#i wouldn’t fix him i’d study him under a microscope

[arandompostarchive]

Inure Ch. 4

SAVED WORK

Summary: To some, The Specter is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they could find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

***

“I don’t see what the problem is!”

You scoffed, angry at Howard’s words. “Really. You really don’t see the issue?” He shrugged but stayed silent. “You invited a horde of reporters when I said that no one else should see this. That doesn’t seem like a problem to you?” Despite the anger you were feeling, you looked fairly calm.

You weren’t the type to lash out and scream whenever something went wrong and even in the toughest situations you were collected. It’s a trait that would stick with you for decades to come.

“We need people to know about this. They need to know that there’s hope at the end of this tunnel, okay? We’re doing miraculous things, excuse me if I’d like to show the world.”

You rolled your eyes at his excuse. “Oh please, Stark. You just want an early payday. Not everything can be about your bank account. Especially in the middle of a war! People are dying Howard. We don’t need a media storm to distract us.” He huffed and sat down on one of the many stools you had around your lab. It wasn’t the fanciest place, but the army needed all the weaponry it could get and when they heard about you, they didn’t hesitate to give you a lab. Of course, your skills were always in question, as with most women, but for the most part, they left you alone. You had Peggy to thank for that.

“Look, let’s just give them a quick tour, tell them about SPECTR, and turn it on for a minute. 60 seconds, that’s all I ask.”

“Absolutely not.” You weren’t budging on this. Usually Stark was able to get you to agree to his stupid plans, but you had friends fighting in this war. Peggy had friends fighting this war. You weren’t going to see them dead just because you got distracted by cameras.

For a genius, Howard was probably one of the stupidest people you had ever met. Of course, he could invent beautiful things, but then he’d go and do something like this. Inviting reporters to see a project that was far from done. This wouldn’t give people hope.

“40 seconds, c’mon Doc. On and off, just so they know it works.”

“But it doesn’t work!”

“Well that’s why I’m saying 40 seconds!” He sighed, taking in a deep breath. “I understand, but don’t you think that’s a little unfair to me? C’mon Doc!”

You groaned, not dignifying him with an answer. You walked over to your machine, choosing to work more on the control panel outside the glass. The door to the machine was locked tight, keeping everyone out. It could be opened from the inside, but opening it from the outside took a specific keycard. As of now, there were four of them. Yours, Howard’s, Peggy’s, and an extra for high-ranking guests that entered your lab.

The control panel was still malfunctioning. It was the main reason you were saying no to Howard. You couldn’t risk something going wrong.

“You’ve gone over that panel 50 times.”

“If we want to help people, we have to be sure it won’t hurt them.” You said, looking at the buttons and making sure they worked. “Check the air compressors, okay? That machine gets too hot, I need to make sure those work. If it overheats, it’ll do the exact opposite of what we want.”

You could hear Howard mumble under his breath about how he was ‘certain that they worked’, but you ignored it and went back to your work.

You heard his voice shout at you from across the room.

“L/n?”

You didn’t respond, too focused on one of the buttons that wasn’t responding properly. It was the one meant to open the door with a small key card like invention. You took yours out and tested it a few times. It wasn’t responding correctly. You rolled your eyes and took out a few tools to fix it.

“L/n. Hey, Doc?”

You still didn’t respond, too focused on the task at hand.

***

“Doc? You good there?” You looked up, Tony’s face staring back at you.

You blinked a few times before coldly responding. “I’m fine.” You took another second before looking around. The lab’s lights were dimmed, which wasn’t surprising considering that it was about 4am.

“Alright then. As I was saying, this is definitely Hastings’ blood. I’ve ran it through every test I’ve got, every single match was positive.”

“He’s dead. Believe me, he’s dead. I always double check. A while ago I ran into someone who could regenerate. Had to kill him twice. Now, I just make sure I get it the first time.”

“Listen, I’m not doubting you, but are you sure?”

You rolled your eyes at him. He was so like Howard it bothered you. Even down to his nickname for you. “Doc”. “Well, that sounds exactly like you’re doubting me.”

“Okay, I’m doubting you,” he admitted. “But this is a perfect match. If this guy has been dead for years, I don’t think I need to explain why he couldn’t have robbed a museum.”

“Well, obviously.”

You looked over the matches again. Each result was perfect or near perfect. Not that you had much blood to test, but it was enough.

“Wanda might be right with her shapeshifter theory.” You heard from across the room. Bruce had joined you in the lab, though he was more interested in you for the time being. He had agreed to help find Hastings or his copycat and you agreed to let him research you. He was studying something under a microscope. You weren’t sure what he was looking at, but it seemed like he was comparing two samples.

“We have blood and it’s completely separate from the body. Can he really shift down to the molecular level and keep it that way after it’s away from his body?” You asked, not entirely sure. The scientist in you said it was impossible, but a few years ago New York got attacked by an alien race led by a Norse god, so you had really changed your definition of the word “impossible”.

“Maybe once it leaves the body, it retains its last form. If anything, it would make sense that the blood doesn’t have the ability to shift back when it’s away from its host.”

“Well, that’s one theory,” Tony said, thinking it over.

Of course, that wasn’t helpful at all. “So, our culprit is most likely a shapeshifter. How do we proceed?”

Tony and Bruce thought it over. “I’ll go inform everyone, they might have some ideas. Maybe you can find some way to make him revert back to his original form.” Bruce said, slowly walking toward the lab’s exit. You and Tony nodded and started looking over the limited information you had.

It was silent for a minute or two, the both of you working quietly on something. You were looking into a microscope, trying your best to compare it to a normal human sample. So far, nothing noteworthy. “Hey, Doc, when you built this thing, did you know it could turn into a giant weapon, or was that just an oversight.” You couldn’t entirely tell if Tony was joking. It seemed like something he’d want you to laugh at, but you still weren’t sure.

“Just work, Tony. If you find something, then talk to me. Otherwise I’d appreciate quiet.” You said harshly. It sounded meaner than you thought it would, but Tony was a Stark. You doubted he had any feelings anyway.

“Okay, let me ask you a question.” He said, slightly agitated by your response.

You sighed, “I have a feeling you’ll find a way to ask me whether I say yes or no.” You didn’t look up from the microscope, knowing Tony probably wouldn’t care.

“Why exactly do you hate me?” He asked. The question was sincere, but the tone of his voice made it sound sarcastic.

“What makes you assume I hate you?” Of course, you really did hate him. But you hadn’t murdered him yet, so you were doing better than you thought you would.

“Well, we haven’t exactly been best friends.” He says, looking at you. You had only looked away from your microscope to check some of the information you had gathered about Hastings. Nothing useful.

“Perhaps that’s because there’s a shapeshifter trying to murder people with a makeshift weapon that I invented.” Your voice stayed fairly monotone. You were only half paying attention to what Stark said.

“Well, yes. But you’ve been tolerating the company of most people here. Just thought maybe I did something. Which, hey, I’m not perfect.”

You nodded. “Yes, Stark. You are far from perfect.” You still didn’t look up to meet his gaze.

“See! This is what I mean.” He didn’t sound rude, which is what you were expecting. Instead he seemed to want an answer. Admittedly, this wasn’t the outcome you were looking for.

“Well, Stark. Maybe you’re just not as charming as you think you are, hm?” You said, glancing up for only a moment before looking back down. “I’ve seen your press conferences. That outrageous confidence. I’ve seen you flying around, thinking you’re this world’s savior. You treat everything like a joke. There always has to be a punchline with you, something sarcastic. Talking to people like you’re some kind of god.”

He sighed, taking a moment to think of something to say. “Well, you may have seen me on TV, but you haven’t gotten a chance to actually know me. I mean, yeah, I’ll give you the sarcasm one you’re pretty spot on, but I’m hardly as confident as I look in front of those people.”

“I’ve seen you from afar. That’s good enough.” You said simply, trying to get him to be quiet so you can go back to working in silence.

“So you’re not going to try to have a real conversation with me? Who knows, you might hate me slightly less.” This time you didn’t respond, hoping he realized this conversation was going nowhere.

He reminded you of Howard more than you’d like to admit. But he certainly had his differences. “You’re an idiotic genius who thinks he’s a god on Earth. I’ve seen you Stark. What you do, who you are. I know everything I need to.”

He seemed upset, almost offended. “I understand, but don’t you think that’s a little unfair to me? C’mon Doc!”

That made you stop. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You weren’t sure what emotion you were feeling. It certainly wasn’t sadness, but it wasn’t quite anger either. More like an upsetting mix of several emotions, all making each other worse.

Then you laughed. It was a humorous laugh, but an empty one.

“You sound just like him.” Now you were actually looking at Tony, tracing the outline of his face with your eyes.

“Uh… who?” Stark said, looking fairly confused. He was probably somewhat creeped out by you staring at him, but you didn’t really care.

“Howard. He said that to me once.” You had abandoned your work, now more focused on the man in front of you.

“Right. I forgot you and Capsicle lived in the 40s.” You could tell he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Not that you blamed him.

“You’re very alike you know. Dumb. But the stuff you build makes it seem like you’ve got a real brain in your head.”

“…thank you?” He said, thinking over your words.

“You’re also both arrogant assholes.” You said, not really considering his feelings. In your experience, feelings were too bothersome. Sometimes, you’d get attached to people you had to kill. That was never helpful.

“Hey, I thought you 40s people were supposed to be polite and stuff.” You only shrugged in response.

“Howard was awful. The bane of my very existence. I thought we were friends, but I was extremely wrong.” You looked straight at Tony, your eyes darkening as they stared into his. “If I give you a chance, Tony. If I get to know you and make a real attempt to become your ‘friend’, then you will do the same. You are a Stark, after all.” You said, stating the reason for your decision.

Tony got more serious too. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever he did. Clearly, he, uh, did something pretty bad. I don’t blame you. But whatever it was, I didn’t do it. I never asked for him to be my father. Don’t group us together.” You could tell you had struck a bit of a nerve. You doubted anyone could hate Howard Stark as much as you, but you were starting to hate his son a little bit less.

***

“You seem tired.” Bucky noted from the kitchen. He was reaching up to grab some chips while you stood across the room. It was midday, so almost everyone had something to do, leaving the two of you alone.

You had a proper sized glass of whiskey in your hands, much different from your usual full glass.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah, thanks.”

He seemed a bit worried, “Not in a mean way, you just seem, I don’t know, less energetic?”

He was right. Since you had moved in to a strange place with people you didn’t know, it had gotten harder to sleep. You decided to let yourself adjust. These were heroes, they weren’t going to murder you in cold blood.

And then you remembered that you’re a wanted serial killer, which put you even more on edge. Of course, without you they wouldn’t have as much information about SPECTR, but that didn’t help ease your worries.

Instead, you had spent a good amount of your time in the gym. It had been a while since you’d had a place to work out alone. While you were enjoying the alone time, the lack of sleep was starting to get to you.

“Yeah, I don’t feel too energetic. Just a bit sleepy I guess.” You told Bucky, choosing not to discuss your sleep issues.

“Fair enough.” He said, putting a few chips in his mouth and biting down. The crunch filled the empty silence and you chose to walk toward the living room area. As expected, Bucky silently followed you and you turned on some older movies. Though Tony had a limited number of 1940’s movies, modern movies and TV shows weren’t all that bad. When you were a child, the special effects would’ve entranced you. Now, you let Bucky choose which movies to watch. He seemed to understand that superheroes and serial killers didn’t really like action movies. You saw enough of that in real life, though there were a few interesting ones out there.

As you sat with Bucky watching some feel-good movie, your mind drifted a bit. You found yourself wondering what Loki would’ve thought. The thought was fleeting at first, but the more you considered it, the weirder you felt. It had been decades since you’d had a real friend, much less two. Besides, it didn’t hurt that two literal superheroes wanted to spend time with you.

You found yourself moving closer to Bucky, letting your head fall on his shoulder. Truthfully, you didn’t think much of it. You felt like putting your head down and Bucky happened to be there. The action was simple.

Your eyes fluttered closed barely 20 minutes in and Bucky noticed how your breathing had evened out. He smiled softly to himself and turned down the volume so it wouldn’t wake you up.

***

“So, we have no idea who they are or where they’re going next. Any thoughts?” Steve asked the group. They all looked at each other, hoping someone would speak.

You glanced across at Bucky who seemed to be staring at everyone but you. He never looked in your direction during meetings. Normally, you wouldn’t mind, but a small part of you was disappointed.

“If we ran into him, Wanda could scan his head, right? Like, tell us who he is?” Clint asked. The question wasn’t really directed at anybody, but Wanda was the one who answered.

“Sort of,” she began. “It is more like sensing someone. Not exactly mind reading. And if I don’t know the person I’m looking for, it’s not very helpful.” She said, slightly disappointed. Mind reading. Now there’s something you could do.

You were going to speak, but Loki beat you to it. “Mind-reading is a magical art, though it is one I have never trained in. I don’t have a proper teacher, so I doubt it will be adequate, but I could try to find some books on it.” He suggested.

Steve nodded and you spoke up before anyone could say anything else. “Actually, I can read minds. I don’t use it often, but it’s not difficult for me.” The group had mixed reactions. Some seemed glad they had someone in the group who could help, but others seemed more wary of you now.

“You may be a good teacher then. This may be easier than I thought.” Loki said, smiling at you. You smiled back at him. You inwardly questioned why you automatically smiled, it wasn’t something you found yourself doing often. In an odd way, you liked it. Loki seemed to have that sort of calming air about him, despite what the media may say about him.

“Okay, so we have one mind-reader and two sorta mind-readers. How does that help us find him?” Tony questioned.

“Maybe we set a trap.” Natasha suggested. She shifted her vision to you, “Spectr, did you have any other parts that can’t be replicated?”

You thought over everything you made. You shook your head. “Everything else can be replicated with a little bit of time and effort.” You said, not thinking of everything.

“But they don’t have time. We’re coming after them, they must know that. So, if you were building the machine again today, what would take the most time.” She said, still looking at you. The rest of the group was also looking. It was beginning to make you a bit self-conscious.

“Our core was a complicated thing. To be honest, we didn’t even know what it was. Now that I’m here, 70 years later, it was probably something magical. But then we had no idea. The container I made for it took me longer than I’d like to admit. With the modern tools I’ve seen, I’m sure it would take less time, but I know it wouldn’t be quick without blueprints. I had to test it over and over before I finally got something. And building it took forever.”

Natasha nodded. “So, we start there. Where would that core be?” She asked, still looking at you.

“I have no idea. I never bothered to do research on where it went or if it survived.” She then glanced at Steve who was already looking at a screen in front of him.

“Steve and I found a list of World War II machinery that might be yours.” Natasha explained. You stood up, standing by Steve and looking at the pictures.

You didn’t spot anything that resembled your core at all. You sat back down, unsure how to continue.

Natasha was thinking too. Then, Wanda spoke. “Well, if he can’t find the real machine, then he’d want blueprints, right?” The group nodded. “So, where would he get those?”

You had limited tangible blueprints. Though every other inventor in the world would scold you, you liked to sit down and tinker. Sometimes, you made something odd and useless. Other times, you made things like a core stabilizer.

“From the file I got, he already has most of the blueprints that exist. Everything else is my head. No tangible papers.”

Wanda’s eyes darkened. “So, he’ll be coming for you.”

***

[charming-charlie]

One More Chance

Title // One More Chance

Pairing // Anthony Ramos x Fem!Reader

Warnings // Light swearing, fluff, mentions of loneliness.

Summary // It’s been years since you last saw Anthony, one of your high school friends. What happens when you finally see each other during his Hamilton run?

Word Count // 2,879

Prompt // “Be kinder to yourself, alright? For my sake. I can't stand watching you beat yourself up like this.”

You thought for sure Anthony wouldn’t remember you. He was a big, fancy Broadway star. You had to be one of the last things on his mind, if you were even on there. But he came through. After you direct messaged him your address, which was in New York since you never left, he sent tickets and backstage passes to the show that he was a part of. This was a dream come true for you. Not only would you get to see your long-lost friend again, but this was also the first Broadway show you’ll ever attend. Tickets were always out of your price range, and you didn’t make enough money to splurge on such an extravagant purchase.

It would be nice to see him again, but you knew it would probably be wishful thinking that he would remember you in person. It’s been a while since the two of you were in high school. You could go on and on about the memories in English class, but you wouldn’t dare bring those up. No, you are only going just to enjoy the show. That’s it.

Perhaps that was also wishful thinking because the Richard Rogers Theater, on this particular Friday night, was packed. You shouldn’t have been surprised. Hamilton received glowing reviews. People were raving about it. It made sense that it was such a sensation. You found your seat with the help of an usher and you were equally surprised that it was in the center off to the right, close to the stage. You would get a clear view of facial expressions and everything. Damn, Anthony was really taking care of you.

You purposefully left the backstage pass at home. You didn’t want to bother him, or the cast, when they had other fans and people to see. It’d be okay and it was no stress off your back. You just wanted to see the show and have a good time. That was enough for you.

It was curtain time, and everyone took their seats. The lights went dim and you sat there in awe, watching Leslie Odom Jr. take the stage and begin the first song. You didn’t get to be immersed in the musical for long, because there he was. Your long-lost friend, dawning a white coat, hair pulled back, taking the stage as he began talking about the ten-dollar founding father without a father. That was all it took.

You could not take your eyes off him for the entire first half and you swore he saw you too. Though you knew that was impossible, with the dark lights in the theater and everything. But for a few moments, it brought you comfort that perhaps he recognized you and all was well.

His character, John Laurens, engaged in a duel and you wouldn’t admit it but your heart almost stopped at the count of ten. You knew it was fake, but the tension sent you in a bit of a frenzy. Still, you couldn’t hide the fact that you were genuinely upset that John Laurens didn’t make it to the second act, but the playbill said Anthony was credited as two characters. Luckily, he wasn’t done yet. Good, you weren’t ready to see him disappear from your life again.

Intermission came so fast, it shocked you. The pace of the show was fast and upbeat, and you were so engrossed in Non-Stop, you didn’t realize that was the end. At least, for fifteen minutes. Letting out a sigh, you stood up and stretched your legs. You weren’t thirsty but a lot of people were rushing out to grab a drink or use the restroom. You were fine. You checked your phone and tried to occupy yourself until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss.”

You turn around and you saw a tall man wearing a security tag. Sudden panic rose inside you and he could tell. “Can you follow me, please?”

You nodded, saying nothing. The tall security man walked through a side door labeled Employees Only and you were quick against his heels. There was a lot of commotion backstage. People were rushing around, changing costumes, dancing in the stairwell, recording videos and taking pictures… it honestly looked like a good time.

