#this is literally my second time playing through act 1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tachimichishrine · 5 months

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"broken and fixed again"

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dazai osamu x fem! reader {hospital AU}

warnings: nsfw ; literally 1 fingering scene the rest is fluff ; mentions of suicide; not an actual au just a scenario ; fluff but it's just complaining abt your joints ; reader teases the living sh out of him bc flustered and soft dazai needs to be more mainstream ; makes him wear a nurse outfit with the power of words ; slight tw blood and pain i love seeing the silly in agony ; intended lowercase ; cursing ; so so so self indulgent i just got my second surgery in the span of 5 months dw im fine just dramatic as hell and my hospital neighbors are all gilfs

"haaaaaaah..."

dazai wasn't on any pain medications, so there was no way he was imagining that sound.

"haaaaaaaaaaahhhh..."

the day after being shot by fyodor, he wound up in the hospital due to his inability to be cured by yosano. it wasn't a big deal; he'd dealt with worse before, obviously. you don't spend as much time in the port mafia as he does and come out fully unscathed, after all.

"haaaa-"

then a slumping noise as if a body collapsed onto the ground. he was still on bed arrest, but he was growing restless being locked in the room all day with himself. the nurse who was tending to him seemed to be rather cold, but he knew that she'd turn to puddy for him shortly if he actually tried.

he groaned a little bit while getting up, fingertips grazing the paper thin clothing they were given at the spot where the bullet had pierced him. softly footsteps fell on the squeaky clean floor, and his head peaked outside his doorframe to look around for the source of the sound.

you were on the ground with a walker collapsed next to you.

pleasantly intrigued, he shot a quick glance at your facial expressions to check whether or not you were truly in agony, which you weren't. in fact, you seemed just as bored as he did. your arms spread out your sides like wings and your legs were tussled awkwardly as he guessed you were trying to keep the cheap clothing from revealing your butt-naked figure.

"oiii, psst psst," he called out, hand flattened next to his mouth as if he were whispering to you intimately in the empty hallway.

you tilted your head backwards, looking at him upside-down with what was an inarguably listless expression.

"heyyyyy," you seemed to be almost slurring your words, and he guessed you were hooked on enough meds to make a small fortune if sold on the streets. "wh-whooo... who are youuuu?"

a few steps forward and dazai was standing over you. he carefully lowered himself, his eyes scanned you again and a smirk played on his lips.

"that's quite the act," he snickered, which caused you to let out a groan.

truth is, you weren't on enough pain medication to get to that high. however, it had been a week since you were admitted, and you were losing your mind doing nothing all day. the operation went well, but there was always a high risk of infection or post-op complications and they'd insisted you stayed 10 days for observation. you tried chatting with the nurses, tried exploring the place, tried sleeping to recover faster but every solution tired out after a while.

they gave you a few tools to navigate your surroundings, one of which was the damn walker. you'd done crutches and mobility aids before, casts, splints and braces, but no one liked the walkers. they made you feel like you were a hundred years old, and your body might as well be.

so, you decided you'd collapse and see what happens, how long it takes someone to come find you, rescue you and make your day just a little less boring. you settled yourself onto the ground, threw the walker and got comfy on the floor.

the man who approached you seemed a bit concerned at first, but he appeared to see through your games annoyingly quickly and called you out on it without even pausing to indulge. you let out a puffy pout and crossed your arms. "mannn, no one here is any fun."

you caught a glimpse of bandages wrapped around nearly every one of his extremities, almost like a decoration more than anything else. you slowly turned yourself and shuffled your body so you were sitting down facing upwards to look at him.

"what're you in for?" you asked with a snicker, getting over the fact your plan hadn't worked because he seemed to be relatively normal and you sure could use a conversation right now. "armed robbery? assault and battery? tax evasion?"

"you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he mimicked your expression, piquing your intrigue with a sly grin. you couldn't help but notice he was incredibly pretty, and you quickly developed another hospital crush; you roamed the hallways enough to identify the regulars but not enough to actually speak to any of them, and having stupid crushes on just about everyone kept your mind mildly active.

"what, you got jumped by an elite ninja squadron or something?"

before he could retort, clicking of heels resonated from the end of the hallway. the pace picked up when the nurse saw two patients laying down on the floor with a toppled walker, calling for some kind of a code. you giggled mischievously even when she realized you were fine and helped you up. the man who's been with you for a few seconds also received a verbal beating while responding just like you did.

your hands went to the metal of the walker, and you rolled your eyes while deciding you'd try to come back this way and speak to him again at night when they were understaffed and no one was going to pester you. you were barely beginning your plans to escape yet again when something deep within your body that had been altered recently felt like it burst. it didn't, but the pain and the sight of the blood you were coughing violently onto the floor made you rack your brain over the long list of possible complications.

fuck.

you fell onto the ground again, but this time it was painfully real. wafting in and out of consciousness until you couldn't tell if you were fainting, having a seizure or if something else had happened. the nurse turned around too late to catch you, but quickly yelled out that code from before and instructed the man go and get help immediately.

your body felt so broken.

you were never more pissed off to see the damn white drapes, walls and the same old view out the window accompanying that damn beeping.

your finger was clamped in some device reading your heartbeat, and a bunch of sensors were hooked up all over your skin. your head was groggy, a stiff pulsation throbbing at the back like you'd given yourself a concussion.

"mmmmn..." a languid groan was all you could manage; your throat was dry and you felt like you could eat the ekg right now. you wavering in and out of a daze for a few minutes while you tried both to fight off the sleep and fight off the day.

a knock at your door roused your attention once more. your neck hurt too much to crane over and take a look, but you could definitely hear the door closing.

"oh, it's you," you said, the bandaged man making another appearance. "sorry about today. I didn't mean to fake it 'til I made it."

the laugh at your own joke hurt your chest and you tried not to cough.

"it's actually been a bit longer than you think," he mused while sitting at the foot of your bed.

you hastily cut off any word that he was thinking of saying. "don't tell me! I have 3 days left before getting discharged, and I'd rather it come earlier as a surprise than right on time."

you did not ask him why he was here, assuming he must be in the same exasperated position. instead, you asked him your question again from the other day.

"or at least your name," you added. "I gotta know to whom I owe the honour of a visit. the nurses must really like you to let you pull a stunt like this."

he chuckled, mostly to himself. "oh, you've got no idea."

despite his weird way of talking like everything was a riddle and he was a spy of some sorts, the man - whose name you learnt was dazai osamu - was not so bad. he lent you his phone (you had no idea how he had managed to get away with this kind of thing) for you to call some close friends, and listened patiently while you told him how you'd ended up in this hospital bed. he however did not explain what happened to him, nor why he had all those bandages all over himself.

he didn't say much at all, to be completely honest. you blabbered long enough for the daylight to cease seeping in from your curtains, and it was dark when you were both laying down side by side in the tiny bed looking up at the ceiling in silence.

"thanks for stopping by," you hummed, eyes closed but a slow smile on your lips. "didn't think I charmed you that much with my hospital charisma. you should see what I'm like at full power."

you didn't need to open your eyes to know he was smiling back. "anytime, darling."

another chuckle at his words and another long pause. you didn't like the soft humming of the machines around you, but it was different when you weren't alone. heavy eyelids combined with steady beeping led you to start slipping asleep when he spoke up again.

"you wanna know what landed me here?"

damn him for choosing now to tell you. you stirred uncomfortably, body smushed against his while you tried to lay down on your side to face him, but it was incredibly uncomfortable and you quickly retreated back to the hellish laying on your back. you actions spurred him to continue.

"I was shot," he admitted nonchalantly. he seemed to be examining his nails and yawning like he wanted to emphasize just how much he didn't care much for the words he said.

"so my ninja theory wasn't so far off, then," you chuckled for a lack of a better response. "what'd the bullet pierce?"

dazai would never admit that he was mildly impressed that you didn't ask about who had shot him, or why. "the doctor said I'm a 'lucky bastard', because it missed all my vitals."

you have taken note of where the wound was, and confirmed again when he said that because he must really be lucky to miss out on death and major complications if he got shot in the abdomen and it missed all the important things in there.

"your doc sounds like they wanted you to have some damage," you remarked, gaze back on his face. maybe you were particularly tired, but his eyes felt so dreamy when he smiled. you decided you'd ask him out once you got out of the hospital.

"oh, she definitely did," he agreed, "but she's an old friend and I think all my coworkers were hoping for something more serious."

"kinda sounds like you did too."

he considered what to say; his double-suicide jokes felt incredibly out of place in this environment full of people desperately trying to cling on to life. even if you seemed to pick up on the general direction of what he was implying, he shook his head and turned it towards you.

"are you implying that I'm a masochist?" said with a sly smirk.

"are you denying it?" you mimicked his tone.

he did not, in fact, deny it. you fell asleep shortly afterwards teasing him about it, and he just took it with a stupid grin on his face. your head fell limp onto the pillow, and he only began to be convinced you weren't just pretending again when your jaw slowly dropped down to slightly open your mouth ungracefully and let out a soft snore.

he could've gotten away with falling asleep beside you, but he didn't know how his nurse would feel about seeing him in bed with another woman.

two knocks at his open door signaled your presence.

"no walker," he said, showing you that he was impressed with an exaggerated nod of approval. "next thing I know, you'll be running marathons around the entire wing."

you huffed proudly, thinking about flopping onto his bed but your body wasn't quite ready to be thrown around just yet. "ahh, I wish. I've been told I need to stay an extra week because of my little incident. how's your timeline looking?"

he put up a four, indicating how many days until he abandoned you. faking a sorrowful sob, you wrapped your hands around his leg and hugged it like a child trying to get their parents to stay. "nuh uh, you're not! what happened to 'til death do us part'? was I the only one who said those vows?"

"apologies, my dear wife," he bowed apologetically, snickering. "I guess I'll just have to injure myself to come back to you~"

your frown was instantaneous and serious as you scooched up on the bed. "hey, don't joke about that kind of stuff. my old roommate was recovering from an attempt and she had it rough. I hate it when people joke about suicide just to sound funny."

oh.

dazai was lucky that all the members of the ada were too busy to come and visit him, because judging by your reaction, you would genuinely hate him if they heard kunikida call him a suicidal bastard or ranpo ask him why he's in the hospital if he wants to die. you may have been faking a crisis playfully the first time you met, but he felt a little ashamed lying in your presence with how truthful you were about your emotions. he admired it, but didn't know if he envied it too.

"anyways, I have something for you," you winked at him, then reached into the sleeve of your hospital gown and pulled out a simple flower. it was disheveled and barely alive, but some of the colour was still there and your smile was bright enough to compensate. "ta da!!"

"I thought flowers were not allowed in this hospital?" he raised a brow, a subtle pink dusting his cheeks at the action despite his typical unaffected demeanor and the fact that this gift was incredibly insignificant. his fingers held the stem delicately as you seemed proud that he liked it.

"they aren't!" you beamed with a giggle. "kai - the boy a few doors down from me - his girlfriend brought him some and that one really mean nurse threw them out. I was walking by the garbage and picked the best one for you."

he watched you shift closer when you finished speaking and laughed. "trash flowers."

"reminds me of you."

"ouch! I think I'm gonna need more pain meds from that sting!"

you called him a goof and continued to tell him about the rest of the hospital lore. he had been holding the flower for quite some time, and you asked what he was planning on doing with it. he asked you to fetch him one of those ridiculously tiny plastic cups at the drinking water stations and fill it up. the dying flower sunk into the water delicately while positioned on his bedside table.

responding to your remark that the nurses will have to throw it out if he let it out in the open, he reassured you that that won't be a problem. he still refused to reveal to you his methods, though.

day came and went; you finally asked him if he'd be interested in going out with you once you were both recovered; he did you one better and kissed you under the moonlight.

you didn't care that the walls of the hospital rooms were thin; it was good when you were collapsed and the dull thud could mean the difference between life and death.

however, it made what you were doing even riskier.

"fuck... fuuuck, osamu take... mmn take it easy," you murmured against his lips, thighs parted as his fingers reached deep enough to get you shaking.

he was laying on his side, supporting his weight on his forearm while he buried his other hand into you with slow, calculated movements. neither of you were fully recovered and as much as you wanted to slam him against something and grind on him until he was a babbling mess, you weren't in a state to try just yet.

instead, dazai was spending his last night in the hospital making your thighs twitch and chest heave. things progressed fast after the first kiss, especially since the two of you had nothing to do all day but speak to the other. he occasionally got calls on his phone where he had to excuse himself to take it, but other than that you didn't have much else on your minds except each other.

he took you on a date to the cafeteria and offered you a fine dining experience (junk food he beat out of the vending machines) complete with the most exquisite wine pairing (a pack of juice boxes).

you took him on the next, sneaking into rooms where you most definitely weren't supposed to be wandering and broke into the nurse's lounge. you both stole uniforms and changed, although you had to admit he pulled off the dress rather well. you got him to throw on the tightest size he could fit into, and he did a little catwalk in his formfitting outfit. none of the staff caught you making out in the supply closet.

and the third day was simply another moment of lounging in each other's rooms and talking about nothing. he accidentally dozed off and woke up an hour later to your fingers tenderly running through his hair. he gave you the side eye, receiving a kiss on his temple as a response. dazai retaliated with a kiss of his own, and suddenly you were carefully trying to lay down on him to kiss him deeper, better, but your groans were of pain and not pleasure and he offered to swap positions.

and fuck, was this man talented. you were happy just looking at him and muttering about how pretty you thought he was, but he was a lot more sensitive to your little teases and fingers exploring the outline of his body than he let on, and he had pushed up the bottom of your gown to get in between your thighs.

"nnng... ahh, do that again," you rasped out as his thumb rubbed your clit with slowly, languid motions. "is this your... mmmnnn... your way of feeling guilty for leaving me haaah... here all by myself?"

"sorry," he quipped, albeit not looking sorry at all with that lazy grin as he looked at you through low lashes. "I haven't even left yet and you miss me."

your hips buckled painfully as a jolt surged through your body and made you muffle a moan into the side of his neck. "hey, I said take it easy. can't have me extending my stay just 'cause you fucked me good."

he promised he'd do his best, but only thrust into you with harsher movements once he saw you purse your lips to keep from whimpering. you called him a little shit, but that just seemed to make him even more smug.

a nurse heard you cry out, rushing to check up on you; they didn't see dazai hidden on the other side of your hospital bed while you explained that you just had a nightmare and woke up suddenly, promising to keep it down. they just sighed, walking out with a frustrated shake of their head as dazai popped back up and giggled along with you. you leaned your head over the edge of the bed, holding his face in your hands so you could kiss him again.

"miss, please wake up. it's time for your medication, and you have a visitor."

you weren't sleeping. how could you, when it was your first night not crawling into dazai's bed to talk yourself to sleep? he was finally recovered enough to leave, and all you could do was ask him for his number so you could call him once you were out. 3 more days wasn't quite bad, but it was already piled on top of the countless ones that had passed. boredom was even more bitter once you'd tasted the sweetness of a friend.

reluctantly, pills dropped into your hand were thrown into your mouth and swallowed dry under the watchful gaze of the nurse. he didn't seem to particularly like you, but you supposed he had a right to when you kept breaking all the rules they had.

"what do I have to do to be next?" a smug voice resonated from the doorframe, lanky frame leaning against the wood as he watched you swallow.

you felt well enough to get up and give him a hug, but he beat you to it and leaned down to kiss your forehead. he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked your hair out of your face with the kind of shallow loving nature he seemed to have on by default. it took a few hours together for that to wear off and for his actions to begin feeling genuine again, but you never commented about it. you supposed everyone did that to a certain extent and you were just a little hyperaware of his giveaways.

"I didn't think you'd come back this soon," you admitted, trying to scooch on the bed so he could sit next to you as you used to. he seemed however to shake his head a little.

"I can't stay long, dear, duty calls," he said, but the look you gave him showed that you didn't believe that one bit. it didn't take much for him to give in and curl up by your side, clinging onto your body with a childish expression on his features. "this persuasive with nothing but your eyes, did I ever tell you how incredibly talented you are?"

"you did not, in fact. please do it more often," you chuckled, ruffling his hair and kissing him on the crown of his head twice before pulling him into your chest, his nose nuzzling in your neck right under your ear. you swept your hand across your body to hold him, but your iv was still in and it nearly got tangled in your limbs as well. "if you've gotta go, then why are you here, osamu?"

he gasped dramatically, turning towards the entrance. "nurse, nurse please get me something to fix my broken heart! my sweetheart doesn't want me here! on my surprise visit!"

the nurse seemed like he really was about to come in, but much more likely to be in order to remove your problematic visitor than hand him a first aid kit and fix his "broken heart". you shushed him, laughing hysterically as he got all of his melodramatic needs out of the way, asking you if you've considered giving him your house in your will, asking how long you wanted him to mourn you. refreshing, he was refreshing. a breath of fresh air after all these stuffy hours spent in the hospital.

"do you really need to go?" you asked, cradling his cheek with your palm and rubbing slow circles with your thumb. "have you just come to remind me what I can't have, osamu? how cruel of you. you may have been the one shot but I'm pretty sure you just twisted the knife in my back."

he enjoyed your playful banter, but this time a more serious look was on his face. you tilted your head to the side, watching him curiously, trying to analyze his movements and figure out why he was acting weird when suddenly, he grabbed the trashcan from next to him and coughed into it.

