#it's not even like. Depicting A Toxic Relationship. it's just being a little strange about it.

[musical-chick-13]

Ah, yes. Actively harassing an actor who belongs to a marginalized community is exactly the same kind of Unforgivable Behavior™ as...*checks notes* writing a correctly-tagged piece of fanfiction about made-up people (who, by virtue of not being real, cannot actually directly affect any real, living, non-fictional people) that depicts an unhealthy relationship.

Cool. Got it.

[famwhy]

Right Way Up (04)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: omg guys, I came across an account that said their current favourite fic was this one in their bio. I'm acc so happy, tysm

prev part. masterlist.

04. bring unto me peculiarity

trait: e.m.

YOU blinked, jaw hung open and muscles tense as her grip around you tightened—constricting your movements and clogging your airways. Though, breathing was the least of your concerns when it came to tight hugs at the moment, not when you had your dumb arm to worry about.

As if on cue, a sharp rupture of pain spiked your side, and you winced, grunting a little before sucking a breath in through your teeth and asking—albeit with scrunched up features—"...sorry, do I know you?"

"Wha—?" She pulled away at that, and the look she gave you—oh, the look she gave you—it was full of heartbreak, emotional turmoil spanning as far as the eye could see. "It's me, baby, it's mommy."

"Mom?"

You thought you didn't have a mother. 

"Yes, baby, it's me. It's mom." She smiled, pupils shaking in—and you could be wrong about this, but—what seemed like... desperation?

What's up with that?

And, if this lady really was your mother, where the hell had she been all these days?

"Y/N? The hell is taking so—?"

A strange sense of déjà vu drenched your form as your eyes followed the new voice, landing on the slightly-parted lips and wide, almost-disbelieving eyes of your second oldest brother—hands still covered by the huge, red gloves he often adorned.

Then, his features scrunched up—though, it wasn't like yours had just done—no—his were harder, more purposeful; his were clouded in a storm consisting purely of loathing so unadulterated, you had half a mind to think he was staring—no, glaring—into the form of his worst enemy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" And as he spoke, venom spat out of his mouth, launching itself straight onto the woman still loosely holding you and causing her face to scrunch up in a pained wince. "Shouldn't you be on one of your fucking five-year-long business trips?"

"Oh honey—"

His glare grew sharper. "Don't call me that."

"I..." she trailed off and you blinked, helpless to the scene that was playing out right before your very eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck got into you but you can't just waltz in here like..." his face scrunched up, brows furrowing as he paused the sentence for one... two... three seconds before continuing, spite still as prevalent as ever, "like you belong!"

You watched as her face dropped even further at that—the barely visible bags under her eyes looking about ten times worse than they did before.

Now, you had no idea what type of past you were meant to have shared with this woman—how horrible it truly was—but surely someone who greeted you so warmly at the door couldn't be too bad?

So with that thought in mind, you narrowed your eyes by the slightest amount—a little... hesitantly—before lightly scolding, "Hey. Curt, maybe tone it down a little?"

His attention averted from the woman—hateful, dark eyes that were once throwing daggers her way, now unapologetically directed towards you. "'Tone it down a little'? Do you hear yourself, Y/N? That woman missed almost every single birthday of yours! Every. Single. One!"

Alright, so, you didn't usually consider yourself to be much of a coward, but being the recipient of that deadly gaze was enough to make you yield just this once—both of your hands flying up to rest in the air beside your head. Hey, you tried, he just didn't listen.

Besides, you were only a mere bystander in this squabble anyway. Sure, you felt bad for the woman, but not bad enough to get socked in the face by a boxer for her.

...okay, now you just sounded like a jerk. 

Feeling your heart tighten slightly, you shook your head to rid yourself of those awful, intrusive thoughts and parted your lips in an attempt to redeem yourself.

Keyword: attempt.

Before even a word could breeze past your tongue, another voice entered the fray—one a lot more grounded than any other you'd heard since you opened the door—"What the hell is with all this—? Mom?"

You tilted your head just enough to catch the approaching form of your oldest brother—his figure growing with each step he took—and the closer he grew, the clearer his facial expression became.

His brows were furrowed, but instead of the hostile way that Curt's were, his were more... well, confused?—shocked, perhaps?—or maybe a better word for it would be baffled? Either/or, he didn't look like he was terribly upset with her appearance, further grinding your theory of her not being that bad into reality.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just thought that—" the sudden lack of warmth around your arms had your head whipping back, eyes watching as the same fingers that were once wrapped around you, now awkwardly rubbed the woman's other limb, "—maybe it was about time I spent some quality time with you all?"

Before you could even register what she had said—Curt's voice hastily cut through the air; a tone of finality you hadn't heard him use before laced so deeply within it, "Too little too late."

Though—if you were being entirely honest—you were starting to tune it out—all of it: the apologies, the confusion, the arguing; all of it. A familiar sense of surrealism washed over you as you witnessed the events unfold; as you watched their mouths move soundlessly—your new brothers seemingly arguing with a woman who held the looks of your mother but seemed to act nothing like her.

It was weird, strange. You weren't even sure how to feel. From the looks of things, this... mother of yours seemed to not be around much—and one of your brothers hated her for it, while the other merely seemed to... well, you weren't entirely sure what he felt yet. Hell, you didn't even know what you were supposed to feel.

Should you be sad? Mad? Indifferent?—'cause that's what you felt right now. This world wasn't even meant to have you in it at all. There was no character named Y/N who looked exactly like you and had two older brothers with a seemingly neglectful mother and who-knows-what-happened-to-him father.

Even if you wanted to copy the mannerisms of the Y/N belonging to this world, you couldn't because there wasn't one. She didn't exist.

How the hell were you supposed to react?

You could've asked yourself that question a billion more times, but the sudden rush of air that hit your face crashed you straight back to reality—just in time too, for not even moments later, an abrupt 'slam!' echoed from behind.

Confused, your gaze found Cain's.

"Give him some time. He's probably off to go fuck some chick and get his mind off this."

Slowly, you nodded.

Then, you heard it; the sound of her voice continuing to speak behind you with that broken lilt—the one she just couldn't seem to drop—laced so deeply in her tone.

"I'm so sorry, babies." The woman—your mother—reached out, and you felt her fingers graze you again, "I'm so so sorry."

"It's... alright, mom," Cain responded before you could—voice seeming almost... hesitant, "It's all good."

There was no chatter after that—not a single sound escaped their lips. That was your cue; your cue to either condemn her down to hell or forgive her for this supposed neglect you weren't even around to experience.

"Sweetie..." her voice was shaky—desperate, no doubt, and seeking the forgiveness of a daughter that didn't even belong to her, "please..."

"Uh..." you weren't sure what it was, but something was holding you back from saying anything; from doing something—

—and it looked like she noticed that too. 

"It's okay, I understand..." 

She seems a bit... what's the word?

With hands that were once hopefully clasped around one another, now pitifully falling by her sides, and eyes that seemed to droop just a tad bit more despite the small, ingenuine quirk of her lips upwards; her whole demeanour almost screamed...

Ah. Forlorn. 

Your chest felt heavy at the sight—tight and weighed down. Some type of... guilt was it? ebbed away at you. Though you didn't know why—it wasn't like she was your real mother, after all. In fact, she was a complete stranger to you; someone who you wouldn't even bother sondering over if you passed her by on the street.

How strange.

"Y/N," the soft call of your name caused your ears to perk up, and you turned to your remaining brother, "C'mon, you're due for a change."

"A change?" You tilted your head, eyes still not all there—at least, not until—

"Your bandages."

"Ohhh." 

To be honest, you completely forgot about that.

"Bandages?" From the looks of things, though, your mother couldn't pass it off as easily as you. "For what?" 

Immediately, Cain's eyes locked with yours—his hues swirling with a query you were able to decipher pretty easily: 'Should we tell her?'

Should you? Well, the fact that he had to ask that question in the first place was concerning, to say the least. Maybe you'd hold off on telling her for now. Just for now. Nothing permanent.

Mind made up and eyes stopping at nothing to avoid her own, you told your mother, "Don't worry about it, it's all good."

Her lips turned down, shoulders sagging and gaze falling to the floor like a glossy river over the edge of a cliff; swift and hopeless to anything wishing to stop it.

She looked so... so...

Defeated.

"Ah, okay."

You wished you could say you forgave her—you desperately prayed to—but how could you when the words refused to come out of your throat?—when they relentlessly fought with your tongue to the point they immobilised it and unfairly rendered you incapable of speech?

You could have stood there hopelessly staring at her for hours if you so wished, but the small tug on your wrist averted your gaze, and you found yourself staring at the loosened expression of your other kin.

"Let's get you wrapped up, Y/N."

You nodded.

He then took to guiding you towards the kitchen, and the whole way there, your gaze didn't leave your mother's form—watching as her figure grew smaller with each step—shorter with each breath—before completely disappearing around the corner.

"Don't feel bad."

Your ears perked up—head turning to face your older brother. 

"'Bout mom," he continued, not particularly looking your way, "She hasn't been around for most of our lives, you're allowed to not forgive her."

"What about you?" You asked, "You didn't sound too sure of forgiving her yourself."

He paused. 

"I..."—a rough 'ahem'—"I'm trying to."

You tilted your head. "Trying to?"

"It's..." He trailed off and furrowed his brows, as if searching for something in his mind, before continuing, "hard. Really hard. To look after people—I mean. Especially on your own."

It was your turn to furrow your brows, lips tugging down as you took in his words and really—well—thought for a good second.

It was clear that he was trying his best to be empathetic; to sympathise with her situation. And who better than him? You didn't have to be a genius to decipher the fact that he had been the one to take care of both you and Curt for pretty much the majority of your—supposed—'life'. He probably had to grow up a lot faster than 'you' would've. In that case, he could relate to her.

But, on the other hand...

"It's not fair."

"Huh?" He turned your way, blinking twice.

"To compare yourself to her," you continued, lips still curved down, "You're completely different. While she never bothered to be around, you did. You learned how to cook, clean—hell, maybe even change diapers—"

"Maybe even? You were a little shit and you know it—"

Shit, he changed your diapers too? You were just trying to be dramatic but damn.

"Okay—" that came off a little more exasperated than you wanted and clearly he could sense it too, judging by the way he snickered right after, little shit, "—my point is, you were there and she wasn't. And it's not even your responsibility to take care of us. I get that she has her supposed 'five-year-long' business trips, but she could've made time for us. You're her son too, you're allowed to be mad that she wasn't there."

He stayed silent for a few moments, and you found your hands naturally drifting down—fingers digging into your skirt harshly; anxiously. Sweat gathered on your brow and anticipation ate at your insides, chipping away at your organs and clogging your brain with worry; worry for the elongated silence that greeted your words.

Had you said something wrong? Was he going to snap at you?

Goodbye, cruel world, remember—

A chuckle.

Your ears perked up and your eyes widened in disbelief.

"And here I thought I was the one meant to be cheering you up." His shoulders bounced in a pattern you could only describe as uneven, one hand rising up to swipe at his eye.

The sight caused your muscles to loosen up, fingers losing their grip on your skirt and eyes crinkling fondly as you watched him reach up into an open cupboard—arm disappearing within the confines before reappearing not long after with a red, rectangular bag.

The sound of a zip was the next thing you heard—accompanied by his voice as he said, "Alright, let's get you all patched up, worm."

You scrunched up your nose. "Worm?" 

"Yeah, annoying little things, aren't they?"

"Rude."

Another snicker had your lips quirking up again, a swirl of warmth gathering in your chest; a hint of fondness and pride. Was this how sibling banter felt?

It's... nice.

Before you could enjoy the moment any longer though, your brain just had to ruin it, giving you a thought that had your ears falling again—stomach dropping into a bottomless pit within the confines of your body.

"Is..." you started, and his ears perked up from behind the arm that slowly tugged at the grey gauze, "Is Curt gonna be okay?"

A scoff. "Yeah. You know him, he'll be super bitchy about it but he'll come running back tomorrow morning so don't worry."

You smiled. "So long as he's—ow! Watch it!"

"My bad."

"You did that on purpose."

"I did that on purpose."

"Asshole."

"D'aww, is wittle sissy's feewings hurt?"

"Shut up, you dick!"

You took it back, sibling banter was so not nice.

But, at least it was somewhat fun—unlike what happened next.

"Sweeties?" You tensed, head turning as Cain backed away—the warmth of his hand leaving you with new, pure white gauze around your arm—and turned with you. "I'm gonna head out for the night and go meet up with some old friends. Are you two going to be okay?"

Maybe if you were actually part of this world, you would've said something petty like 'nothing new there' or 'you've already not been around for most of my life, what's one more night?'—but, you weren't, and so settled with a good old fashioned—"We'll be fine,"—instead.

She was out the door in no less than two seconds.

It quickly grew dark following that—night approaching faster than you could register—and there had yet to be any sign of Curt. Guess Cain was right when he said the younger of the two would be back in the morning.

Speaking of Cain, he had some last minute call from a client regarding car troubles. Apparently, they were stranded and in dire need of assistance, so Cain was required to go to them in order to help—though, he was quite reluctant as he, no doubt, voiced to you.

"Oh my god, Cain, I'll be fine." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you sure? This street isn't exactly known for safety," he responded, expression scrunched up with what you recognised as pure worry.

"God, you're just like Steve. Nothing will happen, don't worry."

When the corner of his lips quirked up in response to your words, you felt something akin to dread claw at your innards. "Oh, I'm just like Steve, am I?"

"Shut up, he has a girlfriend," you were saying that more to yourself than him, to be honest.

"Yeah, that he drops anytime you're within two feet of him."

"I swear to god, Cain."

He snickered.

"Just go! I know you're doing this just to stall, go find that poor person stranded by the phone booth!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going."

And as his shoulders kept jerking up and down, your hand found purchase against the bumpy texture of your wooden door before pushing at full force; a 'slam!' echoing not long after.

"Stupid piece of shit," you grumbled, though, not genuinely.

...okay, maybe just a little genuinely actually, 'cause now he put the stupid thought in your head; the stupid thought of Steve Harrington actually liking you.

Preposterous.

He probably just thought of you as a really close friend—he supposedly knew you since childhood, after all, of course he would value you over Nancy sometimes.

But... theoretically, say he felt more, what would it be like?

Would he hold your hand and pull you in close? Whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you lay against him in the dead of night?—sinking into his warmth and stuffing your face in his sturdy chest. Would his lips feel soft against the bare skin of your neck?—passionate and sublime as he marked you up as his own, going lower and lower and—

Three knocks against your door.

Ugh.

"Oh my god, Cain, how many times—? Nancy?"

Lo and behold, there stood the very girlfriend of the guy you were just fantasising about.

Honestly, you would've thought it awkward had you not caught a glimpse of her expression; just a glance long enough to bleed you dry of all your previous thoughts and scrunch your face up as a whole new set rushed in—worrisome ones.

Her eyes were bloodshot, red veins visible and bringing out the puffiness to a degree that had your heart clenching and your lips subconsciously parting open to ask, "Are you alright?"

She gulped, voice shaky as she responded with, "Can I come in?" 

Slowly, you nodded—palm pushing against the door just enough to allow it to fall slightly more ajar.

"Here, come sit." You gestured to the couch, hands hesitantly ghosting over her shoulders as you guided her there—watching as she gently sat down, the cotton shifting under her weight. "Can I get you anything?"

She didn't respond: head tilted down, shoulders drooped, and overall demeanour looking to be completely put-off. The poor thing.

You figured a cup of water would be fine, she looked like she needed it.

What was she doing here, anyway? From what you gathered based on the very few interactions you'd had with her, the two of you weren't very close. Why, then, would she suddenly show up at your door so late at night?

Those thoughts plagued your mind as you made your way over to the kitchen—bare feet numb to the cool of the floor. They haunted you as you reached for a cup with one hand and twisted the tap with the other—fingers unfeeling of the pressure that rained upon them. They consumed your entire being until you were left with nothing but the husk of a person on autopilot—quietly making your way back to the living room.

It was only when your eyes landed on her form again, that you snapped out of it in a small burst of surprise.

Gone was the once sat-down figure with an air of dismay clouding her form—replaced, instead, by one that stood up straight, brows furrowed and shoulders tensed as she paced back and forth vigorously. Keyword: paced—she stopped as soon as you arrived, much to your own confusion.

"Nancy, what are you—?" 

"You're thinking about Barb too, right?"

She looked you dead in the eyes, and you almost found yourself growing fidgety under her intense gaze.

"What?"

"It's just that..." she trailed off, faltering for a moment, "well, Steve mentioned you've been acting off lately—"

Shit. Steve was catching on.

"—and I was wondering if... it was bothering you too." 

You blinked, parting your lips to ask for a little more—for some sort of elaboration—but her voice continued before you even had a chance.

"I mean, it's dumb that we have to keep this whole thing a secret!" She exclaimed, hands making wild gestures now. "Her family deserves to know." 

You stood there, blinking in a daze that hadn't quite passed since the moment she arrived. It felt like you had just wandered into a confusing maze, with twists and turns spanning as far as the eye could see; each one riddled with its own set of confusing obstacles you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

On one hand, Nancy's words made sense, you saw why she felt that way—you heard her—and it was so much more prominent in person than over a screen.

On the other hand, as a viewer of the show and a victim of unfortunate circumstance, you hadn't a clue where she was going with this. You knew why she was telling you all of this (you were acting strange and she was feeling off so duh she would try and see if you related) but, where was she going with it? What did she want with you? Surely it wasn't just comfort.

"Do you... want to come with me to tell her parents?"

Ah. There it was.

She wanted you to join her. This was certainly quite the twist. Everything that had happened up until now had alluded to the fact that you were going to join Steve for this season—and to be honest, you preferred that over this.

Besides, she was meant to do all of this with Jonathan—if you said yes, you'd just be getting in the way of their romance and, ergo, the plot itself.

"I don't know..." you started, mind already made up but heart trying its best to ease her into it, "the government wouldn't really like that and we could get in a ton of trouble."

She scoffed. "Who gives a fuck what they think?"

You deadpanned. "Well, Nance, they are kinda the government so..."

"There's this guy," she started, cutting you off and handing you a card, "Barb's parents told me about him—if things don't work out, we can go to him."

Sure enough, you recognised the character as soon as she mentioned him—another prominent adult within the series, quite the funny one too. But, not funny enough for you to pass up spending this season helping out Steve instead.

"Look, Nancy, I—"

You were cut off when her gaze hardened, fists clenching and head shaking from side-to-side—almost seeming disappointed.

"God, you're just like him." And when she spoke, it was bitter—plagued with an icky green—"You two are perfect for each other."

The following events happened too quickly for you to register; one second, she was standing before you with desperation clear on her visage—the next?—she had snatched the card right out from your hands and stormed over to your front door, steps heavy and quaking and loud.

"Nance, wait! Nancy!"

A slam.

Well shit.

You bit your lip, brain replaying the events that had just occurred in too rapid of a succession for you to be able to even respond to them.

A small voice prodded at the back of your mind, lulling you into following after her and clearing up... whatever the hell that was.

However, a much larger, more prominent voice said, fuck it. Because—well, you were in Stranger Things for god's sake! Who the hell cared about some teen drama when there were fucking monsters to worry about?—monsters that you sure as hell weren't about to face weaponless.

Nancy could get over whatever was bothering her so much on her own, you had bigger issues to worry about.

