#sometimes man has urges to post okay this is a one off episode give me time until april

[aresonist]

look at my saviour dawg, im never escaping dema

[theapangea]

Night Out

Chapter: Boys Night Out Pt.1

Pairing/Characters: Steve Harrington x Reader, Dustin, Mike, Lucas

Summary: You and Steve have been dancing around each other for sometime now, neither of you wanting to make the first move. All your friends decide it is finally time for you both to confess your feelings.

A/N: This is just fluff stuff so a little different from what I've been posting for you little pervs lately... you know who I'm talking too lol. Ok so this series is based on those tv episodes that like everything is happening all at the same time but split into two episodes. I just love Steve in this and everyone pushing you two to be together!! Let me know what you think!!

*Also posted on AO3: Theapangea*

Part 2 | Part 3

“What about Y/N?” Dustin says out of the blue. The question was not posed to or at anyone, but definitely directed at the only boy old enough to date you.

“What about Y/N?” Steve is the first to answer, the words hanging from his lips. The room is instantly silent again as the three younger boys look between each other, quietly discussing who will speak first. Steve clearly still dumbfounded watching their interaction. 

Dustin begins to explain, this time in a more hush tone than before, not sure how Steve would take the answer, “You know…to get you out of this slump?” 

“What slump?” Steve refutes, deflecting the answer he already knows. He has been in a girl slump for sometime, no luck with Nancy or Robin or any other girl that would look his way. The only girl he hasn't tried to hit on in Hawkins is you. He wasn’t sure why. You were pretty and funny and smart but for some reason Steve couldn’t get the courage to actually ask you out. Plus you were best friends with his ex-girlfriend which didn’t help his situation. 

“We all see it, dude.” Mike added before tossing a cheese ball into the air to catch with his mouth. He misses by a mile, quickly grabbing another one to try again. Another miss.

“I don’t even know what you are talking about.” Steve leans back, propping his feet onto the coffee table. 

“We all see that you like her.” Lucas chimes in nonchalantly while flipping through the pages of a comic book.

“I do not .” Steve quickly protests. Crossing his arms, trying to deflect any proposed suspicion

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dustin whispers as he throws a cheese ball at Steve’s head. Steve tries to swat it away but it hits his cheek leaving a small mark of cheese crumble. 

“You seriously just need to ask her out already.” Lucas urged Steve. Their eyes meeting for a brief moment before Steve adverts to look at the ceiling. 

“Steve, let me give you some advice from one man to another.” Dustin begins, moving forward on the couch, “Women want a man who is going to make the first move.”

“I can’t believe you just said that to me right now,” Steve confesses, a hand wiping the embarrassment from his face. 

“He’s right,” Mike agrees, still trying to catch the ball of cheese in his mouth. Another miss.

“Have any of you actually hit puberty yet?” Steve looks at the oblivious bunch. “I can’t believe I’m hanging out with a bunch of 12-year-olds.” He huffs, slumping lower into the seat.

“We’re 14 actually.” Dustin points out.

Steve lets out another huff, “Doesn’t make it any better, Henderson.” 

“We’re right though. You need to just ask her.” Lucas repeats, this time a little more demanding. 

Steve hesitates, “Okay, say that I did like someone…but she’s friends with your ex. It’s not necessarily the best situation.” 

“Who cares?” Mike declares with the other two boys in agreement. 

“ Women . Women care.” Steve retaliates, “Women care about that kind of stuff.”

“Look, the worst thing that she is going to say no.” Mike adds, finally catching the cheese ball in his mouth, his hands shooting up in triumph.

“Yeah, you’ve gone through enough rejection that it shouldn't hurt.” Dustin teases, the cocky smile plastered on his face.

“Thank you, Dustin.” Steve tries to shake off the comment.

Dustin’s eyes widened as he gets the bright idea, “You should call her now .” 

“Yeah, go call her.” Lucas agrees, putting the comic book down on the table, gesturing towards the phone. 

“I don’t know.” Steve leans forward in the old chair, the creaking shooting through the basement.

The uproar of encouragement quickly fills the room. All three boys are trying to convince Steve that he needs to confess his feelings for you. It was overwhelming to say the least. Steve really didn’t know what to do. Does he listen to them or does he just not do anything? Maybe it was time for Steve to tell you how he feels even if it does make things awkward between you and Nancy.

He must have been in his thoughts for too long as he sees Dustin crossing the room, picking up the phone, and dialing the number. Steve frantically getting up to grab the phone before someone answers. 

“Yeah. Hi I was wondering if Y/N was home?...ok…ok…yeah I will call them then…thank you…goodnight.” The conversation ends as soon as it begins. 

“She’s not home.” He lightly bangs his head against the wall. Dustin gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, not sure what to say. 

Was this a loss? What would he even say to you if you actually picked up? He never got the feeling that you liked him. You were normally cold towards him, rarely laughing at his hilarious jokes and always the first to put him on babysitting duty. He hated that you got under his skin, he hated that he didn’t know who you actually were. Hated that he never tried to know. Silently cursing to himself how much of an idiot he has been all these years.

“Damn.” Mike trails off, wiping the snack crumbs from his face, “We should go find her.”

“We are not going to go find her,” Steve injects before anyone else, clearly unamused by Mike's idea. 

“Why not?” Dustin pleads, tugging lightly on Steve's sleeve. 

“It’s stupid." He turns toward the young boy at his side, "This isn’t some movie. What if she doesn’t even like me?” Steve tries to explain the situation at hand as simply as possible. His feelings for you were complicated, never understanding how he felt towards you and never taking the time to realize that he actually really did like you in more ways that a friend would.

“Max says that she likes you.” Steve’s ears perk up at Lucas’ comment as he shoves a handful of cheese balls into his mouth.

Rushing over quickly to Lucas side, kneeling down beside the couch, “How does Max know that?”

“Well Max said that Robin said that she and Nancy talk about you and it seems that she likes you.” Lucas explains between chewing, every other word slightly muffled by the food.

“Dude you’re in.” Dustin beams, the look of joy washes over his face. 

Maybe you do really like Steve. Maybe Dustin, Mike, and Lucas were right and he just needed to finally ask you out. But when? He had the confidence to do it now but you were nowhere to be found. What if by tomorrow he is not able to gather the courage? What if you find someone else by then? 

Steve pushes himself onto the sofa, head in his hands, trying to make sense of this situation. "We don’t even know where she is.” 

“Well, Hawkins is pretty small. There isn’t much ground to cover.” Dustin explains, reaching for his jacket. The other boys following suit, standing, wait for Steve to make the final decision. Dustin dangling his car keys out in front of Steve's face.

