#I literally felt like such garbage but those people heard me and still treated me like a person | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

Text

Static - a Magnus Archives AU

In the aftermath of Mike's well-meaning attack, Jon tries (again) to resume a normal life.

Thoughts of Basira get in the way.

And then, so does Jonah Magnus.

Another one.

Part of the Magnus Monsterverse.

AO3

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

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Martin said, holding me tight.

He didn’t say it to me. He said it to our resident sociopath, who stood by the door looking slightly guiltily over the fact that he didn’t feel slightly guilty, and shrugged. “Well, we had to be sure, didn’t we?” said Mike. “It wasn’t personal.”

“It was very personal!” Martin snapped, because once he got angry, he didn’t come back down for a while.

Was I all right? Was I not all right? I had no idea. I hadn’t parsed it all yet, but whether I was fine or not, I didn’t want to damage what Martin had built. “It… it’s fine. I understand,” I said into his shoulder, hoping to calm the waves.

Instead, it seemed I’d agitated them. “You’re not doing that again,” said Martin.

“What? Doing what?”

“And I’m not letting it happen, either. This isn’t like before! This isn’t someone getting scared and then treating you like… like garbage! I’m not letting it happen again!”

“Eh?” said Mike pleasantly. “‘Fraid you’ve lost me on this one.”

Martin hadn’t lost me. I suddenly knew what this had triggered.

After Jonah went to jail.

After I survived a coma.

When no one would talk to me beyond graphic and completely unwonted threats, and I’d lost Tim and I’d almost lost Martin, and everyone said everything was my fault, even if I hadn’t even known those things were happening.

I wasn’t even being allowed to grieve my friend because we were still in a state of emergency.

I’d never felt so alone. So hated. And it was for things I couldn’t control, so there was no way to fix them.

So I’d tried to resume my human patterns—and that meant continuing to do the same things I did when everyone saw me as human.

And what had I been doing before? Interviewing people, tracking them down, and taking statements.

We had all done that before. Even Martin. Daisy and I had even forced one at gunpoint, and Basira loved that.

The Institute took statements. That’s literally what they did. And whenever I read or heard one, if the statement-giver were still alive, I entered their dreams—not the outcome I wanted, but an unavoidable side-effect.

It didn’t matter if they were old statements. The result was the same. Basira grabbing old ones did nothing to preserve the statement-givers, so what was the issue here?

Well. Now, I knew that for Basira, it had been her absolute terror that I’d take a statement from her.

She’d never truly given a damn about the people I’d hurt. She’d never given a damn about the people Daisy murdered. She’d never cared about the “someone” Melanie killed, or about the people Lukas had given to the Lonely.

Daisy had even run around murdering people on Jonah’s command while Basira was hostage, and Basira had been fine with that.

She hadn’t given a flying rip how Martin was suffering because trying to interfere with that would have put her on Lukas’ radar—and she didn’t want to get disappeared like Ted and Rebecca from accounting. So, cowardly, she just… ignored the fact that Martin was being gods-damned eaten. It was easier.

If she had actually had a problem with monsters, she wouldn’t have gone repeatedly to Jonah in prison.

To the man whom she knew had damaged Melanie’s mind.

To the man whom she knew had given the Institute to Lukas, losing more innocents.

She went to him anyway, because she wasn’t afraid of his brand of mental power. She knew Jonah was dangerous, but fully believed she could handle him, and nothing he could plant in her head would hurt her.

She was arrogant, as well as cowardly.

Ah, but with me… With me, she felt exposed, all her lies on display. I might see through her nonsense. I might see through her bold claims of magical logic and moral high ground. I scared her—but to admit that I did would be to admit her failings.

And she liked to pretend she had none, didn’t she? She liked the respect that came from being police, and later from being the one who could pass judgment on all us monsters. She liked being the one person “in charge” in the Institute who hadn’t traded her humanity away and so could lord it over all of us.

It wasn’t true. She’d traded hers away years ago, and she feared I would see through all that to the heart of her unbelievable hypocrisy. The thing was, my abilities may have scared her, but she damn well knew I was not going to hit back when she bullied me. That was why I—in the middle of all that craziness—was the ONE person who received her ire.

That was why she had no trouble traveling with me to Ny-Ålesund. That was why she had no trouble letting me take a live statement right in front of her face, because that one was convenient for her, and she knew by that point that she could control me.

By complete contrast, Martin cared I was taking statements because I was taking them from the unwilling, which I had not considered at the time—and he was right. That was why I’d had to stop. He just… hadn’t stuck around to verbalize that, so I didn’t understand.

I didn’t know why, then, I was everyone’s most-hated man for surviving an explosion. For losing my friend. For doing what I’d had to do to stay sane.

I understood it all now. This had to happen. If I had not been isolated the way I was, not been emotionally abused the way I was, I would not have been fragile enough to complete the Web’s plan for me.

But the Mother miscalculated when she allowed Martin to die. The thought had been that once he died, I would break, and be led like a foolish lamb to do what She wanted.

Instead, I finally and at last truly became a monster.

But it seemed I hadn’t been the only person tumbling these things in my head, grimacing at their sourness.

“Jon! Jon!”

Ah… I’d drifted. Or maybe more than drifted.

I was on the floor with no memory of going down, and Martin was—

Martin was over me, cradling my head, dripping tears into my face.

What had I done?

“Jon, please wake up, Jon,” Martin was saying.

Which is now I knew I wasn’t looking at him with my two human eyes. I opened them.

“Oh, thank God,” Martin hitched.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, because it was briefly hard to talk again, because my throat wouldn’t work right. I remembered how to reach up and touch his cheek. “Please don’t cry. Martin, don’t cry.”

He cupped my hand against his face and laughed wetly. “Oh, you idiot,” he said, and clutched me to himself.

To my amazement, Mike had not left. He still stood by the door, looking spooked, but he had not left. He was too concerned about Martin to leave.

Could I blame him? Could I? For all his many flaws, he was worried about Martin, and I… I actually was frightening, these days. No one else had all the marks. No one else had been the antichrist as long as I had. No one else had the particular “eye” powers I did, for whatever reason, or possibly for the reasons above.

And whatever was going on with me becoming both the Lonely and the Spiral and the Vast…

I, too, would do mad things to keep Martin safe from me, were I on the outside. “I understand,” I said to Mike over Martin’s shoulder. “And I forgive you.”

And at those words—

Things… changed.

It wasn’t supposed to do more than build our fractured relationship up a bit. It was supposed to create understanding, to just patch up some of the gaping holes in the pathway between us. Instead, the world shivered on its axis as though Atlas had sneezed.

I felt it.

A second’s worth of something.

Mike stared at me.

Martin… didn’t notice? “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. We pu… I pushed you too soon, and you aren’t ready, and it’s okay, and—”

I cupped Martin’s face again (and I was looking away from Mike but I really was not) and sat halfway up to kiss him. “You didn’t do this. Martin! Martin. This isn’t your fault. I’m still figuring out this balancing act. How to be… what I am without losing myself in it.”

“You just fell over,” he said helplessly.

I saw it in his mind. I had collapsed. There’d been no warning. He was holding me, upset that I was so cold (well the Vast was cold), mad that he’d thought he could trust Mike not to do something weird, worried I’d never accept anyone now, worried I’d become some kind of bizarre Eye-hermit because I feared everybody, worried he wasn’t enough to make me happy, worried I’d slip away and someday never come back—

“Oh, Martin,” I breathed, and kissed him deeply. “The world could end. The stars could burn out and fade. Reality itself could twist into a pretzel, but I am never leaving you again. ”

You know, on reflection, that declaration of mine ought to have been terrifying.

But he heard it the way I meant it: he was never going back to alone in the sea, never having to mourn me again, would never have to say goodbye.

He clutched me like a life raft. Goodness, he was strong.

Mike was still staring.

I’d done something to him. I didn’t know what. I could, but I might lose myself again, and I wouldn’t do that to Martin.

“Tea?” Mike said, and scuttled into the other room.

Whatever monsters we all were, we were also British, and that meant awkward tea and biscuits while we tried to silently sort it out.

I was glued to Martin’s side.

Mike looked almost repentant. It was a start. He also seemed like himself, completely, with one exception: he now spoke to me as if I were his friend.

Casual and open, no longer faking smiles or pretending normalcy. Whatever I had done to him had convinced him he could trust me.

I was very, very unhappy about that, but I had no idea what to do with it, so... for now, I let him talk.

He told me about his job: he was a gods-damned tour-guide.

All right, not quite a tour guide. He did jumping tours, which is to say he’d fly people over the city of their choice, then parachute with them to the ground nearby, all the while describing interesting tidbits of history and trivia.

“People pay for that?” I blurted, because I had no social grace.

Mike told me how much people paid for that.

I looked at Martin. “So it turns out I have always been in the wrong line of work.”

They both laughed.

It wasn't so bad. Mike wasn't actually acting weird; Martin accepted this as normal Mike behavior. Maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe he'd just finally accepted me, because I hadn't lashed out when pushed.

Maybe.

At any rate, Mike left late. We'd marathoned the next season of UK's Got Talent, which was, ah, quite different from the one I'd known. This one was all about imitating AI renditions of things, and somehow doing it better. It made me deeply uncomfortable, but Mike loved it, so.

I didn't sleep well. I did, however, insist on going to my interview as planned the next morning.

Martin didn’t want me to; he was worried I’d black out (and so was I, a little), but I told him I needed to do this. Even if I didn’t take the job, I wanted to qualify for it.

I wanted to… have a life. I wanted to not be his life. I wanted to give him room to breathe.

“You’re an idiot,” he said when I phrased this to him, and kissed me flushed and breathless.

Which was a great start to the day—but I still blew the damn interview, anyway.

I hadn’t done this in a long time, and I’d never interviewed well even when I'd been human, so maybe this was not surprising. I’d psyched myself completely up. I'd absorbed everything about the library, and the neighborhood, and any salient facts I thought might bring me favor. I was so ready, damn it.

So ready that I got the most dreaded words at the end of my time: You might be overqualified.

So that wasn’t happening.

How did I do that? I know I wasn’t impressive. I tried to be knowledgeable, and reserved, and respectable, and all the things a librarian ought to be. All I did was answer their questions! And present a degree in library science I didn’t earn! But they wouldn’t know that!

Blast. I felt sure I’d disappointed everybody.

This was why, I recalled now, when Jonah offered me the Archivist promotion, I’d accepted it even though I’d known I wasn’t qualified. I was terrified I’d lose my job if I turned it down—and the agony of job hunting was an awful deterrent.

Gods, I'd been so young. I certainly hadn’t felt young at the time, but I was.

Quiet London (I really needed to stop renaming everything) was, of course, quiet. People walked at pace, hither, thither, and yon, in silence; businesses flourished or struggled with nary a peep of music or voices escaping their workplaces; cars rolled by without more sound than the occasional crunch of tires.

I felt awful, returning to the Compound (which they did not call it, and I needed to say The Salt Flats like the rest of them because they’d picked the name and it was sort of funny, but damn it all, I just couldn’t). I wanted to apologize. To Jane and to Mike. They’d gotten me the interview. Obtained paperwork for me so it would be legal. And I blew it.

I sighed. Well. The situation wasn’t that different from post-uni, honestly. If my grandmother hadn’t passed when she did, and her house hadn’t sold for the amount it did, I could never have survived long enough to get the job at the Magnus Institute.

All of that sounds horrible and heartless, and I would never tell anyone I’d thought it. I missed my grandmother, sort of. I didn’t really know her. She… didn’t come from a generation of people who shared how they felt.

I’m grateful for her. She cared for me when she didn’t have to, and I know I was a difficult child.

( You were on the spectrum! the Eye informs me with a sort of nerdy glee.)

“Yes, I’d figured that out,” I muttered. “Only about eight hundred years ago. ”

( Appropriate techniques for aiding a child with a tendency toward hyperfixation and overstimulation include—)

“Not now, please,” I said. “I’m really not in a good mood, and I don’t want to think about my childhood.”

