#the endless amounts of parallels to the line i just need you to know how much i fucking love you.

[fuckingwoodfuckingpaneling]

these violent delights (micah nemerever, 2020) // saltburn (dir. emerald fennell, 2023)

#yeah i did it. it was NEEDED! #there were plenty more i noticed i mean endlessly #these were just the ones i took photos of #the endless amounts of parallels to the line i just need you to know how much i fucking love you. #AHHHH!!! #oh paul fleischer and oliver quick… sisters in causing me misery #saltburn #these violent delights #micah nemerever #datvd

[merinsedai]

Dreamling Abbey

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang !!

No lie, guys: I decided to do this after coming out of a heart scan at the hospital on the sign up deadline. The thinking being: I could have a dicky ticker here, why not try something new? And this was perfect because if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I need a deadline.

And so here we are.

I am MOST affronted by how hard this was?! And how bloody long it took me (mostly because I spent a lot of time staring into space or relentlessly googling 'did they have xyz in Edwardian England) All you wonderful, talented writers have made it look so easy that all that effort came as somewhat of a shock. Honestly, I am deeply saddened that the copious amount of Dreamling fic I have voraciously consumed in the past 18 months has not magically made a fantastic author out of me. Why does osmosis not work for writing?

If you read, I hope you enjoy!

(The ticker's fine, by the way. Not dicky at all.)

Art by the fabulous @lalaithquetzallicaresi Thanks for squeezing me in there, lovely! ❤

Pairing: Dream/Hob

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 50k

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, look it's Downton Abbey but Dreamling omegaverse. Sorta. If you squint, I'm not sure Julian Fellowes would approve, If you haven't seen Downton it definitely won't matter, because I've unashamedly just stolen bits and pieces and thrown the rest to the wind, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pining, period typical attitudes to gender. If you reframe gender to include alpha beta omega dynamics, omega rights paralleling the suffragette movement in England, Minor Violence, lots of vague references to classic cars, mention of unethical medical procedures, Time and Night are bad parents, Omega Dream of the Endless, Alpha Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless│Morpheus Needs a Hug, Unbeta'd

Read chapter 1 on ao3

Fic Summary: Lord Morpheus is the eldest child of the Earl and Countess of Endless, an ancient family hiding huge debts behind a fine name. As an omega, Morpheus cannot inherit his father's title or the family's ancestral home. His function is simple: secure a match that is both socially advantageous and financially viable, thus securing the future of the estate and the title of Earl of Endless for his offspring. The family believe that their troubles are solved when Morpheus dutifully (if reluctantly) becomes engaged to his wealthy cousin, Patrick. However, all their carefully laid plans are thrown into chaos when Patrick drowns on the ill-fated Titianic.

Now Morpheus is navigating treacherous waters of his own and discovering how tight the ties of family loyalty bind him. Will the charming and handsome Duke of Crowborough prove his saviour? Or will the wealthy yet odious Sir Roderick Burgess ensnare Morpheus in plans of his own?

Meanwhile, the family’s new chauffeur, one Robert Gadling, is muddying the waters of Morpheus’s existence even further- where is the line between a servant and a friend? Can Hob help Morpheus see that life exists beyond the confines of family and function?

Chapters below the cuts and in subsequent reblogs, should you wish to read it here on tumblr.

Chapter 1: Complications with the Great Matter.

April 1912.

The papers had been late this morning. Not that Morpheus notices their tardiness. Serious daily newspapers are the preserve of his father and since Morpheus has little interest in the society gossip that proliferated on the pages of The Daily Sketch, the only periodical he is allowed in his room, he rarely bothers to glance at it. However, the large photograph blazing across the front page is so arresting that he finds his eyes drawn to it immediately, ignoring all else on his vanity to take the paper and read.  It is bad news of course, the papers rarely print anything but.  ‘DISASTER TO TITANIC ON HER MAIDEN VOYAGE’ boldly proclaims the headline, beneath which is black and white image of the doomed liner, adjoined by one of her seemingly also doomed captain, John Smith. Morpheus’s eyebrows draw down as he reads the brief article: so many presumed dead, so few saved.  They would know people, of course. His mother knew the Astors, and they had dined with Lady Rothes only last month. Still, the privilege of first class likely meant they would be amongst the survivors. Those below decks… on their way to a better life, well they would not have been so fortunate. What a tragedy, Morpheus sighs and closes the paper. This news rather put his own woes into perspective-

The door bangs open and Desire flounces in without so much as a by your leave, as is their way. 

“Dream!” they shout without preamble, then glance at the newspaper in his hands with a slight moue of disappointment. Being the bearer of bad news is something Desire takes a measure of delight in, “Oh, you’ve seen already, Huh,” They shake their head, before bending over Morpheus to look more closely at his paper, hand gripping his shoulder. This close, the smell of the perfume Desire favours- a rich and spicy aroma deliberately chosen to overwhelm their natural omega scent- makes him wrinkle his nose and move his head away. Desire’s fingers tighten on his shoulder and they huff in amusement. They are not strictly allowed to wear perfumes but Desire goes their own way with everything.  “When Jessamy told me, I thought she must have dreamt it!” Desire continues in a low tone, meeting Morpheus’s eyes in the mirror.  “To think, we were just talking about that ship the other week. Remember how excited old Lucy Rothes was? Supposed to be unsinkable- ha!”

“Every mountain is unclimbable until they climb, so every ship is unsinkable until it sinks,” Morpheus responds neutrally, putting the paper down and shrugging Desire’s hand off to stand. Desire moves with him, smoothing their hands over the non-existent wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket before adjusting his already meticulously placed tie pin. Morpheus endures the attention for a moment before once again moving away. He does not enjoy this close scrutiny and Desire knows it, but it is always a delight of theirs to make him feel uncomfortable.

“Hm” Desire hums then shrugs, “Come on, now you’re all sorted, lets go to breakfast. Aponoia said she saw the telegram boy come by. I want to find out if there’s any more news. Won’t it be something if someone truly important drowned? Gossip for weeks.”

***

The papers always print bad news. Of course they do. But that news is viewed through a detached lens. Shocking, of course, but not too close to home. Telegrams though- that’s different. They take that news and make it personal. 

Breakfast had proven to be a fraught affair. Their father had been away from the room when they first arrived, speaking with their mother so they were to learn, but he had soon been back and imparted the news of their family’s misfortune to his children with unusual brevity. Then he had left without saying anything further, leaving the three of them to process the news alone: the news that Patrick Endless, their wealthy cousin and Morpheus’s fiance, had been aboard the Titanic with his father, James and neither were listed among the names of the survivors. Morpheus had not felt like eating further and had removed himself back to his rooms with his siblings following uninvited (though not strictly unwanted). He had wanted to think but he also knew the danger of getting lost so deeply in his mind, so Desire’s sniping and Aponoia’s quiet presence would be… grounding. 

The stupid thing was that Patrick was not even meant to be on that cursed ship; he and his father weren’t expected in New York until May. Why? He thought Why did they go? And without saying anything? Perhaps Patrick had planned to telegram from New York- a boast and a surprise. 

“Turns out that the lure of the Titanic’s maiden voyage was too strong.” Desire says as if reading his mind, and with a hint of mischief in their golden eyes. They lounge dramatically against the doorframe whilst Morpheus stands and stares out of his window, gazing at the grounds below. It all looks so quiet, so normal. Why doesn’t he feel sad?  Desire continues, “They wanted to be part of history and now they are history.”

“Desire,” Morpheus chides half heartedly. It is a crass statement but he can’t find it in himself to react more strongly. Maybe they are looking for a reaction from him, or maybe this is now how his sibling processes strong emotions. It certainly seems in character. Aponoia has not yet spoken. She just sits unmoving, staring vacantly ahead, toying with the ring on her finger, turning it over and over. He himself feels oddly disconnected from the news. How is one meant to react upon learning that their intended had been so suddenly and shockingly killed- drowned in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, their frozen corpse not even recovered, just left to sink and rot in the sea. Dream blinks slowly, probably not like this, he thinks vaguely. He feels there should be some weeping and wailing involved at the very least. 

But there is only numbness.

***

“Uh, I detest black,” Desire flounces into the room the next morning whilst Morpheus is busy writing in his journal. He enjoys writing, it helps to order his often scattered and rebellious thoughts. 

Jessamy, the maid he shares with his siblings, has just finished fixing his hair and is busily setting his bed to rights, plumping the pillows and smoothing the coverlets.  Desire regards themself critically in Morpheus’ tall mirror, turning this way and that. Aponoia trails after them silently. She is also dressed in black and it makes her look even more wan and washed out than usual. As for Desire, their outfit may have been the requisite black, but it still looked to Morpheus to be sufficiently rakish as to raise their parents’ blood pressure. Hardly proper mourning material. “At least going into mourning won’t ruin your aesthetic, Dream dear,” Desire stretches languidly and collapses back on the just-made bed, smiling thinly. “Always a silver lining somewhere.”

“Full mourning still seems a lot for a cousin,” Morpheus replies vaguely. He tries to pay little attention to his siblings, bent over his journal and writing quickly. The habit of diary writing was born of necessity: a strategy to help quiet his mind, he’d been told, but now it is a pleasure. 

“But not for a fiance,” Aponoia’s voice is quiet. There is no accusation in her tone, only the retelling of fact.

Morpheus huffs slightly. “He was not really a fiance.”

“No? I thought that was what you call a man you’re going to marry?”

“I was only going to marry him if nothing better turned up,” he turns the page and continues writing.

“Morpheus! What a dreadful thing to say!” Desire looks simply delighted. “Poor dear Patrick was absolutely besotted with you. It was quite pathetic to witness really- your indifference and his lovelorn obsessiveness,” they shudder theatrically. “Perhaps it’s a good thing he drowned; saved him from a miserable life with you as husband.”

“You dare suggest I would have been a poor husband to him?” Morpheus demands, slamming his diary closed and rounding on his sibling. Desire shrugs insouciantly, fiddling with a diamond earring.

‘“Well you didn’t love him. Barely liked him. And he wasn’t the cleverest where you were concerned, but he would have seen it sooner or later, and hated you for it. Of course, I could wish an unhappy marriage upon you, dearest brother. But Patrick? He deserved better.”

‘Better?’ Morpheus raises his eyebrows. Desire’s words were often full of spite towards him but this was such a quick switch around from mocking Patrick to defending him. Was there something here he had never seen? Never bothered to look for, in truth. “You would have considered yourself a better prospect, my sibling? Taken what I would have discarded?” He raises his eyebrows in challenge and they glare at each other for a moment, then Desire drops their gaze.

‘Yes,’ they say softly, vulnerability etching their features momentarily. “Would that I were eldest and not… as I am. Then I would have taken him like a shot.”

They stand, shields quickly  going back up. “Well,” they sniff pointedly, looking away from Morpheus and towards the door,  “It’s not so bad I suppose. Mama says we can go into half mourning next month, then full colour by September. A shame we have to spend the summer so drab- and miss the season down in London!- but at least we’ll be ready for shooting parties in the autumn.  Come on Appy, let’s leave his lordship alone. He clearly craves solitude. To think,” they sneer, “and write in his stupid diary.” They flow out the room without a backwards glance, Aponoia dutifully trailing in their wake.

Morpheus sighs and turns back to his journal, opening it and staring at the blank page but not picking his pen back up. Desire and Patrick… not that he thought Patrick had returned any sort of affection to his younger sibling but still, had he really been so blind?

“I was so terribly sorry to hear the news, my lord,” Jessamy offers quietly into the silence of the room as she finishes adjusting his bed again. “You say these things but I know you are sad. Whatever you say.” “You are a dear,” Morpheus murmurs. “But I do not feel as badly as I should. I do not really know… what I feel.”  That is probably a bad reflection upon me, he thinks. The truth was that beyond the normal amount of grief that came with the sudden and untimely passing of an acquaintance, Dream felt nothing.  Patrick had hardly been a grand passion. They had known each other since childhood but had been thrown together through circumstance rather than any actual attraction and they had barely anything in common.  So no, he was not as sad as he should be and that was what was really making him sad.  This marriage would have been a thing of duty. Their family was old, old enough indeed to have had plenty of time to rack up considerable debts. A lack of money hidden behind a fine name. Morpheus’ marriage to Patrick would have secured the estate’s future, shored up its ailing finances and kept the title very much in the family. As an omega, Morpheus would never have been able to inherit his father’s title but his children could, if they were alphas. And now, there was no marriage, no money and a very uncertain future ahead of them. Morpheus’s one duty, his one function in society, was to secure a good match and that duty lay so heavily upon his shoulders. If only Olly had stayed- but no, there was no use in dealing in ‘if onlies’. Practicalities only, and practicalities meant marriage. And soon.

#centennial husbands big bang #centennial husbands big bang 2023 #centennialhusbandsbigbang #mr sadman #centennial husbands #dreamling #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman fanart #a thing I wrote

[jostepherjoestar]

Ah I was sitting on this idea while waiting for requests to open! I loved your ask that had La Squadra meeting Risottos daughter from the future that got me thinking what if La Squadra had a memey s/o from present time? Would they ask lotta questions about the future and get confused when they speak in vine or tiktok references? 😆

La Squadra with a meme-y s/o from the future

gn reader // sfw

ahh that was such a cute ask and glad it made you think of this idea! thank your for requesting this and omg so so so so sorry it took so long, hope you’ll still enjoy it none the less! 💖✨ (you and your LS bf have a good comprehension of each other’s timelines and are used to traveling back and forth a bit :D)

Risotto

He knows the complications are endless and at times it all seems incomprehensible- having an s/o who can literally time travel; but your sheer knowledge of memes and the way you seem to effortlessly drop them into everyday conversation is astounding to him.

He doesn’t understand them that well, no amount of context or explaining will help. It’s simply a language he does not understand that well. And the memes or slang he kind of does understand, he just doesn’t find that funny. 

However, he will never actually find it a bother when you drop a few weird jokes. The way they make you laugh and sometimes even dry-heave from the hilarity makes him love you even more. 

In moments like that he’ll dryly let out a few slang words he remembers. You will never forget the time he let out a serious and deep “yeet” when you were already hysterically laughing, his addition might have made you stop breathing for a minute. It still makes you grin when you remember him shaking your shoulders and telling you to “breathe dammit!!”

Overall this man does not really get it or find it that entertaining himself, but he’ll gladly tease you and make you smile with the stuff he picks up. Risotto just can’t stop staring at your beaming grin.

Formaggio

Although he doesn’t truly grasp the layers of certain jokes or memes, Formaggio is your man! He’ll start using jokes and memes he learned from you and is so pleased when he makes you laugh with them. 

Formaggio is great at continuing a bit but once he loses interest he just...stops. Which is kind of perfect since your knowledge of vines is a lot bigger than those of tiktoks so those quick six seconds are easy to get the point across. 

He’ll still get some stuff wrong but he gets the gist of them. He loves annoying his teammates with his newfound references and they all can’t stand him. The second he opens his mouth with that smug look in his eyes, they all sigh in unison and prepare for the incomprehensible babbling that’s about to commence. 

The rest of the gang likes you but when you and Formaggio are hanging out at headquarters together, they tend to keep conversations quick because they know once you two team up, the suffering will never end. 

“Babe, wake up! New meme just dropped!” 

You two are a menace to deal with but god if it isn’t sickeningly cute and funny when he calls you his baby, his cinnamon apple!

Illuso

Don’t get Illuso wrong, he loves you but dear heavens you are on thin ice with him. He isn’t the most joke-y type, he likes a good chuckle but please do not oversaturate him with references he does not get. 

He has little to no interest in the videos you wish to show him and even less interest in remembering the ones he begrudgingly watched. 

At this point you’re allowed a couple jokes a day, he doesn’t count or literally prevent you from saying them, but you know each other well enough to see when he’s actually getting annoyed. 

To shut you up he’ll try and fluster you! He’ll look into your eyes so intensely as you continue talking about a meme, one eyebrow cocked and one side of his beautiful lips curled up into a smug grin. 

He’ll place a single hand on your cheek, his thumb gently swiping across it while the rest of his large hand and fingers rest on your scalp. As he hears you stumble over your words and can feel your cheeks heating up he’ll get in nice and close to your lips. Ghosting his over yours and placing a single kiss that you wish would last longer. That’ll keep you quiet for a bit 😌

He accidentally (re-)invents “that’s cringe” without your help. (he’s referring to you, sorry bestie)

Prosciutto

Why are you saying these weird words AT him? Why must you crease his brows even further?

Prosciutto’s patience is getting tested with you and your innate need for adding incomprehensible colourful commentary to everyday things and situations. He truly doesn’t get it and there is no amount of explaining you can do to change his mind. Even after the memes make even a little sense, he won’t find them funny.

He does love you, so much in fact, that he knows asking you to stop isn’t going to work and it wouldn’t be a fair thing to do. He sees how your smirk feeds into the satisfaction of landing a joke in your present time where most of your friends know what you’re talking about. 

However when you come around his part of the space time continuum, playtime is over. Well mostly. He does enjoy being a bit goofy around you, his snarky comments get a sarcastic edge that parallels your need for adding a fun flair to mundane things. 

The only time you made him laugh with a meme was when you kept repeating “i can’t believe you’ve done this” over and over while poking his cheeks during a playful mood. After a final poke, Prosciutto’s resolve finally breaking, he couldn’t help but snicker. With one final addition of the line, ever surprised by the wonderful sound he makes when he finally breaks, you stop and stare. Enamoured by your wonderful boyfriend and his gorgeous smile. 

Pesci

He’s the most supportive partner out there! Anything that makes you laugh and giggle, like the memes you keep showing him, fills his mushy heart with joy. 

Pesci will kind of get them? They all make sense in a way, but some of them just go above his head because of the layers of internet knowledge he does not possess. Although he really loves it when you show him stuff that reminded you of him.

🥺🥺🥺🥺 <-- his face the entire day after you show him cute pictures of animals and said they made you think of him. He’s just so in sickeningly smitten with you.

He’ll try out a couple of internet slang terms and blush really badly when they make you laugh. If Pesci could, he’d play your laughter on loop 24/7. Him baby, ok?

When the whole internet was debating their existence and that of every object because everything is cake, you quizzed Pesci on his cake-recognizing skills. He failed horribly, they all looked way too realistic and he might have had a small existential crisis. 

You playfully bit his wrist to show he wasn’t made of cake, planting some kisses along the sensitive spot. He shivered at your tickling pecks, relieved he wasn’t just a tasty confection and even happier that you’d love him regardless. 

Melone

Your meme comrade. 

The first mistake was showing him what the internet was like in your future timeline. He got so invested in its machinations and the entire culture surrounding it. He studied every single social media outlet. Every niche he could find only fuelling his curiosity. 

Pandora’s box has been opened and there is no turning back now. Not only does he get all the memes and vines you show him, he memorized them too. Melone will artfully display his knowledge in daily life when you’re around and show off.

Do you regret showing him? Maybe...but is it hilarious to hear him quote terribly long copy/pastas? Yes. Yes it is.

He will steal your phone so he can feed into his meme needs, saving the most fried up images that barely make any sense, to your gallery. You sorted the ones he saves into a special folder so you wouldn’t have to strain your eyes so much. 

It’s all fun and games until he starts referencing stuff during more intimate times. At first they made you laugh but as time went on you had to ask him to stop. 

Hearing Melone whisper “eeby deeby” while kissing his way down your neck might not be the mood you’d preferred. (hearing him sigh and say “so, no head?” was pretty hilarious tho)

Ghiaccio

To your surprise, once he understands the memes and gets the references, he becomes quite good at using them as well. Steering clear of the misspelled ones, of course. (one bad gloop might actually kill him)

Ghiaccio is such a big softie once he’s alone with you, letting his guard down and finally calm, not irked or stressed by his surroundings. 

He loves it when you show him new weird pictures you saved because they made you think of him. You don’t allow him to have a smartphone no matter how much he wants it (it’ll mess up sensitive time stuff) so when you’re scrolling through your preferred meme gathering app with Ghiaccio alongside you, he’ll point out ones and snicker a “that’s you”. 

It makes your heart melt how cute he can be with the stuff he picks out. Once he actually said “you’re baby” and you felt your soul leave your precious body as his cheeks turned redder than plush tomatoes in summertime. 

When he’s around the rest of the squad or in a more public setting, the usual stressors return. But with you around to offer quick witty jokes, things tend to become less focused on irritation. 

You are 100% sure you’ve heard him yell the famous words “AM I WRONG?!” during a heated argument with Melone. You had to leave the room to prevent worsening things, holding in your laughter and silently dying as you heard him rave on. 

#cozy ask #jjba x reader #la squadra x reader #jjba headcanons #risotto x reader #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #jjba imagines #la squadra headcanons #jojo's bizarre adventure #sfw #gn reader #thank you for your patience guys #it means a lot

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Five (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, GORE, MURDER.

wc; 12.2k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You take your time getting ready, slightly comforted by the idea that Finnick has it handled. If he’s down there, and a situation arises where your tributes need something, he’s there to send in the sponsor gift. You’re sure that he’s even got other mentors to keep him company if he gets bored.

Still, you find yourself unintentionally moving quickly anyway, a deep feeling in your gut that not everything is what it seems. You rush through your shower, barely get your hair done. When you get dressed, it’s very simple clothing since you’re not expecting anything special today. 

You turn on the tv to catch up on what you might have missed while you eat. Knowing that you’ll be in the betting room for a while, you eat until you’re completely full. Even then, you grab some snacks for later. Cashmere and Enobaria might have brought lunch yesterday, but there’s no guarantee that the same happens today.

As far as you can tell, all the tributes are just waking up or still sleeping. Annie and Marsh are inside of the shack, dividing up supplies and quietly discussing what they’ll be doing today. It’s hard to know exactly since there’s no volume and no motioning this time around.

You think that they’ll either continue moving parallel to the dam to the right, or set up some snares for whatever animals that lie inside of the woods. You know that would be one of the first orders of business, especially when you don’t have an endless amount of supplies to count on anymore.

The careers are sleeping in the cornucopia, not a big surprise. The girl from One is sat upright, hand gripping a knife, clearly supposed to be on watch. But she’s out cold, the early morning air tends to make a lot of people drowsy inside of the arena. They don’t really have anything to worry about too, so that just worsens it.

As for all the other tributes, they’re in their own little bubbles. District Seven is still asleep, under the cover of spring green leaves and sticks. A feeble shelter, and it’s pretty obvious that they’re there. District Nine girl is awake, she’s laying in the middle of the grass, hands over her stomach. You don’t know how she’s so nonchalant. She’s got no supplies.

Six boy is asleep, the map that the Capitol provides shows that he’s far enough away to not even worry about others finding him. Sometime in the afternoon yesterday he stopped wandering and started hunting for food. You have a feeling that he’s going to get right back to it today, it only makes sense.

The other tribute in the village is asleep, as well as the District Eight girl, who’s in the woods. No one died last night, which is a good sign. It just means that today is either going to go very slowly or too quickly. After the first day of the games, tributes slowly get picked off. When and what order is always a toss up.

You leave the apartment and head down to the betting room, forcing yourself to take your time. Finnick will be there, your tributes just woke up, there’s only one other person awake in that arena right now. However, it’s still worrying that no one knows where she is exactly. Well, the gamemakers have to know because she has a tracker inside of her, but they’re purposely not showing you guys to add some sort of suspense to it.

The betting room is fairly empty, only a few mentors mill around. Most are still in their rooms sleeping, same goes for every other Capitol citizen in this city. The first day of the games is always the most exciting. The days following is when the boring shit really starts.

Your eyes sweep the room, looking for Finnick to tell him to get to bed before the sun rises too high. But you’re only met with the friendly sight of Gloss half-asleep on the couch. Finnick is nowhere to be seen in here. You press your lips together. Maybe he just left? But the clock says that you aren’t late, and you didn’t even see him in the hallway.

He left early, didn’t he? You asked one simple job from him, all he had to do was sit here all night. And he’s not even here. Oh, it seems as if he’s suddenly forgotten just how awful you can be. He thought threatening was the only way you could get what you wanted? He’s about to see something new.

Two can play at this game. Cat and mouse won’t be fun when you’re cornered with nowhere else to go, Odair. You don’t do second chances.

If today is slow and boring, that just means tomorrow is going to pick up. It’ll decide how the entire rest of the week is going to go for the tributes inside of the arena. You’ll give Finnick one more day, let him think that he’s in control and you won’t have any sort of leverage. But then he’ll be trapped. 

You’re not sure when or how Finnick forgot that you create master plans, but he’s going to be reminded that anything he does, you can do better. You’re always two steps ahead. This is like your own personal game, you already told him you’re in control. It’s just time to prove it.

You pat Gloss’ knee when you pass in front of him, taking a seat on the couch. He hums slightly, opening his eyes to see you. A smile creeps onto his face, and he turns his head away from you.

“Good morning.” You toss a snack bag at him, and then curl your legs up beneath you, “How long have you been out here for?”

“Only a couple of hours. I’m regretting it already.” Gloss mutters, taking the snack bag and opening it up, “Thanks.”

“Figured one of us would need it.” You smile, looking at the Morning Line Odds. Only a few changes, all of which belong to the careers. Annie is still at 6-1, Marsh is at 7-1, “Is there any chance you saw Finnick down here this morning when you came around?”

Gloss thinks for a moment, “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

The confirmation from Gloss is really all you need. Even if Finnick were to bribe Gloss to keep quiet, it wouldn’t last. Gloss would take the bribe but still come around and tell you. You and him have known each other longer, he’s not going to lie to you. Much less keep information like that from you. It’s fairly important, and they all know your annoyance when it comes to Finnick.

Your silence, and probably the look on your face, tips off Gloss, “Oh, you talked to him last night?”

The smile you give Gloss isn’t exactly warm, “I waited in his room for hours until he finally came back. He didn’t even look tired. I told him to come down here and wait until eight just in case anything were to happen in the arena and…”

You motion, there’s no Finnick. No trace of Finnick, no memory lingering. He flaked. You warned him not to do it, just to wait it out. It was only a couple of hours, and he couldn’t do it. 

“Does he realize that it’s easier than he thinks?” Gloss asks, chewing.

You stare, shrug and then fall back onto the couch slightly. You’re tired, and disappointed. He’s mentored before, he knows the severity of being there just in case. The arena is a mystery, sometimes it’s even unpredictable to the gamemakers. There are hundreds of thousands of different scenarios that could happen.

One tribute could run into another. Will they fight? That means injuries, the tribute might need a sponsor to make sure they get through the night. Capitol escorts can’t confirm or deny gifts, and other mentors can’t do it for you either. Maybe the tributes will silently agree to an alliance for a minute and leave each other alone. 

Or maybe, they’ll confirm an alliance, then you’ll have to work with other mentors. The sooner you get that line of communication going, the better the connection will be. The more likely it’ll be for your tributes to get along and get the things that they might need.

Mutts are constantly around the corner, and the gamemakers have endless possibilities of what they can send inside of the arena. They’ve been working at this for decades. One dull moment inside of the arena could cost a life. Also, accidents happen too. The tributes don’t always intend to self-sabotage but you’ve seen tributes get too used to the knife on their belt and forget that it’s there. You move the wrong way, and suddenly you’re impaled.

All of this and more happens at inconvenient times. You could be just waking up, in the middle of a nap, eating, talking to someone important. Maybe you’re already sending in a different sponsor gift for another tribute and have to switch gears out of the blue. 

You need a second hand, you’re so fucking tired of running on two percent. Finnick is here for a reason, it’s to look over the tributes. He’s supposed to want to help! Those tributes have no choice but to rely on you guys, and he’s making it out to look like an option. 

And if it’s the nighttime shift that’s the problem because of how boring and slow it is, you’ll switch. The problem is, you’re not sure why he would want to do that. With his current problem still going on every single year, he should want the night shift. Basically no one is here, everyone goes home for the night except for a select few.

You should be taking the daytime anyway, because you’re on your toes better than he is. He’s gotten sluggish, he isn’t as quick as you are. It’s just what happens when you’re out of practice, or refuse to do your job for so long. You’ve picked up the ability to work quicker. But you can’t sleep quicker, or eat quicker, or speed up what’s going on inside of the arena. 

You close your eyes and rub your face. There’s several ways you can go about this, with one taking more time and potentially putting your tributes in danger. And the second one being not as self-respecting, you’ll turn heads, but it’ll get Finnick to come around quicker.

The answer should be obvious. You should want the one that will get Finnick to start as soon as possible. You’re not exactly sure what you’re subjecting yourself to if you do it, though. But you also don’t want to put the tribute in danger if it’s not needed. 

You’ll start tomorrow. You’re already down here, so you probably shouldn’t leave for the rest of the day anyway. Especially since Annie and Marsh are awake now, who knows what kind of trouble they can get themselves into. For all you know, they could come across the other tributes and immediately pounce.

“Well, you’ve got to have some sort of plan, right?” Gloss asks, you look at him, “You’re not the master planner for nothing.”

“Ha.” you let out, cracking a smile, “Oh, I’ve got plans. And I’m going to do the one I know will work first.”

“Straight to the point. Care to share?” 

“You’ll see tomorrow morning.” you wink.

Around noon is when the rest of the tributes start to get up and ready for the day. By then, Annie and Marsh have moved pretty far away from the shack. They were sure not to leave anything behind that might show the others that someone was there. It would be an open invitation for a stalker for the rest of the games.

It was smart for them to move away too, since there’s no doubt that everyone is going to start looking for water now. With the exception of the boy from Six, who’s still traveling but not as efficiently today. He probably thinks that he’s in the clear, so he can take his time. The only person that doesn’t seem to be looking for water is Three boy, who looks like he’s searching for food.

The career pack has moved to the woods, narrowly missing the Seven tributes while they’re at it. Unfortunately, the careers find the stream of water pretty easily, but it wasn’t through tracking, just pure luck. The Seven tributes follow them, so that also creates a problem. Five unwanted people now know the vague location of where Annie and Marsh had stayed. It's probably not safe to be there anymore.

While the careers aren’t in the cornucopia, the Eight girl sneaks in and gets a backpack. That’s going to change her whole game, especially since it’s a backpack from far back inside. It’ll be carrying everything she could ever hope for, with the exception of water. She’ll still have to find that on her own. 

Enobaria comes around with lunch, but there’s no sign of Wade. She lets you know that they’ll probably be taking the night shift from now on. Cashmere doesn’t mind sitting here in an empty room, and Wade doesn’t like dealing with the Capitol citizens. And Enobaria is much better at communicating what she wants from them, or getting to do what she wants.

Either way, you’re glad to have her. You, Gloss and Enobaria enjoy yourselves for the rest of the day. Like you expected, it’s a slow day. Annie and Marsh set up snares and manage to catch a single rabbit to share. They’re a couple of hours away from where they’re staying, so they have to make the entire journey back and be careful while they’re at it.

The careers tried looking for other tributes, but the District Seven tributes are smart enough to keep out of sight. The girl from Nine is still on her own little mission, she doesn’t seem like quite the threat just yet. Eight girl doesn’t find water and takes shelter flush up against the dam. While Five boy wanders aimlessly, getting to know his surroundings.

And finally, the two tributes in the village are so far apart from each other and the people in the woods that they don’t have to worry about anything. It makes for an uneventful evening, but that just means tomorrow is going to pick up. The gamemakers won’t let this go on for very long. The Hunger Games is supposed to be a show, after all.

Since you’re the only one that seems to genuinely care for your tributes, you stay well past dinner to make sure that they’re in a good position before leaving. Annie and Marsh cooked their rabbit while there was still daylight. They also didn’t move from the snares, just in case someone were to spot them. You watched as Annie applied s little more of the healing cream to her cuts before deciding that she didn’t want to use anymore just in case she needed it in the future.

After they were done eating, they moved all the way back over to the shack. With it being unoccupied by others, they have shelter for another night. You wonder how long it’ll be before someone finds the shack and decides to make it into their own place. Maybe that’ll be the push for Annie and Marsh to relocate in the village.

