#Damaged but growing [Lucas]

[discount--dracula]

today i'm saying farewell to my darlings (only for a short while, but it hurts nonetheless)

see you in our new home lovelies

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Omg do you guys know what I rlly need in s5?

I need El and Lucas bonding over feeling like they’re losing the person they love the most, feeling like this person hasn’t been completely honest to them in the past and acknowledging how much it truly has hurt them to be lied to. I need them to bond over desperately trying to help someone who just doesn’t want to be helped, trying to reach for someone they love and get to know them better only to be pushed away.

This is in no way intended to be a Max/Mike hate post by the way, because I totally understand them both and the way they handle their trauma. I love them both so much, but I also want to acknowledge how damaging it is for El and Lucas to just be able to watch as their loved one suffers in silence.

So yeah. Give me Lucas and El bonding in s5 while Lucas waits for Max to wake up from her coma and El contemplates breaking up with Mike.

Give me Lucas telling her “Well, Mike hasn’t ever mentioned you guys fighting, so I suppose that’s a good thing, right? That you two don’t get into fights?” and watching her face fall. Give me El asking Lucas “Well, what do you do when Max can’t say ‘I love you’?” and him answering her with “We don’t really say it… I suppose actions speak louder than words”. Give me El slowly realising that Mike’s actions don’t exactly scream ‘I love you’ either, because pretty much all they do is make out and fight. Give me El asking Lucas “Does Max ever laugh things off when you try to fix things? Like, crack a joke to distract you or something?” and Lucas growing more and more concerned. Give me Lucas telling El stories about Mike from when they were younger and her saying “I had no idea he likes that/I had no idea he could be like that” etc. Give me El talking about how much she loves Max and how she doesn’t want to lose her and Lucas nodding along and smiling, so in love that it’s pretty much written in his face. Give me El slowly learning to accept that maybe her relationship with Mike isn’t worth holding on to.

GIVE ME EL AND LUCAS BONDING IN S5

[fluentmoviequoter]

S.W.A.T. (CBS Series)

David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

✧ blurbs and celebration fics

A Day Off with Deacon

2.1k+ words | wife!reader | fluff | You enjoy a fluffy day off with Deacon.

Confessions of a SWAT Team

2.9k+ words | SWAT!reader | angst to fluff | You and Deacon fell in love with each other, but didn't tell anyone. When officers closer to your age begin flirting with you, Deacon grows distant and won't tell you why.

Worried for You

2.3k+ words | angst/fluff | You worry about Deacon, but he doesn't know how it feels to be unsure and scared. When you're involved in a school shooting, he learns what you deal with daily.

A New Kind of Fear

2.1k+ words | angst/fluff | When 20 David completes a raid with narcotics, they stumble upon a stalker. The unknown suspect has been watching you, and now Deacon must find him while dealing with the fear you've grown used to.

What We Say When We're Sick

1.8k+ words | sick fic, fluff | Deacon takes care of you when you're sick, and you feverishly confess your feelings for him. Deacon is left to wonder if you feel the same when you're healthy.

Long Distance to the Future

1.3k+ words | fluff | You, Deacon's long-distance girlfriend, surprise him in LA, and then surprise him again with good news.

How Does He Know that You Love Him?

1.7k+ words | fluff, brief angst | Deacon worries about the age gap between you, but you repeatedly prove that you love him, no matter your ages.

The Kay Princesses

2.2k+ words | fluff | Lila's POV | Deacon introduces you to his kids over dinner and game night.

The Kay Princesses' Happily Ever After 2.4k+ words | fluff | 3rd person POV | Deacon wants to marry you, but he has to ensure that his kids understand and agree before he proposes. Then, you have a special question for Lila.

They Know Deacon Loves You (5+1)

3.5k+ words | SWAT!reader | fluff | 5 times someone realizes Deacon loves you, and the 1 time he realizes for himself.

Bloody Work

3.2k words | slight angst, fluff (period fic) | Your ex left deep scars, and when you unexpectedly get your period with Deacon, he comforts you and shows you how wrong your ex was.

The Real Us

2.7k+ words | fluff | You go under cover with Deacon while you're both hiding your feelings for each other. While acting as a couple, you realize that you don't want to pretend ever again.

Undo It

5.2k+ words | angst to fluff | SWAT!reader | You get abducted on your way home and won't talk to anyone after you're saved. Deacon vows to undo all the damage done to you.

My Home

4.5k+ words | angst/fluff | You are Deacon's favorite neighbour, but when you start receiving threats, he notices a change in you. While he and his team search for answers, you are attacked. Deacon returns home to find you and come to some realizations of his own.

20-David on a Plane

3.2k+ words | fluff | 20-David flies to Washington DC, and along the way, you learn why Deacon can comfort you so easily.

Blue and Red

2.7k+ words | angst to fluff | firefighter!reader | You are a firefighter who has a unique rivalry with Sergeant Deacon Kay. When you're injured while working together, Deacon learns why the rivalry started.

Love (Both of) You

4.6k+ words | hurt/comfort | pregnant!reader | After telling your husband you're pregnant, he kicks you out. Going to your best friend Luca's house, you find an unexpected source of comfort in Deacon Kay.

Love (Both of) You More 4.1k+ words | fluff/comfort | You grow closer to Deacon throughout your pregnancy and learn that you aren't the only one who loves him. (This picks up about a month after Part 1 and covers the rest of the pregnancy and birth!)

Don't Touch Her

3.0k+ words | angst to fluff | You and Deacon are abducted by men who want revenge on you. After Deacon is forced to watch them hurt you, it is up to him to comfort you and keep you calm.

Hot or Cold

2.7k+ words | angst to fluff & hurt/comfort | You work in a coffee shop, and when you are trapped in the fridge during a robbery, you can only hope that your boyfriend Deacon will find you.

Hectic Relief

2.2k+ words | fluff | wife & teacher!reader | After a long week of teaching and protecting Los Angeles, you and Deacon find comfort in one another.

Sweet as You

1.4k+ words | fluff | baker!wife!reader | You visit the LAPD to drop off some baked goods and to visit your husband. Mostly to visit your husband.

If the Bun's as Sweet as You 1.6k+ words | fluff | After you find out you're pregnant, you try to use baking jokes to tell Deacon. Unfortunately, he isn't the first to understand you.

Robbery

1.2k+ words | fluff | wife!reader | You're in a jewelry store when a robbery occurs. You text Deacon, and he proves that he will always come to save you.

Your Biggest Fan

1.1k+ words | fluff | ballerina!wife!reader | Deacon brings his whole team to watch you dance, and then promises to be by your side, no matter where you go.

Lockdown

2.8k+ words | fluff, comfort | While covering a court hearing, you get taken hostage with your favorite S.W.A.T. sergeant.

Best (Fake) Boyfriend

2.0k+ words | fluff | When you receive unwanted attention at a fancy restaurant, a handsome SWAT sergeant pretends to be your boyfriend to help you.

You Weren't Supposed to Hear That

1.6k+ words | fluff | shy!wife!reader | After years of trying, you get pregnant. With Deacon's birthday coming up, you decide to surprise him with the news, but he catches on to your nervousness and you accidentally tell him more than you mean to.

You Weren't Supposed to Know That 2.7k+ words | angst to fluff | Deacon is stressed with work and you are shyer than ever, so you don't tell him how sick your pregnancy is making you. When you collapse while home alone, you call Luca and he and Deacon rush to your aid.

Favors and Broken Promises

3.0k+ words | angst to fluff | journalist!reader | When you begin receiving death threats while writing an article on a dirty cop, Deacon Kay reluctantly agrees to protect you. He makes the situation worse before it gets better.

Soft Spot

3.4k+ words | angst to fluff | shy!assistant!reader | When you're kidnapped and used as a pawn, Deacon sets out to find you. Once you're tied up together, he changes his goals regarding your safety, finding a soft spot in the kidnappers and himself.

First and Second Steps

1.2k+ words | fluff | Deacon has missed a lot of important moments, but when you surprise him at work, he gets to watch his baby's first and second steps.

You're Safe

1.2k+ words | fluff | wife!SWAT!reader | Being on the same S.W.A.T. team as your husband provides plenty of opportunities to protect one another and share words of affirmation.

Our Songs

1.0k+ words | fluff | Deacon sings your song every chance he gets, but when he finds out why you love to hear him sing, he introduces more Sinatra into your life.

Every Day After

6.6k+ words | angst to fluff | shy!SWAT!reader | You are Deacon's best friend, and when you're poisoned and nearly killed, his protective tendencies make an appearance as he stays by your side to help you heal.

Because of My Family

4.0k+ words | angst to fluff | wife!Street!SWAT!reader | When you return to S.W.A.T. after having your fourth child, you are fatally injured. Your family gives you a reason to fight.

Think Different, Love the Same

3.9k+ words | fluff | When 20-Squad begins dealing with an activist group, Deacon falls for you, the group's leader.

Accidental CI

3.1k+ words | fluff | When your employer's name comes up in a case, your best friend Deacon calls to ask for your help. He leads you into a dangerous situation, and you come out as more than friends.

Speak Up

1.7k+ words | fluff/comfort | shy!girlfriend!reader | Your shyness makes it hard to speak up for yourself. Your boyfriend Deacon makes it easy.

Lucky Me

2.7k+ words | angst to fluff/comfort | Deacon loves you and he considers himself lucky to have you. Unfortunately, you can't see what he sees, so he takes it upon himself to show you just how lucky he is with you.

The Safest Place is With an Angel

4.2k+ words | angst to fluff/comfort | bodyguard!Deacon x singer | The bodyguard you never wanted quickly gives a new meaning to the City of Angels. After he saves you and helps you sing again, all of your fears disappear in his safety.

Not Since I Found You

2.5k+ words | (angst to) fluff | After Annie was changed by her brain tumor, she left Deacon. Now that he has you in his life, she decides that she doesn't want him to move on and does everything she can think of to sabotage your relationship.

As Oblivious as You Think

2.2k+ words | fluff | Your team thinks you're oblivious about your feelings for Deacon, so they try to push you together. Their plans fail because you already have a boyfriend, and you're not as oblivious as they think.

Proud to Listen

1.1k+ words | fluff | You perform in a talent show, and your boyfriend Deacon is proud of you for singing a song that means something to you.

Dress Up

1.2k+ words | fluff | Lila wants to wear matching Halloween costumes with you, and you're both surprised when Deacon joins.

Paying for the Sins of Our Fathers

3.6k+ words | angst to fluff | SWAT!reader | A new serial killer arrives in Los Angeles with a penchant for girls with bad relationships with their fathers. After you offer yourself up as bait to catch him, Deacon shows you that you're not as hard to love as you think.

Rich for a Night

2.5k+ words | fluff | detective!wife!reader | To catch a thief targeting wealthy couples, you go undercover with your husband Deacon.

Care Now and Forever

1.7k+ words | fluff/period fic | You struggle with iron deficiency on your period and learn during a rough day that Deacon will care for you no matter what.

Care Now and Forever (Starting Now) 1.0k+ words | fluff/comfort | You faint and Deacon takes care of you. As you wonder how he manages to be exactly where you need him to be, Deacon plans to start forever with you.

Always and Never Our Time

4.3k+ words | angst to fluff | SWAT!reader | You love Deacon and Deacon loves you, but you keep missing one another because the time is never right. Until your time, imperfect and late at night, finally comes along.

Always Time for You

2.5k+ words | angst to fluff | After you move to Los Angeles to escape an abusive relationship, you meet Deacon Kay and fall in love. When your ex arrives in Los Angeles, you have to tell someone, but don't want to worry Deacon.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight

2.3k+ words | fluff/brief angst | SWAT!reader | During a weekend off with your team, you run into one of the FBI's most wanted criminals. With a little luck and Deacon on your arm, you catch the criminal in a trap that places him exactly where you need him.

Save a Verse for Me

1.2k+ words | fluff | After hearing a man singing in your neighborhood, you fall for his voice. When you locate his house and sing with him, you discover there is more to love than his voice.

Tour of Dreams

1.4k+ words | fluff | wife!teacher!reader | Your class takes a special field trip to SWAT HQ and your husband Deacon makes the tour especially memorable.

Sleeves

1.6k+ words | fluff | Deacon's son Sam loves giving you temporary tattoos. When Deacon comes home to find you with a full sleeve of them, he admits he could get used to seeing you like this.

Friend of a Friend

2.0k+ words | fluff | Your neighbor, Street, invites you to join his team on a night out. You meet Deacon, who thinks you're there with Street, but can't deny that he feels something for you.

Blurbs

✵ David Kay!

✵ Roman Empire

✵ 20 > 50

✵ Just Want to Dance With You

✵ You Know I Love You

[dovahhmonn]

Alessio De Luca

Blurbs and Sketch below

‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱༘‧

Alessio De Luca was always meant to be a survivor. But he wasn’t a Reagent, fighting for his life in Murkoff’s trials—he was the thing they had to survive. The moment Murkoff got their hands on him, they twisted him into something else, something useful for their experiments. Now, he stalks the testing grounds as part of the Ex-Pop, a relentless obstacle designed to break the weak and torment the strong. He’s not just a brute, though—he’s a predator who enjoys the game as much as the kill.

He’s still a playboy, but the thrill of conquest has changed. Before, it was about the chase, the seduction, the satisfaction of knowing someone wanted him. Now, it’s about control. He plays with the Reagents, luring them in with charm, whispering sweet lies to see how desperate they’ll get before he turns on them. He enjoys their moment of hope, the brief flicker that maybe, just maybe, he’s different from the other monsters—until he proves them wrong.

His chemical burns give him a permanently lopsided grin, the scar tissue pulling at his smirks in a way that makes them look unnatural, stretched too thin. He knows exactly how unsettling he looks and uses it to get under people’s skin. Some Ex-Pop go full animal, but not Alessio. He still talks, still taunts, still keeps up the act of the smooth criminal he used to be, just with a much darker twist.