The security man approached a dressing room and knocked on the door. It was Lin’s door. Wait, what? Your breath hitched in your throat. You read that this show was basically Lin’s baby. Were you somehow disrespecting it? Lin opened the door with a smile. He was in the middle of changing clothes, but he wasn’t rushing. “I brought the patron you requested,” the security guard said before turning and walking away.

Lin was adjusting the microphone in his hair and he opened the door to invite you in. There wasn’t much room in the tiny dressing room so you stayed out in the hallway, looking confused but feeling surreal that you were staring at Lin-Manuel Miranda. “Sorry if that scared you, but we’ve been waiting since My Shot to get you back here.” He held out a hand, offering it to you. “I’m Lin.”

You blinked and coughed out your name. “Y/N,” you said while shaking his hand.

He nodded, as if he already knew. “I’ve heard about you. You have some fans back here,” Lin said. He adjusted his shoes, putting on the final touches for whatever he needed for the second act. Fans? Surely he was confusing you with someone else.

He sensed your confusion, and he let out a soft laugh. “This must be a little weird, right? I mean, first Anthony asked for backstage passes for this girl, and then she doesn’t bother showing up with said passes. I’m assuming you forgot them. He thinks you don’t want to see him. Which one of us is right? We have a little bet going on back here.”

You felt like you should be offended but Lin was so polite about it. The way he was talking about it, it made it seem like it was a joke, all in good fun, his attempt at jest.

“I um… I mean, I didn’t think it was…” you were stumbling over your words, not sure how to put it into a coherent sentence. This was definitely off putting, and Lin was sensing your discomfort. His smile fell and he looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Come with me,” Lin said, and he nodded his head in the direction of a hallway. He began walking and you followed him. You passed several people, including some you recognize from the show. It was a bit frantic though. There was not a lot of time between the first and second act, but everyone looked as though they had a routine and it worked for them.

“Hey Anthony, I found your girl for you,” Lin said and he turned to you, “we’ll get you another backstage pass. No worries about forgetting it at home.” He winked at you and left you standing in the doorway of Anthony Ramos, your long-lost high school friend. He was out of the blue coat and was wearing something entirely different. This was probably his second character. You wouldn’t know since you ignored his section in the playbill completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to read about him, not after everything.

He turned to look at you, his eyes alight and a soft smile on his face. “Y/N,” he said, and damn did your name sound good on his lips, “you made it. Come in.”

He extended an arm and you walked into his dressing room. It was jam packed with all kinds of stuff. You sat on the couch and he turned back to the mirror, fixing whatever he needed to do in order to prepare for the next part of the show. He looked at you through the mirror, studying you a bit.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” you said suddenly. Your eyes shot off him, avoiding his gaze. You felt your face get hot. You were not expecting to suddenly just say whatever was on your mind.

Anthony’s smile turned into a slight frown and he turned around to face you. “Really? Tenth grade, Chemistry partners. You, Ms. Y/N, broke a slide under a microscope and I took the fall. Remember that?” he folded his arms across his chest, slightly tilting his head. His voice didn’t sound accusatory, it was more like he was trying to light up your memories that you hid in the deep corner of your brain. You honestly forgot about that situation.

Not wanting to be outdone, you stood up. “Freshman English, Shakespeare partners. We made fun of Romeo and Juliet for their stupid, short love story where like, eight people died in three days. I called it tragic, and you called it teenage drama. We got lunch detention.”

Your memory caused Anthony’s smile to come back and he moved in with his arms outstretched slowly. Since you were now positive that he remembered you, you wasted no time pushing yourself into his arms and hugging him. It felt really good. It felt like old times, like for a split second, a tiny moment, you had your friend back. He wasn’t just some big, hotshot Broadway star. He was your Anthony Ramos, the goofy kid in high school that made you laugh and made school so much more bearable.

“I’m glad you reached out to me,” Anthony said as the two of you let go of the embrace, “how have you been? What’s life been like since high school?”

That was a conversation you wanted to avoid completely. Instead, you turned the conversation back on him, ignoring his raised eyebrows at the sudden topic change. “I never thought I’d see you on Broadway. You look good. I mean… you look happy, not that you look good. I mean, you do look good but that’s… you know what, never mind.”

Damn you and your stupid word vomit. Anthony only laughed.

An announcement above said that there was ten minutes left until showtime and Anthony looked completely unfazed by the sudden voice. He was so used to it, he probably has the intermission down to the second.

“Shouldn’t you get ready?” you asked him, unaware of his overall routine.

To your surprise, he shook his head. “I just have one thing left to do, and I have time. I’m not in the first song when the show comes back.” He could tell you were sort of closed off, and he didn’t want to push, but you could see the curiosity in his eyes. “I had a crush on you in high school, you know.”

Your head snapped in his direction and you refused to believe it. “Stop, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

You folded your arms over your chest, taking on a defensive stance. He was trying to get you to talk, but you didn’t want to tell him. You didn’t want to tell him that you liked him too, and when the two of you stopped talking, you drifted into an unhealthy mental spiral. It was stupid how much you relied on him when you were younger, how much you needed him in your life, and he just left you in the dust. Not that you held that against him, it all worked out. For him, that is.

“Well, thank you,” you manage to say but that wasn’t enough for him. He leaned forward and grabbed you by the arm, but your arms were tightly linked together over your chest. He didn’t relinquish his grip though.

“That’s it? A thank you?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“Say what you always wanted to say.”

Of course, he didn’t mean that. That was some word vomit you wanted to keep in. This was the first time in how many years since you’ve seen him, and you didn’t want to say something you would regret. Yet would you regret it if you didn’t tell him what was running through your mind? Your eyes turned to look at him. He looked somewhat sad, a tiny frown twitching at the corners of his lips.

“You left without saying goodbye. Which is fine, you had some great opportunities, but you were honestly my best friend. I liked you too and it sucks because I didn’t think you would leave this giant hole in me. How stupid is that?” you asked, and you practically slammed your mouth shut. No more, you don’t need to say anything else.

Anthony genuinely looked like you slapped him. There was a look of pain that graced his freckled face and he let go of you.

“Here, fresh off the press. Or… the box. Whatever.” Lin laughs while swinging a backstage pass from his fingers. He sensed such tension that he stopped in his tracks, his face fell in surprise and he slowly looped the backstage pass over the doorknob of the dressing room. “Uh… there’s like five minutes until curtain, Ant. Don’t forget to fix your hair. Philip hair, remember? That’s not Philip hair.”

Lin disappeared shortly after that and that was your cue. “Thanks for the invite. I’m going back to my seat now.” You turned on your heels and made one step toward the door, but Anthony’s reach was fast. He grabbed you by the elbow and pulled you back. You stumbled just a bit and regained your balance thanks to Anthony’s grip. The moment you turned to look at him, he stared at you, a sort of boldness now making its way through his face. In the blink of an eye, it all changed.

He kissed you.

You don’t even recall him leaning in. One minute, you were about to tell him off, and then the next, he was kissing you. It was soft and sweet, a gentle touch that let you relax against him. Anthony, however, kept a grip on your arm, which was probably for the best. You liked the fact that he was trying to keep you in place.

His forehead rested against your own and he let space come between your lips and his as the kiss came to an end. He whispered softly, “Be kinder to yourself, alright? For my sake. I can't stand watching you beat yourself up like this.”

Letting you go, Anthony grabbed the backstage pass off the doorknob and looked at it. He turned it back and forth, like he never seen it before. “If I give this to you, are you going to use it this time?”

Your mind was still swirling from the precious kiss and you couldn’t manage to say anything. Instead, you just nodded. He smiled, approached you, and placed the pass around your neck. It weighed next to nothing. Anthony’s fingers traced the lanyard, down to the pass itself, but his hands continued moving. They finally stopped on the curves of your waist.

He was going to kiss you again. God, you hoped he would.

A voice on the speaker crackled through, warning the cast, crew, and ensemble that there was one minute left until curtain and then the second act would be in full swing.

“I need to finish getting ready,” he said, sounding a bit sad.

“What’s Philip hair?” you asked out of curiosity.

Anthony turned to the mirror, reached a hand up to his hair and pulled the tie out. His long hair fell out of place and he grabbed a brush, brushing it out. “Philip hair.”

You laughed which caused him to smile. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He turned back to face you, letting an arm slip over your shoulders as he pulled you in for a side hug and held you in place. His lips pressed themselves against your temple and in that moment, things felt right. He was patching the hole that he left you with. He was fixing you, even though he shouldn’t have to. He didn’t do anything wrong. Still, it felt nice. It was nice that he cared.

“You are free to go back to your seat and finish the show, but I want you back here when we bow out,” Anthony said. The demand was enough to send some butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach.

“I’ll be here. Good luck.”

What’d I Miss started playing in the background and he kissed you again. You had to break free and go back to your seat, you were already missing part of the show. It wasn’t difficult to find your way back, and you caught Lin’s eye as your sat back down. You sent him an apologetic look for disrupting the show, but he only smiled and nodded before doing his bit in the song.

This night was the first time in a long time where you smiled so much. It was going to be tough to sit through the rest of the show when all you wanted to do was go backstage and be with Anthony. Your long-lost friend wasn’t long-lost anymore. The hole in your heart was almost filled in. You couldn’t wait for the show to be over. Soon, you’ll be back in Anthony’s arms. He’ll be waiting for you. Finally.

[spacebatisluvd]

Summary: Entrapta receives an invitation. 

Content Warning: A neurotypical writer attempting to portray an autistic character (with respect, compassion, and love, but I recognize there’s a chance I’ve fumbled here—just know it’s unintentional), Sea Hawk, Hordak’s poor sense of self-worth, cult-typical abuse, veiled references to masturbation, genital discussion, discussion of sex and sexual relationships.

-

Entrapta looked through the microscope, studying the micro-welds she’d made. Her mouth twisted a little, dissatisfied with the results. She sighed. “Emily, make a note—I need more silver solder. This prototype is a bust.” She tossed it behind her head, hearing it crack against the ground a moment later. One of the little recycling bots would be by to pick it up and take it apart soon enough, making sure nothing went to waste.

She glanced at Emily. “You know, Hordak’s really good with delicate work like this. His hands are so steady, and his welds are so...precise.” She gave a happy little shiver. “I wanted to surprise him with a working prototype, but maybe I should just give him the designs and let him build it. That’s still a surprise, right?”

Emily made a negative-sounding beep. Entrapta winced. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She stood, stretching. “I just need to make a working prototype—it doesn’t have to be pretty, just functional!” She used her hair to perform a tight backflip, shaking out her limbs as her feet came to rest on the ground once more. “Okay! Let’s do this—Emily, play recording.”

Emily made a happy whirring sound, the top half of her chassis spinning. Then Hordak’s recorded message began to play. Entrapta shut her eyes, listening to him describe the far-off stars that were normally too dim to see with Etheria’s many moons. She knew he’d probably assumed she would only listen to it while gazing up at those stars, but she’d found herself listening over and over again, lulled by the sound of his voice, even if she’d long since memorized his words.

She sat down and went back to work, adjusting her initial design into something more workable. When Hordak returned,  they could refine and revise her work. She just needed to provide proof of concept. S he hoped it would work. She thought it would. The data indicated that it should, but she couldn’t exactly test it. Well. Maybe if she asked Kadroh...but would he guess what it was for? She knew Hordak would prefer to keep this—

“What?” she asked, looking up when Emily insistently butted against her. “What is—?“ Then she realized her communicator had been ringing for quite some time now. “Oh! Answer call!”

Scorpia’s face appeared on-screen, accompanied by Perfuma. “Hey!” she said, waving a claw. “I was getting a little worried there. We called twice, and I didn’t want to bother you—“

“I’m not bothered at all! If I was in the middle of something dangerous, Emily wouldn’t have interrupted me.”

“...dangerous?” Perfuma asked, gripping the front on her shirt more tightly.

“Oh, good!” Scorpia said, while Perfuma frowned. “I just wanted to invite you to the flower festival.”

“Flower festival?”

Perfuma stepped forward, smiling a little. “Yes! Plumeria has an annual flower festival during the week of the summer solstice. It celebrates the transition from a time of renewal and recovery to a time of joy and growth!” Entrapta smiled while Perfuma spoke, waiting for her to finish, but she stopped abruptly. The silence lingered.

Entrapta checked the data pad.

“Hold on, I think there’s a lag. Can you repeat the last part? I missed your explanation.”

“Um.” Scorpia and Perfuma looked at each other.

Clearing her throat, Scorpia said, “It’s uh, basically a big party to celebrate summer. There’s flower crowns and food and music. Perfuma says it’s a lot of fun. I was hoping you, um, might want to come too?”

Entrapta’s hair curled and twisted. “Are a lot of people going to be there?”

“Oh, yes.” Perfuma smiled widely. “People come from all over the region for the festivities. We’re hoping all members of the Princess Alliance—“

“And their partners!” Scorpia added.

“—will be able to attend.”

“Oh.” Her hair knit itself into anxious hands, the psuedo-fingers laced together. “I don’t know....” She looked away, thinking of all the people that would be in attendance. Would it be like the Prom or another formal party? Could she skirt the edges and just observe? (Would that be weird?) On the other hand, they’d specifically called to invite her, and this wasn’t like Princess Prom—they didn’t have to include her at all. Despite her concerns about the crowd, it was hard to pass up what seemed like an obvious overture of friendship. “Can I think about it?”

Scorpia blinked. She looked at Perfuma, scratching the back of her neck. “Um. Sure. Take all the time you need! The party’s in a couple weeks, so you’ve got time.” She smiled. “Hopefully, Mermista will let Hordak take some time off, so he can come too.”

Her hair frizzed. “Hordak’s invited?”

Scorpia nodded. Perfuma looked at Scorpia, who returned her gaze, eyes wide. After a beat of silence, Perfuma said, “Y...yes. If you come, he may...join you. As your guest.”

Entrapta couldn’t help but spin in place, her hair coiling under her to lift her high. She hugged herself, humming giddily. As she dropped back down to the ground, her hair formed a  large cushion to catch her. “Really?!”

Scorpia beamed, and Perfuma exhaled slowly, though she too smiled. “Yes. Really,” Perfuma said. She looked to Scorpia, who offered her the Scorpinoid version of a thumbs up.

“Well, that changes things. I don’t think he’s ever been to something like this before. I’d really like to bring him. He hasn’t had a lot of opportunities to engage in leisure activities, and I’m trying to get him to explore and experiment with activities he might find enjoyable. This seems like an ideal opportunity.”

Perfuma looked at Scorpia again, and Scorpia slung an arm over her shoulders, shaking her gently. “Yep. This would be perfect for that, right Perfuma?”

The other princess smiled, exhaling again. “Right. It’s definitely the perfect opportunity for the former—“

“My former boss!” Scorpia interrupted, “Yep! Perfect—perfect opportunity to see if my former boss can, um, relax.” She blinked, and withdrew her claw from Perfuma’s shoulders to press it against her chin. “Actually, that’s a good question. Can he?”

“In very specific circumstances,” Entrapta said.

Perfuma looked between Scorpia and Entrapta before saying, “As long as he behaves himself.”

Entrapta cocked her head. “I don’t really know what you mean by that; Hordak is very well-mannered.”

Scorpia was already reassuring her, though. “Of course he will! I’m sure we won’t even notice he’s there.”

“Oh, you’ll probably notice him. His height makes him stand out,” Entrapta said. “If that’s going to be a problem, I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“No! Nope—Hordak’s height is not a problem,” Scorpia said very quickly, watching Perfuma. “Well, anyway, I, um, I hope to see both of you soon. Bye!” She hung up before Perfuma could say goodbye. Entrapta didn’t mind. As soon as the communicator cut out, she called Hordak.

His image resolved a moment later. “Hello, Star—“

“Entrapta!”

Hordak’s ears folded back, and he glared at the back of Sea Hawk’s head. “Hi!” she told them both, waving. “I just got a call from Scorpia—“

“Ooh. What did she say?” Sea Hawk asked.

“Well...” She rolled the word around, bouncing a little on her toes. “Plumeria’s going to have a flower festival during the solstice, and we’re both invited to come!”

Sea Hawk’s eyes widened. “You are?”

She nodded, bouncing a little more. “Mmmh-hmm. Scorpia really seems to want us to come. And Perfuma too! Well.” Her hair deflated a little. “I think she was excited? It’s hard to tell.” Perfuma always seemed so nice...until she suddenly wasn’t.

The data pad twirled as Sea Hawk ran off with it. “You have to go—both of you. It will be the perfect setting for romance . What are you you wearing? Wait, don’t tell me right now. I’ll call you later, and we can plan. Don’t worry about Hordak’s wardrobe; I’ll make sure he dresses appropriately.”

She cocked her head. “There’s a dress code? Scorpia didn’t mention that.”

“Oh, yes. A dress code—for love!”

The data pad was snatched from his hands, and Hordak’s face appeared, though he was glaring off-screen at Sea Hawk. “That is enough.” He shook his head, ears back, then he faced the data pad. “My apologies, Starlight. I believe he is being overly optimistic as well as overly involved. Reconstruction will not be complete by the solstice, and I do not believe Mermista will give me to leave to attend—with travel, I would be gone for nearly ten days, and I doubt she would approve of that.”

“What makes you say so?”

“I conquered her country and essentially destroyed Salineas.”

“You think she’s still upset about that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

His ears twitched. “I will ask, of course.”

“Okay. I mean...” She looked away, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s all right. Maybe next year?”

“Perhaps.”

Off-screen, Sea Hawk yelled, “No! This is unacceptable! I will not stand by and allow such a travesty.”

Hordak looked at him. “You are being dramatic. This is not—“

“A travesty, I say!” The data pad jerked, then the camera lifted high—from the little she could see, Hordak was holding it overhead to keep it out of Sea Hawk’s reach. “How can you stand by and accept this? Are you not a man?”

“I am a clone, and I do not understand why my gender is important to the conversation.”

Sea Hawk made a wordless sound of mourning. “You aren’t willing to fight for your love?”

“There is nothing to fight! The treaty clearly stipulates I must prioritize the restoration of Etheria above my own personal happiness. Considering the destruction I wrought waging a completely senseless war—considering I brought Prime here, to the very doorstep of this world, I think those terms are more than fair! And considering that you yourself fought in both conflicts, I am stunned you are so determined that I break those terms.”

“It’s just ten days!” Sea Hawk said, “Besides, you haven’t taken a day off since you got here and that cannot be healthy.”

Entrapta blinked. “Hordak, is that true?”

As if abruptly remembering she was still there, he turned the data pad so she could see them again, though he was still scrupulously keeping it out of Sea Hawk’s reach. “Well. Yes. I do not require—“

“Hordak! I know you know that taking breaks is important—the Horde soldiers were allowed time off.”

