#something that so many are a victim to and is nothing to fantasise about...

[donghoonie-3]

Don't look at the tags if you get triggered easily... just ranting down there 🤕

[undiscovered-horizon]

[To be loved is to be changed. And while being married to you has changed Mihawk, it's not entirely for the better. He's a possessive and protective lover to the marrow of his bones.]

(TW for unwanted sexual comments)

Mihawk knew the name 'Shantaro' quite well. Any time you told him a story from your adolescence that revolved around borderline illegal, unethical or simply reckless adventures, Shantaro was there. The little devil on your shoulder but as reliable as a true angel.

He, however, never expected you to run into Shantaro on the odd night when the two of you can go out. Comfortably basking in your presence, Mihawk is thoroughly enjoying your undivided attention.

Until.

You're suddenly rendered speechless as you notice something - someone - over his shoulder. A wide smile spreads across your face. Mihawk is unsure whether he should rejoice with how beautiful you look or seethe, knowing that another person dared to distract you from him.

"It's Shantaro!" you squeal excitedly. "I'm sorry, love, I'll be just a moment. I haven't seen her in ages!"

Mihawk doesn't even try to stop you as you make your way through the crowd at the lounge. His watchful gaze follows your steps as you approach a stringy woman in a silver dress. A hurricane of black curls sits on top of her head. Her piercing, grey eyes notice you, suddenly widening with both surprise and happiness. The two of you engulf each other in a bone-crushing hug, silently exchanging feelings of longing towards the closest friend from younger years.

The swordsman's night, however, is about to get even worse as he hears someone behind him whisper:

"She's a minx, that foxy wife of yours."

He turns around with his jaw and fists clenched. Mihawk's enraged gaze meets the face of an amused man who is casually sipping on his drink. There's a glint in the stranger's eyes that makes the swordsman's skin crawl - he wanted to get under Dracule's skin.

"Don't look so surprised," the stranger reprimands him. The man must have mistaken Mihawk's baffled expression at the bold words for genuine surprise that someone put two and two together. Truthfully, he couldn't care less whether people know that he's married. "Many pirates get hard fantasising about having their way with the Warlord's wife." Judging by the way the man licks his lips and hides a certain hunger behind his eyes, it's clear he's part of the aforementioned group. "But the Warlord himself? Unfortunately for him, she turns him soft," he drones the word as though it's a serious insult.

"Yes, she does," Mihawk answers slowly.

The events that followed happened exceptionally fast: Mihawk reached for the stranger's neck and slammed the man's head against the bar counter. Curiously, people happening to be in their vicinity carry on as though nothing bizarre is happening - they are smart enough not to get in Dracule Mihawk's way, especially when he is visibly upset.

Blood is gushing from the strange man's forehead, his eye already beginning to swell and change colour. The swordsman tilted his victim's head back just enough to lean down and growl. "Which is why I'm going to kill you much faster than you deserve for your offence."

Mihawk glances in your direction. You're still occupied, excitedly telling Shantaro about the years after you've last met her.

He'll be done before you notice him gone.

[gofancyninjaworld]

Meta for the Ninja Arc (so far)

I thought about reviewing the chapters 195-202 (fan numbering), but summarising the action was annoying me, so let's just skip to the good stuff! This arc has been a grower: what it lacks in up-front showiness it makes up for in depth once you take the time to reread and think about it. I'm just going to pick up on a few things.

Recontextualisation

I have been thinking a lot about how much what we make of the information we receive depends on what we already understand [1]. I've written a bit about ONE's use of salience within the story. This arc though, I'm going to talk about recontextualisation and how important it is to be able to look back and understand events and even people anew in the light of new information.

This has been a huge thing for Flashy Flash. Many years ago, he and Sonic sneaked into a forbidden section of their village and saw many strange things that made no sense to them at the time. It's only very recently, after hearing about the enemy that is 'God' and Blast's efforts to counter him (chapter 173) that things started to make sense to him.

It's only after seeing Gale Wind and Hellfire Flame, not as monsters, but as the former security guards who had trounced them for trespassing that 'where' he'd seen the cube before came back to Flashy Flash, as did the significance of the sights they'd seen. And then it all started to fall into place, reinforced by his going back to the Village to find it destroyed in what he had now come to recognise as Blast's signature attack pattern.

Of course, Flashy Flash has terminal Main Character Syndrome, so he's tried to organise things so that he's the one who takes down Empty Void and reaps the accolades. It's kinda backfired but we'll come back to that in a bit.

There's another bit of recontextualisation that is not so explicit but I think is just as important. It's clear that the Tenninto were no match for Flash and that he could have killed them any time. It's also been established that Flash has never hesitated to kill anyone who came after him. It's been his policy after all. So what gives in his sudden rush to mercy?

As the chapters have gone on, it's become clear that Flashy Flash has come to see the Tenninto as fellow victims of Evil Void's dehumanising process intended to turn them into potential vessels for 'God'. Something else that Flashy Flash is probably responding to is that rehabilitating Village members was once Sonic's dream, and there's a part of him that would love nothing more than to help make it happen. Of course, if you point that out to him he'll tell you to stop being stupid.

It's amazing but Flash is outraged at the way he and his fellow victims are seen as things to be used, abused, and discarded as Void pleases, and he's looking to get justice for all of them.

Ah yes, Sonic. It's been clear that Sonic has been a much better friend to Flash than he has to Sonic, and yet, yet it would seem that Sonic is the one person he cares most deeply about: anything bad happening to Sonic would devastate him. He just has a funny way of showing it.

An irresistible vision. To think that in his heart, this is what Flashy Flash most wants.

We hope he comes to do better.

Insight

Let's talk about Sonic now. For many years now I have been hoping that something would happen to shock Sonic out of his futile rounds of attacking Saitama, being beaten by Saitama, training maniacally, attacking Saitama... his world has become very small and circular, like a round circle.

I had fantasised about maybe Genos grabbing him mid-attack and stuffing him into a narratively-convenient bin without so much as breaking stride. Something so outrageous that he could no longer ignore the need for him to change. The webcomic has sidestepped solving this problem by gifting Sonic some magic scrolls and a sword and just not having him cross paths with Saitama again. The manga is tackling the problem head-on.

Something I have loved, loved, loved about ONE is that he hasn't hesitated to give characters what they've earned. There's been enough morons bellyaching about the two not being neck-and-neck in skill like they were in the webcomic. Sonic's not weak in the manga -- Flashy Flash has experienced more battles and has had to struggle and learn more and so he's been able to progress to the point that he's left his friend in the dust.

Translation: The Back Of A Friend I Once Stood Shoulder-to-Shoulder With. There'd have been a lot less bellyaching if the translators had translated this bit.

That's the shock Sonic needed to open his eyes to the stupidity of his actions. More than that shock, seeing what Flashy Flash has been able to achieve has given Sonic the inspiration to strive for, achieve, and surpass what Flash has accomplished. His fire is back in a good way.

More than that though, the disrespectful way in which Sonic was offered more monster cells rather than a more interesting vision peaks to two things, external and internal.

Externally, it speaks to the way that we tend to think that people are only what they first show us while we understand ourselves to be complex creatures with many competing moods and wishes. Empty Void had heard that Sonic had once reached for a monster cell and assumed that he knew the sort of guy Sonic was: someone whose inferiority complex was such that he'd reach for any offer of power. But of course, that's not Sonic. Sonic has been the stubbornest person ever, who has been able to keep his sense of self despite the Village's best efforts. He reached for a monster cell because even the strongest person can despair, at least for a while.

Internally, man, the bleakness of Sonic's life is such that he doesn't have anyone to offer him a nice fresh monster cell and the monster cells must perforce cook themselves to offer themselves to him... he looks to no one and believes in none. That's painful to see.

When we think of how close he and Flash used to be, the bitterness of his mocking the prisoners for depending on each other grows sharper every time we learn a bit more about him. I don't know if he'll ever forgive Flash for betraying him.

Yes, there's a betrayal right on screen now: that of Blast by Empty Void. Blast thought they were in the business of putting God out of business but Void was using him to obtain cubes so as to raise an apostle of God.

Longer Blast: I'm not mad. I'm just very, very, very disappointed.

That said, I'm not going to let Blast off the hook entirely. He has some explaining to do!

Complicity

Blast has a lot of explaining to do. Sure, he's been refreshingly honest about what he's been doing with monster experiments, and his link to 'That Man'.

I have a feeling that Flash has been too quick to absolve Blast of blame.

We know that Blast and Empty Void went back at least 20 years. And yeah, we can just about buy that he didn't know his partner was fixing to betray him. However, given that we know that the Village takes young boys and that there were at least 43 graduating classes before Flashy Flash escaped years ago, that means that the Village had been a thing for at least 50 years. How long has Blast known about Empty Void's activities? Did he turn a blind eye to it? Or was it not a problem until it bit him in the ass? [2] What else is Blast permitting that shouldn't be?

We need answers.

I am very invested in seeing how this arc ends and what else it'll lead to.

Asides

[1] A very neat non-fictional example: this man escaping from his pursuers by lying down and thus changing their understanding of him to 'homeless guy'.

[2] A part of me notes that Blast falling out with Empty Void and beating the shit out of him coincides neatly with the time Blast's son was born. Maybe shit became a bit too real for him to ignore.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

HINATA HYUUGA (NARUTO)

1.) When Hinata was introduced she goals, weaknesses, interesting interactions and relationships with characters other than naruto and a personality of her own. Post timeskip in shippuden, however, she was reduced down to simply 'naruto's future love interest' and little else. The entire Hyuuga plotline was dropped and she no longer had any relevance or personality outside of naruto. Part 1 hinata was shy and insecure on the surface but underneath that she was determined & hardworking, even to her own detriment. Her struggles were compelling. Her interactions with neji and her family are something you look forward to seeing more of. In shippuden she's like a flat carboard cutout of hinata. Her shyness exaggerated, her relationship with her family suddenly perfectly fine and boring. In part 1 naruto inspires her to keep trying but he isn't the reason she's working so hard, in shippuden he's pretty much all she thinks about. Her change in character design really highlights these changes - the perfect little wife for cishet men to fantasise about.

2.) Her entire personality and arc is boiled down to “shy uwu waifu in love with Naruto” and basically any development she gets, which is barely at all because Kishimoto hates women, is as attributed to NARUTO and Naruto only. Even her reaction to her beloved COUSIN’S DEATH makes her be like “omg I love Naruto” and serves to further NaruHina, which is absolutely insane she would Not react like that. Naruto only starts being romantically interested in her at the beginning of like, The Last movie, which is after 500ish episodes of her being treated as the sidelined love interest who is devoted to a guy who only cares about her when she’s a damsel in distress on a fight.

There are so many parts of her character that are/could be interesting, like her part in the Hyuga Clan due to being born as a superior and her dynamic with her cousin Neji as a result, (which could have had SO many great moments of reconciliation and standing up for each other grrr grrr) an exploration of the impact of her bullying & being looked down upon (even when she’s supposed to be a superior member, which adds to the shame) LIKE MANY OF THE CAST, seriously the people Naruto trauma dumps to are mostly consisted of people unfairly treated like that and it could have been used to further NaruHina WHILE showing her struggles

She is an incredibly capable fighter but the moment Naruto is there, she instantly becomes defenseless and needs to be saved by her crush, mostly as a “wow look at him isn’t he so brave and kind to do this for her?!”

There’s an episode where she is literally used as a defenseless punching bag for Pein by trying to sacrifice herself for Naruto and telling him she loves him, JUST so he can be more angry and have more motivation to beat Pein’s ass (aside of the yknow. Killing his loved ones thing) AND her confession is ignored by Naruto for the rest of the series. Just like any moment she shows her crush for him is met with obliviousness, which would be fine if they weren’t the main couple and didn’t go on for THE ENTIRE SERIES!!!!

In Boruto, the shitty sequel, Naruto is basically her deadbeat husband in her bland lavander marriage and Boruto is rightfully mad about Naruto’s distance from the family and even says he left her basically a single mom and barely pays time to the family, and Hinata’s role in the show as the housewife is being like “no you see Boruto you have to understand your father’s pov as the Hokage” and the narrative treats NaruHina’s marriage as a Good, Healthy Thing as if the characters are not miserable in this marriage.

3.) Man I don't even like her that much but she deserved SO much better. She was introduced as the heiress of a really powerful and renowed clan with complex dynamics, yet the author somehow decided to do almost NOTHING with the potential she had, and gave her very little personality besides being shy and fawning over the protagonist. She gets slightly more active in Shippuden (part 2), but her character still pretty much revolves around her love for Naruto, which sucks because again, she has so much potential. It's no secret that women in Naruto are badly written, and Hinata certainly is no exception. The male characters get dozens of episodes/chapters about their motivations, their backstories, what pushes them to keep going, and Hinata gets almost nothing besides her lifelong crush on Naruto that we are reminded of literally every time she's on screen.

NIKI NIHACHU (DREAM SMP) (CW: Bullying)

1.) Ohhhh my FUCKING GOD okay. So first off, MCYT (Minecraft Youtube) is not synonymous with the Dream SMP. The Dream SMP is MCYT, but not all MCYT is Dream SMP. I just want to make that clear before I start. (Also, the DSMP characters are referred to with a c! in front of their name, and the person playing that character is referred to with a cc! in front of their name.)

Anyway. So Niki, right. The Dream SMP had a LOT of ccs, and I can’t remember all of them off the top of my head but I think there were like…four women? Out of…god, at least fifteen people, maybe twenty? Which would have been fine, I’ve seen worse ratios. But the thing is, a lot of the male ccs’ fans were uhhh…not great about treating cc!Niki like a person. We’re gonna move on to her character in a bit, but cc!Niki got bullied, harassed, and criticized no matter what she or her character did.

c!Niki is either a mean girlboss or gentle and nice. When I saw people talking about c!Niki while the DSMP was active, their views of her were very one dimensional. Maybe part of this was because cc!Niki didn’t get a chance to develop her character as much as someone like cc!Tubbo did. One of the DSMP’s fatal flaws was a lack of communication and organization, and…yeah. It was very difficult for white male ccs to organize people for lore, but for cc!Niki it was…also bad. The misogyny that cc!Niki experienced from fans is inseparable from the misogyny that c!Niki also received. It’s a really shitty package deal.

OH AND ALSO. You know how the DSMP ended by getting like, wiped from existence or some shit I don’t remember. And Dream did this without letting the majority of the ccs resolve their character’s stories/arcs? Will it surprise you to learn that afaik cc!Niki wasn’t informed about this at first? Yeah. Overall she was just treated horribly by everyone and so was her character.

2.) Literally only like three people ever did storylines with her, two of whom immediately dropped it as soon as something else came up. She didn't even get to officially participate in the revolution despite repeatedly offering aid, and eventually ended up just. Building her own underground city. To have something to do. The only people to actually include her in storylines consistently ever were the anarchists, toward the end of the server.

3.) ok, so, the thing is, this isn’t just about the DSMP. historically, in mcyt spaces, women content creators have been harassed and treated terribly by fans (and talked over/ignored by other ccs and the fandom) for, essentially, daring to be women, and niki has been subject to that. cc!niki (the real life person, for those who don’t know mcyt player/character differentiations) was/is really good friends with cc!wilbur soot (i haven’t been keeping up with this corner of streaming recently but assume this is the case). however, despite being close irl friends and working really well with one another, niki had to deal with endless bullshit from people who shipped her and wilbur (and people who didn’t!!), so much so that they stopped streaming together for a while. this is just some background so you understand the baseline we’re working with here. (this is going to be more of a meta analysis on how cc!niki was treated by other ccs, as that’s my specialty and also in a rp space it affects how her character was played) (fan treatment of her also factors in a lot here since fiction is highly affected by realities like this in mcrp) niki’s character in the dream smp, and the lore she had (she went from a kind baker to one of the last holdouts against a tyrannical government, to a broken girl resorting to revenge for stability, to someone who was finally able to find healing and support in a safe space and worked to do the same for others) was largely ignored or disregarded by both fans and the other content creators on the server. hell, when her best friend died nobody even bothered to tell c!niki! she had to find out from his own goddamn ghost! (can you tell i’m mad about this?) she put up with so much shit on that server, in-character and out, and never even got to have a fucking break about it. justice for c!niki!

[hexensalbei]

“Weʼve made a horrible mistake”, Buck says when Eddie hands him over new bottle of beer. Diaz doesnʼt even have to look up or turn around to know what Buckʼs been talking about. Or rather who.

“Youʼre absolutely right. Theyʼre up to something. Definitely nothing good”, he sighs heavily and his eyes finally land on the three women sitting on the couch and talking about something very vigorously. “They looked at me when I went to the kitchen. And now theyʼre looking at us. Again.”

“We shouldnʼt have let them meet. Like ever”, Buck agrees. He has a strong feeling that it will bite them in the ass. Very soon. In this moment, Sophia looks at them with a grin on her face and Eddie just groans.

“Theyʼre scheming. I know the look and I shouldʼve predicted this because my sisters are always meddling. Although I didnʼt expect Maddie to be so eager to join them”, he adds and thereʼs a hint of accusation in his voice.