"oh my god— osamu, hey, oh fuck, that's blood..." you swore to yourself, calling out loudly for the nurse as well as pressing the emergency button you had on your bedside while you got to his side and held him softly, unsure what to do. he always seemed so above all of this, the treatment, the pain, the entire hospital even, that it felt shocking to watch him cough up more and more blood into the can, rasping without a single witty comment in between.

you combed your fingers through his hair, pulling all of it out of his face as if you'd both been hungover college girls waking from a rough night. the blood seemed to be easing up, but he was wincing and holding his hand to the spot where he said that he'd gotten shot.

"osamu, baby, try to breathe for me. in through your nose, as slow as you can manage. help is on its way, they're going to find out what happened and you're going to be okay, alright? you can't die, we spent all this time discussing my funeral plans and not yours, so I'm not ready," you joked, partly out of habit but mostly because you wanted him feeling reassured as you held him and waited for someone to come in and fix everything.

he seemed to try to say something, but you clicked your tongue and wiped the mixture of saliva and blood from the corner of his lips with your finger. "don't try to say anything. store every asshole remark you want to make in your head and tell it to me later, once everything has passed. 'cause it's going to pass, osamu, it always does. you're going to be fine."

you glanced down at his shirt, noticing the widening pool of crimson in his chest, and hoped that you were right.

you were discharged, but feeling more sick than ever. pacing back and forth in the waiting room, you resisted the urge to go to the receptionist and ask her about his condition again, only to be told that a, you aren't immediate family and therefore can't be informed, and b, she didn't have any information about his anyways.

dazai had been taken into surgery to fix what sounded like ruptured stitches (he was pushing himself too much and they burst, according to what you understood) and you refused to leave without knowing how he was doing.

the wait was long, agonizing and you contemplated faking a relapse of your illness just to get inside and see for yourself, but quickly convinced yourself that you're not that desperate. yet. a doctor walked out, spoke briefly to the receptionist who pointed at you with a look full of attitude. you sighed out of relief, figuring this meant you were finally getting an update.

"so, the doctor told me that your surgery went well and you'd be alright in a few days if you actually followed their words this time," you finished recounting, holding dazai's hand and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles in between sentences. "then you, my sleeping beauty, took two lovely hours just to wake up. I slept a little while waiting, so if you find some drool on your sheets... technically, that's your fault."

drowsy, half-conscious but still able to weakly chuckle at your words. his fingers twitched a little in your grasp, so you just continued to hold him tenderly while he let out drawn-out gasps as he adjusted to being awake.

"try to focus on my voice," you offered, knowing all too well the experience of waking up and wanting to slither out of your body. "don't think about the pain, don't try to convince yourself that you're stronger than it. just listen to me, okay?"

he whispered a soft "okay" to let you know that he was going to try, and you smiled against the back of his hand.

"tonight, I'm going to stay here with you," you begun reciting, almost like a fairy tale that should've started with once upon a time. "I'll sneak into the cafeteria, talk to my guy to get you the good stuff, y'know the green jell-o that everyone is jealous of? tomorrow, I'll put you on a wheelchair and we can go terrorize the nurses again. the day after, we can just stay in bed and I'll kiss you all better so that the following day, I can give you a ride home and we can finally get the hell out of this boring place."

his grip on your hand slightly tightened, and you watched his face flush a soft pink. you checked his temperature, wondering if he was spiking a fever already, but realized it was the rosiness of a blush. you giggled at him and his flusteredness, holding him near and continuing with more tales of ridiculously detailed date plans.

he fell asleep again once you'd gotten to your plans on day 43, but you kept going until you got told visiting hours were over and you had to leave. you kissed his sweaty forehead and swore you saw him smile faintly as you walked out.

you did everything you told him you'd do.

you got him the treats he wanted, noticing how he was especially shy around you when you started bringing him the little trinkets. you bought him real flowers, too, making sure you hid them as well as possible from the hospital staff, but you were already professionals at this point.

after his incident, you learned about a softer side to dazai, one that led him to blushing and losing his words when you complimented him instead of responding with his own. you would surprise him with a spontaneous fashion show featuring the hospital's limited assortment of clothing options, or wearing the nurse's uniform again as you pretended to be helping him take his meds and reminding him to take it easy.

and he did. dazai finally listened, allowing you to pamper him and actually voicing when his pain was getting bad. he mentioned briefly, on a single occasion, that his past job involved a lot of physical pain, but you sensed that you shouldn't bring it up any further. you just let him fall asleep, over and over again, in your arms and never rushed him. the best thing was that you could pretend at work that you were still gone on medical leave, so no one bothered you while you stayed with him.

"does it bother you that I'm always around?" you asked softly on one occasion, helping him to and from the bathroom after spending nearly 30 straight minutes joking about piss kinks. "I don't mean to be too much, constantly by your side. I know some people get kinda annoyed when you care too much, too soon."

dazai, walking with his arm over your shoulder so you could support some of his weight as he made his way back to the bed, seemed to have his legs give out suddenly. your reflexes were fast, and you swooped down to catch him, his body arched backwards as you looked down at him like you had been dancing the tango.

the sneaky bastard smiled at you.

"you're cute when you worry," he said simply, and you briefly considered dropping him out of spite. instead, you kissed him and slowly brought him onto the bed. even more cautiously, you sat down on his lap, little to no weight actually being placed on him as you supported yourself on your parted knees. "hm? what's this? what happened to being worried about being too much?"

you ignored his taunt and sat there for a few minutes, just holding him, kissing him and whispering everything that went through your mind. "surely you aren't complaining, are you, sweetheart? yeah, I didn't think so."

it was harder for him to sit still than it was to endure the pain; he slowly got weaned off the medication, but at the same time he was strictly forbidden from going out, using his phone or seeing many people.

on the day of his discharge, you begged him to let you drive him home. he said that it wasn't your responsibility, that he would manage, but the man he was calling sounded like he wanted dazai to rot away in the hospital for the rest of his life.

"all of that because you don't do your paperwork?" you asked with a chuckle, sitting by his side with his belonging in a bag on your lap, waiting for him to finish his call with his friend from work, if you could call that friendship. "really, I told you that I don't mind. let me drive you home, I'm sure this kuni... kunikida guy will appreciate it. what exactly is your problem with that?"

"I like to maximize my time spent annoying kunikida," he explained sensibly with a grin, groaning slightly as he got up and sat back down on the wheelchair. you placed the bag on his lap and began wheeling him towards the exit while he continued. "it's been too long since I've been a pain in his ass, sooooo..."

"is that an excuse 'cause you don't want me seeing your place?"

he gasped loudly, gathering the attention of all that you passed by. "dear, I swear that I'm a good liar. how do you see through me so quickly?!"

"the same way you see through me, I suppose," you laughed softly. "and if you don't feel ready to have me so much as see your home, I don't mind, I'm a patient woman. get it? patient. it's a hospital joke."

your understanding of nearly every curveball he threw at you was too much, and quite frankly he couldn't handle it. every time he tried to push you away, gain some distance because you were getting too comfortable with him emotionally, too close to the parts of him that he didn't keep guarded, you somehow managed to take a step back without hating him or demanding more. he'd always been the type to let women fall for him, that's true, but you weren't asking for anything in return and he just didn't get it.

that was the reason dazai couldn't let you take him home, not because he was ashamed of where he lived but because your relationship was confined within the walls of this hospital and he was afraid of what would happen if you continued outside of them.

it was also the reason he found himself crying once you finally brought him to the front entrance of the hospital, about to check one more time with him that he refused to get a ride with you when you noticed his tears. panicked, you looked at his chest for signs of blood, his face for signs of fever or pain, anything physical.

"osamu, is everythi— nmmf!"

he'd never kissed you like that before, grabbing your face while you crouched down to look at him and just feel you, all of you, on his tongue. desperate and needy, like he'd never touched you before or like you were some kind of lifesaving drug (which you must've been: he hadn't thought about suicide in weeks, hadn't joked about it, hadn't asked someone to a double-suicide. the prospect felt so foreign, ridiculous when he thought about never seeing you again). in the middle of the lobby, you were practically making out all of a sudden which was why you had to pull away temporarily and look at him, confused.

you didn't ask him why he did that. you just laughed (he loved the sound of your laugh) and called him impatient. yet somehow, both of your gazes met and there seemed to be some kind of mutual understanding of the feelings involved. you were so genuine about your emotions that he both psychologically and physically broke.

he was silent as you wheeled him to your car, helped him in and told him to wait as you returned the wheelchair. he sat down, looking at the mess, the faint chaotic smell that somehow matched you perfectly and relaxed into the passenger seat. when you came back, asking him for his address, he opened his mouth meekly to ask if he could stay with you for a few days since he knew he would slack off on the meds and eat junk food if he was living alone again. he almost looked embarrassed as he asked it, looking down at his hands instead of at you.

he wasn't wearing his bandages. in truth, they'd been cut off since he had that emergency surgery, but he never put them back on. dazai told himself that it was because he liked to feel your skin on his, but deep down he knew that it was much more than that.

too quickly. dazai osamu fell in love too quickly and he didn't know how to make it slow down.

"osaaaaaaamuuuuuu!" you called out, trying to wake him up at 6 in the morning. "time for your medicationnnnnn!"

he pretended to snore, and you pretended not to notice his tricks.

you stood there, hand on your hip, sweaty as you were just back from your morning exercise. trying to keep your health in the kind of shape that you wouldn't have to go back to the hospital was nice, but the early mornings took a while to get used to. luckily, it helped that you had your snoring boyfriend as a natural alarm clock.

"oh, he's sleeping? that sure is a shame," you dramatically pouted, setting the small cup with the pills down on the bedside in fake dejection and loudly walking over to your bathroom. "I guess I'll just have to shower all alone..."

on command, the covers were thrown in the air, osamu yelling "I'm awake!" and swallowing the pills dry in a panicked frenzy.

it works every time.

he giggled, holding your hand once he got up in order to make sure you weren't joking and truly drag you to the bathroom. you barely managed to murmur a "good morning" before he was all over you, slowing down only when you told him to take it easy with a laugh.

you'd both met each other when you were broken, but right now you've never felt so whole.

#dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai osamu x reader #dazai bsd x reader #dazai x reader bsd #dazai bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #down bad tm #im unwell for them

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mymanyfandomramblings · 6 months

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Mabel's perspective in Sock Opera is equally, if not more sympathetic than Dipper's: An Essay

Most people generally wouldn't consider Mabel to have a terribly sympathetic plotline in Sock Opera, even those of us who don't necessarily feel that she's horribly selfish. I think that's because, from a narrative perspective, her plotline is (as it so often is) shafted in favour of Dipper's, and from a viewer's perspective, Dipper's makes more sense. We, as viewers want to know who the author is. We, as viewers, know that Gabe is inevitably going to turn out to be some variety of impossible, and we know that the Author of the Journals is a major mystery. However, from Mabel's perspective, none of this is true, because she doesn't have the luxury of knowing she is in a TV show. Even if you take out Gabe, her perspective still makes perfect sense.

At the beginning of summer, Dipper found this journal, and Mabel has generally been pretty happy to go along with his adventures as the journal has led them, but it's clear she doesn't have the same degree of fascination with it. Maybe she may have been a little intrigued by who the Author is, she's probably a bit curious, but not to the same extent. By the time of Sock Opera, she's probably reasonably ready for the Journal fixation to be over, considering that they nearly all got killed by a shapeshifter trying to find the author. She knows that trying to investigate the author is dangerous--Stan warned them away from the supernatural, they've all nearly died multiple times, but Dipper cannot be stopped. And now Dipper has decided to spend hours and hours and hours, forgoing sleep, sitting in front of a screen, typing in passwords. The fact that Mabel tries to drag him away from it is a good thing--anyone with a relative who spends excessive amounts of time in front of a computer can tell you that. Generally, having someone close to you become deeply fixated to the point of obsession with anything can be challenging, however in Mabel's case, Dipper has become obsessed to the point of prioritising getting into the laptop above anything, and this isn't just a regular hyperfixation: this is a hyperfixation that has nearly gotten them both (plus their loved ones) nearly killed multiple times in the last few weeks. It's absolutely the responsible, good thing for Mabel to do to not enable that behaviour.

And then if you add the puppet show back into the equation, then yes, it is kind of ridiculous of Mabel to put on a whole show of that kind of magnitude just for a boy (regardless of whether the boy deserves it), however, as viewers we must accept that this is, in fact, thoroughly within character for Mabel, who is kind of ridiculous. Any kind of production of that size is a huge commitment, especially if you've given yourself a week to work, and I'm not remotely bothered by the fact that Mabel has to get everyone involved on this. And to Mabel's credit, she does try to help Dipper as soon as he appears to her in puppet form, she just isn't immediately willing to stop the show. Back in high school, my drama class did a play that I mostly wrote, mostly managed and also had a small acting role in (yes, I was an overachiever in drama), and let me tell you, it would have taken a lot to have gotten me to call off the show halfway through, much less publicly sabotage it. A demon threatening the lives of one of my siblings? Probably yes. That probably would have done it. And Mabel does allow the thing that she poured blood, sweat and tears into to go literally up in flames in front of everyone, once she realises that's what she has to do (and personally, I don't think that there's anything wrong with not immediately being willing to drop everything for this. It's not like Dipper doesn't dig in his heels about doing what's best until the very last possible second). I don't know why people insist it's not 'technically a sacrifice', because while, yes, obviously Dipper's life was more important, and she 100% made the right choice, it's not easy to wreck something you worked hard on in front of people.

All this is to say that although it's easy to become irritated at Mabel during this episode because she's hindering Dipper's ability to figure out who the author is, it's also very easy not to realise that she has a thoroughly reasonable perspective, simply because the narrative puts greater emphasis and attention of Dipper's perspective.

#gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #gravity falls meta #character analysis #my ramblings

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just-french-me-up · 1 year

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Harmonies

@hardly-an-escape recently had this FABULOUS idea of acclaimed writer Morpheus who secretly publishes popular romance novels under a pen name, who shamefully gets off while listening to voice actor Hob Gadling acting out an explicit scene from one of his romance stories. I would say my hand slipped but this was 100% planned and thought through.

Morpheus refreshed his inbox. Early afternoon, Lucienne had told him. He gave a quick glance at the clock. 5:42PM. Early afternoon was fading into late afternoon one second at a time, with nothing to show for it.

Morpheus refreshed his inbox. Again.

This is stupid, he thought, frustration seeping in. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Surely, they had not finished editing or formatting the whole thing yet, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. Perhaps they had forgotten. Morpheus didn't usually request to be sent the beta recordings. He was more than happy to let them do their job unencumbered, trusting Lucienne to green light everything once it was done. Truth be told, he was barely involved in the whole audiobook side of things, except for, well, writing the damn thing in the first place and having his pen name slapped on the cover. Lucienne had arched an eyebrow at him when he'd asked for the latest recordings out of the blue, but had not been overly curious. A good thing, really. Morpheus carefully avoided any occasion that required him to lie through his teeth. This, no doubt, would have been one of them.

His phone buzzed, startling him.

[6PM 09/05/2023 – The Kindly Ones – Edit Zoom Meeting]

Morpheus turned off the reminder. Too many fires at once. That was his problem, his sister had told him once. Stretching yourself thin until you're see-through, she had said. She was not wrong, of course, although Morpheus would not admit it to her face. She would be far too smug about it.

He refreshed his inbox.

Inbox (1)

Morpheus froze and stared at the screen. There it was. Finally. His pulse racing, he reached for his headphones, struggling to plug it in in his haste. The file was slow to download, the recordings accounting for more than half of the book. Morpheus' fingers tapped impatiently against his desk as he watched the bar crawl to the finish line.

5:51PM.

Surely he could allow himself a quick browse through the file. The meeting with his editor―his other editor―wouldn't start for five more minutes, if not more, should they run a little late on their side. Morpheus found himself wishing they would. Unprofessional, a little voice admonished him.

He opened the file. It had been divided into sections, each corresponding to a chapter. Skip. Skip. Skip. He knew what he was looking for. The book had come out a year ago or so. He still remembered the outline well enough. For a while, he heard nothing but the initial breath of the voice actor, one for each chapter, before he would skip ahead. When he finally let the recording play, the voice engulfed him in its warmth.

Although Morpheus had been the one initially weaving the words and sentences together, they found another dimension and depth in that voice. He was rediscovering his work on someone else's tongue, and the effect left him... intrigued. A few voice actors had given life to the words on the page over the years but this one... This one breathed a soul into the story like none had ever managed to before.

When Morpheus had learnt Robert Gadling would narrate another one of his books, he could not resist.

The beta recordings were rough, lacking the polish of the final product, leaving intakes of breath in and other little imperfections editors would cut out. Morpheus could hear every huff, every chuckle when Gadling would stumble over a word and correct himself, going back to the beginning of the sentence. He could picture the smile on his lips then, the playfully apologetic look at the tech team. He had looked up pictures of him online, once. His face matched his voice: warm, inviting, with a hint of mischief. Suave, even. Morpheus had then closed the tab, embarrassed at his own thoughts.