His ears folded back. “Of course they were—Etherians are not very productive if they aren’t permitted unstructured free time periodically. My Force Captains insisted this was true and research seemed to prove them correct. But I am not Etherian. I do not need—“

“That’s ridiculous!” Sea Hawk said, “Everyone needs to take time off.”

“Clones do not. Even when at rest, we were put into stasis pods and our neural networks were used as relay stations for the hivemind.” He cupped a protective hand over the back of his neck, and Entrapta slammed her welding mask down, trying to keep out the thoughts of Prime and what had been done to Hordak and Kadroh and their brethren. Hordak noticed. “It was not that bad—“

“Don’t.” She exhaled slowly, voice shaking. “Don’t minimize what he did.” Through the mask, everything took on a soft teal tone. It made everything feel distant and ethereal, like she was looking at a world encased in glass. The tension in her chest eased, though the pit in her stomach lingered.

“Fine,” Hordak said, his voice soft. “The fact remains—I do not require time off to maintain productivity.”

With her mask on, she could hear her own breathing, steady and strong, and her voice echoed faintly. “Etherians do not regard time off merely as a necessity. It is considered inhumane to force someone to go without for long periods of time.”

“Yes. Because it is a necessity. I understand that—“

“You clearly don’t.”

He shut his eyes and his ears folded back. He exhaled slowly before saying, “I will ask Mermista.”

She lifted her mask a little. “...I just want you to take better care of yourself.”

“I will ask Mermista, but I don’t want you to be disappointed when she says no.”

“If she says no, then I’m coming over there. And we’ll go to the beach. And get ice cream. And maybe go swimming, if the salt water won’t damage your ports.”

His ears twitched, and his features softened. “Though I am uncertain of the swimming, I would otherwise be amenable to that.”

“Okay. Promise?”

His mouth twitched a little. “If it pleases you, then yes; I promise.”

She pushed the welding mask up the rest of the way. “Excellent. I’ll speak to you later, then. Unless there’s something else?”

“Nothing for now. Goodbye, Starlight. We will speak soon.”

Sea Hawk waved. “Bye, Entrapta! Never fear—I will use my masculine wiles to seduce my lady love, and convince her to release your...um—to release Hordak to you!” Hordak shut his eyes, and though it looked like Sea Hawk had more to say, the feed suddenly cut out.

Entrapta smiled to herself and resumed working on the prototype.

-

The next morning, a robot delivered a small package with her breakfast. Seeing that it was from Salineas, she made a high-pitched, happy sound and tore it open. Inside, she was surprised to find several sea shells, along with a note that merely said, “The shells are for Kadroh.” Among the shells, she found a data chip that was surely for her.

With a happy hum, she plucked the chip from the package and set the box aside, attaching the chip to her pad to see what he’d sent. It contained two files. One was her research notes. The other was her procedure proposal for their Intimacy Log. Seeing that, she had to get up, pacing and using her hair to flip and twist as she completed a circuit of her suite of rooms—her excitement simply couldn’t be contained, though she cautioned herself aloud, trying to minimize her expectations. After completing a third circuit, she finally felt settled enough to actually read what he’d sent. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this!”  She shook out her hands and settled back on the bed, opening her proposal.

She smiled a little, reading his notes. She wished he was here; she would have loved to demonstrate how she would ‘reward him for good behavior’—and to test out the newly revealed sensitive spot behind his ears. In fact, she could demonstrate the former by showing him how much she appreciated his willingness to reveal the latter to her. She hummed again, reading his response to her question about biting. It wasn’t a ‘no’, and she was eager to see what he might mean by a “strong reaction”, though she would wait until he was ready for such a step, of course.

Then she saw the short paragraph he’d written at the end.

‘I do not think it would be wise to extend your study to my genitals at this time. I have limited knowledge of them myself; I’m not even sure if I am capable of penetrative sex, though I understand that is not necessarily a requirement. I know enough to be certain that my genitals differ from all standard Etherian configurations. I would not want to subject you to anything unusual or surprising without forewarning. For this reason, it would likely be best if I were to conduct some private research first, then we will discuss the possibility of mutual study.’

She leapt to her feet, using her hair to guide herself through a midair somersault. She began pacing her rooms again, punctuating her circuit with various acrobatics and occasionally humming to herself when her thoughts grew too loud.  She fumbled for her recorder, talking fast as she said, “Intimacy Log, personal notes, number 12. This is so fascinating! Hordak has revealed that his genitals are not Etherian in nature—which is unsurprising—and that he has limited knowledge of their form or function.” Something unpleasant itched at the back of her mind, but she just started to pace faster, burying those thoughts.

“I cannot begin to speculate on either. I have every reason to believe Hordak is what we would classify as a mammal—the presence of nipples implies his species at one time nursed their young, and he is quite warm, suggesting he does not have to rely on external heat sources to maintain his body temperature—but he is still an alien. These mammalian traits may be evidence of convergent evolution, rather than a common ancestor, though I still believe the bipedal body type suggests that our species are not entirely unrelated. Nonetheless, none of that necessarily implies so-called ‘sexual compatibility’. Hordak already seems to know that penetrative sex is not a necessity for a sexual relationship, but I will also endeavor to reassure him that our genitals do not need to be ‘compatible’ for sex to be satisfying. I should also relay that I am not put off by his confession. If anything, I am excited by the opportunity for discovery!”

She performed another somersault, shaking out her hands as she landed. “This is so exciting!” she hissed under her breath. To the recorder, she added, “He’s said that he would like to experiment on his own so as to avoid surprising me, but I would be very interested in experimenting with him. Query—has Hordak decided to experiment solo primarily out of concern for my comfort or his own? If the former, then he may allow me to at least witness any experiments he performs on himself—though I would welcome a more hands on approach, if he is willing to wait. However, if he is uncomfortable including me because...”

The unpleasant thoughts managed to break through, and she pulled her mask down securely. “While it is possible Hordak wants to experiment on his own in order to sate his curiosity in private—which would be completely understandable—I believe it is more likely that he’s uncomfortable sharing this with me due to shame and prior conditioning from Horde Prime, a suspicion reinforced by his lack of education regarding his own body’s sexual organs.” She flexed her hands, hair coiling around her limbs. “If that is the case, then I am unsure how to proceed. Hordak’s health, safety, and comfort are of primary importance, and I’m worried I’m not well equipped to make sure he isn’t harmed by our experiments. I’ve...never been good with people.” 

She shut off the recorder and cycled through her mask’s filters, trying to find a more soothing way of looking at the world. She settled on infrared, gazing at the smear of colors meant to represent variations in temperature. It was comfortably alien, and pleasing to place her hands on the metal wall and watch the colors change—like painting with her own body heat. She traced patterns on the wall and watched them fade as the transferred heat dissipated.

She took a breath and raised her mask when she felt settled enough to proceed, blinking as she readjusted to her surroundings. Clicking the recorder on, she said, “Hordak has consistently proven himself to be unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He seems to understand and respect my need for clear communication. Thus far, we have been able to prevent the kinds of misunderstandings I’ve had in the past simply by talking to each other. I have to assume I can keep him from coming to harm in the same fashion. When we next speak, I will—“  Her data pad signaled an incoming call. “Oh!” She clicked the recorder off, assuming that was him. “Hi, Hordak—wait. Sea Hawk?”

“Greetings, Princess!”

“Hi! Do you need something?”

“No. Not...not exactly.”

“Are you sure? People don’t usually call me unless they need something.”

“I don’t need anything, I just.” He winced. “I...may have...possibly...slightly overestimated my ability to convince my beloved to allow Hordak time off. And...vastly underestimated her vindictiveness.” His gaze grew watery and distant. “She is as magnificent and unforgiving as the sea.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. At least you tried. I’ll just—“

Sea Hawk held up a hand, shushing her. “Entrapta. Are you in a secure location?”

She glanced around her bedroom. “I suppose so.”

“Good, good. Now, tell me...how far are you willing to go to prove your devotion?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Do you want to take Hordak to Plumeria?”

“Well, yes—“

“How far are you willing to go to get him there?”

“What?”

He moaned, as if in pain. Before she could ask if he was okay, he leaned close to the camera and said, “Listen to me. I have a plan to get both you and Hordak safely and happily to Plumeria. But it may possibly be slightly illegal.” Entrapta cocked her head. “And by ‘slightly’, I mean ‘extremely’. So, how far are you willing to go to prove your affections?”

She snorted. “Sea Hawk, don’t be ridiculous; at least three of my current experiments are technically illegal. Breaking a few laws won’t prove anything. With that said—what’s your plan?”

“Well—wait. Technically illegal?”

She gestured dismissively. “Mystacor isn’t really equipped to oversee scientific studies, but my experiments are technically overseen by their ethics committee. Which is guided by a woefully outdated moral system and staffed by technophobes. I stopped asking them to approve my more interesting studies ages ago.”

“Oh. Well. I’m going to assume that’s not at all nefarious—“

“I guess that would depend on your definition.”

“—and tell you my incredible, masterful plan! First—do you by any chance own any strappy high heels? A low cut dress, perhaps? Preferably in black.”

“What?”

“Never mind! We can continue without, but I feel that ignoring the aesthetic shows a lack of commitment.”

She stared at him. “What?”

-

A/N: As always, I’m extremely grateful for all the comments you guys leave. I read them all, often multiple times. I’m not good about replying, but I am always intensely grateful.Thank you so much. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. ^//^

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @haletostilinski!

A/N: a little note, here, that a friend gave me ideas that helped this along, lol;; a soft warning for a vague Hale fire mention;; I hope it’s a good gift, and I hope you have a very merry christmas!!!

Read on AO3

*****

Loneliness, Food, & Mistletoe

It starts with a dorm.

Or, more accurately, it starts with a waterfall.

Specifically, it starts with Stiles waking up to a flooded dorm, water rushing from the ceiling after having had the craziest dream about being in a snow-strewn field with his mom and a group of people he didn’t know, having a feast and drinking flower wine, as they all chatted with him, all beatific expressions and an ambiance of aching joy. His mother had hugged him, before he’d woken, whispered something he can’t remember into his ear, and then his eyes had fluttered open to a personal, theatrical, indoor waterfall.

It takes him about three minutes, blinking and smacking his lips and generally being only barely awake, before he actually realizes what’s going on to the tune of shrieking curses and scrambling to save everything he doesn’t want to lose to spectacular water damage.

His roommate, the ass, has been at his girlfriend’s place since the day before yesterday, and has enough money that his only response to the informative, sarcastic, slightly melodramatic text Stiles shoots off to him is the equivalent of a shrug and an, I’m good here, so you’re on your own with that shit-tastic fiasco. Have fun.

The dormkeeper, TA person is… daunting? Stiles has never talked to him, anyway—no matter how hot like burning the guy is, storms live in his tsunami eyes, ‘I’m going to kill you’ is written in the line of his impressive eyebrows, and intimidating might actually, in this case, be an understatement. But, nevertheless, he doesn’t really have the option of avoidance now, since it’s four in the morning, water’s still actively flowing, and Derek’s the guy.

(If there was any other guy, but, nope, Derek’s the only one.)

So, gingerly, clothes and computer and cheap-ass griddle piled haphazardly in his arms, he—tries and fails to knock at least four times, almost dropping everything in the process, cursing some more, until the door’s opening all on it’s own, a sleep-mussed, startlingly soft Derek Hale standing there, glaring at him, and narrowing his eyes hatefully at Stiles’ armful of things.

“Oh. I, uh. Have a feeling this is already off to a bad start? Um, so, okay. My room? 320? I’m Stiles, by the way, I’d shake your hand, but… uh-hm.”

One of Derek’s eyebrows steadily rises as Stiles babbles, and now he’s leaning on the door-frame, arms crossed over his chest, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Stiles gets the feeling, if he doesn’t get to the point soon, Derek’s going to slam the door in his face. In hindsight, introducing himself wasn’t necessary.

“My dorm’s flooding, is the thing.”

Derek’s eyes widen, something like a growl filling his chest as he whips around to grab something from his room. “Stay here,” he orders, his voice a little like smoked sugar-grain, higher than Stiles would’ve expected. The man prowls away intently without another word and Stiles sighs heavily, sets his stuff beside Derek’s door and settles down next to it to wait.

Derek comes back more than a little soaked around two and a half hours of bejeweled, tetris, and candy crush later. He looks harried and two shades shy of homicidal.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he bites, and Stiles looks up from his phone to gape at him.

“I—no? Is there no way to fix it? Is it still flooding?”

“Yes,” monosyllabic monotone, but there’s something incredibly dry in his eyes and it takes Stiles a second to realize the man wouldn’t have just left it like that, then another to realize that, even if the flooding itself has been stopped, it probably hasn’t been fixed, and he really doesn’t have anywhere he could possibly go.

He tells Derek as much and the man glares at him for an endless moment, it feels little better than being an ant pinned under a microscope and infinitely more awkward. A huff, and then firm, thick-corded muscles are wrapped around his pile of stuff and lugging it into Derek’s room.

“Wai—woah, hey, hey, dude, what are you—?” Stiles calls, exasperation and incredulity warring with annoyance as he scrambles to follow after. Derek drops Stiles’ stuff on the right side of his perfectly pristine room- the side with the bean-bag and the nineties bulk-tv and the pale-blue carpet and the closet door, without the bed and the distrubingly neat study desk and the bookshelf- before regarding him with a scowl.

“Don’t make a mess,” the man says, “it’s temporary.” Then he grabs a change of clothes from the closet and leaves Stiles stranded with the implication that Stiles will probably be staying here until whatever piping problem turning his dorm into a nature documentary gets fixed.

Here with the annoyingly uncommunicative TA dormparent who is simultaneously terrifying and vaguely infuriating.

He blinks at his stuff, breathes. He’s pretty sure he’s been through worse… maybe.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

He gets desensitized fairly quickly, gone from mildly scared of the guy to downright vexed by him.

He’s obsessively clean, which is something Stiles struggles with, but is more capable of understanding—after all, up until now, this has solely been Derek’s space. Still, the half snarky, half antagonistic, half animal sounds of irritation don’t actually tell him anything- except that Derek’s upset, and there could be any number of reasons why, because, man, this dude is tightly wound as fuck- until his side of the room is being invaded and forcefully cleaned before Stiles can protest, let alone do anything about it. He has some definite anger management issues, and isn’t spectacularly good at dealing with Stiles’ particular brand of hyperfocus versus hyperactivity, and cheap, unhealthy college student habits. Stiles has some problems with how quiet he is, how he’s never tactile unless he’s aggro, and how he’s always huffy, grumpy, sour.

Needless to say, they grate on each other, and it might be a month yet before Stiles’ room gets fixed, which is just, you know, great.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Snip.

Derek tries valiantly to focus on his book.

Tnk, szznip.

A vein in his forehead is throbbing, he can feel it.

Stiles mutters unintelligible gibberish around the highlighter he’s holding between his teeth.

Clip, snip, tnk, snap.

“What. The hell. Are. You. Doing.”

Stiles spins around quickly, the chair making two dizzying rotations before he stops it, facing Derek, and yanks the marker out of his mouth. There’s a neon yellow mark right next to his lips, cuddling up to his freckles, pen and glitter coating his bone-nimble fingers. Derek doesn’t want to be endeared, really, he should be annoyed.

“Writing an essay on how to use inflections correctly, how to make them flow, y'know? So that questions sound like questions, sentences sound like entiresentences. It might be surprising how many people struggle wi—”

“Stiles,” he snaps, annoyance abruptly far brighter than fondness.

“Oh my god, can’t you just… chill, a little? I’m doing classwork—although the depths of the internet may’ve distracted me, on that one, I’ll admit—and I’m making decorations for Lydia’s christmas party, because she’s terrifying, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t she’ll gut me. Or steal my roommate—.” Stiles cuts himself off, a tiny recoiling flinch in his eyes that Derek doesn’t understand at all, but it’s there and gone so fast, it might not have been there at all. “Which would actually border on a good thing, considering, well, Jackson.

"Wait… have you ever met Jackson?”

A headache. Derek’s pretty sure he’s getting a headache.

His question answered, he contemplates just ditching for the quiet of the library, only. Well.

(This is the first time in a very long time he has shared his space with anyone, and his feelings about it are complicated, to say the least, but part of him whimpers at the idea that, if he were to leave right now, when he came back, Stiles might be gone. Another part says that he’ll come back to a mess that would be too much work to clean and babysitting is just altogether a better idea.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he worries about Stiles’ oddly mournful pause.)

In the end, he sighs heavily, and returns to his book.

“Don’t make a mess.”

Stiles starts muttering about being the cleanest person in the world, and Jackson and he would probably get along, and just wait, he dyed Jax’s hair blue in the fourth grade, he can fucking do it again if he wants to, fucking Sourwolf.

Sourwolf? Derek wonders; then, I better keep an eye on my shampoo.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Derek watches Stiles do the same thing he’s been doing every day for a month and a half.

The egg sizzles on the griddle, gets tossed on top of a bowl of instant ramen, which is downed along with two red bulls, before Stiles’ full attention is returned to his work, which is, as always, at least ten things at once, armed with a highlighter, no less than four books, his computer, two notebooks, a dozen differently colored pens, and maybe a thousand color-coded sticky-notes, half of what he’s writing is either seemingly encrypted or in a different language altogether. In a few hours, Derek knows, he’ll blithely down another redbull.

He barely fucking sleeps, and he’s paler than the moon, and, jesus christ, if he keeps going on like this he’s going to die, his body won’t be able to take it.

The next day, Derek shoves a plate of banana peanutbutter bagels with granola and yogurt on the side in his face along with a cup of caffeinated tea, and Stiles looks up at him with wide, wide eyes before smiling, those eyes crinkling, the honey in them warm and gooey as his cheeks dimple and plush, crushed-pastel lips curl something happy. It’s the brightest thing Derek thinks he’s ever seen, and everything around it gets cotton-soft, tempered with gentled sweet, and his breath catches, heart tripping over the bubble of wonder billowing out in his chest.

Stiles says, “Thank you,” on the edge of an awed breath, and Derek swallows, nods curtly, stalks away.

He tries to remind himself that Stiles can be annoying and loud, talks too much, asks too many questions, doesn’t take care of himself at all, is, quite possibly, one of the messiest people he’s ever known, and that it shouldn’t matter how nice it is to share space with someone again- because sharing space isn’t something he should be allowed, anyway- it shouldn’t matter that, when he does decide to talk, Stiles actually listens, or that he gets Derek’s dry humor, snipes back easily and mostly good-naturedly, or that he smiles like… like that.

