#not like its requited here though so

[sofascribbles]

they got sonzoned

[imaybe5tupid]

Why bother? (Why bother?) It's gonna hurt me. (It's gonna hurt me.) It's gonna kill when- (Why bother!) -You desert me! (Gonna hurt me!)

Set after Nightmare. Laios is reminiscing and contemplating.

[ellecdc]

I will bite (lol mating bite)

Remus with a best friend!reader who thinks her feelings for him are unrequited

his alpha presentation clicks in when she first presents as an omega - he immediately realizes they’re mates and is delighted, she doesn’t know he likes her and is freaking out that he’s going to feel trapped

🫣.......... okay twist my arm why don't you ;) jk - this theme/trope has been a bit of a brainworm/hyperfixation for me for a few weeks so thank you for indulging me, and sorry to my readers who this might not be their taste! but I definitely had fun with it so you may have to brace yourselves for more of it from me lol

Remus Lupin x best friend!reader who presents as an omega [3.5k words]

p1 // p2

CW: fem!reader, a/b/o dynamics and omegaverse, very soft a/b/o descriptions, SFW [nothing explicit or sexual in this fic], first a/b/o fic I've written so I'm truly just dipping my toes in lol, feelings of unrequited love [but its actually requited]

Loving Remus came as naturally as breathing to you; every inhale was the sweet smell of chocolate, warm sweaters, and worn books, and every exhale was a quiet whisper of “I love you” that you prayed to every deity he couldn’t hear.

Loving Remus was natural, but it was also harrowing; no one chooses to experience unrequited love, it’s simply one of those things that happens upon you. 

But no matter how painful the fact that your feelings weren’t reciprocated was, the wholehearted comfort that being around Remus brought you was almost worth the heartache. 

There was something in your soul that relaxed the second Remus was near; your entire being unclenched, knowing you were somehow safer, somehow more sound now that he was here.

And you hoped that, if nothing else, you provided the same for him. 

The two of you had been friends for years; becoming fast friends in first year over your shared love of muggle literature and the fact that the two of you were a touch more shy than your respective peers. 

The friendship never dimmed over time - if anything, it only became stronger with every passing year. No matter how mischievous his new friends were or how much trouble he got into with them around, no matter how many school yard crushes left either of you melancholy, no matter how many failed papers or late night study sessions that turned into heated spats because the two of you were far too overtired to handle anything maturely, and no matter how the moons came and went that effectively waxed and waned the Remus you knew in much the same way, the friendship had weathered it all.

It was one of your greatest possessions - this friendship you shared with Remus - and one of your proudest accomplishments.

And you weren’t going to let a silly crush (or, in your case, your gut-wrenching and undying devotion) ruin it. 

Which is how you found yourself walking up the steps to James and Lily’s flat for your surprise party, preparing yourself to be surprised because Sirius insisted they throw you one but Remus knew you hated surprises and had warned you about it prior to your arrival. 

You were admittedly not feeling up to a party - the telltale tickle in your throat warning you of an impending cold - though you were sure you wouldn’t have felt quite up to a party whether you were poorly or not. Parties were never quite your thing; you loved your friends, and you loved spending time with them, but that many of them in one place at one time and all for you felt a little bit like torture. 

But you knocked on the door which was flung open before your hand even made its second knock and there was a sea of people cheering “happy birthday!” but your eyes - of course - found Remus first, and suddenly, you didn’t think this was torture. Suddenly this was heaven. 

“Wha- you guys!” You started, smiling as James gave you a bone crushing hug, eyes never leaving Remus’. 

“Surprise!” Lily giggled as she elbowed James out of the way to give you her own hug. “Were you surprised?”

“What do you mean ‘were you surprised’? I still am!” You agreed quickly, embracing Sirius who was next in line.

“Moony told you, didn’t he?” He murmured quietly into your hair, causing you to snort. 

“Am I that bad an actor?” You asked him quietly, causing him to chuckle as he rubbed his hand up and down your back. 

“No,” He answered quickly, “but he is just that soft on you.” 

You hardly had a moment to consider what Sirius had said when Marlene was yanking you from his grasp to pepper your face in kisses as he shook his head over at his friend and started giving him shit for ruining the surprise. 

After greeting every guest in attendance, you finally made it to Remus who wasted no time in pulling you into his chest.

“Happy birthday, dove.” He murmured into your hair; and you had sort of wished that the only plan you had for the rest of the night was to stay within his warm embrace. 

“Sorry for getting you into trouble with Sirius.” You murmured back into his chest, delighting in the rumble of his laugh you elicited.

“Worth it; couldn’t handle you being miffed with me all night for not warning you.”

You - regretfully - pulled away to shoot him a bemused expression. “I could never spend an entire night miffed with you, Moons.” 

Remus hummed noncommittally as he scanned your face. “Any amount of time would have been too much for me- hey, are you feeling okay?” 

His face took on a concerned form that you found him too pretty to wear, and you suddenly felt bone-deep distress at having caused it.

“Why? I’m fine; do I not look fine?” You asked worriedly, bringing a hand up to your own face which was perhaps warm, but you weren’t feeling clammy. 

The corner of his mouth twitched, though the furrow between his brows was ever present. “You look perfect, as usual, just… are you feeling alright?” 

You let out a sigh, looking anywhere but his piercing gaze. “I think I’ve got a cold coming on, I’ll be alright though.” 

His mouth pinched worriedly as he ducked trying to get you to make eye contact with him. “We don’t have to stay long then, yeah?”

You snorted as you gave him an unimpressed look. “We don’t have to stay long at the party for me that was thrown in part by you?”

“Right.” He agreed readily.

“I’ll be fine, Rem.” You assured him, patting his hand placatingly. “It’s my party, I can sniffle if I want to.”

And though he didn’t seem particularly convinced, he let you go when Sirius and Marlene announced that it was time to dance. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You were taking a breather in the small kitchen of James and Lily’s flat when you started to feel slightly worse.

The tickle in your throat had officially turned into an ache in your chest, and your head was pounding - be that from the music, the dancing, the drinks, or whatever flu you were coming down with, you couldn’t be certain. 

But you found yourself feeling better as you let your head fall back against the cool wall; your hair falling away from your neck and allowing the air circulating the room to hit your overly hot neck and chest.

Maybe you should try to leave early?

“I’ll check.” You heard Remus announce; your face breaking out into a grin on its own accord as he came around the corner.

“Y/N.” He breathed out. “Are you alright?” He asked, standing in front of you with that damned furrow in his brow again.

“I’m alright.” Now, was left unsaid, but something in the tilting of his head alerted you to the fact that he heard it anyway. 

“What’s gotten into you, hm?” He asked slowly; words stilted as his eyes darted across your face, mostly speaking to himself as he searched your form for answers. 

“Did you find her?” James called out, causing Remus’ neck to crane as he peered around the door frame; and that’s when it hit you.

Chocolate, warm sweaters, and worn books.

Remus.

His scent. 

Your head fell forward as you took a deeper breath, and the remnants of whatever cold you were catching dissipated.

And the whole evening clicked into place; the discomfort, his incessant worry and focus on you, you felt better for a moment because he was near - not because you took a moment to breathe, he could tell you were…

Oh god.

“Y/N.” He said again, alerting you to the fact that he was now standing rigidly still and staring at you imploringly. “What-”

“This can’t be happening…” You whispered, eyes glued to the point just under Remus’ jaw that was so disturbingly close yet somehow not nearly close enough. 

“Are- are you…” Remus started, his gaze settling somewhere near your shoulder as he leaned closer to you and took a deep breath through his nose.

As if you scalded him, he went flying backwards from your being - his back making contact with the fridge so violently that it sent magnets flying.

Fuck, fuck! Fuck, he was going to hate you, now, surely? He hated you.

He hated you because he wanted you, but he only wanted you because you were fucking presenting - why? Why now? Why today? Why to him?

He’s never wanted you before; and now he would only want you because he was - what was very clear now - an Alpha and you were, apparently, an Omega.

Fuck.

“Fuck.” You hissed as you pushed the heels of your palms into your eyes until you could see stars.

“Dove-”

“No!” You shouted, pulling your hands away to see him having frozen in reaching out to you, now lifting his hands as if fending off a wild animal.

“Fuck, I need air.” You blurted, and you took off out the front door. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The evening air did little to quell your nerves and nausea over the events of the night. 

To present, tonight out of all nights, in a tiny flat with nowhere to run without causing a scene.

Not to mention the precariousness of your relationship with Remus that you valued over everything was now hanging by a thread. 

“You couldn’t have found us a more comfortable place to sit, gorgeous?” You heard Sirius drawl as he (loudly) took a seat on the curb beside you.

“I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you so, Sirius.” You responded dryly. 

“You ought to be.” He continued. “This is not how I wanted to spend your birthday party.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You scoffed, elbowing him in the side causing him to sway as if you’d put any real force behind it. 

“If you fuck on, you get better results.”

You snorted. “Yeah, and if you fuck around you’ll find out.”

“Mmm, saucy, I like where this is going.”

“Padfoot.” You begged miserably, and he let out a relenting sigh before he pulled you roughly into his side, leaving his arm draped over you as you laid your head on his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting on a curb outside.” You answered, earning you a pinch in the side.

“I can see that; I mean, what are you doing out here by yourself? Why aren’t you inside with your man?”

“Stop it, Sirius.” You spat, hastily sitting up and wiping angrily at your face.

“Merlin, you both really are that thick, aren’t you?” He muttered, searching your face like it would somehow answer his question.

“If you’re out here to make fun of me, you can go back inside. I’m humiliated enough.”

Sirius shook his head sadly. “I don’t understand why the two of you are making this harder than it needs to be; you’re both clearly mad for each other, you’re out here feeling sorry for yourself because you think he doesn’t want you, he’s in there feeling sorry for himself because he doesn’t think you want him.”

“He doesn’t want me, Sirius. We’ve always only been friends.”

“But you want him?” He asked then, causing you to put your head in your hands.

“Sirius, please, don’t-”

“Do you want him?” He asked again, more forceful this time. “Simple question, Y/N, yes or no.”

“Yes!” You let out with a sob. “Yes! I’ve always wanted him! I’ve- fuck, I’ve been mad about him for years and… yes. Yes, I want him.” The end of your sentence trailing off as you picked angrily at your nail beds.

Sirius seemed to steal himself for a moment, nodding his head as he sucked in a breath.

“I started calling him Moony before I ever knew of his lycanthropy.” He admitted then; and though you weren’t looking in his direction, you could feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head. 

Sirius let that sit in the air before he got up and stood in front of you, forcing you to look up at him. 

“I called him that because of the way he was always mooning after you.”

“Then why’d he freak? Why’d he rip away from me like that?” You asked - voice disturbingly small as you looked up at one of your oldest friends.

“Why’d you run?”

You let out a sigh and looked at the streetlights across the street instead of admitting “because I’m a coward”. 

“I can’t lose him, Pads. I-” Stopping as a painful shiver shook your frame - the cold taking over again now that you had some distance from your…

From Remus.

But Sirius didn’t rush you, he just continued standing in front of you as you struggled to find the words. 

“I can’t lose him.” You settled on. 

“Then don’t.” He said, toeing your shoe with his. 

“It’s not that simple.” You argued.

“It can be.” A voice sounded from behind you but a moment before you smelled him. 

And though the rational part of your brain wanted to brace yourself, the rest of your body immediately softened in his presence. 

“Well I’m going to go back in and enjoy the kick ass party I threw, so, if the two of you don’t mind…” Sirius said haughtily, shooting you a wink so that you knew it was all in jest and clapping Remus on the back before disappearing back into the building. 

You listened as Remus lowered himself onto the curb beside you; guilt flooding through you at the way his joints cracked audibly and at the fact that he seemed to be leaving quite a bit of distance between the two of you that he wouldn’t have even just a few hours ago. 

“Are you okay?” He started, and you fought the urge to scoff.

No, you thought petulantly, not only do I feel like shit, I’m also at risk of losing the thing that means the most to me.

“I’m fine.” You responded shortly, fixated on the skin surrounding your fingernails as you refused to look in his direction. “You alright?”

“No.” Remus answered quickly, and you did look up at that.

He was staring at you imploringly, his brows furrowed both with sympathy and perhaps a little bit of frustration. 

“Why’d you run?” He asked then.

“I-” you started, though you weren’t exactly sure anymore. “You…you seemed so startled, I… I thought you were upset.”

He seemed to pause as he considered your response; this sort of caution not usual for the two of you this far into your friendship. 

“I had just found out that the girl of my dreams was an Omega, and when she was clearly distraught, I was caught leaning in to get a better sniff.” He deadpanned, shaking his head at himself as he looked out across the street. “I startled because I was certain I was going to startle you.”

“I- you’re not? Startled, that is.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he shook his head, turning back to look at you. “Why would I be?”

“But…we’ve never been…more than friends; I didn’t want that to change now, just because you felt it had to.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He responded simply, and for reasons you weren’t willing to think on right now, that sentiment caused something very unpleasant to churn in your gut. 

“Nothing would have to change; you could still be you and I could just be me, and that would be fine. Is that what you want?” 

He held your gaze defiantly as you gaped at him. “I- but,”

“Is that what you want, dove?” He asked again, a slight force in his tone this time as he turned his body towards yours and his eyes flit down to your lips. “Because it is taking everything in my power not to claim you as my own right here, right now. I have wanted this for so long; so I ask you again, is that what you want? For nothing to change?”

“No.” You blurted quickly. 

“No?”

“No.” You whispered, shaking your head as you turned your body to face him too. “No, no. I want you, I need you-”

“Now? You want and need me now, or-”

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you since fourth year, Remus. Since I figured out why I hated Emmeline Vance so much.” You practically sobbed.

“Why?” He asked softly, looking like his lip wanted to tip up into a smile though he was dutiful of your current upset. “Because she fancied me?”

“Because you fancied her.” You corrected miserably. Remus finally brought his hand up to cup your cheek at that, and you hardly had a moment to feel embarrassed at the way you quickly turned your head into his wrist so you could get a better smell of him.

“My poor, sweet girl.” He cooed softly, a sympathetic sound emanating from the back of his throat at the sound that his phrase elicited from you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please.” You whispered, no longer trying to withhold the desperation from your voice as you kept your nose pressed to the inside of his wrist and your eyes screwed shut.

“Okay.” He whispered back, even though he had no idea what you were begging him for - you supposed it didn’t matter; he didn’t seem particularly inclined to deny you anything you wanted right now. 

“Rem-”

“I know.”

“Please.”

“I’m right here, dove.” He whispered, pulling you towards him by your hand as you followed all too willingly. “I’m right here.” He whispered again, nose brushing yours before you closed the distance between the two of you.

The sound of the traffic faded away, as did the tarmac beneath you and the air around you; you seemed to be floating in a vast expanse that contained nothing but you and Remus.

You took a moment to mentally kick yourself as you deepened the kiss - nipping at his lower lip and causing him to smile before granting you access - that you could have been, should have been, doing this for years. 

“Ugh, fuck.” Remus muttered as he broke the kiss and rested his head against yours, seeming truly distraught at having to interrupt.

You didn’t even have a chance to ask what was wrong before you heard cheering from above you.

“Fucking finally!” James shouted as he pulled the tab of a party popper, showering the street below his balcony with multicoloured  confetti. 

“Pay up bitches; I told you this was the year.” Lily continued, holding her hand out expectantly as Marlene begrudgingly placed a few galleons into her friend's hand. 

“Oi!” Remus shouted at the group, a protective arm snaking around your middle as he held you closer to him as if he was worried you’d simply float away, “You better pay Pads his fair share then!”

You snorted and shoved your face into Remus’ neck - hiding your face as a ploy to get closer to him without it being nearly close enough. 

Remus chuckled as your friends filed back into the apartment and the world returned to its normal volume, bringing his free hand up to knead at your scalp in a way that made you want to purr like a sodding cat. 

“Fuck.” He breathed out, looking down at you with an expression nothing short of worship.

“You okay?” You asked then, bringing one hand up to draw a line down the bridge of his nose, simply because you could now.

“I’m perfect, you’re perfect.” Remus pressed, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss before he pressed his nose against the spot on your neck just past your jaw.

You instinctually let your head fall back; his hand tightening in your hair as he let out a sound halfway between a laugh and growl.

“Don’t sodding do that.” He scolded you playfully. 

“What?” You asked - half innocently half abashedly. 

“Submit to me, you minx.” He explained, booping you on the nose for extra effect. “Let me at least take you out on a date, first.”

A date, you echoed in your head; you had spent a lot of time daydreaming as a girl about what your first date with Remus would look like. You’d always imagined spending the day in Hogsmeade buying sweets and gobstones and books and quills before heading back up to the castle.

This was turning out way better already, though.

“So long as I don’t have to share you with James.” You joked, peering over Remus’ shoulder where you could see James peeking through the curtains before a flash of a camera went off.

“Hm…I’m not sure I can promise that for the first date, but definitely for the second.” 

“Deal.” You agreed readily, because really, you’d have Remus just about anyway you could have him. 

And you were simply overjoyed to know that he apparently felt the same.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed. 

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

*

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?” 

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here? 

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases. 

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation. 

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight. 

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears. 

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later. 

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat. 

You swallow, once, an unsure thing. 

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation. 

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end. 

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own. 

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence. 

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room. 

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right. 

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone. 

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading. 

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all &lt;3

[spectrumgarden]

Becaise I'm tired of seeing this happen to other bloggers & also frequently myself:

If someone talks about being unable to do something without assistance due to a disability, and how that influences their life, how that dependency on others is scary and can be exploited etc. And your only response is "I experience this except I end up doing the thing by myself because no one helps me". and then they tell you "hey, you deserve to get support for this when you need it. but this is actually not the same as my experience because if i do not get help i absolutely can not get it done by myself. Like I'm fully unable to do this." And your response is to get mad / accuse them of trying to be "divisive" / telling them they're dismissing your struggles / blaming them for your feelings about this response essentially / calling them ableist for literally just pointing out the fact that there is a difference between these situations / etc, then you are the problem.