Murkoff gave him a toy that suits his personality perfectly—a pistol that looks like it shoots harmless paintballs but bursts on impact with acid. He plays with it like a cat with a feather on a string, testing shots, making sure his victims feel the burn before he actually does any real damage. He never wastes a round. He takes his time, savoring the way panic sets in when they realize those harmless-looking pellets aren’t a joke.

The docks and Franco’s domain are where he feels most at home. He doesn’t just respect Franco—he sees him as a boss, the way he used to view the mobsters he ran with back in New York. Alessio knows how to play the role of the loyal underling, staying in line when it benefits him. But he’s always watching, always waiting for the right moment to rise higher, to get more than what Murkoff has currently given him.

Unlike some of the others, he still remembers the man he used to be. The smooth talker, the dealmaker, the guy who always had a way out. Now, the only way out is through, and he’s made his peace with that. He doesn’t fight against what Murkoff turned him into—he thrives in it. The trials are just another kind of business, another game, and he’s damn good at playing it.

He loves the chaos of it all, the screaming, the desperation, the way people react under pressure. Every Reagent is different, and he takes pride in figuring out their weaknesses. Some beg, some try to fight, some think they can reason with him. It’s all the same in the end. He’ll drag them through the dirt, watch them break, and then move on to the next.

Even in the middle of the carnage, he keeps his charm. He leans in close, murmurs filthy promises, tells them what they want to hear before he ruins them. If he lets one escape, it’s never out of mercy—it’s because he wants to hunt them down again later. He likes to think of it as giving them a head start.

And yet, sometimes, when the trials go quiet, he catches himself humming old Italian love songs from his childhood. A habit from a past life, from a version of himself that no longer exists. He never lets himself dwell on it for long. The moment he realizes, he stops, smirks, and shakes it off. There’s always another Reagent to chase, another game to play, another soul to burn.

NSFW BLURB

De Luca is a man of indulgence, and that doesn’t change when it comes to sex. He treats it like a game, a conquest, a way to exert control and satisfy his insatiable hunger for pleasure. He’s not the type to settle down or grow attached—love is a fairytale, but fucking? That’s real. That’s something he can hold onto. He’ll take what he wants, enjoy it for as long as it entertains him, and then move on before things get too complicated.

He likes variety, both in partners and in the way he plays. Dominance comes naturally to him, but it’s not always about brute force—it’s about control, about making someone want it, beg for it, even if they know they shouldn’t. He enjoys the power he holds over people, whether it’s a slow, teasing buildup or something rough and immediate. He’s not gentle, not in the traditional sense, but he knows how to read a partner’s limits and push them just enough to keep things exciting.

Alessio has no shame and even less patience for prudishness. Dirty talk is a given—filthy, unfiltered, and laced with amusement, as if he’s constantly testing how much his partner can take. He’ll whisper in their ear, drag out his words just to watch them squirm, chuckle when they try to keep up. He’s not above mocking them a little, especially if they’re shy or hesitant. He wants reactions—whimpers, gasps, pleads—and he’ll do whatever it takes to pull them out.

He’s a man who enjoys excess, and that extends to the bedroom. One partner is fine, but more? Even better. He has no qualms about sharing or being shared, as long as he’s still getting his fill. He thrives in situations where pleasure and chaos mix, where lines blur and inhibitions crumble. A good time, to him, is something messy, primal, and unforgettable.

Alessio is tactile, always using his hands, his teeth, his body. He leaves marks—finger-shaped bruises, bite imprints, scratches from where he’s held someone too tightly. He doesn’t mind taking his own share of damage, either; he wears it like a badge, something to grin about the morning after. Pain and pleasure aren’t opposites to him—they feed into each other, heightening the rush, making it all the more intense.

He’s insatiable, and he knows it. One round is never enough. He’ll push his partner past exhaustion, coaxing, teasing, demanding more until they can’t keep up. He doesn’t need love, doesn’t need commitment—he needs heat, passion, the rawness of skin against skin, the proof that he’s still alive, still capable of feeling something real in a world that’s tried to strip it all away.

Aftercare isn’t something he naturally thinks about, but if a partner intrigues him enough, he might linger—tracing the bruises he left, smirking at the wrecked state he’s reduced them to. He’s not the type to cuddle or whisper sweet nothings, but he’ll light a cigarette, share a lazy comment, maybe even run a hand through their hair if he’s feeling particularly indulgent. If they expect tenderness, they’ll be disappointed—but if they just want to bask in the afterglow of something wild and unforgettable, he’s more than happy to oblige.

For Alessio, sex is about pleasure, control, and the thrill of the moment. He doesn’t do promises, doesn’t do “forever.” He’ll ruin someone in the best way possible, make them crave him even when they know they shouldn’t, and then walk away with a grin—because in the end, he always gets what he wants.

How he might proposition a Reagent that catches his eye

Alessio is a manipulator through and through, and when he sets his sights on a Reagent, he plays the long game—or the short one, depending on how desperate they are. He knows that fear and survival can twist people into making choices they normally wouldn’t, and he exploits that at every opportunity. He doesn’t need brute force to get what he wants; he just needs to plant the right ideas in someone’s head and let their own desires do the rest.

One of his favorite tactics is offering protection. He’ll find a Reagent who’s on the verge of breaking, one who’s been running, fighting, and barely surviving. He plays the part of the smooth talker, the reasonable Ex-Pop, the one who might just be willing to cut them a deal. “You’re all alone out here, huh? Can’t imagine it’s easy, always looking over your shoulder. But you stick with me, sweetheart, and maybe things get a little easier.” He makes them think they have a choice, but really, he’s already decided for them.

He knows how to weaponize charm. Unlike some of the other Ex-Pop who rely on brute terror, Alessio gives just enough warmth to make someone second-guess their instincts. He’ll lean in close, his voice low and velvety, his scarred grin making it impossible to tell if he’s being sincere or cruel. “Come on, I ain’t that bad, am I? ‘Sides, it’s not like you got a whole lotta better options.” He’ll brush a hand down their arm, let his fingers linger, watching their reactions with amusement.

For the ones who play hard to get, he makes it a challenge. He’ll chase them, corner them, let them think they’re about to face the worst—only to pull back at the last second, laughing. “Relax, gorgeous. I ain’t gonna kill you. Least, not yet.” He dangles the threat just enough to get their adrenaline pumping, to keep them on edge. Then he starts laying the groundwork. “Bet it’s been a while since someone touched you the right way, huh? This place don’t give you much time for fun.” He knows desperation when he sees it, and he knows exactly how to make them want to give in.

He preys on loneliness just as much as fear. Some Reagents have been in the trials so long that they forget what it feels like to be wanted, to be desired. Alessio reminds them. He makes them feel like they’re making the choice, like they’re the ones in control, when really, he’s been guiding them toward it the entire time. “Just think about it,” he’ll murmur, stepping away, leaving them with nothing but the lingering heat of his presence. “You know where to find me.” And they always do.

꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱༘‧‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱༘‧‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱༘‧‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱༘‧‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱

EAT UP MOOTS ENJOY THE NEW MANNNN ♡♡♡♡

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 92

Part 1 Part 91

Eddie laugh cuts off with a snotty scoff directed toward Carol when she’d immediately walked to the thermostat to crank it up. Eddie’s face is a mess of blood and bruising, and he’s listing slightly as he walks. Will wants to grab the phone and call for an ambulance. Have all the doctors in their white coats scan Eddie’s brain for damage, his knuckles for breaks.

He clutches Steve tighter into his side, and stares at Carol as she whirls toward Eddie, brow furrowed as she mutters out a tired, “what?”

Her face is just as bruised and swollen, but there’s no blood clotting along her hairline or pouring out of her nose. And her steps are steady as she moves through the house.

The years of friendship and history trail her every movement in this house. The way she fished the key out of its hiding spot, the way she works the Harrington’s fancy thermostat with minimal fiddling. The way she moves with such purpose, like she knows every spot the floorboard creaks and what every cupboard contains.

It makes Will ache somewhere deep, where Mike and Dustin and Lucas live within him.

Did Steve and Carol have sleepovers, performing late-night missions for forbidden snacks and risky science experiments? Did they grow together, here in the Harrington’s empty mausoleum – elementary, to middle, to high school – chained at the hip until the chain snapped?

Will knows Steve in the way he’s a sword and shield. In the way his words take shape, and his body holds space. But he doesn’t know what haunts him through rooms, trailing behind like a ghost he can’t shake.

He knows the shape of his parents, looming in unreturned calls from hospital rooms, and the way sometimes other high schoolers will walk up to Steve around town, clapping his shoulder and shaking his hand like he’s someone they recognize, even while Steve’s smiles turns fixed and blank.

He knows what he’s observed from the edges of ghosts Steve hasn’t been able to hide.

Will wants desperately to know what’s knocking around inside Steve’s head.

They’ll get him back, so Will can ask.

“You really think that’s going to be enough?” Eddie asks, scowling at Carol with crossed arms.

Carol hits the button a few more times before turning back toward Eddie with a raised eyebrow. “What would you suggest?” She says it calmly, sweetly, but Will’s known enough scary people to see the murderous intent in her eyes.

“We run him a bath!”

Carol scoffs. Apparently, they’re trading them back and forth. “You think that’ll be hot enough?”

“The Harrington’s heat their pool in the winter. I should know, I got dragged into Hell through it!” Eddie gestures expansively at the closed blinds blocking their view of the pool.

“What are you—”

“I think they’re boiler can handle a measly bathtub!”

His Mom chimes in agreeing with Eddie’s plan, but Will barely notices. He stares out at the pool past the closed blinds, trying to capture the scene. The Demogorgon getting it’s claws into Eddie and dragging him through the pool. Steve, ever the hero, jumping in after to save his friend.

Had the chlorine burned? Had they been scared?

Will pulls their connection into himself, desperate to feel their liveliness pulling back. Eddie whips his head around, meets his eyes as he tugs back. Steve doesn’t stir at all.

He’s docile at Will’s side, something else holding Steve’s body upright as he’s trapped in his head. It should be a relief, not to have to lug Steve’s weight up the stairs, but it’s not.

Will wants him to settle his hand on one of Will’s shoulders, let go of some of the burden, show he’s still a person somewhere in there, with limits and needs.

But he goes where Barbara and Will prompt him, nudging him forward with a branding hand on his

“How are we going to keep the headphones and blindfold dry?” Carol demands, but she’s following closely behind, hand brushing Will’s side every now and then, like she’s got her palms raised to catch Steve if he stumbles.

“How hard do you think it’ll be to keep his head above water?” Eddie calls from a few steps above,  not turning around but shaking his head hard enough that his frizzy curls fly around, almost smacking them in the face. “Babies manage it.”

Carol doesn’t reply, but when they reach the second floor, she shoves past them all to lead down the hall, past the plaid bedroom where they’d found Steve curled up in his closet last time.

The room she leads them could fit the Byers entire living room and kitchen in it. It’s large and airy, but empty aside from a soulless painting of a cityscape across from the largest bed Will’s ever seen and a chest of drawers with nothing but a vase and a bouquet of fake flowers arranged atop it.

Will stops for a second, gaping around at the lifeless husk passing as living quarters until his Mom clasps his shoulder, pushing him along.

Carol leads them to a bathroom. It’s sterile and white, lighting like a hospital, tub large and deep enough to fit three grown men.

Will stops, staring down at the empty tub, bubbling with trepidation.

Steve’s vulnerable, possessed, and vacant, and now they’re, what? Throwing him into the fire?

This house is already so vast and empty, swallowing Steve back up like it’s been starving for him since he left. Should they do this here, of all places?

Will’s hesitation doesn’t stop anything. Steve’s placid enough that Barbara can lead him on her own. Once she reaches the lip of the tub, she leads Steve’s foot up and over the lip, settling it in. He follows with the other on his own, foot raised at the exact same height before he lowers it to join the other.

Once both feet are in the tub, Barbara pushes on his shoulders, urging him down in the bath, fully clothed.

Eddie’s shuffled up beside Barbara, reaching into Steve’s pocket and fishing Jonathan’s Walkman out, setting it gently on the porcelain tile below the tub. The headphone chord stretches taught, but the jack stays firmly in the port, just barely reaching its destination.

Carol reaches around Barbara, hand on her shoulder to keep steady as she reaches down to stopper the tub. Eddie reaches down, hands on Steve’s shoulders as he pushes him down until he’s prone, head propped up on the lip of the tub to keep the headphones and blindfold dry and in place.

“I’ve got you, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, but his voice carries in the confines of the bathroom. “You’ll be just fine.”

Everyone stares down at them for a moment, stalled at the threshold. Steve’s skin’s turning pink where Eddie’s hands are still holding Steve’s shoulders, pushing down with force, like he’s a mother getting ready to drown her young.

What will the hot water do to his skin?

It’s Mom that moves first. She turns the knob of the tub as high as it will go, and water cascades down.

It only takes a moment for the steaming water to reach Steve’s feet. He gasps, curling his feet into his ribs until he’s in the fetal position.

Eddie just keeps holding him there, whispering things into Steve’s ear that Will can no longer hear over the sound of the water filling the tub and Steve’s own whining gasps.

Everyone else stares, watching his skin turn a vibrant pink, darkening to red as it crawls up the back of his calves.

It’s not until the water starts raising, engulfing his back and ribs that the screaming starts. It’s guttural and loud, deep in Steve’s throat. It’s reverberating, like static from a misfiring radio, echoing strangely off the walls of the bathroom.

It sounds wrong, like nails on a chalkboard. Like the Demogorgon, screeching before it devours its prey. Like the Demodogs howls echoing from beneath the earth.

Something not Steve is calling out its pain from within him. Will hopes, fervently and with all he is, that Steve’s untouched somewhere in there.

