The third-party is usually oblivious to the abuser’s ploy and believes they’re only trying to help the abuser. Usually, their party is a relative or one of the members of the abuser’s supporters that the abuser uses as a tool to help settle differences and coerce their partner or anyone else into accepting their viewpoint through the use of persuasion, embarrassment, majority rules or guilt.

Splitting:

This method of triangulation involves pitting two people against each other. The abuser does this by smearing the character of one or both of the people behind their backs. This enables the abuser to preserve their false image and ensures they’re viewed positively among the triangle. In many instances, the abuser will portray themselves as the victim, especially if they feel their partner is growing tired or aware of their manipulation, hypocrisy, and abuse. The abuser will react by planning their partner’s discard by starting a full-fledged smear campaign behind their back. So by the time they dump their partner, the abuser already has a circle of blind supporters.

The abuser will usually seek supporters that he/she knows will always agree with them no matter what. This is how they set up their partner to look like the abuser in the relationship long before the relationship is over. For this to work, the abuser must keep the supporter(s) and partner from sharing information, so the abuser will usually share mean comments each has said about the other.

The abuser uses this triangulation tactic to control the information shared between the parties providing the abuser with the power of being the primary contact person and transferer of information. Since everyone is communicating through the abuser and not with each other, the abuser can further their agenda by relaying their spin on the information between the parties.

The Pre-Discard and Dump:

When the abuser is about to break up the relationship they will confide in people who they know will agree with them and believe their rendition of the truth. Sometimes they will confide in people who hardly even know their partner, if at all. The abuser will make sure to let their partner know that they have been confiding in other people, and every single one of them agrees with the abuser. Most likely, one of the abuser’s confidants will assume the role of the replacement partner.

After the break-up, the abuser will openly brag about how happy they are with their new partner or make social media posts about it. And if their ex-partner acts jealous or tries to beg them back, the abuser will enjoy the new bonus love-triangle of their own creation. Abuser’s do this to always look good, happy, or like they’re doing their best while trying to tear you down.

Enticing the victim back or Hoovering: Is trying to use any means to get the victim to come back to the relationship. Threats, intimidation, guilt-tripping, love-bombing, enticing, making false promises of change, anything.

Blame-shifting: The victim is held responsible for the harm they suffered. The victim brought it all upon themselves and the manipulator is in no way responsible for their actions. The victim made all the choices which brought them trouble or pain regardless of how much they were manipulated into doing so. The goal is to put the victim on the defense which makes them look and feel guilty while simultaneously masking the manipulator's malicious intentions.

An abuser will blame-shift everything, even the littlest mistakes they’ve made, making themselves out to be perfect beings with no faults or flaws - obviously this disrupts the relationship and causes fights when there’s no accountability on the abusers end whatsoever.

Abuse by Proxy (or Flying Monkeys): This is when the abuser will enlist their friends or people to come after the victim and attack the victim, abuse the victim, or intimidate the victim. Abusers befriend abusers, abusers support abusers. This stage is usually after the break-up when the abuser is trying to get their “revenge” on you.

Love Bombing: Is an attempt by the manipulator to influence a person by lavish demonstrations of attention and affection. The manipulator appeals to the target’s vanity and insecurity. Their interest in the victim will be extreme once they have found their target and their “love” for the victim will be incredibly intense. Its purpose is to override the target’s critical thinking skills so that the abuser can control and manipulate. Essentially they will gain control over their victim by making their emotional state dependent on the manipulator. The abuser will act closer to you than they are given they only just met you, bomb you with loving gestures and affection which gets you easily attached (not real love).

Devaluing: This is the part of the cycle where the abuser does the complete opposite of love-bombing, they may rage, put down the victim or use any means to make the victim feel unloved. Relationships with psychological abusers are very black and white, it goes from love to hate in an instant and back again. Mental whiplash some people call it.

Gaslighting

Is a form of mental abuse in which information is twisted or spun, selectively omitted to favor the abuser, or false information is presented with the intent of making victims doubt their own memory, perception, and sanity. Typically this undermines the victims support group carried out by a combination of other tactics synthesized into a large scale attack on said victim. Making the victim deny the reality they know to be true. Often the abuser is sure of themselves and the victim since the beginning of the relationship has been in a constant state of confusion and questioning themselves. There are many types of gaslighting and ways to gaslight.

Physical Gaslighting. You see this in the 1944 movie Gaslight. The gaslighter will physically, and ever so slightly, distort your surroundings repeatedly and deny repeatedly that anything has changed. In the movie the man is slightly turning down the gas-light in their bedroom a bit dimmer and when his wife asks if the lighting has changed, he denies it and calls her crazy. He does this constantly to get the outcome he wants from his victim.

Emotional Gaslighting. This obviously uses non-physical means to gaslight the victim. Ofen making the victim believe things about themselves that aren't true, like making them out to be the abuser for example. Denying events from the past (days, weeks, years) happened a certain way that the victim remembers it happening and calling the victim crazy, delusional, mentally ill, or telling the victim they are dreaming, manipulative and making stuff up. The abuser then asserts their rendition of the truth and a lot of the time adding details that never happened and asserting that they happened.

Minimization: This is denial coupled with gaslighting. The manipulator asserts that their behavior isn't really as harmful or irresponsible as someone else may be claiming. Often times down playing the behavior by comparing it to others, "He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone," or such logic may be present. The goal is to make a molehill out of a mountain, thus letting the manipulator continue the abusive behavior, or at least escape much of the guilt. They act like they don’t see the impact their actions have on others, sometimes they really don’t see it because they’re not reflecting on things they don’t care about.

Amplification: The manipulator will shout out your failures and whisper your successes. Any limelight the victim deserves will be diminished. Their accomplishments will go unnoticed and their shortcomings will be broadcast far and wide. The goal is to drain the victim of the energy to be successful, to make them doubt themselves, so that the manipulator can be the center of attention at all times while belittling the victim.

Emotional Blackmail: Knowing that someone close to them wants love, approval or confirmation of identity, and self-esteem, manipulators will threaten to withhold the emotional support the victim desires or needs, or even take it away altogether, making the person feel that he or she must meet the demands of the manipulator. The goal is to ensure that the victim feels afraid to cross them, obligated to give them their way, or guilty if they resist.

I’ve also seen this in terms of witchcraft/black magick in which the abuser will insist demons or gods have been used to help get revenge on the victim as a kind of deluded “divine retribution” against the victim. I’ve surprisingly heard a lot of stories of people’s abusers using black magic as a threat to their victims. This is blackmailing. All in all, wanting to do vengeful or abusive things using magic to make oneself feel more powerful is a huge red flag.

Monitor and Stalk: The manipulator is always present, lurking behind the victim's back, or from a good safe distance, keeping an eye on him or her. It is common for them to monitor the victim's computer or phone, and even use surveillance equipment in order to follow the person's every move. The goal here is simple: maintain knowledge of everything the victim says and does, their coming and going, and who they know. Check your vehicles for tracking devices, they can be under the car, behind a license plate, in the engine blending in, in the wheel well, or behind one of the tires, in the trunk, or even inside the car under the seats or under the dashboard area.

Personality Traits/Patterns

Vindictiveness: This is a disturbed personality trait that all psychological abusers possess. They are extremely revenge-prone, incredibly abusive with their revenge, and often entitled and self-righteous with their revenge. They believe they have a right to abuse the victim that they perceive as deserving of abuse. Often perceiving things in a cognitively distorted manner (research terms: cognitive distortions, distorted object relations).

Deceitfulness:

Public and Private Personas: Psychological abusers are notoriously known for having a public personality that they may show around school, their unaware friends and family, and a private personality that they unleash who they really are around other abusers or victims of theirs. Victims and other abusers are the only ones that see their private personas.

Tracfones and aliases: An alias is a fake name and identity they go by to get away with their abusive behaviors. Tracfones are also known to be used to get away with crime.

Charm: Charming behavior is used obviously to charm people and get people to like the abuser. Abusers are typically good at charming anybody they come across because it also helps hide their abusive personality.

