#I also can’t read the characters well enough to like try and plug it into a translator for myself

[honorthysalad]

Just gonna quickly ask if anyone knows what Yoshiki’s eating in this scene? It looks like a cookie to me but I can never trust my assumptions lol.

[transformers-mosaic]

Beast Wars: Second Chances - The Covers

Originally posted on February 2nd, 2011

Cover A - Daniel Olsén Covers B & C - Seb Quickstrike - Ed Pirrie Depth Charge - Loke Mei Yin Snarl vs Terrorsaur - James Ferrand Waspinator - Jeremy Tiongson Dinobot sketch - Matt Frank

deviantART

wada sez: Okay, this one was as much a surprise to me as it is to you. Prolific Mosaic contributor Mike Priest asked me if I had any plans to archive Beast Wars: Second Chances, a full-length comic he originally pitched in a similar vein to War Journal and Spotlight: Stunticons. As nearly all the writers and artists who worked on this one were also Mosaic contributors, and I’ve always felt like there weren’t enough Beast Wars strips in Mosaic, and because Mike asked nicely, I couldn’t say no! Thanks to Mike’s involvement, I’ve got the original scripts and his original story treatment, titled Beast Wars: Beyond, which you can read below—although the final story ended up wildly different, if you want to read along without any spoilers whatsoever, I’d recommend coming back to this post later! It seems that Matt Frank was originally tapped for the project, as he produced a sketch of Dinobot which you can see below, but no further contributions from him ever surfaced.

Okay, this is my initial rough pitch for the story.

Again, anything and everything here is mutable and subject to tweaking and whatever, or downright ignoring and trashing.  I won’t cry.

We start roughly a month or two Earth-time after Primal’s crew left.  The first page should explain this and whatever, and then something akin to “BUT SOMETHING STILL STIRS on this planet!”  Cut to Depthcharge dragging himself out of the surf.

(I’m trying to work AROUND the Mosaic “Eternal”, making it more retroactively tied-in.)

We establish Waspinator as leader of the proto-human tribe, out on a hunt or something with some other humans.  Perhaps some brief proto-human comedy before we hit the nitty-gritty.

We establish Depthcharge wandering around, arguing with himself, totally nuts, screaming at no one in-particular (He’s arguing with Rampage, who only responds through text boxes, so to anyone else, DC looks like a nut).

Waspinator encounters Depthcharge, is initially scared and confused, but decides, what the hey, see what’s up with fishie-bot.  Waspinator honestly is curious/wants to help.

Depthcharge, in a confused, blind rage, grabs Waspinator and viciously beats him near to death.  And not in a funny, usual-Waspinator way.  He’s pleading, BEGGING for Depthcharge to stop.  I’m talking the reader needs to actually feel really bad for Waspinator; he is an endearing character and kind of our “hero” for this story.

Only when some of Waspinator’s human tribe start hitting Depthcharge with rocks and spears does he snap out of it, and is literally horrified at what’s he done to poor Waspinator. (Rampage is in ecstasy though; this is exactly what he wants to turn Depthcharge into; a killer like Rampage himself).

Depthcharge retreats, transforms to jet mode and flies off, horrified at what he’s become.

The proto-humans can’t do anything to help the dying, whimpering Waspinator.  So they make a stretcher and begin carrying him home.

Only they don’t make it.  Something attacks and kills them; Waspinator is too weak to help them.  And it takes Waspinator’s remains.  (Hints of a giant metal spider, perhaps in this sequence)

We establish Tarantulas.  Or rather an AI program that approximates Tarantulas’ personality and goals.  It is housed in a sub-level of Tarantulas’ former lair.  He “lives” through his Steel Tech proxy body, the (black and grey Transmetal Tarantulas), but he cannot particularly control it too well/or it really is just a poor substitute for a sparked body.

Tarantulas has a blank stasis pod that was affected by the Quantum Surge.  He plugs Waspinator’s spark into it.  And Transmetal Waspinator is born.  Waspinator comes back online strapped to a table, with the Steel Tech drone working on him (And Tarantulas’ face on a computer screen, establishing that he really is housed in his lair’s “hard drive”)

Tarantulas explains that he still has to accomplish the Tripredacus Council’s goals, even after death, and Waspinator is one of his new tools.

Faux-Tarantulas ALSO reveals that he has the bodies of Scorponok and Terrorsaur (both Transmetalized), which he recovered from the lava pit.  (TM Terrorsaur’s fine, but a new design for Transmetal Scorponok is essential.  NOT the McDonald’s toy design.  Make him larger and bulkier and his third mode should have flight capability- this is important for later)  

Fitting all three with “neural implants” that ensure obedience, Tarantulas explains he will use them to breach the Ark and carry out its destruction (His Steel Tech drone isn’t dexterous or durable enough to fight through the Ark’s automated defenses).

And Waspinator is a test subject.  Tarantulas releases him from his bonds and orders him to obey.  The neural implant holds, and Tarantulas decides to send Waspinator for a test-drive.  Waspinator speeds out of the lair in his new jet mode.

As he travels over the landscape, he is watched by someone new on the ground.  We don’t find out who it is YET.  Just a close up of a wide, toothy grin and an “Interesting”.

Meanwhile Depthcharge is having a nervous breakdown.  Rampage is slowly driving him insane, and Depthcharge starts repeatedly trying to kill himself.  It is MESSED UP, including Depthcharge throwing himself on his own sword, tearing bits off, and such.  But all the damage heals.  Exhausted and pained, Depthcharge suddenly becomes aware of a visitor watching him.

Cue DINOBOT II, standing arrogantly and grinning down on Depthcharge, telling him it won’t work.

Both Depthcharge and Rampage are surprised to see him.  Rampage particularly.

Meanwhile, Waspinator’s test-drive includes going back to his proto-human village and is ordered to raze it to the ground by Tarantulas.  But Waspy surprises Tarantulas (and the audience) by fighting the neural implant and eventually succeeding in burning it out, overcoming Tarantulas’ will by plumbing that can-do never-give-up Waspinator spirit and his genuine affection for the proto-humans.   Tarantulas is surprised by this, but notes he has back-ups anyway, activating Scorponok and Terrorsaur.

Back with Depthcharge and Dinobot, who, of note, acts somewhat uncharacteristically, giving half-answers and grinning a lot.  Rampage begins to suspect something is different or wrong with Dinobot.

Meanwhile, Scorponok and Terrorsaur are both activated and forced into line by the neural implants.  Terrorsaur is still his arrogant self, but Scorponok is more quiet and almost more professional (It’ll be seen/developed that he’s a bit disillusioned that Megatron never saw fit to recover him from the lava pit).  Anyway, as neither of them have any particular strong will to oppose the neural implant, they go to carry out Tarantulas’ orders to attack the Ark.

We establish the VOK, who realize the danger to the time stream is not yet over.  The two that “killed” Tarantulas decide to intervene.  They go to where Tigerhawk died and begin pulling his shattered pieces together with their powers.  (Tigerhawk would be dead, just a zombie shell animated by these Vok and while his body is whole, it is in horrendous shape, missing an optic, generally looking like a terrifying zombie).

Meanwhile Waspinator is speeding along, knowing somehow he has to go back and stop Tarantulas, when he sees Scorponok and Terrorsaur in their new Transmetal vehicle modes, headed in the Ark’s direction, along with Tarantulas‘ Steel Tech proxy body.  Waspinator isn’t particularly positive he can take both of them, even with his new body, so he decides to go look for “crazy fishie-bot” and hopes Depthcharge is somewhat more lucid now.

Back with Depthcharge and Dinobot, Rampage suddenly senses a familiarity between his own spark and Dinobot and realizes Dinobot’s shell is now possessed by STARSCREAM!

Guilty as charged, Dino-Scream shrugs.  He’s been stuck in this time zone for a while and returned to the planet, but everyone’s left now.  So he looked for the Nemesis (Hoping to find something there he can possess without damaging history) and found Dinobot II’s ravaged, sparkless shell.  Possessing that and healing its injuries, Starscream set out for the Ark next.

Before anything can be done, Waspinator finds them, telling them (as best as he can) about Tarantulas’ plan to destroy the Ark and what not.

Depthcharge and Starscream don’t want to be erased from history, so they agree to help (Rampage even finds it interesting).

Faux-Tarantulas, Scorponok and Terrorsaur arrive at the Ark, and the latter two fight their way through Teletraan-1’s automated defenses (which come out of “sleep mode”).  Faux-Tarantulas hangs back.

But by the time they make it through, Waspinator, Dino-Scream, and Depthcharge/Rampage arrive.

We have a three-on-three battle.  Scorponok fights Depthcharge/Rampage (Scorpy’s new Transmetal body is bigger than his old one and almost a match for Depthcharge, even with the new ferocity that Rampage’s presence in his mind gives him).  Scorponok angsts over his abandonment by Megatron while they fight.  Terrorsaur fights the groundbound Starscream/Dinobot II (Starscream grumbles that this body sucks cuz it can’t fly) and manages to actually hold it off, as Starscream is unaccustomed to fighting like this.

Waspinator faces off against the Steel Tech Drone, and despite some initial trepidation, realizes he’s far more powerful now than any drone and takes the faux-Tarantulas down easily once his confidence is up.

Meanwhile, the zombie Vok-possessed Tigerhawk arrives at Tarantulas’s lair, runs roughshod over the meager defenses, and destroys the Tarantulas’ hard drive/AI for good.

This causes the neural implants in Scorponok and Terrorsaur to fail, and they stop fighting now that they are no longer under Tarantulas’ will.

Confused at what is going on, everyone leaves the Ark.  The Vok-possessed zombie Tigerhawk arrives.

First order of business is noticing Dinobot II.  The Vok declare (The Transmetal II clone body) an “abomination” and perversion of their technology. (Starscream’s like “Whoa, wait a minute!”)

The Vok incinerate Dinobot II’s shell in a blast of lightning from Tigerhawk.  We don’t see what happens to Starscream’s spark.

The Vok explain that the constant interference with the timeline has TO STOP, and tells everyone to get the hell off the planet.

Of course, everyone is like “uh, HOW?”

The Vok tells everyone to go into Earth orbit.  They will self-destruct Tigerhawk’s remains, with the release of alien energies ripping a Transwarp wormhole that’ll send everyone back to the right era.

Everyone of course is like “But…how do we get home from the middle of space?”

And the Vok of course are like “We don’t care, you’re going back to your rightful place in history or we’ll just kill you here and dump you there”

So everyone engages flight modes and follows Zombie-Tigerhawk up into space.  They stand back and the Vok do as they promised, detonating Tigerhawk’s shell and making a wormhole.  Everyone flies through in a flash, the Vok take their leave with some end dialogue about cleaning up some more small glitches or whatever.

Everyone arrives in the middle of space, nowheresville.  Depthcharge isn’t hanging with these “Preds” anymore and “Besides, I’ve got enough company as it is”.  He flies off into the nothingness of space, deciding to either find a way to deal with living with Rampage…or destroying them both.

Waspinator and Scorponok get into an argument about which direction Cybertron is, which ends in Waspinator engaging his jet mode and flying off alone.  Scorponok sighs and goes in the opposite direction, asking if Terrorsaur is coming.

Terrorsaur (who hasn’t said a word since they left Earth) just widely grins and unseen to Scorponok, we see the ghost of Starscream possessing Terrorsaur’s frame.  “Sure thing, pal.”  He follows Scorponok.

END.

Notes-

*Inferno and Quickstrike…well, seeing as Quickstrike’s head was hollowed out and made into a mask, I think they’re a little harder to swallow as still alive.

*I kinda tried to do the exact opposite of what the Botcon comics did…bring Tigerhawk back (albeit a Vok-possessed zombie) instead of Tigatron and Airazor.

*When the zombie Tigerhawk destroys the Tarantulas AI core, depending on preference, we can have him say “You last bit of Unicron” or some such, depending if everyone agrees on Tarantulas’s origins.

*I have Starscream possessing Dinobot’s shell and later Terrorsaur, trying to avoid the clichéd possessing of Transmetal Waspinator.

[sincerely-sofie]

Seeing as you have finished writing the script for your AU thingy, I wanna know, how?

Like, were you motivated the whole time? Or was it a on and off writing type thing?

i'm trying to write but I don't know if I have the motivation...

How did you keep the motivation if so?

Oh man. I have so much to say about writing and creativity that I could make an entire series of posts talking about the subject, but I'll try to keep things orderly and brief.

Disclaimer: I should let you know that I have never finished a writing project before recently finishing my TPiaG AU. Keep that in mind when reading the advice I offer— the tips I give have only been put into work in my own life over the course of the last couple of months, but they’ve proven very effective in my experience!

Sofie Creativity Tips Episode 1, go!!!

Was I motivated the whole time I was writing TPiaG / How did I stay motivated?

Absolutely not. If I hadn’t provided myself a detailed chapter-by-chapter outline for TPiaG before starting the writing process, I would have given up thanks to a mix of writer’s block and absent motivation. Motivation is a fickle muse and prone to ditching me for months on end, so I’ve adapted by trying not to rely on it, but also by creating new motivation rather than clinging to past motivation. I create motivation for myself in two ways: removing friction when writing and being my own fandom.

Removing friction is pretty simple— I create very detailed chapter outlines that remove any fear of writer’s block, set up my devices in a way to make it easy to access my manuscripts and notes, download premade writing playlists that have Pomodoro session break timers built into them, and more. Anything that makes the writing process easier to get into and enjoy doing, I make sure to incorporate into my life.

Being my own fandom is less intuitive, but a thousand times more rewarding in terms of motivation. I make memes of my characters. I write self-indulgent snippets on the side. I make AUs of my own work. I make playlists and save audio clips that suit the characters. I draw comics exploring concepts that might not get into the manuscript itself but that I want to make content for regardless. Basically, I dive in deep into the story, characters, and world, and try to do so with the enthusiasm that I give other people’s projects.

(That part is extra fun, because if I have a headcanon, it automatically becomes canon to whatever AU or original project I’m working on. I have all the power in the world when working like this, and it’s very fun.)

What changed and made it so I finished my first ever written project?

This isn’t exactly what was asked, but because I have eschewed motivation as the main driving force in my writing process, I figured I’d give another insight into how TPiaG went against the pattern of half-started and swiftly abandoned projects that came before it and actually got finished. Late into October, I adopted a new method of producing first drafts. Previously, I would spend weeks polishing the same chapter and would only move on to the next chapter once the current one was perfect. My new method is the complete opposite. I’ve started calling it Writing BFF:

Write bad

Write fast

Write fun

First up, write bad. The point of this is not to waste your time writing prettily during your first draft. Don’t bother agonizing over how to reword that one sentence to be more elegant when it does the job well enough to get its point across. Don’t go off on a 30-minute research tangent in the middle of a writing session because you want to fact-check that one detail and make sure it’s perfectly accurate when you could just put a placeholder detail in brackets and CTRL+F search and plug in something accurate later on. Don’t write pretty, write bad. And be okay with it. You can’t edit an empty page, so fill the page with as much garbage as possible so that you can turn it into gold later on.

Next, write fast. This is only effective when paired with writing bad. Don’t pause, don’t hesitate, don’t deliberate. Write as much as you can and do it as fast as you can. This idea is best illustrated by Chris Fox’s book 5,000 Words Per Hour, where he talks about increasing your WPM (words per minute) and how it makes everything about your writing better. The person who creates a beautiful first draft once every three years is doing okay, but the person who cranks out a complete manuscript every three months learns leagues more about writing than the first person does by the end of three years. The second person has practiced outlining, drafting, editing, publishing, and more with every manuscript completed. The faster you write, the better you get, because practice makes perfect and quantity begets quality.

Finally, write fun. I write what I enjoy, and if I’m not enjoying it, I pivot the project so that I enjoy it again. I like writing deeply personal stories, so pretty much everything I write is heavily based on my life and experiences— TPiaG included. Grovyle’s portrayal is deeply influenced by my experience being an elder sibling who has been a bad example of self-talk, and cleaned up my act because my younger sister started echoing how I spoke to myself. Dusknoir’s portrayal is informed by my experiences with being the therapist / mom friend in different social circles as well as attending actual formal therapy. Twig is the character that my experiences have the greatest influence on in her portrayal, and I joke about her being a self-insert, but ultimately all of the characters are self-inserts to some extent. I also enjoy low-stakes and slow slice-of-life stories that are driven by character growth. If I ever stop having fun with a project, I inject more of myself and my preferences into my work to get it back into my favor.

TL;DR / Writing advice lightning round

Write as badly as possible as quickly as possible, and have fun as you do it. Momentum yields motivation and stagnancy yields doubt. Editing comes only after the first draft is complete. Be your own fandom and your project’s biggest fan. Give yourself direction and ward against writer’s block by making detailed chapter-by-chapter outlines. Make the writing process as easy and enjoyable as possible. Motivation is a lie and if you chase after it instead of making your own, you’ll be writing on hard mode for the rest of your life. Reject perfectionism, embrace flawesomeness.

If I didn’t answer your question right, let me know! I’ll do my best to correct it.

[cricketnationrise]

hello! :) THIS IS SO CUTE I CAN'T WAIT FOR A POSSIBLE CRICKET EXCLUSIVE!! because i am obsessed with u fr but that's common knowledge. <3

for the ficlet fest, if you'd like:

time stamp: 2:23am

location: brownstone

character: alex/henry

song: this is me trying by taylor swift (only if you want!!!!!!!)

rating: whatever you'd like

but like you can go any direction with this I'm just always projecting my adhd/anxiety/not good enough feelings onto alex on a regular basis :')

my ao3: firenati0n | Archive of Our Own (same as tumblr user)

THANK YOU SO MUCH! SENDING LOVE XOXO

your cricket exclusive is here! i actually went full on henry pov with this one bc my brain got stuck on the trying of it all. so have some first post-canon fight make up. this is actually the longest ficlet yet, but somehow i don't think that'll be a problem 😂 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

2:32am, brownstone

The brownstone is quiet when he returns, which is completely reasonable for just after two-thirty in the bloody morning. 

It’s also immaculate, which is decidedly less so, especially considering the state of the place when Henry stomped out a few hours ago. 

The hallway is clear of trip hazards, shoes neatly in the rack. The kitchen gleams in the range hood light; counters clear and wiped down, small appliances lined up as precisely as Buckingham guards. Peeking his head in the for-once dark office reveals two tidy desks, chairs pushed in, and both of their laptops plugged in and charging. 

The den at the base of the stairs makes Henry pause. The stacks of books have been put away. The coasters on the coffee table have been relieved of their burdens of half-drunk tea cups and abandoned coffee mugs. In the dim light from the street lamps through the window, Henry can even see vacuum lines in the carpet. A second glance has Henry taking cautious steps inside.

There is one thing out of place after all. 