The scene he had skipped to was professionally relevant, or, at least, he tried to convince himself it was. He had always understood sex scenes to be a tricky thing, for actors. At least, when it came to traditional acting, it was a shared awkwardness, a simulacrum of pleasure played by multiple people who could find solace in the fact that they were all on the same vulnerable boat, camera crew included. Now, voice actors... Acting choices could either make or break a sex scene. It required a subtle mix of smoothness and confidence few could manage. The last thing he wanted was for his words to sound clumsy and awkward, when the goal was quite the opposite. It was Morpheus' authorial prerogative to check every aspect of the audiobook fit his vision, after all.

As the chapter began and Robert Gadling's voice filled his ears, Morpheus imagined him in his recording booth, alone. Some audiobooks had multiple actors playing different characters, but this one only had him credited. There were slight fluctuations of tones, accents and speech patterns, as he switched characters. Morpheus listened intently.

"Gabriel gave a fleeting look downward. Nathan's shirt was soaked, revealing hints of the skin underneath. He tried not to stare, but only managed to do so through conscious and continuous effort. 'You should change your shirt before you catch something,' he told Nathan, his tone as casual as he could manage. 'You could borrow one of mine.' "

The acting was good. There was tension in the words, in the tone. The characters sounded like different people, even though they were played by the same man. Morpheus continued. In the book, things heated up quickly after a long, tentative courtship. He braced himself for the following scene, replaying the words in his head from memory.

" 'It smells like you.' Gabriel stared at him, stunned, unable to look away as Nathan stood in front of him, his own t-shirt and boxers for only garments. 'What?' he managed, his throat dry. 'It smells like you,' Nathan repeated, lifting the fabric to his nose with a smile. 'I like it.' Gabriel's gaze trailed down Nathan's body, only now noticing the growing outline of his cock aga―"

Morpheus paused. He had written those words. He knew those words, from having read and reread them a few dozen times during the writing and editing process. Yet he had never heard them. Especially not in that voice. Even the narration was sensual, almost cheeky, dripping with lust like honey. Clumsy and awkward it was not. It was.... something else entirely. Shaking off the feeling, Morpheus hit the 'play' button again.

" ―inst the taut fabric of his boxers. 'I like it,' Nathan repeated, slowly reaching for his cock through the thin fabric, his fingertips brushing the shape of it, well aware of Gabriel's undivided attention."

The rest of the scene followed, word for word Morpheus' work, yet somehow completely new to his ears. He sat there, enraptured, his eyes staring into nothingness while the rich, luscious voice surrounded him, filled him until it became his only focus.

A lewd, enthusiastic hum rose from the headphones, making Morpheus jump. Every word he had been anticipating thus far, but artistic license? It fitted with the narrative well. Too well. Not Gadling's first brush with erotica, he immediately guessed. He played it again for good measure. The sound was deeply erotic, with just enough warmth and breath. Real. It sounded real. It was followed by a breathy sigh Morpheus could almost feel at the back of his neck. God.

He played it again. He could feel the sound, the anticipation, the desire, the pleasure. Gadling conveyed it with such ease it felt genuinely intimate. Arousing, even. Morpheus ran his hand against the front of his own trousers, feeling the very real erection pushing against the hard fabric. This was ridiculous. Yet he could not stop. The scene kept playing, Robert Gadling's voice purring in his ears, words like caresses and gentle tugs, and he could not help but cup his cock through his jeans, seeking friction. He imagined him in the recording booth, leaning over the microphone, his features fitting the suggestive sounds, his lips wet from running his tongue over them. If he could just get a little further in the scene―

His Zoom alarm went off. Instantly, Morpheus removed his hand and his headphones, his back stiff as a board, a cold wave of panic rushing through him. Fuck! He gave himself a quick look through the camera of his phone. He was blushing slightly, to his utmost annoyance. Nothing he could not blame on bad webcam settings, he thought. The rest could be concealed easily enough. Especially when he was only visible from the waist up.

It was with a slight flush and a distracting, frustratingly hard erection that Morpheus answered his Zoom call, his mind scattered between book royalties, publishing dates, and Robert Gadling's voice still deeply embedded in his skull.

It was hours before Morpheus found a minute of free time. Night had fallen, the evening spent in front of a screen or on the phone, discussing the imminent release of his upcoming novel, one whose cover would feature his actual name, this time. Book releases were always exhausting affairs, between planning podcast appearances, book signings, press tours, and the likes. Morpheus disliked the fanfare of it all, the exposure, but could hardly complain. There were worse flip sides of the coin, out there.

At least writing under a pen name saved him the hassle, with the other half of his published work.

Lying on his bed, fresh out of the shower, Morpheus sighed, staring at the ceiling. He felt both exhausted and wide awake, his coffee-fueled brain refusing to quiet down. There were a few things the editor needed his input on in person, tomorrow, something to do with the cover art. He'd promised himself to write, too. Perhaps clean the flat a little. Too many fires at once, his sister's voice echoed in his mind.

His phone buzzed again. Incoming email from Lucienne.

Listened to it yet? Thoughts?

Plenty. Enough to know it was good. Enough to keep the reader listening. Enough for him to want to go back for more.

Going through his emails, Morpheus found the link to the beta recordings, and downloaded it onto his phone. He reached for old earbuds in his bedside table drawer. Where were we?

" 'Come here.' "

The latent desire in that voice was enough to get Morpheus right back where he had been, a few hours ago. Lying on his bed, he kept listening, swallowing hard at any well-placed sigh, any improvised grunt and whimpering sound. Was it even improvised? Did he plan on adding those? Did Gadling discuss it with the adaptation team beforehand? Marked the exact spots where he would do it in the printed script?

" 'You're so beautiful like this, love. Look at you.' "

God.

" 'I have thought about you like this. Hard under me. For me.' "

Hesitantly, Morpheus reached under the waistband of his pyjamas, finding himself hard already. He blushed at his own embarrassment, alone in his bedroom, his hand wrapped around his cock, his own words spilling in his ears. Vain, perhaps. Awfully self-absorbed. But deep down, he knew it was not that. Not really.

" 'Do you want me, Gabriel?' Can you feel I much I want you?' "

He hated himself for including so much narration in this passage, keeping him from the lascivious heat of Gadling's voice, waiting for the dialogue to return like a starving man begs for food. How could he do that? A wanton moan reverberated in his ears, quickly echoed by one of his own, harmonies of pleasure filling his head and his room.

" 'Fuck, you feel so good!' "

Why did his editor even let him publish that? Morpheus' mind was bridging the gaps between dialogue bits, ignoring the narration in favour of more pleasurable mental stimulation. He pictured Robert Gadling in his recording booth, focused over the microphone, his lips pressed into a sinful hum, his eyes closed. Gadling next to him, his mouth pressed against his ear, spewing new words, ones he did not write, ones of his own.

" 'Let me see those eyes.' "

Morpheus whined against his pillow, both from pleasure and frustration. He hated this. This was... mortifying, and yet he could not stop. He arched his back, chasing his pleasure.

" 'Fuck! I've waited for this for so long.' "

Morpheus came in his pyjamas in a muffled grunt, the release helping nothing with the shame spreading through him. It brought him some clarity, at least. Disgruntled, he yanked the earbuds out of his ears, Robert Gadling's voice reduced to a hushed whisper, the siren's song finally muffled. He looked down at himself, suddenly aware of the mess he'd made. Great. Fantastic.

His phone buzzed again. It was Lucienne.

Do you want the edited files once they are done? They would love your feedback before they start trimming it down.

Morpheus sighed, struggling against the brightness of the screen.

Yes, tell them I would like them.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream x hob #dream/hob #sandman #sandman fics #sandman fanfiction #smut #my writing #the brain worms were too real and too demanding #so they made me do it #in my defense it was pretty fun to write #also i know nothing about the publishing or the audiobook industry #most of this is just adlib #Morpheus finally meeting Hob for the first time #being absolutely unable to handle Hob's voice without getting a hard on #now that's a thought

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hyuckmov · 2 years

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haechan — fallingforyou

bestfriend!haechan x reader, (feat. best friend mark, mentions of yeri) 5k, unrequited love angst for the most part, a bit of fluff, a happy ending this time, christmas and new years eve season vibes a/n: this is loosely based on 'fallingforyou' by the 1975 because...'i don't wanna be your friend/i wanna kiss your neck' but also hopefully its a little more than that...this goes out to all of you who've been in love with your best friend :) i'm scared there's more mark than haechan in this LOL also for someone who doesn't write long prose 5k is a little amazing for me </3 lmk if you like it thru my asks!

1 dec

you were only having this conversation with mark because haechan couldn’t make it for movie night.

movie nights without haechan were a quiet affair. with no one clamoring over which movie to put on and insisting on playing a series of games to decide, with no arguments over snacks or blankets or which lights to turn off, you and mark sat down and easily picked a movie from the watch-list. things were peaceful. until mark decided to bring up a topic you had sincerely hoped he wouldn’t.

“hey, i have to ask…” he sat up from where he was slumped on the couch. not paying him much attention, you nodded so he knew you were listening. “have you really never had feelings for haechan?”

turning over to look at him, you groaned. “mark we’ve been through this…”

he slid off the couch and joined you on the floor, pressing pause on the movie so there was silence instead. “give me your honest answer.”

you truly, genuinely, hated whenever he brought this up. you hated whenever anyone would ask whether you and haechan were dating, or if he had a crush on you, or any other variation of how are you only friends? truthfully, you hate it because whenever someone asks, you imagine it for a split second: it puts feelings and images in your head that are difficult to forget, and before you know it you can’t act normal around your best friend for about the next two weeks.

but then you embarrass yourself: you linger too long on his hands over the popcorn, you stare a little too much when he’s across the table during dinner, and haechan notices. he laughs in your face, and that makes you drop any other feelings you have settling in your stomach. business as usual. lather rinse repeat.

mark is still looking at you, his wide eyes telling you he really wants to talk it out this time. mark is a big believer in having all your feelings out, and in ‘open communication’. you’re surprised that it’s been 4 months since he brought up the issue.

“mark, just tell me what you want to say.”

“okay.” he pauses, and you can see him lay out his line of reasoning in his head. “what would you do if haechan told you he had a big project due and he was stuck at the library working on it?”

“i would go over there and help him.” you say, without thinking much about it. “i did that, actually. literally last week.”

“okay, cool, you’re a good friend.” mark takes a breath, “what would you do if haechan told you, that right now at this very moment, he really wanted to eat ramen.”

you raised your eyebrows because that wasn’t out of character for haechan at all. “go over there with ramen in a pot.”

mark nods, but he’s just warming up. “it’s midnight right now, in case you were wondering. it’s also raining outside, but i’ll move on. how many times have you helped haechan just over this past week?”

you’re beginning to catch on to what he’s implying. “we’re friends. that’s what good, loyal, friends do. we help each other out!”

“i’m not finished.”

“well, hurry up with your point and less with the hypotheticals.” you turn back to the tv, and you are about to press play on the movie when mark asks-

“do you say i love you to each other?”

your reply of ‘yes” sticks in your throat. yes you do. frequently. but its a throwaway comment, its how you end phonecalls, its what you say before you step out of the door. neither of you mean it. do you? “we don’t mean it.” you settle on your answer.

“he might not mean it.” mark sighs. “think about it y/n. you’ve blown off dates with people who were interested in you just because haechan wanted to hang out. you’re with him almost every second of every day. you would drop everything just to do something he asked. you don’t do that for me, that’s for certain.” you open your mouth to protest, and he quickly adds “not that i mind. i know we’re good friends. i’m just saying.”

“what are you saying?”

mark takes a deep breath. “you treat haechan like your boyfriend.”

the words settle in your brain for a second. you want to say you don’t, but you think a little deeper. if you and haechan were in a relationship, what would you do differently? where would things change? we would be kissing you think. then, fuck. why am i thinking about kissing haechan? then, if this is love, then yes i’m in love with him.

but mark hasn’t finished his thought. “you think of haechan as your boyfriend, you act like you’re his girlfriend, and i’m only bringing this up today because…”

“he doesn’t.” your eyes meet mark’s, and in that second, the both of you understand each other far better than can be put into words.

10 dec

you really hate that mark brought it up. and this time, it feels a bit different than before, because mark has really made some points. do you act like you’re his girlfriend? should you stop? should you scale back? it would be horrible if you just wasted all this apparent girlfriend-isms on your best friend.

“is something wrong today?” you’re having your weekly lunches with haechan at the cafe near the library, and he’s sitting across from you, and everything is normal: you’re at your regular seat, with your regular choice of lunch in front of you, and haechan is telling you about some way mark messed up the microwave last night. but also everything isn’t normal, because you’re back in the depths of pondering your relationship with haechan, and suddenly you’re wondering if this could be a date in some other universe.

“nothing’s wrong.” you poke at your food. “so are you getting a new microwave?”

“y/n i’m serious. did something happen? you’re being really…” he squints his eyes as he examines you closely, and somehow this makes your cheeks feel warm. you can’t look at him in the eyes. “you’re just…you keep not looking at me. why aren’t you looking at me? do you know something?”

“know what?” suddenly, you’re attentive: know something? your mind is going wild with all the possibilities, because it’s beginning to sound like…

does he like you and he’s afraid you found out?

“nothing” he says, far too quickly, and it makes your heart beat a little faster.

“what are you keeping from me?” now you’re on the offensive, and you watch haechan duck his head to avoid your gaze.

“i’ll tell you when i’m ready”, he mumbles and checks his phone for the time. “fuck. i have to go for class now.”

“okay!” you’re a little breathless from all the thinking. an awkward kind of silence fills the space as he puts things into his bag, determinedly not looking in your direction. impulsively, you add, “you can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“i know that. i guess i’m just…” he shoulders one of the straps on his backpack, and pauses to look at you. “i’m just scared of what might happen.”

you’re hoping against hope. maybe this time things will be different. “i’ll wait. things will be okay, i’m sure of it.”

“okay.” he smiles and stands up to go. and before you can lose your nerve, you say, as quickly and hopefully easily as you can:

“loveyoubye!”

he turns and his face breaks out into a wide smile. “bye y/n. love you. see you later.”

maybe you do act like he’s yours. but maybe mark was wrong, because sometimes you think he acts like you’re his too.

17 dec

it’s been a week, and whatever it was, you’re wondering if that moment in a cafe was completely hallucinated.

haechan doesn’t bring up whatever he was keeping from you. you don’t want to push him, because good things take time, don’t they? you ask mark if he has any idea what it’s about, but apart from telling you not to get your hopes up, he doesn’t have a clue either. you think you could maybe go on living like this: delusional over the fact that your best friend might like you. ready at any moment to return the feelings but ready at any moment to also pretend like nothing ever happened.

except maybe you couldn’t, because this whole situation has made the i love yous ever more painful.

after the next movie night, when you’re about to head to your own flat, you stand around, putting on your shoes and taking them off again while haechan busies himself in his kitchen. mark had already left, leaving you one last skeptical look before he headed out. you want to tell haechan you love him, just to hear him say it back — but every time gets a bit harder because it means something a little realer. “haechan!”

“yeah?” he walks out, still holding a plate. “get home safe y/n. text me when you get back.”

“okay, goodnight.” you walk out of the door, and as casually as you can: “love you.”

“mmhm. love you too.” haechan’s already gone when you turn back.

as the days turn colder, december seeping into christmas in all its stories of love in the winter and warm fireplaces, it becomes a mini game for you: how many times could you get haechan to say he loved you, just to hear it? ending each phone call with love yous, that you just manage not to stumble over. facetiming at night, and waiting to say it but not getting a chance to as he falls asleep. in the library before haechan’s class, you take too long deciding how you should say it: i love you, or just love you! bye, love you! or love you bye! and haechan has already left, with a wave.

you say it to his face once: as he’s adjusting the hood on your sweater for you before you leave the restaurant, and his face is so close to yours that you can count his eyelashes. and its so endearing, how his eyes crinkle into a smile, his hands brushing the hair out of your eyes, as he says it back.

each time he does say it, you let it warm you from the inside out. you let yourself imagine that he means it, and it’s enough for you, just for now.

20 dec

so your guard is truly down when he shows up to dinner at your apartment. you made kimchi jjigae, haechan’s favorite, and mark had come over too. the plates were cleared, but all of you lingered around the dining table for a while, talking quietly about little things, enjoying the warmth of the living room even as it gets colder and colder outside.

haechan is a little tipsy from the soju mark brought over. his cheeks are dusted with red, and he’s becoming increasingly touchy: his hands playing with your fingers and his head gently tilted to rest against yours. you like it a little too much, and you could get used to it. you wonder if he’ll tell you he loves you today.

“mark. y/n.” he swallows. “i asked yeri out today.”

and just like that, the delusion from the past month, the confidence you’ve gained from knowing your feelings and imagining that maybe he returned them, all your i love yous and all of his, begin to feel like a cruel joke.

mark is looking at you. carefully, he says, “that’s great haechan. i didn’t know you liked her.”

haechan smiles: you can feel it against your shoulder. “me neither.” still playing with your fingers, “i think one day, i was sitting next to her in class, and i realised.”

you think you’ve stopped breathing. normally, your silence would have been suspicious, and he should have noticed: should have turned to you, squinting, trying to figure out your opinion. but clearly you’re the last thing on his mind. “that’s so sweet. what did she say?” you try to sound excited, and you push him off of you like you can’t wait to hear the rest of the story, but really you just want to be away.