Cognitive Distortions. A cognitive distortion is an exaggerated or irrational thought pattern. Cognitive distortions are thoughts that cause individuals to perceive reality inaccurately. Abusers rely on cognitive distortions to justify bad or aggressive behavior. One example of how they distort reality is mislabeling a person as stupid or useless because they don’t know what the abuser knows; this is a pathetic attempt for the abuser to lift their self-esteem by feeling superior to others. Another example of a cognitive distortion is mislabeling a person's identity we see this with:

Distorted Object Relations. The abuser tends to relate to others primarily as objects to satisfy their own needs and desires, rather than seeing them as unique individuals with their own feelings and perspectives.

Victim Complex. The abuser is a perpetual victim and sees themselves as victimized when they often are not being victimized. They enjoy taking on a masochistic role where they perceive themselves as being attacked or offended where there is no offense in reality, giving them ample opportunity to perceive the real victim as the bad guy so they can cause chaos and drama to fuel their abuser-supply. The cycle of abuse is called the cycle of abuse for a reason; they cannot get out of the victim role.

Pompous, Pretentious, Posers and Fake. They cannot be anything but arrogant, liars, exaggerators, making up almost everything about their character to portray themselves as a certain person, or with a certain job or degree or having certain relationships or status that they don’t actually have. We see this in a lot of famous DV cases such as “Dirty John” on Netflix which is a true story of a woman and her daughter’s DV case. We also see this with murderer, Brian Blackwell, who tried to keep his facade of a character he wasn’t up to the point where he snapped and murdered his parents, all over the fact that he was fake and needed to upkeep his perfect image to his girlfriend. Lies are a red flag. Slight exaggerations are a red flag.

Foreshadowing. This is when the abuser plays mind games or drops hints that they’re abusive (it is also a way to shift blame onto you for accepting the abuse and to gaslight you or intimidate you because they “warned you about how they are” when the relationship started.)

Crisis situations. If they have an addiction for example, which is the common one I always hear about, they’ll constantly use it to keep you smothered in their presence, there for them, ect. they will “accidentally” leave pills or a needle where they know you’ll find them so you freak out/stress and so you can be there for them. This is also a part of smothering/enmeshment. Abusers don’t know the difference between their responsibility and yours. If you’re going away on vacation, if you’re going out with friends, if you’re doing anything by yourself or with loved ones and the abuser will immediately have a crisis situation for you to come back running to them or else “you don’t care about them” because you aren’t taking care of their responsibilities.

Framing. They will frame the perfect story over the course of years or decades depending on how long you knew the abuser for. I call this simply “framing”. It’s when the abuser frames you for specific problems or for abuse from the very beginning of when the relationship first started.

Double Bind: In the manipulator's eyes the victim is damned if they do and damned if they don't. Regardless of which choice is picked the manipulator will always point out that the person should have picked the other. This may be accompanied by remarks such as "Well if you had done this I would have done something great for you, but forget about it now." The goal here is to beat the victim down psychologically and emotionally, in order to make him or her question and doubt their own intuition and judgment.

Double-Mindedness: The manipulator seeks the double advantage of being able to do wrong, of being able to have their will, of letting their passions rage, and the hypocritical advantage of seeming to be good, helpful, or supportive. In short, double-mindedness is to say one thing and do another, to do unto others what they are not willing to be done unto them. The manipulator can only accomplish said task by engaging in the self deception of doublethink.

Doublethink: To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which canceled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it is needed, and then promptly to forget it again, and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself.

Hurt and Rescue: A drowning person will clutch at a straw, so push them in the water, then throw them a rope. Hurting the other person does not necessarily mean physical harm and it may not even mean making them feel bad, but it does mean creating a situation that they want to resolve. The goal is to get the victim to play into the manipulator's hands so they can rush to their “rescue” only to trick the victim into trusting, believing, or becoming dependent upon them. The abuser sets up a problem, the victim is hurt, then the abuser rushes to their rescue as the hero.

Covert Aggressive Abuse: Insults are disguised as teachings, helping, giving advice, and offering solutions. The manipulator makes them appear as a sincere attempt to help, especially to others. This can also be followed by put-downs, and disappointment from the manipulator and anyone else who they have convinced of the victim's inferiority. The goal is to belittle, control, and demean the victim while covering up the appearance of wrongdoing on the manipulators behalf.

Setting up to Fail: The manipulator puts their victim in such a state of stress, or stressful situation, that failure is almost certain, wherein the outcome can be used as ammunition to discredit and blame the victim. This can be done covertly as well, using sabotage or undermining an objective that may otherwise have been achievable. This type of manipulation may be the projection of the bully's own feelings of inadequacy onto the victim.

Moving the Goalpost: When the manipulator has control of the situation they will redefine the victim's goals, in reality, to intentionally devise a way so as to assure that an athlete, for example, will ultimately never be able to finally achieve the ever shifting goals. Depending on how this is done the goal may be to humiliate the victim, keep them preoccupied so as to accomplish nothing else with their time, or to simply wear them out.

Brandishing Anger: The manipulator puts on an act of furious explosive anger, verbal abuse, or physical threats. If the victim is in a trance or has previously been manipulated by the abuser, with just one incident of such behavior the victim can become conditioned and trained to avoid upsetting, confronting or contradicting the manipulator ever again. The goal is to establish dominance or superiority, and complete and unquestionable compliance, over victims through fear.

Brainwashing: Also referred to as heart washing, is the act of changing a person's mind or heart by using extreme mental or emotional pressure or abuse. This is typically done when the victim is extremely outmatched by their manipulator either mentally, physically, economically, or socially. This can be achieved a number of ways but usually the victim is in a situation they feel they can’t escape, and will involve several tactics simultaneously. The goal is to convince the victim into believing their viewpoints about life, believing their view of certain people or a specific person, or something else and that the victim needs to be realigned to the viewpoint of the manipulator.

Insinuating Comments: The manipulator knows the victim's weaknesses and buttons. They purposely push and pull on these to get a reaction. Often they will speak with double entendres or innuendos to confuse and hurt the victim simultaneously while maintaining plausible deniability of any hurtful intention. The goal is to drain the victim emotionally, wear them down, and to feed the manipulator’s ego or sense of power/control.

Silent Treatment: The manipulator refuses to communicate and uses emotional and/or physical withdrawal as punishment. This is to convey contempt and communicate that the person is not worthy of the manipulator's acknowledgement. The goal is to render the victim powerless to change the current situation and induce feelings of abandonment or rejection. If the manipulator withdraws emotionally the victim can become love starved for their affection/attention.

This is different from Gray Rock which is a technique victims in abusive relationships can use to not engage with the manipulative person in their life. You’re doing it to avoid gaslighting, fights and the feeling like you’re going off your marbles, whereas the abuser uses the silent treatment as a way to gain power and control over you, usually because they’re pissed you’re not doing what they want.

Roles in a household

Scapegoating. Manipulators subject the "whipping boy" to constant negative treatment and blame they don't deserve. Manipulators unconsciously project their own unwanted feelings and problems onto the victim. The punishment which the scapegoat has to endure is a direct projection of the manipulator's own insecurities. Scapegoating is a deliberate act of torment against another person for the cathartic pleasure of the manipulator and their cohorts. The scapegoat is often blamed for all the problems that arise, they are most likely to have DARVO used against them (they are blamed to be the abuser by one or multiple abusive family members). A lot of the times when abusive parents (or even other family members) don’t want to take accountability for their mistakes they regret or don’t want people to know about, everybody can dump their projections and insecurities onto the scapegoat.

Golden Child. This is the kid who is looked at as the perfect extension of the manipulative parent(s). They fit the role of being perfectly exploited by a parent that seeks attention, adulation, and success. This child is used for the parents' need for a perfect image. This is usually the sibling that becomes the most successful but not always. They are typically the favorite kid.

Invisible Child. Usually completely ignored. The parents (and sometimes siblings are manipulated to do the same) never speak to this kid, and may genuinely completely ignore their existence. If there are 5 members of the immediate family and it is dinner time, the parents might put down 4 plates at the table, not call them to dinner and have dinner with everybody else, just to further control and ignore the invisible child. A lot of people's situations will be different in how they experience the role. This is one example.

