#hello i'm a romantic

[kocch]

when I say that Will being canonically gay in stranger things is the biggest proof we need for byler it’s not simply because we know he is gay and that’s it - there is context that comes from being in fandoms for something like 12 yrs or more. 

first of all, I’ve started watching ST because of people talking about will and byler on twitter (in july), as a person who barely knew anything about it (I didn’t even know mike and el were a couple, so I was super surprised they decided to make it romantic in s1 when I didn’t really feel like it would happen). 

i was a sherlock fan who shipped sherlock/john. i’ve shipped non-canon couples for a long time (fandom spaces are queer spaces a lot of times). i know what it feels like to read things from a text that could imply things - a text that could be queercoded, depending on interpretation. i know what it feels like to have fun with fanon and ship things that are potentially there, but not textually canon (like steddie or ronance, imo). it’s fun and it’s mostly harmless, until the writers decide to use it as queerbait to make their fandom stay with them for a long time because they’re rooting for their queer ship (i think supernatural is the worst example of this, as they confirmed the one-sided love and then killed the queer character and sent him to hell LMAOOO). those are milking the fandoms, knowing the strongest core of a fandom is the hardcore ones (many queers) and not the casual public.

i’m a big fan of hannibal, yuuri!! on ice and she-ra, three shows that are mostly queercoded until they aren’t (and they confirm the queer ship to be canon). i swear, people CAN tell. you can see when there is a creator and writer and team who truly wants to tell a queer story/relationship, even when they can’t show it openly (like hannibal or yoi). as a person of the community myself, i’ve been able to tell it was canon. it’s different from fans just shipping things, or queerbaiting, there is care and intention and writing and parallels and romantic framing and so many things that make you see that it is there.

(now, for byler i hope it’s different. every straight couple in ST has at least one kiss and i think byler HAS to have at least one (dramatic, passionate, show-stopping) kiss because it would be totally unfair if they don’t. they have to be totally and utterly canon)

what is different about byler and stranger things, compared to sherlock or other shows for the straights? 

it’s will being canonically gay. bbc sherlock would never do that. bbc sherlock would mock feelings. he would laugh about love. he would probably be even a bit homophobic, just for the sake of it.

and it’s not just will being canonically gay, it’s his love for mike being canon. i’m sure other people have said it, but will’s love for mike is NOT JUST A CRUSH. it’s not ridiculed. sure, it’s used to forward a straight ship (that is sinking), but the story is not finished yet and i want to believe that byler is endgame and the writing in s4 was meant to 1) leave things uncomplete and unseattled between mike and will, between lies and non-confessed feelings; and will being in the middle of a relationship that is sinking. 2) mike responding to will’s feelings of love and to no one else, not even el begging for him to say he loves her. 3) making EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHERS feel sorry for will. cry for will. pity will. root for will. root for GAY WILL. (people who think he is straight and he loves el don’t count, those are morons) 

will’s love for mike is LOVE in capital letters. it is not a crush. it’s never treated as something to laugh about, or something like a one-sided crush like Dustin’s crush for Max or Steve’s crush for Robin, those feelings are clearly more superficial and you can see that they’re not gonna happen from miles away. will’s love is A LOVE THAT MOVES MOUNTAINS. it’s totally romantic. deeply rooted. it’s like those loves you can see between jancy or lumax or even more jopper in s4, a love that saves one another, that makes people do crazy things, a love that is inherently part of the character, that makes them FEEL and DO and LIVE and you can’t imagine them not being in love with that person. 

these writers know how to write that type of love. each canon ship they made (even s1/2 milkvan in some ways), i’ve loved it. they know what they’re doing, how to make it feel like it’s true love even without writing grand love confessions or making them kiss every other episode. it’s in THE NARRATIVE, the things the characters do and say and imply.

