#'WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S THAT EASY NOTHING ABOUT YOU IS EASY'

[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.

[awarmbowlofhomemadesoup]

What I love about Dungeon Meshi is that it writes platonic relationships with the same weight romantic stories would normally be written.

The Character that Got Their Heart Broken Too Many Times

Humanity broke Laois' heart. This is taken advantage later on by the Wingled Lion, but I digress.

Laois got bullied in all-boys school to the point that he ran away to become a soldier. Heartbreak #1.

He got harrassed in the training camp to the point that he became a deserter. Heartbreak #2.

The combination of these events were so bad, his lack of basic self-care can be a sign of a depressive state. If Falin hadn't joined him, who knows what would've happened to him.

Laois was so happy when he became friends with Shuro and felt so betrayed when Toshiro said he couldn't stand him. Not exactly a heartbreak #3 but it hurt all the same. They got past it but Laois remembers.

And when Kabru, for once in his life, stopped playing poker and laid down his cards, Laois wasn't going to let his heart be hurt for the fourth time.

The biggest thing that stands out to me in this manner is how Kabru's blurted confession of wanting to be friends with Laois was treated as much as a big revelation as a romantic one. Because the weight of that confession is Kabru's character development.

The Character Whose Sincerity Doesn't Come Easy for Him

This guy grew up being infantilized and not taken seriously by the elves for being a short-lived race. So, he honed diplomacy as sharp as his assassin's blade.

He knows the right things to say and when to say them, making him well-liked by everyone (much to his team's chagrin over their loved ones). And yet his personal cause puts a distance between him and his trusted teammates (including his childhood friend).

To say his true feelings and thoughts would end up with long-lived races dismissing him for being unwise and irrational.

So he keeps his cards to himself and works with subtlety throughout the manga, until things got worse, and he couldn't make Laois stay.

And he was left with nothing but to be sincere.

Right from the start, he said he wanted the Touden siblings to be unmasked. But in the end, he unmasked himself, much to his horror.

Addition edit: Kabru has been keeping his cards close to himself for so long, I don't think he realized what he really feels until he blurted it out. He chased after Laois throughout the dungeon because Laois might defeat the mad sorcerer. But for a guy who wants to understand everyone, he never understands what he feels about Laois and what that feeling means until his brain catches up with his mouth.

After decking Laois for not believing him, Kabru elaborated in his confession. He has developed a platonic crush (plush for short) or desire to be friends with Laois because:

1. Kabru wants to understand how Laois could love the very thing Kabru hates. Hate is just another face of fear. We fear what we don't understand. To understand Laois is to understand monsters. I think Kabru finds it admirable that Laois could admire monsters when everyone just view them as a threat.

2. He wants Laois to care about the same thing he does, which is saving humanity. Laois and co. are willing to side with the demon to protect Marcille from the Canaries. By asking to be Laois friend, Kabru becomes Laois' link to humanity that whatever they would do from there with the demon, please don't forget how it might affect other people outside his friends. And by gods, this is important to Kabru's development because he has never asked for help for his cause nor asked anyone to care because he's too used to the self-serving nature of all races. And yet, he chose to believe in Laois.

However, it was only in the end that they were able to talk after things had settled down. And they are so different and so alike at the same time.

Source

In this scene, there are two differing thoughts:

Laois, who experienced social rejection growing up: Do you still mean it?

Kabru, who had to deal with those of higher power: Are you testing me?

But they're still thinking the same thing: Is this real?

Like, all of their motivations have the weight often molded into romantic plots in any other story. A character who got their heart broken too many times and another character whose honesty does not come easy for them. But it's not a romantic story, but a start of a beautiful friendship.

There are more examples out there, but this is what came to my mind. Feel free to add more.

[pickingupmymercedes]

for a blurb can you do like "you’re bleeding"

like they just got an argument but then she hurts herself and like all the anger disappears and like she’s like "i’m fine" but she’s not and starts crying cause of it all

Self indulging here because I too get sick from the sight of blood. Hope you like it

"you're bleeding"

Y/N slammed a drawer shut, the clatter echoing through the apartment. This argument had been simmering for days, and it was bound to break loose.

"I can't believe you would even suggest that!" she fumed, her voice tight with frustration. "Don't you trust me?"

Lewis raked a hand through his braids, his jaw clenched. "It's not about trust, Y/N. It's about—"

"Then what is it about?" she cut him off, her voice rising. "Because it feels like you think I'm incapable of handling things myself."

"That's not—" Lewis started, but Y/N continued her tirade.

"I'm not some fragile doll, Lewis! I can make my own decisions!"

As she stomped across the room, Y/N's foot caught on something small and sharp. A sudden searing pain shot through her foot, causing her to yelp and stumble back.

"Ow!" she cried, hopping on one leg.

She glanced down, expecting a scrape or a bruise. But a crimson stain was blooming on her white sock, spreading rapidly.

"You're bleeding," Lewis said, his voice rising up with concern.

Y/N's stomach lurched. She hated blood, always had. And the sight of it, even a small amount, made her vision swim. A wave of nausea washing over her.

"No," she mumbled, her voice weak. "It's nothing, just a… cut."

The tremor in her voice and the way she swayed as she took another step betrayed her words. Lewis saw the white creeping into her face and scooped her up before she could fall.

"Easy there," he murmured, carrying her bridal style towards the kitchen.

Y/N clung to him weakly. Shame pricking her. She didn't want to break down, not in front of him, and certainly not because of blood.

"Put me down," she mumbled, trying to push away from him.

"Not until I take a look at this" Lewis said firmly, but his voice was gentle.

He settled her onto the island, grabbing a dish towel and a bottle of disinfectant.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as Lewis removed her sock. Her breath hitched as she saw the extent of the wound. It wasn't just a paper cut - it was a pretty nasty gash from a tack, and she was still bleeding.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back stubbornly. This was stupid, getting hurt like this in the middle of an argument. It made her look like a kid.

Lewis, thankfully, didn't seem to think so. His touch firm, reassuring even, as he cleaned up what he could before realizing it probably needed stitching.

He looked at her, his gaze soft and his hands gripping her cold fingers "Babe, I think you might need to go for a stitch”.

Y/N finally allowed the tears to fall, a single sob escaping her lips. Shame battled with relief in her chest.

"Hey," Lewis said, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay. It’s just a cut, probably won’t need more than two stitches"

Y/N buried her face in his chest, the dam breaking. Tears streamed down her face as she let out a choked sob. "It’s just...this is the worst timing to need someone to save me" she mumbled into his shirt.

Lewis chuckled softly. "You didn't need saving, love. You just stepped on a tack. But that doesn't mean I can't be there for you when you need me, even when we’re not seeing eye to eye."

He held her close, his warmth comforting as he put some clean fabric across her foot for a makeshift bandage. “C’mom, now let’s get you to the E.R.”

"Thank you" she whispered; her voice still small from the sight of blood and a bit of hurt pride.

Lewis kissed the top of her head. "Always babe"

______________________________________________________________

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[doctorbunny]

MILGRAM Hallucination Booklet Translation pt.1 (Yamanaka and DECO*27 Interview)

Context: This interview was from a booklet handed out at the MILGRAM Hallucination live show on the 21st January 2024 (if you want a copy you can buy it here) This translation was made possible by the generosity of @maxpawb sharing images of his booklet with me This translation is mostly my own, but @maristelina helped me with some sections. Now without further ado:

Q.01 Introduce Yourself. I'm Takuya Yamanaka. I'm the creator/planner/screenwriter for MILGRAM. I'm DECO*27. I work as the music producer for MILGRAM. I like Hatsune Miku.

Q.02 What reactions from the guards have been the most surprising so far? Yamanaka: There are a lot of guards that were born overseas, aren't there? Even though it's created with rather Japanese sensibilities, overseas audiences didn't seem to mind at all. Though the countries and sensibilities are different than what I anticipated, votes have become more multifaceted, it's very interesting, isn't it? DECO: To forgive or not forgive the prisoners what do you do, whether it goes as you expected or the result turns out to be quite the opposite, its fascinating. Maybe your nationality affects the kind of criteria you use to make judgements? I've been thinking about something like that.

Q.03 Is there anything you didn't imagine would happen at the start of the trial? Yamanaka: I didn't write it with a large overseas audience in mind, because from the start I wasn't worrying about popularity at all, I simply didn't think I'd be watching over so many guards. Milgram was developed as a more underground project, but it's popularity is a good surprise, isn't it. DECO: There were more people who got into MILGRAM without already caring about my music than I imagined, it was surprising. I feel like MILGRAM has spread further beyond than what I thought it would. I'm very grateful!

Q.04 So far, what's made you the happiest? Yamanaka: Everything. As a creator it brings me great joy to see a work that existed in my mind, take shape and be enjoyed by so many people. Other than that, because I also love the characters I've birthed, seeing all the guards talking about them and sharing their thoughts, both positive and negative, has to be the best feeling. DECO: It makes me happy to see lots of people analysing the meanings I put in my songs! The theories get pretty close to the truth too, I think... the power of all the guards is really cool.

Q.05 So far, what has been the most challenging? Yamanaka: Because I have to change the script in accordance with the audience's decisions, I can't create the entire story in advance. Furthermore, as of the second trial, there aren't only individual character storylines, the prisoner's verdicts begin to emerge and they influence each other. That is to say, I can't start writing until after everyone's results are out. Willingly subjecting myself to doing something this unreasonable, is what I feel is difficult for me. But because DECO*27 is also going through the same hell, we're holding on to some semblance of sanity. DECO: The story changes in accordance to all the guards' choices, and the music has to be written to match. I think this is harder for Yamanaka-P, who writes the script, than it is for me... But though its tough, I feel its really worthwhile, It makes me really happy to be able to communicate with everyone through my songs!

Q.06 Do you have any regrets like "I wish I had done it differently back then!"? Yamanaka: I've thought it over quite carefully, but there's nothing in particular. I think everyone involved in the project is giving it their all and its a really passionate environment. DECO: Nope! I've been able to put all the things I've thought of into my songs.

Q.07 Which prisoners are the easiest to write dialogue/music for? Yamanaka: If I had to pick one, it'd be Fuuta. He's the type of person that's pretty easy to write because his brain never shuts up. Other than him, Yuno and Shidou are relatively academic kids in theory, so they're easy to write because they're very clear when it comes to what they want to convey. [TL note just because its funny, the idiom Yamanaka uses is lit. "There is barking in the inside [of Fuuta's] head] DECO: It went smoothly for all of them!

Q.08 Which prisoners are the most fun to write dialogue/music for? Yamanaka: Muu's lines were the very fun to write~. I'm fascinated by her approach to life and can't help but envy how fun it must be to behave like that. Yuno and Amane are my runners up. I enjoy writing the kinds of characters who plainly state their ideas and speak eloquently. DECO: Mahiru! From the start writing about the relationships between men and women has been what you might call my forte, its enjoyable to make. I feel like this is also why I find Yuno easy to write for.

Q.09 Which prisoners are the hardest to write dialogue/music for? Yamanaka: Overwhelmingly, Haruka's dialogue takes me the longest to write. I have to use the parts of my brain that I wouldn't normally use to figure out how to not just directly convey what he wants to say. DECO: None of them!

Q.10 What's your favourite combination of characters? Yamanaka: Amane and Shidou. They're on completely different wavelengths about everything, and the best part is that there's no getting around it. My second pick might go to Yuno and Muu. They don't get along at all so their fights are never just superficial squabbling. DECO: I always like the interactions between Es and the prisoners. I'm liking how over the course of the voice drama interrogations, Es seems to be gradually coming to understand the prisoner's humanity. Especially Es + Mahiru!

Q.11 Do you want to be friends with any of the prisoners? Yamanaka: Shidou and Kazui. I like the idea of being friends with professional people. I think that people who choose to go into something specialized, its clear they have a kind of resolve and that's charming, isn't it? DECO: Yuno! I feel like she'd be easy to talk to. She seems like she's used to friends who maintain a good distance from each other. [note: while 'good' here can mean a fair amount of distance, in Japanese relationships the concept of boundaries is also built into the idea of distance, so in English you might talk about someone who is a close friend but still has good boundaries, but in Japanese this is someone who has the 'right amount'/ちょうどいい of distance from you, so this could mean Yuno doesn't have any close friends or that Yuno is just a good friend because she isn't going to turn up to your house unexpectedly and eat all the food in your fridge]

Q.12 Do you want to date any of the prisoners? Yamanaka: I love all of my characters a lot, but, well... how should I say it... I don't think I would date any of them. [TL note: I had to shift the wording to be more natural in English but the Japanese Q is more like 'which prisoner would you want to be your boy/girlfriend?' curse english for not having an exact equivalent to koibito, so Yamanaka's answer is more like 'I think would break up with all of them' its a nominal difference but my friend said to mention it bc its funny] DECO: I'm sorry.