Either way, once Annie takes watch, short blade by her thigh, tying and untying the rope, you think that it’s as good a time as any to leave. You hug Cashmere goodbye and wish them an uneventful night. Wade does the two-finger wave from his eyebrow as a goodbye.

The apartment is still pretty lit up when you get inside. There’s no sign of Elysia as far as you can see. Knowing her, she’s probably gone to bed already so that she’ll be up early tomorrow. And Finnick is avoiding you, there’s no question about it. It won’t last long, you know he’ll be talking to you in a day or two.

You head straight to your room and order small meals on the food transport thing. Chicken, vegetables, fruits, soups, ice cream, cake, everything appears within a couple of seconds. You take your time eating, letting the drowsiness come to you. You’d rather be tired before going to bed than just laying down for hours and hoping that you’ll magically fall asleep.

When you’re full, you stack the plates in one spot, change clothes and brush your teeth before falling onto the bed. You stare off into the dark for a little while, dreading what you’ll be wearing in the morning. That doesn’t keep you from sleeping though, as much as you would have liked it to.

—

You spend a while in the shower, scrubbing your skin even after the soap is gone, trying to stall getting out. The longer you spend inside, the more you’re left to think about what you’ve agreed to. Well, ‘agreed’ to.

“It’ll only be a day.” You say, letting the machines dry your body and style your hair, “Maybe two if it really comes down to it.”

You put on shorts and a shirt first to eat breakfast, sitting at the table all by yourself. Still no Finnick, but Elysia saw you before she left this morning. She wanted to tell you that she’d be stopping by in the betting room to help you out somewhat. She can relate to the Capitol people, she can convince them that Annie and Marsh are worth betting on.

You brush your teeth, and find yourself staring at a coral pink dress. One that’s just long enough to be modest, but still shows as much skin as possible. The last time you really dressed up for the Capitol was during your Victory Tour. You don’t think you’ve worn a dress purposely since. Even during the reaping, you stick to long pants.

Either way, you pull the dress of the hanger and carefully put it on. It takes you a moment to pull the zipper up to your mid-back, since reaching is a pain in the ass. You slip your feet into white flats and then make your way back over to the bathroom.

Without focusing too much on the outfit and just how breezy it is, you carefully go through the makeup, only applying what’s necessary. Mascara, a small bit of eyeshadow, concealer if it’s dire. By the time you’ve worked through it all, you’d say that the makeup Leo does is excessive compared to what you’ve done. Then again, that’s his job.

You put on the ring, brush your teeth carefully, and then head down to the betting room. There will be no snacks to bring today, you’ll actually be eating at a place with the others nearby. And since the Hunger Games is the primary interest, you won’t miss a single thing. 

It’s half past nine when you get into the betting room. Gloss and Enobaria sit across from each other at a table, one chair open for you to take. As soon as Enobaria even catches a glimpse of you, she’s doing a double-take to make sure that she saw correctly. Gloss has his back turned, so he waits for you to come around.

“Hey,” you tuck the dress under yourself and find that it doesn’t provide as much protection as you thought. 

You looked in the mirror before you left, and you definitely can’t see anything unless you twirl. But you thought that the fabric would semi-protect you from the frigid ass chairs. It doesn’t, your face twists once you sit down. The back of your thighs are fully exposed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Enobaria laughs, eyebrows quirking inward.

Gloss stares for a second, and then snorts, “This is your plan?”

“What plan?”

You lean against the table slightly, “Okay first, the plan is going to work really good, and you’re going to realize that when Finnick comes down here tomorrow.” You give Gloss a look, he shakes his head. Moving onto Enobaria, “Second, Finnick has been avoiding me and this room so I’m forcing his hand.”

She nods, “By doing what exactly?”

“Jealousy.” You smile, “You’ll see. Just wait until it starts to get busier.”

In the meantime, you have to focus on your tributes. Annie and Marsh are already on their way to the snares, the gamemakers tune in to allow you to hear them talking about moving spots. Annie doesn’t want to stay near the dam, Marsh isn’t sure about a good time to leave.

If you were them, you’d leave early in the morning while everyone is sleeping. It’s almost a guaranteed safe path to the village. There’s no doubt that the careers are going to be sleeping in the cornucopia; it has all of the supplies and they wouldn’t want to risk anyone else getting their hands on weapons. And from what you’ve observed for years now, the lookouts always fall asleep.

If they leave just before the sun rises, the darkness will cover them. The only reason why you’d think that they wouldn’t want to move to the village is because of the water. They’re not sure if there’s water around the houses, while on the other hand, the stream is right there if they need it. They’ll be able to find it a lot quicker.

It’s only the third day, though. They can probably take another day or two before deciding to leave. The gamemakers don’t want to end the game too early, so they’re probably pretty safe by the dam. However, comparing the dam to the village, the village would be preferable. There’s only one tribute that Annie and Marsh would have to worry about. The dam has four--potentially five--tributes. And with the careers knowing about the stream now, it bumps it up to seven.

Still, your tributes get up, refill on water, and leave for the day. With that, the perspective switches to the only other group that’s really important: the careers. They’re gearing up today, getting backpacks, placing weapons in spots that you’d think is uncomfortable. Looks like they’re looking for a slaughter today. You’re not sure if they’ll even be able to get that far.

The girl from One seems to be hellbent on going after Annie and Marsh, but that’s for a good reason. Annie literally killed her counterpart, Colt, you think his name was. It’s obviously a revenge thing, it happens a lot inside of the Hunger Games. You kill a member of an alliance and naturally the alliance is going to try and come back around.

It’s a problem, though. If it were only Annie, there’s nearly a one-hundred percent chance of all three of the careers making it out alive. Even with Annie’s knowledge in fighting, she won’t be able to hold all of them off. Same thing with Marsh, he’s an excellent fighter, but at some point you’ve got to draw the line.

However, it’s not just Annie, it’s Annie and Marsh. They’re a duel package, both you’d consider at the top of their classes. There was one time you put them head to head in a fighting match, out of yours and Anchor’s pure curiosity, and you had to call it off a couple minutes in. They would have killed each other.

If the careers even dared to come at them, especially when the both of them are prepared for a fight, the careers would not leave unscathed. In fact, you think that Annie and Marsh could overpower them easily, kill all three of them and the only people they’d have to worry about in the arena after that, would be the nobodies.

It wouldn’t be an easy job to do, they’d probably get hurt in the process. You think that if they were to do it, they’d have to be the ones to initiate the fight. The problem with that is, Annie would never do that unless her life was in immediate danger. And Marsh wouldn’t want to start it by himself. A good example of this is when Colt had his eyes locked on Annie during the bloodbath. She knew that it was fight or die, so she chose fight.

Hell, if they just ambushed the careers while they’re sleeping in the cornucopia, they’d only have to worry about killing one person. Especially if they killed two at the same time. Again, the problem would be solved. It would make for a quick Hunger Games, but no one ever wants to be inside of the arena for more than a week or two. You were in there for three, and look at what it did to you.

The arena slowly begins to come to life when it hits eleven, which is also when the influx of Capitol citizen starts. You take one look over the Morning Line Odds to see that it was the same as yesterday for everyone. No one has moved up or down, probably because there hasn’t been a chance for any tribute to show off what they know.

And with that, you start your plan of moving around the betting room, talking to everyone that you can. Most you haven’t seen in a while, so it’s basically catching up like old friends. Except, you aren’t friends and you don’t really care what they’ve been up to. But as long as they think that you like them, the more likely they are to sponsor.

And with the people that you haven’t seen before, you introduce yourself and let them have their moment of realization. You’re not a living legend, you haven’t done anything special enough to even earn a title like that. It’s more like you have a habit of not opening up your horizons and allowing people to talk to you often. You approaching them is a whole new chapter of the story.

They seem to enjoy your presence, it’s not before long you’ve got your own little circle made. People of all different classes, different colors and thicker accents stand around you. They ask questions about your tributes, you give off more information than necessary in the hopes that they’ll get attached to the idea of Annie and Marsh. They ask if the interview was planned, and you tell them that you were just as shocked as everyone else. Which is obviously a complete lie, and anyone who had actually been paying attention to you or Finnick would know that.

That part doesn’t matter. What does is the fact that you’re gaining attention, and therefore people are taking notice of what you’re wearing. The mentors normally wear casual clothes, they don’t dress up nicely. Appealing to the Capitol is always the last thing that they want. Which you can completely understand why, but you’re going for the opposite today. And it’s working.

It’s sometime around three in the afternoon when the gamemakers suddenly square in on the Six boy. The room falls silent enough for you all to actually hear what the boy is saying--er singing. He’s singing some song to himself, one that you don’t recognize, so it’s probably native to District Six.

That’s not what has you all quiet and confused, though. Everyone could care less about the singing. In fact, no one really cares about the tribute in general. But if the gamemakers think that he’s important enough to get a full screen all by himself, then there’s something wrong. 

He’s wandering along a dirt path, hands swinging by his sides. He almost looks happy, being out there all by himself. You wouldn’t ever wander that far, not without knowing that there’s food or water nearby. It’s literally the only thing that can keep you inside of the arena. But as long as he’s having fun… right?

Yeah, well, one moment he’s just fine and looks like he could actually be inside of his home district instead dof the Hunger Games. And the next, there’s some sort of electrical explosion, with the audio blasting loud enough to even startle you. The boy flies back, hits the ground hard and a cannon goes off. He’s dead. District Six is going home.

You look over to Enobaria and Gloss, who look just as confused as you feel. You excuse yourself from the Capitol people and join them, “Guesses?”

Enobaria opens her mouth, closes it, and then reopens, “Maybe he reached the end of the arena?”

“But has that ever happened in the past?” Gloss asks, you turn so you can watch the screen again.

It’s full of reactions to the cannon. Annie and Marsh pause, debate, and then get back to going around their snares. The careers are unsure, One girl hopes that it’s Annie, you can’t help but roll your eyes and wait for the gamemakers to move on. As for everyone else, they’re either indifferent or they’re thinking what the rest of you are: just one more tribute out of the game. 

“There had to be one before, right?” you look at Gloss, “The arena can’t be infinite.”

“Do any of us know any older mentors that’s left out here?” Enobaria asks. 

Your eyes find Cecelia, the female mentor from District Eight. She’s sitting on some chair, hands resting in her lap while she watches the screen. But she’s only in her thirties, so it wouldn’t be that far before you and Finnick. Actually, you think all the older tributes, the ones that you’d consider dinosaurs, has gone home already. District Eleven had two mentors from twenty years or more before you were born. And Haymitch isn’t that old, but he’s got more than fifteen years on you.

“Cecelia…?” you loosely suggest, and then turn back towards them, “I don’t know.”

“Well, at any rate, your Capitol friends are missing you.” Enobaria says.

You all look over to see that they’re beckoning you over, waiting for you to join them. It’s only been a couple of hours and you’ve already left a lasting impression. Enobaria says that she’ll ask Cecelia, you go ahead and go back to what you were doing before. 

You stay with them, but don’t pay as much attention. The tribute dying like that shouldn’t be this important to you, but you’ve never seen it before. Knowing stuff like this for the future of the boarding school is important. The more you know, the more you can advise tributes. It increases efficiency. Plus it’s something you’d never expect, so you wouldn’t really think of it in the first place.

Maybe Mags will know, or Anchor. You’ll just have to ask them when you get back home. It’s not worth the phone call. Plus, you’re sure that all the times that you’re available, they won’t be. Unlike you, they actually go to bed at regular times. They don’t need to stay up at all hours of the night.

And if Cecelia knows, then she can give you an answer. Sometimes she has the older male victor, whatever his name is. He won a couple of years after Mags, but he’s not doing so hot. While Mags only had a stroke, you’ve heard about his medical stuff in passing. He’s basically deteriorating. Well, in that case, he probably won’t have any recollection.

When the evening starts to become more prominent, people start leaving for supper. You find yourself saying more goodbyes than holding conversation at all. You’ve learned a lot today, like how you’re not exactly in Finnick’s shadow as much as you thought you were. And Annie is actually pretty adored for her mannerisms.

You find yourself back with Gloss and Enobaria, falling onto the couch and rubbing your feet because they hurt from you standing for so long. Enobaria tells you that Cecelia hasn’t seen anything like it before, more like heard about it. Coming across reruns of previous Hunger Games is hard, mostly because the capitol is all about the Hunger Games that’s happening right now.

But that doesn’t mean that it can’t be passed from mouth to ear. With that, Cecelia briefly joins your table, pulling up a chair with a polite smile. You’ve talked to Cecelia before, she’s got a motherly aspect to her, and that’s because she has a couple of kids of her own. She got married after her Hunger Games, which is not something a lot of victors tend to do. No one wants the chance of their children going through what you’ve already been through.

Unless something happens, you think that you won’t be having kids, either. Worrying over Alyssum is already giving you grey hairs, and she’s seven. You’ve already decided that she’s going to start the training early, as soon as she hits nine, she’s going to be in the boarding school as often as you can get her in there. And unlike the other kids, she won’t be starting slow.

Anyway, Cecelia starts at the very beginning by asking you three if you know Haymitch’s Hunger Games, which is an obvious yes. He was a Quarter Quell winner, he went up against forty-seven other tributes. And while his arena looked like heaven, it was a disguise for the worst imaginable nightmare. He couldn’t trust anything inside.

Well, Cecelia says that Haymitch briefly teamed up with one of the girl tributes from home. The two of them wandered for a while, even forcing themselves through hedges with fire. But when they got through, they found out that it was a cliff with jagged rocks at the bottom. Cecelia immediately relates this back to your games, saying that the cliff was basically a copycat.

Haymitch wanted to stay at the cliff, the girl wanted to leave. They said their goodbyes, but it wasn’t long until the girl was dead because of some pink birds that speared her throat. Later, two more tributes would end up dying in their own horrifying ways, leaving just Haymitch and a girl career to fight it out.

“It was a gorey fight.” Cecelia says, her voice quiet as if she doesn’t want to offend Haymitch. But he’s nowhere to be seen, in fact, he’s probably back home by now.

The girl had lost an eye, but not before Haymitch’s stomach had been completely cut open. Haymitch ran through the beautiful landscape, holding his intestines in while being chased by the career girl. He led her all the way to the cliffside, ultimately cornering himself. 

You picture yourself side-by-side with Haymitch back when you were in your own Hunger Games. Half-dead, suffering from typhoid, the only thing running through your body anymore was adrenaline. It was fight or die, and you didn’t want to die. You were so close to going home.

And Haymitch, holding in his stomach, back to the cliff, knowing that he led her there for a reason. It was to stall, to tire her out and have a sliver of a chance at making it back home by some miracle. You and him were practically the same age when you won the Hunger Games. While Haymitch was sixteen, you were fifteen.

Cecelia says that the career girl threw the ax she was carrying just as Haymitch collapsed to the floor. The ax flew over the side of the cliff, officially getting rid of the only weapon she had. While she tried to stop the bleeding from her eye, Haymitch was seizing on the ground. He was probably minutes away from death.

She pauses for a moment, “And then the ax came back.”

“What?” you three ask at the same time.

“The ax came back up and killed the career girl, making Haymitch the victor. It happened because Haymitch reached the end of the arena. The forcefield or whatever it was at the bottom threw it back. It’s the same technology that’s used with the balconies to keep tributes from jumping off.” Cecelia says.

She’s right. You even showed Annie and Marsh yourself. You knew that the arena wasn’t limitless, that it had to stop at some point but you didn’t think that it would be built like that. You thought it would be some sort of unbreakable wall that the tributes wouldn’t be able to get through.

Okay, well, this changes a lot, actually.

Cecelia wraps up the story, telling you that Snow thought that Haymitch collapsing was an act of rebellion. Because of it, Haymitch had his entire family and girlfriends at the time killed because of it. This is just another puzzle piece to the misery that is Haymitch Abernathy, but at least some of his actions nowadays can be explained. If you were him, you’d probably turn to drinking too.

You all bid Cecelia goodbye when she leaves, thanking her for the information. Annie and Marsh have just reached their shack again when the sun begins to set. You don’t want to stay in the betting room for any longer than you have to. Plus, now you’ve got to ask Elysia why she didn’t make it down at all today, not that you really mind. You’re sure she would’ve had a mouthful and a half to say about what you’re wearing.

You hug Gloss and Enobaria, “Finnick will be with you tomorrow, right?”

“More than likely.” You give them a slight grin, “If he doesn’t look very happy, don’t be surprised.”

“Evil genius.” Gloss mutters, you elbow him.

“Goodnight, good luck with your tributes.”

“Thanks.” Enobaria waves, you leave the betting room while you can.

The dress wasn’t all that bad by the end of the day. It was hard to get used to at first, and the paranoia of others staring was a constant in your mind. But after you got into conversations, it was easier to forget what you were doing. If the Capitol wasn’t the way it is, you think that you’d like to stay here permanently.

Laurel is sat at the table when you get up, and you guess that instantly answers your question about where Elysia has been. They’ve probably been working together at Laurel's place. As much as it doesn't seem like it at times, Laurel actually enjoys the company of others, especially when she’s sketching out new ideas for the tribute parade and whatnot. Normally she relies on Pleurisy for the company, though, so something must’ve changed.

At first, no one seems to actually comprehend your presence until you’re standing at the table in front of them. Only then does Elysia stare at you, Laurel minimally raises her eyebrows before going back to sipping on her red wine. She doesn’t care, you’re sure that she actually enjoys you putting her designs to use for once.

“Finnick around?”

“Just left. You missed him.” Elysia says.

He must’ve taken the other elevator, which brings him to a different part of the building. It’s away from the betting room, and it’s a long walk to get to. But with his determination at avoiding you, you’re sure that anything is possible when it comes to him. Hers managed the couple of days thus far, who knows how long he’d try and keep it up for if it was his choice.

Fortunately, you’re smarter than him sometimes. If it were you, you probably wouldn’t have tested your own patience and wit after the reaping on the train. Really, it doesn’t take a genius to know when someone isn’t fucking around. After the whole week that you just went through, you’d think he'd know that by now.

At any rate, you eat dinner with Elysia and Laurel. It’s not at all quiet like it has been the last couple of days. In fact, the entire reason why Laurel is here in the first place is to discuss whether or not you think that Annie or Marsh is going to win. She wants to start preparing the outfits now, because the sooner they’re done, the better. It’ll leave room for you guys to focus on other matters.

Of course, your answer is yes. There’s no doubt that your tributes have a fighting chance. There might be half the arena still in the game, but it’ll only be a matter of time before they’re gone too. At the beginning rate that they were dying at, you knew that the games would be over quickly. A week and a half you said, and the half is already over.

Laurel’s glad to hear that you have confidence in the tributes. After dessert, you stick around them for a little while, only leaving when you've been assured that they won’t need your opinion for anything else. With that, you go to your room to wipe off the makeup and go to bed. 

It’s a rinse and repeat the following morning. You think that it can’t hurt to get ready just in case Finnick hadn’t caught the word yet. But you’re sure by now that a lot of the Capitol has heard how vulnerable you made yourself yesterday. Either way, you wash your hair, do it in the same style it was before you pulled it out last night, and then put on the dress.

Yesterday it was a coral pink, today it’s long-sleeved and has white lace. You use the same white shoes, since they’re not scuffed and they actually match today. You take your time in the bathroom, slip the ring over your finger, and make your way out of the hallway. You haven’t put this much effort into what you look like since after your Hunger Games, when the reporters were everywhere and taking pictures. You didn’t really have a choice.

You’re two steps out of the doorway when you see that the table isn’t vacant this morning. You pause for a moment, staring at the bronze-colored hair. His back is turned to you, which is unfortunate since you have a smug grin on your face. You’d love for him to see just how victorious you are.

See, Finnick can run and hide, but you know how to bait and hook. It took one day of showing skin and getting the Capitol riled up to draw him out. A part of you wishes that he would’ve stayed back a little while longer, just to see how much he could tolerate before it was too much. But you’re glad that he’s made it easy for you.

You head down the three steps, passing by him to take your seat at the other end of the table. You can’t even do that, Finnick grabs a hold of your wrist tightly, spinning you towards him. When you make eye contact, you see that he’s glaring, straight-faced. You can’t say that you’re surprised, you knew that he wouldn’t be happy. Having your hand forced is never a pretty sight.

“Go change.” He says, not letting you go.

Your face twists, “No—“

“If you want me to help, you’ll go and change.” Finnick says.

You squint at him, “You’ll help me for the rest of the games.”

Finnick nods, letting you go. You stand there for a moment. If he goes back on his word, you can just try the second plan. This also gives you an excuse to not wear this in the betting room. Without a word, you go back to your room.

You don’t have a lot of time, so you end up changing into jeans and a white shirt, slipping on laceless tennis shoes. The makeup can stay because it’s not all that noticeable anyway. It’s just there to accentuate what you already have. You join Finnick at the table again, eating in silence.

When you’re done, you quickly brush your teeth and meet him at the elevator. He jabs his thumb into the button, calling the ride to you two. You get in first, press the button to the betting room, and head all the way down. At some point, Finnick crosses his arms, staring at the door in front of him.

“You’re so stupid.” Finnick says.

You look at him, eyebrows raised, “Excuse you?”

He shakes his head, “You can’t just go out and do shit like that. You’ll cause problems for yourself.”

“Finnick, as much as you like to think I’m oblivious, I’m not.” You snap, “You think I dressed up without knowing what the Capitol would say? What they would think?”

“Well, you were stupid enough to try it a second time!” He bursts.

You stomp towards him, swiftly grabbing his shirt collar to pull him to your height. Much like how you grabbed Wade, but this time Finnick can’t push himself away to escape. Not when you slam his back against the glass wall, trapping him here.

“Do not speak to me like that.” Your voice is measured, but you’d love to beat him to near death in here. If there is one word that doesn’t describe you, it’s stupid. You’re not stupid. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t have made it out of that arena alive with Finnick, “Do it again, you won’t like what happens. After all your shit that I’ve put up with, you owe me some respect.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Finnick’s confidence is admirable, but he should really learn when to keep his mouth shut. The fact that he doesn’t seem bothered at all pisses you off more.

You let go of Finnick’s shirt with one hand, seeing the wrinkles that you’ve left behind on the collar. But with the one hand that still has a tight grip, you twist your hand, and throw him to the other end of the elevator. Your hand slaps the button that’ll keep the elevator in place. Finnick might have been able to catch himself, since the elevator is so tiny, if it weren’t for your foot that you kicked out in time to trip him.

He hits the floor, turns to sit against the wall, and stares at you with wide eyes. Your breathing has increased, a tightness growing in your throat, “I am so fucking sick and tired of your fucking attitude!” Your voice is loud, “I have done nothing but let you off easy for the past week, and this is how you treat me?”

Your fingers curl into fists, “All I wanted was help. I asked for your help. I even gave you the fucking nighttime to make it easier for you. There’s no one in there at night, which means that you’re not put in any sort of danger. And I get it that it’s a little hard to trust me and realize that I’m working in your best interest, but it’s true.

“So do me a fucking favor.” you suck in air through your teeth, relaxing your hands and pressing the button again, “And stop acting like I’m beneath you. I’m not, and if I was, I would’ve stooped down to your shitty level and stopped paying attention to our tributes too.”

The doors open, you place your hand out to keep them from closing, “This is not a game, and if it was, you would’ve lost by now.”

You start off without him, getting more than halfway down the hall before you finally hear him following. When you get inside of the betting room, you see that neither Gloss or Enobaria are sitting on the couch. In fact, they’re standing in a small group of people by the sponsor table.

You check the Morning Line Odds to see if anyone has died. They shouldn’t have run out of food already, and they know where water is. If they’re getting sponsored right now, that means they got into some sort of fight. Which means that someone should’ve died but there’s no new faces greyed out.

The only real difference is the odds, Marsh has gone from a 7-1 to a 6-1. Same goes for a few of the other tributes, they either increased or decreased, with the exception of the careers, who still hold the same odds that they had yesterday. The girl from One is a 4-1, the girl from Two is a 5-1, and her district partner is a 3-1. 

You head towards them, wanting to hear what’s happened. The screen is showing anything too interesting, it’s the same thing it’s been for the past two mornings. The only change is that the careers are awake this early in the morning, and they’ve got a bigger spot on screen than usual.

Enobaria sees you through her peripheral, and moves slightly so that she can talk to you. She also spares a minor glance behind you, and you do the same to make sure that Finnick hasn’t found a way to disappear into thin air. He hasn’t, he’s actually still coming towards you.

“What happened?” you ask.

Gloss looks over at the sound of your voice, and then does the exact same thing that you and Enobaria just did to see Finnick, “A scuffle.”

Enobaria snorts, “A lot more than a scuffle--Sanguin would’ve killed Geare if it weren’t for Vanilee!”

You blink. “Who?”

“Sanguin is my tribute.” Gloss says, “She got into a fight with Geare, Enobaria’s male tribute. It was a disagreement, and it escalated a lot more than it should’ve.”

“And Vanilee is the girl, who nearly got killed for stepping in.” Enobaria glares at Gloss for a second, and then she turns her eyes on Finnick, “Do you know what personal space is?”

“Don’t you have something more important to focus on?” Finnick retaliates.

Enobaria doesn’t say anything else to him, turning her back, “Anyway, no one died but they’re hurt so we’re organizing two separate gifts to send. Sanguin went off by herself to the village.”

Well, you’re not sure what she’ll be trying to find at the village. There’s only the Three boy hiding out there, and there are far too many houses to just start randomly searching. It’s not like she even knows that the tribute is out there, anyway. Your best guess is that she went to clear her head.

When they start talking about who’s to send first, Enobaria immediately interjects, “I should send mine first because Sanguin attacked Geare.”

“Oh, give it up.” Gloss says, “If your tributes had a shred of common sense, they’d be listening to Sanguin.”

“Except Sanguin just wants revenge.” Enobaria bites back, bearing her sharp, white teeth, “Annie and Marsh don’t pose that big of a threat, anyway. They’re in the woods surviving, not actively killing anyone. Annie got lucky that Colt was a fucking moron.”

Gloss opens his mouth, but Enobaria’s moved onto sending the sponsor gift. He gives you a look, “She acts like her tributes wouldn’t be desperate to do the exact same thing if Annie killed one of them.”

“True.” you mutter, “I don’t think your alliance is going to last very long.”

“Neither do I.” Gloss says.

The two of you look up at the big screen. It’s focused on Sanguin, who has her sword’s blade flat on her shoulder so it’s easier to carry. She must’ve started walking only recently, because she still has a few hours to go. It took the careers basically the entire day to get to the village on the first day.

There’s a small video of the Three boy going on in the corner. He’s no longer inside of his house, and with the sun shining on him, he looks extremely pale. He places his hand against the nearest wall to keep him upright, squints through the sunlight, and then starts his way out of the village.

“Oh shit.” you say. 

Enobaria sends in her sponsor gift, her tributes get it just fine. And even though it’s technically his turn, Gloss doesn’t move from where he stands. He clearly wants Sanguin to run across Three boy, and sponsoring her would ruin that. She’s in a specific mindset, he’s unarmed. And you suppose this could be a way for her to blow off steam. The poor boy is a pacifier to her growing agitation.

You take a step back, wanting to find a better place to stand, and find that Enobaria wasn’t exaggerating about Finnick’s close presence. You bump straight into him, his hands find your shoulders, directing you around Gloss. You try and shrug off his hands, but he doesn’t let go. So this is how today is going to be, a fucking irritation.

Sanguin is still a while away from the village, if anything is going to happen between her and the Three boy, it’s going to be an hour or so away from now. At the pace she’s walking now, she’ll be there before or after noon. So, until then, you can focus on your tributes and the Capitol people around you.

You move around the betting room, Finnick keeping close behind you. You try not to be annoyed with it, silently wishing that he’d chill out and sit somewhere if he’s just going to hover like this. But you don’t brush him off, you wanted him down here, so now you’ve got to put up with it. Not to mention, you have two older brothers and a younger sister, you’ve dealt with more than your fair share of annoying people.

Still, you can’t help but to wonder if he’s being like this on purpose to try and make you tell him to go away. He stands too close, he’ll have his hand on your arm, shoulder or elbow while you talk to people. The good thing is that the people don’t ask about it. Hell, they hardly seem to notice it in the first place, or they’re just being extremely polite, which is a whole new ordeal.

Annie and Marsh go out to their snares for lunch, the District Seven tributes catch their own animals to skin and eat. The other two--potentially three--tributes in the woods are focused on getting water and finding food. Whether it be an animal, berries or some roots from an edible plant.

At around ten, Sanguin has almost made it to the village. Three boy was further in than all of you thought, and at the pace he’s going, he’s clearly miserable and out of his mind. He drags his feet through the dirt, creating a literal snail path behind him. If Nine girl were inside of the village, all she’d have to do is find the path and follow it to him.

You’re also able to watch your tributes come around to their snares, moving from one to another. They’re used to seeing some empty by now, there’s not always going to be some rabbit or squirrel strung up in the air. However, every single one that they’ve come across this far is bare. Either they’re not going to eat tonight, or they need to start a plan b.

Or, you can always start your own plan too.

You give Gloss and Enobaria a smile, “I’ll be back.”

“Going to make sure your tributes don’t starve?” Gloss asks, snorting slightly.

“Yup.” you turn to Finnick, “You don’t have to come, this’ll only take a second.”

He’s got this dead look in his eyes, partially because he clearly didn’t get enough sleep. He was obviously banking on the hope that you wouldn’t go and pull something like you did yesterday. Sleep during the day and be up all hours of the night. Another whole reason why you think that he’s not the brightest light bulb in the box.

Anyway, he pushes himself up from the couch. You start your way towards a certain group, you’ve known them for a while now, but Finnick places a hand on that arm to keep you from going.

“What the hell--”

“Not them.” Finnick says.

“They’re fine, I’ve worked with them for years.” you turn towards him, grabbing his hands out of irritation, “Quit it.”

Finnick doesn’t look bothered, “(Y/n), we’ve spent time in the Capitol in two different ways. You know your way around mentoring and how to get the best possible result out of the week, and I know the way that the people think and what they want to do just by how they look. For once, trust me on this. You want to stop being around them before it’s too late.”

You let go of his hands, taking in a deep breath. There can’t be any collaboration without cooperation on both parts. You know this. And he’s not wrong, either. You both have two different areas of expertise at this point. If he’s sure that the second group will give you the same outcome, then you might as well.

“Okay, thank you.” you flash him a smile before heading towards the group he wanted you to be at.

They’re not so bad, they just don’t know you as well. But after a couple of minutes of talking with them, even Finnick has pitched in a few times at some points, they’ve warmed right up to you. A man mentions how he wishes he could be more of a help to them, and you jump at the opportunity in the most responsible way possible.

In no time, you’re sending in a feast to your beloved tributes. You thank the group of sponsors a lot, and spend the next hour talking to them about what foods Annie and Marsh seemed to have liked while they were here. It makes the hour go by faster, you go and join your friends on the couch once you're done. And it’s just in time for Sanguin to make it to the village.

Unfortunately, by then the Three boy is visible. Sanguin catches sight of him, he sees her, and suddenly a hunt has begun. The boy ducks out, disappearing into an alleyway, Sanguin doesn’t waste time running after him. Even with the state that the boy is in, he still manages to move quickly. There’s no doubt that it’s adrenaline.

He’s weaponless, might even be hopeless when it comes to defending off Sanguin. If he can lose her in the maze of houses and find a good hiding spot inside of one, you’re sure that she’d have a harder time finding him. She’s already seen him, so there’s no point in thinking that she won’t just go ahead and search. She’s got plenty of time on her hands, and no motivation to go back to the cornucopia just yet.

He’s more awake, running but not running. He’s trying not to be loud, but Sanguin is following him without a problem. He turns a corner, she follows it moments later. It’ll take more than just running to get away from her, and it doesn’t look like he has any other option than to run. He’s going to get tired eventually, all Sanguin will have to do is outlast him. 