Just for a minute try to imagine what it's like. That you can not do something without assistance. Let's say you absolutely can not drive a car even if your life depended on it. You completely rely on being driven around. You can not do anything that requites a car without another person being physically there the entire time and holding the steering wheel. And tons of people see you talk about that and join in with "yeah I also can't drive in theory, but I still do it because I have to because my life depends on it". That does not feel good. That is a constant reminder that hey! Other people can totally do this even though its hard! If your support vanishes you can not do this thing your life depends on no matter how hard you try! The voices of people who actually experience the same thing as you get drowned out in the flood of these "I totally get it"s from people who do in fact, not totally get it. Because In reality, one of you is sitting behind a wheel and the other isnt and Never Will.

Acknowledging differences is not the enemy. We are not arguing about emotions here. We are literally begging people to see that two physical realities are different. And no matter how often we say that you still deserve support and that we acknowledge that things are hard and exhausting for you and sometimes even dangerous, that isnt enough for you? Every time I try to get one of these people to see reason I tell them: I know this is hard for you. I know this is exhausting for you. I acknowledge your reality. But that's not what they want to hear. So, what more do you want? For me to lay down and say "yeah actually we experience totally the same things" and then watch as the healthcare system out to save every penny tries to dismantle my support system because well, if I try really hard I'll probably get it done myself?

[hamliet]

Love is Life, and Also Unpredictable

The Decameron is a brilliant, beautiful show that deserves way more praise than the lukewarm reviews. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a love story so beautiful and characters who subverted expectations in the most satisfying ways.

Every time you think a character is an unforgivable lout, you'll be surprised at how human they'll be. The character you think is a buffoon and whom you wish would die because they're THAT level of annoying ends up making you bawl with their words a single episode later, and it still feels in character.

I dunno, the show has pretty mixed reviews, but if you like dark humor and a study on humanity, this show is for you. Also, if you like love stories of any sort, because this show contains several of the single most unique love stories I could have ever imagined. Yes, including queer and... ace love.

*yes i have read boccaccio's work on which it's based

Spiritual, Agape Love: Neifile and Panfilo

I genuinely think the sexless marriage and partnership of a gay man and a devout, neurotic straight woman is one of the most beautiful love stories I've seen in media, ever. They genuinely want each other to be happy, and they aren't content just being each other's "beard" or financial security. They want to know each other more. They want honesty. They want to be together and to have intimacy, just not romantic or sexual.

The scene where they reconcile in front of Ruggiero is stunningly wholesome and--dare I say it--pure.

The scene where Neifile falls in the well and waits for God to save her is clearly a riff on the classic parable of the guy who is drowning and turns down two boats and a helicopter rescue saying "no thanks, God will save me," only to die and get to heaven and cry, "God, why didn't you save me?" Then God replies, "you dumbass, I sent you two boats and a helicopter!"

Neifile is rescued because her husband Panfilo pays someone to rescue her and to tell her God sent a vision telling them where to find Neifile. When she finds out Panfilo orchestrated it, she's furious about him deceiving her. But the reality, we later realize, is that he didn't exactly. Neifile wanted proof God still cared about her. He sent her a husband who loved her so much he would do anything to save her.

Neifile's faith isn't perfectly written, but it's not mocked. In the end, Neifile and Panfilo live like Christ--which is to say, they save their friends even though they die. Neifile dies afraid, but life comes with no guarantees. It's unpredictable, just like love. And after her death, Panfilo seems to lose the will to live--but when he decides to sacrifice his life to die alongside Neifile, it's not so much out of a desire to die as it is out of a desire to have his friends survive. And it's not a coincidence that the foe they face off with is a self-proclaimed prophet who's really a cruel, hypocritical cult leader. Neifile's dead, plague-ridden body is more holy than the cult leader's sword.

Romantic/Eros Love: Misia and Filomena, Tindaro and Stratilia, (and everyone)

Everyone has romantic love and/or a sexual relationship in the story. Everyone has a "pairing," but it is seldom their most important bond.

Dioneo and Licisca

Filomena and Misia

Pampinea and Sirisco

Tindaro and Stratilia

Neifile and Panfilo/Ruggiero

Panfilo and Neifile/Andreoli

The two that are the most important here are Misia and Filomena, and Tindaro and Stratilia. Yet they are both quite unique portrayals as well, because while Misia and Filomena's love is requited, Tindaro's loev for Stratilia is completely unrequited. Yet, its power still shines through.

Tindaro's love for Stratilia is utterly unrequited and stays that way. However, his love for her is nonetheless real and he proves it over and over, and it isn't dependent on her returning it. His determination to love her, no matter what she does or doesn't give him, is honestly a beautiful exploration of unrequited love. Usually in fiction unrequited love is either someone wasting their time or a tragedy.

Rarely does unrequited love have power to redeem and save, but here it does. It motivates Tindaro to change himself for the better and to become the best version of himself, and it saves Stratilia's life and the life of her son.

Yet, the story avoids any kind of iffy subtext about sex corrupting love. Misia and Filomena get a happily ever after (the only pairing in the series that does), but Tindaro's love for Stratilia, which literally starts as hate sex and stays that way for her, redeems Tindaro. So the show avoids saying that sex is all that love is, and avoids the implication that sex ruins love as well.

Familial Love: Licisca and Filomena, Stratilia and Jacopo

The series addresses sibling love in a variety of ways. Filomena and Licisca are clearly sisters long before we get the official reveal that Licisca is actually Filomena's half-sister in blood. And even when we see them fighting and pushing each other off a bridge (literally), they love each other. They can't bear to see each other die, even as they peck at each other and insult each other constantly.

Filomena: Licisca, you saved me again! Licisca: Yeah, you dumb bitch. Love's got long claws.

Truly, a sister exchange right there.

What gets in the way of their familial relationship is class. The series juxtaposes class issues against familial ones quite a bit. Leonardo, for example, we never meet, but the way he treats Stratilia and Jacopo (his son) is pretty terrible.

And yet, Jacopo has a good life. Stratilia loves him, even though he is the reason she can never leave the villa, marry, or have any sort of life of her own. She knows Leonardo never plans to have Jacopo as an heir or treat him as a son in any way, but she loves him and sticks around for him, and doesn't resent him for it. And he in turn adores his mother and wants to protect her. Love is a burden, as Panfilo says directly, but so is life. Love anchors.

What gets in the way of love for this mother and son, temporarily, is again class. Not for herself, but for her son, Stratilia eventually decides to take the villa since Leonardo is dead and Jacopo is the rightful heir. But clinging to class and material possessions in this series never ends well.

When Stratilia realizes her desire to seize the villa in the name of justice for her son will likely get them all killed, she cries and blames herself for their coming deaths.

As Tindaro says:

Stratilia: I failed my son Tindaro: No. You have given him everything. And love most of all. He is blessed. You understand that Jacopo? You are blessed.

In other words, love doesn't have to be perfect. It can involve major screwups and pain, but that doesn't mean the life they had or the love was any less powerful.

Also of note: the whole reason the peasants turn to mercenaries and cults is because the rich lock themselves away from the poor, when in reality they are all humans. You can't counter acts of God (or, y'know, rats) but where humans do have power, in all the terrible hands life slaps them with, is the ability to love each other and help each other. While this sounds cheesy, the juxtaposition of this idea with a black comedy plague setting actually makes it shine.

The Loveless: Pampinea

At the start of the story, there are two buffoons: Tindaro and Pampinea.

Tindaro is misogynistic and pathetic, and Pampinea is equally insufferable but more sympathetic because her insufferable tendencies are clearly driven by her status as an unmarried woman in a patriarchal, misogynistic society.

Yet Pampinea has all of these kinds of love, and can't accept any of them. Sirisco loves her and thinks she is beautiful. She not only pushes him away, but is cruel in doing so. She has the respect of Neifile and Licisca. She has unrequited loyalty and love from Misia, and uses it to manipulate Misia into killing Ruggiero for her (and the irony is that Misia, who is traumatized from killing Ruggiero, then kills Pampinea).

Pampinea is a well-written villain, imo. You love to hate her, but you also see her humanity. The way she treats Misia, though, is increasingly horrifying, and their relationship foils Tindaro and Dioneo's, Filomena and Licisca's, and Leonardo's and Stratilia's/Sirisco's.

In fact, Filomena even directly acknowledges that she's no better than Pampinea for how she's treated Licisca. Tindaro doesn't get the chance to have that realization about Dioneo while Dioneo is alive, but he does give him a decent burial when he definitely didn't have to. And, there's an aspect of tragedy there too--Dioneo did care about Tindaro, but Tindaro's inability to show any kind of care for Dioneo while he lived means that he doesn't realize that Dioneo did in fact find love in the end, though he acknowledges that this was what Dioneo did primarily want in life.

In contrast, Pampinea has chance after chance after chance to choose differently, to choose a single bond, and she doesn't. She also recognizes that her servant wants love more than anything, just like Tindaro and Dioneo, but instead of using that to honor them, she uses it to degrade and manipulate Misia.

Bad Victims and Toxic Love: Misia and Pampinea

Misia is a bad victim. It takes forever for her to realize she's being abused and even longer to accept it. She does in fact murder someone for her mistress, and she keeps going back to Pampinea even when it means essentially betraying Filomena, whom she romantically loves. When she asks for help, she pushes the people she's asked away.

Eventually, the only way she sees to free herself is to kill Pampinea, because love for Pampinea is a way to cage someone rather than a way to set them free. Pampinea's already introduced the idea of killing for love, so it's not really a surprise when this comes back to bite Pampinea and she is killed.

Yet the story doesn't demonize Misia for this. It shows how damn difficult it is to free oneself from an abuser, and how genuine the love for an abuser can be. In fact, the victim can often not even realize they're being abused and taken advantage of.

Furthermore, Misia's abuse doesn't make her a better person. Most people tend to assume that victims cry and wait for rescue, but that's not realistic. Victims lash out and can sometimes have a massive cognitive dissonance, as demonstrated in the show when Misia begs Sirisco for help and then blames him for Ruggiero's death when he calls her out on Pampinea's abuse of her.

Even Misia killing Pampinea isn't portrayed as a moral positive. It's tragic, but it also doesn't have to destroy Misia's future. Filomena loves her and forgives her, and that love can tether Misia to life despite her having two murders under her belt.

Sirisco also goes down a bad path, similar to Misia. He brings misery and problems to the villa in his outage over Pampinea's treatment of him. Yet he does repent after he sees that his actions have directly led to the deaths of the peasants who treat him well, and he survives.

[astraariel]

eternal snow

pairing: sanji x fem!reader

summary: your love for sanji was unconditional, unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same seeing as there were petals coming out of your mouth.

word count: 3.6K

warnings: spoilers (?) just the name of a character from the whole cake island arc, it’s a modern!au so I don't mention anything about the actual arc!

tags: loosely based on “eternal snow” from fullmoon wo sagashite; angst; hanahaki disease; implied cheating; modern!au; hurt no comfort; lovesick; requited unrequited love

author's note: I think along with everyone opla is taking over my life so it encouraged me to finish this fic I started months ago lol. once again I like angst and this is soooo ooc of sanji he would never cheat I love him so much I’m sorry. on another note, I really like AmaLee’s cover of this song so you can give it a listen if you want to feel the vibe. 

also, ignore the fact that Pudding is sixteen, she’s older than that in this. I couldn’t really think of anyone else to have/didn't want to think of a different character. just know, she’s of age. other than that, ignore grammar mistakes and enjoy♡

──★ ˙ ̟read pt2 here!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You weren’t entirely sure how you had gotten to this point. You were certain that you two would be together forever. How you had unknowingly lost the one you love so dearly, you would never know.

Sanji was a flirt and you loved it, he could simply say that you looked beautiful today and you’d melt. Hell, that’s how you too met, Nami had introduced you two and Sanji wooed his way into your heart. You knew that he had you in the palm of his hand, but you weren’t sure you could say the same for him.

Sanji was an attentive lover. When he loved, he showered you with his attention. You could always tell that his presence was there whenever you spoke. He’d care and cater to every request you asked of him, not allowing you to lift a single finger. It’s who he was.

You were blinded by your love for Sanji that you never noticed him slipping away from your grasp.

The two of you were currently sitting together on your living room couch. Sanji mentioned there was a new show he wanted to watch, so here the two of you were. Your attention was focused on the TV in front of you while his was on his phone.

You glance at him, “Who’s that?” 

He hadn’t looked away from it for more than 30 seconds throughout the last episode. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he looks at you. 

“Oh, it's the new dessert chef at the restaurant,” he shuts his phone off, “I've been assigned to help her around and show her the ropes,” he smiles, “It’s nothing, you want popcorn?” 

You turn to him, “Of course I do.” He gets up to walk to your kitchen, “Hey, I love you.”

He walks up behind you and bends down, kissing your head, “And I love you more.” He stands up and you hear him rummaging through the pantry for a popcorn packet. 

You cough slightly, “Could you grab me some water, Sanji?” He shouts back a response but you don’t make it out because you’re too busy pulling a petal out of your mouth.

♡‧₊˚

After that lone petal had made its introduction, it planted itself as a constant. Every so often for the following weeks, you’d feel something weird in your mouth, only to pull out a single flower petal.

You weren’t sure what was going on, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think too much about it. On top of the weird cough you were having, Sanji was also acting off. 

It was small at first, just tiny, little white lies that he’d tell you. 

Like when he’d say he was tired, that he was going to bed, but you could hear him on his phone laughing at something from the room. Or when he claimed that his phone had died and that’s why he hadn’t texted you back even though you were hanging with Nami at the time and he had replied to a video she had sent him a minute after you texted him. 

That was just the first few weeks.

You weren’t sure when the white lies became real lies but it had only spiraled more. You had found that he wasn’t even bothering with lying anymore, simply stating that he was too busy to come over or that he didn’t even want to hang out with you that day.

Sanji would claim to be too tired and not bother to see you for an entire week, but then he’d call you complaining that he missed you and question why the two of you hadn’t gone on a date recently and then insist that he was going to cook dinner for the two of you. Those times were always the best. It made you feel like nothing was wrong. 

It was pure whiplash. 

You were never sure which Sanji you were gonna get that day. Maybe it’d be the Sanji that you loved or this new person who had taken over and wouldn’t even text you back for days on end. 

Recently, he was your loving, doting boyfriend. Which caused you to completely forget about the flower petals you were currently collecting from your mouth when you were being distracted by Sanji’s full attention. 

You were lying on Sanji’s chest recounting your day to him when suddenly the sound of his phone pinging cut you off. 

A quiet chuckle made you peek up at Sanji, his eyes were looking at his phone intently, whatever was on his screen, clearly captivated him more than what was coming out of your mouth.

You sit up, his blatant disinterest in your day annoying you. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice cuts through the room.

He looked up at your now sitting form, it looked like he was just acknowledging your presence.

He lets out a noise of confusion, “What?”

“Are you angry at me? Did I say or do something that pissed you off? Because, please, just tell me, I can't take it anymore.” you pleaded.

You notice Sanji’s body tensing, his brow scrunching in even more confusion. He laughs awkwardly, “Baby, what are you talking about? I’m not angry.” he looks away, “I love you, you know that right?”

And suddenly, you weren’t angry anymore. 

You smiled, “I love you too.”

He glances at his phone again.

But you don’t care, because he loves you. 

Satisfied with his response, you settle back down but are interrupted when you begin to cough. Quickly, you stand up to fetch your handkerchief from your pocket, wiping your mouth swiftly. 

You look back at Sanji, “I’m gonna-” but before you can finish, you feel the familiar flowers clawing their way up your throat. You walk out of the room coughing. 

Sanji doesn’t look up from his phone.

♡‧₊˚

He was late.

Again. 

You were exhausted. The constant lies that you fooled yourself into believing for the sake of your heart were beginning to wear on you. 

The old hoodie you were wearing enveloped you in an attempt to provide yourself some level of comfort that no one could really give you anymore. 

It’s late, around midnight, last you checked. The spaghetti dinner left on the table you had cooked had long gone cold. The Baratie had closed hours ago and Sanji still wasn’t home. 

You sit in complete darkness, the TV is currently rattling off an old rerun of some show you didn’t watch. You’re too tired to get up and find the remote to change the channel so you settle on watching the old comedic sitcom. You’re holding your trusty handkerchief that’s become your best friend in the past months; ready to close around your mouth in an attempt to catch the petals of flowers that’d come up your throat every so often. 

Your eyes glaze over the screen when you hear the door creak open. Footsteps were heard as a soft clatter sounded throughout the room from Sanji setting his keys down on the counter. 

You sit up slowly, in an effort to prohibit any intense coughing. 

Your eyes meet Sanji’s surprised ones, “You’re still awake? It’s late, you should go to bed.” he looks away. 

“You missed dinner.” You look over at Sanji’s form, he’s stiff, you note.

“I stayed late to help close, sorry we can reschedule.” He brushes you off swiftly.

“Was she there?” The argument had already begun, why not fuel it some more?

Sanji whips his head at you, an incredulous look gracing his features. “Who are you talking about?” Acting dumb was never a good look on him. 

Your tired eyes stare at him, “I know you’re spending time with her.” The venom in your tone was palpable.

You were over the lies. You were over the constant tiptoeing between each other, you’re honestly surprised he still even decided to come over. It would have been better for him to stay at his place and just call you in the morning to tell his lie. 

He has balls, you’ll give him that.

“Do you even love me anymore?”  