Come on, Y/N, get your head out of the clouds and into the game.

Resolve strengthened and distractions now temporarily at the back of your mind, your feet bounded towards a familiar box mounted onto the wall, fingers wrapping around the cool metal before you punched in a number you had long since memorised over your time in this world.

Turned out, this drama was just the push you needed.

"Harrington residence."

"Steve."

It was silent for a few seconds before you were graced with a response. "Y/N? If you're calling about the dinner at Barb's, I swear—"

"No, no. It's not that, don't worry."

Another pause.

"Are you... okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"You sure? You sound a little... tense."

Your lips quirked up. "You can tell?"

"Well, yeah. I've known you since like, birth."

Leave it to Steve Harrington to put a smile on your face where there wasn't one before.

Seriously though, you might not have actually known him since birth but... something about him noticing how you felt from just the sound of your voice made you feel all... tingly inside—like a warm cloud of pure pink coated you within its comfy confines.

 "Y/N? You there?"

"Oh." You jolted, fingers halting in their ministrations with the phone wire, since when did you start twirling it around? "Uh, yeah. I just called to let you know I'm skipping tomorrow so don't bother picking me up, okay?"

"You're skipping? What? Why?"

"Just—uh, don't feel like it."

"You know you've already missed seven days, right?" 

"Yeah—" you shrugged as though he could see you, "—what's a couple more?"

"...alright, if that's what you want."

"Thanks Stevie, you're the best, love you!"

You slammed the phone back into the wall before he could respond, but you imagined he released quite the long sigh after your words.

Nevermind that though, you should probably head to bed—you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow; one consisting of many preparations for the challenges that lay ahead.

First things first, you needed yourself a weapon—and no, a wrench was not ideal. You got lucky the first time, you'd rather not risk it the second.

A gun; long reach, high chances of actually killing, probably easy to use—it sounded perfect. Just the thing you'd need. The only problem you could possibly see was...

...how would you get one?

You weren't terribly familiar with gun laws—never had the need to look into them—but even if you were, they definitely changed since the 80s so you were pretty much clueless in that regard. 

You could ask one of your brothers if they had one, they certainly seemed like the type—at least, Curt definitely did. 

Or maybe he's the type to only fight with his fists?

Tricky—that's what this all was. So tricky, in fact, that the rest of the night was spent contemplating how you would go about obtaining the lethal weapon—

—actually, that wasn't entirely true; you sure wished it was though. Unfortunately for you however, your brain rather stupidly refused to focus on the task at hand, randomly flushing you with thoughts of both your... mother and Nancy whenever you least expected it, two huge pieces of drama that you—quite frankly—didn't feel like dealing with.

But apparently, pushing them to the back of your mind was easier said than done.

Come next morning, you figured indulging in those thoughts wouldn't be too big of a headache after being well-rested with a nice cup of coffee to aid you through your day.

Okay, so, Nancy's behaviour last night wasn't too strange; she had that dinner at Barb's—one you knew she cried at since they dedicated a whole scene to her sobbing in the bathroom. That explained why she was quick to jump to aggression you guessed.

Still, it was strange how she snapped at you (basically her acquaintance) like how she had done Steve (her literal boyfriend) in the show. Did you get something wrong? Were you two closer than you thought you were? Perhaps you had some history with her you weren't aware of.

Unfortunately, until you had more information, you were gonna have to leave that trail of thought.

Now, about your mother...

"Morning, sis."

You nodded—eyes clouded—before responding with, "Morning Cain," and then, as if just registering who you were talking to after their name spilled from your lips, your eyes cleared up and you turned to continue with a much more firm voice, "Hey, do you know if we have any guns at home?"

He paused, one hand rested against the handle of the fridge, one floating mid-air. "Guns?"

"Yeah, guns."

He turned to you fully now, eyes narrowing and sturdy arms folding over his chest as the door shut behind him. "Why would you need to know where the guns are?"

The lie was quick to form on your tongue. "For self-defence, duh."

"Uh-huh."

"Please Cain—" you clasped both hands over each other, "—I promise I won't hurt anyone with them."

Not anyone human, at least.

"You do realise they're made for hurting people, right?"

"Yeah, but I won't use them that way."

He deadpanned. "You're not getting a gun."

"Dammit." 

Okay, this was fine. You could work with this. He just confirmed to you that you did, in fact, have guns in this house. All you had to do was look for them. And you knew just where to start.

"Uh, where the hell are you going?"

You paused, hand grazing the bumpy, wooden rail as you tilted your head just enough to peek into the kitchen again. "To my room, where else?"

"Don't you have school?"

"Don't you have a job?"

He crossed his arms again. "You're not skipping, shitbird."

"What?" 

"I said: you aren't skipping."

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping open and stomach falling with the spoilt remains of your plan—the ashes and dust piling up enough to cause you to splutter and ask, "You serious?"

His gaze was stern, holding no hint of that playful demeanour you acquainted yourself with last night, "Completely. No playing hooky. You've already got enough absents from that injury of yours."

As if suddenly reminded of its own existence, said wound sent a shock down your arm—trailing through your veins to usher a visible wince on your face.

Before you could say anything else though—plead your case and hope to god he'd let you off—his eyes widened a little, mouth forming a circle before he spoke again, saying, "That's why Harrington ain't here, right? You told him you were skipping?"

You said nothing.

A long, highly exasperated sigh. "Just go get ready, I'll drop you off."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

You rushed up the stairs, wasting no time to burst into a room flooded with posters—all holding different expressions with one, huge thing in common; a pair of bright red gloves.

If anyone had a gun, it was definitely Curt.

Tick. Tock. You were on a time constraint so you had to be quick with this. Anything that even remotely seemed to have enough space to hold a gun inside was instantly ripped open—hinges jingling and wood slamming against wood as your hands scurried the area—rummaged through the masses—desperately seeking what they had yet to find.

That was—until, now.

In the midst of multiple hung up pieces of soft materials shrouded in darkness, your fingers grazed something cold and solid; rough and bumpy. Slowly they wound around the thing, noting its shape, before exerting a force—a tug.

Nothing. It didn't budge.

You tried again, pushing this time.

Again. Nothing.

Third time's the charm.

This time, you pushed upwards.

Bingo.

As if by magic, it fell straight into your hands, and you wasted no time to pull it into the light.

Dark, L-shaped, and a lever poking out from one side—yup, there was no doubt about it. Though, it was one of the weaker variants of the lethal weapon—it would have to do.

Now you could—

"What are you doing in my room?"

Curt. Shit.

"Scratch that—what are you doing with a gun?!"

Your wrist was seized at the entrance before you could even attempt to sneak past—his E/C eyes trained on the object in your hand, not at all paying attention to the way your expression shifted into one of unease, smile twitching a little.

"Curt, hey! When did you come in..?"

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed, "Why do you have a gun? Is someone bothering you at school? You know you can say the word and I'll take care of it, right? Like in Freshman year?"

"Freshman year?" What happened in Freshman year?

"That dickhead Senior who kept picking on you? How did you forget that already?"

You parted your lips, an excuse practically begging to be released from your tongue, but he beat you to it.

"Nevermind, just tell me who it is and I'll take care of it. There's no need to bring a gun into it."

There's no need to bring a gun but it's totally okay beating them up? Some scuffed logic there.

"No one's bothering me, Curt. I uh, I just need it to kill the wolf that attacked me the other day."

He rose a brow. "Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day?"

"Uh... yup."

God, this was so stupid. What kind of excuse was that? 'Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day'? Yeah right.

"Atta girl. That's my sister."

A good excuse apparently—it was a good excuse.

You almost couldn't believe it—the way he pulled you in, wrapping his arm around your neck in a half-hug that almost made it seem as though he was proud of you.

Surely he had taken way too many hits to the head in his profession because you had no clue how he bought that.

But, you weren't complaining.

"Hey, uh, do me a favour?" 

He rose a brow. "What?"

"Don't tell Cain, yeah?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not, he'd have my head in a heartbeat if he knew I was condoning this."

You grinned, just about ready to give him two thumbs up leaking gratitude and appreciation—when a voice called from downstairs.

"Y/N! Hurry up!"

"A few more minutes!"

That was your cue to go to your room.

Cool air hit your skin as soon as the cotton of your sleepwear was removed—the slight buzz of pain on your arm making itself known once more with another prick, annoying but not unbearable; not like before.

The new bandages looked better than the previous ones; cleaner. Some spots seemed to have given in—allowing red to seep through their snow-white sheets; stain their pure surface. Those parts were stickier than the others, but also, few and far between.

Damn, kinda looks badass.

"I'm not getting any younger here, Y/N!"

"I'm coming! Gheez."

What was that? His catchphrase or something?

With a roll of your eyes, you threw on a top, slipped into a skirt, very quickly touched up on your make-up, and ran down the steps. Nothing too elaborate—you didn't plan on actually going into school anyway.

What? You said you'd skip, so you were gonna skip. You'd just wait 'till he drove off or something.

Actually... this could work out better than you thought.

He was bringing you to school; where one Steve Harrington currently was. And you know what else was at school? Steve's BMW—AKA, the perfect place to store your gun until it was needed.

Yeah, this could work out perfectly.

"Get in, shitbird."

You said nothing, seizing the frigid handle like you had done many a time before, and climbing straight in.

The sky was bleak—the sun invisible; covered by the vast curtain of grey clouds that seemed uninteresting but, for some reason, you couldn't stop looking at. 

The pistol you held was tucked under you—out of sight; though not of mind. It felt cool against your skin, sent a shudder through you, up your spine and through your nerves. It kept you rigid.

"I would've let you skip."

You turned, observing the way Cain's gaze stayed trained onto the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, one resting on his lap.

"On any normal circumstance," he continued, shrugging, "but y'know, mom's home and—I don't know if you wanna stick around for that."

"Okay."

"You good?" Now he gave you a bit of a side-eye, one brow raised.

"Yeah, just... thinking about what I'm gonna wear for the Halloween bash at Tina's."

That was a lie, you honestly couldn't care less.

"Party, huh?" He turned his gaze back ahead. "I remember the ragers I used to go to way back when."

"Must've been fun, huh fossil?"

"Watch it, worm."

You snickered.

"Alright, we're here. Get out before I make you."

Older brothers are a piece of work.

You shimmied in your seat, swinging both legs over to the open door, hand firmly around the handle of the weapon beneath your thighs, when—

"What are you doing?"

You froze. "Uh, I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're getting out of the car weirdly." His tone was pointed—suspicious—and even without having to turn around, you could tell his brow was raised in question.

"No I'm not."

"Uh, yeah you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Slowly, you found yourself able to move your limbs again—annoyance bringing both them and your own brow to life, filtering out any previous fear within an instant. "Don't you have work or something?" 

You heard nothing for a few tense moments—though soon, a curt—"Just go,"—made its way to your ears, and the weight on your shoulders was relieved of you.

Once again, you found yourself thinking, he didn't have to tell you twice.

The cool air almost felt relieving against your skin when you finally jumped out—the 'crunch!' of pebbles echoing beneath you—but nothing could compare to the pure amount of genuine solace you were graced with when the sound of the engine starting up again behind you danced into your ears; the sound of wheels skidding across the ground slowly growing farther.

That was a little too close for your liking.

No matter, it was time to find Steve's BMW. While looking for it, though, you might as well review your thoughts.

The events of Season 2 had already kicked off the moment you saw Billy, which meant that while you waited for the next canonical event to occur with the teens, the main group of kids were having their own scenes play out. You were sure by now they were off trying to befriend Billy's stepsister. But, quite frankly, that was irrelevant information to you.

What was relevant, however, was the fact that one of the kids—Dustin Henderson—would end up dragging Steve into quite the predicament. That predicament being one wherein he would end up being surrounded by a bunch of grotesque, man-eating monsters with nothing but a bat to defend himself with—granted, it had nails on the end but it was still not a weapon you'd use.

Now, more likely than not, you would be by his side while it all went down—and you already established that you weren't about to die in this world, so, really, your only option was getting that gun to use in case those demon dogs changed their minds and decided they wanted a taste of fresh, alternative dimension meat.

You had seen first-hand what they were like—held scars they forced onto you on your first day. You felt that chilling fear grip you at the sight of them—chain your limbs up and strangle you enough to almost render you immovable; immobile. Their boney structure, their razor-sharp teeth, their—

"N/N? What are you doing here?"

You jumped, startled out of your thoughts to meet with two pools of brown—familiar in their warmth and softened edges.

"I thought you were playing hooky today."

"Oh, uh—" you cleared your throat, patting down the ruffles of your skirt and avoiding any eye-contact, "—I still am but, Cain caught me and drove me to school so."

He didn't say anything after that, so you took to peering up again. This time, however, you were met with a different set of eyes, ones looking a little bloodshot and inflamed—barely noticeable if you hadn't already seen it the previous night. 

They were looking at you through narrowed lenses, pupils shrunk in and gaze heavy with the events of the other night—the distaste of that fateful encounter.

You looked away.

"Oh, uh, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I uh, left some of my lipstick in your car, do you mind if I go grab it?"

You returned your gaze to him just in time to catch the pointed look on his face, hands on his hips in that 'mom' way that just screamed Steve Harrington.

"Really, N/N? This is—what?—like the tenth time already?"

You forced a sheepish look, turning your lips up with nerves that weren't triggered by the sentence you'd just heard, per se—but rather, the pair of eyes still burning a hole through your head.

You ignored them when Steve tossed you the keys with a playful roll of his eyes; when you half-entered the car, stuffing the gun into a compartment you knew he wouldn't open anytime soon; you even ignored them as you made your way back to the duo, handing Steve his keys back and quickly denying his offer to cut class with you.

"You sure?" He pushed, brows scrunched up and lips tugged down.

"Yup!" You rose both thumbs. "Hundred percent!"

He parted his mouth open but you didn't wait for a response, turning around quickly to scurry off with those eyes still refusing to leave your backside.

Why the hell did she have to be there?

You couldn't even enjoy your successful little quest, too tense from Nancy's heavy gaze to do anything. It was as though the moment you saw her, your brain instantly replayed the events of last night—the disdain in her voice—and from the looks of her glare, she had the same problem.

Man, this sucked.

You just wanted to experience the world of Stranger Things as safely and non-dramatically as possible but noooo, you had to deal with freaking monsters and teenage girls who—

"Woah, we have got to stop bumping into each other like this."

Your lashes fluttered, eyes training onto a familiar battle jacket littered with logos a plenty—all of which belonged to heavy metal bands. 

"Eddie." 

"Hey, sweetheart." His lips quirked up—smile reaching his eyes so much so that they crinkled. "What are you doing here? I thought you were playing hooky?"

You deadpanned. "Does everyone know I'm skipping?"

"Well, you are kinda the Queen Bee, sweetheart." His hair bounced as he shrugged.

A thought occurred to you just then, and you found your eyes widening slightly in alarm. "Even the teachers?!"

"Well, no wastoid is exactly going to tell any teachers that the Queen of Hawkins High is skipping." 

Wastoid? Wha—?

"Hey, uh—" you blinked, watching as Eddie took to throwing a hand behind his neck, rubbing against the skin as he continued, tone feigning confidence, "—I was actually planning on skipping too so, if you want, we could hotbox in my car?"

Tempting. With all this stress from Nancy, your mom, and the demodogs—weed seemed like the perfect thing to kick back to.

You deserved some time to relax, no? 

"Yeah, sure, let's do it."

He perked up, excitement seeping through the grin on his lips as he dramatically bowed with one hand stretched out. "Right this way, milady."

You giggled, your own hand rising up to rest gently against his as you tried your damndest to keep from squealing because—holy shit, you were holding Eddie Munson's hand. You knew girls who would fucking kill to be in your position right now.

His skin was hot against your own; or maybe that was just your whole body heating up in general. You couldn't deny your attraction to the man—hell, you got literal heart eyes whenever you watched him on TV.

Eddie Munson—the guy who got held back in high-school for two years (well—one year as of right now). Eddie Munson—the guy who held the personality of a fun, playful ray of sunshine despite the way he dressed. Eddie Munson—the guy who sacrificed himself to save a whole town of people who abhorred him.

Yeah, you had a big, fat crush on the man.

He could literally be leading you to your death right now and you'd thank him.

"Alright," the sound of a car door sliding open perked your ears up, "I just got a new batch rolling in from Cali so—"

He cut himself off when he turned back around, jaw falling slack as a streak of red slowly crawled across his face, tinging the tips of his ears and ushering a cough straight out of his mouth.

Now, you would normally wonder why he'd reacted that way but you were too distracted by the ache of your own cheeks to—

Ohhh. The ache of your own cheeks.

You quickly cleared your throat, steeling your expression and cursing yourself for being so obvious. Gushing so blatantly in front of characters was going to get you killed in this world, you really had to get rid of that habit.

Lord knew what type of ridiculous expression you had on your face just then.

"Right, uh, you were saying?" You asked as you climbed in, willing yourself to ignore what had just happened.

"Oh, uh, I just had a new batch come in from Cali."

You perked up, interest piqued. "From Cali?! They have the best stuff."

He grinned with you, blush calming down as he rummaged around, hands digging through the many different boxes that scattered the floor.

Meanwhile, you took to shutting the door of the vehicle. Come to think of it, this van kinda looked a bit like the mystery van from scooby doo, except, without the colour. 

It was a mess on the inside; if there weren't boxes of who-knows-what substances lying around, then there were various different instruments instead, nothing differing from the norm associated with a band; and yet, just the fact that Eddie was here—that all of this belonged to him—was enough to make it feel special.

You should really ask Eddie if you could sit in on one of his practices one day.

Speaking of the drug dealer, he finally emerged from the pile of boxes hidden in the corner—a plastic zip bag containing a crushed substance within one of his ring-clad hands.

He flicked it with a grin on his face, head turning up as a pair of excited pools met with your own. "Bag of peaceful bliss right here."

You watched with intrigue as his fingers got to work, rolling up the substance effortlessly, as if he'd done it a million times before—which, granted, he probably had.

"Ladies first."

Your lips quirked up, fingers winding around the roll and, in turn, brushing against his own. It was a light touch—a feathery brush—still, it was enough to run tingles down your arm.

The stick was placed to your mouth with one hand, the other curling in on itself in a gesture that asked Eddie to pass over the lighter.

His large hand slowly came to cup your own, fingers engulfing yours—sending warmth to circulate in your blood; to flood your vision in pink—before lightly moving it away. "Allow me, sweetheart."

You didn't move, staying still as he pulled the metallic box up to your face, thumb flicking against the open lid a few times before the flame jumped to life.

It was hot; unbearably so—his breath across your face. The flame was practically nothing compared to him and his proximity. And it only got hotter as you continued staring at him.

It was because you were staring at him so intensely, in fact, that you caught the way his eyes briefly flickered. It was quick, barely noticeable—but you had noticed, and you had seen where they looked.

Your lips quirked up and you took the roll out of your mouth, puffing smoke straight into his face. "Staring at my lips, huh, pretty boy?"

Your grin only grew when he spluttered. 

Before he could respond, though, you had lightly shoved the roll into his mouth—lips still quirked up.

You only withdrew when he rose two fingers to rest the cigar against. 

"Hey, Eddie?"

He blinked.

"You're not gonna make me pay for this, are you?"

The roll left his mouth with a puff. "Depends."