“Fine.” Steve rises while chuckling at their enthusiasm, snatching the keys before leading the group out of the basement into the night. 

~~~

I'll be posting Part 2 tomorrow probably (don't hold me to this deadline)

Tell me what you think as I NEED validation!! love you!

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

(pinterest inspired board)

part: 1/6

(other parts)  (masterlist)

The day it happened, it wasn't a significant meeting at all, you barely even talked. In fact, when he opened the door of your neighbor’s flat that day with a beer in his right hand and his hair messy, he didn't have any effect on you. You always knew that living next to a director meant that sooner or later you’d bump into the pretty faces of well-known people. Sure, you didn’t expect them to be Hollywood actors like him, but to say you were starstruck by the man, would be the overstatement of the year.

The building you’ve lived in for the last three years has five floors; you live in the 4th, he lives in the 5th. He’s a quiet person, usually spending his evenings out of his apartment. You’ve talked sometimes, about the weather and the weird lady that lives in the 1st floor. You’ve never told him you find his directing style a little pretentious.

You’ve never been to his place until that annoyingly warm August evening, when you find a white button up shirt on your balcony. You can clearly see more clothing when you look up and you’re certain the item you’re holding belongs to him.

He’s not there though. Instead you find a different face behind the door. Lighter eyes and darker hair. The man in front of you is definitely younger than the director. You don’t bother to notice what he’s wearing.

“Can I help you?” His voice is deeper than you expected. Stronger, with a touch of European accent. The sound of English surprises you at first but soon you realize he must be another foreign coworker that came to visit your neighbor

“No, I just think Argyris dropped this and it ended up on my floor.”

He looks at you and then at the shirt, in your hands.

Then he says “Sure, I’ll take it.”

“Okay.”

Then it ends. He doesn’t even ask your name. You don’t have to ask his. You figure out, as soon as you walk down the stairs, that it’s Sebastian Stan that you just talked to.

And while being a big fan of marvel movies, you think nothing special of him at first. You just wonder how a mostly unknown director from Greece got an actor like Sebastian to come here so they can work together. It makes no sense to you, but you forget it when your phone starts ringing.

/

It would’ve been easier if you never saw him again, yet you do. You see him trying to understand what the old lady from the first floor is trying to tell him. You already know. The elevator is not working. The next day you see him walking up the stairs.

You exchange a quick hello, how are you and then off you both go.

The same night Argyris invites you to have a drink with them in the terrace. Part of you wants to just stay in bed and binge watch some Sherlock episodes. Part of you already thinks of what to wear.

There are around ten people there when you show up. They’re all sitting down in huge pillows drinking and talking loudly. You don’t know most of them.

You sit next to a blonde girl, across from Sebastian. This time you notice he’s wearing a plain black shirt and holds a glass of whiskey.

You don’t share any direct conversations but you learn that he’s afraid of growing old and that he thinks Taxi Driver is one fucking masterpiece, as he says.

When you mention that you’re probably the least artistic person in the room right now, you hear him laugh.

A curly haired woman starts dancing with him at some point. You decide he’s not a good dancer.

He leaves the same time you do, following you down the stairs.

“I thought you live here.” You say when he doesn’t stop at the floor you expect him to.

“Ah no, I stay at a hotel near the centre.”

He keeps talking about his suite until you reach your door.

You part in a blur, with a short goodbye.

He still doesn’t ask for your name.

It makes you feel genuinely offended.

/

Two days after, he is the farthest thing from your mind, until you find him sitting in front of your door, his eyes roaming the place with despair. And then he sees you.

“Ah finally you are here.” He starts casually. “Thank god.”

You just nod.

“Argyris told me to wait for him with you. We had a meeting but he got stuck in traffic.”

You give him a look.

“He said you’re always at home so you won’t mind.”

Ouch. Yeah sure, your social life wasn’t something to brag about but for some reason the way Sebastian said it, it sounded like an insult.

“Okay, come in.” You shrug, clearly not feeling comfortable and turn around to unlock the door.

You hear him call your name. You thought he didn’t know.

“Yes?”

He offers you an easy smile.  “Thank you.”

/

Sitting in your couch he’s eyeing the entire room, while you put some groceries in the fridge.

“Argyris says you’re a great girl.” He clears his throat. “But he thinks you’re too quiet for your own good.”

You look at him, your eyes flicking up and down his face.

“And from what I can tell, he’s right.”  You hear him laugh.

It felt weird to see him laugh while he was leaning back at your cozy pillow. He had entered your life so suddenly you didn’t even have time to react to it.

“I’m sorry but I barely know you.” Your words are sharp. He sits up.

“Okay then let’s get to know each other, what’s your favorite Disney princess?”

Defeated, you laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, this is an important question.”

You wait for him to crack up but then you remember he’s an actor.

“I don’t know.” You think for a second. “Mulan?”

“Oh my god. Mulan is amazing.” You smile at him. “My favorite is Jasmine, she’s just so badass.”

You share your favorites that day, having almost nothing in common rather than your everlast love for animated movies and buttered popcorn.

When it’s time for him to leave, he stops and looks at you in the eye.

“You should talk more often.”

You stare at him with confusion. “I talk,” you raise your eyebrows. “When I have something to say.”

“Good.” he says, still looking.

/

Later in the evening, you’re eating some yoghurt when he comes knocking on your door.

He’s different. The white tank top he was wearing this morning is replaced with a dark shirt and his face looks tired. You assume they’ve been working since he went upstairs.

“Hiii”, he says dragging the i, “Am I interrupting anything?”

You desperately want to nod. You want to tell him that you were doing the most exciting thing in the world, before he came but you were never a good liar.

So you just tilt your head and take a step back.

That’s when he enters and is met with some loud rock music blaring from your laptop.

“You like AC/DC?” he asks, almost wide-eyed.

“Well, I can tell it’s them when I hear their stuff.”  For the first time that day, he seems to be in loss of words. “Why are you so surprised?”

He sits in the same spot in the couch as earlier and laughs.

“I just didn’t take you for the kind of girl who likes this music.” It’s your turn to laugh.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Quiet girl who loves animated films and eats kids’ yoghurt” he looks at the carton in your kitchen table, “and also likes metal music? Doesn’t add up.”

“We’ve basically just met; you shouldn’t make assumptions about me.”

“Fair enough.” He sits back, fidgeting with his fingers.

You take some time just looking at him

There was a certain vibe about that man that made you wonder how it’d feel to cruise down a dessert highway in a convertible mustang with him. In the summer. With him wearing that white tank top.

The color of strawberries emerges at your cheeks just at the thought of it.

You wish he doesn’t notice.

You’re glad to find him looking the other way, before he speaks up.

“We’re going out tonight.” His voice is warm now. “Argyris says you should come along, even though I’m quite sure there’s no hardcore music where we’re going.” He laughs again.

I can’t. You almost say. But then anxiety slips away from you and out of sudden you want him to stop being so freaking arrogant, going around and acting like he knows exactly what kind of person you are.

He thinks you’ll say no. You can see it in his eyes.

“Sure, when should I be ready?” you say, surprising both of you.

He looks at you for some time and then trying to hide whatever he was thinking he says the first thing on his mind.

“How old are you?” He sounds pitiful. He knows. He wishes he could hit a wall; with his head.

“Twenty-one.” His eyes scan yours, unsure of what they’re looking for. “Why?”

“No reason.”

He inhales deep.

/

You try to blink. You’re at a party in a little bar you’ve never been before and a lot of people are wearing black. Alcohol. You can still taste it on the back of your tongue. You don’t remember how you end up pressed against a dark skinned man, but you can tell he smells of cigarettes and despair.

You sway your body to the beat, close your eyes. Breath in. And out. You think the music deafens you for a second but you open your lids and see Sebastian and he’s watching you, unashamed.

He’s not that far, though it feels like it with countless bodies in the way. The music melts. His gaze is almost angelic. Or devious. You can’t really tell.

He’s dancing with that curly haired woman again. You wonder how intimate their relationship is.

The red neon lights make his skin glisten. His muscles move divinely. It makes you think there’s an entire world inside him, his flesh barely keeping it hidden. Out of sudden you get the urge to walk towards him. You want to see him up close under this dim lighting. But you don’t move.

The man that’s groping your waist asks for your name. You tell him you need to flee. He doesn’t understand.

You sit outside with the sweet summer breeze touching your bare arms. The bass of the music in the background syncs with the beating of your heart. You can feel your ribs grow with every breath you take. Until you stop breathing because the door opens and his eyes suffocate you.

You can’t fathom the effect he has on you. He was a pretty face on screen some days ago. But right now he steals distance and stays near you.

You don’t look his way. He doesn’t say a word. Nicotine and smoke surround you as he exhales. His fingers hold the cigarette butt with care.

“Do you want some?”

You turn to look at him.

“I don’t smoke.” He laughs.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t want some.”

You want to know if his breath has the taste of sulfur. You want to pretend it’s the alcohol or the loud music that makes your head hurt.

“What’s the best part of being an actor?” The blue in his eyes glows.

There’s silence but he seems to be thinking about it.

“Do you ever feel things too much?” He says, his voice hoarse. “I mean, when you feel something so intensely it becomes a part of who you are.”

You nod. You understand.

“Acting allows you to let go of these feelings,” he starts. “You share the burden with the audience until it becomes light and you can hold it again.”

You look at him, shaking your head.

“I don’t think I could that,” you close your eyes. “I don’t think I could share what I feel so easily.”

He stands up. The wind hits you again.

“A lot people can’t. That’s why everyone is heartbroken,” he takes a breath, “Feelings eat us raw.”

You both go to bed alone that night. Tomorrow there is a hole next to you.

/

the morning after, search history

(02:45 PM) hangover recovery

(03:00 PM) best food after a hangover

(03:10 PM) sebastian stan

(03:30 PM) sebastian stan girlfriend

(06:00 PM) xanax side effects

/

You follow him on Instagram. He doesn’t follow you back. You remember he probably gets tons of followers every day and decide not to let it bother you. Instead you study for the exams of the following month.

The subject of your studies doesn’t interest you. Another poor decision you made under pressure. Sometimes you feel as if your life is borrowed from someone else. Sometimes you feel as if you haven’t found your home yet.

Feelings eat us raw.

His girlfriend looks beautiful in the pictures you find online. The media isn’t certain if they’re still together but you like to think so. It makes it easier to avoid him.

But the universe seems to be oblivious to your thoughts and you see him that same day. You’re taking the garbage out and he’s coming down from the top floor. You meet in the elevator.

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” his eyes are smiling as he talks “you looked kinda drunk last night.”

You fidget with the hem of the bag you’re holding.

“I wasn’t drunk.” You notice he’s growing some stubble. You’re not sure you like it.

“Whatever you say, doll.”  You bite your cheek trying to devour any sign that might give away how his words make you flinch.

He turns his body a little so now you’re facing each other. He’s so pretty. He’s so pretty in a way that doesn’t hurt. You try not to stare at him, but you fail sometimes. You’ve never noticed how slow the elevator moves until you want to get out. You can’t stand being so close to him for much longer.

He’s an arrogant rich actor who loves Disney and smokes a lot, you think. I have no reason to be affected by him.

“Ah! Argyris said we’re leaving for the weekend.” You eye him curiously. “He wants to show us some small villages in the south. He thinks we should get to know the country a little more before we start.”

You’re stunned by your neighbor’s dedication to his work. Sometimes you wish you had something you could be passionate about too. Sometimes you think you’re never going to find it.

“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll like it.” You give him a smile.

He leans his back at the wall. The elevator stops. Finally.

“I like your eyes.” You grab tight onto the bag. “But they don’t smile when you do.”

He opens the door and he’s gone.

They tell you that it’s fun to meet a famous person. They tell you, you can ask for a photo and a hug. They tell you celebrities don’t talk a lot but that doesn’t mean they’re rude.

But he’s not like that.

He’s fire. He’s burning heat and scorching flames. His words are his thoughts; raw. You don’t like it.

/

late night search history

(00:38 AM) blue valentine movie soundtrack

(01:15 AM) is sebastian stan a bad person

(01:30 AM) acting classes for amateurs

(01:50 AM) cheap leather boots

(02:10 AM) sebastian stan eyes

 You find it annoying; how he’s present even when you’re alone.

Thankfully he’s leaving for the weekend, you think.

/

The weekend, however, is two days away.

You think you can get away without seeing him. And you do. Until it’s late at night again. And they’re all upstairs with music so loud you’re certain the lady on the first floor is going to be rude about it in the morning.

The music tempo has you unaffected. All you think about is if he’s dancing with that woman again.

He’s such a bad dancer, he should not be dancing.

There’s a subtle knock on your door. You know it’s him. You hope you’re wrong.

“Do you feel like dancing?” His face is all flustered. It’s a good look on him.

“You can’t come knocking on my door at 2 AM and ask me to dance.” His gaze is filled with confusion.

“So you don’t feel like dancing?” You roll your eyes. He notices.

“That’s not the point Sebastian.” It’s the first time you call him by his name. You let it slip away slowly, testing the way it sounds coming out of your mouth.

He takes a step closer. You are suddenly aware of your pyjama shorts and your exposed skin.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to irritate you.” His eyes are the cliché blue of the sky. “I just thought you might want to dance, that’s all.”

Suddenly you feel guilty and embarrassed. He’s oblivious to it.

For a moment you feel his eyes linger on you. It feels surreal.

You nod at him.

He’s ready to say something when Argyris comes down the stairs, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“Ah man, I thought you got lost or something.” You lower your eyes. “Stop messing with the poor girl. People are looking for you.”

He throws a smile at you and Sebastian takes a quick breath.

“People are always looking for me.”

He gives away that he’s carrying a burden. Your expression softens. But then you look at Argyris and you see he doesn’t really pay attention to these words.

You share a quick look before you’re there standing alone at your doorstep, trying to grasp the idea of him.

/

When you wake up you feel like running. You can’t fathom where the feeling comes from but it starts like a liquid running down your veins and soon you can’t stay in bed even for a second.

Feelings eat us raw. Only if you let them.

.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged in this six part story :)

[bffsoobin]

fond

➤idol!yeonjun x non!idol reader, pure fluffy goodness, yeonjun gets teased a lot lmao

↳yeonjun has always been a hard worker; reaching above and beyond the expectations of every person he’d even met and even himself. There was only one part of his life he knew was impossible to better--you. In Yeonjun’s eyes, you’d never been anything less than perfect from the day he met you. He never lets you forget it either, even if everyone else was beyond tired of hearing it.

Word Count: 1,501

Requested: yes!

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, very small sprinkle of angst (self-doubt in reader)

A/N: I wrote this super fast so it may not be my best work but it felt really good to get something out and posted again! Love you all, hope you had a happy holiday!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“Are you sure they want me to come?” You asked, shifting anxiously on the balls of your feet. “I mean, it seems like a thing reserved for just the five of you- celebrating the album- and none of the other guys have significant others to bring.” Yeonjun stopped in his tracks, leaving his shirt halfway buttoned up. Gently, he ran his warm hands up and down your arms. The sun had begun to set at some point while you were getting ready, and the light cascading in through the window opposite you washed Yeonjun in a golden ring of light.

You were so distracted by the sight that you almost missed the words coming out of his mouth.

“Baby, the guys love you. And they want you to be there. I promise. I wouldn’t ask you to come if it weren’t true. Hell, I wouldn’t even be going myself if it weren’t true. I’d much rather stay here with you and cuddle.” Your heart softened at his reassurance, anxiety bubbling away from your bloodstream in a few instants. Humming happily, you crushed Yeonjun into a hug that felt as if it could meld your bodies together.

Yeonjun lead you into the reserved restaurant with his fingers linked between yours with such fervor he might as well have glued your palms together. For that you were grateful though, because the party which you’d expected to be just the other boys and a few staff ended up being much more expansive. You spotted several important producers and a few other idols who had the time in their schedule to come and celebrate with their friends. The thrum of your heart kicked up tenfold as Yeonjun lead you through the crowds, eyes turning to him  and his head of bright pink hair immediately. Damn him for always being the man of the hour. The two of you had almost made it to the safety of his table; so close in fact that you saw Soobin waving at you enthusiastically and pointing at a pair of empty seats saved by jackets and hats. Mere feet away, Yeonjun was stopped in his tracks by someone you only recognized vaguely, but knew instantly was of importance. The man was tall, handsome and well dressed, balancing a bottle of beer between his fingers with practiced ease. 

As the two of them chatted about the album and general comeback procedures, you felt yourself becoming more and more out of place. For Yeonjun’s sake you plastered on a gentle smile, nodding along to whatever words were being exchanged between the two of them. 

“...her name?” You caught the tail end of the sentence just in time to see that the man was gazing down at you. You glanced between him and Yeonjun, trying to collect any information as to why you were being addressed. 

“I’m Y/N,” you offered carefully, not sure how they’d arrived at this topic. Yeonjun squeezed your hand reassuringly, running his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Well, I had no idea that Yeonjun had a girlfriend,” the man simpered. “What exactly do you do?” The implication of his words hit you like a MAC truck. What did you do? What did you do to deserve to be here, rubbing elbows with these famed people? 

“She’s a student, actually! She’s always busy with school work or research.” Yeonjun cut in, voice rising protectively. “She pretends it isn’t a big deal, but she’s pretty high up in her department, got all the professors to love her. And she’s on track for a really cool internship- right baby?” He shot the conversation back to you, attempting to ease the tears crawling up your throat.

“Oh, it’s not that big of deal, I don’t know if I got it yet, so-” 

“Shush, it’s amazing. And there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the most qualified person for the position. You’re amazing,” Yeonjun beamed down at you warmly, a blush cropping up along your cheeks as you fought the urge to cover your face. Yeonjun quickly exchanged his goodbyes with the man and lead you finally to the table where you could take a deep breath. As soon as you settled into the chair next to Soobin, Yeonjun began to apologize in a hushed voice.

“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t think that he would say anything like that. You know that you’re amazing, though, right? I don’t want you to ever believe that I’m not proud of you, or you aren’t amazing because you aren’t an idol. I love how hard you work at school, I love that you aren’t busy with all the stupid idol things that I have to do. You’re such a positive light in my life, such an amazing person. I’m so happy that I know you. Seriously, I can’t imagine not knowing you. You know I love you, right? So much.” Your heart swelled, pumping so rapidly that it felt like it might fall out of your chest. All of the tension you’d felt during the conversation was completely gone, replaced by a pleasant buzz of happiness that only Yeonjun could provide you with. Despite the business within the restaurant, it felt as if you were in your own little bubble with Yeonjun alone, focused only on the gentle cadence of his voice and the steady heat radiating off of his body. His eyes were soft and round even under the concentrated eye makeup you’d helped him apply before leaving your apartment as he watched you carefully. 

“I know, and I love you too,” a smile split your face before you could stop it, straining the muscles in your cheeks until they stung. 

“Trust me, Y/N. We all know.” Taehyun laughed, causing the other three to nod in agreement. 

“Seriously, he literally talks about how much he loves you all the time. Sometimes even in his sleep he’s asking where you are-” 

“Hey! Stop it, you little-” Yeonjun growled, sending a menacing look toward Taehyun. 

“No! Keep it coming, tell me more,” happy to encourage the teasing of your boyfriend, you leaned back in your chair and picked at the shared plate of fries that had appeared in the middle of the table at some moment. 

“Oh, there was that one time we were in the studio and we couldn’t find him anywhere, like we even sent managers out to find him and everything and it turned out he got caught up talking with some random lady outside about you because he saw her carrying a bag you’d like.” Beomgyu offered, eyes sparkling at the chance to make fun of Yeonjun freely.