The silence that surrounded the room was upsetting. Of course, he didn’t, who were you fooling? You had all the proof you needed in all of the trashcans around your house, discarded tissues soaked in blood, and petals filled the bins.

Sanji scoffs, “I don’t know what you want from me.” He doesn't answer the question, “Why are you asking if I love you, you're being needy.” He stares at you before continuing, “If you don’t trust me,” he looks away, “Then maybe we should break up.” With a tone of finality, he turns around and walks toward the door, the sound of it shutting echoing throughout the house.

You’re left alone in the silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall muffling your coughs that were accompanied by flowers and blood. 

♡‧₊˚

With the new development of the blooms coming out of your throat, you felt defeated. You’re not sure what you did in a past life to deserve this. You didn’t wish this on anyone, it was a lonely and awful feeling, physically and emotionally. 

You’ve gotten used to your condition. It had been a month since you’d seen Sanji after he had broken things off and in that month, you would constantly find yourself leaning over the toilet bowl, hacking up blood and flower blooms. 

You finally had the courage to look up what you assumed was hanahaki disease. It was a rare condition, but you were certain that was what was causing you pain. The only cure was to have surgery that resulted in the patient forgetting about whomever they had loved. That you’d act as if nothing had happened, that you’d live in ignorance bliss afterward. 

Sacrificing your heart for your life. 

After that month, you had decided to go to a coffee shop forcing yourself to get out of the house and do something. 

So you went to Sanji’s favorite coffee shop. 

Why you had put yourself through that? You weren't sure.

You remember wrapping your hand around the door handle, ready to walk in when a wisp of light auburn hair had caught your attention inside the cafe. 

There she was. Pudding. The girl who had replaced you. The one who had captivated Sanji’s attention in a way you could only dream of.

Sanji stood beside her, you were certain he couldn't see you from inside, his attention was fully on Pudding’s face, absorbing whatever story she had been telling him. 

He had never looked at you like that.

Did he ever love you? Were you that stupid to even see the truth? Had it been there all along and you were simply too blind to notice?

An “excuse me” had brought you back to reality and had you rushing back to your apartment in hopes of not bumping into Sanji or Pudding. You weren't sure your heart could take it if you were forced to talk to them.

After that defeat you noticed that you were no longer hacking up petals, but fully blossomed flowers, you couldn’t walk for a long distance without wheezing, the flowers constricting your airways preventing you from wanting to do anything. You knew you were nearing the final stage, soon roots were going to begin to show up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to a doctor. You had read that the longer you kept this from being treated, you’d enter the point of no return. 

So, you simply waited.

Your mind was reeling. You never wanted to stop loving Sanji. You didn’t care about the pain that it brought you. 

You don’t care that you still long to have Sanji tell you that he loves you. To tell you and for you not to immediately have to turn away and cough up blood and flowers. 

You missed him. You yearned for him.

After Nami had found out why you and Sanji broke up, she went on a rant about how she was going to kill him, on how he could have done this to you. You weren't sure if you had ever seen her get so angry before. 

But even after that, you confessed that you still loved him. 

She proceeded to call you insane, but she simply didn’t understand. She didn’t know about how his eyes would sparkle when he would go on about a new recipe that he developed and how he was certain that it was going to be the new hit at the Baratie. She didn’t know how bashful he got when you complimented him on his food. How he’d kiss you like how it was the first time you were kissing each other.

You loved him. And you would forever love him.

But he haunted your life. Leaving you lying at night, not even allowing you to find comfort in your dreams since he haunted those too. When you’d close your eyes you could only mourn for the love that once was. To mourn for him even though he was alive and well, but could you say the same for yourself?

You had long accepted that you were going to die. If anything, you willed it. Never did you want to forget your love for Sanji. The idea that you would never be able to recall how he made your heart pound every time he’d look at you, would be a nightmare.

But you were tired. 

In the months after the cafe incident you would go through phases where the pain would turn to anger, cursing Sanji, wishing you two had never met, wishing that Nami had never introduced you too. 

But the anger would never stay directed towards Sanji. It would always circle back to you. And anger would turn to pity and pity would turn to sadness. 

You wanted to cry and scream at the sky, to yell at the world, to question why love felt this way. Why couldn't he just love you back, why were you being punished for simply loving him unconditionally?

You suffocate yourself in the love that you have for Sanji. Sacrificing your every breath to simply feel the true and fierce love you felt for him. You’d cry until you were gasping for air, til you were choking up flowers that were clogging your lungs. You wished, begged, for it to go away. Wishing that you had never fallen for him. 

But even with all the pain he caused you. You could never hate him.

You could never hate Sanji.

You can’t even bring yourself to hate Pudding, it wasn't her fault that Sanji was infatuated with her rather than you.

And you could never truly hate him for that.

The sterile white walls and the smell of disinfectant wafting through the air brought you back to reality. 

Recalling how hours before Nami had found you on the ground of your bathroom, post-hacking your brains out from the various blooms of flowers that rose from your throat at what seemed like at every hour of the day as of recently. You hadn’t heard her call for you when she entered your apartment so you weren’t able to hide anything from her. 

“Are you insane?” Her voice ricocheted in the bathroom after you had explained to her what had been happening to you for the last couple of months.

You were numb the entire car ride to the hospital as Nami yelled at you for being so careless. 

“Why are you letting that boy kill you?” 

Why were you? 

Why were you putting yourself through this pain, knowing he would never love you again?

The recent memory reminded you of Nami’s presence on the side chair that was placed beside the crunchy bed you were currently sitting on. Her brown eyes met yours and smiled softly at you. 

“You’re gonna be okay.” Nami’s attempt at reassurance was comforting to you for 5 seconds before the door swung open revealing the doctor. 

“Hello,” she said your name, “you’re the one with hanahaki disease, correct?” You glance over at Nami before replying to the doctor in confirmation. “Well, unfortunately, it has been developing for a while and if you had come just a little bit later it would have been untreatable, so I highly suggest proceeding with the procedure as soon as possible.”

Your hands grew clammy. This was it. You were going to be relieved from this grueling life you had found yourself in. You would finally be able to go back to normal. 

Normal. 

Would it truly be normal if you didn’t love Sanji anymore? Could you truly live with yourself knowing that you gave up the one thing that has been keeping you going? You guess you wouldn’t actually remember your love for him if you did the surgery but your heart would know. Your soul would know. 

You wished that all of this pain would go away. Longing to run back to Sanji, for him to stop the anguish that you felt. To have him whisper that he loved you and for you to not cough up flowers anymore. To know that he truly meant the words that he was saying.

You wondered how your life would have gone if you had never fallen for Sanji. Would your life still lead you to this very moment of hell that you’re living currently? You would think that hell would be hot, blazing with heat, but all you felt was the coldness of lies that you believed that spewed from Sanji’s lips when he spoke to you. 

You would like to think that you wished you had never fallen into this trap. That your heart never fell for him, but you knew better. You knew that he had your heart from the beginning. You were doomed from the first interaction.

Wasn’t it a true act of love if you could let the person go? Wouldn’t it be the final seal of approval of your love if you went through with the surgery? The love that you felt for Sanji would be proven by this simple act. 

You felt Nami’s hand grab yours. Her eyes were filled with remorse, a sadness that you could distinguish as the same sadness that you saw in your eyes ever since that first petal came to be.

Anticipatory grief.

She was grieving your love for him already, grieving for your heart, how you would never love again, how you would never love him again.

You sigh. 

♡‧₊˚

You wake up to the soft murmurs of the television in the corner of the room. 

Your mind was hazy, from what, you weren't entirely sure yet. It felt as if you had lost something like it was on the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t think of exactly what it was.

Guess it wasn’t important.

Your eyes wander over to your surroundings, the hospital room is bare except for the basic, usual furniture. Your eye caught movement out of the corner of your eye, turning your face to examine what it was.

A balloon with the words “Get well soon!” fills your vision, and your gaze scans over the hearts that surround the bubble letters in bright yellow hues. You reach over the side table to grab the card that sat under the balloon. 

Hope you feel better - Nami.

Sad that you had missed your friend, you made a mental note to pay her a visit after you were discharged from the hospital to thank her.

A soft knock echoed throughout the room, your attention to the door opening revealing the doctor. “Hi, glad you’re awake. The procedure was a success. You should be good to go soon, but take it easy for the next two weeks.”

The procedure.

You quickly scour your brain for answers of who it was you loved but came up short. 

Guess that was the point, wasn’t it? 

Before you could thank the doctor, rushed footsteps were heard outside the room, hasty knocks piercing the air along with the clamor of the door opening quickly. 

Sanji’s blond hair comes into view, and he stands, wide-eyed, near the doorframe. He was panting slightly, a sign that he possibly had been running before he got here. 

He says your name quietly, the doctor gives you a nod before excusing herself from the room to give you guys privacy. 

“Sanji,” you smile brightly at him, “Did you get off of work? Why are you here?”

His eyes shift over to the balloon on the stand beside the bed. “Nami told me about the…procedure.”

“Really?” you roll your eyes teasingly, “It’s not that big of a deal honestly, that Nami. Always the worrier, thank you for visiting me though, you’re a good friend, Sanji.” You look away before you can notice Sanji’s face falling. 

You look back at him, “Oh, could you take me home? I probably shouldn’t be driving right now.” you laugh quietly and scan Sanji’s face. His mind seemed to be somewhere else, perhaps he was really busy at the restaurant. “If you can, if not I’ll just call Nami.” 

“No,” he clears his throat, “Yeah I can take you home.” 

You offer him a smile, “Thanks, hey I think I may have to fill out some paperwork. Could you grab it while I go change?” You begin to stand up slowly before he rushes over to help you up.

You look up at him to thank him again when you realize his eyes are watering. 

Weird. 

Your eyebrows knit in worry, “Hey, are you okay?”

He blinks rapidly while looking away from you. His hand lets go from his grasp on your arm and runs it through his blonde hair while turning away from you. “Yeah, I’m fine.” he coughs, “Uh, I’m gonna go look for those papers.”

He walks out of the room before you can respond, leaving you slightly confused but you shake it off before you begin to look for your clothes. 

You don’t see Sanji standing outside the doorway, coughing up a flower petal. 

[penvisions]

sweetening the deal {by the grit of sandpaper}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: Tommy Miller asked you to take his place beside his brother on patrols, and you're determined to not let him down even if you're far too awkward around the older Miller you don't know very well.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: canon typical language, pining, requited unrequited feelings, joel is so soft in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, joel miller's body needs its own warning, tooth rotting fluff, mostly joel pov, SET BEFORE THE FIRST CHAPTER

A/N: dear @copperhalfcent submitted a drabble emoji as part of the final chapter celebration and of course i got carried away, what a bummer, huh? here's this for y'all to enjoy until the final chapter comes out! ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

A rather loud crack of cartilage startles you, your gun aimed toward the direction Joel approached you and the horses from. He had dismounted to check out the small wisps of smoke with an urgent but quiet request to remain behind.

“Just me ‘n my bad back.”

“Should soak in some hot water when we get back.” You say as you lower the barrel, turning your attention to the tittering horses. You miss the way his eyes darken at the image of you covered in nothing but scented bubbles flashing in his mind. It was the middle of summer, your shirts having given way to tank tops that gave the man more than a glimpse of the swell of your breasts glistening with sweat. His hands twitch at his sides, his own gun secure over his back, pistol nestled in the holster at his hip.

“Afraid that won’t do much at my age.”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m far older than you, you can’t be more’n forty.”

“Tommy’s got a few on me, but he said you’re not much older than him?”

“I’m fifty-seven, he’s about fifty. Even older with a birthday comin’ up soon. More’n a few years, actually.”

“Oh. Well, I always did go for older guys.” And fuck if his cock didn’t twitch and his stomach didn’t swoop at the implications of your words. You must’ve realized they were uttered aloud as you spin back to face him with a twisted face, heat tinging the tops of your ears and your chest rising with a deep exhale of an apology he didn’t think was necessary.

“Shit. That was wildly inappropriate, Joel. I’m so sorry.” The worry in the lines of your face, the few wrinkles he could see around your eyes made his stomach swoop again. You were so god damn expressive once he got you talking, something relatively new as you both got used to being around each other, reading each other’s moods.

“No need to apologize, we all got our preferences.”

“Still, you-you’re…I’m just gonna shut up now.” He could hear the clack of your teeth as you snap your jaw shut, tense at what he figured you thought was too forward of a conversation with someone who you interacted with only a few times a week. But he frowned, not liking the way you interpreted their easy-going patrols that had begun to develop into something he would call genuine friendship.

“Nah, is okay. Filters are for people who actually say inappropriate stuff. You’re fine, Olive.” He watches the way you begin to lead the horses down an overgrown path, falling into step behind you. Something that paired with the smoldering fire he had found keeping his eyes and ears open to those responsible. “When’s your birthday?”

“I’m a winter baby, which is ironic because I don’t like the cold.” His eyes trace the same line a drop of sweat as it makes its way from your braided hair and down the back of your neck. The increasing heat not seeming to bother you as it did so many others who had the relieve of central air in Jackson.

“Not a fan either, being from Texas we didn’t get much of it.” Joel realizes he hadn’t told anyone of his past other than Ellie in…god knows how long. You were smart though, no doubt picking up on the twang his voice carried, the particulars of it telling of his past just as much as his answers to each new question. But he was willing to share it with you, something about you softening the edges of the walls he had built up around himself. Of wanting to find out what you had in common and what you didn’t.

“Do you…like sweets?”

“Huh?” Even if he were privy to the innerworkings of your mind, the question would still have caught him off guard, doubly so since he wasn’t.

“Uh…sweets? Like cake or tart or even muffins?” Nervous, he realized, you were nervous around him sometimes. But it was so unlike the rest of the town, nervous as in worried about accidentally offending him or saying the wrong thing, not nervous he was going to throttle them. He had done his best to work alongside Tommy, to appease Maria and the council, to show them that he was committed to turning a new leave and abiding by their way of life to ensure he and Ellie had a place to call home. It had been a rough couple of months, but you sure as hell sweetened the deal.

“Wouldn’t say no to ‘em, but never went out of my way to get any for myself.” The question of who he would go out of his way to get them fore glints in your eye, but you purse your lips and refrain from another question. He rather likes betting against himself to see if you would ask the many he sees cross your face. Your brow was twitch just before you did, if you allowed yourself. Your lips would twitch if you didn’t, like you were holding back the words springing up in your mind.

After a rather awkward first couple of patrols, he had realized the set of his face may have come across as uninterested. But you were so sweet, so quiet and he found himself wondering about you beyond the bubble of time you shared while out on patrol. Tommy had barked a laugh when he asked how long you had been here, the glimmer of teasing only a younger sibling was capable of lighting up his face. Longer than him, he had said. Which meant you had to have been a part of it for a while.

Time passes and his birthday is suddenly something Tommy makes a point to stop by the house with a classic yellow cake covered in chocolate frosting.

Figured you for a simple man, so a simple cake seemed the safest bet. Hope the day is good to you, Olive.

The note attached to it was inscribed with beautiful, looping writing. Tommy had remarked that you were the go to baker for cakes, even if the requests were made at the mess hall where he learned you were one of the cooks behind the scenes. Each new piece of you he learned making him want to know more. With the thought to thank you next patrol, he accepted the cake and his brother’s company.

Ellie had made him breakfast before school, but he had remained inside all day, busing himself with cleaning and carving to ignore the memories the date always brought up. But that evening, he smiled over a small dinner with his brother as they cut into the cake almost immediately after. Glad he had opened up to you and to find that you thought of him as much as he was beginning to think of you. He would return the favor by bringing coffee, something he was learning was a commodity few had a steady supply of. A branch of his own to let you know he didn’t think you were being too forward in any capacity.

Even more so when he noticed a third slice stolen from the platter it was delivered on the next morning, a card beside it from Ellie wishing him another year for her to tease him.

taglist: @joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal @merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon

@keylimebeag @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc @part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel @blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @r4vens-cl4ws @picketniffler @joeldjarin

[steddieas-shegoes]

steddie fic request: due to some miscommunication Steve believes a night in with Eddie is a date. it's not and its devastating when Steve realizes he has read too much into things Eddie had said to him. maybe the feelings are requited at the end? tysm!

Honestly guys, this is probably the most likely scenario in how Steddie gets together. They're both fucking clueless. Sure, Steve was a lady's man, but only when he was popular enough that he didn't have to really try. Eddie probably has kissed one and a half people at most because he's fuckin' weird, okay? You think these two actually have a single clue how to do things normally? Ha. - Mickala ❤️

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

His hair was not doing what it was supposed to be doing and it was really starting to irritate him.

Steve had been trying to get ready for almost an hour now, and nothing was going his way, not even the shirt he wanted to wear.

That was another issue entirely, but one he was trying very hard to get over.

Tonight was his first date with Eddie.

He had to look perfect.

They weren’t even doing anything special really, just going to the diner for some burgers and shakes and then driving to the quarry to get high.

It helped to know it would be casual though, that it would probably feel like any other time they’ve hung out.

He still wanted to look good though. Eddie deserved his best.

“Steve?” Eddie called from the bottom of the stairs.

Shit. When did he get here?

Eddie, Robin, and Dustin all had keys to his house for emergencies or to make things easier if they were coming over. He hadn’t thought to ask Eddie to knock tonight, and Eddie apparently didn’t think it was any different than any other time.

“Be right there!” he yelled back, voice pitched much higher than usual.

Great start, Harrington.

He rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror as he tried one more time to get the flip in the front of his hair to do what it needed to do.

When it didn’t, he sighed, shutting off the bathroom light and walking into his bedroom, where Eddie was sitting on his bed.

Steve froze as he took in how relaxed Eddie looked against his headboard, his legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest.