On the couch, propped on a few of the numerous throw pillows Pez insisted upon, and tucked into the quilt Ellen sent them, is Alex. Like an anchor to the ocean floor, Henry is drawn into the room, and to Alex’s side. 

He kneels between the coffee table and the couch near Alex’s head and just looks for a long moment. Alex clearly hasn’t been sleeping well. The couch is too short, even for Alex’s shorter frame, so his legs are tucked uncomfortably. His curls are more of a wild mess than normal, like he’s been tugging at them. Alex is gripping the quilt as tightly as he normally clutches Henry, and there’s deep furrows on his forehead. 

Henry should let him sleep, probably—neither of them have been sleeping all that well. Increased paparazzi presence as Alex’s first semester of law school starts and Henry takes a more active role in the shelter has been stressful. But Henry can’t help but reach out and try to smooth those lines on his forehead. Something churning and tense settles inside him when his gentle touch has Alex’s eyes blinking open, a small smile on his face when he recognizes Henry.. 

“You came back.”

“Of course I did, love.”

Alex exhales messily, blinking back tears now. “I wasn’t sure— After earlier—”

Henry shushes him with a hand on his cheek. “I will always come back to you. Promised I was done being an obtuse fuckin’ asshole, didn’t I?”

“You still left, though,” Alex says.

It’s Henry’s turn to fight back tears. “I could hear myself sounding more and more like Philip at his worst. It scared me. I didn’t want to subject you to that, to even inadvertently use my knowledge of you as a weapon. So I left before words I didn’t actually mean could find their mark.” He sways forward, resting his forehead on Alex’s, needing to be closer. “You deserve more than sharply aimed words, especially when you haven’t done a thing wrong.” 

“Hen…”

“I’m sorry Alex. I shouldn’t have— I knew it would be different once the paparazzi got wind of our plans, but I wasn’t prepared for how much more invasive they would feel. I’m having a hard time adjusting to life beyond Kensington’s thick walls and I started to take it out on you.”

Alex’s hand pulls on his shoulder. “C’mere.”

Henry climbs onto the couch and sprawls undignified on top of Alex, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. Alex’s hands, as ever, hold him steady, rubbing large circles across his back.

“There were two people in our fight, Henry. You aren’t the only one struggling. Or taking it out on the person he loves.” He presses a kiss to Henry’s temple. “I could hear echoes of my parents, but couldn’t figure out how to stop the word vomit. And that scared me—I never want you and I to be like them.”

Henry pulls his head back to meet his gaze fiercely. “Never.”

Alex smiles at his vehement tone, but it's got a rueful edge to it. “We’re gonna have to figure out how to talk about this stuff before it blows up in our faces again.” 

“Not tonight, though?”

“Nah, not tonight.” 

They’re quiet for a long moment, curled around each other on the couch, when a niggling thought finds its way past Henry’s lips. 

“Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you on the couch? Did you— Did you not want to be in our room?”

Alex holds him tighter. “I— You left and— So I was cleaning, and I did this room last, and when I was done there was no way stairs were happening, so I just collapsed here. I didn’t  actually think I'd fall asleep, I don't usually when you aren’t right next to me.”

“So it wasn’t because you wanted space from me?”

“Fucking hell, baby. No, I never want space. I want the opposite of space from you. If I could figure out a way to crawl into your rib cage every night I would.”

“Oh.” The last bit of tension leaves Henry’s body at that and he relaxes fully on top of Alex. 

“Yeah, oh.” Alex chuckles. “But, as nice as you feel on top of me, it’s late and this couch ain’t big enough for the two of us.” 

“You fit on it better than I do,” Henry can’t help but tease.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I also have to pee so get up before I shove you off.” 

Reluctantly, Henry stands and reaches down to help Alex up after him. Henry folds the quilt and hangs it over the back of the couch, smoothing the last wrinkles with his hand. When he straightens up, Alex is only halfway up the stairwell. 

“Meet you in bed?” Alex whispers.

Henry climbs up to meet him. “Always, love.”

[sirowsky-stories]

Collision

Part 2

Description: While struggling with how to keep Niki safe, Pero ends up making some hard choices, creating far reaching consequences.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, hospital scenes, cursing, shooting, gunshot wounds, minor character death, angst, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 5700 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Well, that didn't take me long... We get a bit more history on Pero here, and I hope you won't be put off by my attention to detail on hydraulic lifting.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

   The unknown man has seen her. He doesn’t just know what Niki looks like, even covered in tubes and wires and completely unmoving, but also which equipment she needs to be connected to. Which things that are keeping her alive.    And it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that if she’s moved, all anyone needs to do to find her, is look for any place where that array of machinery can be plugged in. Which basically rules out everything but one of the patient rooms.

   He can try to hide her by switching rooms with someone, but there’s no guarantee that the people hunting her would even care about looking at records. They might just search through the entire hospital, and since he doesn’t know how many of them there are, he can’t say how effectively they might be able to do that.    It’s not a big city hospital, the patient capacity is only a couple hundred in total, and it’s not like he’s gonna risk these people tearing through a children’s ward.

   “Excuse me,” Pero says to the nurse at the front desk, another new face to him. “Can you tell me what your protocol is for if a patient’s life is threatened? I mean, not medically, but if someone actually threatens them?”

   The young woman looks him over before answering, as if trying to ascertain if he might be contemplating threatening someone. But she seems to decide that he probably isn’t.

   “We alert our security team and if the threat is serious or ongoing, they stand guard by the affected patient. If it’s deemed necessary, we call the police and on rare occasions we will move a patient to an undisclosed location within the hospital.”

   Exactly what he expects to hear, but it’s not good enough. He knows it won’t save her. Even under guard this eerily calm man can get to her, either himself or by proxy. He just knows it.    He looks around the ward while he tries to think. There are nine other people there at the moment. All of them potential threats, because as good as he is at reading people, there are those who are just as good at hiding in plain sight.

   The nurse is still looking at him, and she’s starting to worry now, seeing his eyes repeatedly dart towards Niki’s bed.

   “If you have any concerns about Ms. Morse’s safety, I’d be happy to call security for you.”

   “It’s just… I can’t prove that there’s anything wrong,” he says, nervously drumming his fingers against the taller front section of the desk while he keeps scanning the halls.

   “Why do you think that she’s in danger, Mr. Tovar?” she asks, and he meets her eyes.

   She’s young, probably no more than twenty-three, but there’s a lot of experience in those eyes. Like the unknown man, her calmness is also practiced. Tested by years of overcoming her own stresses and fears.    But where the two differ, is in the warmth that she projects around her. Her tribunals have been about understanding the value of helping others, about leaving a better world or even just ward behind, at the end of each day.

   The man doesn’t care about living things.

   “Because the crash that put her here was intentional. Someone wants her dead. I know it, but I can’t prove it,” he frustratedly admits, and resumes his survey of the ward.

   He needs to come up with a way to get Niki out of here, there’s no other option. The nurse is kind and means well, but she can’t help him. Not really.    He leaves the desk and heads back to the same spot where he’d been when the man had walked in. A corner at the far end of the hallway which connects the arrival lounge and nurse’s station, to the four ICU slots.

   From there, he can see almost the entire ward, and he can just make out the third slot behind its curtain, although only if he stands.    Leaning against the wall, he tilts his head back to rest his neck for a moment. He’s so tired. It’s only 7:30 am and this has already been the worst fucking day ever. But he can’t stop.    He’s not supposed to care about her, but he does. And because he does, he won’t stop.

   What will it take to get her out of here safely?

   An ambulance won’t work, her bed is too big, and he can’t risk transferring her onto a gurney, not with her injuries. Plus, all that equipment would have to come too.    He knows that all the machines have a battery back-up in case of power failure, so as long as the journey isn’t too far, they’ll be fine in transit. But it’s gonna take a truck of some sort to move her, and that’s if he can even get her out of the building.

   He stands there, seemingly idle, as his gaze is drawn to the medical staff gathered at the nurse’s station. There’s no visible hierarchy among them there. Doctors and nurses sit together, trading information as well as insights, equally dependent on each other, and not just to manage their work.    Banter passes between them effortlessly, keeping their hearts light, despite the many horrors which surround them.

   A long time ago, in a different life, Pero knew what it was like to have that kind of relationship with his coworkers. He’s all but forgotten it now, but the thought brings his mind to his current colleagues.    People who know how to handle precious cargo with ease and efficiency, who are experts at safely lifting heavy and delicate items, who can work under the most stressful conditions without losing their heads.

   They’re not his friends, but they’re good people. Maybe… they’ll help him if he asks.

   He can’t use his cellphone in the hospital, and while he doesn’t want to step outside, he also can’t call from the front desk where any number of people might overhear the plan that’s begun to take shape within his mind. And he’s quite certain that the staff will try to stop him if they find out what he’s thinking.    So, he takes the risk of walking outside to make the calls.

   “Brandon,” his supervisor answers.

   “Hey, it’s Tovar.”

   “Hi,” the guy replies, suddenly sounding unsure and clearly stunned to hear from him, because Pero never calls anyone at work unless he’s there himself and there’s a work-related issue.

   “I need to know who’s on shift right now,” he demands.

   “Okay, that would be, uh… Haig, Kurtz, Olivera and Andersson.”

   “Thanks,” he says and then hangs up, having gotten the information he was after.

   The two people he needs the most, Carrera and Boon, aren’t working so they might be available. But that also means that he’s gonna have to convince them to go to the warehouse anyway, if they’re gonna be able to help him.    He has no reason to think that they’ll even want to. They don’t owe him or Niki anything. He’s placing all his hope on the idea that they’ll at least be willing to help her, as most everyone at work likes the quiet mechanic who never fails to fix their problems.

   “Hello?” Boon’s deep voice asks as the call connects, having not recognized the number.

   “Hey, it’s Tovar.”

   “Tovar? Why you callin’ me? Isn’t it your weekend off?”

   “I need your help,” he admits, and the other man scoffs, but with surprise more than anything else.

   “Well, that’s a first.”

   “Yeah. Sorry to spring this on you, but I don’t know how much time I have. Morse is in the hospital and she’s not doing so good,” he rattles off, nervously treading on the spot because he doesn’t like being out here while she’s alone inside.

   “Shit… What happened?”

   “I think someone tried to kill her, and I think they’re here, monitoring her at the hospital. That’s why I need your help.”

   There’s a moment of silence on the line. Then…

   “What do you need me to do?” Boon asks, and his tone is sure now, any hesitation or confusion blown away by his determination to protect.

   Unlike most of the guys that Pero works with, this man is a father. Of two girls. Even if he doesn’t know Niki or care about her the way that a friend would, he sort of automatically cares when bad stuff happens to good people, and especially women.

   “I need to move her out of the hospital, bed and equipment and all,” Tovar explains, and the guy instantly sees where his head is going.

   “You’re thinking of using the modified hydraulic table?”

   “And the new flatbed lifter. We can run the table out of the building without a hitch, there aren’t any thresholds, but it won’t get the bed into a truck,” he explains, giving Boon enough information to work out the details himself, without wasting time on lengthy deliberation.

   “So, we’re gonna need to borrow all three, without getting stopped at the gates and preferably without losing our jobs.”

   “All within the next hour,” Pero confirms, and hears the other man sigh.

   “Shit.”

   “I was thinking Carrera.”

   “Yeah. It’s gonna have to be,” his colleague agrees, and while he sounds worried, there’s no doubt that he’s onboard. “Let me make some calls, alright. Can I get back to you on this number?”

   “Text me, I’m going back inside to keep an eye on her.”

   “Sure. Hey, you keep that girl safe til we get there.”

   “Trying to. Just hurry.”

   He hangs up and half runs back to the ward, where he quickly notices that another new face has turned up.    A man with the same impassive expression as the unknown man that he saw before, has taken a seat in the general waiting area, leafing through a magazine, but not reading a single word as his entire focus is on his surroundings.

-=¤=-

   Boon walks into the ICU fifty-three minutes later and immediately clocks Pero, who’s now pacing as close to the slots as he’s allowed to get.    The same young nurse who was at the desk when he’d asked about security is standing between him and the area that’s off limits, with her arms crossed. But her face is calm, and her eyes are compassionate.

   “Hey, Tovar. Everything okay?” his coworker asks as he reaches them.

   “Not really,” he grumbles between tight jaws, but he can’t find the words to explain why, so the nurse takes over.

   “There was an incident. Mr. Tovar got into an altercation with another visitor here.”

   “He is not a visitor,” he persists with absolute certainty, to which she patiently sighs.

   “Unfortunately, there’s no way to know for sure, because you broke his humerus. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges.”

   “He won’t, because then he’d have to explain why he was loitering here for half an hour before making a beeline for Niki, a person he definitely doesn’t know or care about,” Pero spits, still high on adrenaline from the encounter, and only more worried now that there’s no longer any doubt that he’s right.

   “Shit…” Boon says, nervously scratching his neck. “Why would anyone wanna kill Morse?”

   “I have someone else working on figuring that out. In the meantime, we gotta get her somewhere safe.”

   “I understand your concerns, Mr. Tovar, but she can’t be moved yet, she’s too fragile,” the nurse interjects. “I can have security stand guard, but she needs to be right here for the time being.”

   He’s been too preoccupied the previous times he’s met her, but Pero now looks at her nametag, hoping to create a temporary relationship of trust, which seems more likely to succeed if he at least knows her name.

   “Gillian, please listen to me. This woman is the only person in the entire world that I give a shit about, so you need to understand me when I say that I will not leave her lying here as a sitting duck for the next assassin who shows up, which I know they will.”

   “Sir, you’re being dramatic. I admit, he had a cold manner about him, but an assassin?” she poses with incredulity, but Pero merely sucks in a deep breath, entirely undeterred.

   “No actually, I’m not being dramatic, I know what I’m talking about. There were two of them, one to scout ahead and make sure they had the right location and the correct patient, and then a second guy to perform the job.    That guy then sat there, waiting for an emergency to come in so that most of the staff would leave, and then he snuck past you, heading straight for her. The only reason she’s still alive is because the guy failed to notice me.    But now they know that I’m protecting her, which means that the next time they come, they will have changed tactics, and I might not be lucky enough to figure out what they’re doing until it’s too late.”

   She stares at him with her mouth hanging slightly open, and she looks as though she’s unsure of whether to laugh in his face or back away to a safer distance.

   “You were watching him?” she deduces, but phrases it as a question, probably to emphasize how abnormal she must find all of this.

   “Yes, because I know when people don’t belong. He was either gonna bomb the place or come after Niki.”

   “What are you? CIA?” she whispers, and when he exasperatedly shakes his head, he sees that Boon is looking at him with the exact same expression that she is.

   “Oh, for fuck’s sake… I used to operate outside the law, alright. I was a criminal. And the type of crap I did, was the type where knowing people at first glance was the difference between a safe job, and a death-trap,” he admits, and they both look a little sheepish.

   He hates talking about the past, for several reasons, but primarily because he isn’t proud of any of it. He’s nearly forty years old and he’s got nothing to show for it.    Life as a crook had its benefits, sure. But the downside for a man who had specialized in extorting people by using their secrets against them, was that it was impossible, and dangerous, to make friends.

   He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, feebly trying to chase the past away.

   “The point is, I’m not wrong about this. There’s at least two of them, and the other one might already be here.”

   “Okay, I hear you. But you need to understand that there’s no point in protecting someone if you kill them, and if we try and move her, that is entirely likely to happen,” Gillian counters.

   Pero had lowered his voice considerably while he’d spoken about his past, but he now realizes that the nurse is following suit, to the point where only the two men in front of her can hear what she’s saying.    And there’s no reason for her to try and hide anything, unless she’s already contemplating doing something that from the hospital’s standpoint, would be wrong. Which means that there’s every chance that so long as they have a good enough plan, she might help them.

   “Moving her is risky, I agree. But leaving her here is worse. Now, my colleagues and I have a plan, and it’s not as idiotic as you might think. Please, just hear us out.”

-=¤=-

   As it turns out, Gillian doesn’t just approve of their plan, she decides to improve it by becoming the boss of it. And for someone as young as she is, the authority that she commands when she sets her mind to something, is admirable to say the least.    First, she somehow convinces Doctor Leo that Niki needs a new CT scan, to give them an excuse to move her off the ward. Then she manages to rope in two other nurses, without even telling them what’s going on, to help move all the equipment without having to disconnect the patient from it.

   And when they’ve all crammed into the elevator and Pero presses the button for sublevel two, the garage, the two nurses are understandably confused.

   “Radiology is on the third floor, sir,” one of them needlessly informs him, since each button has the relevant floor information printed next to it.

   “We’re not going to Radiology, Chris,” Gillian firmly announces, and both nurses turn to look at her with confusion.

   But before either of them has had a chance to speak, she continues.

   “No questions, just do what I say. That way, you can rightfully blame me as much as you need or want to, when you’re being asked about it later.”

   And that’s the end of it. Neither nurse dares to say anything more.    They reach the garage and gently maneuver the bed and the five machines, each one individually mounted onto either a pole on wheels or a cart, out of the elevator. The truck is standing by, parked in the middle of the driveway, and the moment he sees them, Carrera jumps out to open the back.

   He waited so that he’d be able to move if anyone should see it and worry that a truck standing with its tail-end in front of the elevator is terribly suspicious. Which it is, especially for a garage with no loading dock or goods reception.    Once the back is open, he jumps in there to start up the electric flatbed lifter. The hydraulic table is already positioned on top of the metal bed, being unloaded along with the lifter.

   It’s a very clever machine, designed specifically for cargo needing to be loaded into a trailer from the ground, without having to be tilted or removed from the lifting mechanism at any point. The only drawback is that once loaded, the machine goes wherever the cargo does, but for this endeavor, that doesn’t matter.    The hydraulic table is just that. A smooth flat surface, approximately five by eight feet, and only two inches thick, capable of lifting eight thousand pounds at the most.

   Together, these two factory tools should be enough to get Niki, her bed, and everything attached to her, into the truck and safely away from the hospital. But since no one has ever tried something like this before, they’re going to have to take it slow and make sure that they get it right.    The hospital bed sits on top of a hydraulic system of its own, and it has wheels that need to be securely locked throughout transfer. Contrarily, most of the medical equipment can’t be locked into place at all.

   The two nurses exchange a look of nervousness as they begin to realize what’s happening here, but to their credit, neither of them tries to back out.

   Once the machines are on the ground and positioned, the delicate work begins.    The bed is lowered to its bottom setting to put the center of gravity as far down as possible, then Pero and Boon carefully roll it up on top of the table, while all three nurses manage the equipment, constantly keeping it close enough that no tubes or wires are being stretched to the point where they might detach from Nikita’s skin or blood-vessels.

