#building self-worth in Christ

[finallyalivecounseling]

Don't Take It Personally: A Guide to Finding Peace in Christ

Why Taking Things Personally Feels So Good It’s easy to take things personally when someone says something that sounds like an insult. At first, it might feel good to get angry or upset. It makes you feel like you have the right to be mad at someone. But in the long run, taking things personally can make you feel isolated and insecure. It’s a defense mechanism that might make you feel safe for a…

[thriftedtchotchkes]

give in

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel shows you how to love yourself the way you deserve

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, age gap, comfort, smut, size kink, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, fingering, exploring sexual trauma, mentions of guilt & shame, intrusive thoughts

word count: 2.8k

“Doin’ real good, baby. That’s it, nice and slow. No need to rush it.”

Joel needs you to believe it. 

He can feel your discomfort and sense the intrusive thoughts threatening to overtake you, but he needs you to know that everything you're doing right now is okay. 

It’s normal and natural, and under his roof, highly encouraged. All he's ever wanted is for you to feel good. For you to allow yourself the grace and gratification of coming undone at your own perfect hand.

But you live by an unspoken rule, one that doesn't apply to anyone else. There's nothing you love more than watching Joel touch himself, whether it's quick and dirty or drawn-out and meticulous, his body teetering on the edge of all-consuming release for hours. Yet, when it comes to your personal pleasure, there’s only shame.

He's beginning to realize that your aversion goes beyond a lack of education. You were young when the outbreak hit, and while FEDRA schools aren’t exactly known for their top-tier sex ed classes, that isn't what's holding you back.

There's something else there too, buried beneath the surface. A lifetime's worth of guilt and doubt that he alone gets the privilege of unraveling. So whenever you come to him for help, he leads you to his bed and gently coaxes you to self-completion.

He takes it slow and keeps his hands to himself unless you tell him otherwise—and you always tell him otherwise. But those are your boundaries to set. New rules to replace the old ones. 

Pressed firmly into your side, he whispers soft reassurances in your ear, his lips brushing the wispy baby hairs framing your forehead with every word. He swallows every gasp and moan, and cherishes the sharp sting of your nails biting into his skin as you reach your peak.

And when you come down from the clouds and turn to him with hazy eyes and a blissful smile, he knows it's all worth it. Even if it takes years more, he’ll continue to talk you through it, banishing the cruel thoughts that plague you and replacing them with the promise of relief.

Just like he is right now.

--

"Tell me what you're feelin'. I wanna know what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours."

You shake your head, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. Your body never responds to you the way it does to Joel, and on the rare occasion it does, it just isn't the same. It takes too long and there's none of the gradual build-up that allows you to lose yourself in it. Not in the pleasure of it anyway.

"S'a little...dry," you mumble, slowing to a stop. It'll start to burn if you keep going like this, but you're not sure what else you can do. Joel presses a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear before pulling back.

"Lemme see your hand, sugar," he says, gesturing for yours with his own. Confused, you remove your fingers from between your legs to hold up in front of his face. 

You're waiting for him to inspect them or come up with a valid reason why they're not working when he abruptly sucks them into his mouth. His tongue feels hot, searingly so, as he laves over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, then dips between them to caress your knuckles down to where they meet. 

A wave of heat almost identical to the one enveloping your hand begins to pool at the base of your spine, and you feel a sudden, heady whoosh at the apex of your thighs. If he could just keep doing that, exactly that, but further down your body—

But to your disappointment, he stops as suddenly as he started and slides your fingers from his mouth with a lewd pop before guiding them back to your core.

"How 'bout now?" he asks earnestly, and Christ. He's so good at that. He always knows how to work your body, even by proxy. 

You're wet. You don't even need the added moisture of Joel's saliva anymore. Just the action itself has you breathing heavier, eliciting a craving you never knew you had. Your fingers slip clumsily through the slick leaking out of you, and your eyelids flutter at the fleeting sensation of your fingertips catching your entrance. 

"B-better...feels better," you stumble over your words. Your fingers continue to explore your folds without your permission, stoking the fire in your belly. And also your doubt. "But I'm—J-Joel it's..."

That telltale embarrassment is starting to creep in again, reminding you that you're doing something wrong. It feels too good and you really don't want to stop, but what does that say about you? Sinner, slut. The intrusive thoughts are louder than Joel's gentle panting in your ear now.

As if he can hear them, he snakes a hand past your stomach to grip the soft plush of your thigh. He spreads you open, exposing your cunt to the open air as he massages soothing shapes into your skin, silencing the ugly words with his kind touch.

"S'alright, sugar, you can keep goin'. You liked that, right? That's good. You're treatin' your body the way she deserves," he says encouragingly. His hand inches closer to where you're dribbling onto the sheets, but stops the moment his thumb reaches your coarse curls. 

You ache to wrap your soaked fingers around his to tug him closer, but you know you can't. And that feels surprisingly okay. For the first time in a long time, you're actually keeping yourself sated enough without his help.

Now that your legs are parted, it all feels...different. Heightened, almost. It's because you're hyperaware of every movement you're making, you realize, and it turns you on way more than it should. Or no. No. Exactly as much as it should. 

Joel isn't immune to it either. 

As your bedroom fills with the sounds of crisp, rustling sheets and the slick motions of your fingers roaming your folds, you can feel Joel fighting harder not to rut into your side. His body is tense beside you, and the bicep pillowing your head flexes intermittently every time your hips swivel to meet your hand. His praise is also starting to take on an edge, tinged with something a little...filthier.

"Y'hear that? You're gettin' so loud, sugar. So wet," he grits out, his expression pained. "Just look at'cha. Needy, perfect girl. Doin' everythin' right."

His eyes dart up to your face, observing the delicate scrunch of your nose and your parted lips. He's watching you a little too intently, likely to avoid the image of your glistening palm and fingertips working to bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. You're making a huge mess.

And it's making Joel hard as a rock. Twitching and leaking, and temptingly bare against the sweet friction of your hip. You know he's doing everything he can to focus on you, but he can't even begin to imagine how much his reaction is spurring you on. 

More. You want to give yourself so much more.

"Joel, I don't think I'm doing it right," you twist to whine into his tousled, graying hair. You breathe him in, and the familiar scent of pine and suede makes your head spin and your fingers stutter. "S'not enough. I-I need more, I keep losing it."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, wrenching his gaze away from you to glance down the bed. He can't even hide how badly he wants to touch you. His cock jerks the moment he catches sight of you again, smearing precum across your skin, and you involuntarily mimic him, your hips bucking up into your unpracticed touch.

Blunt nails dig into your thigh before his hand trails back up to your stomach. It trembles as he guides you, languidly and with a hint of desperation. 

"S'okay, just follow me," he instructs you, swirling his middle and ring fingers in a tight circle around your belly button. You shiver at the raspiness of his voice. "Right around your clit. Remember where that is?" 

But before you can shake your head, his arm slides out from under you and he shifts further down your body to lean over you, propping himself on his elbow. His fingers continue their path on your stomach while he moves lower to gently tug up the hood of your clit, revealing your swollen nub. 

"Fuckin' hell," he swears quietly under his breath, his stomach visibly tensing. He's careful to steer clear of everything else, giving you enough space to heed his lesson. 

"Alright, c'mere, sugar. There ya go. See? You remember," he releases you, shifting a hand to your thigh and wrapping the other tightly around the base of his cock. He keens, his back nearly bowing with the pent-up tension in his body. "That's it. Nice, tight circles. Just like when I make you cum with my mouth."

You choke on your next moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you're suddenly inundated with memories of Joel between your legs, fucking you with his tongue until you gush into his mouth. You press down harder, swirl faster. No guilt, no disgust. It all still feels so good. 

He notices the change in your breathing immediately and begins to stroke himself in time with the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. The hazel of his eyes darken to pitch black. A warning, preparing you for the ecstasy to come.

"Oh, you like that, huh? S'good, you're doin' so good. Can ya give yourself two fingers?" he croons, teasing just below the ridge of his cock with his thumb while he waits for your response. 

"I...yeah. Y-yes," you whimper, your brows furrowing as you slip your fingers lower to circle your entrance. But as you start to press into yourself, you hesitate. "W-wait, it feels like too much. I don't want it to hurt."

At that, he all but winces like he's in physical pain, and his hand shoots to the base of his cock again and squeezes.

"Christ," he grits through his teeth, but it sounds more like a growl. You never meant to make him fight his own body like this, but you won't lie and say you're not devouring every second of it. He exhales sharply through his nose to ground himself. "Does it feel good when ya take my cock?"

Those dark eyes are locked on yours, but somehow they're still so gentle. He's not saying any of this for himself. You can tell, it's all for you. Reminders that you can do this if you want it and that he'd never ask you to do anything that could harm you.

You nod quickly because it does feel good. You need him to know that having him inside you feels so, so good. 

"Look at those pretty, little fingers of yours. They bigger than I am?"

Your eyes drop to where his hand is still wrapped tightly around himself. He's leaking all over his fingers, thick and tinged an angry shade of red.

"No, Joel. You're bigger," you whisper, your pleasure intensifying the longer you watch him. His lips quirk into the beginnings of a smirk.

"Now, ya don't have to. You can get yourself there just like that. S'just as good," his drawl commands your attention. "But I think you'd like knowin' how it feels like to cum around 'em—"

The tips of your fingers begin to sink into your heat before he finishes his sentence. The sensation is...everything. Too much to keep your eyes from rolling back or your jaw from dropping. It's just so different. As you bottom out, you wonder how this is even possible for Joel. How he ever manages to fit.

"S'hard to move," you pump your fingers in and out experimentally, moaning quietly at the addictive way they drag against your walls.

You're not too naive to realize your body stretches to accommodate him, but you're too caught up in the sight of his hand resuming its previous pace to recall that knowledge. He looks a little desperate and sounds even more so.

"Fuck me. S'it tight? Tell me, sugar. Tell me how tight ya are," he pants heavily, unable to stop himself from fucking into his fist. You unknowingly match his pace, clenching around yourself every time your palm slaps into your clit.

"M'so tight, Joel. And wet and warm," your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the beauty of your own body. 

Letting the slick sound of his hand slamming into his pelvic bone be your guide, you bring yourself closer and closer to your own distinctive state of nirvana. The same explosive release Joel gives you—you're finally allowing your body to experience it for itself.

"Joel, I'm...I...," you sob around your words, barely able to force them out as your entire being quakes with your impending orgasm. "...I can't—m'gonna cum, Joel, I can't."

Without warning, he throws a leg over your body to straddle your hips and crashes his lips into yours. He continues to work himself as he coaxes your mouth open, his tongue brushing yours fleetingly before he pulls back. 

"Let go, sugar. Give in to it, s'okay. I got ya, I'm right here," he breathes against your lips, and you tilt your head to meet them. When your head drops back onto the bed, your eyes are pleading. You need his help. 

And he understands. That's what he's here for.

"Cum with me," he murmurs, dropping his forehead to yours. "C'mon, perfect girl, you deserve it."

You believe him. The shame and never-ending guilt that twists and snags like barbed wire in your chest is nowhere to be found right now. There's only silence, save for you and Joel teetering on the cusp, and his tender reassurances in your ear. He's right. You can have this. 

"Ngh—Joel, it's...cumming. Fuck, fuck, m'cumming."

It creeps up on you, a gentle crescendo that abruptly peaks, then slams into you like a freight train. His name leaves your lips in a sharp exhale of sheer relief, repeated like a prayer while you ride it out. 

You're vaguely aware of a ragged, drawn-out groan above you as you soak the sheets beneath you, your cunt squeezing your fingers hard with every spasm, just like he said it would. You feel it all. 

Then you feel him splatter across your stomach and breasts in thick, white streaks, his release as messy and prolonged as yours. Gasping, you continue through your aftershocks together until sensitivity sets in.

Joel collapses on the bed next to you and immediately pulls you into his arms, uncaring of the sticky, drying mess smearing between you. He cups your cheek and kisses you, firmly but chastely, before reluctantly pulling away.

His eyes search yours carefully like he's looking for something. Peace, maybe? A sense of calm, an absence of the cloudiness he so often sees there and fights to keep at bay. Whatever it is, he must find it because then his lips are on yours again, a longer, deeper kiss that you melt into with loose limbs and a light heart.

"How we doin', sugar?" he asks tentatively as he parts from you. 

You take a moment to respond, appraising your body and everything it can sense right now. The wetness between your legs and on your chest, your aching wrist and thighs, and that sweet, pleasant buzz settling at the top of your spine. 

"Good," you tell him honestly. You gaze up at him with a blissful smile, preening at the affectionate one he gives you in return before burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

"Thanks for this," you continue, mumbling carefully into the warmth of his skin. "And for putting up with me. I know all of this is shitty and weird, and not fun. Just...thanks for never giving up on me."

He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer and enveloping you in his strong, soothing embrace. It feels safe here. In Joel's bed, surrounded by his scent and heat, and unwavering patience, you start to feel hopeful. He lifts your hand to his lips and softly kisses the pads of each finger, then the center of your palm.

"Ya don't have to thank me for any of that. We'll keep doin' this, s'long as it takes," he murmurs, urging you out of your hiding spot to meet his eyes. "Not a damn thing wrong with ya. Ya hear me? You're perfect."

Maybe one day, you'll be able to believe him outside of this bedroom. But for right now, you just feel lucky to be loved by a man like Joel. One who accepts your trauma and your past, and will always be there to protect you, even from yourself.

thanks for reading!

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 3 of November Paramedic; part 2 is here.)

When Gareth mentioned a plan to locate Eddie’s paramedic in shining armor, Eddie assumed it'd be him getting into various accidents all over Indianapolis. It's something the little shit would've found funny, okay! But, Gareth's plan is much less hazardous and slightly more logical: lurk around the university until they spot him. Like a pair of drug dealers trying to tempt the goody-two-shoes protagonist into addiction and sin on an 80s Saturday morning cartoon.

It's not the simplest task since they don't know when Steve might be there. Also, other responsibilities mean they can only spare so many hours loitering. So, thirteen days post-hatching plan and nineteen days post-meeting Steve (not that Eddie's been counting or anything), with nothing to show for their ethically questionable behavior, Eddie is ready to give up. Especially since both of them have a rare simultaneous day off. Usually, those are spent jamming, smoking, playing D&D… literally anything other than this.

"This is fucking stupid," he says, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "We're not gonna run into him."

"Sure we are," Gareth says. He drops his butt among the dozens they've chain-smoked and lights another without meeting Eddie's gaze. "We're getting closer. I can feel it."

"The only thing you're feeling is delusional. It's time to give up."

"Eddie, c'mon-"

"Nope." One last drag and Eddie stomps out his cig. "Fuck this; I'm out."

He stalks toward his van at the far end of the parking lot. Gareth curses before running after him.

"Dude!" he exclaims, jogging to keep up with Eddie's longer strides. "You can't just give up! What about what you said-"

"I was being stupid. What was I even imagining? We orchestrate another meeting and, what, I use my freakish wiles and seduce him? And then we'll live happily ever after…" Eddie shakes his head. "It doesn't work like that. He'd probably turn out to be a douche anyhow."

"No, listen!" Gareth seizes Eddie's arm and yanks him to a stop in the middle of the lot. "You always do this. Self-sabotage and cut things short, even when there's potential."