Well, Three doesn’t even get that far. He’s getting reckless with swinging his foot around corners, trying to cut them. One bad move from him, and he’s sprawled across the dirt, a cloud of dust getting kicked up because of how hard he hits the dirt. As if that weren’t bad enough, he starts coughing, gasping to breathe. It doesn’t take a genius to know he has asthma. No wonder why he was having a hard time breathing quietly while he was running.

Sanguin comes around, sword swinging off of her shoulder. It clips the wall next to her, a chunk of cement goes flying. She pays no attention, eyes on the boy. His face is red from running, he’s got his shoulders pressed to the dirt but his head has risen enough to see Sanguin. He watches her come closer, not moving.

She doesn’t say anything to him, just lifts the sword and swings. You all watch in silence, prepared for it to be a quick death, but then he rolls out of the way. The sword hits the dirt, he wraps his foot around the back of her ankle, lifts, and she fails to catch herself before falling.

He’s smart, scrambles to his feet and takes off as fast as he can. It’s not quick, though. Sanguin is tired of the running, she gets out of the alleyway, and then throws her sword diagonally. It’s over for the boy, then. He can’t see the sword coming, which means he can’t move out of the way. The blade flies right into his back, next to his spine. 

Blood splatters against the wall in front of him, he collapses face-first into the dirt. Sanguin takes her time going over there, now. You imagine that if he hadn’t run in the first place, he wouldn’t have suffered like he is now. Gloss gets up from where he sits, heading to get the sponsor gift in life, three and a half hours later. Sanguin grabs the hilt of the sword, lifts, and then slams the tip through the back of the boy’s head. 

One cannon, ten tributes left in the games. Three in the cornucopia, seven in the woods. Annie and Marsh should move soon.

Sanguin gets her healing cream, which is paired with a bottle of water. Sanguin sits against the wall where she killed the Three boy, trying to catch her breath before she heads back. It’ll be another three hour walk, it’ll be late afternoon by the time she gets back around. 

All that’s left to do today is sit, wait, and watch. Annie and Marsh keep rationing out their food, enough to keep them energetic, but still saving some for tomorrow. They spend their time setting up extra snares, lower down into the woods as a backup just in case tomorrow is an empty day too.

District Two stays in the cornucopia, they’ve got food and water, they’ll last until tomorrow. The Nine girl is eating some berries she found in a bush, which makes you all think that she’s in the forest, but Enobaria points out that there’s bushes near the village too. However, that means she’s pretty far into the village, and it’s not completely cleared yet. And that just doesn’t seem likely. And since the Nine girl is resourceful, she’s found other ways to get water.

The Seven tributes eat soft bark off of the trees, sticking to their stick and leaf covers. They seem like they’ve adjusted to the woods pretty fine, talk about a stereotype. If they weren’t cliched before, they are now. The Eight girl has made it to the stream, she drinks water out of her hands, splashes her face and sits there for a while.

Five boy has found his own source of water, he’s on the verge of being exposed, though. If you were standing by the outside tail of the cornucopia--as the mouth is facing the field--he’d be on the far left. Which isn’t a bad place to be, since the right is pretty crowded with people because of the stream of water. But it makes for a problem because he’s still seeable. 

The tributes left right now seem to be the ones that know what they’re doing. If you die in the bloodbath, clearly you have no common sense. The four that died in the village were straight unlucky, but it was ultimately inevitable because the careers were hunting. They’re going to kill more tributes after the bloodbath. And it was also lucky that they came across that many tributes.

Six boy was too smart for his own good with trying to run away. He couldn’t have known that there would be a barrier like that at the side of the arena, so he’s not really the one to blame here. And Three boy might have been the only stupid tribute that was left because of how long he waited out getting water. Plus, he was probably pretty hungry by then too. He almost had Sanguin, but then again he wouldn’t have made it very far anyway.

With all the tributes in their own spots, away from each other and hours away from any conflict, you think that it’s calm enough to go out and get food real quick. You know a place just down the street. Of course, you’re nervous to leave the betting room, every single year that you mentor, you stay just in case anything happens. Even if you’re hungry, or thirsty, or need to use the bathroom, you stick it through.

On your way out, you invite Cecelia to go with. She declines at first, but when she sees that her girl tribute is doing fine, she comes along. You introduce Finnick and Cecelia, and then explain yesterday’s events to him so that he understands why you know her. Afterwards, she’s telling the story of Haymitch’s games so it all makes sense to him.

The restaurant has tv’s set up so that you’re able to see if anything happens. And with choosing a table by the door, it makes for a quick and easy escape if need be. You enjoy yourselves in the meantime, sharing food and making predictions as always. With Cecelia added, her experience with the past games is actually pretty insightful.

The only problem is that she’s the last winning tribute of her district, so she doesn’t know what to do when it comes to training tributes exactly. Her mentioning that was probably the worst idea ever, because suddenly you, Gloss and Enobaria are giving her different pieces of advice. Eventually she has to start writing down what you guys say because it’s too much to remember.

She can’t get a boarding school started, so instead she’ll just have to work her ass off during the Capitol week. Districts One and Two have been established for years, so their advice is a little harder to understand. But since District Four has just recently gotten on their own two feet, you’re able to relate to her level. Cecelia is genuinely grateful, and she never stops thanking you guys for the help.

This time around, you pay for lunch since Gloss paid last time. Since your tributes hadn’t been up to anything important, you don’t have to rush back to the betting room. Sanguin should be arriving at the cornucopia in the next few minutes, Annie and Marsh are exploring further to the right, away from where everyone is currently. And Eight girl--whose name is actually Bauhinia, after the flower--was up against the dam.

It’s four in the afternoon when you get back, and it’s only an hour later when the Capitol people begin to leave. Annie and Marsh make their way home to the shack, the careers make up and apologize to each other. Sanguin tells Vanilee and Geare that she was the one that set off the cannon, she couldn’t tell who it was though, only that it was one of the guys and definitely not Marsh.

By seven, only a couple of Capitol people are still around. You, Enobaria, Gloss, Finnick and Cecelia sit around a table talking to each other. At least you’re friendly with Cecelia now, you’re not sure how that’s going to hold up next year. But then again, she’s used to her tributes dying in the arena. After a while, it’s hard to hold a grudge. Unfortunately, that might mean she’ll end up like Haymitch in a couple of years.

For a while, Enobaria and Gloss play the same get-to-know-you game that they played with Finnick, with Cecelia. You end up learning a lot about her and the district that she’s from this way. It makes for interesting conversation when Enobaria asks her the weirdest way that Cecelia can probably kill someone, and she says a sewing needle.

Which only starts hypothetical situations in which you all are back inside of the Hunger Games, and have to get creative with items to use to kill people. Rocks, tree bark, water, dirt. Enobaria says that she genuinely considered shoving a tributes face in the dirt and holding them there until they died.

“Wouldn’t they just be able to move their mouth off to the side?” you ask, feeling a little ridiculous for asking the question in the first place.

“I don’t think so.” Enobaria says, “They’d be face down.”

“No, (Y/n) has a point.” Gloss shakes his head.

“Do you want to test it out?” Enobaria gives him a look.

“Is there any dirt nearby?” Gloss asks back, “Because I bet a thousand that I’m right.”

“Oh, you’re on.” she says, looking behind her. 

There’s a planters box on the far side of the betting room. Enobaria and Gloss get up and go over, which means that you, Finnick and Cecelia follow. Gloss gladly hops over the cement wall that keeps the dirt inside, and lays down face-first as nonchalantly as possible. He looks awkward doing it.

“Alright, if you feel like you’re dying, just kick your feet and I might let you go.” she says, sitting on his back.

“I won’t call uncle.”

“You will eventually.” she says, and then shoves his face into the dirt.

While Enobaria tries to kill Gloss with one of the five elements, Cecelia talks, “I used to do stuff like this with the other mentors, but that was a while ago.”

“You’re welcome to join us any time, Cecelia.” you give her a polite smile, “Even in future games. We can’t really blame the tributes for killing each other, everyone wants to survive.”

Well, the careers--including District Four this year--all do it to themselves on purpose for the fame and money. With the other districts, they typically have no choice and they’re the ones being picked during the reaping. But you get what you’re saying, right?

“Thanks.” Cecelia says, and then looks to Finnick, “Haven’t seen you in a while, how are you doing?”

It’s friendly conversation, you listen as Finnick tells her that he’s been busy. She doesn’t pry, taking his word for it. It’s better that way, you’re not sure what he’d say if she did ask, anyway. Finnick’s still got a hand on you, too. You guess that the very last people inside of the betting room aren’t all that great. Otherwise you’re sure he would’ve let you go by now.

“Are you dead yet?” Enobaria asks.

“I’ve been breathing the entire time.” Gloss says, and then he starts coughing and spitting because of the dirt in his mouth. Enobaria gets off of him, he closes his mouth and grits his teeth, and you can literally hear the crunch of the dirt between his teeth.

“Oh,” you laugh, covering your mouth, “Gross.”

Everyone is laughing, Gloss struggles to find a glass of some sort of liquid to wash it out of his mouth. There’s dirt down his shirt and pants, and it’s even ruined his clothes to some extent. When he’s finally able to rinse and spit the dirt out, he looks at Enobaria, “As long as they don’t speak and breathe through their nose, I’m sure they’d be able to survive.”

It’s a good way to wrap up the night, so you hug your three friends goodnight just in time for Cashmere and Wade to come around. Back on the Four floor, for the first time in a while, you’re actually able to eat with both Elysia and Finnick. You don’t talk much with each other, just tell Elysia what you had done today.

After dinner, Elysia goes to her room, leaving you and Finnick alone.

“You should go back down there.” you tell him.

“I’m not.” Finnick says, and you let out a sigh, “(Y/n), you can’t be down there. As nice as it probably is to be with them--did you even notice the way they were looking at you.”

“Finnick, I’ll be last week’s news by the time the new victor is announced. I’m not going to be the center of attention for much longer.” 

“Except to some extent, you’ve been in their sights for a while now.” he shakes his head, “I used to hear things about you while we weren’t talking. And I thought it was all lies and rumors until I got to see it for myself.” his voice is surprisingly calm, eyes on you, “They’re mistaking your friendliness for flirtation. You’re laying it on too thick, and it’s confusing them.”

You open your mouth, and then close it.

“I would rather you take the night shift, so I can take the daytime. But I know that you won’t let that happen so we’re going to have to compromise.”

Still being hung up on the flirting thing, you nod slowly, “What are you thinking?”

“You go from afternoon into most of the night, I take late night into early morning.” he raises his eyebrows, “Sometimes evenings if I think I can handle it.”

It makes the most sense, “Okay, yeah.”

“Yeah?” he lets out a breath, “That was easy.”

And once he thinks that, he’s suddenly squinting at you, “You’re not going to backstab me, are you?”

You squint back at him, “Unlike you, I’m a respectable human being.”

He laughs, “Respectable! You nearly killed me in the elevator.”

“And you would’ve deserved it, don’t even fucking lie.” you roll your eyes.

“Maybe a little bit.” Finnick admits.

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

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[amenomiko]

Thank you for the request ❤.

There is no specific lords mentioned, and it's a topic that requires long kind of reactions, so I will focus on Azuchi Lords ONLY.

Jealous Warlords with MC who Purposely Flirt with Soldiers due to Insecurity.

Nobunaga

Despite not seeing other women than her, she can be insecure too. Well.. According to history Nobunaga has few concubines and the possibility for it to happen is high, despite being in parallel world.

Some other alliances had mentioned it as well, and even though Nobunaga brush those topics off...

She can't help but to be a bit selfish. She really wanted to make sure that he is looking at her and ONLY her.

So when she giggled to one of Nobunaga's vassals, she purposely inserted some compliments to him, making him blush.

Silently satisfied that Nobunaga had narrowed his eyes to their direction.

Before the vassal could talk some more, he had been dismissed. With a slightly higher, demanding tone coming from Nobunaga.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong by complimenting on how excellent your soldiers were?" She grinned.

"...." He carried her in instant, closing the Tenshu door shut, and make love to her which enough to make the hallway echoed with her voice, telling whom she belonged to.

Hideyoshi

At times it can be irritating to be patted on the head. Still. Like a little sister, despite being an official lover.

She knew that his popularity, and the endless amount of love letters keep on coming are still going on; she feel bad to his guilty face, yet she wanted to show who he belongs to now.

"Ah, I can't. I must tell them to stop sending those letters starting now."

"It's alright, really. They are your supporters even before you met me."

"But.."

"Go on." She smiled, turning around to greet the soldiers that just came back from their training before Hideyoshi could call out for her.

She knows that he stood frozen when she touch one of the soldiers arm, saying that she is concerned and they should rest a lot, and there's a faint groaning sound when she added, "You are so handsome! So you must rest to bring your glow back..! Hehehe just kidding--"

"MC."

He circled around her stomach, pulling backwards towards his chest. "Let's go."

"Eh? How about your fans?"

"It's not important." He frowned, there's an obvious scowl on his face to her satisfaction.

Masamune

Heh.

There's no second thought when it comes to him.

He is popular for being the most handsome lord, so to feel insecure is common. Not to mention he is not the type to feel jealous, like AT ALL.

Then in other words.. Verbal method won't work. But..

Physical method will.

She saw how his expression changed from a grin, into a glaring look, when she brushed her hand on the healing soldier's hand. "I'm glad it is healing fast. Or else this big hand won't be able to hold a sword and protect me. Hehehe." She giggled adorably.

"Oh, your hand is indeed huge. See?" She aligned her palm to touch with the soldier's. "I'm smaller compared to you..!"

"Hahaha. Our princess is petite after all. It is why we must protect you." He said, very innocently without having any ill intention.

"Lass." Said latter's voice is grim. And when she turn around, she can see very well on how irritated he is.

"Hm? Hey- wha--" Her body is now carried on his shoulder as he stride away from his soldiers. "You are quite an innocent flirt aren't you? But it will be dangerous for both of us, kitten."

Innocent? Yeah right.

Mitsuhide

He is a tease. So damn obvious.

Despite being mysterious to the people in town, there are still some of fan girls of him that were interested with those features. Mitsuhide is not the type to entertain, but typical Mitsuhide, he likes to see the 1001 expressions of his lover when he was surrounded by his fans.

Still.. to her, if he can tease, then she can too.

She knew that he was teasing her, and so she choose one particular day for a comeback. That very moment when they were separated, she instantly turned to one of the nearby soldiers at the gate, pretending that nothing happened.

Of course, this pricks his attention. She shows no signs of pout nor sulk on her face but a smile-- not for him but to the so called soldier she was chatting happily with.

Then it somehow successfully pushed him to the edge when she lean closer to the soldier, wiping his sweat away with her handkerchief. It took not even a second for her hand to be pulled away harshly, and her nose is met with his.

There were butterflies in her stomach when there's no single smile on his lips, and a change in his tone as he said "You may take that cloth away." to the soldier, before he drag her away from the latter.

"Mischievous little mouse. You need a good punishment after this."

She didn't say anything, but only a soft giggle.

Ieyasu

He is not interested in anyone in general, except her as the love of his life. It's a fact yet there will always be someone out there who find him amazing as one of the alliances of Oda Nobunaga.

No matter how he pushed them away, they will keep on coming back. MC knew that he hates to deal with these kind of people, but at times she can't help but to feel insecure.

She may tease him a little bit too much. Because...

The look in his eyes right now is very stern, deep into one's soul, ever since she greeted his soldiers who came back from the battle. Not only that, she personally check on each and everyone of them WITHOUT greeting Ieyasu first.

He kept quiet the whole time. Until..

"Enough. Return to the chamber." He never act so demanding and dominant before, particularly in front of his soldiers. "But.." She tried to protest but only to get

"Mmn??" A deep kiss right in front of everyone in the room, creating a wave of gasps around them.

Somehow she have made him go bolder than ever.

Mitsunari

Someone who is oblivious can be a pain, as it somehow added a salt into a wound to her insecurities.

Mitsunari is not the firm type, and to get jealous reaction is out of the question. Though.. She wanted to try so bad,

...on how he will look when he had a scowl on that angelic face of his.

"Princess, thank you so much for tending to our injuries." One of the youngest soldiers, who is also like a little brother, said to her. She's about to accept the gratitude as usual, but then..

Bing!

An idea come into her mind.

"Ehehe. Most welcome..!" She make sure Mitsunari was looking to their direction when she kissed the young soldier's cheek. "P-P-Princee-- ugh @////@~" Poor victim to faint from it.

..There was no reaction from him, not a surprising thing. Oh well.

They had returned to the chamber, and she realizes Mitsunari has been quiet the whole time. Did she had crossed the line? Ahh.. She should apologize to him--

"M-May I get a kiss.. too? B-but may I get it.. on the lips..?" He murmured, voice low but enough to make her blush.

Hngggh!! What have she done to this angel??

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku imagines #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikemen sengoku hideyoshi #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku nobunaga #ikemen sengoku mitsunari #ikemen sengoku ieyasu

[bookspined]

❝ that’s all history is after all: scar tissue. ❞

{ cis-man, he/him }  huh, who’s FROY GUTIERREZ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually SCORPIUS MALFOY. he is a TWENTY-TWO year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is A HEALING APPRENTICE. he is known for being CAPTIOUS, RETICENT, FACETIOUS, DISMISSIVE, and DRAMATIC but also RESOURCEFUL, CONSCIENTIOUS, FERVENT, INNOVATIVE, and OBSERVANT, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IN DREAMS BY BEN HOWARD. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him. { merry, 24, gmt, she/they }

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Amy Santiago (B99), Claire Temple (Daredevil), Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place), Giles (Buffy TVS), Michelle Jones (MCU), Simon Tam (Firefly), Elizabeth Swan (PoTC), Spock (Star Trek), Clarke Griffin (The 100), Harley Keener (MCU), Gregory House (House) suggested honorable mention Gizmo (Gremlins) 

pinterest [blood, medical imagery tw]

wanted connection ideas

Full Name: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy Gender/Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Age: Twenty-three Birthdate: January 20th Parents: Draco Lucius Malfoy & Astoria Céline Malfoy (née Greengrass) [Not biologically Astoria’s due to her health, if you ever point this out he’ll flay your eyeballs] Siblings: N/A. Birth place: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England Height: 5’11” Weight: 56 kg Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual Nationality: British Body Alterations/Marks: A ragged diamond shape scar at the base of his throat.

Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Wand Arm: Right Pet: His pet toad, Jarvis, recently passed away. Patronus: Arctic Fox Wand: 11 2/3 inches, Willow, Supple, Dragon Heartstring.

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

Personality Traits: Brilliance, innovative, empathetic, individuality, openness, social consciousness, inventive, logical, practical skills and self assertion; lack of attachment to people outside his circle and the “real world,” over-intellectualizing of the emotions, dismissive, anxious, crotchety tempered, facetious, rigid, prone to self-isolation, intellectual arrogance, and stubborn. Zodiac Sign: Aquarius/Capricorn Cusp Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Core values: Loyalty, Knowledge, Hope Four temperaments: Melancholic  

HOGWARTS HOUSE ANALYSIS

Slytherin Primary and a Burned Ravenclaw Secondary.

Slytherin Primaries prioritize their own selves and loved ones first. Slytherins don’t feel guilty or selfish about this– they feel righteous and moral. The most important thing is to look after your own. Abandoning or hurting one of your own is the worst thing you can do.

A Burned Ravenclaw Secondary might want to be skilled, curious, and prepared, but they feel like they are (or like people think they are) limited, clumsy, or inconstant. Gathering knowledge, hobbies, skills, or tools is the right way to achieve their goals, but Burned Ravenclaws know that’s not going to work within their capabilities. So they take other paths and use other tools– maybe a Gryffindor’s bluntness, a Slytherin’s flexibility, or a Hufflepuff’s slow and steady dedication.

You may have a Hufflepuff Secondary Model.

Hufflepuff is the House of grit, reliability, and determination, and Hufflepuffs use those values to help live, act, and succeed. If you model Hufflepuff Secondary, you also value these things and like to live by them. You like to be hardworking, dedicated, and consistent– but you wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning those values in the service of other, higher priorities. If there’s another, easier way to get what you want– you’d take it. You think hard work provides valuable rewards– and those rewards are why you work. The work doesn’t have persuasive value in itself.

Despite his very best resistance he’s always been pretty empathetic in nature, he tries to rule his emotions as well as he can but fails more often than not. He was always one of those toddlers that if another kid started crying he’d be right along with them, not because he wanted attention but because he just couldn’t not. A bit of a crybaby, has researched how to magically seal up his tear ducts. Obviously managed to keep the family’s flair for the dramatic there as well. After a few years he leant into the sarcastic vague-snobbishness to hide the core of overwhelming anxiety.

Just managed to scrape through his schooling with nearly all top grades, this isn’t really due to him being a model student. He has always accrued information with a voracious appetite. Any knowledge he could find, even if most people would consider it entirely useless. His mind clicks into that place? You can’t keep him away. However, when there is not an immediate stir of interest on his approach to a topic he has to fight with himself tooth and nail to carry on. 

Predictably found exam season highly stressful, was never open about it but was quietly competitive and silently smug over his good grades. Could comprehend well above his reading level from an early age and would often look into experimental research and complicated magic but found himself lost in OWL level History of Magic when chapter upon chapter lay ahead of him about something that didn’t catch his interest. Some people he beat just to spite cause he hates them. It worked, whatever.

Tends toward introversion and finds himself tired sometimes quite easily by a large amount of social interaction. Witty and big-mouthed when he feels comfortable or is in the presence of those that embolden him and very likely to get flustered and snap at people when things are becoming a bit too much. Especially if he feels however unjustly that someone is blocking his escape. Has matured slightly in this since leaving school but it happens still, he’s just anxious. Quite fickle and can at the drop of a hat decide that he’s done with you for the day once his Give Me Attention Meter is maxed. Could be an absolute bloody brat when he felt like it but feels he has grown out of it, which he mostly has.

Always been very, very aware of many people’s distrust of him and his family, he used to sneer and play it up if anyone tried to bring up his dad and go on the offensive but was genuinely affected quite deeply by it all. In his early school years, despite his weakness to the cold, he constantly had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow so that his blank forearm was bared as a statement to just about everyone. I am not marked, I never will be. Now he’s older he has more of a handle on things and can be diplomatic in situations where people are clearly discomforted by his presence and his family history.

Even though the war culminated far earlier in this verse I imagine Scor would have had to have been relatively sheltered as a child if not for how emotionally sensitive and prone to periods of ill-health he was, it was definitely for his own safety. He is still the grandson of a known high-ranking Death Eater and that made him a media target and put one on his back for anyone else that might happen to be watching. 

Never produced much of a talent for offensive magic and wouldn’t resort to those methods unless he had literally no other choice, not a front line fighter by any means. His talents with strategy, potion-making, healing and his perseverance with defensive magic are what define him to the Order. While everyone kind of knows who he hung out with at school and who his friends are he is deliberately very mischievous with releasing rumours and misleading people. He deliberately keeps his cards very close to his chest so most people don’t know that he is aligned with anyone, he usually uses glamours or a scarf to conceal his identity if he has to. 

While he is knowledgeable about healing and anatomy, he is the WORST at taking care of himself. The literal embodiment of Healers make the worst patients, tends to forgo sleep and basic bodily needs if he’s locked into what he’s focusing on. Sometimes needs reminders to sleep and eat, like a child. 

Healing is the most satisfying part of his life and he would never give it up, he likes to experiment as he has a fascination with magic and muggle science and where they might intersect. A fucking nerd honestly. While he thinks he’s being fairly subtle about it a large part of his academic life has been doused in research into blood maledictions, for obvious reasons. He does his best not to flutter too obviously around his Mum. She is capable and ten times stronger than he is. 

Lives in a small studio flat in Diagon Alley that is mostly stacks of books and makeshift shelves.

the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, cashmere and fine wool, the pearlescence of dreamless sleep draught, the scratch of a quill on parchment, faintly tremoring fingers, a shiver up your spine in a warm room, the exhilaration of a problem solved, a thunderous grey overcast sky, the bite of a stitching charm, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, petrichor, the burn in your eyes before a well of tears.

Always had somewhat fragile health tending toward sickly. Hands are never warm, his existence is an endless heat seeking mission. 

Went to one Slug Club meeting and used his time to verbally berate and or challenge most of the contacts in attendance, he was not asked to return. 

Potions Club, Charms Club, used to sometimes be willing to be dragged to Dueling Club but didn’t enjoy himself. 

Plays quite a bit of chess.

Bruises like a fucking peach and scars so easily.

Views quidditch as a good fly spoiled. 

Is a very skilled pianist almost entirely due to his Grandmother’s tutelage. 

Surprisingly great with children/toddlers/babies, no one including himself expected this, he mostly feared them beforehand. 

Bit of a mummy’s boy in that he practically GLOWS when people talk of Astoria’s achievements. 

When he has time off from healing he will have chipped black nail varnish on. 

Highly intelligent but rarely manages to match a pair of socks, chews his quills but no one else’s. 

While very eloquent and well spoken, he is markedly less posh than when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

When he isn’t prone to bouts of insomnia he can take a nap pretty much anywhere. He was once found in a tree after several frantic hours search.

[ CREDIT : CHARACTER PSD template by @karmahelper (defunct url) I tried to find a current social this week by messaging around but couldn’t find anything unfortunately. Forgot to copy this over from the google doc! ]

#potterintro #finally #sorry if this is missing anything

[tev-the-random]

What it Ursa took her children with her? - Pt.2

As we were saying:

Little over year has passed since the family arrived in Hira’a, and fateful news gets to them: Ozai remarried. His new wife is someone who is honoured to marry the Firelord and doesn’t mind the fact that his head is so deep up his own arse- anyway, and they are expecting a child, who is to be the Firelord’s legitimate heir.

Azula’s hopes and dreams are shattered. At age ten, she is quite literally being replaced in her beloved father’s life. It’s like she’s never even existed, and she can’t help but wonder what she did wrong.

Zuko is also upset, of course. All those years when Ozai told him he was unfit and worthless come flooding back. But somehow, he already expected things to turn out like this. Unlike Azula, he wasn’t so deeply feeding on hopes that things would go back to normal. He sees it more as a situation that was out of everyone’s control.

He convinces Azula it’s not her fault, and these kids will still be trying to understand and defend their father later down the road. There must be a reason for all of this, right? They start thinking of a reasonable scenario…

Ursa just feels sorry for the poor woman who has to deal with Ozai now.

So we get a timeskip: about three years came and went. Zuko and Azula – treated as kids and not as weapons – lead a peaceful and happy life whenever they’re not thinking of their father and everything they could be doing out there.

They have become known local troublemakers in their spare time. Kids know better than to challenge them, people know not to leave flammable goods out in the open – a strict policy regarding fireworks has been established after a chaotic incident – and failure to keep an eye on them this one time led to… well, let’s just say that the town is still unsure of whether or not they’re is being haunted by evil spirits.

They aren’t allowed anywhere near Forgetful Valley, but bold of you to assume they never tried. In-jokes arise.

‘No, I’m serious: that tree’s face looked exactly like yours, Zuzu. You really should befriend it,’ Azula mocks, remembering a particularly ugly tree they encountered in their adventure.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t looking at it. I was busy looking for whoever it was that asked you,’ Zuko retorts. ‘Since Forgetful Valley has all the kinds of crazy stuff.’

‘Maybe we should go back and look for your impulse control, then.’

‘None of you are going back in there,’ Ursa reprehends. ‘It was very irresponsible of you. Forgetful Valley is a dangerous place, you could have gotten hurt!’

‘Your mother is right, you know?’ Noren comments. ‘I’ve been to that jungle before, and it’s definitely not a playground. But I swear…’ He makes a dramatic pause. ‘I once saw Ursa’s sense of humour in there.’

The kids burst out laughing while Ursa sighs. ‘Since you can find such amazing things in the valley, dear, why don’t you go back there and find yourself actual funny jokes? I’m sure my sense of humour will be around the same corner.’

*More laughter*

(IDK, I write crappy comedy, ok?)

They still have a bit of a hard time making friends. I wouldn’t say they are shy, but they definitely have a talent to say the wrong things at the wrong times, and it’s hard to make deep connections. Sure, they would play with other kids from time to time, but in the end, Zuko and Azula are each other’s best friend.

They’ve cleared an area by the beach that any Hira’a resident knows to stay away from when they’re training.

Azula discovered a great passion for theatre. Not only are her acting skills fantastic, she also seems to be naturally aware of what makes a good scene. People say she’s Noren’s Little Assistant.

She hates being called Noren’s Little Assistant. She would much rather be called Ursa’s Little Star, because goddamn is she a good actress and she needs everyone to know that.

Zuko is more of a plant-lover guy. Unfortunately, he hasn’t inherited his grandmother’s green thumb, and despite Ursa’s best efforts to teach him, it seems like everything he touches dies.

He has grown to show a way with animals, however. Any variety of frogs and toads love him; lizards of all kinds are attracted to him like he’s a magnet; furry animals big and small adore him and any type of bird-like creature seems to think he is the best human being in existence. But his favourite animals are still the turtleducks.

Back in the palace, Iroh eventually learns of Ozai’s bullshit and how he got the throne in the first place. And you know what? The time has come for Iroh to draw a line in the sand. He confronts his little brother, who confronts him back by telling him that, should he try to tell anyone in the Fire Nation the truth – that Ozai was a top-grade traitor who actually had no right to the throne –, no one would believe him. Since his brother won’t be sensible, Iroh decides that’s it: he’s fucking out.

Now a fugitive from the Fire Nation, he somehow winds up owning a lovely traveling tea shop called the Jasmin Dragon. Most people don’t even suspect he is the fearful Dragon of the West, because he’s just so nice?

You can bet he serves blends of tea from all across the nations.

The tea shop is also a good cover up for his exchanges with the Order of the White Lotus. He gives and receives information, and does his best to help villages to either defend themselves or evacuate during Fire Nation attacks.

One day a member of the White Lotus travels to Hira’a for one reason or another and finds Zuko and Azula. This person then sends a letter to Iroh.

Iroh comes to Hira’a to visit the family. He’s glad to see they’re ok, even if he can’t stay for too long. But long enough for some Quality Time – these kids have grown so much!

Iroh doesn’t know of Ursa’s part in Azulon’s assassination, and only assumes she knew of Ozai’s plan. But now, it’s time that her children learned a couple of things, and he is willing to teach them, so that when the time arrives for them to meet their destiny, they should be able to choose wisely and face whatever comes their way. So he asks the children to accompany him in his travels.

Ursa doesn’t want to let them go. They’re children, they should be here living a peaceful life, not meeting some grand, dangerous destiny! What if something horrible happened to them?

Iroh understands the pain of losing a child. He doesn’t want to make Ursa spend her time worrying about losing two, so he respects her decision and soon leaves the town.

But the siblings are not about to just sit here when they know they’re destined for something greater. What incredible knowledge did their uncle hold? Did their father have something to do with this? They always knew there was more to their fate than just living in Hira’a for the rest of their lives, and this is their chance; it’s now or never.

Zuko and Azula are about to sneak out and follow Iroh when Noren spots them. But instead of trying to stop them – he is well aware that he can’t – he gives them two masks and some advice about never forgetting who they were.

Why yes, I am saying that they eventually take the masks and become partners in crime, Zuko as the Blue Spirit and Azula as the Red Spirit, because parallels.

They catch up with their uncle and adventures and shenanigans issue as Zuko, Azula and Iroh cross the Earth Kingdom.

Now imagine this trio: two of the most awkward firebending teenagers travelling with their old tea-loving uncle, who spits proverbs like he’s made of them. The possibilities for both hilarious and heart-warming moments are endless.

Iroh thinks himself a matchmaker. Whenever he thinks he sees some romance going on, he encourages his nephew or niece to make a move. His flaming cupid arrows do more damage than good, yet he only has good intentions at heart. Teens all around the kingdom encourage you to stop, sir.