   The wheels are locked, and then the table is raised just a few inches from the ground. Only enough for the flatbed to be able to slip underneath.    Unlike what the name suggests, it isn’t simply a solid flat surface that makes up the lifting area of the flatbed. It’s actually made of eight parts, all of which can be shifted individually with a series of levers next to the steering wheel inside the cabin.

   Carrera is thus far the only one to have mastered this new piece of machinery since it’s arrival at the warehouse just a week ago, which is why both Pero and Boon decided that he needed to be involved.    Either of them could technically have operated it, mechanically it isn’t that different from a forklift, but since they’re unfamiliar with it, that would’ve taken five times as long and it wouldn’t have been nearly as smooth as the seasoned Latino is managing.

   He shifts six of the sections up and out of the way, leaving just one at each end of the lifting area, and then slides them under the edges of the table, slowly taking up its weight while checking that nothing is misaligned or slipping.    Once he gives a thumbs up, Boon presses the button which lowers the hydraulic table back to its bottom setting, and then everything stops while the medical equipment is lifted onto the flatbed as well.

   The nurses have to climb on too, in order to keep the unsteady carts and poles from rolling or tipping, and then Carrera begins the precise task of raising the entire machine along with its cargo, off the ground and up to the edge of the truck’s cargo hold.    There, he engages a different engine, which pushes the entire flatbed into the trailer, but not by dragging it along the floor. Instead, there are little wheels, much like the ones in commercial airplane cargo holds, embedded within the underside of the flatbed, letting it slip effortlessly and with minimal vibration, into position.

   Next, the machine itself needs to be brought onboard, because it can’t be detached from its loading bed. But it has another trick for that. Another engine, this one operating two legs which are pushed into the ground and thereby lifting the machine. The engine which works to push up the flatbed now works in tandem with the one that operates the legs, so that the bed remains on the floor of the truck even as the machine rises.

   It’s clever, but not quick. Nearly ten minutes have passed since they stepped out of the elevator, and just as Carrera has completed the maneuver, they run out of time.    The legs have just been retracted into the belly of the machine and the engine switched off, when the elevator doors open, and the first of the unknown men that Pero encountered up in the ICU, steps out.

   This guy doesn’t have a broken arm, or anything else to slow him down, so when he realizes what he’s looking at, he reaches into his open leather jacket and pulls out a revolver. Down here, there’s no reason to be discreet or quiet, and his quarry is conveniently trapped inside a trailer along with all the witnesses.    But, as is usually the case with people and guns, once the first shot is fired, panic ensues.

   At the foot of the bed, Boon is closest to the opening of the cargo hold, and being the protective person that he is, he jumps out of the truck and runs straight for the assailant. He gets there without getting shot, as the unknown man is focused on Niki, and tackles him to the ground.    While the two men wrestle around, Gillian all but shoves the other two nurses out of the trailer and screams for them to run for the stairwell.

   Meanwhile, Pero remains at the head of the hospital bed, trying to keep the equipment from toppling over in all the ruckus, and Carrera, having still been in the cabin of the flatbed when the shooting started, has gotten out and is trying to close the double doors at the back of the truck.    He eventually manages to get a hold of them, but then seems to change his mind about something, and jumps out before closing them, leaving Pero and Gillian trapped in there, with no light besides the faint glow of the digital screens on the medical gear.

   A revolver holds either five or six bullets, and Tovar can’t remember how many shots he’s heard in total, but another two suddenly hit the back doors. They must’ve hit at an angle, though, because neither shot manages to penetrate the metal.    He worries about his colleagues out there, both of whom are only here because he asked them. But he can’t help them now. He can’t even help himself.

   The sound of the driver’s door opening behind him draws his attention. There’s no window between the cabin and the trailer, so he can’t see who is climbing in. But the sound carries over well, and he hears the door close and keys rattling over there.

   “Carrera, is that you?!” he screams in the direction of the driver’s seat.

   “Yeah… hold on!” the Latino calls back while starting the engine.

   “What about Boon?!” he asks, but there’s no reply.

   The truck begins to move just as another shot is fired and hits metal somewhere on the truck, but he can’t tell where.    The father of two is left to fend for himself, and Pero tries not to blame himself. Tries not to think that those girls are fatherless now. But it’s possible that they are. Maybe even probable. And if so, how can he not blame himself?

   To him, Nikita is worth it. But to those girls, she’s nothing but a stranger.

   Carrera tries to drive carefully, but the ride is still not free from bumps, and every time she’s jostled, Niki’s breathing hitches. But like the nightshift doctor had observed, her heart never misses a beat. And that is tremendously reassuring.    Soon though, the truck is brought to a stop, which is not surprising because he hasn’t had time to tell his coworker where they’re going.

   It seems to take longer than it should for him to get out and walk to the back, before unhooking the locking arm and swinging one of the doors open. But when he comes into view, Pero understands why.    He’s been shot. It must’ve been one of the very first bullets, since his position while he’d been sitting in the flatbed’s cabin had put him in between the shooter and his mark.

   He falls backwards onto soft grass, and Gillian rushes to try and help him while Tovar secures the medical gear and then follows.

   “Sorry, man…” Carrera gasps once he’s by his side.

   “No… It’s not your fault. You did perfect.”

   “Thought you were exaggerating… but that guy…”

   “Yeah. A real fucking assassin. But don’t worry about it anymore, we’re gonna get you some help,” he says and then reaches into his pocket to grab his phone and call for help.

   There’s no point. The bullet went through his liver and this long afterwards, there won’t be enough time to save him.    All three of them know it, just like they know that they can’t stay there and wait for emergency services to show up, given that they’d find a stolen patient and a truck with bullet-holes in it, along with a gunshot victim.

   “Get outta here…” Carrera says, putting his hand on Pero’s to stop him from dialing.

   It’s not fair that a good man should die for trying to help someone. But that is what’s happening, and there’s no stopping it. But leaving him there alone while he takes his final breaths would be inhuman.    They’re not safe out there in the open, but they risk it. He’s earned as much.

-=¤=-

   Gillian stays with Niki while he drives the rest of the way. He’s impressed that she hasn’t run off yet. He won’t blame her if she does.    As he drives further and further away from the city, the streets grow quiet, and traffic becomes sparse. He sticks to the larger roads for as long as he can, because they’re smoother, better maintained than the one’s he’s going to have to travel as they near their destination.

   But it’s a six-hour drive all in all, so he stops about halfway there, to buy some food and supplies. To avoid prying eyes, he parks half a mile away from the store, at a rest-stop, and then jogs there and back.    He climbs in the back to give the nurse some food and water and check how Niki’s doing after so long on the road.

   “She seems to be coping well, right?” he asks, since he can’t see any obvious changes in the readings on the various monitors.

   “Considering the circumstances,” Gillian nods, but she’s still concerned. “She needs fresh IV's, though. And her wounds need to be re-dressed.    How much further?”

   “We’ll be turning onto smaller roads in a few miles, which is gonna force our speed down. I’d say another three hours. Do you think she can handle that?”

   She deliberates for a few seconds, looking at her patient and then the battery levels of the equipment.

   “Don’t dawdle,” she sighs, looking up at him, but then something occurs to her. “Are we going to some kind of medical facility? Because unless there’s medical supplies ready and available-…”

   “Everything she needs is there,” he gently cuts her off. “But no, it’s not a medical facility.”

   The rest of the drive demands his entire focus for every yard that passes. The smaller roads are okay for the most part, but the larger cracks and dips are often hidden in bends or at the crest of a hill, so he can never relax. He has to scan every inch of the road surface every second, or he risks missing something that could jolt his passenger into cardiac arrest.    It drains his energy and his nerves, but he doesn’t even dare to reach for a snack for fear that he’ll mess something up.

   All of which means that by the time they finally get there, he’s exhausted. And that’s when the next strenuous task begins: Getting the bed out of the trailer.

   The process is the same, just in reverse order, but he’s never used the machine in any order before, and there are no extra hands to keep track of all the medical gear this time.    Thankfully, there’s also less of a time-restraint, so he can go into the garage and fetch rope and duct tape to secure the poles and carts for the maneuver this time. But it’s still nerve-wracking to try and use the machine smoothly and prevent jostling, when he barely even knows the controls.

   He’s got no wiggle-room at all, there’s no trial and error here, if he does one thing wrong, it could kill Niki. And he’s so fucking tired that he almost uses the wrong controls twice, only managing to avoid it by triple checking his every move.    But he does eventually get her down, safe and sound. It takes nearly twenty minutes, though, so it was a good thing that Carrera had been there for the loading, or she would definitely have been dead now.

   “What is this place?” Gillian asks once they’ve gotten the bed through the extra wide front door and are gently pushing it through the front hall.

   “My place,” he offers, and sees her eyes widen with surprise.

   “I’m gonna need a bit more than that…”

   He waits until they’ve completed a ninety degree turn into the master bedroom before answering, both because he needs to concentrate on one thing at a time when he’s this tired, but also because it’s far from his favorite subject.

   “I told you I was a criminal, but I never mentioned that I was also a very successful one. And this is what I did with the fortune I was able to amass.”

   While he paused to lock the wheels of the bed and start untying the equipment, she looked around the room, admiring the exposed wood panel, the floor-to-ceiling glass walls and the woodlands beyond.    The house stands on the edge of a cliff, so along this side of it, one is literally among the treetops. The floor above looks out over the entire valley below, but here in the bedroom, the conifers seem to embrace the house, creating a soft green duskiness.

   “The idea was to have a place where none of the people who I’d scammed would ever be able to find me, so this place has no address. I own the land here, but under a different name that can’t be tied to me. The water is pumped up directly from the bedrock, the sewage system is self-supporting, and the electricity comes from the wind, sun and an underground river.”

   From a cabinet inside the closet, he retrieves an IV bag which he hands to her, and an extension cord with ten extra sockets into which he begins to plug in all the gear.

   “You have all this stuff laying around here just in case?”

   “It was always meant to be a safehouse, especially if I needed medical aid, because hospitals are really fucking unsafe, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

   Her face turns somber then, and he regrets the harshness of his tone. It’s her second home, as most workplaces are, and chances are, she’s never felt unsafe there before. Not like today, at least.

   “I don’t know what happened to them… Chris and Talia,” she whispers, referencing the two poor nurses she’d roped in to help. “I told them to run but I never managed to check if they made it.”

   She finishes with the IV and then checks to make sure that all the equipment is functioning properly, and that Niki’s vitals are still good.

   “Thank you,” Pero says once she’s done, and she turns to meet his eyes.

   He doesn’t need to tell her what for, she knows what she’s done and that she could’ve backed out at any number of points along the way.    She nods at him and then moves to take a seat on the protruding edge of the wood frame of the bed. He wants to lay down on the bed and sleep for about two days, but he remains standing. Once he allows himself to rest, the fatigue is gonna make him crash, and he can’t let himself do that yet.

   “So… What now?” she asks, for the first time letting him see that she too is exhausted.

   “Get some rest.”

   “And what are you gonna do?”

   “I’m gonna find out who’s trying to kill her.”

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Part 3

Thank you for reading, and remember: I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications for updates on my writing :)

[sh1-n0bu]

congrats on reaching 300 followers!!! may i request for hetalia? (i’m not sure on the maximum amount of characters allowed so i’ll make a list, you can skip anyone you don’t want to write for) how would scotland, wales, spain, portugal, france and northern ireland deal with an s/o who’s always lost in their thoughts? like they’re always imagining up complex storylines with their own characters, impossible scenarios, procrastinating, giving themselves unnecessary anxiety, and it’s turned to maladaptive daydreaming at this point. they know this, and they say they’re trying to change, but deep down they really don’t want to because reality hurts, and they’d rather be lost in their own little world instead. am i self-inserting too much? probably-

✿ 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 ✿

characters: francis (france), allistor (scotland), dylan (wales), antonio (spain) and siamas (northern ireland) x nb!reader

warnings: hints of maladaptive daydreaming, disassociation, insomnia, existential crisis, comfort, fluff, light angst

notes: phew it has been so long since i had last watched hetalia so i had to watch a lot of vids, comps and read the fandom articles to remind myself of them lmao. with that the characters also might come off OOC

hetalia fandom r u still alive????? if so then yall better prepare bc once my inbox gets flooded with hetalia reqs im gonna terrorize yall🕴🕴

francis is a romantic through and through and due to that he daydreams as well. whether it be romantic dates or acts you and him could do together, recreating gentle scenes from his favorite romance novels, plan out your date and anniversaries - francis is a romantic soul and he feels your daydreaming problem to a certain degree.

whenever he notices you suddenly go quiet, eyes hazy and unfocused, staring at something while fiddling with the strands of your hair, nails, the strings of your hoodie or anything you can get your hands on, the man would let out a sigh and sit behind you. pulling your body close to himself and slowly rocking you both back and forth gently - waiting patiently for you to come back to the real world.

but sometimes francis just can’t help but get a little bit selfish. wanting your attention only on himself but he knows it’s wrong.

so that’s why, when you stepped into your shared home with the blond after another draining day at work, he had already prepared a tea party setup with your favorite novel’s theme, dressed up as your favorite character with a charming smile and gentle eyes. candles lit, the freshly baked goods’ scent wafting through the air enough to make you drool alongside a hot, steaming marble pot filled with a chamomile tea.

“mon amour, would you care for a tea with me?”

before you two started dating, allistor thought of your stimming and daydreaming moments as something familiar to his brother, arthur.

perhaps you saw something that the normal people couldn’t see and interact with them like his little brother, so the redhead didn’t ask anything of it nor did he thought it’s anything problematic. however he got smacked in the face by how deeply your maladaptive daydreaming problems run when after your date at the cafe together, you almost got hit by a car when crossing the street with unfocused eyes and slow, dragged steps.

since then, allistor took it upon himself to study and research more about the differences of daydreaming and maladaptive ones, what causes them to happen, the reason for one to end up having such an odd yet harsh behavior.

whenever you would end up stimming with your headphones plugged in, mindlessly and robotically going through your work with an eerie silence - the man would observe you for a while, trying to decipher if you’re slipping a bit too deep into the dreams before walking over to you and gently tapping on your shoulder.

when your lovely eyes would lock with his own bright blue ones he would give you a smile and reach out a hand. a silent invitation for a slow dance with him - a formerly talked upon agreement that you two made to help you reground again after another slip.

“dalrin’ would you care to share your dreams with me?”

dylan loves fantasy creatures and stories like his brothers and due to that the blond daydreams quite often as well. about the different mythical creatures, their origins, territory, how they would live and interact with one another - all sorts of things.

he tends to stim a lot without even noticing as well so dylan would be the best person to share your struggles of maladaptive daydreaming. not to mention the short man always carries around a big sponge or those cute, character shaped stress balls.

the first time when he found you completely unresponsive laying on your bed with your headphones in, dylan immediately knew what was going on. so he silently slipped into the bed next to you, held your hand in his own and rubbed slow circles into the flesh until you came back again.

since then you both had made a promise to each other to try and get better. slowly but surely working on your behaviors, problems and sudden slips. and it’s safe to say that you both had gotten better.

“cupcake! if you slip down the rabbit hole again then take my hand and drag me down with you! ‘cuz i don’t ever want to be without you.”

antonio is a bright and optimistic young man, however sometimes he comes off as blunt and insensitive due to him not fully being able to read the situation at hand.

perhaps it’s due to his inability to read the room that he was able to snap you out of your slip so easily and effectively when you two first met. a simple pat to your shoulder and voice asking you “what are you doing sitting around without doing anything for?” definitely stopped your daydreaming.

after you had said your answer to him in an unsure voice, the bright smile wearing man simple smiled even brighter and asked you if you wanted to be friends.

and since then antonio and you two became friends. meeting up in small shops, restaurants, gardens, everywhere anywhere all at once until one day after almost 2 years of friendship the young man asked you if you would like to take your relationship a step further.

whenever he finds you stimming with your fingers while gazing at someplace far away, he just can’t help but get a bit sad. you wanted to be someplace that’s not here and antonio didn’t want you to go somewhere where he can’t be with you.

so he would always rubs simple shapes into your hand or shoulder, giving you an unusually melancholic smile with his pinky raised.

“pinky promise to always come back from your wonderland to me?”

siamas is a loud and chatty fellow - the perfect human representation of a golden retriever if only he had blond hair instead of red.

it was all thanks to his bright personality that you have been getting better and better at regrounding yourself back again when alone.

when siamas first saw your behavior with his own eyes he immediately knew what it was. so the redhead calmly walked over to your sitting form on the couch, kneeling before you and started to plant butterfly kisses on your cheeks. trailing them slowly over your acnes/moles/freckles until you snapped back and let out a giggle at his sweet antics.

he always has a lot of different toys, chibis and cute little bracelets connected to his keychain so whenever you two are going out kn a walk or a date, when he feels your hand become loose in his own he would proudly pull out his keychain and put one of the toys into your hand. gently squeezing yours - which is holding the toy - in his own, giving you a smile and a proud kiss to your forehead when you ground yourself back.

“welcome back honey. so what do you think of getting for dinner today?”

[stirpicus]

Hello Eric! Thank you for all the advice and wisdom you share with your writing experiences. I’ve been lurking on those on a while because (well i know a major chunk is MC story mode), the characters are so well fleshed out and they stuck to me for so many years. No matter what I do I alwayyys go back to writing. Like i cannot just NOT do it. And lately, spending much time, I have been trying to unwrap my misbelief about “comparing myself to others”. I read so many different advice: don’t compare yourself, you can only control what you do, your journey is different, you can’t compare art, trends change etc. yet I just can’t seem to get it. Now I know why.

Personally I have enwrapped my own sense of worth with the stories I write. Like if this craft isn’t recognized the best despite all my efforts, I just don’t have that IT factor. And even though we’re not supposed to compare, is it bad for me to have ambition that I want to become the best? Also yes my journey is different, but how do I know if I’m headed there, what if I’m just gonna be stuck average? So all of these thoughts boiled down to this dark demon always telling me: why bother pouring your heart out when it won’t make a difference to the competition? My biggest desire is to write a story that inspires. But if I don’t have enough people to like it (aka not popular enough) then I did a bad job or what I have to offer wouldn’t suffice.

Tdlr; bigger numbers, bigger validation, significance=good writer.

How would you unravel this misconception?

I have a lot of problems with modern society and it’s affect on budding artists, writers, and other myriad creative ne’er-do-wells. Social media, in particular, is a noxious poison that we have been collectively huffing for the last decade and change, with its deceptively comforting dopamine hits.

You need to remember that people have undertaken creative endeavors since the dawn of time, and that for 99.99999% of that time, there has not been social media. There have not be likes, or reblogs, or retweets, or follower counts… and yet art and creative expression have persisted.