“You clearly donʼt know her that well. Believe me, that nice girl look is just a facade. Sheʼs horrible”, Buck declares and then laughs at his friend's horrified expression.

“You mean she's even worse than you?” asks Eddie playfully after a while.

“You are so sleeping on the couch tonight, Diaz”, Buck deadpans, elbowing him lightly. Heʼs not really offended; he likes to bicker with him and theyʼre both in very good mood. Theyʼre at the party at Grant-Nash house, surrounded by friends and they can truly enjoy their night off.

“It kinda implies that weʼre sleeping together in one bed so we should work on that first. And then you can kick me off to the couch”, Eddie winks at him and grins.

They hear someoneʼs gagging (most likely to be Chim) and Henʼs muttering Lord help me from behind but they don't really pay attention to it. Theyʼre only focused on each other now, which happens fairly often when they get carried away with the flirting. Recently, it got even more shameless—and, god, they love to tease each other and make innuendos. Eddie loves how easy and natural it is—he was never a cocky playboy type and flirting wasnʼt his best skills. But with Buck... He just canʼt help himself. Not if his best friend responds the way he does.

“So...”, Eddie says and his eyes travel to Buckʼs lips who wets them unintentionally. He fights the urge to capture them with his mouth because Buckʼs his best friend and he canʼt kiss him in the room full of people. Not that he can kiss him when theyʼre alone.

Someone clears throat loudly and the tension is broken. Eddie blinks and looks around—he feels quite embarrassed because once again he let himself fantasise about Buck—and he meets Maddieʼs very knowing smirk. He hopes he doesnʼt have his feelings written all over his face and she didnʼt pick them up.

“Iʼm going to the bathroom”, announces Buck suddenly and he gets up suspiciously quickly and practically runs away to the place.

Eddie wonders if he should go after him. He wants to; heʼs not sure how it would end. He doesnʼt even have the time to decide because his sisters got up and theyʼre going in his direction.

“Whereʼs your loverboy?”, asks Sophia, nudging him softly to move a little bit to make more room for her and Adriana.

“He, uh, went to the bathroom”, Eddie rubs off his neck; he still feels embarrassed and heʼs sure that if he was pale, his cheeks would have been red as Adrianaʼs dress sheʼs wearing tonight.

“I hope he will come back quickly, I havenʼt got a chance to talk with him yet” says Adriana, “although I think Maddie will be my new favourite Buckley.”

“I wonder why”, Eddie snorts and looks around to find Buckʼs sister but thereʼs no sign of her and he suspects she went off to see her brother. “You three were plotting, werenʼt you?”

“Thatʼs very serious accusation, Eddie. Iʼd be very careful with making any. You donʼt know what can we do in revenge”. Sophiaʼs voice is amused, teasing; almost as usually. But Eddie knows Diaz women too well and he picks up something more, something he canʼt even name yet.

“We were just making friends”, adds Adriana and she shrugs her arms. “I am really glad I got to meet your coworkers. Theyʼre wonderful people. And Buck has an amazing sister.”

“Yeah, Maddieʼs great”, agrees Eddie. He realises, heʼs quite close to both of Buckley siblings—despite what Buck says—because he spends with them most of his free time. Obviously, Buckʼs his favourite but Maddie has slowly become his third sister. And Christopher adores her almost as much as her brother. Buckleys have that effect on people, he thinks with fondness. He seriously has no idea what would he do without them. Theyʼre really making his life better in many ways. He drifted away with his thoughts so he tries to focus on conversation heʼs in. “Although I wish you wouldnʼt try to convince her to join you with your evil plans.”

Both Sophia and Adriana laugh, looking at his brother with very amused, almost identical expression.

“Oh Edmundo, whereʼs your trust? Why are you always assume weʼre plotting?”, asks Sophia very innocently.

“Or that we are the oneʼs to convince Maddie to do the bad things. Have you thought maybe itʼs the other way around?”, adds Adriana.

She has a point, though, but Eddie doesnʼt want to believe them. Maddie has to be less evil than his sisters. He still hasnʼt figured out yet why were they scheming or whoʼs gonna be their next victim but he has a hunch.

Thankfully, he spots Buckʼs coming back which saves him from replying to his sisters. His best friend still looks slightly embarrassed; the tips of his ears are red and it piques Eddieʼs interest. Then, he notices Maddieʼs right behind him and she looks very pleased. Both Buckleys stop by the couch Diaz siblings are sitting at.

“Eddie, would you mind drive Buck to his apartment? Heʼs not feeling that well and I donʼt want him go alone”, Maddie asks. Buck rolls his eyes and he looks mildly irritated now.

“I donʼt feel bad”, he scoffs. “And Iʼm an adult, I can go back to my home alone.”

“Itʼs not a problem”, reassures him Eddie, getting up from the couch. Itʼs true; helping Buck is never a problem. Plus, itʼs very good excuse to talk to him alone. Somewhere when his sisters wouldnʼt eavesdrop. Or their coworkers. “Letʼs go. Addie, Soph, Iʼll come back and take you home too.”

“Oh, no need. Weʼll get an Uber”, Adriana says and Eddie only nods.

He goes to Bobby and Athena to say goodbye and then shoots a look in Buckʼs direction. The blonde follows him quietly and Eddie really wants to know why his mood changed that quickly.

They step outside; itʼs a warm, cloudless night—perfect for romantic dates including stargazing.

“Are you OK?”, asks Eddie when theyʼre in Eddieʼs truck. His voice is filled with concern and he tries to read his friendʼs mind but he doesnʼt even look up.

“Iʼm fine”, Buck mumbles, his eyes still focused on his knees as if there was something more interesting to observe than look into Eddieʼs eyes.

“Youʼre not. Something has happened when you went to the bathroom, I know it. Was it Maddie? Did she tell you something?”, Eddie doesnʼt buy this shit and heʼs determined to find out the truth. “Buck”, he pats his knee gently. “What did she say?”

“Itʼs—uhm—itʼs not really that awful. She...”, Buck bites his tongue but eventually, he decides to go on and he looks at Eddie. “She was just teasing me too much and I got annoyed.”

“My awful sisters probably encouraged her to annoy you a little bit”, admits Eddie and then smiles at his best friend. “At least she has let you go and now you can do whatever you want. You wanna go with me? Christopherʼs probably asleep but I have your favourite beer. And you can crash on my couch.”

Eddieʼs invitation is very spontaneous; he didnʼt plan to spend the rest of evening with Buck but if thereʼs a chance to even just watch movie with him and then go to sleep, heʼll gladly take it.

“Deal.” Buckʼs response is almost immediate and his grin is almost blinding.

—☾—

Buckley-Diaz sisters grand scheme reminds about itself when Eddie gets an invitation to his sisters in El Paso. Heʼs not the only one, though. Buck and Maddie also are invited.

“Why would they invite both me and Maddie? Maddie already said yes, she takes Joy and Chim with us”, complains Buck when theyʼre cleaning firetruck on the shift. “Anyway, are you OK with me and Maddie visiting your family?”

“Why would I be not OK with it? Itʼs not like you donʼt know them already. My parents will be thrilled to see you”, says Eddie. “And Iʼm glad youʼll be here. At least I wonʼt have to face Sophia, Adriana and Maddie alone. You have to suffer with me”, he adds and winks at his best friend.

He knows this invitation has something to do with the party at Grant-Nash house when their sisters have met. And that both Sophia and Adriana have some wicked ideas involving him and Buck probably too but he still wants Buck by his side.

“Great, so Iʼm only there to be traumatised by your sisters instead of you?”, jokes Buck and kicks Eddie in the shin.

“Ow, that hurts, Buckley!”, Eddie hisses and still smiles despite the pain.

“Quit pulling pigtails, dinnerʼs almost ready”, they hear Chimʼs voice from above and they immediately raise their heads.

“Fine, weʼre going”, sighs Eddie and waits until Chimʼs gone to look at Buck. “Seriously, Iʼm glad they invited you too. I mean, we have to be careful but I still think itʼll be nice weekend.”

—☾—

Itʼs nice indeed. Drive to El Paso was long and exhausting but theyʼve managed to survive without serious injuries (although Joy really tried to make them deaf and she only felt asleep in Buckʼs arms). Sophia and Adriana welcomed them with a huge smiles and amazing food. Theyʼve decided to put Maddie with Chim and Joy in Adrianaʼs house to sleep and Buck wouldʼve slept with Eddie and Chris in Sophiaʼs house. And now, theyʼre just hanging out. Itʼs late and all kids are already asleep (Addieʼs husband offered to take care of them, even Joy) so adults can let themselves loosen up a little bit.

“So who wants to play Truth or Dare?”, asks Sophia, nursing bottle of beer in her hands. Sheʼs already slightly drunk, just as the rest of them—minus Maddie whoʼs feeding the baby so she prefers not to have alcohol in her bloodstream.

“Oh, Iʼm definitely in”, says Chimney, raising his hand up as if he wants to make sure everyone heard him.

“And so am I. I used to play it in high school before I met Doug and I kinda forgot how to have proper fun”. Thereʼs hint of nostalgia in Maddieʼa voice but she smiles brightly anyway. Adriana says yes and Buck replies me too without even thinking.

Itʼs Eddie who hesitates. Oh, heʼs definitely having fun and he appreciates that his sisters made it happen. Itʼs just—

He noticed earlier how Maddie disappeared with his sisters and they were back after half of an hour and they kept talking in a hushed voices whenever they saw him or Buck. Which is very suspicious; not to mention that Sophia and Adriana have been teasing him about his feelings for Buck even more in the past weeks. He hasnʼt told them but theyʼre not stupid and he hasnʼt been exactly subtle when it comes to showing affection to Buck. Heʼs afraid that they might say something stupid, something that Buck will figure out. And he doesnʼt want it—heʼs okay with them being only friends—anything that doesnʼt ruin what theyʼve already built.

“Iʼll pass”, he finally says and heʼs met with five disappointed gazes. They can be disappointed now but they will forget about it as soon as they sober up, right?

“Iʼve never pegged you as a coward.”

Of course itʼs Buck who says this sentence. Eddie looks at him and regrets it. Buckʼs smirking and thereʼs challenge in his eyes. Eddie knows this look by now because itʼs not the first time Buck makes him do something stupid and reckless.

“Fine, Iʼm in”, he lets out a heavy sigh and rolls his eyes. He really needs to learn how to not take a bait from Buckley.

“Excellent!”, sings Sophia and the game begins.

—☾—

One hour later theyʼre more drunk and very, very giggly. Questions and tasks get more crazy and hilarious—but they donʼt back off and do everything with a smiles on their faces. Eddieʼs now sure he was completely wrong about the scheme until he decides to take dare instead of truth and itʼs Sophiaʼs turn to come up with the task.

“I dare you to... Kiss Buck!”

Eddie almost drops his bottle of beer. He mustʼve misheard this, right? Thereʼs no way Sophia wouldʼve done this. He looks at her and she doesnʼt shy away. “Should I repeat the dare?”, she asks instead, making very innocent face.

“No” comes out of his mouth and heʼs surprised how hoarse his voice is.

“Soph, I donʼt think this is a good idea”, he hears Buckʼs voice but he doesnʼt register the words. Then Buck turns around to face him and his eyes are filled with worry and concern but thereʼs something else. Maybe hope? Eddie doesnʼt know how to name it. “If youʼre not comfortable with it, then donʼt do it”, Buck says quietly.

“Are you? I mean, not comfortable?”, Eddie manages only to whisper. They donʼt notice that rest of their group is so quiet like theyʼre not even here. Once again theyʼre only focused on each other; somehow theyʼre so close to each other thereʼs barely a free space between them.

“I donʼt think Iʼd ever be uncomfortable with you kissing me”, Buck simply states and itʼs everything Eddie needs to hear. He closes the space between them and kisses him. Firstly, itʼs very tentative—like Eddieʼs still not sure if itʼs the things his best friend wants. But Buck isnʼt the one to chicken out. He grabs him by the collar of his shirt and brings him closer as he deepens the kiss. It quickly becomes more heated—Eddie moans softly when Buck slides his tongue into his mouth. Buck pushes him slightly to be able to straddle him and they accidentally roll over abandoned beer bottle.

They break apart laughing and they finally notice that thereʼs nobody but them in the living room.

“Uh, when did they go out?”, asks Buck and Eddieʼs in awe when he sees his disheveled hair, swollen lips and pink-tinted cheeks. Itʼs amazing look on him, he thinks.

“I donʼt care”, he says and grins mischievously. “Maybe our sisters were right to meddle because Iʼm pretty sure that was their intention.”

“Thank God they did that because you would never kiss, wouldnʼt you?”, mocks Buck but heʼs quickly silenced by another kiss.

Maybe sometimes having sisters isnʼt that bad.

Find it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30619118

[spencervoid]

Practical Joke War | Spencer Reid

*I do not own the gif nor do I take credit for it!*

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

A/N: My first ever post, and it’s a lovely Dr Reid imagine so who wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m not an expert at writing but I’ve had a go at some that I keep to myself so I thought I’d share it with the fascinating world of Tumblr. I don’t have an IQ of 187 or an eidetic memory but what I do have is a massive crush on a fictional character. An incredibly unhealthy one, but hope you enjoy!

I/B: This imagine was inspired by Morgan & Reid’s practical joke war which I absolutely LIVE FOR and just twisted it to fit all your fantasising needs, I don’t own Criminal Minds or the actors in it (I wish haha).

Warnings: swearing (only like one word)

Word Count: 1.1k (reading time; 7-8 minutes average)

As you sighed frustratingly, pulling your latex gloves over your hands, you watched JJ as she looked around the room, trying to piece together how it happened. She examined the victim, the same marks and cuts across the body as the victim before. 

You stepped closer to the bed and followed the blood from the sheets to the floor where the victim was dragged, begging for his life at that point. “Hotch believes he’s sadistic, takes pleasure in killing because he has a reason to be doing it. Or at least thinks he does.” 

You turned to look behind your shoulder as you heard the door creak open, the team’s genius strolling in with a smirk on his face as he pulled his gloves on. “What’s up with you?” He met your eyes as you furrowed your brows, taking in his expression. “Hmm? Nothing.” 

“Probably found a new mistake in one of the Star Trek movies.” 

You grinned, hearing JJ from the other side of the room who was inspecting the closet doors. Reid walked further into the room, rolling his eyes. 

"Actually, there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors."

You and JJ both paused for a minute, awkwardly replying to Spencer’s burst of words. “Right.” You shook your head, asking about the press him and Rossi had just dealt with outside. 

“It was alright.” You couldn’t help but think he was onto to something but rid your mind of the thought as the three of you continued conversing between yourselves about the case.

Continually through the day, your phone kept ringing and buzzing from all the different media outlets in the state. “What the hell?”, you muttered to yourself, declining the billionth call of the day. You stood with Morgan, Rossi, Reid and Hotch, discussing the nature of the unsub.

“And the unsub didn’t develop his sense of empathy because it was cut off.” You muttered a curse word underneath your breath as you took out your phone, another media outlet ringing you. Seriously, how the hell did they even get my number? You pressed the red button, planting the phone back into your trouser pocket. 

Hotch looked up at you, “Does every person with asymbolia have this?” You took a quick deep breath, regaining your calmness as you looked to the other four who were waiting for your response. “Actually most feel empathy just fine which makes me think that the rest of our profile is still accurate, loner, invisible, outcast, boiling rage-” You trailed off with your words as yet another buzzing noise came from your phone. 

“SON OF A BITCH!” You aggressively yanked the phone out of your pocket and accepted the call, bringing it briskly to your ear. “HI, THIS IS SPECIAL AGENT Y/N Y/L/N. I ACTUALLY CAN COME TO THE PHONE RIGHT NOW WITH A VERY SPECIAL MESSAGE THAT YOUR MOTHER IS A T-”

You were cut off by a firm voice as you ended the call and apologised for your outburst, “I don’t know what came over me, where were we?” You looked up at Reid as he was speaking, your eyes narrowing, remembering the events earlier that day when he’d walked in with a smirk on his face. 

You ran a hand down your face, hearing Hotch speak up again. “I’ll have Garcia check medical records, uh what causes asymbolia?” You paused for a moment, studying Hotch’s face then looking at Spencer who met your eyes for a second but looked away with a knowing smile on his face. Spencer Walter Reid, you clever pain in the backside. 

“S-Severe trauma produces legions in the insular cortex usually after a.. a stroke but this unsub’s so young, it’s most likely caused by an external factor.” You looked Spencer up and down, trying to piece together what was happening in your head but in front of you too. 

He rubbed his face in an attempt to hide the small smile planted on his lips but you saw right through his little façade. “Like a bomb going off next to him?” You looked at Rossi as he finished his sentence, and nodded in an agreeing manner. “Yeah, like a bomb going off next to him.” You glared deliberately at Reid as he tried to contain his smile. Morgan chuckled as you shook your head, Hotch walking away, tapping numbers into his cell. 

You gathered the papers on your desk, muttering to no one in particular. “I will crush you.” There was a silent pause as you reached to the far end of the table, grabbing the folder. “What?” 