As he placed it back inside, you rose a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh."

"Well..." you trailed off, slowly shifting your hips up before plopping them back down—

—straight. onto. his. lap.

His breath audibly hitched; a series of coughs following not long after.

"Careful," you hissed out, plucking the roll from his lips and shifting in your seat—about to climb off—when a warmth snaked its way around your waist, rendering you motionless.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Heat crawled up your spine, invading your senses and hyperfixating your attention on Eddie and the way his lips grazed the lobe of your ear. Any and all previous thoughts were washed away; taking with them your breath.

His hand fell over your own again, ushering the substance back into your mouth and your eyes grew heavy as you took another puff, melting into putty in the arms of the school freak.

The car was quickly fogging up—everywhere you breathed was starting to have that strong, earthy taste to it.

Trippy.

You pulled away, mind hazy and barely able to register the way his lips tugged down. 

With just a little wiggle of your hips, his arms fell and his brows scrunched up with worry. You didn't let him voice it though, quickly turning around to lay down and prop your elbows up on his thighs—arms almost immediately going lax once you got comfortable.

Your head now rested on his lap, and you peered up at him through hooded eyes. "Much better."

He smiled down at you again, finger moving to trace your cheek with that same feathery touch from before—the one that elicited a flurry of tingles through your skin.

"Tell me about yourself, Eds."

"Hm?"

"I wanna know you better."

Better than you already did, that was.

"What d'you wanna know?" He asked.

"Anything." You threw your hands up, puffing once more. "I wanna know more 'bout Super Senior Eddie Munson."

He hummed. "I plan to make it big one day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Groupies 'n everything."

You reached up, placing the blunt against his lips as you proclaimed loudly, "I bet they would trip over 'emselves to get a taste of you."

He winked. "That's what 'm planning." Then, he paused for a minute, expression softening before another inquiry left his mouth. "What about you?"

"Me?"

What were you planning? Survival, really. But, to be honest—and this wasn't just the weed speaking (or was it? You couldn't really tell)—you just wanted to experience the show; meet the characters and bond over little things. Kinda like what you were doing right now.

"I plan on..."

The characters from this show were precious, and you loved them all to bits. They didn't deserve any of what happened to them, that was why you planned on...

"...protecting those I love."

Yeah, perfect.

His eyes widened a little—startled, no doubt, and not expecting that kind of response from you. The perfect opportunity to trip him up more.

"Wanna be one of them?" 

He already was one but—he didn't know that.

You assumed he must've been too flustered to talk, because he didn't respond to that—only choosing to continuously blink at you.

This weed was sure making your confidence sky rocket.

Speaking of things the weed was doing for you—your vision was tripping majorly.

The ceiling seemed to zoom in, but also zoom out at the same time, and sometimes you swore you could see the detailed wisps of the smoke that flooded the car's inside; the very atoms that made them up. 

Colours were hard to register in your mind; their names even harder—but, with how relaxed the fumes were making you and your tensed muscles, you couldn't really bring yourself to care.

And Eddie—oh Eddie—he just looked so pretty to you right now; so jaw-dropping and mesmerising. Even with how red his eyes were and the extent at which his pupils dilated, they still looked tremendously pretty. His lips were so cute, pink and begging for attention.

You couldn't help it; the way your hand reached out to cup his cheek and guide his head down. Luckily, though, you still had enough sense to tilt his head enough so that instead of your lips touching, your noses did.

If you were going to kiss Eddie, it sure as hell wasn't happening while you were high.

"Y'know," Eddie breathed into your eyes, causing them to flutter shut as you hummed, "I used to think you were a huge bitch."

That shot your eyes open.

"I mean, when you stuck around with people like Tommy H and Carol, it was kinda hard not to."

Ah. Steve's former friends.

"Not to mention King Steve. Though, I don't know if I should call him that anymore."

"'Cause of Billy?"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Have you seen him? It's only, like, his second day and he's got girls wrapped around his finger like it's nothing."

"I'm sure it'll stay that way permanently too."

"Yeah, he seems like the type to like it."

"Hm?"

"The attention."

Your lips tugged down. "Are you implying something, Eddie?"

"...maybe a little."

Your frown grew deeper. "Y'know, Eds, you shouldn't judge people without getting to know them first."

"Oh? And I suppose you know a ton about Hargrove, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes before you spoke again—tone laced in warning—"Eddie."

He rose both hands, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"My bad."

"It's okay, let's just forget about it," you said, "I came here to relax and enjoy some time away from stress."

"Stress?"

Well, you supposed it wouldn't be the end of the world if you shared a little with the class. 

"Nancy said something... weird to me the other night." 

"Harrington's girl?"

"Yeah... she sounded bitter."

"Maybe she was jealous."

You moved to sit up but Eddie was quick to push you back down, both hands placed firmly—yet gently—on your shoulders. "Jealous?"

"Yeah."

"Why would she be jealous for?"

He scoffed. "Oh please, you and Harrington are attached at the hip—if I were your boyfriend, I would be jealous."

For a moment, you allowed yourself to ignore the hypothetical scenario of Eddie being your boyfriend, if only to pay more attention to the apparent green creature that held Nancy by the neck.

Could it be? Was she jealous? Was that why she reacted as strongly as she did when you tried to let her down slowly?

"Hey now, whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it." Eddie's finger tapped against your cheek, sending tiny ripples through your skin. "You said it yourself, you're here to relax, not to stress."

He couldn't be more right.

And with that thought in mind, you sank deeper into the warmth of Eddie's lap, pure safety and comfort shrouding your form—blanketing you so nicely in the soothing presence that was Eddie Munson.

And as your eyes fluttered shut, you whispered one last thing with a warm smile, "This was nice. Thank you, Eddie."

@bdudette, @tanyaherondale, @killerqueenfan, @l3xiluve, @thedoubleexposurephotography, @xxqueenofdemonsxx, @briarsheart, @nickey-diano, @uselessbutinteresting, @steeldaisies, @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom, @patheticreative, @majestichugs, @eddiesbitch83, @secretdryrose, @bloodywickedvamp, @charlizekkelly, @sophiaj650, @mfnqueen1, @axionn, @harrysgoldenwatermelon, @simpfo, @adrienette715, @tippyeddy

I've been watching a lot of zombie stuff recently so I was wondering how Steve, Eddie, and Billy would react to a zombie apocalypse. I'm tempted to write an au but I need to focus on the next part 😭

Tell you what, if the masterlist to this series ever reaches 500 notes, I'll write a zombie apocalypse AU (Edit: Holy shit, it's at 400, wtf?)

[5eraphim]

The vampire Demo Engie, Heavy, and Medic with a vampire hunter s/o was so good! You wrote it so well and like I imagined 🥰🥰🥰 could I politely ask u to finish with vampire Sniper, Spy, and Scout? Thank you so much ur work literally rots my brain 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Im so glad you enjoyed- it was so fun to write🌻🥺 for the sake of consistency, i decided to keep the reader gender neutral, also i apologize that Scout and Sniper's sections are kinda short, Sniper's always been weirdly hard for me to write tbh, but i really hope he feels "in character" enough, and I could only come up with a few ideas for vampire Scout- but that aside, thank you for the request!

LINK TO PART 1 🦇🗡️⚰️

Characters: Scout 🐇, Sniper 🦘, and Spy 🐍

Rating: M (MINORS DNI, THIS ISN'T FOR YOU)

Content Warnings: yandere, smut, exophilia, mind break, toxic relationship, hypnosis, primal kink, kidnapping/captivity, possessive behavior, stalking, bad ending, graphic depiction of gore (all of them really- but Spy's is probably the worst RIP)

Word Count: 4.4k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

(Song Inspo- Hunter's Moon, Ghost)

Scout, the Lost Boy

If there were any of the vampire mercenaries who would outright try to antagonize vampire hunters for the thrill of it, Scout would be the prime suspect. As a vampire, Scout would likely live much like the Lost Boys. Sleep all day, party all night; as far as he cares, the immortality granted to him is nothing but endless time to party and enjoy his eternal youth. So what if some hunters wanted to join the party? It's not like Scout was afraid they could really put an end to his fun. 

Trying to poach Scout would be a more laborious challenge than you initially thought. On the outside, he might not look like he could put up much of a fight compared to the older vampires, the other mercs. While this may be true, Scout is far from helpless, and even if he's content to spend eternity partying and having a good time, he can be merciless like any creature of the night. 

Scout has a territory he's claimed, a little spot his family once lived he holds onto. It's not much to outsiders, but it's sentimental to him, and Scout fights hard to maintain it. Though that doesn't mean he wants to stay in the same place forever and sees this more as a "home base" rather than a permanent estate. He likes to keep active and is also frequently on the move, endlessly looking for his next high, the next part, or his next meal; because of this, Scout's hard to predict, and trying to track him down and get a hit on him won't be easy.

While he's the youngest of the vampires, he's pretty social and likely heard about you butchering other vampires he knew before you decided to start hunting him. He might even begin to stay on the lookout for you to see if he can spot you before you catch him first. There's a decent chance he's never actually killed a vampire hunter, and he can't help but hope you'll be his first. Strangely the idea of being the one to end your life gives him just as much grief as exhilaration.

Vampires and hunters come and go quickly, given the bloody and violent nature of their lives, but even without really meeting you, Scout can't help but feel attached, and he can't stop wondering why he's so scared to think about you leaving without a trace like so many other hunters before. When you eventually decide to start pursuing him, Scout's more than excited to finally meet you in person, much to your confusion. A little nervous, but in a good way, like the feeling of reaching the top of a roller coaster before the rapid descent. 

His excitement to meet you goes without saying, but maybe he also feels flattered to think you consider him dangerous enough to try and hunt down. Feeling like he's finally one of the "big bad" vampires now that hunters are going after him. Before the encounter, he'd been extra savage in the night, leaving bloody carcasses within the perimeter of his dwelling, hoping they would help lead you closer to him.

You knew he was arrogant and a show off from what you'd heard from other hunters. So when he came bounding over to you, effortlessly dodging your projectiles and bullets, telling you how excited he was to finally meet you after all this time, you were speechless. You saw him as nothing but a little easy target practice, a lightweight; you had no idea he'd become obsessed with you like this. Before now, you never thought of yourself as a professional-tier hunter, and the idea other vampires could pass your information along amongst themselves made you want to take out Scout all the more.

But as mentioned before, he's not so easy to take out, and the more time you spend fighting, you can't help but wonder if it's all worth it after all. The relationship after this would be a bizarre hunter-and-prey role reversal; the hunter, you, now forced to try and hide and escape from the vampire. However, with Scout's now supernaturally boosted speed and enhanced senses, you're further out of your depths than expected. The depth of the situation only really sinks in when you try to abort your hunt and flee his territory. Scout learned your hunting schedule quickly, immediately noticing when you didn't show up to your usual spot near his turf to hunt.

It wouldn't take long for Scout to begin to assume the worst here, thinking he was no longer good enough for you, thinking you'd run off to replace him with some other vampire. He couldn't bear the thought of it.

Once he managed to find you, Scout made himself known. You knew better than to let him get any closer. Scout's attacks were most effective when he could get right up in your face, so you cleared the area as fast as possible, thinking you narrowly managed to escape. Only to discover your home's shattered windows and a raw human heart on your doorstep, topped with a messily scrawled note letting you know exactly who your "surprise" visitor was. As well as warning you against going after any other vampires.  

From then on, you were forced to constantly watch your back when stepping out of the house, afraid he could be hiding around the corner at any time, waiting to rush you by surprise. He might not be able to get in without being invited, but Scout would force you to live in endless paranoia. He was drawing closer only moments away from striking you again. And you both knew you couldn't hide forever.

Sniper, the Apex Predator

If Scout was a tricky vampire to hunt down because of his unpredictable nature and evasiveness, Sniper was even harder to hunt, though for entirely different reasons. Unlike the loudmouthed speedster, Sniper was an altogether different breed. He managed to elude hunters and stay on the prowl for his next kill by hunting from the shadows. Able to disappear without a trace on command, invisible to any other human or vampire. Sniper only went out in the dead of night and remained out of sight until the second he was ready to pounce, attacking with a predator's decisiveness ending the life of another in a matter of seconds.

To call him territorial would be an understatement. Sniper's land was his alone, and he didn't allow any to trespass. His dwelling held such a reputation for death most thought the ground itself was simply cursed; the idea of an individual, supernatural or not, was inconceivable.

Sniper genuinely was one of those once-in-a-lifetime apex predators. Able to extinguish the life of another with one bite, an attack so silent and sudden none of his prey lived to tell the tale. He was nothing less than the stuff of legends. A kind of beast with a legendary legacy of bloodshed, a traceless reputation, and a propensity for leaving behind no living witnesses. The idea of such a mythic vampire continuing to walk the face of the Earth on this day was too much for most to believe. No one knew how old Sniper was as a vampire, but no one knew much of anything about him, and he liked it that way. You must have been looking for a lot of trouble the day you decided to try and hunt him down.

Sniper might have been just an urban legend to some, but even if he wasn't precisely "believed in" by modern humans, people knew to stay away from his hunting grounds because of the superstition, the supposed "bad luck" striking all who stepped foot there. He was so used to having the hunting ground all to himself that the idea of another hunter out that night stalking him from behind never even crossed his mind. He couldn't remember the last time anyone managed to go undetected by him; if you were to handle such a feat, he'd never seen anything like that before. Sniper might have sensed something was a bit off that night but wouldn't investigate the area. His intuition didn't warn him of a human, and he reasoned if something did manage to get close, he would know by now. So when he caught you out of the corner of his eye, he froze for just a second. But just long enough for you to flee, disappearing from his land in the blink of an eye without a trace.

The following night, he'd be on high alert, wondering if you would return. He felt restless, Sniper was addicted to the isolation in a way, but you changed that, and he no longer felt at rest. Like you altered his home in a way he couldn't quite understand. Sniper couldn't tell if he never wanted you to step foot on his land again or if he needed you back right away to fix what you disrupted. He would wonder why you didn't return because you had your own land to protect and were a recluse like himself. Odd behavior for a human, but you evidently weren't quite a "regular human" yourself.

Surprisingly, Sniper would be more unnerved, almost curious rather than angry or hostile with you. Despite the brevity of the encounter, you still managed to get closer than any other living thing, and you seemed to awaken his need for companionship, his desire which lay dormant for so long and memories of life with family-other living intelligent creatures he thought he'd forgotten. 

He could tell you were something like himself, something he'd felt for no prey before. A hunter, a slaughterer, yet He couldn't understand why you didn't rush him for the kill that night? The idea that you somehow were taken by him and spared him because of some illogical attraction made him blush for a moment before he forced himself to be realistic. You must've heard stories of how he could end the life of another in seconds, and he couldn't ignore the irritating disappointment as he realized you were likely only interested in saving yourself.

An eternity of looking over his shoulder, protecting his homeland, awaiting the moment other hunters would foolishly come along and try to sink their claws or teeth into him was all he knew for so long. Could he be blamed for hoping it didn't have to be like this forever? The only positive memories Sniper managed to hold on to despite how long ago it had been of the family he once knew a lifetime ago; it couldn't be a coincidence you awakened these memories. He needed you back, and he needed it before some other predator, someone below his caliber, came along and took you from him. 

Unlike all the other vampires, he wouldn't be captivated by your humanity or the life within you; Sniper sees you as something different entirely. Something so like himself, you weren't suited to being human; if he could turn you into a vampire, he could give you the life you deserved, life as his companion. He would protect you forever if only you would let him.

While you weren't technically a monster like he was, you were still a murderer, an animal, and it was fate that brought the two of you together. His destiny is to turn you into a creature of the night, and yours to remain by his side until the end of time. He didn't usually step foot on his land, but he did so with a clear mission in mind the night he set out to track you down.

A sniper would stalk you, observing from afar, remaining invisible, undetectable while watching, doing everything in his power to keep his emotions from revealing himself. Sniper attached this image of a better future to you, becoming fixated, thinking you were meant to be his mate. What was the point of being the king of the land without someone to rule over and protect? Vampires didn't go through the circle of life like humans as they didn't age, Sniper would believe his time as a lone wolf was ending, and you were meant to become his mate, metamorphosing his lonely life into something better than before.

Spy, the Mastermind

It wasn't often a hunter would make the mistake of trying to hunt down and kill a vampire as powerful as Spy. While he might not have a reputation for lethality like Sniper, Spy was endowed with different abilities upon becoming a creature of the night, yet certainly not abilities any less powerful. Spy's gifts were almost all psychologically fueled as a vampire, and while his physical skills weren't too humble either, he hardly needed to use physical brawn when killing. Spy could make you see things, take control of your mind, and force himself inside your consciousness until you were nothing but a backseat passenger in your own body. Depending on the target, he could get a peak into their memories and use them to show the victim their greatest fear; nothing made a meal more appetizing to Spy than adrenaline and fear in the blood before he feasted. 

Sometimes, victims weren't even fortunate enough to hold onto any self-awareness when he manipulated their minds. When he's really feeling spiteful, he will pick on the unlucky souls of those who happen to cross his path, getting inside of their minds and compelling them to carry out his will, manipulating their bodies like a puppet on strings. No one knows what happens to the victim's mind after Spy takes complete control, but the morbid carcasses on the sidewalks discovered the following day covered in gore keep most from wanting to know more.

If he wanted to, Spy could kill off his prey in seconds, keep his hands clean and remain undetectable. And when it came to no menial everyday feeding, this would sometimes be his method of execution; he might be on the thinner side, but given his immense power, he required a great deal of blood to sustain himself and couldn't go long without human's blood before weakness began to set in. But he was too proud and merciless a killer to deny himself a bloody spectacle every now and then.

Spy resented humans and any vampire he deemed weaker than himself, as in virtually all of them. He saw them as the kind of beings which clung to the coattails of stronger predators to stay alive, nothing but leeches and parasites before lions such as himself. He was relentlessly diligent and efficient when killing off hunters and wanted their deaths to be a mortifying ordeal.

Spy would leave his victims not only horrifically gored and splattered to stain the streets for days to come, but he would cruelly torment his prey by leaving their corpses in such a fashion the cause of death often appeared to be suicide or accident. As though they and their blood weren't even edible to him, good to mix with the dirt in the streets and nothing more. Only the most skilled hunters could parse through the carnage and viscera to identify his handiwork, a task far too grim for most. But not for you, though you had a greater motive to study and track Spy than most.

You were exactly the type of prey Spy found to be the least appetizing. You weren't a highborn socialite; you didn't have any kind of generational wealth or inheritance, possessing little more than the clothes on your back. Even to other humans, your type wasn't paid much attention, and neither were their corpses left in the streets in pools of their own blood, flies, and maggots already riddling the bodies. But even though you lacked money or culture, you made up for it with loyalty and grit, and you weren't about to sit by and let this monster get away with taking the lives of those you loved. 

Even if Spy didn't know who you were or that it was your friend's blood he painted the streets with, you were patient, and your vendetta gave you all the focus you needed to study him like a hawk. To remain vigilant until you're ready to go in for the kill and fight to avenge all the lives of the "scum of the streets" taken by the vile monster.

Knowing his attacks were psychologically centered, you honed your defenses the best you could, making your mind impenetrable. Snatching up every protective item you could use to get any possible advantage in the fight. By now, you were motivated by your hatred for Spy, he was a petty coward, fighting from a distance, lurking in the night, finding it more rewarding to watch his victims hurt themselves than shed their blood with his own hands, but you didn't dare underestimate him.