So instead, It gave me the spin-off movie from Brother Love, called Cloistered: The Sister Swap.

It was the goofiest, stupidest thing I could imagine in all my life, involving Christmas, a woman from “the city” (unspecified) with a high-powered career, untenable stress, and a twin sister nun, and the one brother in the cloisters who had not found love with his fellow gents.

The sisters traded places and the nun ended up married to the monk on a farm in Canada.

You know what? Why not? This pablum was harmless. And if this ridiculous romantic blarney was enough to give some people joy in their lives, who was I to complain? I could just let people enjoy things. What a concept!

Besides, it was sort of fascinating.

I was still smiling about it as I opened Martin’s door.

He was on the little couch, sound asleep. His phone sat beside him where it had fallen from his hand, currently following the travails of a kitten foster parent somewhere in Cork.

He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I stood in the doorway like a nonce for a full minute before realizing I ought to shut it and come inside.

He didn’t wake.

Of course, I peeked. Yes, Martin was fine; he was just very, very tired. He had not told me he’d been awake most of the night because he had to keep checking if I still breathed (Martin! For heaven’s sake), but I knew now.

Naughty. We’d have to talk about it.

(Wondrous. Had anyone ever worried about me like that, ever in my life?)

I crept into his second room to acquire some unnecessary yet deeply needful stress-snacks.

Martin was an excellent baker. He’d converted his flat’s second room into a wild little space for his online baking show (the idea for which he’d gotten from some alternate him Maneula had shown him), and while his show wasn’t as successful as his counterpart’s (“He wears lipstick!” Martin told me with fascination), it paid enough that he could do his part-time job at the London Aquarium without worrying about bills.

All this to say that the light switch wasn’t ordinary, and flipping it on meant blinding white light aimed at the tiny, adorable kitchen set-up against the wall.

I blinked, my many eyes watering, and made my way toward the tiny storage area where he’d put last night’s cupcakes. They were chocolate and heavily indulgent. I was going to eat a lot of them. Stuff my face. Try to enter a sugar coma, if I could.

Behind me came a sound of static.

I spun.

There wasn’t even anything here that could make that sound—that very specific older-television sound, which only occurred while there had been both analog broadcasting and analog televisions which, by accident, picked up literal radiation left over from the Big Bang, translated to microwaves and white noise.

I frowned at his kitchen setup. There was nothing. Well, as anyone would guess, the moment I turned around, it would happen again, so I turned around.

The static started. And I opened all my eyes.

There was a—

Jonah Magnus.

But not the one currently in Sasha’s hospital bed. No. This wasn’t the one from my world, either, when I’d taken Jonah’s mind and devoured him. This one was about forty, still sort of twinkishly pretty, but his blond hair had picked up some fetching white, and he was dressed in a purple, embroidered Heathcliff vest with a floppy tie of some sort. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows; sweat had drooped his insouciant little curls, and he bore a cut on one cheek that looked quite fresh.

“There!” he said. “Wait—blast, that’s not the right—”

Static sound. He disappeared.

“What the actual hell?” I declared, and approached the space where it had been.

Where it now reappeared.

Static. In the air. In a circle, like an old television in the shape of a round mirror. “There!” said new-Jonah again. “I don’t know who you are, but it’s the wrong—”

Gone.

The Eye was silent. No, not silent; yearning. The way one might miss an ex.

The way I’d once missed Georgie.

“What?” I whispered.

Static. Fuzzy circle, static, a random dot-pixel pattern like before that HBO symbol of ages past. New-Jonah again. “—end yours, too! You’ve got to stop him! I know it isn’t working, Barnabas, don’t be an a—”

Gone.

And I knew it wasn’t coming back this time because the Eye resumed its new absurdity, offering to show me all the hand-made goods fans had created in honor of Brother Love.

I left the cupcakes where they were and joined Martin on the sofa. He was still asleep.

( Yes, I checked, and he was fine.)

Right, so. Whatever had just happened… I was the only person who knew about it. Of that, I was sure.

I needed to know more. Needed.

The Eye wanted to show me, but… I could feel how weighty it was, how much, and if just recalling Basira from the old days had been enough to knock me out, I knew I wasn’t ready for this.

Damn it. I could finally see the benefit of having a double. They could channel their power together. They could share the strain, spread the load.

Michael and Helen were manageable here because they had each other.

The two Nolans literally spent evenings burning one another (gross!) and loving every second, keeping themselves sated.

The Georgies had a horrifying ritual where they would nearly drown one another, once a month. It worked for them. (I… I could never.)

I had no one to talk to like that. No other-me to share the load.

Gerry! chirped the Eye.

“None of them are here, you goon,” I muttered.

Gerry! Gerry! Gerry!

Gods, what had I done to this thing? Taken an impossible eternal fear entity and turned It into a blasted puppy, chewing on furniture and getting excited over things that bounce.

No, I knew that wasn’t true. To anyone but me, It was still what It was: a being of invasion, of flash-paper privacy, of paranoia and being watched and being followed and exposed.

It just… happened to love me. I highly doubted I deserved it. This was just… this was so much time spent. Necessary bedfellows. Which was a terrifying concept; what if it could It be lured away from me by someone who might use It for evil?

Use It for… what the bloody hell was I thinking?

I laughed, and Martin finally woke up. “Hm?” he said with a sleepy smile. “That’s a good sound to hear. Did it go well?”

“No, it did not,” I said, still amused at my completely insane thought of the evil fear god being used for evil. Good lord. “I’m fairly sure I won’t get it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said seriously. “What has you laughing, then?”

I tried to tell him. Big evil fear gods being used for evil like in a cartoon, as opposed to us, who absolutely only used them for good things, like draining the terror out of felons.

Some context was obviously missing, but he laughed anyway. “The way your mind works,” he said with such warmth. “Did you want some comfort-cakes?”

“I would die for some comfort-cakes,” I said.

“Stay.” He headed into his second room.

I hadn’t told him about the static. Why hadn’t I told him about the static?

I would. I just… I needed to parse it a bit more, and… and…

I feared he might say something like, this is too much for you, and bring other people in.

Worse, I feared he might be right to do that.

What I needed was a way to get to all three Gerry Keays and have a chat. That’s what I needed.

Portals! the Eye said. It wanted to teach me.

Only if Manuela won’t know, I said back.

Martin brought chocolate cupcakes and milk, and I put all the other thoughts aside for a bit.

Whatever the hell was going on, I would deal with it. I would understand it, and stop it if it was bad. But I couldn’t escape the feeling I’d had the moment I’d seen New-Jonah, shouting. That man had been trying to warn me of something.

Every instinct I had said this Jonah was not an enemy.

I hated it. I pushed against it. I challenged it.

I couldn’t discard it.

That Jonah had been different. I didn’t know why, and trying to push into that knowledge led to dizziness, so I stopped.

One thing at a time, Jon. And one of those things was not making the mistake of failing to trust my partner.

“I love you,” I said to Martin, and told him what had happened.

#tma #tma au #tma spoilers #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonathan sims #the archivist #jarchivist #magnus monsterverse #martin blackwood #mike crew #jonah magnus

17 notes · View notes

quodekash · 2 years ago

Text

Okay I’ve seen some stuff recently on fancasting Apollo as yung gravy, and I’m here to tell you why that’s wrong. And specifically here cos I have no social media other than this so… yeah. Real quick disclaimer, idk like anything about Yung Gravy other than one video my sister showed me (and I couldn’t even finish it cos it was a ripoff rickroll or something and I both ironically and unironically love that song so it felt like a huge insult), so it’s entirely possible that all these points are complete garbage and I wasted time typing them out for no reason, but anyway.

Without further ado, I present…

WHY APOLLO SHOULDNT BE PLAYED BY YUNG GRAVY (or rly any celebrity tbh):

The name yung gravy feels racist and the only race apollo would discriminate against is the human race as a whole

He usually takes form of a young (16/17) attractive guy with tanned skin and sun-washed hair. Yung gravy applies to none of those descriptors

He’s probably a terrible actor

He’s probably a terrible person who won’t treat any of the other actors or directors or camera people well

Apollo is actually genuinely supposed to be amazing at music. His voice is beautiful. He mastered the lyre as soon as it was given to him. He can probably play violin AND bagpipes. Anything to do with music, apollo knows what it is. I’ve only heard one song of Yung Gravy, so idk if he applies to this one or not, but what I heard wasn’t very promising.

The song I heard was some ripoff of never gonna give you up?? Apollo wouldn’t do that, he would genuinely like and appreciate Rick Astley’s work and you can’t convince me otherwise. He probably rickrolls all the gods all the time. He wouldn’t change the lyrics to make it seem like he’d come up with it, he’d just say like “I whispered this song into Rick Astley’s ears so it’s technically my song but he wouldn’t give me credits” or something

Apollo is the god of: music, poetry, prophecy, archery, plague, healing, the sun, and probably other stuff I can’t think of. Do you reckon yung gravy would genuinely be the god - the literal face - of most of those things? Cos I don’t.

How is that the man that gave us will solace? That’s my entire point.

Apollo wouldn’t walk around as a celebrity. I know it makes sense that he would, but think about it. He’d want full credit for his looks. According to Thalia (who canonically doesn’t feel attraction/feels very little attraction to anyone), he’s hot. So if she says it, I flipping believe her man. He wouldn’t just walk around as some well-known guy. Sure, he’d take inspiration from a lot of attractive people, but he wouldn’t tell anyone that that, he wouldn’t blatantly walk around as them, he’s too self-cantered for that. He doesn’t think anyone is anywhere near as good / attractive / ANYTHING as him.

Something is telling me Yung Gravy wouldn’t have the ability to go through character development, especially not as dramatically as Apollo did while he was Lester

And finally: I don’t want Yung Gravy to be my dad. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

this is a (friendly) debate now I’ve decided. If you somehow still think Yung Gravy should be apollo in the pjo show, I will provide a rebuttal against your reasons.

53 notes · View notes

the-cult-of-russo · 4 years ago

Note

gotta know how u think billy would be as a dad with his kids :D

I had so many requests for Dad!Billy headcanons 😭

I hope you're ready for this chaotic ramble.

Please remember this is my Billy I'm writing

You know those parents who take like a million pictures of their kid and show them to everyone? The kind that talks about their kid nonstop to anyone who'll listen? Their family, friends, the poor random old lady at the store that just wants to buy some damn milk.

That's Billy.

He's such an unbelievably proud parent, his pride for his kids knows no bounds. It doesn't even need to be some kind of milestone worth celebrating, everything his kid does makes him proud. You better believe when his baby has an explosive crap and ruins their clothes, he's boasting about it the next day to Frank and the guys at Anvil.

He's incredibly protective. Murder is a possibility if his kids in danger. He wants nothing more than to keep his kids safe. If they're being bullied, it takes all of his willpower to stop himself from kicking the kids ass for doing that to his kid. He's not above picking a fight with the bullies dad though if they don't get their little shit head in check and also making it known to the principle that this shit won't fly with him.

"Mr Russo, I don't think you understand how serious this is. Your son broke a kids nose," the principle mutters with a glare.

Billy tilts his head, regarding the teacher with those unsettling eyes that has the old man squirming in his seat.

"You’re damn right he did," Billy replies seriously, a proud tone to his voice. His dark eyes cut to his left where his son is, practically his double. As Billy smirks, unable to help himself, his son wears the same one although he's lowering his head to hide his amusement.

"We don't tolerate that behaviour here, Mr Russo," the principle huffs. Billy's eyes harden then as his eyes narrow, sitting forward in his chair just the right amount to be imposing. The second the man leans back he knows it worked.

"You know what I don't tolerate? My kid bein' bullied. You assholes won't do shit to stop it, so I say let the little fucker get a taste of his own medicine. Serves him right for messin' with a Russo," he smirks wickedly.

He teaches them self defence, wanting them to be able to look after themselves if it ever came down to it. Naturally, for their 16th birthday, they're gifted with a big ass knife.