I’m not going to sit here and tell you “Aw I’m sure you’re great! Just keep plugging away and you’ll get there!” Because I don’t think you have a clear idea of what your definition of “there” is. You say you want to be “the best,” but that doesn’t mean anything. The “best” writer of all time might have been born at a time and in a place where we’ve never gotten to read any of her or his or their writing. Wanting to be “the best” is a foolish goal that will only lead to frustration and disappointment.

You need to take a look in the mirror and ask yourself: Do you actually love writing? Or do you love the idea of being praised for your writing because you seek validation and writing is something that people have told you you’re good at doing? “Success” can look like a thousand different things and change a thousand times in your lifetime. When I was 21, my vision of “success” was getting paid to write words. That was it. The first time I got to file my taxes as a “Writer” I felt like I had truly “made it.” All my writing that year was for weird social media startups and cartoons that never went anywhere, but people had nonetheless exchanged Money for my Words so I had achieved my goal of “Getting paid to write words.”

Each success brings with it new goals - from there it was “write something that gets made,” “have an original idea get produced,” “get to write for a medium I’ve never written for before,” “write something that wins an award,” But along the way, I tried to make each of these goals attainable and tried not to despair when some take longer than others. I have some goals that I may never accomplish, and some that I haven’t even set for myself yet.

This is my own journey, and yours will look different. But I hope whatever shape it takes, you will divorce yourself from caring about something as stupid as follower counts or number of likes or trying to be “the best.” Because good lord what a silly amount of pressure to put on yourself.

At the end of the day the one reader that will always read your stuff… is you. So don’t worry about whether people will like what you’re writing - just make sure it’s something that you like to read and enjoy writing. Because if you keep doing that and keep the social media demons outta your brain box, then you can focus on figuring out what you REALLY want out of writing… because I bet it’s something way achievable than “being the best.”

[charlezarrd]

I posted 880 times in 2022

100 posts created (11%)

780 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@the-backspin-alchemist

@simplyghosting

@kirtini

@ultipoter

@lieutenant-sarcastic

I tagged 872 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#coolposts - 272 posts

#inspiration - 67 posts

#backspin - 63 posts

#tag games - 47 posts

#my writing - 46 posts

#novembeat 2022 - 44 posts

#novembeat collab - 42 posts

#ask games - 37 posts

#friend art - 28 posts

#golden sun - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#maybe i just need that data transfer cable but i don’t really want to leave it plugged into the headset while i’m moving around a lot yknow

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Lately I’ve been feeling in… A massive creative slump. And by ‘lately’ I mean the past couple years.

It seems like i can’t have an idea or start a writing project without abandoning it. Even as passionate as I was about SHY, i now feel nothing for it.

I actually do feel like that’s part of the problem, is that no one engages with my work. But then again, I have to actually make stuff for people to engage with it, so that’s kind of a catch 22.

There was also Dragon Ball: After Death, and a TMA fan story, too. Neither of which got very far before I abandoned them. Even some more original stories have completely faded from my imagination.

I’ve tried keeping a ‘writing journal’ where I write three pages every week of anything. I’ve tried holding myself to a small word count every day. These things worked for a short period of time before I just forgot to do them.

I really don’t understand why I can’t seem to gain any momentum on anything.

I know all the basic advice, “the best way to start writing is to start writing”, “the best writers read”, and so on. Anything you can just google, i know. I need something deeper.

Are there any writers out there that can help me? I really don’t know what to do.

6 notes - Posted August 3, 2022

#4

11/30/22 - In the Hall of the Golden Goddess

There it is, folks. The last entry for Novembeat this year. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know which one was your favorite if you want. Keep an eye out for @the-backspin-alchemist's music for my stuff, and I'll probably be making a masterpost for all this tomorrow, if I have time.

See you next year!

Or, yknow. Next week if you're following me here.

Lanter enters Tasimira’s hall, the gilded casino, with rows of gambling tables on each side of him, framed by golden pillars.

At the far end, on a throne of dice, sits the Goddess of Fate and Chance herself, as tall as five men.

“Well, well.” She says. “If it isn’t my delinquent proxy. Did you come to apologize for ignoring me, or did you just miss our face-to-face talks that much?”

“Shut your mouth.” Lanter tells her.

He stands at his full height, ready for a confrontation. He’s only able to make eye contact with her knee.

“Excuse me!?” She blinks, taken aback.

“I’ve met your sons, and I’ve met your daughters. Not all of them, but enough. I see through your facade now. I know you never intended to follow through on the deal we made, did you? It didn’t matter how much money I gathered for you, you never had the power to bring her back.”

“Now. The situation was fairly complicated…” Tasimira frowns.

“No. No, it wasn’t.” Lanter interrupts her. “Shut up and let me finish. You’re a fucking child playing with people’s lives. You had all the guts to stand up and declare yourself queen at the beginning of time, and yet, I have yet to see evidence of you actually wield that title with any level of authority or responsibility.”

“Hold on. To be fair, it wasn’t me that took your fiancee. That was entirely Nera’s doing.” Tasimira holds up a hand to stop him, as if defending herself from his words.

“And now you’re deflecting your responsibility onto the goddess of Pain and Death. If you were really going to act like a queen, you’d keep the rest of your pantheon in line.”

“What are you trying to get at? I’m a very busy goddess, so would you mind getting to the point?” Tasimira sighs.

He’s starting to get under her skin.

Good.

“That you’re either an incompetent fool of a goddess, or you’re outright malicious. Either way, you’re entirely unfit to be a goddess at all, let alone Queen of the Pantheon.” Lanter spits on the floor.

“How dare you. I won’t stand for such acquisitions. Why, I have half a mind to smite you in a thousand different ways this instant!” Tasimira glares at him

“But you won’t.” Lanter smirks. “Because you need me. I’m your agent of chaos, your rogue agent. I’m the wildcard. Without people like me, your ‘story’ falls apart. Whatever you want, you need conflict. It fuels you. You crave drama. And you need me to make that happen.”

Tasimira sighs, and slumps down in her throne sullenly. “Well, then what now? What will the ever observant Lanter Spade do next?”

“Whatever the fuck I want.” Lanter tells her. “Since I know you’re not gonna do jack shit about it. Next time you give me a mission or an order or whatever you call it, I’ll decide if it’s worth my time or not. Because now I see through your facade. And I’m not gonna let you fuck with me anymore. And boy I’m gonna make you regret making me your proxy. Because I’m the only person I know that’s more petty, more selfish, and more malicious than you are.”

With that as his last word, he turns and leaves Tasimira’s hall, flipping her off on the way out. No doubt she’ll be sulking about this one for the next few years, if not a couple hundred.

6 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

#3

000000 QAN[T] Raiser GN Full Twenty Sword Final Battle GN Particle Accelerator Type

12 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

#2

$35 SD Sinanju kit.

Comes with all these extra really big parts for some reason.

20 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

i’m honestly shocked there’s not a larger horror community here on tumblr.

I mean sure, yeah, all right, The Magnus Archives blewed up,

But what about Marble Hornets? That seems right up tumblr’s alley, where’s that fandom at?

And while I’m at it, where’s the Mandela Catelogue fandom? There’s enough going on there to speculate for years even though there isn’t much source material.

And you’re sleeping hard on Darkness Under My Bed, too, istg. Y’all like Markiplier but not horror games?? Bruh, Markiplier is what got me into horror games.

And for all the talk about “biblically accurate” this and that, i’m sure seeing a lot of not-the FAITH series by Airdorf.

Anyway, I think ppl should give some of this stuff a try. Or at least have their dark and mysterious cards revoked, if they’re too chicken.

22 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

You Don't Love Me Anymore?

Words: 4139

Warnings: angst, references to sex, breakup, hair long enough to run hand through?

STRANGER THINGS Masterlist Main Masterlist

I almost named this "Like We're In Love?" because of Steve saying it to Nancy in Season 2 and this was lowkey based off of it.

Can be read as a Part 1 for I Still Love You (Part 2) and 1,000 Yellow Daisies (Part 3)

This also was originally written for my OC Drew Henderson (Find info on her/original story on this account @imnotobsessedwfictionalchracters )

I also know that this isn't that well written, it was done on my phone when I was *lowkey* overheating in my moms car while driving to my friends DCI competition last Friday (the 15th)

Steve and other characters are PROBABLY OOC (as I suck at not being able to keep them from being OOC)

Anywho, enjoy

Y/N rolled her eyes at Robin’s comment on the Return to Oz. “Yeah, it was ‘scary’ and ‘off putting’ but that’s what I liked about it Robin.”

“Y/N, the evil-lady literally took her head off. How the hell is that not horrifying enough to not watch the film?”

“Robin, let us remember that I actually enjoyed The Black Cauldron. Unlike the majority of audiences.”

“Sometimes I seriously wonder how you and Steve get along. You two like completely different things it seems like sometimes.”

Y/N glanced over to Steve, who was checking a customer out. “Yeah...so do I.” 

“Hey,” Robin’s voice was full of concern, “I know it’s like, none of my business, but are you and Steve okay? Things have seemed tense between the two of you lately.”

Y/N looked back at Robin and shot her a small smile, “Yeah, everything’s fine!”

And she could tell that Robin didn’t believe her by the look on her face, but Y/N chose to ignore it. “Okay, if you’re sure Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, I am.” She looked at her watch and cursed as she saw the time. “Damn, I have to go Robin.” She placed the movie in her hand where it was supposed to go quickly and quickly ran into the break room to clock out for her break. She grabbed her jacket and keys and raced out the door, but as she did, she gave Steve a smile, “I’ll be back in like an hour with Dustin.”

Either he didn’t hear her or he ignored her as he didn’t make any acknowledgement to her comment. She tried to ignore the sting it caused her to feel as she opened the door and ran out, trying not to slip on the snow ridden ground. She ran to her car and unlocked the door, she plugged the key into the ignition to start it. After turning the heat all up, she tossed her jacket off and left the parking lot of Family Video and made her way to the High School.

By the time she finally made it, she was nearly an hour late. She was meant to pick him up between 3:10 and 3:20 and it was nearing 4 o’clock. She groaned as she saw her brother standing with his friends in front of the school. She pulled up in front of them and opened her door, got out, and walked over to them.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up. I know I’m late. I got sidetracked and completely missed the time!.”

“If you would’ve been a few minutes later Elder Henderson, I was going to kidnap your brother.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and Eddie’s comment, “Oh and I’m sure that Dustin would have loved it.” She turned to her brother, “I’m seriously sorry. A bunch of people decided to return their movies today so Robin and I were stalking the shelves.” She gave Mike and Lucas a smile, “You two good? Have a ride home and then to Hellfire?”

“Actually, Nancy’s sick, so could you take me to Hellfire?”

Y/N ran a hand through her hair, slowly becoming aware of the cold air around her. “Yeah, yeah I can. But I can’t take you home beforehand.”

“I don’t mind staying in the back of Family Video!”

She sighed, “As long as you’re sure.”

He nodded, “I am.”

“Then you two get your shit into the car.” She looked at Lucas, “You good, Sinclair?” He gave her a look and she rolled her eyes, “Alright. Follow the other two.” And as he went to put everything in the back she looked at Eddie. “You didn’t have to stay with them.”

Eddie shrugged, “True. But what kind of idol would I be if I did?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Besides, it’s fucking cold outside. Didn’t want them to freeze to death due to someone's negligence.”

“Well that someone has a fucking job.”

He lifted his arms up in defense, “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

She sighed, “You didn’t, Munson.”

“You seem stressed. Everything good? Need anything?”

She rolled her eyes at the last comment. She had already known Eddie before Dustin joined Hellfire. Bought some weed off of him her Junior and what would be his first fail at a Senior year, a few years ago.  “I quit that, Munson.” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, “But I’m good. Just tired and shit. Y’know, the holidays and things.”

Eddie nodded, “Well, need anything, I’m open Henderson.”

She gave him a soft smile, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He looked behind her, “Probably should let you go. Don’t kill my protége with your driving.”

She rolled her eyes and she began to walk away from him, “Yeah, I would be killing my brother in a car crash. That is not how I plan on killing him.” She dropped into her car, “See you later, Munson.”

He smiled at her, “See you later Henderson. And you too Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair. Don’t be late tonight.”

And on Eddie’s final words, she pressed the gas and drove back to Family Video. She numbly listened to her brother and his friends talk about Hellfire and the end of their recent campaign being tonight. Her thoughts were more focused on what Eddie had said. Was it really that obvious that everything with Steve has stressed her out from hell? But what showed it? She knew that her makeup hid the dark circles that she had gained due to the lack of sleep from worry. And the tear stains weren’t visible because of the makeup, once again. And he hadn’t thought that she had lost much weight from barely being able to eat. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe that was it. Maybe she looked smaller than normal.

She found it funny. She was perfectly healthy. But if Junior year her were to have seen what she looked like and weighed, she would have had a heart attack. Would have said she was ‘overweight’ and that she had to run to the bathroom. It sucked. And it was ironic that Steve was who helped her. He always did. That was how he was. Always helped her when she needed it. 

She felt like shit. Just like she did 3 years ago, just before her Sophomore year. When she lost Steve. God did she just hope that this feeling would go away and that she wouldn’t feel this way forever. And that nothing bad was going to happen with her and Steve. That everything would be okay.

But God did she know that would be a lie.

The second she pulled into the parking space she knew she was gonna get yelled at. She went 5 minutes over her break time. But she honestly could care less. She knew full well that they weren’t gonna fire her over that. She made Dustin grab her jacket as she shut her door. When they all entered, she tried to hide the pain when she saw the large smile on Steve’s face when he saw Dustin.

“Henderson!”

“Steve!”

She sighed and walked to the back, but when she went to clock herself back in, she saw that she already had been. She turned back and walked over again. She was going to ask what happened since it was only her, the kids, Steve, and Robin in the store, but she saw the look on Robin’s face. She shot her friend a grateful smile and mouthed ‘thanks’. To where her friend merely shrugged.

She walked over to the kids, “Alright, backroom children. Don’t wanna get in trouble cause of y’all. I get off at 6. So I’ll take you guys back for Hellfire straight after.” She ignored the protests from both her brother and boyfriend and gave Dustin a look that literally told him to listen or else he wouldn’t like what she would do. As the boys exited into the backrooms, she smiled at Steve. “So I was thinking, we get off at the same time, and I’ll have time before I’ll have to pick them up after Hellfire, what if we rented a movie ourself and have a little movie night?” She pushed a strand of hair from her face, “We haven’t done that in a while.” And she tried to keep the pained look from escaping when he flinched away from her hand that was moving to touch his arm. “Steve?”

“I--probably not. I have things that I need to get done when I get home.”

“Oh,” She tried not to sound disappointed, “Right. Yeah. Um...what about Christmas? Are you gonna come over?”

He shrugged, “Maybe. Not really sure.”

She nodded, almost numbly. “Okay...well I’m gonna help Robin finish stocking the films.”

He didn’t even acknowledge her final comment and she just nodded and walked away. She tried to keep the tears in her eyes, but couldn’t help that a few fell as she silently restocked the rows. Thankfully it wasn’t enough to mess with her makeup, but it was still enough that it messed with her mood for the rest of her shift.

But even unknown to her. The three Freshmen sitting in the backroom saw all of that. Lucas turned to Dustin, “Is everything okay between Y/N and Steve?”

Dustin shrugged, “I don’t know. He hasn't been around as much, which really sucks. Plus, she’s rarely on the phone with him, which is weird! I’m used to them being on the phone until mom yells at her to get off of it cause she either needs to use it or it’s getting late.”

“Did they break up?”

Lucas looked at Y/N as she placed the movies on the shelves, “I don’t think so. I mean, y’all know how it was whenever Max and I did. This is different.”

“I love Steve, but if he hurts her, I will not hesitate to murder him.”

And on that note, Lucas and Mike stopped talking about how tense everything between Y/N and Steve were. And for the last hour and a half of her shift, Y/N did all that she could to avoid looking at Steve. She talked to Robin some, but not much. The most she spoke was to a customer asking which movie she should rent for her and her kids to watch over Christmas. Of course Y/N suggested A Christmas Story. That movie had a soft place in her heart. Her, Jonathan, and Nancy took their siblings (plus Lucas) to see it when it came out 2 years ago.

But when she looked at her watch and read that it was 6, she quickly walked into the backroom and clocked out. She didn’t even tell the kids that it was time to go. They just knew from her walking in and grabbing her keys. She waved goodbye to Robin as she exited the store. She unlocked her car and just like it was when she left earlier, she made sure the car warmed up and made her way to the school.

After she dropped her brother and his friends off at the school and made sure they made it inside, she drove home. She noticed the lack of her mothers car in the driveway, signaling that she still wasn’t back from her work trip yet. She sighed as she unlocked the front door and was instantly greeted by the angry meows of Tews. She leaned down and pet the cat affectionately as she shut the door.

She dropped her keys in the key bowl and walked into the kitchen and silently made Tews his supper. One she did that, she walked into her room and shut the door. She clicked the power button on her radio and the sounds of Christmas songs began to fill her room. Currently it was the middle of Christmas Wrapping by The Waitresses. She dropped down onto her bed and buried her head into her pillow. 

She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard the shrill ringing of the phone. She groaned and leaned over to grab it. “You’ve reached the Henderson household. This is the daughter Y/N Henderson speaking.”

“Hey, it’s Steve.” 

And any inattentiveness quickly faded away and she made sure she was fully listening. “Steve. Babe. Hey. What's up?”

“Could you come over?” His voice sounded slightly desperate.

“Thought you were busy?”

She heard him sigh over the phone, “That was a lie.” She heard shuffling, “So, what do you say? You gonna come over? I just wanna talk.”

Talk. Oh God. He was going to break up with her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, “Y-yeah. I-I can. Just give me a few and I’ll be over there.”

“Okay. Good. See you in a few.”

“Yeah, see you in a few.” And after a quick second she began, “I love--” But was cut off by the sound of the other line being dead.

She ignored the pain she felt and sat the phone back down on the receiver. She got off her bed and as she exited her room, turned off the radio and the light. She shut the door and walked into the living room. She rolled her eyes at Tews, who was sitting on the couch. And muttered a “Lazy cat.” as she grabbed the keys to her car and her wallet. 

So once again, she was waiting for her car to warm up before she left towards the Harrington home. She hummed along to the songs playing on the Radio. She drove extra carefully due to the snow falling from the dark sky onto the already slick road. The normal 10 minute drive turned into a 30 minute one due to her caution. 

As she drove up the driveway, Last Christmas by Wham! was playing. Which should have told her enough to just turn back around and not do this. But she ignored it and turned off her car and got out. Immediately cursing herself for not bringing her jacket with her. She quickly ran to the door and knocked. Jumping from left to right in an attempt to not freeze to death. 

When the door opened and revealed Steve in the soft blue sweater that she had bought him last year for Christmas she smiled. But not a fake, forced one. A genuine one that she didn’t realize had grown on her face until it was there. 

