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xervn · 1 month

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like a french girl 🎨

part 3 - french girl | art major ellie x dance major reader

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ao3 link

summary: ellie had been struggling with finding the perfect model for her art final. that was until she saw you.

18+ MDNI | 3.8k words | slow burn(?), mutual pining, loser ellie, recreational drug use (weed)

a/n: this took so long because im an intp AND a taurus *makes excuses for myself* also tysm to everyone who commented on the last chapter ur amazing and ily ♥

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Ellie’s in nothing but her underwear, legs criss-crossed on her navy comforter; holding a joint between her lips as she tunes the strings of her maple wood guitar. It’s a lazy Saturday, the one day out of seven where Ellie isn’t constantly tormented by homework and art projects.

These days are practically therapeutic for her. Being able to strum her fingers against the nylon strings and relish in the relaxing, skunky smell of cannabis can fix all of her problems. Minus one, of course: getting to know you better.

For now, she’s at peace with doing nothing, that is until a loud ding goes off and the brightness of her phone flashbangs her otherwise dim-lit room. She scowls, exhaling a puff from her lungs as she reaches over for the device. Ellie has friends, but she’s no social butterfly. Her phone is usually dry, especially on weekends. Jesse is definitely with Dina, so unless it's serious; there’s no reason for her to be getting a text.

Naturally, her scowl deepens when she reads that the number is unknown.

???: hii

ellie: wrong number

She opts to toss her phone away, but the next message throws her off track.

you: it’s — !

Ellie’s eyes widen at her screen like your name is a hypnotic spiral. She can feel her heart swelling well within her chest, and she’s left wondering if the weed she’s smoking is laced or if she somehow manifested you. Ellie quickly transfers her blunt in one hand and her phone in the other, straining her thumb trying to type as fast as she can to you.

ellie: oh hdy!

ellie: hey*

you: dina gave me ur number, i hope that’s okay

ellie: yeah ofc it is :-)

ellie: i was planning on giving it to you

Ellie typed that half-lie slowly, weighing how true it really was as she pressed send. It was on her plan of things she’d like to do before dying, but even then she doesn’t think she would ever gain the courage.

you: oh thank god

you: i thought i might be intruding 🙁

ellie: never, what’s up?

you: can i ask you something?

ellie: yes of course aks me anythign

ellie: ask* anything* shut sorry

ellie: SHIT

you: lmao are you okay??

ellie: yeah… forget about that, ask away

you: well i was wondering if you could help me study? im failing my anatomy class..

you: if u can’t it’s okay though!

A sheepish grin spreads across Ellie’s face, as she thinks about all the scenarios that could lead to. To think she’d finally have an excuse to see you after weeks of hoping, of praying for the opportunity. You asked her for help instead of taking other options, especially considering how much easier it would’ve been for you to.

ellie: its no problem, id be glad to help :-)

you: really?? ur a lifesaver els, tysmm

you: when are you free?

ellie: Right now.

ellie: or whenever .

you: let’s meet at the library in 20?

Almost instantly, Ellie’s excitement warps into anxiety. She wasn’t particularly ready to see you and twenty minutes doesn’t seem like nearly enough time to get her shit together. She thought you’d ignore her impulsive desperation of “right now” and set plans for a later date, but, alas, you didn’t.

Ellie rubs her forehead with her blunt holding hand, trying to scratch the itch of her worries away with just her pinky and thumb. Despite her increasing knowledge of you over the past few weeks, she was still incredibly nervous to be around you.

Ellie takes one final hit of her joint before snuffing it out in a doob tube on her nightstand. She sets her guitar against her bed and nearly falls off trying to get up in a rush, even though she has more than enough time to get ready.

She stumbles around the room to put something on, settling with a gray hoodie and a pair of jeans. She attempts to keep her balance as she hastily shoves each leg through her pants; simultaneously eyeing around her room in an attempt to remember where exactly she put her anatomy textbooks.

Ellie hears a familiar ding from her bed and she snaps towards it to pick up her phone, peering at the screen.

you: ellie?

Ellie curses under her breath, scolding herself for forgetting to text you back. She taps on the keyboard, quickly making sure she doesn’t manage another typo before hitting send.

ellie: sorry! yeah i’ll see you in twenty!

you: awesome :)

—

You weren’t ready to see Ellie either, you figured, since it took you hours to actually text her. You made up far-fetched scenarios with the worst outcomes; the one where she immediately deletes your number tormented you for quite a while. Now you’re trudging across campus to meet her, internally at war with your mixed emotions. On one hand you get to hang out with a cute girl and on the other you’re hanging out with a really cute girl. Alone. Zero friends around.

There’s a chance you two might not have anything to talk about. You guys are only mutual friends after all. Even if you guys somehow manage to start a conversation, what if she comes to not like you by the end of it, or vice versa? Not to mention the window incident you’re both hoping the other forgot.

You hesitate in your steps as you reach the library doors. It’d only take a few seconds to spin around and walk back, but how could you leave her there? You thoughtlessly chew on your lip, eyes worriedly shifting around.

You can’t recall any moment you’ve been so anxious about meeting up with a girl before. Not once, not even in a distant memory. You’ve always been the bolder one in your endeavors. The fact that Ellie is the only girl to make you feel this way has to mean something. You slowly pace in front of the doors in an attempt to dissipate your worries, nodding to your inner thoughts and ignoring the probable concerned stares in the distance. You’re the one who invited her, so you’re gonna stick it the fuck through. You couldn’t bail before testing the waters, you’d never forgive yourself.

So you barge into the building, letting the cool air hit your face from the swinging doors; granting you a waft of leather and drying ink. The building was decorated with freakishly tall dark wood bookshelves; so high, there were beige ladders in place to reach the top shelves. As expected, it was quiet, empty and definitely overfunded. Studying has never been your forte and you’ve never stepped in this building; save for a few dance history books. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case for everyone else. Thankfully, one pro definitely outweighs those cons. Ellie was going to help you study. Ellie is the reason you’re here at all.

You tidy up your outfit that you diligently put together and roam farther into the library, trying to hold down a smile that’s impossible to hold down. In fact, it completely takes over your face. You need to simmer down your giddiness before you start skipping around. You purse your lips and briefly steady your eyes on the dark, olive carpeted floor ahead of you.

You head towards the front desk that’s just a sunken step away with the intention of asking for directions to the study hall. An older lady is sitting there, glowering with obvious annoyance definitely because of your loud entry. It’s been ages since you’ve been in the library— your failing grade proves that— and clearly you’ve forgotten all the rules with it.

A flash of guilt passes through you and you force an apologetic smile. She returns it with a grunt and you immediately redirect yourself further into the library; aimlessly in search for the study hall.

You’ve been walking around for a solid five minutes and you swear you’ve passed the same fantasy section a million times now. It’d be smart to text Ellie and tell her you’ll be late, but your ego won’t let you.

The looming large, ornate bookshelves certainly don’t make it any easier for you to navigate around.

The question of why the school spent so much money on all this occupies your mind as you venture further. You make a turn around a corner you’ve definitely made before, and you sigh at the familiarity of the area in front of you.

You keep pressing forward anyway, hoping you can manage a new route this time around.

Before you can make another turn, you’re interrupted by drowned footsteps behind you blending into your own, followed by a tap on your shoulder. You flinch at the sudden touch, sharply turning around only to see Ellie looking at you with a downward smile.

“Lost?” She sarcastically presumes, her viridescent eyes taking in your shocked yet relieved expression.

You fiddle with the straps of your backpack between your fingers, shyly glancing around you. “No, I was just… looking for more textbooks.” You nod sagely at your own words, as if you’re trying to convince yourself too.

“Oh? Next to—“ The auburn-haired girl squints at the shelf behind you before adorning a wide grin, “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets?”

Your brows raise and you follow her eyes onto the obviously fiction-filled bookcase. “Uh, yeah? I’ve got Professor Snape at four.”

Ellie narrows her eyes at you in amused disbelief, trying not to laugh at your adorably dorky excuse.

Dramatically sighing in defeat, “Fuck, okay, you got me.” You say lowly, a bashful smile developing on your lips.

“You passed the study hall five times. I counted.” Ellie goads.

You partially suppress your laugh, mindlessly giving her arm a light smack. “Oh, my god. Don’t tell me that!”

She dotes on your laughter and your touch; whether it was intentional or not. Either way, she’s feeling good about herself now and her previous worries about this encounter floated away, and you could safely say the same.

“It’s a good book though, we can go back and get it. No need to be shy about it.” Ellie quips.

“Shush!”

—

With Ellie as your guide, the trip to the study hall was much easier than you made it out to be. You recognized the big glass windows you passed by often and when you stepped into it, you flushed with embarrassment. It was a direct contrast to the old-fashioned, mahogany colored library you’d been meandering around.

Ellie really could’ve counted the times you walked by, and she really did. The first time, she thought you must’ve seen a friend and left to catch up with them. However, the second time around she realized you might be lost.

She was going to text you and tell you to turn around, but she thought it was cute seeing you walk in circles, ignoring literally every sign in your way. By the fourth time, she could tell you thought you were in a time loop and she found it fucking hilarious. Someone like you, seemingly exceptional in everything but directions. The fifth time came and, of course, she decided she was being cruel and had to come help you herself.

Ellie leads you to the desk where she’s set camp at, and the amount of books and paperwork makes you dizzy. “Jesus, Els. Are you teaching me the entire course?”

She takes a seat before giving you an answer, “Well.. That depends on how bad you’re failing.”

You take a seat across from her, setting your backpack on the floor before resting your forearms on the oak table. “My teacher said I was dumb as fuck and essentially called me a homophobic slur.” You’re exaggerating, obviously, but that was exactly what it felt like.

Ellie scoffs out a sound, unsure of whether to laugh or be offended for you. “Damn... It’s Bill, isn’t it? God, that guy is a fuckin’ prick.” She questions, clearly unsurprised by his actions.

You sit upright in your chair, relief shining through your words, “Yes! Is that his thing?”

Ellie casually leans back, thinking back to when she was a student of his. “Oh, yeah. He’s a blunt guy, shitty filter,” She continues, and somehow you’re both meeting each other’s looks, “But he’s fair with his grades, n’ I know it doesn’t make it any better, but he has a husband. He’s just… old.. and grumpy.”

You try to consider that he is letting you retake a major grade. You guess you could appreciate that somewhat. “True... still, the comment was unprovoked. You must know him well though?”

“Yeah, I took his class last year. We were at each other's throats about coursework n’ shit. Really hard to reason with that guy.” Ellie purposely leaves out the part where she was being unreasonable too, but only for the sake of storytelling, of course. “Then that summer, I saw him at a family gathering.” She finishes off with a dramatic shiver in disgust and you laugh at how endearing it was.

“Anyways, his gaydar is somethin’ else. I can never tell.” She admits, carelessly waving a hand in the air. Ellie’s radar in particular is broken. Shattered, even. She can’t keep track of the amount of times she has stood in the shower, realizing a girl was flirting with her only days later.

“Even with me?”

“Even with you...” She speaks with artificial sadness and a slight sulk.

“Ouch… I’m wounded.” You fake a frown, slightly dropping your shoulders.

Ellie’s eyes fall to your nails; some suspiciously shorter than the others, and all painted in your favorite color. “But… that I know for sure, I can definitely tell.” Ellie comments.

A swarm of butterflies suddenly parade your belly, and you shine a coy smile her way. “They’re not short because of that…” Your half-hearted attempt to defend yourself drips in the lightness of your voice.

Ellie briefly raises her eyebrows with a sly smile plastered on her face, folding her arms over her chest; which, unbeknownst to you, was to shield how hard her heart was thumping. She’s shocked she hasn’t turned into a pile of mush yet, probably thanks to her smoke session earlier.

“I’m serious! I keep my hands to myself.” You continue on, putting in a little effort in your voice for your defense this time. For the most part it is true, lately your mind has been on Ellie, and Ellie only. The thought of random flings didn't excite you, but she did. However, it wasn’t not true that you’ve had a fair share of hookups. You’re in an art school, how could you not?

“C’mon, just yourself? I’m sure you've cared to share.” Ellie playfully pokes around you with her words; nonchalant and prone for a reaction.

Your jaw slightly drops, making your head tilt to the side incredulously. “Wow. What makes you think that?”

Ellie unfolds her tattooed arm to rub her palm against the back of her neck, responding unexpectedly timid, “Hey, ‘m not blind. I know you’re popular.”

You snicker at her explanation and shake your head. “They’re friends. You can be friends with girls even if you’re gay, Ellie.”

“Friends don’t touch you like that.” She notes with an uncharacteristically stern expression.

It surprises you for a second, but all it makes you wanna do is poke fun, tease her, and see where it’d go. “Like what?”

Ellie sighs, reluctantly explaining further, “Like they’ve touched you before.”

“Straight girls are touchy.” You shrug, purposefully ignoring what she tried to imply.

The way you said it so matter-of-factly makes Ellie’s eyes roll. “You know I don’t mean it like– ugh, my judgment is usually fucked up, but that? That I can tell the difference with.” Ellie states with surety.

You narrow your gaze at her, a teasing grin forming on your lips. “What are you jealous or something?”

“Of you or the girls?”

“Oh, the girls were an option?” You playfully remark, but also with honest curiosity in how she’d answer.

Ellie clears her throat and leans forward to place her textbooks into view, trying to hide the blush spreading across her features. She’s not doing a great job at it and you’d love to tease her some more, but you can settle with taking the win for now.

—

Night crept up faster than you both anticipated, the ambient sounds of paper printing and carts rolling by were no longer prevalent. The only thing filling the room is the buzz of the light fixture above and the words you two exchange. The table is cluttered with Ellie’s open notes and some textbooks with neon page markers poking out the sides. It wasn’t organized by any means, but it was a mess you both found easy to work around.

Surprisingly, Ellie is a great tutor. When she saw your paper, she didn’t make fun of you like you thought she would. Instead, she expressed how grating it is to remember all that crap and you shouldn’t give yourself a hard time over it.

To help you memorize the muscles of the body, you guys settled on one area and made up silly rhymes for it. She tried to argue that brachiosaurus was perfect for brachialis even though it didn’t even rhyme. You even gave her the chance to pick a different one, but then she said brachyceratops with a mockingly straight face and you knew she couldn’t be trusted for the task anymore.

The air between you two wasn’t stuffy or silent like you feared it’d be. Ellie made you laugh, not in the breathy forced way you’ve unknowingly gotten used to making.

She made sure you listened to her tips & tricks, made you review your mistakes so you wouldn’t repeat them again.

You hadn’t picked up your phone for anything other than to google things on the subject, and your ringer? Off. Your attention never strayed far from her. That made her undeniably nervous– sweaty, and hard for her to breathe normally, but she could acknowledge how well she was doing.

Ellie’s head is dipped down to a paper you two were working on and you’re openly ogling, wondering how she’d look in a pair of glasses. Flipping through papers, tapping the back of a pen on her inviting lips. You tell yourself you snap back to reality before your mind strays any further.

“If we keep this up, you’ll remember it all in no time” She encourages, eyes still glued on the paper. Secretly, she hopes it takes a little longer. Just a little.

“Thanks for helping me out, Els.” You say, face tilted into the palm of your hand.

Ellie looks up from the paper to give you a smile, but she doesn’t hold her gaze for long. A millisecond later and her blush would have you thinking she had a sudden, terrible fever.

“It’s no problem. It helps me out too.” Ellie points to the examples she sketched out for you with her pencil. She pauses before speaking again, trying to get rid of the sudden dryness in her mouth, “Can I ask you something?”

Studying her expectantly, you lift your head off your hand. “Yeah?”

Ellie fidgets with her pencil, trying to muster up courage. Her mouth feels dry trying to push out the words. “I’m also struggling with a class and uh,” she twirls her pencil in one hand, tucking a sliver of her hair behind her ear with the other, “I was wondering if you could be the model for my art final?” Her question came out whinier than she’d like it to, making her freckled-face wince.

You can sense how nervous she is about asking, but you can’t place your finger on why she ever would be. This is the first time anyone has ever asked you something like this, so in your mind it’s nothing but exciting, especially coming from her. You can already imagine yourself sitting prettily still while Ellie studies you and paints long, fancy strokes on a yellow canvas. “Ellie, are you kidding? I’d love to.”

Her lashes flutter in disbelief, “Really?”

“You’re helping me, so why not? It’s fair.”

“It’s kind of a weird thing to ask. I mean, we barely know each other.” Ellie murmurs, unaware that you have absolutely no idea what she’s on about.

You lift a brow at her. “We will eventually, right? What’s weird about a portrait anyways?”

“It’s not a portrait… Well, I guess it is–“ Ellie sighs into her palm, “I’m drawing you, but…” She cringes before she can finish her sentence.

“A portrait in pencil? What am l missing?” You slowly question.

“Think Titanic.” She grimaces as she waits for your reaction, trying not to bang her head on the table for picking Titanic of all movies.

“Titanic? What does that have to do with…” Your voice trails off, quieting down so you can process what Ellie said. Think Titanic. It's hard for you to connect what the 1997 romance movie had to with this, but when it connected, it connected. The infamous drawing scene was memorable. You’re in awe, not quite sure how to react.

“You don’t have to be fully… y’know..” Ellie insists.

Your face is still unreadable, as if you're lost in thought, and it’s freaking her out. Too many what-ifs are going through her head, all of them gradually getting worse the longer you stay silent. She thinks she got too close to the sun when she had more than enough warmth. She's already preparing herself for rejection, worryingly scouting your face for a hint of revulsion; however, it never comes.

“Oh. Okay.” You calmly respond with a shrug, your face still unreadable; the only difference being a light smile. You could’ve thought about it longer, but you’re so flattered Ellie wants you to pose for her that you rather worry about it later. She wants to sketch your body onto paper. Yours. It sounds vulnerable and a little nerve wracking, but she’s your friend. A friend you have a crush on, sure, but you wouldn’t want to inconvenience her over it. Plus, you owe her now. Really, you’re purely being selfless. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself.

“Okay?” Ellie repeats to make sure she was hearing things right.

“Like I said, you’re doing this for me, so I’ll do it for you.” You reassure, gesturing around to the study session laid across the table.

“Are you sure? You know I’ll still tutor you, even if you say no–”

“— Do you not want me to?” You pout your lips, hoping she hasn't changed her mind already.

“Are you shitting me? Of course I do. I just… didn’t expect you to say yes.” Ellie finally says, absolutely dumbfounded given her hand movements.

You laugh melodically, “Didn’t think that far, huh?”

“Nope.” She answers with a cute embarrassed smile, her blood rushing to her face.

Your phone buzzes, probably a text or notification. You reach out and shove a few papers to the side to get to it before taking a look, only for your eyes to be drawn to the time. “Shit. It’s late. I think the library closes soon…” You murmur regretfully, feeling all too comfortable where you were.

Ellie presses her tongue against her cheek in annoyance, upset that time dared to pass by as fast as it did. “We should get going then, I guess.” She says dejectedly, not wanting to leave you just yet.

You peep her suddenly gray aura and smile warmly towards her. “Can you walk me back to my dorms?”

She nods with subtle enthusiasm and pushes out of her seat, immediately packing all her belongings to join your side. “Yes! — I mean, sure. Yeah.”

—-

The lamp post lights are warm and waning, complimenting the shadows on both your faces. You two walk down the dark flagstone path towards the housing area, chatting about nothing. It’s nice to be able to spend a little more time with her before the night is over. Unfortunately, you guys were drawing closer and closer to your dorm and the feeling of loss came as quick as it left.

“Hey, Els?”

She glanced at you and hummed in response, giving you the signal to continue. “I was wondering if you were gonna be at some party tomorrow? Apparently Dina’s co-hosting it.”

Ellie looks at you quizzically before looking off elsewhere to think. “Why the fuck would they party on a Sunday?”

You snort out a laugh before lifting and dropping your shoulders, “I don’t know, senioritis or something. Will you come though?”

“Mhm, I’ll be there.” She smiles as she speaks, loving how your face lit up by the end of it. Ellie isn’t too fond of parties, but for you? She can make an exception.

You cheer in a whisper tone and it makes Ellie smile harder, her features creasing in adoration. You two finally approach your dorm building. You walk up a step before turning to wave goodbye. She raises a palm in return and you flash her a smile that makes her heart leap before turning into the building.

If Ellie couldn’t tell before, she’s completely enamored by you.

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a/n: fuck jk rowling but i rlly couldnt think of any other commonly known fantasy book :/

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#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x female reader #ᝰ like a french girl

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pinkeoni · 1 year

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Why The Dragon Could Represent Will's Self Harm

TW: Discussion of self harm

This is an idea I've had swimming around in my head for awhile but I didn't start seeing the evidence for it until recently.

Why the dragon is connected to Will

This point is pretty easy to explain— the dragon in Will's painting was painted by Will.

I mean, it's a pretty simple reasoning but it's solid. Even without getting into the nitty gritty of the creation theory, you can point to the fact that since Will painted the dragon, he essentially created it. Will conjured the dragon in his painting, so he will likely conjure the dragon in some form during the climax.

It's always possible that Vecna could conjure the dragon, but dragons aren't really his MO. Vecna's into spiders, not dragons. It makes much more sense fantasy and Dungeons & Dragons to be the one to conjure the dragon. Thank you to @bylrndgm for pointing out that Will has some winged creatures (possible dragons) on his bedroom wall in Hawkinsand while looking for screenshots I found this dragon toy behind Will (in a scene where he’s being self deprecating no less)

This could also be another Vecna/Will parallel. In season 4 we see little Henry draw his spider monster before turning it into a reality in the Upside Down. Will painted the dragon, so he'll create a real dragon. Similarly, if the spider monster (Mind Flayer) that Henry created is meant to also himself, then could the dragon that Will creates also be himself as well?

How the dragon could represent his self harm

This part is going to take a little more explaining than the last part. I'll start with explaining Will's self harm.

Will doesn't really self harm in a traditional sense, rather we see him emotionally harm himself. While there are a few moments where we see Will stick up for himself, (the rain fight, Rink-O-Mania) there seems to be a line where Will no longer asserts his feelings outward but rather directs them inward and ends up hurting himself in the process. The rain fight results in the destruction of Castle Byers, and when Lucas tries to apologize to Will later, Will claims that it doesn't matter anymore. Something similar happened at Rink-O-Mania, where initially Will is able to defend himself but then later claims that he actually "deserved it."

And then, of course, we see Will harm himself emotionally when he gives Mike the painting under the guise of it being from El. Here we see a recurring aspect of Will's self harm, his self sacrificial nature.

In episode 1x01, Will sacrifices Will the Wise in the D&D game for the sake of the rest of the party. In episode 2x08, Will tries to sacrifice himself again when he instructs everyone to "CLOSEGATE" despite the fact that this would kill him. These two instances combined with the painting show how little regard Will has for his own self preservation, so long as others are saved.

What's interesting about all three of these instances of sacrifice is that they involve fire, burning, or even the dragon itself. The most obvious one being Will's dragon painting, which he uses to try and fix Mike and El's relationship and therefore hurts his own feelings.

When Will sacrifices himself in 1x01, he does so while casting fireball.

In order to get the mind flayer properly out of Will in order to properly close the gate, they do so by burning it out of him (and Will even receives a physical burn from Nancy in this scene).

Why this would manifest as the dragon

ST tends to use its supernatural and horror elements to explore themes of mental illness. The most recent and obvious example being the Vecna's Curse plot from last season, which was used to explore trauma and suicidal ideation. The NINA plot was a look at trauma and repressed memories through a sci-fi lens. In the case of Will, his true sight episodes were a supernatural spin on PTSD flashbacks. The show rarely ever has monsters just for the sake of monsters. Even the giant flesh monster from s3 was likely used as a metaphor for forced conformity and patriotism.

So then, when a big dragon gets manifested in the show, likely by Will, I don't think it would be just a big dragon for the sake of having a big dragon; I think that the dragon would likely be used to represent some kind of aspect regarding mental health. And based on what I've mentioned above, the aspect in question would likely be Will's self destruction.

How would a dragon be used to show self harm?

Something important about Will's dragon is that it has multiple heads.

It's been theorized as to exactly how many heads the dragon would have. Would it have seven heads like the dragon in revelations? Five heads like the Tiamat from D&D? Or just three heads like Will's painting? (Likely the last option) No matter how many heads, the dragon in each example has multiple heads, enough heads to be able to cause harm to another one.

Considering that the Duffers often pay homage to other sources, I was wondering if there was any examples in other media or mythology to a self destructive dragon— and then I remembered the Ouroboros

The Ouroboros is an ancient multicultural symbol that has taken on a few different interpretations depending on the culture it comes from, but is always represented as "a serpent or dragon eating its own tail."

The ouroboros usually represents the cycle of death and rebirth, but is also commonly seen as a symbol of self destruction.

Will doesn't realize that his self harm hurts others

Something that I don't think Will is quite aware of is that whenever he self harms or self sacrifices, he believes he is only harming himself but doesn't realize that he's harming others. When he sacrifices himself in D&D and subsequently goes missing, he doesn't see the pain and distraught that it brings to everyone. When Will gives his dragon painting to Mike under the guise of it being from El, he doesn't realize that he's actually hurting both of them through his attempt to save their relationship.

What this could mean for the dragon is that it could be harming itself, like in the case of the ouroboros, but it could also be causing damage to everything around it in the process. Imagine, for example, the dragon breathing fire on one of its other heads, but it ends up setting fire to part of the town. A dragon literally at war with itself whose self destruction spills outward, just like Will.

In the terms of how this works thematically, this is how the dragon could be used to show Will's journey toward selfishness. Contrasting his many instances of self sacrifices, Will learns that the real answer to saving others involve saving himself, and that's how they defeat the dragon.