[violetsiren90]

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

💜 Chapter 2 💜

Table of Contents: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)

Pairing: idol!Namjoon x f!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Chapter Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is all my work and my page as a whole; Talk and depictions of cancer, its treatment, and the symptoms of both; implication of some disregard for personal agency by entertainment and medical industries; MC is diagnosed with asthma and experiences symptoms; flashbacks of a distressing situation; soulmate first touch & subsequent skinship; partial disrobing for medical purposes; medical setting and minor treatments; some social awkwardness; talk of food, eating, and alcohol consumption in the context of a soulmate AU

Author's Note: Chapter 2 is here! I tried my best to write Namjoon's response under the circumstances, but honestly I don't know how well it was executed. Let me know what you think in the comments/asks! I'm super open to constructive criticism and feedback. Also, I did my best with the Korean phrases and medical jargon. If anyone has more extensive knowledge on those subjects and wants to fact-check, please let me know!

P.S. If you want to join the tag list, drop me a comment or ask!

P.P.S. If no one has told you yet today, you're loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

"At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined, and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth, since we are made of earth and rain.”

~ Pablo Neruda

Chapter 2: Touching Me, Touching You

    When you touched down at Incheon International Airport, you and Matt were greeted by a rather unnecessarily large party of Hybe personnel in black plainclothes wearing masks who snatched up your baggage and ushered you into the first of a small fleet of black SUV's. The member of the legal advisory team who had visited you in the states, Choi Kang Dae, was riding shotgun and speaking into a cell phone that had not left his ear since departing the baggage claim. In the row behind you was another man you assumed to be a translator, given his fluency in English, but who was currently chopping it up with Matt in Korean, and beside him a large, serious, silent man whose eyes kept traveling to you every now and again. You assumed that meant that the rest of the ensemble filling the vehicles behind you were security, which somehow made you feel less rather than more at ease.

The further you advanced in traffic through the busy streets of Seoul, the more anxious you became. A thousand questions began to flood your brain as your heart began to hammer in your chest. If all these people had come to meet you, were you headed to the hospital now? Weren't you supposed stop at your accommodations first? If you didn't, would you even have a chance to shower a day's worth of airport off before meeting your soulmate? Were you about to bond right now? Would people be watching? Would it hurt? Why hadn't you ever thought of these things before? You felt a familiar tightness in your chest and pulled out your inhaler. An asthma attack right now? They always seemed to strike at the most inopportune times.

Matt was suddenly turning to you.

    "Hey, you okay?" he asked, looking at the inhaler you were shaking for a second puff.

You slowly exhaled and nodded.

    "I'm fine. But where are we going right now, can you ask them?"

The translator asked the Kang Dae something in Korean, and after he responded, the other man turned to you.

    "We're going to the hospital. Namjoon-ssi had a seizure last night due to a prolonged high-grade fever, so we are trying to act as quickly as possible to avoid further complications."

Matt turned to the translator.

    "This should have been the first thing we heard when we stepped off that plane. I'm not trying to play hardball here, but we're going to have to be communicated with about every step of this process so we can decide how we're going to respond. This was in the contract, communication and a chance to speak with me before she makes any step in this process..."

Matt slipped in and out of English as the attorney apologetically reassured him through the translator of their full intent to follow the contractual specifications. You felt sick, and your heart continued to hammer - though now for different reasons. You had been worried about a shower while he was fighting for his life. This was no time for nerves. You had to fight for his life too.

    When the vehicle pulled into the ambulance bay, you and Matt were handed surgical masks and ushered, with security and other Hybe personnel in tow, through the ICU and into a massive steel elevator. You watched the round button number "5" light up red as Kang Dae pushed it with a gloved hand. After the brief assent, the doors opened into a space that looked like it was straight out of a Star Trek episode - floor to ceiling white, blinding fluorescent lights, and hospital workers covered from head to toe in sterile garments ebbing and flowing in urgent silence to and fro to the rhythmic serenading hums and beeps of medical equipment. You blinked in the offending brightness.

Your party was immediately approached by a small woman with a tablet and stylus who addressed Kang Dae. You heard your name mentioned. You heard Matt's. After a brief exchange with the Hybe attorney, Matt relayed that you were going to meet with Namjoon's oncologist. Kang Dae turned to address the security staff, and his words were met with nods and murmurs of acknowledgment except by the tall, serious man from the SUV, who responded to the attorney in a low but firm tone, his eyes flashing over to you as he spoke. You looked over to Matt, your brow creased in question. He watched as Kang Dae concluded the exchange and lead your now small group of four to follow the petite woman down a long, wide hall. As you walked, Matt leaned down to whisper in your ear.

    "It appears the indignant gentleman is your personal bodyguard. Seems he's reluctant to stay behind with the rest of security."

You glanced in surprised curiosity over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of the guard seated beside the rest of the team, elbows propped on his knees and hands clasped under his chin, a pensive expression on his rugged features, before he disappeared from view as you rounded a bend.

    The hall connected to a labyrinth of others, snaking off left and right, and punctuated with massive, heavy doors. Your guide abruptly swung left to face one of the entrees, flashing a badge card across a sensor which beeped, allowing her to push it inward. It opened into a suite of rooms much homier than the atmosphere behind you, though every bit as sterile.

In the vestibule was a small acrylic table surrounded by matching chairs. As you passed through you noted to the right, a small kitchenette, and to the left a rather large bathroom. At the end of the suite, you shuffled into a large room, separated on the far left end by a curtain. The space in which you stood was fitted with grey leather furniture, a tall bamboo plant in the corner, and a low acrylic coffee-table. An older, distinguished looking man in a white jacket stood from where he had been seated in one of the arm chairs and bowed. Your group bowed in return, and the translator asked that you be seated.

Dr. Na, as the man in the coat was introduced, would run through some last matters with you before you were to meet your soulmate. He relayed through the translator that this hospital was state of the art, Korea's finest, and a frontrunner in successful experimental treatments for cancer and other genetic diseases. The room you were occupying, he said, was a suite meant for long-term inpatient care, and would be nearly identical to the space you would share with Namjoon for the remainder of his inpatient treatment. He explained that Namjoon's condition has been detected far later than was desirable, and that treatments had included invasive surgery and aggressive rounds of chemotherapy, which had slowed, but not stopped the spread of tumors throughout his body. He said that Namjoon had displayed extreme physical and emotional resilience, but that his will to fight the disease overtaking his body had begun to wane with his strength and increasingly burdensome symptoms from both the cancer and its treatment.

At this point, Dr. Na turned to face Matt full on, and earnestly imparted to him while gesticulating at you. Matt's brow furrowed, and he nodded as he listened to the oncologist before turning serious eyes toward you. Kang Dae began to say something, but the doctor held up his hand while also turning his eyes toward you with an expectant gaze. 

    "Y/n," Matt began, interlacing his fingers as he often did when trying to choose his words carefully, "Dr. Na says that there is not a lot of research around treating cancer, especially at such an advanced stage, with the soulmate bond. There are accounts of it having seemingly miraculous effects on injury and illness, but none that have been objectively measured. It has been scientifically proven to a degree that soulmates bring about peak physical conditions in one another through the bond...over time. The thing the good doctor here really wants you to understand is that there is no guarantee that there is enough time in our situation. He says that bonding with him is going to be a major risk. If the treatment isn't successful and Namjoon should pass, that would mean your ultimate death soon after."

Matt's face had lost most of its stoicism. He looked deeply worried. He looked like he wanted you to get on a plane with him back to the States. He looked like he knew what you were going to do instead. You see, you had already thought about it - the possibility of death. You nodded.

     "Tell him I understand, Matt," you said calmly, "Tell him I'd like to meet Namjoon-ssi."

Matt stared at you for a beat, as if debating with himself before turning back to relay your message to Dr. Na. The oncologist nodded, and then turned to you and asked another question in Korean. The translator explained that the doctor wanted to know if you understood the basic implications of the soul-bond. You sighed. You did.  You knew that once bonded you would be reliant on each other for nourishment and survival until the end of your natural lives, and that the bond once established was irreversible. You knew the bond was initiated and maintained through skin-to-skin contact. You knew that the bond changed your body chemistry to no longer need food or water, and that food would eventually be rejected by the body like poison. You knew these things because you had done extensive research, not because anyone in the company asking for you to give over your body and soul had tried to make you aware. They had been interested in matters of signatures and compensation. How considerate of someone to ask you now, you thought with some contempt. You wondered what Namjoon knew, what he had been told, what he had been asked. 

     "I would like to meet my soulmate now," you said suddenly, cutting through the exchange between Dr. Na and Kang Dae.