“Y/N, get in here before you die of frostbite.”

She had forgotten how cold she was due to the warmth she was feeling from seeing him. “Oh right.” She slipped past him but stayed near as he shut the door. She placed her keys and wallet on the little table next to the door. She turned back to him and the two stood awkwardly in the foyer. 

He coughed, “Wanna go upstairs?” She nodded silently and as he turned to go to the stairs. She instinctively reached for his hand. And this time, when her fingers grazed his skin, he didn’t jolt away. No. In fact, he flicked his hand to slip it into hers. The warmth from her body never fading. Any hint that she was just freezing from just being out in the snow, was gone as her hand laid in his and they walked up the stairs to his room.

Once they made it to his room, she acted out of instinct and sat in his bed. And God had she wished she missed the look that had flashed over Steve’s face. The look of someone who was about to do something incredible stupid. The look that someone would give if they knew that they were going to regret what they were about to do. 

But she still ignored the pain in her chest. Screaming at her to leave. Screaming at her that if she stays, she needs to do it first. The warmth that she had felt moments ago, it was still there. But it was slowly fading away and she was struggling to grasp onto it. 

And now it was her turn to cough in order to stop the tense and awkward silence. “So what did you wanna talk about, Stevie?”

He sighed, “I don’t think that this,” He motioned back and forth from him to her, “Us, can work anymore.”

She tried to hide the hurt, “What do you mean, Stevie?”

He looked at her desperately, “Please Y/N. I know you’re not dumb. I know you know what I mean.” She refused to look at him now. She dropped her head and stared at her hands. She felt the bed dip and soon saw his hand reaching for hers. She flinched away and ever so slightly moved further away. “YN, please. Say something.”

The tears were threatening to fall from her eyes. “This is bullshit.”

Either he actually didn’t hear her or he needed to hear what she said again since he asked her, “What was that?”

Her voice, barely louder, spoke again. “This is bullshit.”

“What is?”

“You doing this.” She finally looked at him again. “You, pushing me away for weeks on end, calling me that you want to talk. Open the fucking door wearing a different fucking shirt than you were at work. You-you wearing the fucking sweater I bought you for Christmas last year.” She sniffed, “It’s fucking bullshit.”

He looked away. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired of pretending, acting as if we were in love.”

Any resolve she may have had to fix them faded away. That warmth she had clinged to following it. “As if we’re in love?” She stared at him. Hurt, betrayal, and pain was all that could be seen on her face. “You-you don’t love me anymore?” He said nothing. But she knew from the look on his face that he meant it. And she tried as hard as she could to keep her voice from cracking. “How long?” He stayed quiet. “How. Fucking. Long. Steve.?”

And now his own voice was barely above a whisper. “Since around Thanksgiving.”

She nodded. Since their stupid fucking fight. “So you haven’t loved me for nearly a month now?”

“No.”

“No? You haven’t? Has it been longer? Have you never loved me at all?” Once again Steve stayed quiet and she stood up angrily. “Or do you not know?”

“No. I don’t know.” And as she went to walk away he spoke again. “Not that I didn’t love you! I did! I-I did love you! I just don’t know when I stopped.”

She nodded and walked over to his bedroom door. Her hand floated above the doorknob. She turned back to him as the tears finally falling from her eyes. “Fuck you, Steve Harrington.” She opened the door, “Fuck you.” And she slammed it behind her. She ran as fast as she could down the stairs. She went so fast she didn’t even register that she forgot to grab her wallet. 

She felt like fate was against her cause the moment her Radio turned on, Wonderful Christmastime by Paul McCartney was playing. The same fucking song had played a year ago when she gave him the fucking sweater he was hearing. 

Y/N laid her head on Steve’s shoulder. Their backs against the couch. The sound of Wonderful Christmastime playing in the background. She smiled as Dustin opened the gift she got him. It was a new DnD dice set. One he had been begging their mom to buy him. He smiled at her and attacked her in a hug. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him.

“Now that Dustin got all of his presents.” She turned to Steve, “It’s your turn.”

He smiled, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

She smiled as she grabbed the small wrapped box. “Yeah, but I wanted to.” She handed it to him and he carefully unwrapped it. Once he got down to the box, he took off the lid and she spoke again. “You mentioned how you needed a new sweater. And I was out with Nance and I saw it and thought you would like it.” She bit her lip nervously, “Do you like it?”

He smiled and kissed her. “I love it babe.” He pulled away from her slightly. He looked around, her eyes ended up following his. Dustin was already on the phone with someone and her mom was asleep. He kissed her again and she smiled into it.

This time when they pulled away, they laid their foreheads against the other. And the words fell out of her mouth before she could even think. “I love you.”

She felt herself biting her lip the second she realized what she had said. He brought his hand up and ran his thumb over her lips, lightly pulling her teeth off of them. “I think,” He looked into her eyes lovingly, “That I love you more, sweetheart.”

She smiled and kissed him again and then whispered against his lips. “I highly doubt it.”

She was confused as she opened her bedroom door. When had she gotten home? She shook her head and went to the phone and dialed the number for the Wheelers.

It rang for a few minutes before she heard Nancy and Mike’s mom’s voice over the phone. “This is Karen Wheeler.”

“Hey Mrs. Wheeler, it’s Y/N. Dustin’s sister.”

“Y/N! Is everything okay? Is Mike alright?”

“Yeah, I-I think so? He was when I dropped him off for Hellfire.”

She heard the elder woman let out a sigh of relief. “Then what do you need dear?”

“I really hate to do this, but do you think you could bring Dustin home when you pick Mike up? I’m not feeling well, I might’ve caught whatever it is that Nancy has.”

“Oh! Of course, dear! Does he have a key?”

“He should.” She sighed, “Thank you so much Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Of course dear. I hope you feel better. And don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I understand that your mom is out of town.”

“Of course, Mrs. Wheeler.” Y/N ran a hand through her hair. “I’m gonna go now. Probably sleep some. Have a nice night.”

“Yes, get rest. I’ll pick Dustin up and make sure he gets in safely. Get better soon.”

Y/N didn’t even mess with saying anything else and just dropped her phone back down. She didn’t even change and just closed her eyes, falling asleep fully clothed. Completely tired of everything that just happened

Tired that she had basically just wasted the past month hoping that he would get over their stupid fight. Tired that she shouldn’t have ignored her gut. Tired of being tired.

-

Y/N groaned as she heard a knock on her door. “Y/N!” It was Dustin, “It’s 3! Aka when you were gonna take me to get presents for my friends!”

Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head to glance at her clock. Sure enough Dustin was right. She stumbled out of her bed and opened her door. “Give me like, 30 minutes, got it?”

Before she was able to close her door, he spoke again . “You look like shit.”

“Wonderful observation.”

“Like you’re hungover. Wait, are you hungover? Is that why Mrs. Wheeler picked me up yesterday?! You got drunk?!”

“I did not get drunk, Dustin. I was dealing with my own fucking shit.”

“Like what?”

She sighed, “It’s none of your business, Dustin.”

“What? Was Steve here and you two slept together or something?” She felt the tears prick her eyes when Dustin mentioned Steve’s name. She saw the look of surprise on his face. “Woah! You okay? Did something happen? Are you pregnant or something?” His face turned to one of horror. “Oh please don’t be pregnant. I’m too young to be an Uncle.”

She shook her head and wiped away the tears. “No. I’m not pregnant.” She wished she was. That would be easier to explain than the truth. “Steve um...Steve and I broke up.”

“What?”

“We broke up last night, Dustin. It...it was mutual.”

“Sure as fuck doesn’t seem like it.” He placed a hand on his hip, “I may love Steve, but I’m gonna best his ass for this.”

She laughed at her brother's comment. “It’s okay Dustin. I knew it was coming anyways.” She gave him a small smile, “I’ll go get dressed and then we can go out.”

“No! I’m calling Robin. You two can have a...girls day?”

She laughed again, “Nah. I’d rather spend the day with my little brother.”

His mouth broke out into a large smile, “Really?!”

She nodded, “Really.” She started to shut her door, “Give me an hour, tops.”

“Yeah, yep!”

She smiled as she shut her door. Yeah, she was heartbroken over Steve, but at least she had her brother to cheer her up.

[lovaboy]

a problem i’m having with MoM + wanda stans is that it was written by michael waldron (who wrote that idiotic sylki plot) & ppl are going to use that as an excuse as to why wanda’s character was “ruined” even though she’s consistently been shown to be a very unstable character capable of mass destruction since she was introduced. like i do think michael waldron made a lot of dumb fucking plot choices that don’t make any sense but also he picked up wanda’s story where wandavision left off, so... anyway, spoilers and lots of rambling under the cut

so first off, her lack of control wrt her powers. when pietro dies in aou, she sends out a shockwave because she screams. she (albeit accidentally) blows up that building in civil war. vision in infinity war is the reason she enslaves an entire town out of “grief” or whatever because initially she didn’t realize what was going on, and even then it took her far too long to let the innocent people go because she wanted her fake little family to stay together. and now in MoM, the darkhold is bringing to the forefront what anyone with a brain already knew: wanda maximoff is dangerous. she will do whatever she wants to get her way, and the darkhold lets her do so almost completely unchallenged (see the way she rips apart CAPTAIN FUCKING MARVEL on top of the other “illuminati” members).

(i also need to mention here that giving wanda, a character who is jewish in the comics, a plot line revolving around kidnapping america in an attempt to use her to get to au wanda’s kids, is wildly antisemitic. not that that’s anything new with the mcu, considering they also had wanda and pietro willingly join hydra.)

none of her arguments even make sense!!! wong literally says “you could just… ask america to send you to another universe” and her response is “well what if my boys get sick??” like ??? as if giving unrestrained multiversal travel to the most unstable magic user in the mcu is worth the risk bc one of her kids might get cancer or something. get a grip, wanda.

not to mention the fact that she’d have to kill her own alternate self in order to even exist in that universe, and the fact that those boys would never be hers. HER twins were a figment of her imagination brought to “life” by her magic. they weren’t real, and the experiences she had with them are not universal. trying to pretend she’s the mother of these au twins was never going to play out the way she wanted. and btw what about vision??? where is he in all of this?? he was the catalyst and he wasn’t mentioned or shown a single time.

anyway, her entire plot line based around being a “mother” is just ridiculous, honestly. “i’m not a monster. i’m a mother.” “all mothers create their children out of magic.” like what are you people talking about. WHAT are you saying. no real mother is going to kill a child to get what she wants, and to have wanda say TO HER KIDS FACES “i would never hurt someone!” when they JUST saw her choking the life out of america… did anybody read this script after waldron wrote it? did he just plug some prompts into ai dungeon and let it run wild? jesus christ

and then you take into account the aos darkhold giving aida the knowledge to literally build her own human body and it’s like. well why the fuck didn’t wanda just do THAT? if the darkhold is the same in every universe (as basically confirmed by wanda destroying every darkhold ever by collapsing the temple ((which was stupid as fuck))), there’s no reason this spell couldn’t have been used. she could have built her kids exactly the way they were except they’d be human this time. but then they’d have to bring in ghost rider and god FORBID it be robbie reyes like the aos universe because then they’d have wanda kill him off like she does with sara and maria rambeau. because she just can’t get enough of harming/killing the characters of color she comes in contact with (monica rambeau i’m sorry they treated you like that in wandavision). regardless, the solution to all her problems was in the same goddamn book she’s been reading, but instead she decides to go hunt down a child with the intent to kill her.

but i’m not done yet!! there’s also the “wanda is being held hostage by the scarlet witch in her own mind” plotline that is IMMEDIATELY fucking thrown out the second the scene is over. professor x sees “wanda” amidst the rubble of her destroyed childhood home and is like “i can help you out of here,” only to get his neck snapped by “scarlet witch.” personally, as this is NEVER REFERENCED AGAIN, i think it was all a ploy by wanda. i think she was trying to throw him off his guard, and it worked. because she’s massively overpowered and everyone else is nerfed. but that’s just a theory. EDIT: i’ve been informed that this was a scene most likely regarding au wanda who was being possessed by 616 wanda but i’m leaving it in for anyone who had the same thought as i did. i feel like wong said something abt wanda being possessed by the scarlet witch at one point but yknow. brain fuzz.

anyway, her “sacrificial” scene at the end means nothing when she isn’t shown as having any real remorse over what she did. she never even fucking apologizes for repeatedly almost killing america??? she gets the shit knocked out of her by america, has a weird “emotional” scene with her au self, and decides for some reason to tear down the temple afterwards. there’s no real reconciliation with what she’s done, there’s absolutely no consequences as of yet because there’s no way in hell she’s really dead. she never acknowledged that she did anything wrong, she just told corpse strange that no one would ever use the darkhold again. that last scene wasn’t a “heroic sacrifice” or a “redemption arc,” it was a suicide.

in conclusion. the horror aspect was very fun, i liked america, strange was fine (he was NOT a hypocrite in using the darkhold btw considering he was trying to save the child wanda wanted to murder + save the entire multiverse & is suffering the consequences), i think it’ll be fun if he turns into a villain next, and while i fully believe wanda’s arc was continued properly from the end of wandavision, she’s really fucking dumb in this because the plot makes no sense compared to the grand scheme of the mcu. also lizzie olsen does not have the range for the rage wanda was supposed to be showing in the scene at kamar-taj. the end.

[dorimena]

Hi, I love your work and if your requests are open would you consider the following?

Monoma is on patrol with y/n and Monoma being well....Monoma, he was horny and was teasing y/n. Not having any of this shit, she proceeds to dom the fuck out of him during patrol. She takes him into an alleyway and fucks him with a strap that she had on her already (she was already planning on something but didn’t go through with it because work is work and she’s aware that Monoma and her could take their time when they got home). She pushes him into the wall and fucks him silly. Monoma is loving it and keeps begging “Mommy fuck me more, please!”. She gives him what he wants but she tells him to be quiet or else the bystanders would fine their great Phantom Thief in a puddle of his own cum while getting fucked by his mommy. At some point two civilians hear Monoma panting and hiccuping and get concerned. Y/n keeps fucking him and reassures them that Phantom Thief is fine. He cums then and there and she tells him to reassure the civilians that he’s ok. Monoma whimpers out that he’s fine and y/n cleans him up and cuddles him in the alleyway telling him how much of a good boy he was.

(I’ve been thinking about this ever since I read your shower blowjob story. This man makes the dom in me go crazy. He’s already a whining bitch, having him be like that in the bedroom just- 😫)

Let me say that I’ve had a scene in my head almost the same as this one you sent me and I am absolutely thrilled because yessss more attention to bratty baby Monoma ٩(♡ε♡)۶

And honestly, this man is just asking for it. Bet he wants to fucked anywhere, anytime, as long as he's put back into his place. That's his kink-

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; Monoma Neito

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 3.5k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; fem!reader, pegging, mommy kink, slight exhibitionism, public sex, mentioned sex toy (butt plug), implied overstimulation, multiple orgasms, implied after care, domme!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; begging, humiliation, Monoma being a little shit, because he wanted your attention, and to rile the fuck out of you, aged-up character: Monoma is 20+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; I unknowingly kind of changed a few things from the ask, like the conversation between Monoma and the bystanders, but I hope you like it anon! The ending is kind of rushed, sorry about that!

𝕭𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍 𝖎𝖘 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐

“Now, now, y/n, you know ignoring someone, specifically the love of your life, is a crime? How else are you to beg for my love if you go on and ignore my graceful presence? Are you listening to me? At least lend me your attention.”

He’s been like this for the past couple of hours since you’ve both been assigned together for patrol. You thought it’d be a good idea, and Monoma was also excited when your boss told you both to get ready and head to the neighborhood you’re meant to keep a watch over.

The neighborhood turned out not as empty or quiet as you expected, rather close to a busy street. Some stores and restaurants seem to align themselves around this area.

You thought things would go smoothly, go even better and much quicker now that you and your boyfriend are finally patrolling together, months since you’ve transferred to this agency from your old one.

But Monoma’s been leaving any and every snide remark since you two stepped foot into the area, teasing you for any small mistake he believes should be (loudly) called out for or simply trying to mess up your way of doing things.

You don’t even want to count how many times he’s criticized the way your hero outfit currently looks on you. And no, you’re not getting insecure, but rather more… cautious.

There’s a reason why the uniform seems a bit odd around your crotch, but he doesn’t need to know that, not here, not now. Maybe until you both get home-

You trip, almost falling flat on your face if it weren’t for your boyfriend quickly grabbing you, pulling you up to your feet as he looks at you with panic before it quickly dissipates to his stupid mockery.

“See? You cannot do anything right, not without me at least. You, my dear, cannot live without me yet you still ignored me. This is what I mean when you should listen to me. Anyone would truly be grateful for having me, Phantom Thief, as their beloved lover.”

That’s it. You usually can take so much of his weird comments, but right now he’s pulling anything out of his ass at this point. (Soon you’ll see what actually comes out.)

You don’t answer, just look around to make sure no one is watching as you grab him by his stupid tie, dragging him to the nearest alleyway you remember passing by, glad it’s still pretty empty and dark enough to hide your bodies in the shadows.

He isn’t even struggling, just letting you walk him as if he’s a dog, quietly following you. If you were to turn around, you’d see the way his eyes are wide yet full of lust, his pupils dilated as he mentally cheers, thanking the gods for listening to his horny prayers of being sucked in an alleyway.

Do you know how hard it was for him to not jump you and beg you to help him? All because of how sexy you look in your hero outfit, how the small fixes and modifications bring out more of your body, the body he loves, yearns, desires, every day and night. Hopefully you don’t find his surprise before he can debut it once you guys are back home. (But unintentionally came prepared.)

He’s a complete fool for you, but you can’t know that, or else it’ll be the end of-

“Monoma Neito. You have 5 seconds to tell me why the fuck you’re being a piece of shit tonight.”

He didn’t realize his back is against a cold wall or how you’ve trapped him between your arms, the way you’re glaring at him while counting down in such a low tone, it makes his legs feel weak and threaten to buckle..

“Horny.” He barely whispers, crazed eyes never leaving your face as he stays still, trying to control his breathing and heartbeat as you scan him from head to toe, eyes finally staying in place where his boner is visible, even with how poor the lighting is.

You grin, but not your usual friendly grin or familiar flirty grin, but the ‘I’m gonna fuck you till you die’ kind of grin.

And Monoma’s both terrified yet super, duper much more hornier than before. But, with what are you going to fuck him with?

In a flash, he’s suddenly turned around, his clothed-covered chest pressing against the wall as he feels your hands make quick work on his belt, on his pants, pulling them down to rest on his thighs. He hisses and shivers when the cold air hits every exposed part of him, yet makes his dick twitch in interest.