Billy as a dad is so stupidly soft.

We all remember the scene from the show, right? Where he's in the hospital with his mom and he says;

"Maybe you did me a solid, you know? I mean, the way I see it, you want weak kids, give 'em everything. But if you... if you want 'em strong... treat 'em hard."

When he has a kid of his own he realises just what utter garbage this is. The idea of all the shit he's been through making him into the tough son of a bitch he is today is born from trauma that he still hasn't dealt with. The way his brain tries to rationalise what he went though. To make it make sense instead of it being so goddamn senseless.

But if he's honest, more than he'd like to admit, he finds himself wondering just what his life would have been like if he grew up in a loving home. What it would be like to feel wanted and cared for. To rise to the top being helped and cheered on by others instead of clawing his way there with bloodied and dirty fingers, the weight of the world bearing down on him as he's beat down at every turn.

He never wants his kids to feel that way. Not even a fraction of how unloved and unwanted he felt. He does everything in his power to make sure they know just how much he cares about them. There's literally nothing he wouldn't do for his kids. They could turn up at home one day and confess to a murder and Billy wouldn't hesitate to ask where the body is so he can handle it for them.

Billy is ridiculously sentimental when it comes to his kids. Drawings go up on the fridge and when a new one takes its place, the old one goes into a box of many others that he can't seem to ever throw away. He has multiple pictures of his kids at his office, even some framed cute drawings they did for him. He's kept all the mementos from the pregnancy, birth and onwards. They're his little treasures.

Billy is super supportive of everything his kids do. He makes sure they get a good education but he never pushes them to do something they don't want to do. Despite the large college fund he's got for them, if they choose not to go to college, he doesn't pressure them. Instead, whatever hopes and dreams they have, he does everything in his power to support and help them. Whether that's moral and emotional support, money or even breaking a few jaws of people standing in their way.

Let's look a little bit at how he is throughout some of the ages of his kid.

Billy with a baby is a sight to behold. No one has ever seen Lieutenant William Russo so goddamn soft. Once he's got hold of his baby, you've got no chance of getting them back off him. You'd have to fight him. He adores holding his little one close, soaking them in. He's constantly holding them no matter what he's doing and baby carriers and wraps are a godsend to him. You'd heard about them from a friend and told Billy and you better believe by the time the baby's born that he's an expert on all things baby wearing. He's a perfectionist and carrying a baby wrong can be dangerous. He makes sure he knows how to do it right.

Just as he has little affectionate touches for you, he has the same for his baby. His large hand stroking their tiny head and little hair. His finger stroking their chubby little cheek. He's a tactile person and touch is grounding for him. It soothes him to do so with his baby and reassures him they're really there and that they're okay.

He's super attentive. Of course he works a lot but as soon as he becomes a dad, he doesn't stay late anymore and makes sure to have days off. The second he comes home, he's making a beeline for his baby, scooping them up with a grin. He loves to read to them, something that continues as they grow up. His weekends used to be restful or if he was feeling like a masochist, he'd work from home. But now weekends are his time to shine. By the time you wake up on a Saturday morning, he's already up with the baby, making you breakfast as he's got the baby attached to him via baby carrier.

As his baby grows into a toddler, each milestone makes him tearful and full of pride. He kisses any booboos that happen and he's constantly playing with his child. He has a pretty silly side to him that most don't get to see. Making his kid laugh and smile brings him the greatest joy.

He loves taking his toddler to the office with him. Everyone dotes on his kid and treats them like royalty.

When they turn into a small child, he watches with a proud smile and amusement as his kid wants to fight with his men, watching them 'beat' the shit out of them. The guys at Anvil are more than happy to very dramatically go down, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when the tiny Russo grins smugly at their 'win'.

Their first day at school and Billy's a mess. It's such a turning point and he doesn't know how to deal with how fast their growing up. But every achievement at school, even minor ones, and he's showering them with praise.

He encourages them to work hard and as soft as he might be, he is still the boss. He makes sure they do their homework and don't fall behind on their studies.

One thing Billy loves is teaching his kids stuff. Whether that's mundane stuff to help with school or teaching them shit he knows like survivalist things, because you can never be too prepared, right? He loves helping them with school projects and answering any questions they might have about one of the many things he's knowledgeable about.

When his kids moves onto those hard teenage years, the ones where everything feels so dramatic and world ending, he's a little tougher when it calls for it. Billy is no novice to rebellion, he has a rebellious streak of his own and marches to the beat of his own drum half the time. He respects that. What he doesn't respect or tolerate is behaviour that's going to fuck his kid over in the long run or self sabotage. He will be firm and a hard ass if he needs to be to keep his kids on a path where they don't get hurt or ruin their life.

Billy has a zero tolerance policy on drugs. After the shit with his mother, he won't budge on this. If he finds out his kid is dabbling in drugs, they're grounded until they're old enough to move out.

No matter what age his kids are, Billy loves them immensely. He wants to be the father he wished he'd had growing up and he pours all of his anguish and pain from his upbringing into it. Channeling it into the purest form of love for his kids. To break the curse that had hold of him. He won't perpetuate the cycle.

Being a father brings him a sense of completeness and peace he didn't think was possible for him to achieve. It fills the void that's been eating away at his soul from his lack of love as a child and he loves every second of being a parent. Even the hard moments.

Bonus:

The Russo's and the Castle's go on monthly camping trips together. Billy loves the outdoors, the mild survivalist feelings he gets from it without the real danger. He loves taking his kids there, teaching them everything. In his role as dad and uncle, he sits around the camp fire at night, the light of the flames dancing along his face as he very theatrically tells the kids a spooky story.

You and his kids are his immediate family but the Castle's are his family too. So he really loves it when you all get to spend time together like that.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

229 notes · View notes

slashedthroughtheheart · 4 years ago

Text

Ok so, this has been bugging me for a while

Now, I know a lot of the fandom sees Bubba and Thomas as big plus size guys. And don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being plus size. I myself have been plus size and fat since I was about 14.

However, a lot of people, the way they talk about these two makes them sound obese.

And that really... rubs me the wrong way?

I’ll put it under a read more since this is getting long.

So, lets look at it the way I see it. I look at Bubba both in movie and in DBD model, and I see an average body typed man. Maybe just a bit thicker around the middle than average but by no means Fat. He has some fat to him, most at his middle. But for the most part? Bubba is basically all meaty muscley heft. He’s thick like a strongman is thick. Which is why he is so strong. Why he can run with a chainsaw. Why he can haul people up onto his shoulders easily.

He’s not capital F fat. And the reason it upsets me to see him be called fat isn’t because being fat is bad(it’s not, fat is good for your body), it’s that he’s very obviously Not Fat in the way most people talk about him as. And I can’t help but think ‘So... that’s what you consider Fat? What am I then? Oh My God Obese?’ because if someone who has the shape and outline of Bubba being considered Chunky Fat, it’s... disheartening? Like, he’s not overweight by any means even?

Look, this is the original Leatherface. This is the original Bubba. He has a bit of a tummy, but I would not call him fat. As someone who is fat, I look at him and I see average male body.

This is Bubba in DBD and here, yes, he has a bit of fat right at the lower part of his abdomen, but he still isn’t fat. He has big beefy arms, wide shoulders, some hips, and that bit of tummy. But he just isn’t Fat. I’d venture that this version of Bubba is the chubbiest, but even then he isn’t particularly chubby. And he’s also pretty tall here. His weight is distributed rather evenly. He is proportionate.

And the same thing is done to Thomas who is even LESS fat than Bubba. He carries his ‘weight’ very well and it’s basically all muscle. The person who played Thomas was a wrestler, like? He was physically fit. He wasn’t chunky. He wasn’t fat.

And yet people talk about how Thomas would be insecure about his ‘pudge’ and the only thing I can think of is ‘what pudge?’

Thomas is Thicc but with muscle, not fat.

Look at him, that isn’t fat. He has a thick waist, which so many wrongly conflate with being fat. But no, he’s muscle. He’s strong. He isn’t fat. He’s got a barrel chest. He’s Big in a way that isn’t fat. He’s Big in a way that is spooky because it speaks strength, and we all know what he’s capable of.

And all of this just smacks of fatphobia. Because if someone like Thomas or Bubba is considered chunky fat, anyone who is Actually Fat is going to get alienated. Because the people who are doing this are doing it in an ‘uwu soft fat boi, protect him’ and like, if they were fat, that’s still gross?

Do not get me wrong, if you wanna headcanon them as being bigger, and you draw them bigger, that’s okay! But the stuff I’m talking about is these skinny people looking at someone who’s just physically bigger than them and just auto assuming that they’re fat just because they are physically bigger. And it’s gross. And damaging.

This has bugged me for so long, from the moment I stepped into this fandom.

It happens mid game too when I play Dead by Daylight and there’s a Bubba as the killer and people I either watch or am playing with will say ‘Oh, there’s the fat bastard’. Like, this is a problem. Bubba isn’t fat, none of the killers in DBD are fat. I’ve heard people call Trapper fat and he’s not? He’s built like a fucking tree. But it isn’t fat.

Just because a person physically takes up more space than you doesn’t make them fat.

Fat isn’t bad! I have a feeling a lot of this stems from people wanting to seem ~inclusive~ or woke or w/e, but they don’t actually want to respect fat people. They want to find the max size of a person they’re comfortable with existing and then label that fat, because to them, that is as fat as someone can be and still be tolerable.

I look at myself in the mirror and then look at how Bubba looks like even with all his clothes on, and I’m fatter. By a lot. I’m also afab so my fat sits differently, but still. I have a marked difference in body fat than Bubba. I’m Fat. And I can still lift people. I used to be a firefighter. I used to be captain of my volleyball team. I used to swim miles every day when I still lived close to the ocean. And even then, I was still fat.

I look at that, and think about those things, and I can only wonder and fear what the people who go ‘uwu soft chubby Bubba’ would say about me.

Words that have been thrown at me before come to mind, and I can only guess that they’d be similar.

It’s upsetting to think that people look at the actual model for Bubba in game and point and call him fat(derogatory). Because... he isn’t. And some of these people used to be my friends, until I just quietly shunted them from my life, because I don’t want that toxicity in my life. I don’t need them to find out I’m even bigger and turn around and call me the fat bastard.

I’ve had enough of that in my life already. I’ve been anywhere from just a little chubby to full on fat ever since I was a teen. I know how it feels to have your weight be the point of criticism/bullying/butt of jokes. It’s not good.

And all of this makes me really hesitant to even think about writing and posting stuff for Thomas and Bubba and really any of the other slashers who the fandom have deemed to be fat. Because I don’t see any of the slashers as fat in the slightest.

Because I won’t write them fat. I won’t write them having love handles to pinch like so many writers like to give Bubba. I won’t write them having a double chin. Because they don’t. And for me, the art I do, it’s all written. I can’t draw them, I can’t do them justice like that and be like ‘Here’s a comforting headcanon of them being actually chubby that makes me feel closer to them.’

I don’t trust the fandom to know I mean Actual Fat if I wrote those things. I don’t trust fandom to just read those things and think I believe Source Material is that.

And the whole thing that makes this worse? A lot of slashers were bullied when they were young, something a good majority of fat people understand and went through themselves. Something I went through. And I felt a kinship with slashers and fell in love with so many of them because I Get It. I have empathy for what they went through. While the things we faced weren’t the same, we still face ridicule for something we couldn’t change.

And before anyone goes and says ‘it’s not that deep’, I want everyone to think about why most people gravitate towards the slasher fandom. It’s usually out of that idea of ‘Society has cast you aside, it’s also cast me aside for whatever reason, so lets stick together’.

When you’re othered, you tend to lean more towards people that were othered as well.

When your own society has made you feel like you don’t belong, seeing someone else being cast out as well makes you more likely to bond to them. My very first slasher I fell for was Jason Voorhees. And it was real obvious why for me. I was a young little kid who had the nerdiest interests, and wore glasses, and was a bit chubby in the face even if I was thin everywhere else, and I was also the only not white kid in my area. And I had asthma? I was easy game. I got made fun of relentlessly, just like Jason did.