Prediction for how this could happen in the show

Here's a rough timeline for how this could play out in the show:

We see Will's self destructing nature build up throughout the season

The dragon ends up manifesting at the climax, likely in episode 7

The dragon manifests at a point where Will is at his lowest, possibly considering sacrificing himself for the benefit of others. He doesn't realize that this would do more harm than good

The dragon tries to destroy itself but does damage to everything around it in the process

Will realizes that he was the one who created the dragon and has to contend with why it was created

Part of defeating it means Will has to have a personal realization

This point is a little less fleshed out but the party defeats the dragon together as part of the final battle before the final confrontation with Vecna

tagging: @howtobecomeadragon @smalltown-babygirl

#tw sh #tw self harm #will byers #will byers has powers #stranger things #stranger things theory #stranger things 5 prediction #anti milkvan #tagging for just that one part #byler #<- target audience #not byler related #but it also kinda is #my theory #long post

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urwelcomeforthis · 3 years

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Alex’s tattoo shows up the day after she punches Marcus Hinkle.

He had been picking on Kara in the hallway, dangling her math book above her head, taking advantage of his summer growth spurt.

Kara still doesn’t know what possessed Alex – Marcus Hinkle had been a thorn in her side since she had landed on Earth and started school a year ago, but whatever the reason, today was the day Alex couldn’t take anymore.

Eliza had been furious. Jeremiah had been (not so) silently proud.

Kara didn’t know what she had felt, really. Especially not when she asked Alex why, and the older girl had just shrugged and said “You’re my sister. It’s what we do.”

Up until this point being sisters meant fights in the hallway over the bathroom and ignoring each other at the dinner table.

Apparently, things were changing.

Kara is just waking up when she hears Alex’s hushed “What the hell?”

“What is it?” She asks, groggily sitting up and wiping at the sleep in her eyes.

Her sister is holding her forearm up, frantically scrubbing at a spot right in the middle, her eyes frantic.

“I don’t…. I don’t know! It’s like a tattoo but I didn’t get a tattoo! Fuck, Mom is going to kill me.” Alex sounds panicked as she continues scrubbing at the spot, and Kara feels her heartbeat speed up.

“You had a tattoo just appear on your skin?” Kara asks slowly, her mind suddenly far away on a planet that doesn’t exist anymore, in a culture she had been forced to leave behind.

Alex stops scrubbing and looks at Kara with a piercing gaze. “Yeah. It’s some funny symbol too, like the way you used to write before you learned English. Did you do this to me?”

Alex leaps off the bed and crosses the room in two quick strides, arm held out like an accusation.

Kara shrinks in on herself a little but nods. “I think so. I didn’t know it was possible here, but well, on Krypton when your soul mate reveals themselves, a tattoo linking you appears. I should have one too, somewhere, if you do.”

Alex stops dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. “Soul mates? But we’re sisters! That’s so gross!”

Jumping up from the bed, hands held up in surrender Kara hastens to explain further. “No! Not like that, I promise! Back home, people had different kinds of soul mates. Sometimes it was the romantic kind like you talk about here on Earth, but other times it could just be a compatible soul, someone who was meant to be a part of you.”

Alex still looks wary, if not relieved, as she tentatively holds out her arm. “So, what does this mean? What kind of soul mates are we?”

Stepping forward Kara delicately traces the symbols on Alex’s forearm. “It literally means “sister of the soul.” Je shesur. The symbol after it is unique, the way we would know we were linked. If this had happened on Krypton it would mean we were soul sisters. Not from the same parents but family just the same.”

Alex nods. “And here on Earth? What does it mean here?”

“The same thing. At least that’s what it means to me.” Kara refuses to meet Alex’s eyes, not sure she wants to see what waits for her there.

There’s a long minute of silence after Alex takes her arm back. The clearing of her throat brings Kara’s eyes up from their place on the ground.

“Where’s yours?” Alex asks, eyes burning with curiosity.

Kara shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not on my arms like yours is. It must be hidden. Can you look on my back?”

“Sure.” Alex nods. “Lift up your shirt.”

Kara turns and tugs her shirt up and over her head. It takes a moment, but she hears her sister gasp followed by the feel of fingertips against her left shoulder blade.

“It’s the same as mine.” Alex says reverently, and Kara closes her eyes against the emotion welling up there.

Who would have thought she would get to have this piece of home?

“So, I guess I’m stuck with you. For like, ever, huh?” Alex smiles once Kara has turned back around.

Kara grins back. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Alex shrugs. “Could be worse. But you have to tell Mom about this, because she’ll never believe me, and she is going to be pissed that I have a tattoo.”

“Sure, I can tell Mom.” Kara grins, a piece of her heart settling in place. She hasn’t felt at home on Earth, not really, but at this moment she feels like it isn’t all that bad.

The next person to get a tattoo is, interestingly enough, James.

It doesn’t come when they’re dating, or whatever it was that they were doing, no.

It comes after he has revealed himself to be Guardian, and he and Kara have the biggest fight of their friendship.

Kara wakes up the morning after tired, groggy, and more than a little cranky. Its as she’s stripping down to get in the shower that she notices it – the Kryptonese scrawled along the inside of her right bicep.

Throniv Shesur. Protector of the soul.

Kara heaves a deep, deep, sigh and grabs her phone.

She meets James at the DEO, both tentative around each other after the yelling match of the day before.

“So. I woke up with a tattoo. Kryptonese. Any idea what that’s about?” James looks smug, like he’s won some kind of battle with Kara and god, at that moment she wishes they were in the training room and she could just punch him.

“Yeah. I did too. It means “protector of the soul.” She crosses her arms against her chest, desperately trying to hold onto her anger from yesterday but the wide grin on James’ face is making it hard.

“I know. I asked Clark first thing since I figured you’re still pissed at me. He was a little surprised, but he translated it for me.”

“Where’s it at?” Kara asks, still pretending to be upset but truthfully it was hard given the glaring message from home telling her that James was meant to be Guardian. That they were meant to protect each other. Protect others together.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” James says with a waggle of his eyebrows and that’s what finally breaks Kara, a laugh ringing out across the room.

It wasn’t who she expected to have a tattoo, not in this way at least, but if it had to be anyone, she’s glad it’s James.

Mon-El doesn’t get a tattoo. Kara wishes she were more disappointed.

The last person to get a tattoo is someone Kara had desperately hoped both would and would not get a tattoo.

For a long time, she feared what that tattoo would be, if it were to happen. She feared having to explain it, having to explain herself.

She had checked with Clark a few times, when paranoia would get the better of her.

No, he always told her. Lex did not have a tattoo. They were enemies, yes, but it hadn’t been decided by destiny or fate. It just was.

That mollified Kara because she couldn’t stand it if she and Lena were to become Clark and Lex. She would fight against it, fight against fate to keep it from happening.

And then, well. It kind of happens anyways.

They aren’t enemies, not really. Lena just hates Kara and aims a few Kryptonite cannons at her and tries to mind control the entire planet, but really everyone is allowed a brief lapse of their sensibility, right?

And what matters is she came around, in the end.

It did take time, however, for them to build back to what they once had. It was different now, but in the way that things once broken and fixed usually are.

It was better, if anything.

They were back to shared lunches and dinners, quick breakfasts and coffee breaks. They were back to game nights as partners and movie nights as friends, and the occasional sleepovers as best friends.

Things were finally back to normal, so of course Kara had to go and absolutely, irrevocably, mess it up.

It was Alex’s fault, really.

If she hadn’t said anything, if she hadn’t asked Kara what was up between her and Lena lately, Kara probably never would have stopped to think about it.

She never would have stopped to think about the way her heart sped up when Lena entered a room, or the way her palms got sweaty when they hugged, or the way she just could not stop staring at Lena when she laughed at game nights.

But now she had thought of it and had come to the very scary conclusion that she was in love with her best friend.

Her best friend who didn’t have a tattoo.

She would, after all this time, have a tattoo, the tattoo, if they were meant to be together, right?

Kara mulls it over for weeks. It haunts her. She asks Lena about tattoos, and if she has any.

She learns that yes, in fact Lena does have tattoos and boy howdy one of them is on her lower back and it is seared into the back of her eyes now that she has seen it.

But she doesn’t have any kryptonian tattoos, which is really what Kara was aiming for.

Much like it was Alex’s fault that Kara even realized she was in love, it’s also Alex who reminds Kara of one important detail.

“Well I didn’t get my tattoo until after I punched what’s his face. Maybe you have to tell Lena how you feel and then she’ll get the tattoo.”

Kara feels dumb struck, right there on her own couch, because of course, Alex is right.

The tattoos always come after the person has already revealed themselves.

Then of course comes the true fear: what if she tells Lena and she still doesn’t get a tattoo?

That’s the question she’s mulling over the next night as she and Lena sit on her couch watching some documentary that had been put on Netflix.

Lena looks beautiful, face bare of makeup, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, glasses slipping down her nose.

She’s eating a piece of pizza, a rare treat after a long week of work, and Kara decides that it doesn’t matter if Lena doesn’t get a tattoo.

She’s hopelessly, desperately in love with the woman and she can’t let a tattoo that may or may not come dictate her life.

“I’m in love with you, you know.” Kara blurts out, like this isn’t a life changing moment, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say. (It is.)

Lena chokes a little on the bite she was swallowing, her hand coming up to her chest as she sets down the slice.

“Excuse me?”

Kara laughs. She’s never felt more free than in this moment. “I’m in love with you. I just thought you should know.”

Lena looks at her, shock written all over her face. “Oh. I guess that’s good.”

“Just good?” Kara nudges Lena’s thigh with her knee.

Lena shakes her head. “I mean it’s more than good, considering I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah?” Kara could float up to the moon, she thinks.

Lena smiles, nose crinkled. “Yeah.”

It’s the next morning that Lena calls and asks if Kara can stop by. She has this tattoo she didn’t have yesterday, right on her ribcage, and it looks like it’s Kryptonian.

Kara frantically searches her own body, finding the script on her hip, on the left side.

Zhao Shesur. Love of the soul.

It took them five years to get to this point, but Kara knows, this moment was more than worth the wait.

#i took some liberties with kryptonese #here have a drabble #supercorp #lena luthor x kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #just some ideas on different kinds of soul mates and soul mates in general #not fully formed but this is as good as its going to get #i promise this has supercorp

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myundeadgayson · 3 years

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Mystic Messenger, but it’s actually C!Quackity on the DSMP

…C!Quackity treating the DSMP like a dating sim joke, except I take it literally and tell you all the datable characters and Good, Bad, and Neutral Ends like this Mystic Messenger. (Disclaimer Note: This is all based on C!Quackity’s lore. This is also all based around their characters, NOT the CC’s. I am also NOT encouraging you to ship any of these characters -- especially bc some DO NOT feel comfortable with that. Also, no Minors are included because NO. This has just been a running Quackity joke for a while, and the concept of C!Quackity trying to flirt with all of these characters to speedrun the server like a legit dating sim sounds just so funny to me. Please do not attack me.)

Main Character Routes:

Sapnap (Good End: “Burning Love”, Neutral End: “I Love You, But Not Like That”, Bad End: “Twice Burned”) — can be connected to Karl’s Route

Karl Jacobs (Good End: ”Forever and Always”, Neutral End: “Friendzoned”, Bad End: “When Time Runs Out”) — can be connected to Sapnap’s Route

Schlatt (Good End: “Alone, but Better”, Neutral End: “As the World Caves In”, Bad End: “Yes, Mr. President”)

Advanced Character Routes (only accessible after all Main Routes are completed):

Wilbur Soot (Good End: ”Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust”, Neutral End: “Two Sides of the Same Coin”, Bad End: “Enemies to Enemies”)

Technoblade (Good End: ”Tame the Blade”, Neutral End: “Enemies to... Allies?”, Bad End: “Dental Appointment”)

Karlnapity (Advanced Version): (Good End: “It’s About Time!”, Neutral End: “Only Time Will Tell”, Bad End: “...Who?”)

Secret Character Routes (only accessible after all routes above are completed):

Eret (Good End: “Flirt with the Traitor”, Neutral End: “You Need Friends, I Need Therapy”, Bad End: “Never Meant to Be”)

BadBoyHalo (Good End: “Dance with the Demon”, Neutral End: “...Sapnap’s Your What?”, Bad End: “An Eggsellent Ending, but a New Beginning”)

Bonus Route (only accessible when reaching halfway through Advanced Routes; technically a Bad End):

Philza Minecraft (??? End: Dilf Hunter Achievement: Become a Stepdad)

These are just the routes I’ve come up with for fun, and you can kind of see how a lot of them turn out by the names asjhdgksaj. (I don’t mind explaining what happens in any of them if you wanna know.) ** For anyone that doesn’t know Mystic Messenger by the way, there are 3 Main Endings (Good, Neutral, Bad) for Every Character, a True Neutral End, a True Bad End, and some other Bad Ends along the way if you start Good, then turn Bad towards a Character you’re pursuing.

But also, since this is Quackity… Him balancing out affection towards Karl and Sapnap, gets the Karlnapity Route, which is technically also a Main Route.

I will say though… Karl would probably have secret bonus options in the Advanced Routes that become available that involve Quackity finding out Karl’s a Time Traveler (something he discovers vaguely in Karl’s Main Route), but it leads to Quackity finding out more about Karl’s Time Travelling— the way Karl dies each time, the Dopplegangers, the Inbetween, etc.

Upon discovering all these things and finishing Karl’s Route in Advanced as a Good End, Secret Endings become Available to him. (This is where we’re gonna get SERIOUS, just so you know. We’re living like the Dream Daddy Simulator and there’s more lore than you realize.) More about the Secret Endings under the cut with the actual hidden lore because this post is about to be LONG.

These Secret Endings actually include Quackity witnessing Karl’s Time Traveling firsthand… Also, potentially Quackity traveling WITH Karl through time and into the Inbetween.

Upon him finishing this Secret Ending (which ends with him calming Karl through everything and a hopeful ending of him promising to help Karl to learn more about Karl’s abilities and save Karl’s memories), another route is open.

There’s Three Secret Endings that reveal themselves in total. That was only the first. The final two are connected, but the third being revealed depends on Quackity getting all the Main Bad Ends.

The Second Secret End is directly tied to Karl’s Bad End and the Fiancés’ Bad End in Advanced where in both, Karl forgets Quackity and Quackity lives alone in Las Nevadas.

In the OG Good Ending with Karl, they get married and stay El Rapids with Sapnap (romantic or platonically). In the Good Advanced with Karl, Quackity builds Las Nevadas and Karl almost forgets him, but Quackity comes home and finds out what happened.

The Second Secret Ending is what happens after Karl’s Advanced Bad Ending where he forgets Quackity. This Quackity, who’s chosen not to find out why he wasn’t invited to Kinoko, finds Sapnap struggling enough between helping Karl, managing Kinoko, and everything with Dream. Karl is gone again. Quackity, though still angry with the two, decides to help find Karl.

What ends up happening though is Quackity and Sapnap discover The Library (something Quackity discovers only in the Good Advanced End). They search around and find The Books. Obviously, the two start freaking out until Karl appears. This Karl isn’t their Karl. He looks the same, but there’s a noticeable white streak in his hair. Another thing is that he remembers Quackity.

It’s discovered in that moment that this “Dating Sim” situation with Quackity being able to restart through every path (though he fully never remembers any of them once the paths end) is the work of Time Travel. It’s Karl sending him back in time to make things right. The Karl in their timeline will only continue to get worse and lose all his memories. He NEEDS his memories, otherwise Karl can’t fix the timeline. There’s a huge threat that is going to be showing itself. Everyone WILL be doomed if Karl can’t repair the timeline, however, this Karl can’t fix it for him. Whatever threat that is going to come after them in the near future is following this Karl’s trail too closely. If this Karl tried to do it, he’d be leading the threat back in time with him and things would be doomed even sooner. He can only send back one, which is how Quackity gets chosen. Even though Quackity protests, Sapnap insists that it be Quackity to go. Sapnap can’t leave. If he did, he would be abandoning their timeline’s Karl, along with George and Kinoko. There’s a small argument between Quackity and Sapnap over this, but Sapnap admits he just Can’t. The timeline might change, but he couldn’t live with himself imagining Karl coming home without someone there to remind him that it is Home. Or George finally waking up and Sapnap not being able to be there. Quackity might have Las Nevadas to worry about, but Sapnap has the weight of two of the most important people in their lives on his shoulders. He can’t do it. Future Karl assures Quackity that he’d be good for this, too. That past Karl NEEDS him. His Fiancé NEEDS him. And this way, Quackity can help Sapnap! In the end, Quackity agrees. He reluctantly agrees to go. Future Karl just grins at him and hands him a pocket watch that in future runs, Quackity will be more aware of having because he’s actually had it in every route that wasn’t Karl’s Advanced Route. Right as Future Karl is teaching Quackity how to use it, the portal behind Karl turns a sickly neon green and yellow. Karl looks panicked at the sight. He quickly starts ushering Quackity to leave. NOW. Right as Quackity does, he just manages to see a glimpse of a hooded being stepping through the portal. He’s gone before he can see who it is. The Final Secret Ending becomes available.

The Final Secret Ending is ENTIRELY based on Quackity getting to all the Bad Endings for the Mains and all Karl’s Endings. That’s because the Final Secret Ending is, of course, about Dream. Up until this point, Dream has been doing his typical Dream things. In the Main Routes, he’s more of an idle character for Quackity because Quackity’s not directly involved with him yet. In the Advanced, Dream has reached the point of being imprisoned, thus Quackity is incredibly aware of everything Dream’s done. Somehow, this Dream eventually finds a way to escape the prison. He becomes more powerful upon getting released and somehow finds out about Karl’s powers, leading him down the road of wanting to understand him so that he himself can “fix the server”. Karl can’t allow Dream to tamper with the timeline because it’ll ruin everything. Dream, of course, finds a way into getting into Karl’s library and trying to find the necessary information to do it himself. Insert more plot leading to Dream eventually chasing Karl through the portals to stop Karl from reaching a timeline where they can change the story, and thus enters Quackity. In this Final Secret Ending, Quackity discovers everything that happening because Dream appears before Karl in The Library and reveals everything. Karl arrives late, just as this version of Dream is about to actually kill Quackity because, you know, personal reasons, but also Dream’s figured out Karl’s plan. Right as Dream’s about to kill Quackity though, Karl manages at the last second to shove Quackity the pocket watch, but Karl ends up getting killed in the process. Quackity has no time to mourn before he wakes back up in the past. And that’s all the Karl routes (which technically along with Sapnap) make for the True Endings! So there’s all of that story! ^u^ Definitely way more than I considered plotting out... But ya know,,, I fucking love Mystic Messenger and I love C!Quackity lore, along with C!Karl... So this started as a joke, but now you get lore to it! So please enjoy this brainrot! I put WAYYYY too much thought into it ajsgalkdjghlkd

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gogglor · 3 years

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Cap-Ironman RecWeek: What-If Wednesday

Time for another installment of @cap-ironman rec week! Today’s theme: AU’s.

I know AU’s in different settings are half the reason most people read fanfics, but they’re not really my thing on the whole. AU’s where different choices are made, or different events transpire? Absolutely. Coffee shops? Not my cup of... you know.

So, here’s my AU recommendations for mostly “turn left” scenarios. This time with an under-the-cut break so I don’t take over everyone’s timelines (sorry about that last post). Also with some summaries truncated for length.

Alone Like This

Author: GotTheSilver

Word Count: 7,452

Summary: Steve, post waking up, runs away from SHIELD, and Tony's the one who tracks him down.

Why You Should Read It:

First off, GotTheSilver’s been consistently and regularly putting out solid Stony since 2012 and not only are they not stopping, they’re only getting better. This writer doesn’t get nearly the fanfare I’d expect in Stony circles for someone who puts out this much good stuff, and here’s hoping this post can be a part of changing that.

While I am always a sucker for enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, there’s something to be said for stories where Steve and Tony hit it off right away. And watching these two very different people look at each other and see the same sense of being lost, then finding each other again is... excuse me, there’s something in my eye, ignore me.

Second Chance Lives

Author: raeldaza

Word Count: 43,872

Summary: Tony's gonna die of palladium poisoning anyway, why not join a pointless expedition to recover Captain America’s body? And after, well, why not dedicate his last few months to making sure an American hero settles into his new life? What else is he going to do, get drunk at parties?

Why You Should Read It:

This writer doesn’t write a lot for the MCU but when they do, dang.

“Tony is the one helping Steve acclimate to the new century before Avengers 2012″ is a whole genre of Stony fanfics that scratch an itch I didn’t even know I had before I started reading fanfiction, and this is one of the best ones out there. It’s got it all - Steve poorly coping with his PTSD, Tony poorly coping with his immanent mortality, some breathtakingly poor communication between the two most emotionally stunted men in the MCU, and a cat named Roomba. What’s not to love?

Should You Choose to Accept It

Author: elwenyere (look, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of them this week, sorry-not-sorry)

Word Count: 27,106

Summary: After a terrorist attack and a field operation gone wrong, the Avengers realize that Nick Fury's secrets are just the start of a much bigger mystery. Steve and Tony try to keep some things from each other as well, but that can't possibly affect the mission — right? Mission Fic + Getting Together (or Mission: Getting Together) that mashes up elements from Iron Man 3, CA: Winter Soldier, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season one, and Mission Impossible 3.

Why You Should Read It:

You can see my post yesterday for singing El’s praises, but what I really liked about this fic was how how damn creative it is. The CAWS/IM3/AOS mashup is everything I wished the actual MCU gave us and more, with well-developed characters and an exciting story to put them in. And because it’s El, you know the banter’s gonna be on point, the way the characters care for each other is gonna be emotionally constipated but touching, and the pacing’s gonna be exciting enough to draw you in and keep you there. Also, this fic doesn’t have nearly enough kudos so please go read it and fix that or I’m gonna have to try to hack AO3 and that’ll just be embarrassing for all parties involved.

What Happens In Vegas

Author: sabremc

Word Count: 161,951

Summary: “What the hell, Tony?” Rhodey demanded brusquely. Tony winced and drew the phone away from his ear. “You’ve got cops and Feds all over the hotel. I’m watching you perp walk out of the police station on repeat on CNN. They’re saying you tried to bribe Stern? Fox News has you selling weapons on the black market, and God that picture they’re using is the one from Bali in ’09. You look like shit. They wheeled Stern out and put him in an ambulance, by the way. Got some paparazzi swearing you decked the guy. Now they’ve got ‘copters following it like he’s OJ.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Sourpatch, I’ve got it covered. Uh, though, I should probably tell you that, purely in the interests of national security and the greater good, I kind of had to fake marry that stripper-gram you sent. Thanks for that, by the way,” Tony added quickly.

Why You Should Read It:

If you’re deep enough into Stony to see posts like this on Tumblr, you probably know sabre’s what we in the business call a “big name author.” They’re prolific, they’re popular, and most importantly, they write words good (technical term). Seriously, sabre just keeps cranking out high quality stuff over and over again, raising the bar for the rest of us like a jerk (not really. I’m not bitter they write stuff so good I wish I’d thought of it first. Not at all.)

I never read stripper!Steve or stripper!Tony as a rule, but this came so widely recommended that I broke that rule and boy am I glad that I did. This is also the only fic on this list that’s a true-AU, with Steve being a non-powered vet from Afghanistan who left his army career to help Bucky and is stripping in Vegas to raise money for a prosthetic arm. He’s booked to do a private show for Tony, shenanigans ensue, and now they’re fake-married. This fic’s got some top-of-the-line banter and character development, but I particularly love it for its rich setting. Sabre paints a Vegas not just with strip clubs and blackjack tables, but KISS-themed minigolf, romantic dinners on the Eiffel tower, gaudy hotel lobbies, and making out on giant ferris wheels. It’s such a richly developed playground for the characters to play on, and through it, Steve manages to find a life for himself he’d given up on, and Tony finds multiple ways to show his kindness and depth of feeling for Steve. I know the word count’s long for this one but trust me, you’ve gotta read this fic.

Wait & Sea

Author: Lenalena

Word Count: 53,244

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Why You Should Read It:

This one’s old and popular enough to be considered one of the “classic” Stony fics, and for good reason. Lenalena doesn’t write too often and not as much as they used to, but the fics they have up there are an absolute delight.

This is another fic that I skipped a bunch of times for being outside my comfort zone, but when I finally read it I saw why everyone’s so wild about it. In this story, Steve’s defrosted a bit earlier and not revealed as Captain America. He and Tony are sent undercover to sniff out Hydra shenanigans on a cruise and, because it’s fanfiction, they’ve got to pretend to be a married couple while onboard. There’s tons to love about this fic, but the things that bring me back to reading it over and over is first, Tony’s kindness and the way he’s attuned to Steve’s feelings, which... God, just inject “kind, observant Tony” straight into my veins, please and thank you. This is also another really rich setting for a story, and Lena knows how to fold the the hokeyness of the cruise into the seriousness of the mission and the depth of feelings Steve and Tony are finding for each other in a really beautiful, layered way. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, it’s steamy, it’s gripping... why are you still reading this here? Go check it out for yourself!

Ashes to Ashes

Author: dirigibleplumbing

Word Count: 51,582

Summary: After regrouping following some surprise time travel, the world's heroes and sorcerers come up with a plan to protect the Mind and Time Stones by taking them into space in opposite directions. The result involves a lot more time loops than Steve would like, but at least they're getting a second chance to stop Thanos. (As well as a third, and a fourth...) And if Steve takes the opportunity to try to reconcile with Tony, too—well, they have the time, and Steve's going to make the most of it.

Why You Should Read It:

Dirigibleplumbing’s another name in Stony fanfics that does not get nearly as much fanfare as they deserve. They’re consistently a really creative voice in Stony fanfics and I always look forward to their stories showing me something new. Go read all their fics, I need more people to geek out with me over them.

I tend to limit myself on Steve-and-Tony-mend-things-after-Civil-War fics not because they’re not good, but because they’re so heavy, and also the Sokovia Accords have five hundred layers of crap in them that no good fic could possibly hash out well. This one, though? When you add in the Infinity War/End Game fixit? Poetry. Art. Music to my ears. DP wrote a really engaging, twisty story where it’s hard to predict what’s coming next, in spite of it literally being a pseudo-Groundhog day scenario. The characterizations are great, the story is engaging, and the feelings are big and sad and eventually happy. Go read it, you’ll love it.