You also free your bottom half to finally let out the strap on you’ve luckily managed to hide until now, searching your pockets for the small tube of lube you brought with you, just in case.

But when you spread his butt cheeks, you gasp in surprise with the butt plug he’s wearing, going to grab the toy as you slowly pull it out in disbelief.

Did he know?

“I-I want you to know you’re not the, um, only one to be prepared for what they want.” Monoma speaks, but in such a soft tone that it has you wondering if he’s the same person who had pestered you since the beginning of the patrol, the same boyfriend you love who has a talent for being loved and hated simultaneously by various people.

But at least he didn’t know. He simply decided to take this extra mile.

Cute. No wonder he’s such a good boy for mommy… sometimes.

“Then I guess I shouldn’t prepare you, right?”

You don’t wait for his response, not when you dispose of the toy away from you both, and you make quick work to lube up your silicone cock.

Monoma doesn’t get to ask you about the wet sounds behind him, or ask where you threw his butt plug before you’re entering him. You felt how his body jolted, his back arching enough to push his ass back more towards you.

You land a smack against the smooth skin, listening how the impact echoes in the empty alleyway and the way he whimpers in pain.

“You’re such a slut for mommy, aren’t you Monoma?”

“Yes!”

No hesitation.

Monoma usually sounds hesitant whenever you two do something new, as if he evaluates the pros and cons from anything and everything, figuring out if he’ll come out benefitted or you.

But he sounds desperate, shameless. He sounds like he’s ready to cry.

New, but not too surprising. When he wants to, he’ll always be a good boy for his mommy.

“Want to tell mommy again why you were being a little bitch tonight?”

Never mind, his hesitation came back, his mouth pressed shut as you peek at him, trying to catch a glimpse at his periwinkle eyes, wondering what’s taking him so long to answer. He answered you so easily, so quickly a few minutes ago.

You hear a soft mumble, see his lips move but no sound gets to your ears. So you spank him once more, hearing his cute squeak and the way he fucks back.

“Louder.”

“I wanted mommy to fuck me! Fuck me until I can’t walk! Fuck me until I’m just your stupid little hole! Please? I’ll-I’ll be good now, I promise!”

If anyone were to ask you just how stupid Monoma gets when he’s completely horny and turned on, this is a prime example. His usual eloquent vocabulary? Gone. It doesn’t exist once mommy’s pleasing him.

But he’s also promising about being good? Let’s see how good he’ll be then.

No more words are exchanged, just the soft desperate pants of the pretty blond and some small airy whines that leave his mouth in anticipation for what you’ll do next.

You don’t even start slow, you go absolutely feral.

He barely gets to inhale one last deep breath until you’re fucking that out of his lungs, his head turning to look back at you as best he could as his body begins hitting the wall in front of him, his clothes rubbing against the roughness of the bricked exterior of the unknown building. He lifts head enough to not get itself hit against the wall and his hands are clawing at the bricks desperately, trying to find leverage to hold on tightly, his brain struggling to catch up with how vicious yet delicious you’re fucking him.

When he does remember he’s a human who can speak words, he cries out “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” in such high pitches, it sounds like he’s singing, probably trying to continue seducing you into such a horny haze. His pent-up sexual frustration must have been infectious, with how you find yourself being merciless with him and his ass, your hips slamming into the back of his in such a brutal pace you wonder if the skin will bruise, if he’ll be able to sit or walk properly.

Probably not, but that’s the point, isn’t it?

Your baby boy wanted you to fuck the living shit out of him, so that’s what you’ll do, it’s what you’re best at doing.

Fuck the annoyance out of him so that when you guys get home, he passes out.

You momentarily forget you guys are very much still in public and even if it’s night, civilians are very much still awake and walking, either going back home or going to work, maybe hang out with their friends or find themselves a sub to fuck.

Monoma doesn’t even warn you that he’s cumming, not even his loud, prolonged whine of your name gets your attention. But with how he’s spasming around your toy, how his hips are twitching quickly in between your hands, his eyes that never left from looking at you crossing…

Yeah, since you missed that orgasm and you’re not in the mood to exactly punish him, why not fuck him some more until he can’t remember his name and only yours?

You briefly pause, the tip of the toy the only thing still inside of him as one of your hands rubs circles on his lower back and the other remains on his hip.

Through the panting, Monoma lets out a whine, one that sounds almost disappointed. Probably because he came far quicker than what either of you two expected, or because it feels like you’re pulling out already and calling it a night.

No words are exchanged as you watch him catch his breath for a bit more, memorizing how rosy his cheeks and nose look, how the blush looks like it’s on his neck while his white pupils are fully dilated, oozing his adoration for you.

When you hear him suck in a breath, whether he’s preparing a sentence or to finish pulling himself off the toy, you slam back into him, grinning like a maniac upon feeling how his whole body jumped, going back into action and having blood pump everywhere in him, mostly towards his reawakening dick.

And you slam, slam, slam, slamming into him at such a steady pace, making sure to roll your hips the way you know will make him start squealing in such a girly tone, or like a dirty pig he sometimes becomes.

And once you feel him begin to push back on you and one of his hands leave the wall, you lean forward, pushing his body more up on the wall. He’s bent too much, it’s obvious you’re fucking him doggy style. What if people decide to go through this alley?

He obeys but whines in complaint, not wanting you to stop your ministrations as he pulls himself together, standing up as much as he could as to leave his lower back still bent for you.

“Keep your hands on the wall or else I’ll leave you here like this.”

He loves it when you speak to him in such a low voice, in such a way that you know makes him want to suck your cock for days until his jaw hurts. He puts his hands back on the wall, both placed where his face is at, acting as support as he rests his forehead there. His neck hurts a bit from how long he’s been straining to look at you.

You go back to fucking him, going back to what you were doing, moaning his name repeatedly to keep riling him up, arouse him and make him start begging for you to go faster, harder, deeper, make him dirty.

And he does with loud wails, ones that have you freezing and stopping all together, slapping a hand on his mouth and whispering how he should quiet down, unless he wants to be whored to other people.

“Be mommy’s good boy and keep quiet. Unless you want someone else’s cock.”

“No! No muh-mommy! Only y-yours~ Please!” He moans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he impatiently grinds against you, feeling how sticky his thighs are getting with sweat and some of his cum and precum, somehow.

“Mommy, fuck me more, please!” He whimpers so cutely, so pathetically, so melodically you’re sure he somehow copied someone’s siren quirk, because your head feels dizzy, your heart is beating erratically and your hips sync with the pulse, forgetting about being consistent with speed, with roughness, with how deep you reach inside of him.

Fucking him silly until he’s trying his best to muffle his screams and cries into the back of his hands pressed on the wall, his fingers trying so hard to find solace on them, to grasp the reality of him being defiled in an empty, dirty alleyway, pressed so ruthlessly against a wall he doesn’t know how exactly dirty it could be.

Monoma’s hiccuping your name until you spank him, growling softly how that’s not who you are, making him wail out “Mommy! Cumming!” in such an erotic way, you wonder if you’re fucking your boyfriend or a girl with how he’s managed to reach such an incredible pitch.

You keep going, and even when he’s done cumming, you don’t stop impaling him, and a hand goes to wrap itself around his dick, trying your best to match this chaotic fucking, hearing how he’s struggling to breath, to comprehend this painful yet electrifying pleasure.

His toes are curling in his shoes, his knees don’t stop buckling, his hips never stop trying to meet with yours, the burn of overstimulation flowing through his veins yet motivating his dick to keep going, to keep obeying, to not disappoint mommy.

Monoma’s speaking gibberish, babbling whatever nonsense and begging he could think of or come to make up, the tips of his fingers turning white with how hard they’re pressing against the bricks as he tries to not fall. He’s not sure how or why he’d fall, but with how you’re touching him, squeezing him, stroking him, playing with him, he’s ready to give into the inquiry of whether being a househusband would have you fucking him like this everyday.

It’s a weird thought, one he’s never had before, one that’s still early to even care about-

Oh my god you’re abusing his prostate!

He’s seeing stars, planets, flashing strobe lights and envisioning his uproaring third orgasm, mouth hung open stupidly as whiny sobs and strangled cries escape him, trying his best to keep quiet like you said but he can’t!

“Feels s’ good!” He slurs, once again turning his head to look at you, eyes completely wet as tears fall in graceful droplets, hair messed up and drool staining a bit of his chin.

And just as you were going to respond, you heard footsteps.

You both freeze: you’re halfway out of him while Monoma’s struggling to not let his coughing fit be heard, having swallowed his saliva far too quickly with the scare.

The sounds stop, but now you both can hear a female voice.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Monoma whimpers, embarrassed.

So this is how he’ll get caught and shamed.

This is the end of his career.

But you’re not having it, not with how his dick has stopped twitching and is starting to soften.

You’re not done yet, and neither is he.

“Answer, Monoma.” You harshly whisper, wiping your thumb over his hypersensitive tip, making him hiccup loudly before composing himself as best he could.

“Y-yes? It-It is I, Phantom Thief- ooh~”

Another voice pitches in.

“Phantom Thief? The Phantom Thief?!”

“Y-Yes!” Monoma squeaks out, trying to cover up his gasp as you begin to slowly fuck him, making sure to keep hitting him straight to the prostate, amused how he’s gripping his jaw, muffling his hiccups while frantically shaking his head, begging you with his eyes to no, no, please!

The two bystanders gasp, seemingly walking more towards where you and Monoma are, making you press him more into the wall, hoping the angle you’re both in and the small hiding spot is enough to keep you hidden.

“We’re huge fans of yours! But, um, are you alright? We heard someone crying.”

“Fuck!” Monoma whimpers, struggling to keep his breathing in check as you continue to move, even rolling your palm all over his tip, your other hand going to pull at one of his nipples.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing! I’m fin- ugh~”

“You… sure?”

“YES!”

Monoma yells, back arching as his head touches your shoulder, eyes rolling up this head as he’s torn between pushing back or bucking forwards, feeling his body submerged in such an intense heat, in such shame, in such pathetic desperation to cum, he’s begging you in quick hushed moans to please, pretty please, make him cum, he wants to cum, needs to cum again.

“And your fans?” You whisper teasingly, feeling how he shivers with how close your breath is near his ear.

“Fu-uck my fans-”

“Now now, that’s something you never said before. Did I fuck Monoma Neito out of you?”

And you go back with the brutal pace, not caring if the other two bystanders can hear what’s going on, not caring if they come out traumatized or probably aroused with how obvious it is that their dear Phantom Thief is getting fucked in a shady place, in a nasty place, yet he’s silently wailing and convulsing with everything you’re giving him.

Your hand soon enough gets sticky with what little cum his poor, weak body produced, his hole clenching tightly around your strap-on while his hands fly back to grasp any part of you that he could reach, which ended up being your head.

The bystanders speak again while Monoma’s busy wheezing his gratitude.

“Are you sure you’re alright? We could call the police-”

“I’m alright! ‘m fine~” He managed to sing-song, but if you heard a bit of his whimper seep from the last word, you don’t say anything, simply slow down your stroking before pausing.

You hear their footsteps slowly go back towards where they probably came from, making Monoma let out shaky exhales of relief and satisfaction, small giggles slipping from time to time as you kiss his neck, his cheek, his jawline.

And once you are certain you’re both alone again, you slowly pull out of him, helping him to turn around so that his back presses against the wall.

Until he grimaces.

“My essence is, from my deduction, splattered on this disgusting wall.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you point down to where his pants are, laughing harder when you see how his grimace turns into a face of disgust, horror, shame, surprise, arousal- wait what?

You don’t question the last one, simply letting out the last of your giggles while you search for the disinfectant wipes you tend to carry with you in your utility belt. And once they’ve been found, you make him lick your cum-covered hand first before properly passing a wipe. You hand Monoma one so that he cleans his face if needed, disinfect his hands, his thighs, anywhere he thought he needed to clean.

No, that's a lie. You took care of his thighs and pelvis, trying your best to clean the spots where his cum reached his pants before peppering a few gentle kisses around his exposed skin.

Pulling his briefs and pants up, buttoning, zipping, fasting his belts. You let out a happy sigh, fixing his hair and tie.

You then fix yourself.

“Who’s mommy’s good boy, Monoma?”

He somehow managed to chirp. “I am, mommy.”

“Then, you’ll stop being a bitch tonight, right? Mommy made sure to fuck it out of you.”

“Oh, um,” aw, he’s blushing. “I suppose…”

When you both walk away from the much-more defiled wall, you hold back an amused snort with how Monoma seems too unstable with his feet, how his legs seem to shake with every step he tries to take and how frustrated he looks with how uncooperative his body is.

You decide that chilling and cuddling in that corner wouldn’t be so bad, and considering how your shift ended minutes ago, you doubt either you or Monoma will get into trouble.

[flowerfan2]

Dim The Lights

I haven’t written much Glee fic lately, but some time ago I wrote a series in which Blaine and Kurt reunite during a production of Into the Woods.  Sondheim’s lyrics and music were in my head for months as I wrote those stories, and it seemed that those characters were the perfect way to help me process Sondheim’s death, and honor him in my own way.  You can read the first two parts of this story here:  The Journeying (24k), and here: Ever After (51k).  May his memory be a blessing. 

Dim The Lights, A03, 2300 words

Blaine sees the notification pop up on his phone, and his heart sinks.

“Blaine?  What’s wrong?”  Kurt pokes him with his toe from his spot at the other end of their couch.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Sondheim died,” Blaine says.  “I can’t believe it.”

“What?”  Kurt crawls across the couch and lands next to him, warmth pressing against his side as he grabs for Blaine’s phone.  “Let me see.  How?”

“It doesn’t say.  He had Thanksgiving dinner with friends yesterday.”

“How old was he?”

“Ninety-one.  I guess…”  Everyone dies at some point.  Ninety-one is pretty old.

Blaine looks at Kurt, who looks as shocked as he feels, and then they are wrapped around each other, holding on tight.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Blaine asks, as Kurt rubs soothing circles on his back.  “It’s not like we knew him.”

“But we did.  He gave us so much.  His music… it taught us things.  Helped us.”  

People make mistakes.  Fathers. Mothers.

Blaine’s phone vibrates where it has fallen under his thigh, and he pulls it out and gives it a quick glance.  “Mona says people are going to that piano bar on Grove Street.  Want to go?”

Kurt straightens his spine and nods.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.”

They change into more presentable clothes, their day-after-Thanksgiving lounging outfits quickly deemed unacceptable by Kurt, and head for the subway.  Neither of them are in a show at the moment, having decided to take a few months off to see if they can make some headway on the musical they’re writing.  But by the time they get to the bar, most of the evening shows are letting out, and the place is filling with recognizable faces.

Both Blaine and Kurt have been fortunate enough to have had steady work since their years in <i>Into the Woods,</i> Blaine doing a stint as Fiyero in <i>Wicked,</i> Kurt with an understudy role in <i>Company</i> that turned into an almost year-long job as Bobby, and then a stretch when they both had parts in <i>The Book of Mormon.</i>  Kurt pulled the plug first, committed to giving his own work some attention, while Blaine had a starring role in a play about suicide and depression that everyone felt was tremendously important, but didn’t last long on Broadway.  In some ways Blaine thinks it was probably just as well for his own mental health, and it gave him the perfect segue into taking time off to write with Kurt.

Being writing partners has been going surprisingly well, and when it doesn’t, they try not to take themselves too seriously.  After all, they’ve joked more than once, there’s no rush, “we’re not Sondheim.”

It’s warm and crowded when they get to the bar, and while Blaine still feels miserable, it feels slightly better to be miserable with dozens of other people who also recognize that Sondheim’s death is a valid reason to feel this way.  He spots Mona at a table near the back, and he and Kurt make their way over, immediately drawn into hugs. Mona’s sitting with Catherine, the actress who played Florinda in <i>Woods</i> when they were all in it together; she and Mona have been roommates ever since Blaine moved off of Mona’s sofa and into a place with Kurt.

“I just can’t believe it,” Mona says, and it’s the same thing everyone else is saying.  “It doesn’t seem possible.  What’s the theater world going to do without Sondheim?”

As musical theater fans, and students, and performers, their lives have always been filled with Sondheim’s music, his words in their heads for countless hours and days.  Blaine has sung so many of his songs, and felt them echo deep in his soul.  He’s performed them on stage for thousands of people, the lyrics perfect every single time.

<i>Agony, beyond power of speech.  When the one thing you want is the only thing out of your reach.</i>

Blaine remembers singing those words, faced with Kurt’s surprise appearance at his first Broadway table read of <i>Woods</i> all those years ago.  How Blaine felt frozen in place, doomed to repeat the failures of his past.  How he had slowly begun to think that just maybe, love wasn’t out of his reach.

He also remembers realizing how much pain Kurt was in, isolated and lonely in the city, and how hard Burt’s death hit him.  How horribly ironic it was that Kurt was playing a character devastated by the death of his mother, while staggering from the death of his own father.  <i>I wish…</i>

“Didn’t you get into NYADA with a Sondheim song?” Mona asks Kurt, dragging Blaine out of his thoughts.

“We sang a lot of Sondheim at NYADA,” Kurt deflects.

“No, but yours was something special,” Blaine says.  “Your <i>Being Alive</i> blew everyone away, even me, all the way back in Lima.”  He kisses the flush on Kurt’s cheeks.  That may not have been the best time for the two of them, but he loved that Kurt all the same.  “Rachel sent me the video afterwards,” he explains to Mona, leaving out the part about how many times he had watched it.

“Speaking of,” Kurt says, pointing through the crowd to a pair of people who have taken over the piano, the man playing while the woman fiddles with the mic.  

“Be nice.”  Blaine shifts in his seat so he can watch Rachel as she faces the audience, shaking her head so that her long dark hair frames her face perfectly.  The crowd erupts in cheers and then simmers down as she starts to sing.

<i>Isn't it rich?</i> <i>Are we a pair?</i> <i>Me here at last on the ground</i> <i>You in mid-air</i> <i>Send in the clowns.</i>

“Say what you like about Rachel Berry,” Mona whispers, “she can sell the hell out of a song.”

Jesse, at the piano, starts to sing along with Rachel, and soon half the bar joins in.  Kurt’s got his arms around Blaine from behind, and Blaine can hear his voice in his ear, trembling ever so slightly as he sings along.

As the song comes to an end (<i>Where are the clowns? There ought to be clowns. Well, maybe next year.</i>) Rachel spots Kurt and Blaine and pushes her way over.  There are more hugs, some brushed cheek kisses, and then Blaine can see Rachel’s mind spinning.  Trying to come up with something to make Kurt sing, no doubt.  

“Don’t even ask, Rachel,” Kurt preempts her.  “I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“But Kurt, your Bobby was acclaimed.  It wouldn’t be right not to sing it tonight, as a tribute to Stephen.  You owe it to him, and to your fans.”