Steve jackknifes up, back lurching out of the bathwater as Eddie does all he can to keep him down. Will rushes forward, dropping to his knees hard enough on the stone tile floor that he feels the reverberations all the way through his teeth. He sinks his own hands into the hot bath beside everyone else’s, pushing him back down.

Even with all their hands pushing, it’s a struggle to keep him under. Steve thrashes his head back and forth, Jonathan’s headphones falling off into the water and floating away on the waves made by his struggle.

Eddie’s sobbing, open and loud, tears trailing down his bloody nose and dripping saltwater and blood onto Steve’s own face.

They trail down Steve’s own cheeks, leaving bloody tears that look as if they’re leaking from his own eyes.

It reminds Will of the one time he’d gone to church with Mike, Christ on the cross, dripping tears and blood, a martyr of his own making as he slowly died.

Steve’s been dying by inches. Will latches onto their connection and yanks. Like he can pull him free from all that smoke, off the cross, into the boiling tub.

Beside him, Will feels Eddie doing the same, still weeping. He’s not pushing Steve into the water anymore, the rest of them strain harder against Steve’s thrashing to make up for it.

Eddie’s cupping Steve’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks like claws, opening scratches that mix with the blood already dripping down his face. “Get the fuck out of him,” he snarls, digging his nails in harder. “Do you hear me?”

“Is it working?” Carol demands, breathless with strain.

No one answers. The bathroom is growing hot even for them. It’s filling with steam and sweat and screams. It’s suffocating. Will wants to flee. To curl into the fetal position and wait for Steve to come back. His Steve. Not this thing.

But then he feels Steve pull back. It’s fluttering against Will’s ribs, like a caged bird straining against its constraints. Feathers flying until it’s free.

Eddie gasps, hand slapping against Steve’s face hard enough that the sound of skin against skin echoes even past Steve’s continued screams.

“It’s working!” Eddie cries.  

Will pushes harder against Steve as his thrashing grows stronger, more desperate.

The tubs full now, overflowing and flooding into the bathroom. Only Eddie’s iron-clad grip on Steve’s face is keeping him out of the water and breathing.

“Not fast enough,” Carol says, voice gravely like her throats all clogged up. “Aren’t you the one that said that the little punk girl doing whatever she’s doing could hurt him?”

“What do you want me to do?” Eddie demands shrilly. He’s leaning forward so far over the tub that his hair’s trailing into it, ends wet.

Will wants to tie it up in a ponytail for him the way he does for Mom sometimes when her hands are wet with dish soap. But then Carol lets go of Steve, storming out of the bathroom with a frustrating shriek down low in her throat, and Will’s got other priorities.

“Shit, hold him, hold him!” Barbara calls, and all three of them press down hard, Eddie fighting against them with his clutching hands.

Steve’s still screaming, and crying, and flailing. He doesn’t know it yet, but his oldest friend just walked out on him, just like his parents and every other friend besides those crouched over him now.

It's going to hurt, once he’s back.

Steve’s flailing more now, like that thing inside him can sense the weakness in their ranks.

Will stays and holds his friend down as he shakes. It’s not a surprise when he shakes them free, sending everyone sprawling down onto the wet tile with a splash.

It is a surprise when the first thing Steve does is lunge forward to wrap his hand around Will’s throat and squeeze.

Will gasps, fingernails raking against the back of Steve’s hands where it’s choking him. Around them, everyone screams. 

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary

Part 93

[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter thirteen - ❝milk, sugar + luca.❞

← previous chapter: chapter twelve - "the british museum." next chapter: chapter fourteen - "feast." →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS / Andrew is adjusting his time as a full-time professor (and a part-time boyfriend) and is given an assistant for the extra load after Jeremy's departure. 

BONUS / Sakuverse character cameo (bunny boy)

──────── ✧ ────────

A N D R E W

I STOOD STILL, my mind processing the words I never thought would leave Jeremy's mouth, for all the hard work he put in to maintain his spot here at the university. I must be sleeping through my alarm right now.

"Leaving? What do you mean leaving?"

Jeremy's response did little to diffuse my confusion. "Not the university entirely," he clarified. "I'm just transferring to another campus nearby. It's a leap, no doubt, but my expertise aligns with the opportunity to head there. Andrew, you're spilling Splenda on your shoes."

I looked down and saw the contents on the tiles.

"Do you really have to go?" I hear Angela ask. 

"It's an easier commute for not just myself, but my wife is on maternity leave and the job actually pays more. I would arrive home at least half an hour sooner than an hour and a half." Jeremy smiles proudly, pulling his phone out from his pants pocket. "Have I shown you all the ultrasound photos yet?"

His words hung in the air, leaving the literature professors in awe. This sudden revelation felt like a jolt to my system, disrupting the familiar rhythm of our shared academic pursuits. I couldn't help but wonder if this would happen to me one day - transferring or even resigning. Retiring, if I ever make it to the era where I grow old and wrinkly and can be qualified for senior discounts? Or earlier in my life where I live long enough to make it to see the Great Pyramids in person?

Jean-Marc's voice interjected. "C'est de la folie, Jeremy! Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm just around the corner," he reassures. "Who knows, I may come back to add a BBC news article for the students to cite."

Brushing the sweetener off my shoes, I couldn't help but express my concern. "You're leaving Chris to handle everything on his own," I pointed out, looking over at Chris who was snacking on a bowl of fruit.

Jeremy nodded, his tone confident. "Now that you've mentioned him, Chris will be taking on the workload in the literature department. I've already begun preparing him, and setting up assignments and modules for him to oversee. He'll have a head start, and you, along with your new assistant, passed down from myself, will manage the rest of the year."

I stopped sliding away the sweetener. "My what?"

Angela unlocks the passcode of her phone. "Look, my husband did the same thing in editing before we met. He never ended up liking it so it was a waste of his time and meanwhile, his colleagues were just drowning in extra workload. I hope you reconsider this. One man down could change up the whole game."

"Speaking of one man down, Professor Fadden is at life-or-death with his job. Is it true that he's self-medicating?" Jean-Marc sat down at one of the tables, peeling a Granny Smith apple.

"Allegedly, maybe it's just that he's simply a weirdo since the jump. But people have been speculating about it for months." 

I've been quiet for a minute now. No comment. It's unfortunate, but not right to gossip about allegations. I've learned firsthand how damaging rumours can be, and how they can tarnish a person's reputation and shatter their sense of self. I've been through that storm once before, and I'll give anything to avoid it a second time.

Once I track down James Zylos and hold him fully accountable for the review, I can say that my life is calm. I have my teaching job. I have Y/N. I have an outstanding tea collection. I have a roof over my head. I've worked hard to rebuild my image, or at least cover the past of it. I refuse to let anyone or anything make me vulnerable in that way again. The shadows of the past haunt me, reminding me of the pain and the isolation it brought.

The pressure of all that can suffocate like a true crime. It's a lonely journey, one I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Perhaps it was true, given I've seen his behaviour and his physical state through his eyes, paranoid and fidgeting, but as annoying as he can get, why would I care about Professor Fadden and what he's up to?

A more important question is why the Literature department would care about a Math professor. Who told them about him self-medicating, regardless if it was true or not? Maybe someone confused an ibuprofen bottle. 

I grabbed the sweeper and dustpan and finished cleaning the Splenda off the floor, and they were still talking about it, like we were huddled in a high school hallway, exchanging each other gossip like teenagers. I felt uneasy at the thought of them reading those reviews about me, the thought of anything happening to me and them talking about it like what they were doing right now.

If all a friend can do is constantly gossip to you about another friend and nothing else meaningful, chances are they may do the same thing about you. 

And just like straight out of a movie, the next professor to walk into the lounge room was no other than himself. I remember Jean-Marc warned Angela to not let him in the lounge anymore, and the last time he was here, he was frantically stuffing anything he could grab in his pockets like he was raiding us blind. He never compensated our lounge kitchen with new packs of milk and sugar.

I sat there, my heart pounding in my chest for this man I found obnoxious, someone who does not understand time and place in social cues, as Professor Fadden entered the lounge room. The atmosphere instantly became tense, the silence hanging heavy in the air. It was as if the room itself held its breath. Did he hear them? Could he know that they were just talking about him through the door?

"We got a full house, eh?" Professor Fadden's voice cut through the awkward silence, his eyes scanning the room, catching the gaze of each person present. His words were casual, but there was a hint of apprehension in his tone.

I watched as the Math professor made his way toward the kettle, attempting to engage in some small talk. "I did quite the cardio just to get hot water. Even the kettle back at the applied sciences department is broken."

"Doesn't make it okay to just use ours," His tone seemed valid, but Jeremy's words were laced with rudeness. The response was nothing short of polite. I would have expected Angela to say something as such, but Jeremy, who was like a mentor to all of us here, fostering us with balance and leadership in the department, is now ready to depart from our group, not without a passive-aggressive comment to leave behind on some poor guy. I was disappointed.

I grimaced at their behaviour. Professor Fadden, however, appeared unfazed by their remarks. He simply shrugged off their rudeness and offered a polite smile as he prepared to leave. "A bientôt!" he said to Jean-Marc. He shuts the door on the way out.

──────── ✧ ────────

A DAY PASSES. In the early hours of this Tuesday morning, I can feel the university grow stronger and I can tell because more of the students have lined up for coffee. I noticed the flight services students in their uniforms rendered the lunch line from 14:00. The female students paced a bit in their spots but all they seemed to grow concerned about was not the pain of blisters developing on the back of their heels but of the sushi bento boxes running out so fast at the hub. People kept grabbing them because it was a couple of pounds less on Tuesdays. 

But today on this Tuesday I packed my lunch from home. Perhaps I didn't need the kettle and the organizer that kept the milk, cream or sugar packs that Professor Fadden took with him. My thermos kept my Earl Grey warm and I prepped a balanced meal. 

After finishing my meal I resumed my work and used my office hours to aid some of my students, including this one who had a complaint. 

"I know I'm two lessons behind but I have no reason to come here if this could have easily been an email," they sigh, waiting to be dismissed.

"Three," I correct them. "Three lectures behind."

"You give a lot of tentative instructions in long emails and I read them just fine."

"What? As if we've been conducting a whole thread of emails this past week? I understand, Penelope. I do. But I much rather we have this face-to-face. For a more professional atmosphere of the office would be a good change of pace for you, and for me."

"For the last time, I did not use my past assignments for this one."

"Then why am I able to cross-reference this paragraph word-for-word, then?" 

She kept protesting. I kept scolding and reasoning. No one was winning here.

After back and forth and it leading to nowhere, I had no choice but to give her the same lecture I did with Colin Jaden, or C.J... you are responsible for your tuition money. Regardless of student aid or the money coming out of yours or your parents' pockets, you do the work. No substances. No outside sources. No past assignments. 

She sighs and walks out the door right when office hours were done. She slams it and I nearly jump. Careless, disrespectful students I have this semester... and that worries me. 

If I really was some wicked thing that people claim I was on RateMyProfessors, I would have dropped their grade by 10% for just slamming my door like that. No one slams my door.

I hear another knock minutes after. "Come in."

A different student walks in with his bookbag. And he looked dressed. 

"Sorry. Office hours have concluded."

He spoke apologetically. "O-oh! I'm not a student. I actually graduated. I'm here for the new job? I'm the assistant Jeremy and Chris referred."

Right, the assistant. "Apologies. I'm Professor Andrew Marston."

"I know! I heard great things about you," Luca smiles shyly. "My name is Luca Pearce."

We shook hands. His grip is light and a bit sweaty. "Nice to meet you, Luca. I'm assuming you went through the interview process already? Any sort of job shadowing?"

Luca nods. "Yes." As soon as he realized I'm waiting to hear his credentials, he quickly continues. "I graduated from University majoring in psychology. Afterwards, as you probably know, I became TA for Jeremy before his departure."

"That's excellent." It never really occurred to me that I have never seen Luca before until now. Jeremy only spoke of his assistant a couple times without even mentioning his name. Maybe he has and I never had it to remember.

"Thank you," he smiles. 

"So just making sure, you are good with computers?"

"Yes, Professor."

"I'm talking MS Word, MS PowerPoint, Excel... then there's the University's learning management system Moodle, Outlook for the emails, do you have a keycard or a set of keys to the Literature department-"

"Yes. Again, I did graduate with a degree in psychology and been Jeremy's TA. Yes to all of it," Luca chuckles nervously. I could tell I may be coming off as too stern, as what so many people say of me. He hasn't even sat down yet. "Don't worry, Professor Marston. I'll be your shadow."

"Perfect. So, for now, I'm gonna need some help with some poetry analysis, I'd like you to cross-reference the citations using the plagiarism prevention tool..."

"Turnitin, yes. Good ol' Turnitin," Luca said brightly.

"Yes and I need help with my schedules. Especially handling the Excel tables containing my students and the scheduled timestamps for their tutorials." I motion him to come over so I can hand him the cut of my workload. "You got winter boots to break into, Luca. We're gearing up towards this new semester and I'm counting on it. Not to scare you, of course."

"I understand both parties. It's stressful for students to juggle assignments but I never imagined how stressed professors must be as well until I learned it firsthand from Jeremy."

"As long as you can work under pressure. But it's good to step back and breathe. Stress and fear of failing is common and part of the human condition. I'm glad I've found ways to work around it."

"You know what they say?" Luca chuckles. "You're married to your work?"

I could only think of the book I was reading the other night, the two-hundredth page bookmarked in The Melancholy of Resistance. "Perhaps."

"Great. W-where should I..."

"Oh, you can take a seat right there. Oh, watch your step—"

Luca Pearce knocks over the trash bin.

"Sorry. That's my fault. That's a really random place to put a trash bin..."

"No no! It was my fault, really! I—I'll pick it up—" He scrambled to gather the scattered paper, nearly knocking over a chair in the process.