Kids physically hurt me as well. And when I first watched Friday the 13th, the connection I felt to him? That feeling? It was instant. I understood him, and my heart ached for him, because I KNOW how bad it hurts.

And I fell for Thomas, and Bubba, and Michael. And so many others. All because there was that connection. That moment of seeing just a sliver of my own pain in them.

And I’d venture a guess that that’s on par for why a lot of the people in the slasher fandom are even in the slasher fandom.

So why is there so much of this fatphobia? Why is there so many people who act like their original bodies are fat when they’re not? Why are we being othered in the one place we really shouldn’t be?

If you see this happening, say something. Point it out and say ‘that isn’t fat, why do you think that’s fat?’ This whole ‘body positivity’ movement is garbage and the roots of it are just so gross. ‘Don’t worry, you’re still sexy even if you’re fat’ like no. We don’t want body positivity, we want to stop being ridiculed for our bodies. It’s as simple as that. It’s literally just about wanting to be treated as humans with respect.

So please, be mindful of what you say. Hold yourself accountable for the impact you have with your words.

#Thomas Brown Hewitt #Bubba Sawyer #Leatherface #talking about fatphobia in the fandom #abuse tw #I'm just real tired of feeling like I wouldn't be accepted if people in the fandom saw me because of how they act about these two #It really is that deep #I can only imagine how other fat people in the fandom are feeling about this #And I know there are other fat people in the fandom because the amount of times I've seen requests about plus size readers #And my heart goes out to them because god I know how it feels to want to be accepted despite our weight #Maybe be accepted Because of our weight? That some slasher would Prefer us over our thin counterparts?#That would be nice and I know someday I will write something for it but with a slasher who can actually talk #Or maybe with Thomas but go with the headcanon that he has his lil notepad #I love that headcanon for him and I also feel like he'd probably prefer a thicker significant other #I want it to be 'I chose you because of how you treated me but you're also the most beautiful and attractive person I've ever seen'#I know this is a long post and a long rant even in the tags but god I'm tired of seeing it and I hate that I'm not comfy writing for them #I would venture that Thomas is my most loved slasher so me feeling uncomfy for writing for him makes me so sad #I'm tired and kind of angry and just so over this attitude everyone has #I face it enough in the real world please fuck off with that musty ass thought process in fandom

54 notes · View notes

ironwoman359 · 4 years ago

Note

Okay smart ass. How come you and the other big blogs aren't saying shit about the racism and other problematic things happening in the fandom? Specially when almost all of you were always ready to put your opinions on something as petty as fans criticizing Thomas for how he wears a skirt.

Well, I cannot speak for other ‘big blogs’ because, while I am friends with some of the people who run the blogs that you’re lumping into the ‘big’ cateogory, we are not a monolith. We don’t have a secret group chat where we all decide “today we shall talk about Thomas wearing a skirt and ignore racism on purpose.” I can offer speculation that perhaps more people quickly added their own two cents on the skirt thing because when compared to everything else that was going on in the world, both on tumblr and off it, it was such a simple thing to digest. Everyone was craving something simple at that time, so it was an easy, cathartic thing to jump in and say “hey, don’t be mean in people’s inboxes” and proceed to stop thinking about almost just as fast. Anyway, like I said, I can’t speak for other people, only for myself. So since you apparently want me to, I’ll speak for myself.

“How come you and the other big blogs aren’t saying shit about the racism...”

I am white. It is not my place to speak over poc about racism. It is my place to reblog their posts, elevating their voices without commentary. That is something that I learned this year, and it is something I intend to continue to practice. I do recall making one post in early June, about not using the b/l.m tag on fanart posts, but after seeing several poc express that they wanted white people to talk less and listen more, I elected to make no more original posts about the subject and stick to reblogging without comment. If you’re looking for some good posts about racism in the sanders sides fandom, here are a few good ones. Though most of the posts about racism that make their way across my dash and subsequently onto my blog are less fandom focused and more broad.

“...and other problematic things happening in the fandom?”

This is where I must repeat what I said the other day; this could relate to any NUMBER of things, and unless you are more specific I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you talking about callouts for specific creators? There were two that happened over the summer that I know about, but A) again, those were about racism, so I chose not to muddle the conversation with my voice, and B) the works being discussed in those situations were works I was personally unfamiliar with, and thus did not feel like I had enough information to state an opinion publically (which again, as I understand it, would have been unneccessary additions to an issue I have no authority to speak on).

So maybe you’re talking about the Twitter callouts, or the situation with the artists for the Storytime Madlibs video? Again, I felt as though I lacked sufficient need/information to make any statements about those issues. I have a twitter, but I barely use it, and don’t use it for the fander community at all. I had NO IDEA what any of that stuff people were talking about was, and still don’t, and since I don’t use Twitter and am not in that community, it seemed pointless to speak about. That is not to trivialize any hurt or harm that was caused or experienced during those events, just to say that I have nothing to do with them, which is why there’s nothing about it on my blog. (The joke I made about fandom twitter was supposed to be universal and relate to how all the twitter discourse these days seems to be a rehash of tumblr discourse from five years ago. Bad timing on my part I guess, oh well.) And, being 100% honest here, I don’t think I even watched the Storytime Madlibs video. If i did, I don’t remember much about it. I know that when it came out that the artists were underpaid, I reblogged one or two posts about how content creators should not be put on pedestals and are not perfect, but the rest of that situation was centered around the artists involved in that video, and since I was not one of them nor did I know any of them personally, it seemed like something that again, I shouldn’t bring up because I didn’t know anything about it. From what I understand, a solution is/was being worked out, but I haven’t heard anything recently.

Or by ‘problematic things’ do you mean the existence of remrom, or unsympathetic sides, or how I’ve been in this fandom for over 3 years and our anon hate problem has never gone away, or the rampant purity culture, or the pervasive ageism, or literally a dozen other things, some of which are genuine issues and some of which are simply differing opinions being handled with all the grace of an elephant on roller skates? I’ve said it over and over again on this blog, but this fandom is not perfect. No fandom is perfect, but this one in particular has a reputation for being ‘pure’ and ‘wholesome’ for some reason; a reputation that it has never upheld by the way, because, shocker, fandoms are made of humans, and humans are not flawless porcelein dolls. We’re incredibly flawed creatures, and mistakes are inevitable. The sooner we all accept that and start treating our mistakes as an opportunity to learn and grow and do better next time instead of a signal that we were always worthless pieces of garbage that had no chance to do anything other than fuck up, the better off we’ll all be.

And may I reiterate: look outside this website for a minute. There is SO MUCH going on in the world right now, every single one of us is utterly exhausted, we are suffering from a massive traumatic event, several massive traumatic events at once, actually, forgive me if my attention is spread a little thin at the moment.

I’ll readily admit, there have been posts in the past several months that I’ve seen, read, and then not reblogged. Often this is because I feel as though the post that I am seeing does not have the full picture, and that it would be irresponsible to reblog only that part of the ‘discourse.’ And most of the time, I just don’t have the mental energy to go looking for the full story on whatever the Issue of the Week is. And I shouldn’t have to. Because at the end of the day, what I put on my own blog is my business, and no one else’s. There’s not some rule list that magically appears once you pass 1,000 followers that tells you what you must and must not do as a blogger. I am not required to weigh in on every little thing that happens in this fandom just because a lot of people in it follow me, and in fact, NO ONE is obligated to reblog something regardless of how many followers they have. If you are dissatisfied with the posts I make and/or reblog, you’re welcome to unfollow, there’s no rule that says you have to stay. But my energy is so limited these days, and I’m not going to devote what little free time and headspace I have to figuring out the ‘Correct’ take on fandom discourse.

I’d like to end by once again reiterating what many have said beffore, that racism is not the same thing as fandom discourse. It is always my goal to not speak over the voices of poc, and if in this post I have done that in any way, I’d like to apologize. Poc are welcome to DM me so that we can discuss it in any such instance, whether on this post or any other from the past or that comes up in the future. I am still working on unlearning racism, and know I am likely to make many more missteps on that journey. Stay safe out there everyone.

#taylor talks #fanders #fandom discourse #racism tw #longpost #ask to tag #asks and answers

104 notes · View notes

ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

Text

Half-Baked Holiday | ksj | M

Granny Park’s Gossip:

That Seokjin, don’t get me started on him. He’s worked hard to open and run that bakery of his, you know, and I’m so proud that it’s so successful now. Wish he would find a nice person to settle down with, though, he deserves it, as long as he’s been on his own. Well, I guess you can’t really call it alone when he’s got that grump of a best friend always hanging around him. He really should be paying her, what with all the time she spends at the bakery with him. She’s always waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but she’s not so bad when she brings me some of those cookies of his, or just around Seokjin in general, if I’m honest. Too distracted by staring at that pretty face of his, I suppose, though who can blame her?

pairing } seokjin x reader

word count } 12.6K { also on ao3

genre } friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, bakery au, fluff, smut, literally the slightest bit of angst

warnings } fluff, fluff, fluff; jin is an idiot and so is the MC, like they’re genuinely both dumbasses but in different ways; pining; misunderstandings; masturbation, spanking, unprotected sex, oral sex - male receiving, exhibitionism a little, rolling pins are used in ways they are not intended to be used; several mentions of jins squeaky laugh and also his red ears bc they’re my favorite things in the world

{ The Snowball Effect Series Masterlist }

a/n } whaddup i finally finished this thing barely on time so yEET i yet again maintain my status as queen of last minute deadlines!!!! HBH is my Baby, I love it, it’s my perfect shiny garbage baby, and if you like it, you should DEF check out the others!! They can be read as standalones, but it’s really really really really really really highly recommended that you read them all in order, as they all end up in the same place and there are a ton of little easter eggs and references and shoutouts woven into the entire series!!! Extra special shoutout to the authors of all the other stories, @fortunexkookie (ryn), @taehyungforreal (ashley), @stutterfly (kristi, who also made the incredible banners!!!)

You're a good person. You pride yourself on being kind and giving. Every year you make donations to several charities. You help organize summer fundraisers so kids can eat. You buy the most ethically-sourced groceries possible. You leave your change in case someone else can use it. You always tip at least 20% when you go out to eat. Out of everything, though, of all the good deeds you try to do in your life, there's one thing that makes you a truly outstanding human being.

You don't lose your fucking mind every time the urge hits you.

"But how many calories are in the Holiday Donut?" The lady in front of you asks. You can feel your eye twitching and even the young guy behind the register is starting to falter in his bright grin.

"Um, I'm not-"

"Look lady," You cut in. "You have heard about nearly every thing on the fucking menu. It's a donut, stuffed with strawberry creme and coated in colored frosting and sprinkles. How many calories do you think are in it? Just order the banana nut muffin like you always do, get your coffee, and leave, so the rest of us aren't stuck in a line for another hour."

The lady looks scandalized as she turns to glare at you, but all it takes is a single cocked eyebrow to send her huffing out the door. She mutters a few choice words under her breath as she goes, but you pay them no mind.

"Your usual is almost ready, Pumpkin." You level Jin with an unamused glare as he pushes his way through the kitchen doors with a steaming tray of scones in hand.

"You know I hate that name, Spice," You remind him dryly.

"You know I hate it when you run my customers off with that dark cloud you call a personality, and yet here we both are," he responds. He just smiles at your eyeroll and you do your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. Instead you make yourself comfortable on one of the barstools at the counter.

Seokjin's bakery is as busy as it ever is; several of the tables are taken, either by students on their nth espresso or families doing holiday shopping or people just looking for a place to relax amidst the bustle of the streets. There's someone perched on the stool at the opposite end, close to the register, but you pay them no mind. You're too focused on the mug Jin slides in front of you - green and chipped on the handle, it's your favorite - and the steam wafting up from the cocoa inside. There's a thick layer of marshmallow on the top and a candy cane sticking out, just like you like it, and a Holiday Bagel on a small plate next to it.