All eyes turned on you, leaving in half-finished sentences a wake of mild surprise. "I know what I'm getting into on my end of things. You had expressed before that time was of the essence and I would like to be brought to him now."

Matt relayed your response to the group, and the doctor nodded. Soon you were being handed a hospital gown, and a sports bra, underwear, and socks from your suitcase - that you realized with a bit of alarm and indignation, you had not given anyone permission to retrieve - and were instructed to shower and change into these items. 

     You slipped into the bathroom and sank down on the closed toilet, dropping your head onto the little bundle of clothes in your arms.  In your first few moments alone in over twenty-four hours, everything was beginning to hit like a volley of arrows. Agendas, agendas. Hybe wanted your soulmate. The hospital wanted to beat his cancer. You wanted to help him live. But what did he want? Had anyone asked? Would he be honest, if they did? Not for the first time, something squeezed in your chest at the thought of him. But this time, it was stronger. Your head shot up from your lap. You had somewhere to be.

    After a quick and thorough wash-up, you padded into the hall where the little group awaited you. You were self-conscious in your limited attire, and you stood awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the next as people murmured in Korean. A nurse, who had joined the small throng, approached you, slipping a hospital bracelet with your name and Hangul characters and little numbers around your wrist and handing you a pair of grey slippers. Matt turned to you.

    "This is it, kiddo. You're going to go with Dr. Na and have your vitals taken, have some blood drawn, and then you'll go meet him."

Matt sighed deeply, his eyes searching yours. He took a backward glance and stepped just a bit closer, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"You sure about this?"

You nodded.

    "Yes, Matt, I'm sure."

He pulled his mouth in into a tense line, his brows drawing together.

    "That face you're making, that defiance in your eyes," his hand fell from your shoulder, "You could be his twin. I know I can't change your mind now. Nothing could."

You gave a knowing smile. He wasn't wrong. 

    "I'm gonna be okay, Matt. I'll see you tomorrow. Call my mom and tell her things went fine. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Matt scratched the back of his head, regarding you thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. He bent to press a kiss to your forehead, and turned to make his polite goodbyes.

    The nurse ushered you down the hall and into a room that looked a little more like a typical hospital room with a gauze-covered table, a scale, and other vaguely familiar machines and equipment. After she had collected the desired data and taken a vial of your blood, she made a page in Korean, and then motioned for you to follow her. She took you down another series of passages and finally, when you were sure Theseus himself couldn't have found his way back, she stopped in front of a large steel door and scanned her badge.

Room number 594.

The door opened on its heavy hinges, swinging slowly inward. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You realized the moment you crossed the threshold  that you didn't have your things. You didn't have your phone, or your bag, or the book that was inside it, or what was between the pages of the book.

You thought about pear-shaped Italian cheese as you crossed through the kitchen area.

You thought about little Diana trying to stop your mother from crying as she lay on the floor of the kitchen, body shaking with sobs, as you moved into large open room at the end of the suite.

And then, there he was. It was all you could do not to gasp.

    You would never have recognized him for the man in the photo Diana had shoved into your face last week. Sitting propped up in a large hospital bed, he was covered up to the waist in blankets. His frame, though unmistakably large, was gaunt, and his white tee draped around him like something that used to fit - patches and wires visible across his chest through the cotton fabric. His long arms were thinner than they should have been, ashy, and littered with bruises. His head leaned back against the pillows, he wore a black beanie low on his brow, but not low enough to hide the naked skin where his eyebrows had been. His full lips were chapped and parted as he labored somewhat to breathe. The doctor was speaking to a tall man in a black tee and jeans beside the bed. Namjoon was watching them, until, suddenly, his gaze flicked to you. Your breath caught in your chest. His eyes were unchanged. Something flooded your veins.

    "I need to speak with Namjoon-ssi, please," you said abruptly, turning to the doctor and the man beside him.

They looked at you, quizzically. You cleared your throat to speak again, slower and more firmly.

"Could I be alone with him, for a moment? I need to speak with him before we begin."

The doctor turned to say something to the tall man, but a voice from the hospital bed addressed them in a soft, deep timbre. The tall man glanced at you and then at Namjoon and replied. They held a short exchange before both he and the doctor filed reluctantly out of the room, taking the nurse with them.

Namjoon sat further up in the bed, his face contorting in pain as you approached him. You stood a few feet from where he sat, your hands inexplicably itching to reach out for him. You clasped them behind your back.

    "Hello," he, rasped.

Even the hoarseness couldn't hide the warmth of his voice. You thought his eyes and his voice must be made of the very same stuff. You were suddenly a different kind of nervous. You didn't even register your own initiative to speak as the question came tumbling out.

    "Do you want to live?"

Your soulmate blinked in surprise.

    "What?"

You took a breath and repeated yourself, this time with intention.

    "Do you want to live?" You asked again. "I know there are plenty of people who want you too, but I want to know what you want."

He regarded you in intent silence for a long moment.

    "Yes," he said finally, his cadence thoughtful and deliberate, "Yes, I want to live. I wasn't sure I did, but I do. I do now."

You exhaled a little breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. 

    "Okay, good," you nodded, looking away from his intent gaze as you fought, again, the surging urge to reach for him.

His lips quirked into a little smirk at your reaction.

    "I was going to ask you a question too, but after introductions," those eyes caught yours again, teasingly, and the little smile deepened just a bit, pressing a dimple into his sunken cheek.

The misery he was living in and he was teasing you? You felt something flutter a little in your chest which you willed yourself to ignore.

    "I'm sorry," you bit back a smile, glancing away a bit bashfully, "I just needed to know that you had agency over what was happening here, that it was what you wanted. If no one else was going to give you that choice...well, I was."

He regarded you silently again before addressing you.

    "It's good to meet you, Y/n-ssi. I'm Kim Namjoon."

You couldn't suppress a smirk at his stubbornness, and at the fact that he already knew your name, like you knew his.

    "It's good to meet you, too, Namjoon-ssi," you replied softly.

He suddenly leaned back in the bed, wincing, his chest heaving a bit. You looked over at the heart monitor that beeped beside him to see that his pulse was rising.

    "Should I call in the doctor?" You asked in concern.

He shook his head weakly. 

    "Not yet," he pressed out, with effort. "I...need...to know..."

You stepped closer to hear him.

    "Know what?" He closed his eyes , bringing a hand over his chest as the beeping slowed.

    "You...could...die...trying to..." he broke into a bought of coughs that was obviously painful. Once he had caught his breath, he rasped, "Are you sure, Y/n-ssi?"

    "Yes," you answered without hesitation. "Yes, I'm sure. This is my choice. I'm sure."

He opened his eyes. You held each other in a silent gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something. He didn't. He merely nodded and asked,

    "You ready, then?"

You met his questioning gaze with a wry smile and what you hoped were steady eyes as you answered.

    "Ready as I'll ever be."

    After the staff had returned to the room, the tall man in plainclothes introduced himself as Sejin, Namjoon's manager. He gave you a deep bow, which you returned, thanking you in practiced English for agreeing to bond with the idol - something that made you uncomfortable all the way down to your bones, and which you tried to dismiss without being impolite. The doctor spoke to Namjoon at some length, gesticulating to you several times. Sejin nodded along as the nurse typed notes onto her tablet.

You felt a bit frustrated, being on the outside of what so immediately concerned you. You were on the verge of asking for Matt to be brought in when Namjoon turned to you. 

    "The doctor says that while he understands first touch is an intimate experience, that he and two nurses will need to be present to monitor my vitals. My heart is on the weaker side these days."

He looked almost contrite as he said it and your chest squeezed. You nodded understandingly. He might be your soulmate, but you knew this wasn't a meet-cute. This was clinical. What was about to happen between you was a treatment. The doctor continued, and a nurse came around the bed to where you stood and waited expectantly as Namjoon turned to you, this time with an unmistakably apologetic look on his drawn features.

    "Dr. Na says that if first contact goes smoothly, we'll need to begin treatments aggressively, which means as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. I guess they want us both in just undergarments."

Ah, hence the hospital gown.

You felt heat creep up your neck. Under any other circumstances you would have been upset at the lack of privacy of it all, but these weren't like any circumstances you had ever been prepared to anticipate. You were going to have to figure the boundaries out as you went.

The nurse beside you rolled up a chair for you to sit in beside the bed, facing Namjoon. She untied and tugged the top of your hospital gown down to place a heart monitor on your chest, your soulmate respectfully averting his gaze.