When you confronted him for the first time, he was taken back to discover he couldn't actually manage to get inside your head as he often could. You trained with humans you knew to be psychically adept, and though you were technically powerless, your training was about to pay off, giving you a shield from his prime mode of offense. Because of this strategy, the fight was painfully prolonged, you were better defended than any other, but your attack was far from as potent. As a result, neither your nor Spy's offensive attacks did much good against the other and were forced to exchange blows, waiting to see whose stamina would give out first.

Likely the looming threat of the rising sun would cause Spy to force himself to retreat, using the last of his strength to escape and recoup his stamina until he was ready to take you on again. While your vendetta gave you the power to fight, Spy fought back primarily because of his bruised ego. Who were you to come and challenge him like this? Some low-born nobody is trying to make a mockery of him! Someone needed to put you in your place, and Spy knew he needed to be the one to do it. If you thought you were so tough to put up a fight against a real vampire, he would need to make your fear overtake your hatred. While Spy couldn't get inside your head as he could with most prey, he could still easily detect your loathing, and for a patient such as yourself, he couldn't help but find it quite enticing. Perhaps he could work up an appetite for a street rat like you after all.

The next time the two of you met, you couldn't ignore how he clung to the shadows far tighter than before. Spy sulked just out of sight and maneuvered silently rather than facing your head, you forced yourself to ignore the sound of his voice inside your head, but now that you couldn't hear it, you felt far less prepared. Moments when you could listen to his voice, it sounded nothing like before; his gruff, confident voice softened into an almost gentle purr, sounding almost lullaby-like rather than hypnotically attractive.  

He would croon to you, "I can fight you like this forever; you know your defeat is guaranteed; why don't you be a good little human and sit still while I slit your throat? I can give you such a painless, swift death. Doesn't that sound good?"

Hearing him uncharacteristically faking compassion felt like a calculated attack you couldn't decipher. Nevertheless, you reminded yourself not to listen but to keep your face up, hand close to the level of your eye, ready to strike. Though at moments like this, when you could feel all your muscles almost painfully strained, prepared to attack, the silence felt all the worse. The silence was harder to deal with, but you knew it was a thousand times better than letting him get inside your head.

But Spy was ready to up the ante. Earlier, he remained out of sight, silent and like a ghost, but he grew bolder, making fleeting contact with you while your back was turned. Not enough to actually hurt you, but enough to send your paranoia through the roof. 

His fingers brushed up against the back of your knee; you whipped around but saw nothing there, only to feel your heart sink and skin crawl as you felt his hands draw higher, no matter how you tried to wriggle free and turn to see behind you, he was faster. 

A palm to the side of your thigh, his knuckle skimming the curve of your waist, you could even swear you felt breath against the back of your neck, altogether invasively close yet still out of sight. The juxtaposition made you whimper in fear. Your despair was rising considerably as you caught your reflection through the glass of a window only to see no one behind and a fear you hardly recognized etched across your own face. 

You felt so small, alone, and terrified, like nothing more than a child wandering out at night, afraid the boogeyman was about to get you. But his attacks were relentless; while you were stable enough to keep him from controlling your mind, he tortured you, showing you all the dead bodies of your friends slaughtered before now, their final screams echoing through the silent streets. The sound of his wicked laughter around seemingly every corner as you ran in circles. No matter how hard you mentally screamed, none of it was real; the fear took control all the same. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you passed a corpse, identical to yourself, under a street light, Spy standing motionless over the carnage. You couldn't help but freeze up, unable to look away from the sight before you, retching at the view. Your body was twisted grotesquely, blood leaking from deep gashes, hunks of skin separated from the rest of you, some detached entirely, yet some clung to your mangled corpse stubbornly. Your clothes were mostly torn off, hanging off your body in ribbons, dampened by your blood, and unable to conceal the entrails which peaked through the holes in your flesh and clothes. All the while, Spy merely stared back at you, smiling, bearing his fearsomely sharp teeth, his hands, and the bottom of his face coated in your blood which caught the light of the streetlamp. 

He extended a land in your direction, as cordially as a dancer inviting his partner to a pas de deux, bowing slightly as he beckoned you closer, arm still outstretched, but the sight of him drawing closer, no matter how subtly, was precisely what you needed to force your legs to work again and tear yourself away from the view before you.

Before, you were so blinded by hatred having every confidence it was enough to carry you through the fight, but as you tore through the dark alleyways, you felt utterly helpless. You didn't even consider falling victim to your own fear, but after a few more agonizing hours of this cat-and-mouse game, you could fight no longer and were about to flee. Exactly as Spy planned.  

There was nothing in your mind but fear, and it was all too easy for Spy to corner you, pinning you to a wall, your wrists in his, forced with crushing strength to remain fixed in place to the wall behind. Spy regarded the sight before him with malicious pride, the once fearsome, resilient vampire hunter shaking as you wept, "Don't hurt me, I don't want to die! Please don't kill me!" Tears rolled down your cheeks through your squeezed-shut eyes, your breath choppy, broken up by coughs and messy sobs. Yet, despite everything, Spy felt his heart throb slightly as he looked at you, so helpless and powerless, your fear more delectable than anything he'd encountered before tonight.

Spy released your wrists, and you instantly hugged yourself tightly, not daring to try and run, and for just a moment, he allowed you to catch your breath, enjoying your cute whimpers and struggling to regulate your frantic breathing. Then, he took your face in his palms, forcing you to look into the depths of his eyes, thumbs wiping away a few tears as he worked his hypnotic charm against your mind. 

"You're all right now, don't cry. No one will hurt you, not while I'm here. You're safe, so long as you obey me, understand? You've been out all alone all night. Are you ready to come home, pet?"

At some point, your eyes drifted from his eyes to his lips as he spoke, your anxieties lifting as you could think of nothing but the sound of his voice, nodding in agreement as you listened intently to everything he said. Allowing your mind to go blank, unable to think of anything but the man before you. All you needed to do was obey. Obedience would keep you safe, or rather he would keep you safe. Nothing in the world mattered other than following Spy home.

Spy knew he couldn't let you go after you managed to get away once before, and even if he did kill you upon the second encounter, it was still too risky. For all he knew, you were out telling all your little low-born friends how you managed to escape, how to keep his mind games at bay, and strategizing to fight as a pack the next time around, and he couldn't risk others gathering the courage to rise up against him like that. Still, he knew death was no fitting end for someone like you; he had something more intimate in mind for your demise.

From that night on, you were kept in his estate, a possession forbidden from leaving the castle grounds. You wore a collar around your neck, and your mind kept in a totally broken state. Forced to demean yourself and live out the rest of your eternity as an immortal servant to the undead demon you once hated more than anything in life. You were kept like his own little lap dog to amuse himself as well as his guests. Spy felt so proud of you; now there was finally something to show all of the lowly human hunters who tried to fight off vampires how to find a way to be useful after all. All while you smiled and fed from the palm of his hand.

[novemberthecatadmirer]

Confessions on My Personal Headcanon of Eol

Have been thinking about things for a long while.

Here are my personal reasons for making headcanons involving non-evil-still-toxic Eol that actually had consensual relationship with Aredhel:

I fucking hate the “nobody foreigner indigenous savage abducted our helpless innocent noble woman” narrative. I am foreigner & woman so somehow I get twice offended out there.

I don’t like “overpowered enchantment that can control people but never get mentioned before and after, and existed only to conveniently explain why this woman will get married with him and have child. She must be under wicked evil magic.” Luthien did weird enchantments but at least those were cool and basically power of love.

@diversetolkien’s analysis on racial coding was too great & powerful I will never forget

Of course LaCE is dead and should stay dead for everyone’s sanity. However the “elves cannot have children without consent & Eru’s blessings (human can, unfortunately)” makes doing my headcanons on why there are not so many elves around and how orcs were made (from tortured abducted children of multiple origins, mostly human) a lot more easier.

I do not like the narrative that a female character gets punished by the world for having personal desires and leaving family for such desires in the “if you leave the protection of men you will be raped by some evil man and have your life ruined forever” way. I am fine even if Aredhel was killed by Orcs or some random dark creatures (punishment for underestimating the danger, tragical but acceptable), but punishing a woman’s desire for independence with a random man out of nowhere... Well, such a traditional approach. Tolkien can have that. I can dislike that out of personal reasons. Like, all the male writers out there can use rape as a nice angsty divice over female characters, but I still do not like reading that overused trope.

The “Aredhel getting abducted and brainwashed and raped and abused by Eol” is a little bit… Overdone. No offence, there are so many absolutely great fictions based on that. Just... I do not like that take being the only way people interpret the canon text.

I get personally frustrated when I keep seeing the stereotypical type of abuse depicted in media all the damned time. There should be more representations of the less extreme but still very damaging subtypes. (Arguably those types are more common and often overlooked in nowadays society?)

Let me introduce you to “couples who love each other but have so many damned mental troubles and surprise surprise love is not a cure for mental illness so they end up hating & feeling guilty for each other and falling into this very bad codependent downward spiral. Oh and their kid SUFFERS.” 

I love my personal headcanon that “enchantment” is a metaphor for “mad, dumb, intense romantic attraction.” The power of helpless crush & obsession, pure and powerful, that will absolutely make you throw your identities & believes, social backgrounds, and personal duties behind and jump into a lava pit together.

It would be more interesting the other ways.

To me Aredhel does feel like the type who see some stranger in strange forest with strange background from a foreign culture and decided “okay I totally want to fuck that one.”

Eol did have reasons to dislike Noldor. He lived unfortunately close to the “Chaotic Evil Elven Realm where Curufin and Celegorm were.”

Eol did crime and became a kinslayer. He did evil, no argument for that. The thing is, before that he did choose death over being trapped in a colonizer’s kingdom (from his point of view.) He chose freedom even freedom meant death. I can see why he could actually share similar values with Aredhel in that particular aspect.

Eol being a typical abusive abductor & rapist makes fix-it stories a lot more easier. If he was pure evil you can just have someone slay the evil then save the innocent princess and unfortunately conceived child. Or you make Aredhel never meet him, problem solved. However, sometimes we don’t like convenient set-up that avoids all moral dilemmas do we?

I like Maeglin and I want to do evil to him because I am evil and I want to make his troubles A LOT MORE complex and helpless and miserable. And absolutely no one in Gondolin could understand his situation because they chose to believe the “evil foreigner” theory to ease their consciences. How can I make it easier for Sauron to mess up his mind.

I like Tolkien’s “dark elves were corrupted traumatized by Morgoth and released back to the world to do evil like he later did to Hurin & Turin” idea.

The “your father tried his best to love & protect you but even his best was not enough also his idea of ‘best’ was fucked-up. Much of what he did to you was abusive and you hate your father for making your life miserable. However you also know his action was caused by something far worse done to him by someone else, and if the same thing happen to you you will end up the same as well. As the result you cannot really hate him. You can hate the one who did the fucked up stuff to your father, but Morgoth does not care about your hatred and is probably laughing somewhere in his evil lair. Your father’s love was toxic and poison everyone he loved, and you hate him, and you still think he deserved to never be turned this way and had a happy life and never met your mother.” <--I personally like this.

And the “everyone think your father was evil and expect you to hate him and you cannot explain to them because your father did do evil. Also you absolutely hate your father for trying to murder you and murdering your mother and you feel you are honor-bound to want him die for murdering your mother so you go to watch him being pushed down a cliff. Somehow you feel worse and wondering if you should die as well because you did let your father die.” <-- I am sadistic and think this is delicious.

I love the “there is love in this family and it seems like they really could be happy but the world is fucked up Morgothed so they end up hurting & killing each other when their love gets turned toxic” trope.

Again, always more interesting the other ways.

Be kind to me! I think I just have different perspective based on personal experiences so I enjoy reinterpreting things differently out of personal interest. I understand why the evil-Eol & abused-Aredhel trope is extremely popular in fanon now, because it opens ways to hurt/comfort, found family, discussions of issues that worth to be discussed (and traditionally avoided), etc. Which are valuable, necessary, and absolutely respectful approaches. I just like things otherwise because of personal preferences. 

I tend to be so afraid that someone will think I am evil for not headcanoning Eol as evil (well I also have opinions on petty-dwarves but that would be for another post another day.)

[jadespadegames]

My ★★½ review of Napoleon on Letterboxd https://boxd.it/5pDz3x

"YOU THINK YOU ARE SO GREAT BECAUSE YOU HAVE BOATS!!!"

-Napoleon Bonaparte (apparently)

The fundamental problem with this film can be summed up by the ending text which describes how Napoleon fought in 61 battles and lists out the few battles that were seen in the movie. Beside these names are, of all things, the number of casualties of each battle. It then says that in total, 3 million people died in his battles.

I'm not sure why that's the final takeaway Scott wanted us to have about Napoleon. The man was certainly flawed and ended up losing his power, but there is no denying that he was a military genius so charismatic and cunning that he swiftly rose from general to emperor. If you knew nothing about him before watching this movie, you would never know that he won almost 90% of his battles despite being outnumbered in many of them. Instead, we only see about 5 of these battles, 2 of which he loses and the others being strangely insignificant. During the battle of Waterloo, the British commander even points out that Napoleon is sleeping. Is this movie all just one big joke?

We see none of his military prowess or political acumen and instead have to watch him behave like a pathetic, petulant child desperate for power and his wife Josephine. While I believe there could be a good movie centered around Napoleon and Josephine, this was certainly not one. Despite their complicated relationship being the emotional crux of the film, it was absolutely cringeworthy and painful to watch and I was not invested in either of them. Part of that cringe was intentional, but I feel like that only makes it worse. It boggles my mind that Scott thought it was more important to depict Napoleon whining and stomping his feet because his wife wouldn't have sex with him NOW than his true military accomplishments or any of the major reforms he made to France as emperor.

This is an absolute joke of a Napoleon film that is so inaccurate and insulting to its subject that I can't even call it a biopic in good faith. I truly believe it was only made to tear down his image, and while I am all for depicting the flaws of historical figures, this was done insincerely here. Worst of all, it's not even entertaining to watch—the few battles were underwhelming and it felt like the film was mostly just dragging us through scene after scene with little connection in-between. I barely got by with the little knowledge of French history I had, I cannot imagine comprehending this film without any. Things just happen on-screen with little emphasis on their significance. It also does a bad job of depicting the passage of time, and sometimes I only realized years had passed between scenes because of a line or two of dialogue. Perhaps this is because of the hours of content that were cut out for the theatrical release, but the fundamental issues with this film make me believe that the director's cut will not be much better.

Do not watch this if you want a film that actually depicts Napoleon and his life. Watch this if you want to see a film that's "so bad it's funny" though the funny parts are few and the rest is just cringeworthy.

(I also have to point out how lazy and mismatched the soundtrack felt. Twice they used the iconic piano song "Dawn" that was ripped straight from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film of all things. Having had to watch that movie countless times growing up because my older sister loved it to pieces, I instantly recognized the song and it took me out of the movie each time. That song is far too iconic and inherently linked with P&P and I'm not sure why the composer chose to use such a gentle, romantic tune for scenes with Napoleon and Josephine when their toxic relationship was nothing like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's. It just left me feeling like I could be watching a better film that actually makes me feel invested in their central pair.)

[harborpointeblvd]

I’m starting over on my rec list

I ended up dropping some of the comics I’ve recommended before, so I’m only going to recommend completed stories from now on.

A Shoulder to Cry On (Dongmul)

When Dayeol is framed for assault by Taehyun, he nearly loses his archery scholarship. But instead of feeling the least bit remorseful for nearly ruining Dayeol’s life, Taehyun starts to torment Dayeol even further.

I can’t tell you how much I hated Taehyun in the beginning of this story, but by the end, my heart belonged to him. I usually don’t like assholes with sad backstories as love interests, but Taehyun is the exception.

Trigger warning for self-harm.

Official English translation available on Lezhin.

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Fools (Yeongha)

Shounen Ai - After overhearing a fight that new student Jeongwoo had with his boyfriend, college senior Eungi finds himself becoming increasingly confused about his feelings toward Jeongwoo. Jeongwoo, meanwhile, fresh out of a long and rocky relationship, isn’t ready to act on his feelings toward Eungi. Commence awkward not-dates.

This is the most relatable depiction of the uncomfortable early stages of a romance that I’ve ever seen. It also shows how trauma from past toxic relationships can affect new, healthy ones. But it’s never too heavy-handed about it. It’s really funny at times, but also has its fair share of angst.

In the official English translation, their names are Edward and Justin, but I think it’s weird when they do that.

Official English translation removed by author from all official platforms.

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Heesu in Class 2 (Lily Zuzu)

Shounen Ai - Despite both being big dumb idiots who don’t know anything about relationships, Heesu and his next door neighbor Seung Won agree to help each other out with their respective secret crushes. Little does Heesu know, he is the real subject of Seung Won’s affection.

Heesu’s and Seung Won’s best friends are the best wingmen, and extra points for one of them being a well-written female character. My only complaint is that I wasn’t interested in the second couple at all, but if you tend to like side pairs, you’ll probably like them.

Official English translation available on Lezhin.

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How to Hate Mate (Reck, Yeongha)

Alternate Title: Hate Mate

Shounen Ai - Two years ago, Subin drunkenly confessed his feelings to his straight roommate, Hyunwoo. After that, Hyunwoo left for his mandatory military service, and Subin hasn’t heard from him since. Just when Subin is finally ready to move on, Hyunwoo reappears and things get complicated.

Listen. Hate Mate hurt me in a big way. Don’t read this if you’re looking for the warm fuzzies, because you will not find them here. I loved this story for its realism. All the characters are seriously flawed, and even though it ended the way I hoped it would, nothing feels fully resolved. This comic will hurt you and skip the aftercare. Anyways, have fun.

The authors announced that they are working on a second season, so I guess this one is technically ongoing. But if I don’t like the new ending, I’ll pretend season 2 didn’t happen.

Official English translation has been removed from Lezhin.

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Just Kidding (Cho Hyerim)

Alternate Title: A Strange Joke

Shounen Ai - Min Kim is an unremarkable college student who is firmly in the closet. Sijun is a heartthrob who, for reasons Min can’t fathom, has taken a sudden interest in him. As the two grow closer, Min can’t help but wonder if their connection is more than friendship.

This story holds a special place in my heart. It will have you ugly crying in one chapter and ugly laughing in the next. Min and his friends are a bunch of drunken dumbass college students in the best way.

Trigger warning for grooming.

Official English translation available on Pocket Comics.

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Roommates (Young Seok)

Shounen Ai - Kisub just needs to crash on Jinwoo’s couch for a few days, or months, or forever. Which is a problem, because Jinwoo has secret feelings for Kisub, and they’re bound to come out eventually.

Roommates is just too funny. The art style and story are pretty simple, but it has a lot of funny little details that make it relatable. Jinwoo is affected by the tiniest things that Kisub does, like putting a medication patch on his neck. Oh if he were an icy hot patch against that neck…

The second season is a new story, completely independent from season one. It’s not as light-hearted as the first season, but like it too.

Trigger warning for sexual assault in season 2.

Official English translation available on Tappytoon.