Their new life is even more humbling than in Hira’a, since they are constantly travelling. But they manage, and they know their uncle is nothing but wise… even if Azula is still quite arrogant and manipulative, and Zuko is impatient and hot-headed, which can lead to a lot of conflict.

Iroh teaches them both how to create and redirect lightning. Zuko is better at redirecting than Azula. Creating it, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated, and both of them get their fair share of explosions while learning. Neither of them really gets a hang of it – although Azula is better at it than Zuko, that’s not saying much – for they still have a lot of identity-related turmoil inside them that won’t let them grasp the energy.

Guess who else teaches them? Other members of the White Lotus. Both Zuko and Azula get some swordsmanship Skills™ from Piandao, some different (and somewhat unwillingly taught) firebending technics from Jeong-Jeong and a lot of things from Bumi, including but not limited to: creative thinking, the art of patience, strategic planning, dealing with pirates and a surprising amount of rocks-related knowledge.

Bumi adopted Zuko and Azula and gave himself the role of Second Uncle. You cannot convince me otherwise.

So one day, little over a year after the siblings joined Iroh, they wind up in a city where this big circus is performing. Uncle Iroh decides to take his niece and nephew to see it. And oh, aren’t they surprised by who they see performing?

Even though Ty Lee was essentially the only one between her sisters to befriend Azula – and consequentially, the only one to periodically spend time in the palace with her –, Zuko and Iroh still have a hard time distinguishing her from the six other girls who look exactly like her, uncertainly calling her all different names before Azula snaps ‘you idiots, that’s Ty Lee!’.

The acrobat is so glad to see her friend again, because damn: it’s been nearly four years since they last saw or even heard from each other! And Zuko, I thought you were dead? This is such a neat reunion, there’s so much for them to talk about! And sure, the circus has to leave soon and so do the siblings, but Ty Lee reassures them that, if they ever needed her, she wasn’t hard to find. This isn’t the last we’ll see of Ty Lee.

Azula doesn’t let it show, but she resents Ty Lee a little bit for choosing to abandon her noble life. She really wishes she could have had a choice.

Uncle Iroh tells the siblings stories about the war that would have some day mesmerized them. But now, his opinions about those events and what he did as a prince general have changed; that, along with what the family sees in their journey – all the horrors brought to innocent people – gives Zuko and Azula a new perspective on what they used to think was a greater good. It will still take a while for Azula to understand that no, these people are no lesser than her and for Zuko to understand why any of that matters.

Iroh eventually tells them the truth about Azulon’s death. Or at least, what he knows of it: their father killed Azulon, banished them, took the throne by force and planned to gain more power at the expense of everyone. This is a lot to take in, and the siblings don’t quite believe it.

After four years thinking about it, Zuko and Azula decided to take their mother’s early words – they went to Hira’a to be safe – and formulate what for them was a reasonable scenario. They believe that Ozai never actually wanted any of this to happen. The whole family had to have been in danger, be it due to some political, social or personal threat, and Ozai wanted to take it all by himself to protect them. So he sent his wife and children away, concocted a plan with Azulon to cover for them and, once Azulon died and left him the throne, remarried to keep appearances. To Zuko and Azula, this makes perfect sense. And they thoroughly convince themselves of that.

They initiate an argument, thinking that Iroh is jealous of Ozai.

Their uncle sees these children are starting to stray from their path, but he knows this is a necessary journey for them. They will never be able to deal with reality unless they face it.

The siblings leave Iroh, planning to head straight to the Fire Nation capital and find out what really happened. Maybe now that they are older, it would be a perfect time to come back home; they surely could defend themselves from any threats.

Of course, they’ll be very disappointed to know that Ozai was just a bitch and never actually cared for any of them.

I don’t have a full formed idea about how their reencounter with their father would go down, but I say Ozai would officially banish both his children from the Fire Nation for trying to cause a commotion – which could easily be perceived as a threat. Not only that, but Zuko and Azula are the children of a traitor; cue for Ozai revealing what happened that night four years ago, confirming that he was the one to kill Azulon with Ursa’s help.

I also think that, after that day, the Firelord would have discreetly helped spread rumours about Ursa that would drag her name through the mud in the Capital – was she cheating on Ozai? Was she selling Fire Nation information to the Earth Kingdom? Was she planning a coup against the Firelord? Her crimes change from mouth to mouth. In the end, no one would take Zuko or Azula back unless Ozai wanted it. But he doesn’t. Not now, at least…

But Ozai also decides to play with his options: he plants a seed of doubt in his children’s minds; should they prove themselves useful later on, it would only take pulling a few strings for them to come crawling back to him. So he tells them that they needed to prove themselves for everyone to see that they weren’t traitors like their mother. They needed to prove their worth so that he could accept them.

Ozai goes a step further with Azula and tells her that, before his demise, Firelord Azulon had a plan. A plan to bring her back and put her in the leading, prestigious role she was always meant to get. But they needed to wait for the right time. There is a right time, Princess Azula. Your hopes were right all along, they will come for you eventually if you prove yourself.

The siblings have a lot to think about while they’re leaving the Fire Nation. They idolized Ozai so much all these years. But the undeniable truth came crashing down on their heads, spoken by the man himself. What would they do now? They didn’t think it possible, but their harsh actions made things so much worse: they couldn’t come back to their mother, they didn’t have many hopes of running into Iroh again, they can’t even set foot in their homeland anymore; Zuko and Azula are all on their own.

Maybe it’s time to turn a new leaf. It starts with them being fairly neutral, not completely loyal to either the Fire Nation or to the rest of the world. During this period, they would argue a lot about what to do or where to go next, getting separated and going their own ways before destiny makes them stick together again, over and over.

They manage to get a few deals and own a few favours here and there, become known thieves as the Spirits, and maybe meet up with Ty Lee’s circus every now and again. Life is hard.

But there is one thing that is about to be a beacon in their darkness…

Time to catch up to the show. Oh, you thought I wouldn’t go there?

Part 3 coming right up!

(I know I said this would be a two-parter, but it got ridiculously long, so I split it again. Three-parter now.)

#I planned on posting this much earlier #But I've been having some technical issues #I suppose it happens #This is still messy #And it will only get messier #It would be one long fanfiction #Avatar the Last Airbender #ATLA #canon divergence #Zuko #Azula #Ursa #Firelord Azulon #Firelord Ozai #(Bitchlord) #Uncle Iroh #Ty Lee #King Bumi #Order of the White Lotus #Part 3 should be up in less than a week if I get time to post it

[extraordinarilyextreme]

finally watched Guardian (2018) and i need to talk

Warning: contains MASSIVE SPOILERS, probably too much music/song analysis, my poor translations from Chinese to English, and some references to the original novel (disclaimer: my novel-reading was mostly jumping around because i have a problem where I’m not fluent enough to read the original Chinese novel and I don’t usually like English translations)

1. the freakin opening theme: We Won’t Be Falling by Chen Xueran... (also I see you Tina Guo on the cello thank you queen)

the amount of chills i get every time an episode starts,,, fantastic! marvelous! the lyrics are very VERY apt to the story of Guardian, esp this drama adaptation

(“We are the one/We will be holding on/For the promise we held for life/For the people we love are leaving” ... “And the story will keep on going”)

1.1. the promise? may i direct you to novel chapter 75? 

Shen Wei: “Sometimes I think if one day you can remember everything, then I will be able to say to you: look, I did it, I did all that I had promised you; not one bit did I miss, not one word did I go back on.”

they promise to keep the peace, to protect both Haixing and Dixing; and in the show, it’s a promise they keep with their lives

2. Zhu Yilong plays THREE characters and is able to differentiate them perfectly with particular microexpressions

-Ye Zun (literally, “Respect the Night”; “Lord/Master of the Night” would be a better title) sets off my fight-or-flight instincts even though i think his name tries a little too hard to be edgy; the way he sneers, the smiles that don’t reach his eyes, also that infamous tongue flick when Zhao Yunlan sees through the act... i think it’s both great and sad that Yunlan could differentiate the twins because, why, Shen Wei would never be so openly flirtatious (and wear a deep-cut shirt like that lol)... the delivery of “Xiao Yunlan” disturbed me so much—wonderful, stellar acting

-Black Cloaked Envoy: does his best to bend the rules where he can for the Dixingren because he’s just so fundamentally GOOD; he’s empathetic despite how stern and strict he seems to be, and how much he claims to enforce the clearly-cut laws... he’s an absolute babie ten thousand years ago (Yunlan, doesn’t it hurt your conscience to flirt with such a babie?)

-Shen Wei: in the novel, his name (both surname and first name) are given to him by Kun Lun’s incarnations—there’s a lot of power in naming something, in naming someone; he’s good-natured and gentle, always polite... he pushes up the glasses [that he doesn’t need] a lot, perhaps because he’s used to pushing up his mask as the Envoy

2.1. i find it very striking that Shen Wei dies without his glasses; he doesn’t die as the Envoy, he doesn’t die as the Professor; he dies as a person, as the person who loves Yunlan the most and has loved Yunlan for ten thousand years

2.2. the other notable moments we see Shen Wei without his glasses are where he apologizes to Yunlan [and Yunlan apologizes at the same time because they’re pining idiots] for not noticing the camera in his office, where he sets aside all his pride as Envoy and Professor and kneels in the rain for the man he loves (lwj kneeling after visiting the Burial Mounds, yea?), and of course after he slices up an orange [cuz food = love] only to find Yunlan asleep and drapes his jacket over the silly silly man... anyway, Yunlan is indeed the only person Shen Wei is comfortable enough to reveal everything to, all defenses and masks (literal and figurative) lowered

2.3. that last instance (ep 26) is when Shen Wei pulls out his necklace and reminisces as he gazes fondly at Yunlan; the song that plays during this is 《乱心曲》or “Chaotic Heart Song”... may I direct you to novel chapter 65 where Yunlan finds all the paintings and pictures his Xiao Wei has kept from the centuries?

“邓林之阴初见昆仑君，惊鸿一瞥，乱我心曲。” which translates to “In the shade of the woods I first saw Kunlun-jun; a glimpse of his grace wrought chaos in my heart’s song”

2.4. but also let’s not forget the [in]famous cut wrist scene of ep 23, where our dear Shen Wei, without glasses, as a person who loves Yunlan—not the aloof Envoy or the well-spoken Professor—is reduced to two words: “Worth it.” Yunlan is worth everything to him; this goes without question, without a second thought. Kun Lun (Yunlan) told him not to regret whatever decisions he’ll make, and Ye Zun scolds and laughs at his brother for giving up his life for a human/Haixingren, but of course Shen Wei doesn’t regret dying to protect Yunlan, dying to protect Haixing. (also, peep the behind-the-scenes where Shen Wei grabs Yunlan’s hand for a moment as he blocks the attack from Ye Zun)

2.5. on this same train of thought, Da Qing brings up a line from ten thousand years ago where Shen Wei claimed he would never kill unless it was for the world... and, well, he kills for Yunlan doesn’t he?

3. Bai Yu plays our charismatic Chief Zhao Yunlan/Kun Lun and hoo boy does he do an excellent job; the found family vibes of the SIU are spectacular and the way he flirts with tries to recruit Professor Shen is endearing and touching

3.1. there’s another piece from the OST called 《一点真心》, translated to “A Little Sincerity” though I would use “A Bit of a Sincere Heart” because it too references the novel

Kun Lun’s confession to Xiao Wei: “我富有天下名山大川，想起来也没什么稀奇的，不过就是一堆烂石头野河水，浑身上下，大概也就只有这几分真心能上秤卖上两斤，你要？拿去。” [I’m rich with famed mountains and endless rivers under heaven, but none of it feels rare when I think about it. It’s all just a pile of broken stones and uncultivated streams. From head to toe, there is probably only this bit of my sincere heart that is worth anything weighed on a scale. You want it? Take it.]

Zhao Yunlan’s confession to Shen Wei: “我别的东西也有，只是你可能大多都看不上，只有这一点真心……你要是不接着，那就算了吧。” [I have other things, only you probably would not think much of them. There’s only this bit of my sincere heart... If you don’t want to catch it, then forget it.)

And Shen Wei’s reply to Yunlan’s confession is of course “我接住了。” [I’ve caught it.]

3.2. the novel is a happy ending because Xiao Guo’s important role actually plays a part (i literally don’t understand why the show couldn’t do that after they built up so many expectations about his good character/merit/inability to be corrupted but ANYWAY)... Shen Wei, Xiao Wei, the little Ghost King has a soul and wow isn’t that just beautiful after everything he did to become worthy/deserving of Kun Lun’s attention and love

4. the Zhang Ruonnan and Wang Yike (death-touch Dixingren) case in ep 3 is an obvious parallel to the “brotherly” relationship of WeiLan... Shen Wei’s line of “Many tragedies were destined from the start” references the show of course but also the paradoxical precognition that marks the drama version of WeiLan; in both of their “first meetings”, one of them was always already in love with the other—Yunlan, as Kun Lun, knew he would have to return to his own time at some point and thus doom this impressionable young Envoy to ten thousand years of waiting and Shen Wei (honestly in a Code Geass Lelouch kinda style) knew he would have to die to defeat his brother

4.1. the importance of “touch” in this case alludes to novel WeiLan, where of course Shen Wei watched over all of Kun Lun’s incarnations but wasn’t allowed to get close to him because hungry ghosts would inevitably devour the essence of the people around them; similarly Yike was terrified of touching Ruonnan all this time... but Ruonnan accepted her (just like how novel Kun Lun lets this intriguing little Ghost King trail after him)

4.2. speaking of Shen Wei’s grand plans and the idea of “knowing”, Yunlan reminds him that “You are not a weapon/blade, you are a person.” and wow once again, only Yunlan can pull the humanity from Shen Wei, who has carefully crafted his disguise and personality to fit what people expect of the Envoy and the Professor... but alas, Shen Wei fulfills his promise by in fact making himself a weapon; he poisons himself to become a bomb that will take down his brother

4.3. as many qualms and complaints as I have with Chinese censorship, much in the case of WangXian, i think i prefer the drama version of WeiLan to the novel version; the plot of the Guardian novel is a lot better in my opinion (with references to mythology and legends, as opposed to, what, aliens?? mutants from X-Men? quirks in My Hero Academia??) and yea the relationship of Kun Lun with Xiao Wei is built up a lot better and makes more sense than the time-travel of Yunlan masquerading as Kun Lun with Shen Wei... but there’s an unadulterated, unconditional kind of love that runs through the drama, whereas the novel had some darker (though probably more realistic) vibes of near-possessiveness and ulterior motives... Kun Lun/Yunlan in the novel can be, well, cruel, which is not necessarily out of character; it’s just seems a little wrong to me that you could threaten your partner in a relationship (if you keep things from me again, i really will turn against you + had i known xyz would happen, i really should have killed you)... plus i’m always a sucker for love without an “i love you”, a love that’s conveyed entirely through actions and gazes

5. Yunlan asks Zhou Weiwei (the mirror case) where her jacket was bought because he “wants to get one for [his] girlfriend” and lo and behold, what similarly-styled and colored coat does our Shen Wei show up in a few episodes later? (also the fact that Shen Wei dies wearing this jade-ish-blue-ish coat)

6. boyfriend jacket during the Moutain-River Awl case... boyfriend jacket!!!! Shen Wei claims he doesn’t need it and well he still wears it anyway because Yunlan’s love is unstoppable

6.1. the way Shen Wei grabs Yunlan’s elbow before running down the hill

6.2. Shen Wei being so freaking fine-tuned to Yunlan’s discomfort/pain as always that he drinks wine for him (and passes out immediately—heroics/bde of yllz! wwx and the alcohol tolerance of our dear lwj)

6.2.1. when Minister Gao brings up Yunlan’s dad and the Chief’s hands tighten... and of course nothing can go by Shen Wei, so he changes the topic of the conversation; also the way he leans forward as if to shield Yunlan

6.2.2. Yunlan is similarly Aware of his boyfriend’s boundaries; cue him politely excusing themselves from the dinner with Vice-Minister Guo when Shen Wei (of all people!) fumbles with his chopsticks

6.2.3. Yunlan also blocks Shen Wei from Minister Gao’s sight (subconsciously?) after that wedding showdown... even though he’s unhappy that Shen Wei has kept the identity of the Envoy from him, he trusts the other man enough to recognize there must be a reason; thus he doesn’t want other people to pry into the possibility that Shen Wei is a Dixingren

6.3. also, also that Shen Wei lets Yunlan have his way and use him as a pillow in the car once again (he also adjusts the actual pillow beneath Yunlan’s head to make it more comfortable)

6.3.1 the other Shen-Wei-is-Yunlan’s-pillow scene is when the professor picks up the poor hurting Chief off the road and in the taxi ride home... apparently this was an improvised scene from Bai Yu who just wanted to mess with Long-ge and our great Zhu Yilong just stayed in character and ran with it

6.3.2. the other notable improvised scene is the cute “Black Cloaked gege~ please be careful~ there’s someone is waiting for you at home~” [sorry that i don’t remember the exact line] but once again our great leading actors just stay perfectly in character

6.4. after Shen Wei wakes up from a night of being drunk (lol) Yunlan has left a note for him “I’ve gone back first, stay in touch. -Zhao” and what’s that on the corner of the note? why it’s a winky face

7. when Yunlan grabs the fake Zhang Danni’s wrist to confirm his suspicions, Shen Wei narrows his eyes... (lol is our Black Cloaked gege jealous)

8. when Yunlan claims he can swallow the painkillers dry, Shen Wei clenches his jaw in his anger at this idiot of a man for not taking better care of himself... you’ll find that a lot of Shen Wei’s anger is directed toward his husband being a self-sacrificial fool

8.1. after Yunlan uses the Hallows again and his nose begins to bleed, Zhu Yilong in all his acting glory has Shen Wei furious to the point that his lips tremble (cue Shen Wei angrily shoving a handkerchief into his husband’s face) [i really want to know if they ever broke character during this scene due to their proximity lol]

8.1.1. Shen Wei all but invades Yunlan’s personal space (he really does stand there between Yunlan’s legs guys) and he’s so careful even though he’s angry as he tries to stop the nosebleed; he’s aware the force might tip Yunlan backwards, so he immediately rests his hands on Yunlan’s thighs/knees to steady him

9. Yunlan has claimed that he doesn’t do things for the sake of gaining anything in return and yet every time he’s wanted things from dear Shen Wei... “take off your mask and smile for me”, “join the SID”... the sexual tension is Unreal during these scenes lol, you can see Shen Wei swallow visibly in anticipation + babie Shen Wei of ten thousand years prior all but chokes on his words when he promises to do ANYTHING Kun Lun wants him to do (honey where is your mind GOING???)

9.1. Bai Yu does have a bruise on his knee after the scene where Yunlan asks Shen Wei for something... dunno if it’s the actor’s bruise or the character’s bruise, but if it’s the character’s bruise—how did he get it? what exactly did WeiLan do that evening lol

9.2. also peep the fact that Yunlan almost always has a lollipop in his mouth when talking to Shen Wei... oral fixation much? (also the whole sequence where he tries to explain how to eat a lollipop to babie Shen Wei, wow the amount of homoerotic tension)

9.3. babie Shen Wei’s ears and cheeks are SO RED when Yunlan snatches the mask off his face

10. Yunlan’s hairstyle changes after Shen Wei joins the SIU (joins his family), much like how a bride would change her hairstyle after marriage in China ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (random note but CQL WangXian does this too when lwj puts his hair down/styled over the front of his shoulders when wwx wakes up 16 years later)

11. the first time we see Shen Wei spit up blood, there’s an echo of “Xiao Wei” faintly and Shen Wei mutters to himself “Xiao Lan” before looking up and saying louder “Zhao Yunlan” (nicknames/pet names/names only your family or lover can call you... this trope is good)

11.1. i also think a lot about how in the novel Kun Lun muses before he dies that it’s a shame he won’t see this Little Beauty [Xiao Wei] grow up to be a Great Beauty 

12. Shen Wei’s funny little eyebrow raise when Yunlan accidentally reveals he broke into the professor’s apartment once ( “riiiiiiiiight i definitely believe you”)

12.1. though the ep 23 scene is angsty, the fact Yunlan says “It’s the middle of the night, were you hungry?” seems to imply their relationship is a lot closer than just neighbors... they’re probably used to sharing an apartment/room at this point :)

13. when Yunlan is hurt, Zhu Hong looks to him but he only has eyes for Shen Wei

13.1. after Yunlan is blinded, Zhu Hong is the one cradling him but he calls for Shen Wei first and reaches for his hand; Shen Wei of course responds immediately “it’s me”

13.1.1. both times after Yunlan gets his eyesight back, the first thing he sees is the person who loves him the most

14. Shen Wei warms up the congee in the morning with his magic after he watches over Yunlan when his stomach pain acts up (domestic use of magic? yes please)

15. the bomb defusing scene in the hospital (video game -> reality case) really is framed like a wedding proposal... also the way that Shen Wei smirks lol he’s so proud of his husband

16. after his Envoy identity is revealed, Shen Wei all but abuses his Black Cloaked Envoy voice to stop his stupid husband from doing stupid things that will hurt himself and every time Yunlan is properly sh00k by it

16.1. we really go from Chief Zhao remarking in the Mountain-River Awl case that he’s used to ordering people around, not receiving orders to married bickering with Shen Wei to then agreeing to everything Shen Wei tells him to do

17. the fact that “Shen Wei, ah, Shen Wei... You are such a good person, how could I bear to let you go?” is an actual line from the censored DRAMA astounds me, nevermind that Shen Wei just made breakfast for his man and Yunlan is basically pouting up at him from the bed

17.1. the way Yunlan’s dad warns him to stay away from Shen Wei and Yunlan responds with something like “he’s sincerely good to me, I want to be with him”... “be with him”???? [inhales deeply] yea this is definitely a “brotherly relationship”

18. Yunlan’s “WOW” after the Envoy kills the monsters in the cave of the Mountain-River Awl case is hilarious and i dont understand how such a noise is physically possible,,, it sounds like a growl?????

18.1. Zhu Yilong was asked to mimic it during an interview (which he did not do and only half-heartedly gave a “wow”) and then Bai Yu did it again

19. also i inevitably got attached to the side ship of Lao Chu and Xiao Guo... they have so much skinship for a censored “brotherly relationship” lmao

the amount of face-touching and hand-holding that they do is unreal... they’re more canon than WeiLan in the drama adaptation methinks 

20. 《时间飞行》or “Flying Across Time” sounds like Yunlan’s reply to Shen Wei’s《只是太在意》or “Just Cared Too Much”

20.1. the lyrics of both these songs really cements this idea that both of WeiLan believe the other to be too good... Kun Lun was a god in the novel, and Xiao Wei was just a soulless little Ghost King... and then we have the incorrigible Chief Zhao pining after the beautiful and kind Professor Shen... i just have a lot of feelings about them becoming better people for each other, that their love really does make each other stronger

21. my favorite two pieces from the OST are Shen Wei’s theme (arranged by Kun Luo) and Kun Lun’s theme (arranged by Chen Xueran)

head’s up: it’s been like four years since i last even glanced at music theory so a lot of this might just make no sense to an actual professional

-Shen Wei: written in 4/4 time, Ab Major, melody is primarily carried by piano + strings; the piano almost sticks exclusively to triplets whereas the strings are in steady whole, quarter, and eighth notes—which creates in interesting impressionistic effect, kind of like hazy smoke or the ripples across the surface of a lake; every single measure uses decrescendo, so the first triplet is always the loudest and the three that follow get progressively softer (mimicking an echo)... the piece ends on the seventh note of the scale, which is usually a pretty awkward place to end and yet it doesn’t feel wrong it all; the piece uses a ritardando in the last three measures, and we simply drift off with that last G... i think it’s a beautifully written piece that perfectly portrays such a complex character as Shen Wei, someone who loved with everything he had, and was just so overwhelmingly good... and then he simply disappears as if the dream has ended. it makes me think of how he guarded over Kun Lun/Zhao Yunlan for thousands of years in the novel, never ever ever daring to meet him... and yet the other man always felt like he was waiting for someone

-Kun Lun: written in 3/4 time, a minor, there’s no real complex shift in the melody although there’s brief modulation into E major (dominant/fifth note); it’s a fairly somber piece, especially when the strings join in... it’s a steady waltz, and it finishes with the scale (second to last major is g, last major is a), like a circle coming back around [like their love story perhaps?]... there’s a finality to it, a completeness, a wholeness, which makes sense in the drama-verse because the moment Yunlan takes up the name of Kun Lun is when his love story with Shen Wei all fits together. the piece feels a little lonely in its minor key and all, a little sad, indeed as if you were standing at the top of a mountain surrounded by clouds and mist... the constant meter also reminds me of like the steady drip of water, the perpetual and inevitable passage of the days and time

-i don’t really understand how because the keys of the two pieces don’t fit together easily, but somehow it doesn’t feel wrong to play the pieces back to back; the melodies of both seem to call upon each other despite the differences in key and time signature, so it actually feels right. a circle without a beginning or an ending, wouldn’t you want your love to be so infinite?

-when yunlan finds shen wei in their bubble outside of time, when shen wei is about to leave him, shen wei is wearing the outfit of their first meeting. and the lyrics go “Across time, I am in the same place”... surely, they will find each other again.

#guardian #cdrama ramblings #zhenhun #镇魂 guardian

[rebelbyrdie]

Swan Queen Fic:  The Looking Glass (1 of 3)

This is a story that I’ve had in my head for years.  I have no time to fully flesh it out.  I still think I would like to share it though.  I lovingly call this bullshit writing because I do it between major projects to keep my brain going but it usually doesn’t amount to much.

So this is a combination of several concepts, inspirations and tropes.  It is Parallel Universe time!  This is pretty raw writing.  No editing.  No beta.  

The Looking Glass (Part 1 of 3)

Once Upon a Time, an Evil Queen was prepared to cast the darkest curse ever created.  She had the spell in her hands and revenge in her heart.  All magic comes with a price, though.  For this queen and this curse, the price was too high.  She could not cast her curse.  She was not the only one who had desired the curse, though.  The Dark One became enraged at her decision and betrayed his former apprentice to her greatest enemies. 

“Regina.”  Snow White stared at the chained and bound woman.  “Your father and others-”  Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, as if she hated even thinking about the people she spoke about.  “-have begged for mercy on your behalf.”

Regina, disgraced queen and sorceress, was gagged but she held her head high, her shoulders were squared and her eyes were hot and angry.  She met Snow’s eyes without flinching, daring her to do her worst.  Gag or not, she would never beg.

“I will show you exactly the same amount of mercy that you showed my father and my people.”  Snow White steepled her fingers under her chin.  “Which is none.”

“Your Majesty, please!”  Lord Henry, a rotund and care-worn man, tried to pull away from the knights that held him in place.  “We will go home, never to return.  As royalty banishment is the traditional penalty for-”

“Silence!”  Snow White cut him off.  Her words were ice cold and her mouth was set in a hard line.  “Your groveling is pointless.  My decision has been made.”  She looked around the throne room, at the gathered crowd.  “The Evil Queen’s punishment is not to die.”

Henry breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to reach for his daughter.

“Regina’s punishment is far worse then death.  She shall live, forever-”

Regina’s head jerked back and her dark eyes went wide.

“-in the Eternal Tower.”

Henry went white.  “No.  Your Majesty, no!”  

Snow smiled.  It was wide, bright and predatory.  “Take her to the mirror.”

The four knights who held Regina’s chains pulled her away.  She didn’t fight them or shed a tear.  She walked tall and proud, to her inescapable fate.

The Eternal Tower was a magical place, a magical spire from a dead kingdom.  There were no doors and the single window had been bricked up.  The only way in or out was via a magic mirror.  She was dragged to the highest room of the castles tallest tower where that mirror waited for her.  

The Dark One waited at the mirror, a smile on his glittering face. 

“Hello Dearie.”  He smirked.  “So nice to see you again.”  

Rumplestiltskin waved his hand over the mirror’s shining surface and it rippled like a quicksilver pool.  

“The Eternal Tower is magical.  While you are there you will not hunger, thirst or require sleep.  It’s magics are ancient, arcane and far more powerful than yours.  You won’t be able to cast the smallest spell there.  You will be alone.”

He leaned closer and his smile widened grotesquely.  It twisted his face and made him appear more monstrous than ever. “Forever.”

The knights unshackled her hands, feet and waist and pushed her into the mirror, hard.  She fell through the portal and onto the hard stone floor of the Eternal Tower.  She scrambled to her feet and ripped the gag out of her mouth.  Regina glared at the Dark One.

“I’ll destroy you for this, Imp.”

“Shut up!”  One of the armored men hit the mirror with his fist.  “Or we’ll cover the damn mirror.”  He held up a heavy damask clothe.  The mirror, or more accurately the window that it was pointed at, was the only source of light in her prison.  If the mirror was covered she would be cast into permanent darkness.

Regina stepped back from the mirror and looked around her new abode.  She ignored the men as they left the room on the other side of the mirror and when she was alone, she finally screamed.

***

In a world with no Dark Curse, Princess Emma grew up in a glorious castle with two loving parents and was beloved by the kingdom.  She was fair, intelligent and could wield true love magic.  She grew in grace, strength and beauty every day.  

The morning of her twentieth birthday dawned bright and early.  Emma was already out of bed and sneaking out the window long before the servants awoke.  She made her way across the castle’s roof and swung into the narrow window of a lesser used corridor.  

She was sick and tired of being a princess.  She hated the politics, etiquette and endless expectations.  She wasn’t what her mother wanted her to be.  She never would be.  Her mother, Queen Snow, wanted a perfect princess.  Emma was anything but.  She was more comfortable in breeches and on horseback then she was in a dress and on the throne.  

Not to mention the Balls.  She hated the over-the-top Balls.  She would be shown off like a horse at an auction for princes and kings to gawk at.  Her parents had married for True Love.  She had to marry to fill up the kingdom’s coffers.

She wandered the North wing’s long and empty corridors and started climbing a steep and narrow set of stairs.  She didn’t recognize the tower, but the early morning light and shadows might be playing tricks on her.  After what seemed like a million steps, Emma found herself at a door that she didn’t recognize.  

“Unusual.”  She muttered to herself.  Even more unusual was that the door was locked with three huge iron padlocks.  

Now Emma had to know what was behind the door.  She leaned out the landing’s single window and smirked.  There was another window less than three feet away, on the other side of the door.  It was all to easy to pop out one window and into another, especially since her magic would protect her from any fall.

The room on the other side of the door was small and empty except for a tall gilded mirror. 

“Lame.”

She was about to leave when something caught her eye.  She did not see her reflection in the glass.  She saw someone else.  Somewhere else.

“What the hell?”  

She walked closer to the glass.  

“Who are you?”

The woman on the other side of the mirror jumped.  She twisted around, away from her loom and stared right at Emma.  Her dark eyes were wide and her lush mouth, accented by a scar, dropped open.

“Wh-”  Her voice was raspy, like a door hinge that had rusted shut a long time ago finally moving again.  “Who are you?”

***

“So it is Midwinter.”  Emma sat in front of the mirror with her legs folded over each other. She was comfortable on the floor, inches away from the glass.  

Regina sat on her side with her knees drawn to her chest.  She was braiding her long dark hair with fast and agile fingers.  She loved listening to Emma.  Not just because she was the only voice she’d heard in years either.  The blonde was smart, funny, irreverent and she made Regina smile.  She didn’t judge her as the Evil Queen or a prisoner.  They were friends.

“And there is about four feet of snow on the ground. 

“You should be wearing a cloak.  That tower room must be freezing.”  Regina was always worried about her.  Emma was careless with her own safety, so bold and brazen.  Too caught up in the moment to think ahead.

“I’m fine.  I want to see your progress!”  

Regina smiled and shook her head, amused.  “Of course.”  She stood and turned her mirror around a bit so Emma could see her loom.