“she said yes.” haechan laughs a little at that, and he’s so happy. “we’re going to the christmas party together. and the new years eve party.”

mark laughs too, but his eyes never leave your face. “will you she be your new year’s kiss?”

haechan’s eyes widen. “dude i didn’t even think about that. sure.” he leans back, and looks up at the ceiling and you know he’s thinking about her. you’re not thinking of anything.

later, as you’re both cleaning up the kitchen, haechan stops you gently with a hand on your wrist. he seems to have sobered a little, because the cloudy look in his eyes are gone. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. i was really scared i would make a big deal out of it if i told you and mark, only to get rejected.” he smiles a little.

you nod a little, not sure how to respond. but then he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, and he takes your hands in his. “are you mad at me? i’m really sorry. i promise i’ll never keep anything from you again. i love you, and y-you’re my best friend.”

and instantly, you want to hold on to him so badly that you don’t want to do anything that might drive him away.

“i’m not mad at you.” and because you’re just a little selfish, you pull him in for a hug. just one last one, before everything changes. “i’m really really happy for you haechan.” and just because you’re such a good friend, the one who puts him before you always, you add as you pull away: “we should probably stop saying i love you. yeri might get the wrong idea.”

he laughs a little. “you’re right. thanks y/n.”

it’s a mark of how good a friend mark is that he walks haechan to the crosswalk before saying he left something at your place, and doubles back.

when you swing open the door, the first thing he says is “i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t know anything. it just happened.” and it’s that which makes it real, and makes you start to cry. he spends the rest of the night patting at your hair as you mess up his hoodie with your tears, his “i knows” punctuating your incoherent rants about how it should be you. because it should be you, but also there’s no reason for it to be, at all. and there’s nothing you can do.

25 dec

mark solemnly promises he will watch over you for the whole christmas party. “just in case you get drunk and try to ruin yourself, or them.” he says. you tell him you don’t need someone watching you, and tell him to enjoy his christmas night, but he waves you off and slings an arm around your shoulder, for which you are grateful. it’s mostly been you and him this past week, haechan often busy with a date or another activity, and you’re a little grateful for that because seeing him in the flesh makes it hurt far more than all the hypothesizing you do in your head.

it’s only 2 hours into the party, more people trickling in by the hour, and already he’s started a game with you where you point out possible people for you to go out with. both he and you know you would never make a move, as evidenced from what happened between you and the person we are pretending is not holding hands with his maybe girlfriend right now. but it’s fun to hypothesise.

“he looks nice.” mark points at a boy you recognise as jaemin, who’s inspecting the back of your television.

“maybe.” you tilt your head, thinking about it. “he has a nice smile. oh and he helped me with calculus the other day — that was really nice of him.”

“so you know him!” mark beams at you. “you should ask him what he’s doing with your tv.”

“ask who what?” and the little bubble you’ve been sitting with mark in for the night is suddenly gone, because haechan has wandered over to the two of you, yeri following behind and smiling widely. he’s wearing a red striped sweater, the one that you picked out for him, and it looks so good that you curse a little internally.

“y/n was thinking of asking jaemin out.” mark says, swiftly. his arm tightens around your shoulder, encouraging you to stay calm.

haechan looks taken aback. “you’ve never mentioned jaemin to me.”

“i don’t have to tell you everything. you certainly don’t.” it’s a little mean, and not at all how you would speak with him usually but the way his fingers are interlaced with yeri’s is making you feel jumpy and annoyed. mark is giving you wide eyes, but he tries to pass it off with a laugh.

“sorry. she’s just mean because she’s drunk.” you haven’t had a sip of alcohol the entire night, but you play along, and try to avoid haechan’s eyes.

“sorry.” you mumble. haechan is still looking at you suspiciously, but yeri presses herself into his side and his expression clears.

“yeri wanted to say thank you for hosting the party.” he smiles at her, like there’s something the two of them share. you think you’re going to be sick, but mark has been answering for you far too much.

“thank you for coming. hope you had fun!” you smile as graciously as you can, but you tug on mark’s jacket with your other hand. “sorry, excuse us, we want to go say hi to jaemin for a bit.”

mark helps you hop off the kitchen counter, steadying you with an arm as you look around the room for ‘jaemin’. the entire time, haechan watches, not sure why he can’t stop noticing how the two of you are acting, and how this is the first time he’s really seen the two of you so close. he wonders when you’ve ever been this comfortable linking arms with mark, or putting your head on his shoulder, and why hadn’t he noticed before?

“wait-” he blurts out. you look at him questioningly. “be careful.”

irritated at him, for making you talk to him and look at him like this, you respond “what?” a little too aggressively. you really can’t control it today.

“with jaemin.” if you were still delusional, which you are trying very hard not to be, you would almost say it was as if he was making up what to say as he was saying it. “i heard he’s really rude. and not nice to date. at all.”

you raise your eyebrows, because you know that anyone who’s met jaemin would never say that about him. “sure haechan. merry christmas.”

and just like that, you leave him and yeri in the kitchen, mark guiding you through the crowd easily. jaemin is nowhere to be seen, so the both of you go to your bedroom, where you spend the rest of the night, mark valiantly trying to cheer you up by playing christmas songs for you on the guitar.

and if haechan slipped away from the party to stand outside your bedroom, listening to you laughing and requesting mark do the high note from all i want for christmas is you again, you were none the wiser.

but all you did know, was that when you and mark came out of the bedroom to kick everyone out of your apartment, haechan and yeri were kissing under the mistletoe, his hands wrapped around her waist, and her hands cupping his cheeks. you cheer loudly along with everyone else, and give him an aggressive thumbs up when he looks over at you and mark. you’re beginning to think you want to spend new years eve alone.

31 dec

you were only having this conversation with haechan because the both of you were stuck, in your car, on the way to a new years eve party you swore you didn’t want to go to, because mark couldn’t make it.

over the phone, he was really sorry. “i had no idea, but i have a family dinner tonight that i can’t get out of it. i’m really sorry y/n. don’t go to the party if you don’t want to.”

“of course i don’t want to.” spending new year’s eve alone was bad, but it would be worse if you had to watch yeri and haechan kiss to seal their love forevermore as the clock struck midnight. “i’ll watch a good movie, and go to sleep. i might not even stay up for it. it’s just another night.”

but that didn’t happen. haechan showed up at your door, breathless and panicked. his car broke down, and he had to go to the new years eve party to meet yeri, so could he please please please borrow your car? and could you please please please come with him, because he didn’t want to drive over alone? as you handed him your keys, seated in the passenger’s seat, in last year’s new year’s eve dress and mark’s huge hoodie over it, the words “you would drop everything just to do something he asked” rang in your head.

would you go to a new years eve party if he asked, one that you weren’t planning on going to, in the middle of the night, even if you knew it would likely bring you immense pain? yes apparently, you would. apparently, you still treated him like your boyfriend when he was about to be someone else’s.

haechan keeps looking over at you. how do you look so pretty, in the middle of the night, just getting ready for bed? and why are you wearing mark’s hoodie? “i’m really sorry for making you go out like this.”

you wave him off. “it’s fine.” softer, “you know i’d do anything for you.”

cars moved slowly around you, and their tail lights shone in a bright red lane all the way down busy highway. very soon, the car was barely moving. the two of you sitting there, stuck, as the clock on the dashboard blinked 11:40. running his hands on the top of the steering wheel, haechan spoke up first. “when did you get so close to mark?”

“huh?” you’re genuinely confused. “why would you say that.”

“you’ve just been a lot closer with him recently.”

“we’ve always been friends.” you don’t want to say anything too cutting, anything that would make the silence in the car too heavy, but there is no other way to put it. “you’ve been busy.” with yeri hangs unspoken in the air — but its true. and you don’t even blame them. if haechan was your boyfriend, you would want to spend every second of the christmas season with him. “mark has just…been there.”

haechan doesn’t reply to that. the car inches slowly forward. the song that plays from your phone is slow and deep, and when you look at the lights on his face, his eyes unfocused on the road you realise you just want to reach across the seat and wrap your arms around him.

you think of skipping the song or switching to a christmas radio station, but you can’t bring yourself to ruin it.

“y/n i.” haechan finally takes a deep breath. “i don’t know if its selfish of me, but i just feel like i’ve been losing you and i don’t know how to be back in your life in the way that we were.”

the way we were. “haechan, i don’t think the way we were…was very good for us.”

“what do you mean?” haechan turns, and looks at you. halfheartedly, you point to the road ahead, but the cars aren’t moving, and his eyes are focused on you.

“have you ever really thought about what we were to each other?” you blame the lights. you blame the song. and you blame the fact that the clock reads 11:49, and you just want to be honest, maybe just for once in this cursed holiday season. “haechan, my life revolved around you. you were everything to me. and all i needed at the end of the day was just, you smiling at me, or you telling me you…” you can’t finish the sentence. you won’t.

his heart snags on the were. the was. “i didn’t realize.”

“well it did. and now you’re unhappy because i’m not just waiting for you to reply to my messages, or pick up my calls, because i’m spending time with mark now.” you are picking the entirely wrong fight. the whole argument is wrong, and you know it, but you look stubbornly out at the window. this confrontation was not going to turn into a confession, not when you were both on the way to literally help him kiss someone else.

“i’m not unhappy.” haechan says, slowly. “i just…” the car behind you honks, and he hurriedly moves the car forward, but soon stops again. traffic on new years eve was impossible. “i lied that day.” you look over at him, unsure what he was talking about. “i didn’t ask yeri out. she asked me out.”

you take a moment to process this, but it doesn’t really change anything. “okay.”

“and, i guess i never really thought about her that way before. but she just asked, and suddenly i realised that maybe i did like her. it’s weird, it kind of felt like after she asked me out all of our casual conversations in class just took on a different meaning. i’d never even really thought about her that way before, and suddenly it made sense.”

why was he telling you this ?! you think love truly brings out the worst in people, because you wanted to jump out of the car instantly. you had to be happy for him, and there was no mark to act as a buffer. you’re about to say something, when he continues on.

“i told you and mark that night because i waited for you to ask me why i really liked her. or really just, i don’t know, help me figure out exactly how i felt about her.” he ran his hand through his hair. “but i guess you just didn’t say anything and i just kind of went with it.”

“well…” you try to disengage yourself from the situation. it sounded like haechan really valued your opinion, as a friend, and you hadn’t been there for him. “sorry. i guess it just took us by surprise.” you cringe as you realise that by speaking on mark’s behalf, it really did seem as if you were leaving haechan out. “took me by surprise, i mean. well, do you like her?”

he laughs a little at that. “it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“it’s never too late to rethink how you feel about someone.” you say, quietly.

haechan looks over at you, and it’s his gaze: as if he’s looking for the answer in your eyes, that makes you look away. you glance at the clock, and suddenly you freeze. 11:58. you scramble to put on the radio. “fuck, haechan we’re not gonna make it.”

“y/n-”

“you should call yeri and tell her you’re going to be late. she’ll be really mad if you don’t show up. she must be really worried-”

“y/n, please listen to me.” he takes both hands off the wheel, reaches out and holds your face in his hands. the radio announcer has just flickered on: the countdown has started. “i’m just going to say it. that day in the cafe: i was afraid you knew something. actually, i was afraid you realized that i liked you. every day, i would wait for you to say i love you, because i wanted to have a reason to say it, even if it was to say it back. i thought about how much you cared about me and i thought if i thought about you less, if i payed attention to other people, if i let more people into my life, it would be easier just being your friend."

‘5!’

“but it’s not.”

‘4!’

“it didn’t get easier, and i just miss you-”

‘3!’

“-every day because i think-”

‘2!’

“i really think that…”

‘1!’

and he doesn’t even bother finishing his sentence. he leans in, and kisses you. your head is wiped of everything he just said. you don’t think of yeri, you don’t think of mark, you don’t think about the afternoon at the cafe or that moment you saw under the mistletoe. you’re wrapped up in him, in the smell of his perfume. the graze of his fingertips against your cheek. and you reach out over the console, and wrap your arms around his waist like you always wanted to.

when you break apart, the radio announcer wishing everyone a happy new year, he mumbles. “didn’t get to finish my confession.”

you laugh and lean forward, to kiss him again. the cars on the road had all stopped, and you think that maybe the whole universe has been waiting for this moment. “i’ll do it for you. i think i really like you haechan. i think i love you.”

and you think maybe it’s not so cruel, to sit with your best friend, who you are in love with, and who loves you back, the kiss still buzzing on your lips, as you watch the fireworks in the sky, the voice on the radio singing in the new year.

#haechan #haechan scenario #haechan au #haechan angst #haechan fluff #nct scenario #mark scenario #nct imagines #nct angst #nct dream angst #nct dream scenarios

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probablybadrpgideas · 10 months

Note

Didn't know y'all did anything with DCC so I kinda wanna see what your opinion is on this campaign I'm in.

There's a guy we'll call him L, he and I were the only two players for the first two times we met up, and this week we finally got a third player. L has been very aggressively bullrushing every confrontation, completely ignoring everything in his path... And it got our entire party WIPED OUT (I was running 7 characters at once, him 4) session 1 and ushered in an age of chaos. Session 2 was building first levels, and he was constantly trying to dictate what I was going to build and play. The party wipe was devastating to me bc I had started to grow an attachment to one of my lawfuls, and unnecessary and L made no move to stop anything at any point. I assumed initially he was just frozen up on the spot.

Then session 3 happened (first one with the 1st levels we built) and I'm not so sure that's the case anymore. We were sent by the Chaos Gods to the realm of Law to steal the Yokeless egg and he was very much avoidant of any of the plot, including avoiding our DM in the storefront when they were supposed to be having their one on one for The Plot.

We get to the Ox defending the Yokeless Egg and he was running the ONLY lawful character, and he'd had some good meta this session for how he would react to things. This time he literally did nothing while me and the third player (both chaotic alignments) were attempting to figure shit out against the Ox to avoid combat. I went as far as to have my second character (neutral aligned) was elbowing his in the ribs and eventually even pushed L's character to the front to force him to interact with the Ox.

For nearly two whole minutes he sat in complete and utter silence as the Ox began to sniff out the chaos weapons we'd been issued, and didn't act again until combat began. It was PAINFUL bc our DM literally told us ahead of time that most monsters we'd face in the Law realm would kill us easily, so I'd tried to impart that we'd avoid conflict as much as possible.

My question for y'all is like, is this normal etiquette with players in a party? I had played 5e before this and have never experienced someone that acted like that, and if they acted similarly it was usually due to social dynamics or autistic stuff. I had given benefit of the doubt first session, but after this session I'm no longer believing he didn't act this way on purpose. Just wondering if you (or anyone else) has any takes on this situation, is this normal, how the FUCK do you play when someone in your party seems hellbent on combat and ONLY combat.

Also wondering if you have any advice for like, how to actually get this guy to stop Leroy Jenkinsing his way through each and every single dungeon. He has not stopped to examine anything even once and it was the reason our first party got wiped (we needed 500gp worth of items to toss to the Leviathan or a still-beating heart and he chose to start chopping at it instead).

I apologize for the length and density of this ask and appreciate any advice anyone has to give me. I'm at the point where if this party wipes out again I will be quitting.

(sidenote: I've been in this campaign and it's one of my favourites)

This players sounds like a dick. DCC is high-stakes and you need to be able to work as a party to survive, but it sounds like he basically got you killed due to main character syndrome and learned no lessons.

Advice-wise I'd have a talk and make sure he actually understands how TTRPGs and specifically DCC work, which will presumably either lead to "sorry, didn't realise this wasn't fun for everyone else, I'll do better", or deciding he shouldn't be in the group. I'd also have a chat with your GM before that, because there's every chance they enjoy it even if you don't (and it's very much not the recommended approach).

But yeah this is not the kind of gameplay DCC is designed for at all, and your characters are clearly suffering for it - Paper

#not an idea #actual advice #dungeon crawl classics

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dead-eyes-roll · 1 year

Text

QUICK TW: i mention gore briefly, and i talk abt murder, and other bodily gross stuff. also, spoilers for both episodes (so far) of Generation Loss. You’ve been warned.

Wait…

In the first episode (Spirit of the Cabin), the fridge spells out “BEHIND YOU” in magnets.

Theory 1: What if that was Charlie trying to get Ranboo to look behind him at the set. To see the directors, the mall (assuming this set takes place there [yes it does]), and to see that he can leave. To help him.

Because I think that all the major characters (Slime, Sneeg, and The Puzzler, AKA Jerma) we’re contestants before Ranboo, and want to help him get out (Maybe even H was a contestant? [At first I thought “no”, but he had to go through some sort of process before the Founder assigned him his task, right?])

Example One (Charlie): Charlie is supposed to play a villain role, but he makes Ranboo do simple tasks, although he did make fun of him (but the first episode was supposed to be very comedic, it was Gen 1 remember? It’s going to get way darker). And, in Episode 2 (The Mastermind of the Warehouse), he helped out Ranboo again with the whole towel thing.