Q.13 What's your favourite line/phrase? Yamanaka:

[Scene from Muu's first voice drama Crying B, TL taken from MILGRAMMER]

Es: Judging from your facial features, are you what they call “half-Japanese”? [lit. haafu/Half] Muu: Yeah… I’m biracial. [lit. daburu/Double]

It would have to be that wouldn't it? I got goosebumps when I wrote it it. DECO:

"It's not my fault"

I think that single phrase was able to represent Muu's character really well, if I do say so myself.

Q.14 Are there any prisoners that you think its good they're in MILGRAM? Yamanaka: All of them. Without these 10 people, this Milgram would be a complete failure. DECO: Without these 10 people, MILGRAM wouldn't exist!

Q.15 Is there anything the guards aren't aware of yet? Yamanaka: Of course, there may be some minor details, but I don't think there are any major points missing. The mysteries have already disseminated, I feel the full picture will be clearly revealed if the theories and wild speculations, which have been shared around the world, come together. As expected. DECO: There are! I hope you look forward to the gimmicks I wanted to put in my songs that will come out in the third trial!

Q.16 Is there anything you haven't been able to do up to now, but you want to try doing after this? Yamanaka: I want to do a stageplay. Every performance would be a different story set in Milgram. If anyone reading this is involved with stage productions, please contact me. [I can't find it now but I swear a while ago Yamanaka tweeted something similar like "I'm interested in doing stage adaptations of Caligula Effect or MILGRAM, if anyone is involved with stage production please contact me" I hope he does it, a MILGRAM stage play would be awesome] DECO: Fortunately, I'm already doing everything I want to do! Writing the trial 3 songs couldn't be more fun.

Q.17 Represent "MILGRAM" in one word. Yamanaka: 『人』 "People" DECO: 『噓』 "Lies" [This one is both simple and interesting so as a preview I'll share how akka and DMYM answered] akka: 『幻』 "Illusions" DMYM: 『信』 "Faith"

Q.18 Give a brief comment about the future of "MILGRAM". Yamanaka: There have already been plot developments that I personally wish I didn't have to write. The guards have all chosen a very intense path. It's frightening. I've also been ready to obey these choices since the start of MILGRAM, so I think we all should enjoy this story that can only be told once together. DECO: I've already started writing the prisoner's songs. It's hell. Please prepare yourselves. Q.19 A message for the guards. Yamanaka: Thank you for always looking after the prisoners. Milgram is a work that involves the participation of everyone, including yourself. The thoughts you had, the actions you took, the joy, and resentment you felt towards this prison, all this became a part of Milgram too. I would like you all to please live healthily in your realities alongside Milgram. DECO: Thank you for your hard work as guards. Although MILGRAM is full of troublemakers, we would be grateful if you could continue to watch over us for a long time to come. We will do our best to meet your expectations.

[A link to part 2 will be posted here when its ready]

(Japanese transcript under the cut)

Q.01 自己紹介を。 山中拓也です。 ミルグラムでは企画・原作・脚本をしています。 DECO*27です。 MILGRAMのサウンドプロデューサーを務めています。 初音ミクが好きです。

Q.02 これまでの看守たちからの反応で驚いたことは？ Yamanaka: 海外にもたくさんの看守が生まれるていったことですね。とっても日本的な感性で創っているので、海外ウケとかきにしていませんでした。やはり国が違うと感性も違うものだと思うので、より多面的な投票がされて、とても面白いですね。 DECO: 囚人が赦すor 赦さないのどっちになるか、と自分で予想していたりもしたのですが、結構それが逆の結果になっていることがあって興味深ったです。もしかして国民性で判断基準が違ってくるのかな？とか考えたりしました。

Q.03 審判開始時点では思い描いていなかったことはあるか？ Yamanaka: 海外ウケ気にしたことないと書きましたが、そもそもウケ自体あまり気にしていなかったので、シンプルにこんなにたくさんの看守の方に見守っていただけるコンテンツになるとは思っていませんでした。もっと、アンダーグラウンドで展開するつもりだったんですが、嬉しい悲鳴ですね。 DECO: 想像以上にDECO*27を知らない方にもMILGRAMを観てもらえたことに驚きました。自分の思っていた以上にMILGRAMが広がったなと感じています。ありがとうございます！

Q.04 これまでで一番嬉しかったことは？ Yamanaka: 全部です。自分の脳内にしかなかった作品が、形になり、たくさんの人に楽しんでもらえること自体がクリエイターとしては大きな喜ぶです。あとはやはり僕は自分が産んだ登場人物のことが大好きなので、プラスでもマイナスでも看守の皆様が彼らについて語って、想いをぶつけてくれいることが最高に嬉しいです。 DECO: たくさんの方に自分が音楽に込めた意味考察してもらえた嬉しいです！かなり正解に近い考察もあって、看守の皆さんのパワーすごいな…と思っています。

Q.05 これまでで一番大変だったことは？ Yamanaka: ユーザーの選択によって、シナリオを変更をするので、あらかじめ制作することができないということです。しかも二審からは個人のストーリーラインだけでなく、他の囚人の結果による影響も出てくる。ということは全員の結果出てからじゃないと制作できないということです。そんな無茶を勝手に自分でやりはじめて、勝手に自分で大変な思いをしています。同じ地獄をDECO27も味わっているので、なんとか正気を保っています。 DECO: 看守の皆さんの選択に応じてストーリー変化し、それに合うように音楽を書くことです。これは僕よりもシナリオを書く山中Pのほうが大変だろうな…と思いますが…大変ではありますがとてもやりがいをかんじていますし、曲を通じて皆さんとコミュニケーションが取れていることが嬉しいです！

Q.06　「今思えばやっておけばよかった！」のような後悔はあるか？ Yamanaka: よくよく考えてみたんですが、特に無いです。制作に関わる全員がベストを尽くしてくれているとてもアツい現場だと思います。 DECO: ないです！思いついたことはすべて楽曲で出力できています。

Q.07 シナリオや音楽の制作がスムーズな囚人は？ Yamanaka: 一人あげるとすればフータでしょうか。頭の中でわんわん言ってるので、かなり書きやすいタイプです。あとはユノや、シドウあたりの比較的理論的で偏差値高めな子たちは何が伝えたいかが明確なので書きやすいです。 DECO: みんなすんなりでした！

Q.08 シナリオや音楽の制作が一番楽しい囚人は？ Yamanaka: セリフを書いていて一番楽しいのはムウですかねぇ~。こんなふうにふるまえたち人生楽しいだろうという憧れすあります。次点でユノやアマネでしょうか。思想がはっきりしてて、弁の立つタイプは書くのが楽しいです。 DECO: マヒルです！自分が元々男女間の関係性を描くのが得意ということもあって、楽しく制作しています。そういった意味ではユノも書きやすいなと感じます。

Q.09 シナリオや音楽の制作に苦労する囚人は？ Yamanaka: 圧倒的にセリフを書くのに時間がかかるのはハルカです。彼が伝えたいことを、伝わらないようにする調整に普段は使わない脳を使います。 DECO: いないです！

Q.10 お気に入りの組み合わせはあるか？ Yamanaka: アマネとシドウ。すべての要素が噛み合わなさすぎて、どうしようもないところが良いです。次点でユノとムウかもです。表面的なケンカにならないだけでかなり気が合わないので。 DECO: エス対囚人の絡みは須く好きです。ボイスドラマの尋問によって段々とエスが囚人の人間性を掴んでいく様が気に入っています。特にエス＋マヒル！

Q.11 囚人を友達にするなら誰か？ Yamanaka: シドウとカズイ。友達にいてほしい職業の人たちです。なにかのスペシャリストを選択する人たちというのは、何かしらの覚悟が決まっている人だと思うのでそれだけで魅力的ですね。 DECO: ユノです！話していて気楽そうだなと感じます。お互い良い距離感を保てる友達になれそう。

Q.12 囚人を恋人にするなら誰か？ Yamanaka: 僕は登場人物のことを全員最高に愛してますが、まぁ、なんというか、全員やめとこうと思います。 DECO: ごめんなさい。

Q.13 お気に入りのセルフやフレーズは？ Yamanaka: 「その顔立ち、ハーフというやつか？」「うん...…ダブル」ですね。書いてて鳥肌でした。 DECO: 「悪くないもん」 1フレーズでムウのキャラクターを上手に表現できたなと我ながら思っています。

Q.14 ミルグラムにいてくれてよかった、と思う囚人は？ Yamanaka: 全員です。この10人でなければ、このミルグラムになっていないので。 DECO: MILGRAMはこの10人がいなければ成立しません！

Q.15 看守たちにまだ感づかれていないことはあるか？ Yamanaka: もちろん、些末な部分はあるかと思いますが、大きいところだとないんじゃないですかねぇ。既に問題はバラまいたし、世界中に発信された考察や妄想を組み合わせたらきっちり全貌が明らかになる気がします。さすがです。 DECO: あります！第三審で僕が楽曲を通じてやりたかったギミックが出てくるので楽しみにしていてください！

Q.16 今できていないが、今後やってみたいことはあるか？ Yamanaka: 舞台がやりたいです。毎公演、コンセプトの異なるミルグラムで行われる舞台。舞台制作に関わる方が、読んでおられましたら是非山中まで。 DECO: 有り難いことに、やりたいことは全部やれています！第三審の曲を書くのが楽しくてしょうがないです。

Q.17 「ミルグラム」を一文字で表せ。 Yamanaka: 『人』 DECO: 『噓』

Q.18 今後の「ミルグラム」について一言。 Yamanaka: 既に僕が個人的には書かないでいたかった展開が確定しています。看守の皆さんなかなか強烈な道筋を選びました。恐ろしい。自分もその選択に従う覚悟をしてミルグラムをスタートしているので、一度きりの物語を皆さんと一緒に楽しもうと思います。 DECO: 既に楽曲を書き始めている囚人もいます。地獄です。覚悟しててください。

Q.19 看守たちへメッセージを。 Yamanaka: いつも囚人たちのことを世話してくださってありがとうございます。ミルグラムとは、参加する皆さん自身を含めてミルグラムという作品です。この監獄に対して感じた思い、起こした行動、喜び、 憤り 、それらすべてが作品の一部になります。是非ミルグラムと共にある皆さんの現実を健やかに生きてくださいませ。 DECO: いつも看守としてのお勤めご苦労さまです。曲者ばかりのMILGRAMですが、これからも末永く見守っていただけると幸いです。期待に応えられるよう、尽力してまいります。

[syrma-sensei]

→ Somewhere In Your Heart, Ch.1: Tenderly

gif credit.

pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!reader.

rating: explicit.

setting: pre-canon; in the early 80s.

warnings/tags: angst, smut, sexual abuse (not Soldier Boy), Ben's foul mouth, unhealthy coping mechanisms, misogyny, racism, power imbalance, antiquated mentality...

summary: soldier boy lives through the ennui of his peak, but everything is about to change when he has a shift in his heart.

Soldier Boy's taglist: @thebiggerbear, @zepskies, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deansbbyx, @deans-spinster-witch

@venus-haze, @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @ketchupjasmin...

Soldier Boy rolls his eyes at Legend, “No, ain't doing another stupid song. Let Noir do that shit, the kid's been so fucking eager to see his star shine.”

“It wasn't that bad, people loved it. Your fans loved it, and they want more from you,” Legend tries to reason, “Plus, can't win a Grammy award for best record of the year if it sucks. Moreover, it's pretty popular among the young folks.”

The supe sneers, taking a gulp from his drink, he relishes in the burning in his throat even if it's momentarily, “The young folks can suck on my balls. Honestly, the fuck went wrong with young men these days, huh?” He clicks his tongue, “Christ, it is true; good times do create weak, sappy men.” His head jerks to the side sardonically, “Bunch of pussies seeking some women's attention with shitty songs and snivelling lyrics. Chicks don't want no men like that.”

“Yeah well,” Legend shakes his head, a sly grin on his face, “The world's changing, Soldier Boy, if you don't keep up with it, you might end up outdated, just saying.”

Soldier Boy raises a conceited eyebrow, “I'm America's son, hero of all heroes, an actual fucking legend; people practically worship the ground I walk on. In what fucked up sense would that seem to you outdated anytime soon?”

“Time is a tricky thing,” Legend answers with a sigh, “But only for us I presume. I mean look at ya, your sixty-fourth birthday was last month and you don't look a day past thirty. Some lucky bastard you are.”

Soldier Boy grins smugly, placing his glass on the coffee table in front of him where they sat in the living room of his personal quarters in Vought America tower.

Legend decides not to take the time topic any further, because he knows better, such discussions with the strongest supe ever lived are futile and meaningless. Furthermore, he doesn't want to poke Soldier Boy's massive ego, the latter isn't infamous for his temper for nothing. Legend is back to ground zero. So, he tries another way.

“You'll be doing it, though. It's your next mission.” The playful tone from Legend's voice vanishes, a more professional, assertive one replaces it, “It's nothing you can't do. Think of the gals who'll cream their panties when they hear your voice singing their favourite hit.”

Soldier Boy’s lips flip pensively, “Tempting. But still no.”