“You look…nice,” Eddie said, sounding almost confused.

“Thanks,” Steve blushed. “Uh. So do you.”

Which was true, but Eddie looked the same as he always did.

It was something Steve loved about him, that he didn’t really put effort into impressing anyone. He was who he was and you either liked it or you didn’t.

Steve loved it.

Eddie looked even more confused, but shook his head and stood up.

“Ready? I’m starving.”

“Yep, let’s go.”

Steve didn’t do his usual moves, didn’t try to reach over to hold Eddie’s hand while he sat in the passenger seat, didn’t try to put in his “First Date Mixtape,” didn’t even pull any lines out of his hat when Eddie so easily offered him the chance.

He didn’t want to be obvious that he was already head over heels for him, definitely didn’t want to make him uncomfortable before the date even really began.

He kept it up over dinner, kept it casual enough that it felt like any other time they hung out. Usually Robin or Jonathan or Nancy or the kids were with them, but he just pretended they had to cancel. It kept him from letting himself go too far in public.

They were still in Hawkins, after all. Two dudes holding hands at a diner might as well scream “beat me up!”

It was easy, which just further sent Steve spiraling about how perfect they could be.

When the waitress brought the bill, he stopped Eddie from reaching for his wallet.

“I asked you, I pay. That’s how this works, right?” Steve asked as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Um. I mean, sure. We can just split it, though,” Eddie said, that look of confusion back on his face.

“Nah, I got it. Maybe you can get it next time,” Steve winked before pulling out enough cash to cover the bill.

“Oh. Okay. Sure.”

He wasn’t paying attention to the way Eddie was suddenly messing with his rings nervously or biting his lip like he was trying to think of something else to say.

When they got to the car, Steve turned the radio on, smiling to himself when Head Over Heels came through the speakers.

“This is my favorite song right now,” Steve said as he turned it up a little, smiling over at Eddie as he drove towards the quarry.

“Not surprising,” Eddie snorted. “Do you like anything that can’t be heard on mainstream radio?”

Steve knew he was just teasing, but it still kind of hurt when he thought about how quick Eddie was to judge his music taste.

He liked a lot of genres, he just liked what was easy and fun most.

In fact, most of their group had similar taste, but for some reason, Steve got the brunt of his teasing.

It was fine, though. He didn’t want to ruin the night with something so trivial.

“I like plenty, but sometimes it’s nice to just have something fun to listen to.”

And then Steve reached a hand out and set it on Eddie’s knee, squeezing once before letting it rest there while he continued to drive.

Only a few seconds passed before Eddie spoke and Steve’s heart almost instantly shattered.

“Uh. What are you doing?”

It was the tone of someone who didn’t like what was happening, and Steve immediately pulled his hand away and bit back the tears he felt pooling in his eyes.

He had the sudden realization that they’d never actually called this a date.

He’d run with his own assumption that when Eddie asked him to hang out with just him he shared the same feelings, and that clearly wasn’t the case.

“Sorry. I-”

“Steve, did you think this was a date?” Eddie asked, not harshly, but serious enough that Steve felt the first tear fall down his cheek.

He tried to subtly wipe it from his face, but Eddie saw.

“Okay, pull over please.”

“It’s fine. I can take you home. Forget it ever happened,” Steve rushed out.

He didn’t want the night to end like this, but he knew he couldn’t look at Eddie right now, or maybe ever again.

Robin was going to make fun of him for years over this.

“Steve. Pull over.”

So Steve did.

He had blurry vision from the tears anyway, so it probably wasn’t safe for him to try to drive at dusk.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you thought this was a date. I guess it kinda explains the looking extra nice and paying for dinner, but I just thought you were excited to hang out,” Eddie said quietly.

At least he was letting Steve down easy.

“Yeah. I should have asked I guess,” Steve said, still looking down at his lap instead of at Eddie.

“Did you want this to be a date?” Eddie asked.

Steve considered lying. But what could he lose at this point? He’d already embarrassed himself beyond redemption, he might as well go all in.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for months. I was pretty excited when I thought you’d finally done it for me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

They sat in silence, the radio playing a song Steve didn’t recognize.

And then rain drops slowly started pelting the windshield.

Of course they did.

Steve sniffled and then looked up, watching as the rain started falling heavier with every second, a bolt of lightning lighting up the sky for just a moment.

“I guess we should get to my house before it gets worse,” Steve said, voice barely above a broken whisper. “If it gets too bad to drive, you can take the guest room.”

“Steve-”

“It’s fine, Eddie. I get it.”

“Do you?” Eddie asked. “Do you get why this is so shocking to me? I didn’t even know you were into guys! I didn’t think I could ever be an option for you, man. I didn’t let myself feel that way about you because I couldn’t deal with you not feeling the same.”

Steve finally looked over at Eddie, who was watching him with wide eyes.

“I thought you were there when I told all the adults about being bisexual?” Steve asked, wracking his brain to remember that night not too long ago. Robin had held his hand the whole time, Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle all giving him hugs after. He couldn’t remember where Eddie was.

“Was that the night I was helping Will DM?”

Fuck. He really thought Eddie had been there.

“Shit. I think so.”

Eddie reached his hand out, placing it against Steve’s jaw as he turned completely towards him.

“Stevie, if I had known, I would have been taking you out every night. You have no idea how much I care about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie teased, finally giving Steve a smile.

“So you do like me?” Steve couldn’t help confirming, his stomach in knots, his heart racing in his chest.

“So much, sweetheart. You have no idea,” Eddie said as he leaned in closer.

Steve knew what was going to happen, he wanted it to happen.

But something made him stop Eddie when his face was only an inch from his.

“Wait.” Eddie pulled away a few inches and looked at him, concerned. “This is gonna sound so stupid, but,” he looked outside at the rain pouring down. “I’ve always wanted to have a big romantic kiss in the rain.”

“And you want that to happen with me?” Eddie smirked.

“If you’re up for it.”

Eddie didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the passenger door and got out, almost immediately getting soaked.

Steve didn’t make him wait. He pushed open the driver’s side door and rushed out, meeting Eddie halfway in front of his car.

Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist, making Steve melt against him.

He barely noticed the rain as Eddie closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Steve’s in a surprisingly soft touch.

It wasn’t exactly a passionate kiss, but it was still perfect.

It lasted a few seconds, their lips moving together slowly, not pushing for more yet, just appreciating the easy glide.

“I’m sorry our first date kinda sucked,” Eddie said as they rested their foreheads together.

“We’ll just have to have another one,” Steve said before placing another quick kiss to his lips. “Wanna watch a movie at mine?”

Eddie searched his face for a moment, before looking around at the completely empty road they were on.

With the rain like this, it was doubtful anyone would drive down it for a while.

“How about we dance first?” Eddie asked, gleam in his eye.

“Dance? To what?” Steve giggled.

Eddie started to sing Head Over Heels quietly, rocking them back and forth in something barely resembling a dance.

“I thought you hated this music,” Steve looked at him in awe.

“No, I just like to tease you for being so stereotypical. I don’t mind any music. And I like anything that makes you light up the way you do when this song comes on,” Eddie admitted.

They were absolutely dripping wet, and Steve knew this was probably a stupid decision without having something to protect the seats of his car from getting wet.

But as he rested his head against Eddie’s shoulder, listening to him sing his favorite song while they kind of danced in the rain, he couldn’t give less of a shit about anything else.

[galedekarios]

good day! thank you for beautiful visuals and metas of Gale, its great to find fans who care about him so! You got me thinking - for a character so romantic, so delighted to be in love Gale knew little about it with Mystra. He spoke about being her lover like it was a highest honor, losing her favor, being cut off described as fate worse than Netherese Orb itself. Gale agrees to die for her forgiveness no questions asked. All this while he realises deep down even through it was voiced later - he was her plaything, another mortal falling under her spell, no love requited ever could be there, gods don't feel it. It's very sweet and a little heartbreaking, how open and smitten he can be if romanced, how happy he becomes loving and being loved in return.

thank you for your wonderful and very sweet message, anon. 🖤 i really do appreciate it.

yes, that is everything that i find very touching about gale's romancce.

to me, gale is someone who hasn't truly known what love is yet. he has known worship and obedience, wonder and pleasure. i think, considering how young he was when mystra came into his life, it's perhaps no surprise at all that once their relationship changed, he may have thought it was love between them. it was most certainly for him. in fact, i do remember a particular line from early access that always stuck with me and truly showed the imbalance at work here:

Player: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love. 

and

Player: Teacher’s pet, was he? Gale: He fancied himself much more than that. He fancied himself favoured above all others. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. Mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘Chosen One’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

and even now, in the full release version of the game, that sentiment still lingers. he wasn't just her chosen, he was her lover - and we learn throughout the game what love truly entails for gale: heart, mind, body and soul.

Gale: I'm many things to many people, but I'm never a man to throw the l-word around lightly. I said exactly what I meant: I love you. You should never, never doubt that. - Gale: We didn't just make love. We bonded, body and soul. I got lost in you.

with mystra casting him away, he not only lost his power, his status, but also one of his most central relationships with the goddess who was his teacher, mentor and love all at once, all at the same time.

but we also know that he had relationships before mystra and before the protag:

Gale: No, you are not the first. Though you are the first since my relationship with Mystra came to its ignominious end.

i think this quote is just so interesting, especially if you pair it with:

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command... None have loved me so purely before.

and:

Player: I love you. But for the man that you are. Not the god you'd pretend to be. Gale: But think what I offer. The vastness of eternity to explore, the Weave at our fingertips... You would really prefer me as I am? Node Context: Genuine, vulnerable - the player just told him they loved him in a way that no one else has

so whatever these relationships before were, it's clear that something was missing from them for gale. something that gale sorely needed.

all of these little puzzle pieces combine to a larger whole of why we find gale as he is when we meet him in the story: someone who very much is struggling to find any worth in the person that he is outside of what he can provide to be useful.

Gale: Let me make myself indispensable. - Gale: I'm indispensable, aren't I? - Gale: My best is yours. - Gale: Please - continue to believe in me. I want to show you the wizard I am capable of being, rather than the poor excuse for a man who's kept you company thus far.

there are so many more of these, following the same vein, even in act iii.

gale is only now learning how to be loved, how to allow himself to be loved, and under that continuous reaffirmation given by the protag, he opens up to it, strains towards it, like a flower to the sun.

Gale: You truly are a soul that steels my own. From all my new-rallied heart I thank you. I stand at a precipice, but if you do not give up hope, neither shall I. I'll fight, I'll resist - as long as I can. - Gale: You give me hope, and I've not had that in some time. - Player: How are you feeling? Gale: Worried, if I'm being honest. I have so much to live for - more than I thought I'd have again, after Mystra. - Gale: It's been so long since I used it. Gale Dekarios cuts a poor figure next to the wizarding prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep'. Player: Gale Dekarios. I think I like him more. Gale: You like so many things about me I'd have sooner discarded... Your generosity is quite wonderful. - Gale: You see me as I am, and do not find me wanting.

he still has a very long way to go, to heal, it's not a process that's completed by the time his quest is completed or the game ends - and depending on your protag, they too have things that still weigh heavy on them as well - but it's a beginning.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Always an Angel, Never the God Pt 2

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Runaway!Reader

Words: 3119

After a few months alone in the sky, you find yourself with an unlikely roommate.

Tags: Gender neutral/intended Female, Runaway Reader, Angst, Unrequited love, Requited love, Heartbreak, grief

<Previous - Full - Next>

You grind your teeth, eyes watering as a heavy booted foot pushes you down further into the wooden ship floor. The ship rocks angrily as does your dragon, struggling against the barbed netting.

“Who are you? A new vigilante?” The leading trapper, Erik son of Erik or something, asked, bending down above you. He had, coincidentally, been the one to shoot you down.

 “Where is your… hideout?” He leaned down into your ear at your silence, speaking in a raspy whisper. You got the vague impression he was trying to be intimidating, though the end results were more in favor of making you blush.

You were thankful for the hard wood covering your face and, therefore, your embarrassment. Of your belongings, you were only able to manage a mask and had taken to running around ensconced in furs with nothing but a dagger to your name. 

You’d recon you looked much like a wild animal, straddling your nadder bare of a saddle. You had not done too well on your own. It was hard. You had always been a team player if by team player you meant a leech on society. At least, you had been told so.

So of course you had, unwittingly, stumbled onto dragon trapping territory. Extreme sport dragon trapping territory. It didn’t help that you and your nadder hadn’t been on the same page, you two being unable to sync in the way you’d seen the other riders with their dragons, which left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’d go left when you were trying for right, and when you finally decided to just go with it, he would change his mind and throw you for a complete loop. It was safe to say that even if you got out of this mess you never wanted to step foot on his back again.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief just as the trapper let out an annoyed one, stepping off of you in favor of yelling at his men for damaging their goods. Meaning, your nadder. Was he really yours, though? He did try and make a break for it without you.

 While debating whether or not you should try at the ropes shackling your arms together, you grunt frustratedly, noticing a new tear in your garb.

After running away and getting captured, you had not expected to be kidnapped again by some insane-looking madman in a mask. Though you did look like two of a kind, so it was fitting. 

Your nadder had its wings torn irreparably, so, unfortunately, you had to retire him early.

You found small comfort in that it hadn’t abandoned you on the ship that one final time, though the irony that it had led you here was not lost on you.

He visited sometimes. He took to life in the sanctuary very well. 

You didn’t, a borderline prisoner before you’d been able to win over the trust of the resident feral gorgon. Sort of. She was a woman who let you see her face, more on accident than anything else. You hadn’t let her see you or hear yours. However you weren’t inclined to speak of her nicely, least of all in your head, after the number of weeks you spent trapped in a cave at her behest.

Finally, you’d been let out. Let out enough to walk more than just the short stretch of stone and greenish ice that made up your prison. The endless turquoise was beginning to make you sick.

Recently, you found a real friend in the sanctuary, and this dragon, it was truly yours. Affectionately named, fed and groomed, you two were almost inseparable. It was the kind of friendship with a dragon you’d completely missed out on on Berk.

It was hard to maintain given your captive status, but that was alright. 

There probably wasn’t any social profit involved in being a vigilante, which is why you assumed the crazy dragon lady had taken to speaking at you in her spare time. About the dragons, what they ate, what she had to do. Pointedly she gave away nothing of their true secrets, not that you wanted them, nor anything of her vigilant-ing. Not verbally, though the influx of injuries both on her and the dragons spoke volumes.

She did give away her name.

You groan, rubbing your eyes under your mask as you cradle the thing to your face with the other.

“You’re quite attached to your mask,” Valka said amusedly, shifting the logs roasting in the fire with a stick, pushing them back and forth as you sat in silence. You hardly ever spoke a word, nowadays.

Her dragon, the stormcutter, stared at you with large eyes through the licking flames.

Neither of you mentioned that the only real reason you’d been able to keep your mask so long was that she’d been kind enough to let you. An allowance you’d been given on a whim. One you clung to with all the nervous energy of Fishlegs to his dragon cards.

“... I’d rather not be,” You grumble, voice raspy from disuse, “It’s stuffy.”

“Oh,” Valka looked at you, amused and maybe a little surprised to hear you speak at last, before going back to tend to her fires, “I was starting to think you couldn’t speak.”

“Funny.” You said, lifting a sharpened stick off the ground, spearing it through a slimy, gutted fish from the basket beside you. Your nose wrinkled as you heard the sharp point break skin. No amount of faux stoicism could make it seem pleasant to you.

“I have a few questions,” You grimace under your mask as she asserts herself. She can ask them all she wants, but there’s no guarantee you’ll answer. 

You might, probably, as keeping secrets hasn’t always been your strong suit. She’s certainly been trying to open you up for a while. You’ve not given her any leeway before though, no reason to give her any now. 

“How did you tame your dragon?” She asked, pushing a particularly thick dragon searching for morsels. Valka guides its head gently away with her spare hand before any of the other dragons crowding around them get any ideas.

You wait for a moment, still wondering whether you should follow along. Eventually, you decide to answer.

“Wasn’t me. Someone else back home did it,” You huff, “I just followed along.”

“...But not very well,” Valka hums. It’s obvious she doesn’t believe you. Unfortunately for her, that is not your problem. 

 She pulls a small trout off her own stick, tossing it to a crowd of young dragons, who you knew had acquired a taste for the cooked, through no fault of your own.

You should feel offended, but you know she’s right. You lean away from a wandering dragon snout as it searches you for morsels. The stormcutter, after a look from Valka, shoos it away with a large wing.

 “Where are you from?” 

You feel the embers from the fire as they rise, the furs of your coat becoming nearly unbearable, your skin heated up rapidly. You wrinkle your brow with annoyance as you feel a drop of sweat slide down the side of your face.

“Where are you from?” You retort pointedly.

She studies you cautiously, as if she could glean your intentions from your body language. And she very well could. Or the heat was getting to you, the wells you’d spent in solitude had finally done some real damage to your psyche, and you were hallucinating.

“Berk,” She says. You sit back, surprised, “And you?”

“...None of your business.” You wonder how long it had been since she had left. You pray she would not know you.

Valka raised her eyebrow. 

“I’m serious.” You ground your heel into the dirt. It was a touchy subject, still.

“Berk, too. …Stop looking at me like that.”

Valka leaned back against the ice wall where you rested, looking out over the empty ocean as dragons flooded to and fro the sanctuary. You squinted far into the distance, as if you thought you might be able to see through it if you tried hard enough.

Your hair tugged wildly by the winds out from behind your mask as you sat, one leg extended and the other bent as you leaned back against one arm. 

You probably looked as you felt, weary and unkempt after a long flight over the seas with your dragon, who clambered among the icy spike-lined wall with clawed hands. You felt refreshed yet somehow at odds with yourself still.