“What?” You smiled sweetly at Reid, walking away in the same direction as Hotch, a mischievous smile hanging about your lips. 

On the plane ride back, you sat opposite Reid with Rossi next to him and Morgan next to you. Who knew a little free time could make for one spectacular comeback? Hair flip. 

You pretended to be asleep, resting your head on your hand, snoring quietly. Spencer had his headphones on as he looked out the window, occasionally looking over at you, smiling when recalling the day’s events. You shifted as you heard the podcast come to a halt, your voice coming to life but remained ‘asleep’. 

‘We interrupt your regularly scheduled podcast selection with an important announcement. Never wage a practical joke war against an Academy graduate because we have a history of going nuclear. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the dulcet sounds of me screaming in your ear. AHHHHHH.....’

You chuckled softly but kept your eyes closed.

Spencer pulled off his headphones quickly and sighed, looking at you with his eyes narrowed. He shook his head and looked over at Morgan who had an eyebrow raised at the sudden screaming coming from his MP3 player. 

“Alright Y/L/N, bring it on.” 

“Paybacks are a bitch.” Morgan laughed next to you as you just went back to snoring, remaining sound asleep.

[marvel-lucy]

The Ultimate Weapon, chapter 11

Oh god, I tried to be fluffy...

Today was the day. I woke up early, my heart racing already. I hit the gym straight away, desperate to burn off some of the adrenaline that was flooding my system, to wear myself out. After two hours training, dawn was only just breaking, it was going to be a long day. After a shower, I stared at myself defiantly in the mirror. My hair was growing out and my teeth were fixed now. Some parts of my face looked normal, but my eyes were wide, showing my fear. I could do this, I could do this, I kept repeating to myself. This was the most terrifying challenge I had had in all the years. Let me fight an army of crazed aliens high on blood lust. Let me run through exploding buildings. Anything but this.

Today, I was going to spend a ‘nice day with the team’. I shuddered again at the sound of Steve saying those words, and begged for a swift death.

After Steve and Bruce had confronted me about becoming part of the team, they’d set about trying to help, but with little success. They asked me to eat in the communal areas with them, but sighed when I took my plate into one corner and ate alone while staring at Hydra data. They’d asked me to come and hang out but seeing me sitting bolt upright on a chair in the corner was apparently off-putting, so they’d decided to force me to engage. I was still unsure about the need for this – why couldn’t we just get on with the mission – but I didn’t understand then their ulterior motives, plus I was terrified of letting my guard down. What they didn’t realise was that during communal meals I sat staring at my screen unseeing, listening to their conversations and desperate to join in. When they hung out in the evenings, I sat gripping my chair trying not to run away when I found myself smiling at a joke, or worse, gazing at Bucky that little bit too long. I was still terrified that if I gave in to my humanity, I wouldn’t be able to survive the guilt and hurt.

So Steve had planned today – the first of many, he threatened. I had to give in to what they were doing, no matter what, and then actually talk about what I was feeling. I’d actually made a joke at that, saying this was worse than all Hydra’s worst tortures, which had made Tony chuckle, but then I felt a wave of guilt that I was making light of all the deaths I’d caused.

So I knew that at 7am, I was scheduled for a ‘team breakfast’ and that Steve was going to show me how to make pancakes for everyone. Oh god, why couldn’t Hydra attack now? Then at 8am, I was due for a counselling session – the first of many, again – with Sam. He wanted to talk to me about survivor’s guilt, and about hope. Was there time to break one of the windows and throw myself off Stark Tower? The rest of the day involved a proper haircut, more cooking, a film show, testing my agoraphobia with a walk in the roof garden (aha, definitely a chance to jump there?) and then a big team dinner, with everyone. Tony had even said that some of the lesser-seen Avengers and their friends were coming – Pepper, who I’d met once or twice, Clint, Thor. Oh god. Tony said he thought I should get incredibly drunk and do karaoke because ‘once you’ve sung to us, you can never feel shame again Moley’ (he still called me that, I was starting to get used to it. Something about Tony made you forgive him most things while also fantasising about strangling him slowly). Steve and Tony had then starting quarrelling about whether getting drunk was such a good idea, and when I heard Tony say ‘what, she and Buck can sing and make dreamy eyes at each other’, I turned and walked out very, very fast. I’d tried so hard to not look at Bucky these last few weeks, I’d gone out of my way to avoid him in fact, but it sounded as if I wasn’t doing well. I had no desire to make dreamy eyes at him, but I still felt drawn to him. He understood the turmoil I was feeling, and since the way he’d cared for me when my memories had returned, I’d had to resist the urge to be near him again. At the time I’d been so lost in my own pain that I had barely noticed him looking after me, but since then I’d started to remember the way he’d carefully lifted me out of the shower and the feeling of his skin against mine; the way he’d made me laugh. Damn it, I’d also started watching him when I thought no one could see, the easy friendship he had with Steve, the way he and Sam would bicker at each other until they both started laughing. His respect for Bruce and his eye rolling at Tony. He was part of the team, more than that, he was a friend to these people, despite what he’d been through and what he’d done. When I saw him once jump over the back of a sofa to wriggle between Steve and Nat to watch a film, putting his arm around both and giving them both sloppy kisses on their cheeks, earning a yell from Steve and a death threat from Nat, then settling down happily to watch the film with them, laughing and stealing popcorn, I had to leave the room hurriedly. They’d accepted him, and he’d accepted himself. Despite everything, he’d found a home and a family. I’d started to want that but I had no idea how I could get there. The voices in my head – the remains of all that Hydra ‘training’ - told me that I couldn’t get there, that Bucky was welcome because of his friendship with Steve, that nobody wanted me there and I believed them. I tried to focus more on the mission but the thought of going out and killing, destroying, that just made me feel even more separate from everyone else. They couldn’t want to know someone who was so intent on killing, so intent on doing everything Hydra had trained her to be.

So here we were though. It was nearly 7 now. I’d done two hours in the gym, showered, dressed. I steeled myself, took a deep breath, and went to make pancakes.

Turns out, I am not good at making pancakes. The team had stood around in the vast kitchen chatting while I focussed on the mission. Eggs, flour, milk, whisking, pan. I could do this. Tony snorted and said I looked deadly as I glowered at the mixture I was whisking, and Nat pointed out that in the right hands, anything was a weapon. I muttered ‘want me to show you what I can do with this whisk, Stark?’ and glared at him, earning a laugh from Steve as Tony backed out of the kitchen, hands up.

I followed Steve’s instructions to the letter, poured the mix into the pan, waited… then carefully slid the blackened lump straight into the bin. And the next one. After my third attempt, I carefully put the pan back down, picked up a fruit bowl nearby and set it on the dining table, then said ‘pancakes are off. Have fruit’, then sulkily flung myself down in a chair. The team burst out laughing and I felt my mouth quirk at the edges, then sighed, and smiled. Nat nudged me and said ‘told you anything could be a weapon – even your cooking’ and I slowly let my head fall so it was resting on the table and groaned. Steve made everyone pancakes after that, and I ate mine slowly, watching the easy way everyone chatted and laughed. I was included and it felt so good, but then I thought about what was coming next and my stomach clenched.

8am and I was pacing the corridor outside one of the Tower’s private offices. I’d braced myself to knock twice but couldn’t bring myself to do it, when Jarvis spoke: ‘Mr Wilson says you may just walk in, Miss Ruby’. Another deep breath and I opened the door.

We ended up talking for two hours. Sam in his role as counsellor was subtly different from Sam-As-Sam. Still kind, thoughtful, funny, but even more patient and gentler than normal. I’d sat in silence for a long time when I’d entered, then blurted out ‘I really don’t know what I’m doing here, there’s nothing I can say or you can say that can change the past’ and he’d nodded. ‘No, we can’t change the past. We might be able to find way to look at it differently so that you can find a future though’. I blinked heavily, I was the one with mind powers but maybe I’d been too obvious about how much I wanted a future, and how much I didn’t believe in one. ‘You’re weighed down by what’s happened, anyone would be, that’s OK. But you’re going to live a long time. Maybe we can find a way to see what’s happened in a different light, so that you can feel you have the right to be happy?’

He was good, I will say that. For two hours we talked, not in great depth as this was just the first session, but I think he found out a lot more about me than I realised I’d said. We talked about the loneliness of being without a family. Guilt about the loss of my family, guilt about what I’d done to other people. About the anger that drove me and the need to find a different motivation. We talked about my feelings of worthlessness, about feeling that nobody could accept a murderer, a torture victim. We touched on survivor’s guilt – how could I deserve to live? We mentioned the lost years, how I’d gone from a child to an adult without guidance or love. Inside I still felt like a 14-year-old and yet I was an adult, and one who’d been through so much. He mentioned PTSD and I said I’d look at it later. Then towards the end, he said ‘you know, we like you. You may not like yourself, and you may think we’re wrong, but we do. You’ve been through hell, no one’s denying it, but we want you here. You have as much right as anyone else in the world to be happy’. He looked at me as tears came rushing to my eyes and without speaking, I stood up and blundered out of the room. I’d need to apologise for that later, but right now I felt overwhelmed. I rushed to the elevator and asked for my floor, then ran for my room and flung myself into my safe corner where I just sat and cried, overcome with all the emotions that had been stirred up

Sam must have alerted Bucky because all of a sudden, I felt someone sit down beside me and wrap strong arms around me. I could no more have held back than I could have resisted Hydra’s torture all those years. I was just a kid, in some ways, and I needed help. I buried my head in Bucky’s chest and sobbed. He didn’t speak, just kept his arms around me, his cheek resting on my hair, until the tears dried up. I took a deep shaky breath and without moving my head said ‘I’m sorry Buck. That was pathetic, right?’ I was so afraid of being judged that it was easier to get in there first.

I felt him kiss the top of my head and squeeze me. ‘You’re a jerk, you know kid?’ he said. ‘You think you have to be stronger than anyone, that you can’t ever show how shit things are. You don’t realise that everyone in this damn Tower is desperate to help you, if you let them. I know, I know, you’re afraid to show weakness, I do understand. And let me guess, you’re afraid to care about people because you don’t want to end up hurting them? Oh and let’s not forget you think no one could ever like someone as terrible as you right?’ I looked up at him, he was giving me a half smile. ‘Nope, Wanda hasn’t taught me how to get in your mind. Just telling you how I’ve felt for years. Btu I had to start accepting that I was wrong. So do you. You don’t think I cried a lot when I got back? Jeez, Steve used to mop me up on a daily basis!’

He gave me another squeeze. ‘Kid, we will take down Hydra. We will. Maybe not as fast as you’d like, but we will. Then what? You’re only a kid and you’ve got a serum-enhanced life span. Once Hydra's gone, there’s got to be something more. So let’s work on that OK?’

I nodded and started to withdraw from him, embarrassed by how I’d clung on despite what he’d said, but he pulled me back in for a longer hug and we sat there until my breathing settled down. I could have fallen asleep I was so relaxed but I didn’t want to hold him up, although I didn’t want to let go either. Eventually he said ‘right, you need to wash your face and get ready for the next horror Steve has arranged for you’. He grinned and let me up. ‘What is it next?’

I thought for a second then my shoulder’s slumped in resignation. ‘A hair cut’ I sighed. ‘Well thank God, that do is an affront to the eyes kiddo’ he said as he stood up. ‘See you upstairs, I wouldn’t miss this for the world’ he said, kissing me on the forehead, and left.

I washed my face, knowing that I’d be unable to hide my red eyes, although there seemed to be nothing secret in this place, and then went back up to the living area. Sam’s words and Bucky’s words felt like little glimmers of hope, ones I didn’t dare look at too closely in case they faded away.

[flowesona]

Saviours - Yandere! Taehyung x reader x Yandere! Namjoon

The Anarchy AU

All remained of the formerly great city was a labyrinth of traps. Every square inch was ‘owned’ by some gang, and in order to survive one had to always be on their toes. (Y/N) had barely survived an ambush by a gang that had left her friends dead, and even by escaping with nimble feet she was not safe.

 The young woman barely had time to catch her breath as she ducked into an abandoned office building. The loud yells outside almost made her whimper but she couldn’t afford to give her location away. Instead, she swallowed her fear and began to shuffle towards the stairs, cautiously staring behind her with one hand still clutching the awl she’d scavenged. Once she reached the stairs she scampered up them without a second thought.

 However, just as she thought she was safe from the bandits she was met with a shotgun nuzzle to the face. She immediately held her hands up in surrender.

 “Please, I’m just trying to escape the bandits outside. They’re going to kill me!” (Y/N) whimpered, tearing starting to build up in her eyes. Her assailant visibly softened, beckoning her up the stairs but keeping the shotgun trained on her.

 The sight of a group of men sat around a table with a map in front of them did nothing to ease the young girl’s terror as she was lightly pushed towards them.

 “They’ll have some back up in two days so if we can- who’s this, Tae?” The man stood at the head of the table broke away from his speech to look at (Y/N), stood trembling a few feet away from them.

 “She’s a refugee. Target of the Sloggers.” The other man responded, lowering his weapon as he kept a constant eye on her from the doorway.

 “Are you okay?” One of the seated men asked, offering her the first sign of genuine kindness she’d seen ever since the crisis began.

 “I-I-I..” (Y/N) couldn’t even manage to string a sentence together, her fear swarming her brain.

 “Hey, you’re safe now. No need to worry.” The man said, standing up and walking over to take her by the shoulder and lead her to a seat.

 “What’s her name?” The leader asked ‘Tae’, who shrugged.

 He took the opportunity to approach her, stretching out his hand.

 “Kim Namjoon. I’m the leader of this group. We call ourselves BTS.” (Y/N) nodded and swallowed.

 “It’s just like Hoseok said. You’re safe, we can protect you.” Namjoon smiled, maintaining deep eye contact with her. When she nodded and gave him the best smile she could muster in return, he knew he’d found the saving grace to the destruction of civilisation.

                                          »»———————►

 She had never expected to find such kindness in the apocalypse. Yet this group of men showed her such daring sympathy that she almost felt safe, as if nothing was happening.

But (Y/N) felt most at peace when she was around Hoseok - he never failed to make her smile, even through the littlest things like checking if she had her gas mask with her when they went outside, or offering her his blanket whenever she had to be on lookout duty. The way that he treated her with such kindness and gave her that ten thousand kilowatt smile was inspiring for her faith in what remained of humanity.

 However, the young woman had remained ignorant to the other people pining after her. Taehyung was starting to become bitter about how she clung to the youngest member even when he was close by, how she rarely accepted his kind offers to keep her warm. It was inconceivable to him that he’d been the one that had taken her in, yet she ignored him in favour of the sunshine boy. 

He’d expressed his frustration to their leader, who was similarly peeved at the relationship between Hoseok and (Y/N), or any of the other members. Jealousy had begun to boil in the two men, yet their mutual development of an obsession for her kept them from attacking each other, instead forming an unofficial alliance.

                                          »»———————►

 “We’re splitting into two teams of three. You’ll be with me and Tae, (Y/N). Are you okay with that?” The young girl nodded confidently.

 “I’ve gotten better at defending myself. You don’t have to worry about me slowing you down.” Namjoon exchanged a look with Taehyung - almost a grimace.

 “We’ll only be 40 minutes behind. We’ll rendezvous at the new quarters.” He explained. “Leave the fighting to everyone else.”

 It was more difficult to say goodbye to Hoseok than she thought. Even though it was only for a short amount of time, the anxiety that she could lose him plagued her. He eased her worrying with a kiss, promising that he would stay alive, just for her.

                                          »»———————►

 (Y/N) noted that her companions were more tense than usual as they followed the set trail, but she simply marked this down as the same worrying as her. Even as everything was going according to plan she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

 That feeling of dread only worsened when she realised that they hadn’t been in contact with the others for a while. She tried bringing this up with Namjoon but he dismissed it easily, offering her his hand in case she was scared. She took it to convince herself she was safe, but it just wasn’t the same as when Hoseok would comfort her.

 They arrived at their destination, but it was seemingly desolated.

 “Where are they…” (Y/N) asked rhetorically, not noticing the way Namjoon had tightened his grip slightly and Taehyung seemed strangely calm. 

 A bloodied Hoseok staggering into sight was clear enough evidence that something horribly wrong had happened.

 “They attacked us Joon. It’s like they were waiting for us! They killed everyone else, I just managed to pretend-” (Y/N) raced forward to take him in her arms, to care for him like he had for her on so many nights but she was held back by the firm grasp of Namjoon. He tugged her backwards, capturing both her arms behind her as he nodded at Taehyung.

 Said man raised his gun to Hoseok’s forehead.

 “Incompetent fools couldn’t even get rid of the one we needed dead the most.” Taehyung growled, cocking the gun. Hoseok paled, shocked into silence by the apathy behind the eyes of men he considered to be his friends.

 “Hobi!” (Y/N) struggled against Namjoon’s hold, terrified to no end at the sight before her. “What’s happening? Please, what are you doing Taehyung?”