“Can arrange a collab with whoever female singer you want.” Legend tries again.

“Can ya pair me up with Monroe?” Soldier Boy gives his manager a shit-eating smile.

“For fuck's sake, Soldier Boy,” Legend says with a frown. The little shit, greatest superhero or whatever else, can honestly be a huge pain in his ass. “Be serious.”

“Oh, I'm dead serious,” Soldier Boy grumbles, “Can you do it or not?”

“She died thirty years ago for Christ's sake, of course I can't pair you up with her.”

“Then the answer's still no. I'd rather spend time rubbing one out at Pauline from Donkey Kong than contributing to entertaining a pansy dogshit audience.”

Fuck you. Legend really wants to spit it out loud but he carefully curbs himself. He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Can't help but notice that making my work harder everyday is your new favourite sport, isn't it?”

“C'mon, don't be such a wuss,” Soldier Boy drawls, “Where would be the fun of an easy job? I'm doin' ya a favour; making you truly earn each penny you get paid. It's something we used to call 'hard work' back in my days.”

“Hard work can kiss my ass in that case,” Legend says humorously, shaking his head. Soldier Boy shares an amused chuckle with him.

“Seriously though—”

“Noir's cut out for that shit, not me. He'll be thrilled to do it.” Soldier Boy smirks wickedly as he interrupts him. The kid may not be funny. Fuck, he ain't, and that's precisely why he didn't get Axel Foley at Beverly Hills Cop — but it'd be hilarious to watch him fail in singing. Even if he didn't, nobody can beat Soldier Boy's performing talents.

Before Legend can answer he proceeds, “And tell him while you're at it that he has me to thank for giving him a window like that. He may as well make it fucking count. Make sure he does.” Legend shakes his head.

Soldier Boy and Legend continue to discuss business for another half an hour. Among the offers though; Nintendo wants to make a video game about Soldier Boy.

“For fuck's sake, do those Nips have any dignity?” Soldier Boy jeers.

“Well, it's all about business nowadays.” Legend says. “Arcade games have a large foot in the market, y'know. And, we're hiring many Japanese developers into our new entertainment department. So, I friendly remind you to tune down your slurs.”

Soldier Boy scoffs again. “I’ll see about that…”

When the talk is done, Soldier Boy dismisses the Director of Superhero Management of Vought.

“See ya at the wedding.” Legend says before he steps out of Soldier Boy's quarters.

“Hope fucking not.” The supe murmurs, taking the last gulp of his drink.

This evening Soldier Boy is to attend Dr. Jonah Vogelbaum's daughter's wedding as the guest of honour. The bride is a huge fan of his; her father has personally invited him to the wedding. What more honour can one get than having the greatest superhero ever lived as a guest at their wedding?

Soldier Boy heads to his dressing room to choose a formal outfit for the occasion. He's not going to wear his supe gear even though Vogelbaum made it very clear that he should. But Soldier Boy takes no shit from a nobody, and who the fuck Vogelbaum thinks he is to tell him what to do? Plus, that attire is for business, and him going to that wedding is a mere pursuit for pleasure. He isn't on some mission tonight but to find a good fuck for himself. Women, nonetheless, would throw themselves at his feet regardless of what he puts on. However, fancy tailored suits and bowties seem to pull women more effectively into his charm. When he clads in his supe suit, he's more intimidating; a god walking among men. Women would sigh at his sight and eye-fuck him, but beneath the layers of infatuation, he can perceive the lick of fear in their eyes. Like he's an invincible idol that cannot be touched by lesser hands. Not that he doesn't fucking relish in having such an impact, but he still prefers to pluck a catch in such occasions. Some nice chick who's eager to warm his bed in fearless vigour, some girl who can actually handle his raw strength and superhuman stamina. Especially when Countess won't be up his ass sulking like the bitch she is whenever he pays another woman his attention.

His relationship with Countess is nothing but for show. Pure business. Vought thought they looked good together and had an appealing chemistry in the public eye. Power couple and that shit. But in fact, Soldier Boy has no ounce of romantic feelings for her. Sure, they fuck around every now and then, but nothing more to add to it.

When he's fully dressed and spruced up he looks at himself in the full-length mirror and nods in approval. He'll definitely make the ladies' panties drop tonight.

Soldier Boy arranges a few lines of coke for himself on the coffee table. It'll help him  handle all of the cock-sucking kiss asses he's going to interact with tonight.

God fucking damn.

It takes the mightiest of his steel aplomb not to roll his eyes or hiss a curse. The moment he arrives at the wedding in the swanky hotel, he has everyone's attention all to himself. Guests swarming around him with hearts in their eyes, already forgetting about the wedding. Happy shrieks emit from the gals, and full admiration in the eyes of pals.

Ben puts on an expertly-feigned and charming smirk as he nods his head and shakes hands.

“Oh my Gosh, it's really him!”

A pretty woman in a dashing white dress wobbles down in his direction. The fucking bride. Soldier Boy's grin couldn't get any wider. The girl practically left her fucking husband standing with his groomsmen and came marching to him. Something huge and satisfying sprouts in the depths of his chest when he sees the young man briefly stink-eye in his way.

“If it ain't the queen of the show,” He drawls with a stentorian voice and a conceited raise of his brow. The bride holds a breath, her companion bimbos of bridesmaids sighing dreamily, “Well, congrats on tying the knot, darlin',” Large hand taking the bride's gloved one as he leans down to press a light kiss on her knuckles, and the girls squeal.

“Thank you, sir,” The corner of Soldier Boy's lips curls up into a half grin as he hears the groom's curbed voice, “A huge pleasure for us having the greatest man alive honouring our wedding,”

The man extends his hand out for a shake and Soldier Boy doesn't disappoint. “What can I say, Sonia is one of my best girls,” He sends a playful wink to the bride, and her groom's face rises in colour. However, she giggles timidly with blushing cheeks, and covers her mouth slightly.

“Thank you again, sir, for coming,” Sonia chirps, “Means a lot to us… to me, right, darling?”

Her new husband answers with tight lips, “Yeah, of course, please enjoy your time here, sir.”

Sure hell I'll do.

After signing some autographs, which mostly came from the bridesmaids on this special occasion, Soldier Boy lets out an elongated sigh before plucking a flûte of champagne from a server wandering around with a full tray of pleasantries. With the first sip invading his strong taste buds, he regrets it instantly. That shit is extra fruity with enhanced floral notes, it made his face controt in disgust.

“You're late,” The Doc's voice comes curt when he appears next to him, eyeing him disapprovingly. His unpleasing presence made the twitch of his face worse. The little shit. He should be kissing his ass and thanking him for wasting his time on this crap. Soldier Boy should hand it to him, though, he's got some balls. He scoffs. Ever since Vogelbaum gained Stan Edgar's infinite corroboration and support, he's become insufferable. And perhaps sometimes looming dangerously close to make Soldier Boy's hackles rise.

Ben grins indifferently at him, “Had a tight schedule,” Be glad I'm here you ungrateful old fuck.

Vogelbaum stretches his lips and nods, “You have my thanks anywho,” He grumbles, “Though I strictly told you to honour us with your presence in your suit.”

“Yeah, you did,” Soldier Boy replies with a shit-eating grin, “But wasn't in me to steal the light away from your breathtaking helluva daughter,” He patted the doctor's shoulder, “Cheer the hell up, Doc, it's your daughter's wedding and you have the greatest man ever lived as your guest!”

Ben can't endure another second of this man's company. He hands him the flûte and threads his way to the bar to order a drink. A real fucking drink. He sights a vacant stool next to a pretty woman who seems to be without company. He grins to himself when he catches a better angle of her. She is a beauty. Maybe she's the lucky one tonight. He smoothes his suit jacket and adjusts his bowtie before sliding nimbly on the stool.

He orders a strong liquor from the bartender and the beauty next to him cooes, “Make it two, please.”

He turns his head to her with an arched eyebrow, because fuck does he appreciate a woman who's not a lightweight, “Tough night?”

Her painted mouth curls up into an inveigling smile, “Should I ask you the same question?”

Brave. Tempting. He loves brave. Whereas most women are intimidated by him, this one here though, she looks unfazed. He likes it. He wonders what she's gonna sound when he's balls deep inside of her. Timid, brave, strong, weak, they all sound the same in his bed when he touches the magic button. One thing he was certain of was she'd sound pretty in her throes of pleasure.

He gives her figure a quick scan; she isn't one of bridesmaids that's for sure. She's wearing a forest green dress. Her skin is glowing beneath the velvet, and a pleasant fragrance emitting from her body. Her neck and ears are adorned with gold and rubies. She looks hazily beautiful.

“Groom's or bride's?” He asks when their drinks are served.

She flashes him a grin with those tempting lips, “Why wouldn't you hazard a guess like when you do on a minefield?” She winks, taking a gulp of her drink.

Interesting, he raises an amused brow. At least she ain't playing easy. He has to give her that; she's making his night way more entertaining. He likes to play prey and predator let alone when she's practically inviting him to do so.

A playful grin graces his lips, replying, “Can't risk bursting a pretty lady like you tho, can I?”

She lets out a small laugh, “God forbid, what kinda superhero would you be then?” His eyebrows knit together slightly as he watches her grabbing her purse and preparing herself to leave.

“It was nice bumping into you, sir,” She remarks, “But you'll have to excuse me…”

“Sure, sweet cheeks…”

She nods as she moves away with such grace and swiftness. Ben doesn't realise he was holding his breath until it clicks within him. Fuck, he forgot to ask her her name. But nothing to worry about, he catches her entering the powder room. In moments, he'll go after her and take this rather interesting conversation somewhere else.

He waits though. For more than fifteen minutes. Vogelbaum makes his way on the stage to raise a toast to his daughter and her groom, and he doesn't forget to give Ben a word of gratitude for being here. People cheer and applaud when the lights shine upon him, and he smiles and nods at them. On another occasion, he'd enjoy this to the fullest. His mind, however, is occupied by finding a pretty seductress. Can it be that she left? No, he doesn't think so. Fuck, if only he could distinguish her voice out of the many nattering and yapping voices despite his superhuman hearing. He considers asking Vogelbaum about her later. Maybe the man would be useful to him for once. But he will not have to, though.

The lights of the hall ebb away, save for the ones above the music stage.

A wide grin slips into his lips when he sees her behind the microphone, and their eyes lock for a moment. She gives him a teasing wink.

The little minx, he thinks.

Tender music emanates from the piano and she starts to sing with a silky voice.

The evening breeze caressed the trees tenderly

Damn, he likes that song. And her voice couldn't be more on brand for it!

The trembling trees embraced the breeze tenderly

He feels the said breeze of her cooes and it makes him shiver.

Then you and I came wandering by

And lost in a sigh were we

Ben conjures a vivid image of her sighs of pleasure.

The shore was kissed by sea and mist tenderly

She's the shore, and his mouth is the sea.

I can’t forget how two hearts met breathlessly

Your arms opened wide

And closed me inside

You took my lips

You took my love

So tenderly

A loud applause erupted from the guests when she finished, and Ben found himself amongst the riveted clappers.

God fucking damn.

Ben knows a lot of singers, hell, he works with them sometimes. But never has he ever heard such a mellifluous voice like this one! How come he hasn't known of her before? A new face, he guesses. He wonders if Legend knows her.

Ben stops clapping as his conversation with Legend that afternoon flashes through his mind. That's it.

Shortly after the wedding, Ben heads back to his quarters in Vought's tower, impatiently dialling Legend's number.

“That sappy song you wanted me to do—” He says right away.

“Well, good evening to you too,” Legend drawls from the other end, “As happy as I am to hear that, Ben, but I'm kinda fucking tired to talk business right now. Despite my marvellous traits, I'm still a human.”

“I'll do it.”

Soldier Boy could hear Legend switching the handset of the telephone to the other hand. And before the latter says anything he proceeds.

“Only on one condition...”

[harunayuuka2060]

Silver: *has been cursed to forget the person he loves the most*

Silver: *feels uneasy about it*

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Hara mou.

Silver: Yes, Agapi mou?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *subtly frowns*

Silver: Agapi mou?

Yuurin: I see that I have worried myself over nothing.

Silver: Huh? What do you mean-

Silver: *sudden realization*

Silver: Agapi mou! You're the person that I love the most!

Yuurin: Is that so? How come you still remember me so well?

Silver: ...

Silver: Agapi mou... I don't know either, but I promise I'm telling the truth.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I know. The curse is not real. You can rest easy now.

Silver: ...

Silver: Then why did you react that way?

Yuurin: I was just checking since it's been years since you told me you loved me.

Silver: ...

Silver: *couldn't help but pout*

Yuurin: *smiles in satisfaction*

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I’m like 90% sure I’m a lesbian but I keep worrying what if I’m super secretly actually attracted to men I’m just like. Broken 💀

Honestly though

I don’t want to turn out to like men?