You cared little for your bedraggled demeanor the same way you hadn’t cared for much at all in a while. It might have made a cool picture had you not slipped and fallen onto your face on the ice just a few minutes prior. Whether you had broken your nose or not on your mask had yet to be uncovered. All that mattered was that Valka hadn’t seen.

Dragons crowed. Through the cracks in the walls of the sanctuary, the wind would whistle through if it hit the right angle. Louder than anything else were the sounds of the waves crashing against rock. 

But between you and Valka, it was silent. A contemplative silence, the kind of silence you shared with others after a long thought or a hard day’s work. That’s how you knew she was going to break it.

“Why did you leave?”

You are annoyed at the prospect but are no less expectant. After the moment passes, you are not surprised. However, it feels as if you are the one who should be asking.

“Why did I leave?” You ask, “Does it matter?”

A loose chunk of ice falls off the side of the sanctuary as a large titan scrambles violently down the side, chasing after a bright yellow baby. You spot a shape through the fog, distant and blurry enough to resemble a bird though there are no birds here. You pointedly do not think of your small hut, even less of green eyes, and tiny, fading freckles.

Valka tilted her head in your direction, reaching a hand out to scratch Cloudjumper under his chin as he lowered himself towards her, “It mattered to you.”

You open your mouth, but you are only able to choke on your breath. No one has ever said something like that to you, not in a long while. You don’t understand why it’s hitting you so hard. Maybe it’s the isolation.

You blame the burning of your eyes on the biting wind.

 “Why did you leave?” You ask in return, once you’ve taken time for yourself, though you have an idea. You can’t keep your voice from sounding a little bit scratchy.

You unhook your dagger from your belt, trying not to seem so attentive. Instead, you take to carving random shapes into the ice. A gronkle. A nadder.

“I was taken.” She sighs, quieter now. Lost off in memory as you both often are.

The nadder’s spikes are much too long. The gronkle looks more like a sandwich than a dragon.

“Taken?” You prompt and you begin on the outline of a fury. The result is shallow and scratchy. 

It’s one of your own designs, not the same as the one Berk uses. Astrid liked the other one better, not yours, so that was the one Hiccup went with.

“I didn’t leave,” She insisted, almost as if she was trying to convince herself of the fact,  “I had a son, and a husband.”

You’ve seen her by the fires, while trying to sneak out of this hellish ice maze. She talks to herself then. On particularly paranoid days, she’s slept by you, in the same caverns, so you’ve heard it. She talks in her sleep and says things she would never say awake, or had you been around. It’s all so very unsettling. 

“Really?” You remarked with false astonishment. The facade is flimsy, but you figured you’d give her the benefit of the doubt. The grace to assume that you’d no idea what she was on about.

With prompting, you might have seen it earlier. In her slim form, the one she kept hidden under thick furs and thicker armor. You squint. They have the same eye color. The same hair. They both have higher cheekbones, though her son more resembles his father in that aspect. That is all.

Valka shoots you a reprimanding look. Cloudjumper, now creeping down the wall behind you, taps you on the back of your head with its tail at her behest.

Valka was of the air. Though he had the same flighty tendencies, he was very grounded, like his father, though he might either be proud or loath to admit it. He loved flying, yes, but he loved inventing and processing and routine just as much, if not more.

He did when you were close. Of course he did, he spent his whole life on it. You couldn’t really say you knew him anymore.

You didn’t pin Valka as the type to enjoy the same in any sort of manner. But that suited you just as well. You found that as time went by and as you were granted more freedoms, you appreciated it. It made it easier for you to forget. To ignore.

In the end they, you and she, she and you, were one and the same.

“But what does it matter, if you never went back?” You grumble, pushing your dragon’s head away as it nudges you towards the cliff, crooning for more flying time.

You guessed that was why she clung so viciously to the safety of her sanctuary. Why she hated other people so much, why she’d had no faith in the humanity of other people, why she’d held you here so strictly. If things could have been different, then what did she give it all up for?

Though you’d never had something else. Not even the option. You’d never been given it. Valka hadn’t been given it either, but there was a sure difference between something being there and not. 

The atmosphere is silent again, tainted with some darker undertones. If you’d had to put a name to it, you might have called it grief. 

“I want to leave.”

Valka doesn’t look surprised at your request. And indeed, it’s been no secret that you wanted to leave. Maybe she was glad for it, or maybe she was sad at the news. 

After all, you settled into each other's presence long ago. You had a good sort of companionship.

And from that companionship, you learned a lot without even trying, just by watching. Eventually she took notice and she took an active part in teaching you the truths she learned during all her years in self-imposed isolation. 

You two weren’t incredibly close but you could tell Valka was grateful for the company, grateful to have someone maybe even a little bit like her, even if most of it was spent in silence. 

You still left the Drago fighting for her. It wasn’t your fight, it was hers, and you made that clear.

Neither of you brought up Berk. Ever. 

You were content to just come and go as you pleased, for a while. Nonetheless, despite your freedom, you felt restricted to the small world of the Sanctuary and the empty skies around it. There was no place for you on the ground or by the seas, where hunters and trappers swarmed by the thousands and Drago’s armies grew by the day. 

You spent so much time learning from her and yet it felt like no time at all. Which was why you were shocked when you’d truly learned how much had come and gone in full. 

You were out slinking in the shadows, seeking shelter from a storm on the same small rocky outcropping of island that had a shipful of trappers stranded, in a rage and a panic as they attempted to recover their assets. The winds had been too rough to fly, so you had no choice but to wait and listen.

You didn’t believe it at first. It had been…

Months.

You wondered if he’d been married, yet.

Years. 

The idea hurt, not as much as you’d thought it would, still not as little as you’d hoped.

Under clear skies, you found an inn, untouched by everything except grass and trees.

You asked, “What day is it?”

The large man, a burly viking scrubbing down a wooden cup with a torn old rag, had looked down at you skeptically from behind a beaten pine and stone counter.

Two years. It had been nearly two years since you left Berk. Just as Valka’s attachments kept her at the Sanctuary, you needed to go. To run.

Since you had heard it, spoken it, the urge to run, to fly hadn’t abated at all, going from a wispy thought at the back of your mind to a full blown need. Your dragon too had become antsy, maybe feeding off of your nervous energy. Eager to take off, to fly new skies.

“Are you sure?” Valka asked searchingly. You two were stationed over a heavily planted cliff over a large main pool which consisted of the main cavern within the Sanctuary, once again in front of a fire, eating your own meals as the dragons below ate and exchanged fish. 

You were already packed, your mask secured as it had been for all two years you had been in this place stuck between confinement and dwelling. You almost regretted it, not telling her your name, but you couldn’t bear yourself to her knowing who she was, not truly. Not until you’d washed yourself of that particular weight. 

“Yes,” One day you would, if you ever saw her again. Once you were released from the heartache and pain of your own making, “I am. Thank you.”

You started out into the pale foggy sky,  mounted your beast as smooth as you’d ever done, which is to say, not smooth at all. You’d only ever managed it right when Valka was watching, anyhow. It was odd how that worked, maybe the peer pressure was finally starting to kick in.

As you took off and the sanctuary became smaller and smaller both to your eyes and your mind, as the tight bundle of chains in your chest dropped and the world opened up to you once more, you felt light, and free. 

Once again, there was no one to watch you and no one to hurt for besides your and your dragon. Endless opportunity. Thousands of ways to keep going.

You wondered what your face looked like.

You couldn’t wait to see it again.

[verosikastrikerstellaexcuser]

Why I find H*skerdust better than St*litz

Since the post I made about potentially comparing these two ships got a couple likes and responses, I'm gonna go ahead and do that. Sorry its taken me a second, but here is why I think H*skerdust is superior to St*litz.

The overarching point I'm going to make is that I think H*uskerdust handled hypersexuality due to trauma along with an unrequited->requited relationship a lot better than St*litz has.

I'm going to preface here: I know that H*skerdust is contentious within the critical community, and I do definitely understand why. Things about the ship, like Loser Baby, have a lot of people divided. If you dislike both ships then this post may not be for you (you're free to criticize this post of course I'm just prefacing that you may not enjoy reading it). I am aware of a lot of the criticisms of H*skerdust such as that people don't like Husk comparing his situation to Angel's, that Husk is pushed into going after Angel despite having been harassed, and how it was rushed. Personally though, those things still work for me or I can look past them. Especially Loser Baby, since while yes, forced prostitution is not the same as forced labor, to me I think their situations are still comparable enough because they are both enslaved. That aside though, even though I like the ship I do understand why things about it may rub others the wrong way given it involves a lot of difficult topics. If you disagree with me that's a okay.

That prefaced, this is why I think H*skerdust works much better:

A) How H*skerdust frames unwanted sexual attention.

So, after the course of all of all of Angel's unwanted flirting towards Husk and Husk recognizing that its a persona Angel puts on, calling it out several times, things come to a head with the bar scene.

Once Angel gets really mad the scene frames the moment as uncomfortable; Angel is clearly unstable.

The conflict between them arises from Husk not liking Angel's harassment and not liking that its part of a persona. Angel meanwhile is angry at his act being recognized as an act. Husk pressing hard enough makes Angel explain why he has the act and to confront his feelings - he opens up to Husk about exactly why hes been acting the way he has.

Then, we have Loser Baby. Angel feels insecure at his coping mechanism, his act, being recognized and called out, as its how he deals with Valentino's abuse. The song is Husk's way of saying "You're not the only one in a pitiable situation, we actually have a lot in common and I get what you're feeling". Angel keeps putting on an act, but its hurting both him and others. He needs to admit that his situation is horrible so that he can then work on coping with his poor circumstances in a healthier way. While yes, he shouldn't be in those circumstances in the first place, he has to work with whats possible.

Angel's harassment of Husk comes from a place of trauma at being a forced prostitute. No, that does not make it okay, and if Husk had chosen not to forgive Angel then he would be within his full rights to do so. However, Angel is a victim of forced prostitution putting on an act and being hypersexual and inappropriate, who then has to directly confront and be honest about why he behaves the way he does. Husk guides him through doing so by being able to read him so well and being unafraid to call him out and recognize that his situation is horrible.

B) How Angel changes his behavior and THEN the relationship progresses

After the Loser Baby song, after the two communicate well, air grievances and open up to each other, Angel stops all of the harassment towards Husk. He changes! He meaningfully changes and stops the offending behavior. Husk continues to encourage healthier behaviors in Angel and only now opens himself up to being friendly with Angel, now hes not crossing his boundaries. Angel facing his issues made him better and made them able to become friends.

C) How this all compares to St*litz

St*las' behaviours come from a different place. Yes, harassment is harassment no matter who its from and always wrong but personally? Idk. I understand if people don't see it the same way as sexual stuff like this is highly personal and difficult. But I think Angel and the owl's circumstances do make it very different. St*las' motivation comes in two parts. One is that he is sexually repressed from the arranged marriage. And yes, that is a heavy burden. However, that doesn't erase the other part, which is that he actively fetishizes Blitz being an imp. He uses the power imbalance between them to not just harass Blitz but outright extort sex from him, and then, St*las gets off that power imbalance, since he gets off on Blitz being part of an oppressed species/race/class.

Angel's motivations, by contrast, lie in concealing and coping with the trauma of being a forced prostitute by pretending that actually he really does like being sexual all the time. Once he confronts that reality he stops bothering Husk because his flirting comes from an outside place, dealing with Val's abuse, and then he gets to know and bonds with Husk properly (even if a lot of it happens in the background or off screen sigh). St*las meanwhile, his bond with Blitz IS the harassment and the fetishization. Angel is putting on an act to cope with sexual trauma; St*las is gratifying his desires whatever the cost. Extorting Blitz for sex to deal with his arranged marriage and for his fetish is the problem, so he should leave Blitz alone if he genuinely wants to grow and change from that, not start a relationship with him.

With the latest episode (S2E8) of Helluva Boss, its clear that St*las has not properly owned what hes done to Blitz. I don't want to repeat what I've said before in other posts so this post here covers it. But if you don't want to read that post, then basically Angel being called out by Husk has actively made him a better person. When St*las is called out by Blitz, he just self victimizes. He knows the relationship isn't right but doesn't admit his wrongs.

Also, with the whole Poison sequence and lines like these: "I got so good at being untrue" "I disassociate I disappear"

I think Angel's motivations have been better shown than St*las' sexual repression motivation. We've seen Stella be mean to St*las and that hes lonely, yes. However, we've not really seen it shown how sexually repressed St*las is and how that motivates him to do things he shouldn't nearly as well illustrated as Angel's stuff was, imo. That isn't to say we haven't seen it. We saw it in S1 with how it hurt Octavia in Loo Loo Land, sure. But Helluva just keeps repeating this awkward pattern of "Noooooo St*las loves you really Octavia haha now go forgive him k" after he hurts her again and again. Its like it can't make its mind up whether St*las constantly chasing Blitz is a bad thing or not and doesn't want to admit its bad, which leads to a poor portrayal. St*las can continually fuck up yet never change, because since S2 the show doesn't allow us to see St*las as being in the wrong to the extent he very much is and it hyperfocuses on only his pain, all for the sake of St*litz being a thing. H*skerdust only became something because Angel changed. Now granted, Helluva isn't over. But the show so far has decided to frame Blitz as the guilty party and to downplay what St*las has done, and given how the trailers look... yeah :/.

D) Commonalities between each party

So, this is more minor section but I also just think H*skerdust have way more commonalities and actual reasons to enjoy each others company.

Obviously they're both dealing with the struggle of their soul contracts which is pretty major, but also, they both have experience with addiction. They're both streetwise city types that would be comfortable in bar, club, in nightlife environments doing nightlife activities etc. They both also have lesser known proficiencies as fighters but don't get to fight much, being busy with their work for Val and Alastor. Meanwhile St*las and Blitz don't seem to have many interests in common at all. Blitz seems to find the kinds of booksy things St*las likes boring. Which yeah that may not be a deal breaker but they need SOME common interests or something. The only two things I can think of are that firstly St*las finds Blitz's antics entertaining. Which. Okay. Thats not really enough for a whole relationship and what does Blitz get out of that? Then second they're also both dads but we've never once seen them properly bond over that either, the same way H*skerdust have fought together and drank together. I just can't imagine St*litz planning a day out, what would they even do, St*las would want to go to a museum and Blitz would find it a total chore. I just don't see them working well because it feels like they have very few commonalities useful for enjoying each other's company with regards to things like while spending days out together or finding topics to talk about.

[sawyer-is-not-my-name]

Percy Jackson x Son of Anteros Reader x Leo Valdez

You sat on your bed, one thing in your mind; Percy Jackson. He was stunning, and gorgeous, he radiated confidence, and his aura had such a golden glow to it. You wanted him, but you knew he would never be yours.

Though you felt so intertwined with him, he'd never feel the same. You were only friends. He had no interest in you. You were one of his friends, that's all you were ever going to be to him. Being a child of the god of requited love didn't seem to be playing in your favor.

You'd think that Anteros being your father, would mean that the crushes you had on people would be returned, but no. That was not the case.

Percy was infatuated with his girlfriend Annabeth Chase. She was perfect. A daughter of Athena, long curly blonde hair, striking silver eyes, perfect complexion, she radiated a confidence you didn't have. And her energy just always seemed to bounce of his. You weren't bitter, you were just a little upset. You were happy for her, but you also wanted a love like that. But you couldn't have Percy, and you could respect that.

----

Leo worked silently in the bunker, the bow and arrows he had been crafting seemed to glow. It looked perfect, perfect for you. Leo had been trying to get your attention for weeks, but you had been in a slump. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it had something to do with Percy.

He was jealous of percy no he was worried about you, and he wanted you to feel better. He didn't have feelings for you, right? You were his best friend, he just wanted you to be okay.

He found himself thinking of you a lot, the look you had on your face when concentrating, the way your eyes gleamed when you were happy, the way he felt when you were around, all warm and fuzzy inside. The first time these feelings for you arose, his cheeks flamed. No, literally they flamed with fire.

He just shook his head, at the thought. He did like you, he couldn't keep denying that. But he didn't think you liked him. He knew you didn't like him. If you did you'd pay more attention to him, and not focus so much of your energy on Percy. His fingertips tingled at the thought, if he wasn't careful he was gonna, burn something with his jealousy. There he said it, he's jealous. And kind of heartbroken. The one he loves, loves another. Y/n's is infatuated with a guy who won't even look at him that way, he wouldn't take extra time out of his day to make sure he was okay, he wouldnt spend hours crafting something for him just to see a smile on his face.

He just wondered why you couldn't see that he liked you, why wouldnt you take your eyes off Percy for two seconds to see whats been here for you the whole time. The boy who so just wants to make you happy, the boy who gets life out of seeing you smile. He's been here all along.

Regardless of the pain he felt from trying he also wouldn't let you suffer. It hurt him to see you hurt. His heart broke the time he saw you crying over Percy, you didn't tell him why, but he knew. You didn't have to tell him, he knew you were coming to terms with the fact you had to get over him, but he also knew it wasn't easy.

----------

He found you helping the younger campers with archery the next day. You were standing off to the side as you gave instructions moving to help them with the hold and teaching them how to aim. He admired that about you, the way you were patient with the younger campers, and didn't tell them they sucked. You didn't get mad at them, you just kept helping them, explaining there mistakes and how to correct them. Gods you were perfect

He went up to you, tapping your shoulder when you finally had a moment. "I um made this for you, its customized exactly for you and will feel better than your last bow. Which in turn will help you in combat-" you smiled at him a blush rising to your cheeks. 'Oh gods was he always this kind' you thought to yourself. He handed the bow to you, your hands touching causing a rush of heat to dance along your skin. A blush covering you as butterflies danced in your stomach.