 “Shhh.” Namjoon placed a hand over (Y/N)’s mouth and nodded at his partner. “Take care of him for us.”

 Hoseok’s eyes darted towards (Y/N), and then back at the gun pressed to his forehead. In a split second he grabbed Taehyung’s arm and started to wrestle the handgun out of his grasp. The younger man hissed as he was shoved to the ground, the hard concrete scraping his skin as he struggled to dominate over his victim.

 “Get (Y/N) out of here, hyung. I can deal with him.” He growled, straddling Hoseok’s chest and breathing heavily. (Y/N) had almost forgotten about her own predicament when caught up with the sight of her beloved fighting for his life.

 She bit into Namjoon’s hand, trying to release his grip but he was unflinching, digging the afflicted hand into his pocket to search for something whilst his other hand still held her captive, nails digging into the skin.

 The click of a gun and a pained grunt distracted her, the sound ringing in her ears as she looked at Hoseok helplessly. Trapped under the weight of his former friend with a gun pressed against his forehead, all he could do when he met (Y/N)’s fearful gaze was give her a comforting smile and whisper that he loved her. Just in time for her to feel a pinch in her neck, a cool flow of chemicals numbing her senses.

 The last thing she heard before being swallowed by emptiness was the crack of a gunshot.

                                          »»———————►

 Namjoon was sure to be delicate with her body as he carried her away from the sight of the carnage. He took advantage of her weak state to hold her closer than he’d ever been able to before, smiling contently at the way her head felt like it was meant to be rested against his chest.

 With that he entered the building, the scent of blood and gunpowder was a somewhat comforting reminder that things had gone to plan. Being able to cradle his beloved to his chest was enough for him to say the killing the people he had grown close to was worth it, as much as it had tugged at his heart to see Hoseok die in front of him. There was still one part of his mind that whispered to him that he hadn’t done enough - what if Taehyung were to betray him and steal his beloved away?

 However, all of those thoughts were easy to vanquish when he met with the younger man, who was splattered with more blood than he’d ever seen before.

 “Doubt he could be alive with that many wounds.” He breathed. He looked down at the girl cuddled into Namjoon’s chest, a warm smile spreading over his face.

 “How is she?”

 “Out like a light. We should’ve shown Yoongi some mercy as a thanks but I guess it’s too late for that.” Namjoon smirked.

 “He was too close with (Y/N) for my liking.” Taehyung’s attention was drawn back to the unconscious girl.

 “Give her here. You can be lookout for once.” He commanded, and with the pure insanity swirling in his eyes Namjoon was smart enough to concede, making sure she was well supported in his arms before leaving the two.

                     »»———————►

 Taehyung had dreamt of this moment ever since he’d seen her that day, trembling in front of him. Every night had been spent fantasising about holding her close, kissing her gently yet with all his passion, making love to her as if no one else could. Of course, he had to share, but he could win her over and make sure she loved him just a bit more than Namjoon.

 He laid her down on the hotel bed, dusting the cover off so that she wouldn’t start sneezing. He then seated himself beside her, pulling her over so that she rested over his lap, stroking her hair gently and letting it soothe him out of the adrenaline from the massacre.

 The radio in his back pocket crackled to life, a message from his partner ringing out yet the young man didn’t bother to respond, setting it down under the bed before turning over to press himself against (Y/N)’s back, face buried into her neck as if she was his security blanket.

 He didn’t have to worry about losing her to anyone else. She only had them to love.

 [Part Two TBA]

[irelise]

the yew tree 3.2/3.4

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier to claim his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

Featuring mysteries, hidden agendas, a jealous and conflicted Erik, and a whole heap of master/servant tropes.

(the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

part one and two now on ao3!

beginning of part 3)

Warnings for this part: Referenced human experimentation, referenced sexual exploitation of children Rating: M Word count: 3984 Notes: the long overdue update is finally here! this is basically the end of the emotional arc of the story - the next update will probably be the last (unless i get impatient and split it into two) and will mainly tie up loose plot threads

It’s a beautiful day out in the grounds, golden sunlight and verdant greenery as far as the eye can see. In the distance, a lark trills as it ascends in flight.

An automobile idles in the driveway. It is sleek and black, its engine rumbling quietly like a great predator at rest.

The window rolls down. A powerful, thick-fingered hand beckons Charles forward.

“You’ll be good,” Uncle says. His face is half-hidden in shadow.

How do you know you’re doing the right thing?

Charles bows his head. “Of course, sir.”

The only way to stop him is to kill him.

“You remember our agreement. Our deal.”

You make it sound so easy.

“Yes, sir.”

It is.

***

Sunset. They’re to stay put until the dark of night, so the two of them are in Charles’ study now, the air so thick with tension that Charles rubs at his temples, resigning himself to a migraine. Not tonight, he prays. If all goes according to plan, everything will end tonight.

The clock ticks, the march of time slow, inexorable. Beside him, Erik stirs, crossing and uncrossing his long legs. There is a book propped open on his lap, but as Charles watches him, Erik’s eyes skim through the text without seeing, gaze flickering across the same line over and over again. His mind is a storm of questions, but it’s tempered by concern; Erik has resolved not to push Charles for answers before he’s ready, and he’s determined to stand by his decision even though curiosity is eating him alive.

Charles loves him very much at that moment.

One hour to go. He can’t delay any longer. Charles has made a promise and he doesn’t intend to go back on his word. Still, it doesn’t change the way his whole chest goes tight, shame and anxiety and fear making it difficult to breathe. His hands tremble as he shuts his book (he hadn’t read a single word these past few hours), and immediately Erik’s attention snaps to him.

Charles musters an unconvincing smile. “Let’s be going, shall we.”

Finally, Erik’s thoughts shout, but all he says is: “You sure you’re ready?”

“I don’t think I ever will be,” Charles tries to joke, but it falls flat, too honest to be funny. He shakes his head. “I’ll do what I must. Let’s go.”

He’s walked the path to the recital hall many, many times before, almost every single day of his life. But never before has he felt this mix of choking fear coupled with quiet, fragile hope.

The last time. Whatever happens, this is the last time he has to walk this path.

Erik’s mind sparks with the keen interest of a hunter as Charles pushes open the door to the hall. His sharp gaze sweeps through the room, cataloguing every detail. The small raised dais, open and exposed.  The rows of benches arranged in a circular pattern, allowing the hungry audience to watch the performance from every direction, every angle.

The bookshelves, each of them stuffed to the brim. Uncle had kept expanding the hall as his collection grew. Now the bookshelves are ordered in neat, dense rows, enough of them for a small library. Display cases of glass break up the monotony, proudly exhibiting intricate scrolls and illustrated texts.

Confusion creases Erik’s brow. “This is…” Just a normal room, his mind supplies.

If only.

And the thing is, Charles can keep up the deception. The trapdoor is right there. He can just lead Erik down to the lab, leaving this whole sorry chapter of his past behind him. Erik never has to know his shame. His weakness. He does not owe Erik this part of the truth; this has nothing to do with the lies he had told concerning Shaw.

But – and Charles doesn’t wholly understand it himself – some part of him wants Erik, someone, anyone to know the truth. The whole truth. He’s lived with the lies and the silence for too long.

He wants – he hopes – for Erik to understand.

But what if he doesn’t? Or, worse, what if every time Erik looks at him from now on, he only sees a victim? Someone weak, someone piti–

“Charles?”

Erik’s voice jolts him from his thoughts. Erik is watching him with a frown. He wants to demand answers, Charles can sense it, but the greater part of his thoughts is preoccupied with concern for Charles.

Charles takes a deep breath, licking dry lips. He can’t look at Erik.

“The bookshelves. Just. See for yourself.”

Erik’s footsteps are soft as he picks his way across the hall. Charles closes his eyes, building up the barriers around his mind. Already he regrets his decision.

Paper rustles.

Then–

Shock. It pierces clean through Charles’ mental defences, and Charles freezes like a child caught eavesdropping. He can hear the turning of pages again, loud and quick, a noise like a panicked bird beating its wings.

Erik tosses the book away. It thumps against the ground. He rips open another book, flicking through the pages so rapidly that Charles can hear it as a snap-snap, snap-snap, the crack of the whip, the breaking of bones.

“Charles. What is this.”

He cannot answer. Charles stares at the ground, waiting for Erik’s scorn. His eyes burn.

“Charles!”

He shakes his head.

From far away, he hears the ragged exhale of Erik’s breath. “You. All this time. Every single time you went to read for him, every single day… I, that time I forced you into that costume…”

All his usual eloquence had deserted Charles. He closes his eyes, mute, and Erik lets out a snarl, fury battering against Charles’ shields.

“How long?” Erik demands. “How long has he– When did this start?”

“I was six,” his voice sounds so quiet, nothing like himself at all, “from memory. It was shortly after I first arrived here. I…”

His voice cracks. He swallows, rubbing at his eyes, a childish habit he can’t seem to break. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t– I didn’t know how to say no. You must think me so–”

Charles jumps as Erik suddenly moves, arm sweeping out to send the row of books tumbling to the floor in a series of sickening thuds. They lie there like dead, broken things, pages bent and crumpled, covers askew. He catches a glimpse of a half-torn ink drawing, the legs ripped apart.

“Erik?”

The whole room trembles. Wood splinters, the nails that hold the bookshelf together rattling and warping. The whole thing comes apart with a clatter, rows and rows of books falling to the floor, the wooden frame tumbling down to crush them. Charles stares uncomprehendingly at their broken-spined forms. He almost feels like he’s one of them, lying helplessly on the ground as Erik pulls the world apart right around his ears.

Silver flashes through the air: metal, responding to Erik’s command. Veins bulge from the back of his hand as he clenches it into a fist, and the metal soars in deadly arcs across the bookshelves, scything across wood and paper alike.

Pages flutter to the ground. Another bookshelf trembles, coming apart with a groan and sending a cascade of books spilling across the floor. Almost in a dream, Charles stoops to pick one of them up, only for Erik to snatch it out of his hands and throws it back onto the pile. “Never again,” he says harshly, but the words seem to slip out of Charles’ dazed mind the instant he hears them. He can only watch, still uncomprehending, as Erik steps contemptuously over the pile, crushing the delicate pages beneath his shoes.

Another crash. Something falls: an inkwell, splattering black stains across the fallen volumes.

Erik is pausing, one of the exposed pages catching his eye: …if anyone desires to use you in any manner whatsoever, he will use you…

Fury. Charles’ mental shields crack.

Erik, on the ground, blades of metal ripping through the pages.

A scattering of red. Ink? Blood? Charles makes a small noise – Erik shouldn’t hurt himself, not over this – but it’s swallowed up by the tearing of parchment as Erik rips apart a stack of papers, trampling them underfoot.

One of the glass cases shatters, its metal frame warping. Crystalline shards slice through the scroll on display. It’s one of Uncle’s favourites, a depiction of a woodland hunt, the baying hounds immortalised in ink, the fleeing boy naked and half-mad with fear.

All gone now. The ragged, ruined edges of the parchment burn in Charles’ mind.

Another shelf topples. The very bones of the house seem to shake with the force of Erik’s rage, a red tide that crashes over Charles’ mind.

Strange. He doesn’t fear it, not like the way he fears Uncle’s red thoughts.

Something hard shifts under Charles’ foot. His heart skips a nervous beat when he realizes he had just stepped on one of Uncle’s books. Instinct takes over and Charles flinches away – he remembers this book, remembers being twelve and sitting on the dais and reading it aloud as every single man in the audience fantasised about raping him – and he jumps at another thunderous crash as Erik takes an armful of books and dashes them all against the ground.

He’s never seen such deadly focus in Erik’s eyes before.

Never again.

Gingerly, his heart pounding, Charles nudges at the book with his foot, pushing it beneath the growing pile of rubble. He’ll never have to see it again. He’ll never see any of this again.

The mad racing of his pulse doesn’t slow, but with that first little act of defiance, some of the fog around his head lifts. Although he still can’t bring himself to speak, Charles scrapes together enough courage to touch Erik lightly on the elbow, guiding him to the back of the room where a discreet false wall swings open to reveal an alcove filled with accoutrements Uncle likes to keep on hand: racks of wood and metal – the sort perfect for tying a small, unwilling body to – and long braided whips, silken ropes and the faceless mannequin Uncle had liked to see him straddle.

Erik destroys all of it. Charles stares at the twisted metal, the shattered wood, hardly daring to breathe, hardly daring to believe. In a daze he leads Erik to the trapdoor, only dimly aware of the devastation Erik leaves in their wake.

Down the stairs they go, the cold darkness broken by Erik’s churning anger and disbelief. All this time, how could I not have known…

The steel door, heavy and forbidding. Erik wrenches it apart with nothing but a flick of his wrist.

Electricity sparks. The entire bunker rumbles ominously, but Charles feels no fear; a first, considering his usual experiences in this place. He’s curiously calm as he watches Erik plant his feet against the ground and raise his arms.

The humming of Erik’s power grows, rising to a crescendo. Charles’ breath catches in wonder as every single piece of metal in the room shudders, then floats, effortlessly borne aloft by Erik’s power. There must be enough metal there to build a warship, but Erik lifts it all without a hint of strain, the look of focus on his face absolute and intense.

Then, with a defiant shriek that shakes the very foundations of the mansion, all the metal in the room crumples. The cabinets and the machinery, the cruel surgical tools – all rendered harmless in an instant.

The silence that follows is deafening. Standing in the middle of the wreckage, Charles gazes at the remnants of the only life – the only home – he had ever known.

Erik turns to face him. Under the stark white lights of the ruined laboratory, his eyes blaze. “I’ll kill him,” he vows, fierce. “He’ll never hurt you again.”

Charles blinks. The fog blanketing his head stirs sluggishly. “I… I don’t…”

“We’ll wait for him to come back from his trip. Forget Shaw – we’ll deal with this first.”

“Erik.” Charles finds his voice again, the fog around his head burning away. “Stop.”

Erik whirls around to face him, fury and disbelief twisting his face into that of a stranger’s. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to let him go. Marko needs to die.” His hand sweeps out, gesturing at the twisted wreckage of the room. “After everything he’s done – all he’s done to you! You can’t walk away from this, Charles. You need to take revenge.”

It feels like they’ve had this conversation before, arguing in circles. “I don’t want his death and I don’t want revenge. I only want to ensure he never does the same thing to anybody else.”

“Killing him does the same thing.”

“I don’t want revenge!” Charles repeats in a snap, heat flaring in his chest. Some days he thinks he spends his entire life shouting into a void, unheard, all his words futile. “Enough, Erik. Please.”

He’s spent his whole life being bent to serve Uncle’s will. He doesn’t think he can bear it if Erik turns out to be the same.

Perhaps Erik sees some of his thoughts on Charles’ face. Charles doesn’t know; he’s still too much a coward to delve into Erik’s mind again, too fearful of the possibility that he may be faced with Erik’s scorn and pity. Whatever the case, Erik softens, but his eyes lose none of their intensity. “We can’t let him walk free. You know that.”

“Yes, of course.” But what can he do? Restless, Charles begins to pace down the length of the room. Some of that dream-like haze returns, but Charles forcefully shoves it away – no time for that, he can process his shock later, lock it away and toss away the key. Right now, Erik is waiting for him to come up with a plan. Charles can feel his eyes boring into his back as he walks, fingertips trailing against ruined fixtures and crumpled shelving, the physical evidence of Erik’s fierce anger.

Anger. For him. On his behalf. Even now, Charles can feel it brushing against his shields, a thundering roll of righteous fury, and there’s something else–

Protectiveness, Charles realises, with no small amount of awe. Despite everything, Erik still cares about him.

He cannot – will not ­– let Erik down.

Charles takes a deep breath, centering himself. Erik is right; Uncle must be dealt with, but how? Charles’ mind turns to the principles he had clung to all his life, to his belief in knowledge and education and communication, but the thought of talking to Uncle is so ludicrous that he almost laughs. No, Uncle will never listen to him.

Is there truly no other way? Charles refuses to accept that. His eyes scan the room, searching for a solution.

A pile of battered folders lies in his path, Uncle’s notes spilling onto the ground. Picking up one of the files, Charles flicks it open, carefully locking away the revulsion stirred up by memories of all those experiments. Uncle had never shared the results with him before. Now, Charles frowns at the jumble of numbers and graphs, trying to wrestle them into some semblance of sense. There’s so much information here, and this is only one file out of hundreds from the years Uncle had spent studying his telepathy – how much had he discovered that Charles knows nothing about?

Charles closes the file with a decisive snap. He bends, beginning the laborious task of stacking all the remaining folders into a neat pile. “Erik, help me gather all the files you can find.”

Erik’s discontent rubs against his mind like prickling static. “I hope you’re planning to destroy them.”

“No, I’m going to use them.” Charles responds evenly.  “Despite their…origins, by all rights they should belong to me.”

“They’re the product of human experiments. Human cruelties. You don’t need them, Charles.”

How to explain this? Erik is striding up to him, footsteps quick and angry, and Charles meets his eyes without flinching. “You of all people should understand the concept of using the enemy’s own tools against them. The research exists already. Destroying it would be a waste when we can channel it towards something more productive.”