I mean

I wish I liked them because I haven’t gotten over the struggle of realizing I don’t (realizing I like women was relatively easy, realizing I don’t like men is harder) BUT

if I do like them I think that would honestly suck

because the way I feel about men in that context is a way I don’t think I should feel if I were attracted to them

like if I become really really deeply uncomfortable and disturbed when a man shows romantic interest in me and I’m honestly grossed out by a lot of their body parts…realizing I’m attracted to them would kinda suck and I feel like invalidate my lived experience??? because if I do like them then I have no explanation for those feelings (genuinely there isn’t a reason I can think of)

If it turns out I do like them then I have these really weird feelings about them that don’t make sense and no label for me

hi anon,

hey. come in. have a seat. let's take a deep breath, okay?

what I'm hearing right now is a tremendous amount of anxiety over a problem that, in the politest way possible, it sounds like you've kind of invented for yourself.

you also seem to be operating on the idea that being attracted to any man, ever, would somehow reflect poorly on you, which isn't true at all. a person's sense of sexuality and attraction says almost nothing about them, and it certainly doesn't invalidate any other part of their life or require an explanation.

even if you were to experience an attraction to a man someday, what's the actual worst case scenario? if that wasn't something you wanted to act on or otherwise make room for you in your life, you wouldn't have to. no one could make you have sex with him, or enter a relationship with him, or even admit that you were attracted to him in the first place. every single day, countless people of every gender and sexual orientation imaginable experience fleeting attractions that they'll never act on to people they'll never see again. it's profoundly not that seriously.

attraction is involuntary; there's nothing helpful to be done in stressing about something you might hypothetically feel someday about someone. but what you do with attraction is entirely up to you, so rest assured in the knowledge that if you ever do have a feeling about a man you can simply do nothing about it and continue having a perfectly lovely life.

also, hey, gentle reminder: there are no body parts some men have that some women don't also have, and not all men are working with the same parts, either.

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ looking in a mirror, riptide (op81)

last installment / series masterlist

mark and sebastian have vastly different ideas for how the strategy should go for bahrain. oscar has a mini victory, daisy struggles to adjust from f2 and people learn her politeness is more of a facade than anything.

warnings/notes: hate comments, no injury accidents, lance stroll being bitchy, this took so long to get out i apologize. i changed yns faceclaim to cecilia chancez

Mark and Sebastian had been behaving for the most part. Porsche was using them as trainers alongside the rest of their staff, and so far it had been smooth sailing. Mark was good at keeping to a regimented plan, keeping both drivers with strict meal plans, workout schedules, and media duties, while Sebastian did more of the experimental work. The car had come along beautifully, the uniforms were gorgeous, and everything was sleek and ready to go.

And then it came to team strategy.

It was a bit of a bicker point for the two retired drivers, and while it was clear you had a big strength with overtaking while Oscar had a bigger strength on defense, it was often bickered about who should do what.

The plan for Bahrain, excluding all the minute details, is mostly for you to lead with Oscar defending you from behind. The two of you are to stick together like a pack, trying not to get seperated. It's clear Mark doesn't want Oscar to get pushed to a second drivers position either, not that the younger Aussie minds it, but knows you have a better chance of shooting ahead with overtaking last moment, so it's a weird balance back and forth for Mark alone. Add Sebastian in and it’s a whole mess.

Arriving in Bahrain, you and Oscar are ushered to the hotel to drop your stuff and then immediately to the paddocks. Its been a mix of dread and excitement for the whole eight hour flight, and Oscar's easy to talk to about it. Hence why you both buckle down in your drivers room, snacking and laying back.

"I still haven't spoken to Rhys about the swap." You admit when Oscar asks, causing him to hum as he leans back against the wall he's sitting against while you stretch against the opposite wall.

"I mean, you haven't really been home. We've practically lived in the garage for weeks." Oscar shrugs, "my sisters are getting real impatient with me not answering them, I imagine with Rhys being just as busy its hard."

"And now he's in a new time zone too. It's so weird." You huff, lowering the bar you've been using to stretch out your shoulders and neck absentmindedly while Oscar rolls his wrists out on one of the small pediatric balls you've been given.

And as deadpan as usual, he says, "It'll come up this weekend, probably. Are you still angry about it?"

You shrug. It's a betrayal, for sure. You'd both promised to always stick together, but here you were... left behind. Like all baby sisters were eventually. On the other hand, you understand his desire to chase what may give him the best chance at a strong future. No other team had offered you a contract, but McLaren wanted Rhys. So it made sense to you.

"Being conflicted is better than just hating him, y'know." Sebastian's voice chimes and you turn to the German who smiles softly, welcoming himself in. Not that you or Oscar will complain.

"I don't hate him, I don't think I can." You shrug, handing Oscar the pipe for his shoulders when he asks for it softly. Sebastian just nods, its not like he's told you that Rhys was chasing money rather than a dream.

"Twenty minutes to media," Mark steps in too, giving Sebastian a soft smile and nod in greeting before turning to you and Oscar, "How are you guys feeling?"

"Fine," Oscar hums, "same old, same old."

"A bit nervous." You admit and Seb leans over to nudge you while Mark gives you a sympathetic smile, but allows your strategist to give you a pep talk while he kneels down to talk with Oscar.

"Ay, it's not nothing you haven't already done." Sebastian leans on the wall near you as you stretch a bit, "Just go slow, and we'll be nearby if you need to like get out of a weird situation."

"Its not weird shit I'm worried about, its Rhys." You huff, leaning to pop your head on Sebastian's shoulder, "you know how he gets, and I don't want media getting any crazy ideas that we like.. hate each other or something."

"Do you hate Rhys?"

"I... I'm fucking pissed and right now, in this moment, I hate him a little bit."

Sebastian nods and wraps an arm around you, shrugging as he says, "You think after everything I did, I didn't hate at least one person in the moment? Hell no, it used to be impossible to put Mark and I in a room together."

Mark laughs at that, but nods.

"But, we got over it. Or, more so, I realized it wasn't his fault and that I was being reckless. But we were young, now we're older and we get it."

Mark chimes in, "Look at Lewis and Nico, they hated each other. But now Lewis buys Nico's girls gifts all the damn time."

"It's a rough patch," Oscar says when your expression looks a little too confused, "they're saying, basically, one day it's something you'll look back at and be able to accept. It's nothing set in stone. You and Rhys are two peas in a pod or whatever, just let what happens, happen. He's still your brother."

“I know it’s just… I dunno.” You groan, burying your face in your hands. There's not much more to say at that point, so Sebastian just gives you a hug and soft reassurances before sending you and Oscar off for media day. Oscar takes your wrist to tug you along, before you both get settled in the media pen, Logan's the first to come up to you.

"Why don't you go see Rhys? He's right over there!" Logan cheerily notes, giving you the biggest all-American smile he can muster.

And when you peek behind Logan, Rhys has amassed a small crowd with his flare. He's smiling, definitely chatting it up with one of the McLaren volunteers or interns and you feel a weird sickness settle in your stomach.

"Uhm. No, I don't think he wants to see me." You say, "I'll just stick with the interviews, I'm not used to this yet so I just wanna be in and out, y'know?"

Logan and Oscar share an odd look but simply let you go off on your own. And for the most part, media is kind to you. You doesn't have to worry about any harsh comments about being a woman, or rude assumptions about your relationship with Rhys after the exchange... or questions about your ex. It's surprising. But, that surprise, you mostly equate to Oscar literally glaring daggers at any reporter who even tries.

The best part of your day, however, is meeting Jenson. He happily brings you off to the side a bit more, laughing as he bids away, "your guard dog, Piastri."

But Oscar smiles and steps closer, humming as he says, "Hey, I don't trust half of these media people."

"Oh, neither do I." Jenson smiles, patting Oscar's arm to show the dismissal was in jest. Cameras capturing you laughing at the two, and answering Jenson's simple questions. It takes maybe twenty minutes, purely because you find Jenson hysterical as you both keep going back and forth. It's Sebastian who comes to get you and Oscar, shooing Jenson away as he shouts,

"You're stealing me and Mark's kids!"

"Oh! Are you two married now?" Jenson doesn't miss a beat, grinning and making everyone in the nearby area start laughing. Sebastian kicks at him jokingly, Jenson sticking his tongue out in jest as he dodges and then bids the Porsche drivers farewell.

The rest of media day passes in a blur, and by the time the last event rolls about, you've got Oscar's face squished against your shoulder as he softly snores. You're about the same distance away from completely falling asleep when Oscar's hand shifts from where it's across his stomach to wrap around you, and you smile, snuggling into the warmth that is your black cat of a teammate.

-

porscheracing

liked by f1, rhyspearce, markwebber, and 569k others...

porscheracing: look like our drivers had a long day!! see you tomorrow for our first ever quali!

oscarpiastri: in my defense I was tired ?

landonorris: i told you for two years naps rock, and now that we arent teammates you finally nap??

msdaisypearce: im a comfier pillow <3

landonorris: BETRAYAL OF THE HIGHEST ORDER.

rhyspearce: good luck!

msdaisypearce: the tik tok doom scroll rlly got to us

user1: ok seriously. they are dating.

-

Qualifying went... alright. Oscar ending in P7, with you, even after penalties from other drivers, ending up in P18. Rhys ending up P9.

You try not to let the side eyes and sneered comments over the low placement get to you, but its hard when its just about every damn male reporter. Lissie and Jenson are by the far the only saving graces you find in the absolute shit show that is the post Qualifying interviews, and then you tuck yourself into a corner in the back of your drivers room to hide from the world for a moment--headphones on and blasting something as you keep your head leaned against the wall.

Three knocks rumbling the wall cause you to open your eyes, Sebastian sitting down next to you. He taps his ears and you oblige, sliding the headphones off and pausing the music.

"You had a great drive today, you know that, right?" He hums and you shrug, "c'mon. Don't let the media get to you, it's your first race. A lot of drivers flunk their first race. You're new to the car and everything, just be a bit easier on yourself, okay?"

"I hold more than just my own successes on my shoulders, Seb. I hold the door for every other girl after me. Doriane, Chloe, Amna and Hamda, Maya, Bianca, Abbi-- you get it." You huff. Having come from F1 Academy, you'd spoken to Susie on countless occasions about how she felt like she'd closed the door. Never scoring points, never getting a podium. She made the academy to open it again, and you were the test subject of all of her hard work.

Hooray.

"If I fuck this up, how can any of them get here too?" you try to bite back the btter tone in your voice. It's not Sebastian's fault this all sucks, but hes the only person close enough to take your anger out on, and you grunt, "and Rhys isn't even here."

Sebastian just leans back against the wall a bit more for a few moments before he asks, "but would having Rhys here help?"

You pause, looking up at Sebastian as he watches your vacant expression, watching the way you slowly sink down and shake your head, "I think he would honestly make me feel worse. He's always been the better driver of us. People are gonna compare us a lot as is, but if we were on the same team I think it would be a lot worse."

Sebastian just nods slowly, then stands, offering you his hand so you can get up. He peels you off the floor, bringing you back out now to the much quieter garage. There's a few engineers walking around, and Sebastian brings you up to the monitors and sits you down.

"Look at your statistics." He says, pointing at the screen, then glancing over his shoulder as Mark approaches and leans on a nearby wall, and Sebastian continues, "your marks, overall, are almost just as high as Oscars are. See? In training, you guys are neck and neck. I honestly think you were just in your head about it today, tomorrow you're gonna have the track nailed down, and know how the cars gonna handle, it hopefully it'll be easier for you."

Mark turns to leave then, giving a curt nod in goodbye. You notice the odd bristling along Sebastian's shoulders, but make an effort not to mention it. Not worth digging into years worth of drama this late on a race night.

"Just..." Sebastian sighs when he can tell you arent' fully convinced, "Go out there tomorrow, try your best. There's no real... real danger if you do terribly. Media can say whatever, but what matters most is here in this garage, right?"

"Sure." You sigh, "sure. Thanks, Seb."

"Don't mention it, Dais. Go get some sleep." He smiles, punching your shoulder as he stands, turning to the offices to go collect his items. You get up, moving to the hall where the drivers rooms are and pause. Mark murmurs something to Oscar with crossed arms, and you'd feel rude to interrupt or accidentally eavesdrop. But when Oscar's eyes meet yours, you can't deny the flame of competitiveness you see in them.

Oh boy. Here we go.

-

It's hot. Abnormally hot for Bahrain at night in March, settling around 32 degrees celsius. It's set to drop quickly to somewhere around 15, but you're burning up as you start the race. Hands stay firm on the wheel, your eyes firm on the Alpine ahead of you.

Your engineer, Jovanni, is softly speaking in your ear as you cruise around the first few passes, getting you firmly into P16 within the first five or so laps. You squeeze around Lance, getting some sort of near miss as you force him out of the way in the turn, and confirm your spot ahead of him.

"Keep pushing, you're doing amazing so far." Jovanni says, "uh... adjustment up for rotary, everything else seems good."

"Copy." you take a sip of water, adjusting the rotary in the straight as you come up alongside Alonso. Which is... such a weird feeling when you grew up watching him win as a kid. As you get level with his back wheels with your front, you go around the turn and are forced wide. It knocks you back behind him but you hum, speeding up to take the inside line in the next turn.