(On a similar note, I have a theory that Charlie died in Episode 2, a second before Slimetowel made himself known. So when Charlie died, because he was literally gutted, his ghost, The Slime Spirit, another character he plays, acted to help Ranboo. That explains how he can play to characters at once. He didn’t. He died. Because they never go back to the Carousel Room, they stay in the Candy Room, and that room leads to the Fashion Room, which leads to the Toy Room, and we all know where that leads.) (Also, that means Ranboo has been carrying around a bloody towel this whole time.) [i still believe this both of these tbh]

Example Two (Sneeg): Sneeg helps Ranboo during the Hole in the Wall “bit”, and he’s a general ally the whole time. Sticking with Ranboo, and being the first ally of the show, with Episode One.

Example Three (The Puzzler, AKA Jerma): While at first, he seems like he’s trying to kill Ranboo, he isn’t. He worried when he thinks he killed Ranboo (In the first room, when Ranboo passes out from the volts [ha no he DIES]) and he is a generally comedic villain (And I know, that’s the point of the show, to desensitize horror to the point of it being funny, but he never hurts Ranboo), and lastly, just a personal theory. Right before they (The Rats) bring Charlie in from the surgery room, The Puzzler says, “Does anyone hear screaming?” But there was no screaming, Charlie had been making jokes last time we saw him. So, The Puzzler can see (or hear) through the filter, and maybe he was trying to hint to Ranboo that something wasn’t right. [i forgot abt this one! i still think it’s right]

ok, im done now. I know this theory probably isn’t a theory and makes no sense, but it makes sense to me, so, yeah. bye genlosers [just some brainrot]

Edit: I called The Puzzler the riddler lol and I made some changes to try to make things more understandable :)

Edit 2: Okay, so I’ve seen the last episode, and the Founders Cut isn’t out yet, red text stands for my thoughts now.

Edit 3: mk is gonna re-format with blue

#genloss #generation loss #genloss theory #my god I’m tired from writing neatly for like 15 mins #lemon thoughts #yayyyy i made the original post in MAY #MAY #L it’s January now

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 8 months

Text

PROPAGANDA

ATHENA CYKES (ACE ATTORNEY)

1.) Despite supposedly being the MAIN CHARACTER of the game she was introduced in, she somehow still always ends up playing second fiddle to Phoenix and Apollo, to the point where she isn't allowed to take the lead on even so much as a single case. Instead of the senior lawyers standing to the side in a mentorship role like they do for literally EVERY OTHER PLAYABLE CHARACTER, Phoenix and Apollo keep stepping in to outright take over for her. She literally does not make it through even a single case without needing some male character or other to swoop in and hold her hand every step of the way, not only Phoenix and Apollo but once even Blackquill, her rival prosecutor, as well.

Why? It has nothing whatsoever to do with her competence level. It's a video game; her competence is determined by the player's, just like everybody else. It seems like the writers just couldn't STAND the thought of her doing anything on her own, or thought that the players would walk out en masse if it wasn't the Phoenix and Apollo Show every second of gameplay. (And yeah, it DOES sometimes take me some time to warm up to new characters, but that was the case for Apollo too! At least give me the CHANCE to judge her on her own merits rather than assuming that I'll immediately write her off!) Like, why did you even WRITE this character if you think so little of her?

2.) WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN. She's introduced in the middle of a male characters "trilogy" (Apollo justice) so the story is never about her. She appears in aa5 only to NEVER headline her own case IN HER INTRODUCTORY GAME and always fail unless a man comes in and saves her. Her own story is sidelined for Apollos. Next game, she only really appears in one case that's a throwaway and still can't do shit on her own. Ugh. She deserved to be treated better, more competent, etc.

3.) my girl is an attorney and a practicing psychologist at age 18 (youngest defense lawyer in the series) & is often shown to be more competent than her male colleagues, and yet is constantly pushed out/sidelined/generally treated like an assistant character rather than a lawyer (the assistant position in these games is usually reserved for characters who don't have law degrees/are generally not educated enough to understand the courtroom proceedings to their full extent. athena is none of those things but she gets treated the same way by the game because. well. we know why.) Instead of being the main playable attorney in her debut game, the story is taken over by her male colleague (WHO ALREADY HAD A WHOLE GAME DEDICATED TO HIS BULLSHIT BTW) & her development is ignored in favor of his in both her debut game AND her second game. Even when her backstory IS explored it's done via a male family friend of hers, meaning even when her OWN story is being told it's not even about her it's about simon's lame ass. for extra context here in her debut game she is only the playable attorney in one case out of five, while the other (male) playable attorneys were playable in all or all-but-one of the cases in THEIR debut games. capcom hates women sooooo bad

CARMELITA MONTOYA FOX (SLY COOPER)

1.) Carmelita has always been portrayed as a sexy badass, but the fourth game in the series does her dirty. Throughout the game she’s given the “bitchy ex-girlfriend” treatment and is always regarded as an unreasonable nag. In addition, they put her in an impractical miniskirt (previous games had her in pants), and there is a minigame where she is forced to dress like a belly dancer to distract some guards (including prompting the player to have her shake her ass for extra coins) and when she complains about this, nobody listens to her, and is then reduced to the damsel in distress in the final act of the game, when previously she has always been a major help in taking down the final boss. While not the main reason a lot of Sly Cooper fans hate this game, it’s certainly a factor.

#polls #round 1 #week 2 #new

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hbyrde36 · 2 months

Text

Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)

CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch6

Chapter 7: Running in Circles

WC: 6637 | AO3 link

The moment Eddie landed back in his body he fell to his knees and sobbed.

He wanted to lay down and die all over again.

Anything to escape the agony of losing. Losing in general, losing Steve. Never mind that the loop had managed to reset itself, meaning there was a brand new Steve only a few miles away who was just fine. Who Eddie had another chance to save.

But he wasn’t ready to think about that just yet.

Not that he had any time for mourning. Time was both his greatest asset and his mortal enemy in this moment because he so desperately needed it all to fucking stop, if only for a little while.

But, as the saying goes, time waits for no man. Chrissy was standing there, right in front of him, and the countdown to her demise had begun the second he landed back at the beginning of this godforsaken nightmare.

He gave himself one minute to feel it. Sixty seconds of wallowing in heartbreak—of saying goodbye to a past that only he would ever remember, before shoving it all down and getting to work.

He mumbled vague apologies to a very confused and concerned Chrissy when he finally picked himself back up, and then simply walked away, striding quickly to his room to take up his acoustic guitar and play for her again.

It worked, even if he had some trouble putting his whole heart into it this time, and he was grateful that it did. He didn’t know what he would have done if it hadn’t.

He held her close after she fell—still tried to put her back together again even though it felt impossible when he was missing so many of his own parts, but he didn’t give her long. He didn’t give either of them long enough to truly recover from their respective ordeals before dragging her to her feet.

“Stay here a second?” He said, not waiting for a reply before returning to his room.

Frantically he dumped the contents of his backpack on the ground and filled it with clothes, his walkman, and his trusty black lunchbox. He had a feeling he might need it to get through the next few days.

Back in the living room he grabbed his keys, took Chrissy's hand, and led her outside.

The goal was to grab Max and get the hell out of Dodge before Jason showed up looking for Chrissy, or a fight. He didn’t want to see that motherfucker ever again if he could help it, and he certainly could live without another broken nose.

He flew up the front steps of Max’s trailer and began pounding on the door.

“Max!” He shouted, continuously banging his fist. “Code red, Max. Open up. We gotta go right now!”

The door flung open suddenly, revealing a very annoyed and very wide-eyed redhead.

“What the hell, dude?! Did Dustin put you up to this?”

“No Red, he didn’t, and there’s literally no time for me to explain, so–” Eddie shrugged one shoulder and pushed past her without waiting for an invitation, heading right back to her room while pulling Chrissy along behind him.

“What are you doing?!” Max yelled, trailing behind.

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t know he was acting, maybe, a bit erratic—but he was frustrated at once again being the only one who knew there was trouble brewing, and frankly he just didn’t have the mental strength to ease anyone into it. Any patience he had left died in the last loop.

“Pack a bag.” He told her as he perused her tape collection, picking out the right Pat Benatar tape. He checked for the other but it didn't seem to be on the shelf. It was probably already in her player.

“You’ll need your walkman, and your Kate Bush tape too. You might want to grab some clothes while you’re at it, we may not be back for a while.”

“Wait… what?”

He finally looked at her, really looked at her, and realized that under the show of annoyance, she was scared. He was freaking her out.

He sighed, running his hands roughly through his hair. “You saw the lights flickering earlier, right? Over at my place?”

She bit her lip, nodding reluctantly. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes,” he said, as softly as he could manage, picking up her school bag from the floor and handing it to her. “And I'm sorry, but we need to go now.”

“Where are we going?”

“Steve’s.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “Grab your walkie, we’ll call him from the road”

Max continued to eye him suspiciously but she didn’t argue. Sometime later he’d have to wonder why the girl went along with him so easily, but for now he was just grateful she didn't put up more of a fight.

Chrissy was quiet throughout the whole thing, and seemed a lot more shell-shocked than last time. Which was fair, considering he was acting like an insane person, had given her zero time to recover from her attack, and had explained exactly nothing. He just… he needed to get out of here. He needed to see Steve. Then maybe he could settle down long enough to tell her and everyone else what was going on.

On the bright side, at least he wouldn't be showing up on Steve’s doorstep battered and bloody.

“Pass that radio up here, will ya?” Eddie asked once they were on the road, reaching back to where Max sat. She handed it over without a word.

He cleared his throat, holding the button down as he spoke into the device, steering with one hand. “Code red, I repeat, code red. Anyone who can hear me right now needs to meet up at Steve’s house as soon as possible. And, uh, Harrington, sorry to interrupt date night but you need to ditch the lucky girl and pick up Robin and Dustin on your way home.”

It all came out a little more manic and bitter than he’d meant it to, but it couldn’t be helped. It was all he could do to keep it together long enough to get to Loch Nora safely.

“Who the hell is this? Over.” Dustin said

“Hey, Henderson.”

“Wait… Eddie?”

“Yeah, man, It’s me. Listen,” Eddie paused, tapping the radio against his cheek. “I know you probably have like a million questions right now and I swear I will answer every one of them, but please just—hold off for a bit.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Another voice asked.

Eddie sucked in a breath, eyes stinging as Steve came over the line. He knew the other boy would be listening, he should have expected it—had expected it, but somehow it still caught him off guard.

“I wish it was, pretty boy, I really wish it was. There was a little problem down at the trailer park. Max is with me, and a–friend. I’ll explain when we get to your place.”

After a moment of dead air, Dustin spoke again. “Steve?”

“It’s fine, Henderson,” Steve replied quickly, sounding irritated, if resigned. “I’ll be there to get you as soon as I can.”

“Should I call the others?” Dustin asked.

“Yes.” Eddie cut in.

“Why not.” Steve scoffed. “Party at Steve’s! It’s not like I had plans on a Friday night or anything.”

It didn’t occur to Eddie until he turned the radio off and handed it back to Max that not once did Dustin complain about the lack of ‘walkie etiquette’. That maybe should have been his first sign that things weren’t exactly going well.

As soon as they pulled up to Steve’s, Max burst out of the rear doors of the van, all but running into the house before Eddie even had the chance to put it in park. Chrissy didn’t move or react. In fact, she’d done nothing but stare out the passenger window for the entire ride over.

“Hey, Chris?” He said gently, turning in his seat to face her. “I know this whole night has been crazy and you don’t know me very well, but for what it’s worth I really can explain what’s happening… if you can trust me enough to come inside?”

She remained still and quiet for long enough that he was concerned she’d become catatonic, but eventually she tilted her head to look at him and gave a shallow nod. He jumped out, rounding the front of the van to open the passenger door for her. She faltered, stepping out on unsteady legs and he offered her a hand, which she took instantly, and held onto for dear life.

Eddie hesitated at the front door, his instincts telling him to just walk inside, but he wasn’t sure Steve, who barely knew him now—again, would appreciate that.

Holding his breath, he rang the bell.

Intellectually, Eddie had known that the loop resetting meant Steve was alive, and he’d already heard his voice, but to actually see Steve physically standing there in one piece filled him with a sense of relief that made his knees weak.

For a moment he forgot himself, stepping forward fully intent on wrapping the other boy up in his arms. He itched to press his face into Steve’s neck again, breathe him in deep and think about better days, but he caught himself at the last second and held back, instead giving Steve a friendly pat on the shoulder with his free hand while using the momentum of the near-hug to push past him and into the house, tugging Chrissy along with him.

“Sure, come right in.” Steve sniped.

Eddie didn’t look, but he knew that tone well enough to be sure Steve was rolling his eyes at their backs.

He guided Chrissy to the living room and sat her down on the couch, while Steve blew past them, disappearing into the kitchen where Robin must have been. He could hear them whispering about him, though not quietly enough, because he heard it clear as day when Robin hissed, “oh my god, and he’s got Chrissy Cunningham with him?”

He stopped listening after that, in favor of paying attention to the girl in front of him. He hadn’t taken very good care of her this time around, and he needed to fix that as soon as possible.

“Can I get you some water or anything?” Eddie asked, crouching down in front of her, smoothing the hair out of her eyes.

“Yes, water, thank you,” she said, managing a weak smile.

“You got it, I'll be right back.” He patted her knee and marched straight into the other room, where Robin and Steve fell abruptly silent at his entrance.

He ignored them, not really knowing how to act just yet—but did know, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he looked at Steve for too long right now he might lose his shit. Which would be less than helpful at this stage. He went to the cabinet where the glasses were, moving through the space like he was familiar with it—because he was—and crossed to the fridge, filling the cup he retrieved with the pitcher of water he knew Steve kept in there.

“What—you—how?” Steve sputtered, narrowing his eyes. “Have you been here before?”

“No questions until everyone is here.” Eddie said over his shoulder, already walking away.

Dustin and Max had appeared in the living room while he was gone, and they watched curiously as he handed the glass over to Chrissy and sat down.

He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands as he took a few deep breaths, remembering the way Steve had coached him through his panic attack on this same night, as he tried to settle his thoughts.

“You know what? No. This has gone far enough!” Steve bellowed, rushing into the room. “You gotta give me something, man or I’m gonna… I don’t know. Call the police or something?”

Eddie dropped his hands but kept his eyes trained on the floor. Seeing first Steve’s socked feet come into view on the carpet in front of him, then Robin’s converse sneakers right behind.

“Steve!”

“Don’t give me that shit, Dustin. You see how he’s acting. He's clearly high on something. Or maybe drunk? Taking one of your D&D sessions a little too seriously? What?”

Eddie looked up just in time to see Steve pull his signature move. His hands flew to his hips, and the accompanying glare was as fiery as ever, even though his hair flopped into his eyes when he tilted his head.

It almost made Eddie smile.

“How the hell should I know?!” Dustin shouted.

“Well he’s your new best friend, isn’t he?!”

Oh, right.

Eddie had forgotten this part.

Up until their week-from-hell bonding session, or in the case of the last few loops, up until he learned the truth of what Eddie was going through, Steve had been jealous of his budding friendship with the kids—well—Dustin, in particular. Granted Eddie had been jealous too, but those days were far in the past for him.

“Steve, that’s not–” Dustin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would you assume he’s on drugs anyway?”

“I hate to break it to you kid, but your new buddy here is the town–”

“Oh my god, Harrington!” Eddie quickly cut him off. Not that he really cared if the kid found out about his little side business, he’d be learning about it momentarily anyway, but he’d had enough. “I'm not high! And I’m not drunk either. I’m stuck in a fucking time loop.”

“Bullshit.” Dustin snorted.

Eddie’s heart sank. Dustin always believed him. Had he really screwed things up so badly that even that had changed?

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t expect us to buy that.”

Eddie had to turn away from the hard look in Steve’s eyes. He’d understood it before, the first few times around when it had taken a bit of time, and a lot of explanation, for the other boy to trust him, but now it just… hurt.

He felt so alone.

“Dustin, you told me something, in the first loop. You said if I told you this thing, you’d believe me.”

Steve tapped his foot impatiently on the carpet. “Okay, let’s hear it then.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Harrington.” Eddie snapped, getting up from his spot on the couch to approach Dustin. “It’s his secret, if he wants to tell you someday, he will."

He bent down and whispered quietly into the kid’s ear, “You're adopted. Your mom told you a year ago and no one else knows, not even Steve.”

Dustin’s eyes went impossibly wide as he blinked up at Eddie in utter shock for a second, then his face spread into a wide grin. “Holy shit, he’s telling the truth! This is amazing! But what–”

The smile dropped suddenly off his face as the implications started to sink in. “On the walkie earlier you said code red, but I didn’t think—does that mean this is…”

“Upside Down related?” Eddie finished for him. “Yeah, I'm afraid so.”

Steve watched the two of them with a deeply furrowed brow, no longer looking quite so bothered and skeptical, now he just seemed worried. Eddie softened, letting his own problems take a back seat for a minute. This was Steve, who—whatever he thought of Eddie right now—he cared about so fucking much.

"I’m sorry, Steve.” Eddie said, and never had he meant those two words more. “I know what you’ve all been through over the past few years, and I’m sure this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but it’s the truth. You have no idea how much I wish it wasn’t.”

Erica arrived a short time later on her bike, and Eddie used the distraction to escape to the downstairs bathroom and splash some cold water on his face.

He’d only been near Steve again for less than an hour and he was already going out of his mind, how was he supposed to make it through an entire week?

“Hey, man, are you okay?” A voice called from the other side.

It was Steve, because of course it was.