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Shape of Your Love (Park Nodeok)

Alternate Title: For Your Love

Shounen Ai - Jung Yohan thinks unrequited love is for idiots, but joke’s on him, because he’s the biggest idiot of them all. When Yohan realizes that his upperclassman Moogyeong has feelings for another guy, he makes it his mission to get the pair together. But the more time he spends with Moogyeong, the more he resents Moogyeong’s secret crush.

Yohan is easily the best thing about this manhwa. He has the greatest facial expressions. There is a spinoff involving two side characters from this story, but I haven’t read it and I don’t plan to.

Official English translation available on Pocket Comics.

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Someone Else’s BL Manhwa (Bbobariee)

Shounen Ai - Loner by day and cross-dresser by night, Kim Seunghee has managed to keep his double life a secret, until he’s caught in drag after a bad date by class president Park Seungtaek and class trouble maker Lee Kyubin. I’m not even gonna spoil who the pairings are, because it’s not immediately apparent.

Seunghee is a bit of a brat, but that’s part of his charm. He’s not for everyone, but he’s my favorite character. All of the characters turn out to be different from how they first seem, which I adore. There is a HUGE portion of the comic dedicated to the side pairing (hence the title) but both the main and side pairings are cute as hell.

This was one of the first BL comics that I read, so there’s a nostalgia factor there for me. I honestly love it too much to be objective about it. Do I love it because it’s good or is it good because I love it?

Official English translation available on Tappytoon.

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Soulmate (Bing Ke Ran, Wenzhi Lizi)

Shoujo Ai - 27-year-old Yu Qi has been dating Yuan Zi since college, but Yuan Zi’s health has been declining. When Yu Qi wakes up one morning ten years in the past, in her 17-year-old body, she decides to use it as an opportunity to meet Yuan Zi sooner and prevent her illness. Meanwhile, 17-year old Yu Qi wakes up in her present-day body and doesn’t know Yuan Zi.

This is such a sweet story. The girls are so cute together, and I love everything about Yuan Zi. A beautiful romance that will make you believe in soulmates.

Official English translation available on Tapas.

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Unintentional Love Story (Pibi)

Shounen Ai - Wonyoung is fired from his job after being falsely incriminated in a corruption scandal. By sheer luck, he happens to run into the company chairman’s favorite ceramic artist, Yoon Taejun, who has been living under an alias. He’s told he will likely get his job back if he could convince Taejun to partner with the company. Wonyoung tries to get close to Taejun without revealing that he knows his true identity. What he doesn’t plan on, though, is falling in love with Taejun.

This one is where the DRAMA is at. The story doesn’t ignore the fact that the relationship was built on a lie. It hurts so good.

Official English translation available on Lezhin.

[artsyhobi]

Cursed

Divine Gods!BTS x reader

series masterlist

Chapter one, Calico Cat.

characters: mortal!fem!reader, god of the moon!park jimin, god of the sun!jung hoseok, god of death and darkness!min yoongi, god of the four elements!kim namjoon, god of time!kim seokjin, god of nature and life!jeon jungkook, god of mischief!kim taehyung.

a/n: hello ! i hope you enjoy this first chapter, i actually took inspo from Goblin (which is a kdrama i absolutely loved ;;) and i'm sorry in advance for my poor writing, but english is not my first language ...

trigger warning: mentions of blood, violence and death, curse words.

tag-list: @greezenini, @fangirl125reader, @motherofbludgers

Min Yoongi sat on the throne, his legs elegantly crossed as he rested his forearms on the armrest. He slightly raised his left arm so that the tip of his index finger could lightly brush against his lower lip, his eyebrows mildly furrowed in a focused expression.

The black-haired man continued playing with his lip, then reached for something in the pocket of his silk pants and held the object in the palm of his hand: it was a vintage pocket watch entirely made out of gold, with a ruby located right at its center. The hands of the watch moved mechanically, producing a “tic” sound that resonated in his mind like an irritating echo.

Yoongi hated time. What was ironic, though, is that he had too much of it: he had an Eternity.

Yoongi glared at the antique object once more. A satisfied smirk appeared on the corner of his lips, depicting anything but an innocent smile. He stood up, adjusting his coat and grabbing his black bowler hat in a swift movement before taking some steps forward: as he walked, the dark throne room surrounding him became gradually more distant and, in a matter of seconds, the man was walking in the busy and snowy streets of Seoul. The snow crunched under the soles of his shoes, the snowflakes that landed on his coat immediately melted, and as he passed by, nobody seemed to notice his presence.

The street was crowded with people rushing to purchase the last Christmas presents, couples holding hands, and kids eating strawberry cotton candy. Disgusting, thought Yoongi as he curled his nose.

“One minute and thirty-three seconds.” He murmured to himself, turning into a deserted alley after checking the correct street name on a brick wall nearby. As he walked, the bright white snow became dirtier until there were just a few clusters of it on the side of the path. It started snowing heavier.

“Fifty-eight seconds.”

“I told you there were consequences!” A hoarse male voice shouted in the distance. Yoongi stopped hands into the pockets of his coat. “You’re a worthless bitch!”

There was a loud bang, followed by two others, and a feeble female voice asking for help. No one could hear her, and even if her cries reached someone’s ears, no one would help her since - according to Min Yoongi - humans were nothing but greedy mortal souls that enjoyed the sufferings of others. They were too occupied with spending their money on materialistic goods and developing toxic, violent, and possessive relationships. They were human beings but had no humanity left in their hearts.

He approached the poor woman laying on the ground, her hand resting on her stomach: blood was gushing out of her bullet wounds, dripping down in a pool of crimson absorbed by the snow. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered the same words over and over again, “Help me”.

He crouched down beside her and tilted his head, observing her like a detective inspected a victim. He knew that her time was up and that she was destined to die there, alone, desperately waiting for someone to find her.

“S-Sir…” She mumbled, some blood running down from the corner of her mouth. “P-please help me…” Her hand desperately clutched the hem of his coat, smearing it with her blood.

Yoongi sharply exhaled and rolled his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“Fancy seeing you follow me everywhere I go, Jungkook.” He stated, reluctantly standing up to face a man leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed.

“Did you miss me?” Jungkook grinned.

He seemed almost like an angel since the clothes he wore were entirely white. His blond hair brushed against his shoulders, and a pair of long crystal earrings hung from his ears, sparkling as soon as they moved. Yoongi, on the contrary, was his polar opposite: his short wavy locks were as black as pitch, and although his eyes were a dull brown, they almost felt like looking into two holes, black as a night without stars.

“Seokjin sent me here to stop you from reaping her soul,” he affirmed, playing with the many rings he wore on his fingers, “It’s not her time yet.”

Yoongi scoffed, slightly amused at his statement. “Don’t you see the three holes on her stomach… Or do you need a magnifying glass? I am the one who decides if she dies today, not that Doctor Strange wannabe.” He took some steps toward him until his face was a few inches away from his, “I don’t take orders from a teenager.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, the slight grin disappeared. “These are not my orders but his, and you know you must obey him.” He lightly shoved Yoongi’s shoulder without interrupting eye contact with him, trying to remain calm. He kneeled beside the woman and caressed her hair, a sad smile depicted on his pink lips, while Yoongi stared angrily at the two.

“Don’t even think about it, Jungkook, her soul is already mine.” He said through gritted teeth.

“It is, you’re right.” The blond whispered and delicately put his hand on the woman’s chest. “But not now, Yoongi, you will have to wait.”

“Wait!?” Yoongi exclaimed in disbelief, and then frantically ran a hand through his black locks, “This has to be a joke, is Taehyung with you?”

“He is not,” He responded as a gleam of light formed under the palm of his hand, turning brighter by the second, “I haven’t seen him in ages.” This time his tone was lower, and his expression had darkened. Yoongi nodded, having no interest in knowing what had happened between the two friends.

“I suppose you won’t tell me why Seokjin wants to spare her life.”

“He just told me to stop you, nothing more.”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lies,” he snarled, “you are his little obedient puppy, Jungkook, we all know it.”

Jungkook inhaled the sharp, cold air and smiled as the woman opened her dark eyes. “I’m not here to fight, Yoongi, so you can insult me how much you want.” The blond took the now conscious woman into his arms and glared directly at his former friend. “But nothing will change the fact that you’re on your own now.”

Yoongi turned around, ready to argue back, but there was no trace of Jungkook.

The black-haired man remained still as he watched the empty spot, sighing, a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach.

20 years later

“Chung-Ae, we’ve already talked about this!” You groaned in annoyance, sinking your face into your Pikachu plushie. “I’m happy here!”

Chung-Ae sat on the counter, her arms supporting her as she gave you a stern look. You peeked, escaping the protection of your plushie, noticing that she wore purple lenses - although her stare was as scary as it had always been -.

“You’re a twenty-two-year-old living in an old house, with your three cats, and working in a cat-café.” She emphasized the “and” as if working in such a wonderful place was something to be ashamed of.

“That’s the best life!” You exclaimed as you sat comfortably on your sofa. “I mean, why would I need to move to Seul with a bunch of horny people when I could just spend the rest of my life in peace?”

Chung-Ae sighed loudly.

“They’re not just a bunch of horny people. They are my friends.”

You parted your lips to respond, wanting to remind her about the last party you both had attended, but she cut you off.

“Y/N, you live alone in such an abandoned area, it’s dangerous; it even takes you more than an hour to reach the café.” She slid down from the counter and sat next to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, I know that you’re attached to this place, but it doesn’t work for you anymore.”

She was right, you loved that place. Your grandparent’s house was located in the countryside, in a small rural village that was scarcely populated. The few young people remaining had started moving to bigger cities such as Seul or Busan, but not you. You adored waking up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning and the gurgling of the river. You got used to being alone, and you didn’t mind it. You couldn’t understand why Chung-Ae tried to force you to move with her, but she was rather determined, and you knew she was going to insist.

“Chung-Ae,” you reached for her hand and squeezed it delicately, a small smile forming on your lips. “You know I can’t leave, I promised my mother I would take care of this house.”

“You have to stop living in the past, Y/N.” She firmly stated. “This house is falling apart, and so is your life. Moving to Seul with me is your best option.”

Her eyes stared into yours for a few seconds, and you felt unreasonably guilty. You knew how much she cared about you, and you were constantly giving her “no” as answers. She retracted her hand, reaching for her purse right beside her, before standing up. “You still have time to think about it. You know that, right?” Her hand was on the doorknob.

Your mind wanted to decline her offer, but your heart told you otherwise, so you just nodded.

“Take care, Y/N.” And with that, she closed the door behind her, leaving you alone once again.

You finally took a deep breath running your palms down your face in an exasperated manner. Chung-Ae was your childhood friend, and she had always been by your side. You had met her in elementary school: she was popular amongst your class since her father was a renowned lawyer who worked for big celebrities, but you - on the other hand - weren’t as popular. You weren’t a social butterfly and preferred spending your time playing with the stray cats in your neighborhood.

You stood up and walked toward the kitchen, deciding to make yourself a homemade chicken noodle soup. You put the ingredients on the counter and started to chop the carrots into strings. As you were about to grab something, you heard a strange noise coming from outside: you reminisced Chung-Ae’s words and felt a shiver run through your spine, but you shook your head, mentally reassuring yourself that it must have been a wild animal.

You grabbed the celery from the fridge, deciding that you would drink some strawberry milk while waiting for the soup to cook. However, when you closed it, you were taken aback by a calico cat sitting on the floor, right in front of you. Your eyes were wide open in surprise since your three cats were all black, and you crouched down. “Hello, little one,” you gently smiled as you observed the little creature staring at you with a pair of light blue eyes, “I wonder how you got in…”

You inspected the room looking for any open windows but soon discovered you had closed everything. When you turned your gaze back to the cat, it was gone. Puzzled, you stood back up, massaging your temples. Am I hallucinating? You asked yourself before resuming your dish.

After literally devouring your delicious meal and doing the dishes, you headed to your room, where you found the windows wide open. You didn’t remember leaving them like that, but you also didn’t mind the fresh breeze coming from outside. It was a quiet night of July, and the moon was shining vividly in the sky, its brightness being the only source of light in the room. As you approached your bed, you couldn’t help but notice the shape of a cat on the window ledge, but when you came near, it had mysteriously vanished.

"Okay, Y/N, you're probably tired." You told yourself while sitting on the bed. As you laid down, feeling the freshness of your newly washed sheets, you heard another sound and then a chorus of meows coming from the living room. You sighed, reluctantly standing up, wearing a hoodie before walking down the stairs.

"What is it, guys, did you hurt yourselves?" You asked as your three black cats, Luna, Mars, and Pluto, continued meowing toward the front door. You groaned, "Alright, I will check."

You weren't ready for what you were about to see: you expected nothing but pitch darkness or that calico cat that was apparently haunting you now. But as you opened the wooden door, you froze on the spot at the sight of a man leaning his arm on the doorframe.

Because of the darkness, you could only see his silver hair reflecting the moonlight and a pair of light blue eyes staring at you in curiosity.

"Hello, little one."

[starberry-cupcake]

Free Short Stories: Aromantic Recommendations

Aro week is over but I spent it reading aro stories that are entirely accessible online (with their authors' consent) and thought I'd share some with you, as well as some extra resources. I’m going to include under “read more” content warnings and specific details, like the kind of rep included or important notes, so if you want to be sure and safe before reading them, you can click “read more” for all that information, or if you prefer just the blurb, avoid it easily enough. There you will also find the extra links of interest and other masterposts.

Edit: This post used to be split in two parts, I’ve integrated them into one whole post for everyone’s convenience. 

1. Nkásht ii by Darcie Little Badger

Josie and Annie set to investigate a strange death that may involve more than they expected. Sometimes the love that heals isn’t romantic and bonds that are strong are those chosen.

2. Hope of the Future by Elizabeth Barrette

In a fantasy setting, a human cleric finds an elf bard and a strong female dwarf, all cast aside for their identities, and create their own home and family. The same characters also appear in another poem that continued their story: The Underground Gardens.

3. Tanith’s Sky by Penny Stirling

Ash is left with the loss of Tanith, after she sacrifices herself to save the world. Tanith's memories resurface in people's minds and Ash has to navigate their identity, their memories and how to label for others’ sake their lost relationship.

4. And If The Body Were Not The Soul by A. C. Wise

Ro is a human who forms an unlikely bond with an alien refugee, discovering a different layer of proximity that doesn't chain to the type of physicality humanity sets. In that process of discovery, Ro learns about the other side of the social oppression in their own city.

5. The Crows Her Dragon’s Gate by Benjanun Sriduangkaew

An exploration of the background and re-telling of the story of the goddess Xihe. Marrying out of the obligation of customs and pressure, this story explores the feelings of Xihe, her relationship with Di Jun and the freedom she ultimately seeks.

6. The Girl Turns West by Darcie Little Badger

Another tale set in Native American culture (the author is a Lipan Apache writer), this story is about family, sacrifice and forms of non romantic love and devotion that transcend the limits of life and death.

7. Kin, Painted by Penny Stirling

The narrator can’t find a place in a family that seems so determined, so certain, painted each in a specific way. A poetic prose filled with magic and the colors that we paint ourselves with, which can sometimes change with time.

8. Cucumber by Penny Stirling

A queerplatonic couple in a fantasy setting deals with social pressure in a story written in poetic verse.

9. The Famine King by Darcie Little Badger

A woman is chased by fear, memories and a being that affects her relationship with her own identity and mental health, while finding refuge in a found family. These characters are also included in a previous story called To Sleep.

10. How My Best Friend Rania Crashed A Party And Saved The World by Ada Hoffman

Emma, a Relator, finds out that her best friend Rania, a World Saver, is being used by her boyfriend and can lose her credibility as a Hero for it, so she enlists a tech-savvy Number Fiend, Deborah, to crash a high school party in a forbidden sector to confront the guy.

11. Unlike Most Tides by Darcie Little Badger

Mathilda is in peace with her solitude until she communicates with energy beyond her understanding and finds the voice of a murdered woman who asks her for help to deal with her killer: her ex boyfriend.

Content Warnings and Extra Details

1. Nkásht íí by Darcie Little Badger

Details: urban fantasy, folklore, suspense, aromantic lead character, main platonic relationship between female characters. CW: minor characters deaths, accidents, the death of a child is mentioned, domestic abuse in flashbacks.

2. Hope for the Future by Elizabeth Barrette

Details: aroace male lead in a poly relationship with a female and male character, fantasy, story in poetry, happy ending. CW: arophobia and acephobia, family abandonment.

3. Tanith’s Sky by Penny Stirling

Details: fantasy, sci fi, drama, hurt/comfort. Main qp relationship between an aroace cis female lead and a non binary allo lead. The aroace lead is dead by the start of the story, which I had my hesitation about, but the story does a wonderful job capturing Tanith’s life in an aftermath of what would be another untold story, as well as Ash’s identity and their relationship, as well as the process of grief and moving forward. CW: major character death, grief, depression, transphobia, arophobia and acephobia.

4. And If The Body Were Not The Soul by A. C. Wise

Details: explicitly touch-averse asexual non binary lead, very likely aromantic (expressed but not named in the text), sci fi, social strife, hurt/comfort, found family and friendship (nb and cis female, nb and alien friendships). Many commenters have expressed that Ro is potentially an autistic character, some autistic authors and reviewers have agreed or disagreed but I couldn’t find whether the author stated that at any point. CW: mild depictions of violence, xenophobia, social issues and unrest, happy ending.

5. The Crows Her Dragon’s Gate by Benjanun Sriduangkaew

Details: the goddess Xihe is depicted as aroace yet marries the god Di Jun for a time in which she lives troubled. Fantasy, mythology, re-interpretations, angst with a happy ending. CW: internalized acephobia and arophobia, dubious consent, violence, animal death, toxic marriage, there is a side wlw couple of mortals who die.

6. The Girl Turns West by Darcie Little Badger

Details: there isn’t romance in the story, the lead character doesn’t seemingly have romance in the future and there is a side female character who explicitly rejects suitors and prefers to live independently yet with her family. Considering that the author has written several aroace characters, I decided to include this one and another story in Part 2 as strong potentials (there is another story by the same author that other sites recommend as aro-representative, but I think these two are a lot less vague). Fantasy, mythology, folklore, bittersweet ending. CW: death mentions, wounds and accidents, blood mentions.

7. Kin, Painted by Penny Stirling

Details: poetic prose, fantasy, aromantic lead character, trans male character, non binary characters.

8. Cucumber by Penny Stirling

Details: fiction in poetry form, queerplatonic relationship in a fantasy setting. CW: arophobia and acephobia, social pressure.

9. The Famine King by Darcie Little Badger

Details: mystery, suspense, horror, folklore, hurt/comfort, angst w/optimistic ending, explicit non romantic & non sexual main relationship between to female characters. CW: blood, wounds, cannibalism mentions, mental illness with hallucination episodes, racism.

10. How My Best Friend Rania Crashed A Party And Saved The World by Ada Hoffman.

Details: high school setting, uplifting, sci fi, aroace lead character in a friendship with a heterosexual girl and a bisexual girl. CW: arophobia by the best friend, which is not confronted or discussed, mentions of racism. Notes: I read this story for the Pride list last year and I didn't include it because I had a bone to pick with Rania's character. The story is fun, a lot more lighthearted than many of the ones here and has a distinct tone that makes it good to include, plus Emma (the lead) is a very friendly, social and well-liked person, rather than the traditional robot/alien foil aro, ace and aroace characters tend to receive. So, even if I'm still uneasy about Rania and how her bad attitude is not acknowledged in the story, I’m still including it for all its perks.