I have tons of other recs for this category but this seems like a good place to stop for today. Tomorrow’s Alternative Media Thursday, and I’ve got some real gems I’ve been saving for that day (aaaaand possibly a self-rec or two ;)

#capimrecweek #tony stark #Steve Rogers #stony #fanfiction #MCU #ficrec

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mittensmorgul · 3 years

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So for the most part, I outright reject the finale. But I do think, in light of the whole "Jimmy was supposed to be in the bar, and Dean was disappointed by that because his perfect heaven would have Cas in it" just makes me all the more convinced that the final episode was some kind of djinn dream. Like.... There's no other explanation in my opinion. If Dean's perfect heaven was supposed to have Cas, and he tragically gets faked out by Jimmy (????? Why tf would jimmy be there anyway), it just proves that it's not ACTUALLY heaven. That, along with he El Sol beer he's drinking is all the evidence I need. I think after 15x19, Dean and Sam got whammied by some monster, and are stuck in a hallucination, and that's what we're seeing. (My headcanon is that it's actually The Empty doing it, because it knows if it doesn't keep Dean and Sam occupied and spinning in circles, they'll invade the Empty to save Cas. So its trying to prevent that) :)

Hello, anon friendo! I am gonna start by offering the socially distanced version of a high five, because yeah... There is just so much to unpack here, and you provided such a succinct and all-encompassing series of statements to start from. Thank you!

*flings open array of questionable suitcases*

First off, Congrats on having rejected the finale. I know a lot of folks are still struggling with that one, for many reasons. But you have hit upon so many of the points I’ve been trying to make about the finale since it aired. I’d just like to start with some of the assumptions I’ve heard from folks about the finale that make it impossible for me to consider it fully honestly canon. Because so much about it just makes no goshdang sense... like... not at all...

One of the biggest issues I have surrounding the reception of the finale in parts of fandom is that it portrayed a “happy ending.” The show itself spent the entire final season telling us that a gravestone marked Winchester was not and never would be a happy ending (thank you Becky Rosen-- words I never thought I’d say, but honestly and most sincerely meant). Let’s break this down a bit.

Starting from the assumption that “heaven was fixed” so that characters could have true free will there, making it satisfying in any way that Dean died so young and never got to truly experience happiness during life, I would like anyone who has adopted this attitude to then explain Kansas the band. I mean... explain that in any satisfactory canon-compliant way. (hint: you can’t. it makes zero sense in canon, if heaven is truly reformed and “happy” with everyone in possession of free will.)

Which brings me to Misha’s comments about Jimmy being in the Roadhouse. Why, if heaven were truly fixed, would Jimmy ever in a bazillion years attend a party for Dean Winchester? If Heaven were truly a “happy” ending for Dean, why introduce this element of eternal tragedy and heartbreak to his heaven experience? Why taunt him with the eternal loss of Cas-- even if you don’t think he reciprocated Cas’s romantic feelings, he was canonically the best friend Dean ever had, and being forced to exist forever in a place where he had everyone else he ever cared for except for Cas? Is frankly horrific.

How the actual fuck is that a happy ending, in any sense of the word?

How is this the sort of heaven that Dean would’ve made for himself before it was “fixed?” At least in the memorex heaven, he could’ve lived in oblivious peace with Cas, even if it was always just his own memories and not ~actually Cas~. I honestly think that would’ve been happier than the abject tragedy of what we did get, and what we would’ve gotten had the original script played out.

All of this kind of makes me wonder if they ever even actually defeated Chuck. Like... it feels more like Dean got pulled into the Empty at that moment with Cas and Billie, and everything else after that point was the Empty’s endless experience of sorrow and despair we knew it subject its charges to. So that’s one potential for what could’ve actually happened. I mean, everything about the finale was sorrow and despair, you know? Dean didn’t even get to enjoy his pie at a pie festival because Sam smashed in in his face. How is any of it happy, in any way?

Because if that was actually heaven, there wasn’t actually any free will (because why tf would Kansas the band have chosen to put on that concert? why tf would Jimmy have been there, just to torment Dean with the taunt of Cas returning to him only to have that hope snatched away again? It’s cruel. It’s, in fact, a source of intense despair).

The djinn theory could also work, and I’ve read some excellent fix-it fic using that as a premise. But that doesn’t really explain what happened to Jack (and Amara, since she was in there with them) after hoovering up Chuck’s power, you know? I think the simplest explanations in canon are that Chuck actually won via the unified power of Light and Dark being transferred into Jack and effectively using him as a vessel. With Sam and Dean convinced they’d won, they effectively stopped resisting Chuck’s story for them, and using Jack’s understanding of humanity and the Winchesters specifically, Chuck finally was able to implement a version of his story that the Winchesters would just waltz into without thinking it was supernaturally influenced at all. Going bigger and bigger with monsters and cosmic troubles hadn’t worked, but going so small Sam and Dean would barely even notice the influence-- even with the incongruous reappearance of a vampire that appeared in their lives once, for like two whole minutes 15 years ago, and an unsolved case from the journal from more than 30 years ago that John had never even linked to vampires at all.

At this point, I need to mention that I’m watching 10.23 as I type this up. An episode in which we confront the Mark, along with Death, and Dean’s despair, where he learns a version of the truth (but by no means the full truth, or even accurate truth in some respects) about Chuck’s Story, Amara/The Darkness, etc. That would unfold more fully over the next five seasons. And what was the case Dean took in this episode? Vampires. LOLOL omg this show is nothing if not horrifically consistent, yes?

So because of this, I went haring off through my own blog looking for a post I made a long time ago about the symbolism of how various monsters are used on this show (because again, consistency). I got sidetracked by other posts in my monsters tag, including this from after 15.09 aired, which feels particularly awfully relevant. This was my reaction to Chuck’s Story he showed Sam in that episode, about what the future would look like should he successfully trap Chuck with a Mark, and which... yeah is basically exactly thematically consistent with what we saw in the finale, right down to a cheesy twist on vampires. Read the whole post right here, but this is the part that reached up and punched me in the face:

this is how Dean personally reacts when he loses Cas. We know how he reacts when he loses anyone else– think about what he did when Charlie died. He went on a murder rampage against the Stynes for killing her. When Mary died he broke some furniture and went full bore toward both resurrecting her and stopping Jack. But without Cas, Dean loses the will to fight. Sam has… always been different. He referenced Jess in 15.04 to remind us of how he was after she died in the pilot episode. Just like John, he picked up the revenge mission and ran with it. But for Dean, Cas is different. Without Cas… Dean gives up.

Because... Dean gave up. Sure, he and Sam weren’t overrun by vampires in the end. Chuck knew they’d never stop fighting the monsters, one way or another. The only way to get Dean to give up is something Chuck hadn’t quite figured out yet... maybe not until after 15.17, after confronting Cas in the hallway of the bunker, after absorbing Amara’s power, knowledge, and perspective on Dean.

Chuck needed Dean to give up, and honestly? Pushing Billie to clear him off the table and send him (and Cas, that pesky angel who never did what he was told) to the Empty would’ve been a direct way to deal with that... pretty much akin to having one sibling locked in a cage forever, yes?

Also, still looking through my monsters tag, I’m reminded of 14.15, and still cannot differentiate the version of Heaven in 15.20 from what was done to the people of that town. This... is not... paradise. This is actively what Dean has been insisting is the OPPOSITE of paradise since like… 4.22… No ending where Dean was a “Stepford bitch in paradise” ever had the possibility of being “happy,” at the core of things, and this “fixed” version of Heaven just doesn’t hold up to any degree of inspection. Something is seriously wrong here. https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/183465650390/so-can-we-talk-about-this-monster-of-the-week-for

And since I was unable to find the post I wrote who knows how long ago about Monsters and how they’re symbolically used on Supernatural to represent larger themes in the episode, I’ll just attempt to sum up what Vampires have been used for. Revenge. Vampires are always, in some way connected to themes of revenge.

(and hooray, I found at least a post adjacent to the one I’ve spent the last four hours trying to find... https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/187207052080/i-obviously-did-not-think-this-through, where I mention that shapeshifters are about revealing hidden truths (mostly about Dean since most shapeshifters are connected to Dean), zombies are about grief and the inability to move past it.)

So why... why at the end of their road is the monster that comes after them-- literally FOR REVENGE for something that had never been blamed on Sam or Dean to begin with, from season 1, directly connected to John’s revenge mission and the first time they learned about the Colt AND the first time they learned in canon that Vampires were even real... like... this feels very specifically like some kind of layers-of-meta levels of shade on them, you know? Vampires are for revenge, so what vengeance exactly is being visited upon Sam and Dean in this episode? If not Chuck’s entire story for them itself?

So yeah, 100% agree, something is incredibly rotten in the finale. And I am sick to effing death of people trying to convince us that anything about this was “good” or “happy” or “satisfying” in any way. Or even “how it was always supposed to end” with Dean dead bloody, as if the entire back half of the series hadn’t been suggesting that a true win was the subversion of all of Chuck’s story for them, and Dean finally being able to have his chosen family all alive, happy, and chilling on a beach somewhere watching the sunset. Nothing will ever convince me that the ending portrayed in 15.20 wasn’t exactly how Chuck thought he “won,” rendering it entirely irrelevant to the rest of canon, unless all of canon was ultimately the tragedy we’d been encouraged to believe would be firmly defeated in the end.

Folks, you can’t have it both ways.

#spn 15.20 #chuck's process #if this was the 'happy' ending for dean they sure did fail big time to make it actually happy!#it makes me feel sick thinking that dean's happy heaven ending was more like an eternal pit of torment #like actively tormenting him and taunting him with the fact that cas was truly gone forever #like wow they went all the fuck out to make it clear that even in heaven #dean would never be allowed to respond to cas's declaration of love #like... it's the most hurtful and hateful thing the show could possibly have done to us #and it still fucks me up knowing there's people who think this heaven was a 'good' ending for dean #like... fuck that entirely and with extreme prejudice #i feel like i have not been emphatic enough about my absolute hatred for this episode in these tags #but sadly there are limitations to expressing the actual feelings i'm feeling in the english language #sometimes the only effective word for these feelings involves velociraptor screeching #Anonymous

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tvcoroner · 2 years

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Finale Thoughts Pt. 01: Karamel

Let’s do this. I’m not going to talk much about the episode itself because honestly there’s not much to say. I’m just going to talk about what I thought of the state of things after, and of course my thoughts on Kara and Lena and Mon-El etc. I’m a shipper everyone, this is mostly about the various ships. I’m breaking these up into separate posts otherwise the tags would be a pain in the ass and the reading way too damn long. Considering these are the last posts I’m ever going to make about Supergirl, I’m using the shipping tags even if I have nothing good to say about that ship. You can always ignore or block me if you don’t like that. I’m also using the anti tags, so you can easily block anything I say if you haven’t blocked that tag already.

Kara and Mon-El (Karamel)

Okay let’s start with the least important part. I’m sorry Karamel shippers, but this relationship hasn’t been relevant since season three, and even then only barely. I’ve never hidden how much I disliked this relationship. The entire thing just made Kara look really really bad. They wanted a relationship of opposites so that Kara could “fix” him and turn him into a better man. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see 99% of that change. He left, he came back, he was different.

This ship didn’t exactly have the best start. Mon-El was basically introduced as a replacement for James in Kara’s life, and I don’t need to tell you how monumentally bad that looked. This is one of the few ships on the show where the Supercorp fandom was united with the rest of the fandom, or at least those who didn’t ship Karamel, in not liking him.

To this day it was one of the most lazily handled ships I’ve ever seen. During their relationship there were multiple time jumps that were never directly made clear to the audience. Literal months of time could pass between episodes, which meant Mon-El when through character growth that we never got to see.

James went from not liking him to thinking he and Kara are great together between a number of episodes that James wasn’t even in. It came across as way too forced. The writers REALLY wanted people to see Karamel as an epic love story, but put in very little effort to make it feel like one. It was like someone shouting at you nonstop to care about this character and his relationship with Kara but not telling you why you should care.

Watching Kara not stand up for herself when he fucked up over and over again was exhausting, and she only finally did it in the next season after Mon-El returned from the future, had a new relationship, and got married. It was a very vindicating moment, but it came way too late to make this relationship feel significant. Mon-El was written out of the show and only made appearances briefly in the following seasons. It was clear the writers had moved on.

One of the popular ending theories was that Kara would go to the future with Mon-El. I HATED this theory because it would involve her leaving everyone and everything that has meaning to her to go to a place she has zero connection to other than her ex boyfriend. Karamel shippers desperately wanted this to happen, because at least then it could mean their ship gets back together.

Yeah...that didn’t happen. Mon-El showed up and helped and...that was it. He left. His previous relationship with Kara feels and IS nonexistent at this point. The writers were over it, the experiment had failed. I’m so glad the future ending didn’t come true. It wouldn’t have made any sense despite how many people I’ve seen try to justify it.

In the end, the only annoyance I can muster up for this ship is from things that happened years ago, and it’s just been too long for that feeling to be anything more than fleeting. Karamel happened, and it did bring Melissa and Chris together, who are now married and have a child, so that’s great. But for something that took up so much of an entire season, it was largely irrelevant to the story as a whole.

#supergirl #kara danvers #Mon-El #karamel #anti karamel

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ajeepgirl · 3 years

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Not Again

Just a little scene showing what is happening to Kara while in the phantom zone...

OR My take on what I think it is like for Kara in the phantom zone... Because I am not convinced that anything that has happened to her so far has been real/outside of her own mind.

Kara lays on the rock she now calls a bed, staring at the ceiling of her cave. She has no idea how long she has been in the phantom zone. Days, weeks, months, years… hell, decades could have passed by now. Her eyes fill with tears of frustration as she silently curses her friends and family back on Earth. How have they not found a way to bring her home yet.

“Kara?”

By now, Kara doesn’t even react. She is so used to the twisted tricks and mind games that the phantoms play here. They make her see what she wants to see. Each time slightly different, but the ending is always the same. They play out a scene, building up the hope in her, only for it to be absolutely crushed, taken away from her at the last moment.

She hears them take a step towards her. “Kara, it’s me.”

“Go away, you aren’t real,” Kara finally says. She rolls on the rock, turning so she faces away from her.

The figure stops moving, letting out an audible sigh. There is silence for a moment. “Kara, I know it’s hard to believe. I can’t imagine what horrors you have been through. I know it’s taken us too long to get here. But I’m here now to bring you back.”

Kara barks out a laugh that is so un-Kara-like, the person visible shudders.

“Kara, please.”

Pent up frustration and anger finally unleash as Kara sits up and faces them. “It won’t work this time. I know what this is. You. Are. Not. Real. You come to me. Convince me that we have a way out. We traverse through the phantom zone to some other part of it, to some new potential exit. Only for it to be ripped away from me somehow at the last possible moment. Usually with you dying in the process. So, no. I. Will. Not. Do. This. Again. I’m done. You’ve won. Ok. You. Have. Won. I’ve given up hope of ever getting out of here.”

“Kara, it’s me. It’s Lena.” Lena’s eyes fill with tears, seeing Kara broken like this.

Kara shakes her head. “No, it isn’t. You aren’t real. The real you is on Earth. You’ve all probably given up on finding me already.”

Lena runs up, kneeling down in front of Kara. “Kara, you know that isn’t true. We would never stop. Never. Now please, we have to go. The portal won’t stay open for long.”

“No,” comes Kara’s curt reply. She looks away from Lena, defeated.

Lena sighs, trying to think of a different tactic. “Ok… let’s say you are right. That I am just a figment of the phantom zone sent to torture you again. What if you’re wrong?”

“What?” Kara asks, only sounding mildly intrigued.

“What if you are wrong? What if I really am Lena from Earth? And you are throwing away your one chance at going home with her? With me?”

Kara chews on her lip, mulling over Lena’s words. She lets out a slow breath. “You’re saying even if I don’t believe at all that you are actually Lena, that doesn’t change the fact that I should still follow you. Even if I know this will just end up in catastrophe and heartbreak… I should still try in the slim chance it is actually a way out.”

Lena nods.

Kara looks away again, debating, her mind in conflict with itself. It’s a few minutes before Kara finally lets out a sigh. “Ugh. Fine. But when you die, I’m going to yell at you that I told you so... Phantom Lena.”

Lena smiles. “Deal. Now, let’s get going, please.” She stands up and reaches her hand out, hoping Kara will take it. Kara looks at it and pauses for a brief moment before reaching out and taking it. Kara is surprised when Lena doesn’t let go of her hand after they start walking.

“The portal is up and over this ridge, across the valley. It took some time to locate you based on a phantom we have in captivity on Earth. But even that didn’t pinpoint your exact location, just which plane you were on.” Lena says it all in a hurry as she pulls Kara along, who seems to be in no hurry to see Lena die again.

“Yeah yeah, I know I know. There is always some really great explanation for how you got here.”

Lena grits her teeth but doesn’t respond to Kara’s lashing out.

“Is it always me?” She asks Kara after some awkward silence.

“What?”

“That comes to you? That you see die? Is it always me?”

Kara is silent for a moment. “Not always… every once in a while it’s Alex.”

“So, it is usually me?”

Kara sighs. “Yes. Why are you asking this? It isn’t like you don’t know this. You are creating these things because you’ve seen inside my mind. You know who is most important to me Phantom Lena.”

Lena doesn’t respond.

They walk another ten minutes in silence before they peak up over a ridge.

“There!” Lena says, pointing to a portal. She looks excited, but it quickly dissipates as she looks over to see Kara with a downtrodden look on her face.

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

Lena nods and continues to pull Kara along with her, hand in hand as they make their way down the ridge and across the valley to the portal. “Come on, we need to hurry. It is set to close in a few minutes.”

“And there’s the catch,” comes Kara’s sharp reply as she stops walking, pulling her hand free from Lena.

Lena turns around to face Kara, red faced and exasperated. “Kara, dammit! I know you don’t believe me. I know this place has fucked with your head beyond my comprehension. But right now, right here, I just need you to listen to me. Ok. It’s me. Your Lena. The one who totally fucked up this past year and has been trying so very hard to get you back for weeks now. The one who wants nothing more than to pull you back through this portal to Earth so I can finally tell you how much I have missed you and how I might actually be in love with you. So come with me now… Please.” Lena ends her monologue breathless. Her eyes going wide as she realizes exactly what she just said.

Seeing Lena so exasperated, hearing the words she said, something in Kara jolts. She nods. Lena again reaches her hand out. Kara takes it. They turn towards the portal and start to run. As they run, Kara sees it, the sides and top of the portal starting to close.

“It’s closing Lena!” Kara says.

“You go first!” Lena says determinedly.

“Lena!”

“Kara!”

Kara chances a glance over, the memory of the last time she heard Lena yell her name like that coming to her mind. As she does, she sees Lena also looking at her.

“You are getting out of here, today.” Lena says this part much calmer. And though Lena doesn’t say it, Kara hears the implied part.

With or without me

They sprint the rest of the way as the portal starts to close, inch by inch. Kara’s eyes go wide. Her mind is telling her it is too late, but her feet keep racing towards the portal. As they close in on the portal, Kara suddenly feels Lena’s hand on her back. Kara has just enough time to look over and see a sad smile on Lena’s face, before she feels an extra force, pushing her through the portal.

As Kara falls through the portal, she rolls and lands hard on the ground. Her vision is blurry, and her ears are ringing. When she finally comes too, the first thing she sees is Alex, bent over top of her, her eyes full of tears of joy.

“She did it,” Alex says softly. “She really did it.”

Alex pulls Kara into a hug. Kara finally takes in her surroundings, realizing that she is back in the Tower, on Earth. She made it; she is back. She then finally sees everyone else, gathering around. Nia, Brainy, Kelly, J’onn, and M’gann.

Kara realizes it then. “Where is she? Where’s Lena?” Kara asks, pulling out of her hug with Alex.

Alex’s expression changes from happiness to sadness. “Kara… she… she didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Alex looks away, her eyes full of new tears now. Brainy steps forward. “The portal we managed to design. It only allowed for the same number of beings to pass through in each direction. Therefore, because only one person went into the phantom zone, only one could come out.”

Kara leans back, away form Alex as Brainy’s words sink in. “No… no… just… open it back up… open it up so she can come back through.”

“We cannot. It was designed to open where you were.”

“So… so design it to open where Lena is.”

“We do not have the necessary tools to do that. Besides, someone else would need to enter in order for her to come out. The same problem would occur.” Brainy says it all matter-of-factly, though the pain was clear on his face. Nia steps up behind him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“So fix it!” Kara says, looking from Alex to Brainy, back and forth, trying to understand what is happening. Alex gives her a sad, defeated look. Kara’s eyes fill with tears. “No no no. This is not supposed to happen. How can I get out only to still lose her!”

That’s when it hits her. The realization dawns on Kara.

“This isn’t real. I’m still there.”

“Kara…” Alex says softly.

“No. This isn’t real. This is another vision. Another hallucination.”

The others move closer to Kara, a shared look of concern on their faces. J’onn finally speaks. “Kara, I know this is hard to believe, but you are home, with your family.”

Kara crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Lena would never save me just to lose me again. You all would never let her sacrifice herself to save me. This is the phantom zone finding a new way to torture me.”

Alex stands up. “Kara, you don’t know what you’re saying. Let’s just get you up, get you into the medbay, under the sun lamp. You’ll feel better.” She reaches out her hand, offering it to Kara.

Kara refuses. She keeps her arms crossed and stays planted on the floor. “No, Phantom Alex. You aren’t real. None of this is real. This is all in my head. I’m ready to go back to my rock bed now.”

The Superfriends all glance around to each other, before Alex shrugs.

“Very well, Kara Zor-El.”

The next thing Kara knows, she is waking up, on the rock she has become familiar with, in the cave that has become her home. She stares at the ceiling. The events of the last attack passing through her mind. Phantom Lena told her she loved her. They pulled that from Kara’s own mind. Because apparently, that’s what Kara wants. She wants Lena to be in love with her. Because she is in love with Lena.

“Well… fuck,” Kara says out loud to no one but herself.

She continues thinking about her own feelings for Lena. How strong her reactions towards or about Lena have always been, since they became friends. How quickly she defended Lena, even when she didn’t know her that well. How much she didn’t like when James and Lena dated, even though she never told a soul about that. How relieved she was when they broke up. How scared she was to tell Lena the truth about being Supergirl. More scared than she has ever been to tell anyone.

“Oh… I’m an idiot,” Kara says to herself. “I’m in love with Lena Luthor… and it took being stuck in the phantom zone… with phantom versions of her… to realize this…”

Kara stares at the ceiling for a long time after this realization. Because no matter how much of an epiphany this is. It does not change the fact that she is, in fact, still stuck in the phantom zone with no foreseeable way out of it. And while she has faith that Alex and Lena and the others are doing everything that they can to get her out, it is hard not to lose that faith. Because with each passing moment and each time she falls into another vision, she does lose that hope and that trust that she will one day get out of here.

But now? Now she might have a renewed sense of that hope. Because now she has a reason to hang on to it. She needs to tell Lena that she loves her. That she has been in love with her for a long time now, but she just didn’t realize it. And that maybe being in love with Lena is a big part of the reason she found it so difficult to tell her the truth. And also, maybe, if Lena is up for it, go on a date.

Kara keeps all this to herself though, she doesn’t say it out loud. She wants the phantoms to think she has lost hope so that maybe they will leave her alone for a while, maybe give her a chance to come up with a new plan. Or maybe, hopefully, Lena will come for her, finally.

#supergirl #supercorp #phantomzone #kara danvers #lena luthor

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Downfall of a Dark Avenger Part 2: Shadows of Manhattan

Having finished reading Al Ewing’s El Sombra trilogy and having had enough time to digest it, I’d like to talk about the trajectory of it’s titular protagonist, the character and series’s relationship with it’s influences. Relating to The Shadow and Zorro and general pulp archetypes, and also the way it incorporates Astro Boy’s Pluto into the mix.

This part is focused on Gods of Manhattan and El Sombra’s first appearences in Pax Omega and the ways in which the urban vigilante manifests itself in the books.

In Gods of Manhattan, El Sombra takes a backseat to it’s central players, Doc Thunder and The Blood-Spider. I’ve mentioned how Thunder, while ostensibly a Doc Savage/Superman amalgam, also combines aspects that allow the character to condense the entire history of the superman into a single being, but to a character very much centered on the future and in progressive ideals, described in the book as someone considered both the city’s ultimate savior as well as viewed as "a faggot, a liberal and a miscegenationist”. In that regard, the Blood-Spider becomes his opposite. Perhaps the most comprehensive savaging of the dark detective/The Shadow ever put on paper, that has a larger point behind the questions and criticisms it brings up to what this kind of figure can be.

"You can hardly have a war on crime unless you are the one defining what a crime is. First rule of the war on crime: everyone is guilty or something"

Us am vigilantes! Am us not men? Us use violence to effect social change! Am us not men? Us bring terror to underclass, make streets safer for overclass! Am us not men? Am us not men?

Making them loved rather than feared. Having them fight crime, or the right kind of crime, at least. Created a persona designed to appeal to the worst in people, to bring the citizens of New York around to his cause, his war on crime, which would, of course, then become a war against ‘urban crime’. Or some other little euphemism. ‘Inhuman’, for example. Sounds a lot more relatable than subhuman, doesn’t it? Comes to the same thing, though.

Although The Blood-Spider is an evil take on The Shadow, most of his character traits are taken from characters that followed him. He’s got the moniker, savagery, fright tactics and branded murders of The Spider, he climbs buildings and has a civilian identity akin to Spider-Man’s, with constant name references to characters like Stacey, Jonah and a redhead named Mary Watson, with him sharing a name with Peter Parker as well as Batman villain Jonathan Crane, he’s got Rorschach monologues that are echoed by his associates past his demise in white supremacist organizations dedicated to carrying off Spider’s legacy, predating HBO Watchmen’s take on Rorschach legacy. If Doc Thunder is all about taking the superhero’s past to create a better future with it, Blood-Spider takes the future of the urban vigilante and uses it as a conduit to enact a barbaric and reactionary agenda in service of undoing everything Thunder stands for, even before he’s revealed to be a Nazi agent.

Blood-Spider is what happens when the absolute worst aspects of said characters are brought to the forefront and twisted by a dose of reality. He’s to The Shadow what Plutonian is to Superman, the most sour way said character and legend can be twisted into something horrendous. He’s the Doutrinador in a fedora, everything I vehemently argue that The Shadow wasn’t, and yet seems sadly ever closer to as more and more comics dehumanize the character. He’s Howard Chaykin’s Shadow, naked and raw and exposed for what it ultimately is. An insult and a wake-up call, if a necessary one.