The loom had been one of the only things in her prison.  It was left over from the tower’s last resident.  She had never learned how to weave as a child, as it had not been something that a queen needed to know.  Since she’d had nothing but time, she had taught herself.  It had been the one thing that kept her from going mad.

She spent endless hours weaving.  She didn’t always know what the pattern was as she worked.  The images often surprised her.  Emma praised her work, and swore that it was the best she’d ever seen.

“I don’t know what it is yet.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  A town, I think.  With a strange tower.”

She pulled the completed length up so Emma could see it.  

“Wow!  It is amazing!  You’re amazing, Regina!”

No.  Emma was the amazing one.  Regina sat the almost-finished tapestry back to the side and went back to the mirror.

“If you could have anything for a Midwinter gift, what would it be?”

Regina raised a brow.  Emma was already the best gift she’d ever received.  She was sunshine personified.  She reminded Regina of Daniel. When she was with Emma she could feel her long dead heart stir in her chest.

She didn’t dare say any of that, though.  It was pointless, a fever dream.  They could never be together, no matter how much she wanted to reach out and touch Emma.  To hold her hand.  To kiss her.

“An apple.  My father planted a tree when I was born.  I tended it for my entire life until-”  She shook her head.  “I want to taste an apple again.”

Emma nodded.  “I want the tapestry you did last Spring.  The one of the horses and sheep in the field.  It reminds me of summer when I was a child.  I like to think that the little girl and man are my father and me.  Like you were standing right there painting a portrait.”

If she could give it to her, Regina would.  She’d give anything and everything she wanted.

“Well, actually, that is just an excuse.  To get the tapestry, I would have to meet you and that would be the real gift.”  

Emma pressed her hand against the mirror.  “I feel like you’re the only person that sees me.”  

Regina pressed her hand to the mirror too and wished she could feel the heat of Emma’s palm against her own.  

“You are the only person who sees me.”

Emma’s lips quirked into a small smile.  “That makes me the luckiest woman in the world.”

Years past.  Emma spent every minute she could with Regina. She ignored suitors and skipped out of Balls.  She fought in tournaments, but never wore a token.  She always fought for Regina, even if she couldn’t say so.  When she was days away from turning twenty-five, everything changed.

Emma showed up for dinner, almost on time.  There were various dignitaries in attendance tonight.  She never paid attention to who.  The faces changed but the boring political stuff always stayed the same.  She sat down on her mother’s left, beside Red.  

“And here is my daughter, Princess Emma.”

Snow’s voice sounded strained, angry.  Emma knew that she had broken countless rules.  She was late.  She was wearing breeches.  She had her sword on her belt.  Her hair was tied in a sloppy braid.  There was dust smeared on her shirt.  Basically she was not fit for a royal dinner table.  

“Your Highness.”  

A guy, expensive clothes, an unfamiliar accent and gold circlet told Emma everything she needed to know.  He was yet another prince trying to buy her hand in marriage.  Great.

“I am Prince Killian of the Kingdom of-”

Emma drifted off, uninterested.  She had heard it all before.  He would go through his entire family history, and all his so-called achievements.  Like all that was supposed to impress her.  

She missed Regina.  She would never bore her at dinner.  She would also never try to buy her.  Regina had been there and done that and it had destroyed her.  She constantly worried about Emma being betrothed against her will.

It was hard to imagine Regina being here.  Sitting as a Queen dealing with politics and stuff.  Forced to sit and pretend she cared.  Worse, forced to pretend to be happy as a forced-wife and faux-mother.  Then again, compared to the tower, dinner didn’t seem so bad.

Red’s elbow dug into her ribs and Emma jerked her attention back to the Prince.

“Welcome, Prince Killian.  I am pleased to meet you.”  

She wasn’t.

“The pleasure is all mine.  Our betrothal is a blessing on both us and our kingdoms.”

Wait.  Emma’s head snapped to the side to look at her mother.  What!

Snow nodded.  “It is a wonderful match, dear.  You will love Killian and live Happily Ever After.”

No.

Emma’s entire body burned fire hot and went ice cold simultaneously.  She could feel screams coiling up in her chest.  This could not happen.

“The wedding will be on your birthday.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

Wonderful?  Emma would rather die.

Red put a hand on her leg under the table.  To comfort her?  To hold her in place?  To warn her to behave?  Emma didn’t know.  She couldn’t move.  Couldn’t speak.  Could barely think anything other than no.

She sat, silent, and somehow got through the dinner.  Killian asked for a walk through the garden (escorted by their parents of course) but Emma declined.  She was far too weary to walk.  Her mother frowned but allowed it.  Probably a reward for not flipping out at the table.

Emma ran right to Regina.  She poured out her fears and wept her tears to the woman in the mirror.  Regina pressed close to the glass.  Her hands and cheek were flat against it.  

“Don’t give in Emma.”  Regina’s voice was sad and soft.  It carried the weight of her past and experiences.  Her regrets.  Her love.  “But don’t fight either. Run.  Leave.  Go.  Leave Snow to her Empire.  There are other kingdoms, other worlds.  I’ve seen them.  Weaved them into my tapestries.  You can still have a life, happiness.”

Emma looked up and pressed her face against the mirror.  “Not without you.”  She smacked the glass between them.  “How can I be happy without you?”

Regina touched the glass where Emma rested.  She traced the lines of her cheeks and forehead.  “You will be happy, My Love.”  She smiled despite the tears sliding down her cheeks.  “We are together, you know.  In one of those other worlds, there is a you and a me that are happy and free together.”

“I would give anything to be with you.”  Emma was crying now too.  “Anything.”

Regina shook her head.  “I would never curse you like this.  To this tower.”

Emma sighed.  “Sometimes I wish you had cast that damn curse.  Anything, anywhere, has to be better then this.”

They lay on either side of their mirror, together  but forever apart.  They would have stayed that way all night.  Forever if they could.

Emma jerked up.  “Someones coming!”  She could hear the heavy locks being turned.  There was no time to escape.  The tower’s door swung open, rusted hinges squeaked and groaned from years of neglect.

“Emma!”  Snow White stood at the door.  Rumplestiltskin stood at her right shoulder.  Prince Killian at her left.

“Mom!” 

Snow looked at the mirror.  “Regina!”

Both Emma and Regina got to their feet.

“How could you do this?”  Snow glared at the mirror.  “When Rumplestiltskin told me I didn’t believe it.  Couldn’t!  You’ve corrupted my daughter!  Right under my nose!”

Emma launched at her mother, fists swinging.

“Don’t you dare!”  

Her father came in and grabbed Emma, held her back.

“She hasn’t corrupted me!”  Emma jutted her chin out.  “I love her!  I will not marry him.”  She pointed at Killian.  “Or any man you sell me to.  I love her!”

Snow looked from her daughter to the mirror.

The reflection showed Regina, The Evil Queen, on her knees.

“Please.  Snow.  Please.  Don’t do this to her.  It will destroy her.  Don’t do to Emma what my mother did to me.  Don’t make her marry.  Let her love.  You got your Charming.  Let her find love.”  

“You?  You think this is your escape?  Your great revenge?  No!  I won’t let you destroy Emma like you did my father and our kingdom.”  She turned to one of the guards. 

“Break it.”

Emma screamed and fought, she was too late, though.  By the time she escaped her father’s grasp, the magic mirror lay shattered on the stone floor and Regina was cast into eternal darkness.

#fanfic #wip #swanqueen

[peterthepark]

Forget Me Nots

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: You’ve loved him for so long, enduring endless days of pining and whirlwinds of pain in your heart. It’s tearing you apart how he doesn’t recognize that you’ve been there for him this whole time. Maybe you should stick to loving from afar.

Warnings: so much angst, fluff, cursing, sadness???

There are an abundance of flowers that symbolize something - red roses often represented romance and passion, while lilies were of devotion and innocence, and sunflowers symbolized adoration and loyalty.

Behind every flower is a story. Forget Me Nots were your favorite.

There’s an abyss that spirals within your heart as you think of him. His smile. His laugh. For years, you used to feel giddy about him, the perfect guy who happened to be your best friend. But now, you simply feel a resigned longing for Steve Harrington. Yet, one thing never changed from all those passing years - loving him from afar.

Without a doubt, your feelings and emotions for Steve have multiplied with time. They’d come to halt dangerously whenever he had a new girlfriend or a crush. At some point, you convinced yourself that you were going to tell him about how you felt. And as expected, it never occurred. Unfortunately.

You’re watering the plants at the florist shop owned by your parents. It’s a small, quaint corner store with a constant flow of customers and passerby’s. There’s been days where you hated working there - for example, Valentine’s Day was approaching. There would be copious amounts of people, flocking to you for help as they would try to find flowers and bouquets for their significant other. Only for them to break up a month later.

The miniature bell by the door rings as someone steps inside. You hands work hastily as you trim the leaves of a few house plants, your mind occupied on other things. But when you feel familiar arms squeeze around your waist, you jump, causing you to nick your finger with the gardening shears.

“Steve!” You yelp, cursing as you hold onto your wound. 

“Woah! Woah! Dude, you’re bleeding. Did I do that?” Steve scrambles to your side, inspecting the cut with instant worry. You sigh at him, heading to the backroom to take care of the injury. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Shit. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Steve lingers by the doorframe, hands delved deep in his front pockets as he watches you run your finger underneath the tap. His head hangs low with guilt. 

“It’s fine, you dork.” You meet his eyes, smile faltering for a second. He searches around for the first aid kit, shushing your protests before you groan at him.

The way your finger bled could not compare to the pain of how Steve made your heart bleed everyday. Nothing was new for you, except that he was taking responsibility for this one.

“Let me do it. Band-aids are hard.” He remarks, holding your hand tenderly in his. You screw your eyes shut as you feel that familiar pulse in your body as his skin touches yours. He’s warm and soft. Your hands are cold. 

“Thanks.” You chuckle forcibly, looking over the crooked placing of the band-aid and finally noticing Steve’s dorky sailor uniform. “Anyways, what are you doing all the way out here?” You question, resting your hands on your hips. “Uh, I thought your shift at StarCourt doesn’t end till later?”

“No, yeah. I’m actually on break. I wanted to stop by and see if you were interested in grabbing some lunch with me?” He bounces on the heels of his shoes before running his hand through his messy hair. His eyes hold a glint of concern, his lip pulled between his teeth as he raises a brow at you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ll join in a few, just - just gotta wrap up shop.” You take off your apron, hanging the cheap material on the doorknob as you and Steve make your way towards the main room of the shop. 

Part of you had wanted to deny his offer. But you could never find it in yourself to say no to him, especially if there was food involved. You flip over the sign on the shop’s front door, clocking out as you head outside.

-

You hiss as coffee burns at your tongue, prickling your tastebuds with an awful burning sensation. Steve starts to laugh at you, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he tries to keep all his food in. The quiet and cozy ambience of the café is interrupted when you and Steve are sent into a humorous coughing fit, doubling over onto the sticky table as you animatedly laugh at each other.

The interaction sends a floodgate of memories through your mind, hitting you with unwanted nostalgia. The emptiness in your heart returns instantaneously, and the grin on your face dwindles to a stoical line.

“So, what are your plans for Valentine’s Day?” He breathes out, letting a soft chuckle escape from his lips as he pushes his empty plate aside. He drums his fingers against his forearms. 

“Hm... nothing. No plans,” You shrug, swirling the spoon that sits in your coffee. You found yourself feeling sad that Steve would even think of asking that question. He knew your love life wasn’t exactly active as his, so what was the point? You clear your throat, glancing up at him with hope. “You?”

“Uh, I may have - I may have scored a date with Jennifer Jones.” He smirks, gesturing happily with his hands.

And your heart drops. Suddenly, the room is cold and you can no longer feel the warmth radiating from your coffee. Jennifer Jones? Who was that? You had no idea who she was. Steve usually - and to your dismay - shared the details about his romantic experiences. How did you not know who Jennifer was?

“Y/N?” Steve studies your reaction, but all he sees is a face void of emotion. 

Wake up. He doesn’t feel the same. Not in that way.

“Oh! That’s - that’s good.” You let the spoon clink against the mug before running your bandaged finger against the outline of your lips. You exhale, “Jennifer... I’ve never heard of her.”

“Yeah, I, uh, wanted to be sure that I actually liked her before telling you about it. I hear your advice in the back of my head every time I find someone remotely interesting.” He gazes out the window of the emptying café. His foot accidentally brushes against yours under the table, and you mirror Steve to gaze outside. “She works at Orange Julius. Really nice girl.”

“I’m sure of it. She must be pretty.” Steve agrees with a nod, taking a sip from his milkshake. Strawberry. His favorite. “And the date...” You turn back to him, trying not to alarm him with your sudden silence. “What are you planning on doing with her?”

Steve rambles about taking her to a drive-in by the city. But that was your drive-in. Only you and Steve went there. You knew you had no right to be jealous, but you couldn’t help but feel... neglected. It was valid to feel like this, right? But then, Steve mentions something else that tugs and snaps at your heartstrings. 

“Do you think you’d be able to save me a bunch of Forget-Me-Nots? I know it’s your favorite flower, but I love the story behind it. I think it’d be perfect. I really wanna make that night special for Jen. Roses just seem outdated.” You can only nod, promising him with your pinky finger that you’d keep some in the back room for him. Steve then takes note of how you play with the hair tie around your wrist, and how you’ve been looking at the table instead of him. He reaches his hand across the table subtly, grazing it against your palm. “Hey, are you okay?”

The phrase is enough to send you falling into your heart’s abyss.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Your head is pounding as you hold everything back, pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth to stop yourself. 

“M’fine. I’m just tired. My parents have been on my ass lately about school and the - the business.” You’re wishing that Steve can’t see the pain and tears in your eyes, but by his expression, you know that he knows something is wrong. 

“We can talk, okay? Let me help you.”

Steve takes you back to his house, ushering you into his bedroom. Your chest feels tight and your airway is constricted. He hasn’t seen you like this much, but it sends him into a immediate effort to help you. As he locks the bedroom door, you bury yourself under his covers.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Steve asks. The other half of bed dips as he sits beside you. You’re still hidden in the covers, finding comfort in the darkness and the rustling of the cotton sheets that smelled too much like him. 

“Can I ask you a question instead?” You murmur, voice muffled from being underneath layers of blankets. Steve hums, crossing his ankles over each other as he waits for you. “Have you ever felt like - like nothing is right? Like everything that could go wrong for you has gone absolutely wrong in your life?” You poke your head out, furrowing your brows.

He nods slowly, processing your question, “Yeah, sometimes.” 

“Okay, well. I feel like that a lot.”

Steve is quiet. And you would have thought that he left the room if your head  wasn’t beneath the covers anymore. But he’s silent - it scares you a little.

“Actually, yeah...” He starts, catching sight of the band-aid on your finger. “I’ve experienced that. Sucks real ass. Is there anything else?” Steve grunts as he lays down, parallel to your body as his head rests by the foot of the bed. 

Yeah, I’m fucking in love with you. 

“Not really, it’s all family and business shit and well, you already know everything about that.” You chuckle sadly, glancing back at him with an unsure expression.

“Well, see, I can tell you one thing. One right thing in your life that I know of. Actually two things. You’re very lucky, Y/N.” Steve admires the picture of you and him across the room, a framed film photo that was taken on a road trip. He lifts his head from the bed, locking eyes with you. “Okay, so. One, you have me as a friend. That’s some good fucking luck right there. I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” You shake your head with a delighted smile. “I am so lucky for you, Steve Harrington.”

“Right? I agree. And two, you don’t need to wear a stupid sailor uniform for work. I mean, c’mon. This shit is inhumane.” He makes a face of disgust as he pulls at the collar of his shirt. “You shouldn’t have to feel that way, yeah? And if you do feel like that ever again, call me. I’ll remind you of all the right things, not the wrong.” His tone is calm with a hint of sharpness.

Steve does care about you - a lot.

But not in the way you wished he would.

He extends his arms out, grinning as you crawled into his grasp.

It feels safe. It feels familiar.

You rest your cheek against his chest as he puts his chin on top of your head, his big hands splayed out over your back. Your hair falls like a veil against his neck, tickling him so he has to brush it away.

If only you could stay like this forever.

-

It’s the dreaded day. The day with never-ending color palettes of red, pink, and white. The day with too many hearts and too many teddy bears and too many damn customers buying flowers.

Valentine’s Day.

Fuck you.

You survey the shop, making note of how many flowers have been sold in the first couple hours from opening.

You look up as the door opens, smiling as Robin slips into the shop.

“Hey, dude.” She says raspily, hands in the pockets of her jeans as she makes her way to the counter. You recognize the pitiful smile in her features: the way her eyes are downturned, crows feet peeking from the corners.

“Hey, you.” You reply with a nod, fixing things by the register.

“Did Steve tell you?” Robin questions, head slightly tilting as she steps behind the counter to stand with you.

“Who the hell is Jennifer Jones?”

And so you and Robin sit down in the armchairs by the corner of the shop - you, occasionally getting up to help out a customer. She tells you all about this Jennifer Jones girl with narrowed eyes and wide hand gestures. You can only reply in short phrases as Robin goes onto rambling.

“She’s definitely not as pretty as you, Y/N. Like not even close. I don’t even know where Steve met her.”

“Yeah, me either. Barely tells me anything anymore.” You scoff, eyes blinking at the ceiling as you slide down into the chair. “He drives me crazy, Robin. I don’t know if it’s healthy.”

“As long as you don’t lose yourself along the way.”

Maybe you have. You’re unsure. But you don’t tell Robin that, because you feel some semblance of yourself in your body. Despite the numbness in your brain, and the potholes in your heart, you’re somewhere in there.

Just lost. Not yet found. Not gone. But lost.

“I guess maybe - maybe I should move on. You know? I’m tired of - of waiting for something to happen.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, leaning forward in your chair. “I can’t even tell him how I feel. What’s the point? And he’s my best friend, so like - how can I live with him rejecting me?”

“But how will you ever know if he does feel the same way? Y/N...” She pauses. You wait as she fishes something from the back pocket of her jeans. And your heart swells as she places it on the coffee table in front of you. It’s the bracelet that Steve had gifted you on your seventeenth birthday: a thin, silver chain, with your initials engraved into a small charm. You had been looking for it for weeks, afraid that it would be forever missing. You take it into your palms with a featherweight touch, fearful that it would break despite how strong the material was. “You left it at my house.”

Robin studies the smile on your face. She notices the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the child-like and innocent glistening in your eyes as you lock the bracelet into place. “I think you should tell him, Y/N.” You open your mouth, interrupted as Robin continues quickly. “If he does reject you, so what? At least you tried! He’s an absolute dingus if he does, by the way. But I have this - this thought that he feels the same. It’s like he hasn’t realized it yet, but it’s there.” She places her hand over her heart, words sincere and sweet.

Maybe Steve was lost, too. Not yet found. Not gone. Just lost.

The abyss in your heart doesn’t feel as deep and dark anymore. So, you look up at Robin, eyes brimming with fulfilled tears.

“Thank you.” You stand up to wrap your arms around her, pulling her close. She pats your wrist, eyelashes fluttering against her freckled cheeks.

“And if anything, you could always date me.” She jokes, playfully pushing your hand away as you go to help another customer.

Her advice did give you some peace of mind.

But honestly? The fear and the doubts, and the overwhelming emotions hadn’t really downsized at all.

Your heart still aches for Steve Harrington.

You feel it most at night, laying in your bed. When you’re wide awake, mind buzzing with thoughts: thinking of him.

You feel it more when you wake up from a dream. But the dream is one of those kinds, where everything feels realistic and authentic. Nothing could feel better than that.

Yet you feel it even more when you realize that dream, was simply just a dream - nothing more - and Steve never loved you like that in reality.

Nothing felt lonelier than the profound hole that dwelled in your chest.

Your own imagination can kill you, sometimes.

“Harrington!” Robin hoots as your charming friend walks into the shop. You blush when you recognize that he’s wearing the windbreaker you had given him for Christmas - red and white and all ‘Valentinesy.’

“Buckley! Y/L/N!” He grins, fist-bumping Robin before he makes his way over to you. You rest your forearms on the counter, leaning over the register to meet his gaze. That’s when you notice he has something behind his back, and he whips it out quickly when he realizes you’ve seen it. “For you, pretty girl.”

Roses.

But weren’t roses outdated?

Despite the lingering memory of Steve mentioning something about no longer liking roses, you take the small bouquet with a cheerful smile, thanking Steve as you place them in the empty vase behind you. “They’re gorgeous. So sweet, Steve Harrington.”

Maybe he wasn’t going on that date tonight.

“Yeah, I wanted to get you a little something before I stopped by.” He glances around, over your shoulder and into the back room. He lowers his voice, brows raised. “Did you save me the flowers?”

Oh. That’s what he wanted.

That’s why he came.

Not for you.

But for Jennifer.

“Uh, yeah.” You lock eyes with Robin, who waves goodbye to you supportively. “They’re in the back. C’mon, lemme show you.” Steve follows you, grinning widely like a child on Christmas. He’s humming a song under his breath, and you’re glad that he’s happy. But at your expense. “You better be glad that I was able to save these for you.” You pass him the handmade bouquet, filled with the vibrant, gorgeous blue of Forget-Me-Nots. “They’re not in season anymore.”

He pulls you into a side-hug, one hand clutching the root of the bouquet while the other touched your back. “Thank you. Thank you.” You step away, crossing your arms against your chest as you shush him. “I’m serious. I’m happy you did this for me. And I know that it must’ve been a hassle for you, so let me make it up to you. Tomorrow? I’ll take you to that cool garden tourist place thingy that just opened up.”

“For sure. I can’t wait.”

Is that all your friendship was anymore?

A returning of favors? Oweing one another? Paying what was due? Bullshit.

“Anyways,” You start, rubbing your palms together. “Are you excited?”

“For the date? Hell, yeah.” He bobs his head, leaning against one of the metal racks with shoes crossed. “Like c’mon, how long has it been since I’ve been on one of those? Hope I can keep her interested long enough.”

You wouldn’t need to talk and I’d still be interested in you.

“You’ll be fine, Steve.” You reach over his shoulder, fixing one of the potted plants. “You’re a charmer. I’m sure you’ve already got her wrapped around your finger.” You wink teasingly, placing your hands lightly on the sides of his neck.

You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.

Steve kisses the side of your head, a gesture that you had always been accustomed to throughout your friendship. “Thanks for being there. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I’ll always be there for you, Harrington.

“Yeah! Call me! I wanna know how the date goes,” You chuckle, a hint of sadness lingers in your eyes, but Steve doesn’t notice. He bids you farewell with another embrace, squeezing you tightly.

Maybe he could hear finally your heart crying out to him.

Briefly, you shift forward to go after Steve, hand barely raising from resting on your thigh. But you don’t go after him. It wouldn’t be right.

How do you kill a feeling?

Steve was just your best friend. That’s all that it was. It must be better this way.

Once the day ends, you drive home.

The gloom loitering around the sky and greying clouds adds onto your sadness. You feel lonely. You are lonely. What do you call that numbing pain in your chest when you’re in too deep for someone? Was there even a word to describe that?

Your parents’ house is quiet - left home alone from being on a business trip.

Hell, maybe even your own parents were forgetting about you.

You’re sitting in the living room, surfing through channels aimlessly on the television. Valentine’s Day has never felt any worse. You’re cozied up on your couch, blankets wrapped around your body as the fireplace crackles softly in the background. You snack on a tub of ice cream, smacking your lips at the taste of chocolate.

It still tasted bitter.

You’re watching one of those old romance movies from the 60s, eyes blinking widely as you bite onto your spoon.

You feel tears well up in your vision as the two actors on screen kiss, lips pushing together passionately as their hands roam each other’s bodies. You sniffle, pulling the spoon out of your mouth, dumping it into the empty container in your lap.

You’re a sobbing mess by the time the movie ends; your head hurts and your body feels overwhelmed with unforeseen exhaustion.

You close your eyes.

Darkness.

-

You jump from the couch when you hear a loud, persistent knock at the front door. Rain pours heavily outside as it nears midnight. You groan, shutting off all the lights to go sleep upstairs.

But the knocking at the door doesn’t stop. The windows shake with fear as wind begins to pick up strength. You carefully step down the staircase, cautious as you unlock the front door.

“Steve?” You breathe out.

It’s like the oxygen has left your lungs as soon as you look over the state of your best friend.

His jacket is drenched, thick hair sticking to his face as he squints through the night. Shivering from the frigid weather, his lips turn to a disconcerting shade of blue. 

He’s crying.

You can clearly see shades of red blooming around his eyes through the pouring rain. He struggles to stay upright, and you usher him inside immediately. He can barely get any words out, breathing heavily.

“Steve, what... oh, my gosh.” You wrap yourself around him, pulling him under your arm as you take him to sit by the fireplace. You’re peeling his jacket off of his arms, flinging the wet material aside before you re-light the fire. No words are exchanged between the two of you, mostly a few gasps and concerned gazes from your end. You’re tugging Steve’s shirt off of his body, throwing it into the pile of his other ruined clothes. You take the blanket from the couch, dabbing at his cold skin and wrapping it around him. You pull him into your lap when you sit down, unsure of where to start. “What happened?” You run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp as you let your other hand rub at his forearm. “Steve? Are you okay?”

He lets out a strangled sob, bringing a hand up to hide his face. Steve trembles against your body, burying his nose onto your warm thigh.

The rain patters harshly against the house - and now you know why.

The angels were crying with him.

“Shh... it’s okay. I’m here.” You soothe him, fingers dancing across his spine. You lean down to plant a kiss onto the freckle on his bare shoulder, closing your eyes. “Let it out, Steve. Let it all go.”

You feel for him.

A teardrop rolls down your cheek, melting into Steve’s skin. He’s clawing at your shirt as he moves to sit up higher, trying to bring himself as close to you as possible. You don’t say anything as he embraces you with a bone-crushing touch, tightening around your ribs.

“She didn’t like me.” He cries through a small, hoarse voice.

“Oh, Steve.”

His hair is dripping wet, drops dampening your shirt. It’s messy. You’ve never seen anything like this - not from Steve, anyways. 

Snot pools around his nose, sticking to the ends of your hair along with his saliva. His nails dig deeply into your sides, holding onto you for dear life. Your lips lightly press against his forehead, lingering there as you wait patiently for him to continue. 

You start to feel his body warm up from the heat of the fireplace. He no longer trembles as much, but his hands still remain clenched tightly around the fabric of your shirt. You can feel the soreness in your legs from how heavy he is, but you push through - enduring it for Steve.

“She, uh,” Steve looks at you. His cheeks are stained with tears. A sight that breaks your heart. “She called me stupid. And - and she said I wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t even that cute to begin with.” You push the hair away from his eyes. “She said that she went to high school with us... and that this - that whole date was just a way for her to get back at me. I don’t remember what I did, Y/N. How can I not remember what I did?”

Steve sobs again, hyperventilating into your chest. “Breathe. It’s alright.” You coo, resting your forehead against his. “Steve, that was high school. We all were - were different people back then. Whatever happened with Jennifer during that time should’ve been forgiven.”

“I was an asshole, Y/N.”

“Yeah, then.” You huff, still embracing him. You raise your brows, the fire illuminates your face as you continue to speak. “At some point, we have to let go of the past, I guess. People can be unforgiving, Steve. And if Jennifer is one of those people, then forget about her, you know? There’s always room to change or make mistakes.” You try your best to console him. “You’re different now, Steve. She shouldn’t be messing with you like that. No one should.”

He stares blankly at your lips, before his brown eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

“What if nobody really likes me?”

The question strikes a dark place in your heart. And you have to glance away to keep tears in.

“Y/N, what if - what if I’m destined to be alone and nobody will ever love me as much as I love them?” Silent tears roll down his face as he loosens his grip on you. “What if you don’t even like me?”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

“Y/N, why the fuck do you still like me? I’m - I’m horrible.”

If only he knew.

“Steve, you’re my favorite, favorite thing.” You shake your head at him, bewildered that he would think like that. “You make me feel so safe. And complete. You’re my best friend. I couldn’t live in a universe without you.”

He starts with a scoff, and you’re terrified of what he says next. “But I want - I need someone who will love me, eventually. Someone who can give as much as I do.”

Ouch.

You remain quiet. How can you help Steve when you feel the same? Only, the feelings were directed towards him?

Steve wipes his nose, pulling away from you. He chuckles. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

You chuckle too, but sadly. “I like the idea. I believe there’s someone for everyone. Someone who’ll love you despite anything.”

It’s me. I’m that someone.

“Do you think we all have soulmates? A person for each of us?”

“I do. I really do.” You turn your head away from him, staring into the crackling fire.

“Maybe some of us don’t get a soulmate. Kinda like - like natural selection.” He shrugs, fingers picking at the thread of your carpet. “Maybe some of us don’t get to - to, I don’t know, experience being loved.”

“But sometimes it’s not about being loved by someone else.”

A soft, barely visible smile lingers on Steve’s face.

“Hey, I’ve never asked you this. Not in a while, at least.” You hum in reply. “Do you like anyone?”

“Right now?” He nods. You let out a small exhale through your nostrils, scoffing. “Yeah. I like this - this guy a lot.” 

“Does he like you back?”

Steve doesn’t ask who it is. 

Maybe he knew. 

“I don’t think he does, Steve.” You caress your own jaw, finding comfort within yourself. You feel Steve’s eyes on you, and you suddenly feel extremely vulnerable as you decide to look back at him. “I’ve never asked him if he does. I don’t - I don’t wanna ruin what I have with him. I think that... I’d rather suffer myself than... than lose him, you know?”

“You should tell him.” You close your eyes, turning away from him with a sad frown. “Listen. Anyone would be lucky to have you, Y/N.”

“Steve...” Your eyes are pleading, scouring his face in hopes that he’d realize. “Steve.” His eyes begin to widen when he hears the shattering crack in your voice. You don’t fail to notice how he moves his hand slightly away from you.

He knows that look anywhere. It’s the look that Robin gave him when she admitted her feelings for Tammy Thompson. It’s the look you give someone when you say something a little too scary and painful.

“No...” He laughs. You start to cry, clutching your hands to your chest as you scoot further away from him. His face falls when he watches your drops of tears plummet to the ground. “Me?”

His voice is almost condescending.

“I-I... Steve, I-“

“Y/N. We’re - I can’t do this.” He stands, nearly losing his balance. You don’t follow him, leaning against the couch as you bring your knees to your chest.

“This is what I was afraid of. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You ram your fists to the sides of your head. Your cries are distressed, echoing throughout the house.

The abyss in your heart has enveloped you. You feel sucked in, screaming for help as you’re dragged into the darkness.

Heartbreak.

Was it too late to un-love someone?

Steve paces around the living room, hands on his hips as his red eyes dart around the room.

“I get it, if you don’t feel the same way. We’re supposed to be best friends.”

“Y/N, I don’t - I don’t-“

“I know.” You whisper huskily, leaning into the couch. You don’t look at him.

“I think I should go.” He says shakily. He pinches at the skin in between his eyebrows, stuttering over his words as he puts on his shirt and jacket, still soaked from the rain. “Thank you. For the, uh... for the help.” You don’t reply. Steve sees the broken shell of his best friend. And yet, he’s too shocked and selfish to fix her. “I’m... I’ll see you around, Y/L/N.”

“Okay.”

And he leaves. Not once looking back at you or to ask if you would be alright. You lay there, head resting on the couch cushions as the fire hums a heart-wrenching ballad. You can’t breathe.

You walk with wobbly legs up the stairs, taking deep, uneven breaths as you open your bedroom door.

Your room feels wrong. And your bones shift in your skin as you throw the covers off of your bed, angrily stripping them away from your mattress and letting them parachute onto the floor.

You are the abyss.

It no longer resides in your heart.

But inside and around you, floating through your veins.

-

Your eyes are grey with color as the answering machine beeps with another useless message.