11. Unlike Most Tides by Darcie Little Badger

Details: there is a protagonist who prefers to live in solitude and speaks about it and about her favorable feelings towards it. It isn’t explicitly stated that she is aromantic but, much like The Girl Turns West in Part 1, I’d say it’s a good addition to the list, though it's probably the least explicit of the bunch. Mystery, supernatural, sci fi, suspense, positive ending. CW: murder, corpses, side character death, blood, femicide.

Other masterposts:

@coolcurrybooks's first and second masterpost I consulted

Penny Stirling's recommendation list

LGBTQReads recommendations list

Claudie Arsenault recommendation list

Aro and Ace character database

Aroaessidhe recommendations list

YA Pride masterlist

My own LGBTQ+ free short stories rec list from last year, some of these stories are in it but the majority is not

[shit-mcu-stans-write]

submission from anon: essay on rhodey

my apologies that this is so long. i had a lot more to say than i realised and this… just kind of happened.

so… lieutenant colonel james “jim” rupert “rhodey” rhodes… i have a lot of feelings about him and his character development and for once… i actually like what i see from the mcu. i love what the mcu has completely unintentionally done for him and i find it absolutely hilarious because i know it’s 100% unintentional, because they’d never purposefully make rhodey’s character development so anti-tony-stark. but that’s what we’ve been presented with. and i love it. hear me out:

in iron man 1 rhodey starts as tony’s babysitter. rhodey says so himself: “you don’t respect yourself so I know you don’t respect me - i’m just your babysitter” but despite the fact he knows tony doesn’t respect him, he’s still there for tony, still supporting him, still showing him as much love as he can no matter how little tony gives back. he puts it down the the fact tony doesn’t respect himself; he’s reckless and childish and doesn’t take responsibility for his actions. rhodey might be being sarcastic and snarky when he’s saying “when you need your diaper changed let me know and I’ll get you a bottle” but there’s some truth to it: he can’t help but mother-hen tony, because someone has to be responsible for the kid (he sure as hell can’t be responsible for himself!), and rhodey has put himself in that position.

i think a lot of that’s to do with the fact they both met really young in mit, with rhodey being a couple (?) years older than tony at the time. they stuck together because they were both in the unique position of being child prodigies, but because rhodey was the older of the two i think he quickly settled into a caregiving role. but by iron man 1, rhodey has emotionally matured, and tony hasn’t. he hasn’t needed to, being a white billionaire boy and all. so rhodey still sees tony as this kid he’s always been there for, always protecting, always giving and giving and giving to, and putting up with. they’ve been friends for so long that he’s used to it.

by iron man 2, rhodey is fed up. tony is being even more reckless than usual because he’s dying but no one knows, so rhodey is being pushed to his breaking point. there’s a deleted scene where rhodey says something which i feel says everything you need about what their relationship has become by now: “hanging out with you is bad for our friendship”. rhodey is starting to realise just how impossible being an actual friend - not just a yes-man and support staff - for tony is. and all that culminates in the fight scene where, upon seeing tony drunk and endangering his party guests in a WMD supersuit, rhodey reaches that breaking point. protects tony from himself one last time by fighting him, then cuts ties.

only, by the end of iron man 2, rhodey learns that taking the suit to the military and letting hammer get his paws on it was a bad idea, and that tony was literally near death the whole time he was being a dick, and then they have to team up to defeat vanko together. so despite having gone through all the shit tony’s put him through and realising how terrible a friend tony actually is, he chalks this all up to a mistake and a misunderstanding on his part. gives tony a second (or, more realistically, hundredth) chance. which is why in iron man 3 they’re best buds again. im3 is probably the healthiest depiction of their relationship tbh, and that’s on im3 tony being the least assholeish depiction of tony in the whole mcu (imo).

but tony’s character begins to sour massively from AOU onwards (not saying he wasn’t an… abrasive character beforehand, to say the least, but clearly all the guilt from causing ultron and inadvertently causing the mess in sokovia is affecting him and his relationships; pepper, another caregiving character that has put up with tony’s entitled, misogynistic bullshit for years, has left him, and i think that’s a massive sign that he’s spiralling in a similar way he did in im2. after all, the writers refuse to develop him as a character, which means he’ll never get help for his mental health and never learn healthy coping mechanisms. i honestly wonder what happened for pepper to leave - we’ve seen the breaking point for rhodey, so what was hers?)

so yeah, anyway, tony is starting to spiral again from AOU. civil war happens - he blames the team and latches onto the accords as a way to absolve himself of the guilt, bla bla bla, you know the plot. and, just like the others, rhodey is given mere days to read, consider, and sign this life-changing document; not only is his best friend vehemently, vocally, and violently in favour these documents, they’re also coming from a position of power that he, as a military man, respects. so it makes sense he’d initially be on the side of the accords.

and then something even more life-changing than the accords happens for rhodey. sam accidentally shoots him down and he injures his legs so bad that he can’t walk without support. and rhodey’s response to that? i know we don’t get to see much of rhodey’s response and recovery, which is a travesty, but what we do get? really sheds some light on the kind of man rhodey is, and how he develops as a person by the end of endgame. 

for once in his life, rhodey is in the position of needing to be cared for - and on top of that, tony is the one offering. we also see that rhodey wants his recovery to be something he does alone as much as he possibly can, because that’s just the kind of person he is; we see the sheer amount of value he places on his ability to handle things on his own, and the skyrocket-high responsibility he holds himself to. and now all of a sudden tony’s actually trying to reciprocate the attention and care he’s shown him without reward for years (and only because of this guilt spiral he’s been on since AOU)… and that must have been fucking jarring for rhodey.

i think the sudden and strange role reversal probably helped him work out a few things about his relationship with tony a lot. which is why, when infinity war rolls around, they don’t interact. rhodey seems closer to and more in alignment with the “rogues”/“nomads” than tony. where once he agreed with the accords, he’s had some time to actually read them and reconsider them, and he’s against them now! he hates ross and greets steve with a warm hug!

and something i love so fucking much about infinity war (dispite all it’s other faults)? sam and rhodey’s relationship. sam shot rhodey down and disabled him for the rest of his life. and rhodey forgives him. first of all, because that’s the kind of person rhodey is (he’s had plenty of practice forgiving all kinds of shit with tony), and rhodey understands it was a mistake (and probably empathises with how horrible it must have been for sam; he’s military too, he understands that specific kind of guilt). interesting to compare rhodey’s response to the mistake with tony’s. and heartwarming to see that, for once, when rhodey forgives someone for what they’ve done, he is given gratitude and a genuine two-way friendship in response. i live for sam and rhodey’s every interaction in iw.

and then we get to endgame. know how many times rhodey interacts with tony in endgame? twice. first interaction: “okay, you made your point - just sit down, okay?” (read: “stop acting like a child before you hurt yourself”). second interaction: *sadly touches his face as he realises he’s dying before moving aside to let peter and pepper say their goodbyes*. what i love about these interactions - and the lack of any other interactions - is what it clearly means for rhodey:

1) tony still means a lot to rhodey. he’ll always mean a lot to him. they were best friends since they were literally just kids at mit. he’ll always, i think, love tony and want to care for and protect him (from himself, mainly). and tony, in his own way, will always love rhodey. but, 2) rhodey has still, nevertheless, cut ties with tony. i think the time away from action caused by the long recovery process he would’ve went through not only let rhodey reconsider his stance on the accords and his superiors in the military such as ross, but it also gave him time (and a wildly new perspective) to realise how toxic his relationship with tony truly is.

and what’s great to compare the way in which and reasons why he cuts ties with tony after civil war compared to the way in which and reasons why he cut ties with tony during im2, is that rhodey hasn’t been pushed to his breaking point this time. he has way more agency in his choice this time. he’s not leaving because he’s been infuriated one time too many; he’s doing it because he’s actually being given the kind of support he himself has been dishing out all these years… and doesn’t want it. not if it’s coming from the place of convenience and guilt that it is with tony. he cannot be guilt-tripped into forgiving tony anymore because he is making his choice this time with clear-mindedness.

and you know what’s so great about him finally genuinely cutting ties with tony this time around? he’s no longer his yes-man. he gets space to breathe as his own character. he jokes around more. he’s not annoyed all the time. he gets involved with the rest of the team. as i’ve said, he interacts with sam and it’s beautiful. he interacts with nebula and it’s heartwarming and they form a bond so quickly. and in all the new interactions he gets you see he is receiving so much more respect and reciprocation than he’s ever experienced with tony. and it makes me so happy.

also i can’t help but think about how it’s also a pretty big deal for him as a black character to go through all of these revelations and developments; black kids are often encouraged/forced to mature mentally/emotionally a lot quicker than white kits, and take on responsibility that shouldn’t be their burden to bear from a young age (which i think was absolutely something rhodey experienced as a highly intelligent black child), and it’s not uncommon for black characters to be portrayed in these caregiving roles to Hurt White Characters. so for him to break out of that box is just beautiful.

tony, on the other hand, is a white billionaire who never learned how to grow up; he’s never had to handle the kind of daily-grind stress that non-billionaire poc like rhodey have handled since they were a kid. not saying tony hasn’t faced other kinds of stress, but for the most part? everything has been given to him on a shiny golden platter. so when responsibility is thrust upon him - when his faults are actually pointed out - he doesn’t know how to handle it. hasn’t learned. it destroys his mental health. he gets destructive in turn. irreparably damages his relationships. spirals and spirals and refuses. to get. help. (you’re a billionaire, tony - you can afford a therapy. and the idealisation/romanticisation of unhealthy guilt spirals and a mindset of powering through despite everything and without asking for help until you crash and burn is not good mental illness/neurodivergent rep, it’s just the only one the mcu knows how to write.) i despair at the loss of opportunity when it comes to tony’s character and what he could have come to represent, but that’s another essay entirely.

when it comes to rhodey, however, the mcu have accidentally created a wonderful character and a wonderful character arc. that’s not to say they deserve any praise though, because this was likely never their intention and it’s purely accidental (again, they’d never purposefully give rhodey such an anti-tony character arc, just like they’d never intentionally make tony a bad role model, but that’s what they did, completely accidentally).

not only is rhodey a character who is unwaveringly kind and forgiving (and is rewarded for these traits later down the line in his new relationships), but we also get to see him learn how his kindness and forgiveness shouldn’t be taken for granted as it has been for years of his life. we see him step away from harmful relationships. we see him take back his life for himself - refuse to be someone else’s nanny. we see his growth and his development, and it’s wonderful, and i love him.

in conclusion: war machine rox. 

[gh0stly-official]

TITLE: In Your Eyes WORD COUNT: 1,048 CHARACTERS: Kang Myungsoo & Park Sungho WARNINGS: Age gap, manipulation, tbh it’s mostly just a lot of implied shady / creepy behaviors so proceed with caution. If anything else needs to be tagged more specifically please lmk! SUMMARY: An insight into the beginnings of Myungsoo’s unhealthy relationship with his manager, Park Sungho.

A/N: This is kind of a prequel to their 'relationship', takes place predebut/early debut days. There is nothing super outright here yet (aside from Myungsoo's blatant crush), but it’s still a bit toxic/predatory so be warned.

This was the first time Myungsoo had ever been inside Sungho’s office alone. It was really the first time he’d truly been alone with Sungho at all. And so now he was sitting here, in one of the strangely uncomfortable chairs, feeling slightly awkward and out of place. Maybe it was the contrast of his pink cardigan to the dull colors of the space, or maybe it was the silence hovering over the room.

Sungho’s office seemed neat and put together, Myungsoo had always liked that about it. Myungsoo was often someone who thrived when things were in order, he needed it. He needed structure. However, what he didn’t like was the lack of color or the rug that felt akin to one you’d find in a waiting room. What he liked least of all---was the strange painting behind Sungho’s desk. It seemed to be the only outstanding color in the space, with a terrible depiction of watchful eyes. He hated it.

Sungho was talking to him, he knew this, but he wasn’t listening. Instead his gaze was trained on the painting behind Sungho, those stupid eyes glaring at him. “What is that?” Myungsoo says, almost abruptly.

“What?” Sungho turns his head to see where Myungsoo’s eyes were lingering, “the painting?”

“Yeah, it’s creepy.” Myungsoo is often hyper aware of his lack of filter, but it rarely does much to stop him. “I don’t like it.” Sungho looks slightly baffled, like he’s unsure what to say to that. Myungsoo realizes that maybe insulting your new manager’s decor wasn’t exactly --- polite. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Sungho shakes his head, “it’s fine,” he says lightly. “Not everyone has the same tastes.”

“Do you really like it?” Myungsoo questions, glancing at the painting again and grimacing. He then looks back at Sungho, “it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable?”

“There’s more meaning to it than you might think,” Sungho says simply. “And in any case it’s just a painting, it’s not like they’re real eyes.”

“A deeper meaning doesn’t make it any less unsettling,” Myungsoo retorts. “Or any less ugly.” Sungho looks surprised at his words and now Myungsoo wonders if he’s put his foot in his mouth. “No offense,” he forces out an awkward laugh.

Sungho chuckles, “you’re quite the art critic.” He shifts a little in his seat, “maybe sometime I can show you some other pieces, see what you do like.”

Myungsoo shrugs, “that could be cool. Hopefully your taste extends past --- that.”

“It definitely does,” says Sungho. “For now though, maybe we should discuss what you actually came here for.”

“That might be a good idea.” Myungsoo says.

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

Myungsoo liked Sungho, a lot. Sungho took an interest in him, made him feel cared about. He made him feel good about himself, special. Sungho was mature, handsome, and well put together. Myungsoo admired him.

Myungsoo knows this isn't ideal, crushing on someone older than him, and especially his manager of all people. But he couldn't help it, he liked Sungho. He just did.

He'd jump at any excuse just to have a moment alone with him, he almost felt childish. But being around Sungho made him feel different and he liked that feeling. There were moments too, fleeting moments where he believed that maybe Sungho just might like him too. He doesn't know if it's truly something he should hope for, and yet, he can't help but to.

Right now, he's standing in Sungho's office. It was a rare occasion for him to be in here, especially alone. He still liked it, the tidiness of it all, even in spite of his grievances towards the rug and the painting. And he liked being near Sungho.

Myungsoo was standing there waiting, waiting for Sungho to look back up at him. For his attention to no longer be on the screen of his laptop. "Did you need something, Myungsoo?" He still doesn't look up quite yet.

Myungsoo doesn't really know why he's here, he thinks maybe he should have at least come up with a decent excuse. "I wanted to ask you something," he says. And it's not entirely untrue, Myungsoo has a lot of questions, he always did. But especially about Sungho.

"Must be important if you came by my office just to ask," says Sungho. He still wasn't really giving him his full attention and it only served to make Myungsoo feel even more embarrassed. "What is it?"

Myungsoo realizes he doesn't have a good question to ask, nothing to warrant a visit at least. But he doesn't want to just stand there silently, doesn't want the quiet to simply linger. And so he just asks what comes to mind: "Will you tell me more about yourself?"

Sungho looks up finally, “what is it that you want to know?”

Myungsoo shrugs, “I don’t know, what’s your life like?” Sometimes he was just curious about what Sungho was like outside of being their manager, the kind of people he knew and kept company with.

Sungho laughs, “my life is mostly working and just keeping busy otherwise.”

Myungsoo frowns, “you don’t have any hobbies? Or friends...no dates?” He was always just a little too inquisitive for his own good. Sungho’s eyes fall on Myungsoo’s face, there’s an intensity behind them. Myungsoo doesn’t know if he likes it or if it made him more nervous than anything else.

“Why are you so curious?” Sungho asks, brow quirking.

“I don’t know, why can’t I be? I just want to know more about you.” says Myungsoo.

Sungho looks at him, almost like he’s looking him over, assessing. There’s a curiosity in his own gaze. “I’ll tell you whatever you want,” he says. “But --- only if I get to ask you some questions of my own.”

Myungsoo honestly feels a bit strange under Sungho’s gaze sometimes, under his watchful eye. But he still couldn't ever bring himself to look away. It almost reminded him of the first time he’d ever been alone with Sungho, here in his office. The painting, still hanging on the wall. The eyes he couldn’t look away from no matter how they made him feel, no matter what they might’ve meant. Except he wants this, he wants Sungho’s eyes on him.

“That sounds like a fair deal to me,” Myungsoo says.

[straycat-writes]

Ok so because I’m a rat man stan, and I really think you’re really accurate when writing for fyodor- could I have just some general head canons for dating The rat man (Fyodor) ? Please, and thank you 💖

being with fyodor dostoevsky

warning(s): depictions of toxic mindsets and unhealthy relationships

How do you end up in a relationship with the demon Dostoevsky, of all people, you might ask?

Well, it’s quite simple really: you weren’t given much of a choice. What Fyodor wants, Fyodor gets, after all.

And he had wanted you ever since the moment he first laid eyes on you.

There are two ways you can go about this: you can either pretend to understand his exalted goals of purging the world of sin and sit by and watch like a good girl, or you can try to run. If you’re smart, you’ll choose the former, because anyone can tell you the latter is not going to end so well for you.

But perhaps, it’s not all bad, because he is quite literally the most exquisite thing you have ever seen, and he comes back to you at the end of the day, without fail, laying his head on your lap as sheer exhaustion overtakes him, because he says that’s only place he has ever found any peace in.

He loves it when you read to him, saying that the sound of your voice is holy to him. You’ve never quite been able to understand what that means, and besides, when he’s whispering sweet nothings and beautifully soft lies into your ear, his silky voice is the one you’d call holy.

For all your coaxing and worrying about his fragile health, he doesn’t sleep much. Except for when he’s so tired that he physically can’t stand, and even then he prefers to collapse into your lap than any other place. Only then does he allow himself a few moments of peaceful slumber as you run your fingers through his hair while humming some old, forgotten melody.

He will flatter you and spoil you with the finest of everything, fancy dinner, couture clothing, or expensive adornments, that still pale in comparison to you (or so he says).

“Nothing compares the exquisite divinity that is you, milaya.”

But he has got a surprisingly short temper when it comes to disrespect. He never raises his voice or even his hands, but by the time he is done, you would be a trembling, cowering mess, trying to disappear into yourself in the corner.

Sometimes, when he’s in a mood, he’ll take you dancing. Not in a brightly lit room full of people, but on the lonely, moonlit rooftop of his home. With some mournful, classical cello melody playing in the background, he’ll delicately hold your waist and dance through the night. He’s light on his feet, and surprisingly good at moving his body, and dancing with him doesn’t feel like dancing so much as it feels like falling through some endless space, never reaching the ground.

He loves this influence he has on you, and how easy it is for him to affect you, even revels in it. Even so, when you close your eyes and lay your head on his shoulder, his heart does something weird in his chest.

It confused him too, at first. Why was he so attracted to a mere human being? What was it that made him long so to possess a person so ordinary and mundane? He is divine, after all, and gods don’t need other people’s company.

Still, it’s nice to have a…plaything, to amuse himself once in a while.

Or so he tells himself. But he’s getting a little too attached to something he considers a mere possession, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Make no mistake, though, he is very fond of you. You’re his favorite little doll, after all, his perfect trophy to keep by his side as he burns down the world and raises it anew from the ashes.