In fact, said poisoning of a legend is explicitly a plot point in the book, because the book establishes that, before The Blood-Spider, the city’s main vigilante used to be a man by the name of Blue Ghost, friend of Doc Thunder and, although a mysterious public figure, still firmly on the side of good. Unfortunately, moral victories aside, “good” alone doesn’t cut it in the world of El Sombra.

You took a look at the Blue Ghost - mysterious masked avenger, operatives all over the place, big fan-following with the working classes, and you figured...we need one of those. Just take away the Japanese orphan kid and replace him with a foxy Aryan chick.

Blue Ghost is almost a textbook Spirit analogue, even defined as being beat up a lot as his main asset, except here, he’s placed as Doc’s counterpart that died before the story began and is now replaced by a darker and more horrendous counterpart, and because The Spirit was influenced by The Shadow, it opens a roundabout connection. You can read this as a comparison between the shift from Adam West’s Batman to Frank Miller’s Batman, or a comparison between The Shadow and earlier more straightforward pulp vigilantes like Jimmie Dale, or a comparison between the pulp/radio Shadow and later iterations of him or analogues to his archetype that upped the nastier aspects. Again, nothing in El Sombra is ever quite just one thing.

And at last we come to El Sombra, who spends much of the book caught in between the duels of Doc, Untergang and players in between. And it’s interesting that here, while El Sombra’s final victories over the story’s major conflict lie in his willingness to team up with Doc, despite knowing of his origins as a Nazi weapon, his victories over Blood-Spider instead come from turning tricks of The Shadow against him. First, when he discovers Spider’s true nature, spying on him by pulling a Fritz the Janitor. And then in the finale, when he schools Spider on what a real shadowy avenger looks like.

"Amigo...that's my sword"

The voice came from the darkness above them, where the gaslight did not reach. The Spider's blood ran cold for a long moment, and then he grabbed hold of his other gun, tearing it from its holster and raising it to fire a volley of bullets into the darkness. "Where are you? Show yourself!" he hissed, turning in place, the gun raised to fire at the slightest sound or movement.

"You're not the only one who can hide in the shadows, my friend. I've got very good at it, over the years."

"Show yourself!" Another volley of shots, with no result. Was he throwing his voice? Was he everywhere at once? Was he a shadow himself? A ghost?

The voice echoed from another place now, continuing his speech exactly where he had left off. And still that mocking voice echoed from the shadows above.

"See, I didn't know if you were a good guy or a bad guy. I mean, sure, you killed people, and you were kind of a dick about it, you know? But I didn't know if you were one of the bastards. I didn't know if you needed to die or not, amigo."

The gun clicked empty. He was out of bullets. He turned again, and there was the man in the red mask. Just standing there, in the middle of the concourse. His smile didn't look human. And his eyes. Oh, his terrible eyes...

"Stay back." The Spider whispered, and his voice sounded in his ears like a frightened, animal thing, waiting to curl up and die in its hole.

The man in the red mask only laughed. A rich, deep, joyous laugh, a laugh that echoed and filled the whole station, bouncing from pillar to pillar, careening through the great vaulted arches. Such a laugh!

Then the laughter stopped, and he fixed the Blood-Spider with a look that would freeze the fires of Hell.

And suddenly - quite suddenly - there was no Blood-Spider. There was only Parker Crane, the Nazi. Parker Crane, the traitor. Who thought he could destroy America, and only managed to destroy himself. Parker Crane. Just a man wearing a mask. He ran, and left the sword behind him.

"Nice trick," Doc murmured, turning to the masked man. "Throwing your sword from up on the balcony - good aim, by the way - then throwing your voice and a little mental suggestion to make him think you were up in the arches where he'd been. Where did you learn that?"

The masked man shrugged, lifting up his weapon. "In the desert. You can learn a lot in the desert, if you put your mind to it."

By the story’s end, once Lars Lomax, Thunder’s arch-enemy and Lex Luthor, takes center stage as it’s ultimate threat, Parker Crane is left a traumatized, broken shell unable to even move, utterly stripped of any mystique or power that his mask and guns may have brought him. And in the end, El Sombra finds him, neutralized and no longer a threat to anyone. And he makes his choice.

El Sombra knew what it was to hate, to hate so hard and so long that you knew nothing else, to hate so strongly that it crossed that line into something beyond reason.

He lifted his sword, resting the blade in his palm for a moment, considering. Crane only stared, weeping and making his soft, mad noises. El Sombra sighed, shaking his head. "You know, I don't know if I can kill a guy who's already dead. Even if he is one of the bastards."

"Don't let him in here." Murmured Crane, his eyes wide.

"Shhh, I won't let him in," smiled El Sombra in response, trying to be reassuring. "You'll never have to face him again. I promise. It's okay, amigo. It's okay."

It was strange. He knew he should feel hate for Parker Crane. It was Djego's job to bear things like pity and doubt, to feel sorrow and shame. That was Djego's role in their team of one. El Sombra was there to take never-ending revenge and to laugh and to never look back. But to know that his murder of Heinrich Donner - his righteous kill - had resulted in so much harm coming to so many... and now to see the leader of Undergang, the man he'd come to New York to kill, just an empty, broken madman, a shell of a person... El Sombra wondered if he was changing.

"Don't," whispered Crane, a tear rolling down his cheek. "Don't let him back in."

El Sombra smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, amigo. I'm going to go and make sure nobody ever needs to see him again. And I couldn't have done it without you." He squeezed lightly. "You didn't mean to, but you did some good. Remember that."

Then, gently, he pushed the tip of the sword through the front of Crane's skull and into his brain.

He was not incapable of pity. But he was who he was, and he did what he did.

And broken or not, the bastards had to die.

We’ve seen El Sombra struggle and be faced with choices, choices between Djego and El Sombra, choices between kindness and violence, between peace and conflict. We’ve seen the conflict in his soul between things that he knows are right, because Djego is a good man with a good soul who wants good things for himself and others, and things he knows he must do, because he is El Sombra and El Sombra was created to kill the bastards that brought his world to ruin and therefore it’s what he must always do. And in the end, El Sombra is simply stronger. He has to be. But strength and violence and hatred can only get one so far.

Gods of Manhattan is the trilogy’s moral compass, the book that most clearly defines the morality the series operates on. And in between the spectrums of justice embodied by Doc and Crane’s approach, between the two urban avengers in The Blue Ghost and Blood-Spider, El Sombra made his choice. And it’s the first choice that dooms him.

Enter Pax Omega, and we learn that, 4 years since the previous book's events, El Sombra joined a squad of agents called Yankee Bravo Seven, who work for an organization named STEAM, who enact missions against Nazis to turn the tides of war. He is joined by several other types of characters, including The Blood Widow, Crane’s former assistant Marlene Lang now having taken up the moniker (just as Nita van Sloan did for The Spider, even with the “Widow” prefix). We see that El Sombra has joined a team of bantering heroes and even formed a friendly rivalry with a man named Savate, modeled after Batroc the Leaper.

But we see that the hunger for vengeance still burns, still burns beyond reason, restless because it’s been 4 years and the war still isn’t over and Hitler still isn’t dead by his sword. And it’s that restlessness that again dooms him, when he once again makes the wrong choice and betrays leader Jack Scorpio, Scorpio who had personally brought him on board and gave him the best shot he ever had at getting to Hitler.

El Sombra frowned. "We need to make our move now."

Scorpio shook his head. "Not yet."

"What?" El Sombra looked incredulous.

"Wait for my signal, I said! Damn it, I need you to trust me!" Jack Scorpio reached up to brush the back of his finger across his forehead, and realised he was sweating.

Through his special glasses, El Sombra's aura was glowing an angry, pulsing red, like a throbbing vein. "Just...trust me. I'm asking you to hold back for just five minutes. There's more going on here than you know."

El Sombra just stared at him, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a cold snarl.

"Trust me. That's all I ask." Jack Scorpio looked into the blazing eyes behind the bloodstained mask, and spoke softly, soothingly, almost desperately. "Can you just hold back for one minute?"

The eyes behind the mask narrowed.

"Can you?"

PERSONNEL FILE: DJEGO "EL SOMBRA". TO EYES ONLY: THIS INDIVIDUAL IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS. IT IS STRONGLY RECOMMENDED HE NOT BE INCLUDED IN ANY OPERATIONS CLASSIFIED ABOVE TOP SECRET OR HIGHER. (I'll take the risk - J.S)

El Sombra spat in Scorpio's face.

"Chinga tu madre."

Then he drew his sword and leaped down into the fray.

After the mission is over, with the base destroyed and a major victory secured, although with Jack Scorpio having been killed, the team disbands. El Sombra continues to wander the forests near the Luftwaffe base for about two weeks, killing as many Nazis as he can, until an explosion blast hits near him, knocking away his mask and portions of his leg and arm, and rendering him unconscious for 8 months. By the time he wakes up, the war has ended, and so has El Sombra for the past 7 years.

Djego was afforded the best of medical care at the hospital in Venice. El Sombra was nowhere to be found.

His mask had been torn off in the explosion, along with some of the meat of his leg and arm. He walked stiffly, now, with a pronounced limp, and his left arm was all but useless, hanging limply at his side. The Wildcat crew had salvaged his sword, but Djego had little interest in using it.

Gradually, he regained his mobility. The back of his head itched constantly, and he suffered from horrendous mood swings, when he would rage against the Fuhrer and the bastards, or weep helplessly, like a child. But gradually, he found his personality stabilising in the gentle, antiseptic atmosphere of the hospital. He found that Djego - so long despised as a weakling, a coward and a fool - was capable of a kind of gentle, melancholic wit that made him popular.

Djego healed and grew, and the itch in the back of his skull began to subside, as El Sombra relinquished his grip.

Djego felt his heart seize in his chest. The cloth was missing a scrap at the end, and there was mud ground into the fabric along with the old bloodstains; but it had two evenly-spaced holes in it, and was unmistakably a mask. It seemed to be looking at him.

He takes up gardening and establishes himself in the city of Brandenberg, he becomes a fixture of the city and a friend of it, he enters a relationship, and El Sombra never appears again.

Until a mysterious stranger named Leonard Lorraine, walks through his door one day, saying he’s got a mission to fulfill, and hands him his mask. And, once again, El Sombra is simply stronger, and he makes the wrong choice again.

Djego shook his head and tried to step back from it, but his legs wouldn't move.

"No," he whispered. "No. Please"

"I was happy," pleaded Djego. "Doesn't that matter to you?" He picked up the cloth in trembling fingers, looking into the empty eyeholds. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

There was no answer. The patrons of the bierkeller did not even notice anything was happening.

"I was happy," Djego choked, and then, in one spasmodic motion, he pulled the mask onto his face, and secured it tightly, so that the knot once again rested in the back of his head, where it belonged: so tightly that it might never come off again.

El Sombra looked at his hands.

He prodded his belly, amused at the rounded shape of it, and took a couple of steps back from the bar. The limp was gone.

He laughed, very softly, so as not to disturb the patrons.

Djego and Lorraine walk through the desolate streets of Berlin, which in the years since has completely sealed itself from the outside world through an impossibly thick dome, and Djego discovers the city completely bereft of life, with only a few lobotomized robotic citizens aimlessly wandering and chewing on the mountains of corpses in the city, as their Nazi ideology reached it’s inevitable outcome of total annihilation of any and all that the party could find an excuse to slaughter in the name of purity, which eventually included it’s few remaining members. In this world, Hitler has been a brain inside a robotic contraption ever since 1945, and it’s amidst this scenario that El Sombra, while thinking about how his final confrontation with Hitler would play out, eventually finds what’s left of Hitler.

All around them, there were the sounds of machinery, but the Mecha-Fuhrer was completely silent, utterly motionless. In the centre of its chest rested a tank of toxic green fluid, and on the surface of the fluid, a human brain floated, like the corpse of a goldfish.

It was quite dead.

El Sombra stared at the Fuhrer for a long moment. Eventually, he spoke, and his voice was cracked and raw, and choked with rage. "Is...is this a joke?"

De Lareine smiled his terrible smile. "The Fuhrer's body needed a great deal of maintenance and repair, you know. After two years, one of the processes delivering oxygen to his brain failed...and there was nobody left to repair it. He died, slowly." There would have been some pain, at the end".

El Sombra slammed his fist into the great iron throne on which the massive body sat, shattering his knuckles and tearing the skin from them. He didn't seem to notice. "Some pain," he choked, through gritted teeth."

El Sombra was still staring into the empty, dead eyes of the Fuhrer.

El Sombra again chooses poorly. It’s this moment, above all else, that truly damns him to his fate, as we come to see what is it exactly that a persona created for the purpose of vengeance has, when said vengeance is robbed from it. Like Parker Crane, his persona crumbles completely to expose the petty, ugly little feelings that drove it to such grandstanding antics in the first place, and the allmighty El Sombra is exposed for the all-too human failings that damned him once and for all.

"This isn't right," he said, eventually, in a strangled voice. "How...how can it end like this?"

"Why shouldn't it?" De Lareine shrugged. "Here's a thought. Maybe, despite his twenty-year tantrum and all his dressing up, spoilt little Djego is not the centre of the universe -"

El Sombra turned, face red, tears streaming from his eyes, and charged at De Lareine, slashing his sword. El Sombra crashed down onto the floor, into the soot scattered about, as De Lareine walked around him.

"Did you really believe Adolf Hitler would wait around for your sword? Did you not imagine that it might be better for him to seal himself off in a hole to die, instead of murdering and enslaving continents until you finally got around to him? Did you think you were the hero of your own little story, El Sombra, with your mask and your laugh and your-"

"Shut up!" El Sombra cried out, scrambling to his feet, the sword shaking in his hand, tears and snot running down his face. "He was mine! He was mine to kill!" He lifted the sword, the tip trembling. "Bring him back," he screamed, "do you hear me? Bring him back to life!"

De Lareine had to laugh at that.

And in the end, El Sombra is crushed, spiritually and physically as his spine is shattered by Lareine, who begins to experiment on him as he lays dying, ready to fulfill fate’s greater purpose for El Sombra. Ready to become not just the perfect machine Pasito’s conquerors intended, but a superior design. Ready to abandon his former life, ready to abandon everything that defined him, ready to shed any and all traces of Zorro and Shadow and pulp hero in his system, because the age of pulp heroes and superheroes has passed.

The metal man emerged from his hole, dragging the corpse of the Fuhrer behind him.

The brain in the metal man's chest would, perhaps, live for thousands of years. He wondered how he would spend the time.

He remembered little of his former life; he had been a man named El Sombra, or perhaps Djego. He had been stupid - he realised that now - but that was something he would never be again.

Apart from that, there was only a succession of faces, the memory of laughter and of a final, awful betrayal that had destroyed him. But there was also the sense that a great and terrible mission had ended at last, and it was time for a new life to begin.

The metal man took a last look back at the great dome of Fortress Berlin. Somewhere in there, the Leopard Man was hunting, freed from his own mission. And in the Fuhrer's old office, the empty, lifeless clay of El Sombra - or was it Djego? - lay, discarded, like a butterfly's cocoon.

The metal man thought on this, as the Fuhrer rusted at his feet and the tanks began to approach from over the hills ahead.

He would need a new name.

It’s now the age of Pluto.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #al ewing #el sombra #pluto

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scarfdyedshadow · 4 years

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On the Decline of Mage Characterization in Ancillary Type-Moon Works (or On Magi Getting Flanderized Into One-Dimensional Evil Arrogant Sods) Part 1: The Matter of Magi Themselves

Yes, I am dumb enough and obsessed enough to basically write an entire essay on this. Yes, the title is pretentious as all hell.

A disclaimer before we start though, this is not directed at or meant to condemn or call out or mock or invalidate the many a Tumblr shitpost on evil arrogant magi getting owned by Guda or various other characters. It may not be humor personally up my alley, but I understand the appeal, and it’s not like there isn’t some grain of truth to them. Likewise this isn’t meant to in any way condone anything Nasuverse magi. A fair amount of them are evil regardless of mitigating circumstances, a lot of the ones that aren’t outright evil have capacity to be evil because of ethos and mindset, and the acts they commit are certainly evil. I am not condoning them, or dismissing them as not evil. I simply urge a more nuanced rather than simplistic analysis of that evil. This also unfortunately omits Mahoyo, which probably has quite a bit of insight, because I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet, thus rendering me a fake fan you should not listen to. Thank you for your consideration. Also, spoilers.

This first part is primarily concerned with the inhumanity of magi and misconceptions about magi and their ethos as a whole, while the next part will actually go into the history of magus villains in Type-Moon works and what I feel is their decline, and build upon and further points of this part. There may be a potential third part on the Crypters, Gordolf, and Olga, the modern faces of Nasuverse magi and the greatest illustration that magi are far more nuanced, complex, pitiful and yet admirable, than they aren’t, and Nasu’s thesis statement on the power of love and life.

(Note: Okay my theme is actually pretty eyesearing to the point I recommend you read this on dash, I’ll go get it fixed)

"Do you know what it is that magi are aiming for?"

After a moment of blankness, Gray replied with a difficult expression.

"Umm...I heard about it in class. What was it...the Spiral of Origin?"

"Right. The Spiral of Origin, or more simply the Root. Sometimes it's referred to as「」, the thing for which there can be no reference. It is the source of everything, the 'zero' from which all matter and phenomena flow. Ah, but now that I'm trying to put it into words, I'm realizing that's not a good idea. After all, even the idea of 'zero' has baggage that makes it unsuitable as a comparison."

"Regardless, the goal of magi is to eventually reach that place. Of course, there are also those who simply derive pleasure from touching the supernatural, or from being superhuman. Because we are weak, we fall to that diversion. But in the end, that's not our ultimate goal."

For modern magi, most understood that reaching the root was something that just wasn't possible for them. After all, even though magecraft itself had been in a state of continuing decline since the Age of Gods, there were no reports of anyone facing that past and trying to return to it. Likely, the appearance in the Far East of the fifth - and often called the last - Magician was the same as the gate to the Root being all but closed to everyone else.

Even so, we didn't give up.

Anyone who would give up in a situation like this would never have become a magus to begin with.

Ironically enough, despite opening up with a quote from Lord El-Melloi II Case Files, which I’ll have some critique for, the crux of my thesis is this. As originally presented in Kara no Kyoukai, and generally only kept up to a meaningful degree in other Nasu written works like Stay Night, Clock Tower 2015, and Grand Order, magi were the piteous, tragic, inhuman not as in inhumane but as in a broken machine product of an impossible ideal and a broken system. They were the villains, yes, unambiguously so, but at the same time they were sympathetic and nuanced to an extent that would decline down the road.

You see, Araya. A mage always lives hurriedly. What for? If it was for themselves alone they wouldn't bother with the outside world. So why do they intrude upon the rest of the world? Why do they rely upon it? What will they achieve with that power? What will they save with the Ars Magna (Ars Magna: Meaning 'great secret technique', it stands not for a technique that is not learnt through study but for a mystery that is secretly passed down)? If that was the case it would have been better for them to become a king instead of a mage.

You think people live foully, but you yourself would not be able to live like that. You would not be able to live while accepting the fact that you know that everything is worthless and base. You would not be able to live without the pride of knowing that you alone are special, and that you alone can save this crumbling world. Of course, I was like that too. But that sort of thing has no meaning. --- Accept it, Araya. We chose the path of transcendence called magecraft because we are weaker than everybody else.

Magi were presented as absurd, as farcical, as maddeningly helpless and hopeless compared to those living normal lives. This will come up in Part 2, especially as pertains to Touko and Gordolf and the like, but normal everyday life, not superior thematic superpowers or an army of Servants, is what is truly far more powerful than any magi.

"... I'll just ask one thing. What do you mean when you say that secrets are kept even within that Association?"

Unexpectedly, I hear something from the sofa.

Over there is Shiki, who has been sitting there since before without a word. She's the type of person who doesn't get involved in a conversation that she's not interested in, so until now she had been staring at the scenery outside the window.

"--- There is that. A mage won't reveal the results of his experiments even within the Association. What the person next to them is researching, what their goals are, and what they have obtained are all a mystery. The only time a mage will reveal the results of their work is when they are passing it on to their descendants just before they die."

"Studying for their benefit alone, yet not using that power for their own sake? What purpose is there in a life like that, Touko? Is it that the goal is to learn, and the process is to learn too? If the only things you have are the beginning and the end, that's the same as having a zero."

Their pursuit for the truth is maddening. It is greedy yet at once devoid of greed. It is selfish yet at once devoid of selfishness. Their ethos and methodology are not fundamentally inhumane, but inhuman. Magi are an odd sort of creature indeed, and it isn’t the case that they’re all evil in their absurd quest. Indeed, virtually all early Nasuverse ancillary material, and this is still said today despite the opposite being true in practice, is that the vast majority of magi are shut ins who stay inside researching as opposed to eating babies.

The everyday life of a magus is mostly spent conducting research. Magi who use magic outside of a research capacity, such as those who use magi to work and profit for themselves, are few in number. People who treat magic as a tool, such as assassins, are called “spellcasters”, and are looked down upon with disdain by the magical establishment.

Furthermore, it is precisely because they are magi that few magi use magic in their daily lives.

Practically speaking, for every mage you see committing mass murder or fighting the mass murdering mage with superpowers, there are ten who we certainly can’t call conventionally moral, who we certainly can’t call normal humans, obsessively striving towards a seemingly impossible goal inhumanly but not inhumanely. Because Type-Moon does action series this has never been tenable to properly depict besides the minority, but it is the truth regardless. This is from a later work I actually have some measure of criticism for, but Strange Fake actually illustrates that point perfectly.

"A mage's mage," he muttered disgustedly to himself, eyes narrowed, "is no different from a hard-working corrupt politician." What about me? He wondered as soon as the words were out of his mouth. As long as corruption stayed hidden, it was difficult for the public to tell the difference between a corrupt politician and an honest one. In which case, mages, who never entered the public eye to begin with, probably ought to be lumped in with them. There were exceptions, but from the standpoint of the general public, mages were generally evil.

Other Nasu written works like Stay Night and Clock Tower 2015 also touch upon it.

Magic is just what it sounds like… magic. I don't care if you get ideas like abracadabra or whatever. You can just think of us as people who do strange things by casting spells. Oh, though it's not like we fly around on brooms or make stars appear with a wave of a wand. …Well, we could do that, but we don't bother as it's kind of meaningless. We're basically heretics who hide ourselves from the world. We're prohibited from standing out and even if we weren't, we would rather be at home studying magic.

Clock Tower 2015 especially hits it up by depicting what might be called the ideal magus, the point of being a magus that is often distorted by human concerns but that all of them are to some extent, not an inhumane monster but an inhuman man who has dedicated his life to magecraft.

"Ahhh, the life of a magus is so brief. It would have been great if I were born with just the brain and nothing else." Like what you just saw, Leiv was a pure academic magus. All his efforts were poured solely into his theory and magecraft. He cared naught of any other responsibilities, the application of his magecraft, his lineage, or building his faction. From Leiv's perspective, those magi were the same as the plebians that were "normal people". If one were to decipher the mystical, then he must sacrifice his humanity. A magus was a creature with nothing but magecraft on his mind. There was no room for burdens such as "life".

So to begin with, what we call magi are far from all arrogant murderous sods, and if anything arrogant murderous sods are the minority. They come in all manner of varieties, united simply by the pursuit of the impossible, by the desire to reach the truth, by the desire to transcend. Even more so than just that, they do have their values and ethics. They are often cruelly distorted, to the extent “magi parents” is a phrase that might as well be an oxymoron, but I would opine that as a product more of recent years than anything.

"Keep those for me. They are some awful cigarettes from Taiwan but I only have those now. Of course there isn't any company that made them, it's a famous item that some eccentric master made only one box of. Yeah, out of all my possessions that is the second most valuable thing I have." Leaving behind some strange words, she turned around and walked out. ... Perhaps her most valuable possession is herself, that kind of thought popped into my mind so I asked her, but she only turned back her head and answered. "That's rather rude. I know it's me but even I don't treat people like possessions." Like herself when she has her glasses on, she pouts as if she's sulking. And then, returning to her usual cool expression Touko-san continued talking. "Kokuto. Those people called mages, with an apprentice or other people they are close to they feel like parents. Since they are something like their offspring, they often fight desperately to protect them as well. ... Well, it's like that so relax and wait here. I'll bring Shiki back tonight." Thock thock, the sound of her walking away. Unable to say anything to her back, I let the brown-coated magician go.

That magi value their children, their apprentices, their legacies, even if only as a next step on the path to the Root, is also a truth echoed at the same time that it’s often contradicted. But then, magi are in of themselves contradictory creatures. After all, despite pursuing an inhuman ideal, despite throwing away their humanity, they themselves are still human. That contradiction between reality and ideals, best exemplified by Fate/Stay Night, is one of the themes at the heart of Nasu’s work.

So, to repeat it once more, magi as a whole, magi society as a whole, is not fundamentally inhumane but inhuman. That inhumanity often lends itself to the inhumane, but not necessarily, and indeed I opine that should be considered on a deeper level. That inhuman society is by no means a good thing, but to simply call it evil and magi evil and call it a day is to do a disservice to its nuance. There are arrogant murderous magi as well, sure, but they too are products of a tenacious ideal, they are the long shadow cast by lineages stretching for thousands of years.

In reality, what really forged the magus of the modern day was not a supernatural power or transcendent conscience, but a tenacity built and reinforced over generations. Clinging to a shadowed, intense ideology for hundreds, or in some cases even thousands of years, developed its own sort of extreme power. Even if science were to exceed magecraft in all other respects, as long as that ideal survived, magecraft itself would be ineradicable.

But what then of Souren Araya? What of that bastard Zouken and worst dad of the year Tokiomi and that arrogant asshole Kayneth? Rest well assured that I will cover them in exacting detail in the next part of whatever the hell this is, and everything I say about them will build upon this. That may seem contradictory, since this part is mostly devoted to showing that magi are far more than just evil sods, but believe it or not Kayneth is going to be mightily relevant to how pitifully weak magi in truth are, and Tokiomi is going to be relevant to how magi value their children in ways that don’t have to be inhumane, but can be inhuman. Until next time, all I can ask is to consider that while magi are indeed monsters, monsters really can be quite interesting creatures.