You almost make contact, but luckily he eases off to the wide and you manage to get in front of him. A soft laugh leaving your throat as you happily grin at the feeling. It's weird to pass a childhood hero, but you grip your hands tighter on the steering wheel as you press forward.

"Great overtake, keep pace." Jovanni says and you affirm his statement, pushing forward to where Checo's fallen back due to car issues in the first few laps. Glancing ahead in the crowded turn, you see Oscar overtake someone beautifully, and then you maneuver your way to the outside of the curve to try and overtake Checo.

And shit.

"Contact with Perez." You curse as his rear tires hit yours, "not sure of damage."

"Still on the track?"

"Yessir." You push ahead, but Checo blocks you. So, its a comfy P14 for now.

"Copy, box this lap."

You continue driving, keeping yourself firmly behind Checo until it becomes apparent someone is riding your ass a bit too close. Glancing in your rearviews you can see an Aston Martin, but you aren't sure which one. Pressing to keep the racing line as best you can, you force your way closer to Checo until there's a sudden slow. Cursing, you break and weave out of the way of whacking into the back of the Red Bull in front of you, but not of the Aston behind you.

The driver hits you and nails you into the gravel, causing you to spin out. It takes you a moment to recover, but quickly you push yourself back onto the track.

"Whichever Aston hit me needs to be paying better attention, he's being dangerous." You grumble out the complaint, "Definitely have damage."

"Get back in and box, we'll go from there." Jovanni says, but he sounds void of any confidence he might've had prior to this. You let out a string of frustrated curses and continue the drive, not worrying about passing or getting too far up before you have to box. Its a struggle just to keep the car moving at the point, and you can feel dread pooling in your gut. As you pull to the pits, you're disappointed to see Sebastian standing off the pitwall and instead at door of the garage.

"Damage is too extensive to the rear axle, you're going to have to retire the car." Jovanni says softly and you feel your head just fall to hit the steering wheel.

And then you lift your head and slam your hand into the steering wheel, "Motherfucker!"

By the time you're approached by Sebastian, it's been long enough for you to stew in your anger in your drivers room. You'd been taking our your anger on one of the training tennis balls, throwing it at the wall progressively harder until the small green scuff on the wall started to turn into more of a dent. After the last throw, you just batted it down to the ground like a cat and sunk to a ball on the couch in frustrated tears.

"Not yours, but he got a ten second time penalty." Sebastian's voice chimes from the door, you can't even find the strength to look over. He continues, "Oscar had brake issues, ended P10. Honestly, a better start than I was expecting."

Your head perks up at that, narrowing at Sebastian who just shrugs, "two drivers completely new to cars that have never been on the track before, from a brand new team? I expected P20 and P19."

"I had to DNF." You deadpan, "that should count as a shit start."

"Y/n. You got rear-ended because Stroll couldn't keep his eyes focused on one thing at once. It wasn't your fault, it happens." He stays in the doorway, eyes narrow on you, but Sebastian doesn't make a move to come into the room. He can sense you need the space.

When you don't respond he just sighs, "Look. You've got media in twenty. So you have about fifteen minutes to wipe the attitude off, Pearce."

The door clicks shut shortly after and you groan into the air, slowly dragging yourself up. Media. Yay. After ten minutes of pacing to get the last bits of angry energy out, you change into normal team gear and head out to the main bit of the garage to find whichever poor soul from the PR team is going to have to deal with your mood. You get stuck with a just out of highschool girl named Mollie, shes shy and bouncy as you walk, and her excitement rubs off on you a bit.

You ask her a few questions about her work within Porsche and she happily explains how much she adores the media team, and you let her go on and on while you walk because its sweet.

And when you get to the reporters, and she can sense you tense up, she gives a tiny smile.

"Media can be bitches," she murmurs lowly, making you laugh as you wait for the Bahrain reporter to organize his notes, "just give it back to them."

You give her a little fistbump, seeing a friendship forming in front of you, before you start down the wall of reporters. Most are very forgiving of your race result, wishing you better luck for the rest of the season. You make it halfway down, finding yourself in front of Sky News. Jenson is kind, happy to report to you, giving you a hug when you tell him how frustrated you were with your placement. And then you make it to the last ESPN reporter.

He's a lively guy, accent clearly from somewhere in the States. He starts calmly, slowly bringing you in, before you can see the pin is about to drop. Even Mollie sends you a nervous look.

"And, I wanted to avoid bringing it up, but how did you feel after the rear-ending that ended in your retirement from the race?"

You sigh, digging through your head to formulate some sort of classy response, eventually stammering out, "I mean.. it's unfortunate. We all had to slow due to an accident on the track. I tried to swerve out of the way, but Stroll drove into the back of me. He damaged my rear axle enough I had to retire. It's unfortunate but sometimes it happens."

"Yes, it is unfortunate." The reporter nods, looking over to his camera man before saying, "We did speak to Lance about this earlier. And uhm... he said, to quote, 'she's an idiot. You can't just stop in the middle of the race so yeah, I hit her. Maybe she should go back to F1 Academy and learn how to drive, or not have paid for a seat in F1.'"

Your jaw ticks shut. Mollie clears her throat and you glance down as she shows you whatever your PR agent wants you to say and you shake your head at her. She nods softly as you murmur, "no, thats too nice for a dick like Stroll."

Turning back, you lean closer to the mic hissing through your teeth, "Well, for one, Stroll has a lot of room to talk about being a pay driver. He's got a lot of room. And Lance has been driving for how long? He's not a bad driver, never has been particularly awful, but he's got a lot of attitude. I don't need to go anywhere to learn how to drive, and I'll come back next race and show that. Trust me. But what Lance may need to do is hire someone to teach him to not opening his mouth when it should be shut. This isn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last. He wasn't looking, he drove into the back of me, end of story."

The reporter blinks, shocked at the sharpness of your voice as you continue with a rough growl to your tone, "Everyone knows you watch the car in front of you. That's like the cardinal rule of driving. Regardless of if you're on in a road car or on a race track. He put me in danger, and if the accident had been worse, other drivers in danger -- especially with how fast we were going. He should rethink his choices before commenting on my skill and my ability. I got here because I deserve to be here, end of--" you click your tongue to avoid cursing, "end of story."

The reporter just slowly nods, thanking you for your time, and as you leave Mollie grins as she says, "that was kinda badass."

"Thanks," you grin, taking a drink of the Red Bull you snagged off a random table in the garage earlier, "I feel better now."

"Good." Mollie giggles and you smile, moving along with her back to the garage.

liked by sebastianvettel, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, and 816k others...

msdaisypearce: not the first race i wanted to have in f1. but we keep pushing. see u in saudi <3!

user1: last pic is a whole mood

oscarpiastri: no pic credits :(?

⤷ msadaisypearce: ur so spoiled. (oscar took the last pic)

user2: shes an f1 driver and yet didn't post herself in uniform?

user3: erm. oki girl whtv u say like u didn't slam on the brakes.

rhyspearce: u did ur best !!

⤷ user4: why is this so passive aggressive??

⤷ user5: daisy hasn't even LIKED her brothers posts since he moved to mcl

⤷ user6: that's so conceited of her. like if ur butthurt ur brother got a better team just be better next time?

sebastianvettel: tough start of the season but like i said before, you've got this kid !!

user7: her beef w lance is SOOO good like pop off daisy

user8: just proving f1a hasn't prepared its drivers AT ALL.

( taglist is open ! )

@evie-119

[atlasscrumpit]

Assassin!Bucky x Immortal!Reader

You walked through the darkened streets of New York City, feeling a looming presence.

You sighed and slowly turned around to the none other than the winter soldier lurking behind you.

"You know...I did expect someone to put a hit on me eventually." You muttered, shoving your hands in your pockets.

"Nothing personal, doll. I have a job and I do it." He replied making you chuckle softly.

"I can respect that... Why don't you tell me who sent you?" You asked, tilting your head and looking him up and down.

"I wouldn't be going a good job if I just told everyone who wanted them dead." He said with a smirk, it was a shame he had to kill you.

You were quite the woman.

"Well... Unfortunately I need to know." You muttered before you concentrated and stared into his eyes.

He quickly shut his eyes and groaned in pain as you forced your way into his mind.

"Tony Stark, huh? Figures." You grumble, rolling your eyes.

Bucky recovered and looked at you in shock.

"What the fuck was that?" He growled making you chuckle softly.

"I guess Tony didn't warn you, huh? Too bad... There's some darkness in that head of yours." You muttered, crossing your arms.

He pulled out a pistol and cocked it as you smiled.

"Hard way, or easy way?" He growled making you chuckle softly.

"How about this... I make this job nice and easy for you and you go out with me on Saturday night." You said as he faltered for a moment and looked at you in shock.

"I'm about to kill you and you're asking me out?" He asked in disbelief as you nodded.

"I'll just get a new body." You said with a shrug as if you could just pop down to the corner store and buy a body.

"What the hell does that even mean?" He grumbled as you slowly moved forward.

"I think we can both keep a secret... I won't tell anyone about that kid you accidentally killed a few years ago and you don't tell anyone I'm actually an immortal spirit possessing human bodies." You said casually as he glared at you.

"You're fucking insane. How do you know about...that?" He muttered, his voice faltering.

"I was inside your head, I saw it all. So, Saturday 8pm at the Brady's restaurant down town?" You said looking into his eyes, he was filled with confusion.

"You expect me to believe all of this?" He asked making you chuckle softly.

"I'm dead either way, I'll see you Saturday. Since you won't recognise me I'll be wearing a red dress." You said as he narrowed his eyes.

"I'm actually intrigued..." He grumbled before aiming the gun at your head and pulling the trigger.

He stared down at your lifeless body, confusion clouding his thoughts.

"See you Saturday..."

--

Bucky sat at the bar in the restaurant, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he tapped the glass nervously.

It was thirty minutes past 8pm and he was losing his hope, he actually had liked you and hated the thought that he had actually murdered you...

But, at least he got paid.

"Sorry I'm late, new body and all. Still getting used to it." He heard a voice as he looked behind him to see a beautiful young woman in a stunning red dress.

"It's...you." He whispered in shock as you chuckled.

"I am a woman of my word. Come on, I booked the best table." You replied before one of the waitors lead you over to a more private table with a window.

You sat down with Bucky across from you.

"I honestly don't know what to say... I really didn't expect you to show up." He said with an awkward laugh.

"It's not often I reveal who I am to people... It felt nice I suppose. I always just live the role of the body I possess and that's it..." You replied, a hint of sadness in your voice.

"I can imagine it gets quite lonely. So, what's your name?" He asked as the waiter brought over some wine.

"Well, the bodies name is Scarlet but...my real name is Y/N." You replied a little unsurely.

After all it had been a long time since you muttered your real name.

"It's lovely to officially meet you, Y/N. You can call me Bucky." He said raising his glass up to you.

You did the same and tapped your glass against him.

"Here's to new friends."

[ceilidho]

i am such a backrooms nerd and a while ago you talked about a backrooms au with either ghost or ghoap (can’t remember but i’ll talk about just ghost for this) and i want you to know i have thought about it every day since. also i apologize in advance cause this is about to be so rambly lmao

like, ghost is capable, he’ll survive in there easy. i mean he practically belongs in there, he’s a ghost. sure, the food from the random vending machines is kinda stale and it’s not fantastic, but, it keeps him alive and there’s always one every couple miles. he doesn’t know how they don’t run out, but, he’s grateful for some cheetos after walking miles and miles of bland yellow and fluorescent buzz every day.

He doesn’t remember how he got there, he thinks he was in a ground fight and remembers a grenade going off. He thought he died, but— this isn’t anything like what he saw when he got buried. No, he’s definitely still alive. And everything is too consistent to be a dream.

It was unnerving at first, he didn’t sleep for what must’ve been days. However he got there, he thought surely he’d been followed. He spent weeks haunting the halls until it finally began to set in that he was really, truly alone. He was hopeful, at the beginning, that he’d find a way out. Not so much anymore.

The time spent alone changed him; not that he was perfectly polite before. There was no one here to police him, for him to interact with and keep that sense of what-is-appropriate in check. Why couldn’t he be as gross, as violent, as angry as he wanted? He’s a ghost. He can haunt however he likes.

And then one day, he finds you. Wandering, confused, hopeless. The last people he’d seen were trying to kill him— surely they’d finally found him. He’s mean to you, interrogates you, hurts you. You’re terrified, you try to tell him you don’t know what’s going on, I fell down some stairs and I just ended up here— but he doesn’t listen.

The madness of the endless yellow wallpaper and loneliness has gotten to him; possessed him, eaten away at his mind. This is his territory, he should kill you for trespassing. He should get to do whatever he wants to you for disturbing his haunting grounds.

He’s spent time, so much of it that he’s lost concept of it entirely, roaming like a wild beast and doing whatever he wants. Your pathetic little pleas won’t stop him now. You can’t traipse into a bear’s forest and beg it not to eat you. And oh, is he hungry. He hasn’t had something soft and warm in forever. He hasn’t had something to break in forever.