There is nothing crude about him at all, and he walks with a strange kind of elegance to his fragility. But do not make the mistake of thinking he is soft. He is sharp and pointed and dangerous, and beautiful, like jagged pieces of cold glass from some old, haunted cathedral, and you cannot touch him without getting cut.

But that’s alright, because love and religion are similar that way. They both demand sacrifice.

[cateringisalie]

I wanna ask about bdii but I'm not sure if you're playing? plus I'm still in the middle of it lol. Sooo how about Aerith!

Good call! (though am playing BDII but I’m only about a hour or so into it)

 OTP for them: A three way tie! Cloud/Aeris; Aeris/Tifa; Aeris/Tifa/Cloud; give me any of them and I will be so very happy.

BROTP for them: Aeris & Avalanche – any combination of them (including the ones above). Also weirdly Rude now I’m thinking about it (This might be Remake’s fault)

Other Ships: Barret/Aeris, Reeve/Aeris, Reno/Aeris, Aeris/Sephiroth, Aeris/Vincent, Aeris/Squall, Aeris/Cloud/Zack (but like the one instance in The Sky and the Dawn and the Sun), and – pretty sure this was your suggestion and probably half-joking but it has been rattling around my head ever since – Ringabel/Aeris (which to my knowledge has still not been done/I should probably try/BSecond made the mechanics of getting them into the same scene so much easier...). Oh, Aeris/Being Alive is good too – though comes with caveats *side-eyes Remake*

What kind of fic I’d write about them: What I am writing about them: The Aeris as a scavenger in her childhood fic is slowly inching towards a new draft; there’s the trio of Resident Evil/FFVII mash-ups which will feature her as a main character (in place of (seemingly confusingly) Claire, Jill and Sherry) which I have finally started. And some mid-canon smut. Because apparently I cannot help myself.

A favorite canon moment: Remake is Remake and I have expended too many words on the thing, but Chairith remains an absolute delight no matter what.

Color that reminds me of them: While pink might be too on the nose, it’s hard to shake the connection. That said! While typing I realised green is possibly as or more apt for her.

Song that reminds me of them: Bad Guy by Billie Eilish thanks to @effortlesslyuncool

A headcanon about them: She doesn’t like to be too hot and has always wanted to see snow for real – not knowing of course she used to live in the far North.

A random AU I think up on the spot for them: Aeris Gainsborough: Planeswarden facilitates the Other Ship ramble up there. How about; Aeris Gainsborough: Marine biologist; Ifalna got her and Aeris out of the city and as far as Costa del Sol – both have remained somehow undetected and Aeris spends her time exploring the corals and reefs around the resort area/fighting local governance about conservation. Somehow the rest of the cast run across her in a succession of other events that need more mapping to get around her absence earlier in the story.

And cut for length because I went off on this last question...

Anything else: I remain highly amused that both OG and Remake Aeris have been deemed troublesome or problematic or abusive or stalkerish or toxic or some other bad term and are in fact the true villain of FFVII/somehow only toxic in their associations with Cloud. Literally everyone else is FINE and she is perfectly lovely with them. But with Cloud she cannot help but be a horrible, horrible person who makes his life an unending hell.

For those unaware, their extensive list of crimes includes:

 1) Asking Cloud to spend time with them instead of taking him straight to Sector 7 (and while the specifics are different between the versions, that this is something she (unspoken) insists upon while Cloud is apparently champing at the bit to get going and not spend time with Aeris.

 This seemingly strips Cloud of the remotest shred of his own agency?

 And is so very weird – not like Aeris is literally the only person who can navigate Midgar and I do not understand why Cloud cannot avail himself of some simple, pragmatic solutions like ditching or refusing to help Aeris at multiple opportunities (like in Remake when she literally leaves him outside Leaf House, or fleeing from Elmyra’s house when she’s upstairs in either version etc) and asking literally anyone else how to get to Sector 7 or using the layout of Midgar itself as a starting point for figuring out the route (he is in Sector 5. If he looks towards the centre of the city, Sector 4 is on his right, Sector 6 is on his left. If he keeps going left he will eventually come to Sector 7. Even if Cloud is somehow unaware of the city’s structure/layout he will be able to extrapolate by looking up from the slums at how the Upper plate looks/how the reactors are labelled. This is not difficult. Also Remake’s secretive way into Sector 7 doesn’t even come up until they reach the park/we see the gate is currently closed, so it’s not because he knows he needs her solely for this otherwise mysterious route/he can still hang around in the park until the gate opens for other through traffic if he’s desperate to get there. There is no actual urgency on getting back to Sector 7 as far as *he* knows – hence why he doesn’t actually hurry) or finding a map or using the station (which should then also circumvent the gate Cloud doesn’t know about) and so on and so on)

 2) Not wanting to be left behind when Cloud tried to leave in the middle of the night (I mean, how dare she want to spend time with him/everyone is so weirdly adamant that she hasn’t, say, overheard Elmyra’s request to Cloud and thus KNOWS it’s not strictly his opinion to stop her going with him/he once again makes almost no effort to deter her when he runs into her. Oh and her not doing that will near definitely cause Marlene’s death to say nothing of most/all of Avalanche except Tifa)

 3) Making Cloud leaving in the middle of the night without alerting her trivially more difficult (given that he can still leave without her hearing and bursting out of her room doesn’t really gel – if she was a mastermind, not sure Cloud should be able to avoid it on tip-toe really)

 4) High-fiving him repeatedly (the monster. Not like she stops when he seems uncomfortable/he later makes the first move to high-five her so... I don’t get it).

 5) *Might* know the whole plot in Remake and thus is culpable for every death in Sector Seven (which is... 1 or maybe 2 named people (there are those tragic sector 7 people without names or context we see die at the pillar admittedly) depending on how you count – and at least one of those (Biggs) is definitively alive come the Remake epilogue, so one named person (Jessie) who was blown up in a fight with Shinra. The villainy of Aeris! Oh sure you are told other people died, but sector 7 denizen’s major concerns seem to be the structures within the sector which doesn’t really indicate any other casualties actually occurred. Those not explicitly depicted would seem to be okay as no one mentions them either: you’d expect Johnny to bring up if his parents died (and like, maybe he doesn’t know, but he cannot have missed the plate-drop and his parents live in the sector and his relationship with them never seemed horrible so, surely he would care a little/react differently if they were dead))/Wedge to mention Jessie’s parents but neither happen). Oh and for Aeris to do the obvious intervention to fix terrible events would increasingly derail the plot even just in the first part, so, *maybe* she doesn’t know the whole plot (or else has some strange reason why she can’t interfere) and that conjecture is not accurate?

[sti1es]

Killing Stalking.... but make it steo. I read this manga in early 2017 and since its becoming popular again, i had the inspiration to write this. I don’t agree with a lot of the gross, disturbing stuff in the story - it’s a horror, not a romance, and i definitely don’t ship sangwoo and yoon. that’s why i changed a lot of the details in this fic, but the relationship in later chapters is going to get very, very, unhealthy. The abusive, toxic behaviours portrayed here should NEVER be considered okay in real life. SO MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR THAT!

•

Stiles watches silently as Theo’s truck leaves the driveway. He emerges from his hiding place - a corner of the garden, cast in shadow by looming trees - and checks the time. Based on Theo’s usual routine, he should be gone for at least a couple hours. That gives Stiles abundant time to inspect the house. If the other boy is keeping anything secret, a thorough search should make it evident. Something about knowing Theo’s habits weirds Stiles out a little. He’s becoming quite the stalker. His intentions are good, though, and the police do it all the time, so he concludes that this is normal and not a result of incessant paranoia.

Casually, Stiles treads through neatly trimmed grass and stands in front of the door. It’s a decently sized home, the suburban dream for any nuclear family. Everything, down to the wooden planks of the porch and popcorn textured walls, is perfect - which is exactly why Stiles doesn’t trust it. Theo arrived like a miracle. A clever, charming, strong werewolf; the ideal pack mate. He’s buried his past deep underground, and Stiles is determined to uproot it.

He punches the security code into an electronic lock. 270804. At first, these were just meaningless numbers Stiles caught a glimpse of Theo entering, but after looking through medical records, researching family history, and overall obsessively indulging himself into this case, Stiles realised what it was. The date of Tara Raeken’s death.

Pushing aside whatever embarrassment would ensue if he were wrong about Theo, as well as the general fear of being caught, Stiles turns the door handle experimentally. The keypad chimes, a melodic buzz which enables Stiles to finally fucking breathe. He shoves the door open completely, a newfound rush of adrenaline and excitement clouding his mind, before entering the house.

It’s... normal. The entrance is decorated with antique furniature and various knickknacks. Picture frames line the walls, some depicting Theo and Tara, but none his whole family. The ones containing his parents look newer. Their smiles look strained, and Stiles could’ve sworn Ms. Raeken didn’t have dimples before. Him and Theo used to hang out after school a lot, and Ms. Raeken would always come pick her son up. The photos of her that adorn this interior just seem... different. Off. Before Stiles has the chance to contemplate any further, he’s distracted by a noise coming from downstairs. At the end of the hall, there’s a door - presumably leading to the basement - which has been left slightly ajar. A strange, muffled slapping sound travels through it.

Stiles’s heart beat spikes. He knew something was off about Theo, but to be presented something so obviously suspicious seems... well, suspicious. He quickly crosses the corridor and flicks on the light at the end of it. The basement is illuminated, which causes the slapping to increase. His stomach turns at the idea of something sentinent and scared being down there. Whatever shit Theo is hiding may be a lot more disturbing than he prepared for.

Swallowing nervously, Stiles decends the staircase and his worst fears are immediately confirmed. A girl lies on the cold floor, naked and tied up. Her wrists and ankles are bound, and a gag has been painfully jammed into her mouth. The source of the slapping was her legs beating against the concrete, most likely a frantic signal for a potential rescuer’s attention.

This has to be a joke. There’s no way Theo is this fucking sick. To kidnap someone is one thing, but to humilate them and leave them in this scared state was a level of cruelty Stiles finds difficult to imagine. He races downwards, and instantly recognises the terrified captive’s face. This is Tracy Stewart. Her photos have been plastered all over the news ever since she went missing a couple weeks ago. Stiles feels his gut twist in horror and disgust. There’s no goddamn way this is happening. It’s ironic, really, the fact that he was expecting to find something incriminating but can hardly believe it when he does.

Tracy’s struggles become even more desperate at this glimpse of salvation. Her eyes widen, and she starts shouting through the gag.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry... I-I’m gonna get you out of here. You’re safe,” Stiles begins to undo the ropes which restrain her hands, but the knot won’t give. Why the hell did Theo have to be so cautious? The thought of what he’s done to poor Tracy so far turns Stiles’s attempts to free her even more rapid. He picks at the rope with his nails, a fruitless attempt, really. As his frustration rises, he resorts to picking Tracy up in the state she’s in. He’d much rather get the hell out of here as fast as possible. Stiles places his hand under her knees, and goes to wrap his arm around her shoulders, when she starts to violently trash. He drops her instantly, worried that he provoked one of her potential injuries. But the thrashing continues, and she’s screaming around the cloth in her mouth. Stiles’s heart sinks as he realises her eyes aren’t focused on him.

They’re fixed behind his head.

He jerks around wildly, and sure enough, standing in the doorway is Theo Raeken. His eyes are narrowed in annoyance and his lips are quirked in a dark smirk. Fuck. Stiles feels like a caged animal, cornered by a predator that could easily overpower him.

“You’re smart, Stiles,” He chuckles, like this is all a twisted game. To Theo, it probably is. “You just aren’t smarter than me”.

Shit. Stiles’s mind is moving at a mile a minute, trying to think of any possible escape. There isn’t one. But he’s been through worse than a teenage werewolf. He can get through this. He has to.

Still, his heart is gripped by fear. He feels like there’s fingers at his neck, squeezing, constricting his oxygen until he’s gasping for breath. Breathe. Breathe. He stands no chance against Theo if he has a panic attack.

Then again, does he stand a chance in the first place?

Theo dawdles down the stairs, slowly dropping his feet in front of him, one step after another. Stiles’s lungs are on fire. His ribs are being crushed. Breathe. Breathe. You can trick him. Run past him. Just get a fucking grip.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice-” Theo’s barely ten feet away, “That you’ve been following me?” He laughs humourlessly once again. “It’s funny how I considered stalking you, but you took it upon yourself to waltz right into the lion’s den with no help.”

Stiles barely register’s Theo’s words as the human lunges forward, past his legs. Caught off guard, Theo doesn’t have time to grab him as he practically scrambles up the stairs. But of-fucking-course Stiles has to look back, and when his eyes meet Tracy’s, he freezes to the spot. He can’t just leave her here.

That gives Theo’s reflexes ample time to set in. He makes a grab for Stiles’s hoodie sleeve and shoves him backwards. The brunet would’ve been grappling at the air if he had time to. Instead, he simply falls all the way down the stairs, back to the basement floor. Instead of everything occurring in the typical slow-mo montage they show in cliche movies, the moment passed so fast Stiles couldn’t even register it. One second he was almost free, the next he was lying on hard, cold stone, his head and legs throbbing. The human supposes he broke his legs. They’re mostly numb, but twisted grotesquely. He’s never been so thankful about nerve damage in his life. The real issue is his slowly blurring vision. He wants to throw up - from fear or pain, he doesn’t know.

“You’re the sheriff’s son,” Theo drawls, stupidly calm for a situation where Stiles feels as though he’s being drowned in anxiety. “So you surely understand why I can’t have any witnesses.”

“Why are you doing this?” He blurts out. “You’re killing her, and you’re gonna kill me too? At least have some sort of motive, serial murderers who ‘do it for the thrill’ are becoming pretty old.”

If there’s one thing Stiles learnt during his years of engtanglement with supernatural enemies, it’s that distraction buys you time. No matter how scared you are, a simple quip or provoking remark works wonders for stalling. All he has to do is snark Theo until the werewolf gets bored, or agitated, or anything else that buys him a bit of time. Stiles’s heart jumps against his ribcage as he glares at Theo as heatedly as possible, trying to conceal his trembling hands.

“You think I don’t have any motives?” Theo scoffs, clearly falling for Stiles’s blow to his ego. “Her father is a pretty powerful man. A lawyer who tried to get me thrown in fucking prison. This is his payback,” The werewolf shrugs, but Stiles doesn’t miss the edge of anger in his voice. He strides forward, then curls a hand around Stiles’s chin. The teen’s head is jerked upwards, so he’s forced to stare into cold, evil blue eyes. “And you’re going to rat me out to your daddy. Simple as that. There isn’t enough space in this basement for both of you.”

“So you’re a butthurt little boy who has to take his emotions out on defenesless humans?” Stiles grits out, and Theo’s grip on his chin tightens, “- real classy.”

That’s when Theo snaps. He backhands him across the faсe.

Stiles attempts to crawl away, his cheek stinging with what’s probably a fresh bruise. He pushes up against the ground, only to find that his knees buckle when he stands. So he was right about the broken legs. Normally, falling down the stairs wouldn’t injure someone this badly, but with the forceful thrust of a werewolf’s supernatural strength? Stiles doesn’t doubt it. Though his limbs are far too damaged to hurt, the mere pressure being put onto his bones makes him feel like he’s folding in on himself.

Stiles is helpless. He might as well be restrained like Tracy, it wouldn’t make a difference. Theo sighs in a way that conveys amusement, as though he’s watching a newborn deer struggle to walk. I’m gonna die.

What will his dad think when he doesn’t return home? What will his friends think? Scott, Malia, Lydia - Stiles will never see them again. His chest aches with the thought of Theo carrying through with whatever plans he has for the pack. All he can do is hope that his disappearance makes them suspicious enough not to trust the werewolf.

Theo hovers over him, face darkened by shadows in a threatening contrast against the blaring ceiling lights above. He crouches down, pressing his knees deliberately against Stiles’s legs in a way that makes the human cry out. He catches a glimpse of Tracy: she has tears running down her face, but looks somewhat resigned... as if Stiles is already dead. Theo clutches the brunet’s wrists and pins them to either side of his head. “If you’re planning on killing me, better do it quick. You wouldn’t want to be late for school,” the image of Theo’s charming smile, forever deceiving, lingers in his mind’s eye. A wave of annoyance washes over him, and he kicks upwards with the last of his rapidly draining perseverance. Theo doesn’t even budge.

The werewolf leans down, his breath ghosting over Stiles’s ear. “Kill you? Honestly, when this is over, you’ll be wishing I did.”

Everything goes black, but before he loses consciousness, Stiles is sure he caught a glimpse of a silver metal hammer.

[delectablesinn]

💙 10 Characters Tag 💙

Rules: Make a new post, name 10 characters from 10 different fandoms that you like, and then tag 10 people.

I was tagged by @spaceship-amie​

These are not listed in any particular order of favouritism, I decided to organize them by fandom instead. (Yes, I’m breaking the ‘10 fandoms’ rule.)

1. Ciel Phantomhive (Kuroshitsuji) - I have never empathized with a character so fully as I have with him. Arguably one of the most well-written characters of all time, next to Hannibal Lecter. Silly as it sounds, I feel as though I could have lived his life in another time. The definition of what a truly ‘morally-gray’ character is. His character design is also very aesthetically pleasing.

2. Sebastian Michaelis (Kuroshitsuji) - I felt compelled to return to my pagan roots after being introduced to this character, and have since developed an interest in demonology. Another incredibly multi-dimensional, complex character. I appreciate his mind and objectivity. He’s eye-candy too, which is a plus.

3. Will Graham (NBC’s Hannibal) - Another higher up on the list, his character possesses qualities I don’t often see represented in male characters - a nearly debilitating sense of empathy, sensitivity, emotional intelligence and introversion. Another character I empathize with very much. 

4. Hannibal Lecter (NBC’s Hannibal) - I have a love/hate relationship with this character I don’t think I have ever felt before. Even if one were to disregard how ridiculously handsome Mads Mikkelsen is, Hannibal’s mind itself is awe-inspiring and something that I have fallen in love with. He introduced me to a more multi-dimensional depiction of a sociopath. 

5. Oh Sangwoo (Killing Stalking) - What I find interesting about this character is that he isn’t a ‘toned-down’ depiction of a serial killer. He is cruel and abusive to everyone, including his own love interest. His unhealthy mannerisms and toxic personality affect all areas of his life. He instilled in me a constant sense of dread while reading Killing Stalking the likes of which I have never felt before. However, he is not a completely irredeemable character in my eyes. He was the consequence of apathy and an abusive father with an even worse mother. His suffering felt like it had no end in sight, & his entire development as a character felt ultimately pointless at the end, which unfortunately often reflects how these situations play out in real life. He is also, admittedly, handsome and quite funny at times.

6. Will Byers (Stranger Things) - While we saw very little of Will in season 1, his development throughout season 2 and especially 3 has led him to be one of my absolute favourite characters. He seems to be perceptive and intelligent in a way that many of the other ST characters lack, and his depiction as a gay teenager in conservative 80′s Indiana is nothing short of heartbreaking. I feel that there is so much potential to do amazing things with his character. I also feel a kinship with him, between the alienation being in the Upside Down has brought him and his fractured relationship with his father and now friends.