Eddie scoffs. "You know what else always happens? I end up liking them more than they like me. It's not fun."

"You don't know it'll be like that this time. You have to try."

"No."

Eddie takes a step back. He's done; he's out. Gareth reaches for his wrist to pull him back in. He jerks away, almost losing his footing and stumbling into the burgundy car behind him. Gareth's arms shoot out to help, but Eddie steadies himself before crashing. For a second, silence reigns as they assure everyone's on solid ground. Then Eddie opens his mouth to once and for all-

"Eddie? Gareth?"

Their heads snap to the side, eyes landing on… Max? Looking unusually dressy in high-waisted shorts and a fitted top under an oversized jacket, and her hair in a high ponytail. She's got her skateboard under her arm, a messenger bag with a textbook sticking out, and a confused furrow between her eyebrows.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

Fuck. They can't tell her the truth – she'll never let him live it down. Fortunately, Gareth realizes this too, because he says:

"Uh, I go to school here? What are you doing here? The math building is way over there."

She rolls her eyes and leans on the burgundy car. It's a shiny BMW M5 – the limited anniversary edition. Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie almost dented that thing! It's worth more than his life. And Max is slouching against it like it's nothing. He could warn her not to scratch it, but she's unlikely to care; she's always been metal that way.

"Waiting for my friends," she says. "We have dinner on Tuesdays."

Eddie's ears ignite. Dinner? With friends? While wearing what's basically a date outfit?

"Ooohhh…" he says, sharing a grin with Gareth. "And do these friends include someone special?"

She shrugs, looking anywhere but at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, Red! You're killing me! I need to know if he's good enough for you."

His fingers hover over her ponytail, as if to tug at it. She slaps his hand away.

"You're annoying."

He laughs. This terrible day just became infinitely better. He won't rest until he gets what he wants – or until she punches him, which'll probably come first. He's about to tell her so when a voice calls her name. Both turn to look, and…

It's a boy Max's age. He's beaming and waving, quickening his steps toward her. She smiles too, almost shyly, as she waves back. It's the perfect opportunity for teasing, if Eddie's day hadn't just become infinitely better.

His tongue is heavy, his skin is itching, his heart is bruising his ribs from the inside. Sweat is gathering in his pits and it's getting a little hard to breathe. Because walking half a pace behind the boy, carrying a huge duffel with such ease it might actually be stuffed with feathers, is… is…

"Yesssss!" Gareth hisses next to him. He may also be fist-pumping. Eddie isn't looking.

"Hey!" The boy stops in front of Max. "Sorry, practice ran late."

"It's okay," she says, cooler than ice, though her eyes are glittering. "I just got here."

She says something else, or maybe the boy does? It's all background noise, because Steve has caught up. Steve, in jeans and a polo that must've been tailored to his exact measurements because oooooooooohhhh boy. Steve, unshouldering the bag, muscles shifting and straining under his shirt with the movement. Steve, smiling, his golden eyes flying over Eddie.

"Hey! Eddie and Gareth, right?"

Eddie draws a sharp breath. He remembers!

"Y-Yeah!" he squeaks, hands fluttering to either wave or shake hands, ultimately doing neither. "Hi! You're here!"

"I am," Steve says, casual, as if inane conversations with former patients happen on the regular.

(It better not – Eddie doesn't do well in competitive settings.)

Max, keen eyes darting between them, asks, "You know each other?"

"Met at work," Steve says. "Or, I was working and he…"

"Ah." Max taps her temple. "That."

"How do you know them?" the boy asks her.

She points at Eddie. "Neighbor. And that's the guy who dumpster dives outside our apartment building."

Gareth flips her off. Eddie would laugh, but he's busy pretending he doesn't know what Steve looks like shirtless. It's hard (pun slowly growing more relevant) – his gaze keeps dropping to the polo's undone top button. Steve is just as gorgeous out of uniform, and now Eddie's thighs are tingling with want. He could stare at him forever…

Unfortunately, 'forever' is cut short by a woman arriving in a flurry. Wait, no. 'Flurry' implies some sort of graceful whimsy, while this person… she's a hurricane crashing into a house.

"Sorry I'm late! Nielsen wouldn't stop talking and got angry when people started leaving because it's an important lecture so this girl called him out for not keeping time because he goes on all these tangents and he said they're interesting tidbits and she said it's disrespecting our time and-" She pauses for breath. "You don't care, do you?"

Max, Steve, and the boy shake their heads.

"Right. Sorry." The woman turns to Eddie and Gareth. "Hi! I'm Robin. And you are?"

"My neighbor and his friend. Steve treated his concussion," Max rattles off, glaring at them. "You didn't answer my question: why are you here?"

Gareth frowns. "I told you," he says, pointing at the building. "School." He points at himself. "Student."

Max glares harder. "You don't have class on Tuesdays. And Eddie doesn't go here at all."

"I had stuff I needed to drop off."

"Is tagging along a crime? Jesus."

Max doesn't reply, though her glare remains.

Robin hums. "Okay, so this is super-enjoyable, I love just standing around, but I'm starving, so…" She looks at Steve, who nods.

"Yeah, we're going," he says, but neither moves. He glances at Eddie, which makes her glance at Eddie, and then they make a series of eyebrow-movements at each other, ending in a shared smile. Steve asks, "Have you guys eaten yet?"

Eddie shakes his head, pulse racing. Is this going where he thinks it is?

"D'you wanna come with? There's this diner we like…"

Holyshityesitis!

"Yeah!" Fuck, too eager. "I mean, uh, sure, sounds good."

"Cool." Grinning, Steve clicks a remote car key; the burgundy BMW beeps. What the fuck? How high is a paramedic's salary?! "Did you drive here?"

"I, uh…" Eddie falters. Shit, wasn't he supposed to? It's been three weeks and he feels fine – he thought he was in the green!

"Nope! I did!" Gareth says, 'proving' it by hauling his house keys from his pocket and jingling them.

Steve nods. "Should be safe for you to drive again, but the less strain you put on your brain, the better. Even a mild concussion isn't anything to sneeze at."

"Y-Yeah, I've been taking it easy. Basically done nothing. Until now."

Max snorts. Eddie is going to pour coffee through her mail slot.

They decide Eddie and Gareth will follow Steve's car to the diner, since Steve can't fit all of them (the real reason he asked if they drove here, duh). It's good because Eddie gets the chance to panic/gush/collect himself in the privacy of his van. It's bad because Gareth drives, lest their fib be revealed. Gareth spends the ten-minute journey gloating about driving Eddie's beloved girl, interspersed with 'I told you so!'s.

The diner is cozy, all wooden furniture and sepia photographs on the walls. A graying waitress who smells like tobacco directs them to a booth and takes their orders. An awkward silence then falls as they wait for someone to speak.

The boy clears his throat. "My name is Lucas, by the way. I don't think I said." After shaking his hand and introducing themselves, Lucas says to Eddie, "I think Max has mentioned you."

"Oh yeah? I've been dying for her to mention y- Ow!"

Eddie rubs where Max kicked his shin. Her glare is murderous. Lucas is blushing happily, though.

"So, what d'you guys do?" Robin asks.

Right. Time to small-talk like adults. Eddie gets his job as a mechanic out of the way, then gives the word to Gareth, who tells them he's a creative writing major. Robin turns out to be getting a masters in linguistics and Lucas studies biology.

"I don't actually know what I want to do, but biology feels broad enough to give me options, y'know? I can go to med school, or forensics, or, I don't know, paleontology?" he says. Max glows brighter with every word that comes out of his mouth. Cute.

This then segues into talking about their friends, who by the sound of it lead incredibly interesting lives.

"Dustin's at MIT, Mike's at Oxford, Will's in San Francisco…" Lucas says, counting on his fingers.

Max interjects, "El's in Africa building houses and teaching kids English."

"Erica is still at home, finishing high school and drowning in early acceptance letters to, like, every Ivy League there is," Steve says with a look of pure pride.

"Nancy and Jonathan – they're our age – are chasing scoops in Afghanistan… " Robin says.

"... and Argyle is also in California," Lucas finishes.

Eddie whistles. "And here we are, still in Indianapolis."

"Dude, I'm surprised I got this far," Steve says. "Wouldn't've managed without her."

He jerks a thumb in Robin's direction, who preens at the acknowledgment. Robin's cool, Eddie decides. Garrulous but fun and nice… and verrrrrrrrry close to Steve. The kind of close where they're always in each other's space. Where they wordlessly transfer food between their plates. Where Steve unceremoniously wipes a speck of ketchup off Robin's chin after she repeatedly fails to get it. They're comfortable, but not necessarily romantically affectionate. Like they're siblings rather than lovers.

(Dear God, if you are in heaven, let them be siblings.)

Conversation flows. They joke around, tell stories, swap opinions. Robin gets passionate about tonal shifts when stage shows are adapted to film, and Eddie tries not to stare at Steve's mouth as he eats. And then, once their plates are cleaned and they're waiting for dessert, Gareth leans his elbows on the table and fixes Steve with a purposeful look.

"I figured out where I've seen you before."

Eddie stiffens.

Steve blinks. "At campus, right?"

"Thought so, but no. I realized it's actually…" Gareth chuckles. "It's ridiculous, but uh, my mom had this calendar…"

Steve recoils, red flooding his face. Robin, Lucas, and Max shriek in delight, Robin grabbing Steve's arm and shaking it as he hides behind his hands.

"And my mom," Gareth says between bursts of laughter, "she's shameless, all right? She kept it in our kitchen. So during, what was it, November?"

"November," Steve confirms, muffled.

"For 30 days, if I wanted to check the date or make a notation… I saw you."

Tears stream down Robin's face, she's laughing so hard. She and Max have started chanting 'Slut! Slut! Slut!' at the still crimson Steve.

"You don't understand," Lucas says, gesturing for emphasis. "We've been waiting for someone to come up and say 'hey, weren't you…?' for years. Thank you so much!"

"Hey, thank my mom," Gareth says. Eddie's quite stunned he'd throw his own mother under the bus like that. She's a really nice person, too!

"Makes sense," Max says. "Moms love Steve."

"All parents do," Lucas says.

Cackling, Robin pinches Steve's cheek. "Gotta hide your mom and your dad around Steve!"

Steve bats her off, flushed but smiling. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You got your wish, now shut it."

That only makes the three restart the chant to ridicule him for his harlotry. Steve's indignant squawk that 'it was for charity!' merely has everyone laugh more.

And Eddie? Well. As he sits beholding this man who works as a paramedic and drives a luxury car, who models for charity and allows his friends to mock him for it, who blushes and giggles when they lovingly call him a whore…

All Eddie can think is that he's in fucking trouble.

Afterward, it only makes sense for Eddie to drive Max home. Steve shakes his hand outside the diner, saying it was nice to see him again. Eddie, not knowing how to ask for Steve's contact info without seeming weird, agrees. He waits until the BMW drives off, then tells Gareth to get the fuck out of his seat. Gareth relocates to the backseat, whining since Max already called shotgun.

The initial minutes, they're quiet. Then Max turns to Gareth and says:

"When were you telling me Eddie is your mom?"

"Huh?"

"You said you knew about the calendar because of your mom. But that's not true."

The warmth drains from Eddie's face; his knuckles crack around the steering wheel. Gareth's expression is the epitome of 'oh shit' when he meets Eddie's gaze in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes, it is," Gareth says.

"It's not," Max says.

"It is!"

"It's not! The calendar was for 2021, and in November '21 you were a freshman and had already moved into the dorms! If your mom kept it in her kitchen, you wouldn't have seen it!"

She scowls at Gareth, mouth pinched and eyes flashing, daring him to contradict her.

Gareth swallows thickly. "It… wasn't for 2021."

"Yes, it was."

"How do you know?"

She puts her hands in her lap and lifts her chin, almost primly. Eddie gasps as the penny drops.

Gareth screams, "WHAT!"

"You have it?" Eddie cries. "Why do you have it?"

She scoffs. "You know why – you've seen his pecs."

"I don't- Okay, how're you so sure it's me?"

"Because you spent all of dinner looking like you wanted to crawl inside his mouth and live there." Her nose wrinkles. "At least I hope it was his mouth you want to crawl into-"

She's cut off by Gareth shouting "I can't hear you! Lalalalalalala-"

Eddie crumples in his seat. He's depleted of blood, air, life, everything. Behind, Gareth is grilling Max for information: are Steve and Robin together? Is Steve single? Is he queer?

Max replies: no, yes, and 'that's not for me to tell, moron'.

Gareth nods, satisfied. "That means he is. If he was straight, you'd say so." He slaps Eddie's arm. "You got a shot, man!"

"You… don't know that…" Eddie wheezes.

Max tuts, shaking her head. "You actually want to hit on my chauffeur."

"He prefers the term 'seduce'," Gareth says.

Eddie smacks his face into the steering wheel at the next red light.

------------------------------

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lordofthepointygerbils, @lenore1232, @imzadidragonfly, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @bea-sayan, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @steveisabicon, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @olivethenerd16, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll,

I won't be adding more to the tag list because there are already so many of you. Instead, I'll be tagging the four remaining parts (it'll definitely be seven in total, btw) as #steddie fic: november paramedic. Hopefully, they'll show up in the tags and you'll see them that way.

Thank you for reading 🖤

Part 4

[sim0nril3y]

Push and Pull

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon opens himself up to some physical intimacy, but it seems like even afterwards he still remains guarded and aloof Note: Set in 2014 Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), SMUT SMUT SMUT, oral male receiving, mild angst, Simon being his usual guarded self, canon-typical swearing

Oh god. Fuckinghell. This was happening… Your fingers were so daintily plucking at his belt whilst soft lips pressed open-mouthed kisses against the shallow ‘V’ groves of his lower abdomen. With some assistance you tugged down his jeans and audibly gasped at the outline of his hard cock through his briefs. Simon tried to remain composed as her hot mouth skimmed over the fabric. “Fuck…” Grounding out your name between his grit teeth. Part of him wanted to beg and the other wanted to chastise for teasing him so cruelly.

A tug on his briefs allowed it to spring free causing yet another gasp to find your throat at the sight of his immense uncut cock. His glassy eyes trailed over your flushed features trying so desperately to decipher the look. “You’re huge~” Your voice was barely a whisper but it sent a deep shiver down his spine. There was this need that was building inside of him that he hadn’t felt for such a long time. Simon needed your touch. His cock cried and jumped for your attention.

“Babe, please…” Simon hiccupped out, hands gripping frantically at the material of the sofa cushions. For so long he had been so content with nothing or on the rare occasion his own touch. Simply resigning himself that was all that he was worth, but now with you knelt between his trembling knees. Fuck, he needed you on a deeper level than he had ever experienced. It was confusing, it was arousing but most of it it was fucking terrifying.

The sound of your breathy voice grounded him in that moment. “I got you.” It was sweet and intoxicating. His cock leaked unapologetically against his stomach and a moment later your soft hands wrapped around his cock making his strong hips shoot upwards from muscle memory, those same hands soothingly his hips back into a more relaxed position. “Let me take care of you…” Face beat red and knuckles pale white as his cock leaked and pulsed in the comfort of your fist.