It shouldn’t matter. This is temporary and Stiles is an asshole most of the time.

(It does matter, and Stiles isn’t the kind of asshole Derek could ever hate, anyway.)

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Stiles’ room gets fixed. And that’s fine, that’s seriously fine, it’s not like he wanted to sleep on a borrowed air-bed in the corner of someone else’s room much longer, anyway, but…

He’d just started to get used to Derek, just started to be able to maneuver around him and with him with any kind of ease, could now translate the scowls and the serial-killer eyebrows from the emotionally clumsy, socially awkward language he’d finally realized they were into mostly… unexpectedly sweet intentions. More than that, he’d begun to realize just how much of a dorky mom friend Derek secretly is, with him spending any time he wasn’t studying or cleaning- or cleaning up after Stiles- reading some really old, complex book, cooking (for them both, because every time Stiles eats a mildly unhealthy meal or foregoes food for caffeine, Derek’s eyebrows twitch like he literally cannothandle watching Stiles’ unintentionally self-destructive habits without overloading on discomfited concern), and drawing these steampunk looking ink sketches of buildings and construction.

It had taken less coaxing than Stiles had thought it might to get Derek to admit that he wanted to be an architect, and that a lot of those books he was reading were either historical diaries, euro-romantic literature, or spanish or french poetry, with occasional visits from obscure fantasy and science fiction. He has a weathered set of books by Tolkien, and the whole of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, dozens of ragged, rugged, heavily used art journals, along with a complete collection of star trek and star trek: the next generation and old school doctor who cds on his bookshelf. He’s sassy in an almost inspiringly dry way, quick witted, funny, and, just, genuinely good.

Yeah, his social skills leave a lot to be desired, and he can still be annoying as all hell sometimes, but. An almost permanent glare doesn’t stop him from dropping everything and helping anyone who needs anything the moment they ask, doesn’t stop him from kindness and chivalry, for all that it’s masked by his gruff, almost wolfish demeanour.

And yesterday, for the first time, he saw Derek laugh. It was an odd kind of thing, because he’d woken up grumpier than Stiles had ever seen him, and it had felt like the first day all over again, like five thousand steps back, a doom-gloom quiet descended and everything Stiles did seemed to grate, everything anyonedid seemed to, and after all the discoveries he’d made about Derek’s character, it had felt like such a loss.

So he’d taken the lashing out in stride and done whatever he could to cheer Derek up.

The tension broke when, after corralling Derek into a daredevil marathon- because he had a feeling that Derek might… relate, a little- he began rambling about parkour and cinematography and “sinful red leather, oh my god.” He doesn’t even remember what he’d said, exactly, that made it happen, he’d just turned his brain-to-mouth filter off and let the words come, but the next thing he’d known, Derek was curved toward him and in, knuckles to his mouth like if he just pressed down on it enough it wouldn’t come. His eyes had gone so vivid, vast forests, willow trees tangoing, dipped back into the lakes their roots curled so close to, sunshine scattered across a dusk-smoke sky as a smile spread helplessly, as a sound a little like joy bubbled up and overflowed, and the thing that shocked him most was that he’d been rooming with this person for three months, and this was the first time he’d ever seen anything like it.

Mist still lingered in that small, frangible piece of joy.

Something devastating taints most things Derek does, Stiles thinks, and begins to hate all the more that he suddenly needs to leave this temporary haven, because he wants to know why.

He wants to see Derek smile more, wants him to laugh so much this whole room is saturated with it. Wants to be the reason for the sound, the expression, wants more.

Derek turns from his drawing when Stiles clears his throat, square black framed glasses perched on his nose, charcoal smudge on his cheek, and Stiles bites back a burst of something utterly fond.

“I’m gonna head out.”

Derek’s eyebrows twitch a little, his mouth tilting firmly down when he eyes Stiles’ stuff packed, a little less haphazardly than last time. Unhappy, Stiles can read easily, but the rest is inscrutable.

The man nods and Stiles huffs. The less comfortable Derek is, the less communicative he is, and Stiles gets it, but he’s unwilling to leave on this note, so he digs his phone out of his pocket, flicks it to contacts, adds a new one, names it Sourwolf, and hands the thing over. Derek peers down at it, glares at him.

“We’re friends now,” Stiles informs him, “insufferable nicknames are a necessary evil.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise, a little sarcastic quirk to his mouth.

“Yes, friends. Dude, give me your number of your own free will, or I’ll get it on my own using my awesome investigatory powers and I’ll spam you pictures of dirty dishes and piles of laundry and unorganized bookshelves. You know me, you know that I can, and I will.”

Derek scoffs a half disbelieving sound and rolls his shoulders meaningfully.

“You wouldn’t block me,” Stiles smirks, “we’re besties, big guy.”

Derek glares at the slight mess Stiles has left on his desk, gives Stiles a blank look with black at its’ edges, raises an eyebrow.

“Face it. I’m a slob and you love me anyway.”

Stiles moves to tidy up a bit, anyway, and when he returns to Derek, the man’s holding out his phone, Sourwolf’s contact page completely filled in.

“Text if you. Need… food,” Derek orders, voice saturated in a grudging growl, and Stiles knows he’s grinning like a fucking loon- he doesn’t even care- as he leans in, smacks a quick kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“Definitely,” he agrees, delightedly, before spinning toward his stuff, heaving it up, and swanning off.

(He doesn’t turn back or stay long enough to see the deep, candied-cherry flush that fills Derek’s cheeks, coats the tips of his ears. Doesn’t hear him exhale, sharp and heavy.

Doesn’t hear him breathe out a soft, strained, “Fuck.”)

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Stiles sighs when he sees the sock on the door, for a whole, huge, sack of incredulous reasons.

The first being that it’s three a-fucking-m, and Jackson knew he’d be getting back around now. The second has to be how absolutely cliche it is, nevermind the actual state of the sock—maybe Derek’s rubbing off on him, because all he can think of is that fucking germ song Derek texted him a few days ago, and how he’s going to have to disinfect that doorknob if he ever wants to feel safe using it again because eughh.

So he’s stuck, slumped outside in the hall, with absolutely nothing to do.

He barely even hesitates to snake his phone out of is jacket pocket and start texting Derek. Yeah, it’s ass'o'clock in the morning, but Derek turns his phone off when he goes to sleep, because he’s lame, so Stiles is pretty assured in just complaining to a non-existent audience, figuring Der might get a kick out of it later.

He tries not to look too deeply into the fact that Derek’s the first one he wants to complain to, the person he’s been talking to the most lately, refuses to analyze how overjoyed he’s been to discover that, as long as you give him the time to, Derek’s communication issues don’t hinder him as much over text.

Derek’s sometimes so dry it takes Stiles a whole fifteen minutes to realize he wasn’t actually being serious, on tuesdays he only responds in iambic pentameter, and he uses shakespearean insults on occasion because he’s nothing less than a sarcastic little shit; he’s still monosyllabic, every once in awhile, and his punctuation is as terrible as it is in real life, but it’s like the distance, the phone between them, makes Derek feel more confident, makes it easier for him to be… himself.

The week before last, they got into a conversation about past relationships, that led to a discussion about fire and the confession that Derek had only ever had three relationships, one that ended because he’d made a childish mistake his high school lover couldn’t forgive, another that ended in flames, a trial, and a prison sentence for a woman Stiles would… probably kill without a second thought, if he’s being honest, and a third that was too self-destructive for both of them to have ever been healthy or sustainable.

Soon after, Stiles had opened up to him about his mom’s disease and his dad’s drinking and his bills—he hadn’t really had the time to date much, his romantic entanglements tend to be of the more one-night-stand, friends-with-benefits variety, and even when he’s wanted more, no one else has seemed to.

Every day since Stiles moved out, even after he’s annoyed the hell out of Derek to the point of radio silence, the man comes to him with a tupperware full of healthy, incredible food, and a cup of tea, his scowl fermenting on his face, the storm of it worsening when Stiles inevitably giggles (how can he not?) as he takes the gift. There are days, too, when they’ve ribbed each other, chatted extensively about conlangs and architecture and psychoanalyzed star trek characters in between memes and jokes and Stiles’ ever fickle focus, and Derek will come bearing his small feasts with this soft, tender, breathtaking expression, a smile curling in his eyes that never touches his lips, and hot cocoa or coffee with whipped cream and cinnamon and marshmallows and extra chocolate instead of tea.

(“I’m going to get fat if you keep bringing me this-” a bite, then, choking back a moan- “glorious, sacred—oh my holy god.”

A hand, large and warm, calloused and covered in ink-stains, in charcoal and lead, had smoothed tenderly through his hair, gentle enough to make him almost thoughtlessly lean into it, to make him want to shiver.

“It’s better,” he’d said, then left before Stiles could ask what he meant.)

He doesn’t know what to do about how much part of him, lonely and withering, the same part that would view Lydia taking Jackson away as some form of punishment, because then he’d be alone, craves every little interaction, and then some.

Mostly, he ignores it, as he starts to type out how much of an asshole Jackson can be, and couldn’t he have gotten his nookie a little earlier? which all devolves into an anecdote about that time he painstakingly filled Jax’s locker with water for being an asshole and all his stuff got soaked but he kept the freaking fish.

He’s surprised when he gets a text back calling Jackson a goodly rotten apple, and then asking if Stiles realizes what time it is.

〖did i wake you? don’t you turn your phone off when you pass out so it can charge or some shit?〗

〖There could be an emergency.〗Derek texts back, succinctly, 〖And I don’t want you to starve.〗

〖… you keep your phone on at night, now, because i could have an emergency craving?〗

Stiles bites his lip, hard, warmth bursting in his chest, champagne-fizz rushing through his veins. His heartbeat’s skipping along to an odd tune of half embarrassed hope, and he’d known he was probably crushing on this man, but, god, he’s so fucking gone for him it’s ridiculous. For one, completely insane moment, a giddy part of him wants to send a bunch of kissy, heart-eyes, I might be falling head over heels for you emojis.

But, no. No way. Too awkward, silly, and he’s still not… sure. About how he feels.

Derek texts,〖Yes,〗 and it takes longer than it should to remember how to breathe.

〖you’re being sarcastic right now, aren’t you? you’re such a fucking tease, i was totally craving one of your crazy sandwich concoctions〗

〖Stiles.〗

A minute or so passes.

〖You woke me up.〗

〖yes. i gathered. the hazards of being my friend, oh, such a horrible atrocity, how much sleep have you lost, woeful der-ber? how much? shall i just call in the queen to chop off my head right this very minute?〗

〖Stop being an asshole or I’m going back to sleep.〗

〖you wouldn’t leave me in the lurch like that, would you?〗 He stops being an ass, anyway, though, just in case, only feels a fraction of guilt as he steers the conversation toward Lydia’s fast-approaching christmas party, one which they’re both attending, because Lydia’s a force of nature, and she somehow met, cajoled, and garnered a befuddled promise out of Derek at some point after the whole dorm-waterfall incident. Derek’s still mildly lucky, at least he didn’t get roped into decorating duty.

For all Stiles knows, if Lydia had known Derek’s architectural ability, she would’ve demanded he construct her an entire building for the affair.

Time ticks by, and Stiles is enjoying himself enough that he doesn’t notice until his phone starts complaining at him how low his charge is. The only problem? his charger is in the room.

He has no fucking clue how long Jackson’s going to be keeping their room… occupied, and he’s far too invested in this silly little conversation he’s having, anyway. (How could he not be? He can practically see Derek smiling through the phone.) So, vaguely hopeful, he tries knocking on a few other doors, begging after anyone who might be willing to lend him their charger. The only one who isn’t so pissed off about him waking them up or interrupting their study time as to simply slam the door in his face, doesn’t have a compatible charger, and…

You know what? fuck it. He needs to talk to Derek, this idiot who cares enough about Stiles to wake up at three in the morning and endure Stiles’ spazztic assholery, who, if Stiles actually asked him for food seriously right now, would probably make him something and come without a second’s hesitation, whatever black look he may’ve worn the entire time, who said 'emergency’ like part of him expected having a friend meant the maw of disaster was ten seconds away from chomping at the bit, the dork who… yeah, he must be totally fucking in love with.

He sincerely doubts he would have opened his door, army crawled through a room hosting a veritable pornographic lovemaking scene on the bed, snatched his charger out of the outlet, and rolled the fuck out of there for anyone else. Not even candy crush and boredom are that important.

But Derek is.

A silly conversation about crows being one of the most mischievous animals on the planet and seagulls being generally shitty is.

Fuck.

What the hell is he going to do now?

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Christmas eve brings the ice queen Lydia and her spectacular winter gala that… pretty much the whole college has been invited to and is attending.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself get distracted by the two guys covered in glitter, dancing and making out on a table to the cheers of a bunch of drunken peers, or the various decorations put up, scattered around, that he had a hand in, or the numerous people trying to get is attention or get in his way. He’s on a fuckingmission.

He’s on a hyper-focused and overthinking for two weeks about how to approach the Big Emotional Elephant In The Room, before giving it up as a lost cause and going for the first stupid thing he could think of, mission.

Which is why, when his eyes catch Derek’s across the room, he rushes for him, which is just as well, since the man seems greatly relieved to have an excuse to run away from the group of people cornering him, trying to elicit conversation.Derek still makes a noise of surprise, though, when Stiles’ saving him comes in the form of grabbing Derek’s arm and impatiently dragging him away, calling a brusque, “I need him more!” over his shoulder at the gawking partiers.

“I—Stiles?” Derek murmurs, mildly wary, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Stiles’ ear.

Valiantly, he doesn’t let himself shiver, instead, he jerks to a halt, hand still wrapped tightly, terrified and hopeful at once, around Derek’s wrist. His breath is short, heart beating too fast, and he’s scared.

What if this doesn’t work? What if it’s… not meant to be? What if he loses Derek to these useless, silly feelings?

“Stiles?” Derek urges, softer, more worried, and he pulls his wrist away, replaces it with his hand, wide and warm and so, so gentle.

Stiles swallows, forces himself to take a breath, to turn enough to look Derek in the eye as he squeezes his hand, indescribably grateful for the contact. Vast seas reflecting vaster galaxies stare back at him, solicitous, fond, questioning, and there’s this little confused smile twitching at his lips.

A smile Stiles thinks was knitted and weaved together just for him by a man who doesn’t like to smile at all, has too many reasons not to, besides.

God, it’s probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Stiles breathes, and those impossible eyes widen, too-lovely lips part. “And, goddamnit, I really want you to come to this doorway with me where there’s mistletoe so I have an excuse to kiss you?” The words trip over his tongue, come out all in a rush, flutter and skip like his heart, a terrified, hopeful sort of babble, his eyes scrunched up because he has no idea what Derek’s reaction will be, and he doesn’t dare look.

The fingers laced with his curl in further, a staying kind of thing, as Derek responds, a little husky, wanting, soaked in every type of sugar imaginable, “Or you could just kiss me here?”

Stiles’ eyes snap open, and Derek’s grinning, all impish rogue, glittering amusement. “No,” Stiles blurts, logic pretty much knocked clear out of him, “no, I have this all planned out; the mistletoe’s important.”

Derek leans in, eyes hooded, heated, brazen, his free hand sliding up Stiles’ cheek, tender but no less shocking for it, their lips nearly ghosting when Derek whispers, all alluring, seductive-smoke, “How important?”

Stiles feels a bubble of hysteria climb up his throat as he tugs a sprig of mistletoe out of his pocket to hold above their heads. “Important enough that I have contingencies,” he tells him, and Derek blinks a little, laughs almost suddenly, warmer than any fireplace, sweeter than any confection, and the best gift Stiles could’ve ever fucking asked for.

This may, in fact, be one of the best christmases he’s ever had.

It only gets better when they bridge the gap, a caress that turns filthy on the edge of a gasp as Derek pulls Stiles flush to him, both of them greedy for the taste of each other, biting and humming and mewling softly. Stiles’ arms end up around Derek’s neck and Derek’s clingingly around his back, their kiss ending breathlessly, both of them melting further into their embrace, drinking each other in, nuzzling, and just. Holding on.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Derek presses the words into Stiles’ pulse-point, barely heard over the chaos of festivities and overly loud, remixed christmas music, “I love you, too.”

Stiles chokes on a laugh, and holds all the tighter.

“I think I lost that mistletoe.”

“Mmm. Merry christmas, baby.”

Stiles can’t suppress the shiver this time.

“Merry christmas, Der.”

[joeybelle]

Oh, how the tables have turned - Epilogue

Clyde Logan x Reader

Inspired by @clyde-prompts: “Some guys are rude and use ableist slurs against Clyde. The reader is with them, and although she feels bad about what’s happening, is too scared to say anything in front of her “friends”. She comes back to the bar a couple nights later to try and show him she’s not a bad person. They get to know each other and fall in love”. Doesn’t fully follow the prompt.

Warnings:  Language, first person POV, fluff.

Word count: ~4500

Rating: Mature

Setting: Pre-heist

A.N: So this is the end. I will be keeping the universe open for future one shots regarding their lives, but the main story ends now. Thank you all very much for coming with me this far, for reading and taking the time to like and comment. If you stumble over this fic anytime in the future, even 50 years from now, feel free to leave me a comment, I will always read them even if I will be too old (or too dead) to reply to them all. Love you all, and thank you for reading.

A ton of love and hugs for my beta, @llexeh, the only person in the world that can be more excited for my fics than I am, and the most supportive person on the planet.

Tags: @lonelyravenclaw @kyloren-supreme-ben @onmyknees4steve @elsablackswift @helloimindelaware @mwcritics @makingtimemine @littlekylo

The phone vibrated in my pocket as I tried to not trip on the dangling power cord. ‘I’m online,’ said my mother’s text. I dropped the laptop on the kitchen table and texted her back, telling her to wait a couple of minutes.

Clyde was studying me from the other side of the kitchen, wide eyed, cautiously munching on his bacon as I cursed and tried to untangle the cables. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve gotta skype my mom,” I said, disappearing under the table and trying to force the power cord into a socket. “I didn’t talk to her much since I’ve moved and she’s really eager to tell me about her trip to Europe.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, why? Ow, fuck!” I tried scrambling out and hit my head in the process. “Why do you wanna leave?” I asked, vigorously massaging the top of my head.

“So your mother doesn’t find out I’m here?”

I gave him the side-eye as I took a seat opposite him. It had already been a few weeks since the night with the storm and he had been spending so much time at my house that I was tempted to just tell him to move in. But I knew it might be a little early for a big move like that, especially since he seemed to be a creature of habit, so I just let him organically move all of his stuff to my place. I already had half a wardrobe full of his clothes, since he occasionally dropped by his place to grab some clean ones, and then never bothered to take them back after I washed them. But he was still using the spare toothbrush, and my shampoo to wash his hair; somehow I had the feeling he’d still do that even if he officially moved in.