and even more, about byler... something i wrote in a fic i’ll never finish but imo it’s the biggest point we can take away from will’s love and confession in s4. WILL SEES MIKE. will sees mike for who he is and loves him anyways. he sees the best and worst in him and still loves him and knows him and grounds him to reality and tells Mike how he could be the best version of himself, pushing him to fight for it (you are the heart). will’s love is ancient and deep, it’s a love that we don’t even know when it started, it’s always been there, it’s always been part of will (and part of mike, because it IS MUTUAL). it’s like breathing. like the sun every morning, it’s just there. it’s not going away. it’s not even a choice, at this point, there is an helplessness in the love will feels - it’s too big and too much for him he would love to run away from it, but still he can’t deny his heart. 

and that’s why i think byler is endgame. because will is canonically gay, and he is in love, and no one is making fun of him for that. his love for mike is serious, profound, romantic, genuine. it makes you cry and root for him. it’s LOVE. the strongest of forces. and every byler scene is made with care. it’s never taken lightly, not even their fights, they always matter. there is no mocking in there. no sneer. it’s treated genuinely. almost like the creators are telling you: “look here, look at them, it matters. it matters to them and it should matter to you. there is something serious brewing here, and it is romantic love”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 115

“Seriously old man?” the rumbling voice nearly caused Tim to jump, his eyes darting away from where Ras was sitting, the Al Ghul almost seeming to perk. It was kind of hard to miss the man… teen… being? It was kind of hard to miss the owner of the voice what with how their hair looked like it was on fire. 

They motioned around at well, everything, crimson eyes looking exasperated. “Really?” They were definitely motioning towards him, interrupting Ras when he opened his mouth to talk. “No, I don’t want to hear it, I swear- Did he kidnap you?” That was definitely aimed at him. 

“N-no?” Tim was feeling slightly unbalanced and may be on hour sixty without sleep at this point, if the hour long nap was counted. “I need help finding my not-dad who's lost in time.” 

The being let out a strangled noise that Tim could nearly swear was almost another one, but couldn’t vocalize his slurred thoughts as the dude muttered something, motioning around as though he was tempted to strangle something or someone. 

Ras cleared his throat, looking almost awkward which was how Tim knew he had to be dreaming or drugged. Probably drugged. “Jordan, how good to see you, it’s been so long-”

“Can it Pops,” the being-named-Jordan scoffed, finger pointing towards the Demon’s Head. “Moms still pissed and isn’t coming back any time soon with you still pulling this shit.” 

Tim felt his brain stall, process for a moment, then process some more over what he just heard before his mouth ran before it could catch up. “Ras is married???” 

[inkblotdemon]

uh oh! 💘

[kyouka-supremacy]

Yeah having infinite alternative universes where the same two people love each other no matter the world no matter the time is nice but have you considered dedicating your entire existence to find the only universe where your loved one is happy, even if they're going to hate you in that universe, even if you yourself have to die in that universe, because their happiness always came before everything else? Because you never mattered as long as they were happy? Have you considered it??????

[yonemurishiroku]

Nobody told me we have snow under the sea that's made up of  organic debris from the upper waters. And what am I supposed to do with this new inspiration? Write a Percico one shot? Wth?

[ezralva]

Isn't this supposed to be just Yuuji offering some bread? They totally lengthened the scene and MADE YUUJI FEED CHOSO-NII!?

[lover-of-skellies]

Looking at romantic orientation labels and definitions on Google to figure out what tf a very specific character of mine is got me like 😃❔️🤔💭

[coeluvr]

"Hunter is a bag of mixed signals"

if you have to question it, they dont like you, right?

Well, they think of MC as a friend sooooo yeah they don't like you like that lmao

[boy-above]

i really do get tired of the widespread "xiao is zhongli's kid" notion because while jokes abt it are fine i rly don't like the ppl who genuinely apply "found family" to their dynamic because a lot of times it rly mischaracterizes them and their interactions, especially when it comes to infantilizing xiao. people Love treating xiao like a fucking baby for some reason despite the fact that he's thousands of years old and a hardened war general. and i don't like applying a parent/child lense to their relationship that's basically one step away from indentured servitude. zhongli freed an enslaved xiao from his previous master yes, but he went from slavery to being contractually obligated to give away his whole life to war and strife and pain. xiao insists that morax saved him, and he has a great respect for him, but xiao is still not free. and it's made clear that deep down he doesn't feel free by his quiet longing for a normal life (implied by his namecard, among other things.)