I stared and watched, quite amused.

He got back up and gives me an awkward thumbs-up. I returned my focus to my desk when things seemed to calm a bit, but the moment I glanced up again, Luca drops his pen.

"Jesus—" He sighed, crouching to pick it up, his bottom pushing against the items set on his new desk.

"Careful, your laptop!"

Luca cries as he catches his laptop from falling over the edge. He pants. We both exhaled the breaths we held together.

"This sounds extremely rude, but are you in accommodated with imbalance dysfunction, some kind of neurological decline, or is this just... how you are?" I ask.

"Ahah, no, no inner ear issues. Just, um... breaking in the workspace," Luca laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

At this rate, this young man might break the workspace. Nerves. I get it. I mentally noted this young man's impression thus far as he scrambled to pick up the dropped stationary supplies... adjusting his office chair. Skittish, nervous, clumsy. If he were to work with me from now on, this is what I would have to adjust to.

He finally settled into the chair, exhaling as if he had just had a mental breakdown and came back from sobbing and cursing at his own reflection in the mirror. "Okay! Ready to work."

I walked over and handed him a stack of papers, setting my thermos down for just a second, possibly modelling how poised and careful I handle the important stuff: my students' work. Luca reached for them a little too eagerly, nearly knocking over my thermos of Earl Grey in the process. I snatched it just in time.

Luca froze, looking at me like a child who had nearly set the kitchen on fire. "I—"

I wonder how Jeremy thought of his former assistant. "No disasters on day one, Luca. You got this," I reassure him.

"Right. Of course. No disasters. Noted."

He took the papers more cautiously this time, gripping them as if they were made of glass. I sat back, shaking my head slightly. This was going to be a long semester.

"You'll be fine. It's not like I'm making you jump through hoops to be my assistant."

Luca let out a nervous laugh, placing clicking his pen. "That's okay. I would have knock those over, too."

He opens his laptop and he types in his password, and it led straight to an open tab of some game he was playing, volume at max. He jumps and punched the volume down key, the sounds of xylophone and cartoonish music and sound effects fading into the usual white noise of my office.

I almost buried my head in my hands.

"Sorry—"

"Right." I cut him off and gestured to his workspace. "Just—sit."

"I'm sat."

"Settle in, I mean. And try not to break anything. Please."

Luca followed the instruction. "Yes, Professor." He hesitated before adding, "Uh... your tea?"

I grab my thermos and raise it in salute, walking back to my post. "Oh, and we're out of milk and sugar." 

──────── ✧ ────────

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ War Chapter 6

The night was unnervingly quiet as Lucas paced his room, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his chest. His parents’ warnings still echoed in his head, but so did the image of Hongjoong’s desperate plea. He couldn’t let it go. Lucas leaned against the window, staring out at the woods beyond their house. The moon hung low in the sky, bathing the trees in an eerie silver light. He glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight.

A soft knock on his door startled him. “Lucas,” Moon’s voice whispered. “You awake?” Lucas opened the door to find his younger brother standing there, fully dressed and clutching a flashlight. “You’re coming with me?” Lucas asked, his voice quiet but filled with relief. Moon nodded. “I don’t think we should do this, but I can’t let you go alone.” Lucas smirked, pulling on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the house was silent, save for the crunch of leaves beneath their feet. The cold air bit at their skin, and the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly around them. When they reached the clearing, Lucas stopped, his breath catching in his throat. The fog was back. It curled around the house like a living thing, thick and dark, pulsating with an unnatural energy. The oppressive aura was back too, pressing against their senses and making the hair on the back of their necks stand up. “Are you sure about this?” Moon asked, his voice barely audible. Lucas swallowed hard but nodded. “We have to.” Together, they stepped into the fog.

The temperature dropped instantly, the air growing colder and heavier. The house loomed before them, its windows dark and lifeless. “Lucas,” a voice whispered, carried on the wind. “Hongjoong,” Lucas called out, his voice trembling. The fog shifted, and a figure appeared in the doorway of the house. It was Hongjoong, just as Lucas had seen him in his dreams. His blackened hair was wild, and his hollow eyes glowed faintly in the darkness. “Please,” Hongjoong said, his voice cracking. “You’ve come back. Help me. Free me from this prison.” Lucas hesitated, glancing at Moon. “We shouldn’t,” Moon whispered. “This is wrong.” But Lucas stepped forward, his resolve hardening. “What do we have to do?” Hongjoong gestured to the ground near the edge of the fog. “My body is buried here. The witches bound me to this place, trapping my soul in the house. Pull me out, and I’ll finally be free.”

Lucas knelt, his hands trembling as he began to dig. Moon joined him reluctantly, his movements slower and more hesitant. The earth was cold and damp, and the further they dug, the more the fog seemed to close in around them. After what felt like an eternity, Lucas’s fingers brushed against something solid. “Here,” he said, pulling back to reveal a decayed skeletal hand. Hongjoong’s voice was almost reverent. “Pull me out.” Lucas and Moon worked together, carefully lifting the skeletal remains out of the ground. As soon as the last bone was freed, the fog around them began to swirl violently, and Hongjoong let out a piercing scream. The brothers stumbled back, watching in horror as Hongjoong’s form flickered and shifted, his translucent body momentarily solid before fading again. “Thank you,” Hongjoong whispered, his voice filled with relief. But before they could react, a voice behind them shattered the moment. “What are you doing?!” Lucas and Moon whipped around to see Luna and Isla standing at the edge of the clearing, their eyes wide with shock and fear. “Luna! Isla!” Lucas shouted, panic setting in. “You’re not supposed to be here!” “What are you doing here?” Luna demanded, her voice sharp. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” “Go home!” Moon hissed. But Luna wasn’t listening. She grabbed Isla’s arm and turned on her heel. “I’m telling Dad.” “Luna, wait!” Lucas called after her, but it was too late. The girls were already running back toward the house.

By the time Lucas and Moon returned home, the damage had already been done. Minho was waiting for them in the living room, his expression unreadable. Luna stood beside him, her arms crossed and her face set in a defiant glare. “Lucas,” Minho said calmly, his voice betraying none of the anger he clearly felt. “Moon. Sit down.” The brothers exchanged a nervous glance before obeying, sinking into the couch. “Care to explain what happened tonight?” Minho asked, his tone even. Lucas hesitated, his mind racing. But before he could speak, Luna cut in. “They were at the haunted house,” she said. “They pulled out a body, Dad. A body.” Minho’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Lucas thought he might explode. But instead, he took a deep breath and turned back to the boys. “Is that true?” he asked. “Yes,” Lucas admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s not what you think—” “I don’t care what I think,” Minho interrupted. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Lucas tried to explain, telling Minho about the dreams and Hongjoong’s pleas for help. But the more he talked, the darker Minho’s expression became. When Lucas finally finished, Minho stood, running a hand through his hair. “I need to call Jeongin,” he said.

The family meeting that followed was even more tense than the last. Jeongin arrived within the hour, his presence commanding as he walked into the room. The air was thick with tension as he listened to Minho recount what had happened. When Minho finished, Jeongin turned to Lucas, his piercing gaze making the boy shrink in his seat. “Do you understand what you’ve done?” Jeongin asked, his voice calm but firm. “I was just trying to help,” Lucas said weakly. “Help who?” Jeongin pressed. “A ghost? A murderer? You’ve put the entire pack at risk, Lucas. Including your mother." “How?” Lucas shot back, his frustration boiling over. “He’s just a spirit. He just wants to be free!” “You don’t know that,” Jeongin said sharply. “Your mother put him in there for what he did to her. The story is about how he abused your mother. Hyunjin and Seungmin nearly died putting him in their. Your going to cause a war with Ateez if they realise what you've done." “War,” Minho said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention. Jeongin nodded grimly.

Lucas felt a lump form in his throat. He hadn’t thought about the consequences, about how his actions might affect the pack. “What do we do?” Y/N asked, her voice trembling as she held onto Changbin who stroked her hair. “We contain this,” Jeongin said. “We keep it quiet and figure out how to fix it. But Lucas and Moon—” He turned to the boys, his expression hard. “You two are to stay away from that house. Do you understand me?” Lucas nodded, his heart heavy with guilt. “Good,” Jeongin said. “Because if this gets out, it won’t just be you who suffers. It’ll be all of us.”

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@silentreadersthings @ihrtlix @galaxy4489 @catlove83 @linocz @eastjonowhere @hyunmikim @hpnsfwaddict

[fresh-and-funky]

Party Bag tour:

Mike Wheeler

Clean bag

Keeps comics and books at all times

Chronic note-taker, always jolting down ideas

Pins on bag

Always is late so keeps extra jacket and dice

Resees Pieces for Will

Never lets people listen to his mixtapes (all cheesy/ embarrassing love songs)

(never sent letter to Will)

Keeps memorial polaroid of Eddie

Got the pink triangle pin and guitar pick from Eddie (he was being taught guitar)

Will Byers

Tiger plush keychain from Joyce

Collector/ sometimes keeps things “in case they can be used later)

Art supplies always on hand

Smokes cigarettes and sometimes weed

Pin collection from Mike

An Amethyst for “good energy” from El

Tapes from Johnathon

Has spare keys to everything

Tickets from movie night with Mike

The cure sweater for chilly nights

Dustin Henderson

Always prepared (first aid kid, compass, tape, scissors, etc) Mary Poppins style

Robot toy he always forgets to take out

Backpack because he likes to haul things around

Snacks galore

Character Sheets all kept together

Extra hat

Brush from Steve (to take care of the curls)

Movie tape he's been meaning to return for three months

Tomagothchi has never died

Got the kazoo as a gag gift from Mike and Max

Lucas Sinclair

Reuses sports bag for everything

Slingshot cause he still is a kid at heart

Pep ralley poster to show his mom

Game boy for car rides

Cleans bag every other week, no sooner or less

Max polaroid

Period pack for Max

Flashlight he stole from Dustin

M&Ms as a peace offering to Mike

Grocery coupon for running errands

El Byers- Hopper

Purse from Joyce

Scarf to wrap up hair while its growing out weird

Likes to do art with Will, so often keeps a craft on hand

Lots of papers from studying

Makeup and jewelry were party birthday gifts

Tissues for bloody noses

Polaroids of friends to show off

Socks for cold feet

Wallet to put money she “steals” from Hopper (he lets her take it

Nail polish that puts on everyone (she makes the party match with her)

Max Mayfield

Skateboard strapped on back (and bandaids for fails)

Never threw out “in case” letters from Vecna

Lock picking set and switchblade

Music kept with at all times

Hair ties for braiding back her hair

Keys (including the spare to Steve’s car she stole)

A comic she says isn't hers

Ladybug wallet from El

Glasses for reading (Vecna damaged her eye sight)

A lighter for weed sessions with the party

[intermundia]

something lovely i discovered while planning the story of the redemption of one damaged man, is that it turned into telling the story of an entire community that absorbs and guides that individual as he grows towards the light—he couldn’t do it alone, doing it alone is not the point; his growth is predicated on improved relationships with everyone around him and improved moral behavior with a positive impact on the galaxy. everyone who listens to him, assists and corrects him, all participate in the better man that he becomes, so his redemption is everyone’s story, not just his own. i think this is the fundamental difference between the religious concept of redemption and the concept of redemption as applied in a framework of secular ethics.

star wars the films offer the spiritual and religious redemption in vader's final act of selflessness and return to the light, but i'm not entirely satisfied by that—i want to see him develop into a better man. i want to see him experience and embody his redemption, which was always the genesis of the narrative of time travel after death. you can merely die as an individual for religious redemption, you have to live as a person for the secular kind, and nobody builds a life alone; we are inherently contextual creatures, and so becoming a compassionate and giving member of society radiates out into the surrounding spiderweb of strengthened bonds, and makes an entire community thrive instead of wither and break apart. it was just lovely to see the story of anakin's lived redemption ended up demonstrating lucas's ethical directive of symbiosis in a way that the films never really did.

[liminal-spawns]

— “ Hello? Is this application working? Anyone from the other side there? ”

— “ Joyous! Thank the Spawns that it's working. Hello there! ”

[ Azure smiled as he finally got the phone to work, Luca standing behind them curiously. ]

“ My name is Azurewrath, but just call me Azure. ”

[ Luca sighed, before introducing himself as well. ]

“ My name is Luca Balsa, an inventor. ” he sounded hesitant as he said so. “ Just call me Luca, I suppose. ”

EVENT: N/A

Location: Level 1: “ Habitable Zone ”

Asks: OPEN

{ Rules & Info under cut! }

⠀⠀⠀⠀﹏⠀⠀⠀𔗨⠀⠀⠀⁺ ⠀𑁍 ⠀ ⁺⠀⠀⠀𔗨⠀⠀﹏⠀

This is an ask/rp blog of Azure from Forsaken and Luca Balsa from IDV! This is my first time...

Anons taken: ⏮

I follow the Backrooms Wikidot.

Mod ( Two Time ) - 🪽

Text

- “ Text ” is Azure.

- “ Text ” is Luca.

- [ Text ] is actions.

- “ Text ” is whispering.

- (“ Text ”) is thoughts.

Rules

- don't be rude!!!

- no politics....

- no nsfw asks! im a minor!! flirty and suggestive asks are allowed... just don't go too overboard.