When all the necessary preparations had been made, you found yourself sitting in a swivel chair cranked up to reach the height of the hospital bed, socked feet not touching the ground. You were facing Namjoon, who kept sitting forward, much to the chagrin of the nurses who kept gently but impatiently guiding him back against the pillows. You felt a sick feeling creep into the pit of your stomach as you glanced at the second nurse wheel in a defibrillator. How bad could this possibly be? Would it hurt? You steeled yourself as Namjoon sat forward again, turning up the palm of his large right hand which rested on the covers beside you.

    "It's time," he murmured softly, eyes on you as you gave one more glance to the doctor, who nodded, and giving in to an urge you had kept at bay since you entered the room you slipped your hand into his.

    A jolt shot through your body like an intense electric pulse. It hurt, like relentless aftershocks of overstimulation to sensitive flesh...and yet if felt good. So good. You had instinctively pulled to yank your hand away from the pure surprise of it, but you had tugged yourself back to no avail. You opened your eyes (you hadn't remembered closing them) to see Namjoon, head thrown back against the pillows, lips parted and eyes screwed shut as he clutched your hand in a vice grip. You glanced at the heart monitor spitting out beeps consistent with well over a hundred beats per minute. Was that yours or his? But you couldn't very well hold a coherent thought in your mind as warmth began to flood your body, followed by a tingling sensation that seemed to fizzle up from the base of your spine and trickle down your limbs.

Raising suddenly heavy eyes, you realized that you were swaying a bit on your feet. When did you stand? And you were much, much closer to Namjoon - your hand was curling around the base of his bicep, your elbow in his palm, as you pressed every possible square centimeter of your bare arm to his. His eyes were open now and he was looking at you as his chest rose and fell. You returned his gaze, unfocused, drunk on the sensations spreading through your being.

You blinked as you heard the doctor speak, but neither of you tore your eyes away, and as if in a trace, as the nurses helped you out of your clothes, and you crawled into the bed and slotted yourself against his side, stretching out your right arm to wrap around his torso. Every aspect of the feeling grew impossibly stronger, the pleasure factor so high that it felt somehow wrong to be experiencing this with a total stranger in a hospital room surrounded by others. You felt Namjoon let out a shuddering breath. His arms had snaked around you.

The last thing you remembered before falling into a delirium was the nurse pulling the covers over your bodies.

    When you awoke, or rather, came to, you felt wrong. You rubbed hazy eyes to find yourself on a little cot. Before you could even wonder where you were or how you got there, the events of the previous day came flooding back.

Holy shit, you thought, you were in Korea. You had met your soulmate - and bonded with him. 

When had you even fallen asleep? The last thing you remembered was climbing into Namjoon's bed. Your heartbeat quickened. First touch had been...something else. An image of your soulmate gripping your hand with his head thrown back flashed through your mind.

No, don't, you thought, and pushed yourself to sit up.

In your attempt to move, you quickly realized that the wrongness you felt was that you were incredibly weak. It was a strange sort of weakness, however, one that left you feeling exhausted with every tiny move but wasn't accompanied by any sort of discomfort. In fact, you felt like you were floating on a cloud, if only one you couldn't find the strength to roll off. 

You were back in your hospital gown. There was a small table to your left with a lamp, a little vase of flowers, and white telephone. To your left was a machine much like the one you had seen beside Namjoon's bed beeping away, a little green line spiking and dropping across the monitor. A long curtain stretched across the space in front of you. You needed to pee.

As you moved to get off the cot, a sting of pain shot through your right arm at the inner joint and you realized that you had missed the IV drip beside the heart monitor. Clamping the IV stand you rose precariously on wobbly legs. You shuffled wearily forward, pulling the curtain back to reveal the other half of the room...and your soulmate.

He was sitting in bed, over the covers, in a heather grey tee and navy blue sweats, bare feet crossed at the ankles. He was still wearing the beanie, and his head was dipped down, immersed in the book he was holding open in his lap. The mid-morning sun spilled through the open window, bathing the suite in a pale yellow that blanketed generic seating furniture and a small bookshelf topped with a bonsai tree and painted clay figurine beside the bed, but left the abstract art piece on the opposite wall in relative shadow.

You were about to retreat back behind the curtain when a wheel of your portable IV stand betrayed you with a squeak. You pulled the curtain hurriedly shut, but too late.

    "Hello?" You heard him call softly.

His voice sounded better, you thought. Not nearly as raspy. You must look like shit, you also thought. Oh well, you needed to get past him to look decent anyway. And to pee. And he was going to see you probably every day for the rest of your life, so, bashfulness regarding your morning mug was definitely a waste of emotional energy. You heaved a sigh, and slowly pulled back the curtain, peeking through as you advanced a step.

    "I didn't want to disturb you," you fibbed, clutching the IV stand.

    "You're not disturbing me," he responded, shutting his book.

He was looking at you with a soft expression, reserved, but still warm. He looked a lot better than yesterday, too; it was unmistakable. His skin had lost a great deal of its previously ashy quality and the bruises on his arms had nearly vanished. His lips were no longer chapped, and, you noted, were full and naturally deep in color. His face looked less wane, though still thin, his shirt still hanging loosely over his chest and broad, sloping shoulders.

    "You look a little better," you urged, hoping to justify your prolonged stare.

He smiled. You were quickly reminded like a sock to the gut how pretty his smile was. 

    "I feel better," he concurred, "Thanks to you."

You looked down at your feet awkwardly. You had never been good at receiving praise or gratitude.

    "Oh...I'm glad," you mumbled. 

    "How do you feel?" he asked.

You raised your gaze back up to meet his, a wry smile tugging at your lips. 

    "Probably about as good as I look," you rejoined.

He pulled his smile into a tight line, eyes creasing. You thought maybe that was what he looked like when he was trying not to laugh. Suddenly you felt your bladder demand priority of attention.

    "Well, I'm gonna...get ready. For the day," you motioned, quickly realizing you had nothing to change into, and slipped back into the little room behind the curtain.

Scanning the space, you noted your suitcase and bag against the wall. You filled your bag with the essentials and a change before popping back out into the other half of the room on your way to the bathroom. You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Namjoon glanced at you before looking down at his book again, and you ignored the tight feeling in your chest one more time.

    Your mom had always said that a hot shower could make a person reborn, and by golly you figured she was right. You felt life seeping back into your limbs slowly but surely as the warm water poured over your body. As always, hot water and steam against white tile oiled cogs of your mind.

Clearly, the bond had served Namjoon well. You were anxious to know what a medical assessment would report. Your own exhaustion confused you, however. Wasn't the bond supposed to nourish you, rejuvenate you? When would you stop needing food? How often would you need to practice skinship now that you were bonded? And what would that look like? A thousand questions filled your mind as you massaged your scalp. You made a mental note to write a list of questions for the doctor.

    Once you had finished your morning routine, you felt infinitely more prepared to face the day. You changed into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. As you shuffled back toward your room, you noticed Namjoon bent over the bonsai, tiny scissors in hand. A nurse was typing on a tablet on the other side of the bed.

    "Um, Namjoon," you asked, as you paused.

He startled a bit as he looked up at you, dropping the little scissors and cursing under his breath. The nurse peeked over and when she had seemingly assessed that no damage had been done, she smirked.

    "At least no bonsai limbs were lost this time," she murmured.

Namjoon slipped the scissors into a little leather pouch.

    "Hilarious," he deadpanned, then turned his attention back to you, "Sorry, did you ask me something?"

    "Actually," you blinked in surprise, "I was going to ask you to ask the nurse, but I guess I can ask her myself this time."

The nurse smiled at you. 

    "Ganhosanim, this is Y/n-ssi," Namjoon said, addressing the woman. She gave you a bow which you returned.

    "Annyeonghaseyo," she greeted you, "I'm Nurse Cha and I'll be your attending on most days. Please feel free to speak to me in English," she smiled.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders. While you had been studying Korean furiously ever since your decision had been made, having medical personnel you could communicate with at this stage without having to rely on Namjoon to translate for you was a welcome relief. 