"Thanks. You're still an ass, though." He has the decency to look offended at your words, and you grit your teeth against the smile that threatens to split your face. He always looks so cute when he's huffy.

"One of these days I'm going to make you start paying for your food like everyone else, and then you'll start treating me right."

"Sure," You agree in a monotone as you pull your phone out and start tapping away on it. "That'll be the same day that you stop asking me to do your books for you because you can't be bothered."

The sigh that expels itself from his lungs is almost as dramatic as the play he dragged you to the week before.

"I am perfectly capable of doing my books myself, thank you. I let you do it to keep you busy."

"Mhm, sure, I believe that," You tell him. He scoffs again and you barely register the hand he shoots forward to steal your bagel before you're slapping it away. "You don't even like strawberries and kiwi, Seokjin, and you will lose a hand."

You don't look up from the emails you're sorting through on your phone, but you don't have to in order to know that he's got both elbows braced on either side of you. You've known him long enough to know that this is his Pout Stance, and you dare not look up because there's no denying him when he looks like that.

"You're so mean to me, Pumpkin. All I do is spoil you with good food and perfect company," he whines, "And what do I get for it? Insults and mockery. You could at least give me a kiss every now and then."

You choke on your cocoa. It burns your nose as it starts to come up that way, and the dark liquid dances across your phone screen as it molds to every crack and crevice.

"Goddamn it, Seokjin," You sputter. He's already holding a cloth out to you, apology written on his face even as you glare at him. You pat your phone dry as best you can before resigning yourself to the fact that it's just going to smell like warm chocolate and peppermint until the next time your best friend flusters you.

"To be fair, I didn't expect you to be so opposed to the idea," Seokjin mutters. He continues under his breath as you wave off his attempt to help again, something about him being handsome enough, but you aren't listening. Because that's the only real problem between the two of you.

You aren't opposed to the idea. It's all you can think about most days; in work meetings, while you're doing paperwork, in team briefings, while you watch TV, when you're asleep. What his pillow lips would feel like against your own occupies nearly every waking thought you have. The others are torn between fantasies of what being his would be like and memories of him in general, neither of which you're lacking in.

You've known Seokjin for years. You don't even know how long since you insist you met when you were twelve and Jin is just as insistent that you met when you were nine. All you remember is being alone on the side of a playground playing hopscotch by yourself and then giggling at something the nice boy had said and then the two of you were inseparable. You aren't even sure how long you've felt like this towards him. It could've been high school, when he was one of the most sought after boys in school and yet still made time to comfort you every time a boy rejected you. Maybe it was college, though, when he was further away than he'd ever been and yet always answered your calls and responded to your texts and you'd cancel dates because he had randomly driven up to see you. Maybe it was after, watching him run his own bakery and do what he loves every day with the brightest grin you've ever seen on his face.

You can't be sure. All you know is one day you were washing dishes in the back after being his guinea pig for some new creation, and he told some dumb joke, and when you turned around to mock his squeaky laugh like usual, you couldn't. Because he had flour on his cheek and chocolate on his lip and you'd never wanted to kiss someone so bad in your life.

And then it just devolved from there and now the butterflies in your stomach have just set up camp. It's been too long, but you can't risk your friendship with him over some stupid crush. He means too much to you.

Your eyes don't leave his back as he disappears back into the kitchen, still complaining about something under his breath, and you suppress a sigh.

Shopping is the worst. You aren't really sure why you're here, because you hate shopping and you hate crowds and you especially hate holiday shopping because it's like Satan himself smashed the two together. You get all your gifts online or early in the year, you don't go anywhere near a mall from October to March, and it works for you. You don't have to deal with holiday crowds. Ever. So why are you on hour five at the largest mall in driving distance with no breakfast, sore feet, and full bags hanging from every possible place they can?

"Does that really seem like something Taehyung would like, though? I got that jacket for him already, I know, but this seems so much more fitting. What do you think, Pumpkin?"

Oh. Right. Seokjin had showed up at Too Damn Early For A Saturday O'Clock and demanded you accompany him for his holiday shopping.

"I think that if I don't eat something in the next ten minutes, I'm ripping your head off and eating that instead. And for dessert I'll demolish those fancy chocolates you got for Jimin." A passing mother gives you a horrified glance as she ushers her toddler along and you almost wish you gave a shit. It's the mall, she can't control what other people say in this hellhole. You probably could’ve done without the emphasis on Jimin, though; Jin knows how much you worship those chocolates, you’ve said countless times that they’re better than orgasms, and still, he got some for Jimin and not you.

You aren’t bitter. Or petty. No. You’re an adult, and you’re not going to pout just because your crush got your mutual friends some sweets instead of you.

"If you touch those chocolates, you're going to march your ass right back to that store and replace them while I return all your gifts," Seokjin quips back. You glance over at him and wrinkle your nose at the two berets he has in each hand.

"What the fuck are you doing, Spice?"

“Wondering when you’re going to listen when I talk to you,” He responds. He holds both of the berets up for you to view more clearly. “Now, which of these is more ‘Tae’ to you?” He doesn’t react to the blank glare you give him, long since immune to your powers of pessimism, and instead just wiggles the berets in each hand so you actually look at them.

Neither are to your personal taste; one is diamond-encrusted in some kind of quilted pattern, with some kind of alternating animal print as well. The other is more understated, if you can call it that, with a faux-fur trim, a feathered poof in the center, and a truly obscene pink houndstooth pattern to it. You can’t help the wrinkled nose that the two options cause in you, and you ignore Seokjin’s huff of irritation in favor of looking past him to the rest of the options. You only have to look for a minute to find something better suited, which mostly means Jin wanted to give Tae something truly gaudy on purpose.

“Here,” You say, stuffing the hat into his hands. He stops mid-rant - something about how you should be helping him more, though you aren’t sure why because he’s the one that dragged you here and is lucky you haven’t bailed yet - and focuses on what you’ve just given him. It’s not a pretty beret, by any means, and is by far the cheapest one there, but it’s got some kind of artful splatter across it in greyscale tones, with a pop of red around the rim to accent it. Seokjin just stares at it for a second before turning his gaze on you, and you shift uncomfortably.

“What?” You eventually ask.

“Nothing,” He says airily. “Just surprised.”

“At what?”

“You paying attention to people and being able to buy good gifts.” He puts the other two back into place and heads towards the registers, ignoring your indignant squawk.

“I get you perfect gifts every year!” You don’t miss his eyeroll, and it makes you want to strangle him a little.

“I don’t count,” He tells you as he settles in behind some grandmother buying entirely too many things that have to be for her grandkid. “You know me better than anyone, and you have access to my Amazon wishlist.”

“Yeah, except none of that is on your fucking wishlist,” You mutter. He turns, eyebrow arched and ready to get more backtalk, but you just make a face at him.

He drags you to five more stores after that and abandons you in the middle of Williams Sonoma. You’re on your third lap of the store, ready to disassemble the fancy grill they’ve got on display to see if he’s somehow in there, when he appears, probably from the ether or some shit. You’re still trying to figure out how he managed to phase through time and space and the massive shelf of Martha Stewart Collection Cookware without you noticing, and in the meantime he takes the massive amount of bags from your hands and deposits something in your palms instead.

It takes you a minute to register the warmth, but the smell hits instantly and makes your stomach grumble loudly. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking hungry.

“Eat,” Seokjin commands. “We’ve got more shopping to do for the bakery.”

You can’t even argue because your mouth is stuffed full of pizza pretzel bites - the only real reason to come to the mall, in your opinion. You’ve inhaled one serving in record time, and Jin doesn’t even react when you bust into the second one in the middle of some tech store. Instead, he just holds out a hand and waits for you to plop a pretzel bite in his palm.

It’s hours later, long after you’ve helped Seokjin drop off all the bakery supplies at the shop and carted the presents up to his apartment, that you realize you’re still holding on to the bag from the pretzel place. You’re about to toss it into your garbage when it registers that there’s too much weight for just garbage; curious, you open the bag up and dump the content onto your kitchen counter.

Inside is a small box of chocolates, the same kind you’d threatened to eat earlier in the day, your favorite flavor and everything, with a small note atop it.

These were supposed to be part of your gift, but you looked put out when you thought I wasn’t getting you any. Thanks for today. xxSpice

You resist the urge to smile; it’s only right that he give you sweets after the frankly absurd amount of time he’d made you spend at the mall. Still, you can’t deny your lip twitches along with your heart at the knowledge that he’d been planning on including them in your gift.

And you might tuck the note away behind a postcard on your fridge, but you’re never going to admit to that.

The next day when you get to the bakery, Seokjin doesn't hesitate to shove you into his small office and push you into his desk chair before he disappears back into the kitchen. The usually cluttered space is empty, devoid of the usual invoices and order forms and whatever the fuck else your best friend keeps on his desk. Even the picture frames have been moved, placed haphazardly atop a filing cabinet. Something flutters in your chest when you notice the one directly facing his chair is one of the two of you.

Taken years and years ago, back when you were first moving into your college dorm, when you were both tired from carrying boxes up the seven flights of stairs to your room. You still remember how irritated you had been when Jin's parents insisted they get a picture of the two of you in your matching university hoodies. You don't remember what it was, but you remember Seokjin cracked some dumb joke or said something ridiculous. He must have, because in the picture, you're looking at him with a softness in your face that isn't present any other time.

Seokjin reappears with a steaming mug and a hand behind his back. The familiar scent of warm chocolate and peppermint hits you, followed closely by the warm-butter sharp-mint honey-glaze smell that you remember taste-testing for him so many times that you're almost positive it’s going to linger on your gravestone.

"That's mistledough." You narrow your eyes, and he rolls his own. His hand pulls out from behind his back to reveal the treat he'd concocted in college and perfected not long after. Shaped like a sprig of mistletoe and a warm honey brown color, the mistledough is easily the best selling product that Seokjin has.

And it's only on sale from Black Friday to the first day of January.

You don't even know what's in it. He's never told you, hasn't let you watch him make it; he'd just show up randomly and shove a weird-shaped treat under your nose and tell you to eat it. And of course you did, because you've been whipped for him since the first day he made you smile on that playground.

It's not important, really. What's important is that he's brought you cocoa and mistledough, which means he's bribing you for something important.

"No," You tell him.

"Please," He pouts. "You don't even know what it is yet." You huff and look anywhere else. His pout is dangerous for you and you know it, and you refuse to be bought for some cocoa and bread.

In an attempt to avoid the puppy dog eyes he no doubt is wearing, your eyes flit around the room. They eventually settle on the mass of shopping bags to your right. You turn, seeing the collection of various wrapping papers on the left and the collection of tape beside them.

"No," You repeat, turning your glare on him. "Wrap your own damn presents, Spice, I'm not doing it for you this year."

"But you do it so much better than I do!" He steps forward, setting his bribes in front of you so the scent wafts towards you that much more. "Your corners are always perfect, Pumpkin, and the edges are so well matched, and you get the pattern to line up perfectly, and-"

"No, Jin," You tell him, already standing. "I told you last year that it was the last time I'd be doing it for you, and that was only because you left it to the day before - again - and had to be in the bakery. I already wrapped all my presents, I'm not doing yours too."

He doesn't even say anything. He just widens his eyes a little and looks down at the scuffed tile floor, kicking his shoe dejectedly against the foot of the desk. There's utter silence in the room, only broken by the muffled chatter of customers and the beep of one of the ovens every few minutes.

You last for a solid ten minutes. You know because the smell of more mistledough fills the air, and you know Seokjin wouldn't try to bribe you with anything that wasn't the freshest batch.

"Why can't you do it?" You grumble, already sitting back down and picking through the wrapping paper.

"I've got like a hundred orders to fill today. That's not even really an exaggeration, either. Soobin's been on cake duty all day so that I can get to work on the mistledough orders and still have time to finish Tae's cake before we leave." You sigh and turn to look at him.