Hardly able to make eye-contact as you worked diligently on his massaging his cock, using his own spend as some type of lube. Rolling back his skin your wet tongue wrapped and lapped at the head of his cock. A choked noise fell from his lips, heart racing in his full chest. Fuckin’ hell. It had been such a long time since he had been cared for so attentively and patiently. Don’t fucking cum right now. Don’t cry. Be a fucking man. He repeated those commands in his head. Christ, the second sunk more of his cock in your throat he practically had to scream those directions in his mind. Keep it together, solider.

“How long has it been, Simon?” His cock removed from your throat you was able to ask a question that lingered in your mind. It didn’t mean your hand stopped jerking his length playfully. “Too long.” Finally, his eyes reopened to find your own. His mouth hung open as you back onto his length. “Gonna be the death of me~” A little laugh around his cock only caused his hips to shoot up higher, maybe giving more of his cock than you were expecting as it followed by a guttural gag. Those dangerous eyes stayed focused on his face the entire time, gaging whether he was appreciating the act or not, it seemed like he was.

“B-babe… fuck… I can’t…” It was all too much. It had just been so long since he had felt this overwhelming pleasure. Typically, he wasn’t a giver or receiver. During a one-night stand Simon would just fuck them and leave, like agreed. No kissing. No head. Minimal touching. This was all entirely different and Simon was just wishing he had wanked in his bathroom before letting you put her lips on him. Rough fingers tangled in your tresses. Finally relinquishing all control over him, Simon began to bob your head up and down on his cock. Throat tight and loud, eyes watery and focused on solely him. “Won’t… last…” It was a warning, if you didn’t want a throat full of cum then back off now, but you stayed firmly between his knees, happily allowing him to use you for pleasure.

At his pinnacle you watched intently as his entirely body went rigid, pushing your head down on his cock and feeling his cum began to flood you throat. For the most part Simon was quiet whilst he climaxed, simply a few grunts and a breathy noise of relief at his end. “Good girl.” A snippet of praise that you had not been expecting. Internally preening at his words, carefully removing yourself from his rapidly deflating cock and wiping your wet mouth with the back of her hand. For a moment you knelt there, running your hands up and down his trembling thighs, rubbing small circles into his flesh hoping that you were giving him some type of comfort at his most vulnerable.

“Do you have any cloths?” The question was hushed as you pushed herself to be standing. In a sleepy drawl Simon explained where to find one. He hadn’t been expecting you to return with a glass of water and a damp cloth. Sinking back down to your knees you spent time cleaning his spent cock, removing his jeans and tugging his briefs back up. “You’re a good girl~” The praise was slurred on his sleepy tongue, eyes practically closed by this point but you accepted it all the same, beaming to yourself as you carefully folded his jeans into a neat square.

That next morning Simon came around to find out it wasn’t just some type of dream his lust-clouded him had made it. No, you were perfectly slotted into his side and his jeans were folded beside him like some present for him to find. In that late morning sunshine Simon allowed himself a few moments to just admire your seeping frame. Curled up into his side like some wonting animal craving love and attention. He took in every inch of your frame, admiring the bones of you but what amused him most of all was that you snored. “Watching me sleep?” A groggy morning voice questioned.

A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Observing. Assessing.” He offered instead. “You make it sound odd.” Then stroking you hair soothingly. “Want a cuppa?” The question that every Brit wanted to be asked in the morning. You nodded frantically before being moved so delicately so that he could get up and work on that for them. “Milk? Sugar?” Your response of lots of both only made him smirk in response, pulling on his jeans and entering the kitchen.

How the fuck had this all happened? This hadn’t been in is life plans… No, he had envisioned a life of service. That was it. That was all he was good for. Simon was a good solider – No, he was a fantastic solider. He followed ordered well and did what needed to be done for the good of his people. A family, or… whatever you could be considered didn’t have a space in that plan or that future. It was too dangerous. Too many people around him had been hurt or killed because of him. He couldn’t do that to you too.

Tucked up into a comfortable little bundle you sipped at your tea and hummed happily. “I, um… was that okay last night?” Usually full of an unjustified confidence you sounded worried. His brows pinched before he gifted her a small nod. “More than okay.” He assured, not wanting you to think your technique wasn’t good, because fuck it was. “That’s good.” You took another sip of her tea and glanced in his direction again. “Because I’m not sure what you want… or what we’re doing here… like, I know what we are physically doing, but is it just physical or… I don’t know.” Then shaking your head.

Ah, you were feeling a bit uncertain about where they stood. “Without trying to sound like a prick…” Simon sat forward. “I don't think I have a good answer for you...” The other night he knew he didn’t like them blokes talking so vulgarly about you and having you sleep in his arms was… maybe better than getting head from you, but… it couldn’t change his stance on wanting to keep you safe over him being selfish. He could live without a partner, but he simply couldn’t live with her getting hurt, or worse because of him.

“I get that.” The answer came too quick from her, too scared to push him. Your smile was forced and you drunk your much too hot tea way too quickly. “I should probably get going.” Standing up and placing her empty mug down on the coffee table. “You don’t have to leave-“ “I actually have plans.” The words were like you was scolding a young boy and Simon practically recoiled from your snap. “Okay…” He conceded, standing and placing down his own mug. “Do you want a lift home?”

Responding quietly as you gathered together your things you replied. "I'll be fine." And then a moment later you were gone from his door. Fuck, he really had fucked that up, but... but maybe it was for the best. It was for your safety after all. He could live with feeling like a prick if it meant that you were alive and thriving elsewhere.

Masterlist | Ask | 02-09-2023

[atopvisenyashill]

imo rhaenyra’s “madness” being that of a cult leader capable of convincing her followers to do ostensibly insane things cuz she’s just that charismatic & self-assured in the correctness of her beliefs is way cooler and less sexist than the typical ‘she went crazy’ targ nonsense, "ohhh ‘mad queen’ daenerys she’s so crazy it’s that classic targ madness just like her ‘mad’ ancestor ‘mad’ king aerys you never know with those ‘mad’ targaryens" that’s so boring lol, give me something believable

YES i honestly don’t understand and have been increasingly annoyed by these really disingenuous “oh so when rhaenyra slaughters innocents it’s totally fine bc she has the divine right 😒” criticism when it couldn’t be more clear that’s not what’s happening. i mentioned this with the white stag before, how people are taking the most bad faith reading of it imaginable and saying that’s objectively what the writers intended when….it’s very clear the writers are intending for a more nuanced exploration of the entire concept of the white stag, YOU (general you, not you anon) are purposefully taking it in a negative way because you like being pissed off. what an obnoxious way of engaging with the story!

and i feel the same here! the main criticism i see of rhaenyra is that a) she’s not allowed to get her hands bloody/she’s always in the right and b) they’re making it seem as if she has the divine right to commit violence due to the prophecy. there is absolutely no narrative basis for these readings though, it’s COMPLETELY people projecting.

the reason she doesn’t do anything earlier in the season is because she also isn’t doing anything in the BOOK during this section because of her grief. i think criticism of HOW they wrote that is valid - the fact that she doesn’t speak at all in the first episode was a heinous choice, i get what they were going for, but it fell so flat that as Professional Writers they should have realized they were missing the mark there - but this constant “rhaenyra doesn’t get her hands dirty” “rhaenyra is too perfect” is so fucjing obnoxious. they’re ✨building up to it✨ guys, it’s why they did the stuff with Aemond not meaning to kill Luke and then actively attempting to kill/harm Aegon, it’s why the Green Council goes from squabbling to actively suppressing Alicent’s voice, it’s why Rhaenyra's convos with Jacaerys have gotten increasingly more angry, on and on. Sorry you all wanted Rhaenyra to be a Born Evil Queen, but if they’re not doing that with Alicent, why would they do that with Rhaenyra? "Oh they only had Jacaerys call the dragonseeds mongrels because-" my comrade in christ they took Alicent making the decision to lock the smallfolk into the city and gave it to Aemond to make her look better and make Aemond look worse it's the exact same thing and they're doing it because they're trying to have a conversation about the cyclical rot of feudalism and the way these people are completely trapped by their own design in this cycle of violence!!!!

and YES very much, this gets into point b which is like....THIS is Mad Queen Rhaenyra, THIS is Rhaenyra the Cruel! It's Rhaenyra holding onto this prophecy that gives her the divine right to be violent, that represents her father choosing her over everyone else, that represents her own worthiness as a ruler, that every single fucked up thing she's suffered is worth it because the fabled hero will come from her line, because Jacaerys will follow her onto the throne and there will be unending peace, because Viserys chose HER he loved HER he only ever loved HER, and she HAS THE RIGHT but what does "have the right" even mean. "oh they always portray her as morally in the right" NO THEY DO NOT YOU ARE MAKING THAT UP. Rhaenyra thinks she's morally in the right and the show is constantly making her face the consequences of her own actions, and showing that (again, and I cannot overemphasize this enough, just like Alicent, just like Viserys, just like Aegon, and while they do it sloppily with them, just like Aemond and Daemon!) Rhaenyra will close her eyes to the glaring faults of the people around her and the violence she is helping to perpetuate because to her in the end, all of this suffering has to be worth it and she has this fancy little prophecy that is showing her it is worth it. That's so interesting! It's fascinating! "Well I think she-" Well that's just your opinion man! I'm having a fucking ball watching her step closer and closer to the edge and insisting that she's staying still, she's playing safe, it's everyone else that is taking the leap. That's fun, that's engaging, that's a good way of depicting that dichotomy of how greatness can so easily turn to madness.

[eyestrain-addict]

I just realized why lestat marked Tom, like the big stupid idiot I am

(I know everyone else probably already figured this out, but this is MY blog and I get to post whatever deranged thought crosses my pea brained mind.)

When I watched that scene in episode 5 where they're at the bar talking to Tom, I was confused as to why exactly. Why does Lestat mark Tom? If he's marked to kill, why does he wait almost 2 decades later? Well I realized, as all realizations come, in the shower.

Lestat has been planning on killing Tom the whole time.

(Warning before you click read more, this post is a lot longer than I first intended holy fuck)

Well not the whole time. Just right when Louis realized that Anderson and Fenwick had screwed him over. Maybe even longer if he knew it was a trick ("ridiculous of you to mix human and vampire business it always ends poorly"). Notice how he's upset with louis when he kills the guy who's microaggressive with him, cus lestat wasn't there (even if he was there I have my doubts Lestat would understand microaggressions, but he would have definitely killed him for touching Louis.) But tells Louis he's proud of him for killing Alderman. I think this has to be because he witnessed the disrespect first hand. He didn't give a fuck about the money, what he DID care about was that those two disrespected not only him, but Louis.

Even with Lestats little understanding of race relations of the time in America, he did understand hierarchys. He's from 1700s France for God's sake. It's no coincidence wanted to be king of mardi gras. Lestat came to New Orleans and saw himself as the king, even if no one knew it. And he wanted Louis to be his queen. Honestly I could make an entire other post about how Lestat almost literally saw himself as if he was a King and Louis his beloved Queen, which is why he thought it was okay for him to sleep with other women (mistresses and playthings of the king should mean nothing compared to the queen in lestats eyes) but that's getting off topic. I only bring that up because I'm trying to paint a picture of how I think Lestat sees disrespect done to Louis. To him that goes beyond disrespect or rudeness, it's irreverence.

You begin to notice if you watch scenes with them together. Because while I wouldn't say lestat is good at controlling his anger, he's definitely great at concealing it until it erupts (props to Sam Reid have to be given here) lestat is always on the verge of fury when talking to Tom. It starts as a distaste then as he begins to fall more in love with Louis and become more protective of him, his anger builds. Claudia was wrong about one thing, it was no petty slight that was the reason Lestat killed Tom first, it was a loooonng time coming.

I could list every detail I think supports this but I'm sure you get the gist by now. My main point is really the layer of complexity this adds to not only the story, the characters, but also lestat and louis' relationship. Consider it for a second, Lestat saw all his violence as justified, everything he did one can see it through the lense of him punishing the disrespectful (take a shot every time I say disrespect in this post jesus christ). "I bring death to those deserving" indeed. Lestat has a god complex out the wazoo, and every attack, torture, and death he caused was righteous to him and thus enjoyable. Louis on the other hand didn't see himself so highly. He may seem confident but if you look through the cracks it's apparent Louis's self worth in near nonexistent and he's horribly insecure. I think lestat thought when Louis was made a vampire he would see himself as Lestat saw himself, and as Lestat saw Louis. But again, another post for another time.

Despite Louis' insecurities (or perhaps because of them) louis revels in the violence lestat commits for his sake. That's probably why louis is so quick to forgive lestat about the priests. For a brief moment Lestat truly said the truth to Louis and Louis could forgive him because of it. As lestat says, he doesn't kill the priests to intimidate Louis, nor does he do it just because he enjoys it. He does it because he sees them as humiliating Louis, charlatans that don't deserve Louis' sorrow. Louis didn't want the priest's to die, but he could understand why lestat killed them, simply because for once in his goddamn life lestat told the truth, and louis loved that truth. That truth being that lestat killed and mutilated and committed such horrors not just because he liked it, but because he did it out of a fucked up sense of protection. Him killing the priests was essentially a knight killing a dragon to earn the princess' hand in marriage.

The worst part is that Lestat doesn't even realize it. Not fully anyway. Let's be honest with ourselves, lestat doesn't understand Louis. Obviously there's the race, background, culture differences that lestat doesn't understand nor seems inclined to try, but there are better posts about that made by smarter people than moi. I'm mostly talking about lestat doesn't understand louis' mind itself (louis' mind in a vacuum I suppose you could say) he understands Louis' desire for violence sure, but he doesn't understand the core of that want. Honestly I'm on the fence of if he ever understood that Louis loved it when lestat was protective in the first place. I guess it can be dumbed down to Louis wants Lestat to kill to protect Louis and to protect the family (and anyone who deeply disrepects them), lestat perhaps understood a little at one point, but since he sees everyone as a threat and everything is a slight to him, he has no trouble and qualms with delighting in the torture of people Louis views as innocent. Louis' heart is a bit dark, but ultimately human, so he's disgusted by lestats violence towards the undeserving. Lestat can no longer read Louis' mind and even if he could, Louis doesn't quite understand the difference himself (that's why he tries to hunt for criminals briefly) so the cracks of miscommunication starts to form, and neither of them even realize there is miscommunication.

Therein lies the importance of Tom Anderson for season 1. Not much of a character, more of a plot device in human skin. Claudia can see that Lestat hates him, but doesn't understand why, nor does she care to get to the depths of that. (*Mr house voice* understandable) I think it's notable that Louis rarely brought him up, he didn't understand the depths of lestats love. Nor did he know about Lestats 3 decade long grudge, all because Tom disrespected Louis.

Now I'm not excusing Lestat's actions, I just think it's interesting how this one throwaway character reveals a whole level of complexity to the relationship between him and Louis, and better sheds light on not only Lestats personal philosophy but louis' as well. Even Claudia to a degree.

Anyway, uh. End of essay. Bye.

[dark-mnjiro]

[he looks up grinning] like a devil :: shinichiro sano

author’s note: this is extremely self ship coded and self indulgent to help me feel better. trust me no one needs to read this. this was literally for me and thrown together in a couple hours.

warnings: sano shinichiro x afab!reader, selfship fic, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, drunk behavior, drunk confessions, fluffy, silly, a bit a self deprecation on shin’s part, this is extremely self indulgent on my behalf and wanted it just because it’s for me… sorry.