    "If you have a minute, I have some questions? Or, I will, once I write them down. Could I just put my stuff away and come right back?" You asked eagerly. She nodded, still typing away on the tablet. You dropped your bag beside your suitcase, which you tossed on the bed and unzipped to extract a pen and a notebook with three little bees embossed into the cover. You donned your slippers and crossed back over to Namjoon's side. He was sitting on the bed again, and nurse Yun was examining one of his arms. You plopped down in an armchair beside the bookshelf. 

    "Nice bonsai," you remarked, trailing your eyes over the intricate geometric patterns of its shallow stone pot.

    "Nice journal," he replied. "Moleskin?"

You nodded, holding it up to show him the front.

    "It has bees," you said with solemnity, as if the whimsy of the endearing was something to be taken quite seriously, and Namjoon hummed in grave assent. Nurse Cha glanced between you, a smirk at the corner of her mouth.

    "You said you had some questions, Y/n-ssi?" She offered.

    "Yes," you began, scribbling a few down in the pages in your lap before beginning. "Firstly wha- Oh! What happened to me yesterday? Did I pass out?" You interrupted yourself to ask.

    "Yes," she replied. "While the bonding was successful, and the skinship was highly rejuvenating for Namjoon, it appears that you were giving more than you were getting from a physiological standpoint, and while the effect was still probably similar to you on a cellular level, you were disproportionate in your transfer of energy. We've put you on an IV drip for now to ensure you're getting the replenishment your body needs regardless of food intake."

You jotted down a few lines of notes.

    "Okay, makes sense. Now, moving on to the food thing - we're still eating, right?"

Nurse Cha began typing on her tablet as she responded.

    "Yes. However, there is great boidiversity as to when and what people start rejecting as far as food goes. The average point of solid food rejection begins around two weeks after bonding. Generally, bonded individuals are still able to consume water and distilled alcohols, though they become unable to experience taste."

    "Does alcohol have the same...effect?" Namjoon spoke up from the bed.

    "An intensified one, actually," she responded, "Being a bonded mate means rediscovering your tolerance, and caution is of course advised. We've actually taken blood panels to alert us of any food sensitivities you may have. These should be immediately eliminated from your diet, as the rejection symptoms can be more severe in cases of late-stage ingestion with these items. The doctor will be in later to review those results with you."

    "Okay. And how often will we need to practice skinship, and are we going to need to initiate it ourselves or are we going to be on a schedule?"

    "I was wondering about that too," Namjoon said, adjusting his beanie.

    "The doctor will go over that with you as soon as he arrives in a little while as well. I know I'm scheduled to update your charts every six hours, so I'm sure there will be some guidance involved at first."

You quickly glanced up at Namjoon and then down at your lap. A warmth spread through your chest as you tried to keep your eyes on your notes and off of his bare arms. You were having those stupid urges to latch onto him again. Your hand twitched around your pen. You wondered what his thoughts were on your next session.

Just then, Dr. Na entered the room. He greeted both of you warmly and Nurse Cha took over relaying the consultation in English.

The oncologist was very optimistic about the effect of the soulmate bond on Namjoon, saying that his vitals had stabilized, his pain levels were lower than they'd been in weeks and the inflammation in his body had decreased significantly. He stressed that, while these were good signs, they were not a guarantee that the skinship was treating the cancer, and that they would have to take scans after a time to see if the tumors had were in fact shrinking.

He reviewed your blood panel results, letting you know that from that point forward you were to avoid consuming nightshades while communicating to Namjoon that he hadn't tested positive for any food sensitivities. He showed you a chart dictating when and how long you should practice skinship each day, beginning with a session immediately following the consultation. He cautioned you to alert medical staff if during a session you began to feel overly-drain, as they did not want you coming to the point of fainting again. You were removed from your IV drip.

    After the doctor had taken his leave, Nurse Cha fixed you with additional monitors, instructed you both to strip down to your maximum level of comfortability for the session, and departed. Once you were down to bra and panties, you climbed up into the huge hospital bed to join Namjoon, who once again kept his gaze trained anywhere but your side of the bed as you slipped under the covers and pressed yourself into his side.

Suddenly it was as if you had slipped into a warm bath under the influence of champagne. You closed your eyes and sank into the incredible sensation of his touch. His skin was like a warm cup of tea on the coldest day of the year. Like the first refreshing moments of a plunge into cool water at the height of summer. It was everything wonderful all at once, and you were so caught up in the sensation that you were barely cognizant of a tiny moan escaping your lips. 

Horrified, you bit down on your bottom lip and prayed to all that was sacred that Namjoon hadn't noticed. His immediate soft laughter, however, betrayed him, and you felt your face burning with embarrassment - beads of sweat pricking on your forehead as you covered your face with a different kind of groan.

    "Sorry," you murmured, ruefully.

    "Nah, I get it," Namjoon chuckled, his chest rumbling under your cheek. "If it feels as good for you as it does for me, then that's the correct response."

You allowed yourself to giggle a bit in turn.

    "I'm glad it's already helping," you remarked, and you felt him turn his head as if he was looking down at you.

He was silent for a beat before addressing you again.

    "Everything happened so quickly yesterday, I didn't even get a chance to thank you."

    "For what?" you countered, even though you knew exactly where he was headed with this.

    "For leaving your life behind and coming to Korea to give a stranger a chance at his. I'm going to spend the rest of my time making it up to you."

You felt your chest tighten. You pushed yourself up on one arm and turned to face him. The sheet fell down your upper body as you moved, but you were too intent on looking him in the face to notice. 

    "Namjoon, you're not a charity case. I didn't do this so that you would owe me something. This is a choice I made. All mine. So relieve yourself of any debt you may feel you owe me. We're bound by circumstance, but you're a free man in every sense of the word. I won't be a burden you bear any more than you wish to be one to me."

If you had been looking through his eyes, you would have seen yourself, pressed up out of the sheets with all the modesty of a sea nymph, your features glowing with the effects of the bond and fixed with a splendid kind of resoluteness and soft defiance. But, you saw it from your own, taking in the quiet shock on Namjoon's features that slowly morphed into something you couldn't place. Not yet. You didn't know him well enough.

After regarding you blinkingly, he looked at you with earnest eyes and gave a nod.

    "I accept those terms," he assented, and you believed him.

You thought maybe you'd believe anything he said, and, suddenly aware of the bareness of your torso under the intentness of his gaze, you slipped back down against his side.

    "I noticed you dropped the honorifics," he murmured teasingly.

You glanced back up at him.

    "Oh...sorry, I'm not used to it. I can -"

    "It's alright," he interjected, "I think we should be familiar. It will make things easier, right? Only if you want, though," he quickly added.

    "Yeah, no, I agree," you answered, shifting to press your leg more fully against his, and smiling to yourself as you keyed up your next remark.

"And I'm only your noona by a little bit anyway, so no need to call me that..."

This time a loud laugh burst out of him that shook your head enough for you to roll away and shoot him a look as he brushed a hand over his eyes in amusement. You smiled as you took in his dimpled cheeks and crescent eyes, and nearly didn't notice the voice speaking in bemused and startled Korean at the mouth of the hall. It was Namjoon who looked up first.

    "Yah!" He called in indignation and warning as you followed his gaze to catch but a glimpse of two young men, badly repressing snickers as they bolted back down the hall to the entry of the suite. 

Namjoon sighed sharply and turned to you with and apologetic expression.

    "I'm so sorry, those idiots are my friends. They're used to coming and going as they please to visit me - which, obviously now they can't just barge in unannounced."

He slipped out of bed, and you glanced away as he pulled on sweats and a shirt.

"I'll tell them to come back at a better time."

    "No, no!" you protested, "Just let me get decent. I want to meet them."

Namjoon paused as he kicked on his slippers. 

    "You sure?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

    "Yeah, yeah. I know we're still on skinship time, but, maybe we can just...hold hands? I mean, as long as you're okay with it..."

Namjoon's mouth slipped into a wry grin as he glanced down to the other end of the suite. 

    "Yeah, I'm fine with it. I apologize in advance if they can't be."

You gave a confused shrug as Namjoon picked up his phone and crossed into the vestibule area to give you the privacy to change. You pulled your leggings and sweatshirt back on and perched yourself cross-legged on the hospital bed, listening with amused anticipation as Namjoon spoke in exasperated Korean on the other side of the wall. You heard the door and three sets of footsteps accompanied by giggles and shushing, and then your soulmate emerged, all but herding the two young men preceding him into the room.