He looks stressed; that's not unusual for this time of year, but it still makes your chest clench. You want to pull him close, run your hands along the furrow between his brows until it's smooth again. Smother him with kisses until he's giggling and happy and remembers that he's a badass culinary god and that he can handle this and that you love him.

"I wish you would tell people no sometimes," You say instead. You slide one of the biodegradable rolls onto the desk and start looking through the drawers for the massive ruler you know is tucked away somewhere. "You can't fill every order. Let people pine for their fancy bread, they don't deserve it anyway."

"You know I can't do that, Pumpkin," He says, breaking off a piece of your bribe and leaning against the tattered desk. "We only just got to where we're steadily in the black, and the seasonal stuff brings in a lot of money. I've got to milk that for as much as I can."

"Yes, because you being overworked and stressed like this is a much better alternative. I'm pretty sure your eyebags have eyebags." You wait for the dramatic gasp, but it doesn't come.

Instead when you look up at him from where you're digging through presents, he's staring at the picture of the two of you. Whatever he's seeing is beyond that, though, invisible to anyone but himself. It's not rare that he gets introspective and quiet; it's actually fairly common when it's just the two of you. You don't know why. You don't want to know why. You just take the moments when they come and wait for him to say whatever he's going to say.

"You're my best friend," is what he eventually says. Your hand stutters where it's slicing paper, mimicking the pang of heartbreak that shoots through your veins. You love being his best friend.

You just wish you were more than that.

"Yeah," You say offhandedly, "No one else wanted the gig, so I guess I'm stuck here." You can feel his eyeroll, but he pats your shoulder as he heads back into the kitchen. When he reappears a while later with fresh cocoa and a bagel, you pretend to be mad that he steals a bite of it until he laughs at your grumbling.

When you leave his smile feels lighter, and you tell yourself you're imagining his eyes lingering on your back as you go.

You’re gonna kill him. You really are. You’re going to absolutely skin him alive, you don’t give a fuck how cute his face is or how hard he makes your heart beat. There’s not a single fucking thing he could say or do that would make up for this.

Maybe if you hadn’t been out here waiting for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe if your phone showed that he had even opened the last six texts you had sent him. Maybe if it wasn’t Seokjin who insisted on leaving at like ten in the morning to being with, even though you had plenty of time to get there because you didn’t even need to run by the bakery because he’d already put Soobin and Yeonjun through what probably counted as actual military training in order to prepare them for today. Frankly, it’s a miracle Seokjin is even leaving them on their own today, considering how hectic it gets. You’re entirely sure that it’s only because Soobin has worked there since the bakery opened and Yeonjun joined not long after so they both know the ropes as well as they possibly can. And because Seokjin was likely up until an ungodly hour preparing and baking an enormous amount of mistledough for today.

In fact, he’s probably still passed out up there, you decide as you climb out of your truck and head into your best friend’s apartment building. You’re cursing under your breath the entire way, paying no mind to the scandalized elderly gentleman that shoots you a Look. You really are gonna kill him, you decide as you shove the key he made you into the lock and jiggle the handle slightly so it’ll actually turn. You’re going to drag him out of his stupidly comfortable bed and probably try to shove him down the garbage disposal or something. His shoulders may present a challenge, but you are up for it.

Your mind is so made up that you don’t even register the bags he’s got ready by the door, or the coolers full of groceries that are packed and ready beside them. You just sidestep it all entirely and head down the hall. You don’t even register the faint sounds, muffled by the door to his room, and by the time it all finally reaches your brain, it’s too late. You’ve already thrown the door open as wide as it will go, which means you get a perfect, unobstructed view, even as Seokjin startles and yelps.

Because of course - of course - he isn’t sleeping or showering or packing. No, instead he’s got his fist wrapped around his cock and is thrusting shallowly into the warmth of his palm. The universe loves to torment you entirely too much, clearly. Why else would it offer you such an unhindered look at the love of your life’s dick?

It’s a nice dick, too. Long and the perfect thickness, a pretty dusky pink head. You can’t lie and say you’ve never imagined what Seokjin’s dick looks like - you basically grew up with him and the others, and young boys talk about their dicks. A lot. Plus, you’ve had a crush on him for several years now.

You just never could have imagined that it’s so absolutely gorgeous that you can feel your mouth water. It’s impossible to tear your eyes away from it, in fact, until Seokjin gets over his initial shock and shoves his blanket over his lap.

“What, uh,” He starts, throat rough. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh...you asked me to pick you up, remember? Because your car doesn’t have four wheel drive like the truck.” You learned a long time ago how to avoid being embarrassed around Seokjin, but even that can’t stop the burn in your cheeks as you force yourself to make eye contact with your best friend. It’s a struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the planes of his naked chest, broad and tanned despite the winter weather, but you manage.

Barely.

“Right, yeah, but...uh, weren’t you supposed to call? And aren’t you early?” The tips of his ears are as red as your face feels. The contrast between the current situation and his obvious shyness is so endearingly distracting, it takes you a full minute to focus back in on what he’s saying. “--at this point, I mean, I know that we apparently aren’t there yet, but really, I don’t mind-”

“Wait,” You interrupt, “I’m still stuck on how I called you four times, both before I left and en route and once I got here, waited another ten minutes since I got here early because I know you like to be early, and yet somehow this is my fault.”

“Well...you should have knocked! Why wouldn’t you knock when coming into someone else’s apartment or bedroom?”

“Why didn’t you hear me coming? The floor in your hallway is a million years old, it squeaks constantly, how did you miss that?”

“Well, I was a little preoccupied.”

“Clearly.”

“You still should have knocked.”

“Why did you give me a key if you wanted me to knock? And when have you ever knocked on my door when you show up randomly? Besides, I figured you were asleep and didn’t want to wake you up while I took all your shit out to the truck.” His face softens a little, and a shy smile teases at his lips.

“Thanks, Pumpkin,” he says quietly. Your stomach flips violently at the look on his face and you roll your eyes at it.

“Yeah, whatever.” You pick up the clothes he already has laid out and throw them at his chest. “Get dressed, you’re buying me breakfast on the way to the cabin.”

He doesn’t protest as you leave him and gather his bags up, balancing them atop the coolers of groceries and snacks he’s no doubt made for everyone. It only takes a little finagling, but you manage to get it all downstairs and into the backseat of your truck. Fat white flakes are falling from the grey sky by the time you’re finished, and Seokjin’s nose and ears are still pink when he eventually gets in as well. You turn the heat up, just in case it’s not residual embarrassment heating his face.

He doesn’t even say anything except a muffled thanks. After a few minutes, you’ve almost resigned yourself to an awkwardly silent car ride.

“So…” Seokjin eventually says in a too-casual tone. “About earlier-”

“No,” You hiss before he can continue. “No we are absolutely not talking about what happened.”

“Oh, come on,” He implores as you turn into the first drive-through you can find. “It was bound to happen eventually, considering-”

“We really don’t need to talk about it,” you insist.

“I’m just saying that I know you aren’t really one for...y’know, sexual activity,” He ignores your open-mouthed gape and continues, “But I have my own needs, and self-satisfaction is the best balance between the two that I’ve found. That said, I’m sorry you had to see it, I know it probably made you uncomfortable. Because. Y’know. Dicks.”

You’re still gawking as he finishes his spiel, and you feel a little like a fish. You surely must look like one, with your mouth hanging open in shock, your eyes as wide as saucers, and the general air of befuddlement that surrounds you. There are so many things you want to say, questions you have, all of them colliding in your brain.

“I like sexual activity just fine!” is what makes it out, just as the speaker beside your window crackles to life. There’s a long, pregnant pause in which you and Seokjin just stare at each other.

“So...what can I get for you today?” The worker says through the speaker. You want to die, just a little, as you rattle off your order and Seokjin’s to him; the universe hates you, obviously, that’s the only real explanation here.

“We are not talking about this,” You tell Seokjin firmly as you pull away from the speaker. Your face is still burning, but you refuse to acknowledge it. “You are paying and then we are heading to the cabin and we are not ever speaking of this again.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. You almost believe that he’s dropped the subject, but unfortunately you know him too well for that. Which is why you shoot him a warning look as you pull up to the window and he starts to say something.

“All I was going to say is that my parents asked about you the other day. They’re mad that you haven’t been by lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” You say as you hand Seokjin’s card to the kid in the window. “I haven’t had time to visit.”

“You visit Jimin’s grandma like twice a week.”

“Yeah, well, Granny Park and I are friends. Not to mention I still have to unseat her as the reigning go champion.” You don’t mention that you’re sneaking her mistledough and cookies so that she won’t blab about the fact that you’re in love with Seokjin. Or that every time you go to his parents’ house, they end up talking about weddings and asking when you’re getting married. You can’t deal with that, not when you factor in your feelings for their son.

“I’m just saying. You’re like a daughter to them. They miss you. I’m going by there after we get back from the cabin, and I think they’d like it if you tagged along.”

All you give him is a noncommittal grunt and several bags of fast food. You love his parents, you really do. You just wish they didn’t come with the constant reminder that Jin only sees you as a sister.

He lets you eat in silence, though, content to munch on your fries and pretend most of the morning never happened. He sings along to every song that plays on the radio, and it isn’t until you’re about thirty minutes away from the city and doing your best to navigate the roads in the worsening snow that you get suspicious.

“When you say you like sexual activity just fine-"

“I thought we dropped this!” He sends you a look that just says ‘really?’ and continues.

“I just want to know what you mean. Because obviously we’re on two different pages.”

“I mean that I like it just fine. I enjoy it, it’s fun, I would like to continue having it in the future. What of that is strange to you?”

“No, I just...I was under the impression that you weren’t interested in that. You never really talk about it, and you’ve never mentioned any...partners, or anything so…”

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to inform you of every person I’ve ever slept with.” You glance over at him, astounded, and are shocked to see that his lips are pursed in a frown and his brows are drawn together. You resist the urge to reach out and smooth the lines on his face. “Wait, are you actually upset about this?”

“It’s just...I’ve told you about every person I’ve slept with.” You wince a little because he’s right. You’ve heard about every single one of his sexual encounters, some of them in great detail, and you do your best not to think about them. “If I had known that you were interested, then-”

“What? You would’ve set me up with one of your friends?”

“Who was the last person?”

“What?”

“Who was the last person you had sex with?”

You look at him again, a quick glance to try to figure out if he’s being serious or not. His face is hard, an emotion you can’t place clear in the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure there’s an actual blizzard starting around us, and you want to know who I fucked recently?”

“Yeah, I do. Fair’s fair, Pumpkin.” Something in his voice raises alarms in your head. You could insist that you don’t want to talk about it; he’d respect it if you were really serious, you know he would. There’s an edge to him right now, though, one you haven’t seen in a very long time, and you don’t like it. You want to smooth it out, sand it back into the gentle lilt you love.

“Fuck, Spice, I don’t know. That guy from the bar that one night?”

“What night? What bar?”

“I don’t fucking remember, okay? It was like...fuck, years ago, I don’t even remember what he looked like, let alone his name or what bar it was. Are you happy now? For fuck’s sake, I didn’t think I had to report to you every time I wanted to get laid. You’re my best friend, not my keeper. I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch; between the sound of the heater going full blast and the Christmas carols he’s got blaring through your truck’s sound system, it’s hard to hear anything. Still, when you glance over at him again, something dark sits in his expression, and you’ve got a gut feeling it’s your fault.

Things remain tense even after you arrive at the cabin. Seokjin doesn’t wait for you to help him, just loads all of his stuff into his arms and wobbles his way inside while you’re still slinging your overnight bag over your shoulder. The door slams behind you as you enter, caught by the wind of the growing storm outside, and you send what you hope is an apologetic wave to where Taehyung and Star - his girlfriend of forever and one of your closest friends - sit in the den.