‘Hey, Y/N. It’s Robin. I haven’t seen you in like a month, how are you? Uhm, I wanted to call and see if you were doing okay. Yeah. So, if - when you aren’t busy, call me back. Please? Thanks. Love you.’

Beep.

‘Y/N! This is Dustin. Dustin Henderson. Steve’s friend. Yeah, okay, hi. Ow!’ You hear a rustle on the other end of the line. ‘Anyways, we - I was wondering if you wanted to come to the movies sometime with me and Robin... and uh, Steve. Hope to hear from you. Kay. Bye. Dude, you need-‘

Beep.

‘Y/N. Hey, it’s Steve Harrington. It’s Steve. Yeah, uh... call me? I-I... just call me back when you’re free. Right. Take care. Miss you.’

The answering machine no longer blinks red. 

You feel exhausted. Moreover, you look exhausted. Your face is pale, aching to see sunlight. Your nose is runny from a cold, throat starched for water. You haven’t been to your job in weeks, halting the business temporarily until your parents were to come home.

It worries Steve when he tries to drop by the florist shop, finding it empty and pitch black inside. He can see the roses that he gave you on Valentine’s Day, wilting in its porcelain vase. He tugs against the glass door, sighing when he finds it locked. Obviously, he could hear you say. He reads the handwritten note on the window:

‘Closed. Flowers are not available for sale. Come back another time.’

Steve knew you had to be at home - hurt and healing

He runs into Robin as he walks hastily to your house, and he sees the angry stare that his friend sends him from the end of the sidewalk.

“What the hell are you doing here, dingus?” She snaps, pressing her finger into his sternum.

“I fucked up, Robin. Big time.” He glances at your bedroom window, hoping that you were in there somewhere. “I wanted to apologize to her.”

“Not right now. Go away.” She brushes past him, hitting his shoulder with her own.

He really has fucked up. 

Robin sighs in pity when she glances back at her friend, relaxing when she sees the genuine defeat on Steve’s face. “You can’t just waltz in there and apologize. She’s hurting, Steve.”

“I know. I feel horrible.”

“She’s in love with you.” Robin admits. She feels a bit bad for saying it to him, when you should really be saying it - but she’d do anything to save you from feeling any more pain. “I’ve seen her through her best... her worst days - and yet it all comes down to you. Oh, Steve did this for me. Steve did that.” She mocks, tilting her head from side to side as her lips twitch upwards. “She’s your best friend. And she loves you more than anything. What more could you possibly want than that?”

Steve chews on his bottom lip anxiously, hands feeling around in the pockets of his jacket.

“She isn’t expecting you to love her back, Harrington. If that’s what scares you.” Robin places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “She just needs to know that you’ll stay. No matter what. And if you do have feelings for her...” She dips her head down, meeting eyes with him. “Then don’t be afraid to tell her. It’s only Y/N.” She turns on her heels, stepping up onto the porch to ring the doorbell. “You should probably go. Figure yourself out first before trying to help her right now.”

He knows she’s right. With slumped shoulders, he drags his feet off of your lawn. He glances back instantly when he hears the quiet hymn of your voice, and sees your face before you shut the door behind Robin. He tries to wave weakly.

But you don’t look at him.

Not this time.

Another two weeks pass by before Steve catches sight of the fluorescent lights in your shop. And he sees a familiar figure working the register.

Without hesitation, Steve swerves onto the emergency lane, tires screeching as he pulls to an illegal stop. He nearly gets run over by a speeding car, but the adrenaline is too much for him to care about anything else right now. He sprints past the road, bumping into a few strangers as he swings open the shop’s door.

“Y/N.” He pants out. His hair is wind-swept, brown curls falling against his face. “Hi.”

You look up from the register, knocking over a cup of pens when you recognize the handsome face. “Steve.”

He rushes over to help you, attempting to pick up the fallen supplies. But you’re quick with your movements, scooping all the pens back into their designated cup by the counter before Steve can help you. He then sees the dirty handprints on your unwashed green apron, realizing that you had only just gotten back from your break. 

“Hi, again. It’s, uh, it’s me.” He scratches the back of his neck nervously, adjusting the collar of his shirt when he feels it fit too tightly around his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he crosses his arms against his chest, trying to seem as casual as possible. You’re giving him a weird look, but he can just make out the anxiousness in your pupils. “I wanted to... say sorry. I panicked that night. When-when...”

“When I told you how I felt.” You finish, running your hands up and down your jeans. 

You both are lumps of awkwardness, unsure of where to look and what to do with your bodies. You mimic Steve, holding your arms against your ribs as you lean onto a table.

Steve’s just glad you’re actually talking to him after all those weeks. It seems like he’s just met you again: the awkward fidgeting, the ramblings, the way his hands shook after speaking to you - it felt exactly like the day you met.

He remembers it all too vividly.

“Is that all?” You ask, putting your hair up and away from your view. Steve doesn’t hear forgiveness in your tone. He should’ve known it wouldn’t have been that easy, that fast.

“No,” He says. He taps at his bottom lip, before wagging a finger at you. “You don’t happen to have more Forget-Me-Nots, do you?”

Steve visibly cringes when he hears the dramatic scoff you give him. “Yeah. I do. They’re in the back. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Did Jennifer make amends with you?” You question uneasily, stepping into the other room to grab the flowers for him.

“No, not her. They’re for something else.” He shrugs as a matter-of-factly. “Here. I’ll pay for them?”

“Take them. It’s fine. I don’t have a use for them anymore, anyways.”

But they‘re your favorites.

Unless they aren’t anymore?

“Of course. Uh, I’ll - I’ll catch up with you soon.” He looks down at the precious potted flowers, holding them delicately with his two hands.

He makes a beeline for the exit, before he hears you call out to him reluctantly.

“And Steve?” He turns, eyes blinking with interest in what you have to say. “Take care.” He grins. “Of the flowers.”

Okay, damn. So much for forgiveness.

“I always do.” He shrugs with one shoulder, flashing a lopsided smile. He hesitates to open the door for a second, but he does, running across the busy road with the pot of Forget-Me-Nots.

He’s going to make it up to you.

-

March.

It’s a cold morning in March when Steve finally gets himself together. He sits on the ledge of his bedroom window, eyes trained on the well-cared for pot of Forget-Me-Nots placed in front of him. They bloom gorgeously; seemingly, they are the only pop of color that remains in Steve’s messy room. He smiles, eyes crinkling with peaceful nostalgia when he glances down at the wrinkled piece of paper in his hands. He reads over the words, whispering them to himself as he tries to get them right.

It’s the longest he’s ever gone without seeing you. His feelings, as usual, are a jumbled mess of emotions. But he knows, that with due time, if he were to love you - more than a best friend - then it surely would be destined to happen. 

He looks back into his room and away from the window. The wall across his bed is plastered with pictures, the majority of them are of you and him together. From the beginning of middle school, to freshman year in high school, to junior prom, to graduation - you’ve been there for him through everything. Every milestone, every heartbreak, every achievement and every breaking point. 

Steve can’t help but ask himself if he’s been there for you through thick and thin as well. He wonders: has he been looking down all the wrong roads this entire time? Was he not giving as much as he took from you?

Holding onto the worn piece of paper, he folds and stuffs it in the back pocket of his jeans before he takes the pot of flowers carefully into his grasp. 

Steve drives in his car, beating every stoplight and doing almost every illegal thing a driver could do. He sighs in relief when he sees that your curtains are drawn, along with your open bedroom window. 

Classic move. 

He parks his car recklessly on your lawn, definitely ruining the freshly watered grass with his muddy tires. Memorized like the palm of his hand, he climbs up your roof, being cautious not to step on the loose tiles that led to your window whilst balancing the Forget-Me-Nots under his arm. He’s out of breath when he finally gets up. He sees you through your window, nose buried in a book - unaware of his abrupt arrival. Steve crouches, tapping on the glass with his fist. 

Your head snaps up. Glancing around your room, you sigh as you stand up. Steve helps you raise the window lift, grinning boyishly when it stays upright. There’s a glow in his eyes that you can’t place. Steve knows that you won’t let him in, so he takes a seat on the flat surface of your roof, placing the pot of Forget-Me-Nots on the window stool that separates the two of you.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Steve recognizes the bump in your voice - the genuine curiosity, free of malicious intent. “You can’t be here, Steve. My parents... they-”

“I won’t waste your time. But I do need you to hear me out. You can’t say anything, alright?”

“Steve, what-” You shake your head in confusion, but Steve shushes you, motioning you to sit down as well. And you do. The flowers block part of Steve’s face, but you don’t care to move it - wanting to hear what he has to say.

“I’m gonna read you something that I found in my room.” You lean forward, placing your chin in the palm of your hand with sincere regard. “It’s a note. From you to me. In eight grade.”

A year after we first met. 

Your face softens. Because you know exactly what this note contains. Steve clears his throat as he takes out the note from his pocket, smoothing down the rips and the wrinkles. The ink is smudged, messy and hurried but there is something genuine laced within those words. 

‘Dear Steve, 

You are truly one of the dumbest people I’ve met. So dumb, that you can’t realize that I literally have the biggest crush on you in the world. I like you. More than I like chocolate ice cream and more than I like move night. I could spend forever with you - that is until you make me just as insane as you. I’d donate my own braincells for you. I think I might love you. What even is love? You are too cool to be my friend. Too cool to be my partner in crime. And definitely too cool to be my Anyways, I’m writing this because I have too many feelings right now. Maybe it’s just hormones. Maybe it’s one of those things. But just know, that I’ll be here for you - no matter what - despite the teasing, or the dorky jokes, or the number of bad movies you always make me watch. I’m here. And I love you.

(Like a friend, of course)

Your best friend, Y/N.

By the time Steve has finished reading, his eyes are watery. He chuckles at himself, glancing at the paper one last time before he folds it neatly back into place. “I found it in my backpack.” He briefly waves it in the air. “I... you must’ve mixed my backpack up with yours because-”

“Because we had matching backpacks.” You smile sentimentally. “And everyone thought we were - were complete nerds for matching.” 

“Yeah, they did.” He passes the letter to you, but his hands envelop yours when you attempt to take it. His fingers draw shapes on your skin, and he pulls your hands closer to him. “Letters are meant to be read, Y/N. And not only that, letters are meant to be answered.” He pauses, “And years later, I finally have an answer to that letter.”

“If this is you feeling - feeling pitiful towards me, for what I said...”

“It’s not. This is how I really feel. I’m doing this because... because I’m not lost. Not anymore.” He tightens his hold. “Y/N. You are truly one of the most unique, smartest and loving people I’ve met.” He chuckles, feeling his throat tighten at his words. “I never - I was selfish for never realizing how much you care for me. Not just as a best friend, but more. And yeah, it took me forever to - to realize that, but I was scared. Part of me has always had a crush on you. And what you told me on Valentine’s just - it shocked me. Because I was never looking for love in the right places. Love was in front of me, all along. She was sitting in the passenger seat of my car, watching terrible movies at the drive-ins, and wearing matching backpacks with me. I didn’t see it because I was too busy trying to see you as my best friend, rather than - rather than a soulmate. I’ve always loved you, Y/N. We grew up together. And you helped make me who I am.”

You can only look at Steve with doting yet astonished eyes.

The abyss in your heart...

It was finally releasing you.

“Steve, you-”

He holds a hand up, clicking his tongue. “I’m not done.” You nod for him to continue you, placing your other hand over his. “I remember the story behind Forget-Me-Nots. How it’s always had a special place in your heart.” He lets go of your hands, reaching for the flowers instead. He examines it, before he looks up to you with a grin. “A man saw beautiful blue flowers growing on this - this weird plant. And so, he jumped into water to get the blue flowers for his love. Although the current was strong, the man crossed the river safely and got the flowers. But on his way back, he was taken away in the water. Yet before he disappeared, he threw the bouquet of forget-me-nots to his love. She wore these flowers on her hair until the day she died and never forgot about him.” He takes a deep breath, before handing the flowers to you. “Every time I looked at these flowers, I-I thought of you. And I kept them alive. Isn’t that crazy? They’re still alive.”

Your lips pull into a shy smile as you duck your head to smell the flowers. “You’re unforgettable, Y/N.” He reaches over, caressing your cheek. You sigh into his touch, letting your eyes flutter shut against your skin. “I want you to remember that I’ve always loved you. It just took me a little while because well... I’m an idiot.”

“You are!” You laugh, giggling into his hand. He leans into your room, pressing an innocent kiss to the top of your head. His lips stay there, and he smiles into your hair. “Steve?”

“Y/N?”

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Let’s stay like this forever. I wanna remember this. I want you to remember this.”

“I would never forget it, Steve.”

Unforgettable.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #stranger things fluff #stranger things angst #x reader

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter 3 is up! 

Chapter 1 (tumblr // AO3) | Chapter 2 (tumblr // AO3)

Full text + content warnings under the cut.

CW: brief claustrophobia; some grief and loss stuff; a few more instances of casual misgendering (not malicious; just some wrong pronouns here and there due to the speaking-in-statements thing, but thought I'd mention it just in case); a single LORGE spider. Also, Jon gets to do one (1) swear, as a treat. SPOILERS through MAG 169.

   Chapter 3: Rift

   Jon doesn’t remember the hill being this steep.

  Or maybe he’s just winded from the long trek through the wasteland. He’d had to pass through a long stretch of territory fought over by the Buried and the Vast. The ground there was practically a minefield, pockmarked with sinkholes. They would start out as quicksand traps and suffocating tunnel entrances, only to be hollowed out into yawning chasms and cenotes, then ultimately collapsed all over again by a retaliation-minded Choke. It was an endless cycle of petty rivalry and animosity, and passing so near their battlegrounds left Jon breathless with a discordant mix of claustrophobia and agoraphobia.

  Worse was when the Dark managed to sneak its way into the mix. Whether it was Too Close I Cannot Breathe or the Vast’s abyss, the Dark could always find a way to exploit subterranean spaces – and it could never resist reaching out to needle at an Avatar of the Eye, no matter how inadvisable it was to cross the Archive these days.

  As Jon drew closer to Hill Top Road, he left the warzone behind for a mostly featureless landscape punctuated with the occasional foxholes of the Slaughter and pockets of the Forsaken’s fog. Eventually those too gave way to a seemingly endless dust bowl of soot and ash – a sprawling domain claimed by the Lightless Flame.

  The house at Hill Top Road is the only thing still standing in the midst of kilometres of Desolation-scorched earth. The charred terrain stops abruptly at the foot of the hill, a stark line demarcating the boundary between the Blackened Earth and the territory that Annabelle Cane has staked out as her own. Jon had half-expected an invisible barrier to stop him there as well – the last time he was here, Annabelle had forbidden him from returning – but there had been no resistance when he stepped over the border.

  As he hikes up the incline now, he finds himself worrying over what that might mean. Is Annabelle expecting him, inviting him in? Is she simply tolerating his presence, curious to see what he’s up to? Could he be powerful enough now that even she cannot stop him? Or is he once again wrapped up in the Web’s machinations, doing exactly what the Mother of Puppets wants?

  He shakes his head. No. He and Martin talked about this. There’s no point in obsessing over the Web’s motivations, letting the memory of Annabelle’s statement paralyze him with indecision. Better to just… keep moving forward.

  And it’s not like he has anything left to lose. 

  Jon continues up the hill, increasingly winded, his bad leg throbbing angrily, and he thinks to himself again: he really, really doesn’t remember it being this steep.

   Before long, he’s standing at the threshold of the house at Hill Top Road. The dread permeating the place is just as palpable as he remembered.

  He waits for the Distortion’s inevitable appearance, determined not to let her startle him this time. As if on cue, a door creaks open on the ceiling above him.

  “Interesting.” Without preamble, Helen lands noiselessly on her feet beside Jon and peers around curiously. “I wondered whether Annabelle would let me in.”

  So did Jon. Maybe he should be concerned about – no. He shuts down that train of thought before it can pull out of the station.    

  “You still haven’t explained what exactly you plan on doing here.”

  Honestly, that’s mostly because Jon hasn’t figured it out yet, either. He only Knows that this is where he needs to be.

  The Eye wants things to change – as much as it can be said to want anything. Setting the question of its sentience or lack thereof aside, at the Panopticon he had been able to Know things that the Beholding had previously withheld from him. He might be stronger than the other Avatars and monsters lurking about the world, but he’s not arrogant enough to believe he could overpower any of the Fears themselves. If the Ceaseless Watcher gives him access to knowledge, it’s because his Knowing will facilitate – or at least not inhibit – its plans, which means that he must have the Eye’s… blessing, to be here? He shakes his head; he’s getting caught up on semantics again.

  Point is: he Asked a question and – as usual – he was given a scrap of an answer and left to puzzle the rest out for himself. All he Knows for certain is what he wants to happen, and that this is where he needs to be in order to make it happen.

  “Jonathan.” Helen says his name with a playful lilt and leans further into his personal space. “Are you going to share with the class?” 

  Without a word, he sidesteps around her and walks further into the house. In her statement, Anya Villette had mentioned a door under the stairs leading to the basement, but the last time Jon was here, it was nowhere to be seen. He hopes it’s there this time.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Jon drags one hand down his face and sighs. Having Helen tag along is like taking a road trip through hell with an easily bored and… well, deeply annoying child. Huh.   

  “I won’t be ignored, Jon –”  

  Jon bristles, redirects his gaze, and stares daggers at her with a few more eyes than strictly necessary. “Some magically appearing door.”  

  “You aren’t being very kind to me right now, you know.” She tries to sound wounded, but really she just sounds pleased to have gotten a reaction from him.

  Jon gives an irritated huff and continues forward through the entrance hall. He treads softly, all too aware of every subtle creak of a floorboard. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering muffling his footsteps. It doesn’t matter how quiet he is; Annabelle will know – probably already knows – that he’s here regardless. Still, there’s just something about the house that demands a certain amount of fearful reverence. Disturbing the silence just feels like a bad idea. 

  Helen doesn’t appear to have the same concerns. In fact, it almost seems like she’s going out of her way to announce their presence. Of course.

  Jon catches a glimpse of the staircase as he rounds the corner and – yes, there’s a door under the stairs. A plain, painted white door with a brass handle, otherwise unremarkable and entirely unassuming.

  And yet…

  As he tries to approach it, he finds himself rooted to the spot, overcome with a sense of trepidation. He feels his breath coming faster, shallower; feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Every one of the Archive’s eyes locks onto the doorknob and for a moment he swears he feels tiny, feather-light legs scurrying down his spine. He pulls his pack tight against him, using the physical weight of it to dampen the tactile hallucination.     

  “I hate it,” Helen says darkly. Jon jumps just slightly at the break in the silence, and a few of the Archive’s eyes suspend their rapt scrutiny of the door handle to glance in her direction. Her posture is tense where she stands, staring warily at the door as if it might lunge at them. Jon has never seen the Distortion look so… unsettled.    

  She’s right, though. The door is wrong. More than that, it’s the exact same flavor of wrongness that he felt the first time he saw A Guest for Mr. Spider, and again when he reached out to knock on the monster’s door.

  Back then, he hadn’t known that the concept of wrongness could be broken down into so many distinct subtypes: the uncanny disquietude of the Stranger feels fundamentally different from the compulsion of the coffin, the sensation of worms tunneling through flesh, the Distortion’s nonsensical corridors, the Lonely’s suffocating fog.

  The pull of the Web is in a class of its own, and the sight of the door in front of him drops him right back into the memory of the day he opened the book – the day he took the first step on the winding path that led him, inevitably, to this exact moment. It’s such a fitting parallel, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was orchestrated down to the finest detail. He knows the Web plays a long game, but precisely how much of what has happened was in perfect accordance with the Web’s plans? What even is the Web’s –

  No. Stop fixating on the Spider, he reprimands himself for the umpteenth time this… day? Whatever; it’s not important. He forces his legs to move.

  “You’re sticking your hand in a bear trap, I hope you know.” 

  “I knew opening the door was a stupid thing to do,” Jon says, nonchalant. “So I opened the door.”  

  Helen breathes a surprised laugh. “Was that a joke?”

  “The idea that this is all some grand cosmic joke,” Jon rattles off drily, “thousands of us running around spread horror and sabotaging each other pointlessly while these impossible unknowing things just lurk out there, feeding off the misery we caused –”  

  “Terrible.” Helen groans and puts her head in her hands. “Here I was, ready to compliment you on finally finding a sense of humor, and you have to ruin the moment with – with existentialist brooding.”

  Jon chuckles quietly to himself and takes another step forward.  

  “Wait.” Helen reaches one long-fingered hand in Jon’s direction, then falters and pulls back. For a moment, she seems to wrestle with whether or not to continue. “What’s behind the door?”

  “A scar in reality –”  

  “Yes, I know about the rift. What do you expect to find in it? An answer? An escape? A means of suicide?”

  “A metaphysical quirk of this new reality’s divorce from the traditional concept of time.”  

  Jon pauses, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks inward and browses through his catalog.

  “It bends and twists and returns to what it was,” he settles on eventually.  

  “I told you not to use my words.” Helen gives him a warning look, but it’s fleeting, because a moment later his meaning sinks in and she huffs out a short laugh of disbelief. “Wait – wait, wait, wait. You think you can… what, turn back time?”

  Jon grimaces and makes a noncommittal seesawing motion with one hand.

  “…could emerge back into the world that she remembered.”   

  Helen starts laughing in earnest now. “You think you can time travel?”

  Jon just shrugs, unashamed. He knows he should feel embarrassed – back when he first took the position as Head Archivist, he would have scoffed at anyone making such a suggestion – but at this point, is it any more or less unrealistic than anything else that’s happened?

  “Alright,” Helen says, stifling another giggle, “I’ll grant you that there’s a rift in space and time. People have traveled through it before.”

  Jon gives an enthusiastic nod. After her encounter with the crack in the house's foundation, Anya Villette had found herself temporally displaced. What would stop Jon from also –

  “However,” Helen continues, “what makes you think you’ll just rewind your position on this timeline? It could just take you to a parallel world, leaving this one behind to suffer and decay. Would you abandon what remains of humanity like that?”

  Seeing as Anya Villette appeared to have also been spatially displaced, Jon has already considered this possibility. Helen probably knows that, too – she’s well-acquainted with his tendency to overthink things. She’s just trying to tap into his chronic self-loathing, demoralize him, make him doubt his own perceptions. It’s a familiar pattern, one Jon used to submit to far too easily.

  “…better than staying here with this strange woman.”  

  “Ouch.” Helen brings a hand to her chest in mock offense. “You’re being awfully cruel today.”

  Jon flashes an entirely unapologetic smile.

  “I was being serious, you know.” A knowing mischief creeps into Helen’s eyes. “You’ve always been selfish, but would you really run away from your mistakes, save yourself and damn the rest?”

  Unfortunately for Helen, she’s arrived too late to this particular debate. Jon already spent the entire trip here berating himself and second-guessing his conclusions, and he’s just about gotten it out of his system for the time being. Self-recrimination as an inoculation against the Distortion’s manipulations – now there’s a concept, he thinks wryly.  

  “Do you honestly believe you deserve to escape an apocalypse that you brought about?”

  God, she’s persistent.

  “Now there’s only one thing I have left that I value,” he says simply. “That I love. And I cannot lose him.”  

  It’s the truth: the final deciding factor for him was, as it so often is, Martin.

  “You would potentially forsake this entire world just to reverse your own loss?”

  “There was nothing left to save.”  

  It never gets easier to admit it out loud, but that doesn’t change the truth of it. This world is already forsaken. Humanity is dying out, slowly but surely, and Jon harbors a guilty feeling of relief that their torment will not be eternal after all. As far as he can See, there’s no way for him to save the ones who remain. There never was.

  His power was never meant to help anyone. For a long time, the only action within his grasp was to hurt – and so, he went after those who deserved to be hurt, because the only other option was doing nothing at all. But seeking revenge never saved anyone, never even made himself feel any better. If anything, it only made him feel emptier, more and more alienated from whatever human part of him still lingered – and that was a very dangerous place to be.

  And when he and Martin decided together that he needed to slow down, to maintain some distance between himself and the Eye? Well… nothing substantial changed in the slightest. He didn’t get any worse, but he also didn’t get better. The world continued to suffer just as much as if he were to sit down and take no action at all. Nothing he did or did not do made any impact whatsoever.

  He Knows intimately that he cannot banish the Entities from this world as long as one person remains to feel fear. Once that last person dies, there will be no one left to save. Hell, depending on how human he still is by that time, he may very well be that last person, and the Dread Powers will just have to ration him. And why shouldn’t they? They’ve all had a taste of him more than once. He’s an unfinished meal. They could just resume hacking away at him, demanding their respective pounds of flesh one after the other until nothing remains – until finally, mercifully, the Fears themselves would wither and die as well. He just doesn’t want to consider how long that could take – no. Best not to dwell on it.   

  The point is, there is no future for this world. There is nothing left for him to do here. His only hope is to prevent all of this from coming to pass in the first place, and this… this is the only lead he has. And besides, Martin –

  “You do realize that you have a vanishingly small chance of seeing him again, don’t you?”

  “I decided to take a risk and try it anyway.”  

  Helen looks put out at his easy dismissal, but she really ought to know better by now, Jon thinks. He might be chronically plagued by self-hate and a visceral fear of being controlled, but Martin is his anchor in more ways than one. Their relationship is proof of Jon’s own capacity for free will, and his decision to go after Martin in the Lonely remains one of the only things he’s done where he’s never once wondered whether he made the right choice. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more confident about anything than he is about their love for each other, even if he doesn’t always feel like he deserves it. Helen really couldn’t pick a worse seed with which to sow self-doubt.

  When she sees that Jon isn’t taking the bait, she changes tack. 

  “And assuming this scheme somehow works as you hope it does, and doesn’t just get you shunted to some hellish pocket dimension – which it almost certainly will – you do realize that your little scene with Jonah Magnus will mean nothing, don’t you? This future will be erased, he will not suffer for eternity – he won’t even remember that it was ever a possibility.”

  “For all her anger, there was no thirst for revenge in the Archivist, only an eagerness to expunge an infection that had gone unnoticed for too long.”  

  “Then why bother confronting him? I know it wasn’t for closure – if you were at all capable of letting go or moving on, you would never have been a candidate for the Beholding in the first place, and we wouldn’t be here now.” Jon just barely manages to not flinch at that. Luckily, Helen doesn’t seem to notice that she struck a nerve, instead staring up at the ceiling in contemplation, as if trying to decipher Jon’s motivations on her own. “So, why? All those messy emotions it dredged up and for what – the drama of it all?”  

  “I live for the monologue,” he deadpans. 

  “Jonathan!” Helen gapes at him in exaggerated shock. “Was that another joke?”

  She could stand to tone down the condescension, Jon thinks. It isn’t his fault if people overlook his sense of humor just because they never think to listen for it.   

  “Are you certain about this, Archivist? You have a history of reaching these points of no return and choosing the worst imaginable path.”

  Even at the very end, the Distortion just can’t resist one last chance at undermining his confidence. Despite the cockiness underlying her taunt, Helen has a hungry, almost pleading look in her eye – desperate, like everything else in this place that feeds on fear, for scraps in the midst of a famine that will never be remedied.

  Jon reaches out and grips the doorknob with one hand.

  “Even the end of the world can’t stop you throwing yourself on a grenade. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m not following you in there, though.”

  “Thank heaven for small mercies, I suppose.”   

  “I am trying to have a heartfelt goodbye, Jonathan,” Helen says, not sounding sincere in the slightest. “I doubt this will go as you hope it will, but I’m fairly certain that no matter what happens, I won’t be seeing you again. I won’t wish you luck, but… well, it will be interesting to see whether one of your half-assed plans might pan out for once – not that they ever have gone according to plan.” When Jon’s resolve remains strong, Helen sighs – and this time, her disappointment does sound genuine. “Well, if you’re sure…” She trails off, giving him one last hopeful look – once last chance to fall apart under her skillful denigrations – before her shoulders slump in resignation.

  Not content to leave it at that, though, she does offer one last parting shot: “Do say hello to the Spider for me, won’t you?”

  An involuntary shudder courses down Jon’s spine as he remembers Anya Villette’s statement – the massive spider legs reaching up to pull her into the crack in the foundation – and compares it with his own memory of the book, the door, and the monster lurking within. Helen breathes a contented sigh at his ripple of unease – basically a snack for her, at Jon’s expense. Fine. She can have that last little morsel of fear from him, as a parting gift.  

  “Sometimes you just have to leave,” Jon says firmly, turning the handle. “Even if what’s on the other side scares you.”  

  And, oh, it does.

  Miraculously, Helen allows him to have the last word. As he pushes open the door to the basement, he hears Helen’s door creak open in unison. By the time he’s staring down the stairs into the dark, her door has snapped shut and popped out of existence. 

   The staircase pitches down, down, down, stretching far deeper than it should. It’s too dark to see much of anything, and it takes a full minute of descent until he notices that there’s a slight curve to it. With every step, the air grows warmer and more stifling. The revolting sensation of walking through cobwebs becomes a constant, but any time he reaches up to brush away the web clinging to him, he feels nothing but his own bare skin.

  A few minutes in, his bad leg starts twinging again, and he holds on to the wall to steady himself. Before long, his mind begins to wander to the horrifying possibility that the staircase is interminable, and he’s overcome by an image of a funnel web spider waiting patiently for unsuspecting prey. He tries to push the thought away. Just keep moving.

  Between the lack of visibility and being lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice the sharp turn in the staircase until he plows right into the wall, a sharp pain erupting in his left shoulder from the collision. He throws one hand back to steady himself and only barely manages to stay on his feet, his bad leg protesting as he throws his weight into it. After briefly taking inventory of himself and experimentally putting weight on his leg again – painful, but not unbearable – he gropes blindly for the wall again and uses it to guide himself forward, more slowly this time. It isn’t long before the stone of the wall gives way to cool, damp earth, and he shivers with the memory of the Buried.

  After several more sharp, nearly 90-degree twists and turns, a faint glow starts to permeate the darkness. A few minutes later, the staircase opens up into a large, dimly-lit space, garlanded with spider silk. The ceiling, walls, and floor are composed of tightly-packed dirt, and Jon has to fight back a rush of claustrophobic panic at the thought of being surrounded on all sides by the crushing earth. It’s short-lived, as it’s crowded out by a much deeper, more primal fear when he sees the fissure in the ground ahead.

  It’s a repulsive, crooked thing, oozing with a pervasive, tangible feeling of wrongness. It should not be there. It cannot be there. And yet there it is, boldly existing where it has no right or reason to be, a gnawing, open, inflamed wound in the fabric of reality, pulling him toward it like a black hole. It’s a compulsion stronger than the coffin, an abomination more uncanny than the Stranger, a malice deeper than any Dark, an inevitability on par with Terminus itself.

  Jon hates it. At his first glimpse of it, every one of the Archive’s eyes fly open, greedily drinking in the oppressive presence of something so unfamiliar and anomalous, leeching off of Jon’s terror as he beholds it. The scrutiny is fleeting, though, as the sight of it turns corrosive and blistering; all at once, the eyes shrink away and retreat, like a school of fish spotting a bird of prey swooping down for a meal. It takes some of the edge off, having fewer eyes with which to see the thing, but it still weighs him down with dread and revulsion.

  Jon doesn’t know how long he’s stood there, staring unblinkingly at the fault line, before he senses a presence – something colossal and hungry and wrong, malevolence and foreboding given physical form – climbing inexorably toward him. He hears a faint rustling, the whisper of tiny avalanches of dirt scraped loose and sent sliding down the walls of the crevice. He knows exactly what to expect, and still he isn’t prepared when the first of the spider’s legs peeks up over the lip of the fissure.

     How is it that after a lifetime to process a childhood trauma, it still throttles his heart and squeezes the air from his lungs at the mere thought of it? How is it that, despite being the most formidable thing in this world outside of Fear itself, he feels as small and helpless now as he did on the day he met his first of many monsters? Why is he just standing here, letting those hairy, spindly limbs hover and curl around him like an enormous clawed hand, waiting for a fate that is as unknowable as it is inevitable?