- m!a is allowed ^_^

Credits

- PFP made by twotimekisser on pinterest ^_^

Info:

‎Azurewrath (Forsaken) ; The Botanist‎

Timeline: Pre-events; still alive

‎- robloxian ; mortal

‎- he / they ; bi-ace

‎- asd, ambidextrous ; 5'4"

- empathetic, kind, considerate

‎- medic & supply carrier

‎- botanist

‎- knows tailoring, first aid, rationing, botany

‎- affected by the garden sector of Level 1; branches growing on them

Thoughts:

“ Luca seems very bitter about those two leaving us. I keep trying to say that they might have just gotten separated from us, but he seems to have gotten that they left without us in his head... ”

------

‎Luca Balsa (IDV) ; The "Prisoner"

‎Timeline: Pre Manor Game, post prison bail

‎- human ; mortal

‎- he / him ; aroace

‎- asd , amnesia , nerve damage , chronic pain, ambidextrous; 5'8

‎- eccentric, stubborn, gloomy/cautious

‎- narrow-minded (?) ; defensive

‎- fighter, scavenger, inventor, tinkerer

‎- knows first aid, smithing, welding, engineering, mechanics

‎- has minor effects from garden sector (leaves and small roots in his hair and arms)

‎- wields a spiked baseball bat

‎- trying to create a gun

‎- collecting metal and tinkering

Thoughts:

‎- “ Azure? Hm... Very friendly actually! Only thing is that I'm kind of concerned about them wanting to stay in that Garden Sector the M.E.G guys talked about... Place gives me the creeps, and there's plants growing on me and them! Other than that, he's really good at first aid and organizing stuff. He keeps trying to defend the other two though. He's the only company I have left. ”

------

About the creator:

Hello! I go by Two Time. I go by They/them.

My main blog is @yuus-cafe ... Don't really post there that much.

[repeatsquared]

A Life for a Life - 5

Chapter 4 Recap: Drinks with coworkers always ends in gossip. Seclusion from the others was normal, but animosity from a higher up set Alex on edge, hunting for excuses to get out early. When they could, they were still faced with a wall. Trying to stand up to a cruel coworker left them on the ground, a new wound added to the small yet growing list, and they were reminded why they kept their head down.

Word Count: 2,388

Trigger Warnings: Kidnapping, coercion, battery, depression

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

The cab ride was silent. The woman who picked them up seemed nice enough, giving an opening for conversation and expressing concern in Alex's state, but simply drove on with only the gentle strum of guitar playing over the radio when they showed no interest in talking.

Alex let tears run down their cheeks, the goose egg pressed gently against the cold glass of the window as they watched the streets go by. Happy clusters of friends, cars blasting music, the gentle strobe of clubs and bars. All things that they wanted to grab onto so badly, but it was always out of reach.

Their apartment building was spared the noise of reporters now. It was probably too late for anyone to be hunting for a weak interview, and after their avoidance from the morning they were sure that hardly anyone would be coming to their door again. After all, what were they going to find that wasn't already shared from the police report? A stupid office worker, trying to play the hero when they couldn't even stop a bully. Lucas was right. They may not be a liar, but they certainly were pathetic.

The air of the apartment felt colder than before. The silence was deafening, the lack of anything (yes, even a cat at this point) made them feel more alone than they had in years, and the idea that they had to drag themselves into the bathroom and take care of the swell on their forehead only made them feel even more pitiful.

Looking at the mark in the mirror made Alex cringe, carefully poking around the tender skin. It had bruised very quickly, a crude mixture of purple, black, and yellow at the very top where it had swollen. Their eyes were red from tears, only adding on to the disgusting mix of colors. Part of their eyelid was swollen as well, blocking off a corner of their peripheral that Alex never realized they had used so often. But it wasn't bleeding. A positive on top of the shit sundae they had been served.

Being beaten wasn't something they were used to, and thus they weren't exactly sure what to do except for make up an ice pack out of a washcloth and a bag of frozen vegetables that had sat freezer burned in the bag of the appliance. It stung, sending more tears to their eyes at the contact, but after a few moments began to soothe.

They settled onto the couch, barely listening to the nightly news. Another fight had already broken out between Claec and Limitless, in a new part of the city. There seemed to be no reasoning, no threat to be stopped, just a brawl. This time there was no collateral damage, no possibility of death on either side. Just an unnecessary beatdown. It was disgusting. But the faint light and the quiet descriptions were enough to lull them into sleep.

Alex was awoken by light streaming in through a partition in their blinds. It sat almost directly across their eyes, making them squint and groan in annoyance. The sound was only mimicked when they tried to roll over, inevitably laying directly on the massive lump on their head.

Sitting up was a challenge, sending their head spinning. And, upon closer inspection in the selfie camera of their phone, they realized the swelling had only gotten worse. It would probably be a good idea to visit a doctor. Although, that only came with more complications. And another taxi ride. Driving themselves didn't seem like the best idea in such a state.

Alex pushed up, slowly making their way to the shoes they had carelessly kicked off from the night before, slipping them on. They still wore the same outfit from the night prior, having fallen asleep in it, but they couldn't bring themselves to care how disheveled they appeared, or if they reeked of BO or not. Once something was done to bring down the throbbing of their head, they would grab a shower and put some effort into their appearance.

The walk to the street went undisturbed. Like they had guessed, no reporters at the door. They had better places to be, better people to interview. It wasn't a shock. That's just show bus'.

They waved a hand at a black car cruising down the street, stepping towards the curb. It slowed to a stop, and Alex could hear a click as the doors unlocked. Perfect.

Inside was the same man as the day prior. Alex couldn't remember his name, or even if he had heard it. The man nodded with a crooked grin, his teeth matching it, waiting until they were inside and buckled before starting ahead.

"S'prised i's you again!" He announced, his loud voice making his passenger cringe. "Where y'off ta?"

"Hospital," Alex sighed, resting their head back and staring at the ceiling. "Gotta get something checked out."

"Getcha there in no time," the man nodded, not prying into the details, and fell into silence. Thank god.

Alex blinked a few times, studying the roof of the car. It was nice. There wasn't the usual excess of dust or grime anywhere, it seemed to have very little use, or at least was cared for excessively. The seats felt like leather, though they weren't sure if it was real or not, and again, not even a speck of dirt sat on the ground.

They suddenly felt self-conscious about their appearance, shrinking in a bit to try and hide how disheveled they were. It was a very nice car, if they were a cabby they would not be looking forward to cleaning this thing out after some bum like them rode around for a while.

They watched the streets go by, unfamiliar with the route the cabby was taking. The hospital wasn't a place they visited frequently, and while they could likely find it fairly quickly, they didn't have the quickest route there memorized. The city was too unpredictable for that.

The streets were fairly busy, which was usual for a Saturday. Alex found themselves listening intently to the sounds of the cars, the occasional beep of a horn, muffled music playing from restaurants. The cabby played no music, and said nothing. It was a change from the day before, but one that they didn't pay much mind to. Maybe it was out of respect for Alex's silence.

"Comin' up on it in a minute," the cabby eventually announced, with a quick flick of attention into the rearview mirror, catching Alex's eyes briefly before returning to the street.

They nodded, though returned to looking out the window with confusion. They didn't recognize this part of the city. It certainly didn't seem like where they remembered the hospital was.

The sidewalks were paved in old bricks, uneven and jagged. They were also narrow, with the faces of the dense line of buildings only about 5 feet from the curb. It looked like incredibly old apartments, lots of windows and numbers decorating almost every door. They looked around, hunting for street signs, but even those were limited or hard to catch sight of while the cabby zoomed by.

The driver appeared to be nervous, tapping on the steering wheel, shooting looks all around the car as he drove. He refused to look back at Alex again, despite how much they tried to stare him down.

"This isn't-" They paused, gulping down the anxiety that tried to rise in their throat. "I don't think this is the hospital." Their voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and cracking. Oh, god, what was going on?

He didn't respond, and instead slowed to a stop. Alex followed his stare to a group of younger looking individuals, standing in a circle in front of one of the many identical buildings. They all were sunglasses and black masks over their mouths and nose, sporting dark, casual outfits of sweatshirts, jeans, and combat boots. They were staring straight at the car, and Alex couldn't tell if they were just observing, or if they had been waiting.

They didn't want to find out, reaching for the back driver's side door and yanking on the handle. It pulled, but the door didn't open. They felt their heart race, looking back to see the group walking towards them, eyes snapping open.

"Let me out." Alex demanded, trying to pull on the lock, though that was stuck fast. "Let me out, right now!" Their gaze shot instead to the driver, a desperate plea in their eyes, but he had his head down, now ignoring both Alex and the group that was just outside of the car.

Two of them stayed on the passenger side, the other two moving to the drivers. One of them bent over slightly, and despite their eyes being completely covered Alex could feel them burning into their own. The person raised a hand, motioning with their finger for them to move back to the passenger side, and waited.

What were they supposed to do in a situation like that? Alex froze up, painfully aware of the pitiful tears now trekking down their cheeks. They shifted back over, settling back onto the passenger side. They waited for what would happen next, trying to gauge what they could do. But their mind was blank, panicked. They couldn't think.

The sound of a click snapped them from their thoughts, looking up just in time to see the door whip open, two hands reaching out to grab onto them. They felt impossibly strong, holding fast, even after they shouted and reeled back. The one who grabbed them laughed, a deep and raspy voice. He was enjoying this.

Alex felt their blood run cold, failing to struggle until they were pulled out of the car. They went on autopilot, letting any reflex take over. What their body settled on was swinging their leg, slamming the hard leather of their shoes into the knee of the man who had grabbed them. At the sound of a shout, they felt the grip loosen, and threw themselves back, barely catching themself from falling and breaking into a sprint.

But they couldn't get far. The other two were on them almost immediately, and a fist was driven into their stomach, sending them reeling to the ground with a choked gasp. Stars flooded Alex's vision, their core screaming and ribs aching from yet another hit. They didn't even react to being manhandled back to their feet and unceremoniously dragged through one of the doors. From a glance out of their peripheral, they could see the cab driving off, taking a turn down one of the maze-like streets. And just like that, they were alone, left with four people (probably criminals) who could kill them in an instant.

They had barely noticed one person leave the cluster hauling them inside until the sound of three loud clicks, deadbolts on a door, echoed through the bland room. It was dark inside, sheets of plywood plastered against the windows blocking out the sun, or curious eyes. Tiles lay on the floor, most of them cracked or damaged in some way. Three shop lights installed in the ceiling gave off no brightness to the room, either broken or simply turned off. A couple of old chairs and small tables were tipped over and pressed against the walls, and a gray curtain hung in front of the entrance to a hallway, obscuring what lay beyond it.

Alex was released, pushed to the ground, along with the hiss of a woman, ordering them to "stay down and keep quiet" before she and two others marched off, pushing past the curtain. They did as told, keeping their head down, eyes wide and body trembling. They were painfully aware of the presence behind them, of the person they assumed to be leaning against the door, tapping their foot impatiently on the cold tile under their knees.

It felt like an eternity for anything to happen, and at that point Alex was starting to come down from the shot of adrenaline running through their body. They had confidence when they were first pushed into the room, but that was slowly being enveloped by fear.

"I guess it was stupidity," a voice suddenly announced, catching Alex's attention and breath in their throat. "Because you certainly are not brave."

Alex swallowed, their saliva suddenly feeling like cement in their mouth, eyes daring to inch just high enough to catch sight of sight of a pair of black, shining leather boots, laced with a fluorescent green string. Tears stung their eyes, threatening to fall to the ground, their breath growing ragged the closer to man got to them.

An exasperated sigh caught them off guard, staring straight down at the green laces that sat only a feet away. "Ya know, it's rude to not look at someone when they're talking to you." The man lifted his foot, pressing it under Alex's chin with just enough pressure to angle their face upwards, those dark brown eyes boring into their own. "That's better."

Alex took the time to investigate the man. It was definitely Claec. He was dressed differently than before, sporting black jeans, green tank top, and a black leather jacket. His hair was styled in tight curls resting atop the shoulder pads of his jacket. He certainly didn't look like a super villain, but that didn't stop Alex's heart from attempting to escape the situation via their chest.

Claec narrowed his eyes, in a way that resembled disgust. Or maybe concern? "What are the tears for?" He knelt onto one knee, grabbing onto the side of Alex's face in one swift motion, his grip gentle but firm as he used a thumb to wipe at one of the trails of tears. "I didn't hit you that badly, did I? Guess I scared you pretty bad." His voice came out as a hum, and the odd expression was gone, replaced by a grin as he suddenly tightened his grip, standing and dragging Alex to their feet.

Once up, he let go, turning around and walking towards the curtain with a wave of his hand. "You're no fun." He sighed, the curls of his hair bouncing as he shook his head. "Come on, we've got business to attend to."

Chapter 6

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous ask: What do you think of the new Indiana Jones movie? And of Phoebe Waller-Bridge?

In a nutshell: From start to finish ‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ is watching Indiana Jones being a broken-down shell of a once great legacy character who has to be saved by the perfect younger and snarky but stereotypical ’Strong Independent Woman’ that passes for women characters in popcorn movies today.

I went in to this film with conflicted feelings. On the one hand I was genuinely excited to see this new Indiana Jones movie because it’s Indiana Jones. Period. Yet, on the other hand I feared how badly Lucasfilm, under Kathleen Kennedy’s insipid woke inspired CEO studio direction, was going to further tarnish not just a screen legend but the legacy of both George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. The cultural damage she has done to such a beloved franchise as the Star Wars universe in the name of progressive woke ideology is criminal. The troubled production history behind this film and its massive $300 million budget (by some estimates) meant Disney had a lot riding on it, especially with the future of Kathleen Kennedy on the line too as she was hands on with this film.

To me the Indiana Jones movies (well, the first three anyway, the less we say about ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’ the better) were an important part of my childhood. I fell in love with the character instantly. Watching ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ (first on DVD in my boarding school dorm with other giggly girls and later on the big screen at a local arts cinema retrospective on Harrison Ford’s stellar career) just blew me away. 

As a girl I wanted to be an archaeologist and have high falutin’ adventures; I even volunteered in digs in Pakistan and India (the Indus civilisation) as well as museum work in China as a teen growing up in those countries and discovering the methodical and patient but back breaking reality of what archaeology really was. But that didn’t dampen my spirit. Just once I wanted to echo Dr. Jones, ‘This belongs in a museum!’ But I happily settled for studying Classics instead and enjoyed studying classical archaeology on the side.