The name that flashed over the screen of your cellphone nearly made you take a second glance as if you didn’t believe he could be calling at this hour. Why on earth was Wakasa calling this late? You were sure he would be out with Shinichiro and the others. Has something happened to one of your friends?

A sigh fell from your lips before you answered the call. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry calling this late but-”

The sound of a drunk Shinichiro echoed in the background. The corners of your lips tugged upward, unable to stop the smile from forming. 

“I can’t deal with him. Come get him.”

“Well, who let him get that drunk?”

“That fucker Takeomi bought him shots-oh Jesus Christ…” There was a pause and the sound of shuffling as if Wakasa was having trouble keeping his phone. “Can you come get him?”

Shinichiro’s voice echoed in the background again as he called out your name. It was clear he was heavily intoxicated now.

“Just come get him before I kill him.”

You snorted before agreeing to come to the bar.

“I’ll see you in ten.”

Once you arrived at the bar, you pulled the car up to the entrance where you found Wakasa trying to support Shinichiro’s much taller frame. Shaking your head, you put your car into park as Wakasa opened the back seat, practically throwing his best friend into the backseat. 

“Have fun with this,” Wakasa said flatly as he slammed the car door shut and went back into the bar. 

Shaking your head, you began driving back to Shinichiro’s apartment. You could hear him mumbling a few drunken slurs, but nothing seemed coherent. 

“You okay back there?”

“-I'm fine.”

“Please don’t throw up,” you commented. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You decided to indulge him. “Oh? What is it?”

“I’m in love with you.”

It was as if time had stopped. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. “…what-what did you say?” you uttered as your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“I’m in love with you,” he cackled. 

This has to be a joke. 

“Shin?”

He continued to laugh. “Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard?” he countered as if you weren’t actually in the car with him. 

You weren’t sure how to answer him. 

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he mumbled.

Swallowing hard, you stopped outside his apartment building. You put the car into park. “Why are you telling me all this?” you asked. 

Shinichiro hummed in response.

“Not gonna tell me?”

“I’m just tired of lying to you,” he admitted. “Being just friends isn’t worth it.”

You exited your car and walked around to the backseat before opening the door. His dark eyes scanned up your body, lighting up before a grin spread over his lips.

“Shin…”

“Tell me,” he said. “That you want me too…”

“I think we should get you upstairs.”

Shinichiro tilted his head. “W-what?”

You offered a gentle smile. “Shin… you’re drunk. You need to sleep.”

He managed to get out of the backseat of the car before stumbling forward. Quickly, you caught him, wrapping his arm behind your shoulder as you walked him inside. 

“It doesn’t change anything,” he mumbled. “I still love you-”

“Shinichiro,” you replied, sighing. “Come on…”

He hummed again. “Stay-”

You opened the door to his apartment and helped him to the couch. “Sleep it off,” your voice stern now. 

“But!”

“Sleep,” you countered. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

As the door to his apartment shut, Shinichiro couldn’t help himself but grin. 

[blueiscoool]

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Theft

Five things you probably didn’t know about the biggest art heist in history

Most art galleries and museums are famous for the art they contain. London’s National Gallery has Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers”; “The Starry Night” meanwhile, is held at The Museum of Modern Art in New York, in good company alongside Salvador Dalì’s melting clocks, Andy Warhol’s soup cans and Frida Kahlo’s self-portrait.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, however, is now more famous for the artwork that is not there, or at least, that is no longer there.

On March 18 1990 the museum fell prey to history’s biggest art heist. Thirteen works of art estimated to be worth over half a billion dollars — including three Rembrandts and a Vermeer — were stolen in the middle of the night, while the two security guards sat in the basement bound in duct tape.

The robbery is a treasure trove of surprising facts and unexpected plot twists. Here are five things that make the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and its famous theft, so interesting.

The woman behind the building:

Isabella Stewart Gardner, the museum’s founder and namesake, is a fascinating character. The daughter and eventual widow of two successful businessmen, Gardner was a philanthropist and art collector who built the museum to house her stash.

“When she opened the museum in 1903 she mandated that it be free of charge, to gain the appreciation and the attendance of all of Boston,” Stephan Kurkjian, author of “Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Art Heist”, said in the programme. “Her museum, at that point in time, was the largest collection of art by a private individual in America.”

Gardner also had links to the fledgling campaign for women’s political rights. The museum displays the photographs and letters of her friend Julia Ward Howe, an organizer of two US suffrage societies, and a print of Ethel Smyth, a composer and close friend of the English Suffragette leader Emmeline Pankhurst.

Gardner met Smyth through their mutual friend, the painter John Singer Sargent, whose portrait of Gardener raised eyebrows for the low-cut neckline he gave her.

Gardner seemed to enjoy flirting with scandal and gossip: she once arrived at a Boston Symphony Orchestra performance in a hat band emblazoned with the name of her favorite baseball team, Red Sox, and an illustration in a January 1897 edition of the Boston Globe showed her apparently taking one of Boston Zoo’s lions for a walk.

Somewhat ironically, when the Mona Lisa was stolen in 1911, Gardner told her museum guards that, if they saw anyone trying to rob them, they should shoot to kill.

The art not taken:

The thieves’ loot is estimated to be worth over half a billion dollars. However, they left the building’s most expensive artifact: “The Rape of Europa” by Titian, which Gardner bought from a London art gallery in 1896, then a record price for an old master painting.

Why commit history’s greatest art heist and leave without the priciest piece in the museum? Well, size may have played a role. The largest artwork taken was Rembrandt’s “Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” famous for being Rembrandt’s only seascape and measures roughly 5x4 feet. “The Rape of Europa,” meanwhile, is larger, at nearly 6x7 feet.

The Napoleon factor:

Around 2005, the investigation into the stolen artworks took a detour to the French island of Corsica in the Meditteranean Sea. Two Frenchmen with alleged ties to the Corsican mob were trying to sell two paintings: a Rembrandt and a Vermeer. Former FBI Special Agent Bob Wittman was involved in a sting to try and buy them — but the operation eventually fell apart when the men were arrested for selling art taken from the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Nice instead.

Why would “Corsican mobsters,” as correspondent Randi Kaye described them in the programme, be interested in robbing a Boston art museum? The answer could lie in the Bronze Eagle Finial, the 10-inch ornament stolen from the top of a Napoleonic flag during the heist.

“It was sort of an odd choice for the thieves to take (the Finial),” Kaye said, “but it turns out that Corsica is essentially the homeland of Napoleon.” The French emperor was born on the island in 1769, and a national museum is now housed in his former family home.

“It is a very compelling notion,” Kelly Horan, Deputy Editor of the Boston Globe, said in the programme, “that a Corsican band of gangsters might have tried to steal back their flag and pull off the entire rest of the heist in the process.”

A rock’n’roll suspect:

March 18 1990 was not the first time a Rembrandt had been stolen from a Boston museum. In 1975, career criminal and art thief Myles Connor walked into Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, and walked out with a Rembrandt tucked into his oversized coat pocket. He was the FBI’s first suspect in the Gardner case, however the walls of federal prison — where he was incarcerated on drugs charges — gave him a pretty solid alibi.

When he wasn’t lifting famous artworks from their displays, Connor was a musician. It was through gigging that he met Al Dotoli, who worked with stars including Frank Sinatra and Liza Minelli.

In 1976 Connor was jailed for a separate art theft committed in Maine. Hoping to use his stolen Rembrandt to leverage a lesser sentence, he needed Dotoli — who was on tour with Dionne Warwick — to turn the painting in to the authorities on his behalf.

An invisible thief?

One of the stolen artworks, Édouard Manet’s “Chez Tortoni,” was taken from the museum’s Blue Room on the first floor. The painting stands out for two reasons, the first being its frame. The thieves left almost all of the frames behind, cutting some out of the front.

“To even leave remnants of the painting(s) behind was savage,” Horan said. “In my mind, it’s sort of like slashing someone’s throat.”

The “Chez Tortoni” frame was unusual for where it was left, though: not in the room it was stolen from, but in the chair of the security office downstairs. Even more remarkable, not a single motion detector was set off in the Blue Room. Bar investigating the possibility of ghost robbers, investigators wondered if this pointed to the plot being an inside job.

“At the FBI we found that about 89% of museum institutional heists are inside jobs,” Wittman said. “That’s how these things get stolen.”

By Caitlin Chatterton.

[pinkeoni]

What Exactly Do I Mean When I Say "Will is Jesus Christ?"

(or Why Will is the Chosen One)

Do I mean that Will is actually the second coming of Christ? Well, no, at least not in a literal sense. All I mean to say by this is that—

Will is the chosen one, and he is the hero of the story who is meant to save the world from the apocalypse.

Apocalypse imagery and references to Revelations is all over the place in season 4. The four victims representing the four horsemen of the apocalypse, Henry "One" effectively being a God-like figure, references to Revelations 1:8 regarding Henry, hell I'll go as far to say that Robin playing the trumpet at the beginning of the season is a nod to the sound of trumpets that is meant to signal the beginning of the apocalypse.

The important thing about Revelations being that at the end of the day, the second coming of Jesus Christ, the chosen one, saves the day.

This really robust old post that I made, which was also one of my first theory posts, goes into detail on how Will fits the criteria of a Christ-figure, or a figure in literature or media that is allegorical to Jesus Christ. Will's biggest piece of evidence being his full on burial and resurrection in the first season.

If I'm talking about Christ-figures in the show then I should probably talk about El, who admittedly has much more in your face Christ-coding than Will does. Walking on water, performance of miracles, the mother who got pregnant out of strange circumstances, along with her own resurrection and so-on.

So then, if El clearly has more Christ-coding than Will, why am I placing the title of Jesus onto Will? Is it just because I like him more than El? Is it because I see Will as a more important character than El?

Just as a general disclaimer, I will admit that I do have a major Will bias, anyone who follows me knows that. He's been my favorite character since I first watched the show. Although, my labeling of him as the chosen one has nothing to do a dislike of El or a belief that she is not an important character. I love El, and it's plain to everyone that watches the show how important she is. However, I just don't believe that the chosen one who saves the day is what her arc is building towards.

They've been building up El's chosen one status while also quietly breaking it down in the background, in the same way that they've quietly been leaving bread crumbs pointing toward Will's Christ status while also seemingly suggesting that he isn't that important of a character. Why have a character tell El that she's "the cure," then make a point that she loses against Henry at the end of the season? Why sideline Will for the past two seasons, but throw in lines of dialogue pointing toward his involvement with the Upside Down?

What I believe they are going for is a classic bait-and-switch to subvert expectations in the final season. Lead the audience to believe one thing, while still leaving clues to suggest the other so that when the twist is revealed it doesn't come out of nowhere.

So what is El's arc actually about? I won't deny El's role in the final battle of the show, it's not like she's going to be completely sidelined, but I don't think that her saving the world on her own while everyone else watches is what her arc is building towards. The real core of her arc is El discovering who she is as a girl, rather than becoming a superhero.

I actually made a post awhile ago talking about El’s monster/superhero dichotomy, and it’s actually incredibly important to my argument. The post itself is more in depth, but tl:dr: El believes that she can either be a superhero or a monster, and bases her worth on her ability to save the world and others, an unfair expectation to place onto one girl.

If at the end of the season, El single-handedly saves the entire world, wouldn’t it feel counterintuitive to her arc? She needs to learn that her self worth doesn’t rely on her ability to save the world, and if she ends the show this way, it wouldn’t create a solution for her cyclical train of thought.

Furthermore, wouldn’t this ending be a bit expected, and even boring? This is what El has been doing for the past four seasons of the show. Continuing that pattern would only feel anticlimactic. From a writer’s pov, if you wanted the ending of you show to be dynamic and interesting, you would want to do something new.

So why do I think that Will is the chosen one?

It’s not like I’m pulling the chosen-one-Jesus-Christ label out of my ass just because I like Will. I actually do have many reasons to believe this.

The first one is the confirmation that Will is going to be a big part and focus for next season. It’s been theorized that this means Will is going to become a villian, and while I do love a good Will villian AU, there are many reasons I could list off as to why he wouldn’t become a villian. Without going into it all right now, let’s just say that it would not only go against what Will stands for, but also what the show itself stands for.

Even in show, we have signs pointing toward Will’s chosen status. Let’s start with the fact that Will is the one who kicks the entire show off in the first place, when he is taken by who we later learn to be Henry. Now, this could have just been wrong-place-wrong-time kind of thing, but given how much has been revealed has actually been part of a larger plan constructed by Henry, I highly doubt that mere coincidence is the case.

Let’s look at some more evidence within the fourth season. Let’s talk about the fact that, despite not even being present in Hawkins and gone for much of the supernatural action, Will is still being brought up by name and even implicated in the strangeness of the Upside Down.

Do I think Will is gonna solo-kill Vecna in the climax of the show? Chosen one doesn’t mean only one. No, despite all my rambling about El not being the hero, I’m not gonna deny her importance to the supernatural plot. I think something else the show keeps building upon is the importance of support from friends and family— saving the world is likely gonna be a group effort. I do think, however, that Will possesses some kind of unique ability that is going to be crucial to winning.

What would being the hero mean for Will’s arc? Well, it would give him a sense of control that he hasn’t had before. Will has had a lot of agency and autonomy ripped from him in past seasons, and this would be his way of reclaiming that. It would be the perfect subversion of expectations as well. The character that everyone expects to be just the helpless victim, or hell even the villian, is the one who rises to become the hero who saves the day in his own way.

[cloudysonder]

On "Daddy Issues"

Ok, I know I'm a bit late to the game here, but I was gathering my thoughts after experiencing episode 5 and 6

Let me preface this with the fact that I am a Hazbin Hotel fan; it's cringe and it's not the best writing in the world, but I love the characters and the concept and the art. I know a lot of people disagree and completely despise it and hey, you do you, but this is a silly little thing I enjoy and think is fun

but oof. episode 5 and 6 were rough, execution-wise. Also worth mentioning that episode 5 followed on the heels of episode 4, which was dealing with a lot of heavy topics and gave Angel a lot of character development very quickly and had a wonderful song and a budding relationship between Husk and Angel that was fantastic, so to get a confusing and overwhelming yet completely inefficient episode (ep 5) and then an episode with SO MUCH HAPPENING that it absolutely bowled you over with plot points and world building that weren't given a single second to breathe was really disappointing. I'll put the meat under a read more, but that's the thesis

this post is just gonna be on episode 5, and I'll make another one on episode 6 bc christ almighty both of them are gonna be long

Episode 5 was something I was really looking forward to-- Of the main cast, Charlie and Vaggie seemed the least intriguing to me (oh, did I say "seemed" past tense? haha! they still most definitely are the least interesting!), and I wanted to see how they would introduce something they've been building up to for a while: Charlie's famed "Daddy issues"!

Turns out, instead of actually keeping it as a point of intrigue for Charlie's character and using it as a point of tension to show that hey, Charlie isn't actually a perfect person, and she's also in pain with the rest of the sinners because her own family relationships are falling apart, they solve it in a single episode. That's right! The long-awaited, complicated, divorced parent and child relationship that twisted Charlie into a validation seeking, people pleasing princess that "wants to fix other people so she doesn't have to deal with her own daddy issues" (quote by Husk) is solved with a charming performance by Jeremy Jordan and a song!