[melancholyofautvmn]

valentines day is not valentines-ing this year. sekolah libur, ga dikelilingin orang bucin... pemilu.... an absolute lack of bad valentines day cards on my tl (??? :((( )......

[giggly-squiggily]

Spontaneous Headcanons #26

✨Angst Edition✨

Spoilers for the end of Blue Lock Season 1 below the cut!

Some hurt/comfort ReoNagiri for the soul cause I need it thank you :D

-So Kunigami got locked off. Everyone witnessed it but only so many saw the absolute shattering of Chigiri's heart when he didn't show up. Of course being Chigiri he's not the type to make a scene or draw attention to himself- he like everyone else knew the risk of Blue Lock and that anyone at any time can get eliminated.

-That didn't mean it didn't destroy him though.

-On the flipside- Reo and Nagi are united, kinda? Still some tension and words needed to be said but now they're all kinda living in the same setup I'd imagine so they have time to actually like- interact. Reo's living that "To be or not to be petty, that is the question" life as he finds Nagi one evening leaning against a door. Better time then ever to confront him, yeah?

-Only when he shows up Nagi looks him dead in the eye and says in a quiet voice: "Not now."

-???? The hell? Reo's about to go off when he hears it. It's soft and sad and muffled, but it's without a doubt crying. Someone's trying desperately to hide it and has hidden away in the empty locker room of Blue Lock. Reo doesn't recognize it right away but then he hears the small but definite give away- the little hiccup sound Chigiri makes when either his knee is being extra irritating or there's a storm.

-Almost immediately Reo's anger and hurt towards Nagi take a back seat- he's a comforter; it's always been that way. No matter how hard he tried to pretend Kunigami and Chigiri were just means to get back at Nagi, he can't help but care and get attached to them. Now the hero's gone- someone who'd always be there whenever the redhead needed him.

-He and Nagi share a look, and a testy peace is made. They enter the room as quietly as they can. Sure enough, Chigiri's tucked away furthest from the door, face in his knees as he tries to muffle the sound of his tears with a sweatshirt. It's big and soft looking and it cracks Reo's heart when he realizes it's Kunigami's.

-They don't talk- at least Nagi doesn't. Reo's beside him almost immediately, pulling Chigiri into his chest and hugging him tightly. Maybe he's scared he'll bolt- maybe he's preparing to get elbowed or shoved off, but the redhead freezes up like a scared deer at being caught.

-"I'm so sorry." Reo can only breathe out, and that just destroys any resolve Chigiri had to stay together. He let's out a heartbroken sob and clings to Reo as the foot drops. Kunigami is gone. He's not coming back. He's not gonna walk down the hall quoting All Might or teasingly call him Princess or tell him he did good that day or anything. It's so bad even Reo's tearing up, squeezing him tighter against him as he blinks back tears he doesn't want to shed.

-Nagi's kinda scared- he doesn't comfort people and never had to before, but he hates seeing two people he's so fond on upset and can't leave them there. It's also when he has a revelation; if Reo were to be locked off like Kunigami was- their last words would have been their fight. When Nagi told him he was past caring about their promise and he was a hassel. That he was done with him. The idea of Reo leaving with that...it hurt worse than he realized it would.

- So he does what he he can for now- sitting in front of them and taking hands. He grabs Chigiri's bone white knuckled fist and soothes a thumb over it until it's no longer shaking. He's hesitant, but he reaches out and offers a hand to Reo, not touching him but within reach so if he wanted to, it was there.

-Reo stares at it briefly and then him. Then he's reaching out, taking Nagi's hand in his. The touch, once so easy and comforting, feels clammy and awkward, like something was amiss. But it was there- it was a small blooming flower in the vast wasteland of unyielding destruction. They couldn't fix it overnight, but it was a start.