He thinks you’ll do just fine.

I forgot to answer this the other day because I got busy but god….i have nothing to even add to this. Pure genius. Ghost slowly going mad in the backrooms because that place saps sense and rationality in equal measure? Perfect.

I don’t really care for some of the campier elements of the backrooms like the almond water and vending machines (apart from in the games that have been made because those are just so fun to watch), but I love liminal spaces and the malleability of the mind. It’s so easy for his sense of identity to slip away in that space, so easy for a new, more terrifying nature to slip in and take its place.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Nothing in the world belongs to me (but my love, mine, all mine)

This started off as a silly conversation I had with @yuzanrath on Discord and now it's a whole thing.

Part 2 might be a bit (a lot) nsfw

For now, there's angst.

Enjoy!

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

From the day she learned that her son had locked Wei Wuxian out of his room after Jiang Fengmian had seemingly offered the new arrival more attention, Madam Yu decided Wei Wuxian was to move in to a room of his own. A favor, one might think, giving the orphan boy a place of his own in the Jiang family compound and, perhaps, even in the family itself.

However, that had been far from the truth. After all, Madam Yu had never shown true kindness to the young boy and it would have been too good of a dream to come true that she might have finally accepted him – or, heavens forbid, even grown affectionate of him – enough to care about his comfort. Rather, it was more of her way to slap her husband in the face, kicking out the son of his subordinate and rumored affair to a backroom somewhere he would not bother anybody, sharing a building with the rest of the servants as she believed he should.

And though Wei Wuxian was still little, barely above ten years old, he knew. He knew that Madam Yu did not want him around and thought lowly of him – not just because of her behavior, but because she told him to his face often how much of a burden he was. Uncle Jiang had taught him not to mind her, to let her words sweep him by as she was quick to anger and violence and did not mean what she said, but Wei Wuxian was still a child, a blank canvas for the adults in his life to leave their mark on.

And so, Madam Yu’s words and behavior did affect him, her obstinate refusal to even be polite with him stinging like salt on an open wound. He had often wondered what it was that he was missing, what he was doing wrong – and no matter how hard he studied, how diligently he trained, how much he tried to prove himself, she always found fault with him and belittled even the most valiant of his efforts.

So, to hear that she allowed him his own room filled Wei Wuxian with great hope, a budding thing, beautiful and fragile, that perhaps she had changed her mind about him – shattered as soon as he was led by the then Jiang head disciple (the replacement of his father, he sadly noted) into the servants’ quarters, up a short flight of stairs, into a small attic.

“You will temporarily live here.” The man had said, trying to make it sound less like the permanent place Wei Wuxian already knew he would occupy. “It’s not much, but you should have everything you need.”

And he did – there was a bed, a desk, a chair and a small wardrobe, as well as two small shelves. Granted, they looked rather old and worn, like they had been stored into the attic long before Wei Wuxian’s arrival. But he had never been one to complain about such things, infinitely grateful to even have a place to stay at all – so he bowed in thanks to the head disciple and began putting away the few things in the chest he had dragged from the room he shared with Jiang Cheng to his new one.

If there was anything good about that place though, it was the one window above the bed that allowed Wei Wuxian a breathtaking view of Lotus Lake and the markets of Yunmeng, flickering lights from stalls and fireflies mingling together like stars fallen off the night sky. He decided he was happy with that, overriding the dust and the smell of mildew of the attic with the beauty of the scenery outside.

Of course, there was much needed to be done to make Wei Wuxian’s makeshift room livable – the corners bore thick blankets of spider cobwebs and many spider eggs nestled into soft silk; a thick layer of dust enveloped the room, often making it difficult to breathe but far too easy to sneeze; and black dots covered spots in the ceiling like ink blots, black mold festering in the wood.

But what was worse than the spiders (and other critters that scurried around the floor away from candlelight and human presence), the dust and the mold was the dark hole in one of the room’s corners, a human-sized hole that the Jiang head disciple had explained away as necessary for building maintenance. It was covered by a makeshift lid when not in use, but Wei Wuxian knew it hadn’t been just his imagination when he felt like something lived in that space, like he was sharing the room with some kind of entity that others could not, for some reason, sense, despite being skilled cultivators.

The first night Wei Wuxian had to sleep in his new room, he could not stop feeling like he was being watched, like there was something unseen in the attic, peering at him through places not even candlelight could reach, observing him.

In the morning, the first thing he did after he had awoken from the fitful few hours of sleep he had managed to get, was to drag his two small shelves over the lid of that so-called maintenance hole, thinking, in his childish, fear-addled mind that whatever lived there would not be able to get out if the exit to its home was closed off.

Jiang Yanli helped him clean up secretly, doing away with the dust and the spider webs, and placing perfumed herbs around the room to scare off the insects dwelling there as well as freshen the air. She had one of her trusted servants wipe away at the stains on the ceiling and apply the same concoction used to ward off mold in the main family’s household, leaving the room much cleaner and homely than it had been before.

She promised that she would sew him a small curtain for his window and brought him a few of the decorative china figurines she had in her room, trying to make the lonely attic seem less like Wei Wuxian’s banishment house and more like his safe space.

It had worked, it seemed, because after all the work was finished and the day came to an end, Wei Wuxian slept peacefully, no longer feeling like something malevolent was trying to drive him away.

It still lived there, though, that much was obvious – but Wei Wuxian decided to let it be, as long as it was not hostile. After all, it had stayed there long before Wei Wuxian did, so it felt unfair to him to have uncle Jiang drive it away, especially as he sometimes heard it cry at night, when he drifted off in the plane between dreaming and being awake. This being, whatever it was, seemed to carry great sorrow, and Wei Wuxian felt pitiful of it in a way that he could not explain – perhaps because he too could understand loneliness and grief.

And so, Wei Wuxian had grown used to the strange presence in his attic-turned-bedchamber, sharing the space with whatever lived with him with less and less fear every day. Sometimes, it would ruffle the small, white curtain that Jiang Yanli hung at his window when there was no wind, or flick through discarded pieces of talisman paper and calligraphy notes at night, almost as if assessing Wei Wuxian’s work. It was not rare to find blots of ink scattered across corners of parchment paper as if trying to copy the writing there.

Though these instances had frightened Wei Wuxian at the start, he felt nothing malicious in any of these strange gestures, not even when he began finding rocks and strange plants by his bed or on his desk that he had not put there.

He smiled, jokingly praising the entity for attempting to pay rent, and even talked to it about his day when there was nobody else to listen – because, in truth, Madam Yu’s plan had worked, the new room isolating Wei Wuxian from Jiang Cheng and many of his other comrades. The building was tucked in a far corner of the Jiang family compound, the very last structure of the lavish estate before the territory stretched into endless towns and villages, and none of Wei Wuxian’s friends lived there. Madam Yu did not allow Jiang Cheng to visit often, and Wei Wuxian could spend time with him and the others for a short while before he had to adhere to curfew – the servants locked the building early at night for fear of robbers.

And som all the companionship Wei Wuxian was left with was the strange entity in his room that he sometimes even doubted actually existed. Surely, he had seen the signs of its presence often, but in his loneliest days, he wondered whether he had not imagined the thing to exist so he would bear the loneliness easier.

He became certain of its existence one day, the very first day he had found himself the receiving end of Madam Yu’s violence and her wrathful Zidian. She had not hit him with it until then, but something he had done (it didn’t even matter what it had been, how small and insignificant) set her off to the point that she dragged him to his room in the attic and whipped him until her anger dissipated into exhaustion.

There were two things Wei Wuxian understood that day: one, that Madam Yu would always resent him; the second, that she had no qualms hurting him about it now. And where there had only been harsh words and ridiculous punishments, she now added violence to its most direct form.

It was hard to say what hurt more, the welts throbbing on his back or this knowledge.

But as soft sobs echoed through the room, the darkness morphed into something soft, almost comforting, a phantom feeling of somebody trying to soothe him. It was faint, barely there as Wei Wuxian struggled between sleep and being awake – but it made a small smile appear on his face, a confirmation that there was at least somebody (or, rather, something) that cared for him.

So, it had not been just two things that Wei Wuxian learned that day, but three – the third, that he truly was not alone.

He would come to learn the fourth thing years later – that he was loved.

--

The next time Madam Yu dragged him off for a whipping (she never did it in public places, either because she did not want others to know how cruel she was to her sect’s head disciple or just to drive it home how little she thought of Wei Wuxian, punishing him in the servants’ house he lived in), something unusual happened, so unusual it frightened the woman into forgoing the punishment.

Zidian did not sparkle to life.

Try as she might, her spiritual powers did not materialize into the purple lightning whip she wielded so fiercely, the ring useless on her hand. It was as though something was blocking it off from manifesting, something as powerful as it was angry. She felt it, a strange presence that exuded so much anger that it made the hair on the back of her head raise – and for a brief moment, she feared for her life. Defenseless against something unseen, something that so obviously wanted her dead.

(Wei Wuxian had spoken into his empty-but-not-quite room about Madam Yu and her punishments – sometimes with frustration, indignant of her unfairness, other times sorrowful, nursing wounds. And so, the entity in his room knew who she was and the kind of treatment Wei Wuxian had to endure, growing resentful of her and protective of him.)

Madam Yu could feel it, the danger of the entity haunting the attic, and she realized she did not want to risk its wrathfaster than she had the time to wonder what it even was or why Wei Wuxian did not seem scared. So, she stormed out of the room, muttering curses, nervously fiddling with her unresponsive spiritual weapon.

In the attic, the atmosphere remained tense – not with fear, but with a strange sort of uncertainty. Wei Wuxian looked over the room, trying to spot any signs of the entity’s presence, and found the lid to the maintenance hole askew, as if the thing had burrowed there in shame after standing up to Madam Yu.

“Did you do that?” Wei Wuxian asked softly, crouching over the side of the dark hole, “Were you the one that stopped Madam Yu from whipping me?”

There was no answer, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t help a small, grateful smile from curling on his lips, speaking a soft, quiet “thank you” into the darkness of the hole as he fixed the lid over it with gentle hands. If the thing had revealed itself, Wei Wuxian thought, he would have hugged it.

--

Madam Yu attempted to punish him a second time after that incident, intent on using the discipline whip on him for some other minor slight she thought monumental. Wei Wuxian had grown used to her inclinations and did not bother to argue or defend himself, not only because he knew it useless, but also because he had his own pride as a man that didn’t allow him to grovel at her feet anymore.

He had grown tired of trying to do that anyway, after so many years and countless failed attempts to invoke her kindness.

Though Wei Wuxian knew that the scars of the discipline whip would never fade and he would bear the mark of Madam Yu’s cruelty for life, he did not find it in himself to be afraid, even knowing the searing pain that would follow. His expression gave away a quiet, tired resignation, as if what would be happening to him was the natural progression of Madam Yu’s hatred of him.

However, just as unexpected as last time, the pain never came, the skin on Wei Wuxian’s back unmarred despite Madam Yu’s attempts. But, unlike that time, it was not just a presence she could feel – rather, as her hand rose, building momentum for the strike, the lid covering the maintenance hole nearly flew off its hinges, a dark smoke rushing out of it and into the room, enveloping Madam Yu’s hand in translucent wisps. Though they appeared light and soft as feathers, she felt them as though lead had encased her bones, a painful, crushing pressure causing her fingers to uncoil from the discipline whip, the item falling helplessly from her hand.

She tried to scream, but no sound came out, and her struggling had not yielded fruit – but as amazed as Wei Wuxian was to finally lay eyes onto the entity that he had shared the past ten years with as a roommate, it became apparent to him that it was intending to kill Madam Yu, dark wisps curled around her neck like hungry vipers.

Terror could be read in her eyes, wide and tearful as air slowly became more and more of a luxury that the wrathful spirit would not allow her – and Wei Wuxian had to save her, despite her abuse and her violent nature, despite knowing that, on a karmic level, she deserved to die this way.

So, with a slight tremor to his hand, he reached for one of the wisps that curled onto the floor, ready to strike Madam Yu alongside the others, gently touching the formless creature as if to pet it. It startled, frozen in place, all the other wisps around Madam Yu stilling, as if shocked by the sudden contact – none as shocked as Madam Yu herself.

“You…are you doing this?!” She asked, anger sparking in her eyes among all the fear. “You monst-“

One of the wisps curled around her mouth, leaving her lips sealed.

Wei Wuxian felt immensely grateful for that, though he never said it. Instead, he leaned down and caressed the now rigid wisp of smoke, speaking to it softly: “That’s enough… you’ve done enough, let her go now…”

It shivered against his fingers, in protest, a low, gravely voice replying, in broken words, “…hurt…Wei Ying…”

“I’m not hurt, though.” He continued, reassuringly, patting the end of the wisp as if it was an unruly child.

“…protect…Wei Ying…”

“You’ve protected me, haven’t you? I’m not hurt at all. So, you’ve done what you said, you can let her go.”