Things in this world were all like that.

It wasn’t limited to magecraft. It wasn’t limited to those beyond humans (monsters). In a world of common sense (the obvious), it was something everyone understood.

If you said that misunderstandings, miscommunications, disagreements, and false understandings are what connected them, then...

“We are misrecognition. Our world itself is misunderstanding. We can experience a multitude of truths, not just one single reality. No matter how wise you are, or how much time you are given, you will never reach something like a single truth. Magi may just be those who continually reject that fact.”

Speaking as if in self-deprecation, my master had pursed his lips at that.

He had finally realized that his words and the objective that all Magi pursued, known as the “Spiral of Origin,” were in contradiction.

Sources: Lord El-Melloi Case Files (TL by TwilightsCall), Kara no Kyoukai (TL on baka-tsuki), Fate/Stay Night (TL Mirror Moon), Clock Tower 2015 (TL by food), Fate/Strange Fake (TL by OtherSideOfSky)

#type-moon #fate series #fate grand order #fgo #fate stay night #kara no kyoukai #knk #fsn #fate meta #magecraft #lord el-melloi ii case files #case files #garden of sinners

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kaypeace21 · 4 years

Note

something i noticed, during the s3 byler argument, Mike says “El’s not stupid, it’s not MY fault you don’t like girls.” Mike’s “it’s not my fault” doesn’t fit as a retort, the theme of his retort should be defending El. He should have said “it’s not HER fault you don’t like girls”. Knowing there were other versions of that line the writers must have consciously chosen to leave this one in, knowing how it could be interpreted. anyway, do you have any idea why mike even said that line?

Yes, I have talked about it -here (in my long ‘why Mike is gay post’). But since so many people misinterpret the meaning of Mike’s words- might as well do a shorter/more brief version .And do a post focusing on it. HE’S SAYING THIS TO HIMSELF!

First some background

Mike DOES NOT think Will is gay. Dustin foreshadows their fight in s1 saying “Dustin: “He’s just jealous.” Mike: “What?” Dustin: “Sometimes your total obliviousness just blows my mind?” Dustin: “ What matters is, he’s your best friend. And then this girl shows up… and all you ever want to do is spend time with her!” Mike: “that’s not true!”

Dustin: “Yes it is! And you know it. And he knows it. But no one ever says anything until you’re both start… yelling at each other like goblins with intelligence scores of 0. And now everything is weird”

Mike: “He’s not my best friend! … I mean he is. But so are you.”

He won’t let himself consider that Will could be gay because then it would be harder to pretend he isn’t gay himself . That it isn’t just a weird phase that he’ll grow out of. We see that throughout the show Mike is projecting his feelings for Will on to El . Who in s1 was described by 5 characters as looking like a boy (and specifically like Will, by 3 characters ). There’s just way too many examples of him projecting to list here. But s3 we see Mike is trying to mimic romantic moments between him and Will (from s2) to El (in s3). In order to transfer his romantic feelings for Will on to El. The “blank makes you crazy” vs “crazy together”, the shed scenes of “most important thing” vs “the best thing I’ve ever done”,etc.

The difference between past seasons though, is that Mike is now conscious that he’s doing this. The more feminine El gets- the harder for him it is to pretend. Especially now that they’re going through puberty- and the physical differences between boys and girls is becoming more prominent. We see this in the first ep of s3. I talked about it more here, but the Duffers use music with all the characters to convey plot points or the emotions of the characters. One example is when Mike forces Will to dance with a girl so he ‘fakes a smile’.

So yes, the fact that the very first lyrics that play when we see mileven kiss for the first time is “Just a little uncertainty can bring you down”- reflects Mike’s true feelings.And we know this is how Mike (not El) feels about their relationship because he begins to sing the song right after this lyric.The song is even from the album titled “boy in the box”. AKA: Mike is in the closet

“And nobody wants to know you now. And nobody wants to show you how.So if you’re lost and on your own. You can never surrender.” He fears that if he isn’t straight everyone he cares about will abandon him, and that he’d be lost and the only one ‘like this’ -all alone.But he can’t ‘surrender’ the false-idea of being in love with El (out of fear). This is the rural Indiana in the 80s- at the height of the aids epidemic. People on the news said gay people were being rightfully punished with the ‘gay cancer’ (aids). They equated being gay with being a perv, p*d*phile, murderer, or mentally ill. Churches said you’d ‘burn in hell’. In rural areas people would form gangs and murder people they thought were gay. Of course Mike is terrified and wants to be straight! His parents in s2 were Reagan supporters. And Reagan was notoriously homophobic. He’s probably afraid his parents will hate him, kick him out, or that someone will kill him or he’ll die from aids by simply kissing a boy.

We see Mike is doing his own f-ed up form of conversion therapy. He kisses El but he puts on the wall a drawing of Will so he can look at it while he kisses her. Probably hoping to transfer his romantic feeling for Will on to her.

Like that’s Will! He has light brown hair (not black) and Will is the only one associated with fire and has drawn himself with fire in the past. And Will even overlaps with the rainbow drawing that reads “mike” before we see the mileven kiss. It was intentional.

So when Will Says “you’re ruining everything (their relationship) .And for what?! So you can swap spit with some stupid girl.”

This infuriates Mike because he thinks swapping spit with El is the best way to save their relationship! And he’s been trying to ‘fix himself’ so Will doesn’t hate him- and it hasn’t been working, to Mike’s frustration. So he screams “El’s not stupid, it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” because he’s projecting. And although, he loves Will… a part of him probably is a bit angry that he’s making him feel this way.

Mike never actually says to El’s face that he loves her- he even says during his fake-confession “[old people] say it”.And later Mike apologizes to El and says “sorry, I sound like a [7 year old].” Aka the number Will rolled in s1. Right after he discusses d&d with Will and talks about seeing both of them for the Hollidays. So it’s telling that after he says “El’s not stupid . it’s not my fault you don’t like girls” (to himself). He immediately regrets yelling at Will. He even closes his eyes and takes a breath before continuing. And apologizes, by giving a heteronormative answer of:

“I’m not trying to be a jerk, but [we’re not kids anymore]. What did you think, really?! that we’d never get girlfriends. That we’d just sit in my basement and play games for the rest our lives?”

Mike is yelling this at himself to keep his feelings for Will under control.El is an idea to Mike about what adulthood is- which is why he doesn’t really defend el (and his ‘love’ for her) but just talks about “girlfriends” in an abstract way. This was essentially Mike telling himself- he’s NOT allowed to just be with Will and never have a gf. He has to grow out of his ‘childish feelings’ for Will- before it’s too late, because being a gay man is dangerous. That’s why when the camera is on Mike (when he looks back a the byers house -and they only show Will and Mike). The dialogue is “But I know you’re getting older, growing, changing. I guess, if I’m being really honest, that’s what scares me. I don’t want things to change.”He doesn’t want things to change (and his feelings for Will to evolve into love, because that means Mike has to admit he’s gay and accept his future as a gay man-which at the time, didn’t seem very bright). They both are afraid of the future because of this. Mike tries to act like a ‘straight-adult’ and Will tries to revert back into his childhood because of this.

Mike also mentions “games’ because d&d is a symbol of byler’s romantic relationship. He’s just pretending to not enjoy the d&d game. Mike says they have to get girlfriends and they can’t play games for the rest of their lives. But that’s what Mike wants- he just wants to be with Will for the rest of his life (playing games) without either of them having girlfriends. Because, we see Mike never took any of Will’s d&d art off his walls.Even though he changed his poster (from the same wall that had will’s drawings on it) Mike couldn’t remove any of Will’s d&d art. It was an act - which is why he was upset (in the last episode) when Will was donating the game, and why during the Hopper speech, it pans to Mike as Hopper says “I miss playing board games every night.”

Mike even has a binder filled with every d&d drawing Will has ever given him.

In the pilot, they even say Will uses d&d to “escape” his insecurities about his sexuality “like mike” & Mike uses d&d to “escape” his insecurities about not having a gf. * And no, dustin & Lucas didn’t use d&d to “escape” anything- in the pilot script.

And right before Mike says the famous “crazy together”line it zooms in on Mike’s d&d set.

The “crazy together” scene is romantic since both Mike & Flo both equate love making you ‘crazy’. Mike saying “it makes you crazy” and Flo saying saying in s1 “ only love makes you crazy and that damn stupid”).

(x)(x)

Mike is lying about his feelings for El- and El is just confused about her feelings for Mike. The only one’s with mutual feelings for Mike is Will! Will even has a breakdown and goes ‘crazy’ after seeing a pic of them the night they promised to go crazy together - and then Will repeatedly calls himself ‘stupid’ . Because this is when he realizes and admits to himself he’s in love with Mike. And so he grabs a bat (that his dad- who called him a ‘queer’ taught him to use) and destroys castle Byers in a fit of anger and self-hate. That fight was what caused Will to realize his feelings for Mike and the jealousy he had been feeling were because he was in love with Mike. When Mike asks “what did you think, really? That we’d never get girlfriends… play games for the rest of our lives?”

Will is 100% honest a says brokenly “yeah. I guess I did” And then says angrily “I really did!” . Even if both don’t understand the gravity of their words in that moment Will was honest- he doesn’t want to ever have a girlfriend he just wants to be with Mike for the rest of his life. And Mike, who assumes Will is straight, is shocked that this conversation upset Will. Or that he would disagree with his words.

And again their last conversation (about d&d is very telling and is foreshadowing). What Will meant when he said , “I’ll just use yours when I come back- I mean… if WE still wanna play”. Is essentially foreshadowing that the ball is in Mike’s court. If he wants to be with Will for the rest of his life he has to initiate it and prove he loves Will after pretending for so long to love El, instead.

gif credit: first 2 gifs ampwn98 , 3th gif by janebycrs, 5th gif Cath-avery , 4 & 6th gifs mine

#byler #byeler #anti mileven

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troop-scoop · 4 years

Text

Mistakes & Regrets XXI

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing, violence

A/N: Definetaly not my favorite chapter, but we need to keep moving and i was having writer’s block :/

• • •

Your dad and pa always said to stay yourself.

There was always something about the exact words they used. About never changing who you were for others that always stayed in your head, repeating itself occasionally. But you hadn’t thought about them in a long time.

You changed for a lot of people since you got here. You’d gone from the very loud outspoken girl in all of your classes who cracked jokes and got in trouble frequently to a quiet and reserved shy girl now. Except for around Steve. You weren’t afraid to be annoying around him. And others picked up on it.

So then came the question, was everyone else like the kids you went to school with most of your life except for Steve, or was there something else more there?

Well, you’d cried in front of Joyce, and Jonathan, and even Nancy in the past year. Yet, you kept your composure around Steve. He made you feel stronger than you really were. Like he boosted your confidence or something.

Hearing the kitchen door open, you were up on your feet and heading to the kitchen table, where everyone else was already beginning to gather.

Hopper had a pen and a ripped piece of paper.

You were looking over Lucas and Dustin’s shoulders. “I think he’s talking, just not with words.” He began to draw small circles and a long line. Morse code. You only knew it because for some reason your dad had wall art in the house, showing it for each letter. And while you never memorized it, you knew what it looked like.

“What is that?” Steve asked from beside you.

The boys and you all answered.

“H-E-R-E”

“Here.” You repeated it as a word, everyone else doing the same. Everyone knowing the simple four letters.

“Will’s still in there. He’s talking to us.” Hopper came to the conclusion.

Soon enough they were back in there, leaving Steve, Nancy, you and all of the kids but Mike in the house.

Hopper had his walkie in the shed, repeating back the code that Will was tapping on the side of his chair, letting the kids figure it out, while Nancy wrote it. You had a terrible feeling, and kpt exchanging looks with Steve every few seconds.

“Close gate.” You finished as Nancy wrote the last letter. “He wants us to close the gate.”

It was an obvious fix. But to do so, you probably needed Eleven. And if done so, you’d never see home again. You’d never graduate in the year you were supposed to. But you’d only resigned yourself to that fact. So while it still hurt, you knew it needed to be done.

The kids and nancy all looked at you, Lucas and Nancy by far having the saddest looks on their faces, but Steve looked at everyone, seeing their gaze was fixed on you, and he too, saw how your arms were crossed and how you looked at nothing in particular.

But the phone rang.

“Shit!” You turned on the ball of your foot, rushing to the phone. It was loud. And you knew that if you couldn’t fall asleep because the one in your apartment was too loud to drown out even with three pillows pushed against your ears, that they could hear it from the shed.

Dustin passed you, grabbing the phone from the receiver and putting it back on.

You stopped next to the phone, looking back and seeing everyone staring with wide eyes, Nancy still holding the notepad and red crayon.

The very beginning of the next ring, you grabbed the receiver, tearing it off the wall and holding it to your chest like you would with an infant you were trying to shush.

“Do you think he heard that?” Max inquired.

“It’s just a phone. It could be anywhere. Right?”

Shrugging, you looked down at the blue phone. “How many phones is that now? Four?” You questioned, looking at Nancy. Who only shrugged and shook her head, a silent ‘why does it matter?’

But you heard that noise. It was in the distance but you still heard it. “Fuck.” You murmured. You tossed the phone to the ground watching as everyone from the shed ran back, Jonathan carrying Will and running to one of the bedrooms to set him down.

“What happened?”

“He heard the ringing.” He explained as the kids looked out the window.

“Hey! Away from the windows!” Hopper bellowed. Walking into the living room. He looked at Jonathan, holding up a hunting rifle. “You know how to use this?”

Without a word, Steve grabbed your hand, taking you a few steps further into the living room with him, letting you go while Hopper tossed the rifle to Nancy instead.

Pulling the pistol from your jeans, you turned the safety off, already knowing you’d reloaded it when you got to the house.

The kids stayed behind most of you, and Hopper had a rifle. The kind police or military would use. An automatic, you were pretty sure.

“Stay behind me.” Steve told you, swinging the bat around in a brief circle.

Nodding, you took a step back, holding your gun up and aiming towards the door as the screeching from the creatures outside got louder.

You heard another one come from the other side of the house, and in a split second, you all turned to it, still holding your weapons. You couldn’t hear anything now except for your own heartbeat and drowned out thoughts.

You all turned back to the front of the house again, you did it because you were following their every move, but something kept you from being completely alert, like you weren’t completely in danger. Like you were somehow safe. “Don’t be scared.” It was Anne’s voice in your head.

You took her word, and felt your ears toon back into what was being heard by everyone else from outside. Those things screeching, but what also sounded like crashing. As if they were being thrown into things. And one completely stopped. Before the window shattered, and it seemed to be thrown in.

Grabbing onto Steve’s arm, but ending up with a firm grip on his shirt, you aimed the gun over his shoulder, looking at the creature that was laying on the hardwood, limb and unmoving. You knew that everyone was on edge, and scared, but just by looking at it, you knew it was dead.

“Holy shit.” Dustin mumbled.

“Is it dead?” Hopper pushed it’s head back with his foot, and nothing happened but the creaking of the front door, which had everyone turning back to the front.

You lowered your gun when the bolt turned, even though everyone else who had weapons, brought them back up. The door’s chain latch was undone as well, and slowly it opened, and in came a very familiar face, in very unfamiliar clothing and makeup.

“Jesus christ, El.” You murmured to yourself.

You watched with a small smile on your face as Mike and Eleven hugged each other, after almost a year of being apart, after a year of Mike thinking she was dead.

“Is that the girl-”

“Yeah,” You interrupted Steve, in a hushed whisper. Turning the safety back on of the pistol and putting it back, looking down at the crayon drawings under your feet.

You were happy, and a little envious. But you knew that they hadn’t made their peace with being apart. You’d made yours with being apart from your family.

“That you were okay?” Looking back up to the scene in front of you, you saw Hopper take a step forward.

“Because we wouldn’t let her.” Hopper gave you a quick glance, before turning back to Mike who turned to him at that point. It was true that you were partly responsible for telling he she shouldn’t contact Mike at any point.

“El, where have you been?” You questioned, walking over, not caring if any one of the kids were mad at you. You only really socialized with them when you took Will to the arcade or one of these events happened.

She allowed you to embrace her for a split second before she looked at Hopper. “Where has he been?” Her voice was laced with venom, but the only thing you could really think was that her hair smelled of heavy duty hair gel. The kind girls used in ROTC.

But she still allowed Hopper to pull her out your arms and into his.

“You two have been hiding her.” Mike sounded angry, and because you weren’t the one facing away he came over and shoved you.

“What the fuck, Mike? Wanna fucking go?” Before you could approach the 13 year old, Steve had come over, and Hopper’s attention was taken away from El. Steve was facing you and had an arm against your torso, hand on your side, keeping you from getting closer to Mike.

“Y/n, you’re not going to fight-”

“I will throw fucking hands, Steven, I will beat this scrawny little asshole to a fucking pulp!” You were exhausted, and already agitated and overthinking about everything, and Mike shoving you? Everything felt like coming to a breaking point.

Hopper grabbed Mike, and took him away, while Steve took you further from the two, closer to the door than anything else. “Stop picking fights with people.” He told you, his hand still on your side, thumb against your ribcage from over the t-shirt you’d worn.

“What?”

He gave a look, eyebrows raised and head tilted. “You’ve gotten into fights with a few teachers, me, one other student last year, Kieth earlier this week, and now you’re trying to fight a kid-”

“Who told you about my fights with Mrs. Jensen and Mr. Larn?”

The look only got worse. “Stop trying to pick fights.” He said again, still fully knowing that he deserved the punch the year before, and the tiny little scar on the side of his nostril from it. “I get we’re all a little on edge, You’re tired, I can tell. Just… don’t fight literal children.”

“They’re only two years younger than me, Steve.”

“Dude-”

“Okay!” You said in a defensive tone, finally relenting.

You looked behind Steve, and saw how Eleven and the two other boys reunited as well. But quickly your gaze shifted to Jonathan and Nancy who were staring at both of you. But not at either one of you in particular. Which was when you realize that while this position with STeve didn’t feel unusual, or weird, or anything other than friendly to you, it wasn’t to others.

He still had his hand on your side, which is also when you noticed that while over your shirt, as it should be, it was under the jacket he’d lent to you. And you had a hand on his arm, more specifically right under his elbow.

In a split second it became very overwhelming and very obvious to you how close he was, just like when you were in the apartment. And even though the smell of detergent on his clothes was still faint, it was mostly gone. Instead he smelled like deodorant and dirt.

Maybe Jonathan was onto something.

“What’s wrong?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts, and your eyes focused on Steve’s face. His brows were furrowed and the question hung shallowly in the air around you.

“Nothing.” You lied.

Jonathan was onto something. And it terrified you.

• • •

It was bittersweet in a sense. Knowing how this would turn out. Knowing that everyone in the long run would be fine, but also knowing everyone would be traumatized, even just a little.

You could barely cope with what happened over a year ago when you were in the Upside Down, and you couldn’t even remember most of it. Just bits and pieces. Feelings.

“Y/n.”

Looking at Eleven you watched as she took a step away from Mike, and toward you, reaching into her jacket and pulling a small box out, handing it to you.

“What is this?” You asked, hearing Jonathan and Nancy get into the car, while Hopper opened the driver’s door to his own car.

“Someone told me to give it to you.” It didn’t clear anything up, even as she walked away to Hopper’s car getting into the passenger side.

The box looked like a ring box you’d see in jewelry stores, but it was far lighter. And you could hear a rattling of the expensive cardboard.

The two vehicles drove off. Leaving you and Steve with the kids. All except for Will and Eleven.

You put the box in the jacket pocket, not wanting to open it right then and there. “We should head back in.” You reached out to Mike, grabbing his shoulder, and to your surprise, he stepped back into your arm, letting you rest it on his shoulders.

Even though you’d threatened to beat him into a pulp.

And while you didn’t quite know how, with in ten minutes of getting back into the house, you were advocating for interdimensional arson.

“Y/n,” Mike tried, while you stood next to Steve, hands on your hips and eyes trains on the point where the tunnels all met. “What do you think?”

“Y/n, we promised to keep them safe-”

“I’ve always wanted to set something on fire.” You shrugged. “Besides this thing?” Turning to Steve you pointed at the meeting point. “Kinda deserves it!”

“What?”

“She was in the Upside Down.” Dustin clarified. Your eyes snapped over to Dustin. You hadn’t shared that with Steve for very specific reasons

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, why do you think I was always being picked up by the chief from school, dude? We were going to the lab with Mrs. Byers and Will.”

“You never mentioned it before-”

“It was never brought up before. I’m all for setting this bitch on fire.” You quickly defended.

“No! We’re not doing this! We’re waiting for the starting team to do their job-”

“This isn’t a stupid sports game-” Mike interrupted.

“We’re not doing this! Does everybody understand that?”

No one could answer before the sound of an engine revving and coming towards the house was heard. Max left the hall, going towards to window and looking through it, with Lucas going right up next to her. “It’s my brother.” The way she said it made you feel cold. Like he wasn’t a good person. “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

“Steve. . .”

“I’ll handle it, you guys stay here.” He told you, heading for the door. He was out of the house within seconds, but something about the situation made you feel wrong. You’d never even heard your aunt Maxine ever talk about a brother.

“Guys, get away from the window.” You told the group of kids, who had gathered after Steve left. But the second you said that, the kids all jumped away.

“Shit! Did he see us?”

“Guys! Get over here!” You told them, gesturing towards yourself. They all came over like ducklings and stood behind you, which only made you more nervous, especially from how Max stood right behind you, almost as if you were a great hiding spot.

The door slammed open, and an older boy walked through, his hair permed and cut into a mullet. He looked like the kind of person who would have made fun of you in school. His red button down almost all the way undone and tucked into his jeans.

“Well, well, well.” Behind him, you could barely see Steve on the ground, clutching his stomach before the door was slammed shut.

You understood why Max was so afraid the moment you laid eyes on him. He smelled like beer, cologne, and cigarettes.

Lucas got behind you as well, and almost instinctively you had an arm to the side covering him.

“Lucas Sinclair. What a surprise.” He took long yet slow strides toward you, not giving you much space, and towering over you. He looked over your shoulder. “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max.”

It wasn’t hard to put together that this was the new guy every girl at school was swooning over. And you couldn’t understand why. He was terrifying.

“Back off, prick.” You told him.

It seemed as if he only registered your presence then. He eyed you for a second before turning his attention back to his sister. “You disobeyed me. And you know what happens when you disobey me.”

“Billy. . .” Max’s voice was afraid and cautious.

“I break things.”

You didn’t have time to process anything before Billy shoved you away and grabbed Lucas by the collar of his jacket. Shoving him into the kitchen and slamming his body against a shelf.

Max, Mike, and Dustin all started yelling and you moved after them in a heartbeat. Trying to grab onto Billy’s arm to get him to let go of Lucas.

“Get off of me!” Lucas shouted.

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will-”

You tried to pull him off, but he shoved you into the kitchen table, your hip slamming up against it, and surprisingly the table was far heavier than you imagined, and far more sturdier as well, because you landed against it harshly, and the pain shot through your hip.

“Stay away from her. Stay away from her! You hear me?” It wasn’t hard to tell that Billy’s motive wasn’t to protect Max. You’d seen protective siblings, you’d been one for Daniel, this was racially motivated. And from how he’d completely ignored Mike and Dustin gave it away.

“I said get off of me!” Lucas brought his knee up and against Billy’s groin, stunning Billy and making him let go of him. Billy took a few steps back before looking back up at Lucas. “You’re so dead, Sinclair! You’re dead!”

You saw the familiar figure coming in from the living room and you grabbed Lucas’ arm, pulling him towards you.

Steve grabbed Billy by the shoulder while you took Lucas over to his friends, with you once again acting as a shield in case Billy got the upper hand and tried to get any of them again.

You could hear the punch before you even turned around, but when you did, you saw how amused Billy was and when he started laughing was when you were confused. He looked insane.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh? I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about.” He had a drop of blood on his upperlip from his nose as he spoke.

And Steve wasn’t into the games he wanted to play. “Get out.”

Billy swung and Steve dodged. “Steve!”

“Kick his ass, Steve!” Dustin encouraged.

“Get him!”

Both Mike and Dustin were acting as hype men while Steve got Billy further into your grandmother’s kitchen, eventually with Billy landing against the sink,

“Steve!” Was all you could get out when the plate shattered over his head, the shards of ceramic on the floor

Steve was trying to find his balance, backing up and needing a moment, You back the kids against a wall as Billy continued to follow him.

Billy grabbed him by the shirt. “No one tells me what to do!” You’d never actually seen someone head butt someone else in a fight, this was a first. And Steve was now on the ground by the couch, with Billy still going after him. Just by how enraged Billy was and how out of it your best friend was, you knew Billy wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

“Stop it!” You yelled, going over to the two teenage boys, trying to grab Billy and get him off of Steve, but to no avail. All he did was push you off of him again.

You were on the ground now as well, but against the a wall, you could see the blood coming from both Steve’s mouth and nose. Small cuts around his face from where the plate shattered and cut him.

You jumped a little when Max stabbed her brother in the neck. But when she stepped back, you could see the syringe sticking out.

That was enough to stop him, and have him off of Steve, and the second he was on his feet and facing her, you made your move over to Steve.

It was all becoming very real within a matter of seconds. His eyes were closed and he was completely limb on the ground.

“Steve.” You mumbled to him, grabbing his cheeks and making him look at you. At least his body wasn’t stiff.

Tears were welling up in your eyes as you looked down at him. Sure, you’d seen him with blood on his face before, but it was never this bad. The last time he deserved it.for being an asshole. All he’d done this time was try to protect everyone. He was always doing that, wasn’t he?

“Steve, Steven- wake up.” Your voice cracked, and you didn’t even flinch when Billy collapsed only a few feet away.

But you did flinch at the sound of metal digging into the hardwood. Looking over you saw Max with the nail bat, between Billy’s legs. “Say you understand! Say it! Say it!” She screamed at him.

He mumbled it under his breath. “What?” Maxine demanded.

“I understand.”