You immediately make your way to the kitchen, swiping a tin of cookies and making hot chocolate, all while ignoring the overly aggressive chopping your best friend is doing behind you. You’re sure Star and Tae aren’t surprised when you flee to the room that you’ve unofficially claimed over the years.

You stay there for most of the day. The door stays open, just in case someone actually wants to come talk to you; you have no doubt that everyone can hear you cursing at the dog show you’re watching, and at one point you’re pretty sure you hear Namjoon’s voice steer someone away, but you can’t be sure. You don’t even want to be sure. All you really want is to know what the fuck you did to piss your best friend off and get him back to normal.

You can’t just ask him, though, because he’ll no doubt get even angrier that you don’t already know, despite the fact that you have no way of knowing unless he actually tells you.

Frustrated, you pick up your phone and flip uselessly through the chat you have with him, trying to find literally any explanation for how he’s acting. The group chat with all the boys plus Star and Cat has been quiet most of the day, only the offhanded comment about someone leaving now or going to be a little late.

Your chat with just Cat and Star is almost as quiet. There’s a featured video of Seokjin blowing up at Jeongguk a bit too harshly considering the younger had just nabbed some kimchi before dinner, but that’s essentially it. You’re tempted to ask Star to get Seokjin to tell her what’s going on, but not only do you not want to drag her into whatever this is, you also know better. He wouldn’t tell her anything. She isn’t his best friend.

As much as you’re looking forward to the rest of the night, there’s a sense of dread deep in your bones when you eventually emerge from your room. You only do so because you’re out of hot chocolate and you know that you’ll be dinner if you’re late to eat.

You wave off Star’s curious look when she sees you; you don’t need her worrying about you, not when she’s got so much else to focus on, if the crutches leaned nearby are any indication. Hobi and Cat haven’t arrived yet, which only adds to the sinking feeling in your gut, but you brush it off. They would call if they had trouble. You know they would. Besides, Cat said they’d probably be leaving late.

Seokjin doesn’t even look at you as you pass him to get to the dining table, and that hurts more than you’d like to admit. The real sucker punch comes once you sit down, however, when you see a mug of hot cocoa with your signature candy cane placed just to the right of your plate, only to realize that Seokjin’s mug of special coffee he loves so much is placed at the other end of the table.

Away from you.

Air catches in your lungs, and it sounds silly that you’re tearing up over your best friend not sitting beside you, but he always sits beside you. Always. No matter what the two of you have been fighting about, he’s always sat beside you because he likes to laugh at the faces you make about the conversations going on, and he feeds you the best bits of meat while you act annoyed about it but secretly love it.

You knew Seokjin was upset, but you hadn’t realized he was this upset.

Jimin sits beside you and introduces you to his neighbor, but you don’t even catch her name, just that he keeps calling her Snow and she looks at him like he’s the meal and that there’s a massive purple bruise along Jimin’s neck that you have a sneaking suspicion is her handiwork. She looks vaguely familiar, but you can’t be bothered to place her, not when Seokjin is laughing about something Star is saying and looks entirely too at home down there.

On your other side, Namjoon and his roommate are talking about a science something or other that they’ve been working on. They’re both so invested in the conversation that neither notice Namjoon dumping the extra spicy sauce over his rice instead of the mild that he prefers. You can’t even bear to listen as he starts complaining to Seokjin that he made the food too spicy and the resulting tirade from the eldest.

If anyone notices your sour mood, they don’t say anything. It’s not surprising, when you think about it; you’ve long been established as the grump of the group, and you don’t expect that to change, even with the girl Jeongguk brought along that seems torn between whether she actually likes him or not.

Yoongi catches your eye at one point and you just cock a brow at him.

“Where’s Jisoo?” You mouth at him across the table. He looks to Peaches, the girlfriend of his that you’ve only ever met once in passing, and looks back at you. You way your eyebrows at him halfheartedly and Yoongi rolls his eyes. It’s disappointing that Jisoo isn’t here. She always provides some sort of entertainment.

If nothing else, she usually provides some semblance of distraction.

By the time dinner ends, you’re fairly positive no one knows about your spat with Seokjin, or the strange tension between the two of you. You’re sure no one noticed how you didn’t eat much of anything; everyone was too wrapped up in their own conversations and relationships to pay much attention to little old you.

You really should know better by now.

Jimin doesn’t move from his spot beside you, even as the others begin gathering dishes and your best friend disappears into the kitchen with the promise of cookies and chocolate-covered treats in an hour or two. Snow disappears, no doubt after a silent conversation between her and Jimin, and you roll your eyes at how he watches her disappear into the room they’ve claimed.

The two of you sit in silence; it’s a game of wits, almost. You know he knows something is up, but you also know that he knows you aren’t one to just offer up your thoughts. But he knows that you know that, and he knows you know he isn’t going to let it go because he can tell something is actually bothering you this time.

“So are we going to talk about why Seokjin has been so pissy all day and how there’s been a notable lack of Pumpkin by his side, or are we going to continue to pretend that everything’s fine like we did through dinner?”

You wish you were better able to resist him. Maybe your time with his grandmother has weakened you to him, and maybe you should work on being less transparent with him, but either way, you slump in your chair and set your empty mug of hot chocolate down with a thump. You still send him a glare that he smiles through and make a mental note to tell Granny Park that there’s a reason for his sudden need for scarves that she should ask him about.

“We had a fight.” You eventually grumble, eyes darting to where Seokjin stands over in the kitchen, dipping marshmallows, pretzels, and other treats into melted chocolate. “I think.”

“You think?”

It doesn’t take very long for you to recount the day’s events to him. You even tell him about The Incident from that morning that you walked in on, because once you start talking you can’t seem to stop until he knows it all.

“And now he’s pissed, I think at me, but I can’t figure out why. I mean, it wasn’t any of his business, but you know how I am with him, so it’s not like I could just not tell him, but I don’t understand why it pissed him off.” You huff a little. The frustration with everything that rolls in your stomach collides with the hurt you feel over Seokjin snubbing you, and it’s so distracting that you almost miss Jimin’s careful whisper of your name.

“Have you ever considered just asking him?” Jimin says softly. “I’m pretty sure having an actual conversation with him would fix this whole thing.”

“But…” You hesitate, twisting a stray thread from your sweater between your fingers. “Jimin, what if he hates me?”

There’s a vulnerability to your voice that you hate, one that only Seokjin, Jimin, and Granny Park have ever seen. It’s rare, mostly because you hate feeling vulnerable, but it makes Jimin’s eyes soften ever so slightly even as he bursts into a fit of giggles so powerful that he almost falls out of his chair.

“This is not helping!�� You hiss, shooting a look at where Seokjin is rolling out chocolate chip cookie dough. He doesn’t look up at Jimin’s outburst, but his lips twitch ever so slightly into a frown and the crease between his brows deepens.

You know that look, too well. It’s his ‘I Do Not Care Even Though I Actually Do But I Don’t Want You To Know I Care” look. You saw it frequently when he first went off to college, when he was constantly worrying about all the boys he left behind in that little cul-de-sac. You really hoped it wouldn’t ever come back.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says eventually, wiping a tear away from one eye. “I really am, I promise, I’m just. Oh, I think I might lose a bet.”

“What? How is that helpful, Jimin? Y’know what, where’s that dumb dog thing Yoongi made you, I need to smush its face until I feel better--”

“What you need,” Jimin says as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to sit you back down in your chair, “Is to stop abusing my lovingly crafted plushies and actually talk to Seokjin.”

“I can’t tell him how I feel, you know this Chim-”

“Did I say confess?” Jimin asks as he stands, eyes flickering to where his neighbor-slash-girlfriend(?) is in their room. “Just talk to him. I mean really talk to him, okay, about why he’s upset. I think you’ll be surprised.”

Jimin doesn’t give you a chance to protest; he’s gone and disappeared down the hallway before you can blink, and you don’t want to know what’s happening in that room.

Eventually you meander over to where Seokjin is sliding cookies out of the oven, each perfectly placed to allow for the perfect bake. You putter around for a minute or two, opening and closing cabinet doors at random. You aren’t finding anything interesting, certainly not the strength to have this conversation, which is why you’re startled when someone says, “It’s all the way to the left.”

You turn, and Seokjin is absently stirring leftover melted chocolate. When you fail to move, too busy staring at him in confusion, he turns and points to a cabinet beside you. “The cocoa,” He says, “It’s all the way to the left.”

“Thanks,” You mumble as you move toward it. Inside is a box of candy canes and a weathered tin that you recognize from Seokjin’s apartment. Its twin sits in the bakery, right beside the register so that it’s close at hand for when you inevitably come thundering in with a storm cloud above your head. Each holds the special cocoa recipe that Seokjin learned from his grandfather, who learned it from his grandfather.

You chance a glance at your best friend; he knows how much you love that cocoa. The people in this cabin right now are the only people he’ll make it for - save for Hoseok and Cat, who still haven’t arrived. Seokjin’s ears are burning red, and a weaker person - or at least one less accustomed to him - may have cooed at the sight. But you’ve spent too long building up the walls so that he’ll never find out just what you keep tucked away in your heart.

“I’m-”

“Sorry.” He finishes for you. “I know you are. And...I forgive you.” You nod at his words; you couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what had actually upset him, but you’re glad he’s forgiven you for it. Still, it nags at you, because what if it happens again? Unlikely, considering you haven’t been able to get laid in actual years because you’re too smitten with the man standing across from you, but still.

“Are you going to tell me why you were upset, or are you just going to play with chocolate all night?” You eventually ask. He sighs, heavy and long, and turn to lean back on the counter beside you. He’s wearing his ridiculous alpaca apron that you got him for his birthday, and that only makes him more beautiful as he considers what he wants to say.

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost feels like he’s close enough to touch, but you just can’t seem to let your hand reach out to do so. You think if you could, you might be able to grab him and hold on forever, but something deep in your gut stills you.

The fear of losing him, of losing everything that you have with him right now - late nights at the bakery, shopping for birthday presents, the quiet moments in a chaotic world where you find peace in each other. As much as it hurts to love him, as hard as it is to speak around the words that strangle in your throat that speak truth to every feeling you’ve ever locked in the recesses of your heart, you can’t risk telling him. Because this pining and loving and eventually watching him grow old with someone he loves?

That’s enough for you.

“I just got jealous, I suppose,” Seokjin eventually says. “I always thought that you weren’t interested in sex, y’know? You mentioned it once in college that you’d tried it, but your little half-frown was there, so I knew you didn’t like it, because you get the same one every time you eat gingerbread because you hate it but you don’t want me to get disappointed that you aren’t eating the houses I make. I just thought it wasn’t something you wanted in life.”

“Um.”

“Which is obviously fine, sex isn’t for everyone, asexual people exist and are valid, as are those that are sex-repulsed, y’know? And I decided a long time ago when I first looked into it all that I didn’t care about sex in a relationship. That’s not the important thing to being partners with someone. But apparently sex is a thing for you, and I just wish I had known that because all this time I could’ve-”

“What, set me up with your friends?”

“No, definitely not. It’s just that we...I could have...it just hurts to know that you’ll have sex with other people but not with me, even though I respect that it’s your decision to make.”

“What.”

“But I just...I know I’m not entitled to an explanation, but I can’t lie, I would really appreciate one if you can give it. I mean...I dunno, I know that I had sex with other people, but we had that whole conversation in college about it, and you seemed alright with it, so I did. And I always told you about them, because communication and openness is important, and I wanted you to know that I was respecting your boundaries with that while also satisfying my own needs. But it really did feel weird, because...y’know, so I stopped. And I guess I assumed that if you weren’t fucking me, you weren’t fucking anyone.”

“What.”

“I just really care about you, Pumpkin, and I know I know don’t really say it a lot because I’m more of a ‘showing it’ kind of guy, but...I just would have appreciated knowing that. Especially since I’ve always been more than willing to love you like that.”