Look, it's no secret I'm a huge fan of Loser, Baby-- I clearly have no qualms with storytelling through song. But you cannot song-plain this one away. We've established over 4 episodes that Charlie and her father have kept in minimal contact for seven years. That's a Long time (don't go trying to be like, oh time to charlie works differently, bc that shit's not established, and everyone in the show still treats seven years like a long time). We know that the last time they called each other was 5 months ago.

"More than Anything," solves basically everything by making the following points

Charlie was inspired by her Dad's dreaming

Lucifer was ashamed of his failures and hid away from her

Lucifer does, however, want so so deeply to know Charlie

Charlie wants to know Lucifer

They love each other <3

these are fine endgame points. Dare I say... good endgame points to arrive at?? But you can't stuff ALL these revelations into a single song and call it a finished relationship arc when they haven't spoken for real in 7 YEARS. Also, making Lucifer so goofy and silly and fun and charming is Not helping the establishment of his character as a self-hating former dreamer who doesn't want his daughter to make the same mistakes he did. It just turns him to tumblr sexyman cute quirky sympathetic never did anything wrong and loves his daughter, completely downplaying his absentee parenting.

You can't have him turn from "I do not care about your life. I do not care about your project. I will not ask about your passions and your dreams. I am already ashamed of my own." to "ur so right bestie!!! dreaming is so slay mama!!! I love you so much you're my little baby girl I love you so much, you're right and I will support you!!!" in the course of a single episode without like.... at least 3 real, in depth conversations happening. The song is beautiful, but you can't poetry your way out of an actual relationship arc.

BUT! But, but but! The fault does not lie completely with Lucifer, but also with Charlie. girl just forgave him??? For everything????? Despite having been so scared to call him at the beginning of the episode? It's very unrealistic for a kid to just accept that a parent loves them apparently so so deeply when they've never seen proof of it in the last idk just spitballing a number here SEVEN YEARS. If you want to make the crux of a failed parent-child relationship miscommunication, you're gonna have to get into the ugly--- the grieving of what you could've had earlier, the wondering why you didn't reach out earlier, the anger at why they've suddenly changed now--- and you're gonna have to explain why the miscommunication went on so long.

sometimes, if you have a pair of completely uncommunicative people, seven years may be reasonable. But Charlie is open about her passions! She's public! She constantly reads about "The Story of Hell" and paints Lucifer in a positive light! And Lucifer is quick to reciprocate any interest Charlie shows in him! He's quick to offer help, to spoil Charlie and show love! (Lucifer's points are two points that make SEVEN YEARS of MINIMAL CONTACT and MISCOMMUNICATION make ZERO SENSE).

additionally, Charlie's lowkey only point of intrigue that was set up (her relationship to Lucifer, the King of Hell) is now just... kapoot. solved. pish posh. now she's a done character.

THEN EXPLAIN WHY I STILL DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT HER???? I haven't seen her actually struggle in a way that's not played off as a bit, we don't get a real charlie breakdown monologue, there are no stakes for me as a hazbin hotel viewer to want everything to go well for charlie besides my acab rad leftist ass being like redemption and forgiveness is good and ultimately benefits society

she's fun, she's bubbly, she's kind! but those are all basic things we knew from minute 1 she was on screen. I need to see her struggle. For a main character, she sure as hell doesn't feel main. And I expected better female characters from female writers (feat. in my next post, Vaggie????? What the hell?).

goodnight new york city, you've been great!

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug - Chapter Three - Series

Summary: Since joining the team, Wanda Maximoff has captured all of your attention, even if she has no idea about this. In a six-part story, you'll do your best to give her everything she needs and maybe she never thought she deserved it. Along the way, you two might end up realizing you were in love with each other the whole time.

Warnings: (+18), Friends to lovers, smut in the last few chapters, slow burn, conversations about self-love and individual worth, mentions of anxiety, past trauma, avengers being a family, canon-fix, a lot of magic. Words: 5.234k

General Masterlist || Series Masterlist || AO3 || Wattpad

--//--

Chapter Three - Wanda Maximoff needs a family

Steve Rogers gets vulnerable in a fight, and that ends with you being unconscious.

Well, Wanda is a great fighter now, and all her training and your insistence that she does not fear her magic make her easily the strongest member of the team.

So when Lagos happens, Wanda doesn't hesitate to protect Captain America. You don't hesitate to protect civilians.

The little trick is Wanda's magic grows in strength every day, and when you fly in to absorb the whole bomb held with her power, it's more powerful than you expected. It would have brought that building down, but it only brought you.

Wanda doesn't leave the infirmary until you wake up, and she's not talking to Steve.

You are only unconscious for a while, maybe two whole days, but then you suddenly wake up, as if you are still in the fight. Wanda jumps up in fright, and Natasha, who has come to check your vitals, almost knocks the equipment to the floor.

"Christ!" She exclaims but you are holding your wrists up, confusion on your face.

"Fuck, where is... what..." You mutter confusedly, falling silent when Wanda suddenly jumps on you, hugging you tightly by the neck.

You flinch because she is crying. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Natasha leaves the room, exchanging a look with you and you hug Wanda back, holding her on top of you.

"Don't be silly, this was all Rumlow's fault. You have nothing to apologize for."

"You could have died."

"I don't die-"

"Stop saying that, it's not true!" Wanda cuts you off with a shove to the shoulder, despair in her gaze. Her face was wet with tears. "You get hurt. And I hurt you. I don't know what I would do if I had... if you-"

"I won't die on you, I promise." You cut her off with a small smile, bringing your hands to her wrists. "We will get very old, and you will lie in a chair one day and fall asleep. And I will rest when you are gone. Deal?"

"You are so dorky." She retorts with a whiny laugh, and you smile affectionately.

"Why, this it's like that movie you like. Up, right? We'll be like Carl and Ellie." 

Wanda feels a soft pink on her cheeks and looks at you with a certain curiosity. She almost asks if you are thinking of marrying her like the characters, but the question dies on her tongue when the door opens again.

"I'm glad you're awake, Y/N. We have problems." It's Steve, half-heartedly interrupting the moment. You sigh wearily, keeping a firm grip on Wanda's waist as she makes mention of leaving your lap.

"Do I get five minutes to recover, Captain Rogers?" You sneer, and he sighs.

"The problem affects Wanda, Y/N." He retorts, and you frown immediately, growing tense. Wanda looks at the captain, but his expression doesn't make things any better.

–//–

General Ross' visit is not at all pleasant. Wanda can feel his aura too, and it's tiring to absorb all those bad intentions at once.

When the General turns on the television in the conference room to the news of the day, and the newscasters complain about the unmonitored attitude of the Avengers, the danger of Wanda's abilities, and how irresponsible it was to have someone hurt their own team, let alone other civilians, things get worse.

She blinks and you've broken the television - General Ross rolls between shards of glass, the whole team standing in shock. And the gun of the agent who came with him directly pointed at your head.

"Attacking the Secretary of State is a federal crime. You're coming with me." Says the man, but you look at him in fury and he shudders, the grip on the gun shaking. 

"Y/N, don't." It's Nat, trying to put some sense into your head. Although the television is destroyed, you can still hear in the commode the sounds of reporters arguing over whether Wanda should be considered a terrorist.

You turn to Tony. "Why did you bring them here, Stark?"

Iron Man swallows dryly but doesn't hesitate. "It's time for us to take responsibility for our actions, Y/N."

"Like you did with Ultron?" You challenge back, and he falls silent, looking away.

The agent lowered his gun, probably realizing it was ridiculous, and went to help his boss stand, cleaning the shards from his suit. Ross turned angrily to you.

"This will not go unpunished, Miss L/N. You have 48 hours to give us an answer." He threw thick Accords Files on the table, but you locked your jaw, staring at him unflinchingly.

"Do you really have the audacity to threaten me? I can break your spine with one breath." 

The man turned pale with fear, taking large steps backward with the agent at his side. "If I come back here, it will be with a team. I'll put you in a cell-"

"We'll see how this turns out, Ross." You cut him off with a nod toward the door. "Get out of my home. Let the adults talk."

Vision escorts them out, to give the agents some kind of reassurance that they would not be attacked by you again.

You don't sit down, unlike the rest of the team, because Natasha pulls you into a private room, and spends a good thirty minutes arguing about how you've lost your mind and made things worse. You are no happier than before when you go back to the common room, where the team discusses the Accords, and you see Tony bring up an emotional appeal with the boy who died on Sokovia.

You cut his story with a "Did you apologize to her?" 

Tony frowned in confusion at the question.

"Excuse me?"

You didn't hesitate. "With the boy's mother, Tony. You looked into her eyes, and said, I'm sorry that I made a mistake even if it was with the greater good in mind, and that it cost your son his life."

Tony swallowed dryly, blocking the tablet. "I was in shock. She left before I even-"

"Search for her then." You insist. "This is all about your guilt, after all. Check the guest list for your fancy event. Find her, apologize. Ask if there's anything you can do to ease her pain. Anything, a memorial, donations. Be respectful. That's taking responsibility, Tony. Not selling yourself to the government and standing against your friends."

Stark steps forward, a mixture of anger and guilt on his face. "That's not what I'm trying to do!" He justifies himself. "We've gone on too long without supervision. You saw all the damage we caused, so much destruction!"

"We were saving people!" You insist seriously. "There was no one else, Tony. No one would stand up to the Chitauri army, the earth would literally be destroyed. We're getting back on track after we lost Shield, and that's just why Ross is all over us. He wants a group of superhumans working on his behalf, any country would want that. Do you think the Accords is about the American government being the good guys? It's a facade. We will be their puppets, and people will keep dying, only this time, we don't get the blame."

Stark is stubborn and leaves the room angry. You don't follow him because you see him immediately pull his cell phone out of his pocket, and you know that it is because he will consider your suggestion.

Your next attitude is to sigh loudly and turn to where Wanda is sitting. She bites her tongue when you approach her, and you make an annoyed face at the synthesizer sitting next to her.

"Excuse me, microwave." You kick his direct foot lightly, and Vision frowns.

"I'm sitting here, Miss."

"And I don't give a shit." You retort, and the next touch is a harder push that causes him to lose his balance to the side of the couch. Vision moves begrudgingly, and your expression softens completely when you sit down next to Wanda, one arm behind her shoulders and the other hand on hers in your lap.

Natasha disapproves of your behavior, commenting on your aggressiveness, but you ignore her completely, staring at Wanda.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" You ask meekly. "I hope you're not letting that bullshit Ross put up get to your head."

Wanda swallows dryly, overwhelmed by the whole thing. She pulls away from your touch and stands up.

"Sorry, I… need some time." She leaves the room, and you cross your arms, more annoyed than before.

Steve sighs, and a hand pushes his hair back.

"We need to make a decision." Sam recalls. "And I know she didn't mean to, but Y/N made our deadline shorter."

"There is no decision, if we don't sign, we will be criminals." Rhodes declares. "It may mean nothing to some of this team, but to those of us who are just flesh and blood, without super serum or super something, it means losing everything. I am grateful for the Avengers, for all that it means, but I am not willing to turn my back on my homeland and lose all my achievements for a piece of paper."

To everyone's surprise, you nod to Rhodes and are completely calm when you say, "I understand, James. Do what is best for you. Each of you must think of all the consequences."

Nat leans in gently, her elbows propped on her knee.

"What about you, Y/N? What are you going to do?" 

You give a sad smile. "Wanda is all I have, I'll stand by her. No matter what."

Nat and Steve exchange a look. He begins. "That's not true, you have us... "But he cuts himself off, his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. 

Him leaving the room kind of just proves your point.

"This should be a collective decision." Nat insists looking at everyone. "Either all the Avengers sign it, or no deal. We shouldn't have sides, we're a family."

You sigh impatiently at the exchange of guilty looks among the team.

"I'd say we should offer Vision as a peace deal..."

"Y/N!" Natasha scolds you, and Sam and Rhodes laugh softly. You raise your hands in surrender.

"Hey, it was just an idea!"

But Vision uncrosses his hands in his lap and adjusts himself on the couch. "Actually, Miss Y/N, given my nature, I could serve as a peace settlement."

The team is surprised, you especially because it was just a joke. You give a nervous laugh after exchanging a look with Nat, "Dude, I was kidding. You're a pain in the ass, but you're still part of the team. I wouldn't offer you up as a sacrifice."

Vision laughs shortly, nodding. "Don't worry, miss. I think we can work all this out peacefully.” He declares, and once Stark is back in the room, he adds: “And Tony can help us."

–//–

Wanda's room was dimly lit because of the closed curtains. You didn't mind, walking over to the bed, and crouching over the pile of blankets on top of it.

"May I join you, Fort Princess?" You asked in a whisper, and Wanda resisted the urge to complain about how you turned off the news as you came in. 

"Yeah." She retorted with her voice muffled by the pillow. You pushed the covers aside to get in from underneath, and Wanda couldn't even resist the instinct to hide her face in your ribcage. "Why don't you hate me?"

Your shock is so great that you think it's a joke. Your hand goes to her hair, twisting the brown strands between your fingers. "Why on earth would I hate you?" You retort almost indignantly. Wanda sniffles softly.

"They do." She mutters, and you know it's about the television. "And I hurt you. And everything that's happening is my fault."

"That's not true." You say immediately, your tone firm but not repressive. "This has been going on for some time, Wands. Ever since Shield went down, Tony bought the team name. It's pure politics, honestly. There is no state organization representing us, so technically we are a military group made up mostly of American-born people who fight battles around the world. It was a ticking time bomb and Lagos was just the excuse they needed it."

She hugs your tighter, trying to believe your words. You move a hand down to her back, and Wanda takes a deep breath as your hand enters her blouse, and your fingers caress her skin directly. It's instinctive, she realizes because you don't even seem to notice what you're doing as you go back to talking about how the meeting with the team happened and how you're going to deal with all of this together.

"[...] Vision is going to be our cash cow." You comment with good humor. "He offered himself to have some sort of protocol in his source code, whatever the UN requires of it. A guarantee that there is someone monitoring the Avengers' activities. But if you ask me, we shouldn't answer any country. The Avengers should protect the Earth as a whole, because to the rest of the universe, we are one. No borders."

Wanda pulls her head away from your chest to look at you. "Isn't that what Vision was created for? Or rather, Ultron. To protect the earth as one."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "You and Tony have been talking." You state somewhat teasingly, and Wanda twitches her nose, laughing off. She tries to pull away, but you firm the grip on her waist, skin to skin, and she bites her tongue, tensing gently against you.

"Don't go. Stay here with me." You pout and sound very small all of a sudden. Wanda looks at you with uncertainty. You swallow dryly. "I feel that things might change from now on. I just want to... stay with you for a moment."

Wanda smiles warmly, returning to her previous position. She listens to your heartbeat get slower until it seems like you are going to fall asleep. But suddenly, you are whispering.

"I'm sorry about the scene with Ross. I lost my temper."

She looks up, and you have your eyes closed. The hand on her back draws patterns on her skin, but Wanda has gotten used to it. She loves it.

"It's okay, you were just defending me."

You chuckle, your cheeks rosy. "I guess so. Quite chivalrous, don't you think?"