• • •

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @nxncywheeler @yllwtaxi @songofcosplay @potatopooper05 @cheesecakeisapie @robinsdolan @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @bisexualpears @ilovebucketbarnes @random-thoughts-003 @mochminnie @abbyg217 @stevexscoops @cashmereandtears @iris-suoh @supred12 @ohmyitsfaith @beyond-the-gone

#steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington slow burn

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innuendostudios · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on Outer Wilds

[no real spoilers but this is a game you want to approach knowing as little as possible]

Sometimes I don’t know what to say about a game.

I’m finding that having something to say about a game is not correlated to how good I think it is. Sometimes a game is wonderful in ways I can gush about. Some games are awful, sometimes in uninteresting ways, sometimes in ways that could provoke hours-long rants that I choose to keep to myself. My most interesting opinions are often on games where my opinion is hard to fit into a good/bad spectrum.

But sometimes a game is just wonderful, and finding it wonderful does not translate to having a take on it.

Outer Wilds is one of the best, most consistently delightful, genuine awe-provoking, brilliantly-designed, narratively rich, thematically deep, inspiring, melancholic, hopeful, and nihilistic games I’ve ever played. And I don’t know how much more I can tell you about it.

It’s not that there is little to say. Austin Walker said a lot and then Chris Franklin said some more. They covered most of what I could say; in fact, they said more. Austin’s observations about how we relate to the end of the world, and Chris’ about searching for meaning as not only justified but morally imperative are true things that did not occur to me while I played. I don’t have anything as substantial to add.

What keeps coming to me, as I sit here trying to think of something to say about what is unequivocally one of my new favorite games, is the line from Leonard Cohen: “everybody knows the good guys lost.”

Call it a character flaw, but when I don’t know what to say about a single game, sometimes I talk about it in contrast with others like it. And I’ve played Outer Wilds a few months after playing the final act of Kentucky Route Zero and a few days before playing Disco Elysium, and all three are, in their way, about it being too late. Too late to save your friend, too late to save the world, to late to save society from itself. We end KR0 with a town that has collapsed under capitalism, we begin Disco Elysium fifty years after the revolution failed, and we spend all of Outer Wilds trying, desperately and repeatedly, to outrun a supernova that will kill everyone we know and destroy everything we’ve seen.

All are about how we live on when the war was lost before we were born.

A little brain virus Elizabeth Sandifer put in my head when I read the titular essay of her collection Neoreaction a Basilisk is, what if we’re just not going to save the world? Not that we can’t, but what if we’re just not going to? We know what the problems are, it’s not too late to fix them, and the people we’ve entrusted simply aren’t going to save us and there aren’t enough of us who care to save ourselves.

It’s not that I agree with El (I haven’t decided), it’s that this is the one thought we so often deny ourselves. We consider the end to motivate ourselves to avert it. We don’t accept it. We consider it for as long as it takes to reject it. And there is a terror in entertaining the idea, and also a comfort. A shifting of focus. We fought bravely. We did not go quietly. But the blast has already happened. Nothing left but to brace for the shockwave.

Thinking about how to prevent the end can mean never learning to live with it.

Outer Wilds is about the beauty of the world we are about to lose. It also captures, perhaps better than any game I’ve played, the sense of space as sublime. Someone asked me on Curious Cat what my favorite planet was, and I realized... every single one of them is terrifying. They’re all incredible, but you’re always getting crushed by volcanic eruptions, suffocated by sand, tumbling into a black hole, getting hurled into space, or being consumed by horrors. This mix of incredible beauty and incredible danger is the stuff of art movements. To watch a pillar of sand plummet through the sky from one planet to another, feeling a genuine awe while also knowing it will, sometime in the next 22 minutes, likely kill you is everything I want space travel to feel like.

Its themes are perhaps best captured in how it’s played. It is a game where the only key to victory is knowledge. You play until the sun explodes - or until something else kills you - and then restart, and the only thing you take with you is what you learned on the last run. Which means you can never play the game again, not really. You can revisit, but you can’t remove that knowledge from your head. You can replay Metroid Prime and you’ll start without all your powerups. And you can replay Riven already knowing all the puzzle solutions but you can experience the story again. But in Outer Wilds, the unlocks are the story. The way the game is played, the way it feels, cannot be recreated. It is ephemeral. And the game itself being about ephemera, moments of beauty that you watch blink out of existence again and again... well, it’s about as thematically coherent as design and theme can be.

I know I’m talking around what the game actually is. It’s because I’m assuming you’ve already played it. If you haven’t, you shouldn’t be reading this. Get outta here!

Maybe the greatest respect we can pay to something powerful is to not always have to render it in words, to convert it into rhetoric or philosophy or #content. Outer Wilds is beautiful, and helped me through a rough time, holed up in my house during a disaster, feeling like catching a life-threatening disease is a matter of when, not if. Watching people normalize my country’s continued slide towards authoritarianism. Watching the economy shudder before it potentially collapses. Bracing for the shockwave.

It gave me something beautiful to appreciate. There is still wonder, worth fighting for, yes, but also worth admiring just in case the fight is already over.

#capsule review #Adventure Games #outer wilds

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stutterfly · 5 years

Text

Love Bytes 06 | Boolean Logic | KNJ (M)

Last time on Love Bytes 05: Your friends have good intentions when eavesdropping on your first tinder date. When things don’t go exactly as you imagined, there’s comfort to be found elsewhere. A charming gesture takes your breath away and you find yourself dangerously close to crossing a line you’d never thought of before.

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 12.8K

Series: Love Bytes (6/?)

Genre: F2L, fluff, humor, SLOW BURN, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension, smut, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, S O F T Namjoon, did i mention slow burn??? :)

CW: anxiety, panic attacks, some negative self-talk, dirty talk, teasing, grinding, dry-humping

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7 masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

Do not repost.

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It’s been twenty minutes since Seokjin barged into your apartment and started listing all the things you did wrong on your date. You’d be mortified if you hadn’t already dealt with Yoongi earlier in the evening, telling you much of the same. He’d already covered the basics of looking at your date and given you a touching pep talk about knowing your worth. You’d be double mortified if not for the fact that you’re slightly distracted.

Not even thirty seconds before Jin walked in, you’d willingly put Namjoon in a position to grope your tits and it’s been on a relentless loop that surfaces between every other word Jin has to say. Kim Namjoon. Dorky professor? Firewall enforcer? Clumsy bestie? Thorn in your goddamn side? It’s only consuming every bit of brainpower as you wordlessly nod along to Jin’s lecture about the importance of posture in showcasing one’s demeanor.

Namjoon has been sitting across the room with a plate of half-eaten food before him, growing more amused by the tale Jin spins of your disastrous behaviors. He’s blowing everything way out of proportion, but you can’t muster the energy to fight him on it, not when the gears are grinding so hard to form a solid reasoning behind your earlier actions. But every time your eyes gloss over and you replay the scene in your mind, your stomach forms knots that cause you to repeatedly cross your legs over one another. You’ve done it at least three times now and both men have definitely noticed so you’re consciously fighting the urge to repeat the action.

Jin attributes it to your fidgety nature, tying it back to the way you had squirmed under the scrutiny of your date. “Y/N, I don’t think you’re really getting it. I need you to pretend we’re on a date. Here. Namjoon, be the observer.”

“Gladly,” Namjoon replies, happily slurping up a mess of noodles and fixing his gaze on your reaction.

You don’t even bother wasting a glance on the man on the floor as Jin angles his body towards you. He folds a leg over his lap, plants an elbow on the back of the sofa and rests his cheek on his palm as he leans towards you. The famous panty-dropping smoulder makes an appearance and you can’t help but feel a bit flustered by the intensity he brings to the charade. Your shoulders raise like they might shield you from the attack of such a gorgeous face. “Tell me about yourself, Y/N.”

This is torture.

You drum your fingertips on your thighs and look down at them briefly before remembering your conversation with Yoongi. Nervous eyes tear themselves away from the stubble coming in on your kneecap, forcing you to focus on the piercing gaze of Seokjin.

“Well…” you begin, fully intending to let this play out, but freeze once your eyes land on his face. “Why do you look angry? I can’t talk to you when you look like that.”

“What do you mean? Do I really look angry to you?” Jin’s brow sinks even lower towards the bridge of his nose.

Stifling a giggle, you nod and smack your lips. “It’s good practice if I ever go on a date with grumpy cat. So cute, yet so grumpy.”

You boop him on the nose and he swats your hand away. “Are you going to tell me about yourself or continue to dishonor the memory of grumpy cat?”

A sigh passes your lips. “I don’t know what to say,” you finally admit with a wince. “My life is so boring. Like, what am I supposed to say? Hi, I’m Y/N. I work on people’s computers all day and answer boring emails and support calls. In my free time I like getting drunk and laughing at videos of cats falling off of things, playing video games with friends --most of which are men by the way, is that cool?-- and going for walks at sunset.” You pause and let him take that in. “Ooh, or should I be like every generic profile I’ve seen? I like going on adventures! Hanging with friends! Living my best life. I’m an old soul. Here for a good time, not a long time! EL OH EL hit me up on Snapchat.”

The animated nature of your features quickly fades as you slump against the cushions. “I mean and here I thought I was boring as fuck. But Chul comes along and actually proves to me that I can be topped. And not in the yummy dom way.”

Namjoon chokes on a piece of pork and smacks his chest a few times, successfully dislodging it from the back of his throat.

Jin curiously roams his eyes across your face, flickering back and forth between your eyes and lips. “Ah, so... you prefer to be the sub?”

A heat rises to your cheeks and you know answering is a trap, but the longer his question hangs in the air the more flustered you become. “Are-Are you kidding? Like I’m gonna be the sub. You know I have to control everything.”

Lies are easier to tell when they’re coated with a layer of truth, no matter how thin that layer may be.

“True.” Namjoon swallows, the remnants of his cough sputtering from his mouth.

Jin considers your answer for a moment and grins, flashing you his pearly whites. “So you dom then? What’s that like?”

The other man in the room dribbles water onto his shirt at the question. He’s about ready to give up on breathing altogether. Jin knows it, too. That’s what makes this game so much fun.

You drag your teeth across your lip, trying not to think about the implication that Jin is also not a dom. “So! Enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Jin.”

With that, Seokjin snaps his fingers and points at you. “Ding ding ding! We have a winner! People love to talk about themselves. If you’re out of ideas on what to talk about, ask your date something about himself based on whatever random information you have. Give him a chance to impress you. Take me, for example. I am the head chef at Heart & Seoul, where I give everyone a taste of my heart … and soul. Everyone who has ever tried my food says it reminds them of home. You should come by sometime. I’ll make a plate special for you, courtesy of the handsome god of cookery.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, that’s certainly a statement.”

“Ask me about my food!” he prods, nudging you with his elbow. “Don’t you want to know what kind of plate I’d make for you?”

“Jin, I already know your food is good. I don’t need to ask--”

“It’s Barbe-cute,” he blurts, clearly proud of himself.

“You’re so…” You try to finish the thought but start laughing as he breaks into his own windshield-wiper cackle. A defeated half sigh, half grumble follows the trail where your laughter leaves off. “I just feel like this is the worst part, you know? Trying to explain to people who I am and why I matter. It’s like, on one hand, I don’t care! This is awful! And I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. But then… on the other hand… What if they don’t like me? Like Chul? Chul made up his mind the moment he saw me in person. He didn’t like me and I don’t know that there’s anything I could do to change that. I feel so stupid! ‘Cause I’m like, bro, didn’t you see my photos? Didn’t you look at my profile? Like why you gotta be so judgy when we talked all day?”

The man on the couch next to you uses his large hands to anchor the wrists that you’ve unconsciously been waving around during your tirade. “Okay see, this is what I’m talking about. You need to slow down and stop waving your arms whenever you speak. Imagine you’re a sloth. Slooow motions.” He uses his grip to slowly push you back against the cushion. “Relax.”

You puff air out of your lips indignantly. “Jin, I can’t. I’m not wired like a sloth. I’m more of a...a...” You shake your head, unable to find the word you’re searching for.

“Hummingbird,” Namjoon chimes in quietly, rapidly flapping his fingers up and down to mock you.

Jin laughs at the comparison, pushing you back against the seat when you begin to rise. “Oh, little hummingbird. Sit. Stay.”

Your brow furrows and a pout stains your lips as you comply, rigid shoulders resting flush against the couch.

“Good girl,” Namjoon adds with a snicker.

Ignoring the excitement stirring in your belly at the words, you narrow your eyes at him and he clutches his heart. “Oh wow if looks could kill…”

You finally sigh, dragging your hands down your face. “Jin, I get it. I suck at everything.”

“Oh don’t start that,” he scowls, jabbing your knees with a bony finger. “You’re perfectly fine. You may be a mess but you’re actually a very adorable mess.”

“Fuck off.” You wriggle away from his touch, grimacing at the nod of agreement Namjoon sends your way. “Both of you.”

“I mean it.” Jin laughs between words. “You are a delight, Y/N. Just because you have things you need to work on doesn’t make that any less true. And I'm only telling you that you need to work on these things because you are my dear, dear friend. I want to see you succeed and live your best life." He cocks his head to one side and gives Namjoon a pointed look while you're distractedly glowering. "Especially if you're dating another mess of a human, maybe someone even worse than you. Someone has to have manners. You can't both be terrible at everything."

Jin's eyes snap back to your face as he becomes the focus of your deadpan stare. "Thanks for the pep talk.”

A hand clasps your shoulder and the weight of his arm drapes across the expanse of your back. He uses his grip as leverage to press you against his torso as he scoots closer to you. "Oh, it's okay. You just have to stop trying to knock your date out. Just try to focus on that one thing for your next one okay?”

“I kind of don’t want a next one,” you grumble, allowing your cheek to fall against his collarbone. “Not if it has to feel this bad after every time.”

Wisps of his hair tickle the side of your face as he shakes his head close to yours and tightens the hug. “You don’t give up! You can’t give up! Trust me when I say the next will be better!”

You hum a doubtful note against the fabric of his shirt and push him towards the opposite end of the couch. “If you say so.”

“I know so,” he replies matter-of-factly, catching the antsy circles the chopsticks in Namjoon’s hand are drawing in the noodles left on his plate.

Just like that he begins to feel guilty. There’s something going on here, and he can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s no doubt in his mind that he truly walked in on something he wishes he hadn’t. They’ve all been waiting for him to make a move and now it’s possible that he’s trying. Today was a dud but one thing is certain: it would be so sad to see him lose you to a stranger because he’s too scared to elicit change. Namjoon isn’t going to outright ask him to leave, but it’s written all over his face. Maybe it’s time to let whatever developments have obviously been happening between you two continue.

With a loud sigh and stretch, Seokjin rises from the cushions and makes his way to the door. “Well, I think I’ve made my point. I should get going though. Don’t let this experience bother you too much.”

You spring from the couch and catch the door as he opens it. “I’m fine. Really.”

He shoots you a questioning look but you pull him into a quick hug that allays most of the tension within it. Namjoon unfolds his legs and stands as you exchange goodbyes with Seokjin and usher him out of your apartment with a tired smile.

The door finally closes with a dull thud. Your shoulders deflate with the air in your lungs as you turn the heavy deadbolt. Namjoon’s palms find purchase on the precipice of your shoulders, fingers dipping softly into the crevasse made by your collarbones. You melt back into his touch, throwing your head into his chest when the pleasurable chill of the massage works its way down your spine.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m not that stressed. Really,” you weakly attempt to reason with him, silently wishing he’d never stop. A moan rumbles in your throat, making your brain go numb.

“I know,” he mumbles while continuing the controlled movements of his fingertips. “Fist of Fury sounding good?”

“Mmm, I was thinking about something with more comedy.”

“Way of the Dragon then?” he suggests, gently leading you towards the couch in a slow waddle.

“Please don’t make me watch it in English,” you groan, shuffling in time with his strides. “I don’t think I can take that dub again.”

“Fine, fine. Hold up.” He offers an amused smile as he pushes you towards the sofa as he searches for the DVD in question.

The loss of his touch leaves a chill in its wake and you instinctively pull on the fuzzy blanket scrunched into the gap between cushions. You drape it across your torso and bury your arms underneath just as Namjoon pops the DVD into the xbox below the television. He mindlessly grabs a controller, flicks the lightswitch, and shoves the nearby ottoman with his foot until it’s closing in on the sofa. You react before it can hit your shins.

As he flops onto the cushion beside you, the sensation of your legs brushing against each other has you leaning towards him with a shiver. The startup screen highlights his face as you lift the blanket, offering coverage despite feeling the heat radiating from his body. You just want to feel someone next to you. Much to your surprise, he accepts the offer and huddles in, pressing your bodies close together.

Quelling the shakiness of your exhale, you reach over to grab the controller from his lap. Instead the muscles of his thighs flex as your hand drags across them. You’re already apologizing as you jump in place, retracting your hand as quickly as possible while fumbling to look for the controller. He looks down at your hand and then back up to your face, silently pursing his lips as he drops the controller into your palm.

"Sorry," you mumble again as you navigate through the menus, not daring to peek over at his face.

"Don't worry about it," he whispers, sprawling an arm over the couch cushion behind you. His fingertips lazily tap against the contour of your shoulder, wishing that the t-shirt was smaller, thinner, something that could expose more of your skin beneath the blanket.

You fail to contain the deep inhale that causes your chest to rise and slowly breathe out the nerves constricting your lungs. As you start the movie and set the controller on the armrest, you turn your head to look at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he parrots back at you. The warmth of his leg presses into your thigh, serving as a reminder of the wetness between yours.

“About earlier, I…” you trail off, unable to finish the statement. The needy touch-starved thoughts haven’t yet worn off and you curse your brain for letting you taint your friendship with impure thoughts of the man beside you. How could you possibly tell him that you weren’t thinking clearly before when you still want him to touch you, when your pussy clenches any time he pushes his body against you? The familiar sound of the title music fills the silence.

“Don’t worry about it,” he repeats softly. “Let’s just… watch Bruce Lee, hmm?”

His words somehow simultaneously bring you comfort and disappointment. You smile and nod, shifting your attention back to the television, though you can feel the feathery touch of his fingertips flirting with the hem of your sleeve seconds later. As you shift in your seat to relax your head against him, that same touch trails up your shoulder to brush a mess of hair from your neck before settling comfortably in the space between them. You chuckle at the old woman staring down Bruce Lee as your eyelids grow heavy. There’s no way you were even going to make it five minutes in, but you attempt it anyway.

“She lookin’ at him like a snack.” You’re relying on your thirst to keep yourself awake. “I agree.”

Namjoon snorts. “She’s looking at him like she’s gonna call the cops. Are we watching the same movie?”

“My bad. I’m self-inserting for granny,” you murmur, voice growing wearier by the syllable.

“Are you already falling asleep? We can watch it another night if you’re tired.” You can feel his eyes boring into the top of your skull as your eyelashes flutter against his chest.

“No,” you argue weakly, not bothering to lift your head to meet his gaze.

“I can feel you closing your eyes.”

“No,” you say again with a slight shake of your head that doubles as an excuse to nuzzle into the warmth of his chest.

“So if I took my phone out right now and snapped a pic, your eyes wouldn’t be closed?”

“Nope.”

“Not nice to lie,” he teases softly, smoothing the hair back from your forehead.

“Shhh, don’t talk during movies. You’re missing the part with the soups.”

He cradles your head with a scoff, resisting the urge to impart a goodnight kiss to the top of it as you obviously doze off. Your arm falls into his lap with the sound of a dull ‘pat’. Immediately his hand carefully draws yours away from the danger zone and sets it loosely over his. The gentle twitch of your digits against his palm beckon him to lace your fingers together. Butterflies wrack their way through his stomach and he soon complies, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he does so.

Do you realize what you do to him? Probably not. Being here feels like walking a tightrope that he keeps wobbling back and forth on. But leaving would kill the adrenalin rush and leave him with nothing. He’d take the highwire any day if it meant there was a chance you could be waiting on the other side.

He’s determined to make it further into the movie, and he has every intention of nudging you awake, but not even five minutes later his eyelids droop and his neck bends back over the top cushion.

Just a few minutes. I’ll wake her up in a few minutes.

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The change in volume from the end credits to the top menu of the DVD catapults you from slumber. You groan as you crane your stiff neck up towards the open-mouthed, snoring man whose warm chest you’ve been napping on. The grin creeping across your face threatens to break into a giggle, but you muzzle the sound before it can leave your throat.

The haze of sleep still clouds your mind and as your eyes travel up the dark skin that stretches up to his jaw, empty cravings for intimacy permeate the fog. Your head lolls back down and you scrunch your cheek against the base of his throat with a shaky exhale before turning towards him. You skim your lips over the muscles in his neck, shivering at the thought of pressing down. Pushing away the growing urge to suction your mouth down on his flesh, you lightly tap the side of his cheek. “Joonie.”

He groans loudly as he lifts his head off the cushion, but offers no other words of acknowledgement. Discomfort spreads across his features, brow knotting as he palms the back of his sore neck. His other hand firmly wraps itself around your knuckles, subconsciously dragging your palm across his lap as he stretches his limbs out. Heavy arms come back down and constrict you in a sleepy hug; the comfort it brings threatens to take you back into the world of slumber, but you shake off the impulse to close your eyes again.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” you announce softly against his white t-shirt, basking in the warmth of his embrace.

He peers down at you through dark, half-lidded eyes and struggles to bring a response to the forefront of his mind. You trace your fingers along the contours of his jaw, causing him to lean into your sleepy caress. Before you can register the movement, his lips graze the precipice of your forehead and your stomach lurches into a somersault at the sensation. Wait. Did he just...?

The bubble of his dream-state finally pops. Suddenly everything feels too real. His eyes widen and his heart drops, desperately wishing he could awaken from this moment panting and sweating within the confines of his bedroom. Is there a chance you’re not aware of his embarrassing mistake? He pulls back and the sharp sound of his lips smacking together awkwardly fills the room as the menu loop resets.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, abashed features straining to look anywhere else. “I’m gonna go.” He shifts uncomfortably, wriggling out from beneath your form, but your fingers reach out and curl around the solid mass of his forearm.

“Stay,” you whisper. “Please?”

You can’t fight the way your heart is pounding, desperate to feel the tickle of butterflies in your stomach at least one more time, to find your hand enveloped in his warm, comforting grasp. Deep, dark eyes settle on yours, searching for any excuse to decline such a tempting offer. When he comes up empty, you also find yourself at a loss for words and you shake your head, trying to come up with some explanation for the blurry lines you’ve been drawing all over your friendship with him.

You rationalize that it’s not crazy to find comfort in the arms of a good friend. How many times has Jennie kissed your forehead without meaning anything by it? How many times have you held hands with her and platonically snuggled up together? Is it really so different now that Namjoon is the one beside you?

Your mind flashes back to the moments leading up to Seokjin’s arrival. You were the one to guide him towards you. Your lips never touched, and you refuse to accept the fraction of your brain that screams of its disappointment. The fact that you got close enough to expose the possibility of Namjoon as a makeout partner is a thought you’re struggling to bury. That’s what makes him different. That’s what makes it difficult to let him leave.

You know it’s selfish, but there’s a shred of something that you can’t allow yourself to acknowledge. Until you fill the void of a relationship in your life, or sex at the very least, maybe this is exactly what you need. It’s harmless, really. Just a comforting snuggle buddy. It’s harmless... right? You ask yourself again, the echo of his heavy breaths fresh in your mind. The memory plays again: one hand clasps around his neck and pulls him down towards you, the other guiding him teasingly towards the lace of your bra as your noses brush against each other; it’s enough to set your cheeks on fire but not enough to retract the offer.

“Don’t leave. Please, just… Just lay with me again?” you plead quietly. Could you sound more pathetic? There’s never been a more appropriate time to wish you were built like a computer, or at least something you could flush the short term memory from, but here you are: painfully human and seeking complacency.

You keep your eyes fixed on him as you rise, his expression never falling into the expected air of pity. Shock. Confusion. Maybe even relief. But never the pity you anticipate. The television coats his features with a soft glow and your shoulders instinctively relax as his smile molds shadowed dimples along either side of his mouth. The word of affirmation that escapes him is barely audible over the sound of the tv.

The room grows dark and silent all too fast as you tap the power button on the back of the screen. Warmth radiates from his hand as it trails down your arm, finally twining itself between your fingers as he waits for you to lead the way. Of course he’s memorized the steps to your bedroom, but he’s not about to let impatience reveal the alacrity within.

It’s no trouble to navigate in the darkness and you find yourself needlessly tugging him closer. You’re quick to hide your own eagerness under the guise of fatigue, forcing a loud yawn from your mouth as you flop back into the center of the bed. He stumbles forward a bit before catching himself on the soft mattress, quietly climbing onto it as though the weight of his body will shatter its molecular structure.

Tonight the moon is blocked by the clouds in the sky, and the unusual pitch black nature of the room is a little unnerving. It’s easy to imagine shadows moving when you can’t see anything clearly. Before you can burden yourself with unnecessary anxiety, Namjoon’s palms are dipping into the mattress on either side of you, parallel to your waist. You can feel him ascending like a silent panther, closing in on his prey. Stale air hitches in your throat as he hovers above you, a delicately placed knee sinking into the space between your thighs.

The heat from his core sears shameful desire into the surface of your flesh and you attempt to close your legs. The inside of your soft thighs squeeze against the unexpected muscular mass of his, trapping him just below the wetness you’re refusing to acknowledge. It doesn’t take long for you to become keenly aware that if he leans any further up he will be wearing it and you press your legs even tighter together, despite knowing the barrier of muscle between them makes the task impossible.

Your palm reaches up to find his face, curling under his jaw to cup his chin in a playful venture to diffuse the tension in the air. It’s closer than you expect. There’s a strange relief in the realization that he can’t see the way your jaw falls open. That relief quickly dissipates when his plump lips press against the pad of your thumb, causing your sharp inhale to cut through the white noise of the fan nearby.

He laughs softly, breath hitting your skin in puffs as your fingernail scrapes against his upper lip. This position is not exactly ideal, considering the erection beginning to form in his boxers. With one leg trapped between your thighs and the other plunging into the mattress beside you, all it would take is one lazy dip of his pelvis to allow you to feel how you affect him.