The wisp curled around his hand, both protective and possessive. “Mine…”

Wei Wuxian startled at that, not knowing what to make of it or how to reply to that declaration, the intensity of it echoing into some untapped part of his heart. Had the creature become attached to him throughout the years? Had it mistakenly thought Wei Wuxian as some kind of…partner?

What would that mean for him now?

“Let her go, please. I don’t want her to die.” He decided to say, ignoring the entity’s previous statement.

It shivered around Wei Wuxian’s hand, unhappy to listen to him, but it yielded nevertheless, dropping Madam Yu to the floor. She had long become unconscious, with the fear and the lack of proper air, her arm bruised where the entity attacked her first.

“You didn’t need to do that.” He chided the creature, “How will I explain this away now?”

It coiled tighter around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, as the gravely voice from before replied in his ears. “…protect…”

The tiniest of smiles appeared on his lips, “I know. Thank you for that. But now I’m going to be in even more trouble…”

“…she will not speak…” the voice echoed into his head again. “…do not worry…”

And as unlikely as that seemed to him, Wei Wuxian believed it. Perhaps whatever this thing was, whatever it thought Wei Wuxian was to him, it really did only ever want to help him and it would protect him, no matter what. In fact, if he were to consider it, this creature had been his only friend in many senses of the word, and he had spoken to it more openly than he had to anyone.

Would it have been so unusual for it to have developed a sense of attachment to him? If Wei Wuxian were a ghost trapped in some kind of hole in a house, would he not also grow fond of the person that acknowledged him and treated him kindly?

“What is your name?”

The creature slithered up to him, formless and dark, coiling around his limbs like bracelets.

“…Lan…Lan Zhan…”

“Lan Zhan.” He repeated the name, the syllables soft on his tongue. “You’re living in that hole over there, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian huffs a surprisingly fond breath, “So then, all this time, it’s been you I’ve shared this room with…” He mindlessly pats at the wisps around his wrists as he speaks, “why are you here of all places, hm?”

The voice replies in his ears, “Home…”

Wei Wuxian’s gaze softened. “This was your home?”

The voice grew quieter, almost sorrowful, as it replied, “No… looking for home.”

“You found your home here then?” He asks again, soothing over the creature’s limbs. “Just like I did?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, the creature curling tighter around Wei Wuxian, seeking comfort. He continued caressing it, the formless smoke taking the vague shape of hands. “Why were you wandering, Lan Zhan?”

It did not reply for a long time and Wei Wuxian did not speak again until it did, its voice soft, almost vulnerable. “Lost…”

“You lost your home?”

The vaguely shaped hands squeezed tighter at Wei Wuxian’s fingers and he knew that had been the case. He did not want to ask for details, because he could tell it made the creature sorrowful to speak of it, so he muttered, gently, “You have a home now.”

“…You…” the voice echoed in his mind, and Wei Wuxian could not find it in himself to be afraid this time, strangely comforted with the creature’s presence and its words. It was not unexpected or unusual – this spirit clung onto him after it lost its home and found this attic to dwell in, with a companion to boot. Wei Wuxian had unknowingly become its family, just as it had become his.

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 10

WC: 1K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Transfeminine Mountain, Implied Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, Grief

“She was the brightest person I’ve ever known. It’s like…she lit up every room she walked into.”

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 10 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss has never expected to have to think about a day such as this one. He has never expected he would have to go about his day with the knowledge that on this exact day, just a year prior, his baby sister was being murdered to be left for him to find mauled in a puddle of her own blood.

Alas, here he is. Here it is, the first anniversary of Sunshine’s death.

He told Mounty a few weeks ago so she would understand that him distancing himself has nothing to do with her. She understands, but she’s not one to let her lover drown in misery while she watches from a distance. She’ll give him all the space he needs, but the moment she sees he needs her, she’ll be there.

The barmaid wakes up first to Swiss’ head resting on her chest and his arms tight around her waist. She looks down at him as much as possible, and wishes he could always be as peaceful as he is in that moment. Still, he soon wakes up.

Mounty sees in his eyes and expression as he comes to and realizes the date. The hurt flashing across his face jabs her straight into her own heart and she squeezes the man’s arm reassuringly. He doesn’t speak—none of their usual morning sappy giggles ensue—but he looks up at his girl and simply blinks and it’s more than enough for Mounty to know what he means. It’s a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I love you’ and an ‘I need you’ and so much more.

The barmaid nods, whispering as to not disturb the reverent silence too much, “I love you, too.”

Swiss lays his head back on her chest and sighs. It’s not going to be an easy day and it feels like hours before Mounty feels the man shift again.

“Do you want to talk about it? About her?” Mounty proposes, approaching the topic very carefully. “I’d love to hear something, if you’d like to tell me.”

“Yeah, I–I think I do,” Swiss rumbles after thinking about it for a little while, with his voice gravelly from unuse.

Mounty’s soft kiss on his forehead is more than enough of an encouragement, but Swiss realizes he really does want to talk about Sunshine. He never did, after her death, and now it’s been a year. She deserves to be talked about, though, she can’t be forgotten, the memory of her can’t simply fade. The cowboy owes it to her and maybe, just maybe, it’ll help him, too.

He sits up and turns to lean against the wall by the window, so she can look at his girl as he tells her the story.

“Her name was Sunshine,” he starts after clearing his throat, “Sunny for short. And it fit, she was the brightest person I’ve ever known. It’s like…she lit up every room she walked into, ya know?”

Mounty nods, smiling softly.

“She was six years younger than me and she was a…huh, a surprise let’s say. I don’t know about my parents, I doubt my mother wanted to have more children with my failure of a father, but I was over the moon. I wasn’t as happy when no one could sleep for months once she was born, but once she got quieter I was her biggest fan.

Then, uh…our parents sucked so I was mostly taking care of us both. Mom died when Sunny was around five. We were good, but you already know how my father fucked us over and how it all ended.

She was very creative. She liked to sing and always came up with new funny songs and new ways to make noise. Everything was her instrument, even the wind and rustling trees themselves. She was a…a true gem, ya know? There’s not enough people like her in the world.”

Swiss’ breath hitches and he outstretches his hands, desperately needing Mounty’s touch. She puts her own in them and laces their fingers together, silently saying that she’s with him and not going anywhere.

“I never told you that your voice–” his own cracks, “you sound very similar to how she did. You laugh the same.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, sorry. Should’ve told you sooner.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Mounty finally speaks again, “there was no reason for you to tell me, I don’t mind.”

“Mhm,” Swiss hums in acknowledgement.

It’s quiet for a few minutes before the barmaid admits in a quiet voice, “I wish I could’ve met her.” 

“I wish you could’ve,” Swiss agrees, even quieter, and Mounty doesn’t like the far away look in his eyes. Silence falls again as she tries to think of an appropriate thing to say.

“You wanna know what I’m thinking?” she speaks after a moment, squeezing Swiss’ hands in an attempt to ground him.

“Hm?” the man hums, barely there anymore. There’s tears in his eyes waiting to fall, but his stare is blank. The barmaid hates seeing him floating away further and further away with each passing second. She’s afraid that there’s not much she can do to hold him back.

“Look at the weather,” Mounty points out regardless, having to try. Swiss is slow to oblige, but he does, eventually peeling the curtain away to look out of the window. He doesn’t notice anything particularly special, though. Mounty clarifies, “it’s nearly summer and yet it’s been all gloomy for weeks.”

Swiss furrows his eyebrows. She’s right, but he still can’t grasp the point she’s trying to make.

“It’s sunny today. She’s here, Swiss. She’s here to remind you that no matter how gloomy the world is, there’s always going to be more sunny days. I bet she’d like you to think that every sunny day is her doing, her trying her best to make your day brighter. Dare I say you getting sunburned it’s her teasing you? She didn’t really go anywhere, my darling, she’s still with you. She always will be.”

Life returns to Swiss’ eyes when his tears fall.

Thankfully Mounty is there to wipe them all away.

[terresdebrume]

For the WIP ask game: Edwin and Charles reunite, please?

[Ask me about my WIPs]

Hi and thanks for asking about that one, it's one of the works I'm most excited about right now (I cycle, I cycle). I had to check my tag to make sure I didn't end up sharing the same snippet as before xD

So, here's something new from draft 1:

Eye contact, with Charles, used to be easy. Or, not easy, exactly, but easier. Easier than it is with other people, at least. Right now, Edwin can barely look at his left eyebrow, but it’s enough to discern the way his frown deepens. The confused tilt of his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

Edwin closes his eyes against the tears threatening to boil over.

“Please, do not make this harder than it needs to be. I am talking about the message I sent you—the last one you read.”

“Edwin,” Charles says, urgency entering his voice as he takes a step closer to Edwin, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What message?”

Edwin takes two steps back, pressing his fists together again. He looks up at Charles’ face and finds it tense and frowning but not…upset. Or avoidant. Besides… why would Charles have shouted his name in the street and ran after him if he truly was upset by Edwin’s confession? The possibility makes no sense. Edwin breathes in, then out, and his fists relax against one another.

“My… coming out to you,” he says, amending his sentence at the last minute. No sense in incriminating himself more than necessary. “You… it was marked as read, but you never answered. When we came back to school and we were told you had transferred out, I thought—”

The sound of his bookbags hitting the floor traps the rest of Edwin’s words in his throat, and then Charles is in his space again, hands on his shoulders, thumb pushing hard enough against his clavicles for Edwin to feel them through his layers. This is what Charles did when he wanted Edwin to listen to him carefully. Edwin does the same thing he did then: lifts his gaze and does his best to meet Charles’ eyes.

“I would never,” Charles starts, an intensity in his expression that has Edwin’s breath stop in his throat, “ever transfer school to get away from someone because they’re gay. Especially not a friend, and especially not you, Edwin. Never in a million years.”

Edwin lowers his eyes, tension seeping from his shoulders fast enough to leave him dizzy. His entire torso feels numb, sore in the way prolonged effort always leaves him. Edwin breathes. His eyes are still wet, but they don’t burn as much, and it’s almost easy to look at Charles again when he ducks down to find his eyes.

“Edwin,” he says, thumbs pressing harder against Edwin’s clavicles, “you were my best friend. You’re the only person I missed after I left—and it had nothing to do with you. I never got your text.”

“Yes,” Edwin agrees, frowning in confusion, “I am starting to understand that. I simply—why, then? Why did you leave, why did you not—”

Charles steps back again, burying his hands in the deep pockets of his jacket. The same patches adorn its shoulders, its elbows. On the lapel, Charles’ checkered button pin gave way to a cluster of raised fists in various shades of brown. The joystick is now a pair of Switch controllers. The Rastafarian flag is still there. The smiley pin is gone. But Charles doesn’t look entirely like his younger self until he shrinks in on himself low enough to look Edwin’s height again. Edwin’s stomach sinks.

“Things at home were uh…not great.” Charles’ hand comes up to scratch at the back of his head, and a fist squeezes around Edwin’s throat. Charles straightens up a little. Looks to the side, his face pinched. “Bad.”

[backjustforberena]

I'm so tired of people criticizing Rhaenys just because they can't grasp a nuanced conversation. I keep rolling my eyes when they bring up Jaehaerys or Luke taking Aemond's eye—it wasn't that hard to understand her point.

By the way, I'd like to know your opinion on Corlys when he said, "then we must hope to see our way forward in time." Some people think he was hinting at having a son, especially since he was holding Rhaenys's hips. However, in my opinion, he was already considering his bastards.

I'm on my mobile phone right now, so apologies for any mistakes or autocorrect mishaps that I fail to spot.

It is frustrating to see the criticism of Rhaenys but, as things have gone on, it's become fairly unsurprising to me. Sad, though. I think there are a myriad of reasons why Rhaenys as a character particularly seems to suffer from woeful interpretation from some viewers. This can range simply from her not behaving like however the watcher might have envisioned her character in the book, to having a certain negative opinion of her to be applied every time she speaks or acts, no matter what.

I think a lot is to do with Rhaenys's positioning. You need to engage with Rhaenys to fully appreciate her point of view. Her perspective is not an easy one to come by unless you make the effort to understand some fundamental truths about her. And, on screen, she is a character who is ambiguous, certainly in the first season. She is deliberately cautious and her speech reflects that.

We very rarely see her vulnerable and very rarely see her being inconsiderate of context. We have an idea of her backstory but we have not seen everything she has been through or how major events have shaped her, personally, on an emotional level. We are denied seeing unguarded responses or aftermaths.

She is frequently a vehicle for uncomfortable truths. She mainly shines in 1 vs 1 scenes, and they often include some judgement or passing of information or confrontation. When the scene partner is a favourite character or a character who has had more prominent screentime, it's very easy to discredit Rhaenys because to credit her would be to admit some flaw or ugliness about the other player. So much that I've seen is about what Rhaenys's words mean for that person or that issue rather than what it tells us about Rhaenys. What Rhaenys is thinking of considering. What her perspective is. And to also admit that an audience's perspective on something is different to Rhaenys's, either by proximity (our sense of time between things is different due to the storytelling) or by information (us being aware of things or details Rhaenys isn't - or IS, as as may be the case with various relationships and her past and her claim).