I couldn’t quite make sense why Indiana Jones resonated with me more than any other action hero on the screen until much later in life. Looking like Harrison Ford certainly helps. But it’s more than that. I’ve written this elsewhere but it’s worth repeating here.

‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ is considered an inspiration for so many action films yet there’s a very odd aspect to the film that’s rather unique and rarely noticed by its critics and fans. It’s an element that, once spotted, is difficult to forget, and is perhaps inspiring for times like the one in which we currently live, when there are so many challenges to get through. Typically in action films, the hero faces an array of obstacles and setbacks, but largely solves one problem after another, completes one quest after another, defeats one villain after another, and enjoys one victory after another.

The structure of ‘Raiders’ is different. A quick reminder:

- In the opening sequence, Indiana Jones obtains the temple idol only to lose it to his rival René Belloq (Paul Freeman). - In the streets of Cairo, Indy fails to protect his love, Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), from being captured (killed, he assumes). - In the desert, he finds the long-lost Ark of the Covenant, only to have it taken away by Belloq. - Indy then recovers the ark only to have it stolen a second time by Belloq, this time at sea. - On an island, Indy tries to bluff Belloq into thinking he’ll blow up the ark. His bluff fails. Indy is captured. - The climax of the film literally has its hero tied to a post the entire time. He’s completely ineffectual and helpless at a point in the movie where every other action hero is having their greatest moment of struggle and, typically, triumph.

If Indiana Jones had done absolutely nothing, if the famed archeologist had simply stayed home, the Nazis would have met the same fate - losing their lives to ark’s wrath because they opened it. It’s pretty rare in action films for the evil arch-villains to have the same outcome as if the hero had done nothing at all.

Indy does succeed in getting the ark back to America, of course, which is crucial. But then Indy loses the ark, once again, when government agents send it to a warehouse and refuse to let him study the object he chased the whole film. In other words: Indiana Jones spends ‘Raiders’ failing, getting beat up, and losing every artefact that he risks his life to acquire. And yet, Indiana Jones is considered a great hero.

The reason Indiana Jones is a hero isn’t because he wins. It’s because he never stops trying. I think this is the core of Indiana Jones’ character.

Critics will go on about something called agency as in being active or pro-active. But agency can be reactive and still be kinetic to propel the story along. It’s something that has progressively got lost as the series went on. With the latest Indiana Jones film I felt that Indiana Jones character had no agency and ends up being a relatively passive character. Sadly Indiana Jones ends up being a grouchy, broken, and beat up passenger in his own movie.

Released in 1981, ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ remains one of the most influential blockbusters of all time. Exciting action, exotic adventure, just the right amount of romance, good-natured humour, cutting-edge special effects: it was all there, perfectly balanced. Since then, attempts have been made to reproduce this winning recipe in different narrative contexts, sometimes successfully (’Temple of Doom’ and ‘the Last Crusade’), usually in vain (’Crystal Skull’).

What are the key ingredients of an Indiana Jones movie? There are only four core elements - leaving aside aspects of story such as the villain or the goal - that you need in place before anything else. They are: the wry, world-weary but sexy masculine performance of Harrison Ford; the story telling genius of George Lucas steeped in the lore of Saturday morning action hero television shows of the 1950s; the deft visual story telling and old school action direction of Steven Spielberg; and the sublime and sweeping music of the great John Williams. This what made the first three films really work.

In the latest Indiana Jones film, you only have one. Neither Lucas and Spielberg are there and arguably neither is Harrison Ford. John Williams’ music score remains imperious as ever. His music does a lot of heavy lifting in the film and let’s face it, his sublime music can polish any turd.

This isn’t to say the ‘Dial of Destiny’ is a turd. I won’t go that far, and to be honest some of the critical reaction has been over-hysterical. Instead I found it enjoyable but also immensely frustrating more than anything else. It had potential to be a great swan song film for Indy because it had an exciting collection of talent behind it.

In the absence of Spielberg, one couldn’t do worse than to pick James Mangold as next best to direct this film. Mangold is a great director. I am a fan of his body of work. After ‘Copland’, ‘Walk the Line’, ‘Logan’ and ‘Le Mans 66’ (or ‘Ford vs Ferrari’), James Mangold has been putting together a fine career shaped by his ability to deliver stories that rediscover a certain old-fashioned charm without abusing the historical figures - real or fictional - he tackles. And after Johnny Cash, Wolverine and Ken Miles, among others, I had high hopes he would keep the flame alive when it came to Indiana Jones. Mangold grew up as a fanboy of Spielberg’s work and you can clearly see that in his approach to directing film.

But in this film his direction lacks vitality. Mangold, while regularly really good, drags his feet a little here because he’s caught between putting his own stamp on the film and yet also lovingly pay homage to his hero, Spielberg. It’s as if he didn't dare give himself away completely, the director seems too modest to really take the saga by the scruff of the neck, and inevitably ends up suffering from the inevitable comparison with Steven Spielberg.

Mangold tries to recreate the nostalgic wonder of the originals, but doesn't quite succeed, while succumbing to an overkill of visual effects that make several passages seem artificial. The action set pieces range from pedestrian to barely satisfying. The prologue sequence was vaguely reminiscent of past films but it was still a little too reliant on CGI. The much talked about de-ageing of Harrison Ford on screen was impressive (and one suspects a lot of the film budget was sunk right there). But Indiana’s lifeless digitally de-aged avatar fighting on a computer-generated train, made the whole sequence feel like the Nazi Polar Express. Because it didn’t look real, there was no sense of danger and therefore no emotional investment from the audience. You know Tom Cruise would have done it for real and it would have looked properly cinematic and spectacular.

The tuk tuk chase through the narrow streets of Tangiers was again an exciting echo of past films, especially ‘Raiders’, but goes on a tad too long, but the exploration of the ship wreck (and a criminally underused cameo by Antonio Banderas) was disappointing and way too short. 

The main problem here is the lack of creativity in the conception of truly epic scenes, because these are not dependent on Ford's age. Indeed, the film could very well have offered exhilarating action sequences worthy of the archaeologist with the whip, without relying solely on the physicality of its leading man. You don't need a Tom Cruise to orchestrate great moments but you could do worse than to follow his example. 

Mangold uses various means of locomotion to move the character  - train, tuk tuk, motorbike, horse - and offers a few images that wouldn't necessarily be seen elsewhere (notably the shot of Jones riding a horse in the middle of the underground), but in the end shows himself to be rather uninspired, when the first three films in the saga conceived some of the most inventive sequences in the genre and left their mark on cinema history. There are no really long shots, no iconic compositions, no complex shots that last and enrich a sequence, which makes the film look too smooth and prevents it from giving heft to an adventure that absolutely needs it.

And so now to the divisive figure of Phoebe Waller-Bridge. 

It’s important here to separate the person from the character. I like Phoebe Waller-Bridge and I loved her in her ‘Fleabag’ series. She excels in a very British setting. I think she is funny, irreverent, and a whip smart talented writer and performer. I also think she has a particular frigid English beauty and poise about her. When I say poise I don’t mean the elegant poise of a Parisienne or a Milanese woman, but someone who is cute and comfortable in her own skin. You would think she would be more suited to ‘Downton Abbey’ setting than all out Hollywood action film. But I think she almost pulls it off here. 

In truth over the years Phoebe Waller-Bridge, known for her comedy, has been collecting franchises where she is able to inflict her saucy humour into a hyper-masculine space. I don’t think her talent was properly showcased here. 

Hollywood has this talent for plucking talented writers and actors who are exceptional in what they do and then hire them do something entirely different by either miscasting them or making them write in a different genre. I think Phoebe Waller-Bridge is exceptional and she might just rise if she is served by a better script.

In the end I think she does a decent stab at playing an intriguing character in Helena Shaw, Indy’s long lost and estranged god daughter and a sort of amoral rare artefacts hustler. Phoebe Waller-Bridge brings enthusiasm, charm and mischief to the role, making her a breath of fresh air. She seems to be the only member of the on-screen cast that looks to be enjoying themselves. 

To be fair her I thought Waller-Bridge was a more memorable and interesting female character than either Kate Capshaw (’Temple of Doom’, 1984) and Alison Doody (’Last Crusade’, 1989). She certainly is a marked improvement on the modern woke inspired insipid female action leads such as Brie Larson (’Captain Marvel’), or any women in the Marvel universe for that matter, or Katherine Waterson (’Alien Covenant’). Waller-Bridge could have been reminiscent of Kathleen Turner (’Romancing the Stone’) and more recently Eva Green, actresses who command attention on screen and are as captivating, if not more so, than the male protagonists they play opposite.

To be sure there have been strong female leads before the woke infested itself into Hollywood story telling but they never made it central to their identity. Sigourney Weaver in ‘Alien’ and Linda Hamilton in the ‘Terminator’ franchise somehow conveyed strength of character with grit and perseverance through their suffering, while also being vulnerable and confident to pull through and succeed. Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s character isn’t quite that. She doesn’t get into fist fights or overpowers big hulking men but she uses cheek and charm to wriggle out of tight spots. She’s gently bad ass rather the dull ‘strong independent woman’ cardboard caricatures that Marvel is determined to ram down every girl’s throat. If Waller-Bridge’s character was better written she might well have been able to revive memories of the great ladies of Hollywood's golden age who had the fantasy and the confidence that men quaked at their feet.

What lets her character down is the snark. She doesn’t pepper her snark but she drowns in it. All of it directed at poor Indy and mocking him for his creaking bones and his entire legacy. It’s a real eyesore and it is a real let down as it drags the story down and clogs up the wheels that power the kinetic energy that an adventure with Indiana Jones needs. ‘The grumpy old man and the young woman with the wicked repartee set off across the vast world’ schtick is all well and good, but it does grate and by the end it makes you angry that Indy has put up with this crap. I can understand why many are turned off by Waller-Bridge’s character. As a female friend of mine put it, we get the talented Phoebe Waller Bridge’s bitter and unlikable Helena acting like a bitter and unlikable man. But it could be worse, it could be as dumb as Shia LaBeouf‘s bad Fonzie impersonation in 'Crystal Skull’.

I would say there is a difference between snark and sass. Waller-Bridge’s character is all snark. If the original whispers are true the original script had her way more snarkier towards Indy until Ford threatened to leave the project unless there were re-writes,  then it shows how far removed the producers and writers were from treating Indy Jones with the proper respect a beloved legacy character deserves. It’s also lazy story telling.

Karen Black gave us real sass with Marion Ravenwood in ‘Raiders’. Her character was sassy, strong, but also vulnerable and romantic. She plays it pitch perfect. Of all the women in Indy’s life she was good foil for Indy.

Spielberg is so underrated for his mise-en-scène. We first meet Marion running a ramshackle but rowdy tavern in Tibet (she’s a survivor). She plays and wins a drinking game (she’s a tough one), she sees Indy again and punches him (she’s angry and hurt for her abandoning her and thus revealing her vulnerability). She has the medallion and becomes a partner (she’s all business). She evades and fights off the Nazis and their goons, she even uses a frying pan (she’s resourceful but not stupid). She tries on dresses (she’s re-discovers her femininity). Indy saves her but she picks him up at the end of the film by going for a drink (she’s healing and there’s a chance of a new start for both of them). This is a character arc worth investing in because it speaks to truth and to our reality.

The problem with Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s character is that she is constantly full on with the snark. Indy and Helena gripe and moan at each other the entire film. Indy hasn’t seen her in years, and she felt abandoned after her father passed, so there’s a lot of bitterness. It’s not unwarranted, but it also isn’t entertaining. It’s never entertaining if the snark makes the character too temperamental and unsympathetic for the audience to be emotionally invested in her.

I think overall the film is let down by the script. Again this is a shame. The writing talent was there. Jez and John-Henry Butterworth worked with James Mangold on ‘Ford v. Ferrari’ and co-wrote ‘Edge of Tomorrow‘ while David Koepp co-wrote the first ‘Mission: Impossible’ (but he also penned Indiana Jones and the ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’, and the 2017 version of ‘The Mummy’ that simultaneously started and destroyed Universal’s plans for their Dark Universe). I love the work of Jez Butterworth who is one of England’s finest modern playwrights and he seemed to have transitioned fine over to Hollywood. But as anyone knows a Hollywood script has always too many cooks in the kitchen. There are so many fingerprints of other people - studio execs and directors and even stars - that a modern Hollywood script somehow resembles a sort of Ship of Theseus. It’s the writer’s name on the script but it doesn’t always mean they wrote or re-wrote every word.

Inevitably things fall between the cracks and you end up filming from the hip and hoping you can stitch together a coherent narrative in post-production editing. Clearly this film suffered from studio interference and many re-writes. And it shows because there is no narrative fluidity at work in the film.

Mads Mikkelsen’s Nazi scientist is a case in point. I love Mikkelsen especially in his arthouse films but I understand why he takes the bucks for the Hollywood films too. But in this film he is phoning in his performance. Mads Mikkelsen does what he can with limited screen time to make an impact but this character feels so recycled from other blockbusters. Here the CIA and US Government are evil and willing to let innocent Americans be murdered in order to let their pet Nazi rocket scientist pursue what they believe to be a hobby. But to be fair the villains in the Indy movies have never truly been memorable with perhaps Belloq, the French archaeologist and nemesis of Indy in ‘Raiders’, the only real exception. It’s just been generic bad guys - The Nazis! The Thugee death cult! The Nazis (again)! The Commies! Now we’re back to Nazis again which is not only safer ground for the Indy franchise but something we can all get behind.