“What are you doing?” You find your voice, but it sounds hoarse and foreign, and you make no effort to hide the accusation dripping from your own guilty lips.

“I…” His heart drops to his stomach. What is he doing? The more time that passes leaves the memory of you on the couch feeling increasingly surreal, like a cruel joke originating from a desperate imagination that he’s foolish enough to believe. He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to think of something that will fix this mess. The rain pattering against the window is soothing and it tries to wash the awkwardness from the air, but it’s not enough.

Then a lightbulb goes off, and his hand is already gently bringing yours down to the mattress. His voice is even, despite the humiliation coursing through him. “I dropped your defenses.”

“You what…?” Before you can contemplate the meaning behind his words, his hand tightens around your wrist, pressing it into the soft mess of blankets beneath you with his full weight. You strain against his grip as he begins playfully jabbing at your waist with his free hand. You scrunch your hips towards your elbow as you swat fervently in the direction of his arm to no avail.

Strong, stubborn fingers poke and prod all of the sensitive spots he’d briefly had the pleasure to acquaint himself with. You do your best to keep the laughter from spilling out, but he isn’t satisfied by the restraint you’re showing. The noises he wrenched from you earlier had been so delicious and he’s desperate to pull more, so he dares to pinch his fingers at the tender crease in your skin between your thigh and hip.

You buck your hips and cry out at the sensation, the fabric of your shorts riding up just enough to grant his fingertips access to the outermost edge of your panties. His eyes roll into the back of his skull for a fraction of a second, reveling in his success. Your hand clamps down on his bicep, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. He would be hissing and backing off if not for the delectable sound of you stammering out a slew of pleases on repeat.

Are two fingers all it takes to make you beg me? He muses, pleased with the visual he’s created for himself in the darkness. He can feel his cock poking out from the hole in his boxers, sensitive head sliding against the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

“Joonie, please! I’m gonna--” A snort escapes the back of your throat and you choke back a gross fit of giggles as his fingers twitch against the cotton fringe beneath your shorts. “It’s too much!”

Those are definitely a string of phrases he’s going to file away for later. He licks his lips before loudly smacking them, enjoying the fact that you can’t see the devilish smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Really? ‘Cause, uh, I don’t feel a thing.”

His thumb and forefinger pinch against your flesh in that same sensitive area, ripping another uncontrollable cackle from you. Even in the darkness, it’s easy to tell that you’ve got tears in your eyes from the way you’re pleading with him. Your clammy fingers slide along the lean muscles in his bicep, tapping him repeatedly as though a referee will appear and save you from his relentless fingers. Your head falls back and you half-bury your face into a pillow to muffle the way you’re howling beneath him.

“Please, please, please,” you beg between pained wheezes, hopelessly bucking your hips up towards his. “I’ll do anything. Please. Please. Please. Please. Namjoon...”

He does his best to avoid your frenzied thrusts, dodging to the left and right to keep his now rock hard dick from touching any part of you. But the breathless way you’re pleading and panting against the pillows has him melting, daring him to grind his aching cock on your hips. His fingers slowly drag a delicate path away from the cotton he’d been trying to build the courage to do something more bold with. They trace invisible teasing lines downward and the abs hidden beneath your soft layers of flesh finally stop contracting. This time the final laugh that escapes you trails off into a breathy moan, body flaring with desire for more contact while simultaneously fatigued from twinging and fighting against his mischievous digits. Namjoon’s form lingers above you in the darkness with your crass groan refusing to leave his eardrums.

Hot breath fans the shell of your ear, his already deep voice somehow dropping an octave lower as the gravel in his throat fights the word bubbling out from it. “Anything...?”

Why does he keep doing that? It’s driving you insane. You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice take on this tone before tonight, even in jest, and it’s making your ears ring with how hard they’re now straining to take in more of that delicious, gruff whisper. You have no choice but to hold your breath to quiet the exhale that threatens to reveal the lust coating your thoughts.

Just as you’re certain he’s about to drop his weight onto your thigh and expose the wetness soaking through your shorts, Namjoon pulls his head back with a loud contented sigh, flopping down onto the mattress beside you. Maybe he’s just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Can you blame him after all the mixed messages you’ve been sending? You’ve been filling pretty much every conversation with sexual tension lately; it makes sense that he would try to dish some back at you.

In your defense, Tinder hasn’t exactly been the fun, liberating experience you’d been promised by the app’s promotional messaging, and your frustrations are starting to become palpable. Even your vibrator can’t keep up with the rollercoaster highs of your sex drive right now. Poor Joon is just caught in the middle of a very, very bad drought and you’ll be damned if you let your friendship become a casualty of your desire for a little rain.

Coward. The thought reverberates against his skull hard enough to make him shake his head as he props himself up on one elbow.

“Help me hook my laptop to my TV so I can watch movies on the big screen,” he says, cutting through the self-loathing. Knowing you’re glaring at him in the dark, he pauses. “What? You said anything.”

“Just get a Firestick. They make those things specifically for people like you. I don’t need your incompetent ass calling me every time you can’t get it working.”

“You always gotta be rude about everything?” he tuts. “Besides, Firestick ain’t gonna help with what I want to do.”

The conversation allows you to forget the shame dripping out of you and you flip onto your side to more comfortably counter his point. “You can get every YouTube video on the planet on that thing. Not to mention Hulu, Netflix, PrimeVideo… Like, you can get anything you want to watch at the push of a few buttons. Well, everything except…” you trail off, the gears in your head spinning fast enough to come undone.

He swallows, knowing you’re about to call him out. “I don’t need a Firestick,” he reiterates.

Your cheeks flush. Porn. Of course it’s porn. Just another thought you don’t need floating around your head: Namjoon jerkin’ it to whatever weird shit he’s into. Honestly, you’re almost afraid to touch the laptop with how much he’s probably used it for that specific purpose.

“Of course not.” You sigh as your palm pushes him back against the bed, eager to just forget the night and feel the same way you did last week. “You’re gross.”

He huffs at the accusation, even though he admits to himself you’re completely right and doesn’t audibly argue the point. He also doesn’t fight the way you force him down, resting his head against a soft pillow as the weight of yours comes down onto his chest. Instinctually, his arm reaches around you, pulling you closer with his fingers tented against the small of your back. You shiver into his t-shirt, briefly catching the scent of his deodorant before closing your eyes.

“So, that’s a no then?” he asks dejectedly, voice rumbling up through the ear you’ve got pressed to his chest.

You chuckle into him as you nuzzle your face back and forth a few times, reveling in the way it feels to be in such a comfortable position with another person, even if it is Namjoon. “I guess I can do it since you’re indulging me right now... I won’t tell if you don’t?”

His fingertips move down your back to idly play with the band of your shorts, tracing lazy lines across them. You tense, taking all the self control you currently possess to stop from grinding your hips into his thigh.

He hums in response, finally resting his hand respectfully above the fabric of the t-shirt at your waist. “Okay,” he whispers.

You lay together in silence, listening to the increased assault of raindrops at your window. Normally with the fan going like this you’d be feeling chilly and be rushing to pull a blanket over you, but with the heat coming off of him in waves, you’re feeling rather warm, almost sweaty. It feels like the breath in your lungs isn’t enough and you take in a few deep, noticeable inhales and exhales. Your heart is pounding like you just ran some kind of incredible marathon.

“Y/N… You ok?” Even sleepy, you can still hear the concern dripping from his tone.

You take in a couple more hungry breaths. It almost feels like a panic attack sneaking up on you. But why now? You’re not even doing anything worth freaking out about. Is it the stress of the day? Is it the embarrassment?

“Yeah… Just...anxiety...” you manage to pant out weakly, your chest heaving frantically for more air. “I’m sorry."

He fishes for your hand in the darkness, turning his face down towards the top of your head to plant a small, innocent kiss there. “Shhh, shhh, I got you. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trembling fingers gripping his with a sense of urgency, like at a moment’s notice he’ll melt away and you’ll be left alone. “Don’t leave, okay?”

He twines his steady fingers between yours. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’re okay. Try to breathe deeply. I’ll be right here.” He starts to inhale loudly, causing your head to rise with each deep fill of his lungs, and fall with his audible exhales.

Over the course of a few minutes, your breathing aligns with his, and you’re even holding at the same moments to help your body relax. When you seem stable, he wants to say something comforting, but simply gives your hand a gentle squeeze once he recognizes the soft snore leaving your mouth.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Joonie, did you clean your apartment before I came over?” you’re eyeing the spotless nature of his abode suspiciously. “Since when do you not throw your shirts wherever?”

He smiles, pleased with himself as he folds his arms and crosses the room before sinking into the couch. “Since you always complain about it.”

You stare him down incredulously. “It’s just… I’m shocked. It’s so unlike you.”

“What?” He scoffs. “Are you seriously gonna complain now that my place is clean?”

“Hmph. Where’s your laptop?” you question,

He pulls it from the folds in the couch cushion sheepishly. “Hold up.” He’s opening it and typing in the password as you flop down next to him.

“If you seriously left porn on here knowing I was coming over to do this, that’s on you. Gimme. I wanna see what fucked up shit Professor Kim gets off to.”

He tries to cover the screen, but you can still see the raunchy frozen frame beneath his splayed fingers. Your eyebrows raise, taking in the sight of a nude woman’s body straddling a well-endowed man on a black leather couch. It’s tough to push back the smile fighting through your pursed lips. “Couch cowgirl, huh?”

“You know…” He fumbles to close the tab and thrusts the computer into your lap, clearly embarrassed at the thought of you seeing any of that. “I don’t stand over your shoulder judging your porn choices.”

You shake your head and scoff. “What makes you so sure I watch porn?”

“I know you,” he groans, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry!” You laugh, beginning to navigate to the display settings. “I’m not judging. It’s just a little more tame than I was expecting.”

“You’re judging,” he declares finitely. “And what the hell are you expecting anyway? What kind of fucked up shit are you into, hmm?”

Your face flushes and you stop typing. He laughs. “See? Just that reaction there tells me you’re one hundred times worse than me. You’re just better at hiding your search history.”

You swallow hard and snap the laptop shut. “Joon, you knew I was coming over to do this today. You had all night to clear out your embarrassing stuff. It’s not my fault you’re a dumbass.”

He starts to quietly interject. “Actually, my IQ is--”

“I don’t care what your IQ is. You’re not goading me into telling you my porn preferences. I’m just here to help you get your laptop hooked up.”

“Is that why you’ve closed it?” he asks with a smirk.

You blink at him a few times. “N-No.”

He laughs again and you can feel your face burning, knowing that he’s pridefully drinking in the sight of your mistake. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to say a thing.” He leans in, closer than you expect and begins speaking in a low, gravelly whisper that freezes you in place. “I already know what you like.”

You do your best to keep your breathing steady, but it quickly turns into a sputtering mess when he cups your chin and trails his index finger down your neck, stopping just above your breast bone. With no effort at all, he guides you down with the press of his finger until you’re laying flat on your back. He steadies himself over you with a strong arm that sinks into the cushion beside your face, effectively boxing you in as he descends.

“You like it when I take control,” he announces, an unfamiliar confidence in his husky tone. “Don’t you?”

At this point, you know your jaw is trembling as it hangs stupidly open. Every word you can think of dies on your tongue as his free hand draws a line beneath your t-shirt, up your belly and teases the lace trim around one of your breasts. You shiver as he drags his fingertips back and forth in the valley between your tits, growing more and more desperate for him to reach beneath one of the cups and take you into his hand. Chest heaving, you turn your gaze away, hoping he will spare you the embarrassment of looking into his eyes with the hunger in yours.

“Yes,” you whisper weakly, knowing he’s got you. If Jimin has been teaching him how to play Chicken, he has taken it to the next level and it’s gone past the point where you think you’re able to willfully extricate yourself from the situation.

His hand shoots up from beneath your shirt to clasp your jaw, forcing your face back into position. “Look at me when you answer.“

You let a tiny moan slip at the rough contact and your eyelids flutter for a moment before meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark and eager, pupils blown out to the size of dinner plates, perfectly set to devour you. You need it now. You need him now.

“Yes…” you whimper. His hand drops like lightning down beneath your bra, molding as much of your tit as his strong grip can manage.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, clasping your arms around his neck and desperately bringing him down to meet your lips.

He moans into your mouth as he comes crashing down, greedily sucking the air from your lungs with every last taste he imparts. The hand that had been supporting his weight tangles itself in your hair as you buck your hips up into him, thirsty for more of whatever he’ll give you. The rocking passage of your hips causes him to mirror the motion, grinding his thigh deliciously up against your clit. You mouth falls open with the need to take in air at the sudden friction in your jeans. He uses the opportunity to slip his himself past the barrier of your teeth and deep into your mouth, gliding his tongue across the surface of your own.

While this has never been a thought that’s crossed your mind in the past, you can’t imagine not knowing his taste. And yet when you try to describe it and pin down his delectable nature, it slips away. Your lips crash harder around his, hopelessly searching for the moment that your thirst will be quenched and never finding it. You want him more than you ever thought possible, in any way possible. It’s like he’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time, flooding all of your senses with a ravenous need that refuses to fade, even as you drink him in again and again.

As he pinches a pebbled nipple between his fingers, you whine through a gasp and fight to bite at his bottom lip, sucking it through your teeth. You hold him in place long enough for him to prop himself up on the couch and move back. Like hell if you were going to let him have all the power.

“Please,” he groans through gritted teeth, sounding incredibly vulnerable. It’s like music to your ears. You drag your teeth over his lip slowly one last time before letting it snap back to him.

With an ease you’re not used to, you’re able to push him back and sit up, carefully untangling your legs and rising from the couch. He’s about to pull you back towards him when you point to the middle of the couch. “Sit there.”

His adam’s apple bobs a few times, dark hunger never leaving the spark in his eyes as he positions himself as instructed. Clasping the outside of his knees, you force them closer together as you straddle his lap. With your legs spread like this, you can smell how wet and ready your pussy is, so you know damn well that he can too. You should be embarrassed and hiding your face in shame. You should be, but you’re not.

Your fingers knot themselves in his hair as you slowly roll your hips across his lap. Your voice is low and husky, filled with messy impatience. You’re ready to fall apart at his hands if he’d let you, but first you want him to know how it feels. “Is this how you like it, Namjoon? Is this what you want?”

A sharp inhale gives you your answer, but you continue to roll your hips just above his lap, hoping to elicit an erection. He groans as he buries his face into your neck, sliding his hot tongue over a particularly sensitive area and latching himself on. You realize you’re going to buckle quickly under the ecstasy you’re not used to feeling. Feeling reckless and bold, you reach down into his sweatpants, grasping for the cock you know has to be rock solid at this point.

Your hand clumsily slides against the gray band at his waist, unable to even clutch the drawstrings in your haste. The harder you try, the more your fingers seem to tangle in them. Soon you find yourself trapped, unable to move your hands away from the gray material they’ve become encased within. Using the brunt of your shoulder, you force Namjoon off your neck and much to your horror the laughter spilling out of him becomes squeaky like a windshield wiper.

“Wooow!” Jin’s disappointed voice has you breaking out in a cold sweat, frozen as you take in the broad shoulders dressed in Namjoon’s clothes before you. “Are my eyes deceitful like you? How many times have I asked if you had feelings for him? And now I catch you like this? What do you mean, none? I’m sure I asked at least once!”

As you shake the hair from your eyes and try to break free, the horror intensifies as the man before you morphs into a giggling Hoseok.

“Tsk-tsk-tsk. Dirty girl,” he chides, bringing his arms around your neck. “How long has it been? Have you forgotten how? I can help you remember if you want.”

You shut your eyes, trying to wish the temptuous voice away, but when you open them it’s now Jungkook staring at you, cackling. “Showing him your tits wasn’t enough, noona? You want him to touch you too?”

He tuts as he leans forward, and you begin to slide from his lap, which seems to be growing larger and steeper by the second. You’re desperately trying to get your hands free so you don’t fall, but it’s no use; you can feel yourself slipping away.

“Oh, are you stuck?” His obnoxious guffaw echoes into the darkness encroaching the apartment. “Well, since I’m a nice guy, let me help you with that. I’m really good with straps.”

He stands and you feel yourself fall, but he catches you by your bound hands, causing your elbows to knock against your head. You feel about 2 feet tall in his clutches as he suspends you in the air with one hand. The other starts pulling on the tangle of gray drawstrings, causing your body to twist in his grasp. With a sharp tug, he has you completely unraveling in a dizzy haze. You clamp your eyes shut again to avoid the vertigo jeopardizing the stability of your stomach contents.

You hang in Jungkook’s grasp, his cackle reverberating through your skull as you feel a gentle breeze caressing your body. As you open your eyes and look down, you realize you’re completely naked, and as you fight against his hold, your body spins. You’re face to face with Taehyung, his eyes cold and calculating as they roam across your body, searching for imperfections. He cocks his head to the side, wearing an expression of granite as his eyes slowly, painfully ascend your exposed flesh.

He blinks at you a few times before breaking into a boxy smile. “Wow. I’m glad we kept your clothes on.”

As you recover from the sting of his words, you fight against Jungkook’s grasp and attempt to swipe at Taehyung’s gorgeous face. As he leans back, his visage morphs into Yoongi, who stands there looking perplexed by your current predicament.

“Hobi’s right. You are easy, aren’t you?” He quirks an eyebrow and turns away, his form evaporating into the darkness.

Again you fight against the man holding you in place. This time you fall, but you land softly against a couch cushion with the cheshire grin of Jimin looming over you.

“Oh, Y/N… You went home with Namjoon-hyung, hmm? I thought you liked me?” His smile quickly falls into a rare scowl, all traces of mirth absent in his stone gaze. The jealous venom biting in his tone causes you to wince. “It’s fine. I have better options.”

“I know,” you whisper, closing your eyes and allowing the tears to fall, attempting to descend further into the cushion.

Your body congeals into the cushion, slowly melting through it and sending you hurling into the darkness. Your knees hit a hard surface with a loud crack, but it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts like the words in your head. You know they’re right.

A spotlight appears over you, drawing attention to your lack of clothing and you clutch your knees to your chest to cover yourself as best you can. As you look around for an exit, you notice a mirror running along the wall behind you, taller than you can even fathom. Quick to disregard the sight of yourself, you turn around and there’s another one waiting ahead of you. Glancing around the room again yields dozens and dozens of mirrors in every direction. There’s nowhere you can even pretend to hide.

So you stand, tears stinging your eyes from the heartbreak of the truths you keep telling yourself. You shuffle over to the nearest mirror, feeling like your feet are sinking into sand and unable to fully rise with each step. Your reflection stares back at you: tired, cold, tear-stricken. You exhale and shove at the glass, unhappy with the person you see staring back at you. Instead of shattering or at least cracking like you expect, the glass bends in and bounces back, forcefully sending you into the mirror behind you. Your back lands against the hard surface and you slide down, allowing yourself to just sit and cry.

As you hug your knees close to your chest again, a fuzzy warmth envelops you. Clutching at the soft blanket that covers your body, you look up to see Namjoon’s dimpled smile starting back at you. He lowers himself to his knees and embraces you from behind, arms cradling you, lulling you into a place of comfort. It’s only when you stare ahead again that you can see the smile now gracing your own features.

He always finds a way to help, doesn’t he? With a contented sigh, you turn your body to gently bring your lips to meet his. The warmth of his body floods yours once more.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You awaken to your lips pressed against something hard. Your eyelids flutter a few times and you can just barely make out the shape of Namjoon’s arm pressing into your cheek. You must have rolled away from him in your sleep. Thank God. The sweat that trickles down your neck somehow runs cold and you shiver, tugging at the blanket covering your shoulders that was definitely not there when you closed your eyes. With a few deep breaths, you attempt to calm your heartbeat. You’re in your room. None of that was real. You’re safe.

Gently wiping your saliva from his forearm, you carefully shift your weight and turn your body to face him. Thankfully, he appears to still be sleeping, half tucked beneath the same blanket. What do you know? Even the human heater must get chilly sometimes.

Your heart still pounds wildly against your ribcage; it’s so loud that you’re almost afraid the sound will rouse him from slumber, but he lays peacefully beside you. There’s a hint of moonlight breaking through the clouds, and it casts just enough light to illustrate how angelic his features look while reposed. With the dream still fresh in your mind, you feel the need to reach out and make sure this is real.

Your hand gently glides through his hair before cupping his cheek and stroking it with your thumb. You catch yourself wondering how you might explain the action, should he awaken at this moment. For now, all that matters is the tranquility the subtle movement provides; it coaxes you into security. As your heartbeat calms, you rest your head on his chest. There’s a dull thumping that you can feel beneath your palm and you swear time stills as you lose yourself in its soothing cadence.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sunshine can’t seem to clear the clouds enough to illuminate the room. It still feels like it could be too early to rise, but the sound of birds chirping over the soft patter of rain lets you know that it’s later than you might believe. You blink a few times, irritated that you’re rising at all on a Saturday morning when you could be sleeping the day away. It’s not like you have anything planned. As you stretch your spine straight up, a pair of lean, muscular arms constrict your chest and waist, lazily pulling you back into a prime spooning position.

You lightly massage the pair of forearms pinning you in place with oblivious fingertips. That’s right. Joonie’s still here.

He’s careful to keep your form from his pelvis, knowing that it wouldn’t take much for you to feel the stiff bulge tucked into the band of his sweatpants. Whatever alternate dimension he’d stumbled into last night had given plenty of fuel for his fantasies: your moans, your touch, and kiss you had nearly shared.

But with the gray fragments of daybreak twinkling through the blinds, reality has to kick in at some point. He knows there’s no way you would pass up the opportunity to make fun of him should you feel even the tip at your back. Now’s not the time to tempt the luck of the universe, not when he has you like this.

You do your best to ignore the blush creeping across your cheeks as you settle in, lacing your fingers with a firm squeeze to his. He lifts his head and sleepily sets it in the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning the surface of your skin and giving you new chills with each exhale. "Morning, Geeksquad."

You hum in response, leaning back into the sensation. He breathes deeply, taking in the subtle mingling scents that linger on your form: the hint of lilac conditioner in your hair, the traces of moisturizer on your skin, the remnants of perfume spritzed some time ago, and the fragrance he can’t place as anything other than “you.” He could stay here for hours just breathing you in, trying to figure it out, but any description would fall short of capturing its perfection.

The tickle of his breath at your neck causes to you shake your head against the pillow a few times, attempting to hide the smile curling the corners of your mouth. You’re content with the scene staying as it is and you’re almost relaxed enough to drift back to sleep when the ceiling above you allows the first long creak to break through the quiet of your bedroom. Then another. And another. Soon there’s a steady familiar squeaking of the bed frame in the apartment above. An awkward silence falls between you both, but quickly fills with a rhythmic squeaking.

It was too much to hope that the noisy neighbors could put off their sexcapades until you weren’t in a compromising position with a friend. You side-eye the light fixture above you as it rattles in time with the sound of the headboard now hitting the wall. You know from experience that the noises will dull in time, but it doesn’t make right now any better.

Just as you’re about to say something, there’s a slew of loud “yes”es that cut through the room. Not daring to look back at Namjoon now, you scrunch your face into a grimace and silently pray for the bed to fall through the ceiling and crush you. Neither of you are willing to say anything, either embarrassed or enthralled by the lewd visions plaguing you as a result of the sounds above.

While you can't recall the most recent dream to grace your subconscious, an encore of the previous one pervades your thoughts. The image of Namjoon feeling you up as you make out like a couple of horny teenagers has you squeezing your thighs together and tensing your body against him.

Desire charts a course from your brain straight down to your pussy, the noises descending from the ceiling only serving to heighten the fantasy. The thought of him cupping your tits and pulling you back into his chest creeps into your mind with every second you spend tucked beneath his arms.

You bite your lip and stretch again, this time purposefully nudging your ass into him with a forced yawn. Even through a heavy knit layer of cotton, you feel the hard shape that butts up against you. A soft, sleepy groan croaks out from the base of his throat, which only allows the perverse reverie to further take over.

Dropping his forehead against you, a heavy, tight-lipped grumble sends vibrations up your neck. This, combined with the creaking bed frame and muffled moans from above, sends a hot, prickly wave of adrenaline surging through you. A restrained puff of air forces its way through his nostrils as his nose sweeps against the sensitive spot at the base of your neck.

Your pussy clenches at the sound of his weakness, like the gravitational pull of your soaking cunt can draw in his cock if those muscles deep inside can contract hard enough. You're hyper aware of the way your shorts are riding up, removing that extra barrier between you both, but you're too worked up at this point to care.

You reach back, wordlessly carding your fingers through his hair. The action elicits another faint moan into the flesh of your neck, sending the high of your adrenalin to new heights. Silent, jagged breaths wrack the outline of your chest as he tightens his arm's hold on your waist.

He makes a fist to keep himself from grabbing your hips, knuckles trembling against your belly and clearly struggling to keep things PG. But you're not having it, not after the dreams that have plagued you and the filthy things running through your mind. Hoping to lure another lewd sound from him, you wiggle your hips and shimmy your shoulders to provide the cover that perhaps you're trying to get comfortable. His fist opens and desperate fingers sink into the flesh beneath your t-shirt.

It's not a request, but a harsh demand in the form of a whisper against the shell of your ear that leaves you absolutely quaking beneath him. "You don't want to keep doing that."

The subdued whimper crawling up your throat nearly dies behind pursed lips before transforming into a pleased hum. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own, rising to challenge what may or may not be a bluff, and slowly grind back into the erection firmly planted at your backside. You're too enticed by the possibility of a gratifying answer to stop the word falling from your mouth. "Why?"

That definitely came out brattier than intended. A swarm of angry butterflies pump their way through your system. Their fluttering clogs the path to your brain that tends to lean towards subtlety. Dull fingernails dig into the skin at your hip and shoulder tight enough to leave marks. His hips thrust forward for the first time, slowly dragging the mass of his cock up your ass and then back down in delicious, languid strokes.

You hold back the moan building in your throat and a sharp sigh chokes its way past your lips instead. The subsequent needy, ragged inhales fill the space around you. Your back arches while your hips remain in place, causing your chest to rise as you knot your fingers in his hair. When you throw your head back and close your eyes, he bites his lip to quell the urge to pepper kisses along your exposed neck. His restraint is admirable, but the toll it takes on him is palpable at this point.