A part of Eddie longed to let him in, to steal a moment with the boy he was almost sure he was in love with, but it wouldn't be the same.

Steve didn’t remember the many nights they spent comforting each other and sharing their most intimate secrets. He didn’t know how they’d cooked for each other, and swapped stories, and kept each other sane in the midst of the world crumbling down around them.

He could have let him in anyway, and maybe tried to start over, build them back up into a version of what they were, but Eddie didn’t think he could survive getting that close, going that deep, only to have it ripped away all over again.

Nancy's voice filtered in from down the hall, and assuming she’d brought Mike along that meant everyone was there and accounted for. It was time.

Plastering a fake smile on his face, Eddie took one more deep breath for good luck and opened the door.

“I’m good, Harrington. Let's get this over with.”

He tried to walk past but Steve stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “Eddie, wait.”

Eddie stiffened, heart pounding. Déjà fucking vu, of the most painful kind.

“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time before.” Steve let him go, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. “If Dustin believes you, then so do I. Honestly, after everything I’ve seen… it’s not even that much of a stretch.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, looking anywhere but at Steve’s face.

In the process of avoidance, the closed door to Steve’s father’s office caught Eddie’s eye and it gave him an idea. He remembered Steve taking a phone call in there once before, and recalled that it didn’t look like an ordinary household model.

“The phone in your dad’s office,” Eddie began, hooking a thumb in the room’s direction. “Any chance it has a speaker?”

“Yeah, why?”

Pushing his inner turmoil aside for the time being, Eddie filled Steve in on how the Byers and El needed to be brought into this too, and how much more efficient it would be if they could be on the phone listening as he explained what was going on.

Steve gaped a little, still not used to Eddie knowing so much about all these things that had been secret for so long, but ultimately he was on board, and took on the task of telling the others to cram themselves into the small office room.

“What the hell is he doing here? And where’s my brother?" Erica asked Steve, spotting Eddie as they all piled in. "He didn’t come home after the game, I figured he’d be here.”

“He’s… ” Steve started to say but trailed off, looking to Eddie for an answer. “Where is Lucas?”

“Partying with the basketball team.”

“Why are we talking in here again?” Nancy asked of no one in particular.

Robin shushed her, Mike laughed, and Eddie stayed out of it. He dialed the number Steve had given him for the Byers house in California and switched on the speakerphone, praying someone would pick up.

Joyce answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

When Eddie hesitated, realizing that the woman wouldn't know who he was, Steve jumped right in.

“Hey Joyce, it’s Steve. Uh, Harrington.”

“Oh, Steve. Honey, is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry to call out of nowhere like this, um, listen, I’ve got the usual group together at my house and uh, no. I guess everything's not okay? We have a friend here, his name is Eddie, and he has something to tell us. Can you get the kids and Jonathan to listen in too?”

It was proof of just how much these people had been through together that she simply said, “Ok, sure.”

After explaining, briefly, the whole him-time-looping thing in general, Eddie began by going over the original timeline in detail, starting with Chrissy’s death and ending with his own. He brushed over the next two loops, claiming they weren’t important. Which was true, he hadn’t changed anything or learned anything new, so nothing could be gained by forcing himself to recount them.

Finally, he moved on to the last loop. He told them everything, apart from the private moments he and Steve had shared, and managed to keep it as clinical as possible until he reached the point in the story where the group had separated at Benny’s—falling silent as he replayed in his mind the moment he and Steve had said goodbye.

Steve’s grip on his hip, the way his soft lips had felt pressed against Eddie’s own, the terror that had coursed through him when the clock chimed one, two, three, four times.

“Shut it!” Steve shouted, drawing Eddie out of his reverie.

While he’d been zoned out, Dustin, Mike, and Erica had been shouting over each other, badgering him to go on.

“Give the guy a break will ya? He’s been through enough without having to deal with…” Steve broke off with a frustrated sigh, waving a hand. “All of you. Just give him a second.”

Steve Harrington to the rescue as always, Eddie thought with a pang in his chest.

He started again, determined to finish the story and be done with it.

“Obviously we weren’t successful, otherwise I wouldn’t be back here. I can’t tell you exactly what went wrong. I don’t even know if El managed to piggyback into Steve’s mind, but either it didn’t work or Vecna was too strong because…” He trailed off, struggling to swallow past the lump forming in his throat.

He couldn't say it. He just couldn’t.

Thankfully, they were all smart enough to follow the context clues, and he didn’t have to.

“Why didn’t I pull Steve out with the music thing?” Dustin asked, a slight quiver to his voice.

And absolutely not was he letting this kid feel like it was his fault for even a fraction of a second.

“Jason fucking Carver.” Eddie said quickly, and with gusto. “He and Andy saw Steve’s car or something. They showed up at the Creel house, threatened you all with a gun and somehow broke the walkman in the process.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Chrissy blurted out. It was the first time she’d spoken since they left the trailer hours ago. “I should have broken up with him a long time ago, I knew he was a jerk, but–” She broke off sobbing.

Shit.

Eddie was too far away to reach out to her himself but Robin was there, throwing an arm around her, and Chrissy tucked herself into her side.

“None of this is your fault, Chris,” Eddie said, holding her gaze in hopes that would help it sink in—to make sure she knew he meant it. “I know you don’t remember, but trust me you helped us so much. You were there for me–at the end. I will never forget that.”

She nodded, but still dissolved into a new wave of tears against Robin’s shoulder.

While everyone else was looking at her, Eddie felt Steve’s gaze on him like a physical weight, impossible to ignore. “You said the loop resets when you die, right?”

Before he could stop himself Eddie locked eyes with the other boy, and suddenly it was like they were the only two people in the room.

“What happened to you last time?”

On top of everything else, Steve had just learned about his own mysterious death at the hands of a psychic monster, but here he was—not concerned with that, but with Eddie, and what his fate had been.

He tried to deflect, dropping his gaze to the desk as he spoke. “That reminds me, I should really hide my van when we’re done here so no one thinks you’re associated with me if something goes wrong.”

“Eddie, what happened to you last time?” Steve asked again, insistent.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie grudgingly answered. “After they took off from the Creel house, Jason and Andy showed up at Benny’s. I guess they saw the cars and got curious, or maybe they came to check the place out again after Patrick died. I don’t know, I didn’t exactly get to ask any questions. He, um… he shot me. Point blank in the chest.”

By the end he had the room’s full and silent attention again, save for a muffled sniffle over the phone’s speaker, and a warm palm landed on his shoulder. He didn’t even have to raise his head back up to know it was Steve, who’d moved to stand beside him at some point during his latest speech.

He’d know the feel of those hands anywhere.

“Okay, hear me out,” Dustin blurted wearing his patented, I’ve got a brilliant idea, face. “What if we call Owens now and get El together with him sooner. It sounds like she didn’t get the chance to fully regain her powers before they were ambushed, and I’m guessing her battery got drained in the escape with the whole helicopter thing, so she was definitely working at a disadvantage.”

It was a brilliant idea, Eddie had to give it to him. He didn’t realize they had a line to this other doctor guy.

“Yes, I think you are right.” Eleven agreed. “Eddie, you said… Papa was there? In the Nevada place?”

Fuck.

“Yeah, he was there. Somehow he’s alive, I know you thought he wasn’t. I’m sorry. Jonathan said he helped you though, and that it had been your choice to stay.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

There wasn’t much else to be said for now, and they needed to hang up so Joyce could make her phone calls, but there was one more order of business to deal with first.

“Uh, Mrs. Byers, are you still on the line?” Eddie asked, eyes flicking back to Steve before quickly looking away again.

“Call me Joyce, honey, and yes I’m here.”

“I need to talk to you alone for a minute, if that’s okay. Steve too.”

“Oh. Give me a second to make sure the kids hang up.”

Clearing the office out was a fight, Eddie had expected nothing less, and though they had to be as curious about what was going on as anyone else, Robin and Nancy stepped in and managed to convince the others to leave.

He was sure they’d demand answers at some point, but he’d worry about that later.

“Are you alone?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah.” Joyce said.

“You might want to sit down for this.” He said to Steve, indicating one of the newly empty chairs in the room. Steve grabbed the nearest one, pulling it close so they were sitting side-by-side.

“Okay, there’s no easy way to say this… Hopper might be alive. Joyce got a package from Russia with a ransom note. Some guy named Murray is flying in tomorrow to help her figure it out.”

Joyce gasped, the noise echoing in surround sound for Eddie as Steve did the same beside him.

“It’s real then?” She asked.

“I think so. You’re going to call the number tomorrow and the person who answers will tell you to fly to Alaska with some money. I don’t know any more than that. You called us once after you arrived, right before you went to meet with someone but we didn’t hear from you again. You said Hopper was being held in a Russian prison, and the guy who sent the ransom note was going to break him out.”

Steve went white as a sheet at the second mention of Russian involvement, and though he’d been thinking it would be smarter—easier, to keep some separation between them in this loop, Eddie couldn’t fight his instinct to reach out. He covered Steve’s hand that was resting on the surface of the desk with his own.

“I guess there’s nothing for me to do but follow the trail again.” Joyce said.

“But what if something happened, er, happens to you?” Steve asked.

“It’s Hopper." She said, as if that was an answer in itself. "I’m going to hang up so I can call the number Owens gave me. I’ll let you know what he says—and boys? Please don’t tell anyone else about this. Not until we know for sure.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbled, at the same time Eddie said, “of course.”

“Are you alright?” Eddie asked once they’d ended the call.

Steve was still staring lost in thought down at the phone, but at Eddie’s words he shook himself out of it. “Yeah, sorry. Just–”

“The Russians,” Eddie supplied, bobbing his head. “I know. I’m sorry, but I thought you deserved to know, and Joyce told you last time, so–”

“And then I told you?”

Eddie cleared his throat, abruptly taking his hand back as he leapt from his chair, heading for the door. “We should go, uh, check on the kids—make sure they’re not wrecking the place or anything.”

They wound up moving Eddie’s van into the garage. There was plenty of space, and it was such an obvious solution that he had to kick himself for not having thought to park it in there last time—for not having thought to hide it at all.

He’d just sort-of assumed that if Chrissy didn’t die, and he didn’t become a suspect in her murder, the whole Jason thing would go away.

He knew better now.

Though, maybe this round he’d get a break since they’d skipped the run-in at the trailer park.

Dustin and Mike took charge of making the looped recordings for the party members who needed them, and were just moving on to the b-side of Max’s custom ‘Running Up That Hill’ tape, when Lucas burst through the front door. He froze in the entrance to the living room, looking from one friend’s face to another, and, much like the last time, did a double take when he spotted Eddie and Chrissy.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but Jason has lost his mind. He thinks Eddie did something to Chrissy and now he, Andy, and a few of the other guys are out looking for him.”

“Oh, come on!” Eddie yelled, throwing his hands up. “He didn’t even see me this time!”

So much for getting a break from that asshole jock and his evangelical bullshit.

“O… kay," Lucas said, blinking at Eddie for a beat before continuing. “Someone saw her leave the school with you after the game and—” He trailed off, finally noticing the music playing and the tape recording set-up. “What’s going on?”

Steve and Erica stepped in to explain, taking him through to the kitchen to talk. He wasn’t sure it was for his benefit but Eddie was thankful anyway, he didn’t want to hear it again anymore than he wanted to re-tell it.

Not long after Lucas showed up, Nancy and Mike left to make their excuses at home for canceling Mike’s trip.

Everyone else was staying over, and Steve had already made them all call home so no parents would panic. Even Eddie left a message on his home answering machine for Wayne since he was at work. He’d have much rather heard his uncle’s voice again, but it was undoubtedly easier to lie to a recording than it was to the man himself.

Then it was time for bed.

Again, Robin offered to share the guest room with Chrissy, while Max and Erica called Steve’s parents room—and as the boys gathered up the spare pillows and blankets they'd be using in the living room, Steve gave Eddie—a look.

He knew where this was headed, and honestly he’d never been so conflicted. Of course he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with Steve after the terrible day he’d had, but that wasn’t where they were with each other anymore. And, in the interest of keeping some distance between them, to save himself future heartbreak even if it meant feeling a little pain right now, sharing a bed had to be where Eddie drew the line.

“I’ll stay down here with the boys.” Eddie said, before Steve could even make the offer. “They can share the big couch, I'll take the other one.”

“Oh.” Steve said, almost sounding disappointed. “Do you want something to sleep in at least?”

Eddie gulped, wondering what the odds were that Steve would give him the swim team top again if he said yes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Actually, I packed a bag this time, so I’m all set.”

After a visit to the garage to grab his bag from the van, Eddie changed into his own version of pajamas—an old ratty pair of faded black sweatpants and a cropped Iron Maiden t-shirt, so worn that the band’s logo was all but illegible. Lastly he took one of the pre-rolled joints from his stash and slipped out onto the patio through the kitchen’s sliding glass doors.

He sat cross-legged on his usual lounge chair, facing the pool and the woods beyond as he lit up. He took a long drag, and as he blew out a plume of smoke heard the sliding glass door open and close again behind him. He didn’t bother to hide what he was doing, though he probably should have. It could have been anyone coming out to look for him, Dustin or Mike maybe, but somehow he knew it wasn’t.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Steve said when he got close enough that Eddie could almost feel the heat coming off of his body. He shuffled his feet, hovering next to the chair. “I saw you out here through my window and I just… I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

Eddie finally looked up, unprepared for the way seeing Steve in his usual blue flannel pajama bottoms and white shirt would make him feel like he was drowning. Coupled with the tousled hair and soft look in Steve’s eyes, it was almost more than he could handle.

So he focused on something else.

The headphones Steve wore loosely around his neck were quiet, the wheels of the tape unmoving inside the player that was hooked to the elastic band of his pants.

“You should really be using those.” Eddie said, sliding over on the chair and patting the empty spot next to him in invitation. “Or at least have it playing even if they’re off your ears.”

As Steve sat down Eddie took another long hit, halfheartedly offering the joint up when he was done. He didn’t know if Steve still smoked or not, knew he used to when he ran with Tommy and Carol but it wasn’t something they’d gotten to talking about before.

Steve accepted it, taking a drag like a pro and Eddie supposed that answered that question. He grinned despite himself.

“After all the shit you gave me earlier?” Eddie said, knocking their shoulders together.

Steve ducked his head. “I meant like mushrooms or something, I don't know. Weed doesn’t count.”

He passed the joint back and started fiddling with his walkman, popping the tape out, flipping it over, and hitting play.

“I didn’t even realize it had stopped.” Steve said absently, accepting the joint when Eddie passed it over again, their fingers brushing lightly. “You know I was thinking about that. What happens when we’re sleeping and the tape runs down?”

“I don’t know what Max or Chrissy did, but anytime I woke up I’d flip your tape over and restart it.” Eddie answered without thinking, catching what he gave away far too late to backtrack, blaming the weed for loosening his tongue.

Steve stilled, staring at him incredulously.

“You—did you stay with me last time? In my room, I mean?”

Eddie busied himself picking at a loose thread on his pants. He didn’t know what to say.

“Is that why you’re so uncomfortable with me? Did I do something wrong, or?” Steve asked when the silence had grown too heavy to manage.

“No, Steve.” Eddie shook his head. “God, why is it that you always think you’re the problem?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, Stevie. I’m sorry.” Eddie sighed, taking the offered joint back again. It was almost done, and he took one last hit from it before leaning down to stub it out on the concrete.

“Yes, I stayed with you before. We all sorta paired up to keep an eye on each other, and I guess you could say we got… close, over that time, but–”

“Oh! So, we were friends, but now I don’t remember and you’re not sure how to act around me. Is that it?” Steve guessed, and it was criminally adorable how proud of himself he was for figuring it out.

Almost figuring it out, that is, but he didn’t know that.

Eddie smiled, huffing a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it exactly.”

The almost-admission served to break some of the ice between them. Steve relaxed a little, and Eddie found himself following suit.

They sat under the stars talking off and on for over an hour, and with each glance up at the sky Eddie was reminded of Steve’s childhood dream. He smiled, picturing a tiny baby Stevie standing in this very same backyard—looking up at the moon and daring to imagine himself going there one day.

He almost brought it up, more than once.

They chatted about nothing important or in particular—the kids, mostly, how they were adjusting to high school and things like that. Eddie told him what he knew, and in return Steve told him about middle school dances, and sneaking their shared brood into movies at the mall.

As much as it pained him to sit there, knowing that their every interaction meant much more to him than it did to Steve, he still found himself happy just to be in his presence.

Maybe that could be enough.

He could still be Steve’s friend, as long as he kept him at arm's length for now, and if they somehow managed to make it out alive—maybe then he could try to reclaim some of what was lost.

Eventually their slowing words turned into yawns, and Steve suggested they should go back inside and get some sleep. “Maybe we should stick together again.” He whispered, as they made their way through the darkened kitchen.

Eddie hesitated, he needed to maintain the boundary for his own sake, but he hadn’t considered Steve might be scared to be alone. “You’ve got your music now, just keep the tape going and you’ll be alright, I promise.”

“It’s not me I'm worried about.”

Oh.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Steve. In all this time, Vecna’s never come for me.”

Even more so than the first time they said goodnight, Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but ultimately he let it go. “If you’re sure.”