-Eventually, when tears start to dry and Chigiri's sobs lessen to soft hiccups; when Reo's own tears that he didn't expect to fall finally slow and Nagi's hands are no longer shaking- they're all kinda sitting there like:....now what? Chigiri's a bit embarrased, wiping at his face with Kunigami's sweatshirt, Reo's hand's still in Nagi's, and they're all kinda...tense.

-"Man, even when you cry, you're pretty." Nagi decides to say. It's unclear who he's talking to. "Over-achiever."

-And Chigiri let's out a wet laugh that's hoarse sounding and tired but genuine, and Reo's starting to smile in relief, the hand in Nagi's starting to ease into it. It's not the time but. "I'm sorry. For all of it." Again, it's unclear who he's talking to.

-But Reo just looks at him with eyes that say "We're talking asap" and Chigiri's shaking out his shoulders and gathering himself. "This is a bit awkward but...thank you." He's about to leave, probably out of embarrassment, but neither Reo or Nagi are letting him go and he's not exactly rushing to get away. "Sorry, I'm a mess."

-"A real beautiful disaster." Reo grinned, and Chigiri flips him off and their laughing and Nagi's smiling and for a brief period, things feel like they're gonna be okay.

[tracle0]

The patient was lying on the operating table when the door slid open. 

They didn’t have to be there - the room had more in it than it did a week ago, a comfortable enough chair, a plush little love seat to relax in, a desk to work at. Their wrists weren’t strapped down anymore, nothing new pumping into their veins. They were free to roam around the room and let the oncoming process take place. And yet still, they chose to lay on the table and stare at the ceiling blankly. 

At least they glanced over when she entered, attention caught by the sound of her footsteps, not the door opening and closing. They had stopped trying to escape months ago. Thank fucking god for that. 

“Unscheduled,” they told her. They had become more monosyllabic as the weeks had gone on. Sometimes, it was a struggle to know what they were trying to say. 

This time is easy enough. “I don’t follow the schedule that strictly,” she said briskly. “I can visit whenever I want.”

Their eyebrows rose at the first comment, noting the blatant lie, but they let it pass, eyes drifting back to the ceiling again. Even their arms were spread out, wrists resting exactly where the leather straps would usually be. “Why?” 

“I work here, sweetie. I thought you knew that by now.” It would be a concern if not. Some of the others had deteriorating memories at this point in the process, and she was so sick of failed tests. 

A head shake. “Why here?” The second word seems to strain them. “Why me?”

Ah. At least their mind was still somewhat present. Brushing down the front of her off-white lab coat, she gave herself a moment to think. The facility had tried to keep each patient isolated, although a lot of them had figured out there were others on account of the screams. This patient was amongst them, having asked her a few months ago how many others there were. Fifty, she had told them, and they had nodded, taken her word as the truth and shut their eyes to listen, trance-like, to the screams down the hall. 

The number was much, much lower than fifty now, having dropped lower still a few minutes ago. She was on the brink of failure, bankruptcy, months of agony and wasted resources for nothing. Maybe she was somewhat desperate to keep the final few functioning, progressing. Alive. More willing to spend time around them and their misery, pity, refusal to acknowledge the common good she was working towards. 

She couldn’t tell them that, though. With how frail they looked, they may well die on the spot at the news, half from shock, half to spite her. “Figured you could use some company,” she said instead. “How are you feeling?“

They gave her a blank look, the kind that perfectly said, how the bloody hell do you think I’m doing? Then returned their attention to the ceiling. Silence lingered. The overhead lights hummed. Someone hurried past their room. “Tired,” they eventually murmured. “I’m tired.”

“That’s to be expected. You’ve been through a lot.” She gave them her best smile, her politicians smile, and smoothed a clump of brown hair off their forehead. It was something she had done to a lot of foreheads when hands had been strapped down, resistance impossible. Why was she doing it now? Because they were on the table, laid out as if expecting the chemicals to start flowing, the screams to start ripping their throat?

She withdrew before either of them could comprehend it, and their eyes watched her carefully for a uncharacteristically long ten seconds, before their attention drifted again. Their skin felt feverish, dry. It was not a good sign. Keep them lucid, keep them alert. “Is there anything I can get you?”