You immediately recognized the strapping, dark-haired one with the leporine smile as Jungkook, the young man who had accompanied Hybe's representation to visit you on Namjoon's behalf. The other young man you also recognized from internet images as one of the members, though you couldn't recall his name. He was shorter than Jungkook, though not by as much as he should have been due to the significance of his heeled boots. What he lacked in height he made up for in athletic build and voluptuously beautiful facial features. He shook his honey blonde hair out of his eyes, earrings tinkling as he regarded you with a coy smile.

    "Ijjogeun Y/n-ieo. Y/n, this is Jungkook and Jimin," Namjoon said, gesturing to each of the members as they made polite bows. 

    "Annyeonghaseyo," you said, returning their bows deeply, "Mannaseo bangapseumnida - dasi mannaseo bangabseubnida, Jungkook-ssi."

Jungkook flashed a blinding smile, round eyes wide and sparkling.

    "It's good to see you again too, noona," he answered in English. Namjoon's brow creased as he glanced between you and the young man you had been originally introduced to as the maknae of BTS.

    "You've met?" he asked. You nodded.

    "Jungkook was one of the people who came to meet me in the US when your company made the proposition," you explained. "He spoke very, very highly of you. His reference of your character was one of the major contributing factors toward my decision to come."

You smiled softly at Jungkook. Namjoon nodded, brow still drawn, as he pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek, jaw clenched and jutting forward, as he clapped the youngest on the shoulder. You thought Jungkook's eyes were just a bit glassy as the two shared a look that seemed to hold a lifetime of history. Jimin regarded the two with sentimentality before returning his gaze to you, again full of enigmatic mischief. The blonde took a step toward you, then turned on his booted heal, saying something to Namjoon in Korean.

You cocked your head to the side, glancing at your soulmate.

    "He said I look a lot better already," Namjoon said, eyeing Jimin warily as the younger man continued speaking, flashing you a devilish grin. Jungkook pulled his pierced lower lip between his teeth as he glanced between Namjoon and Jimin. You looked again to Namjoon expectantly.

    Awkwardness radiated from him as he deflected saying Jimin was just making fun, and he shot the younger man a look that unmistakably communicated his lack of amusement. Namjoon made another remark in Korean, and joined you back on the bed, hesitating only a moment before he took your hand in his.

You saw his shoulders sag in relief as he breathed a sigh through his nose at the contact. You had to restrain your own reaction, glancing down shyly as to avoid the two pairs of eyes trained in rapt curiosity on you from the end of the bed. Namjoon continued to speak with them, translating between you when your limited Korean wasn't sufficient, and gradually your awkwardness eased in the comfortable presence that emanated between your soulmate and his members.

As the visitors were about to take their leave, Jimin trained you with a newly serious look, leaning against the edge of the bed, and glancing at Namjoon as he spoke in what you could decipher was gratitude. 

    "He says they're all so grateful to you and glad to have you with us," Namjoon translated. You noticed his thumb slide over the back of your hand as he said it. So did Jimin, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he eyed where your digits were intertwined.

    "Ah," you said awkwardly, "No thanks necessary, we're in this together, right?"

You pulled your hand from Namjoon's and in an attempt to raise your arm and give him a nonchalant pat on the back, you backhanded him directly in the face. 

Namjoon's hand flew up to his cheek and the two younger members erupted in laughter. You apologized profusely, trying to make sure Namjoon could hear you over Jungkook's wheezing and Jimin's shrieks of what you were pretty sure was "oh shit, there are two of them". When Namjoon had assured you that he was perfectly fine and the other two had composed themselves, you said your goodbyes. As soon as they were out the door, Namjoon was apologizing.

    "It's fine," you smirked with a shrug, "That's friends for you. I would have been concerned if they hadn't poked a little fun. I like them. I want to meet the rest of them."

Namjoon slipped back up onto the bed and intertwined his hand with yours as he glanced down, a pensive look on his face.

    "There's a lot of people you need to meet," he said quietly, thoughtfully.

You studied him as he continued to look down at your joined hands.

"In fact," he continued, "There was someone I was hoping you could meet tomorrow. Someone we should sit down...and talk with."

You nodded, regarding him intently.

"Her name is Kim Hyung-seo," he continued, "She's my fiancée."

AN: Yeah, sorry to drop that at the end and peace out. 😁✌

Tag list: @butterymin @little-dark-empress @aretha170 @kamilamb @jlee97 @thephotoend @callmenoona25

[humpandpump]

Emily's attack

My first attempt at a story!!! Explicit, proceed with caution!!!

***

I had barely gotten inside after a long day at work, still in my paramedic uniform for the day, when she knocked on my door. I checked my watch before I turned around - it was exactly 9pm, the time we had arranged. I was exhausted, not really in the mood for the lesson, but I had told her I would help, and I needed the extra money.

I opened the door and found myself looking... down. She was smaller than I had pictured, and although I didn't have any required criteria for who I could help, I found myself attracting quite a specific clientele: usually women, often young, who found themselves struggling to breathe during their intensive fitness regimen, which left them with excellent figures that made this job, well, easier.

Emily was no exception.

'Hi,' she said quietly when I struggled to form the words. She really was that beautiful, with perfect, plump lips, round breasts and a tight hourglass figure. She wore a tight tank top (no bra - she had read the guidelines for her first appointment) and loose linen shorts. Sometimes, I really loved this business. 'Is this the...'

She let it trail off when I nodded. 'Uh, yeah! Come in. Emily, right?'

I stepped back to let her into my apartment, mentally scolding myself for not tidying up beforehand. As quickly as I could, I led her to the spare room, where I had everything set up. When I was just starting out, before I knew how in demand this business would be, I ran it out of my bedroom, but that made things... complicated.

She looked around shyly, noticing the relativity empty room, with nothing but two chairs and a kitchen caddy under the window, though the blind was down - I didn't need nosey neighbours getting the wrong idea about this.

I guided her to the chair and sat across from her, resting my elbows on my thighs as I leaned forward. 'So, what's been going on?'

'I...' God, she was shy. This was going to be hard. 'I saw your services online and I thought... well, you helped some other people who are in my predicament, so I thought maybe you could help me. I've had this trouble breathing... kind of like asthma, but it doesn't come up when I'm doing usual exercise. It only happens when I'm, well, you know.' She blushed, rubbing her hands between her thighs and letting her blonde hair fall over her face. 'I don't have a boyfriend or anything, but I find it hard to have casual sex. Because I'm worried I won't be able to breathe, or I'll collapse. My throat closes up and my heart starts racing and I feel like I might be dying, and I don't know what to do. It happens when I start to get close and then, well, then I can't get there, because I'm scared of what will happen when I get over the edge, if I might die.'

I nodded solemnly. 'What you're experiencing is a very common occurrence. Trust me, I see a lot of women in this position.' At this, I gave a soft chuckle. 'What's happening is that your body is reacting to the sexual stimulation as a threat to your survival. It's a mis-wiring of the system.'

'What do we do to fix it?'

'Well, it's complex, and if you're here it means you know my methods are unorthodox. But the most success we've seen is controlled stimulation, sometimes paired with CPR, to take you to climax without killing you. It teaches your body how to react to the climax by giving it a bit of a helping hand. We do this a few times, regular sessions, until your body starts to learn on its own.'

She looked uncomfortably around the room. 'Here?' she asked.

I chuckled. 'Well, I can't exactly get a hospital bed in here. And a real bed would be too soft for CPR, it would have a detrimental effect on its effectiveness. Don't worry - I have pillows for under your hips, which keeps the blood flowing to your heart. I can go get those when you're ready.'

She looked shocked. 'What, now? Are we doing this today?'

'We don't have to,' I said, putting my hands up in defence. 'It's completely up to you. We can call this a complimentary information session.'

She looked around the room again, and then her eyes slowly passed over me. I felt exposed in my uniform - it had been getting tighter since I'd started going back to the gym more regularly, and I could feel the fabric press against the skin of my arms. Slowly, she nodded. 'No, now is as good a time as any. What do you want me to do?'

I cleared my throat. 'Well, step one is to simulate the conditions of the attack. You say it happens when you start to climax? We'll have to get you there, and then we'll start doing whatever methods necessary. First, let's get you hooked up. Could you take off your clothes?'

She lifted her tank top over her head, and I tried not to watch as her breasts bounced back into place as she lowered her arms.