“Such as?”

Charles brushes his fingers across the back of the battered folder, all its crinkles and imperfections rough under his fingertips. “I… If I’m to live away from here, in the outside world, I need to master my telepathy. I’ve been afraid of it for far too long. These files, all the files in this lab, they contain the details of every single experiment my uncle has ever run on me and every other mutant that has passed through these doors. Our powers, our genetics, our biology, our health…” A plan is beginning to coalesce in his mind. He’ll reclaim everything Uncle has ever taken from him; he’ll take all of Uncle’s twisted research and use it for good. “We can use this knowledge to help our people.”

Erik isn’t convinced, that much is clear, but neither does he make any move to stop Charles. “The files will be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Then let’s make sure they stay in ours.”

His plan solidifies. Resolve settling into his bones, Charles takes a moment to savour how good it feels to finally, finally be sure he’s doing the right thing. He’ll gather every single scrap of Uncle’s notes with or without Erik’s help.

Erik must sense his conviction, because he exhales in that quiet way that Charles has come to recognize as Erik conceding a point.

“We’ll try it your way,” Erik says, but what Charles hears in his mind is: I trust you.

***

They don’t have much time left before their rendezvous with Shaw, and there are so many of Uncle’s notes to pack. It’s impossible to take them all; Charles does his best to pick out the important ones, trying to drown out the ticking of the clock, the movement of the wind and cloud-shadows outside his window. It’s already full dark. The gas lamp flickers as Charles pores over the notes and he rubs at his eyes, trying to will away the growing tightness in his chest.

After the third time he unpacks then repacks their luggage under the guise of rearranging the notes, Erik stops him with a light touch against his wrist. “You’re delaying.”

“I’m only being thorough,” Charles protests, although he knows the truth. “Shaw can wait a few minutes, this is too important to rush.”

“Charles. What’s wrong?”

Charles bites his lip, but, as always, he concedes that he owes Erik his honesty. “It’s nothing serious. It’s just, just rather difficult to believe this day has finally comes.”

Erik watches him, steady and intent. “You mean leaving the mansion?”

“I’ve never left, not since the day I first arrived,” Charles confesses. Automatically, his gaze goes to the window, but at that moment, the thought of the outside world is too much. His eyes skitters away, skin prickling hot and uncomfortable. “I thought I never would.”

“You’re afraid,” Erik observes. Charles braces himself for Erik’s judgement, but there’s not a whisper of that in Erik’s mind, just quiet, thoughtful concern.

“I suppose I am.” For all the time he’s spent living in other people’s heads, Charles has no idea what to expect for himself. What if he leaves only to realize he’s incapable of adapting to the outside world? What if he leaves only to realize that Uncle is right, that the only place for him is inside this mansion, inside Uncle’s reading room?

Unconsciously, his breathing quickens. Chest tight with frustration, Charles scrubs at his eyes, forcefully willing away the tell-tale prickle of heat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to delay us. Shall we go?”

He doesn’t get a response immediately. Erik’s mind is a steady hum of activity, picking out words and phrases only to discard them just as quickly; Charles doesn’t pry into the specifics. He stays carefully still as Erik moves closer, but he can’t help the startled exhale that leaves him when Erik’s warm hand cups his cheek, tilting his head so they face each other properly.

Erik’s pale eyes are grave, solemn with the heavy weight of promise. “You don’t have to do this alone, Charles.” His thumb brushes across Charles’ cheekbone, against the curve of his ear, startlingly gentle. “You’re leaving behind everything you’ve ever known. It might take some time for you to find your way, that’s only normal. I won’t abandon you to do it alone.”

“Erik…” It’s too good to be true. Charles blinks rapidly, trying to quell the rising, foolish hope that threatens to overtake him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, my friend. Don’t forget we still have our differences.”

“And we can work through them,” Erik insists. “Together.”

Erik’s mind burns with conviction – not a momentary blaze, but a conviction that entrenches itself into his mind with foundations of solid steel. He means it, Erik really does mean it, he’s going to stay…

Charles can’t help it; the hope and affection rushing through him needs an outlet. He stretches up to kiss Erik, swift and urgent – and just a touch uncertain – but then Erik cradles his face in calloused hands and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. For a long moment, they simply stand there, swaying against each other, Erik cupping Charles’ face and Charles’ arms wrapped around Erik’s shoulders, and the moment is just perfect, so perfect.

The chime of the clock interrupts them. Charles pulls away slowly, his reluctance mirrored in Erik’s eyes, but an unspoken understanding resonates between them. They need to put an end to this. Shaw, Marko – neither can be allowed to continue.

They leave his rooms, moving with purpose. Charles deftly nudges all attention away from them. The mansion is almost eerie in its emptiness as they walk through its lonely halls one last time, their footsteps swallowed by the carpet. All around them, the flickering gas lamps throw strange shadows against the wall as they walk, and Charles picks up the pace, pulse thudding in his chest. Soon.

Erik throws open the heavy front doors. The night air drifts into the mansion, cool and sweet with the first hints of spring.

“Are you ready?” Standing at the threshold, Erik looks ethereal – a spirit bathed in the spill of moonlight, silver threading against the crown of his head.

Icy doubt trickles down the back of Charles’ neck. It’s already far too late for second thoughts, but he can’t help it, all his old fears and insecurities rising in a sudden, crushing tide that constricts his throat and makes it difficult to breathe. “One moment,” he manages. God. Erik looks so untouchable like this.

He jumps as Erik’s hand closes around his, broad and warm and alive, calloused from a life spent working and fighting. Erik laces their fingers together and squeezes his hand.

“Look at me, Charles.”

Charles lifts his gaze. This is real. He’s real.

Erik is looking back at him, and the expression on his face is painfully gentle. Charles swallows down the lump in his throat. He doesn’t deserve this, not any of this, but it’s so hard to protest when he’s surrounded by the candlelit warmth of Erik’s mind, a quiet blanket of safety and acceptance settling around his shoulders.

“I won’t leave you,” Erik vows.

You’re not alone, his mind promises.

And, finally, Charles believes him. He nods. A smile breaks across Erik’s face, fierce and joyous, and he grips Charles’ hand with renewed strength.

They cross the threshold and step into the moonlit grounds. A lively breeze ruffles Charles’ hair, bringing with it the scent of new grass, the fresh growth of spring, the trill of a faraway nightingale.

Erik never once lets go of his hand. Together, side by side, they make their way past the boundary of the estate, leaving behind them the silver-dappled shadow of the yew tree.

(next part)

[liddelltilly]

Is that VIRGINIA GARDNER on campus? Oh no, that’s MATILDA LIDDELL. From DETROIT, MICHIGAN, the 20 year old has come to study CRIMINOLOGY. Rumor has it she is EMPATHETIC and LOYAL, but BROKEN and SELF-DESTRUCTIVE, which is why she is known as THE EMPATH. She resides in BROADVIEW and can’t wait to graduate.

{{ tw: murder/serial killer, attempted suicide, suicide - this gets real dark real fast FYI}}

Matilda Rose Liddell was born 28th February to Arthur Liddell and Daisy Liddell. Her dad is a crime author with a pretty popular series of novels under his belt when she was born and continuing to now. Her mum was a oncologist and one of the best in Michigan so it was fair to say that their family was well respected in the community. Her brother, Peter, was the person closest to Matilda as a kid. He was only a couple of years older than her but he’d do anything for her. It was a strong family unit. Even as a child, Matilda was quick to show her empathetic power. She could sympathise with anyone - even a crushed flower. People just believed she was just a sensitive kid until her level of empathy caught more attention to the point that her parents took her to therapy to try and work out why she was like this. This was when the therapist explained how she was a true empath. She could feel energy from others and she would absorb everyone else’s problems and try to help anyone. It was both her most powerful and most destructive trait. School wasn’t too difficult for Matilda in terms of actual work. She was smart. The only thing that would distract her was watching bullying happening to people around her. She would get drained by negative people that would made her exhausted very quickly but she did her best to try and help everyone around her. 

Going in to her teen years - from about the age of 16 - her brother seemed to change. He became very possessive of Matilda. He’d get aggressive if anyone was mean to her and if anyone liked her or showed any real interest in her, he’d wait until she wasn’t around and give them threats and warnings. It was around this time that she began getting bad feelings from her brother which would lead to stomach aches but she really wished her intuition was wrong for once. She really wanted to believe that these bad feelings were nothing to worry about. It was around this time that blonde haired and blue eyed girls began turning up strangled. They would be strangled by hand and a purple hyacinth would be stuffed in to their mouth. Matilda was following the news about the girls and quickly noticed the pattern that they looked similar to her which put her on alert that she was a potential victim. Her parents put a curfew on her to try and keep her safe. Her best friend, Jessica, also fit this description. In fact, many people believed the two girls were actually twins because of their similarity in looks and how close they actually were. Sadly, Jessica would be the last real victim of the hyacinth killer making her the sixth to be murdered. Matilda was grieving for her best friend which sent every vibe she got extra sensitive. It was a few days later when her brother came in to her room to check on her and make sure she was okay. He didn’t really say much but the second he left the room, she felt a gut wrenching feeling her stomach that something bad was about to happen and her stomach pains always seemed to link back to her brother. She walked out of her room to find him when she heard the gunshot. Matilda ran to her brother’s bedroom to find he had shot himself in the head. There was a suicide note in his hand which she didn’t bother to read instantly and shoved it in to her pocket. He, very luckily, still had a pulse and she quickly called an ambulance and told them what had happened. They arrived quick enough and surprisingly he made it through the surgery. The bullet had lodged in his brain but not enough to actually kill him by some miracle. However, it did cause brain damage which has since made him a total mute. He is unable to speak and struggles a lot with thinking and communicating. A shell of himself. It was pretty quick after he landed in the hospital that the police turned up after finding evidence that he was a hyacinth killer. He was charged for six counts of murder after conclusive evidence was retrieved but he was sentenced to a mental institute so he could receive the care he needed. His brain damage was considered punishment enough.

This was heart breaking for the family who always asked why but Matilda had the answer. She’d known all along that something wasn’t right but she’d ignored it. She had ignored it for a year before all of this. Many posed that it started with his girlfriend (the first victim) who was blonde with blue eyes and then began killing people who looked like her but his suicide note which only Matilda had was the truth. The truth was that he had strong urges to kill Matilda. He’d come in to her room while she was asleep and watch her. He’d fantasise about killing her but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he’d go out in to the town, find a girl that resembled Matilda, get her in the car, strangle her and then dump her body with the purple hyacinth (which is the flower of regret) in to the mouth. He thought that if he killed Matilda, he would lose his purpose. He also fantasised about how special he would make her murder. Taking his time and every wrong thing he would do to her. It was all written in this one suicide note, confessional to his crimes. She never handed it in or showed it to anyone. She couldn’t show her parents it would only crush them more so like she always did: she absorbed the pain and suffering to herself. Many people had shunned the family which Matilda understood. Her mum took it the hardest because she couldn’t understand why and after a few months, her mum used the same gun Peter had used in his attempted suicide to kill herself and this time, it succeeded. Her dad hid in his office just writing and writing. He didn’t speak but there was always a painful vibe whenever Matilda walked past the door. It was crushing her to know she couldn’t help. Her dad would release book after book to his series and basically writing what he thought he knew in to his books. Matilda took two years as a gap year between high school and applying for colleges to try and care for her dad but she couldn’t put her life on hold forever either. She convinced her dad to see a therapist and bring in a carer to try and help him which he agreed to after many nights talking about it and she began applying for colleges. She wanted to get far away from Michigan where no one would even know who she was.

Matilda got accepted in to Monarch to studying criminology. With her ability to put herself in the shoe’s of others, she wanted to help law enforcement. She wants to be a criminal profiler and help to determine who the kind of person someone is and why they do what they do just by looking at a crime scene. With her past experience of her brother, she feels she is even better at understanding a darker mind now. This is her first year at Monarch which is reaching her first summer away from Michigan. It has been a breath of fresh air to be a new person out here and not have such a dark cloud following her name. There is still trauma to deal with and since she went to a therapist for most of her life, she got a referral for one in California that was a close friend of her own therapist back home. Every so often, she will receive a letter from the mental institute on behalf of her brother asking her to come and visit him but she can’t bring herself to go and see him. It isn’t about knowing what she knows but she is petrified of feeling what he feels. She can’t bring herself to face the pain he is in.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

An Invisible Bastard and Five or So Underwhelming Fantasies (Invisible Man and Fantasy Island Review)

TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of domestic abuse, gaslighting and implied rape in a film with reference to how abusers who commit those things work in real life.

ALSO, SPOILER ALERT!

The Invisible Man is one of the most tense viewing experiences I’ve had in a cinema for a long time, despite the fact that its big horror-movie threat is just a normal dude wearing a suit that makes him invisible. The reason for this is that it’s a tale about abuse, gaslighting, trauma and psychological isolation that actually seems to have a pretty good handle on how those things works. The titular Invisible Man was an abuser who controlled every aspect of his victim’s life even before she ran away and he figured out how to turn himself invisible to pursue her like the world’s rapiest poltergeist. Thanks in large part to the sterling sympatico acting going on between Elisabeth Moss (playing our victim-hero) and Oliver Jackson-Cohen (the Invisible Cunt himself), he’s a terrifying and unsettling presence even before the film’s more fantastical elements kick in. Just watching him have a freak out and punch through a car window while still fully visible is unnerving in a way that even unstoppable monsters usually aren’t. Moss’s reactions as the traumatised abuse-survivor Cecilia feel entirely sympathetic and reasonable, balancing the need for the character to have agency with a realistic portrayal of someone being driven mad by a threat nobody else can perceive. The fact that nobody believes what she’s going through, even when she lays out exactly what’s going on, heightens the pervading sense of dread because we’re aware that, in real life, abusers can manipulate and arrange situations that force implausibility onto their victims while real-life trauma simultaneously affects the brain in a way that makes it hard to convey your experiences in an ordered and believable fashion. It’s genuinely scary because- invisibility aside- it feels completely real. All of which makes the inevitable cathartic pay-off all the more satisfying.

Hollywood (here meaning the whole mainstream film and TV industry, not just a small, Gwyneth Paltrow-infested corner of L.A.) is really bad at portraying abusers and telling stories about abuse. Abusive, controlling bastards in movies and television tend to suffer from one of two problems:. Number One is the ‘Straw Abuser’ problem where their behaviour is so unlikely and badly-explained that it’s impossible to take them seriously as an antagonist. They exist solely to prove somebody’s point and as such warrant neither the audience’s hatred nor its fear. One good example of this is that bloke from Colossal, who seems to be evil for no other reason than the fact he’s a working class guy with a beard. Pretty sure there should have been more to it than that. Problem Number Two is ‘Killgrave Syndrome’, where the abusive bastard’s antics are so malevolent and otherworldly and their screen presence is so compelling and entertaining that you forget you’re meant to loathe and fear them. Instead, you just find yourself rooting for them to sink to ever-greater depths of malice and depravity because it might be funny. Your brain takes one look at them and files them in the same category as Wily Coyote, Dick Dastardly and Doctor Evil (who didn’t spend six years at evil medical school to be called ‘mister’).  As such, I have to praise The Invisible Man for creating a story about abuse with a horrifyingly believable abuser, that still keeps the victim at its emotional centre.

It’s hard to make such a well-worn and pre-loved premise as “guy turns himself invisible and goes mad with power” scary, but The Invisible Man manages it by making the invisibility almost incidental and focussing instead on creating a believable scenario with characters who feel like real people.

However, for every amazing film, there must be a film made of ennui and poop to balance it out. Such is the rule of the universe: no light without its shadow, no high without a corresponding low, no Leonard Cohen’s The Future without The Human League’s The Lebanon. Conveniently for me, I don’t have to look very far to find The Invisible Man’s counterpart. If The Invisible Man takes a boring, overdone premise and makes it great, then Fantasy Island (which came out around the same time) takes a brilliant, wondrous premise and turns it into a study in disappointment.

The premise being wasted in this case is that there’s a magic island that can make your fantasies come true, but will also twist them to punish you in macabre and horrifying ways. In a horror film with a core concept like that, you’d expect to see all sorts of insane things. You’d expect to see nerds exploring fantasy worlds only to discover what it’s like to be cooked alive inside their armour by dragon-fire. You’d expect someone’s sexual fantasy to devolve into a Cronenberg-esque nightmare straight from The Society or Bodymelt (google it). You’d expect to see people who dream of being beautiful ending up mutilated in the name of aesthetic perfection. You’d expect fantasies about meeting famous painters or musicians or writers or stars to turn into fights for the death against warped and malevolent versions of those people (just like in the internet musical thing about actual cannibal Shia LeBoufe). None of that happens. In fact, nothing remotely interesting happens.