So mornings like this were pretty common. He’d usually come home after midnight, take a shower and then crawl into bed next to me. I’d wake up to greet him, and we’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. If I went to work the next day, he’d wake up to have breakfast with me and then go back to sleep after I left, but since today was the first day of holiday and I had nowhere else to be, I let him sleep in.

It was a beautiful, rainy morning, droplets rhythmically hitting my windows as I made breakfast (brunch?). I had time to do some chores and drink my coffee before he emerged from the bedroom, looking like a cute and ruffled sasquatch. Mom had called in the meantime and knowing that I’d be home all day she wanted me to call her over Skype, so here I was, side-eyeing Clyde who was chewing on his bacon, as I waited for the laptop to turn on.

“Why do you think I wouldn’t want my mom to know you’re here?” Sometimes his way of thinking baffled me.

“So you don’t have to explain to her… about me. About us.”

I knew this all came from a place of deep insecurity, but sometimes I just didn’t get it how he came to certain conclusions, that were completely ridiculous in my opinion.

“I need exactly two words to explain the situation to her: ‘we’re’ and ‘dating’,” I said, getting up to refill my coffee cup, stealing a kiss on my way to the coffee maker. Bacon kisses were my favourite thing in the morning. “Do you want some more?” I asked, taking the coffee pot with me.

“Yes, please,” he said, pushing his cup forward. He lifted my top a little as I was filling his cup, placing a chain of greasy kisses on my stomach.

“That tickles,” I laughed and he somehow took that as a challenge, grabbed my butt to hold me in place and started blowing raspberries on my stomach, making me almost howl with laughter.

“Stooop,” I whined once I managed to escape his grip. “Look what you made me do,” I said, pointing at the coffee I had spilled on the table in the midst on my laughing fit. I tutted and climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips. He pulled me close to his chest as he kissed me hard, running his hand under my top, caressing the small of my back. He’d squeeze my butt to make me push up against him, grinding my crotch against the rough fabric of his jeans.

It took me a moment to realize that the sound coming from my laptop was in fact the Skype jingle, letting me know that my mom had already gotten bored of waiting for me to call and had taken charge of the situation.

“Shit, mom!” I stumbled out of Clyde’s embrace, but didn’t return to my seat until after I had kissed a few more of the beauty marks peppered across his face. Eventually I sat on my chair and answered the call, trying to fix my top in the time it took Skype to connect.

“Sorry, mom,” I said, after the mandatory ‘hello, can you hear me?’ and ‘I can’t see you turn on the camera’ greetings that came with using Skype. “I got a bit distracted.”

“Did you burn down the house yet?” she asked, crossing her arms, visibly annoyed that I’d let her wait. She had important things to do. She was a retired person, after all.

“I appreciate your trust, but no. Not yet,” I said, trying to think of ways to introduce Clyde to her. I didn’t want to just blurt it out of the blue, especially since I knew she was eager to tell me all about her trip, so I figured I would get that out of the way first. “How was your trip?”

“The trip was great! You should come with us the next time, you would have so much fun.”

“Next time?” It was a good thing that I had brought the coffee pot with me, because I knew I’d need a whole lot of coffee to survive mom’s retelling of the trip. I loved my mom, but she had a way of making any story ten times longer than it would be necessary. So I braced myself, kept the coffee pot close to me and nodded once in a while as she recounted everything in microscopic detail.

Clyde was silently laughing at me from the other side of the table every time my mom said something outrageous and I rolled my eyes so hard I was afraid they’d do a 360. Occasionally he’d hand me a piece of bacon, careful to stay hidden from my laptop’s camera. I loved that we could have moments like this when we didn’t have to use words to understand each other. He was usually a pretty reserved person, preferring to listen instead of speaking, so he was very good at noticing things. After a while I found out that he wasn’t that hard to read either, most of the time he was unable to completely hide his emotions no matter how much he tried.

The roaring of thunder made me jump in my chair and stopped my mom’s narration. “What was that?” she asked, looking a little worried.

“Just the thunder,” I said, taking a few deep breaths to calm my heartbeat. “It’s been raining since last night.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask how you've gone through that storm, I’ve heard it was pretty bad in some areas.”

“Yeah, but not here. There was some flooding in the next town, but luckily nothing serious happened here. Just some broken trees and power lines.”

“Oh, that’s good. I was really worried about that leaky roof. Did you manage to fix it before the storm?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you about that?” I was certain I’d at least texted her about it, but I might have remembered wrong. My memory wasn’t that great at my old age.

“Did you hire someone to do it? Did it cost you a lot?”

“Nope. The Logan brothers fixed it for me. Almost for free.” I glimpsed over the monitor and I saw that Clyde had stopped chewing and I could almost hear him swallow. “It only costed me a mountain of muffins.”

“Oh, the Logans. Are they still living there?”

Clyde had straightened his back, pressing himself into the wall like he was trying to melt into it at some point. I had a feeling he didn’t like where this was going.

“Mhm,” I replied, keeping my eyes on him trying to tell him mentally that everything was going to be alright. I hoped.

“Those were a pair of lovable airheads,” my mom laughed. “Did you know that the youngest had a crush on you?”

“Yeah, I just found out.” Clyde seemed to slowly, but steadily, lose all the colour in his face. “Jimmy told me.”

“Oh, poor kid. What was his name? Was it Clyde by chance?” I nodded and my mom laughed again. “He was so in love with you, but all you could think of was his brother.”

Okay, so I was starting to not enjoy this either. I could feel my cheeks start burning up, as if the colour that had drained from Clyde was now creeping up my cheeks. I knew my parents were very aware of my crush on Jimmy, I had been teased for years, and I really didn’t want that brought back.

“Yeah, I’m guilty as charged. Anyway…” I tried shifting the conversation to something else, before she said something really embarrassing. I wished I had told her up front about me and Clyde, so he couldn’t hide in his corner, but I just couldn’t find a way to wiggle that into the conversation. I figured that after she’d finished talking about the trip I’d have time to break the news to her. And now it was too late.

“Did you know,” she continued, and I was actually considering ‘accidentally’ breaking the connection, “he tried to ask you out to prom?”

“Really?” Well this was something I didn’t know, but Clyde seemed to remember, because I’d never seen someone go so fast from paper white to radioactive red. “I did not know that.”

“Yeah, he came to our door all dressed up in a suit and tie. He even had this tiny bouquet of garden flowers.”

Clyde wasn’t even looking at me at this point, probably wishing he was anywhere else but here. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him in a suit, with a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, trying to ask me out. I was certain he would have been just as awkward, if not more. I couldn’t imagine him as a teenager, though. Something about his imposing stature made it hard for me to picture him as a kid. I made a mental note to ask Mellie if she had any photos.

“Why didn’t I hear about this?” I asked, still looking at Clyde over the monitor, smiling from ear to ear as he still stared at a point on the floor. “You didn’t chase him away, did you?” A cold shiver ran down my spine at the thought that maybe my parents had scared him off.

“No, no, we didn’t,” mom assured me. “He chickened out before ringing the bell.”

“Oh, did he?” I asked, and Clyde looked at me for half a second with the most pitiful look in his eyes, and it took all my restraint to not get up and hug the poor guy.

“Yeah. I think he stood in front of our door for a good ten minutes before turning around and leaving. You know, he costed me 20 dollars. I actually had faith that he’d eventually gather the courage to knock on the door. Your father didn’t. And he won.” Good ol’ dad and his cynicism. “If you see him, tell him that he made me lose 20 dollars and he better pay me back.”

I tried. I really did try to do the right thing, but there was no way I could fight the little devil on my shoulder. I should have apologized in advance. I sighed.

“Well, why don’t you tell him yourself,” I said, turning the laptop around so that now Clyde was in front of the camera.

I honestly thought for a second he’d just get up and run away, or explode in a cloud of confetti, dissolve into thin air or anything really, so that he didn’t have to be here. He was looking at me with a startled expression, and I very felt sorry for putting him into that position, but as I said, sometimes the devil was too hard to resist. However, it only took him a few moments to regain enough composure to be able to speak.

“Hello Mrs. M,” he greeted my mom in a small voice, still glancing nervously at me.

“Oh, hello Clyde. Didn’t know you were there,” she said. “It would have been helpful if my daughter would have let me know from the beginning.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. M,” he said, apologetically.

“Hey,” I said, coming around the table and moving the laptop so that my mom could see us both. “Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault,” I told him, and sat on his lap. He still felt incredibly stiff, so I took his hand in mine and squeezed it reassuringly. He placed the prosthetic one around my waist, but then hid it back under the table when he realized my mom could see it. “I would have, mom,” I said, making her shift focus back to me,—although by the way her eyes lingered, she had noticed his arm—“but I couldn’t interrupt the retelling of that appalling horse joke you were telling earlier.”

“Oh shut up,” my mom mumbled, clearly disappointed that I didn’t appreciate her humour, but then she looked at Clyde and I could see her expression soften as she smiled. “So, Clyde Logan, did you finally gather the courage to ask my daughter out?”

Clyde was still a little tongue tied, so I replied instead. “He didn’t really,” I said. “I asked him out.” And he rejected me at first, but I wasn’t going to tell her that, especially when I could feel him hiding his face in my hair. “Took a little persuasion, though. I think your signature recipe convinced him in the end.”

My mom burst into a hearty laugh. “That’s what sealed the deal with your father too. He proposed right after dinner.”

“Somehow, I actually expected an even less romantic gesture from dad,” I laughed and even Clyde snickered. He seemed to relax a bit, seeing that my mom didn’t have anything against him.

“Do you have big plans for today?” she asked, looking at her watch. I guessed she was a really busy pensioner.

“Actually, we do. I wanted to repaint my living room and Clyde offered to help. Big date painting walls,” I said, leaning into his chest.

My mom scoffed. “I guess you inherited the sentimental side from your father. He’d consider that an amazing date.”

“Come on, be proud of me. I’m actually using one of my free days to do adult stuff. I could have been sleeping, it’s the first day of holiday after all.”

My mom took a moment to consider my statement, and then she nodded, as she knew productivity wasn’t really my forte. “Very well. But please don’t overwork the kid.”

“Does he look overworked to you?” I said, pointing at Clyde’s nose over my shoulder.

“He does look a bit tired.”

I glanced over at Clyde, who seemed to have regained most of his composure. He did look a little tired though, but I knew he’d look substantially more alive once he finished breakfast and had enough coffee in his system.

“He works until late,” I explained. “He’s a bartender in town.”

“Did you take over your father’s business?” my mom asked him, her interest peaked once again.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, straightening his back. I guess he still found my mother scary, even after all these years. (Truth be told, she could be really scary if she wanted to.)

“That’s wonderful, I really loved that bar. So many great memories started with drinks at the Duck Tape,” she said, a little nostalgic.

“Well, Ma’am, you’re always welcome. We’re still serving the best beer in town.”

It really made me smile just how proud he was of his little business, and I could see why. Over the past few weeks I had become so fond of the bar and the people coming there, although the one I liked best was still the handsome bartender.

“Just make sure to not come back home drunk,” I warned her, “cause I’m locking the door and leaving both you and dad to sleep outside. And don’t make me pick up your tab either, I may have a discount now, but I’m not wasting it on you guys.”

“Have you seen a more ungrateful child, Clyde?” she asked shaking her head, and I could tell that Clyde was making an effort not to laugh. “Is this why I broke my back working my whole life to give her an education and a future, and she won’t even consider taking care of me when I’m shitfaced drunk,” she said, starting to laugh in the middle of the sentence. “Alright, I’ll leave you kids alone, it seems you’ve got quite a busy schedule today.”

“Okay mom,” I said, still laughing. “ll text you and send pictures of the finished project.”

“I have a feeling I’ll get a ‘how to get paint out of hair’ text soon.”

“Haha!”

“And take good care of my daughter, Clyde,” she said, with a very soft expression on her face. “She can be a bit of a handful at times, but she’s worth the hassle.”

“I’m really glad you’ve never written an online dating ad for me, mom, or I would have been Forever Alone.” I mumbled, just loud enough for Clyde to hear it, but not enough for mom to make out the words. Clyde was making a valiant effort to keep a straight face, but I could see the cracks in his composure. My mom, on the other hand, told me not to mumble.

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving you alone,” she said fiddling with the mouse. “I’m going to try to get those twenty bucks back from your dad, ten years too late, but better late than never I say…” And then the connection broke.

“I think she hung up on us,” I said, both Clyde and I letting out a long sigh of relief. “I’m sorry for putting you through this without prior warning,” I said, pulling him into a kiss, feeling a bit guilty for what I’d done. In the end it wasn’t that bad, but it might have still been unpleasant.

“It’s okay,” he said taking my legs and rotating me a little so that I was now cradled in his arms. “You just took the band aid approach with this.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, still kissing him, until my phone started to ring. “Yeah mom, you hung up on us,” I said into the phone. Let me put you on speaker.”

“Well, I don’t know what happened, I didn’t touch anything. It must have been the connection.”

“Probably,” I said, knowing there was no point in contradicting her. I was 100% sure she pressed the wrong button.

“Take care of yourselves, and hopefully we’ll see you soon. We were thinking about paying you a visit before the holiday ends, your dad’s been worried about you moving into the old house, although he’d never admit it.”

I smiled and rested my head on Clyde’s shoulder. Dad wasn’t really good with showing affection, so little things like this proved how much he actually cared. “We’ll be waiting for you, hopefully by then I’ll be able to furnish the guest room too.”

“Do you need money? Should we send you some?”

“I’m good,” I lied, since money was still a bit of a problem for me, but not wanting to abuse their kindness any longer. I was going to do some tutoring over the summer, so I hoped I could save some money to be able to furnish at least a part of the house.

“Let us know if you need anything.”

“Your love and support is enough,” I said. “Also, some of your strawberry jam. And assorted pickles. Actually I’ll make a list.” My mom laughed, but I knew the moment she’d hung up she’ll start putting together a huge package with my favourite things. She’d even bake me cookies, even though she knew I was perfectly capable of baking my own.

“Very well then. Don’t forget to send me pictures of the newly painted living room. And of your painted faces.”

“Will do. Bye mom.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. M,”

“It was really nice seeing you again, Clyde. I hope you’ll stick around, or my daughter will remain un...”

“Mom! Goodbye!”

“Goodbye love!” she laughed as she hung up.

I put the phone down and exhaled audibly. Clyde was laughing his ass off, still holding onto me as I felt I was turning into slime and just melting into a puddle on the floor.

“I deserve it,” I said, straightening myself and hiding my face in Clyde’s hair. “I can’t say anything because I deserve it.” Clyde was still laughing, but somehow that was reassuring. “She really likes you, you know?”

“Do you think so?” There was still a note of uncertainty in his voice, but right now he sounded more hopeful.

“Haven’t you seen her, she was glowing,” I said, kissing his neck. “Expect her to send a ton of preserves especially for you.”

“Will you make me pancakes with strawberry jam?”

“Of course. Actually, I could make pancakes now, do you want some?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I kissed him and got up, getting out all the needed ingredients. I started making the batter as Clyde was telling me funny stories from our childhood. The atmosphere in my kitchen was so warm and lovely ever since we’d started dating and even now, despite the rain outside, it felt so bright and cozy.

“Now I really wanna see you in a suit and tie, bringing me flowers,” I said, placing the plate of pancakes on the table, as well as different toppings.

“I think it’s better if you don’t,” he said, looking at the pancakes, and avoiding my gaze, but I could still see him blush. I guess he never expected that someone had seen him trying to ask me out. I was wondering how much Jimmy had teased him for it, or if Clyde had done it without anyone knowing. I wondered if he’d been sad when he went home that day, but I tried to shake the thought away. It had been a long time ago, things were different now.

“Why not?”

“They always looked ridiculous on me,” he said and I could feel the bitterness.

“I think you’d look amazing in a suit, you’d just need a decent tailor to make some small tweaks. No suit looks good right off the hanger.”

“You think so?” he said, looking at me with hopeful eyes.

“I’m certain. But you’ll also have to pick me a bouquet of flowers and finally ask me to prom.”

He laughed and blushed even more, looking away. “Well, we could go somewhere fancy if you’d like,” he finally said, digging into the pancakes.

“Only if you want to. We could dress up and binge watch Netflix on my couch for all I cared,” I said, wondering if I could shove a whole pancake down my throat. “I just wanna see you in a suit.”

“Well, I don’t have a suit,” he said, after a few minutes of eating in silence, “but I still have my uniform.”

I dropped my fork. Somehow the idea that he’d have a uniform never crossed my mind, although I knew he had been in the military and he’d been honorably discharged. Now the image of Clyde dressed in a uniform would never leave my mind.

“This is actually so much better,” I said, pressing my palms to my cheeks as I knew I was blushing, but not of embarrassment.

“Really?” He laughed in disbelief.

“Oh yeah. So much better,” I said, picking up my fork and furiously shoving half a pancake in my mouth, trying hard not to choke and die before I got to see Clyde Logan dressed in his military uniform.

It was past noon when we finally finished eating, drinking coffee and just being lost in each other’s eyes, and decided it was time to get to work. Clyde changed in a pair of old overalls that looked so cute on him. I just changed into some old clothes that I didn't like anymore, and Clyde insisted that I at least wear his trucker hat as a protection for my hair. I looked ridiculous, but he assured me I looked great, and by the lovingly way he looked at me, I believed him.

“So, Mister Logan, are you ready to start?” I asked, following him as be brought the needed utensils from his truck, prompting him to turn around and smack me over the face with a roller.

“I’m so sorry, Baby,” he said, dropping everything and taking my face into his hand, examining the damage.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t paying attention where I was walking and I was in your blind spot. A kiss will make it better though,” I said and he happily obliged, kissing my cheek multiple times, his facial hair tickling my skin. “Also, it’s the first you’ve called me Baby.”

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be, I love it when you say it.”

“My Baby,” he whispered in my ear, and I melted right then and there.

“Right, let’s get started,” I said, shaking my head to regain composure. “Before this turns into something else and we wrapped the whole floor in plastic for nothing.”

Clyde laughed, and opened a bucket of paint while I grabbed a roller and held it like a spear.

I never knew what coming back to my West Virginia hometown would bring, I actually felt pretty defeated when I came back. I’d felt like I had wasted all those years working my ass off for nothing and in the end I still failed. Returning was a sign I was giving up, that I wasn’t good enough to fulfill my dreams.