“Or the time when we were trying to film an episode of TO DO and he kept checking his phone because he was waiting for you to send a good morning text. The stylists were so mad that he refused to take his phone out of his pocket and they had to give him a top that would cover them.” Soobin jumped in this time, grinning just as wide as you were at the realization that Yeonjun was much more whipped for you than you’d ever estimated. 

“And lets not forget literally any time we have extra time at the dorm and want to watch a movie or play a game. He literally always asks if he can invite you. At one point it was like nine days straight and when we said we’d rather not have a guest he pouted in his room instead of playing with us.” Your eyes grew wide with recognition at the story, as you remembered the exact time Soobin was referring to. You had, quite honestly, grown tired of visiting the dorm every single night after class but you did it anyway for the sake of spending time with Yeonjun. 

“Did you guys know that he came to my apartment that night and complained that you were being mean to him?” Yeonjun whined loudly at your words, burying his flaming face into his own hands and letting out a defeated groan. He knew it was all true, and he was no stranger to admitting his attachment to you, but hearing it all at once made him shy. 

“It’s okay, Junnie. You know I love how whipped you are for me,” you teased, rubbing the nape of his neck with delicate fingers in an attempt to get his head off of the table. 

“I am not whipped!” He protests, sitting back up and trying his best to glare at you and his members. His face was still tinged with red, evidence of being caught in a lie. 

‘If you’re not whipped, then what would you call it, hyung?” Hueningkai questioned, taking a poignant sip of his drink all while keeping his gaze locked onto Yeonjun. The entire table, sans Yeonjun, snickered together as he opened and closed his mouth in quick succession, trying to find the right words. 

“I’m not whipped. I’m just...fond.”

[baureidalvez]

Angels Chasing Demons • Spencer Reid

This is my first Criminal Minds blurb! I'm new to the fandom and haven't even watched the whole thing yet (at the start of s11!) but I couldn't resist writing a little something. Feedback and reblogs would be SO appreciated, as I'm a little nervous to post this!

Summary: you try to hide your feelings from Spencer after he got shot, with little success. Mainly just lots of fluff and emotions!

Word count: 2,181

Episode: 🚨S9 ep 23/24🚨

“Are you sure you’re comfortable?”

You plump up the cushion behind Spencer’s head, being careful not to jostle him, noting the wince in his throat as he settles against the sofa. He nods as much as he can, a small smile on his lips, now that he’s out of the stiff hospital bed and back in your flat where he belongs. He’s on strict bed rest; Rossi told you to hide his work phone for at least a week, but you know he won’t allow that. You know it’ll barely be a few days before he’s asking for it again.

“I think I’m as comfortable as I can be for someone who just got shot in the neck,” He replies, the usual sarcastic twinge to his voice. “You know, the doctor told me that the bulle-“

“Babe,” You swallow the lump in your throat and try not to let Spencer see the tears in your eyes, this being one of the reasons having a profiler as a boyfriend is so inconvenient. You can’t hide anything. He narrows his eyes as he observes you, a free hand reaching to squeeze one of yours. “When it’s been more than a few days and you’ve healed and rested, you can tell me all about the science behind you being shot. For now, I don’t want to hear it.”

He nods once more and remembers that you haven’t seen the things he’s seen; it’s not part of your daily routine to find dead bodies and analyse every aspect to work out who committed such a thing. It’s engrained in him now, it’s second nature – you can listen to so much, but when it’s regarding the sweet man sat in front of you, you can barely look at him without wanting to burst into tears. There has been many tears over the past few days – first following the call from Garcia, and then again in the waiting room as Blake tried to keep you sane.

“I do need one more thing,” He murmurs, his hand still clutching yours, thumb stroking over the back like he doesn’t want to let go. “Will you lay with me?”

There’s nothing you want more than to be close to him, yet you know you need a minute to compose yourself. From hearing that he got shot to waiting for him to come out of surgery, to then hear that Garcia had saved him from being shot once more in a place that should have been safe – it’s all been a little too much. You lean forward to brush a chaste kiss to his lips, his gaze set on you as he waits for your answer. “Of course. Just give me two minutes, okay? There’s definitely three more care packages outside the door that I need to bring in before one of the neighbours takes them.”

“Okay.” He whispers, and you kiss his forehead before tucking the thick blanket over his lap, with a promise to be back in a moment. He sighs and knows that you’re not okay. He’s not okay either – he knows it’s only a matter of time before the nightmares start again, and he won’t be sleeping, but somehow it was easier to deal with when it was just him alone. Now you’re around too, he hates being the cause of your upset. He lays back against his cushion as you close the door to the apartment, and it’s barely a few seconds before tears are slipping down your cheeks. You were right, there is another care package sat on the doorstep, which you know is from Garcia. It’s not the reason you’re out there though, in the silent hall, the only sound being the sobs you’re trying to conceal at the thought of your boyfriend inside. It’s so hard seeing him in pain. He loves everyone around him, he loves his job, he’s dedicated his life to catching the bad guys and protecting people, no matter what it takes. He doesn’t deserve the pain he’s been through, and every time he’s called to a case, you pray to some higher being to keep him safe. Nothing makes your heart race more than an unexpected phone call or a text, your mind instantly going to the worst scenario possible. In this case, it almost had been.

Spencer may be off work and on bed rest, but it doesn’t stop the profiler part of his brain from being awake. He hears the sound he was expecting to hear as soon as you close the door, and it goes straight to tug on his heartstrings. Sometimes he doesn’t have all of the answers, and he doesn’t know what to do. He knows he shouldn’t get up from the couch, and he’s not sure he’ll physically be able to without injuring himself further. He clears his throat before trying to call out your name.

“Honey…” He calls again, when your name doesn’t get your attention. Not enough to come back inside anyway. “I really want to be able to comfort you right now but I physically can’t move, so, can you come back inside please?”

You chuckle behind the door through your tears and shake your head, feeling silly for thinking even for a moment that he wouldn’t know what you were doing. Swiping the tears from under your eyes, you compose yourself as much as you can, picking up the picnic basket full of snacks and tea before pushing the door open again.

“I manage to salvage this one before next door got hold of it,” You try to laugh it off, but he hears your voice wobble, and his eyes follow you as soon as he spots you. “It’s from Garcia again, she left a not-“

“Babe.” He sighs, cutting you off from rambling about anything other than the current situation. “Come here, please? You don’t have to hide from me.” Warm tears are cascading down your cheeks once more when you realise there’s no concealing it, there’s no way to keep it hidden anymore. You don’t want to push him away, but somehow your upset seems less valid than his – he’s the one who had to go through the physical pain, he got shot, it should be you taking care of him. Spencer doesn’t see it that way, though.

“Please don’t cry because of me, love,” He murmurs as you sit down next to him, pressing your face against his sweater covered chest. He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you in close, tucking your face against his shoulder, wetness from your eyes hitting the material as you cry. “Shh, I’m right here, now.”

He lets you cry it out for a few minutes, soothing sounds slipping from his lips, a warm hand rubbing the top of your back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You know you should, that you’re going to have to at some point, although you don’t even know where to begin. Spencer stalls for a few moments though, giving you another minute to calm down.

“Did you know, crying is actually a good thing? Research has found that crying actually does make you feel better, and the lump that you feel in your throat, isn’t actually a lump at all. It’s your autonomic nervous system going into high alert, which enlarges the glottis, the opening in your throat which allows you to get more air in to your lungs. It’s the tension between trying to open and close your glottis that makes it feel like a lump.” He keeps going and all you can do is smile, even though the words aren’t registering; you’re just happy to have your Spencer back and in one piece. “But.. even though it’s a good thing, it doesn’t make it any easier for me to see.”

Spencer feels an urge to comfort people, he hates seeing people cry. He remembers the unsettled feeling in his stomach that he feels whenever he sees JJ cry, or he finds a survivor who can do nothing but let out their emotions. He’s no stranger to crying himself, and if he’s honest, seeing you fall apart in his arms has his own eyes burning.

You rub your cheek against the material of his sweater, the smell soothing and familiar, much different to the clinical scent that clung to him after his hospital stay. “Spence… we almost lost you.”

Your mind flashes back to the beeping of machines, Blake’s arms wrapped around you in the waiting room, clinging onto any shred of hope that he was going to pull through the surgery. You vaguely remember a conversation between Blake and JJ, about how Spencer wants to have kids, and Rossi saying he’s too smart to die – he has too much to live for. It’s all true. He has the rest of his life to live and knowing he got close to almost not having that, is enough to scare you to death.

“We didn’t know if you were going to pull through. My heart sinks every time my phone rings, I just get so worried about you… and then I actually got that call.” You explain, unsure where you’re headed, but knowing he needs to hear it. He listens as you cry in his arms, his thumb gently brushing each tear away as it falls. “I know this is your job, your life, and I would never take that away from you. You’re amazing at what you do, and the world needs you. I just wish I could know that you’re safe. People shouldn’t be allowed to hurt someone like you.”

He exhales through his nose as he thinks of the situation from your perspective. Obviously, he was worried, but he always pushes it to the back of his mind when he’s in the heat of the moment, doing anything he can to protect others around him. He pushed Blake out of the way to keep her safe, and he’d choose that option every time. In the moment, he doesn’t think of the repercussions. It always happens so quickly, and the next thing he knows he’s in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital. He hates seeing people that he loves in pain, and he hates getting those calls too. He’ll never forget the feeling of finding out that Garcia had been shot, or that JJ had been tortured. It’s a ball of anxiety that sits in the pit of his stomach, and he realises that must be how you feel, every time he goes on a case.

“The world would be a better place if no-one ever got hurt. I like to think my job plays a part in trying to achieve that,” He replies, fingertips trailing up and down your back as he speaks. “There’s always going to be more cases, more bad guys, but every day, we put more of them away. I know it’s dangerous, but it’s a part of me now..”

“I know, and I don’t want to change that about you.” You assure him, squeezing his hand to get his full attention. “I’m not asking you to change anything. I just wish you didn’t have to get hurt, or be in pain. I’m too scared of losing you. You have too much to give back to the world for that to happen.”

“I love you.” He murmurs, making sure to look right at you, your eyes locked on his. “I know I’m not easy to be with, I’m away a lot, and I get hurt… but everything feels easier with you around. And I wish I could move my neck so I could kiss you right now.”

You laugh and carefully sit up as not to jostle him, moving your face closer so the tip of your nose nudges his. “I love you, too.”

Spencer steals the first kiss, his soft but slightly chapped lips brushing yours, moving his head as much as he can so your foreheads touch. You kiss him back with as much love as you can muster up, wanting him to feel every inch of it, knowing that he does. You sigh contentedly, feeling better after your discussion, but knowing he has a long way to go to heal. The kissing is interrupted by the sound of his phone, and you shake your head, remembering Rossi’s orders to keep it away from him and to not let him answer.

“My phone, can you get it? I can’t move,” He asks, looking around the room from where the sound is coming from.

“Nope,” You reply, shaking your head, punctuating the sound with another kiss to Spencer’s lips. “Strict orders from Rossi, no phone for at least two weeks. You need to rest, and I’m about to go and turn it off.”

He watches as you push up from the sofa, going to find his bag, and pulling the vibrating phone from the front pocket. He shakes his head as he hears you head to the bedroom, keeping it tucked away whilst he recoups. He’s in pain, and he knows he doesn’t have an easy road ahead, but with you to take care of him… somehow, things don’t feel so bad.

**

Feedback would be appreciated! Let me know what you think here <3

[thecrimsonjaguar]

A Short List of Adventure Time AUs

So I got a google doc of adventure time aus I’ve made over the past two or three years. Here are some of my favorites (and also the ones I came back to and edited)

If you’ve got ideas for an au or ideas to add onto the preexisting ones I’ve got here, please tell me! I’m always up for some au discussion. 

1.) Jermaine AU: Jermaine comes to live at the treehouse after his house blows up. This, unlike canon, happens rather early in season 3. The rest of the series mainly stays the same, except this time there's three brothers instead of two. He's a kinda anxious dude with demon hunting expertise and a painting hobby. He sometimes wonders if he made Dad disappointed by letting all his work explode. Finn and Jake help him out, and he helps them. Despite this, Jermaine is the only one with a brain, and Finn and Jake share exactly one (1) braincell that they trade every so often. Jermaine is tired. (Jermaine is the only one who tries to clean regularly, and he's also the one to keep Neptr, Ancient Psychic Tandem War Elephant, and a few others company. He's a bit of real wisdom the early series Finn and Jake needed.

2.) Melted Ice AU: Mid season two, IK is hit with something that de-ages him. He turns six. Maybe this mystery de-aging thing blows up the top of the ice mountain, who knows. Maybe he wakes up in the snow, with no memory of how he got there or why. No memory of the last one thousand years. Finn and Jake don't know about his backstory since that happens in season three. Simon is carried by a snowman out of the ice kingdom where he breaks down in the plains. Finn, of course, finds him and is ecstatic to meet another human. Completely missing the fact that this small child is, in fact, the Ice King, Finn declares to help this boy no matter what. That promise soon becomes difficult when people hear about the second human in Ooo, and whatever effect that's keeping him young starts to wear off. (Marceline comes to visit and has a heart attack)

3.) Adventure Falls AU: AT x GF baybee!! Seventeen year old Stanley Pines hops on the Stan O' War and sets sail when he's kicked out. Unfortunately, that boat is nowhere near sea worthy, and all it takes for him to go overboard is one sudden (magical) storm. But, miraculously, Stan doesn't die. He washes up on Ooo, the island of misfits. Where there's daddy issues galore and punching things and getting gold is a legitimate career. He's found on the shore by none other than Finn, who asks if he's okay and if a dungeon adventure would soothe his worries. Stan accepts, because that sounds awesome, and they maybe date. For the next ten years, Stanley is a professional hero. He travels with Finn, he lives in a tower with tons of gold, he's respected, adored, and has made a family for himself. Ooo has a habit of forcing traumatic therapy onto to people, so Stan gets (read: is forced) to work his issues out. And then, somehow, he gets a postcard from his brother.

4.) Young Pups AU: Jake's kids grow up fast- but not that fast. He stays with lady for a few episodes being Dad and when the Pups are old enough, go visit Finn and Jermaine. Also Jermaine is there when the pups are born that always bothered me in canon like what the fuck. This whole AU results in Jake the Dad being a better father than in canon, because he actually has time to make mistakes and learn from them. He sometimes shapeshifts into one of those baby carriers but suited for five kids instead of one. Finn and Jermaine fight for best uncle privileges. Finn is considerably more awesome but Jermaine's got magic junk and juicy stories about Jake. So far the votes are: FINN: Jake Jr, T.V.  JERMAINE: Kim Kil Whan, Charlie. Viola remains undecided.

4.) Evilgreen AU: Evergreen was evil. His idea to make the crown to stop the comet was actually a cover story to take control of all the elements and freeze everything. Of course the same thing happens here as it did in canon, Gunther gets the crown and wishes to *be* evergreen. This is bad. Very bad, so bad in fact, that things get FUnKy. A couple eons later, Simon gets the crown as per canon, and then things start to slide downhill. Since the crown is significantly worse, Simon tries to get rid of it. No amount of magic pull is going to get him to put on the eldritch hat. It teleports back. When things go to shit, the crown tells him he's got two options: He can either live, or he can live unwillingly. This all coalesces in super angst and mild horror as Simon has to fight off evil urges and somehow keep both he and Marceline safe. Things start looking up, though, when he summons Hunson Abadeer.

5.) Nightmare Therapy AU: Simon, now himself post canon, has some funky nightmares. Problem is: he's due for a visit from the cosmic owl due to some mystical bureaucratic bs. If that were to happen, Simon's dreams of Golb and Orgalorg and the world ending and everyone dying and maze would come true, without the veil of metaphoric junk dreams are known for (also due to bureaucratic bs). So, Simon gets a dream therapist. An OC, probably, that would fight off his nightmares when they came and talk to him about his issues.

6.) High School AU: Except they're all still magic and crap. Finn's a jock that's part of the LDnD club(Literally Dungeons and Dragons), Jake's got a job at a pancake place and hosts the Card Wars clubs on Wednesdays, Jermaine's in college and their parents were still detectives/demon hunters. PB is preppy/nerdy girl with weird fucking family and is absolutely a mad scientist. Marceline is still a demon/vamp (vampire biker gang, they all died, deaths pending) and her uncle is Simon. Simon is a history teacher whose ex wife might be an eldritch abomination (the students wonder, but there are no answers)((simon says cryptic things every so often that are the subject of much ridicule, but he's a nice guy)). Ooo High has all of the AT characters in some shape or form. Tree trunks is the lunchlady, Mr Pig is a janitor. Lemongrab is just there. LSP(Q?) is a teacher because that's hilarious. Hunson is dead along with Marceline's mom because fuck hunson. Magic Man is a hobo that snuck onto campus and can't be chased off (his brother is the superintendent, Glob). there's a lot more but that's for a different word doc.

7.) Back to the Future AU: So PB fucks around with time travel, right? For science. She gets sent back in time a thousand years, before the war. Now, she's a pink lady who can shoot jelly beans from her hands, of course needs to lay low. And of course she needs to get home, but she's in a Futurama situation where she only has one type of time machine; the one that can go into the past. Not to mention her own time machine got busted on her way there, so she's double screwed. But, she remembers something. There is an individual (two, actually) that knows about time travel in this time period. She knows him, and he's likely to help her if she plays her card right. She needs to find Simon and get back to her own time, preferably without dooming herself in the process. (perhaps she tries to steal the notes Simon has, and Simon's completely oblivious, except Betty can smell trouble from a mile away and immediately notices some pink woman trying to steal books and she goes ham. Perhaps she goes ham in such a way that Simon doesn't notice. Perhaps this goes on for seven acts.)

8.) Bread and Butter AU: Bella Noche during the episode Betty creates a huge black cube that engulfs all of Wizard City. This box acts as a cage and prevents Wizards from escaping the magic purge. Simon is unable to bring Betty back from the past, and he's fading fast. In a desperate attempt to stop things from escalating, Simon chugs a bottle of anti-magic like a fucking god. He gets through the cube that surrounds Bella Noche and knocks their lights out. He passes out, and when he comes to, the anti-magic he consumed as merged with him. This is because of a simple rule: Magic sticks to magic, anti-magic sticks to anti-magic. And since humans have always had just a little bit of anti -magic present within them, humans and anti-magic go together like bread and butter (badumtish) ((I have actually written a fanfic about this, you can find it here))

9.) Swapped AU: Through various shenanigans Ice King's and Magic Man's powers gets swapped. These shenanigans somehow land them in space as well. This happens before Magic Man's trial. The swapping of their powers results in Simon getting his memory back. It also gives Magic Man the Ice Crown, unfortunately for him though, it seems to hate him. Simon's glad to back, but quickly realizes one issue: He's still crazy. So the pair try to make it back to Ooo. MM needs his powers to swap himself with some other shmuck so he doesn't croak when his trial comes, but Simon's made it clear he isn't giving his powers up without a fight. The pair starts off rocky, neither trusting the other, but space trouble forces them to work together. Simon's a nice enough guy he wouldn't leave someone to die and MM really needs Simon alive so it works out. A weird friendship forms, and they learn get along. Just a couple of crazy space wizards. Then the crown is destroyed. MM is freed from the crown's control, and he's freed from magic. He gets his sanity back, just in time for his trial.

that’s all I’ve got for now!

[xyliane]

the many lies of kanzaki hitomi to her long-suffering best friend uchida yukari

summary: when hitomi is on time to their weekend coffee time, yukari knows something is up.