It's Wanda's turn to giggle, and she takes advantage of the fact that you have your eyes closed to admire your features. "Yes, very charming." She joins in on the joke. You chuckle, licking your lips before speaking again a moment later.

"Hydra used to reward me." You state in a husky voice. "Whenever I...lost myself to the rage. I'd cause real damage, a disaster. They made sure I knew it was because I was powerful, that they were proud. I don't... I try really, really hard not to be like that. But sometimes, it feels like they're still in my head."

Wanda settles over you, her fingers tracing a path from your collarbone to your face, landing on your eyelids for a moment. "I don't agree." She murmurs. "I've been looking around this beautiful mind of yours. You've freed yourself of them. But old habits die hard. And as you said yourself, you were just being chivalrous."

You open your eyes at her, and Wanda pulls your hand away. "Beautiful mind? That's a new compliment."

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "I can take it back-"

"No, it's irrevocable." You interrupt with a smile. "And, I do indeed have a beautiful mind. And a beautiful face, and an incredible person-"

Wanda interrupts you as she grabs the pillow and throws it in your face, turning your cocky joke into a laugh. A mild pillow war begins between you, and somehow, Wanda manages to knock you out of bed.

She laughs guiltily, a hand on her face as you sit on the floor.

"Dirty move, Maximoff. Dirty move." You retort smiling, crawling back onto the bed and throwing yourself down beside her. "Come on, let's watch something or I'll fall asleep on you."

"You'll fall asleep anyway." She comments, using magic to turn on the DVD. You chuckle, settling against her as the television turns back on, now to an episode of Addams Family. "You know that eventually, we're going to have to leave the room and face reality, right?"

"That's absurd. I intend to live under your blankets with you forever." You retort casually, staring at the television. Wanda thinks her heart has stopped and tries to push down all the emotions welling up in her chest. This is not friend talk, this is something else.

"I'm not opposed to that." She handles whispering back, her heart racing in her chest. You give a little corner smile at the sound you can hear in her rib cage, which she doesn't catch because she's pretending to pay attention to the sitcom. 

But in the end, you are both just paying attention to each other.

–//–

"So the Haus des Meeres has these giant turtles, they are incredibly beautiful, you have to see the pictures I took for you!" 

Wanda smiles warmly at your stories, leaning a little over the kitchen counter to get a better look at the polaroid photos you are showing her in the video call. The background behind you is a hotel wall, and as soon as you stop telling about the tours, she teases:

"And here I thought Vienna was a business trip. I would have gone with you if I had known it would be so much fun."

You huff softly. "First, I wish you were here, okay? One hundred percent. Nat and the Prince are super busy and I'm all alone. Pretty boring if you ask me."

Wanda sighs. "And how are things going, Y/N? With the accords and everything?"

You shrug, using the towel on your shoulders to dry your wet hair from the recent shower. "Fine, I guess. Everyone was tense at the conference of course, with all that trouble. Good thing I can smell sulfur, huh?" You joke, and Wanda gives a small smile, still not believing the whole thing. Three days ago, Nat had gone to the meeting with the United Nations concerning the Sokovia Accords. You went along with her request, to publicly apologize to General Ross for your behavior at the compound. Your presence, and your abilities, were the only reason that the public attack on the building had been prevented. The King of Wakanda was in a hospital, but he was in stable condition. And Prince T'Challa was thinking of making some sort of deal with the Avengers, in gratitude for you preventing his father's death. 

You, on the other hand, were bored in a hotel room now.

"And what happened to him? The Winter Soldier?" She asked. You sighed.

"Steve went after him. After I caught Zemo using the poor guy's face." You repeated the story to your friend, as you repeated it to the police, and to T'Challa. "He's just another victim of the fall of Sokovia if you ask me. It was arrogant of us to think that no one would try anything after what we did there."

"We did what was necessary." Wanda retorts, and you know it's more for herself than for you.

Giving a small smile, you nod. "Zemo is in prison, Nat interrogated him too. He seems to know some important things, but I think it's going to be treated as confidential. She's been acting strange, and T'Challa is even worse with secrets, so I'm here. Locked in a hotel room."

Wanda raises an eyebrow. "Except you're not locked in. You've visited all the tourist spots in Vienna, haven't you?" She taunts, making you laugh.

"You know what, smarty-pants, I can't wait to get back. I owe you a trip to the beach."

"Don't worry-" Wanda cuts herself off because a synthesizer appears behind her on camera. She stands up properly, smiling at him. "Oh, hey Vision, come to say hi to Y/N!"

You force a smile, resisting the urge to say you have no interest in talking to him at all so as not to upset Wanda.

Vision nods absently. "Wanda, I thought we were going to cook together."

"Oh, that's right. Y/N I have to go, it's getting late for lunch here in America. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

You mumble your goodbyes, and as soon as you turn off the tablet, you are throwing the towel away and preparing a suitcase to return home.

–//–

There was a 99 percent chance that the Accords would be revoked. That was T'Challa's opinion after the King of Wakanda withdrew his support - as soon as the powerful Wakanda was revealed to the world - and with it, several countries withdraw their nations as well. 

You also received a dozen or so gifts in the mail, thanking you for your heroic act at the conference. Someone made a blog for the Iron Angel and you turned so red when Natasha showed it to the team in the conference room that Wanda couldn't stop laughing.

The Avengers were at peace for the moment. Even though Vision still had new code in his algorithms that would force him to make tough decisions when necessary, the team was in no danger of breaking up.

The problem came from the outside. And by mail.

You were planning a holiday in Hawaii with Wanda, courtesy of Tony's money when red vials and pictures of children arrived for Natasha.

Steve received the package with a confused laugh. "Is this some kind of prank?" he asks curiously, but when Nat sees the pictures, she looks like she is going to faint. He frowns in concern immediately. "Nat, is everything okay?"

The redhead gasps, looking about to cry. "Yelena." She whispers, and grabs the items from Steve's hand, rushing off toward the labs.

"Who's Yelena?" Sam asks from the couch, also worried about the reaction. 

You drop the trip flyers in Wanda's lap and stand up with a tense sigh. "Yelena is Nat's sister."

You declare surprising everyone. But you are busy pulling your cell phone out of your pocket. "I have to call Barton." You say, walking off in the direction Nat went off.

Wanda is not surprised by the postponement of the trip - The news that the Red Room is still in operation, and the whole plot with Nat's family that no one but you or Clint knew about, has everyone intrigued. Of course, Tony wants a full team operation, but Nat thinks this is the kind of thing to be done in a smaller number so that Dreykov doesn't have a chance to escape again.

And she wants your help, of course. And you would never refuse.

"I promise I'll be back before you can miss me. And then we'll take a vacation, with coconut water and shrimp on the hot sand." You assure her on the phone, it must be the last time you will be able to call her in a few days, at least during the approach to clue Yelena's whereabouts.

"I don't mind the wait, detka. Just be safe, and come back in one piece. With the whole team." Wanda whispers back, and you smile affectionately. 

"I will."

"Say goodbye to your girlfriend, we're late." It's Barton, and you raise your middle finger at him before muttering your goodbyes to Wanda, unaware that she heard what he said and is blushing on the other end of the line. 

You adjust the costume around you while Clint does the same in front of you. "We're going to jump in how many minutes?"

"One minute!" Natasha shouts from the driver's seat. The spaceship goes into autopilot as soon as she gets up. 

"I hear Tony is looking for new recruits for the team." Clint comments making the final adjustments to the parachute. "Maybe some of the widows wanted to join the Avengers."

Natasha snorts softly, and you laugh. "You see, Barton? She's already terrified that Yelena might be cooler than her."

Clint laughs, and Nat grimaces. "Shut up you two."

You are intrigued by Yelena, that is a fact. Natasha, to provoke you, says that it is a crush. But that's not true, because you know what a crush feels like, and you have a good reference in your head, and in your heart, for it. 

Yelena is quick and sarcastic like Nat, but there is a sweetness about her. And she seems to like you too.

And when the fight with Antonia - The Taskmaster - takes you by surprise for the difficulty, she is the one who tends to your injuries.

"You've never fought someone like you, have you?" She assumes, cleaning the cut on your upper arm. Clint and Natasha are in the room, exchanging information about the final approach to the Red Room.

You snort in a laugh. "She's not like me." You say. "She can copy my moves, but there is no one like me. Hydra made a point of that."

Yelena frowns in curiosity. " Your powers came from a magic stone, didn't they?" She questions, sliding an alcohol-soaked cotton swab across the cut that makes you whimper softly.

"Yep. The blue one." You retort. "And it was a lot more painful than knife cuts." You joke managing a small smile. "I was born in Norway, you know. They found me there, stole me from my family, and put me in a laboratory. Kind of like how Dreykov does, but younger. The general doesn't take babies, does he?"

"No, they recruit from the age of four." She replies sadly, and you tense up as she begins the first stitch. "That's when they can assess your potential profile."

"Fucking sickos." You mutter, and she hums in agreement. "They took me when I was a baby and I grew up in a lab, being trained by a machine and a bunch of agents. It was Natasha and Steve who found me after New York and sent me free."

Yelena steals a glance at her sister in the other room, and there is a soft hesitation. You feel bad for saying that, knowing that Nat didn't save her as she did for you. "I'm glad she was there for you."

You sigh. "You two should talk. About everything." 

"Maybe later." Yelena cuts off seriously. "We have work."

You don't push it, and you wouldn't have time to. Clint hands you a cell phone the next moment, and the small image of Wanda makes you jump with excitement.

"Hey, Wands, I missed you!" You comment, smiling when she says the same. You don't notice the insinuating exchange of glances between Nat and Clint. "How are things going over there?"

"I should be the one asking that, detka. I haven't heard from you in days." She mutters and you shrug, bad choice because the pain from the bruise makes you groan in pain, and Yelena complains about you getting in the way of stitches. Wanda frowns in curiosity. "Who is...?"

"Oh, Wands, I have to introduce you to Yelena Belova." You interrupt by turning your cell phone to the blonde girl stitching your arm. "See, we barely met and she's already bandaging me up!" You joke managing to make the blonde girl roll her eyes as she laughs.

"Love at first sight I'd say." Natasha teases, and you grimace, giggling awkwardly. You mumble confusedly, but Wanda is no longer smiling.

"Maybe it's dangerous for me to keep calling. You're obviously fine. I'll talk to you when you get back." Says the witch, hanging up without another warning. 

You stare at the phone in confusion, and Clint shakes his head. "That was so mean, Romanoff." Barton comments, taking the cell phone from your hand.

"What just happened?" You ask confused. Yelena finishes her point.

"Your girlfriend got jealous of me, of course." She replies as if it's obvious, and you turn the color of Nat's hair.

"S-she's not my girlfriend."

Yelena raises an eyebrow. "But she calls you babe and phones you in the middle of a mission?"

"W-we're friends. Best friends." Yelena doesn't buy that one bit, and Nat gives her a gentle slap on the shoulder. 

"Don't even try to understand. Come on, we have to go over the plan." Says the widow, pulling her sister lightly to go to the other end of the room. Luckily, the subject of the call is forgotten by them.

–//–

After the RedRoom collapses, the Widows' serum is finished, and Yelena has killed Dreykov, she decides to free her colleagues around the world. Of course, it's going to be a side job for Nat, and she assures that Yelena could count on the full support of the Avengers for this.

You can't resist and end up inviting Yelena to join the team. She gently refuses, stroking the stitches she has made in your arm.

"I think it would be fun to be in your company, but that's just not me, Y/N. The whole superhero thing." 

You nod in understanding. "Can you visit at least? I'd like to, and I'm sure Natasha would too."

"Of course, detka." She says and you twitch your nose softly.

"It's kind of weird when you're the one who says it." You confess making her laugh.

"Yeah, because we're just friends."

"What's that supposed to mean...?"

"Think about it on the way back." Yelena says before hugging you in farewell.

The trip to New York is kind of tiring, but you have a dozen new photographs to show Wanda.

But she is not at the compound. Vision is the one who welcomes you.

"She left something for you, Miss L/N." He says, handing you a white letter in Wanda's handwriting.

"Detka, 

If you are reading this it means that it took you long enough and I have already traveled. A few days ago we received a visitor. A Master of the Mystic Arts from Nepal. That is where I am now. She wanted to talk about my magic and warned me that the internet didn't work very well there. And that if I accepted the training, I should spend some time in meditation.

I will leave the address in the letter. I am sorry to postpone our vacation again, but I guess I think you would understand this.

I can't wait to see you again.

Love,

Wanda."

You read the address before turning to Synthesized with a grimace. "Did you get a letter too?"

He crossed his arms. "She said goodbye to me personally, Miss L/N."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Show off."

You let the team know that you were traveling after Wanda the same day during lunch.

"We'll be back soon, I think. She has some kind of training." You explain half uncertainly, and Steve smiles.

"Take all the time you need, Y/N. We're not going anywhere." He jokes, and you smile, glancing around the crowded table for a while. 

There are empty seats that never belonged to anyone, and you think that someday, new Avengers might occupy those spots.

"See you guys soon." 

[bitchlessdino]

repeat rebound (m) Ch. 2 : repeating regrets

Chapter list

Pairing: Fem!reader x fwb!soonyoung

Genre: suggestive, kinda crack

word count: 3.4k

tags: more bestie!jeonghan, hookup!wonu, suggestive, mention of alcohol, mention of eating ass lol, sexual innuendos, insinuates sex

Summary: The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. Again and again and again.

author note: hi hehe, she’s back

tag list @nikkell @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @i-dont-give-a-fok

“FUCK YOU LEE JUNG CHAN.”

Thinking back, it was embarrassing how quickly you accepted him back in your life. 

You toss books at the naked man, who rightly reclaimed his title as your shitty ex, as you clutch the duvet to cover your bare body underneath.

You thought you couldn’t take the long night alone anymore no matter how many strangers you’d sleep with. You thought you wanted and missed Lee Chan. You thought that deep down this was what you needed. You thought you needed your boyfriend back.

“You think I wouldn’t notice you moaning another person’s name while we fuck?”

“Baby—ow—it was a mistake. Honest!”

“Your mom made a mistake when she had you. Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

You were the first time around when he left you. Your ex-boyfriend was a piece of shit that didn’t even deserve to be the gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe. 

You admit, it was satisfying to be the one to dump him, not forgetting to mention, kicking him out with no clothes on his back but the underwear he came with, and finally dumping his shit out your window. Getting back together with him was worth it for that alone. You sigh a breath of relief to have the part of your life over. Again.

No tears came this time around, just shame. Were that desperate to not want to be alone?

The answer was a fat yes.

“Yn, what are you doing here? You remembered my address?”

You stare back at a shirtless Soonyoung, body as beautiful and toned as ever, with eyes looking back at you in confusion.

It’s been roughly a few weeks since you last saw him, aka the one heavenly railing that gave you the push you needed to fucking realize you’re better off without your loser ex, even if you did cave in for a measly moment. You were done for good now. You were all about your present and forgetting the past.

You smile sheepishly back at him, “Haha, funny thing. I remembered because I know Jeonghan and you guys live in the same building, but forget that. I know what I said last time but—“

“Babe, who's at the door?”

A girl in an oversized shirt makes herself known, clinging to Soonyoung’s bicep. She peers at you curiously. “May we help you?”