But in the end, maybe it wasn’t like that, or it didn’t have to be. Maybe it was just a new beginning, a new starting point. It was time to really think about what I wanted from this life, and cherish the good things and even if in the future I’d fail again, I had to remember that failing at something wasn’t the end, unless you completely gave up.

I ran my fingers through Clyde’s hair as he was mixing the paint.

“What?” he asked, turning his head to look up at me.

“Nothing,” I said, smiling broadly. “I’m just happy.”

Masterlist

Previous Part

[wideworldofwhump]

What are your favorite whumpy fic paragraph(s) - either from what you’ve written or what you’ve read?  Feel heartily invited to send me an ask!

Here are several of mine:

Psych:

Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth by dragonnan Warnings: cannibalism, extreme violence, blood and gore

His eyes stayed on the other man while he created another inch of space between them. Every shuffle away made his throat tighten even more. He wanted to run but all he could manage was another step. And then another. The stairs were only a few feet away now. Shawn's heel rolled over something on the floor and he nearly stumbled – his manacles clinking as he lost traction for several seconds. Falling against the wall, he looked first towards his captor. The giant had stepped deeper into the shadows and was now kneeling – still seeming to be oblivious to the stealthy escape. With impending doom avoided again, Shawn glanced down at what had tripped him up. It was long and rounded with a large knob on one end. A bone. There was no need for a degree in forensics to identify it as human.

He pulled his lips down and swallowed before stepping over the bleached white length. Now, instead of watching Tiny, he kept his eyes fixed on his path. There were more bones scattered nearby. Most appeared to be leg bones, though some shorter ones suggested they'd come from arms. Then he spotted what was clearly a skeletonized foot still strung with tendons. He had to swallow several more times as he moved past the remains.

Shawn jerked at the sudden clatter behind him – pivoting his head and squinting while he simultaneously began to pick up his speed. Tiny still wasn't looking his way but he'd stood once more. Something long hung from his right hand. It looked like a... cleaver.

His heels bumped the bottom stair and he fell backward against the concrete before he managed to spin around and scramble upwards – using hands and feet to tear his way to the top – no longer trying to be silent. His manacles continued to interfere as he slipped on the smoothed edges, rapping knees and shins and only keeping himself from a brutal fall out of desperation. His gasps had a voice as he reached the door and slammed into it – the terrified sobs for breath shaking out in a thin scream as he wrenched at the knob... and found it locked.

Sherlock:

The Tiger and the Shark by dragonnan

Warnings: rape, noncon, violence

“Isn't that an irony, then? Having spent so much time on one side of the microscope to suddenly find you've become the smudge on the slide. I wonder what they'll find under magnification?”

Sherlock clenched his jaw – rounding on his brother only to find that Mycroft, too, had vanished.

The knock that followed jolted a lurch through his middle – though he gave no outward sign of startle. “Come in.” Soft spoken and presenting a far more relaxed state than he'd last exhibited with company – he held close to the wall and faced the door – eyeing the space left open alongside the DI – noting John a bit further back and offering a truly miserable act of nonchalance. The eyes that darted – the fists held tight to his sides – the pacing walk all spoke of a man on the edge of blind fury. A comfort or threat, Sherlock hadn't the time to analyze – though he was aware of the empty swell within when the door began to shut him away.

“Don't-!” His hand shook – outstretched towards the polished wood and glass. He blinked at his shaking fingers – trying to recall when he'd lifted his arm. Lestrade, in rare comprehension, left the door open several inches. No surprise when John edged to within a hand's-breadth – meeting the flitting gaze of his friend. Sherlock nodded, once. Without pause, John slipped into the room – only approaching until Sherlock went stiff. Wordless, he sat in one of the chairs instead – never once speaking.

Rather, he allowed Lestrade to launch into a droning monologue – detailing the pursuit of his captors – their vanishing from the grid expected and of non-information. Clearly they'd prepared for a departure that would avoid interference from Scotland Yard. The monotone sharing became background. If questions were asked, they were unheeded. Sherlock studied the tremor in his fingers and only, truly, returned to the room when the only remaining occupants were himself and John.

His friend sat across from him – bundled hands showing white at the knuckle.

“What do you need, Sherlock?” Sincere – soft – attentive. Well wasn't that just like John Watson – a dichotomy from the man who could likewise be furious, hard, and stubborn. And, in many ways, Sherlock needed all of those sides. He wouldn't settle for less.

His reply, just as soft, carried a thread of something he was not yet ready to face – though the reflected pain in John's eyes showed his attempts at redaction were unsuccessful.

“Take me home...”

Iron Man:

Not the Hero Type by dragonnan

If monsters chased him in the dark he could at least see where to place his feet to run away.

Maybe that was why he hadn't been paying attention. Or, maybe he'd been looking for this. He didn't know. He rarely cataloged his reasons for anything. He fired from the hip and most of the time it struck dead center. But when he missed, oh it was a spectacular miss.

And here he was. Unlikely candidate for a crime that went well beyond the trappings of mundane. Pathetic, perhaps. Laughable, certainly. Painful? Yes. Definitely. If his charm hadn't been enough to boot him from the Super Friends this little encounter would more than suffice for a dishonorable discharge. Worse, even, than that, he'd used up most of his bitching allotment to instant replay the previous evening. Maybe now wasn't the best time to compare and contrast the military's finest man of the American cloth with the washed up husk of occasional alcoholic part time ghost in the machine currently bleeding standard issue B positive on the concrete.

Half his age and twice his height, Stuart Little and Tiny Tim were pawing the trinkets they'd collected from his person after that yellow flag moment minutes ago. They'd gone all out on their little urban Robin Hood cliché too. Their mothers and/or parole officers would be so proud. In addition to the tire iron they'd also managed a suitably dark and litter infested alley. All that was missing were the ra... oh, never-mind. One of the cat sized squeakers was just crawling from the dumpster about six feet downstream.

“Where's the cash?”

Tony lolled his leaking skull left-wise; bringing himself up to speed that one of the fine young gentlemen had wandered back to his side of the alley sometime in the last few... hours? Yeah, that was a concussion.

“That's the-green stuff, right?” Slurring. Kinda took the edge off his response but hopefully the all teeth grin helped it along.

Yup, sure did. Helped it right into a fist planted somewhere to the right of his appendix.

“Umph! Mmm... stellar delivery.” He coughed, noting the flavor of freshly diced liver on his palette. “No, really,” he wheezed, pushing slightly more vertical against his wall. “Watch a lot of Lamont Peterson?” He cocked his head. “Nah, you strike me as more of a Butterbean fan...”

Strike – got it in one as the second wallop emptied lungs and sarcasm but had the satisfaction of a yelp and gouged knuckles as his assailant stumbled backward, staring. Not just a glorified pacemaker and dream chaser, it also slices and dices. Though smoothed and polished for that nonabrasive comfort and style, the casing of his arc reactor was still metal. Very hard and very undentable by human knuckles no matter how large they were. Maybe still lacking in verbal comebacks, Tony still managed a wincing wink through his scrambled gasps.

Doctor Strange:

The High Cost of Dying by dragonnan

“Shit! I told you to watch the door, asshole!”

And look at that, he'd been spotted. So much for trying not to raise a fuss. “Uh... hi.” Jaunty tip of the hand – going for that 'oops, I've just stumbled upon a crime scene; don't mind me, I'm just here for a package of Ding-Dongs' vibe.

Shotgun, who'd been rocking foot to foot, jerked a look over his shoulder before hefting his weapon a bit higher – a bit more threateningly – towards the frozen clerk. “Come one, come on, hurry the fuck up!!”

Handgun, darting attention back and forth between the cash register and the newcomer, jerked his chin and wildly panned his gun up and down.

“Nice tie jewelry. Hand it over! Along with any cash you got and that watch! Now!”

Stephen didn't move. “Yeah... sorry. See, I spent most of my cash on a hot dog and the little I have left is going towards either an orange Fanta or a Raspberry Nestea. I haven't completely decided yet but I'd sorta been counting on some time to browse.”

“I don't give a fuck! Empty your pockets or I put a hole through your fucking head!”

Stephen pursed his lips – mulling that over. The clerk had begun to move, now, jerky pecking at the register keys – stalling, possibly – terrified, definitely. Shotgun hunched his shoulders and checked the door again – gun drifting towards the cold case before re-centering as he focused back on target.

Meanwhile, Handgun took three wide steps forward – finger jabbing at the attractive shiny.

“I said give me that fucking gem, Pops!”

“Or you'll blow a hole in my head – sorry, fucking head – as I believe you'd articulated.” Still no move to follow through with those orders, however, and Handgun seemed to be realizing his threat wasn't as imposing as he'd likely hoped it would be. Shotgun, meanwhile, was snatching the meager afternoon take from the open cash drawer – weapon now aimed at a 90 degree angle towards the flickering fluorescent panels above.

Stephen flexed his fingers, palms outward. “Hey, you kids want to see a magic trick?”

Sweeping his arms in an arc, he conjured double shields; taking the moment of stunned shock to knock Handgun's weapon away with the edge of one burning ring – a follow-up swing taking Shotgun out of the fight with a blow to the back of the head – then spinning back towards Handgun-

Explosive force slammed Stephen down to his knees – golden shields fracturing into sparks. Unarmed, Handgun – mind skittering to the irony of that observation – spun and bolted – door jangling at his hard exit. On the floor, at his back, Shotgun groaned but otherwise didn't move.

A freezing drizzle of sweat made a long streak along Stephen's jaw. He couldn't, quite, seem to catch his breath. He was hunched on his hands and knees but couldn't comprehend the action of standing.

He felt a ripple travel from shoulders to waist – the cloth encasing his torso constricting – shivering mild panic through his chest and he fought not to tear the not-a-cardigan from his body – god, he couldn't breathe! Trying to push himself up, he trembled at the stiff ache throbbing through his midsection. His brain analyzed the symptoms even as he struggled to understand why... he was going into shock. His arms folded beneath him; dropping him to his side and he felt the first real bloom of heat in his back. He couldn't reach it with his hands but he could feel another sensation – wet – and understood, suddenly, what had happened... just not

“How... h-ho-how... what...?”

A shaking, terrified voice responded. “I'm sorry – God I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn-I didn-I didn't m-mean – please, oh my God, don't die – please don't die – oh my God!”

How to Train Your Dragon:

Asgårdsreia by dragonnan

Leaning forward a little, Hiccup dropped Toothless back towards the waves so that the approaching ship's sails could block out most of the brightness.

With a violent jerk, Hiccup hauled Toothless into a tight arc – breaking away from the ships – heart hammering as a flurry of arrows skimmed so close he could feel the tickle of feathered fletching against his cheek.

“Dragon hunters!” Gods, and he'd nearly flown right into them! Not only that; with the sun at their backs, they'd have seen him well before he'd have been able to recognize them. Stupid!

Toothless weaved and rolled as bolos shot towards them – roaring as one wrapped itself around a back leg. “Come on, buddy, we have to get out of here, now!”

Though the bolo wasn't heavy, the swinging weights hanging below them hampered their flight – Toothless shaking his leg to try to free himself as they grasped towards the clouds. More arrows shot towards them as well as several nets and Hiccup leaned hard to the right – forcing Toothless into a barrel rolling plunge to avoid the attacks.

Hiccup grunted as an arrow shot between his left side and inner arm – slicing a groove just above the gauntlet and nearly striking Toothless in the head. The sting of pain shifted into the background as they rocked hard to the right – then left again – swooping through the spaces between projectiles.

A yell shattered over his teeth as something solid smashed against his left leg.

Toothless immediately began to plunge as all control was lost – their flight a nauseating blur of black and red. Hiccup swallowed and sobbed air – his leg refusing to work the pedal. He unlatched the straps keeping him in the saddle – digging his right hand into pommel as his body lifted up from his seat. Left leg slipping loose from the pedal, fighting the forces pushing him back, he strained towards the dented mechanism.

Only a few meters from the waves, he caught hold of it with two fingers, and pulled!

There was a sharp, belly dropping, whoosh of regaining lost height. Hiccup's body slammed back to the saddle – his upper half in a precarious tilt half off the side where he white knuckled the damaged pedal.

“Go, bud!”

Toothless dodged a few more arrows and flattened out – wings extending as he rapidly picked up speed.

Cowboy Bebop:

Play Me Some More of that Old Blues by dragonnan

Tipping his head back, he stared up into the cobalt sky. There were no more answers above than below. If there was a God up there, he apparently found amusement in continuing this tragic comedy. His hands had stopped shaking, and he looked down at his palms. A small patch of skin on the outside edge of both trigger fingers was roughened; the result of firing handguns too many times. He wondered where his weapons were now.

A shadow covered him, and he glanced up. An old woman stood over him, holding out a single woolong note. “Go ahead, you look like you could use it.” He grimaced, then smiled abashedly, taking the bill. He started to thank her, but felt his throat tighten, cutting off speech. It made no difference; she'd already vanished into the crowd.

Sighing, he gathered his feet under himself. The trip up was a lot harder than the trip down had been. He had to lean against the building for several moments, sweating heavily and panting, while he waited for strength to return to him. Eventually, he pushed away from his support, forcing his wasted limbs to carry him onward.

Twenty minutes of struggle found him gasping under the shade of an awning. His thoughts had managed to solidify during his wavering walk, and the sequence of his former life played before him like a scratchy film. There was no sound, for he refused to hear it just now. Instead he saw only the grainy images of people he'd once known, and in a state of drunkenness, would have referred to as friends.

His eyes darkened as their faces were replaced by a flash of liquid light, reflections off a length of steel. The eyes that had always seemed cold, even when they were comrades, now glowed with the red anger of insanity. The voice burst in his head before he could stop it.

“Why don't you just DIE!”

He grasped his head, as if doing so could repress the memory. He'd known it was over then. Hell, he'd known it was over that day, that day he'd first seen her. Maybe there'd still been something of optimism in him; yeah, even that late in the game. Three strikes and you're out, right? Strike one; he meets the woman of his dreams. Strike two; the woman of his dreams happens to be the girlfriend of his best buddy. Strike three; his best buddy finds out. A bad situation for anyone, but a lot worse if the people involved happen to belong to a high profile syndicate. Even so, he'd thought, he'd hoped…

“I'm leaving… I want you to come with me…”

Blood and ashes, all that remained of that dream. His eyes tracked the movements on the street. So far, no one had even noticed him. Well, that hadn't changed from before. He'd had a habit of going unnoticed until he wanted to be seen.

A burning pain in his gut reminded him that the last meal he could remember eating had probably been a plate of sautéed bell peppers. How many lifetimes had passed since then?

He felt in his pocket for the money card, and found the woolong bill instead. Well, shouldn't let that go to waste!

Forty-five minutes later, he leaned on one arm against the side of a wall and retched violently. No solid foods, he'd forgotten that, and his intestines now felt like they were crawling into the back of his throat. But, God, those carnitas had tasted so good! His stomach jumped again and he heaved, nearly collapsing with the sudden wave of exhaustion. Pushing away from the wall, he tripped over a crumpled box and nearly lost his footing. He opened his mouth to curse, but the words were high-pitched and reedy. He clenched his teeth instead.

With his stomach voided he felt weak, and saw that his hands were trembling again. It had been over an hour since he left the… what had that place been anyhow? Shaking his head, and regretting the motion, he sat down on the box that had nearly tripped him up a few moments ago. An unfamiliar sensation was washing through him while he sat on his box. Always, always before he'd had a goal. Granted, that goal had cost him dearly, but it had been something. Since he'd left the syndicate, all he'd wanted was to recapture that moment of perfection he'd found with her. He never wanted to face down his enemies, had never wanted to meet for that final bloody showdown. Yet, it seemed… he shook his head. He never believed in destiny, fate, or any of that `profound' crap. What happened, happened. And now, it seemed, his survival had happened… again.

Supernatural:

The Big Stink by dragonnan

He wasn't sleeping. Typically, he logged a good four hours, which was better than average compared to most of the guys in his trade. But that had been before. And before. And a lot before.

Alcohol; handy shut off valve, it usually gave his bed times a soupy sorta blank. If he had nightmares, they were the old and familiar. But lately... lately it seemed his chosen sleep aid was closer to sugar water. Any spirits the bottle contained seemed to flow right out of the glass and into his brain; all sorts of herpy-derpy haunting going on. Enough times waking up in damp linens with Sam giving him that tetchy constipated Gomer look.

He smacked his lips and flinched at the rotting elk flavor. Dear God, it was actually worse!

“Holy fucking shit.” He moaned before ripping free of the bed and high stepping across Sam's mattress, and Sam, on his way to the bathroom. Forget the brush, he snatched the Crest and creamed his mouth with a third of the tube.

While he was busy moving the thick paste around his teeth, Sam shuffled through the door and made for the toilet.

“Told you to lay off the bourbon last night.”

“Ish nah the ruh-run!” Dean spit the first mouthful as Sam flushed; grimacing at the tube in disgust.

“Dude, what the hell sorta shitpaste is this anyhow?”

Sam snatched the tube away and fished out his toothbrush. “Still got that funny taste?”

“What do you think?” Opening his mouth wide, Dean leaned in close to the mirror; hanging his tongue out while he tried to see the back of his throat.

Sam watched from the corner of his eye as he brushed – raising his eyebrows as Dean pulled his lips up from his teeth. While Sam rinsed and spit, Dean left the bathroom in search of something more astringent than mint.

The aforementioned bourbon bottle was crowded for space on the little table between their beds. Barely an inch left at the bottom, Dean polished it off and then nearly gagged at the corrosive taste explosion. “Oh, hell, no you did not...”

“I didn't what?” Sam wandered from the bathroom towards the half fridge. Nothing in there but yesterday's pizza, so pizza for breakfast it was.

“What did you put in here? This tastes like week old skunk piss!”

“You probably have a cold, Dean. Messes with your tastebuds sometimes. Look, we'll pick up some Sudafed this afternoon and you'll be fine.”

A little too relaxed about the whole thing, if Dean hadn't been there to see it happen he'd swear his brother's soul hadn't made it back into his body. Touchy subject, that one. Not that Dean made a habit of dodging touchy subjects unless it was his touchy subjects. God that sounded dirty.

“Breakfast?”

He turned his head; tasting the fog of foul that turned right along with him. Sam was holding out a slice of cold Meat Lover's with extra bacon. Dean's throat bobbed in warning and he cut to the right without a word.

A second later, the delicate sound of gagging drifted from the open bathroom.

[pippytmi]

8 izwood

Daisie Villa is a nice person. A little energetic, a little wild, but nice.

 But, well-meaning as Daisie is, Pippy doesn’t understand why Daisie is here, in Pippy’s house, giving her advice about what to feed her baby. Annalise is here too, but she’s been talking to TMI in the other room about a case; Daisie, on the other hand, has made herself quite at home right next to Pippy at the kitchen table.