7. Chloe Price (Life is Strange) - I fell in love with her character, and she in fact was what brought me to realize my bisexuality. She has one of the most accurate depictions of the effects of trauma I’ve ever seen, and has a duality in her personality I don’t think I’ve ever seen. She can be hostile, insensitive and irresponsible, yet also truly loves those she develops close relationships with, to the point at which it is almost detrimental to her as she has a hard time letting go. She is like a force of nature, a disastrous storm contained within one person. She is beautiful.

8. Graham Eaton (But I’m a Cheerleader!) - While the movie itself was rather short, it was still one of the most beautiful, emotional, hard-hitting depictions of gay romance I’ve ever seen. It addressed the horrors of conversion therapy in a comedic, lighthearted manner. Graham appears to be the only one to see through the disgusting imposition of the camp’s beliefs and their manipulation from the get-go, and chooses to push at the boundaries of her controlling parents and her conservative environment. She has a hard outer shell, but is incredibly sweet and loving to Megan. Clea DuVall is beautiful, which also helps.

9. Spock (Star Trek: The Original Series) - I only have just recently begun watching TOS, but I adore Spock’s character and find him very relatable. He is one of the few healthy examples I’ve seen of what ‘logic’ truly is, and is incredibly balanced, intelligent and well put-together. He is rather stoic and often comes off as cold to others, but he is one of the most pure-hearted, self-sacrificing characters I’ve ever seen on television. Leonard Nimoy was an incredibly wise, talented man, and the world will forever miss him.

10. Mikkel Nielsen (Netflix’s Dark) - I have never felt such a sibling bond with a character before, and it tore me apart to watch him suffer the way he did. I wanted nothing more than to protect him, as I would my own little brother. He was so sweet and intelligent, both as a child and adult, and he deserved far better.

I tag:

@lifeisabouttogetstranger​ (I don’t have very many friends on here. If you wish to be added to the tag list, you can PM me.)

[syds-shelves]

✨To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before✨

(aka ...I liked the movie better)

I feel like everyone knows the plot of this already but if you don’t: In To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before by Jenny Han, Lara Jean has written a love letter to every boy she’s fallen in love with as a way to move on. She saves them all in a hatbox under her bed, but one day the letters get sent. Dun dun dun.

My thoughts: You know, I really didn't expect to be filled with so much rage upon finishing this book, but here we are.

I was originally going to give this closer to 3.75/4 stars because, while I didn't love this book or find it as swoon-worthy as it's been made out to be, it was overall enjoyable and a fun, light read. I actually liked Lara Jean more than I expected to because I've heard a lot of people say she's annoying in the books (maybe that becomes more apparent in the rest of the series... we shall see). But by the end of the book, she was one of the few characters I still liked and I feel strangely attached to her.

I also appreciated the depiction of the sisters' relationship — it was clear that Margot and Kitty mean the world to Lara Jean and the moments when she would talk about defending her sisters or putting them before anything made me want to go "YEAH!" (I much preferred the Kitty/Lara Jean relationship to the Margot/Lara Jean relationship and I shall explain why in a moment.)

Also, I liked Chris. She seemed to be pretty much the only person who was consistently on Lara Jean's side and actually cared about what she was thinking and feeling.

So that's what I liked. On to my rage.

We'll work in ascending order from least-rage to most-rage.

Josh. I had bad vibes about him from the beginning, and those vibes were just confirmed the more I read. The way Lara Jean described him, he seemed like such a perfect dream boy and so obviously Margot and Lara Jean were both so in love with him. But the more he opened his mouth... mmm... no. The moment that Lara jean starts "dating" Peter, the only things Josh says to her is that Peter isn't good enough for him and why is she with him and he's just going to hurt her and this isn't like her blah blah blah. I can understand that the first time it happens, but when Lara Jean says to him, "I like him, he's not what you think, can you please trust me on this," and he CONTINUES to repeat the same things every single time they talk to each other is just so INFURIATING. He claims to know her so well, yet he can't even trust her to be in charge of her own love life or her own happiness. (And really that's just because he's pissed that Lara Jean liked him and didn't tell him (?) even though he's supposedly in love with her sister so why should that matter to him and why in the WORLD would he kiss Lara Jean and really the more I think about it the more I don't like him.) Josh's character gives me strong "nice guys finish last" vibes, what with him being the nerdy one and Peter being the popular jock. It's not so explicit that I'm actively hating him for that reason, but I get that energy from him with the way he speaks to Lara Jean. 3/10 not a fan.

Then we have Peter and Lara Jean's relationship. Ahem. I wasn't a big fan of their chemistry towards the beginning of their fake relationship, but I admit that they grew on me as the book went on. I was even actively rooting for them for a while, and I liked that Peter was opening up more to Lara Jean and not being as much of a stereotypical popular jock boy. And then the freaking HOT TUB happened. That just filled me with RAGE. From the way Genevieve called Lara Jean a slut for one (1) false sex rumor to the way she told EVERY SINGLE PERSON on the bus that Lara Jean and Peter had sex to the way that Peter (who, at that point, openly liked Lara Jean and wanted to date her for real) barely even tried to deny the rumors. I'm seething just thinking about it. I do appreciate how the double standards when it comes to sex were addressed, if only briefly.

From a romance standpoint, separate from the hot tub incident, the one in this book really isn't even that good. I mean, they fake-date for about 2/3 of the book, are actually together for about 15 pages, and spend the rest of the book broken up. The actual romance in this book really just doesn't match its bright pink exterior.

And then there's Margot. The crown jewel of my rage. For the vast majority of this book, Margot is detached and uninvested in Lara Jean's life, who she claims is the person she trusts most in the world. A lot of that may be due to being busy in college, sure. (Except she made time to email their Dad and Kitty much more than Lara Jean so she's not really off the hook for me.) But at the climax of the book, when Lara Jean, Peter, and Josh are in the kitchen at the Christmas Party and Margot overhears that Peter and Lara Jean supposedly had sex and that Josh kissed Lara Jean, who does she believe? Her sister? No, of course not! Why in the world would she trust her sister, the one she trusts most in the world? No, instead, she refuses to speak to Lara Jean and goes and tells their Dad that Lara Jean had sex, which is not only hypocritical of her, but spiteful and cruel and not at all what a good sister (especially the oldest sister) should do. Margot's character in particular makes me so angry because if I ever did anything to my sister like what she did to Lara Jean, I don't think I'd ever forgive myself. And it broke my heart a little to read because the entire book, Lara Jean looks up to Margot so much and has such incredible trust in her and is ready to defend her at any moment, and Margot goes and treats her like that. And then they fight and their conflict is resolved in like 2 pages. Ugh.

Also, I'm not particularly ragey about this, but the ending felt so rushed and cut short. The fight between all of them at the Christmas party (which, to me, feels like the big conflict) didn't happen until the last 20-30 pages of the book. And from there, the Margot/Lara Jean conflict resolved in half a second and there's barely any closure between Lara Jean and Peter. I just felt so jolted when I finished this book, especially considering the extreme rage I had experienced in only the last quarter or so.

Now, does not liking some of the characters mean I should automatically rate this lower? No, I don't think so. But my issue with this book is that these characters were not presented as unlikeable characters. Josh was the boy next door that Lara Jean was secretly in love with. Peter was the boy she eventually wanted to be with. Margot was her older sister, the one she was closer to than anyone. But they all did such screwed-up, sucky things, and for all of it to be essentially swept under the rug in the conclusion is really toxic and makes me feel gross.

Overall, quite disappointing but I find it amusing how much rage this book brought out of me.

My rating: 3/5⭐️

[azkadelia-the-werewolf]

Season 5 of She-ra is within reach and I’ve participated at She-ra’s We Must Be Brave week, so... Here you go. Some sweet angsty Catradora with the prompt “Forgiveness”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072769

"You've been coming here often lately. Is anything bothering you?"

It's strange to hear this voice, once so filled with mockery, anger, and not so obvious despair for a long time in the past. Now it's all gone, replaced with caring, gentle smile and... well, mockery is still here. But not in an unkind way.

Catra crosses her arms over the chest, tilts her head to one side and twitches the pointed ear while looking behind her shoulder. At the very least she seems curious, at the very most, she is concerned about her friend's condition and she doesn't even try to hide it. Why should she now?  

"Huh? No! No... I just... Got lost in my thoughts."

Adora had just stopped weaving flowers into the wild mane, so she shakes her head and gives a bright smile in an attempt to convince the Magicat that everything is just fine. And really, wasn't it?

Catra seems unimpressed. Maybe it was because of her being the eldest friend of Adora, growing up with her, still knowing her better than anyone else and sometimes even better than Adora herself, especially lately. Or perhaps it was because of Adora's lack of deceiving. Or both.

"Uh-huh. Sure. And now spill it out!"

She grins and flexes her arms, turning her body around and releasing the claws, clearly preparing to tickle her friend, receiving a nervous chuckle from the mentioned friend. Adora hugs her abdomen, feeling a dull, almost phantom pain from once-broken ribs.

Well, Catra has a point. There is no need for hiding anything from her. Moreover, it would be only fair if Catra knows, despite how much Adora didn't want to submit to the situation. With a sigh of defeat, she drops her hands.

"It's nothing, really. Glimmer needs me to help another kingdom."

She shrugs and stays quiet. Catra waits a little longer and then raises her eyebrow when she hears nothing more.

"So... What about it?" prods she quite impatiently for more explanations, which makes Adora grumble and avert her eyes from the Magicat towards one of the trees in the park they were taking a walk. "I... Don't want to leave you alone for a long time again," finally admits she, definitely taking Catra by surprise.

"That's it? This is the big deal you are worried about?"

When she receives a serious nod in response, the Magicat snorts, but it quickly turns into a full-fledged laugh.

"Okay, honestly, I was expecting like some of the Prime's clones are back and you're getting ready for the new war you are not coming back from... But this? This is just ridiculous!"

She swipes some tears, ignoring (or genuinely not being able to see) what effect her words made to Adora. Adora, who clenches her fists in helpless anger at herself. To hear that from Catra, to hear her derisive (at least to Adora) laugh... It hurts. It really, really hurts, throwing her to the past and not to the happiest times. She is overcome by her regrets and mistakes, which are still deep inside her, slowly poisoning her every single day. Yes, Adora is still confident that her decision to leave the Horde was the only good option, but... she still blames herself for leaving Catra there. Sure, she was told that Magicat had to make her own decision, one time she even persuaded herself about it too. However, deep in her guts, she knows that it was only up to her. Catra relied on her too much those days. She needed to be dragged if Adora really wanted her to switch sides as well.

It seems, in reality, she really just wanted to get rid of her troubled friend? She convinced herself that it was Catra's mistake after all, but maybe she was wrong about it. Maybe all of it wouldn't happen if she just...

"Adora? Hey, what's wrong?"

A gentle touch on her shoulder pulls Adora back from her toxic thoughts. She blinks twice before she is able to see a familiar face full of concern.

"You good here?"

"It's nothing" answers Adora hoarsely, avoiding eye contact once more. She is far from "good," but she cannot admit it. Not now, not in front of Catra.

"... Sure. If you say so."

To her surprise, Catra lets her drop the subject and gives her sleeve a tug, urging to follow her and leading their way towards the main alley in the park.

"Are you tired of me already?" smiles Adora bitterly, but obeys, receiving a snort in response.

"Come on, we both know Glimmer. Don't make her wait, especially now. She has full hands of other worries!"

And before Adora can response, Catra quickly continues, giving her an impish smile. "Moreover, the sooner you leave, the sooner you'll come back! Am I right? Of course I am!"

Still, no room for argument, as the Magicat presses the palm to her chest, changing the smile to the smugger one. And it looks just so... familiar, so adorable, that it is almost impossible not to laugh. Taking into account the satisfied expression on Catra's face, Adora is almost sure, that she did the whole scene on purpose.

"... Thank you."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" smirks the ex-commander back, stopping in front of the two imposing white statues and raising her head, silently observing. Fearlessly facing danger, confident in themselves and in each other, Netossa and Spinnerella are depicted as they were when they were still alive.

Her ear twitches when Adora stops nearby, but none of them say anything. To be honest, Catra is a little bit jealous. She wasn't able to know in person any of these two princesses, but she has heard a lot about them. And about their relationship too.

Catra glances to the side just to see Adora, watching her closely.

"What?"

"Uh? Nothing. But it's still weird to see you... to see you without your mask."

Adora reaches out to brush a strand of hair from Catra's face, but instead of short gentle fur, she feels something warm and sticky at the end of her fingertips. She blinks in surprise and looks down to see blood. On her fingers, on the palm and on the face of an unconscious friend.

Adora gasps and clutches her head when she feels a sharp stab of pain. The noise in her ears increases and she can't tell if she can hear her own heart racing or the roar of a spaceship's engines. Where are they? What are they doing right now? Is the battle over or did she lose consciousness and the hell is yet ahead?

"Adora? Hey, Adora!!"

She can hear Catra's concerned voice like if she was under the quarts of water. Adora wouldn't be surprised if it is true - she definitely feels like she is drowning.

It takes a few more moments before she is able to concentrate on firm, yet soothing voice of the Magicat.

"Breathe with me, okay? In! And out! In! Out!"

Several shallow breaths escape Adora's chest before she is able to take control over her own body and over her mind. Well... At least, over the most part of it. And now she realizes that she is sitting on the ground, pressing her back against the pedestal on which the statues stand. It's solid and cold, somehow soothing, but nothing compared to the caring look of Catra, kneeling in front of her.

It makes her heart warmer and stabs with guilt at the same time.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She doesn't cry. All of the tears were dropped a long time ago. Now she is just... tired. Tired and broken and lost. When they were fighting Horde Prime, she did what she had to, did her best, but it clearly wasn't enough. The statues (and not only them) in this memorial park are direct proof of this.

"So am I."

The response is calm, sincere. The Magicat sits down, slightly whipping with her tail and she is looking at Adora with so much understanding... But how could it be other way? After all, she was the Hordak's second-in-command and committed a lot of crimes at her own discretion. They both know that there is a lot of innocents' blood on Catra's hands.

Adora closes her eyes and tilts the head, slightly banging against the pedestal.

"I didn't want this to happen."

"I know you didn't," hums Catra in response. "Everyone knows it."

"But it doesn't change anything."

All of the destruction that happened, the deaths... She is responsible for that. As She-ra, as Adora, it really doesn't matter. She was supposed to be the protector of Etheria, but...

"Of course it does not," readily agrees Catra. "It would be naive to believe that."

They both fall in silence less intense than Adora originally expected. But maybe it was the main reason - Catra understands her because she is in the same situation. Or worse.

She is forced to open her eyes when she hears a giggle from the Magicat. "You know that your emotions are still written all over your face?"

Adora doesn't share her amusement and glares at her friend, making her sigh.

"Look, I can't say that I know how you are feeling. After all, you are a hero and I am a wildcat."

No room for argument is left again as Adora opens her mouth, but is stopped with raising hand.

"Just shut up and listen, okay?"

When she gets no response, Catra curls her tail around and quickly licks her lips. It is hard to talk about what she did, but she knows that she has to. Adora needs help and Catra doesn't want to see her suffer any more.

"I know that you're blaming yourself. I can say that you don't have to, that we all understand that you did your best and if you could you'll definitely exchange your life for the lives of those who passed away, but... Well, that's not happening."

She shrugs as if it was no big deal. And it really wasn't for her now. Unlike Adora she has already accepted her sins and that there is no way she can pay for all of them, but... She tried. She was granted the possibility to make up for the mess she made and Catra took advantage of it.

"We cannot change the past. And it's not good to cling to it," ads she with a smirk. "Trust me, I know."

At least now a small, sad smile appears on Adora's lips. "You sure do."

"So, what I'm trying to say is... Yeah. The past hurts. Especially the mistakes we've made, all of the possibilities that "could-have-happen," but never will. I cannot say that the past wouldn't haunt you, because it sure will. From time to time, maybe at your most vulnerable moments. But as the time flows, the pain wouldn't be so sharp and you kinda... get used to it? It wouldn't hurt that much."

It is not the speech Adora hears from others. Usually, they try to convince her that it wasn't her fault, that she did her best, but she still wasn't ready to accept that. Catra didn't even try to take that path. Instead, she explains the situation and what will happen later in her own manner, and why Adora shouldn't trust her? They both know that the Magicat is guilty as well as Adora is, but in her own way.

"Hey, after all, somehow I had to overcome it. And if I was able to do such a thing after all my past mistakes... I see no reason you couldn't do the same."

With another smile, she presses her fingertip against Adora's forehead. Adora smirks back.

"Well, if you say so."

She falls silent again, but now it is almost comfortable until Catra breaks it with a question.

"How is Scorpia doing?"

The smile on Adora's lips grows a little bit more.

"She is fine. Enjoying her new life and new arm too. Entrapta was able to construct a mechanical one that functions as a human arm and not the claw, so... Well, she is happy with it. They both are, actually."

The tense slowly begins to leave her body and she chuckles when she sees the pure happiness in Catra's eyes. After all, she still misses the scientist and the "Big Gal" even if she isn't ready to admit it loudly.

"I'll tell them you said Hey!"

With a smirk Adora gets on her feet, receiving a snort and a grumble. She is feeling better now, so she takes the few steps that separate them from the main alley and looks over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

With no more words, but with a stretch and a grace only cats are able to, Catra stands up and reaches to her friend, who is looking towards the statues again. With a low grunt, Catra takes her hand and leads away, letting her go when they stop in front of the park's main gate. She can see that Adora doesn't want to leave, but Catra knows that she has to.

"Hey dork, don't be so upset. It's not like I'm going anywhere, so just do your job and relax a little bit, okay? You know, spend some time with your other friends? Throw a party or do some other dumb things! Just... Live, you know?"

She tries to look Adora in the eyes, but the other one avoids eye contact and remains quiet. At least until the Magicat lightly brushes the fingers against her own.

"It's fine, Adora. It will be fine even if you don't believe it now. I know it's hard, but you have to trust me. Okay?"

When was the last time Catra sounded so gentle and carrying? Adora's shoulders twitch and she quickly wipes her eyes with the palm of her hand.

"I had no idea you can be so sentimental! Are you sure you don't have a concussion?"

Her smile is broken, but at least Catra can see the same old determination in her eyes which makes the Magicat calm down. Adora will be fine. It will take some time, but she definitely will.

"Maybe I surprise you with something else when you'll visit me next time. But don't come back too soon! Otherwise, Bow and Sparkles can get jealous."

"They sure will."

Adora is still smiling as she slowly turns toward the entrance. After all, Catra is right. It's time for her to go now.

However, after a few more steps, she is reached by a familiar voice.

"I know that you are not ready to forgive yourself yet, but... We don't blame you for what had happened. So don't be too hard on yourself, okay? For me?"

She stops and clenches her fists, only to open them the next moment with a defeated smile.

"I'll do my best."

"You promise?"

Adora doesn't look back, but she is sure that Catra is smiling as well. And when she finally allows herself to glance behind her shoulder, the Magicat was gone. Only the flowers on her memorial plaque is proof of a recent visit. What Catra has done as a commander is unforgettable, but her sacrifice during the war of Horde Prime was undeniable too. That was the reason she is remembered here, among other heroes who gave their lives to save others.

For one certain person, these memories of her best friend are still too real. But one day, she'll finally forgive herself and maybe it will be the same day she let Catra go.

"... I promise."