“Let him be, Rachel,” Blaine says.  He knows how little Kurt likes to be put on the spot.  Kurt used to push through the discomfort, feeling like he had something to prove, needing to show everyone who doubted him just how talented he was.  But the more comfortable Kurt has gotten at putting his own feelings first, the happier he’s been, and - no surprise - he’s still just as talented.

Another woman stands up to sing, and Rachel lets out a quickly stifled screech.  “Oh my god,” she hisses, “do you think Mandy is here too?”

<i>Here’s to the ladies who lunch,</i> Patti LuPone rasps, and a hush falls over the crowd.  The one and only Patti LuPone, who worked so often with Sondheim, is here - right here - pouring out her sorrow.  Blaine likes to believe he’s not as unhinged about LuPone as Rachel is, but he’s still having a little trouble remembering to breathe.

When song rises to a crescendo, LuPone practically shouting out the words, the whole room shivers in response.  When the song nears the end and she sings <i>everybody dies</i> and then <I>rise, rise, rise!</i> everyone is on their feet, singing along and raising their glasses.

Blaine falls into his seat afterwards, a server finally making her way over to their table with their drinks, and they toast once more to Sondheim.  Blaine is listening to Catherine recount a story about when she was in a college production of <i>Assassins</i> when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, any chance you’d play for me?”

He turns in his seat and it’s Elliott Gilbert, smiling sadly at him.  It’s apparently not a Starchild kind of day, as his friend is just wearing jeans and a Queen t-shirt under a battered leather jacket.  He doesn’t even have any eyeliner on.

Blaine wants to decline - there are plenty of capable piano players here - but something in Elliott’s expression tells him he’s looking for more than just musical support.  And he’s spent enough time with Elliott at piano bars to be fairly certain he knows all of his go-to songs. “Sure, of course,” he says, getting up and giving him a hug.  

Blaine checks in with Kurt, leaning close for a moment, and Kurt squeezes his arm.  “Go.  Emote.  I’ll be right here.”

They wait for someone with an incredible bass voice to finish singing a song from <i>Merrily</i> - Blaine thinks he might be in <i>Hadestown</i> at the moment - and move up to the piano.  There’s a hum of approval as they step forward to take their turn, and someone yells “play Glitter Rock Vampire.”

“Not tonight,” Elliott says, “tonight’s not about me.”  Blaine kind of loves that the song his nickname for Elliott inspired continues to follow Elliott around.  

“What’s it going to be?”  Blaine asks, dancing his fingers over the keys, and Elliott leans down and whispers his song choice to Blaine.  He’s not surprised.  Blaine centers himself for a moment, then begins to play.  After just a few bars, Elliott comes in.

<i>I feel you, Joanna.  I feel you.  I was half convinced I’d waken, satisfied enough to dream you.  Happily I was mistaken.  Joanna...</i>

Elliott had played Antony in a touring production of <i>Sweeney Todd</i> a few years ago, and he infuses the song with heart wrenching love and desperation.  Blaine feels a bit drained himself when he finishes, and they find their way back to their table.

Kurt pulls him into his lap and wraps his arms around him, giving Blaine a chance to ground himself.  Blaine vaguely registers that Aaron Tveit is singing <i>Marry Me A Little,</i> just like he did for Sondheim’s 90th birthday celebration, but he’s content leaning his head on Kurt’s shoulder and breathing him in and isn’t about to move yet, not even to watch Aaron sing.

“Any bets on who else will show up?  Maybe Bernadette?” Mona asks, sliding her chair over as Jonathan, Julian and Izzy join them.

“No way,” Izzy says.  “Bernadette has better places to be.”

“Not sure there could be a better place right now,” Blaine says softly, just for Kurt, who kisses him sweetly in return.

A trio of young actors from the chorus of <i>Lion King</i> have taken the mic, taking turns singing parts of <i>Finishing The Hat.</i>  It’s not really made for this kind of performance, Blaine thinks, but he gives them kudos for trying.

“You were in <i>Sunday,</i> right?” Julian asks Blaine.  “Junior year?”

“Yeah, I was,” Blaine says.

“I would have liked to have seen that,” Kurt says, taking Blaine’s hand in his and twining their fingers together.  Blaine doesn’t like to dwell on those years, when he was figuring himself out, learning to deal with his depression and anxiety and being without Kurt.  But it all turned out okay in the end, and he doesn’t want to pretend that time didn’t happen, either.  It’s an important part of his life.

“I think we were better off reuniting for <i>Woods,</i>” Blaine replies with a smile.

“Talk about a fairy tale,” Mona says.  “It’s pretty amazing, your story.”  She looks at the two of them, and Blaine knows that he’s blushing, although probably not half as prettily as Kurt.

“We got lucky,” Blaine says.

“And we work hard at it.”  Kurt gives Blaine a little nudge, and they both stand up.  “Care to dance?”

It’s not really music for dancing, but Blaine knows Kurt’s signals, and he could use a change of scenery as well.  They shuffle their way through the ever-increasing crowd and find a spot against the wall near the front door.  The mood has shifted to <i>West Side Story,</i> and Blaine finds himself smiling despite himself.

<i>Tonight, tonight, it’s only you tonight,</i> a sweet tenor voice sings, and Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt’s shoulders as Kurt tucks his head against his neck.  They sway together, whispering the lyrics to each other, until the song comes to an end.

“You know, we really do owe Sondheim a lot,” Kurt says, still wrapped close around Blaine.  

“Nah,” Blaine says.  “No matter what eventually brought me to New York, I bet you would have found a way to be there too.”

Kurt laughs softly.  “I did tell you about all the ways I imagined we might meet again, right?”

“You did.  I particularly liked the coffee shop one.  Sounded a lot like a Star Wars AU Sam read to me once.”

“But seriously,” Kurt says, “I’d like to think it would have happened, even without <i>Woods.</i>  But who knows?”

Blaine pulls back and looks into Kurt’s eyes.  “We’ll never be sure.”

Kurt gives him a wry smile.  “But the difference between a cow and a bean is that a bean can begin an adventure.”

“Are you saying life with me is an adventure?”

“The very best kind.”  Kurt leans in and kisses him, easy and sure, and Blaine can feel it all the way down to his toes.  He loves this man so completely, and has for so long.  He knows he’s fortunate, they both are, that they found each other again.  Life with Kurt hasn’t always been smooth, and it’s not always puppies and rainbows, but as Sondheim wrote, <i>if life were only moments, then you’d never know you had one.</i>  

No matter what his future holds, Blaine is certain that it will be better with Kurt in it.  They’ve both learned to put the work into their ever after, and Blaine will always be grateful to Sondheim for helping them on their journey.

[oh-hush-its-perfect]

Alex Fierro's Introduction Full Breakdown

Okokok so. This is going to go full English-professor mode, where I'm drawing conclusions that are gonna seem a little far-fetched. That's what's fun about media analysis! I can say something is a symbol, and even if I don't have enough faith in RR's competency to know if he meant for it to be a symbol, it's still true! That being said, a lot of these choices I'm sure are intentional, either at a literal or subliminal level. Page numbers are going to be used not to assert a kind of authority or whatever— this is a Tumblr post, not an essay— but to help readers find the pages I'm referencing in case they'd like to do some digging of their own. Also, this is going to be really long. Really sorry to anyone with ADHD; I might make an audiofile of this so you can get the information without having to read the whole thing. With all that, let's get into it!

To kick off, let's talk about Alex being in the form of a cheetah when she first meets Magnus. Of course, there's the obvious impact of him seeing her but only so breifly, as well as introducing the conflict between her and the rest of Hall 19. But that could have easily been accomplished by almost any animal. The choice of a cheetah being implicated implies two qualities of Alex that will be recurrent throughout the two books she's in: 1. She has a tendency to run away, as we'll later learn when she describes how she became homeless, and 2. To Magnus, she's elusive. She can't be caught or held down. The event that shows this so transparently is how Alex refuses to define their relationship at the end of the series, despite it clearly surpassing the normal bounds of friendship.

But the cheetah isn't the animal Alex is in the form of when Magnus first gets a good look at her; she's a weasel. Weasel's bring up all kinds of connotations: ferocity, slickness, a lack of charm. When we want to describe someone as an untrustworthy person, we call them a weasel. RR had Alex take this form to play up her comrades' feeling of distrust towards her. She could be a double-crosser. But paradoxically, the up-front and vicious mannerisms of a weasel also have a transperency. She does not try appealing to her Hallmate's sense of goodwill because she doesn't have anything to gain from it. So even though there is the implication that she might be an antagonist, there's also evidence from her actions and mannerisms that she isn't. The weasel's long and skinny frame also allow for a smooth transition into Alex's actual body, which is convenient.

As Alex transforms into her usual human form, Magnus describes her as "a regular human teen, long and lanky, with a swirl of dyed green hair, black at the roots, like a plug of weeds pulled out of a lawn" (pg. 50). That simile at the end is of particular interest. Let's compare it to another time Magnus describes Alex's hair, in Ship of the Dead: "Her hair had started to grow out, the black roots making her look even more imposing, like a lion with a healthy mane" (pg. 136). By contrasting these two different examples, we can see the development of Magnus and Alex's relationship. The first time he sees her, he thinks of her hair as something nasty— note the word choice "weeds." Later on, though, he becomes more affectionate towards her, more complentary. The immedient negative reaction is less his actual impression, though, and more the reaction he expected to have based on everyone else's reaction to Alex.

Her clothes are equally as interesting; as Magnus describes it, Alex wears "battered rose high-tops, skinny lime green corduroy pants, a pink-and-green argyle sweater-vest over a white tee, and another pink cashmere sweather wrapped around the waist like a kilt" (pg. 50). Aside from the obvious fact that this outfit is a) bizzare, b) fire, and c) Alex's signature colors, which add a layer of style to what can otherwise be a somewhat boring series fashion-wise (excuse me, Blitz), the outfit reveals a crucial facet of Alex's backstory in a kind of subtle way. These are expensive clothes, like the Stella McCartney dress in Alex's room. Note the mention of fabrics (corduroy, cashmere) and patterns (argyle). These indicate wealth and status. Even the high-tops; shoes like that don't come cheap. But I'd like to return to the very first word of the section: "battered." Alex's wardrobe show-cases a proximity to wealth, but also shows that that proximity has been strained and lengthened, maybe for an extended period of time. Alex dresses like a rich person, but she isn't one. Least, not anymore.

The last word of that outfit-introduction is also of interest: "kilt." At the current moment, Magnus thinks that Alex is male. No one has indicated otherwise to him. Everyone has been referring to Alex with he/him pronouns. Samirah called Alex her "brother" (pg. 29). His first thought in seeing what he at first perceives as a guy with a jacket wrapped around the waist is That looks like a kilt. This thought tells us about Magnus: despite being open and accepting, he still has some lingering notions of gender conformity from his years in wider American society.

Magnus also indicates that the outfit "reminded me of a jester's motley, or the coloration of a venomous animal warning the whole world" (pg. 50). This is rather self-explanatory, but it's still worth noting that Magnus sees the outfit as something bizzare, strange, and even perhaps comical. This places Alex at odds with the other people Magnus has met. It also reveals that Magnus has zero fashion sense. But we already knew that.

After finishing up staring at the ensemble, Magnus finally gets around to actually looking Alex in the face. First Magnus says that he "forgot how to breathe" (pg. 50), which, yeah, relatable. This is justifed by saying that Alex has the same face as Loki, but the very same sentence that asserts that that's the case also suggests an alternative reason: Alex has "the same unearthly beauty" as her father. Here we can see the beginnings of Magnus's attraction to Alex, though at this point, he still has a lot of internalized homophobia. Though there's certainly some truth in that Magnus was unnerved by Alex's resemblance to Loki, the idea that Magnus pointed out that Alex was pretty without elaborating on that thought until about a chapter later— after he was informed that Alex was presently a girl— can tell us a lot about how Magnus perceives sex and beauty.

Of course, Alex's eyes are given special attention. She has cool eyes; what can I say? But I'd like to focus in on how Magnus here depicts Alex's heterochromia as "completely unnerving" (pg. 50). Again, let's contrast this with how he describes them after getting to know Alex a little better in Ship of the Dead. In Chapter 3, Magnus describes "[Alex's] dark brown eye and his amber eye like mismatched moons cresting the horizon" (pg. 25). Once again, this shows the development of their relationship— but this time, it's in a much more personal way. Eyes are the windows to the soul; they are culturally important and biologically important in inter-personal connections. In you look into someone's eyes, you're giving them your full attention, and you're implying a kind of closeness. The way that Magnus describes Alex's eyes in the second passage is downright intimate. At this point, he is in love with Alex, and it is clear when contrasting the two descriptions.

As my last point, I'd like to discuss Alex's first words on page: "'Point that rifle somewhere else, or I will wrap it around your neck like a bow tie'" (pg. 51). First of all, Alex saying this with a "perfect white smile" (pg. 51) on his face implies that she is used to being threatened. She is not afraid of being shot; she counters the promise of an attack with a promise of her own. This pleads the question: why is Alex accustomed to violence? What events of her past or qualities of her life have brought her to this point? The threat itself reveals Alex's trauma from being genderfluid in a society with rigid gender norms, as well as her antagonistic relationship with her father. Magnus makes a comment that Alex "might actually know how to tie a bow tie, which was kind scary arcane knowledge" (pg. 51). Like Alex's wardrobe, the idea that she may have experience in high-class fashion also implies her former status as a rich kid.

I could go on. I could break apart Alex saying "'Pleased to meet you all, I guess'" (pg. 51). There is a wealth of information in this short page span that tells us things about Alex Fierro in the present moment, quietly demonstrates things about her past, and characterizes the narrator Magnus Chase. This passage is also effective in hindsight in marking the progress of Magnus and Alex's relationship.

But I'd like to take a step back and look at not the pieces, but the whole picture. Alex Fierro gets a full page of pure description— her outfit, her face— and about a chapter of introduction. This comes after several chapters of build-up. Alex Fierro is an important character you need to keep your eyes on. Alex Fierro is emotionally significant to the main character, Magnus Chase. Alex Fierro is one of the most developed and well-rounded characters that Rick Riordan has ever written— heck, she's one of the best characters in middle-grade books period. The extended emphasis on her and her alone tells us exactly what role she's going to play in this story: she's the star.

[jisungful]

abandoned.

summary :: breaking into an old abandoned elementary school isn’t always the best idea.

pairing :: chenle x gn!reader x jisung (platonic)

genre :: horror/thriller

warnings :: all characters are kind of dumb (first person to die in a horror movie type beat), breaking and entering, implied serial killer!au, murder, blood, descriptions of gore, psychotic actions, character death, all that stuff :D

word count :: 2.4k

a/n :: as I was writing this, I practically scared myself D: also the ending is kinda rushed but oh well

The end of the school year was supposed to be fun, full of surprises, and that one surprise was Chenle clinging onto you like a koala with a tree. Up to this point, you hadn’t thought of how much of an interesting boy he could be--but him giving you physical affection? You could never believe it.

Chenle let go of you before saying, “Come to the library with me and Jisung,” His hair was messy, as well as his uniform shirt. You assumed he just went around hugging other people besides you. He grinned at you, “We’re planning to do something fun as a celebration for the last day of school! Let’s go!” He grabbed your wrist tightly, but not enough to cause circulation loss, at least. You began contemplating whether or not it was a good idea to follow suit of the boy, knowing him. Nonetheless, you were curious.

You both arrived at the library, seeing Jisung already sitting at one of the tables reading a comic. Sitting down in front of the boy, he closed the book once he felt your presences. He greeted with a small smile, you and Chenle doing the same. “Alright listen,” Chenle started, clearing his throat before broadcasting the plan aloud, “We’re going to go to my elementary school—but with a twist.” He grinned before continuing, “It’s been so long since I’ve been there, so it’s abandoned now and I’m pretty sure no one monitors it anymore. Although... it is still intact so we need to break in.”

“Woah, wait, we are not going to break into an elementary school.” you cautioned.

Chenle rolled his eyes and rested his palm on his jawline. “It’s not like it’s haunted or anything. As I said, no one monitors it anymore--you guys just aren’t fun.”

Jisung clasped his hands together before letting out a sigh, “I thought you were joking at first and just wanted to go and play on the playground or something. But seriously?” He shuddered slightly, subconsciously flipping the pages of the comic he was reading earlier. You nodded at him before returning your gaze back on Chenle. All that was written on his face was smugness.

“We have to try it once. Think about it! It’ll be fun, you know? It’s like in movies, we just have to be cautious of our surroundings.” Chenle assured.

You can’t believe you’re doing this. You really can’t. It was 3 fucking am and you decided it was a great idea to go along with Chenle (out of everyone else in the world) and his plan to break into his old elementary school just for fun.

You packed your backpack with a few essential items: a flashlight, a few bottles of water, a baseball bat, and a crowbar. You kept it unzipped at the top so they could all fit, keeping your phone in your spacious hoodie pocket. You put on a mask and a beanie to keep yourself covered in case of security cameras. You put on your backpack, adjusting to the heaviness. If you were being honest, you had this rush of nervousness flowing through your body, the fear of not knowing what will happen to the three of you once you break in and enter the abandoned building. Nonetheless, you head to your front door to walk to Chenle’s house as the three of you decided to go to beforehand. Step by step, your body grew warmer as anxiety rose. It hadn’t hit you that you’d never done this before--you were always the type to stay in and not go out doing reckless activities; but here you are, doing that exact thing.

Immediately as you stepped on Chenle’s rug that was placed in front of the door, it opened, him now in front of you. He moved aside for you to enter the place. “You got everything?” He questioned and you nodded. “Jisung’s not here yet, so I guess we have to just wait.”

You both sat on his leather couch, staring down at the empty mug with thoughts roaming your brain. It wasn’t breaking in that was scaring you--but the thought of getting caught and living with the guilt that you had done something illegal was. Attempting to engage in conversation, you spoke, “How did you even come up with this idea?”

Chenle chuckled lightly, fiddling with the watch on his wrist. “It just came to my head out of nowhere, I guess.”

Hearing the sound of knocking on the door, you stood up abruptly, Chenle following after. You both headed to the front and opened it for Jisung. “You have everything, right? We should go now.” Jisung nodded and let out a breath he was previously unknowingly holding.

You three went inside of Chenle’s car, with Chenle driving and Jisung and you seated at the back. You took off your backpack and placed it on the floor of the car, the weight removed gave you sudden relief on your shoulders. Jisung plugged his phone into the aux cord and played soft, lo-fi music to soothe the nerves that were getting to you unknowingly.