notes: because I utterly adore escaflowne in ways that I don’t know if I can truly describe, and the wonderful @wuzzyletoastermac​ recently finished the show, I couldn’t not attempt a post-series write-up about...the best friend who’s only in four episodes. (I just love van and hitomi so much). G, hitomi and yukari friendship, van/hitomi mention. 1450 words.

---

Yukari knows it’s something big when Hitomi makes time to meet for coffee on a Saturday. Normally, Hitomi—best friend since forever, national track star at the age of 18, certified social worker, truly wonderful person, etc. etc.—is off with her long-distance boyfriend, or coaching track, or coaching track with her long-distance boyfriend looking pleasantly befuddled at the whole proceedings. On a rare occasion, she’ll ask Yukari for help getting Van into what can politely be termed “normal people clothes,” and Yukari can spend most of the afternoon puzzling over Van’s absolutely bizarre accent and failing to get either of them to tell her where exactly in Greece she can find someone as hot as Van Fanel.

Hitomi swears up and down that they started dating while she was doing a study abroad in Australia her second year of uni, but that doesn’t explain why the poor man 1: doesn’t speak English at least on par with an average high schooler’s cram school classes, and 2: doesn’t own a single pair of jeans not currently in residence in Hitomi’s closet. The Greeks aren’t that weird. Besides, half of Yukari’s architecture clients are based in America. She knows weird. And even by those standards, Van is weird.

Not to mention there’s some nagging part of Yukari’s brain that seems to recognize Van. It’s bothered her since they first met, and the last three years have done nothing to assuage that feeling. How silly to believe that they met in a dream or a vision. That is certainly more Hitomi’s realm.

But he loves Hitomi. It’s impossible to unsee that deep unending well of affection in his dark eyes, the soft smile that makes him look ages younger whenever she’s around, how patient he is even when she’s determined to find the perfect sweater for a job interview or the exact right cafe she claims was there the last time she was in this part of Asakusa. Occasionally, he’ll even catch her before she wanders too far afield, hand tight on her wrist in a way that speaks both to his own nerves wandering around in a crowded city (again, Hitomi went to uni in Sydney, why is Tokyo that much different) and to the way Hitomi turns back to him like a flower blooming in sunshine, all blushing cheeks and bright smile and alive in ways Yukari only wishes she could feel.

So Yukari’s a little jealous. It’s hard not to be. If it weren’t for the occasional argument blowing Hitomi’s temper sky high and Van’s own anger coming out in blistering tension, or the way that Hitomi will sometimes spend more time complaining about the weekend she’d had with him than bothering to answer any of Yukari’s questions about where exactly they’d met up, she’d worry that Van actually was perfect.

Okay well, no one she has to force into jeans against their will is perfect. Especially someone who looks like that.

So Yukari has kindly deigned to meet with her best friend at their favorite cafe on a beautiful Saturday morning, despite everything (Hitomi’s boyfriend and Yukari’s desire to sleep until 3pm respectively). Something’s off.

And when she rounds the corner at 10am on the dot, Kanzaki Hitomi is already there sipping a latte with Yukari’s favorite sitting there, still steaming. Hitomi is never on time. For anything. Ever. If she is, it’s because of her long legs and bizarre luck.

Something is definitely off.

“Yukari! I got you coffee,” she says, bright guileless grin on her face.

Yukari sits and sips. Sweet, caffeinated bliss. She almost forgives Hitomi the hour.

Not enough to loosen her suspicions, though. “Hitomi, what are you up to?” she says once her brain is active.

“Ah, well.” Hitomi casually brushes non-existent lint off her jacket sleeves. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Is it about Van?” When her best friend’s face turns a bright pink, Yukari’s eyebrows rise. “Is he moving here?”

Head shake no. Hm.

“Did he finally take his jeans home?”

Deeper flush.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Yukari!” Hitomi screeches, face luminescent and voice far too loud for the little cafe. A few of the other patrons, including some who clearly have had as much sleep as Yukari, turn and glare at them, and Hitomi clasps hands over her own face. Yukari tries to not laugh, really. “I’m��no. And if you’re gonna be a jerk, I won’t invite you to my wedding.”

Any and all feelings of malicious annoyance vanish in an instant. “You’re—Hitomi! Congrats! That’s amazing, when are you getting married? Where are you getting married? If Van’s not moving here, does that mean you’re—where is he these days, is it going to be big or small? What should my dress look like? Do you have the colors picked out?”

Hitomi giggles through her fingers, a little on edge and clearly overwhelmed. “That’s too many questions!”

“I can write them out in a list and email them if you’d rather.”

A high-pitched whine more like a tea kettle than a woman in her mid-20s erupts out of Hitomi, and she drops her face to the table in her best impression of a puddle of melted ice cream. “I wanted to tell you properly, you know,” she mutters.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t let it slip on accident,” Yukari says. As much fun as it is to mercilessly toy with her best friend who completely deserves it, there are more pressing matters, particularly Yukari’s own calendar that she is going to completely shuffle around. “But before I spend the next three hours getting you to spill every detail, at least tell me when and where.”

Without moving her face off the table, Hitomi rustles in her purse, pushing a pair of envelopes at Yukari. The first is a classic wedding invitation, cream colored envelope brushed with elegant black kanji. It’s exactly what Yukari would have expected from Hitomi’s mom, who has handled the years after her husband’s death with astonishing grace. But the second…

The parchment—it’s too thick to be paper, fibrous and off-white and flecked with gold—is about as wide as Yukari’s hands spread apart, and covered in a mix of runes and curling symbols that spread across the top of the invitation like wings. In the center of the whole thing is burnt a diamond-shaped emblem with a winged dragon. It doesn’t look like any Greek Yukari has ever seen.

“Would you be the host for my reception? It’s in a month and a half,” Hitomi is asking, which under any other circumstance would send Yukari into delighted peals of laughter. She’s a planner by nature, and organizing something as momentous as Hitomi’s small wedding will be worth every moment of her best friend and her boyfriend making sappy eyes at each other.

“Of course I will,” Yukari says, distracted. Social work doesn’t pay enough for an invitation this fancy, and Van can’t even afford his own clothes. And it’s not in Japanese, or English, and is that real gold? “What is this?”

Hitomi rubs nervous circles around her latte mug. “Since Van’s not from here, and the only person who can travel is his sister, we thought, you know. One wedding here for me, one there for him.”

“Sounds great,” Yukari says, turning the parchment upside down and over onto its back, hoping that the meaning will magically appear. “Hitomi, I can’t read this.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Yukari.” Hitomi passes a hand over the parchment, the ring on her hand glimmering bright pink in the sun, and the runes curl and shift before Yukari’s eyes like…like magic. Yukari resists the urge to rub her eyes. Magic isn’t real. Just like dragons aren’t, or friends vanishing into pillars of light.

Your presence is requested at The marriage of Van of Fanelia and Hitomi Kanzaki White, 12th Moon Present invitation upon arrival

“It’s almost like a destination wedding!” Hitomi says. “Will you come? Please? Only Mom and my brother can come, and you know Sota hates this sort of thing.”

The things Yukari does for Hitomi. “Of course I will,” she says. But before Hitomi can relax too much, she reaches across the table and grabs her best friend’s hands, digging in just a little too hard. “But Hitomi, for once, don’t lie to me about this: where on earth is Van even from?”

Hitomi gives a little hiccup of a laugh and refuses to meet Yukari’s eyes. “So, funny story…”

——

“You owe me so much cake, Kanzaki Hitomi.”

“I promise, at least one at the wedding!”

“Each wedding.”

[buzzdixonwriter]

Super Duper Supermen

This will be a long one, so pour yourself a cuppa and settle down.   We may seem to meander, but we’ve got a destination.

. . .

I’m tired of superheroes.

I’m tired of a lot of genre fiction.

Part of the reason is that too much of the current material is ugly and loud, but the real reason is it isn’t fresh, it isn’t fun.

I tried watching The Boys.  I got to the end of the second scene of episode one and realize, “This ain’t for me” and turned it off and went over to YouTube and watched guys build model airplanes.

At least they look like they’re having fun.

. . .

Look, superheroes are a power fantasy and they’re okay for little kids who want to believe there’s always going to be a mommy or daddy who will protect them, but they’re an absurd genre at best and when you start taking them seriously -- and recently even the funny parodies and spoofs take themselves Too Damn Seriously -- they become horrific.

What prompted me to realize this is an article posted on The Vulcan by Abraham Riseman “The Boys Is the End of the Superhero As We Know It.”

Highly recommended, by the way.

. . .

It’s not like Riseman was the first to make this observation.

30+ years ago Gary Groth observed:

“Superman is one version of the hero with a thousand faces -- to employ the title of Joseph Cambell's excellent book on the subject -- and his appeal should therefore not surprise us.  But Superman is a crude version of the hero; if you will, an elementary one.  Unlike his more developed analogues in all the world's great religions, Superman does not offer love or goodwill, self-knowledge or contemplation as keys to man's salvation.  He offers his own physical powers.”

And he ain’t the only one.

Alan Moore recently chimed in:

“They have blighted cinema and also blighted culture to a degree. Several years ago I said I thought it was a really worrying sign, that hundreds of thousands of adults were queuing up to see characters that were created 50 years ago to entertain 12-year-old boys. That seemed to speak to some kind of longing to escape from the complexities of the modern world and go back to a nostalgic, remembered childhood. That seemed dangerous; it was infantilizing the population.

“This may be entirely coincidence, but in 2016 when the American people elected a National Socialist satsuma and the U.K. voted to leave the European Union, six of the top 12 highest-grossing films were superhero movies.  Not to say that one causes the other, but I think they’re both symptoms of the same thing — a denial of reality and an urge for simplistic and sensational solutions.”

. . .

I don’t like cruelty.

I used to enjoy old weird horror films back in the day -- movies like The Reanimator -- because I appreciated their absurdity and never took them seriously.

When the torture porn sub-genre came along, I lost interest in horror films.  

The Babadook is the only modern one I’ve seen in the last 5 years and I enjoy it because like earlier horror films (and here I include both classic Universal / RKO movies and the artistry of Mario Bava and Dario Argento) it’s essentially a very dark fairy tale, not an exercise in cruelty for the sake of cruelty.  

Violence doesn’t turn me off.

Sadism does.

And sadism is all about power and fascism is all about power, so when I remark on modern superhero and thriller and horror stories as being fascist, I know whereof I speak.

. . .

Superhero stories may not necessarily be tales told by idiots, but they are full of sound and fury, and signify nothing.

Ultimately superheroes fail because:

they can’t lose

they can’t win

There is no finality in the superhero genre.  The damn Joker keeps crawling back, Les Luthor constantly schemes, Dr. Doom and Galactus pop up whenever things lag in the sales department.

Superheroes as a genre are failures insofar as they can’t permanently deal with these existentialist threats, nor can they step out of the way to let others deal with them.

Superheroes promise salvation but deliver bupkis, slapping a band-aid on a cancer and telling us it’s all better.

They can’t permanently defeat their greatest threats, yet neither can they be truly harmed by them.

I’ll grant you the occasional Captain Mar-Vel but they are very minor exceptions to the rule.  Gwen Stacy was bumped off in The Amazing Spider-Man #121 in June 1973, first reappeared as a clone in May 1975 then several times thereafter, and most recently shows up as Spider-Gwen in Edge of Spider-Verse #2 (September 2014).  

As Roy Thomas aptly observed:  “In comics they’re only dead if you have a body and even then only maybe.” 

(In fairness, there’s no finality in most formula / genre fiction either, but we’ll get to that in a bit.)

. . . 

Before we delve deeper, let’s be clear as to what we’re discussing when we say “superheroes”.  

They don’t need to possess “powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men”.

As noted above, they just have to be:

always victorious

never in real danger

You can bash ‘em / trash ‘em / slash ‘em / smash ‘em and they still bounce back -- heroically -- to save the day.

Break both legs, riddle them with machine gun bullets, hit them with a car, cave in their skulls with sledgehammers, and yet somehow they summon up the super-human reserves needed to keep in the fight.

Mind you, in the real world there are people who display super-human endurance in horrific situations and not merely survive but go on to achieve incredible success.  They don’t do such things every year (as do heroes in movies), much less every month (comics) or every week (television). They sure as hell don’t make a career out of it.

Let’s veer away from brightly colored naked people flying & fighting to superheroes in a different genre than costumed crime fighters.

Mike Hammer is a superhero.

Sherlock Holmes is a superhero.

Philip Marlow might actually be a literary character.

Look at the criteria:  Can they lose?

Never in Hammer’s case.

Rarely for Holmes (and when he does, it’s always with bittersweet irony).

Frequently enough with Marlowe that one can’t anticipate if any of his stories will end with him victorious (yeah, he solves mysteries, but always at profound personal cost, and in more than one novel he ends up realizing he’s been a sucker all along).

Here’s another example that snaps the dichotomy into ever sharper relief:  

Samuel L. Jackson’s Shaft is a superhero.

Richard Roundtree’s Shaft is just a hero.

Roundtree’s Shaft is aware he can fail.

No “macho bullshit irony” as they say over at the Church of the Sub-Genius.

. . .

Superheroes don’t grow -- they decay.

They never truly use their power for good (because that would involve changing the world) nor do they adequately protect the innocent.

They serve no true function except to entertain and to be exploited.

Series novels and television shows can feature character growth, but the concept has to be baked in from the beginning (Jan Karon’s Mitford series and Armistead Maupin’s Tales Of The City books are two examples that spring immediately to mind).*

More typically, in series fiction the character/s show little actual growth; they are more or less the same at the end of their adventures as they were at the beginning, maybe a little greyer, maybe a little creakier, but essentially the same person.

Sometimes, particularly in military or nautical or police series, they may start out as a callow cadet but soon wise up to the stalwart hero we want to see.

As perfect an example of superhero decay can be found in the Die Hard movies.

The original’s superhero character, Detective John McClane, implausibly goes through a night of hell yet actually shows some character growth:  By the end of the film he’s able to swallow his pride and admit to his wife he was wrong.

A very farfetched movie but an emotionally satisfying one.  We’ll overlook a multitude of injuries that would have rendered him hors de combat in reality in exchange for the movie actually being about something.

All that gets chucked out in the first sequel, Die Hard 2, where the characters are thrown into a contrived situation to mirror the first film without the satisfying emotional growth but with far more ridiculous action;  Die Hard With A Vengeance jettisons McClane’s marital relationship except as an afterthought and ups the absurdity of the story (indeed, it’s best viewed as an action comedy); Live Free Or Die Hard totally trashes all the character growth before it; and A Good Day To Die Hard not only trashed previous character growth but went so badly over the top that it and the star’s aging out hopefully are the one-two punch needed to end the series once and for all.

. . . 

Look at non-superpowered / non-comic book superheroes and see how they fare.

D’Artagnan and the Three Musketeers are superheroes (conversely, Cyrano de Bergerac is not because the focus of his story is on who he is and not the what but the why of his actions; all the cool sword fighting is just bonus material).

Natty Bumpo is a superhero; anybody who can jump into a birchbark canoe from a tree branch 30 feet overhead without crashing through is a superhero because that character simple Can Not Lose.  

For that matter, most 1950s TV cowboys and virtually all Italian Western protagonists are superheroes.

Tarzan is a superhero. 

James Bond is a superhero (the SPECTRE / Blofeld arc in the novels and short stories actually do end up with him going through significant growth and personal change, ending with Smersh brainwashing him and sending him back to assassinate M…but then the British Secret Service intercepts him and a couple of paragraphs later he’s all better and off after The Man With The Golden Gun).

Modesty Blaise is a superhero.

Claire Starling is not a superhero, but Hannibal Lecter is (don’t give me that; even if you’re evil, when you’re the central character of a series of books / movies / TV shows you’re a damn superhero).

They’re all superheroes because they can’t lose and they can’t change their world and more importantly they can’t change themselves.

. . .

There is one exception to the above re superheroes, and that’s in the realm of sci- fi and fantasy stories.

Occasionally we find a character who becomes a king (viz Howard’s Kull) or a demi-god (viz Herbert’s Paul Atreides) and does alter their world for good or ill.

That, of course, is the ultimate power fantasy.

. . .

Fascism focuses on the Will and the Act.

It is a philosophy of movement.

It’s a philosophy that attracts the weak and the sadistic, because it promises protection from and power over others.

It’s a philosophy that actively seeks conflict, not necessarily overt violence, but the promise of same is always there.

. . . 

A brief sidebar to the other side of the comic book spinner rack.

Funny animals are essentially anti-authoritarian.

From Aesop forward to Carl Barks, their characters, filled with all too human foibles, can and do fail.

And when they win?

Ah, then it’s almost never by force or action, but by cleverness.

Funny animals are tricksters, accurately sussing out a situation and maneuvering to gain the best outcome for themselves without obtaining dominance over their opponent.

Bre’r Rabbit and Bugs Bunny.

Ducks Donald, Daffy, and Howard.

Superhero stories seems obsessed with keeping everything orderly and in continuity.

Without continuity, anything goes, and that’s fatal to the superhero trope as it annihilates authority.

Funny animal stories rarely feature continuity and when they do, it’s rarely rigorous.  If Porky Pig needs to be a businessman or a farmer or a studio executive or a traveling salesman, so be it.

He’ll be something else in the next story.

As tricksters, funny animals are bounded by one rule: They may save themselves and seek justice, but they will pay a penalty if they try to use trickery for selfish gain.

Howard the Duck -- “trapped alone and afraid / in a world he never made” -- is just trying to stay survive.

Daffy Duck -- greedy little miser that he is -- inevitably gets it in the neck when he tries to cheat someone.

Donald Duck -- floating somewhere between Howard and Daffy in his motivations -- finds no guarantee of success and reward, yet achieves success often enough to keep striving.  

He may battle mummies or a reluctant coke machine, his stories may take him around the world on an adventure or no further than his kitchen to fix dinner.

It doesn’t matter.

Who he is makes his stories compelling far more than what he does.

He’s not on a power trip.

He doesn’t feel he has to win every time.

And as a result, he has a much richer life than Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark.

. . . 

“So whaddya sayin’, Buzz?  ‘Superheroes is bad’?”

No.

I deny no one their pleasure.

But I also think there are times when we have to demand not just more of creators but of ourselves as an audience with the media we consume.

I only saw the first two scenes of the first episode of The Boys.

That was all it took to convince me not to watch it anymore.

For similar reasons, I have no desire to watch Mad Men or Breaking Bad or Better Call Saul or Game Of Thrones.  

I’ve picked up a strong enough vibe from each to know I’m not going to connect with them.

I’m certainly not saying you can’t enjoy them if you like.

Bu I am saying we’re cheating ourselves by not demanding more.

And until we start demanding more, the studios and streamers are only going to offer us less and less variety.

C’mon, people, we deserve more than that.

  © Buzz Dixon

  *  I’m sparing you a whole long analysis of The Mary Tyler Moore Show because frankly it goes too far afield of this essay’s central thesis and besides I can use it for another blog post in the future.

[vloggerparker]

twelve months || p.p

↬ pairing(s): Peter Parker x adopted Stark!reader

↬ genre/warnings: angst/comfort fic, PTSD, anxiety & depression, mentions of death, post Endgame (that’s a warning in itself tbh)

↬ word count: 1.3k

↬ synopsis: twelve months have passed since Earth lost her best defender, and it hits some harder than others.

↬ a/n: this is my piece for @blissfulparker’s writing challenge w the prompt “You’re hurting can’t you see?” & again, congrats on 5K bb!! <3 also, I’m a noob idk how to put a ‘read more’ option on mobile sorry (edit: I wrote this before ffh came out so idk what tf I’m taking about)

Twelve months. Already it’s been a year living in a world without Tony Stark.

An arrangement was made where you lived with Aunt May during the fall, winter, and spring so you could attend school with Peter and Ned. During the off-season you lived with Pepper and Morgan, but during the year you visited at least twice a month. The visits were always short, and nobody but Morgan had the fight in them to complain.

Being obsessively grateful had become the new trend.

It was a month after Tony’s death when Peter was professionally diagnosed with survivor’s trauma, a subtype of PTSD accompanied by anxiety and acute depression. His symptoms had appeared only a day after Thanos’ defeat. Peter confessed his feelings to Aunt May after one specific night where his nightmare had been so horrific it woke you up out of your sleep and you had to coddle him while he cried into your shirt.