What may have once been a smile drifted across their face. “Out.”

It was a joke for both of them at this point, so she laughed, and their almost-smile nearly became a full smile, before the effort became too much to maintain. “I’ll ask the boss,” she promised, a joke for her to privately enjoy. “Anything else?”

“News,” they said vaguely.

“On what?”

“Kit.”

Always the same. Maybe that was why she liked them more than most. Their interactions were predictable, repetitive. If they did die, she might not even notice, repeating her half of the script to their unresponsive corpse. “Not much,” she said sombrely, as if she’d checked. “Rumour has it he’s got a new orange now.”

Their eyes shut, brows drawing together, mouth pressed thin. This wasn’t part of their routine. It took her a moment to recognise grief. What was the problem? What had she said? Why was news of another orange so significant? 

Right. Of course. They had been an orange once, his orange, trusted sidekick and adoring supporter. This tidbit of nothing went a lot deeper than she expected, and she hesitated, unsure if she should keep digging. On one hand, she thought they had given up on their brother weeks ago, when their patience had run out, when they had accepted he wasn’t going to save them, when their magic and use to him had been stripped from their veins. It was annoying that there had still been a part of them clinging to hope, expecting something from Kit. 

On the other hand, she could plainly see that part of them wither and die with this news. She gave them a moment, hands clasped behind her back, then continued. “He’s declared you dead,” she said, her voice soft, delicate. “Says he held you in his arms as you bled out.”

“Course,” they said. She was glad to hear bitterness in their voice, hoarse as it was. 

“Rumour has it he’s one of the most powerful on the streets now,” she added, watching their face carefully. This was a lot more than she had planned to tell them, much more truthful than her reports usually were, but it was having some kind of effect, a reaction. Better than most other discussions she had with patients, weepy and aching affairs that left her heavy and frustrated. “He keeps targeting other turfs. He’s gained a lot of ground, I hear.”

It was easy to see how they interpreted the news by how their eyes screwed tighter, brows knitting closer together, going from grief to agitation. Petty in-fighting, domination of the city - it was a slap in the face for someone who had been waiting for rescue. Now they knew their master plan, the thing they had bet their life on, had half worked. Kit was stuffed with potential, a frighteningly powerful mage. He just hadn’t bothered coming back for them. 

She expected tears, pleading, defeat. Their words were delightfully measured when they asked, “Orange?”

“Someone from out of town,” she reported. Jaque was the exact town, but they didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know a lot of things. “Goes by Clem. Most people say they’re just a source of the colour, that Kit does most of the controlling.”

They hummed an acknowledgement, opened their eyes again, stared at the ceiling. “Lots,” they eventually said.

Although it was as dull as usual, it sounded sarcastic to her ears, like they were mocking her. Nothing infuriated her more than being mocked. She hoped the flush across her cheeks wasn’t obvious. “I don’t know lots about them, no. They’re new to the scene. I have other things to do than gather news on your brother, you know.”

Eyes glanced across her face. “No,” they said. “News.”

“No news,” she echoed. 

“Lots,” they insisted. “You.”

“You’re not making any sense, my darling.”  

They almost snarled, nose wrinkled, a spark of anger in their eyes. Slowly, carefully, visually, they gathered energy, going pale with the effort, eventually managing to croak, “You have lots of news today.” 

A full sentence was impressive at this stage. Hell, single words were impressive - a significant portion of participants had gone entirely mute a week ago. Maybe she was right to put more energy into her remaining patients. “A special treat.”

Another hum. They didn’t seem to care. Their eyes were still open, brown still fixed on the ceiling, but they had started to lose focus, drift from active attention to a freakish half-sleep. Clearly the full sentence had drained them of what little energy they were using to stay awake. She almost felt guilty for it. 

More than the guilt was the alarm. The half-sleep that too many participants had adopted was too similar to the stiff clutches of death. Too often, she had held a hand, tried to coax someone into fighting a little longer, felt the exact second their fingers went limp and the odds of her failure went up. A few times, during her scheduled rounds, she had noticed still bodies curled up somewhere, glazed over and perfectly static, and struggled to tell if they were sleeping or dead. More and more often, it was the latter. 