He couldn’t do this again. He would not allow himself to fall further when the future was so uncertain—when he still didn’t truly know, would never know, what their one shared kiss had really meant.

“I’m sure. Good night, Steve.”

“Good night.”

Eddie watched him climb the stairs, not walking away until Steve turned the corner and was out of sight.

It was better this way, he reminded himself, and he’d keep on reminding himself as many times as he had to—needing no more motivation to keep some separation than to recall Dustin’s trembling voice saying, he’s gone.

That was the sound Eddie carried with him as he curled up on the small couch, turned to face the back of it, and silently cried himself to sleep.

Chapter 8

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated and if you want to be tagged, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

Taglist: @hitlikehammers @pearynice @cranberrymoons @thoroughlycollected @blubblesandink @finntheehumaneater @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @hellion-child @manda-panda-monium @spicysix @kikidoesfanfic @dreamwatch @lawrencebshoggoth @stillfullofshit @lil-gremlin-things @mamafaithful @klausinamarink

#steddie fanfic #time loop #pov eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley #dustin henderson #the party

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patricedumonde · 7 months

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Deep Dive: Maria Koshkaryova’s Debut as Gamzatti

21 October 2023 — Masha's debut as Gamzatti in La Bayadere was a shock to many, and for good reason. This role requires not just technical proficiency but also maturity, and heavy acting. To make things more interesting, she was side by side Ekaterina Krysanova who became principal in 2011 and Vladislav Lantratov who became principal in 2013. For a dancer who just graduated 4 months ago, this wasn't just a challenging task, it was also impossible.

That said, let's go through some scenes that could have easily been corrected prior to the debut.

On the left, Maria Koshkaryova and on the right, Eleonora Sevenard.

This might be a hot take, but despite male dancers not being the center of attention in a pas de deux, I actually fully expect them to lead (Like in ballroom dancing.) In the movement above, I expected Vladislav to at least initiate eye-contact with Masha; this way, Masha would feel more comfortable to look at him as well. You'll notice the difference with the partnering of Elya. Instead of the movements looking hurried, you can see that there is a slight pause when they look at each other.

Here, there is clearly a lack of blocking. Masha should have turned instead of shuffling back. This way she can 1. See where she should go and 2. Look confident in doing so. This was likely from a hasty preparation for the role. There's simply too many moving parts for her to learn.

On the bright side, I thought her Italian fouettés were good. Excruciatingly slow, just how I like them! The fouettés, she played it safe by going with all single turns and honestly, I thought that was a smart decision. Incoming explanation on why.

Falling off balance here wasn't an accident, it was a blunder. She went for the 2.5 turns instead of a clean 1.5 you see on the right side. The clip on the right is perfect. Good preparation, clear spot, and solid landing.

One of the things I love about Gamzatti is that you can add a lot of embelishment to every movement. Maybe it comes with time and experience, but instead of just switching profiles here, Masha could have really emphasized more with her hands. Literally, a swish and flick could have added a lot.

JUMPS. The height is there. The look to the audience on the second jump could have been held much longer. Most importantly, the arms should be more controlled. When Masha braces herself before each jump, it isn't clear if she's passing through first position or even at a bras bas. When there's too much change and lack of clarity with the arm movements, the jumps don't seem effortless.

Here's a clip of Elya in the same part of the variation and she chose to be more consistent. (This is the part where the author realizes that she is a big fan of cleanliness and clarity which extends to her preference of risk-averse dancers)

Let's move on to arguably the hardest part, which is why I won't dwell on it too long. I will stand by my earlier statement, I cannot believe they would let her go against Ekaterina Krysanova, who is 20 years her senior. Especially in a confrontation scene like this, the disparity is palpable. Masha needed more confidence here and instead, it looked a bit apprehensive.

On the left, she should have been more "in your face" and she should have invaded Ekaterina Krysanova's space a lot more. After the first arabesque, that must have been 2-3 feet, she should have approached much closer than that.

Throughout this scene, I felt that Masha's facial expression remained unchanged. At the beginning, Gamzatti should be more accusatory and by the end, she should be full on, taunting. In all fairness, I can somewhat see it in the movement.

I saved this for last as it really stood out to me. The fall did not make sense. However, it would have made a lot more sense if she already came from a kneeling position! I would have preferred if she decided to beg on her knees, AND THEN fall in the manner that she did. It just seemed physically weird because of the way Ekaterina pushed her.

Honestly, this is all I am willing to go over. The first person to blame here would be whoever casted this. The second, maybe, would be her coach who agreed with that decision.

I see that the consensus here is that this debut is premature, and it is. Masha is a talented dancer. If you have seen her other debuts and felt that she was unprepared, surely it makes sense now, right? Imagine learning all those new roles on top of learning the entirety of Gamzatti's in La Bayadere.

C'est impossible.

#russian ballet #bolshoi ballet #maria koshkaryova #deep dive #ballet #ballet review #dancer updates #la bayadere #gamzatti

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barbwritesstuff · 1 month

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I always get Iliya every time (because I figured out on the first try how to get him and I make sure to stop by and pick him up, esp because there’s the additional bonus of meeting Erin which sets her up in the second act), so I can’t speak for sure as to why people miss him, but if I could speculate I think there are a couple factors.

Firstly, I think in part one of the reasons people might not find him is because the choice isn’t “named”. When we say we want to explore other territories, for example, we see that we can speak to the nuns and we can speak to Marcel by name. Players know that those choices lead to interactions with characters, but they don’t know that going to the club will lead to meeting someone new, so that choice may not be prioritized. I don’t think there’s a great way to get out of this, since you can’t label a choice “hey this choice leads to Iliya” when we’ve never met him in-game, but I do think that might be a factor. (I think there are similar, but more significant, issues with how the choice at the end of chapter 4 about who to hang out with is presented that leads to a lot of questions you get about how to find Ravima or Erin or literally anyone other than Iliya/Tracy/Marcel, but I don’t want to go on about it if you don’t want to hear about it).

What I think is the bigger issue, though, is that you only get to do 3 things at the end of chapter 3 before dawn breaks. Because, if you’re playing for the first time, you don’t know which choice leads to meeting Iliya, it’s super easy to make different choices about how to spend your time that leads to missing him completely. If, for example, I wanted to hang out with Medici (who I know is a character that is named and who I can hang out with) and the nuns (who I know are vampire lords and, if I followed Tracy, know are involved with her somehow), then that leaves me 1 choice left and a 1/3 chance of finding Iliya. If we had more time to explore and got to do more things, I think that issues in finding him would be reduced. I think people have issues meeting Freya (along with some of the issues I mentioned in chapter 4 that I won’t get into unless you’re interested) for similar reasons.

This got really long and i feel like I came off very harsh so I want to emphasize just how much I love thicker than. I love how replayable the game is and I want to be clear that I don’t think that having some characters that are harder to find than others is necessarily a bad thing. What I will say is that I mentioned at the top of this ask that I always find Iliya. This is because (unless I specifically play thicker than just to explore the different choices at the ends of chapter 3 and chapter 4), if I’m playing a game from the start to the end of the demo, I always make the same choices in this chapter. Thicker than offers so much to find that is so fun to play through, but I have to choose whether to prioritize meeting the game’s characters or exploring and making different choices. I get Iliya every time because I prioritized figuring out how to find him the first time I played and I go out of my way to make sure that I unlock him every playthrough. If you don’t know what choice unlocks Iliya from the get-go, I 100% understand why players miss him.

Thank you so much for this. I know Chapters 3-4 are really messy and I think streamlining those may be a priority when it comes to rewrites/second draft.

I may put a force meet in for Erin and Iliya (and perhaps Freya) or I might not. But I think I need to find a way to make those chapters more streamlined and accessible, because a lot of people have approached me with navigation issues on those chapters in particular.

I just need to figure out how to do that from a coding perspective, which might take some time. I may change around the order of a few events or may even add in an extra chapter, but I'm not sure.

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sexhaver · 1 year

Text

ive made this post multiple times before and will probably make it again but the worst part of getting medicated for ADHD is that the two main effects are:

mentally, you become God. everything is easy, easier than easy. things that were impossible unmedicated are insultingly trivial on 50mg Vyvanse XR. focus, executive function, sociability, memory - everything is cranked up to 11 and then has the knob ripped off. this isn't gradual, either; you can physically feel yourself go from a barely-conscious husk to the physical embodiment of efficiency over the course of 15 minutes while the THX noise plays nonstop and keeps ramping up the entire time.

physically, you break yourself in every way that matters. you grind your teeth to dust and develop TMJ until you forget there was a time when you didn't wake up every morning with a headache from clenching your jaw all night. you genuinely just forget to eat or drink for 6 hours at a time until your doctor-approved meth wears off and you can suddenly hear everything your body has been screaming, begging for you to do since breakfast. the comedown itself is hell incarnate, feeling like being dropped off a cliff onto spikes a mile below. this happens every afternoon for the rest of your life, and you know it's coming the whole time.

this leads to the following outcomes:

the first point is extremely visible to everyone in your life, often times even more so than it is to yourself.

not only does everyone else notice that you're suddenly acting differently, they like that version of you way more. i know this sounds like depressive thinking, but i have literally been told this exact line to my face multiple times. you become a less flaky friend to your peers and a more consistent worker to your boss/coworkers. by all externally visible measures, you become an objectively better person to be around.

the second point is invisible to everyone except you 99% of the time.

the other 1% of the time, they notice the side effects because the clock struck midnight 6pm and the carriage turned back into a pumpkin your meds suddenly wore off. as far as an external observer is concerned, you suddenly went from being bubbly and fun to hang out with to a hangry cranky drain on everyone's energy in 10 minutes flat.

living with these inescapable facts every single day for years on end naturally leads to the following conclusions:

"When I feel bad/stressed, everyone else likes me. When I feel good/relaxed, everyone else dislikes me."

"Feeling good is an indication that I am currently doing something wrong, or am forgetting to do something entirely. In either case, it means everyone else in my life dislikes me."

"Feeling bad is not just an indication that I am doing something right, it's a prerequisite. Unless I feel bad, nobody else in my life likes me."

"Nobody else cares how I feel, they never will, and anyone saying otherwise is a liar. Sure, people understand that they have to say they care about my feelings to avoid sounding like sociopaths, but the fact that those same people consistently like me better when I'm medicated and doing nice stuff for them (while screaming internally and grinding my teeth to dust) than when I'm unmedicated and relaxing proves that they're full of shit."

"Since I'm literally the only person who cares about my own happiness (see above), and everyone else on Earth is happier when I'm suffering, it's not just difficult for me to fight depression and assert my self-worth - it's actively harming everyone else around me."

eventually you learn to turn off your feelings for a while to get through especially bad patches, but the entire thought process never goes away and eventually starts impacting how you view other people. i don't have a hopeful note to end this post on.

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3d-wifey · 5 months

Note

can i get a list of your favorite lines you've written for And they'd find us in a week?" (posted or otherwise)

You added in my dms that you meant my fav lines in each chapter and sure!!!! but it's gonna be longggg and it'll only get longer. I'll stick to posted chapters so I can avoid spoiling anything and add to this post as I post more chapters! Feel free to send in your own fav lines, I'd love to know!!!!

Chapter 1

A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally. And now he’s home.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead.

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife.

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down.

You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine.

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means.

"So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over.

He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first.

This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

Chapter 2

You had tried to listen closely when he first started talking, but—well, okay, that’s a lie. Everything these Capitols say goes in one ear and out the other. Actually, it doesn’t even make it as far as the first ear.

“Finn!” Thank god. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” You exclaim in the most sickeningly saccharine Capitol voice you can muster. He stares with wide blue-green eyes, bemusedly mouthing ‘Finn?’ at you.

You only have a few seconds to wonder what the hell an eel is before Finnick takes your glass out of your hand and hands it over to the sputtering man.

That is a good question. One with an answer Finnick doesn’t want to look too closely at, though it might—scratch that, it definitely has something to do with your big watery eyes staring up at him ingenuously.

So maybe, he lets himself think, maybe you’re safe.

There's a small, prideful grin on your face that he doubts you even know is there. But he does. He is very aware of it.

You tilt your head, smiling up at him and his ears go warm. This is probably the fifth time he's talked to you and you've never smiled at him like that before.

You pout up at him and it’s the most unfair shit Finnick’s ever seen. Made even worse by the fact that you’re defending him. To himself.

Someone unburdened with the fact that Snow was right, they are more similar than he'd like to admit. Because Seeder may have a family that relies on her, but Finnick can't find it in himself to care. He'd put her in the arena himself if it meant your safety.

Chapter 3

As you sit in front of President Snow, you can't help but be reminded of that coyote.

There are dozens of white roses around you, tucked inside vases on any available surface. Almost innocent if not for their cloying scent. It gives you a headache. You’ve never seen so many roses outside of a funeral.

“I want to explain something to you, my dear, in a way you’ll understand. Imagine a wolf wanders onto your farm—you know what a wolf is, yes? This wolf hasn’t killed any of your cattle, but it has the potential to. Now, you could always get rid of the wolf, kill it, but that’s only a temporary solution. There will always be other wolves.” He scolds you as if you were the one to suggest it and not him. “Why go through the effort of killing it, when you can tame it—give the wolf a bone, so to speak. You earn its loyalty and it protects the cattle from other predators.” You aren’t sure you really follow what he’s trying to say. Are you the wolf? The cattle? You certainly don’t own the farm.

“I am in the business of making wolves happy. And something that'll make them very happy is you.”

You’d rather take your chances with the predators in the woods than the ones in the Capitol.

“Wolf, meet bone."

He's going to whore you out to the highest bidder. No, he's giving your body away like a party favor.

But they're just objects. The only thing that can hurt you here is Snow.

What more does he want from you? He’s practically squeezing a stone, expecting blood, but can’t he see you have nothing left for him to take? But there’s something Snow knows that you haven’t considered. If you squeeze a rock hard enough, you get diamonds.

"What's got you pouting, beautiful?" He teases, approaching you with a good-natured smile.

You’re so far from your natural habitat and there’s safety in numbers. Though, you guess you’ve never really left the forest, have you? The same rules apply in the Capitol as they do in the wilderness: blend into your surroundings and if a predator spots you, pray to God they lose interest.

You want to confide in him more than anything, but you need to be sure that Finnick won't trade your secret for another.

You've talked to Finnick a handful of times and only had two meaningful conversations that didn't involve either of you flirting. By all means, you shouldn't trust him. But you do. You really do.

There are too many ears out there and the only people that walk down this hall are Avoxes. And it's not like they can tell anyone what they hear.

“Snow…” You trail off, losing steam fast. Finnick stiffens, his grip on your shoulder as tight as a corpse’s.

“What did Snow do?”

"Finnick, are you...?" Your voice peters out lamely, unable to put words to what Snow is making you do, what you suspect he's been making Finnick do.

"Only a select few in Snow's private circle could indulge in my services at first. But once I hit sixteen," he shrugs with a mean smile, "I was fair game." Of course. You had thought Finnick was handsome when he first won, in that passing way thirteen-year-olds often thought of others. Obviously, it was a shared consensus.

"Who else is he forcing to do this?" … "You, me, and any other attractive victor with something to lose."

You reach forward, using your thumb to pull his lip away from his teeth. He looks between your eyes for a second and you drop your hand. "Hoped what, Finnick?"

He clenches and unclenches his jaw. "I hoped you were safe."

“Advice,” he laughs, short and brittle, “Yeah. Just…breathe and endure. It’s all any of us can really do.” His voice is angry, but his eyes are mournful. That’s definitely not the kind of advice you wanted to hear and you can tell it’s obviously not the kind he wants to give. But what were you expecting, some kind of miracle cure? That’s not the way this works.

It's different now. He's older and wiser, and he does still hate her, but no more than he hates every other Capitol. He tunes her out and tries to remember if he's had sex with her.

Finnick is a good actor. Maybe not the best, but he's certainly up there. Not many people could see through his veneer. It's fragile, cracks and instability on display to anyone who truly knows him—and even then, that's only three people.

It's an odd dichotomy to see something you love on something you hate.

Your mother lets out a shrill, throat-shredding scream, her voice only elevated by the silence surrounding it. This will be the last thing you hear from her.

But—you don't have to win. No one expects you to win and that...that thought is relieving. You aren't planning on rolling over in the arena and letting someone get a free kill, but this is something Snow won't be able to work around. No matter how hard he tries, he can't manipulate the outcome of the games. And he'll have no one to blame but himself, no one to punish. It's cowardice, in a way, but you're tired. And you think you've been tired for a long time now. You'd be stupid not to take this ticket out.

Most eyes pity you. You're essentially volunteering yourself to put your head under the executioner's sword. However, some eyes envy you. You're leaving Eleven. For good. For many of the citizens, death is a small price to pay for freedom. But there’s something else, something everyone in the crowd shares. There’s anger, a righteous fury in every face you see.

Is this the view your dad had? Are these the faces he saw before he was lynched?

There'll be many victors facing the guillotine, many of your friends forced into a death march.

You look to the sky, a quick glance before you're ushered to the train. It's a sunny day with plump white clouds on a baby blue backdrop. It might be the last time you see the real sky as a free woman. Calm and beautiful despite the carnage happening under it.

Chapter 4

That Avox is taking a piece of you, red smeared on white, and it'll be washed away. Absently, as if through water, you hear the door shut and you're scared that you'll never be whole again.