At first she stays quiet, watching as Pippy spoons food into Beaumont’s mouth, mostly smiling endearingly at him like everyone does. (He just has that effect). But eventually she studies the Gerber label—admittedly, a strange flavored goop of chicken and rice—and frowns.

“You know, I always thought babies shouldn’t eat these weird manufactured things,” Daisie says. “Have you tried giving him beans?”

 "Beans?“ Pippy echoes. "No, I don’t think so.”

 "See, that’s all he needs! Frijoles y arroz para ti, mijo, eh?“ Daisie says with a click of her tongue, squeezing Beaumont’s cheeks. "Just mash up normal foods really well and give them to him.”

 "We do give him other food,“ Pippy says, oddly defensive; she doesn’t want to assume Daisie thinks she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but also she doesn’t want to let the random (and unsolicited advice) bother her without saying anything. "We just don’t give him beans.”

 "I used to give Annalise beans all the time. It made her a little gassy. But she was okay,“ Daisie says, unbothered by the defensive edge to Pippy’s voice. "Is he still breastfed? You have to breastfeed him as long as possible, trust me. I kept feeding Annalise until she was a year old…how old is he now?”

 "He’s eight months,“ Pippy answers. "And he’s actually been using a bottle for a while now.”

“Ay, what a shame,” Daisie sighs. “Oh well. At least he looks healthy.”

 Pippy furrows her brow. “He is healthy, actually. And very happy too.”

 "Of course he is, he’s so chubby,“ Daisie coos. "Isn’t that right papas? You’re very chubby?”

Annalise and TMI finally come out of the living room, Annalise with a grim look on her face. “Ma, let’s go. We need to go talk to Rosie,” she says. “TMI’s going to tag along.”

“Wait, what happened?” Pippy asks. “You’re not sending my wife into anything dangerous, are you? ‘Cause she’s not allowed to die until I’m ready to.”

 "Aw, babe, that’s sort of sweet,“ TMI says, beaming even when Annalise looks between the two of them weirdly. "And also sort of morbid.”

 "Well I’m just going to drop her off at the lab, so don’t worry,“ Annalise says, grabbing her keys off the kitchen counter. "And Ma, please don’t lecture Pippy on baby food. We could hear you all the way from the living room.”

 "Lecturing, who’s lecturing? I’m just giving her advice! You’re so dramatic,“ Daisie says as she and Annalise walk out, reaching over to pinch Annalise’s cheek. "My daughter the dramatica. So when are you and Rosie going to give me grandkids?”

 "Ma.“

Their voices fade away as they leave. TMI sighs.

 "Okay, yeah, they’re going to notice if I don’t go too,” she says regretfully. “I know we said we wanted to have a movie night, but…rain check?”

“Rain check,” Pippy agrees, kissing at the edge of TMI’s mouth when she ducks down by them to fix Beau’s bib. “You go help Rosie. Beau and I will be just fine on our own.”

 "I’ll be back as soon as possible,“ TMI promises, grabbing her coat and moving to follow. She stops halfway out the room, turning to regard Pippy curiously. "Wait. What was Daisie saying?”

Pippy waves her off, flippant in one gesture. “Eh, nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“You know, I’m not sure it’s safe to just…have him in the office,” TMI says.

“Hmm?” Pippy looks up from her microscope to see what TMI is talking about, but it’s just about Beau. 

It’s true that he doesn’t have a lot of space and there is a lot of expensive equipment around him, but all he’s doing is kicking forward in his walker. It’s a miracle he even let himself be put in there; lately all he’s wanted to do is crawl.

“Beau,” TMI clarifies unnecessarily. “What if something falls?”

 "Everything’s pretty secure,“ Pippy says, but she frowns. "You’re right. Should I move him to my mom’s office? That would be safer.”

 "You know, if we hired a babysitter this would work out better,“ TMI says, already plucking Beau out of his walker.

"With what money?” Pippy scoffs. “Rosie needs to come through with a raise first.”

TMI crinkles her nose. “You’re right. Kids are expensive,” she says, hoisting Beau up on her hip. “Can you get the walker?”

 "Yeah, just give me a minute,“ Pippy says, refocusing her telescope.

 She’s so lost in her work that she doesn’t notice when Mitchie comes up. At least, not until he cheerfully calls, "Hey Pippy!”

 Pippy nearly breaks the glass slide she’s taking out. “Mitchie, can you quit doing that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

"Whoa, sorry,” Mitchie says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just came by to get your tox results. I know you said you were taking over for TMI, so…”

“Oh yeah,” Pippy says, reaching past him to TMI’s desk. “Here it is.”

Mitchie takes the papers but doesn’t move to leave, instead lingering by the desk, eyeing the walker. "So you guys brought little Rosie today, huh? Nice.”

 "Ugh, don’t call him little Rosie. Rosie doesn’t need anything else to inflate his ego.“ Pippy rolls her eyes.

"Why not? It’s cute,” Mitchie says. “Where’s that little guy anyway?”

“With TMI.” Pippy slips a different glass slide under the microscope for examination, pausing when she realizes Mitchie still isn’t leaving. “You know, I like to work alone, so…”

“Oh! Right, yeah, my bad.” Mitchie takes a step back. “But hey, I’ve been researching babies a lot lately, since we’re all basically family and I’m little Rosie’s uncle now—”

“Um,” Pippy blinks, “say that again?”

Mitchie ignores her. “—and I was wondering how your insurance is going? Because I know a guy and if you guys are struggling, he can get me a great deal. And obviously you guys have started a college fund, right? I don’t see why you wouldn’t, but I figured I’d ask just in case.”

“College—? Look, Mitchie, I’m busy right now,” Pippy says. “We can revisit the college fund we don’t have later, okay?”

“You don’t have a college fund yet? Well you have to get on that! If you guys decide to have another kid it will be much harder to start setting aside money in a couple years. Plus, the stock market is just—”

“Mitchie,” Pippy cuts him off. “How many kids do you have?”

 Mitchie stops. “Uh. None? But I do have a bird, if that counts.”

“It doesn’t. Now please come back to me when you do have a kid, because then maybe I’d actually trust your input,” Pippy says, turning back around to her microscope.

“Oh I don’t know, I don’t really see myself as being a father. A cool uncle, on the other hand…”

Pippy grimaces. “We are going to revisit that uncle thing later,” she says. “But can you please let me do my job now?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Sorry Pippy, I just get overexcited, you know how it is,” Mitchie laughs sheepishly.

“Right. Mitchie?”

“Yeah?”

 "Take Beau’s walker over to TMI for me, would you?“

TMI’s mom leaves them a voicemail about Beau.

 (Pippy deletes it before TMI can hear it too.)

"Beaumont sure moves quickly,” Donna says, eyebrow raised as she watches Beau from the kitchen table.

“Mm,” Pippy hums in agreement, sipping from her mug. “He’s very energetic.”

It’s a lazy Sunday today, having her mom over for breakfast. TMI is chasing Beau around the carpet, making sure that he doesn’t crash into the living room table or stick things into his mouth, and Pippy and Donna watch and drink coffee. It’s one of Pippy’s favorite things to do.

 "You two should consider removing the carpet,“ Donna says after a moment. "Beau needs to use his walker more.”

“He uses it all the time,” Pippy says. “At work.”

“That’s no place for a baby.” Donna swirls another spoonful of sugar into her cup nonchalantly, unaware that beside her, Pippy is biting her tongue as to not say something rude. “He needs to start building those leg muscles more. He doesn’t even crawl properly.”

“He crawls just fine,” Pippy retorts defensively. “And he’s strong, too. He’ll be walking in no time.”

Donna nods. “He’s so big already,” she says. “You’ll be up to your heads with that boy. I can tell.”

As if on cue, Beau decides to try and something into his mouth at that very moment.

“Beau! Beau, I saw that. Spit it out. Spit—” TMI sticks her finger into Beau’s mouth and fishes out a button. “I vacuumed! How do you still find things even when I vacuum?”

Donna shakes her head knowingly. “You should try limiting his crawling time,” she says. “Lord knows you and your brother gave me just as much trouble.”

“He’s young,” Pippy says instead of saying some much more choice like I’ll raise my son how I want. She knows, deep down, that her mother means well; but right now, at a time when she feels a little overwhelmed at raising a baby, it’s not as helpful as one might think.

(And besides, they’re doing pretty well, if she says so herself.)

Pippy keeps her thoughts bottled up for another week.

But it’s not until after a long, stressful night that ends with them finally getting Beau to sleep after three hours that Pippy feels angry hot tears prick at her eyes and she says,

“T, do you think we’re doing something wrong?”

TMI rolls over, half on her way to sleep already, but alert enough to pick up on the shaky edge to Pippy’s voice. “What do you mean?” she asks, quiet so they don’t wake up Beau, whose crib stands just a few feet away from their bed.

“Everyone keeps giving me advice on what to do and how to raise Beau and I’m tired,” Pippy says. “I’m tired that they think we need it.”

“We do,” TMI yawns. “They’re just trying to help, Pippy.”

“I know.” Pippy doesn’t look over at TMI, focusing instead on the ceiling, blurry as it is through her frustrated tears. “But it also feels like they’re saying we’re not good enough. And maybe we’re not.”

“Hey.” TMI slings her arm around Pippy’s waist, the weight warm and comforting, as she nudges her head against Pippy’s shoulder. “Don’t compare yourself to your mother. Or Villa’s mother. We’re definitely good enough for Beau because we love him and he loves us and that’s all we need.”

“You don’t think I’m overreacting?”

“You always overreact,” TMI says, “but it’s okay. It’s one of the things I love about you. And I know you’re just trying to protect everyone you love, but it’s okay to tell your mom you don’t need advice. She’ll understand.”

“Have you met my mother? Meddling is her middle name,” Pippy snorts. “She’ll keep on giving us advice up until Beau’s grown, trust me. And don’t get me started on Daisie, or Mitchie—”

“Mitchie doesn’t even have kids.”

“That’s what I said!”

TMI laughs into Pippy’s skin. “They love him as much as we do,” she says. “It’s sort of nice when you think about it.”

“It’s also been sort of annoying,” Pippy says, but she softens anyway, smoothing her hand over TMI’s back. “But you’re right. I’m too hung up on my own parenting skills to see that everyone’s just trying to help me out.”

“You’re doing just fine on your own, if you ask me,” TMI says drowsily, and when Pippy looks at her, her eyes are closed. “You’re the best mommy. Maybe I should get your mom to help me out instead.”

 "Good idea,“ Pippy says, smiling when TMI just hums in sleepy agreement. "I’ll redirect the complaints your way.”

(Eventually Pippy learns to appreciate the advice. But that’s not until much later, once they have their second baby on the way, because God knows how much she needs it then.) 

[sambart93]

Dokkaebi / Goblin: It’s Not Bad But It’s Not Good Either [A Review. An Essay]

It’s been YEARS since I did a review on a drama but this one has so much hype that I was inspired to go back down that hole again... So I started writing this review-turned-essay after only seeing 6 episodes of it; because I was already having major problems with it, and I already knew it wasn’t going to live up to the hype for me. But first a BACKSTORY!

BACKSTORY

So the reasons why I started watching this:

1. I love Gong Yoo! 2. Everyone raves about it 3. It’s so highly rated and recognised even internationally. Any fan of Korean culture or KPop or KDramas, everyone knows and has watched this damn show. 4. It kept popping up on my netflix. 5. My coworker also wanted to see it.

But also my backstory:

1. I much prefer J-Dramas over K-Dramas 2. Me and K-Dramas do not get along for the most part. I’ve dropped so many over the past 10 or so years, and only managed to completely watch 24 in total. << compared to my JDramas which is way over 200/300 (MDL).

So now that the backstory is out of the way. Let’s get into how I feel about this show, and as the title suggests: it’s good but no where near as good as what people make it out to be. But it’s also not bad either. It’s.... meh. It’s.... alright. I have already finished this drama completely but was writing this review throughout my viewing, so great a snack and be prepared.

***DISCLAIMER: Normally I wouldn’t be this analytical or this critical on a drama for the most part, but because it’s just so god damn hyped, I just had to. Don’t hype a drama up if you don’t want it to be put under a microscope and scrutinised by others, okay?

So first lets discuss the general dismay I have with this show. 

****BTW I do have a positive section so if you really must, skip to ‘THE SPECS OF GOOD’ instead if you wish to avoid the negativity that gunna go down.

GENERAL DISMAY

I’ve read some reviews and talked to people about this show quite a bit and many places mentioned that this tv show revolutionised how K-Dramas were made after this one. But that puzzles me because there are SO MANY production problems with this show. Let me break some down for you...

(1) Pacing/Tone is a Mess. Oh boy, the pacing is so bad with this. The first episode was just perfect in every aspect in my opinions, but after that we just get episodes where the pacing is too slow; episodes where the pacing is crazy fast; then we get the ending of episodes which are like super high in tension and just have you on the edge of your seat, but then immediately in the next episode it’s gone back to just being a comedy and all fun and games - this dramas pacing and tone is just as, if not more, hormonal than EunDak herself! Sometimes she’s nice to him, or she’s ignoring him, or she’s badmouthing him in front of him to Reaper. Like make your fucking mind up how you’re going to pace and tone the drama - also stablise her fucking attitude. But I’ll get to that later... It feels like the pacing and script was very rushed in the beginning and so we lost what could’ve been good, juicy development between Goblin and EunDak, Goblin and Reaper. Which makes me so sad! I would’ve loved to have seen the boys have more of a hate-hate relationship for just a WHILE long before getting buddy-buddy. I feel like Reaper nicely agreeing to not kill EunDak happened too fast and out of character. Agreeing to is not my problem; the fact that he agreed NICELY. He definitely should’ve had more spite in him at that point of the episodes and story.

An example of pacing disasters: When shit went down at the end of episode 9 with Reaper and Soni -- omg I was so IN! I was hooked! But then in Episode 10, the tension completely deflated so quickly, and the pacing slowed and relaxed so quickly that the show got boring again.

And then the final 5 or so episodes are just all plot driven; There’s about 6 major plot points PER episode once we get to the final 5 or so eps. I loved the plot points and they were shocking but, what was the point of the previous 10 or so episodes? They were completely plotless and pointless! It would’ve been a much better drama if they’d spaced out all those lot points over the entire series rather than one massive rush at the end. << I’ve heard that this is very much Kim Eun Sook’s style. Shes all ‘nice scenes with characters for no reason’ instead of ‘the point and plot of of this scene is’. Even massive fans of the show agree with me that the pacing is just a mess for this show. And it really is.

(2) Editing/Scene-Arrangement is a Mess. There’s so many ROUGH cuts and poor editing in this show. It’s not smooth at all. It actually hurts my heart to see how sloppy it is sometimes. This also links into the scenes that take place. So many times I’d get half way through an episode and think ‘what the fuck was that previous scene about? What was the point of it? How does that scene help the story or plot move along? What the fuck is going on in this scene?! It feels like they’re only bothered to edit in HALF the story for this scene.’ I felt like there were major things being cut out or major jumps were being made between scenes and such. Not only is this a pacing/script problem but I feel like maybe they did film certain scenes but then cut them out completely and it felt very obvious that they had cut them out. I don’t know how to eloquently describe it but I felt like so many scenes were HALF made or HALF edited and put into the story. The whole point of putting a scene in is so it adds to the story, to the plot or to the characters, and scenes within themselves should have a start-middle-finish, but so many times it felt like this tv show showing us just the Middle-Part of a scene; we weren’t being given a whole point, a whole story in that scene. So I was left many times thinking ‘why did they bother putting this scene in? what’s the point of it?’ Just because it was a nice scene? Just because it had their sponsors product in it? Why were so many scenes in this IN IT where they added nothing and didn’t even feel like a whole scene to begin with?! Ughhh...

☆The last twelve minutes of Episode 7 perfectly shows the disaster that is pacing and editing.

☆The beginning of episode 8 perfectly illustrates the mess that is editing continuity.

☆The ending to Episode 9 and the first part of Episode 10 is perfectly showing the mess that is the tone of the show.

(3) The Product Placement is terrible. It’s glaring obviously, it’s so cringely done and it really feels like they spent MORE time trying to fix the products in place so their logo could be perfectly seen, rather than what the fuck their actors were doing and what the script said. It’s actually disgusting; I am actually disgusted in how much effort was put into product placement in this show rather than the actual story or the actor. 

☆A good example: in End of Episode 7 / Beginning of Episode 8 we our two main characters wearing the EXACT SAME SWEATER. She is supposed to be a poor 19-year-old high schooler, how the fuck can she afford the same sweater as him?! We haven’t seen him getting her any clothing; only those gifts before he was supposed to die, giving her breakfast, and the bedroom decorating. There are no implications that he’s also buying her clothes -- or are we just to assume that he’s buying and providing fucking everything for her? <<< again, if they’d spend more time on the fucking script(!)...

☆Another example is that fucking BAMBOO PANDA towel. So many scenes with this fucking towel that it’s ANNOYING! So there’s one scene where Gong Yoo has clearly gotten out of the shower and the towel is just flat over his head, but the logo is glaringly front and center in the shot! Then he ruffles his hair with it and pulls the towel around his neck -- which for a normal person means the logo is hidden cos it’d been scrunched up -- but immediately we get a slightly farther shot of him and magically that logo is lying perfectly flat on his shoulder/chest and again front and center of the shot!

I swear to fucking god they spent MORE time arranging the logos and products in place in every damn shot rather than ANYTHING else on this show. It just makes me feel bad for the actors. I can just imagine ‘Yes great shot, great acting Gong, but the logo was off camera slightly, so let us rearrange it and we’ll take that shot one more time, and don’t touch your towel this time.’ you KNOW this fucking went down and it just hurts to think it did!