This participant was just like any other. Nothing special, beyond the circumstances around how they had arrived. She still didn’t want to watch them die. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Glazed eyes flicked to focus on her. This was not part of their script either. At this point, she’d wish them well, promise to be back later, and leave them be. Still, they considered the question. “Chair,” they finally said. 

“You want to go to the chair?” At the tiny nod, she sucked at her teeth, considered the distance. “I’ll get some guards to -“

“No.”

“No? How do you expect to get to the chair?“

“Walk.”

She laughed at that. She couldn’t help herself. “Love, you’re not going to be able to walk to the chair. It’s five meters away. Be sensible, now.”

“Walk,” they insisted. “I can.”

“You think I’ll let you try? Have you killed, too?”

A pause. Consideration. Then, quietly, “Too?”

Shit. Their eyes were fixed on her, watching her reaction, reading the truth in the millisecond of hesitation. Where had that unfocused glaze gone? She licked her lips with the very tip of her tongue, careful to only gloss over her lipstick, arranged an excuse. “Only a few. It’s to be expected, this isn’t -“

“How many?”

It would have been so easy to lie. Maybe they were sharper than the average participant, but she still controlled the flow of information they received. She could make them believe anything if she put proper work into it, including the mortality rate of this trial. 

Looking down at them, positioned as if ready to receive further torture, attention fixed on her and hungry for a tidbit of truth, she couldn’t find it in herself to deceive them. “There’s five left,” she said quietly. “Including you.”

They breathed out at that, an audible exhale. “Start?”

“We started with ninety.” 

“Fifty?” She shrugged in way of explanation, and they nodded, as if they expected it, understood it. So practical, so uniform. God, she did like them. “Me?”

Another hesitation. They noticed it. “We’re doing everything we can to keep you alive,” she eventually said, words careful and picked over. “All of you. So, with luck, you should have nothing to worry about.”

“Luck,” they sneered. She could understand their bitterness, given their situation. She also admired their bitterness. So many of the others simply became empty, exhausted. Their anger was a breath of fresh air sometimes. 

Other times, it expressed itself in stubborn tendencies. “Chair.”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself,” she said tiredly. 

“Chair.”

“It’s not just your life you’d be wasting. I’m sure you’re used to that, but I can’t afford to allow -“

They barked a laugh, surprisingly loud.“Bitch,” they spat, with great amusement. “I want…”

The rest of their sentence trailed off as they panted for breath, exhausted, determined. She glared venom down at them. They glared venom right back, triumphant and proud. Did she even like them? It seemed to change day-by-day, word-by-word. “Go on, then,” she said, sickly sweet. “Walk to your crummy chair. See how that goes for you.” 

To their credit, they hesitated. Maybe they’d buckle, realise she was right, do as she said. It wasn’t too late to forgive them, find the guards, get them to their chair like they wanted. If they apologised, perhaps. Grovelled, definitely. The relationship between them was entirely up to them to decide. 

They decided, and strained to move, and she sighed inwardly and settled in to watch them die. The effort of sitting up would be enough to knock them out. Actually walking to the chair would absolutely kill them. If they were lucky, maybe their corpse would land on the plump cushion. The detached part of her that she listened to quite frequently these days was interested in how long it would take for them to give up. 

Because they were laying on their back, the process was agonisingly slow. Lacking the immediate strength to simply pull themselves upright, they instead opted to use their arms to hoist up, inch by inch, leaning heavily on their elbows as they gasped for breath. Teeth gritted, limbs shaking, strain intense. She wondered if they’d burn the body today, or leave it for dissection. She wondered if she should send the remains to Kit. 

She wondered how in any possible hell her patient had managed to actually get themselves upright.

Conscious and panting, they didn’t have the energy to act smug. They barely had the energy to stay sitting, skin bone white and fingers holding so tightly to the edge of the table that she could see the outline of every single one of their knuckles. As she watched, their head tilted down, chin almost touching their chest, as if the weight of holding it up was too much… before it jerked, jolting up too far, having to settle in place. A visual demonstration of their bodies demands verses their willpower. 