You sighed, laying your head on the headrest of the car seat, looking out the window. It was a rather peaceful night despite what you were going to do in a couple of minutes—stars beginning to deem visible across the vast, dark sky, with only a few cars passing by in which you could count with your fingers. That was when you felt eyes boring into the back of your head, and you turned to see Jisung staring at you. You furrowed your brows and muttered a ‘what’. “I’m nervous, Y/N,” he breathed out, fear clearly laced in his voice.

You bit your lip. “It was Chenle’s idea, we can blame him for all of this.” you joked.

The elementary school definitely does not look as you expected--before coming, you imagined it to be completely abandoned, having growing moss on the walls, windows that were broken or punched, or even having “caution” tape around it. You guess it only happens in movies. But this school looked almost normal, for some reason, with only overgrown trees around it as the leaves fell on it. You let out a soft sigh, relieved that it looks fairly approachable and safe to go into.

“This is crazy, it’s been so long since I’ve been here. Let’s go!” Chenle beamed. You looked at Jisung for a moment, giving him a reassuring smile and a nod before putting on your heavy backpack and exiting the car as he did as well.

The three of you stood outside of the back door of the building, looking around for any suspicious cameras though found none. You pulled your mask up further before checking on Chenle and how he’s putting up with his attempts at opening the door. “I can’t find any key,” he grunted. You offered him the crowbar that was hanging off your backpack, and to your luck, it worked on opening the door. Jisung let out a surprised sound as he stood behind you.

The back door led to the gym in which you stood. It was empty, except for the lone basketball that sat in the middle of the vast room. The lights didn’t work, so you came to the conclusion that it would be best to use your flashlights, instead. You followed Chenle as he was the only person that knew the way around this place. He went toward the door which led to the hallway of the school, which connected to the many classrooms. The atmosphere felt terribly dismal, and it didn’t leave you with a good feeling. You couldn’t help but focus on the smell that hadn’t been freshened up for years.

“This is my 4th-grade classroom,” He slid open the door and across the room were sprawled out desks and chairs--it was like a forest, avoiding all of these objects just to get to the other side was like a journey in itself. In the back of the room were stapled class pictures of old students and teachers on a corkboard. Chenle desperately searched for the photo with him in it, searching across what seemed like around 10+ photographs. “Ah, here’s me!” He said, gesturing for you and Jisung to come to him. He pointed to his 10-year-old self, shining a flashlight on it to show it clearer. “It’s crazy how it’s still here.”

“You were cute,” Jisung commented.

“Are you saying I’m not cute now?” Chenle scoffed jokingly. He removed the photo from the corkboard and shoved it neatly into the small pocket of his backpack, thinking of showing it to his parents later today once he figures out a good enough excuse to where he found it.

You yawn, eyes getting tired minute by minute, second by second as you continue your journey throughout the huge school. You entered room 3B, which seemed like a music room—chairs stacked in 5’s, music sheets laying on the scattered desks, posters of musicians and guitar and piano chords on the walls begging to fall down to the ground as the tape holding it up collects dust. A piano lies near the corner of the room and Chenle sits on the bench that stood in front of it. He plays a mellow tune as you and Jisung look at all of the instruments that were isolated in a metal storage cabinet. You take out a recorder and try to remember the notes of the infamous ‘Hot Cross Buns’—however your memorization skill isn't the best and you end up with random noises. Jisung laughs at your attempt and you laugh back, putting the instrument back to where it was placed. You head towards Chenle, who was heavily concentrated on playing the song that was on the sheet on the music desk. You listen to the pretty sounds until he stops for a moment.

“It sounds beautiful,” you say.

Chenle chuckles before standing up and ruffling his hair, “I know, I’ve been playing practically since birth, you know?”

You both stood there, the moonlight reflecting on your skin through the thin glass. You turn your head, “Where’s Jisung?” You had thought the boy would follow you when you were walking toward Chenle—but he didn’t. There was no third shadow moving alongside yours and the boy beside you; the atmosphere grew cold. You beckoned Chenle to come with you before walking towards the classroom door to once again enter the hallway.

“Jisung! Are you an idiot? Where are you?” Chenle shouted out loud but there was no voice that followed. A curse word was muttered, you begin scrambling out of the music room to find the 5’11 boy that suddenly vanished into thin air. You knew how afraid he was during the car ride here and you never thought you would leave him alone like this. You stuck by Chenle’s side as you searched through most of the classrooms in the building.

No sign.

You were startled as you unlocked the door to the janitor’s closet, shining your flashlight down the stairwell that was somehow built in the tiny room. “Chenle, come here,” you beckoned. He rushed to you quickly; his eyes widened once he saw what was hidden inside the room.

“I’ve never seen this before,” he chuckled, “Maybe Jisung went in here, but for what?” You shrugged at the boy’s assumption, furrowing your brows before stepping in. Jisung was always curious about the world—you might think it’s his first life and he’s fascinated by every small detail that the universe could give him. Though, you would never expect that he would be curious about this particular stairwell.

A horrid smell hit you both once you reached halfway down the staircase. You muttered a curse word, “Fuck. It smells rotten in here,” Chenle agreed, nodding at you. You continued your way down to see Jisung’s body lay flat on the floor like a ragdoll. You took in a sharp breath as you quickened your steps down to see six other bodies lay in front of him. You rapidly shout out the boy’s name as you frantically attempt to shake him awake, wishing in the back of your mind that he hadn’t ended up like the bodies that were obviously sitting beside you.

Jisung groaned, sitting right side up as he held his head. “What happened to you?!” You question, helping him stand up. He looked around the room once more before taking two steps back when he watched the dead bodies lay on the floor.

He shook his head rapidly as his hands held onto your wrist. “I-I just saw that and I don’t know what happened but…” he shut his eyes. “I should’ve stayed with you guys. I’m so so so sorry.” You hear footsteps nearing you, both of your heads turn to the sound.

“Jisung!” You yell out. You froze once you see crimson flow out of his neck. Your eyes follow the holder of the knife’s arm to his face slowly. You stared with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “Chenle, what the fuck are you doing?!” you breathed out.

Chenle tilted his head back with a slight close-lipped smile, enigmatic. Your eyes filled with tears as you watched Jisung’s blood drip, his arms holding onto what he thought was his best friend. “It’s so fun doing this!” he giggled, eyes crinkling through his smile. He pulled out the knife before quickly stabbing it back inside Jisung’s neck. “Is little Jisung whimpering? I’m just playing with you!” His psychotic laughter soon filled your ears and your breath quickened once you watched as Chenle stabbed him in the stomach laying on top of Jisung, a dark red pours onto the floor steadily. You wanted to look away but your body could do nothing but be full of shock.

Chenle’s head jerked toward your direction. You gulped as he stood up to walk toward you with an innocent smile. Once he cornered your back to the wall, he dragged the knife covered in blood along your jawline. You winced as the sharp blade cut through your delicate skin, you clutched onto nothing making your knuckles turn white. “P-please…” you whisper.

His smile dropped once the knife entered the side of your torso. “Now, you two can be with me forever.”

[see-arcane]

So like, THANK YOU for siding with Jon and his whole "I don't want to condemn several realities to the Fears" and his friends going "But then it's US who will have to deal with them!!" and... I may be overthinking this but with everything, it feels like a very abusive dynamic? Idk if you know about the Golden Child/Parent/Escapegoat dynamic, but it's common in disfunctional families to have a favorite for the parent to project on, and a escapegoat to put blame

You know what? We’re at the end of the series and I’ve been trying to be placid about this for a long time. But screw it.

I honestly do not enjoy 75% of Team Archive. At all. 

Because every last one of them is a hypocrite and a half.

The thing is, much as we as a fandom have been trying really reeeeally hard to project a familial/jagged friendship dynamic on Team Archive, the actual interactions we get paint a picture of just...coworkers muscling through a job they hate while grudgingly working together. I know, Jon and Martin call them their friends and they’ve had lighter moments once in a while, but really? I think they just don’t have enough options to be choosy about the term.

Georgie’s cool most of the time, and at least she brought up that, hey, yeah, she really shouldn’t have plugged her ears and slammed the door when Jon was in crisis mode back in s4. Only for her to join the Let’s Cross Our Fingers and Hope We Aren’t Dooming a Whole Multiverse For Our Convenience crew. 

Basira has at least graduated from ‘If you have any more Scary Meals I’ll put you down >:(’ to ‘Thanks for not dropping me while I was living up to the ACAB vibes :).’ While also conveniently forgetting her High Moral Stance on Protecting Innocent Strangers when she gets put in Jon’s shoes, suddenly turning around and snapping at Jon when he suggests the euthanasia move. YoU cAn’T kIlL tHe WoRlD jUsT bEcAuSe SoMeOnE eLsE [READ: ENTIRE MULTIVERSE] MiGhT sUfFeR!!!1!

Melanie is a dick. Dickish characters can be fun! I love a lot of dickish characters! But Melanie is a dick who refuses to grow out of her shit-on-Jon-athon setting well after the excuse of the Slaughter bullet got taken away. Yes, she’s gone through traumatic experiences. Exactly one (1) billionth of a fraction of what Jon’s gone through and is still going through. I laughed out loud when she dropped that ‘high horse’ line at him. Pot meet fucking kettle. 

And Martin? Martin I love. I really do. But they covered his issue pretty clearly in that chat between Jon and Helen. Hell, in 199 itself. Martin is very much an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ character. He wants a version of things where everyone is safe and happy, but the closest substitute he can see is just dumping the problem on their unseen neighbors--a potential infinity of victims he’ll feel distantly guilty about, but will never have to interact with. Which makes it as close to okay as he thinks they can get. 

This whole episode was a microcosm of why I feel most for Jon out of any of them, regardless of what reasons the narrative might come up with to excuse the others’ do-as-I-say-not-as-I-doisms. Jon is the only one who’s given the decision any real thought beyond ‘At least it won’t be our problem anymore.’ Not because he’s the Archivist with a bottomless well of painful knowledge, but because he knows this is morally the wrong thing to do. 

Every choice is a wrong choice, but this poor empathetic chew toy of a man knows Team Archive is choosing the option that’s most convenient for their world, not because the logic is sound, but because they’re desperate enough to throw away all those scruples they were so eager to bludgeon him with when he made the mistake of not dying in the Unknowing. 

Which is all a roundabout way of saying, yes, Jon is absolutely the unfavorite in their merry band. And after 5 seasons’ worth of hell this man has gone through for the sake of these same people who shat on him, deemed him a monster, alternately cut him out of their lives or used him as a tool, all topped with shouting him down when he dares to point out that the move they’ve decided on is a selfish one--the same choice they shamed him for in s4 when the choice was ‘be a good boy and starve or be a monster and eat’--I am amazed at how Jon hasn’t gotten one single moment in which he gets to chew them all right the fuck out for it.

So I will instead.

Fuck ‘em. They’re well-written, they’re believable people, they aren’t cookie cutter characters, all that good stuff.

But fuck ‘em. You deserved a lot of better things in your miserable life, Jonathan Sims. Friends who were actually friends being chief among them. 

[firelxdykatara]

gods, ok, apparently i’m not done.

atla fandom? we need to have a chat.

(....ok that made me sound pretentious as fuck. and maybe i am, but this needs to be said, cause i’m getting....real, real tired of a Certain Corner of this fandom and as a result, this is gonna be a discourse-heavy post so feel free to scroll past if that’s not your bag. as always, my salt posts all carry the catch-all #salt for ts tag, which you’re free to blacklist/filter at your leisure. i’m Very Annoyed at the moment, which will probably come through in the following post, so just. yknow. be prepared for that. or ignore it, that’s perfectly valid too.)

under a cut bc i do care for my followers and their sanity i swear lmao

there’s a real serious issue in this fandom with not understanding what queer terminology actually means or implies, especially when applied to a fictional narrative.

i’m specifically talking about ‘coding’, here. (if i were in a more meme-y mood, i might have said ‘the atla fandom found out about the term “gay-coding” and haven’t shut up since’.)

to the people who say ‘zuko is gay-coded’, i have this to say: you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. because he isn’t. i’m sorry, but he’s not! and the fact that this is such a prevalent claim in this fandom is distressing, bc it says to me that none of y’all know what gay-coding is or when and how to apply it! please, i’m begging you, go and look up these terms and what they mean and when they should be used before actually trying to plug them into your critical analysis, because when you misuse them and then call other people delusional for disagreeing with you it casts a pall over the entire fandom and is, i think, the root of some of the worst toxicity this fandom has to offer.

and the thing is, there are cases where gay-coding would apply--for instance, a couple series that are famous for queerbaiting their audience by coding their main characters as being attracted to one another (sometimes even despite their openly stated sexualities) come to mind, but those shows bare no similarities at all to atla and how zuko was written and portrayed! (and it would be funny, if it weren’t so obnoxious and infuriatingly wide-spread throughout the fandom, because the only queer couple we actually seen on-screen in either show wasn’t even queer-coded in any respect, and they’re canonically bi! [yes, i’m shading korrasami, or more accurately i’m shading bryke for refusing to give ka the build-up and development they deserved].)

this absolutely isn’t to say that headcanoning zuko as gay is a bad thing or invalid in any respect. (although the tendency for zukka shippers to do this specifically to keep zuko away from katara and/or invalidate his canon relationship/attraction to girls is more than a little eyebrow raising. especially since sokka is usually allowed to be bi, bc fans have no problem letting sukka stay in the background bc it’s no real threat, while jetko shippers are happy to have both boys be bi. [possibly bc katara is less a threat to jetko bc jetkotara is every bit as valid as any single ship between the three, but zukka can’t exactly let katara join in, and if the potential exists for zuko to be attracted to her then canon giving them the far deeper emotional bond becomes a threat to zukka’s existence? idk for sure--you be the judge.]) i prefer to hc zuko as bi (and always have, long before the atla renaissance), bc i don’t think zuko being attracted to boys is outside the realm of possibility, and it isn’t a threat to my ship since zuko&katara had a deep and emotional bond in canon that is very easy to develop further into something that becomes explicitly romantic--but the headcanon itself isn’t really the problem (although what it’s often in service to can be).

it’s the strange insistence that this is the only way to read his character, bc he was coded that way and so anyone who doesn’t see it must be too straight to understand--and i really shouldn’t have to say why and how that is so incredibly fucking insulting. (the ‘hetero lenses’ comment wasn’t cute when it came from bryke six years ago, and the same sentiment being repackaged and delivered by zukka shippers ain’t cute now.)

calling zuko gay-coded not only demonstrates ignorance as to what the term actually means, and how to usefully apply it in critical analysis, but also validates the frankly bullshit insertion of institutionalized homophobia in the world of atla where it was neither needed, nor wanted, nor ever hinted at in canon. as a queer woman i’m still infuriated by one fucking comic panel shoving institutionalized and systemic homophobia into a world where it was entirely unnecessary (and doing this in the first installment of the franchise showcasing a queer relationship??? making korra and asami worried about ‘coming out’ when they could have just gone on to have cute adventures together and tell people ‘hey we’re dating’ and have everyone else be ‘that’s awesome =DDD’ [because it is, in fact, possible to just have a world without homophobia i promise!!!!!] double yikes, i’m still pissed at bryke about it), and i doubly hate that ‘zuko is gay coded’ has become so widespread that ‘ozai hates him bc he’s gay’ has become a staple in that part of the fandom.

not only does making zuko gay and implying (or outright stating) that ozai hated and abused him because of it completely undermine zuko’s character arc by making his abuse about his sexuality rather than ozai’s toxic pride and anger at seeing himself reflected in his ‘weak’ son, but it comes very close to outright stating that abuse and trauma are inherently gay experiences, and they aren’t!!! they really aren’t, i promise!!!

abuse and trauma narratives exist outside of ‘my dad hates me because i’m gay’. and, quite frankly, there are MORE THAN ENOUGH queer trauma narratives out in the world. we do not need to start trying to retroactively make them canon in a series where they didn’t exist! if you’re gay and see yourself in zuko and project your own experiences on him, that’s understandable and valid. that does not make zuko gay-coded. and honestly, the insistence that he is makes very little sense to me, because you’re essentially trying to give the show credit for work you put into interpreting the characters! why would you want to do that? why not own your own headcanons and take credit for them, rather than insisting they are canon and everyone else is wrong for not seeing them??? like, i’ve said before that i’ve always headcanoned zuko (and katara) as bi, and even support it with my interpretations of evidence from the show, but the difference between ‘i think zuko is bi’ and ‘zuko is definitely gay-coded’ is that i know that bi zuko is my interpretation of canon, and that it is work i’m putting into the show that wasn’t actually intended by the creators/writers, no matter how much sexual tension i read into the jetko swordfight.

and like, zuko’s character arc doesn’t actually parallel a queer one all that well to begin with. it’s easy enough to do the work and twist it sideways just enough to make the general points fit, but the fact is, zuko’s arc is not one of self-discovery. it’s not one of coming to understand something fundamental about himself that he can’t change, that he was hated for, and coming out to his father in a dramatic confrontation where he shows that he understands himself and doesn’t need his father’s acceptance to be fulfilled.

zuko’s arc is actually one of trauma and healing. and those can (and often are--like i said, there are more than enough queer trauma narratives in the world, atla really doesn’t need to be one of them) be part of queer narratives, for sure! but they aren’t uniquely queer. and zuko’s confrontation with ozai during the eclipse doesn’t read like a ‘coming out’ at all. (yes, i’ve seen that post. yes, i rolled my eyes and moved on, bc unlike some people, i’m capable of not clowning on correctly tagged posts i disagree with.) zuko is specifically confronting ozai over his abuse, because his arc wasn’t about discovering anything fundamental about himself (and therefore realizing that ozai was hating him for something he couldn’t change)--it was about realizing that he was not at fault for the way his father treated him. it was also about realizing that the fire nation was broken and corrupt at its core, and that his father was an aspect of that he needed to break away from so that he could help the world begin to heal.

he says it himself:

Zuko: No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own! Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history. And somehow, the War was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don't see our greatness. They hate us! And we deserve it! We've created an era of fear in the world. And if we don't want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.

making this about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

anyway, uh, that was a lot of words, so have a tl;dr: zuko is not gay-coded. there is nothing uniquely gay (or even uniquely queer) about his character arc or characterization, and he was certainly not coded gay in an attempt to sneak a queer character past the censors. if anyone involved with atla was gonna try that, it would’ve been in lok, and as established, they didn’t even manage to queer-code the actual queer relationship before the last few minutes of the final episode. headcanoning zuko as gay is absolutely fine (though if it’s only done to keep him away from female characters he may otherwise be attracted to, that smells more like misogyny than anything else), but insisting that this reading is the only one that makes sense, and anyone who doesn’t agree must be straight (hello, queer woman here making this insanely long thinkpiece) is very much not.

ship what you like, but stop trying to invalidate other ships and other interpretations of characters just to make your ship seem more plausible. it’s really not a good look.