'Pants too, please,' I said quietly. She slipped out of her pants, revealing a lacy pair of underwear that disappeared into a firm ass. Like I said, sometimes I really loved this job.

'Lie down, please,' I instructed, motioning to the ground. Tentatively, I pulled out the EKG machine and started to press the electrodes onto her breasts and abdomen. I could feel the heat of her skin and the lines of her abs beneath my hands. One hand could span nearly the entire length of her torso. I tried not to let my imagination get carried away with that, though I felt myself twitch beneath my pants. I then grabbed the pillow, sliding it beneath her hips.

'This will monitor your heart,' I said. She moaned slightly, and then pressed her lips together, as though it were an accident. She pulled her legs up as if trying to keep them together. I tried to suppress my smile, to keep it professional. 'Is there anything that turns you on, that might help you get to climax?'

Wordlessly, with my hands still on her abdomen from where I had pressed the last wire onto her skin, she lifted herself up onto her elbows, so that our faces were close. I could smell the mint of her breath.

'Is this allowed?' Oh, boy, yes it is allowed. This line of work wouldn't work if this was not allowed. To communicate this point, I pressed my lips to hers, feeling the hot air of her mouth and warmth of her tongue against mine. As soon as they met, the machine started to beep, slowly getting faster. Every time we pulled away, I checked the numbers, just to make sure.

Her hands roamed my body, reaching for the buttons of my uniform, but I grabbed her fingers with one hand, forcing them above her head, watching her body stretch to accommodate the motion. Her breast heaved with desire.

'The uniform is to remember who's the teacher and who's the student,' I whispered into her ear, before moving my lips to her neck. The monitor beeped faster as I sucked on the soft skin of her collarbone, letting my other hand roam of her breast and gently flick her nipples back and forth. I could feel them getting hard under my hands. Her heartbeat was climbing, climbing - I rested my hand on her ribs in an attempt to bring it down just slightly, in case I mistimed the whole thing and killed her. I could still feel her heart beneath the slight pressure of my hand on her upper abdomen.

But she was doing okay, which I occasionally paused to check, searching her eyes for signs of fear. There was nothing but desire, which made me incredibly horny, though that was probably a test of the rules. Oh well, I thought. I'm my own boss.

I moved my lips to her breast, releasing her hand to guide her nipple into my mouth as my other hand continued down to rest on the curve of her pelvis, lightly caressing her centre. God, she was so wet already. Not that the machine wasn't giving away everything, her heartbeat incredibly receptive to my every touch. I was hard as a rock, hoping she couldn't see the tent that strained my pants. Her hands pulled at my hair, at the collar of my uniform, at everything she could get her hands on.

I flicked at her nipple and let my fingers stroke the outside of her underwear in gentle motions. She liked it - the beeps gave her away.

'More,' she whispered, nearly missed in the chaos of the EKG machine and her panting breaths. I moved away from her side to between her legs, guiding her underwear over her thighs and discarding them. I could see her centre, dripping and ready, and even without me touching her, she was grinding her hips against the pillow. Without my hands, her own started to move down to her centre, though she eyed me curiously.

I moved her hand and pinned it up near her head, leaning over her as my own hand took its place, slipping a finger into her warm centre. With one finger inside her, I pressed the heel of my hand to her swollen clit as I fingered her, all while watching her breathe, just to be sure that she still was.

'You're doing so good,' I found myself moaning as I rocked my hand into her. I slipped in a second finger, feeling the push of her pelvis against my hand. She started to moan. We had lift off. I let go of her hand and settled myself with her legs over my shoulder, moving my palm to replace it with my mouth. With soft, gentle kisses at first, and then powerful, stroking licks of her clit. The moaning intensified, and her hips bucked wildly. I pressed my hand into her lower abdomen to keep her still as I licked her clit and curled my fingers in her cunt. She tasted incredible. I could hear her breathing, labouring against her lungs, as they struggled to inhale. She was getting there. Just a bit more...

And then, suddenly, I heard the sound I had been listening out for - the sound of a heart in distress. I pulled away quickly, lifting myself out from between her to first check the machine, and then her. Her heart was beating, but much too fast, and she looked at me with panicked, swirling eyes. Her hands reached for her neck, desperate.

'It's okay,' I said, immediately switching to work mode, the safe version of me. I reached for a stethoscope from the caddy and rested it over her breasts, confirming the EKG machine's diagnosis. This was the attack she feared. 'We're going to get this heartbeat down, okay?'

She shook her head, as if to tell me she didn't believe me.

'Look at me,' I said, reaching for her face. I wrapped my arm around her torso and pulled her up so I could readjust the pillow to underneath her breasts, keeping her airway open. She was light and limp as a doll. 'I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Okay?' She stared into my eyes frantically. I couldn't be sure she heard what I said. Instantly, I pinched her nose and pulled down her lower lip, closing our mouths together to blow hot air into her lungs. I could see her chest rising the slightest amount. When I pulled back, she was still staring at me, her eyes still moving in panic, not taking breaths on her own.

I did it again, sealing my lips over hers and blowing air into her, this time letting my other hand rest on her stomach to feel the rise. I couldn't tell where the air was going - stomach or lungs? I gave her more breaths, aware that the machine was still indicating her heartbeat was insanely irregular, as I applied more pressure to her body with my hand. One breath with a hand pressed to her sternum, and another with a hand pressed into her stomach. As I pressed to her chest, her heart beat wildly against my hand. It was slowing down, ever so slightly. As I gave her one more breath, I felt the rattle of her lungs as she took in my air on her own, and expelled it. Progress.

'Okay, Emily, you're okay. I got you. You're going to be okay. I'm not going to let you die on me.' Thankfully, she was still conscious, but immobile, and fear kept her paralysed. I sat up, surveying the situation and the machine. We weren't ready for defibs - this was a manual task.

'This is the part I said before - we need to give slow chest compressions while we stimulate, to teach the heart the proper way to beat.' I placed one hand on her sternum, though my hand was big enough to nearly cover her entire breast. I then pressed my other hand over her vagina, fingers resting on the opening, palm pressed and applying pressure to the clit. She was still wet and warm, so I slipped two fingers into her vagina - in and out, in and out, as I pressed down on her chest, all while watching her face for signs. At first, I kept my compressions and fingering slow, gentle movements that kept her calm, as her heart reacted on the monitor. I could feel it against my hand, as her nipple stiffened, almost against her will - she was so panicked, and so aroused at the same time. But I was completely in control of whether she made it through this, completely in control of her heart and her body right now, and I had to make sure I kept her safe.

She was still warm and wet for me, though she had stopped grinding her hips against my hand. I counted out 30 compressions and 30 'come hither' motions in her vagina before carefully removing my hand to rest on her stomach. With the other, I pinched her nose, and she opened her mouth, ready for my air. She closed her eyes as I breathed into her lungs, feeling the gentle rise of her stomach under my hand. The EKG machine was quieter now, slightly slower.

After a few more breaths, I looked into her eyes, smoothing back her hair to check that she was okay. Her chest was still heaving desperately, but she looked less panicked, and I knew I had earned her trust. My palm found her chest again, and this time, I straddled her, letting my stiff cock press against her clit as I secured her thighs between mine. Slowly, I pressed against her sternum, one palm over the other, as I calmed her heart to beat against the rhythm I set. She looked up at me, watching me press into her, calming her breathing. I nodded at her.

'You're doing so good,' I said. 'Just keep breathing.'

She breathed between my compressions, her stomach rising against me as she inhaled. I watched the EKG machine as it steadied the rhythm, steading slowly until we came to a pace. With every drop of the machine, I lightened the pressure of my compressions, until I was barely pushing at all, holding my hands pressed to her ribs. Her own hands raised up to meet mine, as if to thank me.

She coughed, and pulled herself up on her elbows. 'That was scary,' she said, in a small voice. Immediately I pulled myself off her, grabbing my steth and coming by her side. I put the ear pieces on and pressed the bell onto her breast, listening to her steady rhythms.

'It was scary for me too,' I admitted. 'I didn't want to lose you.'

She laughed, and coughed as she did. 'Bad for business?'

I couldn't bring myself to laugh along, I was still caught up in the thought of losing this magic that I had only just found.

'Well, I think it was working,' she said. 'I think I probably need more practice, though. Should we say same time next week?'