However Mads Mikkelsen’s Dr. Voller, is the blandest and most generic Nazi villain in movie history. At the end of World War II, Voller was recruited by the US Government to aid them in rocket technology. Now that he’s completed his task and man has walked on the moon, he’s turning his genius to his ultimate purpose, the recovery of the ‘Dial of Destiny’ built by Archimedes. Should he find both pieces of the ancient treasure, he plans to return to 1930s Nazi Germany, usurp Hitler, and use his advanced knowledge of rocket propulsion to win the war. In a sense then he was channeling his inner Heidegger who felt Hitler had let down Nazism and worse betrayed Heidegger himself.

So there is a character juxtaposition between Voller and Indy in the sense both men feel more comfortable in the past than the present. But neither is given face time together to explore this intriguing premise that could have anchored the whole narrative of the film. It’s a missed opportunity and instead becomes a failure of character and story telling.

Then there are the one liners which seemed shoe horned in to make the studio execs or the writers feel smug about themselves. There are several woke one lines peppered throughout the film but are either tone deaf or just stupid.

“You trigger happy cracker”-  it’s uttered without any self-awareness by a black CIA agent who is chaperoning the Nazi villain. Just because white people think it’s dumb and aren’t bothered by it doesn’t make it any less a racial slur. If you want authenticity then why not use the ’N’ word then as it would historically appropriate in 1969? The hypocrisy is what’s offensive.

“You stole it. He stole it. I stole it. It’s called capitalism.” - capitalism 101 for economic illiterate social justice warriors.

“[I’m] daring, beautiful, and self-sufficient” - uttered by Helena Shaw as a snarky reminder that she’s a strong independent woman, just in case you forgot.

“It’s not what you believe but how hard you believe.” - Indiana Jones has literally stood before the awesome power of God when the Ark of the Covenant was opened up by the Nazis, and they paid the price for it by having their faces melted off. Indy has drunk from the authentic cup of Christ, given to him by a knight who’s lived for centuries, that gave him eternal life and heal his father from a fatal bullet wound. So he’s figuratively seen the face of God (sure, he closed his eyes) and His holy wrath, and has witnessed the divine healing power of Christ first hand. And yet his spews out this drivel. It’s empty of any meaning and is a silly nod to our current fad that it’s all about the truth of our feelings, not observable facts or truth.

For me though the absolute worse was what they did to Indiana Jones as a character. Once the pinnacle of masculinity, a brave and daring man’s man whose zest for life was only matched by his brilliance, Henry Jones Jr. is now a broken, sad, and lonely old man. Indiana Jones is mired in the past. Not in the archaeological past, but in his own personal past. He's asleep at the wheel, losing interest in his own life. He's lost his son, he's losing his wife. He's been trying to pass on his passion, his understanding to disinterested people. They're not so interested in looking at the past. He remains a man turned towards the past, and then he finds himself confronted by Helena, who embodies the future. This nostalgia, this historical anchoring, becomes the main thread of the story.The film tries to deconstructs Indiana Jones on the cusp of retirement from academia and confronts him with a world he no longer understands. That’s an interesting premise and could have made for a great film.

It’s clear that the filmmakers’ intention was for a lost and broken Indiana to recapture his spirit by the film’s end. However, its horrible pacing and meandering and underdeveloped plot, along with Harrison Ford’s miserably sad demeanour in nearly every scene, make for a deeply depressing movie with an empty and unearned resolution. 

By this I mean at the very end of the film. It’s meant to be daring and it is. There’s something giddy about appearing during the middle of siege of Syracuse by blood thirsty Romans and then coming face to face with Archimedes himself. The film seems to want to justify the legendary, exceptional aura and character of Indy himself by including him in History. Hitherto wounded deep down inside, and now also physically wounded, Indy the archaeologist tells Helena that he wants to stay here and be part of history. 

It's a lovely and even moving moment, and you wonder if the film isn't going to pull a ‘Dying Can Wait’ by having its hero die in order to strengthen its legend. But in a moment that is too brutal from a rhythmic point of view, Helena refuses, knocks out her godfather and takes him back to the waiting plane and back to 1969. The next thing Indy sees he’s woken up back in his shabby apartment in New York.

I felt cheated. I’m sure Indy did too.

After all it was his choice. But Helena robbed him of the freedom to make his own decisions. She’s the one to decide what’s best. In effect she robbed him of agency. Even if it was the wrong decision to stay back in time, it’s so important from a narrative and character arc perspective that Indy should have had his own epiphany and make the choice to come back by himself because there is something worth living for in the future present - and that was reconciling with Marion his estranged wife. But damn it, he had to come to that decision for himself, and not have someone else force it upon him. That’s why the ending feelings so unearned and why the story falls flat as a soufflé when you piss on it.

‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ feels like the type of sequel that aimed to capture the magic of its predecessors, had worthwhile intentions, and a talented cast, but it just never properly materialised. In a movie whose pedigree, both in front and behind the camera, is virtually unassailable, it’s inexcusable that this team of filmmakers couldn’t achieve greater heights. 

The film was a missed opportunity to give a proper send off to a cinematic legend. Harrison Ford proving that whatever gruff genre appeal he possessed in his heyday has aged better than Indy’s knees. He may be 80, but Ford carries the weight of the film, which, for all its gargantuan expense, feels a bit like those throwaway serials that first inspired Lucas - fun while it lasts, but wholly forgettable on exit.

I wouldn’t rate ‘Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny’ as the worst film in the franchise - that dubious honour still lies with ‘Kingdom of the Crystal Skull’.  Indeed the best I can say is that I would rate this film at the benchmark of “not quite as bad as Crystal Skull”.But it’s definitely time to retire and hang up the fedora and the bull whip.

For what’s worth I always thought the ending of ‘Last Crusade’ where Indy, his father Henry Jones Snr., and his two most faithful companions, Sallah and Marcus Brody, ride off into the sunset was the most fitting way to say goodbye to a beloved character.

Instead we have in ‘Dial of Destiny’ the very last scene which is meant to be this perfect ending: Indiana Jones in his scruffy pyjamas and his shabby apartment. Sure, the exchange between a reconciling Indy and Marion is sincere and touching. But that only works because it explicitly recalls ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’. That's what Nietzsche would call “an eternal return”.

I shall eternally return to watch the first three movies to delight in the adventures of the swashbuckling archaeologist with the fedora and a bull whip. The last two dire films will be thrown into the black abyss. Something even Nietzsche would have approved of.

Thanks for your question.

[brionysea]

If the manifestation/possession theory is true, how would the Byers react? Like Joyce of course would be team Protect Mike, but how about Jonathan? I don't know if it's a dumb question... Will loves Mike, but can he really process all of this? Mike is kinda at the blame for his trauma, even if he can't hold him accountable for it, as it wasn't really his intention. Would they only know that Mike is manipulating reality or would they know that there is an Original Reality where Will died that's why things are the way they are? Sorry if you already talked about this! It's just that I couldn't find it anywhere... In my head you're kinda the Wheeler's specialist and has such a good grasp on the characters 😭

I'M HONOURED LMAO im keeping the wheelers in jars and studying them

honestly I think it's just the sympathy joyce and jonathan can have for will's experience being queer despite the social landscape being so unaccepting

like, yeah, it's kind of all mike's fault. I rewatched the 'it was a seven' scene recently and holy shit, it's really will hanging back to be alone with mike and mike being like 'why would you do that? and why do I feel something about it?', the lights flickering (electricity!) which mike takes a good few seconds to notice because he's deep in his head thinking about Something, and then will vanishing bc mike's feelings are A Problem and the source of the problem must be Removed. then mike spends the rest of the season trying to take it back bc that's obviously bullshit and will doesn't need to suffer for MIKE being broken

it's so striking in s2 that will sees mike being so weirdly attuned to the upside down, and he's a smart boy so he MUST realise what's going on (will literally asks 'how do you know' at one point, everyone has to take their turn accepting that mike is just Weird about the UD) but it's mike. so will doesn't give a shit. it's mike

back to the other byers before I go on a tangent again - my original point, it's about their perception skills and ability to remember that mike is a PERSON with FEELINGS. his family isn't like will's - when mike went missing in s1, jonathan knew how to contact him, not nancy

mike is so deeply struggling with his sexuality and the messaging from society that those feelings are wrong, as well as the messaging from his family (and increasingly his friends - hi lucas, put the Heterosexual Mike assumptions down please) that ANY feelings mike has are wrong. of course he thinks his feelings are harmful so they keep hurting the people he cares about the most and he tried to prevent max from entering his life at all because he didn't want to hurt anyone else. that's THE MINDSET you'd have from growing up queer (especially gay) at that time and place. mike is told that it's unnatural and wrong, and with the aids epidemic happening (the wheeler parents have rancid political opinions and it might have been discussed at home), it's DEADLY. it's a DISEASE that will KILL ANYONE WHO GETS TOO CLOSE TO HIM until he DIES. sound familiar?

also, the byers love will, and will loves mike. giving mike a shovel talk (hopper couldn't tell joyce he did that or she would've ripped into him) or insisting he's not 'good enough' for will because he messes up sometimes (and thinks the morally right thing to do is constantly attempt to fix his mistakes and mitigate the damage and, on the more extreme end, take himself out of the equation re:the quarry scene) is some weird macho shit that's both disrespectful to will's autonomy (hopper was right that mike and el's summer thing wasn't healthy but there are still some weird patriarchal 'women as property given from father to husband' undertones in threatening his daughter's boyfriend) and utterly ignorant of all the things mike has done for will (they both heard mike's speech in the shed in s2)

these two need each other. that's the reality of the situation. any questioning of those feelings or that relationship would just be... the optics aren't great, when they already think they can't feel that way for each other, and joyce & jonathan want will to be happy. they're working with the reality of the situation, there's no point in trying to change it, that's some conversion therapy shit and it only happened when mike was trying too hard to be straight and making everything weird. being with will is the SOLUTION, not the problem

ps. I won't comment on the timelines stuff bc I don't understand it

[mollunon]

My 7 Blorbos! My 7 little dudes! If you see any OC art from me it's probably relating back to these guys! While there's buckets upon buckets of lore, these sillies are also just here to be smashed together for character interactions, shipping and cool action scenes that I happen to come up with! : >

LORE AND CHARACTER FACTS BELOW! :o

Ok ok ok, to preface, all of these guys exist in a somewhat-modern fantasy world in the early 2000's. (Cool fantasy creatures & monsters included). This also means that they get to indulge in early fandom and internet stuff too. :o

A very small portion of the population get cool golden tattoos called Marks which are manifestations of the worlds magic gifted to people. Each mark symbolizes a specific concept and can change based on persons growth! (Example: The Mark "Flare" can allow a person to shoot fire, create explosions or even fireworks, but it will never give someone the ability to shoot water.)

Ok back to these eeps!

Eve Takahashi: Resident grad student, gifted child burnout and woman in STEM, Eve is... well shes definitely smart. Horribly narcissistic and rather cold, Eve is only focused on her research into artifical marks, cute plushies, and planning revenge. Eve's mark "Hypergenesis" gives her control over the growth and function of her body. She uses it to do things like survive life-ending injuries or grow new limbs. Eve harbors a obssession with Emile who she wants to use to settle a old grudge. Frankly she's a bit silly, in a weird concerning way.

Lucas Zhao: An apprentice forgemaster that seeks to bend the rules of magic. Lucas is knowledgeable on many aspects of the mark world. Due to his prior study under a forgemaster program, Lucas has incredible precision in studying and crafting magical objects for the party to use. These abilities make him bear the responsibility of being the party's “general weapons expert” when he isn’t playing interference during combat using his mark "Fracture" Lucas can be extremely talkative and can struggle to read how others feel about him. In the past, this led to him being friends with many unsavory types. Lucas tends to clash mostly with Klaus and Lynne who aren’t tolerant of his constant jokes.

Kara Hayes: Frequent partygoer and adrenaline junkie, Kara lives for the thrill of combat, property damage… and explosions. Kara also seeks the admiration, affection, and attention of her peers which led her to assist the group in fighting Eve. While initially wanting the glory associated with beating her, Kara increasingly finds herself hunting her down, supposedly for vengeance.

Emile Martin: A fanatic of the magical, Emile wishes to explore and experience the intricacies of magical life. However, after a chance encounter with Eve, he finds himself mainpulated and hunted by her. Emile is kind and caring (Albeit a bit oblivious) which contrasts his mark "Vitality" which has the potential to control life and also to kill. Understandingly he's hesitant to use it, even again Eve.

Jin-sung-Cheong: A distant and reserved man with a passion for Sigils and Ritual Circles, Jin pursues information in the forbidden and esoteric. Jin was conducting research into sigils, curses, and ritual circles even before he got his mark, but he felt like he had reached the limit of what he could accomplish on his own. His extensive research led him to discover the published works of Eve Takahashi, someone he initially admired. Jin had intended to seek her out, however, he received his mark and therefore entry into the institute before he could make the trip. Jin is extremely poor at social communication and can struggle to convey his feelings in the appropriate way. Due to his blunt and concise nature, he can come across as unfeeling, cold, or just an asshole.

Sophia Kaminski: A amateur writer far outside of her comfort zone, Sophia possesses an overwhelming desire to learn and find herself. She utilizes swordsmanship and her mark "frost" to make herself a fierce melee combatant! Sophia's direct, serious, no-nonsense attitude sometimes brings her into conflict with her lazier, more laid-back friends. Even though she tries to maintain a judgemental and stubborn personality, deep down, she’s a dork.

Lynne Evans: Tough, stubborn and fierce, Lynne grew up in a isolated town, neglected by her mother. Expectingly, Lynne still harbors baggage that lets her channel her mark "Tenacity" giving her the strength and durability to survive against all odds. Even though she's amazingly strong (And kinda feared) Lynne desperately yearns for human connection and affection.