Your first instinct is to find somewhere to curl up, but the bed is out of the question. Logically, you know it's clean, you saw it happen. But it feels like a crime scene, like something died there.

The door doesn't look much different from your own. You don't know what else you were expecting.

You don't know if you've ever made a choice that wasn't out of necessity and you find that you want Finnick to comfort you.

It slides open to reveal Finnick with his sweatpants hanging low on his waist, his hair a mess, and his face painted in exhaustion. You can't help but think he looks awfully soft. Softer than you ever thought you'd see him.

"I don't know why I thought you'd be awake. I guess I just assumed...," You shake your head, having no excuse other than wanting to be near him, "I don't know what I assumed. I should get back to my room. I'm really sorry for waking—" "Wait," he calls out as you start to back away, "You can come in, we can–I don't know, we can talk." He generously offers, sounding almost nervous. But what about you would ever make him nervous?

Sleeping in Finnick's bed after everything somehow feels worse than sleeping on your own. Because it may be a crime scene, but at least it's your crime. It feels almost disrespectful to sleep where something of Finnick's died too.

If you were a star, burning bright miles and miles away, nothing could touch you. Not the memories that haunt you, not Snow, not your clients. Nothing.

Your eyes widen and you don't know what to say. There's a certain level of repulsive irony with the person who guaranteed your survival being the first person to treat you as something less than human. If this is how you feel now, you can't even imagine how Finnick must have felt. Fourteen and alone. At least you have someone to lean on, someone who's going through the same thing you are. All he had was himself. But he has you now.

"Don't downplay what you've gone through, Finnick. You don't have to put yourself down for me," You face him head-on so he knows you mean it, "You shouldn't put yourself down for anyone." He looks up at you again, but this time he doesn't look away. There's no point in playing a game of 'who has it worse'. That's not what you came here for.

How can he be expected to save you when he never saved himself? You're sure he knows there's no magic fix to this. But that's an answer you know he won't accept. Because…because he cares about you, he said so himself. He wants to take your pain, but it’s not transactional. Besides, even if it was, you wouldn’t want him to take it all upon himself. This pain is not transferable, this pain is yours to share. You’ll keep a hand on his wound if he keeps a hand on yours.

Maybe you can staunch the bleeding together.

"I'm sorry...I know me saying that doesn't make much of a difference, but I am." He's wrong. He has nothing to be sorry for, but the apology softens you. You scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. "Me too," you whisper. He hesitates before laying his head on yours, "I'm sorry, too." You hear a sniff above you, but you don't comment on it. You just let go of his pinky and lace your fingers together instead. His palm is rough against your own and it grounds you. When you're down here, pressed against Finnick's side, you're okay with not being a star.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe someone about yay high," he raises his hand about an inch above his head. Then, flips his hair over his shoulder dramatically, "Blond, built like a Greek god."

He's what you imagine having an older, older brother might be like. As such, it feels more than a little awkward whining about your pitiful love life, or lack thereof, to him. "Me and Finnick," you say, and, like the gossip he is, he hangs on to your every word, "There is no me and Finnick." Anymore.

"I'd imagine it's the same reason Peeta volunteered for you." He exhales through his nose like he doesn't want a reminder of what happened only a handful of hours earlier.

You aren't surprised, in all honesty. Looking back on it now, it’s odd to think Snow was right when he said he did you a favor. Because you’ve gathered secrets of your own. Morsels of information that you've coveted like rubies, plucked from the mouths of your high society clientele.

That entire inner monologue in 4 where you think about Rue and Thresh. Honestly makes me tear up everytime AND I WROTE IT.

And maybe, just maybe, it would mean they didn’t die in vain. All of your kids that you watched march to their deaths—their deaths that would mean something. Leading you all to this very moment. "Alright." You decide, as if there was ever any other option for you. Insurgency is in your veins. Your father was a part of the Movement like his father before him and his father before him. It’s what got him killed. And it seems like it’ll do the same for you.

Maybe you're a little dense, but you don't see how that proves that District Thirteen wasn't nuked to hell and back. Some of that skepticism must show on your face because he sighs and sets his glass back down.

You ask. You already have in mind who you hope will be on your side. You think of callused hands and soft green eyes and wonder if you could ever raise a weapon against him in the name of the rebellion.

Friends isn't the word you'd use, but it's hard not to form a sense of solidarity with the person you often get requested to have threesomes with.

"With love, huh." He whispers to himself and smiles.

And you gave them freely, even after Finnick ran out of ones to trade. It’s odd. You wanted nothing in return. Sometimes, he gets a little ahead of himself and wonders if it’s because you like him.

It isn’t too far-fetched to assume that, right? Right.

To just call you a friend feels like calling an ocean a pond. It's almost disrespectful to condense it into something so lacking. He can’t force you, and everything you make him feel—into such a small box, it would only overflow and drown him. You are much, much more than a pond.

Best friend, then? While true, it feels too juvenile. He considers it and he doesn't particularly like the idea of just being your friend anyway. He imagines you introducing him as such.

“Oh, and this is Finnick. My friend. Only my friend.”

No. No, he doesn’t like that at all.

"Do you think she'll like it?" He asks her. He wants to bite at his nails as she looks over what he made, but refrains.

'She'll love it. :)" She writes and he hopes she’s right.

He can't help but find joy in the fact that he still knows you well enough to predict what you'll do. And he'll get to see you again. Really see you. He shouldn't be happy about that under these circumstances, but Finnick is under no illusion of being a good person.

"Kid, I don't wanna say this is sad, but it's not, not sad." Finnick rolls his eyes at Haymitch's unwelcome opinion. Should he be embarrassed to be caught in this position? Maybe. Probably. Yeah, he definitely should be. But he gave up his shame a long time ago.

"You sure?" He leans his head on the hand that's propped up on the arm of the chair, "Not even a certain someone from Eleven? What was that nickname you gave her—Star, right?" He asks with that same tone he always used to take on when teasing Finnick about you.

When he started turning away his clients' money, they were desperate to pay him atonement so their consciences wouldn't be weighed down by their sins. You came up with the idea. Money wasn't worth its salt to a victor. But secrets? Secrets were cashed in gold.

"You can't have fire without air, right?" He asks rhetorically. "Well, we won't have Katniss without Peeta. She won't help us without him."

And just like that, whatever illusion of choice Finnick thought he had is stripped away with the mention of you. Every path he takes leads back to you. What a heartening thought.

Abruptly, he gets a faint whiff of your scent caught in his head like a flashback. Hovering in his nostrils as faint as a memory. It is a memory. But if he goes through with this, maybe it doesn't have to stay one.

Freedom looks like being by your side, loving you fearlessly. Finnick's never felt true freedom before—the closest he's ever gotten to it was when you touched him. He doubts it can feel much better than that.

Chapter 6

You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

You say nothing to him as you edge out of the crowd and he supposes you don’t owe him an explanation, but it leaves a pit in his stomach to watch you walk away.

“Oh. Hey?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, the letters curling and drawing out at the end like he’s just discovered the human language.

“Ah, there’s the blushing bride!” Haymitch half shouts—half cackles, halfway into a bottle of expensive Capitol wine. He ignores them, which only makes them crack up harder. Finnick is nineteen years old, and as they laugh behind him, he actually feels his age for once.

You take a step back from him. He didn’t even notice when he got so close and gravitated to you, he never does.

“I don’t understand. Wh–what’s wrong?” Because there’s definitely something wrong. Your body language is closed off. You’re never closed off around him.

“Do you feel like you’re settling?” He asks, doing, in his opinion, a pretty good job of acting like his heart isn’t hinging on your answer.

“What?! What, of course not.” You look at him like he grew a second head. As if his question isn't completely reasonable given how you're behaving.

The big green chair is the backdrop behind you, and it really is an enormous chair.

There’s nothing quite like being paraded before crowds of adoring fans while dressed in a caricature of your district.

You joke, but you really wish you were at least given some kind of underwear. It’s not exactly warm in here and that draft is reaching places it shouldn’t.

If you make any sharp movements, you’ll be flashing your ass to all of Panem.

He makes to lean against the horse but thinks better of it when she scuffs one of her hooves on the ground rather threateningly.

Your and Katniss’s whole convo by the chariots

There’s a fishnet draped across his torso and knotted low around his hips similar to how your skirt is tied. It’s very thin, with very spacious holes.

Your tongue will always remember the shape of his name, but you’ve forgotten the taste of it. It’s bittersweet.

Chapter 7

He nods over your shoulder to Caesar, who’s looking especially orange today.

They have him in the closest thing to a suit that he’ll tolerate and his blond hair is artfully coiffed. You miss how it falls naturally, and you’re sure he feels the same. The makeup they put on you makes you feel like a mannequin. Stiff and shiny, just the way they like you.

You and Finnick smile and greet the masses like you were trained to. You wave your hand open and closed, and Finnick doesn’t wave at all, instead nodding to the crowd.

He doesn’t ask a question outright, but you understand what he wants you to answer. What a pitiful beast you are. What else about you can we feel sorry for?

“Very sad, very sad indeed,” the room fills with sympathetic murmurs that make your eye twitch. You don’t need their pity, pity won’t bring him back. Pity won’t stop it from happening to someone else. If they used that same pity to stop injustices before they happened, then maybe these people would actually be worth something, “Alright, let’s get into some games, huh? Yeah!”

A clock ticks ominously behind you, probably a new fixture. It bluntly cuts the silence. You would have noticed that before. You think.

“My colleagues speak very highly of you.” He pulls a white handkerchief up to his mouth and coughs into it. It’s a wet, violent cough that rocks him in his seat. It must hurt and you know without a doubt that the white of the fabric is blood red now. Good. Hopefully, he’ll cough up a lung soon enough. He dabs at his mouth before pulling it back to his lap, almost like he’s hiding it. “You should be proud of yourself. I certainly am.”

“Come now.” His smile stretches across his face like a coyote’s, though it’s twice as sharp. You bite at the skin of your peeling bottom lip. “You’re a smart girl. You should be able to infer what’s happening without my telling you.” You do. You had just hoped you misunderstood, that you were being overly paranoid. After all, you have an intimate relationship with hunger, and not just your own. You’ve seen that look before, more times than you can count. On the faces of particularly crooked Peacekeepers, handsy landowners, and ‘well-meaning’ teachers. And now you see it again on the face of your President.

They all have something in common: they thought they were above you and your savagery. They thought you were some animal, that you should feel lucky that they even looked your way.

So distinguished, so self-important, and, yet, they lust after an animal like you? And you’re supposed to be the savage one? You wish you could enjoy the irony.

There’s a smell emitting from him. A smell you’ve only smelt in rotting animals: decay. The rose in his pocket and the roses around the room can only cover so much. It’s the poison, it has to be. All the poison he drank while getting rid of his political rivals has finally come back to reap its judgment. He’s decomposing from the inside out. The consequence of having so much power, it seems.

It doesn’t matter how much makeup or what kind of dress you put on a pig. At the end of the day, it’s still a dirty, stinking pig. You just hope, when the day comes, you’ll be around to see this pig get gutted.

From this high up you can hardly hear yourself think, finally. But barely, just barely, you can make out Finnick’s voice. You’ll always be able to recognize that voice. The sound is almost as much of a part of you as it is of him.

You’re whole and solid in his grip. You’re safe. God, you’re safe.

Neither of you speaks. Which is fine. There’s no space for words between your bodies anyway.

You barely duck in time to avoid the staff from hitting your head and Finnick’s grip on the trident tightens.

For as long as Johanna has known him, she’s known him in conjunction with you. There’s no point in acting like that’s changed.

“Good luck.” She pats him on the back with far more force than necessary and walks off with an axe in hand. Probably on her way to traumatize a trainer.

“Besides, if they’re listening in on anyone, it’s Princess and the Baker over there.”

Dear Finn,

If you ever fear the weight of my absence—close your eyes, take a breath, and feel me beside you. I’m still here.

-Faithfully,

Your Star.

Chapter 8

Actually, just all of 8 and 9. From beginning to end.

Chapter 10

They make sure to teach all about it in school, making sure students know just how far their district fell. Once a powerhouse worthy of rubbing shoulders with the best of them stands one of the most ‘primitive’ and militarized districts in the nation.

You remember what it feels like to be hungry. To be forced into the orchards to harvest pears, apricots, and Mandarin oranges—some of the only crops that can weather the cold, small hands stiff and your stomach numb with pain as you endured the freezing winds. You had friends when you were younger, other children that worked alongside you. Very few of them survived through the winter.

You have a system in place. You’ve been doing these deliveries for a long time. You trust them to distribute the goods to those who need them the most. Everyone here looks out for each other. Even if the kids aren’t theirs, an adult won’t let them go hungry if they can help it. It truly takes a village. You would know. After all, you used to live here.

What use is a horse with a broken leg?

“And you,” you lean back as she wags her finger in your face, “inherited that mouth from your daddy. It’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

“Just start looking out for yourself more, alright?” She asks and you agree with a scowl, you refuse to call it a pout though Finnick definitely would.

You try to picture a world where the two of you ended up together, running the bakery until you’re old and gray—maybe if you hadn’t been reaped. But you can’t imagine a universe where you aren’t in love with Finnick Odair.

Seeing him sitting behind your big mahogany desk is akin to seeing a fox in a chicken coop. It’s dangerous—foreboding. Nothing good can come from it. And for him to be so comfortable in the spot where you write your letters to Finnick makes your skin crawl. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t be here, in the one place that's truly yours.

Under the weight of his unrelenting stare, you eventually shake your head no and it feels like admitting defeat. Like you’re not smart enough to catch on to his train of thought and you both know it.

“Of course, you don’t.” He tsks, disappointed. You lower your gaze, embarrassed. He stands and takes poised, measured steps to where your feet are rooted to the floor. He towers over you, literally and figuratively.

"You have mail." He smiles again, sharp and cruel in its kindness. It's still sealed, held between his middle and pointer finger, but you're certain he knows what the letter says already.

I got the picture you sent me. I worry I’ll wear it thin with how often I touch it. In the absence of having you near me, I trace the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the slant of your eyes. I carry you everywhere I go.

My hands should be in yours, fingers laced together. Instead, I use them to write to you now.

He glances behind him and spots the biggest fishing boat in the district. The Cod Be Ever in Your Favor. He scoffs.

He’s crossing his fingers that the old relic capsizes one day. He’s not hoping anyone gets hurt or anything, but he will be celebrating the day that hunk of junk gets turned into scrap metal.

He pauses, taking a few steps back to see…President Snow sitting on his couch?

“No, Sir, I don’t.” He lies, but he’s sure Snow will give him his own twisted, convoluted reason. Finnick is well aware that Snow enforces this rule because it keeps the citizens ignorant. Ensuring they only really know about their district means there can be no real unionizing.

Snow releases a raspy breath that might have been a laugh once upon a time and the water is getting hotter.

"Don't act daft, Mr. Odair. It doesn't suit you."

He's twenty-two years old—a grown man, but, suddenly, he’s fourteen again—sitting in that chair, backed against a wall as Snow forces him to sign his soul away. He’s still that scared kid. He’s never outgrown him, because he never got the chance to grow up. Not if Snow had any say in the matter.

“As I said, this can only end in pain. It’s up to you to decide who will end up bloody. The lives of thousands over the life of one. Surely, you understand that.” He doesn’t. Finnick doesn’t understand it at all. It doesn’t matter what the other option is, he’s picking you every time without fail. He can’t imagine doing otherwise, he doesn’t want to.

To love is to be human. To be human is to be flawed. And there’s no one more flawed than Finnick Odair.

“You’ve been around longer.” He shrugs as if it’s all so simple. “It only seems fair.” Fair. When the hell did he start caring about what’s fair? He didn’t even think that word was in Snow’s vocabulary, and, honestly, it still might not be because he isn’t using it right. There is nothing fair about this situation.

Snow uncrosses his legs and leans forward, a glint in his ghastly eyes. He looks worse every time he sees him and Finnick wishes he could get any satisfaction from it but he just feels as sick as Snow looks.

The words are out of his mouth before he can even comprehend them, mouth moving faster than his brain and by the time it catches up, it’s too late to snatch the words out of the air. They float between them and they are terrifying.

Snow nods at the idea and…and he realizes it’s over. It’s all over. It was over as soon as Finnick sat down across from him, maybe even before that.

“And Finnick?” He pulls away before Finnick can take it from him, playing with him even now. “Go easy on the poor girl. I imagine she’ll be quite torn up over this.” The water is boiling. The water is boiling and it’s too late to get out.

Chapter 11

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other, because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’. Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Finnick’s letter

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. What it feels like to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it feels like to have your mind broken.

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same.

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sitting rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs. Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected.

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. Maybe if you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. You wanted to give him your heart, but not like this.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway.

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

"My love, my star. My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen. Look how far we’ve fallen, Star.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver.

"Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift.

But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick. And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory.

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it.

It sounds like a goodbye.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes.

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…that’s certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous.

He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now.

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “The message was for you!”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? God, it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy.

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight.

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes.

The entire elevator scene

Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition.

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down into a kneel before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his inspiration.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this? What could have possibly been worth giving you up?

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and he’s been tired for even longer.

Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now.

He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten.

And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is.

I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. Honestly, I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

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