Five months after that Peter mostly recovered. His daily scheduled appointments with his therapist became weekly, and eventually he assured everybody he didn’t need them anymore. We all believed him, and rightfully so. Peter was at peace.

It was around that same time that Peter started to tag along on your monthly visits to see Pepper and Morgan. You, Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey would catch up, seek comfort in one another while Peter and Morgan would swap the best stories about Iron Man. Harley came around sometimes, too, sharing his own tales about the Mechanic.

Even after Peter’s recovery, Ned wasn’t enthusiastic about Spider-Man anymore. You didn’t undergo the same therapy and depressive episodes like Peter had, and still Ned didn’t probe you for details. He wasn’t as enthusiastic as he used to be about superheroes. Nobody mentioned it.

Flash didn’t join the dusted the five years ago when Thanos first snapped his fingers. He graduated at the top of his class and got accepted into one of the best colleges in the country. The week you Peter and Ned returned back to school after things had settled, Flash paid Midtown a visit. The five years had done his personality justice. Flash apologized for his bullying that he claimed manifested from underlying jealousy, and offered his condolences. You all accepted it and moved on.

Seven months after Tony’s death and things began to change. You and Peter spent time alone, but now you did it with each other. The patches in your relationship were being sewn back together, each stitch binding strong. You held hands, shared beds, your hugs were longer. Your kisses were short and sweet, and other times they were needy and passionate. Aunt May loved the idea of you two being together, there for one another in a way she couldn’t be, but she never pushed it onto you guys, and you loved that about her.

Twelve months. Already a year has come and gone living behind a mask crafted of lies. You’re not okay. A year has passed and the absence of Tony Stark in your life is crippling. Your strong front was waning.

“Your lies aren’t working anymore,” Peter says softly from next to you in bed. He knows you’re not asleep yet, but you give him silence in reply. He continues anyway. “I hear you up at night because you can’t sleep, and I know when we visit Pepper and you leave the room it’s to go sit in his shop.”

You can already feel the muscles in your chest tighten at his words, the urge to cry amplifying. You swallowed back the lump in your throat and pulled the blanket up to your chin. “Please, don’t worry about me, you need your peace of mind.” you tell him as you force your eyes shut.

“And you don’t?” he quipped, and a bright light shines behind your eyelids as he switches a lamp on. “You’re hurting can’t you see? You haven’t even cried. Not since that day.”

You open your eyes and turn over in the bed to face him. You can tell he’s trying not to cry, trying to give you the opportunity to be the vulnerable one.

“Hey, talk to me.” his voice is soft and low, yet demanding. “Are you okay?”

There’s no worse question to ask a person when something’s gone completely sideways in their life than if they’re okay.

Tony was more than a teammate, a co-worker, or a friend and Peter knew this. You found a home in Tony, and without him it’s like the walls have come crashing down and the floors have caved in on you. The act of pretending like he didn’t leave and take the best part of you with him was draining.

You sat up in the bed, eyes narrowed to slits as you asked him, “can you be okay in this situation?”

He’s entirely stunned by the forward response, and at an utter loss of words.

“It never stops hurting. You never get used to the pain, you just make room for it. It will never be okay.”

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but ultimately decides against it. You give him another chance to say something, anything, and still he stares in silence.

You laid back down in the bed, your back to him. “Good night, Peter.”

“No, we’re going to talk about this.” he protested, a real bitterness in his tone that drove you up the wall.

In a fraction of a second you’re sat up in the bed on your knees. “What is there to talk about?!” you wailed, gesticulating wildly. There was no thought given to how it was well past one in the morning, or that May was sound asleep just down the hall. There was no thought at all, and the words that sounded out were nothing but raw emotion. “Bad things happen! You can’t change and you can’t predict them!”

“You’re right, you can’t change what happened, but you can change how you react to it!” he yelled just as loud, now standing bedside.

“Learn that in therapy?” you retorted, and regretted it the instant the words left your mouth. You dropped your head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Peter sighed sadly. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” you shook your head, “I don’t care how angry I am, I never want to use that against you. I’m sorry for being unreasonable. You’re just trying to help.”

“I am,” he agreed, sitting halfway on the bed beside you. “I just hate seeing you so miserable. You’re good at hiding it, and it took me awhile to see it past my own hurt, but I know you. You’re unhappy.”

The hurt becomes more evident on your face throughout Peter’s consoling until your eyes are glimmering with watery tears. You swipe them away, but they return instantly, and it’s so out of character for you to be crying that you don’t know how to control or stop it. His eyes soften for a moment as he watches you, and he can’t stop himself from visibly frowning.

Peter grabbed your wrists allowing unchecked tears to slide down your cheeks and dribble off your chin. “Hey,” he said softly, calmingly, “you know, over time you start to realize it’s okay to admit things aren’t okay. Your feelings are valid; you don’t always have to be the strong one.”

And just like that the floodgates opened. The cries were hysterical, sobs only being interrupted by the need for breath. Emotional pain seeped from every pore as tears burst forth like water from a dam.

Peter engulfed you in his arms as he said, “I want us to take steps so that you don’t feel like you have to isolate your feelings. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you can’t talk to me.” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, coddling you like you’d done for him all those months ago.

Twelve months. Already it’s been a year living in a world without Tony Stark. Peter’s comforting embrace as you cried into his shirt granted you freedom of the pain, and for the first time in twelve months you didn’t feel completely alone.

“I’m right here, and you don’t need to hurt when I’m here.”

↬ a/n: uhhh follow me for more LMAO reblogging/commenting is super encouraging!! & check out my masterlist to see if there’s anything there you like!!

[chrryjin]

sᴋᴢ ᴍʏsᴛɪᴄ ᴍᴇssᴇɴɢᴇʀ ᴀᴜ

Name: Kim Woojin

Birthdate: April 8, 1997

Occupation: Vocal trainer

Username: Teddybearwoojin, having a common name sucked so he had to be creative

Texting style: Usually uses proper grammar, but still will use acronyms and slang. Will leave it up to auto-capitalization.

Text bubble color: Mustard, basically a matte gold

Fun fact: He’s the eldest so he gets made fun of for being old a lot by the others. Everyone’s secretly terrified of him. Rarely posts selfies. Usually pretty chill.

Bad end: You end up kidnapped to Mint-Eye and get brainwashed into the cult, he didn’t make it in time to save you.

Good end: Woojin became your vocal trainer. He saw potential in you to become a singer, so he nurtured you. You both toured the world, and he proposed in one of your concerts.

Quote: “Whoa, it’s kind of weird to hear your voice instead of texting. Hm? You want me to sing you to sleep? Fine, but just this once.”

Name: Bang Christopher/Chan

Birthdate: October 3, 1997

Occupation: Actor

Username: CB97, his initials and birthyear

Texting style: Varied, usually proper grammer too. May type in all lowercase just for the aesthetic.

Text bubble color: Grey, since he couldn’t do black.

Fun facts: 1/3 of the ‘leader group’ 3racha (how everything started), the offical leader leader of the groupchat. Has you listen to song snippets that he produced as a hobby.

Bad end: You get into a scandal with him, his agency forcing him to denounce you. You end up harrassed by fans until you commit suicide.

Good end: You date in secret for a while, before he proposes to you on live national television. You accpet. The two of you overcome the hate and he retires to live a peaceful life.

Quote: “Me? Talented? Not really, but thank you! No, seriously I’m not! I think you’re the amazing one, organizing the party and everything.”

Name: Lee Minho

Birthdate: October 25, 1998

Occupation: Dance instructor

Username: Leeknow. He gets a lot of clowning for this.

Texting style: Lots of emojis, decent grammar. uses 🥴 a lot

Text bubble color: A turquoise/aquamarine

Fun facts: He has three cats that no one cares to remember. Those cats are his life clown them and die. Threatens to kill someone on a daily basis, also a flirter.

Bad end: On the way to his dance studio at night, you get robbed and eventually murdered for trying to fight back.

Good end: You encouraged and gave him confidence to follow his old dream of being an idol. With your support, he debuted in a group, and revealed your relationship before he retired.

Quote: “Hey beautiful, want to grab a drink sometime? Just kidding, but I’m always up for it. Drinks, or eliminating someone annoying for you.”

Name: Seo Changbin

Birthdate: August 11, 1999

Occupation: Producer

Username: SpearB, his ‘producer’ name.

Texting style: Uses a surprisingly cute style, lots of kao emojis (〃ω〃) and normal emojis despite his ‘darkness’

Text bubble color: Light pink. Edge lord sure.

Fun facts: 1/3 of 3racha. He’s a pretty well known producer, he’s made songs for multiple dramas and idols. He insists that he’s ‘edgy’ but he’s really not. Gets clowned for his height.

Bad end: You accidentally leak one of his works in progress and his music gets plagiarized. You get kicked out for betraying him.

Good end: You urged him to go into the spotlight rather than hide behind his music. He becomes known for his speed and spit-fire style, with you as his biggest supporter.

Quote: “What? Did you just call me short?! Binnie’s not short! He’s really mad now, hmph! It’s not funny! I’m seriously not short, hey!”

Name: Hwang Hyunjin

Birthdate: March 20, 2000

Occupation: Travel blogger

Username: Princejinnie, his nickname.

Texting style: He texts pretty normally. The occasional spell-check mess up, he uses emojis and slang too.

Text bubble color: Light blue, periwinkle.

Fun facts: He models part-time, but he’d rather have the places he visits become popular rather than his face. Super sensitive, a crybaby. Hated Jisung when he was younger.

Bad end: The bomb in the apartment malfunctions and goes off just as Hyunjin enters, the explosion killing you both.

Quote: “Hello? Hm? No, I’m not crying *sniffle*. Okay, maybe I am. The last episode of the drama got to me, okay? Maybe I can cry on your shoulder soon.”

E̸̡͔̲͇̦̙͙̗̳̣̹̤̩͇̣̥̫̩̜͙͗͗͊̽̓̈́͑̇̆̔̀̔̈͊̿͐̃͂͒̔́̅̀̏͜͝ͅR̸̥͈̱̪̪̳̞̙̍̌̀͆̃̐̽͌̏̚͜͠Ṛ̸̡̤̞̗͈̜̱̫̖̫͉̤̂̽̓̍̏̾͋͆̃̃̈̑͘Ǒ̶̘̮͍̙̱̌͛̀́͂̉͒͊̈̈́́̑͛͑̈́̆̈́̄͑̚͠R̵̝̦̝̰͎̾̓͛͐̌̈̈́̕ A̸̢̛͉̱̙͙͇̟̻̲̻̮̦̝͛͑͋̂̂̿̂̋̄̀͒͊̌͌͘͝͠ľ̵̢͚̞̠̭̺̣͖̈́̆͛̀̍̽̂͋͜ţ̷̢̛̱̤̥̗͎̪̭̮̳͚̗̔̅͗̈́̆̈́̉͋̑̅͊̒͂̈́̽̄̕͘͝e̵͓̤͐̇̉̊̃͂͐͐̈́̃̐̐̏̉̀̏̃̀̈́͝͝ŕ̴̢̹̤̬̯̗̪̜̫͍͓̍͆͊̏͘n̴̺͕̪̮̮̰̔̎͂̂́̏͗̈́͂͝a̸͔̭̣̲̤͈̯̘͈͖̤̹̖̒̅̑̽͐͑̓͘͘͝ͅt̵̖̣̭͈͙́͌̾̎̆̆̈́̍̂́̆̈́́̓̒̈̀̀̀ȩ̶̧̱̥͈̫͓͖̦͓̳̜̼̻͓͇̑̂͊̈́̀͑̂̑͘͘͜ͅͅ ̷͔̮̫̋̋̏̅̊͗̈́Ȓ̶͍̼̅̄̅͒̈́͠o̷̪͓͔͉̖̥͚̗͈̎͌ų̷̹̦̱̬̪͍̖̭̱͇̬̼͂̔̿̌̉̔̍̉̿̄́̑͋̑͛̕͠t̴̢̛͙̭͍̮͍̝̝͕̬̺͚̲̙͙͒̐̂̐̀̒͑́͐͒̍̑̕ẹ̶̩̗̪̞̘̥͈̩͎̤̬͓̰̲̑̇̿̌̀͌͆̃͂̈̕͝

Occupation: Mint Eye’s hacker

Username: Unknown

Texting style: Super creepy, mysterious. Seems to know everything about you.

Text bubble color: Pure white

Fun facts: He was brainwashed at a young age, a devout follower of Mint Eye. The travel blog is a coverup, he usually scouts potential followers in those areas.

Bad end: He kidnaps you, and you end up brainwashed and suffer from stockholm syndrome, loving your kidnapper and willing to die for him.

Good end: You end up becoming his light, and you help him into the process of recovery. He makes up with Jisung, and his ‘coverup’ becomes his true self. He’s happy again, with you.

Quote: “Mint Eye is the only place where I matter. Everything else is always Jisung, Jisung, Jisung! Yoh liar! I don’t matter to you, how can I?”

Name: Han Jisung

Birthdate: September 14, 2000

Occupation: Producer

Username: J-One, his producer name.

Texting style: Sporadic, it can vary immensely. You can’t predict it. Has sporadic moments of deep thoughts.

Text bubble color: Light purple, lavendar

Fun Facts: 1/3 of 3racha. Famous producer, collabs with Changbin a lot. Usually ignored whenever he acts cute or makes a joke. Knows how to hack from his olden days.

Bad end: You get kidnapped and used as a hostage, Hyunjin betraying Stray Kids. Jisung sacrifices himself over to Mint Eye, but you die anyway.

Good end: You help him defeat and recover Hyunjin. They end up being closer than ever, and you a true companion for Jisung. You saw through his mask and saw who he truly was.

Quote: “Heyo! It’s your neighborhood squirrel~ Hehe, you’re the only one who laughs at my jokes, the only one who loves me in this forsaken world~”

Name: Lee Felix Yongbok

Birthdate: September 15, 2000

Occupation: Song writer

Username: Fortniteguy4419

Texting style: Lots of memes and slang, it’s a miracle if you understand what he texts. Similar to Jisung, has his moments.

Text bubble color: Bright yellow, a bit harsh on the eyes

Fun facts: He’s relatively new, similar to you. He’s not super famous yet, but he’s trying. He’s the one opening up chatrooms at horrible hours, preventing you from sleeping.

Bad end: He gets tricked into Mint Eye, and you decide to go solo to save him. You both end up becoming brainwashed followers.

Good end: Felix ends up making it big, he writes songs for you to sing together. The fans supported you the whole way, excited that you were together. You both move back to Australia.

Quote: “Eyy, let’s get it. Dare me to drink five Redbulls? Anway, it’s 3am and I’m probably going to die. You better save me with a kiss okay?”

Name: Kim Seungmin

Birthdate: September 22, 2000

Occupation: Prosecutor

Username: #1myday

Texting style: Proper grammar, but will use emojis like :3 occasionally. Will text in all caps a lot, especially when about Day6.

Text bubble color: Mint green, on the lighter side

Fun facts: Huge Day6 fan, will never shut up about them. You’d think he was the normal member but nope. Regularly threatens to kill someone, like Minho. Soft spots for Hyunjin and Jeongin.

Bad end: You end up becoming the target of a serial killer, the one Seungmin was investigating into. You end up murdered, even though the killer was caught.

Good end: The serial killer is caught, and Seungmin becomes a well-respected prosecutor. The both of you go after the criminals that no one wants, becoming an unstoppable duo.

Quote: “You listen to Day6 too?! Oh, that’s my favorite song as well! We should go to a concert together sometime! You’re my favorite, stan kings.”

Name: Yang Jeongin

Birthdate: February 8, 2001

Occupation: 3rd grade teacher

Username: Babyshark

Texting style: Relatively normal, probably the most normal out of everyone. Uses emojis and slang but not too much or too little.

Text bubble color: Hot pink, looks nearly like red.

Fun facts: The youngest, he gets babied. He’s kind of evil, and he could probably get away with murder in the groupchat. Hates aegyo, hates being babied. Kind of hates the members.

Bad end: You visit his school one day, but then a terrorist showed up. You and Jeongin end up dying from protecting his students.

Good end: You end up in a cute and wholesome relationship. You baby him a lot, and he could tolerate it since it was you. His students helped him propose, it was really cute.

Quote: “I think you’re the only normal one in the groupchat—What? I’m not a baby, I’m a man! I teach babies! Baby teaching babies—It’s not like thaaat!”

Bonus

Name: Y/N

Birthdate: XXXXX XX XXXX

Occupation: XXXXXX

Username: Readerinsert

Texting style: It varies from time to time, but usually lowercase due to laziness. Emojis are used a lot too, and so are abbreviations.

Text bubble color: Your favorite color

Fun facts: You were lured and basically trapped into a groupchat named Stray Kids, and you had to organize a party on their behalf. Sketchy, but the guys were all sweet so you couldn’t help it —

Quote: “Wait, did you say that this apartment could explode? Great! Give me the sweet release of death, escape from the capitalist world of depression and letdowns—”

[bi-dazai]

BSD Episode 27 Analysis

Hello! Natalya back with my second instalment of my episodical analyses of BSD. This week I’ll be looking at episode 27 from the lens of a more platonic soukoku than last week, which was about explicit romance coding in terms of double-entendre and visual imagery. You can find that post here. I would suggest reading it, because I may indulge myself in romantic soukoku in this post a bit, although it will only be a side-track.

A note before we begin, however – I’m writing this in a much more casual academic tone, and I’m not using lowercase and internet casual as I did in my previous post. This is because it helps me enunciate my points in a way that doesn’t make me look like a crazy person. I also made quite a few grammatical errors, typos, and strange sentences. This tends to happen when I write long-form internet casual. For the sake of clarity, you’ll have to put up with the tone I usually place in a more casual academic setting such as my university tutorials.

So as usual I’ll pick out a few moments to focus in on to explain an overall general subtext and underlying message etc in the episode. For this episode, I’ve picked the opening in which Chuuya kicks the gun out of Dazai’s hand, and the scene in which our two other Sheep members are introduced.

-

This episode I’m going to focus on the way the episode expresses the burgeoning, newborn perceptions of Dazai on Chuuya and vice versa. I’m also going to be referring to moments that count as SPOILERS, so if you care about that then careful going forth, or perhaps wait until the Fifteen adaptation is finished before coming back to this post and reading it.

Also, for this episode I’ll be diving into my writing major and only partially into my film studies minor. I’ll have you know I pull out my textbooks and lecture notes every time I make an analytical post like this, haha!

-

So let us begin with the opening moments of the episode. This episode, structurally, is where we finally start diving past the surface of the introduction and right into the story of Dazai and Chuuya. This is the proper introduction of their relationship. So this first fight sequence serves to demonstrate the tone with which we will begin.

So here we have some classic establishing character writing. Step 1: Introduce the base characteristics of your characters. Step 2: Introduce a problem. Step 3: Explore how they interact with the problem.

So here we witness not just Chuuya and Dazai’s unique takes on how to deal with this problem, we also have their own perceptions of each other’s actions to explore. Remember – this story is about the two of them as a pair, not just as individuals.

So here we have our problem – an armed soldier has just appeared and is clearly threatening violence. Chuuya reacts by taunting – “Oi, old man. Let’s save us both some time.” Dazai is surprised by Chuuya’s brazenness (see the expression animated in the first SC). Chuuya taunts the opponent a little more, edging and encouraging danger, clearly seeking a fight. Dazai approaches. Walking calmly past, he says to Chuuya without regard for the armed soldier, “…you could just trick him to get some information out of him.” Here we have the set-up of Dazai and Chuuya in a problem. Chuuya sees a problem as a threat and escalates to a physical altercation; Dazai sees a problem as an opportunity and prefers mental cunning.

As the scene continues on however, we begin to recognise a similarity in Dazai and Chuuya, and that is that they have little regard for the problem. They understand how powerful they are and their upper hands (Chuuya his ability and Dazai his intellect). Even when they talk to a grown adult man wielding a gun, they talk down to him. When he holds a barrel to their heads within deadly range, they aren’t fazed:

And, of course, in this exchange here both Dazai and Chuuya both are shown to be knowledgeable of underground groups, networks, and goingsons. Keep in mind Chuuya is the ‘King of the Sheep’ and acts pretty much as their leader and later becomes Executive before Dazai does. And Dazai is Mori’s protégé, frequently set up to be the next Boss of the mafia to the point that Mori is fearful that Dazai would have taken his seat sometime soon if he hadn’t broken him (further) with the death of Odasaku. Chuuya and Dazai, despite their differences, are the most dangerous people in the underground right now, they’re clever and powerful. Chuuya may be the ‘brawns’ in their physical fights, but off the battlefield anyone interacting with them is subjected to two intensely intellectual and cunning people who are deadest on a goal. This is also shown at the end of the episode with their conversation with Randou, somewhat in Episode 21 when Chuuya isn’t beating the shit out of the Guild.

In short – they are different, yet incredibly similar. They have different views on a situation, but given the same goal they will work towards it in differing ways with equal success. They are the perfect rivals, and the perfect counterbalances to each other’s personalities and ethos’s. In My Hero Academia, Bakugou’s desire for victory and Midoriya’s pure heart and established as traits which each one must learn from the other to become both better heroes and better people. In Bungou Stray Dogs, Chuuya and Dazai work with and against each other and transform each other into better people.

And so, that is where this moment comes in:

(Sidenote: Chuuya’s line here translates roughly as “It’s useless to shoot dead bodies.” Don’t ask how, but I know that because of Jojo’s.)

(ignore this repeat sc, tumblr editor is being fucky)

(Second sidenote: Look. Look how close they’re depicted in this shot.)

(Third sidenote: sorry for quality drop – Australian internet is special.)

So here we have our first instance of one half of Soukoku directly challenging and changing an aspect of the other half. Here, Chuuya notices how clearly sick Dazai is. Furthermore, if we refer to our second SC (where Dazai’s expression makes me want to cry), we can see parallels to a certain future (ongoing) mental health arc:

I bring this up because we later find out that the reason Akutagawa is so violently driven is that he was constantly demeaned and psychologically abused by his mentor – Dazai. Akutagawa becomes not an antagonist but another protagonist upon meeting Atsushi [insert shin soukoku summary here] and bettering himself. He makes a pact not to kill anyone and begins working together with Atsushi (he used to be a lone wolf – a stray dog). Atsushi also learns to be confident and put a foot down from Akutagawa. But the point here that we need to focus on, of course, is that Akutagawa is seen as utterly deranged, violent, and demonic in the first season, but later we realise that he is in fact capable of empathy but was extremely battered by his own mental abuse.