Other reviews and critiques on this show had put emphasis on the product placement being a problem. As well as:

(4) The Cinderella Syndrome: I don’t have AS much of a problem with this as other people do. But I do think it should be addressed, especially when it comes to how I feel about Goblin and EunDak’s relationship. But first, let’s think back to episode 1/2 when EunDak was essentially on her own; she went to school, did her homework, she got up, cooked breakfast; she was very capable of looking after herself. Jump about 6/7 episodes; she no longer cooks, she BARELY offers to clean the dishes even when BOTH of them (Goblin and Reaper) are giving their meals to her. And when was the last time we saw her study or even go to school? When was the last time she cared about anything else than her ‘romantic life’? << I don’t know about other people, but I remember when I was about 16/17, and I knew I really wanted to go to university so I made the conscious decision of ‘it’s going to distract me from my studies so I just ain’t gunna do it’ which is why I decided to stop working part-time, and to stop dating for almost the rest of my education from that point on. But seems like I was a lot more mature and future thinking than EunDak... because she just doesn’t seem to be showing any passion in her studies, she doesn’t seem to really want to study anything - we’ve seen her mention wanting to be a Radio Director all of TWICE in the first 10 episodes. TWICE. That is a girl that doesn’t really care about continuing her education at all. Again, could just be the script and the directors fault because this IS supposed to be a ‘romance’ drama, but I just think it’s so degrading and gives the wrong idea if we see Romance being the main or entirety of a young girl’s life. ANYWAY going back to the main point: in the beginning we’re clearly show how independent and resilient she is at the beginning, but at the drop of the hat she no longer does anything for herself or for others. She very quickly became selfish and self-centered the moment she moved into his house! It looks like all she cares about now is him and the gifts he gives her. Also remember that scene they first went to Subway after the movie, and she’s like ‘oh sorry, I can’t afford to buy one’ WHERE THE FUCK DID YOUR MONEY GO?! As far as I’m aware: you were getting a wage from the chicken shop; school fees are either paid annually or by semester so a payment wasn’t due around this time; you don’t have to pay for any rent or food at home: SO WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR MONEY?! Also, you’re fucking 18/19 years old! How about your open your fucking hand and paying for HIM for once?! Ughhhh... Seriously, her attitude SUCKS. As mentioned above; she’s ALL OVER the place and she’s really not all that nice to Goblin at all. She’s over 18 years old yet she’s acting like someone who’s 13 and just hit puberty for the first time. JESUS. Get your shit together.

But this links into my next comment which is:

(5) That’s NOT a Romantic Relationship; That’s a Father/Daughter relationship. I don’t care if you disagree; you are wrong (jokes though, you can believe what you will).

It’s weird seeing it or having it anything other than a father / daughter relationship. Examples: He paid for her hospital, he gave her a place to stay, he redecorated her room, he paid for her university fees, he gives her presents for things like passing exams, he pats her on the head. THAT IS A PARENT! That is a parental role! That is not a romantic love interest! The most he’s ever said about her is ‘you’re cute’, he’s never shown any other physical or actual attraction towards her. And her? She never states what she likes in him and when she does, it’s only about his appearance. It’s just an infatuation and schoolgirl crush that she has on him. Nothing more. On top of that, she shows no fucking remorse or appreciation for the fact he AND Reaper are giving her a home, a family, a place to sleep, food, an education etc. Neither of them have ANY grounds to romantically like each other AT ALL.

This drama would have been more mind-blowing, much more meaningful, would’ve had a much better message if it had been a father-daughter-you-don’t-have-to-be-related-by-blood relationship. It would have been much more amazing if: by taking care of her, giving her a safe home, giving her a family, giving her a parent regardless of being non-blood related, and then in return she could see the sword and give him his eternal peace, would have been so much more heart-filling, so much more heart-wrenching, so much more meaningful, so much more moving! I totally would’ve been down for a Lost Adopted Lamb story line SO MUCH MORE than this messed up, groundless, pretty pedophilic feeling romance. Tell me I’m wrong, I dare you.

Which also leads onto:

(6) The lack of chemistry between the two MCs is just atrocious. I didn’t feel any connection, any natural flow between their movements, nothing that told me these two actors have any chemistry, which made the characters seem even more unnatural and awkward and icky to watch. I still feel like we had this HUGE lack of character and relationship development between those two too! It really does feel like a father / daughter relationship than a romantic one. Seeing them kiss is just ‘ew’.

And speaking of relationships:

(7) Reaper and Soni’s relationship is very Childish. It’s 1 dimensional for a long time. I understand that: because they know each other from a past life they don’t need that much substance for a connection BUT(!), I feel like for a GOOD chunk of Reaper and Soni’s relationship, they were only interested in each other because of their looks. Of course, slowly Reaper’s dorkiness and the fact he was clearly trying to answer her properly and trying to make an effort came through, but in the beginning, it felt like he only liked her because of her looks and vice-versa. We the audience were shown how amazing she is personality wise, and yes he did fall for her more when he was invisibly stalking her (because that’s what it is: stalking. It’s creepy, it’s in no way romantic), but I don’t think that's enough to validate their ‘adult’ romance. And when Soni did try to make it more ‘adult’ and he couldn’t do it, he rejected her, which led to them breaking up - which makes complete sense and she’s in the right. And definitely ignore the whole ‘oh they’re meant to be together because of fate and their past-lives’ bullshit. A good chunk at the beginning of their relationship was that they’re only interested because both of them are good looking, and it’s only til a while later that they are exposed to each other’s personality. That’s not an adult romantic relationship in my opinion. But you can totally disagree.

And don’t get me wrong I fucking LOVE them as a couple. I ship them SO HARD (minus in their next life because they fucking suck in that final episode life!). And I love their chemistry and their scenes together and seeing Reaper all mushy for her and trying so hard is just so fucking adorable!! I DO LOVE IT! But you gotta admit; there wasn’t substance actually between them for a long time.

Similarly:

(8) The Dramatics and The Illogics. I’m so not here for it. I lost my absolute shit during the massive car crash that Goblin caused and the stupid Snowboarding incident. 

Seriously, in Episode 9: you knew that the snowboards were going to fall down in dramatic fashion, causing the shelf and skates to fall onto her -__- but it was WAY OVER dramatic, she could’ve moved in time but ‘for drama’ her reactions were way to slow. Also the fact that after that scene, the shelter was completely closed without anyone ever going back in after that guy left! You’d notice the shelves had fallen down, you would’ve noticed! It was barely mid-day when she handed in the snowboard and the accident happened. You’re telling me; managers and such at a ski resort don’t do one last look around before closing shit for the day?! BULLSHIT!! But it’s a ‘k-drama’ so apparently logic and common sense is supposed to be ignored.

They were SO over the top, so dramatic, so illogical, so unrealistic, so ridiculous, that it made me angry. They were absolutely bonkers! How is that a well written script?! I understand ‘but it’s a show! It’s a romance! Suspend your disbelief! Just enjoy it!’ but like, these incidents were FAR TOO out of the way (in what should’ve been a normal realistic world minus two extra types of creatures) for me to “just enjoy”. They were absolutely ridiculous and just hurt my brain rather than be enjoyable. It’s just too over the top for my liking. It can have it’s charm - especially if it’s a rom-com tv show - but for this one, it’s just... ridiculous. Too much.

(9) The Biastry in the Fandom; and this ain’t the fandom’s fault at all! But I just noticed, while talking to others who had seen the show: only those who have seen the show, are the ONLY ONEs who have seen the show. It seems like those that hated the show, never even got past episode 3, and dropped it completely. So that HEAVILY explains why the only reviews I see for this show are ridiculously positive all the time/ Because those that didn’t like it, didn’t like it straight away and gave up completely. I think I’m one of the few people who doesn’t/didn’t necessarily like it but stuck through it. And it DOES have it’s good moments; it does. But they’re so few and far.

(10) Not all characters were given justice. This is just a personal preference of mine but I wish Doek Hwa had had more screen time and development. I loved his character from day one; he was a sassy child and then when he grew up, he was spoilt but was also very loving towards people and very open and tried to help when he could. He’s a sweetie. But he literally has the smallest fucking role for 11 episodes -- I don’t think he even featured in over half of them(!) -- yet we get to episode 12 and all of a sudden we have this massive switch up, plot twist with him and suddenly he’s become all super important and has been possessed by a god this whole time(?!) -- oh please fuck off! Give him the appropriate and proper screen time, AND the character development he deserves before doing that god bullshit on me! He deserved better than this! If he was going to be this major plot point or major important character, give him some more screen time from the start! Give him more development rather than every other line we hear from him is ‘where’s my credit card?’. Seriously, what the fuck script writers?!  I know some people have tried to defend his lack of screen time as ‘oh but he’s in a boyband and he was touring at the time’ then don’t fucking hire THAT actor then! Give me someone who’s going to fucking be there. NO EXCUSE! GIVE US THE DOEK HWA WE DESERVE!!

Another person is Grandpa Yoo; around episode 9 we’re left with a scene of him in the hairdressers and it’s HEAVILY implied that he is going to die soon, and Goblin realises that day at his house too. But then he doesn’t show up again! It’s all explained by the characters and it’s all off screen and not shown at all when he dies 2 episodes later! What the fuck is that all about?! Don’t introduce a sudden ‘ooohhh things aren’t looking good for him’ type vibe and then completely ignore this plot line for episodes, AND THEN when you come back around to it, don’t have him die off screen! It would’ve been better if he’d died there and then in that last scene we got of him! Address it straight away motherfuckers.

Oooohhhh and that STUPID Tehi plotline. What was the fucking point of that?! He gets introduced like he’s going to be a big threat to Goblin, he gets about two scenes with EunDak who clearly likes him and then that’s it! He’s almost never mentioned again for the rest of the drama! Goblin magically gets over his jealously within like 5 seconds, and EunDak forgets her long childhood feelings for him as soon as he’s not physically on screen - seriously, what was the fucking point introducing him if you’re not going to give him a juicy storyline of getting in the way of their disgusting-feeling romance?

ANOTHER is EunDak’s mother’s friend! She is literally a ghosts that has all about 20 seconds or something of screen time and you expect us to get all emotional when all of a sudden it’s revealed that she is EunDak mother’s friend and saved all these bank books for her and stuff. OH PLEASE! If you want me emotionally invested maybe you should, oh I don’t know, give her decent screen time! Let us SEE the relationship between the two of them actually develop! OH and her stupid mother fucking school friend! Who ISN’T her friend by the way!!! She turned up at her house and started talking to EunDak as soon as she learnt they were going to the same uni; that is NOT friendship! That’s called ‘making friends so you can use them for your own gain’ type of shit. If you wanted EunDak and her to have a proper friendship then AGAIN: FUCKING SHOW IT AND GIVE US MORE SCREEN TIME OF THEM TOGETHER! And develop that relationship!! They spoke all of like 4 lines between themselves before the 9 year gap. OH and all of a sudden 9 years later they often go to Soni’s place and drink together?! FUCK OFF. A lawyer and a radio director? There’s no way she would’ve had time during her law studies to make time for people outside of her class and internship. NO TIME. That is bullshit. They have nothing in common. Nothing to link them together (besides going to the same uni) because she practically ignored EunDak for most of their school life so them being classmates doesn’t count for shit! That is the most 1 dimensional friendship bullshit I have ever seen! They don’t even seem comfortable talking to each other in the 9 years later episodes either!! My god.

There are SO MANY god damn loose plotlines and untapped potential in so many characters in this!

(11) Goblin doing a 160. I know that like over 900 years you’d naturally get used to that current time’s society and that current time’s rules and how people live but... the way he speaks can’t be the ONLY thing that stayed ingrained in him from the beginning. 900 years ago men would’ve been SO MUCH MORE conservative and it just really surprised me how quickly he turned into a little school girl within episodes of meeting her. It really surprised me how open he was with his feelings. Yes he was probably influenced by the 900 years he’s been living in but surely there would’ve been SOME things he just couldn’t change about himself. Many men; past and present still struggle to be open with their feelings, especially towards the women they love. A LONG time ago it was very much ‘you will be my wife’ and that’s that which I kind of expected from him. This man has killed hundreds and thousands of people; how does he not have PTSD? How does he not struggle, even 900 years later, to trust not only other people but himself? How is he not struggling with a ‘I killed so many so I don’t deserve to be treated well’ complex? He just felt TOO modern to say he’s been alive for 900 years. Even those of us who live on 40, 50, 60 years are SO ingrained with what we’ve been educated on and brought up with, that even tens of years later, we still can’t easily destroy or throw away certain beliefs or personality traits or internal thoughts we have been taught or we’ve had. And that is why I REALLY struggle with how ‘modern day’ Goblin is. Stuff from 900 years ago should still be with him now. And it’s just not shown or brought up on screen at all.

Now for the final problem child:

(12) My GOD that Ending was a MESS. First of all, all it takes is her to really need someone and blow out a candle to bring him back? That’s all?! He suffered 9 years in that desert, snow wasteland but all he needed to get back was that?! ALSO WHY did you not make him age once he got back to earth?! I was SO looking forward to him waking up one day, looking in the mirror and being like ‘OH SHIT I have a white hair!’ but that doesn’t happen so... he stays immortal for ever? ............. please fuck off. He should’ve come back mortal and after EunDak’s death, he should’ve gone old, died and then in the next life they should’ve met and properly been together! But NOOOOOOOO they kept him immortal, so when they meet again, EunDak is on her second life. So that means after three more lives and two more deaths, she’s no longer around. SO WHAT THE FUCK IS HE GUNNA DO?! HOW THE FUCK IS HE SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE ONCE SHE’S GONE FOR GOOD? The script writer, Ms Kim, is stupid as FUCK. Seriously. Why would you choose that for an ending?! 

There was literally a point while watching this show where I just stopped the show and out-loud just said ‘Ms Kim really should to quit her day job.’ That’s how awful this story and script it to me.

And I already mentioned but they seriously fucked up Soni and Reaper’s personalities in their 3rd life. They were absolutely HORRIBLE. It ruins them completely. And they rushed through it too! There were about 15 minutes left of the show, the final episode and they just rushed the entire 30-or so years later within that shot amount of time. I seriously think a WHOLE episode needed to be dedicated to the 30-years-or-so-later part.

And I will stop my points THERE.

Some people have told me that this show changed the way KDramas were produced and created after this one, but my question... HOW?! How did this show ‘revolutionise’ or change the way K-Dramas were made?! Was it just the high quality of the show that changed them?! <<< which I’ve clearly proved, it is not high quality at all. It has so many flaws that just show how poorly managed, shot and produced this drama was... so please tell me.

***I am definitely open to be proven wrong in any and all of these points above, but seriously; where did this show change KDramas?! Where did this show become so amazing?! Why does this show deserve all this ridiculous hype?

Sigh...

NOW FOR POSITIVES!

So here are the small amount of positives I have for this show.

THE SPECS OF GOOD

(1) The theme song is good! (Just not when you watch all the episodes in less than 2 weeks like I did).

(2) It has a really good, really strong star. Episode 1 is PERFECT!

(3)  It does have some very funny moments.I did chuckle in some places. The comedy in this show is good. This scene is definitely one of my favourites, but NOT because of the MCs, but because Reaper is just a witness to the madness and his blank expression is hilarious.

(4)  Some moments REALLY GOT me in the feels! When Soni grabbed Reapers hand and he had the flashbacks of her -- my god that was INTENSE and I was freaking out! A lot of Soni and Reaper scenes did have me crying. Especially when she chose to walk away from him --- because WE KNOW he’s a good boy, but he just wouldn’t open up to her!

Another moment that got to me was: The scene with the mother and the daughter at Reaper’s place, and the mother is like ‘oh we came to this cafe and ordered the drink called ‘heaven’’ ugghhhh it hurt! It hit me right in the feels! Another Reaper House moment was when the blind man was reunited with his dog that had clearly waited for him this entire time.. UGHHH GOOD DOGGIE!! I’m dead!!! And ANOTHER was when the War Grandpa had waited his whole life for his wife to be to die so they could be together again. But he had died in war or super young and she’d had her whole life but hadn’t forgotten about him. I cried a LOT ---- these two had more depth and character development and a whole story in those FEW minutes than like Goblin and EunDak did the entire show!

(5)  The ridiculous bromance between Goblin and Reaper - it was GOLD. Yes, I really would’ve liked more tension and hatred between them in the begin and that being a bit more extended would’ve been nice, but their bromance after that is just GOLD. I love them two. I ship them SO HARD. I ship them WAY MORE than Goblin and EunDak.

(6) While it was predictable; I really like that the whole concept of ‘if you don’t die, she will’ plotline. I was totally all in for this story line. Granted it didn’t turn out how I wanted it but the concept itself was really good.

(7) The locations in this drama are very beautiful and very well chosen. They all look great --- but then the excessive product placement ruins a lot of them. But Quebec was beautiful and the flower field was beautiful and their house was gorgeous!

ANNNND BACK TO THE BAD FOR A TAD!!!

THE MINUTE DETAILS

And now allow me to be SUPER pedantic but here are super small things that really pissed me off:

When EunDAk said ‘Saranghae’, I just sighed. She doesn’t love him. She is INFATUATED. 

There was one moment where EunDak gets beers ready in the store and then walks off to give them to customers, but there’s no fucking other customers in the store during that scene!!! WTF she go with those beers?! xD

Oh and GOD I hate. hate, hate, hated her ‘tehe’ breathly laugh/scoff SO MUCH!

OH WHAT I WOULD CHANGE

During episode 10 I had a revelation: I realised JUST how a billion, million, trillion times better this show would’ve been IF = it had just been the three of them: Kim, Kim and Kim! If it had been more about them slowly meeting, learning their fates with each other and developing bromance and romance and such relationships, OMG it would have been FUCKING amazing! And the Goblin finding his ‘end’ could’ve been more like a ‘towards the end of the show’ thing rather than at the start and rather than as the main plot. I would watch the SHIT out of a WHOLE tv show just about the bromance and the Soni/Reaper romance. Fuck the MC romance that actually happens! OMG I am SO sad at how amazing it could’ve been if they had removed HER or made her a minor instead. OMG I’m so sad.

Either THAT or give me that damn Father-Daughter ‘you don’t need to be blood related to be family’ plot line instead that I mentioned earlier PLEASE!!!

EXTRAS

A friend who LOVES this tv show, luckily commented that ‘they fucked up the main story so soon and so easily that they had to focus and develop the side characters and that’s why they’re so great.’ which made me so happy that even someone who’s a huge fan of the show even admits the main plotline is and was always a mess.

Sigh....

SO

IN CONCLUSION

This show has some good points. It has some really charming points. It has some great moments. But overall; this show does not deserve the hype and the praise and the attention it gets. The plot, the editing, the script, the story, the character development is a mess. It gets nothing more than a 3-4/10 from me. I’m glad I experienced, I’m glad I got on the hype train and discovered what it was all about but it really wasn’t worth my time. Sorry, not sorry.

Like I said! You are totally open and free to persuade, me other wise! I am open to hearing your opinions and proving me wrong!

REFERENCES

Goblin (MDL) (as of writing, it had a 9.0 average rating) Reviews 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Video Reviews Articles 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,6  My Opinions and “Expertise” (< seriously, don’t take this seriously) comes from  the fact I’ve seen over 800 tv shows and movies in 4 different countries (USA, England, Japan, Korea); the fact I LOVE movies and TV; that I always watch and read about the BTS makings and how a movie or TV show is produced and created etc.