  Focus, Jon thinks to himself. Listen to the quiet.

  He slowly reaches into his jacket and breathes a sigh of relief as his fingers close around the notebook safeguarded there. It’s Martin’s, full of poems and sketches and stream-of-consciousness journal entries. Jon has had it with him for a long time now, but he’s never been able to bring himself to look inside it. Martin would occasionally share its contents with him – mostly completed poems, and only occasionally works in progress, as he was always self-conscious about his creative process – but Jon doesn’t want to accidentally see something that Martin would have preferred to keep to himself. Martin might not be beside him right now, but he still deserves to have his privacy respected.

  Still, for Jon, just having it with him is a physical reminder of his anchor, and running his thumb over the cover grounds him in the present. He closes his eyes and looks inward.  

  The Archive gropes blindly for something solid amidst the noise, some elemental truth to serve as a starting point in the chaotic tangle choking this place. The edges of his mind brush against thread after thread and none of them are what he’s looking for. They stick to him, filling his head with cotton, making him sluggish and confused, obfuscating his sight. The Spider watches as he flails, becoming more and more snarled in the web.

  “I closed my eyes and remembered in as much detail and with as much love as I could muster in my despair,” he whispers to himself, anchoring himself in the truth of the statement. He swallows a terrified whimper as something coarse and fuzzy brushes against his face, and he weaves a command into his next words: “Eventually, I opened my eyes again –” 

  The Archive obeys, hundreds of eyes materializing on his skin and blinking open in the space around him, grotesque satellites of varying sizes all seizing on single question, and suddenly he can See –

  There.

  A single thread, out of place among the rest, pulled taut and leading down into the deep gloom of the chasm. He spares a brief thought as to its origin point – Is its anchor here, now, or do its roots begin on the other side? – before silencing it. It’s not a question that needs answering right now. The Beholding objects; Jon reflexively shuts it down and takes an aggravated swipe at the nearest cluster of eyes he can reach, like swatting at a swarm of mosquitoes. He doesn’t think it actually does anything concrete, but when they disperse it brings him a small measure of satisfaction all the same.

  He gives an experimental tug on the thread and – it feels right. That’s good, right? Well, he supposes it could be the Web trying to trick him into –

  God, he’s like a dog with a bone. He could be trapped in a burning building and find part of his mind wandering off to idly ponder the melting point of steel –

  …around 1370 °C for carbon steel; between 1400 and 1530°C for stainless steel, depending on the specific alloy and grade…

  – which, yes, he has done. It’s a good way to dissociate from a crisis. Unfortunately, it’s also a good way to get killed, and the giant spider is still there, Jonathan, focus.    

  He holds fast to the thread – make a path for yourself, tune it to the frequency you need –

  “Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me,” he tells himself, louder this time, “it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already.”  

  – and he follows it, stepping carefully around and between the spider’s legs. He has no idea why it isn’t attacking him – what if this is exactly what Annabelle – no. He shakes his head as if it will jostle the thought loose. Just be thankful for it and keep moving before the damn thing changes its mind.

  Moments or hours or perhaps days later, he’s standing at the precipice of the fissure and looking down. Several eyes are riveted on the massive hairy form poised above him, but most are staring into the unknowable darkness with a gnawing, longing fascination. He stands frozen in place, torn between an overwhelming urge to flee and an overpowering need to Know what’s down there: something new, something fresh, something different – any reprieve at all from the excruciating monotony of this nightmare world.

  The spider shifts above him. It’s now or never. He has nothing to lose, and if there’s any chance at all of changing this doomed future – of seeing Martin again…

  “Sometimes you just have to leave,” he reminds himself, shutting his human eyes tight, one hand clutching the notebook and the other clenching into a fist until the fingernails cut into the palm. “Even if what’s on the other side scares you.”  

  He takes one last deep breath, thinks of Martin – safe hands, warm eyes, gentle touch – and he takes a leap of faith.

   Jon can’t see anything. He can’t See, either. There is an incessant, high-pitched whine screaming in his ears and drowning out his thoughts. When he moves to put his hands over his ears, he realizes all at once that he can’t feel his body. He has no sense of up or down, no fingers to flex, no breath to hold, and – and he can’t See.

  It’s… terrifying. It’s liberating. It hurts, but in the same way that his first gulp of fresh air hurt after three days asphyxiating in the Buried.

  He doesn’t know how long he floats there in that near-senseless limbo, but between one moment and the next a blanket of fog drops over him and the shrill static is muffled. Through the haze, he can just barely make out a voice, coming from so far away – like he’s drowning, and someone is speaking to him from above the water’s surface. He drifts and listens in a daze as the voice cuts in and out.

  “– just – thought I’d – by. Check in – how you’re –”

  It’s a nice voice.

  “– really need you –”

  A safe voice.  

  “– Jon.”

  Wait.

  “– bad. I – how much longer we can –”

  Wait, it’s – that’s Martin’s voice.

  “We – I need you.”

  It’s Martin. Martin!

  Martin is here, he’s here – Jon doesn’t know where here is, but it doesn’t matter, because Martin is here, and – and Jon is so overwhelmed with euphoria that he isn’t actually processing what’s being said. Calm down, focus – focus on the words –    

  “And I – I know that you’re not –”

  Oh.

  “I know there’s no way to –”

  Oh, no.

  “But we need you, Jon.”

  All at once, Jon knows where – when he is.

  “Jon, please, just – please.”

  No. No, no, no, no –

  “If – if there’s anything left in you that can still see us, or –”

  Martin, I’m here! 

  “– or some power that you’ve still got, or –”

  I’m here, I’m here, I’m here –

  “– or, or something, anything, please! Please.”

  Martin’s voice breaks, and Jon’s heart fractures with it.

  “I – I can’t –”

  Jon can just barely make out the buzz of a phone and – oh.

  “I’m – I’m actually with him now.”

  Martin!  

  “You were right.” A pause, and a heavy sigh. “I – will they be safe?”

  Peter Lukas. It’s Peter Lukas. Peter Lukas is still alive, Peter Lukas is hunting Martin, Peter Lukas wants to feed him to the Lonely, Peter Lukas is –

  “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Martin, don’t –

  “Yeah. Sure thing.”  

  Martin!

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jon tries to scream, to reach out, to do anything at all, but he doesn’t have a body and he doesn’t have a voice and he can’t See –

  “Goodbye, Jon.”

  Martin, look at me! Hear me, please - see me! 

  He tries to thread a command through the words, but the compulsion doesn't come through, and - 

  Jon hears the rustle of clothing as Martin stands to leave, followed by the soft click of the door as it closes behind him. 

  Fuck. 

   End Notes:

me: i could go into some long-winded exposition about the space-time continuum  also me: OR, alternatively, i can handwave it and say It's The Power Of Love, Don't Even Worry About It

anyway, my gay little heart knows what it's about.

 - Jon’s dialogue is taken from the statements in the following episodes: MAG 146; 054; 151; 139; 168; 101; 134; 010; 037; 008; 019; 167; 108; 103; 146; 048; 013; 146.

- Jon gets some original verbal dialogue starting next chapter. Thought I'd mention it just in case anyone is getting tired of the Archive-speak (though there will still be some of that). :P

- Psst, if you want to read a detour about Jon and Martin's talk about Annabelle and free will and Not Obsessing Over The Web, I wrote that here. (I'm linking it here because it actually originally started as part of this fic but I decided to make it its own thing because my ADHD brain ran with it and it was waaaaay too much of a tangent sdsdhshgh)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #long post #spoilers through MAG 169 #tma spoilers

[the-witch-and-her-husbands]

Her New Master

The Judge woke up with a start, as sunlight through an unfamiliar window fell onto his face.

After a moment, he remembered. He’d purchased a new whore the evening previous, and had spent the night in her bed.

What a night it had been! He’d had her three times, all in different positions. This girl was indeed different to any that he had purchased before. Not only had she taken a whipping from his crop with hardly a whimper, she had proved herself most creative in her willingness to try different sexual positions. Once he’d had her on her back, standard but effective, once with her on top riding him, and once with them standing up while she rested one of her feet on a low stool.

It seemed like she was from one of the illustrations in his extensive collection at home, magically come to life and as willing to please her master as a djinn.

As he lay looking up at the ceiling, he wondered what else she might be coerced into performing for him. He wished he had one of his many volumes to hand, so that he might find some inspiration on what to try with her next. The possibilities were so endless, he hardly knew where to begin.

She stirred, turning onto her side so that her back was facing him. The blanket had slipped down and he could see every inch of her on display, as they’d both fallen asleep completely naked. He could see the faint red stripes on her bottom that he’d left with his crop, the parallel lines standing out in stark contrast to her pale skin. It made him achingly hard, just looking at his handiwork.

He longed to do it again, to rain down blows on her tender flesh. Out of all of his catalogue of fantasies, this was his absolute favourite, one he returned to again and again: having a naked woman at his mercy while he spanked or paddled or whipped her soundly.

The girl turned over again, placing a small hand on his chest. ‘Good morning, Sir.’

Startled, he turned to look at her, mumbling good morning in reply.

There was a hint of a smile on her face, and she seemed completely unperturbed. ‘May I be of use to you again, Sir?’

He thought hard for a moment. There was time, he’d risen early enough that he had at least an hour before he had to be in chambers. He might even have enough minutes to spare afterwards to break his fast, first. But what to do with her?

Turpin looked around, as though for inspiration. His eye fell on a simple wooden hairbrush, lying on her dressing table. Perfect. He commanded her to rise and fetch it.

He sat up in the bed while watching her cross the small room, staring at the way her hips rolled, swaying side to side. It didn’t seem affected, but rather the way she just moved naturally. The movement was almost hypnotic.

She returned, holding the implement in her hand. He gestured that she should hand it over, which she did without a moment’s hesitation. He tested its weight, tapping it lightly against his opposite palm. Not quite as heavy as he would have liked, but it would more than do. Perhaps he could purchase some new implements to use on her, some new heavier hairbrushes and bath brushes and maybe even a new cobbing board.

Already he was thinking in future tense, after passing just one night in her company.

He patted his thigh. ‘Bend over my knee.’

The girl did so, without any hesitation, resting her torso on the bed behind him.

He paused to look down at her for a second, not daring to believe his eyes. For here was one of his greatest fantasies becoming reality. A naked woman was bent over his knee, vulnerable bottom just waiting to be spanked. Near perfection.

Only one little detail remained to make it even better. He used a hand to part her legs, encouraging her to open them so that her thighs were now resting either side of his. Looking up and glancing at the mirror across the room, he could see that she was completely open to his view. Not a shred of modesty remaining. Fascinated, he reached to stroke her opening, unable to tear his eyes away from what he was seeing.

A soft moan brought him back to the matter at hand.

It would be a waste to have a naked woman at his mercy in such a position and not take advantage. He raised the hairbrush and brought it down firmly.

As it made contact with flesh still tender from her whipping of the night before, she let out a small whimper but did not attempt to get away from him.

This was incredibly promising. He spanked her again and again, watching the pale skin between the stripes turn pink and then the same rosy red as the marks he had laid with his crop.

The girl cried out, kicking slightly as she was spanked, but made no real protests or pleas for him to stop.

He paused for a rest, slipping his hand between her legs to stroke her opening with a teasing finger. To his great surprise, he found her slick with need. It would appear that being spanked was arousing her as much as giving her a spanking was arousing him. Truly a fortuitous match. He thanked Providence for bringing them together. With such a willing partner, there was no end to the depraved fantasies that he might be able to act out and make reality.

His mind raced. Now that he had found her, he had to have her. Had to make her his. A girl like her was incredibly rare. He’d never found a woman who was willing to let herself be beaten in such a way, no matter how much money he’d offered.

The Madame of the house had indicated that she was a new girl, fresh to the scene and therefore mostly unsullied. He had been the first to purchase her wares, and so therefore he felt that he had a claim on her. Unlike the rest of his cronies, Turpin wasn’t one for sharing what belonged to him. The thought of some other man touching her, fucking her, or worst yet, beating her, wasn’t to be borne. For certain, he could still hire her services whenever he liked, but it wouldn’t be the same knowing that she was allowing other men to have their way with her.

Still. He had to go careful. If the Madame had any indication that he wanted the girl for himself, she would no doubt charge some exorbitant amount for her purchase. It wasn’t about the money, not really, as the Judge was a wealthy man. But why spend recklessly? He hadn’t gotten where he was today by being careless and throwing his money around. Better to somehow seduce the girl into leaving willingly. Then, once she was in his household, he would be able to keep her there and the Madame would be unable to do anything about it.

‘Sir?’ Her quiet voice broke his reverie, and he realised he’d been sitting there motionless while he thought. Time to act. He would need to somehow cajole her into cooperation.

‘Yes, my dear. Sorry. I was transfixed by your beauty.’ He changed tactics completely, laying down the brush. If his plan went accordingly, then he would have every evening at his disposal to spank her for as long as he saw fit. He stroked his fingers gently over her skin, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. ‘So beautiful...’ he murmured.

‘Thank you, Sir.’ Her eyes were at half mast with pleasure. She wasn’t used to such careful treatment, and it was heady stuff indeed.

‘My dear. Come. Come here.’ He helped her to sit upright, pulling her into his lap where he could continue to pet her. His hands roamed freely: one fondling her breast, one dipping into the space between her legs. One of his beloved tomes had provided an entire chapter devoted to pleasuring a woman. He recalled the pages, softly rubbing her nub in a way that he knew would cause the most pleasure.

Sure enough, she moaned loudly, her head dropping back against his shoulder. ‘Sir! Ohhh....’

‘Do you like that, my dear? Hmm?’ He smiled at her, knowing what the answer would be already without her having to confirm.

‘Oh yes, Sir! That feels...wonderful!’ She bucked her hips against his hand, clearly desperate for more.

‘Has anyone ever done this to you before?’ There was a hard edge to his voice.

‘No! No, Sir! Only me! I have touched myself, but this is...is...so much more!’ She panted, lost in the sensations that he was providing.

That was good, but once she belonged to him, that would have to stop. As her Master, only he would be able to grant her pleasure. Her orgasms would belong to him and him alone to administer as he saw fit. ‘Good girl. You want to be a good girl, don’t you?’

‘Yes! Yes, Sir! Please!’ She writhed in his lap, wanting only to be allowed to have her release.

‘Would you like to be my good girl? You would live in my household, and I would see to it that your every need got my personal attention.’ Especially her sexual needs. His hand kept working as he was talking, bringing her close and then slowing down or even stopping, ensuring that he had her full attention. ‘I would feed and clothe you. In exchange, you would perform your services for me whenever I require them. You would warm my bed at night. You would be my kept woman, to spoil...and to spank.’

She didn’t have to think for long. She was young and naive, and had only turned to prostitution in a moment of desperation. The thought of selling herself to strange men night after night had turned her stomach, but there were only so many occupations that an uneducated young woman might undertake. Her parents had died in her infancy, her older sister had passed away in childbirth a fortnight ago. She’d found herself penniless and on the streets, when the Madame had taken her in. This man was well dressed, and of a respectable profession. Better to live with him as a member of his household than to have to sell her body night after night.

‘Yes! Please, Sir!’ She nodded fervently.

‘Please, what?’ He needed to hear her say the words. At the moment, she might merely be pleading for release, rather than agreeing to come live with him.

‘Please, Sir! Let me live with you!’ She was wide eyed in her earnestness that he should believe her.

That was good enough for him. ‘Good girl. Come. Come on my hand.’ He sped up his movements slightly.

She came hard, crying out and writhing as he continued to pump his fingers into her, helping her to ride out her orgasm, until she collapsed against him with a sigh. ‘Sir....’

‘Good girl.’ He held her until she was still and composed again. ‘Here is what we will do. Wash and dress yourself. You will pack your belongings into one small bag which I will take out with me now. Five minutes after I have departed, you will meet my carriage which will be parked around the corner. You will say nothing, and if asked, you will say that you are merely taking the air. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sir.’ She hastily got up and began to do as he had bade her. As it turned out, she hadn’t many possessions: the hairbrush, a comb, a few nightshirts, and a few pairs of small clothes. She handed him the bag, and he silently vowed to buy her a whole new wardrobe of dresses, and whatever else her heart might desire.

‘Five minutes.’ She nodded, and he was gone.

After a seeming eternity, but what was in reality about five minutes and thirty seconds, he could see her turning the corner and approaching.

He opened the door to help her into the carriage, and then they were away.

#drabble #v:Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged #lemon #tw:spanking

[miannedomusings]

Jus2′s FOCUS ON ME

OUT OF FOCUS IDOLS

Summary: This gorgeous video gives us more Jus2 than we know what to do with, and shows us the disconnect between idol and fan through the disconnect between lyrics and video

A/N: Quite possibly my favourite MV from 2019, and one that I’ve been wanting to write about since I saw it... So this is well past due, but better late than never! The points I make are based off of two different translations of the lyrics (MV and colorcodedlyrics), and I tried to consider both when interpreting.

In interviews with Billboard and Soompi the Got7 leader-maknae subunit, Jus2, describe their debut EP as a tour through the senses. Each track is dedicated to one of the classic five senses, and the song Senses encapsulates a “sixth sense”. Fittingly, it’s the song representing vision – Focus on Me – that’s paired with a music video, and one that paints a very different picture from what’s given to us through sound.

To me, the lyrics of Focus on Me conjure up a chaotic scene in a club where two people are trying to connect. It’s too loud to hear each other and so all their talking is done through their eyes. Focusing on each other, matching tempos in their dance, until it’s as if it’s only them in the room.

However, like with many of my favourite MVs, the visuals dramatically change the feeling of the lyrics. The video attached to this song contradict the words at almost every turn. It’s as if they’ve used their concept to give us a song that can only be fully understood with the use of sight – a nice touch!

I am very tempted to sit here and write out every time they contradicted themselves in this video. It’s crazy. And impressive – the amount of planning that went into this is admirable and worth boasting. But I’ll do my best to limit myself... Let’s start with one of my favourites:  

In the beginning of the first verse (and yet somehow not even the first disconnect between audio and video) Yugyeom delivers the lines,

When there’s the indescribable tension We’re parallel to each other  

while leaning to the side at an unnatural angle. It’s one of the only moments in the video where the world tilts like this, putting him entirely out of parallel with the rest of the world (as seen in the lines of the walls behind him). By twisting this line in a very literal sense, he calls into question how honest the sentiment is. The use of the word parallel implies a comparison where he and the person he’s singing to are equal in their lingering feelings. However, with the visuals it seems more like that’s the impression he’d like to give rather than the reality.

More generally, one of the ways they play with the lyrics in this video is by adjusting the camera movements based on the actions that are being described. The camera is almost never still, often feeling like it’s playing the role of us. But despite what we may want, it’s rarely on the same page as Jus2. If they say get deeper, you better believe the camera is backing up instead of diving in; if they say go, we’re taking a pause; if they say stay, we’re zooming back. Probably the least subtle of these is another Yugyeom moment, when he tells us he’ll always go where [we] are. He delivers this line while stopping in his tracks, letting the camera leave the room, door closing in our face, and being cut us off from us entirely.

Things like this are all over the verses – nearly every line. If they mention dim lights, the set is brightly lit, if they mention the moon, get ready to see the stage lighting coming into shot, and on and on. Constantly these two are painting pictures with their words that the video doesn’t deliver on.

The chorus is probably where it becomes the clearest (it’s when I first noticed it at least). The only lyrics they need to make happen (or more accurately, not get in the way of) is the single repeated line, Now focus on me. And yet, the first chorus meets us with glitching edits that switch between JB and Yugyeom so that we can’t possibly focus on either of them, as well as choreography that obscures most of their faces.  

By the second and third choruses they’ve switched up their tactics a bit, keeping the same obscuring choreography, but now asking us to focus while having a dozen people on the screen. Focusing is made all the more impossible since at least four of the dozen are the two men we’re meant to be watching – it’s tough to choose where to look, let alone maintain focus on the one that’s actually singing, tucked away several sets back as the world fills in in front of him.

The song is full of commands to focus and to look into their eyes, and yet every time these tasks are made impossible: they look away, the camera goes out of focus, there are too many versions of JB and Yugyeom for us to know where to look. All of which is topped off with distracting pulsing lights and glitches that cut into the video.

But what are they trying to tell us with these endless contradictions?

It’s with the first chorus that we’re given what we need to put the constant conflict between what we’re hearing and what we’re seeing into context. This is when JB and Yugyeom get an audience. A crowd of women sit in the stands and watch these two as they perform on a catwalk stage. But importantly, everyone in the audience wears 3D glasses – a tool used to bring two images into a focused one. And so, we can identify with this crowd as we see them trying to follow through on the same instructions as us and bring the two idols into focus.

For me, this scene takes the song to somewhere a little meta, where it feels like we’re having the idol-fan relationship laid out for us. The lyrics give us the fantasies promised by all idols to their fans, and the visuals point to a hollow truth.

There are two main elements in the dream that idols are selling: there’s the fantasy surrounding the fan, and the fantasy surrounding the idol.

Starting with the fan, the fantasies presented in this song feel personal. They’re singing to you, they’re matching tempos with you, and just as you try to focus on them, they promise that it’s only you. But of course, it isn’t just you. There are many you’s listening and being swept along by these sentiments.

A reality of the idol-fan relationship is that it is uneven. There is an endless sea of fans admiring each single idol, and inevitably this creates a connection that differs depending on the direction it’s travelling. From a fan’s perspective it can feel as though a connection develops on a personal level; if you pay enough attention you’ll pick up on their personality, their sense of humor, their quirks. But this connection can’t be reciprocated. Not to say that idols don’t love their fans, but the connection felt for a group of people too big to easily quantify can’t reach that same individualized level. However, the lyrics ignore this and tell the listener sweet lies.

The video on the other hand points to reality. It does a good job of visualizing this with the audience present in the first chorus. They all have black hair, wear black clothes, and slowly fade into the black background as they stretch into the distance. They’re not indistinguishable (different hair styles, different clothes) but they do blend together into an impersonal mass.

Despite the audience’s focus on the stage, JB and Yugyeom don’t give them any direct attention, instead performing for the camera. They’re singing to a you, to their fans, who are right there, but instead they commit to the performance and the camera. They prioritize the connection with the person watching the video – this makes it feel more personal for the real audience watching through a screen while showing us how impersonal it really is.

The trouble with having so many you’s to sing to is that their attention has to be split. We see this in how they ignore the audience in favour of the camera, and in the way they sing, Let me love you. Both times this line is featured, we see Yugyeom and JB break from facing forward, rotating each time they deliver the line. It’s as if they’re trying to direct their love outward in all directions so that every fan can feel it coming their way. The visual feels especially cold since for the majority of the video we’ve heard them sing to just one person as they hold eye contact with the viewer.

Similarly, when delivering the most potent fantasy –  only you and me  – we get reminders that it can’t be true. The line gets delivered as we travel through shots that are filled with back-up dancers and multiple iterations of the Jus2 members – hardly a private setup – creating a long-take shot that ends with JB reflected in mirrors that also show us the camera. Despite the high frequency of mirrors in this video this is the only time we actually see the camera, and it immediately dismantles the idea that this song is dedicated to a singular you listening.  

The attention given to the camera by Jus2 makes this song feel intimate for the watcher. But the way that the camera disobeys the lyrics, and the brief reality check that there is a camera between us and them reminds us that we are only one of the you’s and that there is much more distance between us and them than we like to think.

Turning to the fantasy surrounding the idol the video shows us that just as we are not the “you” that’s being sung about, the idols are not exactly the “I” either.

In this song most of the lyrics focus on the person they’re singing to rather than themselves. Even so, the video still gives many hints that these two idols aren’t quite what they present themselves as. For example, the video features many shots populated with multiple JBs and Yugyeoms, all appearing to exist within the same space. The multiple versions of them remind us that these idols have many personas ready to be presented, while also showing that picking out which version is real is an impossible and futile endeavour.  

These many selves take the stage during impossible long-takes that demonstrate that this video has been edited and crafted to appear perfect. Just in case the illusion is too seamless for us to catch onto, the video is also interrupted with jarring digital edits that feel that we’re watching the video open into another reality.

After taking many close (frame by frame) looks, I’m quite sure that this teal interruption is actually a shot of the same room again, just empty. It feels like we’re getting a peak at the truth, a reminder that this is just a set, that it doesn’t stretch nearly as far as they’ve suggested, and that in a way the idol isn’t really there. The video actually begins with a tour of the sets that will be featured. They feel especially cold when we see them without anyone in them, and serve to remind us that all of this has been constructed with a purpose in mind.  

If we consider the audience, the 3D glasses play into this fantasy as well. 3D glasses are designed to create an illusion. They combine two 2D images and give the impression of something 3-dimensional. Similarly, much of what we see from idols creates the illusion of something deeper. There is an inevitable degree of separation between us and them and so we need our glasses to create a fuller picture. We piece together what we’re given to create something that feels more tangible. But the final 3D image is entirely dependant on the pieces provided and is ultimately just a clever trick.

Similarly, when watching this video we are dependent on the camera. We want to move towards Jus2, do as they ask, but we can only go where the camera lets us. And throughout this video the camera is backing away. We move further and further from the idols in every shot, creating extra distance between us and them.

Throughout this song we are presented with the fantasy of having a real and personal connection with these idols. The video shows us these illusions and then points to their cracks to remind us of the truth: that no matter how many times they ask us to focus on them, we’ll never know if we’re focusing on the real thing.

It would be easy to end this little (little?) essay here. But there’s an interesting twist that happens at the end of the song that suggests these illusions can maybe be overcome. As I’ve said, all through the video the camera is moving backwards, constantly away from JB and Yugyeom. There are only two parts of the video where this isn’t the case: the very beginning and the very end.

In the beginning it feels like we’re winding up. Moving deeper into the set so that we can make our long trek back. But in the final shot of the music video we are told, don’t hesitate, and we don’t. The camera zooms forward, passing several aloof clones, working through multiple rooms that seems to be separated by out-of-focus barriers, and after breaking through the final “wall” we find the last versions of JB and Yugyeom. And finally, they make real and direct eye contact with the camera.

In the camera’s final resting spot all extraneous details are gone. The background is close and plain. The lighting in this room feels more real as well, casting shadows on their faces and giving them a bit more warmth than we’ve seen before this. At last we are able to focus on them. This final moment feels like we’re given a look at what we were promised, and what we could have if we knew how to break through to them.

Interestingly, the other shots that are shown with the camera moving forward are of the empty sets at the start and a lonely shot of Yugyeom where for once he doesn’t appear to be performing. Since it is with the start of the lyrics that camera begins its retreat, it feels like these moments, when we are moving closer, are more honest. They are before the fantasy has started, they’re before the sets have been filled with dancers and perfect clones, and before Yugyeom feels he’s being watched. To me these create the impression that they are trying to tell us that they feel just as separated by these illusions as we should. By putting on their idol personas they create a separation that pushes them as far from us as us from them.

With this opening in mind much about this video feels different. The crowd with their glasses who are always watching but never able to really see them feels worse for the idols than for us (so close to others wanting to give them attention, but not being able to engage). The commands from Jus2 to focus on them and to come closer sound more like actual requests, except they don’t know which “you” they’re talking to either. And the very last shot feels like they might be playing out their own fantasy instead of ours.

It may be worth ending this by mentioning that when describing the visual impressions each song on the EP gave the members of Jus2, Focus on Me was described by JB as “fog”, and by Yugyeom as “like a smoke, fume”. These descriptions fit nicely with the ethereal, pulsing music, but they also fit nicely with the video. Though the visual quality is crystal clear with its stark lighting, high contrast, and sharp choreography, their descriptions feel at home with the murky realities.

thanks for reading!

MUSINGS MASTERLIST

#my.musings #jus2 #got7 #focus on me #jaebeom #jaebum #yugyeom #kpop essays #explained #analysis #my.got7

[incarnateirony]

Isn't it cute how we keep finding RL parallels to show that what they're doing with Destiel is a Romance with a capital R, and now the show itself used Destiel as a parallel to show that Saileen is a romance (even tho everyone already knew That)? And they'll come back to eachother eventually? Wow. I hope I got my point across, but this thought hasn't left me since the "What's real?" "This is." convo between Sam and Eileen. Two sister ships are driving this season, and I'm all here for it.

Yeah.

The fandom result is less fun, with people calling text subtext because they simply don’t understand the text’s merit (eg, Last Call) that was settled long before anybody in this fandom considered themselves a genius to try to argue circles around it. Like Y2K called it wants to update fandom on some LGBT issues already settled. Oz was… what? 1997-2003? (Which is when Bobo ended up writing his LGBT rep sociopolitical commentary?)

The show has me ecstatic. The fandom has me reeling in horror in how willfully LGBT people have coded themselves into a performative-to-het-demands-culture that they’ll talk down content and structure used for romantic het pairings even when it’s front and center. 

This isn’t the world of subtextual secret handshakes anymore, guys. I don’t know if meta fandom is reeling on what an actual Will They/Won’t They looks like as opposed to, yes, S7 wallpapers or fish or whatever rando shit got chased as a stream; or even compared to lowkey structural subtext like Colette which hid so many layers beneath the surface that it needed to be actively negotiated and tracked. 

Not front, textual assertions that Dean does in fact have Oz-esque group encounters beyond even Deanmon, that he alone had to bury Cas and burying Eileen was the same for Sam, only to turn around and have them mirror shit and truncate their emotional adventure with a kiss and fandom’s out here footstomping and invalidating the text level bullshit because it’s not said how they want, when they want. 

Like guys that shit is text. People not understanding the text does not make it non-text. Whether or not you know your LGBT history and intersectional issues (or have modernly soaked dialogue from alt right platforms that XYZ isn’t gay if you yell no homo, since there’s even parts of the world where men identify “straight” despite routinely pursuing sex with men and abandoning women that FOR SOME REASON PEOPLE HERE CATER TO THE DIALOGUES OF) – whether you know any of this, whether you UNDERSTAND this – the information still exists. 

People still try to explain that the earth is flat instead of round because they don’t understand science, or evolution for the same reason. That doesn’t mean there’s actually reasonable permissive argument here. In fact, it’s embarrassing as fuck to watch anyone hold one of these arguments. People not understanding material does not invalidate what the material actually means.

And seriously like– “WE WANT–” … what, a love confession or a kiss, I guess. All the other goalposts that were set up were blown by. The former love yous and similar phrasings (I guess we’re herding love affirmations into ONLY three specific words and otherwise it’s not valid, because… Magic Meta Gay People Rules) weren’t enough! And! AND! Even the ones that WERE those three words, people could arGUE!!! It might not be gaY!!!

So let’s be honest bitters & meta fandom & alternate shippers having sixteen jealousy fits: You don’t even want an I Love You, because it would have to be “I love you, and like, only you, romantically, like in love with you, in the gay way, let’s go have gay sex” for this to pacify this utterly homophobic ball of bullshit they have going on.

So we’ll be honest. You want a kiss.

That’s great. I do too.

At the same time, I can gesture you to a literally endless amount of history where literature and TV did not require a kiss for the romantic content to be valid and even celebrated.

That’s not what magically makes all the text text. The text is the text.

The subtext is elements like Reno, and Mary/John, or Amara/Chuck, and even those are loud as FUCK still. Ironically, *the text is quieter than the subtext right now*

If you take the text: Dean has repeat group encounters that are decades-ago LGBT qualified as queer; Dean loses all hope without Cas, once he has to bury Cas, and Eileen does the same for Sam.

The subtext of this: Dean actually forgot an entire woman in his tryst, which means she wasn’t a focus, which makes this gayer than the default gay text; Dean yet again followed viking widower tradition with Cas as a spouse and buried him himself.