So I think a lot of hate comes from a lack of willingness to engage with what and who Rhaenys is. Rhaenys is usually, frankly, an onion.

On to your question about Rhaenys and Corlys and Corlys's intentions... He is not hinting at having a son with Rhaenys. Rhaenys is in her 50s at least and is a menopausal woman, if we take Eve Best's word for it. She is NOT having a baby. Corlys is just putting his hands on her hip for the same reason she puts her hand in his hair: they want to be close and love one another and they're also always one good reason away from having sex.

Do I think he's considering Alyn and Addam? Actually... no, I don't. Certainly NOT consciously. It's not an option right now, not with Rhaenys living and, and I cannot stress this enough, Corlys is not expecting to lose his wife. Nothing about that conversation suggests that, nor have any of their others. The possibility of HIM dying has come up. Her? No.

I think it's a general feeling of wanting to avoid the issue for the sake of peace with his wife. He just doesn't want to have the conversation. I think he is also still grappling with his own mortality, having nearly died and having had Luke die. He may simply not want to move on from that space yet. He's asking for time. He's still including her with "we", but it's a tricky conversation and not one he's up to having. Nor one that he wants to admit to have to have.

In short: dumbass is trying to deflect.

[sapphic-agent]

Bro, Aizawa can go kick rocks. That last ask you posted got me so mad about him all over again.

I have no clue how Hori meant to write Aizawa. On one hand, he admits he really has no idea what the fuck he's doing as a teacher, doesn't actually teach his students anything, lets Bakugou do whatever the hell he wants with no consequences, and was wrong to treat Izuku the way he has been since day one. He even admits that he has no clue about his students DESPITE THE UA TRAITOR BEING ONE OF HIS STUDENTS.

On the other hand, he's arrogant enough in his teaching abilities to get offended when Mic calls him out for being a terrible teacher, doesn't say shit about Ida's internship choice despite knowing how suspicious it is, only gives ONE "I'm sorry, Izuku" with ZERO reflection or introspection as to why he hated Izuku so much, and hypocritically accused All Might of favoring Izuku despite not just blatantly favoring Bakugou and Shinsou, but shutting down Mic when he brought up said favoritism.

Worst thing is, everything in the second paragraph is to be taken at face value. We're supposed to see him as Kakashi 2.0 and this amazing teacher, but really he's just an arrogant asshole who if he were a real teacher, would have gotten MANY students killed due to his negligence and love of dishonesty.

Exactly, he's so inconsistent. I suspect this is due to his role as Horikoshi's mouthpiece. Isn't it a little suspicious that both times that Bakugou faced criticism from the public, Aizawa was conveniently placed to shut them down? Because the heroes at the Sports Festival and the reporters at the press conference are supposed to be us. Horikoshi, through Aizawa, is telling us how we're supposed to be regarding Bakugou, despite the fact that Bakugou's actions completely refute what Aizawa's saying.

(The worst thing about this is that it works. I suspect a big reason why people are so convinced that Bakugou's character arc was good is because of what Aizawa says. It's easy to buy into something if it's being told to you directly)

It's actually a shame because Aizawa didn't have to be a bad character. He's actually a pretty good hero, and his attitude towards Izuku's ideals wasn't exactly wrong. His execution absolutely was and he's really shitty about it, but I can understand the fear that someone who's self-sacrificing with a quirk he can't control will get himself killed.

The issue is Aizawa didn't care enough to a) actually understand what was going on and b) make the effort to teach Izuku better. So everything about him- his background, intention, trauma, beliefs- means nothing because he's not actually taking the steps to address and amend them.

Someone- not naming names- tried to make the argument that Eri ruined Aizawa's character. But honestly? She's the only reason I like him even a little bit. If we discount the light novels (and we should because from what I can tell they're awful), their relationship can be cute, even if we only ever see him escorting her around. Those little moments make him more human. It's not great (because again, they're barely together), but it does endear me towards Aizawa, if only a tiny amount

[sunshineandspencer]

Playing nurse (End)

Let me stress, this is not Maeve from the show, but my own Maeve just named the same to send Spencer into hell whenever he thinks about it.

A/N: I have a chronic fear of things ending. I've had this written for like two weeks but I hate the idea of it being over. Sorry, and thank you for everyone who enjoyed my first story on tumblr <33

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!OC.

Summary: He takes care of her until she’s finally cleared by the Doctor and he can make good on his promise

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: kissing (ew), slightly suggestive at the end but nothing described

Parts: Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6, Pt7, Pt8, Pt9, Pt10

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While he had been overbearingly sweet and protective while she recovered, and was let out of the hospital, her pretty new boyfriend still hasn’t kissed her.

Not for a lack of trying either.

Every chance she got, she would try and subtly drag him closer, but he always caught on. Giving her a chiding look and turning them back to whatever they had been doing. She’d wear her prettiest lip gloss and do stupid things to try and convince him. 

But his mind was set, until she got cleared by the doctor, no smooching.

Besides, despite his gleaming teasing, she wasn’t desperate. After waiting months and assuming he hated her, she can last a few more weeks. For the stitches to heal and the pain to finally stop without meds.

Spencer, true to his word, didn’t leave her side. Helping her get back and settle into her apartment, at which he lamented no longer living in ‘their’ house.

That, at least, got him to suck in a painful breath and press a kiss to her hair.

God did he miss that too.

Sure, he’d stayed in the guest room and given her free reign of that master bedroom, but that had been enough - he hadn’t needed to sleep in the same bedroom as her to feel close. The whole thing had only three days together but it felt like a lifetime.

Eating every meal together, doing stupid tasks like cleaning and shopping, watching crap reality television and getting strangely into it. He missed being able to casually touch her as his ‘wife’, but girlfriend is an excellent place for them to start again together after everything they’d gone through.

The fear of losing her had been debilitating, and looking after her now, staying in her spare room, was what he needed.

To see her every day and be reminded that she’s completely fine.

His damn woman wasn’t making it easy in trying to stop her from pulling her stitches or injuring herself further. Those first couple of days, with her constantly trying to sneak a kiss in, she was being impossible. But he won’t - he can’t - not until she’s cleared.

Thankfully his incentive worked and after a while - well, after she had a breakdown in the kitchen and he’d had to hold her and make sure he knows that he wants to but he’s worried about her recovery - and was finally patient.

Thanks to her newfound patience, they fell into a routine; he would wake up in her spare room and go to wake her up with painkillers and new bandages, check on her stitches, and then spend the day together. The two of them are definitely in the honeymoon phase - as Garcia gleefully tells her in every facetime.

Yes, they love each other, but they’re also so used to having their own space, which they’ll probably love after all this is over. Needing some alone time doesn’t mean they don’t still completely love each other - but they’d lived as individuals so long it would take some time to adjust.

The honeymoon phase was saving their ass - and their relationship. Everyday spent together is bliss.

Learning, properly, about each other. She talked about her family, normal in some remote town, and his decidedly less normal childhood. He finally told her about Maeve and why he had been so harsh, which she understood but still called him daft. Honestly they talked about anything and everything. Until Spencer was fairly certain he’d be able to identify her blind, just from the breath she takes before she speaks.

Thanks to his diligence, and her eventual co-operation, it was only two weeks until she could finally get the bandage and stitches removed. With no incidents since she left the hospital.

Once she’s cleared for duty, and the Doctor begins to send the paperwork through to prove it to Emily, they leave.

Their hands laced together and swinging between them, Maeve chatting excitedly about going back to work. All the way from the office, in the elevator and through the main entrance to the parking lot.

“Oh I can’t wait to see Penelope. Facetiming just isn’t the same.. I want a hug. Plus I miss the smell of stale coffee and the patriarchy.” Giving him a grin as they get closer to her mini, the keys swinging in his other hand. “Is it weird that I miss the serial killers?”

“You don’t miss serial killers, angel. We’ve talked about this.”

But he was smiling all the same, causing her to laugh and lean into his side.

Once again, he’s impressed with his ability to hold any kind of conversation with her when his brain is melting under the constant ‘God please I just want to kiss her’. Just like he’d been struggling against for the past two weeks while taking care of her.

Somehow, Maeve had seemingly forgotten their promise as she was still talking, and he’s not a strong man when it comes to her.

“--I might see if I can babysit for JJ and Will, their kids are adorable. Or maybe finally have that girl’s night, we were meaning to go for one before all this and I miss drinking. Or--”

They got to the car and he turned to hold her against the passenger door, giving her a teasing smile. Smoothing the hair from her face and moving his hands down to her upper arms to hold her still.

“Or, you could spend time with your boyfriend?”

Laughing, she rested her hands softly over his forearms, that teasing look not dropping from her face, and subsequently making his brain melt even further.

He’s not sure how he lasted two weeks like this.

“My boyfriend who I spent every day of the last two weeks with?”

“Well-”

“Spence, if you.. monopolise any more of my time, Penelope might just--”

Incredulous, a laugh left him and he cut her off. Leaning down to kiss her as desperately as he’d wanted for the past two weeks. One hand sliding up to her hair, gripping gently to tilt her head back until it hits the roof of the mini, slanting his lips a little harder against hers.

Right here, he knew he’d never get enough of her ever again. Her taste, her lips, the feel of her, her reactions. 

God, her reactions.

At first she’d tensed, not quite believing he was finally kissing her. Once it sunk it, she relaxed against him, easing her grip where she’d started to leave marks and letting her eyes fall shut. 

Then, once he’d tilted her head back and pushed her a little more insistently against the car, she had actually whimpered against his lips, and he was desperate to chase that little noise as far as she would let him. Her hands moved from his arms to fist in the front of his shirt and dragged him closer.

Until they were all but making out in the hospital parking lot.

When he finally pulled back - dreading his need for air - he kept close. Their foreheads are near but not quite touching, still wanting to be able to look down at her properly. Giving them both a moment to breathe as two weeks, probably longer, washed over them.

Opening his eyes to just look down at her, loving the flushed cheeks and laboured breaths. Loving her.

“Angel.” She hums. “Do you want to know why I wouldn’t kiss you while you were recovering?”

It took her a little while to respond, cracking her eyes open to finally meet his again. Sure that he legs would’ve given out if it wasn’t for him holding her up against the car. Not quite trusting her voice yet, she shook her head, the hand not in her hair wrapping around her waist.

And Jesus, but he finds her so pretty like this, glossy eyed and smiling.

“Because you are perfect sweetheart, and if I’d kissed you, I wouldn’t be able to stop at just one.. or two.. or three.” Punctuating each number with a peck to her lips, which just made her pretty and pliant under his palm. “And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Swallowing thickly, she let go of the front of his shirt from the death-grip she’d gotten on it, smoothing down the wrinkles she’d made as she cleared her throat from where her heart had blocked it.

Looking back up to meet his gaze as she continued to smooth away the wrinkles she’d left.

“I’m uh.. I’m alright now.”

“Yes, you are.”

With a smug grin, which looks far too good on his face, she leant in to brush their noses together. A tender action that’s completely at odds with the heat in his gaze.

That hand around her waist slipped to her lower back, pulling her fully against him and revelling in the way a soft squeak left her lips, and her eyes darted down to his own as if expecting him to kiss her. Quickly darting back up, indignant, when he started to talk instead.

“So, angel, would you like to call Penelope for a girl’s night? Or would you like to go home with your boyfriend?”

Making a face, and trying to ignore the blush high on her cheeks, she tugged him back down for another quick kiss, which he happily gave her. Trying to act very nonchalant, despite her own obvious excitement.

“Let’s go home, please.”

Finally letting go of her, he reached around to pull on the door handle. Opening up the passenger door for her and ushering her inside.

Leaning his forearm on the roof to lean in and give her another kiss.

“Alright sweetheart, home it is. What should we do? Watch a movie?”

She scowled at him, a sight he loved so damn much now it aches. Which is why it brings him so much glee to shut the door in her scowling face and walk around to the driver’s side, slow as he likes.

Impressed that he’s been able to resist the urge to sprint round and get in the car like he absolutely wants to do. His need to tease her is the only thing stronger than his need to kiss her.

Once he finally got in, she prodded his side, still glaring at him as he belted up.

“If you don’t kiss me some more when we get home, I will be going out with Penelope.”

“Don’t worry angel, I plan to thoroughly make up for the last two weeks.”

That got her to shut up, scowl falling away into something far more bashful, a pretty smile settling onto her face as she got comfortable for the drive back to her apartment.

With a happy sigh, he reached to turn the radio on, and then let his hand fall to her thigh, squeezing gently to get her attention - as if she was able to think of anything besides him when his entire presence fills the car and her head and her chest.

Rubbing firm circles to the top of her thigh as that smug grin climbed back onto his face.

“You won’t need to call Penelope, or anyone else, just yet. I told them that your appointment isn’t until tomorrow, so I have you all to myself for the next twenty-four hours.”

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