You see, the people who end up on Fantasy Island are all boring cunts. There’s a couple of tedious brothers who dream of having it all and get to live it up in a mansion with supermodels until its invaded by the previous owner- a mob-boss in a clown mask. There’s a generic guy who dreams of serving in the military with his dead hero father and ends up having to watch his dear old dad die with his own eyes (which should have been an emotional moment, but wasn’t, because he has no discernible personality). There’s a lass who spends her whole time moping about shitty life choices and fantasises about going back in time to change them. She does and ends up with a loving family, which doesn’t change the fact she’s consumed with guilt about someone who died in an accident she was involved in. She asks for a do-over on that, instead, throwing away the family, and nearly dies trying to save someone she can’t save… not because it’s impossible, but because she’s basically bloody useless. Finally, there’s a girl who dreams about getting revenge on a childhood bully and the childhood bully herself who gets kidnapped and taken to the island to be punished.

The bullied girl is the only interesting or relatable character in the whole debacle, since she seems to be experiencing an emotion relating to something that actually happened to her, while the bully herself is a loathsome vacuous berk. Unfortunately, Fantasy Island thinks it’s smarter than it actually is, so the bullied girl turns out to be the one manipulating the fantasies to make them turn out badly (oh, fuck you: there was a spoiler warning at the top and I refuse to feel guilty about ruining this dreck for you), while the bully gets to have a redemption arc and save the day. Just fucking once, I’d like a modern horror film to present me with a hateful, vapid turd and then let me watch them die in an entertaining way while the weirdo gets a happy ending. This whole ‘let’s explore the hidden humanity of total twats at the expense of interesting characters’ thing is no longer fucking subversive: it just validates dickheads. And trust me, dickheads are really good at self-validating. The self-absorbed pricks don’t need any fucking encouragement. Fuck, I miss when horror films used to use these fucking tossers to bulk out their body count. Actually, I miss when spree killers used to use these fucking tossers to bulk out their body count, too, but that was more recent. And since I can visualise the expressions of horror on many of your faces, I should also say don’t get yer knickers in a twist: I’m joking.

Expect more reviews when people finally realise that coronavirus isn’t the end of the world and the cinemas reopen. Until, then, expect increasingly surreal and tangential blogs about whatever the fuck I feel like.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @leetje!

This is a secret santa gift for Leonie - Merry Christmas!!

Read On AO3

*****

It (Won’t Be) Lonely This Christmas

As was so often the case, Magnus was woken by the infuriating trilling of Alec’s phone. He made a groaning sound and rolled over to face his fiancé, and received a sleepy, placating pat on the hip as Alec reached out from the warmth of their duvet cocoon to answer his phone.

Magnus didn’t pay attention to the conversation. He knew what it would be, and, much as he despised it, and much as he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen, it was okay. It was Alec’s job, his passion, and Magnus had been fully aware of that when Alec had got down on one knee six months ago.

“I’ve got to go,” Alec said, already tossing the duvet back. His back clicked when he stretched both arms above his head. His t-shirt to rode up, exposing a tantalising strip of his abs that Magnus had hoped to have time to fully appreciate that morning.

He supposed there was always time for that later.

“How long?” Magnus asked, blinking blearily up at him.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a while. Apparently someone called in sick, and they’re struggling to cope in the ER, so they want all available hands on deck.”

Magnus glared—not at Alec, but at the currently nameless person who’d so inconsiderately decided to be sick on Christmas Day. “Does that mean all day?”

“I don’t know. I’ll text you when I get there and find out what’s going on.”

“I thought on call might have meant I’d get to keep you today,” Magnus said, with a forlorn sigh. “Go save lives, my darling.”

Alec snorted, already halfway to fully clothed. “It’s probably gonna be people who’ve drunk too much with concussions. It’s Christmas.”

“Mmm.”

Pulling on his socks and nearly tripping over, Alec glanced up. “You gonna be okay, today?”

Of course he remembered. He always remembered. Ever since Magnus had first told him, so many years ago.

“Yeah.” Magnus yawned, already fantasising about going back to sleep for several more hours. “Go on, go.”

Alec frowned a little, but he didn’t question Magnus further. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Bye. Love you.”

Alec’s expression softened. He bent over to press a kiss to Magnus’ forehead, and ran his fingers tenderly through his hair. “Love you too, babe. It’s really early, so go back to sleep, yeah?”

“Miss you,” Magnus mumbled, closing his eyes and pressing his face into a pillow. Alec’s, judging by the smell of musky aftershave and leather.

A huff of a laugh escaped Alec’s lips. “Miss you too, gorgeous.”

Another kiss was pressed to his temple, this one lingering and soft and almost enough to make Magnus yank Alec back into bed and refuse to let him go, hospitals and saving lives and doctoring be damned.

***

“This wasn’t exactly how I thought I’d be spending my Christmas,” Magnus observed, glancing around.

“No, me neither,” Catarina said absently from beside him, eyes fixed on her phone.

Across from them, sat in a wheelchair with a scowl on his face, Ragnor made a rude motion with the hand that wasn’t strapped up. Magnus smiled brightly at him.

Hospitals were far from Magnus’ favourite place. Aside from his own personal experience with them in the holiday season, they always smelt horrible: like disinfectant and sickness and death swirling into a cocktail of morbidity that Magnus found thoroughly depressing. And they were so white. Why did everything have to be white? It was almost painful to look at.

As were the people who seemed to frequent the ER on Christmas Day. There were those like Ragnor, who’d clearly been victims of festive-themed mishaps, and there were people who’d clearly drunk far, far too much, and there were people who, perhaps worst of all, seemed to be genuinely, awfully sick on what was supposed to be the most cheerful day of the year.

“Ragnor Fell?”

Magnus snickered under his breath. Fell. Ragnor Fell. Ragnor fell—right onto his ass. Ragnor’s surname had never been more appropriate.

They wheeled Ragnor after the half-smiling nurse, down a corridor that seemed to be where the doctors had dumped all the patients who just needed to sober up, and into an office that looked significantly less dreary and clinical than the waiting room.

A doctor in blue scrubs with a stethoscope wound around his neck and the worst case of bedhead Magnus had ever seen sat with one leg crossed beneath him on a spinning chair. He had trinkets on his desk - a photograph of him between a two youngsters who looked like they were probably related to him, a Pride flag sat in a mug with a terrible pun printed across the front, and an array of thank you cards - and a long list of questions printed across a piece of paper that he studiously ignored as he observed Ragnor being wheeled into the room with sharp eyes.

“I’m Doctor Lightwood,” he said, zeroing in on Ragnor’s battered wrist and ankle. “Skating accident, by any chance?”

“However did you guess?” Ragnor asked dryly, and the doctor smiled.

“Third one I’ve seen today,” he said, scribbling something down on a scrap of paper. “Tell me what exactly happened to bring you here.”

Ragnor explained - in the most boring way he possibly could, leaving out all the hilarious, embarrassing parts - about being knocked over by a child on a skating rink and tumbling to his death.

(He failed to mention that he looked like Bambi on skates, that the child in question was approximately three feet tall, and that he’d let out an ear-splitting, high-pitched scream when he’d been barrelled into. Magnus felt a little more sympathetic about the awful crack his arm had made as he’d hit the ice, but until that point it had been fabulously entertaining.)

“Not a skater by trade, then?” Doctor Lightwood asked, scooting forward to examine Ragnor’s wrist.

“No.” Ragnor shot Magnus a glare that told him, quite plainly, to keep his mouth shut.

“I’m going to send you for an x-ray,” Doctor Lightwood said, tapping at his computer. “I’ll wheel you through.”

It wasn’t until the pair came back and the doctor announced that Ragnor had broken his wrist but not his ankle, and that he’d heal up in six weeks, that Magnus stopped worrying.

“Great,” Magnus enthused. “You can’t guilt me into sparing you the pain of Love Actually, then.”

A laugh came from Doctor Lightwood, bright and a little startled. Magnus glanced over, grin loose on his lips, and found the doctor watching him with amusement shining in his eyes.

They were very pretty eyes. He was very pretty in general, now that Magnus thought about it, no longer entirely distracted by concern about his friend. Mostly it was the eyes, but also the messy hair, and the sharp lines of his face, and the way he smiled, and the fact that he had really, really nice forearms.

Magnus’ eyes strayed to the Pride flag sitting in full view on the doctor’s desk, and then back to the handsome face of the doctor himself, who averted his gaze quickly and turned back to his paperwork.

Hm.

Once the doctor had fitted Ragnor’s cast and given him his care instructions, and Ragnor had had a mini tirade about how stupid America was for not having free healthcare and how much he missed the NHS, Doctor Lightwood told them that they were free to go.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, holding the door open for Catarina to wheel Ragnor out, newly acquired crutch held in Ragnor’s lap.

“Merry Christmas,” Magnus replied, offering the doctor a smile while mourning lost opportunities. “Thank you.”

The doctor smiled back, and— Was that Magnus’ wishful thinking, or had the tops of his cheeks turned faintly pink?

“You’re very welcome.”

His voice had definitely dropped half an octave.

Magnus glanced over his shoulder and Ragnor and Catarina, who were halfway down the corridor now, unaware of Magnus’ dawdling, and he hesitated in the doorway.

“How would you diagnose a suddenly rapid heartbeat?”

Doctor Lightwood’s brows drew together in clear consternation. “Do you have crushing chest pain? Pressure?”

Magnus’ lips parted for a moment in surprise. “No, I—”

“Do you feel short of breath?”

Magnus hated doctors. Officially.

“No, it’s—”

“Do you feel hot? Shaky?”

“Oh my god.” Magnus let out a little laugh, and covered his face in mild embarrassment. “No, no. I’m not sick. I was trying to be smooth.”

The doctor stared at him in sheer bewilderment. “You... What?”

“Will you go out with me?” Magnus asked plainly, because, clearly, bluntness was the only option.

“Oh.” He grinned sheepishly, and Magnus hated how charming he found it. “Right. Sorry.”

Magnus held up a hand, palm forwards, and leant around the doctor to pick up a pen. He scrawled his number on the corner of a piece of paper, and said, “My name’s Magnus. You can ignore that this ever happened, or...” He shrugged, and smiled over at the doctor. “Or you can text me.”

He turned to go, half wanting to erase the last two minutes from his memory, when he heard a soft voice call his name.

He spun around. “Yeah?”

“My first name is Alec.”

Magnus had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself grinning. “Short for Alexander?”

“Yes.”

Alexander Lightwood looked positively edible in scrubs. Which was really quite unfair, considering how fucking ugly they were as a piece of fashion.

“I hope to hear from you soon, Alexander,” Magnus said, and, tossing him a wink that amplified the other man’s blush from a faint pink to a saturated red, continued down the corridor, leaving Alec staring after him with a slack-jawed expression.

***

They’d planned a Christmas Day that would consist of nothing more than the two of them, not wanting to run the risk of Alec being called into work while he was visiting his family or Magnus’ friends.

So, when Magnus eventually hauled himself out of bed, he was on his own in the loft. His toes curled against the cold, and he shivered as he pulled on a robe, wishing that Alec were there to warm him up. Alec always seemed to be a human furnace, even in the dead of winter.

Beneath the tree that they’d painstakingly decorated three weeks before, Magnus could see the neatly wrapped present that had his name on it. He wouldn’t open it until Alec came home - of course he wouldn’t - but he folded back the little card to read the message, just to make himself feel better.

It was probably stupid to be sad about Alec being called into work - after all, last year he’d been in the middle of leading a murder trial and had spent Christmas Day at the office, leaving Alec on his own - but he was. Sue him.

My beautiful Magnus, the card read. Merry Christmas. May your year be filled hope and joy. All my love, your Alexander.

Magnus smiled to himself, reading it over a second and then a third time, until he’d memorised the words written in Alec’s terrible, near-illegible doctor-writing.

Alec had texted him to say that he’d be home by mid-afternoon, and, frankly, Magnus didn’t think it could come soon enough. He wanted Christmas cuddles. And possibly Christmas sex. And definitely Christmas kisses.

Also, he wanted to drink his morning coffee with Alexander sitting across from him on the other side of the island in the middle of the kitchen. He wanted to watch over the rim of his mug as Alec read the news on his phone and rolled his eyes silently at the state of the world.

[From: Alexander <3, 11:05]

Deja vu. Just saw to a guy who broke his wrist ice skating.

Magnus smiled to himself as he flicked on the coffee machine and shoved a mug beneath it, and then tapped out a response.

[From: Magnus, 11:06]

I hope you’re not going to say yes to coffee with his super-hot best friend

[From: Alexander <3, 11:06]

If I do, I’m going to need to have an ethical meltdown first.

Magnus snickered at the memory.

[From: Alexander <3, 11:07]

I’ve got to go. Call if you need me. I’ll answer unless there’s an emergency. Love you x

[From: Magnus, 11:07]

I will. Love you too, darling. See you later xx

Magnus sighed as he shut his phone off, and resigned himself to filling the hours until Alec came home and they could do the Christmas thing properly.

***

Magnus grinned when he saw the tall, handsome, dark-haired doctor walk through the door of the café they’d agreed to have lunch at walk through the door. Unlike the last time Magnus had seen him, in the ER, he was dressed in a blue button-down and a fitted leather jacket. His hair still looked adorably hopeless, though.

“Hey,” Magnus said, smiling brightly up at Alec as he approached the table, hands deep in his pockets.

“Hey.” Alec returned his smile and sat down. There was something a little sheepish about his demeanour, but Magnus didn’t get the opportunity to ask, as Alec said, “I might have had an ethical meltdown about this.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow at him. “What on earth do you mean?”

Alec bit his lip. “Well. You aren’t my patient, but you are my patient’s friend, and it seemed... I don’t know. Morally grey.”

“So how did you decide? Couldn’t resist my charms?”

Alec laughed. Magnus’ insides fluttered pleasantly at having elicited that sound.

“That,” Alec said, “and also I asked my boss what he thought.”

Magnus’ lips twitched. “And what did your boss say?”

“He laughed at me,” Alec said, ducking his head to hide a grin. “Told me to stop worrying and have fun.”

Magnus lifted his wine glass and tilted it towards Alec. “Sounds like good advice.”

Alec clinked their glasses together, still smiling that gorgeous, breath-taking smile, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made Magnus want to lean over and kiss them until they both ran out of air.

“Absolutely.”

***

The moment Magnus had fallen entirely in love with Alec was never quite clear in Magnus’ mind.

Sometimes, he’d convince himself that it had been after that first lunch, when they’d spent hours wandering aimlessly around the streets of New York, chatting about nothing and everything and all things in between, laughing and smiling and lost in the wonder of discovering someone new.

Sometimes, he’d think it was the first time he kissed Alec, on a rainy night tucked beneath a bus shelter, both wondering why they hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella with them as they shivered in the cool, wet night.

(It had been a sudden thing. Alec had leant in to kiss him abruptly, with no warning, and had pulled back almost as fast, as though it had been involuntary. They’d stared at each other for a heavy moment, eyes wide with surprise, before Magnus had hauled Alec back in and kissed him until they were both warm.)

(Warm, and breathless, and giggling like teenagers, and absolutely goddamn soaked. It had been perfect.)

Other times, he’d be more realistic. More normal. Perhaps it had been when Magnus had caught the flu, a couple of months into their budding relationship, and Alec had turned up with all his best remedies and treatments and an unending amount of kindness and sympathy—which, considering how whiny and bitchy Magnus could be when he was sick, was no mean feat.

Perhaps it had been the first time they’d had sex, when Alec had told him, so damn seriously, that Magnus was the most beautiful person he’d ever met. When Alec had touched him with a reverence akin to worship, and taken him apart piece by piece, only to put him back together with soft, caring hands.

Or perhaps it had been one of the thousands of times Alexander had surprised him like nobody else managed to. Bringing him a coffee unprompted when he was working at a weekend. Sending him sweet texts during the day. Leaving flowers on his doorstep (or, after they moved in together, on his desk) when he’d known Magnus had had a hard week. Turning up out of the blue to apologise after they’d argued, with devastating sincerity and a fierce determination to fix things.

Or, more likely, it was some combination of everything. Because even after their five years together, Magnus felt himself fall a little more in love with Alec every damn day. Even when they bickered, even when they argued until they slammed doors, and even when Magnus missed him so much it hurt.

Like now.

It wasn’t Alec’s fault. Magnus loved how much Alec loved his job. And he understood that sometimes, jobs fucked things up. His own job did often enough.

But Christmas...

Well. Much as Magnus loved Christmas, he also despised it, for everything it marked in his life.

***

“Magnus?”

Magnus looked up at Alec from where he was pressed against his boyfriend’s torso. They were curled on the sofa beneath a blanket, with the end credits of some shitty Christmas rom-com he’d only half paid attention to playing across the TV screen.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Magnus’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Of course. Anything.”

“Why don’t you like Christmas?”

Magnus’ frown deepened. “I love Christmas,” he said, honestly.

Alec exhaled. “I know you love Christmas–” he waved a hand around vaguely, indicating the Christmas tree in the corner that he’d helped Magnus decorate, despite Magnus having bullied him into getting one for his own apartment the day before, and the garlands strung along the fireplace “–but you don’t like Christmas.”

For a moment, Magnus stared at him, eyes flickering between both of Alec’s, before he said, slowly, “You’ve lost me.”

Alec sighed in frustration—not at Magnus, but at himself. It was the same sound he made whenever he struggled to articulate his feelings properly.