What did this mean, you hadn't felt that before. Sure you had a crush on Percy, but he didn't make you feel like that. You just got blushy and giggly around Percy. But with Leo, gods there was so much more to it. You suddenly couldn't remember what was so great about Percy, your eyes took in the boy before you. Everything about him seeming to make your mind go dumb.

You tried to mumble out a 'thank you', but it came out barely above a whisper. The words seeming to fall apart as they left your mouth. He seemed to know what you were saying though, and he nodded. You didn't understand why you felt like mush around him, you had never been like that around him, let alone like that in general. Like a spell had been put on you, or taken off of you. You couldn't tell whether this felt like you had a love spell put on you, or if it felt like you were finally seeing Leo clearly for the first time. All you knew is you felt safe, and happy. His presence was lighting you up in the best way.

"you gonna test out that bow now, or continue to stare at me?" You snapped out of your thoughts not even realizing you zoned out. "Yeah, I am" you grabbed his hand pulling him towards one of the targets that wasn't being used. He stood next to you, as you steadied yourself concentrating on the target. The bow felt better than what you usually used, even the arrows felt better everything was perfectly balanced. And when you took the shot it even worked more efficiently than your old one had.

"Thank you Leo! Genuinely I love it!" You turned towards him setting the bow down to wrap your arms around the boys waist. Leo immediately hugging you back, "you're welcome mi amore" your heart did flips at the nickname, your cheeks turning a deep hue of red. When you pulled away, you picked up the bow and arrows walking over to the target to take the other out of it. Then you made your way back to Leo, "OH! I haven't even shown you the best part!" He grabbed the bow from you, as he moved the arrows to one side of the bow he seemed to decompress the bow and arrows into what looked to be a pin. He passed it back to you, "to get into full bow form all you have to do is tap it three times! Now it won't magically return to you like riptide or Ivlivs, but I still think this is really cool." You smiled at the boy in front of you.

"it's awesome, and so much better than any magic weapon" you pulled the boy towards you in another hug. Catching him off guard and you both almost toppled over before stabilizing yourselves. "Sorry, I just got excited." Leo's cheeks flamed at this, "No, No! It's okay, I like when you hug me" you smiled at him, your heart doing flips. "How about we go get some lunch fire boy" he nodded while smiling at you.

Part of you wished you'd realized your feelings sooner, but it was alright that you hadn't. Sure emotions were tiring and this definitely exhausted you having to process it all, that just gave you an excuse to fall asleep on Leo. Just like you were right now, his back pressed up against a tree as your head rested on his lap. His fingers combing through your hair as he told you about his day. He hadn't noticed you fell asleep, until he asked you a question and was met by your snores.

He just smiled at you thanking the gods that you were here in his arms. And just as in love with him, as he was with you.

[sebastianswallows]

okay so like maybe 7th year Sebastian but like taking a fluffy shower together? Like he's all like 😍😍😍 and MC is like 🤭🤭🤭 iykwim

My sweet anon 😭 My poor little nonny. You sent this ask, like, a month ago, and I just barely now got to it. I'm so so sorry. I really was caught up in other stuff and other WIPs.

But I finally have it for you 💚 I hope you enjoy it, my dear! I kept it fluffy and flirty for you 😘

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC [both 7th year]

— WARNINGS: Idiots in love, requited unrequited love, a lot of banter, sneaking glances and looking disrespectfully but also respectfully and just looking, a lot, while naked and wet

— WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

It was their third day travelling together, chasing after a relic that Sebastian was certain was once the property of Herpo the Foul. He didn’t care that Herpo had lived in Ancient Greece, no, somehow Sebastian was convinced that one of his artefacts ended up in the Scottish highlands.

“It makes perfect sense if you cross-reference the footnote from the Dictionnaire Infernal with the artist’s signature from the 7th illustration in the Compendio de i Secreti Rationali and —”

“Sebastian, need I remind you that you can speak neither French nor Italian?”

They shouted at each other as they crossed a mounted wilderness, climbing over rocks, tripping, heaving, and arguing the whole way.

“I have a translation quill, it works just fine,” he said, waving his hand dismissively — which caused him to lose his grip on the edge of cliff he was hanging on to and almost fall backwards.

“And what did you say this item was again?”

“The bowl in which he is said to have bred his basilisk,” said Sebastian excitedly.

“I swear, Sebastian, if we came all this way just for Herpo the Foul’s chamberpot…”

“I know, I know, you’ll make Crucio seem like a tickle, I know,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Once they finally got on stable ground, they caught their breath and looked around. Sebastian checked the map again while she cast a Revelio.

“I think we need to head north from here,” he frowned.

“Yes, about 100 feet that way.”

They had managed a charm on their backpacks that let them store there everything they needed, including flying brooms, but for now they decided to continue on foot and better assess their surroundings. There were clear indicators of where they needed to look, according to Sebastian’s research, and they should have been getting closer. A cave inside an aspen forest, with a river flowing out of its mouth. That both narrowed it down and didn’t.

“There’s hundreds of caves littered all across this area,” he grumbled. “And there’s no way of knowing if the forest is still there from however long ago that book was.”

“Want to give up?” she smirked. “We can be back at Hogwarts in time for the school year to start.” It would be their 7th year, their last, and this is what they spent their last summer holiday doing.

“No. I won’t stop until I find it,” he said. “You’re free to leave whenever, though…”

“Oh please, as if I’d ever hear the end of it.”

In truth, she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t put much stock in Sebastian’s research this time, but she wanted to be by his side whether he succeeded or failed.

What the Revelio charm led them to was an old cottage hidden in the woods, abandoned since long before that map was even made, and right in the area where they intended to look come morning. No more sleeping with one eye open between rocks and crags. Night was falling around them just as the little building came into sight.

It was made of large and heavy stones, overgrown with grass and moss, and had a tilted, somewhat stooping roof. There were an encouraging amount of aspen trees growing around, scattered and few, with more growing thick and clustered in the distance. They looked at each other and smiled hopefully as they finally reached the cottage.

“It isn’t much,” said Sebastian, looking around the little place with Lumos shining at the end of his wand. “But it’ll do for tonight.”

“I claim the bed,” she said, putting her backpack down and rubbing her shoulders.

“Bold of you,” said Sebastian calmly, “to assume there’s any bed at all.”

The place was split roughly into two rooms, one of which seemed to serve as a kitchen, the other as a bedroom of sorts. Most of the furnishings had long since rotted away save for those made of stone. There was a fireplace and a rusty old cauldron still sitting there, and a few wooden stools to show that the cottage had once been lived in.

“I’m exhausted,” she sighed. “And tired and sore and exhausted.”

“I heard you,” smiled Sebastian kindly. “I am too. Tell you what, I’ll transfigure some of these little old chairs into something to sleep on, and you’ll summon us some water, alright?”

With a few lengthening and softening spells, Sebastian could make a pretty good pair of beds for them, with pebbles transformed into pillows, and moss turned into soft green blankets. He spent a bit of time afterwards casting Incendio at the spiderwebs that hung in the corners — after all, getting rid of the furry-legged insects (because that’s what they were) could always serve to make him feel better.

When he was done, he stepped back into the other room. He immediately saw that on the other side, by the two windows, a construction of wooden planks was put together like a little house within the house, and above it were a pair of buckets enchanted with ever-flowing water. Beneath, the stones were softened into a patch of earth out of which grass grew, and there the water disappeared. On the stone windows, which had no glass inside them anyway, were a small hard bar of tallow soap they once bought from a goat farmer in Feldcroft, and a pair of bathing brushes they had brought over from Hogwarts just in case.

“Where did you get buckets?” asked Sebastian.

“I found them just inside the cauldron,” she smiled, her hands resting on her hips. She seemed proud of her creation. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think I can’t wait to get this three days’ worth of dirt off me,” he grinned. “Check the beds, see if you approve.”

“Alright.”

While she assessed his handiwork, Sebastian lit the fireplace. It was small and wouldn’t last for long, but it would do. He sat down on one of the little chairs that were left and started to take his boots off. His feet were sore, his legs were sore, his back ached and his neck was stiff — his whole body needed the gentle caress of a soft trickle of water.

He ran his hand beneath it as it flowed. Not cold, but no more than lukewarm. Still, it seemed a luxury right now. He took his jacket off, and then started unbuttoning the vest beneath.

“What are you doing?” asked the girl as she stepped back into the room.

“What does it look like? I’m going to put your contraption to the test.”

“I made it, I want to use it first,” she pouted.

“Is that so?”

His eyes scanned her up and down. She was his friend… His best friend aside from Ominis. Sure, he liked to tease her now and then, but he never went further than that. She wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t want it. If she did, she’d have made it clear by now, right?

“How about this?” started Sebastian slowly, grinning in the way he did when he got a really bad idea.

“What?”

Sebastian slid his tie from around his neck — which was already loose from him tugging at it when climbing made him breathless — and then began unbuttoning his shirt, from the top, one button at a time.

“You can use it first, on one condition…”

“I made it, you don’t get to set conditions,” she frowned, arms crossed, but he could tell her hands were shaking. He made her nervous. “But what is it?”

He smiled wider and finished unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it now out of his trousers but not taking it off. Then, he started tugging his belt out.

“The condition is,” he said with a sly smile, “that you can get to it first!”

He had the advantage and only needed to remove his trousers quickly enough, but he didn’t count on her quickly dipping back into the room to get her wand and disappear her robes away. She was naked and beneath the spray of water at the same time as he was.

“I was first!” she said, covering her modesty with her hands and letting her hair fall over her chest.

“No, I was!” said Sebastian over his shoulder. He could already feel a blush bloom on his cheeks.

“Sebastian!”

He threw his fingers through the water and sprayed her face, laughing without any guilt as she turned her head away and started spraying him back.

“Stop it!” she said.

“You stop first!”

“You started it!”

They sprayed each other silly until their hair was wet. Eventually, Sebastian raised his arms in a peaceful gesture and gave up.

“Alright! Alright, you win,” he sighed. “Menace…”

“You’re one to talk,” she scowled from beneath a curtain of wet hair.

Now that they could actually look at each other, they tried not to, standing almost back to back and sharing awkward looks. From the corner of his eye, Sebastian caught glimpses of her, and it was enough to make his face feel warm again.

“Well, I don’t care what you do,” he said, and quickly took the soap from the window sill.

He lathered his arms and neck, then down his chest, sighing as his muscles finally relaxed. The water didn’t seem so cold anymore. Outside, he could see the moon rising in a black sky.

“Give it here,” the girl muttered, taking the soap from his hand.

While she lathered her arms, he allowed himself a smile and let his eyes trace lower, from her shoulders to the small of her back, the angle of her hips, and lower, lower… Even from behind, she was completely ravishing. That was the pretty body that had been hiding beneath her Hogwarts robes? He felt like he’d never be able to see her in a skirt again without imagining those legs, those hips, that —

She caught him looking. He’d been staring for several minutes, his arms frozen in an awkward pose as he tried to wash the side of his chest. The water had nearly rinsed all the soap off him before he even got in with the brush, and his mouth was hanging open. He closed it shut when he caught her eyes, expecting her to scream at him or at least to get angry — but instead, she turned around and giggled.

Sebastian blushed again and turned around as well. He let the water cool his head as he tilted his head beneath it, closing his eyes and swallowing the knot in his throat. He waited for his body to relax, but it never did, it never could around her — not when she was in her skin right next to him.

He looked at her again. She was bent over, soaping down her legs, her hair covering her chest from him, but it was a delicious enough sight to make him moan.

“Did you say something?” she asked, straightening and shaking the water from her eyes.

“Give me that,” he muttered, taking the soap from her hand — but not before catching a glimpse of her from the front.

He closed his eyes and sighed his frustrations away, then started furiously working up a lather up and down his body to distract himself. Behind him, he heard her giggling again.

“Something funny?” he asked a little tersely.

“Yes,” she said. “You.”

“What about me?” he said, afraid of the answer.

“Nothing…”

Sebastian grumbled, but couldn’t be mad at her. He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled, and she did the same.

He picked up the brush and started scrubbing his body, rubbing his arms raw, and his chest and his legs and his back as well. It felt good, it made him feel clean, and each light breeze of air from the open windows beside them made him shiver in a fresh and invigorating way.

Bowing his head beneath the water, he tried to catch another glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. He did. The stretch of smooth skin of her torso with her hair licking down it like an ink spill, spots of white lather where she’d missed scrubbing it off, and enticing little shadows and angles and bends that he wished he could look past to see more of her. When his eyes trailed up her body, he found her waiting for him, as if she knew he would try to look at her again.

“Do you want to say something?” she asked, sounding more smug than he ever did.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, turning away. “Just… thank you, for this. It’s a, erm, neat little contraption.”

“I see you are very much enjoying my neat little contraption.”

“Well, naturally…” he said, daring to look at her again.

She still looked self-satisfied, and for a second, she trailed her eyes down his body as well — his shoulders sprinkled with freckles, his strong arms, broad back — but much like him, she shied away before really having her fill of him, and cooled her blushing face beneath the water.

They finished not long after, all scrubbed clean, the stress of their journey unwound from their bodies — only to be replaced by a new kind of stress. Stretching toward his pile of clothes, Sebastian picked up his wand and undid the water charm, making it stop flowing.

She bent and squeezed her hair dry while Sebastian buried his face in his hands and shook the water off — trying to shake his thoughts away as well. How could he sleep next to her, knowing what her body looked like from such a close, intimate angle? How could he walk with her tomorrow without wanting to see more, to watch her take her clothes off, to see her wash herself again? His thoughts were far away from Herpo the Foul’s basilisk basin now, and he wasn’t even sure he had it in him to be excited when they finally found it. He wanted to stay in the wilderness with her forever.

He needed to sleep, to rest, to think seriously about this, and after years and years he knew he needed to finally confront what she made him feel, and what it meant… He couldn’t wait to get back in the little bedroom.

“Wait,” he said, looking around them. “Did we bring any towels?”

[redshoes-blues]

The Heroes Theory

The key to understanding Stranger Things lies within a single song.

Buckle up, folks — this is very long. But I hope you enjoy your read! :)

This is my argument that the entire concept of Stranger Things, from the messages to the themes to the characters and relationships, can be summarized within one core motif that weaves through every season. Here I’ll be looking into the subtext and metaphors at play in Stranger Things as a whole, using Heroes to help show why requited Byler is the most sensible outcome from a writing perspective.

When I refer to the “Heroes Theory,” I want to be clear that this theory includes more than just the song for which my theory is named. Of course, Heroes itself is the foundation of the theory, but it extends far beyond that. This includes character arcs, dialogues, plots, and themes.

Let’s start with a bit of background on Heroes itself, its context, and what it can tell us about Stranger Things.

[CW: I briefly discuss the depiction of MH issues on the show, as well as various forms of oppression like homophobia, classism, and racism]

Background to Heroes

Heroes is an original song written by David Bowie, released in 1977. At the time, Bowie was living in Berlin after a long run of tours while battling addiction. It was a time of creative exploration and innovation for him. Keep in mind, this is all taking place in the midst of the Cold War, which is also the historical backdrop to Stranger Things.

Bowie has explained that he was first inspired to write Heroes after seeing a couple kissing next to the Berlin Wall. The couple were having an affair, and combined with the context of their affair happening next to the Berlin Wall, the scene he saw was one of forbidden love. So Bowie wrote the song describing a moment of defiance when the couple decided to forget about society’s judgement and shame, choosing to live as heroes in a moment of passion.

For the sake of our discussion, the following lines form Heroes are the most important. This is around the bridge of the song, at the point when the forbidden couple finally overcome their feelings of shame and their fear, choosing to embrace their passionate feelings instead:

I, I can remember (I remember)

Standing, by the wall (by the wall)

And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads)

And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)

And the shame, was on the other side

Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever

Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

And not only is Heroes a song about forbidden love in the face of violent repercussions, Bowie himself was a revolutionary figure for queer folks in the 70s and beyond. From his identity as a bisexual man, his androgynous clothing style, and full of acceptance of queer people when we were ostracized by most.

For these reasons, his role in Stranger Things is an important one given the themes of conformity and being an outsider that the show highlights (along with its queer characters). Now, put on some Bowie, and let’s discuss!

Heroes in Stranger Things

At this point you might be like: “okay cool, but what on earth does this have to do with Byler and Stranger Things?” I hear you! Let’s look at how Heroes is used in the show.

Heroes plays twice in Stranger Things. However, what plays is a more somber cover by Peter Gabriel. Both times it’s used during emotional scenes.

In my view, the song has come to represent two important themes: 1. resurrection and 2. conformity vs. acceptance/love.

Season One: Will’s Body

The first time Heroes plays is during S1, when Will’s “body” is discovered in the quarry. It plays as Mike goes home, and while Jonathan and Joyce hug in a shot which mirrors Mike and Karen back at the Wheelers house.

This scene expresses two things. 1. For Mike, he is told his best friend is dead. He watches as his body leaves the water. He’s heartbroken. 2. For Joyce, who doesn’t yet know about Will’s “body,” she has spent the day communicating to Will in the lights. She’s terrified, but hopeful.

As viewers, we see both sides. We see Will’s “death,” but we also saw Joyce communicating with who we suspect is Will. In this way, Heroes plays over a scene symbolizing both death and resurrection. By resurrection, I mean the fact that Will was believed to be dead, but he turns up alive.

While the cover of Heroes plays during this pivotal moment of hope and heartbreak, it’s quite telling what we’re shown on screen when certain lines are played:

What I consider to be the most romantic and thematically queer lyrics in the entire song play during the point when Mike runs into Karen’s arms after learning Will is “dead.”

And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)

And the shame, was on the other side

Here, the symbolism of “other side” is important given the context of the show. For Bowie, “other side” meant the East Berlin at the other side of the wall. The wall itself had violent repercussions (represented in this line by “the shame”) for attempting to cross it. In the context of Mike, “the shame” could represent his internalized homophobia and the confusing feelings of losing a best friend who he doesn’t realize he has romantic feelings for.