It was fascinating to watch. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

Their eyes latched onto her. Glassy, unfocused, dull. Their chest was heaving with the effort of breathing. Even single words would be near impossible now. 

“You’re not going to make it to the chair,” she said, lecture-like. “I’m impressed you got this far, but you need to recognise your limits. You won’t be useful to me if you can’t.” 

Something flickered in their eyes, a spark of life in an otherwise empty void. Their jaw tightened. 

“I can have you carried to the chair still,” she offered, hands spread in front of her. “You only need to ask. I’ll even take a nod. Just let me know.” 

Their head had dipped, exhaustion getting the best of them. She tried not to be disappointed. 

“Let’s get you settled down again,” she said gently, moving closer. “Come on, now. You’re tired. Let’s just -“

They lurched suddenly, tipping forwards, and her words cut off as she darted forwards to catch them. At first, she assumed they had reached their limit, passed out. If they hit the floor, the hard tiles would easily shatter their fragile skull. God knows she couldn’t lose someone with the energy to sit up, the fight to resist her better judgement. 

It was only when she was holding them up that she realised they were still awake. The lurch hadn’t been the body’s success - they had pushed themselves forwards, the intent to stand, to walk, spurring them onwards. 

They seemed surprised to find her in front of them. Most of their weight pressed on her shoulders. They may have been frail, thinned down by the agonies they had endured, but she wasn’t very big herself, and she nearly crumpled under the burden. “Fucking hell,” she snarled. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Or just trying to piss me off?”

A hand rose, slow and gradual. There was no way they were still lucid after all this. She’d be lucky if they woke again after she finally settled them down. Given how feverish their skin felt, it was only a matter of time before this test failed too. Really, she’d wasted too much time in here. 

“Maybe your brother was right to leave you,” she spat at them, as they focused their energy on raising their hand up, up, up. “Knew what sort of a fucking problem you are. Be glad I don’t have you put down, you useless piece of…”

Her words trailed off as their hand finally stopped, gently caressing her face. With careful deliberation, they traced a finger down her temple, down her cheek, down her jaw, letting their thumb rest against her chin, and tilting that up. Given how they had fallen, how they had been caught, the two of them were very close, nearly pressed together; their chest against her shoulders, her eyes level with their chin. Her eyes raised up to meet theirs. 

They pressed their lips to hers. Slow and gentle, although not by choice, they kissed her, and she stood there, holding them upright. In the shock of the moment, she let the cold, mechanical part of her head take over, figure this out. 

More than anything, it was wondering how she could use this. With five participants left, she had the room to be more personal with each of them, and if this was how they wanted to go about it, well. A quiet romance could be nice, and could keep them obedient, loyal. On the increasingly unlikely chance they survived this, maybe she could keep them around for a bit, if they chained their own heart for her. Until she got bored of them. Until they had ran out of use. 

The kiss ended, and they drew back shyly; a school child pecking their crushes cheek for the first time. With as much desperation as they could muster, they searched her gaze, looking for permission or allowance or reciprocation. Apparently not finding it, they started to sag against the table, swallowed, parted their dry lips. “Sorry,” they whispered. 

For a millisecond, she considered her options. Leave them to this obvious mistake and add the burden of embarrassment to their situation. Allow what had happened to be a one-off, let them both move past this and forget it had happened. Or reciprocate - give them a reason to fight on, to survive, a reason to stay at her side even after the matter. 

They were speaking, for fucks sake. Standing on their own feet after forcing themselves upright and speaking in full sentences. If anyone was going to survive this, it was going to be Elan fucking Soot. 

She threaded her fingers through their hair, pulled them closer and pressed her lips to theirs. Much faster. Much more forceful. By the time she was satisfied, they were breathing hard, and her lipstick was pressed over their mouth. 

Without her saying anything, they went to wipe it off, dazed. Not the blank-eyed dazed expression she was so used to. Something bright, alive. Something that shouldn’t be in this facility. 