We also see this expression on Fitzgerald as he begins to lose control. It’s another tie-back to Akutagawa (and in a small part Atsushi, but I’ll leave that for later when I analyse that episode). And we see it in Shibusawa in Dead Apple. We see this expression and through the stylistic language of Bungou Stray Dogs we come to understand it as not the depiction of someone to be reviled but the depiction of someone who is struggling inside.

So here, when we see Dazai make that expression, we know that Dazai may be a seemingly totally apathetic, suicidal, amoral mafioso who just went utterly crazy while shooting a dead guy in the head, but we know it is because, currently, Dazai is extremely, extremely depressed.

In thinking of Akutagawa and understanding what we know of Dazai’s past with Mori, it is safe to assume that Mori has not once opposed nor done anything to help Dazai with his mental illness. Mori has, in fact, utilised Dazai’s mental illness as a tool and a strategy to keep Dazai close.

And then the light finally comes in, and Chuuya kicks the gun out of Dazai’s hands, Dazai gets scolded, and finally someone is forcing Dazai to question himself.

So let’s move onto the vice versa of this scene. I’d like to give partial credit for this next piece of analysis to user @bluelancelion who wrote up an excellent little piece on this scene [https://bluelancelion.tumblr.com/post/184330424612/okay-so-we-all-know-that-dazai-is-manipulating-the]. [this is where the spoilers start to come into play!] Please go read that before you move on with my post here, because I’m going to expand on some points, however I don’t want to summarise something that’s already perfectly written anyway so I’m leaving that one to some assigned reading!

Ok.

So as OP stated, this is the first scene in which Dazai doesn’t put up a play act to hide his own feelings. Let’s actually go backwards when analysing this scene:

DAZAI: “Lay off him already. He has the ability to choose for himself how to use his power. Even a kid could figure out that much.”

I’ve attached this because that’s a stark contrast to this:

Both in expression and in dialogue, Dazai is already different. And here we have Dazai for probably the first time in his life using his intellect to set up a ploy for someone else’s benefit and not just his own.

[ROMANTIC SOUKOKU SIDETRACK: Dazai has been shown to canonically be a selfish person, especially in his Port Mafia days. Expanding on my theory expressed in my episode 26 post in which I posited Dazai has feelings for Chuuya that he either understands or doesn’t just yet, this could be both out of his feelings for Chuuya urging him to do something to make Chuuya happy (We can also add to this by mentioning how he just lets the Sheep hostages go. Chuuya is only meant to be working with the Port Mafia temporarily – Mori may have his plans but these are a long time coming at this point. Chuuya is still attached to Sheep and releasing hostages gives him much more of an excuse to ditch the mafia totally), and/or his feelings urging him to do something to keep Chuuya to himself. This is especially interesting considering this little interchange (she’s looking at Dazai):

Yeah that’s either 1) double-entendre or just 2) straight up explicit romantic competition. It’s after this that Dazai stops going along playfully with them and starts straight up demeaning them and saying Chuuya can do what he wants without their input.

I’ll end my RSS (Romantic Soukoku Sidetrack) with a sneak into Chuuya’s side:

Make of that what you will.]

*another kinda pointless sidenote: chuuya’s sheep male friend refers to chuuya as ‘omae’ [derogatory when used towards a person who isn’t your subordinate (i.e. teacher to a student; boss to an assistant etc) which is pretty damn brazen considering Chuuya can snap him in two at a moment’s notice and that Chuuya is probably the only reason their gang is still even alive.

 Okay, Romantic Sidetrack done! Now back to our analysis. We’re moving on to our final scene of the episode. Before we get into the soukoku analysis, I just wanted to point out this little frame here:

For those who don’t know, the founder of the ADA is this cat. He wasn’t always a cat (I think?), but in Bungou Stray Dogs as we know it, he’s a cat. The cat has been seen frequently in scenes involving flashbacks to Dazai’s time in the mafia and often when Fukuzawa is trying (so hard) to feed cats. It’s also worth mentioning there’s a tradition of cats in Japanese literature, often about observing the world and realising things about yourself by observing it. If you want an anime example, go watch My Roommate Is A Cat. It functions in pretty much the same way. Anyway, here’s a fun aside in which Fukuzawa realises the cat is the ADA leader, “Come!”, and the ADA leader promptly rolls around the floor chasing feathers while going “nyan nyan nyan”: [picture not my own]

Okay where was I before I got sidetracked by a cat? Right. Soukoku.

We get a bit of Dazai gloating about getting rid of his romantic competition Sheep’s constant hold on Chuuya, before Randou asks Dazai to please shut the fuck up about the guy he literally met that week and please just send me to the execution room I don’t think I can take any more of this kid going on about Chuuya. (Understandable, have a nice day |　わかりました。良い一日を過ごしてください。)　

So we get a bit of Dazai’s explanation on why Randou is the culprit before we hear that all-too-familiar screech of Chuuya coming in hot. Let’s pause it there.

We’ve never, ever heard Chuuya yell like that without Corruption. Yet he does it now. This 1) ties Corruption in with our current mystery about Arahabaki (spoiler: Corruption is Chuuya allowing Arahabaki full reign over the god’s vessel (Chuuya)) and 2) makes us aware that the Chuuya we’re familiar with from our current knowledge of the anime (I use the anime because that’s what I’m analysing) is a little different from fifteen-year-old Chuuya. Okay, so keep that in mind, and we’ll keep going, fast forward a bit until this final bit after the credits:

[this shot: Chuuya has journeyed towards Randou. There is something tying Chuuya and Randou together that Dazai is not quite part of. Spoiler: Randou as we know is Rimbaud, who is a key factor in Chuuya’s development (hat) and the Arahabaki investigation.]

[this shot: First, we think back to Dazai, Akutagawa, Fitzgerald, Shibusawa. Those expressions are similar, but there’s something really wrong here. Let me tell you want it is. Mainly, visually the pupils of Chuuya’s eyes are inverted. But secondarily, we’ve already been visually warned just over ten minutes ago, first by this scene in which we cut to Chuuya while we talk of Arahabaki’s eyes (it does cut also to Dazai, but his expression is one of “I’m figuring out a mystery” and his eyes are obscured. This shot of Chuuya lingers on Chuuya’s eyes, pulling focus to them and the expression on his face.)

Secondly, Chuuya’s eyes are the colour of the sea that Randou talks about. And, of course, in this shot we see not only the sea but also the light of Chuuya’s ability plainly:

So there we have a burgeoning relationship between Chuuya and Randou, and a hint that we are going to be discussing Chuuya’s relationship with Arahabaki and with himself as its vessel.

And then we have this – Dazai did not know any of this. This is foreign to us – the Dazai we know has predicted almost everything. He even predicted Odasaku’s death. But here, he’s totally out of his depth. He’s dealing with gods now. He expected the main part of their investigation to end a few minutes ago when Chuuya explained how Randou staged the resurrection of the previous Boss. But now we, with Dazai, are being thrown headfirst into something clearly very much a Chuuya thing. And now we will see whether Dazai sticks or leaves with a plot involving an actual fucking god of destruction (we know what happens. He does).

-

And so, to finalise: This episode set up relationships. It set us up to the fact that this story is going to be about relationships, and more specifically about these ones:

- Dazai and Chuuya

- Dazai and Sheep

- Chuuya and Sheep

- Chuuya and Randou

It directs the audience to consider events, framing, characters etc within the contexts of these relationships in order to appreciate the story properly.

And yeah it also sets up that Dazai is a bit of a jealous bitchy bisexual.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Partners in Grime (baon)

Summary:   Stretch has survived a lot over the years. Surviving Edge's vacation week should be a piece of cake.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Mentions of Depression

part of the ‘by any other name’

Read on AO3

-or-

Read More Here

~~*~~

Stretch wasn’t used to babysitting and that was a fact. Oh, he played games with the neighborhood kiddos, showed them experiments and occasionally planned events but he was pretty sure none of their parents had fooled themselves into thinking that anything he did could be called supervision.

He hoped so, anyway, or there was going to be some inevitable disappointment somewhere along the line.

Anyway, so yeah, babysitting. Not so much. He was used to having the house to himself for most of the day where he could sleep in or watch television or go to the lab—

(don’t think about that)

—or post on twitter while hanging out with the chickens. His days weren’t planned so much as they were loosely connected reoccurring events, and Stretch was fine with that.

Having Edge here every day was ruining his carefully disarrayed schedule and he loved Edge, he loved him so much, and he’d love him even more if he’d sit down for five fucking minutes.

Stress, yeah, sure, Stretch was going to gather up his own stress and shove the whole messy wad of it up Ass-gore’s namesake. But Red had warned him if his bro didn’t chill the fuck out, Asgore was considering sending him on a longer vacation and Stretch was pretty sure that was a sanity massacre waiting to happen.

In the interest of saving them all, Stretch would do his duty to Monsterkind and help.

So far, that had consisted of letting Edge do whatever the fuck he wanted around the house. Just because Stretch didn’t see the purpose of attacking the grout with an old toothbrush didn’t mean it wasn’t an important task, (or so he guessed because he’d spent a lifetime not cleaning grout and he hadn’t dusted yet.)

And just because their neighbor’s smiles when he brought them yet another plate of cookies or muffins were getting a little tight didn’t mean there weren’t other people who would appreciate a treat and so what if Stretch was shortcutting two streets away to find them?

Problem was, cleaning and baking looked like they were losing their luster.

He’d give a half-hearted thought to taking Edge into town to go shopping or maybe a movie but subjecting innocent Humans to him didn’t seem like the best way to build good relations between Humans and Monsterkind.

That left sex as Stretch’s main form of entertainment, hey, may as well enjoy the forced confinement, right?

But after a few days even his libido was starting to make flimsy excuses to call it a night, and while Stretch was usually ready for any reason to desecrate the couch again, if they ever wanted anyone else to sit on it again, they were going to need to let it air out for a couple days. At least washing the sheets gave Edge something to do.

That afternoon he was sitting on the poor, abused sofa, still aching pleasantly in a few key areas from earlier when he realized Edge hadn’t followed him back downstairs. The shower had been turned off for a suspiciously long time and he’d believe Red and Sans were swapping condiment preferences along with spit before he’d believe Edge was laying back down for a nap.

It set off more than a few alarm bells. Time to investigate. For the safety of the City and everyone in it.

Who knew that Edge taking a vacation would give him Superman tendencies?

Shortcutting could be silent if he put enough effort into it. Last time he’d bothered was when he was grabbing all the kids during the ‘human invasion’, if that’s what they called a handful of dipshits, but he did it now. Otherwise Edge would hear him on the stairs.

When the void cleared, Stretch could see Edge was sitting on the bed facing away from the door, almost hunched over, a far cry from his usual perfect posture. Checking his phone from the looks of it, naughty naughty.

“what are you dooooooing?” Stretch asked, pleasantly.

Edge jumped and nearly dropped his phone, fumbling to catch it before it fell on the floor. The look on his face was like a damned neon sign, flashing his guilt for all to see.

“Nothing,” he said brusquely.

Oh, yeah, smooth, that’d fool a lie detector, for sure.

“uh huh,” Stretch leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “nothing. so, my guess is either you’ve taken up watching porn on the sly or you were checking in on your work email. and we both know you’d show me the porn, i always like a good laugh.”

His silence spoke volumes. Edge didn’t like to lie and since he couldn’t Obi-Wan his way out with any ‘some other point of view’ bullshit, he was going with keeping his mouth shut.

Stretch shook his head sadly. His baby was letting him down on the sneak factor; he should’ve checked while he was still in the bathroom. “you know, i promised that i’d keep an eye on you this week. you wanna be responsible for making me break a promise?”

“I didn’t promise,” Edge muttered but he sighed and let Stretch take his hand, followed him back downstairs like the world’s saddest, boniest puppy, “This is ridiculous.”

“uh huh.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“you’re definitely fine, babe, always loved those jeans.”

“I’ve taken a couple of days, I’ve relaxed—“

“uh…yeah…about that. you might need a refresher on the whole ‘relaxing’ thing. i could google it for you.”

“And I’m ready to be back at work.”

“you and me both.”

“What was that?” Edge asked distractedly.

“sit.” And when he didn’t, Stretch pushed on his shoulders until Edge gave in and finally sat down heavily on the sofa. Sternly, Stretch told him, “stay there.”

When it looked like Edge was probably going to obey even if it was with all the grudging he could muster, Stretch went to the kitchen. Time to bring out the secret weapons.

He came back out with a heavily laden tray, covered in plates that held the sort of things that required toothpicks and stupid green garnishy things, and announced, “i have snacks. i have drinks. we are watching netflix.”

“Where did you get this?” Edge eyed everything suspiciously, like Stretch had taken up poisoning as a part-time job. “I know you didn’t make it.”

Well, if he had, then he would probably be well on his way to his first paycheck as an amateur poisoner. “i did not, my brother did, so it’s probably safe. you know you love his spinach puffs. now, eat and watch tv.”

“Must we?” Edge groaned. He flopped back against the cushions and honestly, this was fascinating from a scientific point of view. Edge on the verge of a tantrum was a state of being that Stretch hadn’t even known existed, much less that he’d be the one to discover it. He should write a paper. “I’ve seen enough television to last the rest of the year.”

“i hope not, i’m looking forward to the new season of ‘masterchef’. anyway, i think you’ll like this one.”

He picked up the controller and started the episode. Bright music began along with a man explaining, “It’s a never-ending battle to fight the clutter—"

Edge sat up and grabbed a spinach puff, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing with an impressive amount of grudgingness before slumping back to glare at the tv.

If Stretch survived this he was asking for a raise.

An hour later and Stretch was ready to mark this one as a win. Edge was riveted in a way even Gordon Ramsey rarely managed. Probably a good thing Stretch had already married him, or he might be on a plane with flowers in hand, ready to spark a little joy.

Stretch wasn’t quite as enamored; he was okay with the show, sure, the host was a sweetheart. It was just a hell of a lot more fun watching Edge. The way he quivered as the families tried to excuse their messiness, like he was resisting the urge to reach through the screen and shake them. His visible satisfaction when they showed they were on the right path and the episode ended with triumph and order.

It was fucking adorable.

He didn’t get to watch Edge like this very often. Usually if they were watching television, Stretch liked to live up to his namesake and stretch out, laying half on Edge and half off the sofa, soaking up the warmth from his blanket and his baby both.

It was moments like these that he was jarringly reminded that Edge really was younger than him, the same age as his little brother. With his crimson eye lights wide and focused on the screen, enchantingly absorbed, he looked his age in a way he rarely did.

He’d gone through so much in his life; some of it was visible on his bones, the crack in his socket was the most obvious but there were others, scars that had healed roughly without a gentle hand to press soothing magic into them. The other scars were buried a hell of a lot deeper and whether they were why he needed a break from work or they were the reason he drove himself so hard to begin with was anyone’s guess.

Stretch had his own theories.

But that combined with his unrelenting attitude made Edge seem older than he was. Didn’t help that it was hard to gauge ages with skeletons. Plenty of Monsters guessed that Stretch was the younger one.

He liked to think it was because he was young at heart, fuck you very much.

And then after everything he’d gone through, Edge went ahead and hitched his life to Stretch’s broke-ass wagon. Looking at Edge and thinking about the years he had yet to come sometimes made that bitter little voice that lived in the back of Stretch’s thoughts come to life, syrupy-thick, persuasive, and as foul as swamp water, asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing here, telling him he didn’t deserve this. Edge had earned better than having to spend his life dealing with Stretch’s brand of generic bullshittery.

Today more than usual it was easy to stuff that voice back. What kind of asshole would it make Stretch to try to make his choices for him? Stretch had a little too much experience with that and once you allowed it to start happening, it was fucking difficult to flick the switch back. Besides, if his taste in partners was questionable, at least his baby had a good soul.

He was selfish, knew it, but still. He wanted to be the one to spark joy in Edge

When the episode ended, Stretch didn’t even ask. He reached out automatically to push the button that skipped the intro on the next one. The spinach puffs were a distant memory but there were still the tapenade toast points to contend with.

A glance back at Edge made Stretch duck his head to hide a smile. Edge looked like his inner neat freak was getting a deep tissue massage. Now that, friends and neighbors, was relaxed.

“can i ask something?” Stretch said, idly, “how is it a clean bee like you can stand to be with me?”

Edge managed to tear his gaze away from the television long enough to look at him with genuine surprise and a little fond scorn, probably for the pun. It tore away the last bit of the illusion of youth and that left nothing but his own husband, who told him archly, “Marie says it herself. I love a mess.”

Okay, damn, affection and insult in one, and by the Angel, Stretch loved him so, so much. “i asked for that.”

“You did,” Edge agreed. But he caught hold of Stretch and pulled him in anyway, tucking him in comfortably against his side. He was soothingly warm and Stretch snuggled in happily, sighing as Edge pressed a kiss against his skull before whispering to him, “You bring me joy.”

Well, hey, mission accomplished. Now Stretch only had to keep it up for a few decades, no biggie.

But first, he needed to survive the week.

-finis-

Notes:

I can't help but feel that Edge would love 'Tidying Up With Marie Kondo'. His platonic soul mate. ^_^

[jcmorgenstern]

3x14 Review

Hey so for once this is actually super positive! I loved this episode and can’t wait to gush about it! So without further ado, I’m gonna get the stuff I quibbled with outta the way before diving into what I liked:

The Bad: — I think my biggest problem overall was that scene between Alec and Lorenzo. I understand Alec was being protective and he goes into Fierce Mommy Tiger mode around those he considers family and those he loves (I think it’s important to show that Magnus isn’t just his boyfriend, Magnus has become integrated into the thing Alec bases his life around). But I had hoped Alec would have figured out by now that a Nephilim threatening to depose a Downward leader over an apartment is…..unideal, at least. — I get that this may have been designed as a plot hook as an understandable yet stupid thing Alec does that comes back to bite him later (i.e., if there is a Downward civil war in New York, and Lorenzo decides to fuck Alec over). Alec’s strength and weaknesses are tied to his family, and I think it’s a very believable mistake for him to make. I don’t expect him to be perfect, I just hope the narrative treats his threat to Lorenzo as less of a “pure uwu cutesy bf” move and more of a mistake, even if Lorenzo is being cruel to Magnus. — Honestly y’all I expected something WAY worse. Losing the apartment was nothing compared to the drama I expected—I thought Lorenzo was gonna ask Magnus to spy on Alec or go back to Asmodeus or something awful. Thankfully that was inverted by a very obvious attempt to get Magnus to move in with Alec, because apparently he can’t buy a new house with all his money. — I also quibbled a little with how Clary was written, especially in that scene where Jace comforts her (or, really, when Jace makes what happened to her about him and how angry he is and how he’s going to kill Jonathan etc. It’s a pattern with him, esp where Jonathan is involved, and I have more to say about it). Clary has always been a very temperamental, look before you leap sort of person, and I’m not sure that if she figured out Jonathan had hurt Jace she would just smile and pretend along. Clary would FREAK. This is Jocelyn’s daughter, y’all. The knives would be out. She stabbed herself to stab him before and she’d do it again. She has ALL the tools at her disposal to rune him or run away. — To be clear, I’m not shaming Clary for what she chose to do or not confronting a violently entitled dude who kidnapped her once already, I just felt the arc was artificially extended to let Jace be the hero instead of letting Clary kick Jonathan’s ass off a pier and rune him. There’s no way that bitch can swim. It seemed kind of….not how Clary would react and kind of artificially done for Jace and Jonathan’s benefit. — Last thing, which isn’t even a quibble but I feel people will be confused if it’s not on here: the Maia and Jordan thing. I’ll go into it more but basically: if they’re doing what I think, I think it worked shockingly well, but if it’s played straight yeah it’ll be Unfortunate.