“You seem to love all the stuff around Christmas, and the spirit, but...” Alec shrugged. “I mean, last year you were out skating with your friends, before the impromptu ER trip, and this year, the closer we get to the actual day, the less enthusiastic you seem. Unless—” He paused, looking abruptly uncertain. “You’re not dreading spending the day with my family, are you?”

Fondly amused, Magnus shook his head. “No, darling. Not at all. I love your family. And you’re not wrong, exactly. You know I told you about my mom?”

Alec’s expression turned grave, and his eyes softened with sympathy. “I remember.”

“She died on Christmas Day.”

“Oh.” Alec took a moment to digest the information, and ran a hand up Magnus’ back absently, in a way that probably wasn’t intended to be soothing, but was, nevertheless. “God, I’m sorry.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “It was a long time ago. But that’s why I was out doing something last year, not sat at home celebrating. I mean, I do celebrate, but I try to be occupied. My mom loved Christmas, so it’s... I don’t know.”

“Melancholy?” Alec suggested.

“Exactly.”

They were quiet for a moment. The fire crackled behind the grate, heat emanating out to combat the chill of winter. Magnus tipped his head back and relaxed with his back pressed to Alec’s front, his hips comfortably bracketed by Alec’s knees. Fingers came up to play with his hair, tugging and teasing and stroking. He exhaled, letting his eyes fall shut.

“I love you.”

Alec murmured the words right against his ear, as though it was a secret, and Magnus smiled.

“I love you too.”

“Do you visit her? At Christmas?”

Magnus hummed. “She wasn’t actually buried. She wanted to donate her body to medical science. At the time, I was too young to be able to buy a memorial or anything, but I bought a plaque about five years ago, to go on the park bench we used to sit on when she’d take me for ice cream in the summer. And I don’t usually go visit it at Christmas, no.”

Alec’s fingertips rubbed gently at his scalp. “Can I ask why not?”

“Because I’d just cry and remember the end, when she was sick, and I want to remember all the other times. When she was healthy, and happy. It’s easy to remember that at other times of year, but on Christmas Day...” He shrugged. “It always makes me think of her in hospital.”

There was a pause, and, even facing away from him, Magnus could practically hear Alec thinking.

“Do you want to go now?”

Magnus turned his head to look at him in surprise. “Now? Right now?”

“If you want to.” Alec studied him carefully. “It’s not Christmas yet. It might... I don’t know. Make you feel better on the day, if you visit now.”

“I’ve never thought of that.” Magnus sat up a little. “I suppose it’s not going to hurt.”

Something flickered in Alec’s eyes, something Magnus couldn’t quite put his finger on. He followed Magnus into an upright position and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

“Now?” Alec asked, pulling back just far enough to meet Magnus’ gaze.

Magnus nodded, and kissed him again. “Now.”

***

Snow was falling by the time Alec came home.

Magnus ceased his tapping at his keyboard (if Alec was out at work on Christmas Day, what was to stop Magnus getting a head start on a few things?) and turned from his spot on the sofa to look over at his fiancé coming through the door. A clatter sounded as Alec dropped his keys onto the sideboard. He lined his boots up neatly beside Magnus’ on the mat, hung his coat up, and dragged his fingers through his hair, which was steadily dampening with the melting of the snow that had collected among the strands—because, of course, Alec didn’t even remember to take a hat, let alone an umbrella.

“Hey, love,” Alec said, walking towards Magnus to drop a kiss on his lips. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Magnus said, curling a hand around Alec’s neck to stop him withdrawing too far, so he could kiss him again. “I caught up on some work and reminisced looking at old photos of baby us.”

Alec arched an eyebrow. “Baby us?”

“Mmhm. Back when we first met. I found that photo we took right before we got caught by the rain and you kissed me for the first time.”

“Oh god.” Alec laughed a little. Magnus picked his things up off the sofa and transferred them onto the coffee table so that Alec could sit down. “That one where you look gorgeous and I look like some kind of mutant?”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “You do not.”

“You’re just saying that so I don’t make you delete it.”

Magnus shrugged, and leant in to kiss Alec’s cheek. “Prove it, my beautiful nearly-husband.”

Alec pulled back to fix Magnus with a look caught halfway between mystified and highly entertained. “What did you just call me?”

“Nearly-husband.” Magnus reached down for Alec’s left hand, and lifted it to press a kiss to his knuckles, right beside his engagement ring. “Because that’s what you are.”

Alec’s lips quirked upwards. “I think the word you’re looking for is fiancé, babe.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “I want to emphasise the husband bit.”

Alec laughed, and lifted his free hand to brush a thumb against Magnus’ cheek. “You’re so cute.”

“My biceps say otherwise.”

“You can be cute and sexy as fuck at the same time,” Alec said, and kissed him warmly. He stayed close, nose brushing against Magnus’ and fingertips skating against his face, as he murmured, “God, I love my job, but I’m so glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re home, too,” Magnus said, voice low. “I was running out of things to do to distract myself.”

He knew that Alec would understand exactly what he meant. What Magnus needed distracting from. But he didn’t bring it up, didn’t push; he trusted that Magnus would say something if he wanted to talk about it.

“Well.” Lips caressed the shell of his ear as Alec spoke, breaths warm enough to make Magnus shiver. “I’m sure–” Alec dropped down, mouth grazing against the sensitive skin of his neck “–I can find a way–” he nipped at the hollow above Magnus’ collarbone, and Magnus’ eyes fluttered closed “–to distract you sufficiently.”

“I’m sure you can,” Magnus said breathlessly, one hand coming up to tangle in Alec’s hair. “But there’s a problem.”

Alec pulled back to look up at him, eyes dark with desire. “Oh?”

“I haven’t had lunch yet.”

Alec rolled his eyes, and let out a reluctant laugh. “Of course you haven’t. It’s only three o’clock in the afternoon. Why would you have had lunch?”

Magnus swatted playfully at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Alec sighed in an exaggerated manner, and stood up, offering his hand to Magnus. “Well, then, lunch first. Then maybe presents. Then I’ll get back to wooing you.”

“Oh, darling.” Magnus smiled cheekily as he leant into Alec, one hand resting on his abdomen. “You did that a long, long time ago.”

[toku-explained]

ULTRAMAN Episode 5/Chapters 15-18

We now go back to some of the scenes skipped over until now. Igaru, the alien Rena fan, sees a hateful comment on Rena's blog, and rages.

Detectives Endo Yousuke and Kurata are investigating the death of Ichikawa Takeo, who appears to have exploded in his room, his blood covering a Sayama Rena swimsuit poster, which Endo notes. His is the 5th such death recently. Onlookers, including Igaru, see a van suddenly pull up, and declares SSSP is taking over the crime scene. Kurata has just found that Ichikawa was reading Rena's blog when Moroboshi comes in, End noting the SSSP logo on their equipment.

In the car Endo tells Kurata that they were SSSP, who were meant to stop operating over a decade ago. Kurata wonders if it relates to the new Ultraman, Endo tells him never to mention that name. In the manga this leads to the bridge rescue, but in the anime that's already happened. Endo is annoyed by the new Ultraman in the manga, in the anime however he is annoyed by Ultraman in general.

Ide tells Edo that the evidence from the scenes Moroboshi is now investigating show that it's an alien killer, and Edo asks if Shinjiro is doing well. (In the manga this scene is instead relating to the discovery that some of Adacic's victims must have been sold to him, as they have been disfigured and been barcoded, this is dropped for the anime for some tighter storytelling.)

Shinjiro is fantasising about Rena finding out he's Ultraman and a romance, when Moroboshi interrupts, telling him that killing one murderous alien isn't enough to be getting a swollen head over. Shinjiro admits that the fact he killed someone is weighing on him, but Moroboshi says it's no different to mourning an insect, but gets serious and tells him that as Ultraman, he will be taking lives, and there's no coming back from that. He then tells Shinjiro to come with him. In the manga this scene is much more about Shinjiro struggling with the fact he killed, and Moroboshi, instead of claiming he's prideful over it, just tells him not to be remorseful.

Igaru watches Rena on a talk show, who publicly admits the incident was caused by an alien, and expresses her belief that the man on the suit is Ultraman, saying there's something she wants to ask him next they meet. Given she's known as a big fan, the host asks what she wants to ask, and she tells him, but the focus of the scene shifts as Igaru spots another hateful comment on the blog, and uses a communicator to request a favour. (This scene is moved slightly forward from the manga, and he's contacted by phone instead of calling someone)

Moroboshi takes Shinjiro to a portal (in a building in the manga, not just in an alley) which brings him to an alien town. A Sepekku Seijin sniffs out Shinjiro before moving in, he then sees a lot of identical children, actually Trias Seijins, gets tossed a strange drink, then sees one aliens actual face when it bumps into him. All the aliens either can disguise as humans, or use a mimicry device to do so. In the manga they're quite openly alien in the city, this is a budget saving convention for the anime. They're here to gather info on the serial murders (and the body supplier in the manga). Entering a gambling joint, they watch a fight, whi h is won by Moroboshi's informant, the only human in the city, Jack. (Opponent different in manga, more on that in a minute)

Jack may have a lead on the serial killer, promising to confirm it and get back to him (in the manga he has nothing on the body supplier) and is interested to hear Shinjiro is Ultrman, Moroboshi leaving them alone a minute. Jack realises Shinjiro is Hayata's son,many tells him not to let Moroboshi get to him.

Jack's opponent from the ring, Black King, approaches, looking at Shinjiro and communicates to Jack smelling Ultraman on him, one of his friends was once killed by Ultraman, and he plans on getting revenge on Shinjiro right until Moroboshi interrupts, getting on his case for not being in disguise, and takes Shinjiro with him.

In the manga the guy who approaches them is Red, the former champion who Jack dethroned and took the eye of, wanting a rematch with Jack, who nominates Shinjiro as his champion, and the fight actually gets going, interrupting Moroboshi talking to Edo. Red and Jack also turn out to be much friendlier after they leave.

Outside the city, Shinjiro asks Moroboshi why he brought, being told Ide asked him to (manga he just reaffirms that, having mentioned it already) and tells Shinjiro frankly he doesn't care for him, and he doesn't personally care if he becomes Ultraman, but if he doesn't act when he can that's a crime. (Manga that last bit came earlier from Jack and more positive, and Moroboshi instead cryptically stars Shinjiro isn't the only one able to become Ultraman.

Endo and Kurata break back into the Ichikawa crime scene, Endo justifying it as helpingnout the SSSP since they haven't caught the killer, Kurata questioning if Endo has a personal motive. Seeing the Rena posters again leaves Endo convinced of something, and he then sees Igaru peaking in and gives chase until Igaru is hit by a car. Endo looks over the body and sees Igaru's four eyes before the alien leaps up and runs, leaving Endo to tell Kurata that their prime suspect is an alien. Bemular hovers above the two detectives, watching. (The details are different, but the important things are the same from the manga. Also Bemular hadn't reappeared yet in the manga, so that's added.)

[aikainkauna]

Repressing your perfectly healthy desire never made things better for you.

Recently, I’ve seen so many instances recently of women (and theys–anyone brought up female) repressing their own desire and giving the power over their pleasure to others that I can’t shut up about any more about how fucking toxic that is.

Every day I see this. From fangirls to grandmothers, denial of one’s own absolutely harmless desire in so many forms: women refusing to ship something because it’s not canon, refusing to participate in RPS because those actors (who never read social media anyway) are married in real life, moaning about “objectification” if someone adores Tom Hiddleston’s penis (without reducing him to a penis–when to fangirls it’s never just the odd anonymous penis, it’s always Tom Hiddleston’s penis, the penis of that guy they really like as a person) to even refusing to fantasise about something in their heads–

–all things that literally never harmed anyone, as if that denial somehow gave the fangirl some moral integrity and made them better. And, above all (and a lot of this is actually subconscious) somehow, magically got back at the douchebag guys for all those times they objectified you, all those times they didn’t ask your permission, when they cheated on you, when they–you get the picture. Whatever example of toxic masculinity and rape culture you want to use. So they go on denying themselves these thoughts and fantasies, genuinely believing that makes them better people.

While douchebros go around posting rape gifs, with actual real women being assaulted in them.

While douchebros go around celebrating their stories of cheating on real women and treating real women as pussies.

While douchebros go around producing and consuming porn with physically harmful acts perpetrated on women.

While douchebros keep reducing women to body parts, literally treating them as such and rejecting the fact that women are human beings.

And while all this is happening, women and theys just sit there and refuse to exercise their own pleasure in perfectly respectful and loving ways, via characters and people they are attracted to because of their personalities.

Now, I understand a lot about magic and ritual and all that–this ties in a lot with religious self-denial, in Christianity in particular: the idea that if you suppress these filthy bad desires, you somehow grow holy mojo and become purer when you give something away. It’s a sacrifice; it’s sympathetic magic–maybe if you give this thing away, you will get something. And again, there’s the idea that you’re better than all those people (read: douchebag guys) who gave you all those traumatic experiences.

You’re rising above it, not being like them–you have moral integrity and your love is pure. And your love does things by the rules.  Your love exercises the respect you were never given. Your love involves concepts of consent. When your ship is all canon and the characters you like are morally sound and all that. You might even hold asexuality as higher and sacred, or refuse stereotypes about bisexuals as promiscuous, or feel like you’re rising above that bullshit by having a different gender identity.

But all these are reactions that change nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

They are passivity, as the bad people around you still go on doing bad things.

It’s like having this massive, beautiful feast that could nourish you before you, but you never touching it even if you were starving because eating was bad. (Hey, somewhere in Africa someone’s starving.) This beautiful, powerful, nourishing thing is something that you don’t believe you can actually handle, somehow. Something that you could perfectly well enjoy in a healthy and responsible manner in a way that harmed none–something that people still think isn’t possible about sexuality–especially because we’ve been taught to see sexuality through the patriarchal male lens. Wherein all the aforementioned abuse is the default idea of sexuality (sex=always some kind of waste and pollution or harm), and female sexuality with its focus on persons and psychology and love and relationships and mutual pleasure is never even discussed.

Don’t you think that’s a bit fucked up? A tiny bit?

Ask yourself: did being a prude ever stop rape culture? (Or make the douchebros come after women even harder?)

Ask yourself: did only shipping something that was canon ever make you happy and satisfied? (Or did it make you feel even more starved?)

Ask yourself: did refusing to participate in RPS ever stop real-life cheaters, pervs on the metro, actual batshit murderous stalkers? (What would they know about your fantasies, when they don’t even think you have sexual agency in the first place?)

Ask yourself: when in the actual fuck did some girl whacking off alone in her dorm room to her favourite characters ever, in a million years, on any fucking scale, compare to the mass-scale, inescapable, traumatic, lethal ACTUAL PHYSICAL DEHUMANISATION AND RAPE AND MURDER OF WOMEN PERPETRATED BY MASCULINITY-POISONED MEN EVERY SINGLE MINUTE AND HOUR AND DAY AND YEAR FOR THE PAST FUCKING TEN MILLENNIA?

And then, wake up.

It will not be easy to reclaim your pleasure from a society that’s taken it from you–other women’s moralising bullshit not making it any easier–but you have to fucking have trust in your own morals. You already have them! You have to have trust in your own goodness. You already have it! The huge irony here is that thanks to all this repression and because of simple facts of biology (unwanted penetrative sex being painful, unwanted pregnancy being always a concern), women have been given more actual physical tools for a moral and responsible living out of sexuality than a male monk will ever get in a lifetime, not having been brought up with constant harassment and slut-shaming and all the above crap. 

And that’s the actual sexual-moral integrity the world needs. That’s the kind of responsible sexuality the world needs. Taking charge of your desire and using it responsibly instead of denying it even exists, instead of suffocating it.

Most of the time, we’ve only ever been given two options: either an abuse of sexuality or a complete denial of it–which makes it difficult to construct something new, because men especially haven’t been given those tools for a responsible sexuality (which is why the whole AIDS business exploded out of hand–it sure wasn’t due to female prudery that it became an epidemic, but because of that “either you remain celibate or you’re irresponsible and promiscuous” dualism in the culture of masculinity). It’s been poisonous for both women and men and it’s bullshit, and human beings can be more than that. We’ve got brains between our ears. Yes, even if you’ve got a dick between your legs (and smart and responsible guys know this, even if they get called fags. Tough–they get laid the most because women realise they treat them as people).

But what we need to do is to stop acting like we can’t do it–responsible sexuality. Yes, we can. And step number one is to own your desire, actually look past these prudish dualisms and think.

Are you harming anyone with that RPS fic, when those actors/rock stars are deliberately not ever reading social media–and quite probably wank off to porn right now themselves, porn with far less chracterisation and humanity given to its women than an average female-written fanfic is giving to the guys?

Are you doing something harmful to your body by giving it a nice rush of oxytocin and endorphins and dopamine and getting your circulation going and making yourself happier?

Are you damaging someone out there by tapping into the beauty of those stories and fantasies and whatnot this actor/character/rock star is giving you, when you let yourself be swept with them, let yourself glow, and at best, make other people around you happy as well with your stories or your feedback?