[mania-sama]

Trick or treat!!! 😁

hello, dear! welcome to my humble abode! dig into this bowl to get some candy… ah! you’ve got a fanfiction line explanation! a rare gem indeed.

this excerpt is from if you need me, dear, i’m the same as i was:

He’s on the court before Sakusa is. He’s across the net before Argentina can celebrate their victory. He’s grabbing Oikawa’s shoulders tightly before anybody else can get to him. Iwaizumi stares into his estranged best friend’s glassy, confused, uncomprehending eyes. He’s shaking Tooru’s shoulders, desperate as he yells: “You are having a heart attack!” And Hajime is fifteen and three-quarters, learning emergency CPR for his new part-time job as a lifeguard. He thinks that it could come in useful. He thinks that saving people isn’t a job he would mind. And Hajime is sixteen, watching Tooru recover from his surgery, and he realizes he will never play professional volleyball. He wants to help people like Tooru forever — people who want to dedicate their whole life to a sport but have a body that strives to prevent their goal every step of the way. He can’t do that as a player on the court. And Hajime is seventeen, trying to convince Tooru to eat a sandwich even though he is adamantly insisting he isn’t hungry. He discovers sports medicine isn’t just about the physical ills and pains. To be a good athletic trainer, he has to see every aspect of a player’s well-being, and that includes their mental health. And Hajime is eighteen, standing alone in the airport and experiencing loss for the first time. In order for Oikawa to grow as an athlete, he has to cut away the weed strangling his roots. Hajime lets him without complaint. This is part of his new career, after all; if he helps athletes succeed, they would all, one day, leave his medical care. And Hajime is twenty-seven, losing his best friend for a second time at the end of the first set of chest compressions. At least three ribs have cracked under his pace and pressure. He pinches Tooru’s nose, pries his jaw open, and breathes air into his lungs twice. His ring and pinky finger automatically find his pulse point. Nothing. Seeing that no medical equipment has arrived, he starts the second set of chest compressions. Oikawa’s bones creak and give way under his desperation. He knows CPR like the back of his hand; if the ribs are breaking, that means it’s working. It doesn’t get rid of the panic and pain at the thought of how much damage he’s doing to Oikawa’s body. The paramedics are a second too late with their LUCAS device at the end of the last compression. He dives down for another round of mouth-to-mouth, recognizing, faintly yet viscerally at the same time, that Oikawa’s soft skin is pale and rapidly cooling. At the junction between his neck and jaw, Iwaizumi searches for a heartbeat. Breathe. Nothing. Breathe. Nothing.

this entire segment, as i intended, is meant to be read completely out of breath, gasping and choking on every single word. it’s meant to feel like the world is rushing and crumbling around you. it’s meant to be read at the speed of lightning, each word cackling and breaking. the periods in the paragraphs are merely suggestions; every paragraph starts with an and because the last sentence, the last paragraph never really ended.

it’s meant to be, in all intents and purposes, to be one continuous run-on sentence. unfortunately, that would be rather bad form for me as a writer. i don’t have the skill to pull it off just yet.

when you get to the “breathe. nothing. breathe. nothing.” it’s not supposed to be a gentle breathe. it’s supposed to be a gasp, panicked and hurting and desperate. it’s a cry, a sob of pain. medically, he’s doing a very measured recovery breath to force oikawa’s lungs into the action of breathing. mentally, it’s everything but measured. the “nothing” is crying. the actual sob with tears. nothing! he is screaming, knowing that his best friend is fucking dead, but he is saying nothing as he dives into another breath.

it should be read, more accurately, as: “gasp. please, please. don’t leave.”

and this all really stems from the line directly before this excerpt:

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi whispers, all of the air leaving his lungs.

everything just rushed out of him. he has nothing left. and then, the buzzer sounds with this:

Sixteen to fourteen. Team Argentina wins Olympic gold.

that’s the last line of clarity before everything shatters. literally, the sound breaks with the buzzer as the entire world falls away and rushes at the same time.

this is probably my favorite part of the entire fic, one of my favorite things that i have ever written to date. i put a lot of care into this. everything i wrote came from the heart, and i hope how i intended it to be read translated well.

[chocobochaserstories]

Jackrabbit (FFVII Story)

Jackrabbit - Part One Fun little story idea, I'll see if I lose interest halfway through. Age shifting for my convenience: Tseng (37) Reno (37) Elena (17) TW: Suicide mention, referenced teen pregnancy, terrorism, child soldiers,

"The bunny is cute and speaks in squeaks, but the hare is a wise creature that speaks in tongues because the woods are cold and the trees are listening. The rocks whisper among the cold and the jackrabbit carries on without a word because he knows not to test the ways of the wood." -- Luca, 11.24.2024

“What exactly is so bad about a group named after bunnies?” Elena questioned, pulling her ripped pant leg free from where it’d snagged on the jagged metal of the rubble. 

“I know that you’re a rookie and all but you’ve seriously never heard of the Hares?” Reno questioned, shining his PHS flashlight over a drop to see how bad it was before he threw himself off the ledge. “Listen, kid, the Hares are insane, and I don’t mean that in an overstatement.”

Reno kicked the broken metal door out of the way. Elena followed behind him, posing her question. “I mean, I’ve heard of them, but they’re just a gang of wannabe crimelords, aren’t they?”

“Listen, ‘Lena, you and Emma were lucky to grow up on the plate. Two parents workin’ for Shinra, stable home, relatively safe neighborhood,” Reno approached a mainframe computer that might’ve once controlled the reactor, cursing quietly to himself when it appeared the parts had been taken, likely by a scrapper. “But I didn’t have that luxury.”

“Your point?” Elena questioned. “I mean, no offense, but your background about coming from the slums isn’t exactly a secret to the Turks.”

Reno rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair, chuckling as Elena bristled and yelled at him. “Listen to your elders and let me finish.”

“The Hares aren’t just ‘wannabe crimelords’... Though it’d be fuckin’ great if that’s all they were.” Reno “The Hares were a group of assassins and bounty hunters, and were known for their brutality and skill. They were associated with Avalanche, or they were at some point. Honestly, it’s kind of hard to know if they were a sub branch, an alliance, or whatever. And their methods were known to be barbaric. They’d recruit kids off the street, leave ‘em damaged, resorting to self mutilation and addictions to cope with the trauma. Most often left their members mentally scarred and psychologically unstable, which fed into a big ‘don’t trust anyone’ mindset down in the slums.”

Elena’s brown eyes widened at the description. “You say that like you’ve had experience.”

Reno shook his head. “If you’re implying I’m an ex-Hare or some shit, no, no I wasn’t. Dated a girl down in the slums who went on to become one, though. I don’t know, gods, I was probably your age back then. Honestly, I still don’t know if we ever really dated or we were just horny teens who mutually enjoyed fucking.”

“Gross.” Elena’s nose wrinkled at the visual of her superior in that light. “I don’t want to hear about that.”

Reno chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. But anyhow, it was just me, my sister, and my girlfriend against the world.”

“You have a sister?” Elena hadn’t known that.

“Had one. She went missing when I was like sixteen. She was fifteen at the time. Police told us she was a runaway. They closed the case a couple months later when they found her shoes neatly set aside in a reactor. She knew how a reactor works. She knew there wouldn’t be a body to find.” Reno sighed. “I just wish I knew what drove her to suicide.”

“I…” Elena was at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry.”

Reno didn’t say anything. A tense silence fell over the bombed out reactor. A clatter sounded, followed by a soft curse. Reno’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not alone here, it seems.”

A pair of hooded figures stood among the reactor rubble. One wore a sheepskin-lined jacket and the other had a toolkit fastened to her hip under hers. Was that a girl? Reno couldn’t be sure, since the Hares tended to be as young as they were. He imagined the small sized Hare was probably a girl due to the delicate, bony frame, but it could just be a sickly little boy, not that it exactly mattered; the Hares were technically wanted criminals as far as Shinra was concerned. 

“Pincer them, and don’t let them escape.” Reno instructed Elena in a hushed tone before drawing his rod. He raised his voice back to an authoritative speaking tone. “Alright, pipsqueaks, we can do this the easy way, and you two can surrender, or we can do this the hard way. Either way, you two are coming with us.”

“You Turks usually carry pink guns with rhinestones and butterflies?” The Hare in the sheepskin put his hands up, abandoning the gun in its holster on his hip.

Elena narrowed her eyes and huffed out a cry of ‘rude!’ She focused her gun on the male Hare. “Big talk for a street rat with a compact Glock. Yeah, don’t think I didn’t ID that little toy you’re carrying.”

“Aw, and they said girls weren’t supposed to have dirty mouths. Though maybe I shouldn’t be so shocked since you’re playing in the all boys club.” The Hare sneered.

“You two, enough banter,” Reno tapped his rod on his shoulder and cracked his knuckles on his free hand. “Now, hands up, the both of you- yes I mean you too, young lady- and just follow us out and no one gets too badly hurt.”

Both Hares put their hands up and took a step back. The boy’s boot hit the ground and the metal under them quaked. Reno’s eyes widened. “The Hell?”

Elena fell to the ground as she lost her footing, her gun toppling out of her hold and her blonde hair falling into her face, obscuring her vision. The Hare kicked the gun away and picked his partner up. How was he standing? What had triggered the earthquake? Was this an earthquake? 

“So long, shitbirds.”

***

“Explain to me just what the hell went wrong.” Tseng’s eyes were narrower than usual as the Turks stood before him, both covered in dust and soot and ruined suits.

“Encountered a pair of Hares, one did something in the reactor and triggered an earthquake. I don’t know, it’s all kind of a blur.” Reno shrugged. He’d failed missions before, plenty more embarrassing than this.

Tseng scoffed. “Define ‘something’.”

“He stomped on the reactor floor and made it feel like the whole damn place was coming down,” Reno scowled. “Probably hit an unstable spot in the rubble, was lucky he didn’t collapse the place.”

“And you expect me to believe that a child knew enough about an unstable reactor ruin to trigger a structural-based attack?” Tseng’s hands were folded in front of him. “You’re both dismissed. Hit the showers and I expect a full report from both of you, detailing exactly where the actual fuck happened.”

Elena sighed in a tense relief when she got out of the briefing. She was definitely in trouble, she knew that much. She was a rookie Turk, brand new, and she wasn’t quite sure the boss wasn’t going  fire her ass if she kept messing up. She pressed the elevator buttons and headed up to her home. Her sister didn’t live with her parents like she did. She wasn’t really sure where Emma’d gone. Her sister was one of the many Turks who’d defaulted after Tseng took over as Head of the Turks following the fall of Veld. She had zero clue where she’d gone though. Military training was Emma’s entire life; What was she supposed to do outside of Midgar if she wasn’t actively working for Shinra? 

“Elena, welcome home.” Her mother was folding laundry when she got the front door unlocked. “Dinner’s in the kitchen, your dad said he’d probably be late in the office, so he probably won’t be home until after you get to bed.”

“Mom!” Elena blushed. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Her mother laughed. “No, no I suppose you’re not. You’re a brave, strong Turk.”

“Investigative General Affairs Agent,” Elena corrected. “You’re not supposed to call me a Turk, you’re not supposed to know I am one!”

Her mother laughed. “Oh please, Tseng and I have been friends for the last twenty years, don’t act like I don’t know what you do.”

Elena sighed as she reheated the plate of fish and vegetables. Her mother had grown fond of fish when she was pregnant with her sister. Her mother had grown up in the Midgar undercity, but Elena and Emma were born in Junon. She’d never had access to fish since Midgar was landlocked. She was lucky enough to get some now that she and her husband lived on the plate. 

Both Emma and Elena took after their father. Both were blondes, and Emma had their father’s blue eyes. Elena had her paternal grandmother’s brown eyes, though she’d died when her father was young, her paternal grandfather too, though he’d died recently. He didn’t like her mother, or the girls, so she didn’t see him often, if ever, personally. Her father had a rocky relationship with his dad, and she honestly didn’t know anything about her mother’s parents, other than her mother had mentioned her own mother died when she was very young, younger than when her husband had lost his mother. No one really knew where Elena really lived, and her mother had made it pretty clear that she should keep it quiet. Her parents were important to Shinra, so she figured that it was a safety matter. 

Her parents were young when she and Emma were born. Her parents were sixteen when Emma was born and nineteen when Elena was born. Her mother had her and her sister when they lived in Junon, and they hadn’t moved to Midgar until Elena was about eight. Her mother had mentioned that she was very lucky that their father had a spot with Shinra secure, or things could have been much rockier. Her mother had legal training and political science degrees, but she wasn’t a lawyer, even if she had all the prerequisites to be. She worked with Reeve in his division, where she wrote laws and contracts and clauses and the like. 

Her mother set a folded set of pajamas on the counter. “Leave your uniform out of the hamper when you shower. I’ll sew it up for you.”

Elena mumbled a thanks as she began to wash her plate. 

“What happened to it?” Her mother asked, beginning to chop up vegetables in what Elena recognized as meal prep. For her parents to both work full time and her herself working now, they didn’t have much time to prepare meals.

“I fell, is the short answer.” Elena rested her head on her hand. “I kept getting it snagged on reactor scraps and once the damn thing was ripped I kept catching the rips on the rubble.”

“Language, dear.” Her mother tsked softly, setting the carrots and celery into the large silicone cubes to freeze. Elena recognized she was probably making soup. “You alone or were you partnered?”

“Reno,” Elena started. “Rude’s out in Modeoheim for something, Tseng didn’t tell Reno and me.”

“Reno, hm?” Her eyes darkened, and Elena couldn’t tell what exactly crossed her mother’s turquoise eyes; anger, sadness, fear, anxiety. She sighed and went to the refrigerator. “A shame, we’re out of bones.”

“Bones…?” Elena pondered out loud.

“For soup.” Her mother shook her head. “I’m certain your father took the few we had to work and fed them to the dog. You know how she is.”

Elena sighed and picked up the pajamas. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Good night, Elena.”