The Good: — I’m just gonna come out and say this episode was AMAZING. Since this is mostly a positive review I’d like to credit the writer specifically—Zoe Broad. Honestly just the overall coherence of this episode was greater than any of the ones in S3 for me, it flowed from one scene to the other and there was no point where I had the urge to check Facebook or whatever. The dialogue was pretty good overall and truly amazing at parts, and I felt she had a pretty good handle on the characters, despite this being her first episode, which was very impressive. — I actually ENJOYED the ship content??? Clace was absolutely adorable on the rink, with Jace’s sometimes annoying bravado being played wryly both on his part and by the script. “I was born ahead of the curve” delivered with a smile and then nearly falling on his ass was. Very good. And Clary’s little “you’re doing better than me….when I was six” was equally great and I just. Really liked it? They felt like real people on a real date and it felt real and dynamic and cute. — Same with Malec’s grave-robbing date. Usually their scenes start to get weighed down by drama or just general “talking to the audience to make them happy rather than each other,” but this was just cute AND advanced the plot, and connected them back to the main storyline. I hadn’t liked how they were quarantined away from the main story and I’m glad they’re back, even if the “losing Magnus’ loft” was a weird way to do it. — Maia and Alisha particularly were really the breakout stars of the episode. Alisha really really SOLD that dialogue and was honestly incredible. Her terror and anger and desperation felt so visceral and real that even though I knew it would be resolved in the episode, it was gripping and I genuinely needed to know what happened next. — I also did like how Zoe wrote Maia (that “frickin” was TOTALLY a stand in for fuck and I APPRECIATE it) and I felt she really captured how she feels about Jordan—she does care about him as a person, or rather for the person he was at some point, but still refuses to not to push down on her own anger and hurt for his or anyone else’s sake. I felt it was really complex and confusing and emotional for her and overall I think that scene was meant to give her a sense of closure. Just because she recognizes that Jordan does care about her and can be supportive of her, doesn’t mean she’ll necessarily jump back into his arms. — That’s kind of my reading—I’m not sure where they’re going, obviously, but my instinct was that the less chill stuff Maia says (implying they may be going a romantic arc) was more due to the fact she was PANICKING IN A LOCKED CLOSET WITH A DYING DUDE. Like she says “I’m confused” like yes she meant before but honestly right then she obviously was, and I don’t really see the show going for Jordan/Maia? Especially since Todd has hinted Maia has a “don’t need no man” arc. Like she drifts apart from Simon but gets back with someone she hated for years?? Not seeing it. — However if they do go there I’ll be really disappointed, mostly because of the missed opportunity for complexity but also because yeahhhhh maybe not the chillest thing with how many people interpret their relationship as abuse. (I could make a separate post about it but yeah). — Onto Magnus. God okay I don’t know how others felt but I felt Zoe really got to the crux of why Magnus misses his magic. That how he feels connected to the world through his magic was just…such a good insight and it really impacted me because it wasn’t just some generic “magic is what makes me who I am,” it was so much more deep and personal and I felt it meant a lot that Magnus finally put that into words for Alec. He’d clearly been struggling to impart to Alec how he felt, both in terms of “how do I even explain this loss” and a his own emotional reticence. God that grave robbing scene!!!! — Umm the Morningstar sword actually being a sword to summon demons?? Kind of weird?? Esp if they play it off as an actual Morgenstern relic?? Not sure what’s happening but it was cool?? — honestly dudes I’ve been FUCKED UP about the Luke storyline and SUPER STRESSED and now IT’S ALL HAPPENIGN someone SAVE HIM oh my GOD I’m actually so stressed I’ve been stressed for 9 months FREE HIM — Ok now to Jonathan bc lbr y’all know I can’t shut up about him. Ok first off, that scene with the seelie gal, oh my FUCKING GOD I was screaming what a LOSER GHSDKLFJhghghhghgg. And she insults his shitty dialogue?? Zoe ma’am may I PROPOSE??? This keeps getting wilder and wilder I can’t believe they’re GOING THERE. THEY’RE GOING THERE SO HARD. HE’S SUCH A WILD LOSER. Can you BELIEVE he found someone off shadow world fetlife to be like “I’m a Morgenstern and I love you bro you’re so hot and clever and lovable” I just can’t. I bet you ANYTHING she tops and is only in it for the shadow hunter ass. — SHAPESHIFTING. YALL. I BUST A NUT. Look, it fixes so many fucking plot holes. His eyes look SO COOL when he does demon magic. He’s so OP and Chaotic Stupid it’s not even a joke  I Lov my Mary Sue Son. — Honestly having Jonathan impersonate Jace is so brilliant (remember when he said, “I don’t want your pity, I want your life?”) Like it is so fucked up but I love it.  Not looking forward to the mind control but maybe he just whispered “I’m a bottom” into her ear and ran off in her ensuing shock and confusion. You can’t prove me wrong until next week so until then LA LA LA LA CAN’T HEAR YOU — Personally I liked Dom’s performance as Jonathan, but not to be that Bitch I felt Will was a lot more subtle about it. Dom gave him a straight up thousand mile stare whereas Will played him as something charismatic and good at lying with a little edge of Something Wrong, a strain behind a smile. Sure, Jonathan was probably nervous for his little kidnapping date, but I felt it was unrealistic that he was so suave and convincing (sans the part where Aline comes to visit him that was hilarious, Jonathan you’re an idiot) as Seb and then is like “I eat ants sometimes” as Jace. Like. He’s an obsessive bitch. He’d have practiced Jace in the mirror. Fuck you. Probably while saying “fuck you.” ANYWAYS. — Izzy doing science? It’s not much but I’ll fucking take it lmao. I’m excited to see where Heavenly Fire is going. Matt’s Latin is still abysmal but whatever it’s ok. — also that rose?? A kiss from a rose?? Honestly this ep was so clever and thematically connected and just FLOWED like an ACTUAL EP OF TV god I’m emotional!!!! Thank you Zoe Broad ma’am you are a hero!!! — Again I’m gonna point out both Jace and Jonathan have a designated Brooding Fireplace. — Not super hyped about Heidi coming back but hey this ep was Worth It.

Anyway tldr I really liked it and wanted to spew semi-coherent positivity for once! About more characters than just my stupid fave!!! Wow!!! Good writing is SEXY and I LOVE IT!!!

[blackfodder]

landline

2.4k | Titans TV | Gar Logan&Rachel Roth | Post Episode 01x10 | Action

He'd learned enough from Dick to know the importance of having an ace up your sleeve. Gar and Rachel dealing with their new circumstances in the moments after episode 1X10. Because sometimes Robin isn't around to save them.

“Rachel?” Gar was standing as far away as he could from the small group in front of him without actually leaving the room. The feeling in his stomach that something wasn’t right hadn’t left, if anything it had gotten worse. Rachel was hugging the man who saved him. He needed to know what was going on.

She lifted her head at his call and looked back at him. The man pulled away from her, training his eyes on Gar. “It’s okay, go with him, get your friend caught up darling.” his voice soft and loving.

Despite that, Gar didn’t like the way he was being looked at. This man was looking at him the way Chief had looked at Rachel all those weeks ago when he had her strapped to that bed. As if they were both prizes to be played with and controlled. He could feel a rise of panic inside of him, his tiger usually quiet in his belly was on edge. The urge to run was strong.

He felt Rachel's arm on his and she pulled him into a tight hug. His arms went around her instantly and he found himself locking eyes with the man again from behind her hair, “What's happening,” he whispered into her head, she pulled back, grabbed his hand and walked him out -- not before looking back to smile at Angela and the man.

They sat down on the piano bench. Rachel didn’t let go of his hand, instead, she kept it on his lap. Gar angled his body toward hers, letting her prod at his hand with her finger. He realized she was checking for his pulse.  The sweat from her hands tickled his nose. Fear, he could smell it on her. It wasn't just him. He let his eyes dart across the hall and into the next room, Angela and the mystery man to preoccupied with each other to pay them any attention.

“Is that, --” he started to ask, he wasn’t sure.

“It’s my dad,” Rachel answered, her voice a breathy low whisper. “You were dying. There was so much blood Gar,” a noise caught in her throat, she stopped to push it down. “I don’t know what I did, what I was doing. She just kept telling me I had to, that you weren’t going to make it if I didn’t.”

The lump came back, and she couldn't swallow it this time. The sob was inaudible as it left her mouth and the tears finally fell down her face. Gar lets himself squeeze her hand, ready to reassure her like he always does but instead thinks back to what she had done for him in the Asylum. Instead, he pulls his back straight and takes a breath, now isn’t the time. She’s stronger than this.

“Rachel,” he doesn't mean for it to come off as if he’s scolding her. But it does. She stops shaking and nods her head. Understanding without needing anything more.

She sits up, quickly wiping the tears from her face. They both look back up at the duo across the room, backs turned to them and whispering.

“Can we trust them?” Gar asks.

“I don’t know, he saved you. But mom said he was bad. I don’t know. I think we should wait for Dick to come back. He’ll know what to do.”

“I tried calling Dick earlier, it wouldn’t go through.” he uses his free hand to feel around his pockets the other still in her sweaty one, looking for his cell phone, “I can trying calling again, maybe from the second floor.” Gar gets up to leave, finding his cellphone in his back pocket. Rachel pulls at his arm, sitting him back down with an unnatural force.

“No, we stay together. My dad. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone with him.” She had noticed too then. The way her dad had been looking at him.

The cold realization that they're alone for once, no Dick and Kori to tell them what to do washes over both of them. Rachel bites her lip, quickly going over what she does know, “The landline, it's in the kitchen. Mom used it to call for help earlier. A police officer was here. He went to get help. He should be back soon.”

Gar took the information in with a slow nod, trying to piece together a plan while looking as inconspicuous as possible, “Okay, we get to the landline then. We need to call the police anyway, tell them not to come anymore. It might be safer for them to stay away. I’m sure Angela and your dad will agree to that. I’ll call Dicks number first. Let it ring a few times and hang up. It should be enough of warning for him to get what’s going on.”

They let go of each other's hands and stand up, Gar wiping away her sweat on his jeans. He feels awful for his disgust in the brief moment he realizes that her scent would linger. She's always smelled, everyone has. For whatever reason, everything seems much sharper now. The lights are brighter. Everything is louder.

Rachel is already moving forward before he can give it much thought.

"Mom, should we call the police?” she’s heading toward the alcove that leads into the kitchen, so Gar gets up to follow. “They don’t need to come anymore now that Gar is okay.”

“Oh, I can do it, honey,” Angela darts across the room and before Rachel can cross over, clutches her arm and jerks her in the other direction. The movement so fast it makes a small gust of wind, Gar keeps his face still as his nose picks up what's in the air.

“It’s probably better if I do it, the sheriff is an old friend and I doubt they’ll believe a kid calling into the station.” She gives Rachel one last adoring look before hurrying into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone with their new arrival.

The man grabs them both by the shoulders and Gar can’t help but jump, he hadn't noticed him walk over. He’s pushing them back into the sitting room, away from the kitchen and the landline.

“Uh, thanks for saving me,” Gar offers as they make their way across the room. He smiles down at him in response, the look is unnerving.

“What’s your name son,” he asks as he motions for them to sit on the couch. He takes the armchair across from them, lowering himself unnaturally, the movement too swift and precise.

“Garfield Logan” he struggles to let it out, surprising himself when he hears his full name coming out of his mouth.

“That's quite a beast you have inside of you,” The man tells him, his eyes go dark and that same look from before comes back. “How did that come to happen?”

Rachel fidgets next to him, as uneasy as himself about the attention he’s getting. He needs to relax. They both need to. As of now, they aren’t in any danger. The police would be here soon, a distraction. Kori had left hours ago, Dick would be back to check on them by the end of the night. He would do that for Rachel. They needed to stall, and letting on that something was wrong was the opposite of that.

“Freak accident, even freakier treatment,” Gar replies and gives the man his best eager to please smile. He sinks back into the couch and crosses his legs. Rachel stays on the edge, keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground.

They fall into an easy conversation, Gar keeping the topic on his beast. Jaguar, around 170 pounds he lies, he downplays the size, changes the species, leaves out the coloring, offers up that the tail is sometimes Siberian. He'd learned enough from Dick to know the importance of having an ace up your sleeve. Even so, the man looks at him with the awe, reminding Gar of the poachers back home.

Rachel isn't paying them any attention, quickly catching on to what Gar is doing. She instead keeps her eyes on her father and a pleasant smile on her face. All the while straining to listen for her mother's voice on the phone or the footsteps of her coming back into the sitting room. Nothing. The back door opens. She hears the water start to run.

Minutes tick by. Angela still doesn't come back and it makes Rachels blood boil. All these years she had parents, two of them. That knew about whatever was inside of her and could have clearly shown up and helped. She can hear the noises from the kitchen, noises that shouldn’t be coming from making a simple phone call. It hits her, and her stomach drops.

Angela. This house. Gar getting sick. Her dad. No, they aren’t safe. They can't sit and wait for Dick. They need to leave. Now.

“Rachel?” her father's eyes are on her now. When had Gar stopped talking? She puts the smile back on not realizing it had disappeared. "Don't you have a question for dear dad?"

Her breath quickens, and as she looks into her father's eyes she realizes he knows everything she does. “Are you going to stay?” she tries anyway, "Wh-where have you been, dad?"

His brow lifts, disappointment on his face and his eyes move back to Gar.

“Oh Rachel," the shift in his voice, her back goes cold, "haven’t you ever heard, that curiosity killed the cat.”

"What's going on?" Angela comes back into the room at that moment. The smell of blood on her unmistakable now, Gar's nose picks it up, and the growl stuck at the back of his throat finally betrays him and comes out. There's no point in keeping up the farce.

"Rachel!" Gar yells out her name before leaping off the couch. His crossed legs at the perfect angle to propel his now tiger paws into the air. The loud tear of his clothes snaps the quiet room into a frenzy. The scraps of his clothing exploding into the air catching everyone off guard, the change had been so fast, the fastest he had ever experienced.

Rachel's father stunned a second enough for Gar to pound into him, is knocked back into the chair and onto the floor with a heavy THUD! Gar doesn't hesitate to tear into his shoulder.

"Trigon!" Angela yells from across the room, running toward Gars back, a knife suddenly in her hand. Rachel wastes no time in letting out her dark energy, slapping Angela into the wall with a long tendril and knocking her unconscious.

At that moment, Trigon, name now revealed pushes Gar off with such a force, he goes through the wall and into the hall.

Gar doesn't lose momentum and skids down the hall jutting his back paw out to catch onto a dip in the wall. He uses it as a bouncing point and propels himself forward again speeding back into the sitting room through the fresh hole in the wall. He makes it back just in time to push Rachel out of the way of an energy blast coming from Trigons hand.

They land behind a fallen table, "We can't fight him!" Rachels' eyes are dark, and she's managed to enclose them in something resembling a shield.

She turns to the tiger next to her, he seemed much bigger than she remembered.  "I don't know how I'm doing this right now but it fucking hurts!" A blast from Trigon hits the shield at that moment, making Rachel cry out in pain.

Gar roars at her, flicking his head at the large window in the room. Rachel seeming to understand lets her shield down and instead releases her darkness toward Trigon, the large waves blinding him enough for Gar to move his body under hers. She hooks her arm around his neck and without a pause the large tiger leaps through the window above them, shattering the glass and wooden frame.

They roll onto the ground, Gar trying as hard as he can to keep their momentum going across the side yard. From inside they could hear Trigon yell out, "Rachel! Come back here!"

When they stop, Rachel crawls onto her feet and begins to sprint for the front yard. She could hear Gar running beside her. Suddenly, a large ROAR from Gar, and another. She stops and turns to find the green tiger, withering on the floor a few feet behind her. He was morphing back, his face more Gar than a tiger, and his body grotesquely contorting into something unworldly.

"Go! Find Dick! Run!" Gar was yelling at her through his pain, the words coming out gargled and chopped.

Rachel found herself frozen in place, the corners of her eyes stinging when she realizes the loud repetitive cracks she hears are his bones breaking, over and over again. His skin was turning into leather and the knuckles of his hand gave away to large talons breaking free under his skin.

"RUN!" the command comes out of him one last time, his face now something completely different from Gar or the tiger she had come to know.

Rachel doesn't hesitate again and turns back around sprinting away in what she realizes is fear. Fear of Gar and what he was turning into.

She does her best to run forward in a straight line, but her vision is blurred and her lungs are on fire. She can feel the cold wind on her tears, now down to her neck and she thinks for a moment she could choke from the pain.

Where was Kori?! Where was Dick?!  She looks ahead and tries to focus, looking for the road or even the end of the driveway. They're both gone, miles of grass in their place. Suddenly, she's passing through light and crashing into Kori and Wondergirl.

"Rachel! Rachel, are you okay? Where is Gar!" Kori was clutching her arms. Shaking her out of her crying fit.

"Gar! Something happened to him, where is Dick! We need to save Gar!" she's hysterical and doesn't care, looking between Kori and Wondergirl and then behind them, around them. Where was Dick?

Wondergirl steps up to her and places a hand on her shoulder, "Dick is inside, he went in for you. Rachel, we need you to tell us what you know so we can get into that house."

It's at that moment Rachel finally spins around and realizes the house is gone.

[ptw30]

VLD Season 7 Reactions: Part 2

Hi, @dreamworksanimation and @voltron! Hope you had a great holiday weekend. I received more asks since the last time I sent you a post. Please give these a read, as these are the reviews sent to me from the fandom. Best - ptw30

Anonymous said: Voltron is all build up and no follow up. They teased us with a very cool premise and then slowly went away from it till they finally went to "nope don't remember didn't happen". And the EPs even seem proud of that. I wonder if they ever watched the show :(

The EPs lack the ability to bring a resolution or closure. We never find out Haggar’s motivation or reasoning about Operation Kuron. We never find out who the “other one” was in the pilot. We never find out Shiro’s bayard form. Lance’s insecurities are never resolved. We never find out the limitations of Allura’s powers - she can transfer souls but can’t find the Black Lion galaxies away? There’s just so much left out of the story. 

Anonymous said: Sometimes I think about all of voltron’s loose threads and how this next season is the last and am then transported back to my high school days of putting off projects until the last second, throwing something together, aiming for at least a passing grade. 

The EPs failed a long time ago, if that’s the case. When they decided to kill off one of the main characters without allowing the team to grieve, forced the most popular paladin off the team, demoted the leader of the team to a soldier, and abandoned its own lore, including breaking the strongest paladin-lion bond without any explanation - they failed to give the viewers any satisfying conclusion to this story. No matter what the next 13 episodes include, it won’t make up for the middle 39 episodes that literally brought tragedy after tragedy, especially to the team’s only LGBTQ+, multiple-minority character. 

@sweet-rabbit​ said: You know, if the EPs wanted us to not like, nay, LOVE AND ADORE Shiro as much as we do, it was probably a huge misstep on their or whoever's part that they hired a man who voiced a freakin' DISNEY RENAISSANCE CHARACTER to voice Shiro. The blasted fools, the lot of them!

Josh Keaton is a consummate professional, and no doubt, Andrea Romano nailed it when working with him and the team. If there is one thing that is absolutely, without a doubt, above reproach with this show - it’s the voice acting. It is outstanding.

@safeautistickeith said: Damsel Shiro aaaaalways felt Suspect ™ for me. Like. Keith can say, ”we saved each other” (whoever wrote that bless them) But, lbr Shiro’s sidelining was a slowburn that started from his damsel-dom. S1: S and K each got a Big Save. K saved S when he came back to Earth. S saved K when K went after Zarkon (Shiro voice: I’ve got you, buddy) S2: K saved S in Across the Universe. S saved K in Marmora. Equals? Yes. Truly. Then s3 comes along and it’s not longer this beautiful, mutual thing, but Shiro becomes a Damsel in Distress. Which Yikes ™ Asian man demoted to damsel? Unfortunate implications. He’s arc has been about leading up until then? Unfortunate implications. He’s a gay male( the reveal planned in s2??) un for tu nate implications. There’s a line between, ”you can be masc and also need help” and just making him a damsel. Big Yikes. 

Voltron originally broke tropes, which was awesome. Allura wasn’t a princess locked away in a castle-ship but a knock-out, drag-out warrior who wasn’t afraid to get into the fray. Shiro, the strong-willed leader, wasn’t afraid to accept help. Keith, the loner, felt perhaps the most for his team. “Loverboy” Lance was actually the heart of the team, rather than a female character playing that part. Hunk, too, was strong but scared, and Pidge was not the stereotypical girl figure. 

In Season 3, the story began to fall into the traps of the tropes it had broken, and it’s been a demoralizing and disappointing journey ever since.

@melissa18999 said:The lack of characters being challenged emotionally is why everything after season 2 bothers me. Kuron’s arc didn’t test the characters on an emotional level given how after the arc is over everyone just moves on. It’s there only to write actual shiro out of the show for a bit rather than seriously affect the cast. Same thing with Keith’s [crap] and every other character. Nothing tests them emotionally. (Maybe Allura with Lotor)