“I think you know why,” he accuses in a low whisper, dropping his forehead against you again and halting the stroke of his hips.

“I won’t tell… if you don’t,” you promise, your chest about ready to cave in on itself from the amount of pressure his arm is now squeezing into it.

Feeling brave, you offer one more subtle roll of your hips, tempting him to follow the provocative pattern. Now he’s the one who tenses. He’s still, holding his breath for just a moment in disbelief as the dull sound of the lovers above cut through the air. Then you feel the sliding of his palm across your abdomen and a greedy exhale at your ear. Fingers dig into your flesh, holding you in place as he answers your unspoken question with gentle rock of his hips. You respond with hungry need, clasping your hands over both of his as the rhythm of your bodies begin to sync.

He lets you lead the campaign to your mutual destruction. If this is hell then he’s happy to be the fiery tide at the back of a devil disguised as a moon goddess. His hips ebb and flow against whatever pace you set as you listen to the lovers upstairs and soon you find yourself wishing for more. You feel as though at any given moment his cock is going to spring free and rub against the meat of your ass-- and you're ashamed to admit that you couldn't be more turned on by the thought.

His fingers start to tease the band of your shorts as he rocks himself against your ass, savoring the way you’re panting. He slows his pace without realizing as he drifts into his own fucked-out daydream. It becomes clear you’re at his mercy when you whimper his name at his unintentionally lazy thrusts. The tides have turned.

You’re definitely about to say something you might regret --as if you didn’t have enough of that going on already. Your dripping cunt urges you to beg, to plead with him to go farther. You’ll set up as much porn on his TV as he wants. But right now, you want to be touched so badly you feel like you’re going to explode. “Please.”

What he wouldn’t give to hear you say that again. He hooks a finger beneath the fabric at your waist and dips his tongue out to wet his lips, which deliberately skims your neck. This time you moan and he finds himself echoing the sentiment as he decides he’s going to take his time with you and pull out as many “please”s as you’ll give him.

You jump when your cellphone’s ringtone cuts through the room. He holds back the sob building in his throat, leaving only choked air in its wake. It’s suddenly clear to you that the only other sounds in the room are both of your labored breaths. You strain to reach out towards the nightstand and Namjoon’s arms reluctantly give way to your movement. He immediately rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling in disbelief as you fumble to swipe at the screen.

“Why do you do this to me?” he whispers to himself, and rolls away from you to contemplate the meaning of life.

“H-Hello?”

“What uuuuup, bitch." Jennie’s voice is loud and carries through the receiver even though the volume isn’t at its highest setting.

You wince, trying to shake the lingering nerves from your voice. “Heeeeey, Jennie.” You stumble through a few incoherent syllables. “A-Are you back?”

“You sound guilty. What are you doing?”

“I wasn’t doing anything, Jennie,” you scoff.

“Doesn’t sound like it. Oh, did you go have a rebound bang after that shitty date yesterday?” she asks excitedly.

“What? No! I was just minding my own business. Relaxing.” You swallow, sparing a glance at Namjoon. “Alone.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and your roll your eyes, mouthing the word ‘what.’

“Okay, okay! I got it. I don’t need to hear about how great your vibrator is again. I get actual sex from actual real people, Y/N.”

Your mouth falls open and you cringe at her statement, tearing your eyes off of Namjoon’s giggling form. He folds his arm over his face to hide his laughter, but from the corner of your eye you can still see his body convulsing.

“You know what!” You shriek, rising from the bed and scurrying out of the room as fast as possible. “I don’t need this. Is there a reason you called?”

“Obviously you don’t check your email. I’m on my way back but Taehyung stopped by and asked me to retouch those photos he took.”

“Taehyung drove all the way there to ask you that?”

“He was apparently out this way for a gallery or something. I don’t know. He stopped by with a flash drive and asked me to work my magic aaaand ta-daaa. Well. Open your email. It works better if you can actually see what I’m ta-daing about.”

You swallow, putting her on speaker as you open the mail icon on your phone. Sure enough, there’s an email from Jennie with several attachments. Your eyes skim along the text in the body of the email and settle on the photos below. Holy shit.

“Well? What do you think? Pretty good right? I mean I haven’t touched them all but Tae and I picked out what we thought were the best of the best for your profile. He liked the artsier looking ones, but I said hey man, sex sells. And it does, Y/N. So sell that shit. Put em up, get some matches! Oh and don’t worry I didn’t use any liquify shit to make you look thinner or anything. I just focused on accentuating your natural beauty and fixing the lighting with some adjustments to levels and curves, maybe a few color balance filters. Honestly though, Tae knows what he’s doing with a camera and I didn’t have to do much for most of them. Some cropping and smoothing out wrinkles in the backdrop to make it look more like a real beach. Adding some plants in places for dimension.”

You stand there staring at the photos, quietly taking in just how gorgeous the pair have made you look in each one. “Honestly they look so good. But this is so much work for my stupid profile,” you mumble as you scroll through, admiring the images that you still can’t believe are you.

“Y/N, sweetie. I love you. You’re a catch and I can’t wait to see you find the person who will appreciate and love you even half as much as I do. But you need to get laid. Badly. Right now you’d probably fuck anything that moves. I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me you banged that meathead Jungkook. Even though we both know he’s a fuckboy. Totally pump-and-dump type. One hundred percent not boyfriend material. Not even worth the trouble of a fuck, honestly. But you know we on about those arms… I’m pretty sure he’s the only person we know that could actually do your fantasy of being fucked against a wall and, like, not even be tired from holding you up...” she trails off, lost in her own thoughts.

The words don’t embarrass you, even if Namjoon can hear them; you’re too distracted to find yourself even remotely fazed. You’re too lost in the work they’ve presented here, too shocked to say much of anything because of how excellent a job they’ve done. Can this really be you? Is this what you look like on a good day?

Namjoon listens in, taking this opportunity to inspect his own arms. He flexes the scrawny muscle in his bicep, trying to will it to grow bigger with a glare. His head snaps up. Your fantasy. She said ‘your fantasy.’ Is that really what you like?

He looks back down at his muscles, entertaining the possibility of such a scenario. It seems challenging, but not impossible, considering he’d half-carried you up three flights of stairs not too long ago. Then again, that’s a little different than holding someone up while thrusting into them and not giving a sloppy performance. What a fucking thought. Restraining the urge to palm himself over his sweats, he brings a curled finger to his lips in contemplation while eavesdropping on the rest of the conversation you don’t seem interested in hiding.

“And because you fucking suck at selling yourself, this is the easiest way to you get there. You get the sex out of your system and then you find mister right --or misses right; I don’t judge!”

You sigh, knowing she’s the one with experience. Jennie has a new prospect every week, but she knows how to utilize others’ infatuation to her advantage, get what she wants, and discard them as she sees fit. And she does it so effortlessly that you can’t help but envy her. She would know better than you could ever hope to.

“Thank you, Jennie. Really. I-I’m so grateful. Just… thank you. I’ll put these up and see if I get any hits.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Y/N. It’s no big deal. Dudes are gonna be lining up to get in that pussy, babe. Don’t even worry ‘bout it, ‘kay? Love you bitch.”

“Love you…” The call ends and you wander thoughtlessly back into the bedroom.

Namjoon’s shit eating grin says everything that he doesn’t, but you settle into bed beside him and choose to ignore the look he’s giving you in favor of scrolling through the images again, completely disregarding the way you two were previously dry-humping to the sounds of your neighbors going at it. Namjoon’s frustrated sigh lets you know he hasn’t forgotten.

“Apparently Taehyung and Jennie worked on these together,” you say, pulling up the first one to show him. “Do you…” You hesitate, suddenly feeling shy and you nervously on your earlobe. “Do you think this is okay? Like am I lying to people if I put these up? I feel like they’re too good. I feel like they’ll expect this all the time and I don’t think that’s really fair.”

Namjoon’s eyes soften as he takes the phone from your palm. He licks his lips as he scans the details in the photo: the curve of your smile, the sweetness in your eyes, the way your head coyly rests upon your shoulder. You’re beautiful, as always. Makeup doesn’t really change that. But your smile radiates positivity and light in this particular instance; you’re practically glowing.

You twiddle your fingers together as you wait for the verdict, unable to read his stoic expression. “Well?”

His eyes roam from your face down to the photo a few times and he cracks a smile. “I think you need to stop worrying. I don’t see a difference.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Don’t you think I look too… good there?”

He mirrors your confused expression. “I think you look as good as you always do.” He catches himself when your confusion turns into bashfulness. “You know, for a nerd.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at the short lived compliment before propping your head up on his chest. Your finger pokes the screen, swiping across the images one by one and taking some time to review them with him. Not a single insult passes his lips. There’s nothing but praise spilling from him, finding something unique and genuine to compliment you on with each photo. He must sense your insecurity because he pauses each time and reminds you that he’s not being paid to say nice things. You silently thank him for at least trying to build you up. Surprisingly, it helps.

“I guess I’m using them then,” you sigh in defeat, rolling away from him as you take the phone back. You’re already downloading the photos so you can set them to your profile.

Namjoon rises at the opportunity, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of you actually finding someone. Because Jennie is right. With photos that actually do your beauty justice, people will be flocking to you in droves. It seems too real now that you’re eagerly putting them on there. “Tinder won’t know what hit ‘em,” he says dejectedly.

You’re too distracted to properly catch the disappointment in his tone. “I hope so.”

“Hey... I’m gonna go, Geeksquad. I just remembered I made plans with some of the guys and I want to make sure I run all my errands ahead of time.”

You hum a note of approval and almost miss the way his face twists in anxiety because as you look up, he transforms his stress into a soft smile. Still, you see just enough to know you’re being a rude bitch right now and it’s bothering him.

“I’m sorry.” You drop the phone and cross the room, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you for staying with me, Joonie. I… really appreciate you. I’m a mess and you always take care of me. So thank you. For real.”

“I know, Geeksquad.” He strokes your head a couple times before taking a few steps back. It hurts too much to say what’s on his mind.

“And, um… before Jennie called I…” You lock eyes and you mouth the words you wish to say, but they don’t come as you want them to, “just got caught in the moment. I’m sorry.”

He blinks at you a few times before vigorously nodding. “Yeah.” He clears his throat after hearing the crack in his own voice, bringing it a few octaves deeper to protect his ego. “Yeah, uh, me too. Don’t even worry about it, okay? I’ll, uh, I’ll text you when I know what we’re doing.”

You nod enthusiastically, a grin spreading across your face. “Okay!”

With that, he disappears and you hear the unlocking of your door and the soft click when it closes behind him. Picking your phone up from the bed, you struggle with setting the order of the photos. You save and resave different combinations for about 10 minutes until a notification blocks your screen. You’ve got a match.

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inawickedlittletown · 4 years

Text

I’m With You (18/22)

Summary:

Having a crush was nothing to be ashamed of…lying to the family and friends of said crush about being the guy’s boyfriend, that was a whole other problem. When Buck saves the life of Andrew Diaz and accidentally makes a nurse think that he’s Andrew’s boyfriend, Buck soon finds himself lying to Andrew’s firefighter friends/coworkers as well as Andrew’s family including Andrew’s very suspicious and attractive brother, Eddie.

Based on the 1995 movie While You Were Sleeping.

Words: 3,178

Read on Ao3

Masterpost

Previous Chapter

–

It was watching Legolas with the kids as the day went on that brought the dog back into his memory and it fit in with other things that he’d started to remember. It in no way changed Andrew’s opinion on dogs. The dog felt like the last piece of the puzzle that was his memory because nothing felt strange or foreign anymore. Ever since he’d returned home it had felt like more and more was coming back and he knew better than to expect to remember Buck. Except that he did strangely enough.

Andrew couldn’t be sure if it was because someone had mentioned that Buck was a barista, but Andrew did remember him handing Andrew the coffee order for the 118 every time he went to pick it up at Coffee Time. He remembered him because it was nearly always Buck taking care of his order and Andrew tended to be good with remembering faces unless of course he had amnesia.

Andrew hadn’t expected Buck to come back after leaving. It was even more surprising when he arrived with his sister. Andrew had been under the impression that Buck had no one, but there he was with a woman standing next to him.

“Didn’t someone say he doesn’t have any family?” Andrew asked Josh.

“That’s what I thought too.”

Maddie’s smile was the first thing that Andrew noticed. Next he noticed that she was quite pretty. Although Maddie was friendly, Andrew couldn’t help but also notice that she stuck close to her brother and there was definitely a story there in her reappearance in Buck’s life. Andrew didn’t ask when Buck sat down by him mostly because he didn’t think it was his place and he didn’t want to ask in front of Maddie. What Andrew couldn’t tell was if Maddie knew about Buck’s lie or if she, like everyone else, thought that Andrew was Buck’s boyfriend.

After trying to get Buck to eat some of the food off his plate, mostly because it was fun to try and feed Buck while Buck tried to dodge his attempts, Buck got up to get his own food. His sister followed.

It wasn’t long after they were gone that shit hit the fan and Andrew could have never once predicted it.

“Are you kidding me? Seriously, you’re sleeping with Eddie? Buck, what the fuck?” Maddie’s words carried over to them.

“Shit,” Andrew said mostly to himself.

Everyone’s eyes had turned to him. Chimney looked like he’d just taken a drink of water and it went down the wrong way. No one said anything and it almost felt like they were waiting to see what happened next. Worst of all, Andrew had no idea if what Maddie had yelled out was true or not. If it was...well, he didn’t think Eddie would ever do that to him.

Someone touched his elbow and when he looked it was Hen. She was frowning at him, her eyes filled with concern.

“Are you okay?”

Buck wasn’t his boyfriend. Andrew had no reason to be upset...except that maybe he had a right to be offended or something? Either way, it was definitely cramping his plans to keep the ruse going. Although, maybe this also gave him an out especially if it turned out to be true. Andrew was pretty sure it wasn’t true.

He didn’t get a chance to answer Hen because there was a commotion inside and Andrew couldn’t stop himself from pushing past everyone else and rushing inside. Legolas was just ahead of him and he was barking. In the kitchen his eyes found Maddie first. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was looking at Buck and shaking her head, her lips pursed. Buck looked stricken, his eyes were glassy. Last, he found Eddie who stood in front of a broken plate and food that Legolas rushed over to eat up.

“What’s going on here?” Andrew asked, careful.

Buck looked towards him first, eyes widening at seeing him and there were apologies written all over his face. Was it true, then? Andrew stepped further in, but before he could do or say anything, he saw Pepa enter from the living room and she looked livid. Andrew had seen his tia angry only a few times but it had never been directed at him or Eddie. Her anger was usually at their dad or her own kids.

“Edmundo, es verdad?” she asked, calm but with weight behind it. And then she didn’t let Eddie say a word before she continued on. “No te puedo creer, Eddie! El es el novio de tu hermano...si pudiste hacer esto. I can’t believe it. I’m disappointed and ashamed of you.”

[“Edmundo, is it true?”...“I can’t believe you, Eddie! He’s your brother’s boyfriend...if you could do that. I can’t believe it. I’m disappointed and ashamed of you.”]

But Buck wasn’t his boyfriend and maybe that was the thing that would clear everything up. Behind him, the others were coming in and Chimney somehow ended up next to him.

“Do something,” Chim muttered. “She looks like she’s ready to slap him. On your behalf.”

“Pepa, I wasn’t—” Eddie began.

“No te puedo ni mirar,” Pepa said and it was filled with disappointment, his words cutting and full of disgust.

[“I can’t even look at you”]

Andrew stepped forward, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to say or do. Then Buck was there, putting a hand on Andrew’s elbow.

“Buck,” Andrew said.

Buck shook his head at him and he moved past Andrew towards Pepa.

“I’m not sleeping with Eddie,” he said. “My sister has no idea what she’s talking about.” Buck’s gaze fell on Maddie, then, and Andrew noted how tight Buck’s jaw was. “Pepa, that’s the truth. Nothing has happened between me and Eddie.”

Maddie had backed up into a wall and one of her hands covered her mouth. She was frowning and looked like she would start crying at any moment. A part of Andrew wanted to go over there and make sure she knew that on his account she had nothing to worry about. He thought she whispered “I’m sorry”.

Andrew saw his abuela approach, then, moving slowly but like the strong woman that she was. “Buck,” she said, “what is happening?”

Buck took a glance around at all of them because of course everyone had come in to see what was happening. They had no shame in their curiosity. Andrew knew, suddenly, what Buck was going to do and there was nothing he could do to stop him. It was his choice.

Andrew had wanted to drag on the teasing for a while longer, but he’d also planned to eventually talk to Buck about everything to find an easy way for the truth to come out. Their hands were being forced. Andrew wasn’t going to stop Buck from coming clean, though. So, he hung back and watched Buck knowing already that what Buck was doing was very brave and also very stupid. But maybe Buck already knew that, had resigned himself to that. Andrew could only watch and at least he was a little more knowledgeable than everyone else.

—-

Isabel looked okay. It was the one thing that Buck took notice of when he spotted her, but he still moved towards her before he did anything else and he offered his hand. She took it, even while looking confused and frowning at him. She’d heard of course, maybe even the bit from Pepa.

“I’m sorry,” Buck said and it felt important. She was the one that he needed to apologize to first and the one that he hoped wouldn’t be affected in a bad way.

“What for? You don’t need to—”

“I do,” Buck said and he gave her hand a squeeze. “It was never supposed to be like this. I’m sorry.”

Buck looked to Pepa next and she didn’t look like she would welcome any apologies. The way she looked at him lacked all the warmth that had been usually present and Buck just took a deep breath. This...it was everything he’d expected. Still, he braced himself.

“I’m sorry,” Buck muttered to her. “Truly. But it’s time to tell the truth.”

“The truth,” Pepa said and her eyes flickered from him to Eddie.

Buck shook his head. He couldn’t keep looking at Pepa, but Buck refused to look in the direction of Eddie who had been quiet since Maddie had gone and ruined everything. Buck had expected him to say something — anything at all — but instead it was as if he’d lost his ability to speak. Maybe it was shock or he was holding himself back. Either way, Buck was glad that he wasn’t making all of it worse.

It had been a mistake to bring Maddie, Buck knew. Or maybe it had been a mistake to trust Maddie with the truth. Buck had planned on telling everyone everything before Maddie showed up and before Eddie kissed him and...and he’d let this drag on for far longer than he should have. He had let it get complicated.

The moment that Athena had entered that hospital room should have been the start and end. The moment that Andrew woke up should have been the moment that he walked away or told the truth. He’d been a coward both times.

Buck couldn’t quite look at the rest of them, but his eyes fixed themselves on Andrew. He deserved a direct apology as well. In some ways, he deserved it more than anyone else because Buck had added to the confusion that his amnesia brought. The guilt when it came to that had nee gnawing at him for a while.

Andrew, to Buck’s surprise, reached out for him first, grabbing both of Buck’s shaking hands. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He looked like he was trying to offer Buck support. There was no anger and no confusion, just acceptance. That made Buck feel even worse. He didn’t deserve that.

“I’m really sorry,” Buck said. “I shouldn’t have let this get so out of hand.”

Andrew actually smiled a bit, the corner of his lips turning up. His hands gave Buck’s a light squeeze.

“You shouldn’t have,” Andrew said.

“The thing is,” Buck said. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

“I know,” Andrew said with a smile.

He knew. Of course he knew. Buck wanted to laugh, he wanted to allow himself to find that funny, but he couldn’t. If he were honest with himself, Buck could admit that he already knew that Andrew knew. Either way his stomach still churned because Andrew’s reaction was one thing, everyone else would be something else.

“What’s going on, Buckaroo?” Hen asked.

Buck was still looking at Andrew. “You figure it out on your own?”

“No,” Andrew said.

“Oh,” Buck said because of course Chimney had told him.

“Buck?” Hen asked.

Buck cleared his throat and he didn’t address Hen directly, but everyone. “The thing is,” he said and noticed how everyone was looking at him. “I lied and I talked myself out of every single chance that I had to come clean. I didn’t even know your name, Andrew. I knew nothing about you and I was stupid and I lied and I couldn’t take it back. Not when...when I guess that I fell in love with you…”

Andrew was still holding his hand and he froze, frowning. “With me?” he asked, shocked. “But, Buck—”

Buck shook his head and a small humorless chuckle escaped. “No. Not with you, Andrew. With...all of you. Your family...your friends. I walked into that hospital room with no one and by the time I left I had an abuela and an aunt and friends. Family. And you all just welcomed me in with no hesitation because of your love for Andrew even when I didn’t make any sense at all. Especially, then. And I love all of you for that. But I lied and I’m really sorry about that. And I don’t belong here. I never did.”

He could feel how wet his cheeks were. His voice had cracked with the emotion a few times, but he couldn’t focus on that when Andrew’s hand fell away and when Pepa looked upset. Isabel’s face was a blank and Buck couldn’t tell what she was thinking but she was okay which was enough. Somehow, Buck’s eyes met Bobby’s and there was disappointment there mixed in with confusion. Hen wasn’t looking at him.

Buck dug into his pocket and brought out Andrew’s keys.

“Here,” he said, thrusting them at him.

Andrew took them. “Buck—”

Buck shook his head. “I always knew it would end this way. It’s okay.”

Chimney was trying to catch his eye and Buck had no idea where Josh was but that didn’t matter because Maddie was suddenly there and she looked apologetic and sad when she grabbed him around the elbow, pulling at him because at least she knew that what Buck needed was to leave. The truth was out. Buck had made it a few steps when he thought to look back. His eyes landed on Eddie.

Eddie was braced against the island and his eyes were fixed on Buck, his eyebrows set in a deep frown and there was anger and disgust in the way that he looked at Buck, an expression that Buck had never before seen on his face. In a way, he looked like he was holding himself back, teeth gritted and his knuckles white where they were holding onto the counter.

Buck wanted to apologize to him as well, but he didn’t know if that would make it better or worse.

Maybe being right didn’t want to suit Eddie. But he’d kissed Buck. That was a thing that had happened just hours earlier and the Eddie standing there in the kitchen wasn’t the Eddie that had done that. He probably regretted it, now. And Buck didn’t imagine that any explanation would make any of it better. It hurt his chest to think about it and to realize that this was probably the last he would see of Eddie. Eddie hated him.

All of it...it was really truly over.

In the living room were Christopher and Denny. Buck didn’t know Denny all that well, but he knew Christopher. Buck wasn’t sure if he should stop and say goodbye, and in the end when Maddie steered him to the door, he figured it might be best if he didn’t.

He and Maddie had nearly made it to the door and it was so absolutely telling that no one was coming after them. No one was chasing him and trying to get him to stay. Not even Chimney or Josh. They’d all liked him and welcomed him in when he was Andrew’s boyfriend but now that the truth was out, he was nothing to them. Buck didn’t blame them one bit. He’d know that this was the way it would go.

“Buck,” he heard suddenly, the voice small and a bit raspy. Christopher.

Buck turned. “Hey,” he said and crouched down when Christopher approached.

Christopher was still wearing that bandage around his wrist. “I won’t see you again, will I?” he asked.

Perceptive kid.

“I don’t think you will,” Buck said. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t expect Christopher to hug him, but he hugged him back and ran a hand through the boy’s curls. He was going to miss this kid. He was going to miss all of them. He could feel the emotion, the tears that wanted to pour out and he tried his best to keep all of it at bay.

“It’s okay,” Christopher said.

“Be good to your dad, kiddo,” Buck said.

Christopher touched his cheek. “You’ll be okay, kid.” he said and wiped away one of Buck’s tears.

Buck had no idea how much Christopher understood. Probably not a whole lot, just enough to know that Buck was leaving for good.

Maddie was standing by the door and Buck moved to join her when he felt paws on his legs. In all the confusion, Buck had almost forgotten about Legolas. Legolas barked at him, pawing at him and Buck couldn’t help but drop down to the floor and wrap his arms around the dog. He loved Legolas. He ran his hands down his back and pressed a kiss to the top of his head and he knew he was crying against his fur.

“You be a good boy, Legolas,” Buck whispered.

When Maddie opened the door, Legolas tried to step in front of Buck as if to stop him from leaving.

“Legolas, stop. Sit,” Buck commanded and Legolas listened. He sat and looked at Buck and let out a soft whine. “I’ll miss you, bud. But you have your owner back. Go on, back inside.”

It broke his heart to see Legolas move away. When Buck stepped towards the open door, he glanced back once more and found Andrew. Legolas had walked to his side and Andrew crouched down to pet him. Buck let himself smile even through his tears. Andrew nodded at him and then Buck stepped out.

Maddie was waiting by the steps. A few hours ago this was where he and Eddie had kissed. At least he had the memories of that to remember him by along with everything else. Their friendship...the days spent out in Andrew’s yard with Legolas, and other times too at the hospital and in Buck’s car. Memories were all that Buck could hold onto, he was used to that.

“Buck, I’m so sorry. I just—”

“Don’t,” Buck said and his sister must have heard the way that he was just managing to hold himself together because she didn’t say anything else not even when they had gotten back to his apartment and Buck just walked up the stairs, ignoring her and everything else and dropped into his bed.

His room had always been a comfort, a place to escape where he could just be and where all the facades could fall away and Buck didn’t have to pretend that everything was okay. He’d always known that things would come to this eventually. But no amount of preparation for it had made him ready to feel how empty it left him.

Later, and Buck couldn’t tell how much time had passed, he felt the bed dip and Maddie touched his shoulder.

“Hey,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. I really...I made a mess of this for you. I could tell they meant a lot to you. I’m so sorry, Evan. I should have stayed away. I...I should—”

He heard it in her voice, her instinct to run away. She was going to leave him again...

“Don’t leave,” Buck whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

“I screwed things up for you. I shouldn’t—”

Buck reached out and grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave, Maddie.”

“I won’t. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

–

Next Chapter

Notes: Soooo that finally happened. Hope everyone liked this one. It’s one of the chapters that I was looking forward to writing since the beginning. Let me know what you all thought. Thanks for reading. :)

Tagging: @tranquility-or-chaos @diazbuckleysworld @stilesgivesmefeels

#911 fox #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #buck x eddie #911 fox fic #fic #my fic #I'm With You

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