A red stain transferred to the back of their hand, and they wrinkled their nose at it, an unimpressed grunt making its way up their throat. “Bright,” they said, irked. “Ugh.”

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to kiss me,” she said, halfway between flirting and icy. 

They smiled, let their arm swing to their side, tilted back, much more weight against their bed. “Thank you.”

“You owe me, lovie.” She let a finger trace along their jawline, let the mechanical voice consider it. There were definitely worse faces to kiss. This could end up being incredibly beneficial to her. 

A softer part of her, the part that had made her heart flutter and her face flush, pointed out it could also be beneficial for them. That maybe they had their own mechanical voice, weighing up their options and choosing the best route. That maybe, just maybe, she should be a little bit careful. 

Then, they swayed on their feet, let out a long sigh, and nodded. “Guards,” they suggested, a voice like a leafs skeleton. “Now.”

She complied, calling loudly and apparently a little frantically - the guards rushed in with their hands on their batons, ready for trouble, finding instead their employer with a participant collapsed on her shoulder. To their credit, they wasted very little time in sorting the situation out, easing her patient back onto the surgery table, limp limbs arranged as kindly as possible, and ushering her out of the room. 

If the guards noticed her lipstick on their lips, neither of them mentioned it.

[talentforlying]

need more people to know this man colloquially as "con job", it's one of my favorite nicknames for him.

[ereborne]

Favorite heist books?

I'm realizing now that I haven't read any of the pure crime fiction books which would be the literary equivalent of the heist movies I love so much, maybe because of my inability to gracefully handle the stress of true thrillers (as I was just saying to sunkentowers). I have read a few especially quality fantasy/sci-fi heists, though! In very loosely most-to-least-strongly-recommended order:

The Palace Job by Patrick Weekes (first of the Rogues of the Republic series. it was a challenge for me to pick a favorite of them, but I think probably this is the one. very funny, very clever, love the characters)

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (intense and with especially good characters. the sequel Crooked Kingdom is also good but not quite as heist-y)

River of Teeth by Sarah Gailey (hippo-cowboy alternate history! explosive hippo river heist! it does have a sequel but I haven't ever read it)

The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner (my favorite of the Queen's Thief series, though they're all good in their own ways. the main character is sort of in a constant state of con and/or heist behavior)

Artemis by Andy Weir (standalone sci-fi heist! how odd that this is the only standalone novel in my list)

The Heist by Janet Evanovich and Lee Goldberg (romantic comedy suspense thing! first in the Fox and O'Hare series, and the only one I've read)

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer (easily the best of the series by the same name, and honestly the only one I'd really recommend reading. clever worldbuilding and writing, and the twist is lovely)

Skin Game by Jim Butcher (part of the Dresden Files series and it was such a surprise to me when I found out this one--fifteenth in the series!--was going to break with format and be so heist-centered. I don't think it works as a standalone and I wouldn't necessarily recommend the series as a whole, certainly not if what you're looking for is crime capers, but I enjoyed it so so much and couldn't leave it off)

[confinesofmy]

is it okay to tell someone you don't want to be around their stupid boyfriend.

like, when you're hanging out and about to go somewhere and she says "oh my god, i could invite my rancid boyfriend!" because she's obsessed with him, he's like her jungkook, etc is it inappropriate to say "i don't want you to and if you do i will go home"? he's done nothing to you btw, he just doesn't like being around you and is always vying for dominance when you're together because he's a meathead moron and this is why you don't like to be around him. but when you bring this up she says "i think he's like that because he thinks you don't like him :(" and then what can you say but "i don't" lmao...

like. it's two things, right. you both clearly dislike each other. for whatever reasons. so why should you hang out. then secondly. what even are you to each other. why would you have a relationship. whose bright idea was it to mandate there be anything above civility in this type of relationship. but how do you explain all this in a way that doesn't make you sound like a dickhead.

[angeltism]

guh being grey-recipro-whateverthefuck romantic is so annoying wahh. i mean nice bc i don't currently have a crush to worry abt or somethin but also wahh.