VLD misses a lot of emotional beats. One of the biggest failures was not showing when the team learned about Keith’s Galran heritage. Then we never see the emotional fallout with the clone, other than the team referring to him as “evil.” The clone fought alongside with the team, perhaps longer than Shiro, and the team never mourned him. Sendak and Shiro’s fight? Shiro never says a word, and then Keith kills Sendak, taking away Shiro’s right to fight back against his one-time captors. 

Lotor had Pidge’s dad and didn’t even try to make her a traitor to Team Voltron? Narti could control minds and not one of the paladins was ever brainwashed by her? Haggar did it to a clone, not even Shiro. 

Even Allura and Lotor’s relationship - Allura’s anger was the stereotypical  “woman scorned.”

So much potential, and it’s just wasted. 

Anonymous said: An ask or two doesn't have enough room to describe how much Shiro means to me, how much strength I draw from him, how many dark places he's helped me out of. But s6's treatment of kuron/shiro left me in tears and nearly dissociating for hours, and it's the only season I haven't rewatched. And here's the kicker: Everything I've read about s7 has made the thought of watching it feel identical to an urge to self harm. I want the EPs to think about that. I want them to think hard about people like me, because I doubt I'm the only one who's been affected like this. And I want them to really, really consider if this is the story they wanted to tell. If this is the effect they wanted their story to have.

Shiro is important to many people in terms of representation, and I’ve read many posts about people who identify with him. I’m glad he’s had an impact upon your life, and I hope you can still take comfort in the earlier seasons. Please take care. 

Anonymous said: I think I'd be okay with the "Shiro had a degenerative disease" if that was it alone. Like, it's a really good explanation of why everyone so readily accepted the pilot error thing despite Shiro being an absolute legend of a pilot. But it was tied together with his gay reveal and then the story he was shoved into and... I cannot like it, or accept it.

Shiro was revealed to be LGBTQ+, have a degenerative disease, and lose his place in Voltron - all in one season. The juxtaposition of the reveals is reprehensible, and it sends a horrible message to people who have mental and physical struggles, are LGBTQ+, and minorities. 

Anonymous said: So, here's why the "it's a show abt war so you have to suffer watching, bc there's only tragedy" excuse is weak: It’s a show about space robots, a space robot called voltron. It's not a show about drama, about people dying and it never was. It was supposed to be a show about teamwork (supposed bc that premise has left the building a long time ago) with war comes death? Yes, absolutely, but its not an excuse to kill all of the lgbt characters 

That’s the issue - it’s not an excuse to kill all the LGBTQ+ characters. A show about war that has death and handles appropriately is one thing. Mourning the clone, mourning Shiro, mourning Narti - all those things should have happened, and they didn’t. (These characters were also all with physical and mental disabilities, DreamWorks.)

Showing children closure, helping them to understand death - is a good lesson to learn. But excluding Shiro from his only family, killing his one-time SO in a “fringe” move, and then killing the other LGBTQ+ couple in the show - not to mention killing Shiro four times - that’s a message DreamWorks should not be sending children. 

Anonymous said: The one thing I wanted from Voltron Season 7: Shiro getting to reunite with the team, and work with them again as a part of the team - also, the one thing the Voltron EPs refuse to allow.

Not to be technical - but that’s actually two things. Shiro did reunite with the team, but unfortunately, he wasn’t a part of the team. In fact, he was excluded to the point of no longer even being called a paladin, according to “The Journey Within,” and I agree. I wanted that in Season 7 as well. 

Anonymous said: I'm still lowkey [mad] that Sincline, made of the same material as Voltron, was not sentient, but the MFE fighters and Atlas, which are reverse-engineered galtean tech and run off... idk what they run off, magic low-charge batteries maybe... are implied sentient.

I’m not sure, but I can say - I am sad that didn’t pan out, either. I wanted to see what Lotor and his generals could do in Sincline. I’m sad that Atlas, clearly built for Allura, didn’t talk to Allura first. Instead, she will always be Blue’s second choice, Lance Red’s second choice, and Keith left to Black because Shiro...didn’t not to fly Black anymore? I’m not quite sure why. The story never tells us. 

Rounding back - Sincline had so much more potential than was realized. 

Anonymous said: In not committing to a specific black paladin, or even a specific direction and endgame, the story failed to stay together. It fell apart in the same manner a soft cheese does when pressed to a fine-hole cheese grater.

There are a lot of things that failed to keep the story together. The first and foremost was - you need to keep the team together, or at the very least, not lose two of your main characters in one 26-episode batch, one character for 24 episodes, another for 12.  

Anonymous said: If the EP's have treated Shiro as an equal instead of a 'problem' they had to put up with, would VLD have not have gone downhill? It does feel like their dislike for one character and their stubbornness to stick to their original plan is what dragged the show down. It really does feel like what happened behind the scenes has become a cautionary tale on what you shouldn't do when writing a story and its characters.

I can’t say for sure, but what I can say is - the moment the EPs saw Shiro not as a character but as a plot device, is the moment the story began to unravel. 

cc: @netflix

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 10

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 10: Icarus

Warning: This chapter contains references to graphic violence and derogatory homophobic slurs and prejudice. Please tread with caution.

After the whole ‘moving 505 to his new room and trying to keep Black Hat from killing us both’ fiasco, Flug was entirely prepared to sit in the security room watching security feed of the two most secure cells for the rest of the night, sleep be damned. He’d already set himself up in one of the desk chairs, with paperwork, a decent neck pillow and at least 1,500 grams of nonperishable foods. This was mostly thanks to his sudden, bizarre camaraderie with Lucas – and Ben, to a lesser extent – who gave him access to the screens and got the other guards off his back.

He had finally gotten comfortable in the swivel chair, armed with a granola bar and a formal request for time off for that EPPA convention in a month, with his legs propped up and his bag snugly fit against the pillow, when one of his phones buzzed. It was the one in his left coat pocket, which signaled a personal message instead of a work one from the phone stuck in his right. Flug grumbled to himself and shifted to reach for it, and found an email for the arrival of an order of cosmetics from the website recommended to him from the nurse.

That order had been fairly expensive, and the last thing he needed was for it to sit unguarded at the local post office for who knew how long.

Despite his severe misgivings, the psychiatrist was forced out of his vigilant post and away from the security feeds, taking his provisions with him. He knocked on the doorframe to get the closest guard’s attention, explaining the situation and asking for a temporary fill-in while he went to retrieve his package.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” she batted her lashes at him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

It didn’t really make him feel better.

On the way out of the lobby, Flug was so stuck in his worries that he nearly collided with a nurse carrying a large bundle of standard patient uniforms. Clothes fluttered to the ground in heaps and left the poor girl with only a single pair of pants in her grasp.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so,” he crouched at the same time she did and they collided heads, causing both to fall back on their butts and rub their new respective bumps. “Owww…”

“Nnngh,” the nurse’s eyes were barely visible past her dreadlocks, which cascaded down to her chest. She lifted her head to look up at him and recognized his face at the same time he read her nametag.

It was Susie, the quiet nurse he had given 505’s prescription to nearly a week ago. It felt like much, much longer. They sat awkwardly across from each other with large eyes, then simultaneously realized the uniforms were still on the floor. The girl hastily made to pick them up and Flug wasted no time in joining her, grateful for something else to distract him.

“I’m – I’m really sorry about that.” He offered meekly, keeping his head down and away from her. If he’d looked up he would have noticed she was doing the same.

“No, no it’s no trouble,” Susie mumbled, embarrassment present in the red flush across her dark warm cheeks. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Ah, m-me too.” They got all the fallen clothes together and began the tedious process of folding and stacking each pair. Flug was painfully aware of the large metal clock ticking away above the entrance. As soon as the last shirt was placed on top of the pile he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

“Thank you,” the nurse carefully hefted the uniforms as she stood up, putting one hand on top to keep it steady. She looked more closely at him. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, Dr. Slys. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve been j-just great,” the psychiatrist resisted the childish urge to tap his foot. “A lot on my plate with a new p-patient, that’s all. Everything’s great.”

“That’s good.” Susie shuffled, a bit more relaxed now. “We’ve all been worried about you, Doctor. That crim – that new inmate, Black Hat, all the nurses avoid his room and I don’t know how you can do it. How are you so brave?”

“I’m not, um, I’m not brave. Not that brave. It’s just my job.” Flug brushed out his lab coat, head ducked. “I appreciate your c-concern, really, but I’m fine. Nothing I can’t survive – handle! Nothing I can’t handle,” he amended quickly at her pinched face.

“Okay…” the nurse bit her lip. “That’s…good to hear, Dr. Slys. But we’re here to help – the nurses. If you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I won’t,” the words were sincere. “Thank you and…” he gestured jerkily at the clothing, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Susie shook her head, grateful smile dimpling her face. “No, it happens. They’re dirty anyway.”

They parted ways a little less awkwardly than they had met, and Flug felt relatively happy until he caught a glimpse of the clock and nearly had an aneurysm. Sprinting down the building steps and into the parking lot, the psychiatrist reached his reserved parking space in the span of fifteen seconds and had to take a quick breather against his car.

It was a silver Chevrolet Cobalt, modeled in 2008 and in good condition. Wasn’t fancy, wasn’t what most of his staff had, but it got the job done and he was going to use it for all it was worth before getting anything else. Besides, no one suspected someone of his occupation drove anything like this. Better for avoiding media after a press conference or whatever else.

Better for keeping a low profile. It kept him safe.

The post office was almost completely void of people, thank god, and Flug waited as patiently as he could while the postal worker checked through his ID and verified the transaction. The package wasn’t too big to fit in his arms, but the skewed weight had him juggling it clumsily as he strode briskly back to his car. He stuck it in the passenger seat and buckled it up for good measure. Safety first and all that.

Instead of taking it back to his apartment, he made an executive decision to just drop it off in his office before resuming his watch of 505’s situation. That decision was regretted quite a bit when he was halfway down the hall and turned the corner only to stare at the barrel chest of Dr. Bautista.

His luck really sucked sometimes.

The other psychiatrist looked down his nose as if the doctor wasn’t worth his head turn, but then his eyes lighted on the box in Flug’s hands and did a double take.

“Make-up? You bought make-up?” He sneered in a way that had Flug gritting his teeth. “I didn’t know you were that kind, Dr. Slys.”

“Excuse me,” the psychiatrist tried to walk around, but Bautista matched his step backwards and folded his arms, making it nearly impossible to move forward without brushing into him. “Please, Doctor, I really need to get through.”

“Is that why you had me kicked off the inmate’s case? Scared I’d see this?” The larger man stabbed an angry finger into the package, almost knocking Flug off balance with the force of the tap. “Is this what’s under that dumb bag? Shit like this?”

“I d-don’t need to explain anything to you. A-And I asked you to move.” He tried to shove past but was stopped again. The box creaked a little under his grip. “Dr. Bautista, please, I talked to the director a-and she approved my request, th-that’s all there is to it. She wants us t-to work out our differences and I can’t do that if you won’t let me through!”

There was a tense moment of standoff, but Flug was sick of this day and sick of bullies with names of the letter B and he refused to be the first to crack. His coworker’s hard gaze trailed down to the box again, a defeat hidden behind contempt.

“Is this why you wanted my intern, too? Gonna make him dress up like those freaks on TV? Turn him into a queer, like you?”

‘you’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer?’

Flug sucked in a breath and Bautista realized in that instance what he’d said, what he was doing. The bigger man metaphorically backpedaled and looked nervously around for any sign of other employees.

“Forget it, forget what I said. Do whatever the hell you want, he’s your intern now anyway, he’s not worth my time. And neither are you.” The psychiatrist pivoted on his heel and stalked away, eyeing nearby closed doors apprehensively as he went.

Left behind was a psychiatrist struggling to keep himself from falling apart right there in the hall.

He booked it for his office, hands shaking so much that the box’s contents rattled haphazardly. The moment he reached his little sanctuary and the door was shut Flug collapsed to his knees, hunched over the package and headwear pressed into its top.

This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to have moved past this, give or take a paper bag and some shaky stuttering. He had moved past it, hadn’t had such a bad episode since before the Institute, before restraining scary inmates and psycho patients and dealing with…whatever Black Hat was.

But the memory bubbled up in familiar sickness and the doctor had just enough sense to reach up and lock the handle above him, fingers trembling with the effort. His hand dropped, boneless in his lap, and Flug stared in horrified awe as the yellow glove disappeared, the white lab coat disappeared. In its place was exposed pale skin, with the red overcoat clashing terribly with the icy ground and the snowy air. He couldn’t feel the cold, but it was right there, right there and he was back he was –

A cough made him look up.

 It was a group of five men, all their heads shaved to the bone and with near-matching tattoos right at the nape of their necks – barely visible from the high-collared heavy blue jackets they shared. He was not one of them, had never seen them before and hoped never to again, but a job was a job and he wasn’t going to complain, especially not here. They were mostly ignoring him anyway, grumbling to themselves about the frigid wind as they all waited behind that warehouse.

Their hit wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes at least, however, and he could sense their restlessness even as he pulled and twitched at his coat. He hadn’t had the chance to do his good-luck straighten-up routine when he’d left this morning, and it was filling him with irrational, irritating dread.

One of the smaller skinheads finally got bored enough to look his way, and he bit his tongue and kept his expression carefully neutral as the man approached.

“So you’re, like, really the guy helpin’ us out here?” It was said nonchalantly, in the tone of someone who very literally had nothing else better to do.

“That’s right,” he replied, eyes landing somewhere just under the other’s gaze. Directness was dangerous, was seen as challenge, but avoiding the face altogether was often seen as an insult. He’d toed this beam plenty of times and was well-versed in the physical whisperings of others.

The man scrubbed at the thick line of stubble under his jaw, itchy and miserable from the cold. “So what’s your deal, then? She said you were German, like honest to god bloodline and everything.”

He stilled the movements of his hands. “Yes, I am. My name was on the contract, if I remember right.”

“Oh, yeah,” more scratching, “that’s right, I saw your name, yeah. That really was German, huh. You ever think about joinin’ one of us ‘stead of her? Less rules and shit.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced over at the rest. One or two were starting to pay attention. “It’s really good pay, I guess. And she lets me use her lab, I can build whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s hard to leave a setup like that, you know?”

“Sure,” the skinhead reached a scarred hand to his neck and rubbed aggressively at the inflamed skin under his swastika. It was very recent, possibly within the last few days if his math was right.

“Stop fuckin’ with it,” gruffed one of the largest members, who stood and stretched before stepping heavily to join the two. “It’ll get infected and then you’re gonna cry like a bitch for weeks.”

“I ain’t gonna cry like no bitch,” the obvious newbie snarled, agitated by the cold and the teasing. “Only bitches here are all of you, huddled together over there for warmth. It’s pathetic.”

“Mm,” the older, larger man looked over the non-member with a skeptical look to his eye. “You’re kinda scrawny for your age, aren’t you? For your work?”

He kept his face clear, going for a simple shrug of shoulders and a slight fiddle of his coat zipper. It wasn’t the first time hearing this question doubting his appearance, but he had come prepared and equipped and demonstration would persuade these men much more than words. If only the damn target would show up.

“He kinda looks like a queer.”

The suggestion was much more unexpected and he stiffened up, eyes moving very slowly to look at the newbie, who sneered and stared at him with newfound amusement.

“Izzat true? You a queer?”

“No,” he said, firm and strong and leaving no room for suspicion. “I’m a scientist.”

The bigger, older man gave a few deep, rumbling chuckles and nudged his irritated companion. “That was a good one, come on.”

“Wasn’t nothing,” the younger one responded, shadowed face getting darker every second. “It wasn’t even an answer. I thought he’d at least give me an answer. You afraid of something, kid? Got something to hide?”

“Don’t call him kid, you’re barely growing pubes, idiot.”

The two skinheads started slinging insults at each other, and the rest of the gang was perking up at the sight. In the meantime he edged away, very slowly and as quiet as he could be in the snow. His sense for danger was always reliable and it was telling him that if their hit didn’t arrive soon, something was going to happen.

Something very, very bad.

Of course, he was only about a meter further from the verbal brawl before the newbie turned angrily back to him and spat at the ground.

“Just answer the fucking’ question, Aryan. You gay or not?”

“I’m not gay,” he insisted, but this question was not one he had mastered a safe answer to, had never had to before, and something must have shown on his face, in his voice, in his words maybe – because the larger, older man straightened up abruptly with practiced ease. The gaze of the young new one became sharp and predatory and hovered somewhere between eagerness and loathing.

It wasn’t until all five began to circle him that he realized he was hitting the cold back of the warehouse.

“Repeat that for me,” said the older, larger skinhead, and he was starting to think this one was the leader, the way he seemed to tower above them all and demanded respect, and an honest answer.

“I’m not – gay!” He insisted again, words slipping only because of the sudden closeness of one man to his right. It startled him into a voice crack and that was all the prompting they needed. He was pinned to the wall by three different pairs of hands and his head smacked painfully against the metal.

“Hang on, hang on guys,” hissed a voice belonging to one pair of grasping hands. “We gotta do the job first, right? She’s not gonna pay us if we don’t do the job.”

“I’m not working with a fucking fag,” hissed another. “Got enough of that shit in the world already, it doesn’t belong here with real people. It’ll taint us all if we don’t stop it.”

“But I’m not – I’m not…!” He tried to cry out just as a gloved hand slapped him hard and stung worse than the cold ever could.

“Shut up.” It was the newbie, eyes blazing and manic. “You’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer? Bet you’ve been wanting to fuck all of us this whole time, huh. Bet it really gets you off bein’ around real men for once.”

“What should we do with him?” Asked the hesitant one again. “You know she’ll put a hit out on us if we kill him, you – you guys know that.”

“I know,” rumbled the larger, older man quietly. He was standing behind them all, overseeing as was his position, but his gaze had landed on the back of the newbie’s neck. Something passed his visage, and for one moment there was no white in his eyes. “Pin him to the ground, on his back.”

They complied eagerly and he fought for every centimeter of height lost until someone got impatient and punched him hard in the stomach. He collapsed immediately, gasping for breath even as they stretched his arms out and sat on his legs.

“Chase, give me your cigarette.”

“What?! Why the hell –”

“Just fucking give it to me!” The tone left no room for argument and he watched in stuck terror as a half-used cigarette traded hands to the older, larger skinhead, who walked around and crouched right above his head.

He stared, pleading and cold and hurting and asking for a single shred of mercy. But they had both played this game for a long while and thus both knew there would be none.

“I think,” the soulless black look was back. “The best way to do this,” a giant, meaty hand gripped painfully in his hair and stilled his shaking head. “Is to show our employer exactly what we think of little creatures like you poisoning our perfect race.”

The burning tip hovered a millimeter from his wet right cheek.

“You said you’re German. I think it’s time to embrace your roots.”

The tip came down.

And Flug cried silently into his square paper mask.

Hey guys, this one was a heavy one and I apologize for it. If it triggered or upset anyone, please let me know and I’ll give more warning in the beginning of the chapter. Please keep in mind that this story as a whole will continue to deal with heavy topics like this, but it isn’t my intention to sugarcoat these things or paint them as insignificant. 

Thanks for listening. Last chapter is tomorrow and then we’ll be all caught up. Hope you all have a good one.