By the sheer confidence of her posture, she wasn’t your average hook-up, and by the term of endearment, they were more than familiar with each other. She carried the atmosphere of a girl next door with the attitude of the perfect model citizen and the smile of a thousand lights. This girl radiated girlfriend material and was no doubt was, maybe is, Soonyoung’s girl. You had to act fast on your feet. What exit strategy can you make without exposing yourself and your relationship with Soonyoung?

“Uh,” You straight up your posture, thanking your past self for actually getting dressed normally in a muted cardigan for once, “have you found our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

Soonyoung had to choke back on his laugh, clasping his hand to the mouth to feign a cough. “She’s one of those missionary people? I don’t know.”

Oh, you did more than missionary that night, his lying has got to be better than that.

She tightens the grip on his arm, a firm grin on her face. “Um, sorry, we’re atheists.”

You have an exaggerated shrug. “Well, worth a try. Have a blessed day.”

You don’t even let the door shut to speed walk and then sprint past them in an instant, shutting your eyes in embarrassment and not bothering to look back. There wasn’t a way you’d come back from it, but what’s done is done. You were just going to find another way to get over your predicament.

Jeonghan winces and then laughs the first time you tell him that story over the phone. “What you get for fucking one of my friends.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You collapse on top of your bed, taking in a self-care day from the self-loathing. “Let’s go out again. I need fresh dick.”

He scoffs, “Haven’t you had enough dick to go around with Soonyoung and eating ass of the last months’ leftovers you should’ve thrown away in the first place?”

“...I regret ever telling you about my sex life.”

“Yeah, well now you’re more educated and sexually woke,” you hear him smile on the other end, “you’re overdue for a break sweetheart. Too much dick can’t be good for you.”

“On the contrary, Jeonghan, this is my whore era. I will suck and eat all the ass I want because what? I’m hot and I can. You taught me that, remember?”

He sighs. “I knew taking in disciples would fuck with my free time. Okay, we can meet at the Wasted Unicorn tonight.”

“Uh, no, no. That’s where I met Soonyoung. I told you, I need a hot, new dick.” You emphasize, already doing your makeup while you listen to him on speaker.

“You said they’re back together, ergo, they won’t be there.”

“You idiot, I am not trying to look for a knockoff Soonyoung. I already associate him with that club—Let’s fuck around at that bar that opened up next to Minghao’s. I heard their drinks discounted for opening week.”

“Fine by me, Nympho. If it sucks ass, you’re paying for my Uber back.”

You knew Jeonghan was your ride-or-die the first time you met him. You crashed parties together, got drunk blackout together, and got hungover together. You love this man to death. Despite the shit he says, he made things feel okay in the moment and it feels like just the two of you. He was your platonic soulmate. He made your breakup just a bit more tolerable.

“How about skinny jeans over there?”

“He’s obviously fruity, the fuck are you on?” You slap against the marble counter, harder than anticipated, but didn’t let the pain show on the surface. “Are you sabotaging me, Yoon?”

“You can’t assume shit like that!”

You shot open your eyes. “He literally walked hand in hand with a man!”

“Besties can do that!” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“And now they’re making out.”

He rolls his eyes defeatedly, leaning against the counter. “Fine. Fine–Oh, hot Clark Kent, six o’clock.”

Your eyes were locked on that prospect and your eyes immediately shot open when you figure out what made this supposed undercover superhero hotter than the original. He was tall, lean, and built. His frame hugging in high-quality fabric, his biceps bulging out intoxicatingly, and his low neckline reveal a tasteful amount of his chest. “Fuck, he’s fine. I’m gonna be on him like butter on popcorn.”

He pats you supportively on the back. “Get ass, kid.”

You approach the unsuspecting man similarly to how you did to Soonyoung, talking him up a storm, letting your charms peak through effortlessly. You were set on charming the pants off this man, quite literally. Fortunately, your efforts were proven to be effective once again as you find yourself in the illustrious ‘Wonwoo’s’ place soon after.

“Would you like a drink?”

“What do you have?”

He scans through his collection, a hand over one bottle cap at a time. “I have something bitter like whiskey, something sweet like wine, something mild like beer.”

“Maybe something hot like you?”

He snickers, pulling away from the liquor cabinet to take you by the hand, tugging you in his direction. His hands slide over the shape of your body, comfortably settling on either of your hips, “You’re cute. I like that.”

“Really?” Your arms drape over his shoulders, pressing in a little closer to him. “Tell me what else you like about me.”

“I'd rather show you.” He smiles before pressing his lips into yours, the heat of his body flushed against yours.

He leans over, digging your back into the bar counter, but slips his hand behind you to take the pressure. They crawl down to the skin of your thighs and heave you up to place you on the counter. He stands between your legs, chuckling against your lips, digging at your hips. “You smell so nice. Jasmine?”

“You have a good nose, sir.”

“Guess I know a thing or two,” He kisses down your jaw, giggles erupting on your end, as he played with the hem of your blouse, “I’d still like to get that drink for you though.”

“Wine then. Red.”

He gives you one last kiss before reluctantly pulling away from you to retrieve the wine. You observe him as he does so, catching the quick glances he gives you, and notice the sheer elegance he holds carrying both glasses and a bottle in either hand. He pops it open in front of you with ease, filling glasses halfway, and hands one to you, all while returning back to the place he’s meant to be: between your legs.

“Mmmh,” you lick your lips, catching the spilled wine from the corner of your mouth, “you have good taste.”

Your legs hook around him strategically, glass dangling from your fingers. You let your gaze fall on him intently, seeing how his expression matches yours through his thick frames as he’s sipping the bitter red. He sets it down away from you, cupping your face, and reunites your lips tenderly, but tongue entangling with yours playfully.

Your mind fogs in the thought of this dark and handsome stranger. You hardly had much to drink, but the closeness you felt with him made you feel drunk all on its own. Your grip loses from the wine glass and you end up spilling red on his shirt, letting him go in a panicked gasp, “S-shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he starts unbuttoning his top, worrying about the stain it leaves, not minding that he was exposing his muscular torso right in front of your very eyes.

He didn’t care how he impulsively flexed getting the shirt off or the light layer of sweat on his skin.

“W-wow.”

You hover your hands over his firm chest, a smug smile appearing on Wonwoo’s face.

“I should treat this stain before it gets worse. I’ll be right back.” He plants a final kiss on you, letting it linger, before disappearing behind a bathroom door.

You giggle to yourself, thinking how lightning can’t strike twice in the same spot but you managed to catch two hot guys so soon after ending a serious long-term relationship. The self-esteem in you is shooting as high as skyscrapers right now.

It was then your happiness was cut short after spotting a little picture frame in a corner. Initially, you peered over it at curiosity, but upon further inspection, it looked like a family portrait. A portrait where Wonwoo, the man of the hour, was a doting husband and a father.

“Fuck.”

You sneer at the door Wonwoo hid behind and decide to gather your belongings before exiting his apartment. You slam the door behind you, running your hand through your purse for your phone. You dial Jeonghan, the one guy you could trust, hearing the dial tone on the other end.

“Stupid. Stupid. Pick the fuck up already.”

You had it up to here with men. You were ready to go home and wallow again. 

No answer. 

You ended up calling yourself another Uber, whining to yourself about how much money you’ve spent, already breaking the budget for the week. To make matters worse, you had to be locked out of your own apartment. No emergency key, and no other way in, you were fucked instead of getting fucked as you intended.

You had to take the streets again, this time getting to Jeonghan's place, hoping he was already home. Your feet were hurting from your heels, skin digging into the back of it, a premature walk of shame, but a whole different level of shame if there ever was one.

“Y/n?”

And there’s that lingering embarrassment coming back to bite you in the ass.

“Oh, hi, um again.” You awkwardly wave from the ground.

Soonyoung peers down at you curiously, noticing your fresh getup but worn-out hair and makeup, making his own assumptions about where you were coming from. “You’re not like, coming to visit my place again are you?”

You shake your head defensively. “Oh, no, no. Jeonghan. I'm going to see him.”

“At 11:36 pm?”

You respond back with a tight grin. “Yeah, um. I got locked out.”

It was starting to make sense. “So, you’re just waiting on him?”

“Uh yeah, he has my apartment keys so I thought I’d stay back and wait since he wasn’t picking up my calls.”

“How long already then?”

“Not that long.” It had only been an hour since you arrived.

“Okay, well…want to wait at my place, for now anyways?”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t tempted, better than being on this scratchy dirty carpet. “What about your girlfriend?”

“…she’s out.”

His initial silence worries you. “I don’t know how she’ll feel knowing I was alone with you”

“She won’t have to.”

“That’s so sketch,” You chuckle, “but…ok. For now, just until Jeonghan gets back.”

“Of course.”

His hand stretches out towards you, offering to get you up, to which you accept. “Thanks, Soonyoung.”

He grins, “Hey, you do know my name.”

“Shut up,” you retort, rolling your eyes with a relaxed smile.

You scan the man’s apartment like it’s the first time, processing it since the previous events prevented you from doing so. Its blueprint was similar to Jeonghan’s in a comforting way but had Soonyoung’s own flair and color palette.

“Make yourself at home, nothing you’ve never seen before.”

“I actually never got a good look at your place entering or leaving. You really like tiger print,” you mention picking up a coffee mug painted in orange and black jagged stripes.

He takes away from you, putting the mug back on the counter, “No, but I like tigers. They’re just a vibe, I like their energy.”

Your eyes waver over at him cautiously, “…right.”

“Don’t you have anything like that? A fixation?”

“What is this, 101 questions?” You snicker.

He shrugs with a playful grin, “Just killing time. Didn’t really learn much about you doing…well, things that kept your mouth busy.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks. “Y-you’re so…weird.”

You threw yourself against the leather couch, arms crossed, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Where did you come from?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he chuckles, bringing out a water bottle and sitting respectfully away from you on the couch, “Work.”

“What do you do,” accepting it and taking a swig.

“Hard labor.”

You scoff. “That’s specific.”

“I just put my body at work, okay?”

You gasp dramatically. “Oh my god, you’re an exotic dancer.”

He rolls his eyes, laughter flowing out from his lips, “No, I’m…you’re gonna think it’s silly.”

“Try me, tiger boy.”

“That’s my insta handle. Go figure.”

You pay no mind to the change of topic, looking back at him expectantly with a raised brow.

“I’m…an event planner.”

You hum a sound of thought, “Did not expect that, but, considering your apartment, that all makes sense. And it’s not silly.”

He can’t help but smile a little harder. “Thanks. I actually really like my job. I get to see people’s dreams come to life.”

“That’s actually pretty cool.”

“Yeah? Wanna see my portfolio?”

He pulls out a box full of albums and files from his previous events, seeing pictures of smiles and happy faces, swatches of colored fabric, and even thank-you notes he received after the planning had all ended. You caught Soonyoung in some of the photos, having a great time, laughing, chatting up some patrons, and having a drink in a glass flute. He looks put together in a different way than you met him that night, somehow more neat and well-groomed.

“You look really nice in these photos.”

“I know a good stylist and dresser,” he humbly brags.

You pick through the pages, always finding more to see, and you stop at a set of photos Soonyoung seemed more prevalent in, one where he’s wearing a suit, looking like he was actually part of the event and not planning, so you can’t help but ask. “What’s this?”

“Close friend's wedding, I was the best man, and co-planner.”

In one of the photos, he stands next to the girl you saw him with that morning, arm in arm, and you’re overwhelmed with emotion, something that made you uncomfortable thinking about.

“You guys look cute here.”

“Thanks, I would hope so, getup got me a whole couple grand.”

Your finger trace over the outline of her dress, “She looks really pretty.”

Soonyoung realizes how you fixate on such a detail, eyes glued to the book as if it was filled with words, and he starts to grow self-conscious.

“…yeah.” He closes up the book and starts putting it away.

“Hey, I was looking at that!”

“I have something better to look at.”

You sneer at him, and the pit of your stomach churns at his choice of words. “What?”

He can’t help but laugh at how easily you caved, an arm falling against your shoulders, “Romcom or action?”

Soonyoung thought a movie was an easier distraction, and although it worked (your eyes were practically glued to the mounted tv screen), he was dead tired from his day job, drifting off to sleep. Yet, there was still no sign from Jeonghan. You can’t help but notice Soonyoung in his state, thinking about how he didn’t even bother showering despite how late it was, but how cute he did look asleep.

You tried ignoring him, he’s a taken man after all, but his soft snores started to drown the sounds of the TV, and his head hit the surface of your shoulder. Air seeps out his nose and tickles your collarbone. You nudge him, or try to, whispering, “get off.”

He doesn’t in fact get off and only snuggles closer, now leg draping over your legs.

“Great.” 

You grip his limbs, trying to tear him away, and he just falls against you on the couch. Chest to chest, cheek to cheek, arms embracing you naturally. His eyes finally crack open, vision blurry, mumbles on his tongue, asking if he had fallen asleep and then he sees you, blinking back up at him, feeling your heart race against your rib cage.

“Shit, I’m…so–”

You exhale. “It’s okay, just, um…”

“I should just…”

The air gets tighter and the distance between you both gets shorter. Your eyes flit over the sweat on his pierced brow to then the pink of his lips, heat taking over your body, and arousal flooding inside you, now seeping out of you. No words imaginable could express how much you needed him inside you right now.

You shift underneath him, brushing against the crotch of his pants, to which he softly grunts, cock twitching on top of you. His lips lean in to ghost over yours and temptation playing with you both like a fiddle. The tension is soon cut with a ringtone and you come back to reality soon enough to push the unavailable man away from you. You grab your phone from the coffee table to answer it, hearing Jeonghan on the other line. “Took you long enough…Cool, so I’ll just sleep over at your place.”

Soonyoung’s hand wipes his mouth, cursing himself for letting that happen. You were dangerous.

“Bye.” You click away the call soon enough and turn back to the welcoming party, smiling sheepishly. “I gotta…you know.”

“Yeah. Bye.” He picks himself off the couch and leaves the room avoidantly, not even sparing you another glance as he hides behind his bedroom door.

You expected that and you don’t blame him. A long, heavy sigh leaves your lips and you make your way out of his apartment, closing the door with a bad taste in your mouth, and storm off to Jeonghan’s door. It takes you not long for it to fling open once you knock against it, revealing the man alone and dressed down to his comfort in sweats and he lets you in with a smile. “Hey? Fun night?”

You let the door shut behind you, not answering. You stand in front of Jeonghan, a determined glint in your eyes. “I want to use my coupon.”

“Your coupon?” An intrigued look appears on his face.

“Yes. I still have mine.”

Jeonghan’s lips quirk up mischievously before nodding. “Fine.”

You take quick steps towards him, arms thrown over his shoulders and around his neck, you latch to Jeonghan, kissing him hungrily, to which he does more than reciprocate. His hands slide over your back to fall on your posterior, deep moans vibrating against your lips as his digits kneaded into your flesh. Both your feet have a mind of their own, taking yourselves on to the trail of his bedroom, hitting the wood of the door before disappearing behind it, now finding your plans for the rest of the night.

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 43 - The Dream Mixer

Instead of opening windows, these guys open the front door.

Man, I sure hope this leads to nothing bad happening during the Wakfu OVA.

Joris has multiple of the same card. Probably not worth reading into, and just a way to not have to do too much work for some intern. I wonder what he was playing, though...