This is literally “Cas is Dean’s Collette” but 1. fully textual instead of 3 levels under and 2. much more personal with a full character we witnessed with Eileen rather than flashbacks of Colette for a few seconds. The text here has subtext. It is text. Whether people understand the text, like the LGBT issues around 15.07 or not is an onus on them, but does not invalidate the content. People not understanding Gays doesn’t delete Gays, that isn’t how that works.

Because the hilarity of the line people trying to keep their blogs valid at– that they’re running? All text is subtext unless all text is explained unto a point that it can’t be argued, but that of course leaves the explanation subtext until it, too, is explained beyond a shadow of a doubt to children, and then so on, ad infinity, in a quantum loop of calling everything under god’s written heaven subtext.

I had a conversation with a meta writer who won’t be named that went full bore in a loop. They called it subtext. I pointed out where it was flat surface text. Yes, they said, that IS text, but people can still argue, so that makes it subtext. Uh, no, I pointed out, that isn’t how this works or what those words mean, someone’s understanding of the meaning of text does not invalidate the actual meaning the words have. Arguing with a phantom menace of a GA that’s all catching on right now to contend with tinhatters and a few other oddballs out there that are hilariously small and not in the GA eye isn’t worth changing the entire dictionary. Because The Dictionary Is A Good Book. If someone doesn’t understand all the words in the dictionary and what they mean that, also, does not invalidate the dictionary if it doesn’t have an infinite set of asterisks defining every definition. Anyway, said meta person completely went postal about it after that because after trying to loop the same argument three times and realizing They Will Always End Up Here, off they went when I said that arguing with idiots online wasn’t worth demolishing the dictionary, media study, or queer content.

AV medium seems to be confusing the fuck out of people that fancy themselves or are even degreed lit savants.

But hey, maybe there’s a ruse being played. Maybe Bobo already got that lucky corporate dice roll and is playing into his thematic structure. Maybe he will manage to break through with a kiss. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Frankly more than to argue with idiots, I kind of want it to exemplify the gross homophobia going on in this fandom. And I don’t mean antis. I mean every single person, right here and right now, redefining things to maintain their hysteria and anger or even just their general relevance/podium that evaporates if they acknowledge that it is what it is; that every bit of queer text AND subtext they talked down and deleted and tried to wedge into “platonic” boxes due to their own lack of LGBT cultural understanding was real, and valid, and while antis screamed and shouted raging at the text as provided, they were the ones there, being enemies this year, deleting queer content until their arbitrary goalpost, fulfilling as it may be, and as much as I personally want it too, was met. But if that happens, IF that happens, it WILL be by Bobo’s hand or Dabb’s with Bobo’s guidance, and I can PROMISE you he will make it such a sociopolitical commentary on the heteronormative bullshit going on (like his DreamHunter commentary that BLEW BY everyone) that I expect several people to delete their damn accounts in mortal embarrassment.

This season is gorgeous everyone. Enjoy it.

For the record, if that million to one shot is on the table, the episode everyone should watch for results, beyond the finale, is 15.18. I’m not gonna get into all the reasons here beyond Putrefaction/Blackening > Whitening > Yellowing > Reddening = Gold and if anybody wants to know what the fuck I mean by that, send me an ask. (I’m working on a Putrefaction video to plug into my series to help with that. And beyond that pacing, structure, rhythm, and Bobo. But that also does not mean anyone should seriously place their emotional chips on it, just to stop getting cranked up and demanding THIS NEXT EPISODE OR PERISH.)

Because if you think there’s ever a point homophobes are gonna stop arguing shit down, you’re in for a bad time. Straight pairs like Mulder/Scully that kissed got no romos mental gymnasticsing around it. If you expect differently with DeanCas you’re IN FOR A RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE

But I don’t want to hear one more goddamn peep about representation from that wing of meta fandom. The representation is there, front and center, to relate to for the intended demographic, it just wasn’t what other demographics wanted. But it’s written by a middle aged LGBT man for middle aged LGBT men and if you aren’t in that bracket, and don’t like the results, you don’t get to go and try to destroy that representative material. Hell if you ARE in that demographic you don’t get to one-card steam roll over other LGBT men too, the way it works from there is you find other people in that demographic and discuss the content’s pros and cons. If it ends at “not the ship I like” instead of genuine problems with the content, you also don’t get to destroy that for other people in the demographic. So whether it’s like, desperate clout/platform/relevance clinging, or just complete lack of understanding of LGBT media history and the represented demographic, that shit needs to stop. Pick a side. 

You can’t genuinely fight for representation while going and kicking down rep sandcastles because they weren’t shaped how you want. That isn’t how it works. It works by owning the content, and requesting better or more. Requesting more explicit content does not require destroying the content you don’t consider “enough”, in front of you.

Overt queer subtext AND text remain an overt body within the text even if it does not reach a given explicit landmark that you personally have decided on and is 0% dependent on anyone’s understanding of the fucking content.

[elegiesforshiva]

This is a review for the amazing sasusaku fanfic Perpetual Winter by @thefangirlslair It’s a brilliant modern AU and I highly recommend it!!!  You can read it on fanfiction.net or tumblr :)))) FF: c l i c kkkk Tumblr: Part I, Special Chapter, Part II And time for a criminally late and obscenely long review!!!

Pt I

Winter has never been his favorite season

Damn what an intro, I’m already getting angst vibes lmao.  I really like how you set the scene and stage the world of this AU.  I didn’t expect the existence of clans in this piece, with it being a modern AU, but this is such a fascinating twist on the setting to me. I loved how you described Naruto’s endurance as unnatural, “like there’s a demon living inside him” and Sasuke and his clan have inexplicable warmth….inexplicable do I dare say…fire ???? ;))))))

Lmao seriously what a great way to pay homage to canon though.  I love these attributes!

Modern au Sasuke that reads poetry and drinks coffee is a brand of pretentiousness I can get behind

Aaaaaaa omg I really REALLY REALLY fucking love this intro!  I love how you describe Sasuke as appreciating liveliness, and vibrance—which we can honestly assume is canon with how his two closest people are the embodiment of these traits.  And I love how you tie it back into the seasons.  This really gives so much life to that motif in this story, and the title. That was clever af

…he was taken back to the time where winter was just a mere season, Bon Iver was playing on their shared earphones, and Sakura was his. 

WHAT THE FUCK YOU JUST FUCKING DESTROYED ME WHAT A WAY TO SEGWAY INTO THE NEXT SCENE OOOOF IM KSJDFHLJSAKFL

There are so many things I love about this following scene…  you really know how to write a couple in casual, mutual love.  The banter and candidness of their interaction just has me floored. I also REALLY love that this is from Sasuke’s perspective, and how even though he doesn’t have an overwhelming amount of dialogue, we’re in his head, and his appreciation and love for Sakura just radiates.  Lines like these:  

From her latest discovered band to a recent discovery in medicine by a genius dude whose name he doesn’t even remember, she shares it with him. Favorite anime character, favorite memory with him, favorite pair of underwear — he knows it all because she’s that open to him about things she love.

They’re just….so good. I can hear his voice, his ardor, and his impeccable understanding of Sakura’s personality while also expressiong his own.  The choice of having the narrative skewed through his lens was def a good decision. And ugh this piece is just overwhelmingly amazing already

He doesn’t know the pain to be dealt with when you’ve broken up with someone because Sakura was his first girlfriend. And honestly, he doesn’t, couldn’t, even think about being apart from her. Just the thought of them breaking up already makes him panic a little. He always thought to himself, ‘I will never let that happen.’

Okay this paragraph……………this paragraph tho……..dropping this.  KNOWING. They’re gonna break up……….HOW DARE U

Seriously, what powerful writing.  I don’t know how you do it……

I think it’s incredibly interesting that you chose music to be the catalyst for this beautiful, climactic moment of closeness  My best friend/partner and I have had convos before about it, and she and i once talked about how we think of sex with music lol.  I don’t know how to entirely explain myself on that, or where I’m really going with this, but I get the same vibe here too.  Music that’s close to you is like an artistic intimacy and there’s something very personal and vulnerable about it.  Maybe it’s an auditory thing, like getting lost in one of those guided meditations.  (idk if you’ve ever had one that actually worked, they don’t always for me, but when they do god damn, it’s unreal)  Either way, I really loved the way this scene played out, it was highly relatable and highly emotional, and I feel serenity and ardor just reading it.  Beautifully done.

I love the way you moved back to the present and we immediately feel the differences and the similarities.  The fondness and affection is still there, if not a little more muted, and it’s so obvious they still have feelings for each other.  But there’s definitely moments that speak to their separation too, with the little differences in Sakura that Sasuke notices, or instances like her no longer drinking coffee or him deciding to open the door.

I really like how you inserted the interaction with Kakashi too.  One thing I’m quickly noticing about this fic and your writing is how you very stealthily relay information to us readers.  It’s seamless and entertaining, and I’m learning about this world and the past in ways that are so attention grabbing I don’t even notice it.

Also Itachi’s death and the way you handled it from Sasuke’s pov is so reminiscent of canon and also so gut wrenching.  The lines 

How dare Itachi leave him alone? How dare Itachi sacrifice himself and die? How dare Itachi pass his responsibilities onto his shoulders… 

especially gutted me because of how is stands in stark parallels to the Sasuke we know in canon.  This really smacked my head around with feels….poor Sasuke

OMFG POOR SASUKE !!!?!?!??!?!??!? THAT ENDING OOOLOGDSLGFSLKDGHLSDHFLKDFHVSLKV WHAT A FUCKING CURVE BALL LMAO

I mean maybe I should have seen that coming because like of course!!!  But also I’M LOSING M Y SHIT HAHAHAHAAA

I can’t wait to see how this unfolds!!!!!

Special Chapter

This is such a powerful scene to start with.  Itachi’s entire character was such a major influence in canon and seeing the way his death is affecting everyone now is so emotional.  I feel so bad for Sasuke, having to take on all the burdens Itachi had left behind for him.

Also these lines:

“Mikoto cried, “Don’t you think it’s too soon? I just buried my first-born just barely a week ago and now we’re discussing how you’re gonna ruin my youngest’s life just like you did with Itachi?!”

The way her voice cracked when she said his brother’s name broke his heart. She’s still grieving, probably forever, and here they are talking about Sasuke’s suicide.”

Literally killed me. Dead.  Deceased.  Fallen to the Void.  It’s so brilliant and powerful, and speaks so deeply on their dysfunctional family dynamics and feelings with so few lines.  Really loved this…

This next scene was so stark and sad and beautiful.  I meant to comment and pull lines again, but I couldn't stop reading tbh.  Sasuke's thoughts and emotions concerning Sakura are so vividly gentle and full of praise.  There's such a soft worship in the way you write his feelings towards her and tbh it's my absolute and only interpretation of feelings I care for concerning the depiction of their relationship.  Still, you do this with a certain cleverness and mastery.  It's really so moving for me...

The dream sequence that follows is absolutely debilitating, but so well done.  I got the sense it was a dream only a few lines in just from the bluntness of the lines.  It was truly very dream-like lol.  I really could feel the panic and guilt along all of his inner turmoil.  It's incredibly horrific to have such a dream about murder just after Itachi's too.  This was devastating.

I really loved the way Sakura calms him groom the panic/anxiety attack.  I've actually had a similar experience once, where I woke up from a nightmare and I was very frightened and stiff and couldn't really articulate myself.  I remember I had felt deep horror and self loathing and nothing else.  (I still remember the nightmare too, it was horrible.)  My best friend at the time just threw herself on the bed and held me.

It's so crazy how grounding touch can be.  I really felt that with Sasuke and Sakura too.  The comfort she offers him is so seamless to her character and so ardently palpable.  The repetition of "I got you" really touched me especially.  It breaks my heart knowing the inevitable end of their relationship to come.

Oooooohhhh daaamnnnnn

I did NOT see the raunchy sex coming lmfao!!  Although in hindsight, I probably should have.  You already told us how they tend to get down and dirty when emotions run high with the arguments and make-up sex.  I imagine this is instigated by Sasuke often, with him struggling to articulate his need for Sakura verbally so he does so physically.  And I imagine Sakura is just kinky enough to crave this sort of animal want.  

I do love how sexual interactions are easily moving in tandem with their emotions, how it just feels like another mode of communication.  Sasuke breaking down during it leaves me feeling so tender too.  It's tragic

She smiled. Sasuke doesn't know if he wants that smile or not.

These exit lines are going to fucking kill me istg

The following events honestly hurts to read because Damn haven't we all been there...  the fallout of a relationship to the point where you're just dragging it through the mud… it’s a true deterioration of soul and you capture that slow death so well.  I really feel terrible for Sakura—Sasuke too—but it sucks for her to be in the dark like this.  

I love the way you write Karin!!!  Honestly, I think it really mirrors the way she's written in canon.  She's cold and strategically loud and generally calculating and overall kind of apathetic.  She doesn't really know the value of meaningful relationships (and therefore doesn't prioritize them) until much later on in the series.  I definitely get this sense of her here too.  She's a little cold, but not cruel, and she has the pragmatic values of her and Sasuke's union in mind as she agrees to it all.  I really like how you made her personality come through here.

Meanwhile there’s him, sucking all the hard traits from their father. His competitive streak, arrogant way of speaking, harsh words — it’s all Fugaku. And suddenly, he feels so exhausted.

This line hit me so hard. I love this fic already for an endless number of reasons but a striking one is how well you interrogate the relationships between family.  When you described Itachi’s death as Sasuke losing a part of him, I really felt that. And here when you write about the way Sasuke takes after Fugaku and hates it and is also exasperated from it, just like how his father likely is, it just runs bone deep.  You really know how to speak to life experiences and relationships in consistently intimate ways.  I love that about you

This is his reality now — no more dream, no more Itachi; and pretty soon, no more Sakura.

’It hurts,’ Sasuke thought. 'It hurts, aniki.’  

Wow death by angst lmao thanks for the pain, maren, glad to know you like to torture your readers as much as our ninja babies.  Srsly tho the cadence of these lines and the material itself sync up perfectly.  It’s such powerful writing

This entire scene is stuffed to the brim with dread and turbulence, and it’s so lifelike, I feel it’s haunting.  The way you describe the suffocating atmosphere of the car ride, how Sasuke snaps at Sakura for simply knowing that something is up, the awkwardness of the dinner… You really brought so much passion into these scenes, I feel like I’m being tortured right with them lol

I looooooove the drama of this playing out omg.  The way you have this convo go down is like a punch to the gut.  Sakura announcing her acceptance to Harvard, and then her refusal to go. Sasuke knowing he’s the reason why…the guilt…the anger…

Also omfg these lines:

Sasuke hardened his resolve and stiffly said, “No. I don’t need you, Sakura.”

’Yes, I do.’

Sakura shook her head, “Yes, you do.”

I DIED.  Sakura callin’ him out on his bull shit I fucking LOST IT lmaooOOooo   I love this so much and I love how you write their dynamic!  It’s funny how this fic plays into a lot of romantic clichés but also subverts them—gives them a twist that knocks the reader right off their feet. It’s honestly incredible

I loved the way you brought in winter into this scene too.  The image of it, the feel of it, the terrible, lonely tone.  It suits the entire mood of it all.

This is going to sound super dumb but I genuinely love how much agency you give Sakura btw.  You probably know I’m a raging, batshit feminist by now and I gotta say, her dialogue is consistently powerful and reeks of someone who knows who they are, and their worth, even when in the fallout of a relationship where they are getting the short end of the stick.  Like I’m just sitting here reading “Sasuke, you dumb jackass, what are you doing” lmfaoooo LIKE GURL I WOULD TREAT U SO GOOD…. SAKU BB IM SO SORRY BUT ALSO TRUST I KNOW HOW IT BE

I really do love it.  And I love how you wrote Sakura as an orphan too.  It really flips the script on the canon material (eat shit, kishimoto!!  Women can have trauma and real backstories not centered around men, u misogynistic pile of adskjfhsklhfalkd)  I just feel she’s very well written, and tangible, and powerfully human.  I’d be just as smitten as Sasuke tbh

The last scene is so upsetting… it’s also strangely warming too though.  It’s terrible Sasuke’s been broken down like this, but there’s something about this scene where he feels raw, and expresses his pain in a very infantile way, literally crying out to his mother about how it hurts.  I really feel he’s been stripped of not just his life, but himself, under the weight of Itachi’s death and all that’s come with it, and it makes my heart ache.  I loved this chapter, in all it’s infinite sadness.

Part II

He closed his eyes and thought about his talk with his father earlier, “We’re okay now. He called me while I was with Itachi.”

Love the ease and depth of this single line of dialogue.  How Itachi is not alive but is still with him, and how it speaks to the way we humans grieve and the continuity and strength of relationships even after someone leaves.  It’s just very simple and human, and it popped out at me.

He couldn’t even remember the last time they talked on the phone, or the last time he heard Fugaku as a father, not as the Uchiha patriarch.

Uggghhhhhhh this is exactly how I felt Fugaku was like in canon too.  This fic is just full of brilliance, I really adore the way you describe all the relationships, but the complexity between Sasuke’s and Fugaku’s is really striking to me.  You nail it perfectly.

And this whole intro where Fugaku apologizes to Sasuke and tells him he is proud…. I feel as if a major levee has been broken.  While he’s in front of Itachi’s grave too.  This Sasuke really has that same parallel with the one in canonverse where I feel he is held back by his family trauma, family obligations, the weight of blood.  And this scene feels like a breaking point.  Where Sasuke can be a man instead of an Uchiha, in the same way Fugaku gives him this moment as a father instead of an Uchiha patriarch.  It certainly feels like a cleansing of sorts.

Once you thought you’re over it, one pink-haired beacon of spring will bloom in your eternal winter and blow all your progress into next week. What a woman. He will never find anyone better.

AaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA !!!! this IS what I mean!!!  His inner thoughts of her ugh….i’m so weak…Sasuke you lovesick fool…. And the return of the beautiful seasons motif.  I love this so much

 You can say they were drunk — with liquor, with each other, with love.

I just adore this line. It really emphasizes the vibe of their past relationship and the picture as a whole, and just that electric feeling of being consumed with someone.  The description and cadence of it is just really catching, and I love it

 God, this entire scene. Damn, maren.  It’s criminal how well you write the tension of such a casual conversation.  It feels as if an interrogation of sorts is occurring, and yet it’s still a heartwarming kind. Sakura is not vicious or mal-intentioned in inquiries and yet it still leaves Sasuke weak and defenseless if only because of his feelings for her.  There’s so many ways you assert it too.  It’s in every line, every detail.  This one in particular stood out to me:

Sasuke clenched his fist under the table and scoffed, “I hope my mother didn’t tell you how miserable I was.”

'Still am,’ he corrected in his mind. 'How miserable I still am.’

I remember you used this particular tactic when also describing Itachi’s feelings from Sasuke’s POV. (Something along the lines of how he does became how he did because he is gone)  In this fic where time is moving back and forward in a non-linear fashion, these details are especially striking.  Despite the changes and pushes and pull, this one fact is consistent—Sasuke loves Sakura.  And we, as readers, relearn it with every line.

Also I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOvE that Mikoto saw Sakura off, and that there is this undertone of a bond. Like ughhhhh I’ve so been there, where there’s that depth of understanding between women and relationships that men don’t always know about or know how to grapple with it.  My ex resented me for it lmfao

Adkjfasklfalsjdkfakls SASUKE CAN RELATE TO HIM APPARENTLY AHAHAHAAHHA B SNAPPEDDDD I totally get it though, it’s a little intrusive of Sakura to ask for that, but we all also know why she did.  Poor saku bb is in love with this emotionally constipated idiot lmao.  Oh I love the endless pining and miscommunication of it all !!!

“I thought you’d be here,” a voice came and knocked on the closed door of his heart. He turned his face towards it, he saw her and suddenly his doors came opening again.

The winter sun was directly behind her, giving her this eerie glow. Like a nymph; a spring nymph being born in his perpetual winter. He shivered inside.

Back at it again with that seasonal motif !!!! ugh you are killing me.  I also really loved the phrase “knocked on the closed door of his hear.”  You really have such a way with these metaphors and images, it’s so striking and makes the narrative of this piece so brilliant

and silence is a comfortable companion back then. When they became lovers, it was like their platonic third-wheel aside from Naruto.

Ngl I busted out laughing on that one.  “aside from Naruto” hahaaaa I love the way you include him in this fic tbh.  He’s not a very big focus, but he still feels like an integral part of this story, not just as Sasuke’s best friend, but also as another device to unite Sasuke and Sakura.  Also he’s pretty fantastic comic relief, probably just as much for the two of them as for the reader.

I really love the way this convo goes down, and the change of scenery from the coffee shop to the playground.  Considering the way their love at this point is founded in nostalgia (and perhaps something else, but let’s ignore that for a second) it’s so fitting for them to finally stripping away the masks and cloaks and being genuine with one another—Sakura talking about how she knew all along, and Sasuke finally admitting he still loves her.

I also loved that Karin broke off the engagement!!!!!!  And how she did it and how you described it ughghhghg I love this.  You really spoke to her character growth and development in canon too.  It’s trivial compared to everything else that’s going on, but I love it.

…the pink of her hair, the green of her irises and the gold of the sun slowly setting down behind her.

Sasuke couldn’t see her clearly anymore, only the faint glow of her weeping eyes and the halo on her head made by the sun.

You think you’re slick don’t you…you think you’re some kind of mastermind with these subtle references/images…..well guess what bitch….YOU ARE

  I looooove how you tied the music back in.  Ugh this departure!!  MY HEART!!! Also I’m seeing a handful of songs I love including OUR BOIIIII !!!! rex orange county uhhghhgjak maren this is the romance of a lifetime I AM WEAK

Ughh the forehead kiss…..that was so sweet.  I loved Sakura’s choice to give him that bit of affection.  This scene is so beautifully intimate, despite their positions.

Omg I FINISHED HOLY SHIT!!! And Sasuke doesn’t get back with her! Wow!  Honestly, as much as my shipper heart is like, violently frothing at the mouth and saying “okay they totally got back together down the line tho like THEY HAD TO THEY ARE MADE FOR EACH OTHER WHAT IS TH—" I actually have such a deep appreciation for this ending.  Their relationship in this almost feels dream-like, and with the way the story unfolds, even if they still loved each other in the end (and I really don’t doubt that they do.  We don’t have Sakura’s perspective, but we also don’t need it.  the affections are clear) it doesn’t mean they will end up together or are even really suited for each other in such a way.  

Their love in this actually really reminds me of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  Have you seen that movie?  I just really get that vibe at the end.  This entire romance cuts very deep and is very passionate and leaves me feeling so whimsical.  I really loved this story, Maren…  thank you for sharing it with all of us.  thank you for writing it.  You’re really one of a kind and you and this story has my whole heart <333

Also I’m sorry this is so late, but when I said I am going to write you a review, what I meant was I am going to write you a review.  This English degree is good for nothing but sending elaborate love letters to friends and writers in the form of literary analyses and stupid overreactions and BY GOD I WILL NOT LET THIS CRIPPLING COLLEGE DEBT GO TO WASTE !!!

#sasusaku #ss fanfiction #ik its been like a year im sorry #but ily and ur my fav 5evr pls marry me maren my love

[peppermintbee]

15 easy changes that would have made Kairi a more compelling character

Ever since finishing KH3 I’ve been completely preoccupied with what a disservice the writing does for Kairi. This isn’t an unpopular opinion; the KH3 tag is full of complaints regarding Kairi’s treatment. I think what’s really disappointing is that fixing her portrayal wouldn’t require that much work. So, if I was Nomura’s co-writer for KH3, here are the changes I would have suggested.

1. Don’t put her in the time chamber to train

Not only does the pocket dimension cause plot holes (Why can’t Sora train there? Why didn’t Kairi and Lea become high level in there?) it’s only narrative purpose was to keep Kairi and Lea out of the story while Sora was visiting Disney worlds. Having her literally anywhere else, where Sora can see and talk with her, would have been better than that.

2. Let her train and travel with Sora

Conveniently, the game is set up perfectly for having Kairi as a team member. Sora starts the game at LV. 1 and Kairi is a beginner keyblade wielder. They could visit the Disney worlds and git gud together. We know team mechanics were programmed for Kairi, since she briefly fights alongside Sora at the end. In the Disney worlds you can have up to 4 team members, so it doesn’t seem like a stretch that at least one of them could be Kairi (and/or Lea). With that, the opportunities for character building are endless: team banter, selfies, special team attacks, commenting on the Disney stories, etc. 

3. Or, give Kairi her own missions

Riku and Mickey are off screen because they are trying to find Aqua. Even though we don’t see much of them, this makes them active participants to the plot. Therefore, if she can’t be a team member, have Kairi be on her own  important story mission. A really easy one would be involving her in the Twilight Town investigation to find Roxas’ data and/or rescue Ansem the Wise. Maybe one of the turncoat Org 13 members works with Kairi. At some point, Sora and Kairi’s paths would cross, and they’d work together just like Sora and Riku did.

4. Have Sora mention Kairi every once in a while

Honestly, this is such a low bar it’s sad the game didn’t clear it. Sora frequently mentions Riku in the Disney worlds when something reminds him of him, he tries to call him, and he even talks about Riku in the social media loading screens. Kairi doesn’t get the same amount of attention. (Riku also doesn’t talk about Kairi.) It makes it feel like Kairi is not a priority to the characters, which makes it hard to be invested in her while playing.

5. Have Sora and Kairi greet each other when they finally meet

The first time Sora and Kairi are in a room together is after Ventus gets saved and everyone is talking in Yen Sid’s room. During this scene, most of the time Kairi is OFF SCREEN and has almost no lines. When she finally talks, she apologizes to Aqua and says something about saving Namine. Sora and Kairi stand about 5 feet away from each other and he only looks at her when she’s talking. This is dumb, especially considering Kairi and Sora haven’t seen each other in person since KH2 (!!!), a game that she also had very little presence in, and now that she’s finally here, she may as well be a part of the wallpaper. While Sora and Riku are reunited in the most badass way possible (a dimension crossing rescue and summoning of the great rainbow keyblade), Sora and Kairi aren’t even given so much as a chance to say “hi.” Simply include few lines of them being excited to see one another. A hug, a compliment, an “I missed you,” ANYTHING.

6. Just rewrite the entire paopu scene

This scene has such wasted potential. It’s the first time Kairi and Sora really talk to each other, which already starves the scene of emotional impact because their relationship feels underdeveloped and unearned. If this scene had even a little bit of foundation setting (see the above list) it wouldn’t have felt so forced. I’d argue the only foundation their relationship has is from KH1, which not only is over a decade old for players, but the characters themselves have changed a lot since then. 

Secondly, it is almost funny that a scene that’s supposed to be about Kairi and Sora starts with Sora talking about Riku. Would it have been so hard to put a scene change between the Riku/Repliku talk and this one and not awkwardly segue from Sora worrying about Riku to Kairi proposing to Sora.

Third, Sora shows almost no excitement about sharing a paopu fruit with Kairi until the very end, which only makes it feel more forced. He expresses shock, confusion, and even insinuates they don’t need to share a fruit since they are together in spirit. He says he’ll protect Kairi, which is kind of a lame promise since Sora protects all of his friends. Instead, Sora should have looked genuinely touched and excited about the paopu thing, and they should have made a promise that went beyond protecting each other, since that’s a given. (I do really like that Kairi vows to protect Sora, but considering what happens later it feels pretty hollow.)

8. Sora should protect Kairi with his keyblade, not a hug

Honestly, this was so dumb I don’t even know where to start. If there’s gonna be a Kairi hug, it should have been when they were reunited, or the paopu scene, or like... any other time. I get that it’s supposed to be a parallel to KH1, but that defense-hug made sense because Kairi was unarmed and untrained. (Plus, Kairi could actually shield heartless-Sora with her body. In this scene, Kairi and Sora are about the same size so it just looks like a normal hug, not protection). Just hours ago, Sora protected Riku from Aqua with his keyblade and it was badass. At the end of this scene, Riku protects Sora with his keyblade, and it’s badass. The hug isn’t badass, it’s stupid and it makes both Sora AND Kairi look incompetent, which it frustrating to witness.

9. Let Kairi literally protect Sora

As much as I like the scene where Riku protects Sora from the heartless cyclone, that would have been a perfect opportunity for Kairi to make good on her promise and protect Sora. We already know Riku will defend Sora, he did that in all the other KH games. Kairi shedding her damsel persona to defend Sora would have been amazing.

10. Play as Kairi in The Final World

If Kairi’s “light” is the reason Sora can persist in the final world, just abandon the whole deus-ex-kairi and let us play as Kairi. Kairi should collect the Sora fragments (or her own fragments), and save at least Sora and Riku’s heart. I think we should have been able to play as Kairi at some point anyway, but this seemed like an especially good time for it. That would elevate her role in saving Sora into something really believable, instead of Chirithy and Kairi just telling us she saved him when it feels like Sora just saved himself and everyone else (as usual).

11. Give Kairi a cool team attack

We only get to fight alongside Kairi for like, 10 minutes. At least give her a cool team attack. I’m not asking for a lot here.

12. Kairi doesn’t get kidnapped (and if she does, she goes down fighting)

Literally anyone else. I don’t care who. In fact, I think Riku would be a good candidate for kidnapping: not only does it subvert the damsel thing, but it would make the bad guys look pretty formidable if they were able to pull it off, and, Riku is important enough to Sora to “motivate” him to rescue him.

I’d rather she not get damseled at all, but if she really has to get kidnapped, it should at least be because she compromised her safety to save Sora or Lea. Then, when she’s grabbed, she should go down kicking and screaming, maybe taking out an Org member on the way out. Instead, the way it’s framed makes it looks like she got kidnapped because she sucks at fighting.

13. Give Kairi’s death/disappearance some real weight

I still stand by the fact that Riku is the one who should have been kidnapped but I digress. When Kairi explodes, Sora gets upset briefly before talking about closing Kingdom Hearts and receiving encouragement from his other friends. Xion reassures Sora that Kairi is fine, likely to justify why Sora gets over losing Kairi so fast. With a smile, Sora goes into the next battle and doesn’t mention Kairi until long after Xehanort is defeated. This makes her death feel like a cheap way to add superficial stakes and write Kairi out of the story (again). This can be fixed by having Sora react like a normal person, such as falling into complete despair or wracked with grief and vengeance, and having the other characters react appropriately too. 

At the end of the story, Sora and the gang are weirdly understanding of Xehanort when he gives his sob story, even though he exploded Kairi just a little while ago, and they don’t even demand to know how to save her. It really makes it feel like they forgot about her.

14. Don’t gloss over Sora’s end-game rescue of Kairi

We’re shown that Sora saved her somehow and now he’s gone. That’s all the script thinks we need to know because the next game is about Sora and Riku just like most of the KH games. Not that I really want another game about Sora rescuing Kairi, but the fact that this is barely graced with explanation really makes it clear that Kairi is little more than a plot device to set up the next game. I don’t really know how to fix this other than not fridging Kairi, or bringing Kairi back right after Xehanort is defeated, or making the next game about Kairi saving Sora. Which brings us to my last fix...

15. Send Kairi after Sora, not Riku

Kairi explicitly said she was going to protect Sora. Therefore, she should be the one implied to search for Sora at the end of the game. Having her cry on the beach while Riku went after him was lazy and cheap and everyone knows it. But, I suppose it’s fitting end for a character that Nomura clearly didn’t care enough about to write decent character development for.

And there we have it, 15 ways to make Kairi more compelling. If the game included even a few of these, Kairi would have felt like a more meaningful person and not a watered down version of KH1 Kairi. I can only hope that the next game has some strong female characters that we can all root for, but honestly, I’m not getting my hopes up.

Let me know if you have any other suggestions, I want to hear them!

#kingdom hearts iii #kingdom hearts 3 #kairi #kh3 #kh3 spoilers #now that i finally got that out maybe I can move on with my life #kairi isn't even my fav but she was treated so unfairly i have to speak up #she was set up to have a great comeback but instead we got... this #kairi fans deserve better #kh fans deserve better #rewrite kh #words #kh text