In Stranger Things, the “other side” could obviously represent the Upside Down. Especially given that we know Will is in the Upside Down at this point in the show, facing violence. But in this scene, it could also represent death as the other side of life. I think it’s interesting that the Upside Down consistently has imagery of death and decay, given that it’s the very opposite of the warmth we often associate with Hawkins.

Although Heroes itself isn’t a song explicitly about queer love, it is thematically queer. By this, I mean that the subject matter of the song is lauded in queer subtext and imagery.

This is all taking place during the 1980s. A time that was profoundly homophobic and opposed to anyone remotely different to the societal standards. We’re also located in a small town in Indiana and have canonically homophobic characters. The theme of shame over being who you are vs. learning to accept yourself anyways is crucial throughout the entire show.

I don’t think Will or Mike were aware of their romantic feelings for each other during S1, rather, the use of Heroes during S1 serves as foreshadowing for the future of their relationship, and sets up the theme of resurrection.

Could the placement of the Heroes lyrics be a coincidence? Sure, anything could be. Even so, the writing and production team chose to use a romantic song about forbidden love (written by a bisexual rockstar and queer icon) for this scene. In a series where every song serves an explicit lyrical purpose, these things aren’t accidental.

Especially when the song is used more than once.

Season Three: Hopper’s “Death”

The second time the Heroes cover is played is during S3. It’s the final scene of the season. The song begins to play as El finishes reading Hop’s letter. Then it continues as Joyce takes one last look around the Byers’ house before leaving for California.

This time, the lines “and we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall). And the shame, was on the other side,” are not included. None of the lyrics line up with Mike or Will. This time, the song is hinting at the theme I spoke of above: resurrection.

All of our characters and the audience are supposed to believe Hopper is dead at this point in the story. Of course, we now know the truth. Just as Will was believed to be dead the last time Heroes played, the song once again signals this isn’t the case. Hopper isn’t really dead. There’s hope. New life and love will blossom again in S4.

Moving Beyond Season Three

Originally, I theorized [here, here] that Will would fall under Vecna’s curse in S4 vol. 2, and Heroes would be the song to save him. Only this time, it would be Bowie’s original version of the song. I was obviously wrong . . . but I wouldn’t be surprised if Heroes pops up again in S5 with the context of Will (and especially his relationship with Mike). Rising above self-hatred. Living life to the fullest, refusing to let fear stand in the way of pursuing the love you feel inside.

“Being a freak is the best, alright?”

The times Heroes plays in Stranger Things aren’t the only times Bowie is referenced. I do think if the song plays for a Byler scene, it’ll be the original version that plays. I go into this in more detail in another post [here], but for a bit more context, let’s take a look at one of my favourite moments: Jonathan and Will’s conversation about shame and being a “freak.”

Jonathan: You know what? You’re right. You are a freak. But what, do you want to be normal? Do you wanna be just like everyone else? Being a freak is the best, alright? I’m a freak . . . Who would you rather be friends with: Bowie or Kenny Rogers?

Will: Ugh.

Jonathan: Exactly. It’s no contest. The thing is, nobody normal ever accomplished anything meaningful in this world.

One of the core themes of Stranger Things is accepting what makes us different. Our differences are our strengths, and the writers of Stranger Things want their characters (and us) to understand that. Jonathan’s line: “nobody normal ever accomplished anything meaningful in this world” is particularly important. 

Our characters aren’t the typical heroes of 1980s films and movies. They aren’t popular. They have nerdy interests and aren’t ashamed of it. For the most part, our core characters own the things that others judge about them. And when they don’t, part of their character arc is about learning to accept their true selves.

Jonathan uses Bowie as an example for the outsider figure that represents not only Will and himself, but every other character we’ve come to love. Even Steve, reformed stereotypical 80s jock, is no longer bound to the pressures of the larger society.

But in the context of Will, his comparison to Bowie is another way of queer coding a character who we know is canonically gay and in love with his best friend Mike. Bowie is a “freak” because he’s unique and an outsider, but also because he’s queer — and in 1980s small town Indiana, at the height of the AIDS crisis, being gay was just about as “freaky” as you could get.

To demonstrate this core idea of embracing your inner freak and finding a found family who loves you despite your “outsider” status, the entirety of our main cast have experiences which turn them into outsiders in the eyes of larger Hawkins.

To list a few: Joyce is divorced, working class, and a single mother who has “conspiracies” that many shame her for, Jonathan is bullied for being working class, Will is gay and bullied by homophobes; Lucas is Black and targeted by racists (Troy, Billy, Jason); Max has stereotypically “boyish” interests, is from an abusive working class home, and has mental health issues; El has superpowers, lacks assumed social cues, and is neurodivergent coded; Dustin has a rare genetic condition which he is bullied for; Robin is a lesbian and worries about becoming a “social pariah”; and Mike . . . is a gamer?

Alright, I know Mike is also bullied for being a nerd and is called “frog face,” but other than his status as a geeky kid, is Mike really any different than what Hawkins expects of a boy his age? He’s upper middle-class, has great friends, is smart, and even has a girlfriend. So why is it that the least-outsider of our outsiders is seen as our leader, and the eyes of the audience?

Mike Wheeler is the Audience’s Eyes

Given that, in my view, Byler is the only sensible outcome for Stranger Things because of its themes, character arcs, queer references, costuming, staging choices, etc. etc., I don’t believe the Mike we see is the real Mike Wheeler. We only see the real Mike in brief glimpses. Here’s why.

Mike is the central POV character for seasons 1 and 2 of Stranger Things.

In another breakdown [here] I analyzed Mike as the central POV character in S1 and S2. But let’s stick with this idea that Mike is the main member of the party who we learn alongside during S1. For example, during the Will’s “body” scene discussed above, it’s Mike’s reactions that the camera pans to. We see Mike crying and reacting to his best friend dying, we follow him home, and learn about Will’s “death” with him.

In S2, we have other establishing shots where the camera lingers on Mike longer than the other party members. When Will is taken to Dr. Owens, for example, the camera focuses on Mike and we hear his thoughts. Mike finds Will having an episode in the field, which is also when we discover his episode. Mike spends the entirety of S2 with Will, including the climax of Will’s exorcism where Mike plays a pivotal role.

Why Mike? For the original audience demographic, which was probably expected to be nerdy teenage boys/adults, our “eyes” in the show are placed onto a character who a wide variety of people can relate to. He’s the loyal ‘til death, heroic friend, nerdy boy, bullied, but not for any perceivable differences. And this is mid-2010s media we’re talking about, so of course the protagonist character is going to be a white boy.

What the hell happened in seasons 3 and 4?

Mike seems to vanish as our primary POV character after S2. Multiple POVs come into focus, and El becomes our main character over Mike. I think Will’s writing in S3 and S4 is a bit of a mess at times, but aside from S2, his screen time was never as much as Mike’s. The reduction of Mike’s importance, and the strange turn his character takes in S3 is telling. I think the Duffer brothers deliberately reduced Mike’s role as our “eyes” in the show during S3 because this is when his queer awakening begins to take place, and we aren’t supposed to know yet.

Mike Wheeler, I Know What You Are

And you sure as hell ain’t straight!

This isn’t an Em-tries-to-convince-you-unbelievers-Mike-is-queer theory. I’ll leave that up to the pros! Instead, I want to tell you why Byler endgame makes the most sense thematically within the context of a story that is at its heart about freaks and outsiders and found family and refusing to conform.

Mike Wheeler has Internalized Homophobia

“What’s internalized homophobia?” it’s a real nasty piece of work, that’s for sure.

Basically, it’s the idea that as queer people grow up in a heteronormative society which perpetuates shame and hatred towards queer people, we will internalize that shame and hatred, pitting it against our own sexuality. It’s a very common experience for queer people, especially in less-accepting generations, and Mike’s strange behaviour from S3 onwards could easily be explained by his own feelings of internalized homophobia, including his relationship with El.

Mike and Will have the potential to be the classic childhood friends to lovers storyline, only this time it’s between two boys instead of a boy and girl. We all know how much the Duffers love to subvert expectations.

Only their storyline is more complicated by the internalized shame each boy harbours towards himself. We’ve canonically been shown Will’s internalized homophobia, starting from S2 when he worries about being seen as a “freak.” Growing up and having his father call him homophobic slurs, being bullied for being gay, and living in the midst of the AIDS crisis when gay men were scapegoated and treated abhorrently by a moral majority — all are prime reasons for the shame he feels towards himself. S4 only emphasizes this with Will feeling like he’s a “mistake” for being different.

But Stranger Things doesn’t want its viewers or characters to feel this shame. They want us to find a family who loves and accepts us. They want us to accept our differences and love the things that make us “outsiders.” 

That’s the whole point of the show. That’s why the homophobes, racists, and bullies are consistently fought against: because what they say isn’t right or true, even though it was popular opinion at the time.

In the case of Mike, the way he pulls away from Will in S3 and S4 could be explained with the shame he feels for his own queerness. A lot of people think Mike has turned into an asshole. A shitty friend. He’s so drastically different from how he was in S2, and there’s no real reason for this change. Unless the reason is an internal one that we haven’t been shown yet.

The Rain Scene

The rain scene has been analyzed a thousand times. From the parallel to the Milk Ban fight where Milk Ban is played for laughs and Byler is meant to be devastating, to colour analysis, film references, and more. This scene haunts me. Seriously, they did that.

Mike obviously isn’t homophobic. We’ve seen him defend Will from homophobic bullying in S1. But he does have a hell of a lot of internalized homophobia, and oh boy is he ever projecting during the infamous fight scene.

His attack on Will (which is really projection of his own feelings onto the boy he fancies) is twofold: 1. internalized homophobia combined with 2. Mike’s idea that growing up means conforming to heteronormativity.

But this scene isn’t from Mike’s POV. It’s from Will’s. We’re meant to see Mike as an asshole. We’re meant to empathize with Will as he destroys Castle Byers: a symbol of his childhood and heteronormativity [more here].

Mike: “I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay? But we’re not kids anymore. I mean what did you think, really, that we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?”

Will: “Yeah, I guess I did. I really did.”

This isn’t just Mike being mad at Will for “refusing to grow up” or whatever. He’s specifically calling out Will’s critique of Mike having a girlfriend. At this point Will is fully aware he’s gay and has feelings for Mike. Mike is very much in denial. For Mike, growing up means getting a girlfriend and following the lifestyle his parents outlined for him. He denies any other feelings he may have and instead takes out his self-hatred on Will.

It’s important to note that his parents are also Reagan supporters (Reagan was a homophobe who spread moral panic over gay and bisexual men during the AIDS crisis) and unhappily married. He has no representation of loving romantic relationships in his house, and no positive representation to compare his feelings to. Let alone any gay feelings he has for his best friend.

When Will destroys Castle Byers, it’s a devastating moment, but also a moment of clarity. Will suspects that Mike knows he’s gay, and as S4 opens, we see early signs of Will beginning to embrace his queerness: from the Boys Don’t Cry poster to the painting for Mike to the way he questions Mike’s behaviour towards El, and their relationship as a whole. He even talks to Jonathan about how he’s feeling.

But Mike is still in denial. Because he is no longer a POV character from S3 and S4 until the couch scene [more here], we don’t see his thoughts. In my view, he realizes his gay feelings are for Will at the end of S3, after his closet kiss with El, when Will puts his D&D set in the box. This is why he pulls away from Will again, even though they seemingly made up by the end of the season. It was too much for Mike’s internalized homophobia.

Mike’s scenes with Will in S4 are all from Will’s POV, (again, except for the couch scene and a couple minor moments). Mostly when he’s looking longingly at Will as Will digs a grave, which is awfully interesting because we have no need to see Mike look at Will that way unless Mike has feelings for Will. I see what you’re up to, Duffers and Michael Wheeler.

All this said, if Byler isn’t canon, then the following premise must be correct: Will Byers, a traumatized boy who was bullied for being gay and feels like a mistake for the feelings he has for Mike — a boy who has stood up to his fears and faced violence because of it — will not find love at the end of the series.

Keep in mind that the Duffer brothers haven’t only written Will as a gay character. They’ve explicitly written him as a gay character in love with his best friend Mike Wheeler. He’s shown no other interest in romance aside from Mike. His feelings remain unresolved at the end of S4. There are no other love interests for Will Byers. We only have one season, 8 episodes long, and the Duffer brothers have said they aren’t adding any new characters.

There’s no time to set up a love interest. There would be no tension, and it would be bad writing. For two writers who planned ideas about the Upside Down that we’re only just now discovering in S4 & S5, I have more faith in them than that. Mike is the only possible love interest for Will. And in a series which wants to pair up all/most of its main characters, why the hell would the traumatized gay boy end up alone?

Well, I’m here to tell you that the themes of Stranger Things back up Will having a happy ending. In fact, Byler endgame is what we’ve been building towards since the very first episode of S1.

Forced Conformity is Killing the Kids

When Eddie said the infamous line in S4, I was like, oh yeah they’re going for it.

Eddie: “It’s forced conformity. That’s what’s killing the kids.”

It’s just so on the nose. It’s the entire message of the show summarized in one line. The way to survive is to accept yourself for all that you are, and to find other who accept you as well. This is exactly what Jonathan said to Will, way back in S2 about how “being a freak is the best!” (ILY Jonathan Byers, best sibling and ally in the whole show <3)

The kids who are targeted by Vecna are traumatized and do not fit into the societal mold, despite their attempts to. Chrissy has mental health issues stemming from an abusive mother and feels pressure to change her body to appease her; Fred has immense survivor’s guilt and is a nerdy outsider; and even though Patrick is popular, it’s implied he lived in an abusive household. As for Max, she’s an outsider for many reasons that I’ve gone over.

Each of Vecna’s targets attempts hide their trauma in order to fit into their expected roles. In their own ways, they are conforming. As Eddie, ever the non-conformist, says: “it’s forced conformity. That’s what’s killing the kids.”

And I think he’s right.

I’ve discussed a lot of the ways the characters don’t fit into typical 1980s society and how the point is for us to empathize with these outsiders and freaks. There’s a reason why seeking popularity is seen as a negative choice (for better or worse), and why accepting your weirdness and refusing to hide yourself is held in high regard.

Vecna’s Victims Attempt to Conform

In fact, we could even argue that Vecna’s victims are targeted because they conform. In a way, it becomes a narrative punishment. Conforming = bad. Characters who conform/hide = targets. Take Max, for example. Max attempts to hide her trauma and depression by pushing away her friends. She’s able to overcome these inner battles and finally comes clean to Lucas and the rest of the party by the end of the season, revealing the parts of herself she attempted to hide.

Similarly, we see the way Will’s attempts to conform put a weight on him, and especially on his relationships. The end of S4 presents a Will Byers who is beginning to accept himself after coming out to Jonathan, but hours earlier he still felt like a mistake for who he is. He probably still feels that way by the season’s end because of how entrenched in internalized homophobia and shame he has been growing up with Supreme Dick Lonnie Byers as a father.

A Brief Note on Lucas

Since S1, we’ve seen the way racism has impacted Lucas as the sole main Black character in the show. From Troy to Billie to Jason, the way Lucas is bullied by racists in Hawkins is important to take note of. For this reason, it’s understandable that Lucas attempts to prevent his othering by conforming and trying to “fit in” by joining the basketball team. We’re not meant to view this as inherently negative, as is the case for most other attempts at conformity. Rather, we’re meant to understand that Lucas doesn’t want to be ostracized further than he is already.

Other analysts have pointed out more specific analysis of race and racism in Stranger Things that deserve their own conversation outside of this post, but I wanted to bring up Lucas’ experience because he’s: 1. our sole Black protagonist, and 2. an example of conformity which isn’t meant to be inherently bad to viewers. We’re supposed to understand Lucas’ choice as a means of survival. Conformity isn’t inherently evil, but his desire to conform paints a larger picture of Hawkins as a place where anyone who stands out of the dominant society is put at risk because of prejudices in the town. 

What About Mike?

Mike pushes Will away after S2. He spends all his time around El in S3, conforming into the expected role he has grown up around: seeing his parents, unhappily married in a heterosexual relationship. Others have pointed out just how many parallels there are between Mike and Ted throughout the show, from dialogue to his wardrobe, and this certainly isn’t an accident. Realizing his queerness and seeing nothing but homophobia and heteronormativity, Mike feels the need to conform to his parent’s expectations. He sees no other choice, and this is why he projects onto Will — “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Even after Mike and Will reconcile at the end of S3, Mike pulls away again when Will moves away. To a smaller extent, Will is certainly at fault. But given his feelings for Mike and the shame he feels, it’s understandable that he tried to keep Mike at a distance. But what excuse would a Straight Mike have?

Mike: “We’re friends, Will. Friends.”

I can practically hear the just in front of his “we’re friends” statement. And to answer my previous question, a happy straight Mike would have no reason to pull away from Will again. He’s not annoyed about Will acting childish — he literally plays D&D (which he called Will childish for playing in S3) while Will does not anymore. Their roles have completely reversed by T4. Will is in the early stages of the self-acceptance we expect from Stranger Things, but Mike is still in denial of his own emotions.

S3 Mike is annoyed at Will for being “childish” and wanting to play D&D, meanwhile S4 Mike only wants to play D&D.

But S4 Mike is beginning to change in small ways.

His wardrobe is influenced by Eddie. He starts to play D&D again. He makes up with Will and this time he seems to mean it, even though their relationship is still strained with everything left unsaid. The couch scene signals a movement back into Mike’s POV. Essentially, S5 will reintroduce us to Mike’s POV, and we’ll begin to understand why he’s been acting so strange since S3. It’s because he loves Will.