I do want to read into this, though, this doesn't really look like a playing card we've seen before in the series, — instead, looking more like tarot, especially with the way, in the second screenshot, it seems to have some writings on the top and the bottom, — its number and its name?

I want to preface this next section by saying it is very likely not the intention, for this to be Deep, or anything. It's just some cards that look the same. Unlike most times when I am reading into things with at least a bit of a solid proof that things are meant to be read into, here I am reading into things just for the fun of it:

This personally looks to me the most like The Tower tarot, and basically, here's what the internet has to say on the matter:

When The Tower card appears in a Tarot reading, expect the unexpected – massive change, upheaval, destruction and chaos. It may be a divorce, death of a loved one, financial failure, health problems, natural disaster, job loss or any event that shakes you to your core, affecting you spiritually, mentally and physically. There’s no escaping it. Change is here to tear things up, create chaos and destroy everything in its path (but trust me, it’s for your Highest Good). Just when you think you’re safe and comfortable, a Tower moment hits and throws you for a loop. A lightning bolt of clarity and insight cuts through the lies and illusions you have been telling yourself, and now the truth comes to light. Your world may come crashing down before you, in ways you could never have imagined as you realize that you have been building your life on unstable foundations – false assumptions, mistruths, illusions, blatant lies, and so on. Everything you thought to be true has turned on its head. You are now questioning what is real and what is not; what you can rely upon and what you cannot trust. This can be very confusing and disorienting, especially when your core belief systems are challenged. But over time, you will come to see that your original beliefs were built on a false understanding, and your new belief systems are more representative of reality. [...] After a Tower experience, you will grow stronger, wiser and more resilient as you develop a new perspective on life you did not even know existed. These moments are necessary for your spiritual growth and enlightenment, and truth and honesty will bring about a positive change, even if you experience pain and anxiety throughout the process.

Jesus fucking Christ. even while I'm spitballing, the things I am saying still make some amount of sense. Anyway, even though it is an accidental visual, I sure hope Joris being surrounded by The Tower looking ass cards isn't like, an omen of doom to come in like two years.

Haha.

This line is pretty interesting when you remember that one of Kerubim's whole insecurities was being too poor for her, but what follows is more interesting: in his dream, there is always an audience, made up of other Ecaflips.

Watching from the same fourth wall we do.

We had already discussed on this blog that Kerubim has always viewed his life as a performance to some invisible audience, due to his extremely low self-esteem: a performance of being a hero, a masculine man, a successful rich person, and more, — but now we can really confirm this, and see it for ourselves, instead of just making assumptions based on his behaviour.

I do wonder if the audience being ecaflips is just asset reusage, — or if it is him feeling especially judged by his own race?

Perhaps it is the need to live up to its standards. Or maybe, it is a memory of his isolation in the childhood, and the way everyone always watched him and laughed at his class clown antics, and how despite that, he didn't have any friends.

This episode is the other reason, — besides his reactions whenever she kisses his cheek, — why I think Kerubim has a bit of a crush on Simone. (One that he'll never act on or acknowledge, obviously. He's not Like That anymore.)

But he used to be like that. Just unabashedly and openly cheating on Lou.

This imaginary audience laughs at his jokes, laughs at his accidents, and laughs even at his most awful flirting.

Yes, he really was always playing an exaggerated version of himself, and imagining the world laughing at him, as if he were in a sitcom. That's... actually very sad.

Not even cheering him on? Just laughing?

Considering what I had already previously said about Joris, and just how anxious he is portrayed as being, — especially of something happening to Kerubim, — it's interesting that his whole dream is an endless race to prevent some catastrophe that is never explained, but one he is convinced will happen.

Yes, it is just a fun dream that's him being a hero, but there is something to be said about the cyclical, triumphless nature of it.

This entire shore is covered in items from the store, and might be either Kerubim's addition to the shared dreamscape, or a representation of the shared experiences of the three dreamers.

The storm reflects the fact that none of them can find what they're seeking, and the growing anxiety that comes with it.

Despite him flirting with other women, Lou's scorn, Lou's accusation that he'll never be good enough because he can't become a good person, is a big fear for him.

I think that Lou is both a memory, and a representation of Kerubim's thoughts on the way he used to be, — or at least that is the image that the positioning of old Kerubim behind Lou invokes in me.

He hates himself, or at least who he used to be. These words are both something he thinks about himself, and something he thinks Lou would say.

Keke... Can you find this sadidette again, and check her sources?

Because all the sites I check say lily represents growth of beautiful from bad conditions, and also reincarnation. Which totally doesn't remind me of another weird fucking green-white thing in this show.

I want to know more about its sex symbolism instead, cat man!

Anyway, French-speaking readers, — I implore your help in the next post I make: this episode has some reversed audio, during the reversed boat scene, and I'll post it for you to analyse. I had wondered what it said for ages.

This line suggests that consciousness is fluid within the dream, — which answers the question of "which Kerubim is real and which one is a dream construct" that I've had with a very likely "both are real, and represent his different qualities of his character."

This also suggests, that my assumption, that the dream Joris is having is based on his high levels of anxiety he has, is probably correct, — and seemingly affecting Simone's and Kerubim's mental states too.

Joris seems so much like his adult self in this scene, — or so it seems to me. Very pretty.

Also pretty poetic, considering most of his actions as an adult are still fueled by the desire to be Awesome, and his definition of Awesome hasn't changed since he was 7.

THE best flash frames of the whole series.

Screenshots alone don't do this scene justice, so here it is.

There is a lot to unpack here. This is the closest we get to insight into Kerubim's real feelings in the current time, instead of his memories of the past, bad or good.

The thing he loves the most about her is her hair. Which brings to mind the happiest time of young Kerubim's life and their relationship, after he left kitty psych ward.

The line of "I will never have the time to caress them all" can have many different meanings. But the most glaring one to me, is...

She will die before him, and he had, likely, always known that. It was something he could ignore when they were young, but as an old man, who knows what will happen after he dies (not true death, that's for sure, he is not like her), and as someone who has likely seen other people his age die, — the possibility that she might not even be alive due to how many years had passed, is haunting.

And the possibility that he wasted all these years he could have spent with her, the possibility that he might be wasting them even now, if she is alive, is just as bad.

And the saddest thing is that he can't even see the old woman she became. He can only remember her as she was back then.

Would he even recognize her on the street?

This scene begins with the same sad melody as the scene of him missing Lou, but descends into discordant horrific sounds, despite how... comedic it seems. The same way Kerubim's other stupid antics are.

Because consciousness is fluid in this dream, and because Simone was playing the role of Kerubim's audience, — I think Simone and Kerubim are both mad here, with Kerubim's feelings influencing Simone's words, the same way Joris's influenced her in the previous scenes.

Joris doesn't look very happy about this dream anymore. Yet another proof for my hypothesis of this being an anxiety dream, even if by the time he wakes up, he thinks it's a cool one.

Remember what I said during episodes 33 (Noffoub's Fountain) and 35 (the gobbal set) about Joris's anxiety and dislike of change?

Being forced to go to bed is anxiety inducing for Joris, — he knows that it just means that the adults want him out of the way, that they don't want to spend time with him, — and he hates it when the routine changes, because it makes everything unpredictable, with is horrible to his little single-child-with-an-elderly-parent-who-keeps-saying-he'll-die-soon brain.

Haha. Yeah... Anyway.

Like in english, the french word rêve might mean both the dreams one sees at night, and one's hopes and aspirations.

...I don't think he is talking about the first kind here.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Today, I bring you meta on a recurring motif in Yuukoku no Moriarty that is somewhat less heavy-handed than the Christ metaphors and the religion and the darkness and the light and the fire and the water.

Today, I bring you discussion about threads.

I’ll be honest, this one is hugely impacted by my desire to incorporate something similar into my current writing projects with intention, and thus I wanted to explore it. I suspect a lot of the things this discussion will touch on were unintentional, and some were not, and it’s a bit tangled up trying to figure out what was what. But it’s also true that I don’t know the authors, so I don’t know what was intentional and what they were hoping we’d noticed that they never commented on. I also think the fact that it appears to be in there anyway is interesting and thus worth commenting on it.

I suspect reading that this was about threads, most of your minds jumped to the red string of fate Sherlock says ties him to William. But the series uses it in a lot of pretty versatile ways, as it does with most things—the manga really likes reusing and repurposing elements, and I like that a lot. In fact, I think the series plays up the concept of reusing and repurposing things for new meanings.

So let’s start

There’s a recurring theme in the series of what, and who, is tied to what and who, connected to what, what beginning leads to what ending. We see it in Sherlock’s mind maps of crimes and the way he refers to being led to and led by William. We see Moran’s chains to his past being replaced wholly by William’s ties to him. We see discussions of who started what and what that lead to, and whether it was fate or something they caused and we see them being tied to their own past in atonement. We see thorny rose vines entangling characters up with each other.

The ties are causal, but they’re primarily relational: they’re what people feel stuck in and trapped by, and what they feel led by.

Most of these threads are tied, shall we say, to William. While he and his brothers are all represented as spiders in their family heraldry, William is certainly the master weaver at the center of it all who builds their web. And as he builds his plan and web throughout the London underground, he’s also creating his home and tying himself to his family: a spider’s web is more than just a trap for victims, and William’s plan is more than just self-sacrifice and murder.

So William attaches his sticky catching threads to all his beloved ones to keep them close to him, and at the same time freeing people from their chains to other people and ideas—and okay, chains aren’t threads, but they’re long tangly things, so close enough, okay?

And his spidery, webby threads turn into the curtain tassels to pull on for his play to reveal what he wants. They turn into puppet strings to lead people where he wants to dance for him as he pleases. He uses them as trick wires as the Lord of Crime to complete his purposes.

He uses them to lead, connect, bind, to control—but he doesn’t use them to kill.

William never hangs anyone. Never uses a garotte. He never kills anyone with string, a rope, thread, any of it. Yes, you could argue that those things are so hard to pass off as an accident…but so is beheading Baskervilles. So is bringing a gun to shoot Milverton. That doesn’t appear to be what strings are for to him. The strings seem to be more…well…him.

Sherlock sees that thread in William a lot.

When the image of spider webs and their prey tend to crop up, it’s usually in Sherlock’s musing about The Lord of Crime. He’s the first one to mention a thread leading him to William—that Red String of Fate. And, when he’s afraid that thread has snapped, he manages to snap the string of his violin. It’s a fun visual detail to ground the whole scene and bring it back to reality from his musing. It connects William’s play wires to Sherlock’s own artistic performances, in a way.

I also like that the snap brings an end to his playing, his musing, his song, his fun. Without that thread connecting him to William, everything sounds off and doesn’t work properly, and he’s not happy about it. Obviously, a violin string can be replaced, but the thread between two people can’t be so easily. But shortly after this, Sherlock and William get to revive their connection, too, and prove it still strong and the game still on and the dance still playing.

And, when Sherlock speaks to William at Milverton’s mansion, he vows to unravel William—like a spool of so much thread. Like the threads he uses to connect William’s crimes and mysteries to each other on a wall, like the threads that he brackets the Moriarty brothers together with. But William himself is caught in his own spiderweb, and Sherlock is going to free him from it, and in the process, unravel the core of who William is and what’s there underneath all the puffery and stage makeup.

Miyoshi did a “birthday” art piece for William the year that was all coming out that showed William with a red thread wrapped around his own neck, dangerous as anything else, and a motif in the first time it was confirmed by one of the creators themselves that it’s his false birthday and part of his Plan. I like that piece a lot for a lot of reasons, but that thread did look rather like a noose—a weapon he’s never used, but was about to strangle himself.

Sherlock’s statement to unravel William also a signifier that Sherlock has followed that red thread that connected them and realized he found a horrific knot strangling William up in it. Sherlock is no longer excited by the strings and threads: he wants them gone.

I think it’s interesting that in New York, when William finally feels ready to confront all these things about himself, he finally unwraps the last ties, the last thread on him—the bandages over his eye—and proceeds to tie himself to Sherlock metaphorically instead. His heart is finally untangled from the mess he trapped it in and he can bind it again properly, healthily, and with new purpose.

William and Sherlock’s new promise to each other doesn’t come with any discussion of threads or ties. William has left that behind now, and his bonds to other don’t need to be tangled up and restrictive. When Bond renamed themself, they didn’t have any images of threads, either, because their relationships with their friends and Sherlock’s side of the team was not caught up in such a complicated mess. And now, William finally has that freedom, too.

[rythyme]

I don't think they were saying Boston was lying about wanting romantic exclusivity but not physical exclusivity. The fact that Nick said "I think you should roll alone" tells me more about Nick than Boston, namely that Nick thinks you can only have a relationship if you're monogamous in every way (because that's what he wants for himself). But I'm confident Boston would be great in an open relationship and he's going to New York so who's to say he won't find that there?

Within the context of the show, i.e. from a Watsonian perspective — yeah, I 100% agree. What Nick said is more of a reflection of him. He doesn't think what Boston is asking for is possible with anyone, not just specifically with himself. That's Nick's problem, not Boston's.

But thinking about the creators of the show and how they wrote that scene (i.e. from a Doylist perspective), I don't think they were making that distinction clear enough. As presented, it seems like we're supposed to think that Nick is right when he says those things. If that's not the case, then I think it was poor execution on the creators' part. The tone of that scene was not giving me a "Nick is in the wrong" vibe.

It also just seems like a weird place to take Nick's character arc? Nick's arc has been about exploring relationships and building his self worth, so it's strange for the culmination of all that to be a scene where we're supposed to think he's coming to the wrong conclusions. A more satisfying and natural conclusion to that arc would have been "I am monogamous and you're not. I can't change you, nor should I. We should break up. I wish you the best in your next relationship."

And to make it even more confusing, the show *does* reference characters in an open relationship. Boston is trying to sleep with a couple like that in episode one! We've also seen plenty of coupled characters kissing other people, even in this very episode. And Nick kissed Atom for christ's sake. I just can't wrap my head around this narrative choice.

Overall it just feels? Really weird to me?? What was the point? Why did Nick and Boston have a "forgiving each other" arc if they were just going to be rushed into this conclusion in the second half of the finale? It doesn't make sense to me!

My best guess is that this wasn't originally the planned ending for Nick and Boston. I'm not sure why it changed — maybe there was some meddling on the production/GMMTV side, or p'Jojo decided to pivot after seeing how much fans hated Boston? Either way, it feels disjointed and poorly executed in a show that otherwise does a pretty good job of building up to import character and relationship development moments.

[joyfulapostate]

Galatians 6:3 For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself.

No one is nothing.

I've seen this verse framed by Christians as a way to fight pride. If someone's ego gets too big, this verse is a call to return to humility. But what is "too big" for an ego in Christianity? It seems like anything less than total sacrifice of one's ego is equivalent to pridefulness. The pitch is that the more we submit ourselves to being emptied and refilled by Christ, the more prepared we will be for Heaven when our time comes. And the better we could lead our lives here on Earth. For who could possibly do better than Christ working through us? I say we can.

Reducing ourselves to nothing leaves the world empty. We are not vessels to be filled. We are living beings who have the capacity to change ourselves and the world. Years of emptying myself for Christ left me feeling dependent and helpless. I am grateful for the friends, art, media, and ex-Christian communities that helped me build up my self-worth so I could feel like something on my own.