No, you aren’t. 

Stop acting like you’ve been abusing desire when you’ve never, ever in your life done that.

It’s ok. You’ve just been absolved. You’ve just stopped being a victim.

Now go and allow yourself pleasure–yes, you can do it without harm to anyone!–and be happy for once.

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

So I have a lot of somewhat diverging, incoherent thoughts about things you and your anons've said said, and I'll try to whip them into shape. 1) I wonder if there is a some gap between rational acknowledge and subconscious - bias (or if we're being impolite, homophobia) when it comes to these things. Of course, that can be rationalized away to an extent, but what I'm mainly talking about is the subconscious bias that Louis "reads" as gay to a majority of people and Harry does not. 1/

To use external examples, one of my favs from kpop is Zhou Mi from Super Junior M, and it’s pretty much an open secret in his fan base that he’s gay. He got a lot of flack when he and another member late-joined the group which can be attributed to overzealous fans and xenophobia, but Zhou Mi, unlike the other new group member, reads as less straight even in a non-Western context and still to this day (9+ years) gets more hate/is less popular. 2/

OTOH we have someone like Matt Bomer who is publically out, but still has a lot of straight female fans who are outright thirsty for him. They campaigned for him to be Christian Grey, and recently I saw someone describe him as “Can look, can’t touch”. To me, Bomer - and Harry (and Ziam) - doesn’t necessarily read as “straight” but more as “not-NOT straight” (the new Hollywood soft action hero) whereas Louis doesn’t get that benefit. 3/

This has very little to do with their actual sexuality, but again just subconscious bias. Unless if we’re able to acknowledge and confront our bias, oftentimes that can turn into discomfort and hate/anger, which might explain some of the over-the-top reactions we’ve seen in the past against Louis (and Zayn too - his otherness, in more obvious ways). 2) In terms of the straight female fans/queer female fans/desiring - desirability/triangulation of desire conversation– 4/ 

I just want to make a couple of observations (1) Queer female fans who make up a large part of L’s fanbase also include women / NB individuals who ARE attracted to men, as well as women / NB individuals who aren’t attracted to ANYONE. It felt worth mentioning to be factual and objective that actual ability to desire is not always the issue. Of the ones I follow who identify as bi/pan/other queer, a majority seem to express similar aesthetic reverence towards H and L instead of sexual. 5/

(2) I’ve seen at least one lesbian-identifying blogger recently who recently got a lesbian-identifying anon who said they would be happy to do [explicit sexual things] to Louis despite the fact she was a WLW and Louis is a MLM and the blogger agreed. So there might be something else going on there– But in terms of general fan response, similarly, over many fan polls, Zhou Mi’s fans often cited that they’d rather be his friend than date him. So it might have to do with how Louis/ZM are “read” 6/

3) In terms of your “There’s nothing wrong with a woman fantasising about Harry fucking her.” comment – I might be misinterpretting or overreading your intention with that statement, but it makes me uncomfortable for a few reasons. I respect why you’ve come to feeling this way and for other bloggers “shaming” women, but I inherently disagree because there’s other factors at play. 7/ 

 I think we can readily agree that men vocalizing their violently objectifying and sexualizing comments towards women, especially women they don’t know, is problematic (e.g. Adam going “I’d fuck [Celebrity A]” while joking with his friends, Brad saying, “Her face don’t do it for me, but I’d take her bare on her hands and knees.”) I know that are ways in which the relationship is inversed with Harry because he is white, male, rich, privileged, in an industry where that is the peak of power 8/ 

That being said, you yourself pointed out that One Direction, and many boy bands, are treated the same way that females in the industry are treated – objectified, devalued for the actual talents they are selling while being told their most valuable feature is their desirability. ESPECIALLY for Harry, who has been given this role despite his vehement objections. For many larries, who are queer women, the violent objection against other [straight] women sexualizing Harry might be commiseration 9/

–as they themselves are often subjected to sexualization and unwanted advances despite their own sexuality or feelings, which is another level on top of just harassment. I want to point out that that commiseration is *empathy* with someone they perceive as a victim of systemic homophobia (also something else they experience) and not necessarily internalized misogyny against women and what they feel as a requirement for reciprocity in order to express desire for another party. 10/

I agree you can’t help who you’re attracted to, and if the fantasy is between you and yourself, then no harm done. However, in my experience on Tumblr, many straight fans of Harry do take it the next level equivalent with the Adam/Brad example I created above, in a way that treats Harry like an object for their fantasies rather than a person with autonomy, and a person who’s expressed discomfort in the past for being made into this object. 11/12

I understand if you disagree with me, but I wanted to offer another perspective that’s more nuanced than “women hate that women have desire because of internalized misogyny which is why they’re angry when women express desire”. Anyway if you read this… uh thanks!

**************

Hi Discluded - thanks so much for your asks.  I think they’re really interesting.  I think your idea of people being seen as not-NOT-straight is a really useful way of looking at some of the different ways celebrities are read.  I think your comments will be really interesting to people who have been part of this discussion.  I’m only going to respond tot he last bit, about Harry and het fans.

I’m not sure I agree that Harry has vehemently objected to being the object of desire at this point in his career.  He definitely objected to being seen as someone with a huge desire for women, but that’s not quite the same thing.  While he’s put some boundaries up (including literally with his wardrobe), his album gave heterosexual fans everything they needed in order to feel desired by him.  I’m not saying I know how Harry feels about all this, but I am saying I’m very wary of other fans using a claim that they know Harry’s feelings as a way of bolstering their own reactions.

To your more substantive point - you end with motivations, why people might be objecting to fans who desire Harry. It’s not something I had touched on.  If I was going to give a reason for why I wouldn’t talk about internalised misogyny.  I would probably start with fandom dynamics - in this case Larries creating a ‘bad’ fan’ to differentiate themselvesselves from.  I agree that a feeling of empathy and experiencing their own boundaries is probably a factor for queer women (although I’m not sure I think that queer women are more likely than straight women to express objection to women desiring Harry).

I think that people can have very good reasons for why they respond the way they do and still end up reinforcing existing power structures in the way they express that response (a distinction that tumblr is quite bad at acknowledging).  It’s possible that queer women are responding to particular aspects of how particular women express their desire to Harry, but the easiest language to hand is language that shames women for having sexual desires. 

For women who are objecting to particular articulations of other women’s desire for Harry then the way to make it clear is to be specific. To name expressions and actions that are crossing the line, rather than focusing on women’s desire.

And while I don’t think it negates your main point since I’ve been thinking about the gendered nature of desire - I also wonder about the example you used.  The whole point of hetreosexuality (as like a social instituion) is that it’s not easily reversible.  The language around sex gives very little option but to portray men as active and easily ignores women’s consent.  I’m not sure that ‘Fuck me in that hat Harry’ in the tags is very similar to your example with Adam and Brad.  I’m not sure I think heterosexuality works that way.

Thanks for your thoughts - and I’d love to hear anything else you have to say.

[rafecameron]

The Witch’s Curse (Part 1)

The small town of Airedale was perfectly normal and quiet until the red woman showed up. Now with the curse she’s placed on the town Larissa and her new found group have to do their best to stay alive and fight against the undead.

Okay so I said I wanted to write a modern au zombie apocalypse with the Game Of Thrones characters so, here’s the first chapter! I don’t usual write multi-part fics so any feedback would be extremely appreciated.

I would also like to ask any one who reads this opinion’s, should I just write this as a fun fic or should it be a Robb Stark story? Please help me decide! Thank you!

Airedale Village was large compared to most neighbouring villages, but still only housed little over six hundred people. Everyone knew of each other if not by name then by face alone, so when a new comer entered the town it didn’t go amiss. So when the beautiful red headed woman going by the name of Melisandre arrived early one summer morning the town was rife with gossip of who she was and what she was doing in a little unknown village like this one.

Even when the women first arrived Larissa hadn’t paid much notice to her. She wasn’t much of a gossiper and liked to keep herself to herself. She didn’t want people knowing her business so did not see it as her business to know theirs, so she ignored the chattering and whispering about the red headed woman and got on with her every day life. Now, Melisandre had been in the town for just short of a month and the excitement had already dwindled down to nothing. The beautiful red woman was old news and people had soon returned to their normal lives and their boring meaningless conversations.

You could say that Airedale wasn’t the most exciting town to live in. The people were boring and little happened in the day to day life of the village that could be considered fun or exciting. When you grew up around the same people, going to the same shops and living in the same house, things soon began to feel tired and boring. It wasn’t a secret that every villager under the age of thirty dreamed of leaving, of moving to a big town somewhere and starting a new life. But the sad fact was that this town was comfortable. When you grow up not knowing anything other than the same grey cobbled streets then the idea of moving away alone to an unknown town with strange people was a scary prospect and one the younger side of the village only fantasised about.

Those who did dare to venture away from the village usually returned within a year or two, they missed the familiarity of it all and the close knit community. Everyone looked out for each other here, that was one of the pros of living in a small village, one of the very few pros at that.

Melisandre had settled herself into a small cottage on the outskirts of the town and now Larissa barely saw her, only on the occasional Wednesday when the woman would visit the corner shop she worked in to buy bread and milk. The woman didn’t speak much but her dark stare felt as though she was looking straight into your soul and Larissa always felt uneasy in her presence. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something unusual about the woman, she couldn’t place her finger on where this feeling had stemmed from but she knew she didn’t like her.

Every year towards the end of summer the village hosted it’s annual street fair. Even this was nothing exciting, it was hosted by the mayor of the town Stannis, but everyone knew he only went ahead with it because his young daughter Shireen insisted. The week approaching the fair she could usually be found stringing up bunting along the park fences and getting her uncle Renly to help her paint signs. The brothers didn’t get along at all but both of them doted upon the young girl.

Larissa didn’t really remember it well herself, but everyone knew that the little girl had been gravely ill when she was born and hadn’t been expected to live. She presumed that was why her uncle and her father tended to her every wish and want. Her mother had died when she was just a toddler and ever since then Stannis seemed to have lost most of his happiness. The only time there was ever a hint of light in his eyes was when he was around his daughter. That was, however, until the red woman appeared. Not a week after she had moved into the town she had gotten close to the mayor. They were often seen walking together and she even seemed to be taking on a mothering figure to the young girl. Most of the villagers thought it was sweet, but Larissa thought it ominous.

Her friends told her it was just because she didn’t like the woman, but Larissa thought differently. She was usually a good judge of character, like when she told her friends back in high school that the new man Euron who lived by the lake with the Greyjoy’s was creepy and no one had agreed. It took him less than a week to show his true colours and suddenly everyone agreed with her.It seems everyone always forgets the times she was right about people right from the off.

Honestly Larissa didn’t have many friends, but she didn’t mind at all. Her best friend and house mate Annie was really all she needed. She hadn’t been overly popular in school either, she was quiet compared to a lot of the students and so had found it hard to fit in. No one in the village was really horrible, so bullying luckily was not a common thing or Larissa was sure she would have been a victim of it back at school.

The corner shop she worked in sold mostly fruit, veg and other basic necessities. It was owned by an old couple who Larissa was sure wouldn’t live for many more years. The butchers down the road was owned by Stannis’ other brother Robert, he liked to boast about how he kills and prepares all of the meat by himself. The fish market was run by the Greyjoy’s who caught all fish they sell on the lake by their house, they kept away from everyone mostly. Larissa had gone to school with both the children but they were both older than her. Yara had left not long after Larissa had started and Theon was the year above her and in a completely different friendship circle. She had always found him loud and obnoxious and was glad she didn’t have to be around him any longer.

There was a small car garage near the post office, a small boutique shop and a sweet shop and that was about all Airedale had to offer it’s villagers in way of shopping experiences. If anyone wanted to do any real shopping they would have to visit the next town over which was a thirty minute bus ride away, or go online.

Finally the day of the street fair arrived and Larissa was sure the only person excited about it was young Shireen. Everyone else either saw it as something to do to pass the time or a good way to sell a few things. All of the stores were closed for the day and people could open up stalls up and down the main street. The road got blocked off and fair usually went on until the evening.

People sold cakes and food, other sold handmade clothing or jewellery. Most of the stalls were full of rubbish but Larissa liked to go and look at them all anyway. She always went with Annie, they would always walk alone the side of stalls on the left and then the side on the right and then they would buy a burger from Roberts bbq at the end. That was their routine and they always stuck to it.

As usual there was nothing worth buying but the two girls had fun looking nonetheless. The only thing that caught their interest was the stall near the middle of the right side which held a animals. Larissa recognised the young girl behind the table as one of the younger Stark children, Arya was her name. She was busy arguing with her brother Bran about something and didn’t notice the two girls getting closer.

One of the large cages on the table held baby chicks and the other bunnies. The Starks owned the large farm just outside the village and they often brought animals down to sell at the fair, the stall was usually manned by the elder children but it seemed that had been left to the youngest this year.

“Sansa’s rabbit had babies.” Arya explained as she notice their presence, “Father said we had to sell them because Robb’s dog kept trying to get into the cage and eat them.”

Sansa had been in the same year at school as Larissa but the two had never held more than a couple conversations together in all the years they’ve known each other. They were both quiet therefore they never seemed to get pasted the awkward small talking stage of a friendship. Her brother’s Robb and Jon had been the year above them and had both been fairly popular meaning Larissa didn’t know them too well either.

She knew Arya though. Arya was dating the boy who worked in the car garage and usually popped into her corner shop for lunch whenever she ventured into the town to see him. Larissa wouldn’t say her and Arya were close but she knew her well enough to consider her a friend.

“They’re so cute!” Annie gushes, bending down so that the could see into the cage better, “I wish we had room for a rabbit.” she sighs, poking her finger through one of the holes in the cage to stroke at one of the babies.

“You say you want one until it starts peeing on our carpet and chewing at your favourite chairs legs.” Larissa laughs and moves to look at the chicks who were squeaking away.

“These are mine.” Arya grins as she follows her over to the next cage, “I wanted to set them loose in Sansa’s room but mother wouldn’t let me.”

Larissa laughs lightly, of course Arya would want to do something like that, she was surprised the girl hadn’t actually gone through with it.

“How come you’re running the stand this year?” Larissa asks, standing up straight once again when she was finished looking at the baby animals.

“Robb and Jon are helping father back at the face, they’re putting up some new fencing and Sansa said it was boring and refused to come.” Arya shrugs, “I like it. Gets me away from that farm for a few hours so I don’t mind.”

“It’s something different to do,” Larissa agrees with a nod, “Well good luck anyway, we’re going to go get a burger.” He grins, taking ahold of Annie’s arm and pulling her away from the bunnies as Arya shouts a goodbye.

“They were so sweet! Oh I really want one!” Annie pouts, looking over her shoulder at the cage they had just left behind.

“We’re not getting a rabbit Annie!” Larissa laughs, “You’ll only be bored of it within a week and it will be left to me to look after it.”

Annie doesn’t argue but continues pouting up at her friend right until the reach the large bbq grill by the town hall. Then her face seems to light up when the smell catches her nose and she hurries forward towards the food.

“Hi girls.” Robert grins as they approach, “Come for your annual burger?” his voice was deep and loud even when he was just talking normally. Larissa couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have him shouting down at you angrily, she didn’t want to find out.

“Yes!” Annie bounces up to the grill and looks down at the food with hungry eyes, “I’d like extra onions this year please Robert.” She smiles.

Robert chuckles and prepares both of them the largest burgers he had into buns and piled them high with onions, “These ones are on the house, enjoy girls.”

They both thanked him and hurried off with their food, walking away from the fair to the bench they usually sat on that was placed just at the edge of the park facing the town hall. As they both tucked in the doors to the large building opened and Melissandre came storming out with an annoyed look on her face, shortly followed by an angry Stannis.

Larissa didn’t like to eavesdrop but they were stood so close that she couldn’t help but over hear them. They were arguing but without any context Larissa couldn’t be sure what it was about, but neither of them looked very happy. Stannis was not the right man to piss off and it seems Melisandre had done just that.

“You can’t get rid of me for good!” The red woman glares over at the man, “I may leave this town but my mark will be left here. I curse this blasted town and all it’s people!” The look in her dark eyes is ferocious and her hand grips tight at the long necklace she always seems to wear, “You’re village will be plagued with accidents, your villagers will die, but they will soon rise again. You have been warned.”

With one final glare the woman stormed off leaving a very angry Stannis behind. His eye twitches with annoyance and he stomps back into the building, slamming the door shut behind him. Larissa and Annie sit in silence for a few moments before sharing a confused look.

“What the hell was all that about?” Annie asks, her eyebrows furrowed in a bewildered look, “Did she just put a curse on this town?” she looks at her friend, serious for a moment before the both of them burst into laughter.

“It would seem that way! I didn’t realise we were living in a fairy tale.” Larissa chuckles with a shake of her head, “I knew that woman was strange!”

But Larissa couldn’t understand just how strange that woman really was, that is until the accidents begin a few days later and the girls realise that maybe the woman hadn’t been being dramatic after all and that maybe it was no laughing matter at all.