El, Friendship, and Found Family

We’ll get back to Heroes and look at the way the song ties up all of the themes I’ve laid out soon enough, but first it’s important to consider El, who is our protagonist from S3 onwards.

One of the largest critiques I see from people who don’t think requited Byler is likely to become canon comes from a segment of people who believe El’s romantic life is a large part of her character arc. I simply disagree with this assessment of her arc, and here’s why!

What about El, what about her love story?

El has a perfectly beautiful love story forming in front of our very eyes. Only for her, it’s the story of a girl who was raised without love or kindness or family, who grows and finds a family for herself. Found family ties into the queer themes in Stranger Things and the idea that all of our main characters are outsiders. It’s the glue that holds the series together. The heart of the show is the love the characters have for each other, platonic and otherwise.

This is one reason why we don’t see endless death of our central characters as is the case in similar shows. That’s because at its core, Stranger Things is about love and acceptance. Sure, there are also monsters and alternate dimensions, but that’s not the core of what holds the story together.

From the first time we meet El in S1, we understand her position. She is deeply traumatized, having grown up in a hostile environment where she was dehumanized and subjected to brutal experiments. Hell, her name is literally a number.

But in S1, she meets Mike.

This is El’s first real and normal connection to any person. Mike treats her like a human being and teaches her about the outside world and the way it works.

In S2, El finds a father in Jim Hopper and learns the ways of a family (and pretends to be Mike’s cousin). She still has her bond to Mike, but the romance isn’t what matters. El is on a journey to discover more about where she came from, including her family and what that says about her powers. At the same time, she’s learning about the outside world and the societal standards that restrict she and her friends.

In S3, El becomes close to Max and realizes that romantic relationships don’t and shouldn’t define her life. There’s more to life than stupid boys! She’s learning about herself and what it means to be a kid and what it means to have a family. She learns to balance her relationships, but she still sees herself as a superhero at the end of the day.

In S4, El has a family. A brother and mother who love her. She struggles with bullying because she’s different from everyone. And again when she goes to get back her powers, she’s on a journey of self-discovery.

For three seasons she’s been treated and believed herself to be the superhero who must save the day. But it didn’t work this time. Max is in a coma and everything is falling to pieces, but she has Hopper and Joyce and Will and everyone who loves her. Her relationship with Mike is turbulent. Even after his monologue, the two of them never discuss their supposed romantic love again. Instead, her relationship with Hopper is prioritized; Mike and Will have their moment on the couch and then everything falls apart again.

Oh yeah. And we get this epic final scene where El stands alone in front of the people who have become her family. Only the six people behind her are arranged in groups of two. And two of those groups are canonical couples who are most likely to be endgame. And then we have Mike and Will. Interesting. 

At the heart of El’s character arc is her growing awareness of the world around her and her found family. After a childhood of neglect, trauma, and dehumanization, she’s being treated like a person. Not only that, but she’s learning to love and be loved by those around her. To say that her romantic relationship is central to her character arc is to ignore the true story that is unfolding in El’s life.

Besides, El wasn’t planned to live past S1. I’m so glad she did because she’s a wonderful character, but romance between El and Mike was never the original end goal for the story.

The Healing Power of Music

I promised we’d get back to Heroes eventually!

To overview: the core theme of Stranger Things is learning to accept your differences and status as an “outsider” in the eyes of larger society; not only accepting, but loving these parts of yourself for which you’re made to feel ashamed. And in this, forging a family of outsiders, underdogs, and freaks who understand you and love you as you are.

In the context of Heroes, I discussed how the song focuses on a forbidden romance wherein the couple overcomes their feelings of shame and fear, choosing to embrace their love, even though it’s frowned upon in the eyes of the outside world. What matters isn’t the view of onlookers, but living and refusing to conform to expectations.

By accepting yourself as you are, you’re being born again. You’re resurrected.

S4 may have showed us the literal saving power of music, but music has always been crucial within the show. Just think of Will singing Should I Stay or Should I Go to keep himself safe and comforted in the Upside Down. The way music is used to forge connections and bonds. The way music is used to highlight being a freak: from Bowie as the icon of freaks to Eddie’s “this is real music” and beyond.

Any song that plays more than once over multiple seasons is bound to be important and lauded in meaning. Will listening to Should I Stay or Should I Go represents his fight or flight response when faced with danger, and his choice to be brave. Max listening to Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) represents her depression and survivor’s guilt; the way she desires to switch places with Billy. When It’s Cold I’d Like to Die plays when Eddie dies, when Sarah dies, and when Will is saved from death.

And as I’ve said already, Heroes has come to represent resurrection. It’s about forging a new life for yourself out of the ashes of trauma and shame. If even for just one day, accept what makes you different, because it’s these differences that make you a hero in the eyes of the show.

So when we get to S5, music will continue to hold its healing power and symbolism, just as it has since S1 when Will first entered the Upside Down and shaped it to his image. I think our final season (which has been said to be similar to S1 in the way the characters are united) will directly parallel S1 in many ways. Including Will’s role. I think he will revisit the Upside Down and confront his trauma and fear as Bob taught him to. 

This being said, I think Heroes will make an appearance again. 

Think of it: it played during S1, S3, and we have S5 left. How perfect would it be for the song to play during a moment of two characters defying all odds, casting aside their shame and guilt, choosing acceptance and love instead. I’m thinking S5 will have a post-apocalyptic feel, with Hawkins abandoned by many, and only our heroes left to save their town. They’ll be surrounded by the violence and decay of a Hawkins morphed with the Upside Down, and larger society’s pressure will cease to matter.

This is life or death. Our characters must be the heroes we’ve always known them to be, or else Vecna will continue to expand and claim innocent lives. And part of this journey is self-acceptance, just as it always has been. Our characters have to accept the things that make them different, otherwise they won’t survive. Conformity is what’s killing the kids. Nobody normal ever made a difference in the world. They have to be Heroes, just for one day.

Dear Underdogs, Outcasts, and Freaks

One of the things I’ve always loved about Stranger Things is the way it subverts expectations and rewrites 1980s nostalgia through a modern lens. If it came out in the 80s, the show would look so different. We certainly wouldn’t have any of the (still very limited) representation the show has today. 

All of this is to say that thematically, the ending which makes most sense is for Mike and Will to end up together. It would defy expectations, yet the clues have been written on the wall since S1. All general audience viewers will have to do is re-watch the show after a requited Byler reveal to see just how many hints have been there all along. They’re already revisiting the show with fresh eyes after Will has been canonically confirmed to be gay (something many Bylers have known since S1). 

The Duffer brothers have even stated in multiple interviews that they aren’t worried about the general audience reception to the series’ end. They know that some people will be angry, but the story they’ve been telling is so much bigger than that. The cast has described the ending as beautiful. What’s more beautiful than revealing you’ve been playing the long-game in what would be one of the most revolutionary representations of queer love in any piece of mainstream media? 

Stranger Things is a love letter to everyone who has ever felt like they don’t belong. To the underdogs, outcasts, and freaks. From a writing and queer representation perspective, it simply makes no sense to have a deeply traumatized gay boy end up alone. There’s a reason Robin is being given a love interest for the final season. The Duffer brothers love happy endings for their outcast characters.

All of these ideas are shown in the song Heroes, which is about choosing love in the face of ostracism and violence. Very much an idea which we see throughout the series. Because at its heart, Stranger Things is a show about finding family and love in a broken world. What would be more perfect than to end the series with Mike and Will finally accepting themselves and overcoming everything they’ve dealt with since November 1983?

Author’s Note

This post has taken me ages to put together, but here we are, at the end!

I recently read the theory behind Flickergate and I find it wholly convincing. It also fits with my theory that Heroes will play a large symbolic role in S5, so I recommend reading that theory or watching the linked visual. 

I’ve also linked some of my own theories throughout this one which give a bit more context to some ideas I have about Stranger Things at large. They’re also linked in my pinned post. 

If you have questions or add-ons for this, please share them, I’d love to know your thoughts!! :)

—Em

[aleksanderscult]

Alina rejecting Aleksander's advances meta? His and her thought process.

Ask and you shall receive, anon😌❤️

So, I searched to find how many times Alina rejected Aleksander's advances and I located three. One of them is not really a rejection from his love advances but I consider it pretty important and I will explain why.

(Cut below because this meta is TOO LONG. I hope you find time to read this😭)

This is the moment I was talking about.

It's when the Darkling found and captured Alina and Mal and he is ready to put the collar around her neck.

(by the way, I've analyzed this moment here as well)

Just like I said, it's not really a love advance towards her, but at the same time it is...a bit??

What we need to understand here is that this is the first time Alina feels disgusted and flinches from the Darkling's touch. She has never done this before. And the Darkling has also never seen her recoil from his touch. From him.

AND this is the first time they meet after their steamy make out in the Winter fete. Back then Alina giggled when she was with him, returned his kisses and pushed her body closer to him. The Darkling liked that, primarily because he knew that Alina was now under his thumb. She was willing to him and responded to what he needed her to do. But also he saw his feelings requited from a girl that had the potential to be like him and with whom together could have a long future.

Now we see the opposite.

After what happened at the party, the Darkling had kinda gotten used to the idea that Alina was open to him. And now that she flinched from him (for the first time, I repeat) he gets really angry and hurt.

Why?

1) She is no longer willing or responsive to him since here she shows signs of rebellion and defiance (and the Darkling wants loyal people around him that do as he says).

2) The fact that after what happened between them to the Winter fete, this is her first reaction to his touch after some weeks of separation make him feel hurt. Just imagine you make out with your crush thinking everything is going to plan and then the next time you meet, he/she doesn't want to touch you. Ouch!

3) Because a few minutes ago he witnessed Alina and Mal confessing their feelings and kissing in front of his face (again I repeat, this is the first time he saw Alina after THEIR OWN make out). He saw Alina's love towards Mal and how she welcomed his advances and now that Aleksander himself merely tried to push aside her tunic, she flinched. So she was welcoming to Mal's touch but now she's not to his own. *Aleksander's rage and jealousy intensifies*

This change of hers made his feelings go 💥💥

Now for Alina.

I believe that even though she feels disgusted and fury for the Darkling, she also feels hurt and betrayed.

Here lies a powerful Grisha that she thought cared about her, her future and Ravka. Alina felt her whole life unwelcomed, unimportant and invisible. The Darkling made her feel the opposite of these things and she really wanted to believe him and his good will. For the first time, she had found a purpose. She had a unique power that gave her status and a handsome young man believed in her abilities and herself. She even fell in love with him.

For the first time in her life, she felt that she had it all. A home where she belonged to, a friend that understood her, other people like her and a man that seemed to like her.

Truth is, it's no wonder that she felt that hurt. And that bitterness made her turn against the Darkling completely. She no longer believes in his feelings for her (that flash of anger she saw here means nothing to her and she doesn't think about it), in his thoughts for the future, in his concern for Ravka. All that because she lost the things she had those few months. As revenge and out of her own desire to save Ravka, she wanted to thwart his plans, kill the stag herself and take its power for herself.

This is the famous chapel scene in S&S. The scene where the Darkling gave Alina a choice: leave everyone behind and come with me. Otherwise I'll kill them.

Alina was a real boss here. And people need to acknowledge her intelligence more. She's a quick study and suspected for months that she could use the connection she shared with the Darkling for her own benefit and purpose. She just had to put on a good show and pretend that she had really given herself up to Aleksander.

As for Aleksander, this was a moment of great victory. The author has confirmed that the Darkling had wanted Alina both because of her powers and because he had feelings for her.

(I think what we can take from here is that the Darkling had real feelings for her AND wanted her power)

And here he almost had both. Alina's love and resignation to him and the power of the light, all in the palm of his hand. That gave him great excitement to the point where he lowered his guard, bent to kiss her and became vulnerable to Alina, something that the latter took advantage of.

(I'M SORRY I NEED TO MAKE A SHORT PAUSE. Are we really gonna ignore the fact that the Darkling kept witnessing his plans being screwed up because he was too busy simping over Alina??? Like here he was "Oh mY gOD sHe'S FinAlLy heRe wItH Me, ShE cHoSe mE, i WaNt tO kISs HeR!!" Like bro get your mind in your evil plans for once😭😭 #Kingofsimping)

Not in a million years he suspected that Alina was lying to him and was trying to get close to him to kill him (because he was too busy giggling, twirling his hair and kicking his feet having Alina between his arms).

In fact when he realized it, he became frightened and caused him great pain since creating nichevo'ya is agonizing and excruciating for the body and soul. This twist was a real shock for him. He didn't think Alina would ever consider using merzost against him, let alone do it for real.

For Alina this taste of power was intoxicating and took pleasure from it because not only she was killing the Darkling but also she was using magic. A powerful and addictive thing for the Grisha. She felt more and more confident as the minutes passed and proud of herself for what she managed to do.

The aftermath is even more exciting.

The Darkling didn't hate her for it. On the contrary, he felt admiration, surprisement and was even more convinced that she was the one for him. A strong, powerful person that can match his own power. An equal.

Alina felt satisfied with his awe and now has confidence not only in her powers and what she can do with them but also in her way of dealing with Aleksander. In this scene she even used a bit of seduction towards him (OUR GIRL, PEOPLE🥹🥹🛐🛐).

Alina becoming more powerful, proving herself a capable and clever Grisha and trying to use her charm to get under the Darkling's skin, all these have made the latter feel strong sexual feelings for her and he even begs to let him touch her and kiss her. Let him have his way with her after so many months of being apart. In his eyes, she is worthy now to know his name, to gift it to her alongside his heart and once more he lets his guard down and shows her his soft, vulnerable side. For now, for just a few minutes he is Aleksander Morozova. The burdened, damaged boy that is buried deep beneath him, almost dead after four hundred years of cruelty. Not the Darkling.

As for Alina, she loves this side of him but most of all it hurts her. It stings 'cause she sees the shadow of a boy that could have been if Ravka was more tolerant and the world kinder to him. She feels sorry for this person.

But she also can't deny that she desires him as much as he desires her. Just like she said, they are bound to one another. Now and always. A bond that she doesn't and will never share with anyone else. Two sides of the same coin. Light and dark. Like calls to like.

Aaaaand the moment is ruined.🥲

Alina gets a reality check and can't put aside her bitterness and fury for what the Darkling has done. Her feelings for him are so conflicted. On one hand, she wants him, understands him and feels sorry for him and on the other, she is unable to forget what he has done and what he is.

And the Darkling?

The Darkling is done LMAO

Really he wants to have her for ONCE in his miserable life but something always happens and gets in their way. He's patient, yes. But for THIS he's not. He was so close. And this time was kinda different and special since he opened his heart to her.

(Personally, if you ask me (😌) I think that he doesn't only feel frustrated by her constant rejection but also it makes him feel more determined to get her. It's like every time she says no, every time she pushes him away, he wants her more instead of less)

Just like I said in the first example of her rejection, Alina doesn't believe that he wants her or loves her. Only that she tries to manipulate her by playing with her feelings. She thinks she has it all figured out.

And the Darkling mocks her for it.

He's like "You think you know what happens, what I want to do with you. Wow, you're so clever, bravo 😒👏🤦" in a sarcastic voice.

Also, another thing that I absolutely love here is when he puts his shirt back on. It's like a metaphor of him putting his "shield", his tough exterior on, putting an end to the vulnerable side of him that we saw earlier.

A few minutes ago he was speaking softly, smiling, murmuring.

Now he spits out his comments scornfully, snares at her and his voice is once again described as cool and cold.

An amazing scene.🤌

Alina must feel both defiant and afraid here. He threatens everything and everyone she loves and feels a little backed up in a corner, helpless by his threats since she knows what he can do and how he always means what he says. Still she won't give up that easily.

For the Darkling, I've already commented on this scene and his feelings on the 5th part of his jealousy moments meta.

He's furious that she rejected him. And while two minutes ago he was soft with her, now he threatens her safety and freedom. Making sure to her that he will get her wherever she is and with whom.

Not to mention he's quite livid for the fact that Alina is so willing with Mal (a freaking otkazat'sya, a mere mortal) and his advances while with him she is wary, reproachful and distant. That sparks his jealousy, infuriates him and hurts him. I mean it's quite interesting that he mentions him now even though Mal was mentioned only once in this scene (when Alina questioned the Darkling's choice to appear to her on S&S with Mal's face) but still he's not relevant here at this moment.

(small note: I also love how he says "The rules of this game are about to change" when he also said it before "I'm weary of this game". He's like "From now on I'll have the upper hand. You won't toy with me anymore. Neither with my plans, nor with my feelings")

Guys, this scene is MAJESTIC😩😚👌

So, in a nutshell, Alina thinks she can no longer be controlled by the Darkling and his schemes but also she knows that he's someone that gets her. That understands her. And that creates a contradiction in her. The feelings of desire and hate are powerful and make her relationship with the Darkling intense. More intense than what she has with Mal or Nikolai. Add to that the feeling of pity she has for him and we've got an emotionally confused Alina. It's not that she doesn't want to surrender herself to the Darkling. It's that she can't because she has been shamed for her attraction towards him by Baghra and Mal (even by the author in a way).

The Darkling is a character that is used to get what he wants from people. Especially the ones that are easily manipulated. But meeting so much resistance from Alina makes her more desirable and interesting in his eyes. Her stubbornness and boldness are (for him) admirable traits that he shares too. But at the same time it annoys him. For him, everything would be easier if she was an easy victim. But also at the same time he likes it since it's proof that she can be his equal. And a worthy one.

(DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING 'CAUSE I HOPE I MAKE SENSE HERE😭😭)

He's such a complicated character and both of them have complicated feelings and I need to stop now or this meta will never end.🫠

Hope I answered your questions, anon! If I forgot a scene you wanted to see answered just say so.🥰❤️