“Spice,” You say slowly, being careful to keep your face blank. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Seokjin blinks at you owlishly. “What do you mean ‘what am I talking about,’ I thought I was pretty clear. I mean...yeah, I’d love it if you would have sex with me, but that’s your decision, and I’m curious as to your reasoning and logic. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, which is why I forgave you, because as much as it stings, it’s your choice. And I love you, as you know, so-”

“How would I possibly know that?” Your voice catches a little on the words, probably because you’re having a little trouble actually breathing. Everything is fuzzy and the words ‘I’d love it if you would have sex with me’ and ‘I love you’ are playing on a loop in your brain. Your entire world has just shifted on its axis, and yet Seokjin looks completely unbothered.

“Maybe because I’ve put up with you so long?” He teases with a fond smile. “I mean, I know we aren’t the type to say the words very often, but c’mon Pumpkin. We’ve been dating since you were twelve, not many would last that long without even a kiss.”

“We haven’t been together since I was twelve, though.” He raises a brow at your confused tone.

“Okay, thirteen, then.” He says. The confusion on your face must be apparent, because it begins to bleed into his, the beautiful features morphing to mirror your own.

“Seokjin, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t dating.”

His expression only gets more confused.

“Uh, yes we are?”

“Uh, no we aren’t? When the fuck did that happen?”

“When you were twelve, as I said. I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“I feel like I would have remembered that happening.”

“Then you should go to a doctor, because it definitely did. It was the best day of my life. We were sitting on the playground, it was recess, you were upset.”

“I remember none of that.”

“You cannot possibly have forgotten this!” Seokjin exclaims. “I cheered you up and offered you my cookie, which you ate in like two bites even though I had made it with salt instead of sugar and it had to be disgusting, because some girl had knocked your cupcake into the dirt-”

“Park Sooyoung, that bitch, I remember that-”

“And then,” Seokjin continues, ignoring your outburst, “I was so deeply honored that you ate that disgusting thing that I offered you the equal honor of being my girlfriend. And you nodded and I kissed your cheek and then you punched me in the arm - which hurt, I might add, for days - and then I watched you play Pokemon Sapphire on your Gameboy Advance.”

The memory rushes in, though not exactly how he remembers it. Park Sooyoung had knocked your cupcake out of your hands and into the dirt, and you had been so mad about it that you’d started to cry. Seokjin found you, curled under a tree away from everyone else, and when he eventually learned what upset you, he’d told Sooyoung off like no one had ever seen. And then he’d handed you the best cookie you’ve ever eaten.

You think maybe that was when you first started falling for Seokjin. With the salty cookie that masked the taste of your own tears, and the angry tirade he had gone on despite the two of you not having known each other for very long, with the wide smile and squeaky laugh and ears so red and cute that you couldn’t focus on whatever he was saying and just nodded along to it.

“Well...why didn’t you say anything since then?” A thought crosses your mind, and it so horror-filled that you have to ask. “Do the guys know?”

“If they do, it’s not because I told them,” Seokjin answers easily. “When you introduced yourself as my friend, I figured you were just a very private person and didn’t want to rub it in their faces or something.”

“Is that why you always drag me along when you, Hobi, Tae, Cat, and Star go out for karaoke?”

“Obviously,” He scoffs. “What could be better than a triple date with your two best friends?”

“Literally anything! Hobi and Cat sing each other the most raunchy things I’ve ever heard, and Tae does all those weepy ballads or indie songs nobody recognizes, and Star’s got those dopey love eyes all night, it’s revolting.”

“You mean like those faces you make at me when you think I won’t notice?”

“I-” You huff, at a loss. “Well what about the other day, with that girl at Mistledough you were flirting with, who was flirting back and-” Realization hits you. “And she’s Jimin’s neighbor girlfriend lady!”

“Pumpkin. Are you serious right now?” He gives you a dry look, but there’s amusement written all over it. “You’ve heard my sales pitch a hundred times. You’ve given my sales pitch a hundred times, albeit with a little more of a monotone and general ‘I’ll kill you’ vibe to it. It was just so she’d buy all the treats I could possibly sell her.”

You make a small ‘hmph’ noise that you aren’t exactly proud of, but makes Seokjin laugh. He pulls you into a warm hug, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you there. It’s a little awkward, because your arms are still crossed over your chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind and despite all the muttered complaints you give him, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“So…” Jin says in a too-casual tone after a few minutes. You muffle a groan into his chest, already preparing for the worst. “What kind of sex are you into?”

“Oh my god,” You mumble.

“Wait, you’re right, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He clears his throat and stands to his full height. When he looks at you again, his eyes are full of something you can’t place exactly, but it makes your heart skip nonetheless when he says your full name. “Will you do me the honor of officially becoming my girlfriend? Again?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and nod. The grin takes over his face is blinding, worth all the trouble from the day, as is the soft kiss he presses to your cheek. You can’t help but huff when he pulls away from it, even, and he raises an amused brow at it.

“Does this mean I can finally kiss you the way I’ve been dreaming of forever?”

You do roll your eyes this time, but you let your fingers dance over his jaw and pull him into a gentle kiss. His lips are softer than they look, which you truly didn’t think was possible, and the way they mold and move with yours is warm and tender. You don’t even know how long you spend kissing Seokjin. Time isn’t real, not now, not with him pulling you closer and pressing warm against you like every single daydream you’ve let yourself have.

Years of repressed urges and desire come out before you can stop them, though. Your hands move down to rest on Seokjin’s impossibly tiny waist, slipping behind his apron to tease at the waistband of his slacks. Why he insists everyone wear nice clothes to dinner, you couldn’t possibly say, but they make his ass look phenomenal so you never complain.

The kisses become more heated, his tongue dipping out to taste your lips for a moment. Hands find their way to your ass and palm it greedily, and he tugs you flush against him. A hard length is pressing into you, and you don’t have to guess to know it's not the rolling pin.

Images - memories - flash through your mind of that morning. Your mouth waters and you pull back from Seokjin. Panting, lips swollen from kisses, and half-lidded eyes, he's never looked better.

"Can I suck your dick?"

He groans low in his throat and his eyes fall closed. "Fuck, Pumpkin, right here? Anyone could walk by." You drop to your knees as your hands undo the clasp on the pants.

"Doubtful, they're probably having that post-dinner nap, or playing some game." Anxiety pools in your gut; you know quite a bit about what Seokjin likes in bed, but you've never been sure if exhibitionism is on that list. "Does it make you uncomfortable? I don't have to. I've just been thinking about it all day."

Seokjin barks out a quick laugh and shakes his head. "No," He says, "I definitely would love for you to suck my dick in this kitchen if you want to."

"Good." You flip his apron to the side and tug his cock out of its confines. You don't bother dropping his pants all the way; there's no time, you're too impatient. "Let me know if anyone shows up."

Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by a sharp intake of breath as you warp your lips around the head of him. One of his hands moves to grip the counter behind him and the other rests lightly on your crown; he doesn't pull or tug, just keeps his hand as a gentle pressure as you sink him deeper into your mouth.

As much as you've never been one for sucking dick, you're in heaven. There's no other explanation for why it feels this good to have him sitting heavy against your tongue as he hits the back of your throat. There are still two inches left so you wrap your hand around it and hollow your cheeks as you pull back.

A strangled moan escapes him, and his fingers tighten ever so slightly in your hair. Heat floods to your core and you kick yourself internally because you could have been doing this for years. Your tongue darts out to slide teasingly along the underside of his cock and he reflexively thrusts into your mouth.

You cough a little and pull back, wiping spit from your lips as you catch your breath, and Seokjin is already spewing apologies.

“I’m fine,” You say as you sit back against the cabinet, tugging him to stand in front of you. His back is to most of the kitchen and your head rests against the hard wood behind you while you eye the hard wood in front of you. “I can take a little bit of roughness, Spice, don’t worry.”

He looks hesitant so you ghost your fingers along his length to tease him. His jaw clenches at the same time his eyes close and you resist the urge to smile. Tension bleeds out of his shoulders and when he opens his eyes again, he quirks a brow in a silent question and you nod.

In seconds, he’s in your throat once more, thrusting himself in and out at a slow pace that makes you clench with the desire to feel it elsewhere. You hollow your cheeks and suck properly as he fucks your throat, and he muffles another moan.

“Fuck, Pumpkin, please don’t stop,” Seokjin whines quietly. You smile, just a little, and take him back into your throat for a few seconds before pulling back and repeating the process. Each time he hits the back of your throat, he lets out a muffled groan that only makes you wetter. His cock is thick and your jaw aches and you’re struggling to breathe just a little bit, but the fucked out expression on his face is more than worth it.

Something clatters in the hallway and you freeze, Seokjin’s cock sheathed to the hilt in your throat. His ears turn red and he starts to pull back, but you stop him with a hand on his thigh. He looks down at you, surprised, and you chance a wink that makes him chuckle.

Footsteps make their way past, giggles following close behind, and you hear the door leading to the hot tub open and close. After a few seconds of silence, Seokjin relaxes, pulling out of your throat. You take a few deep breaths and glance over to the door, curious.

“Jimin and Snow,” He tells you, one hand absently stroking along your cheek. “We probably shouldn’t use the hot tub tonight.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why would I want to anyway? Have you heard Namjoon’s lecture on what could potentially grow in a hot tub if it isn’t sanitized regularly? It’s not a fun lecture.” Seokjin laughs, squeaky and adorable, and helps you to your feet. He doesn’t hesitate to pepper kisses along your cheeks, and you wrinkle your nose even as tilt your head so he can get the places he missed.

“Now when you said that you can handle a little roughness…” Seokjin says, voice a soft murmur in your ear. You make a small hum of affirmation, encouraging him to continue. “Does that mean I can spank you for not finishing blowing me, or is that something you’d rather not do?”

“Fuck, Seokjin,” You hiss, rubbing your thighs together. “Now you have to do it.”

He’s got you turned around in an instant, your fancy dress pants on the ground a few seconds later. His hands mold to your ass, cupping the flesh briefly through your underwear before letting his hands fall away.

It’s methodical and slow and torturous, how he peels away that last layer keeping him from your wetness. You know that the fabric is soaked through, it has been since you first got his dick in your mouth, and Seokjin groans at the sight.

“Even better than I imagined,” He mutters. Your cheeks heat in a rare blush, and you drop your head down between where your forearms are braced against the countertop. His hand smacks against your ass, lightly, and you choke back a laugh. Is that really what he thinks a spank is?

Another slap hits you, no real force behind it, and you scoff under your breath.

“What?” Seokjin asks. When you look back at him, he’s expectant, like he knows what you’re about to say.

“Is that what you call a slap?” You ask. He rolls his eyes and pulls his hand back for another. It already looks unsatisfying, and you can’t help but push him a little further. “I always wondered why your dough doesn’t rise high enough. Guess I know now.”

His eyes darken and a chill comes over you.

“Oh, is that how this is gonna be?” He asks. He gestures for you to face forward again and you do, curious as to the dark look in his eyes.

Something hard and cold smacks into your ass, and you yelp in surprise. There’s a little more force behind it, enough to sting pleasantly but not enough to hurt.

“Is that better, Pumpkin?” He asks. There’s a mocking tone to his voice, but when you look back, you can see the slant of his lips and tension in his jaw that shows he’s concerned. The rolling pin from earlier rests in his hands, and it flares something in your gut.

“Much,” You tell him as you turn back around. He spanks you with it again, and again, and again, and it isn’t until you feel something wet drip down the back of your leg that you remember the chocolate he was fucking around with earlier.

“If you get that on my nice clothes, I will destroy you,” You warn him. He laughs a little and there’s a thump as the rolling pin hits the countertop.

“Is that code for get me naked?” He asks, a laugh in his voice.

“No, that’s code for lick it up and then fuck my brains out.”

The laugh in his throat quickly becomes a growl and he sets to work doing just that. His tongue runs over your skin, gently lapping at the chocolate there, and several times he gets distracted leaving purple marks in his wake. He even slides tongue along your slit, long and thorough and quick, and you almost come just from the obscene moan he lets out.

"Fuck, please, I need you," You gasp out. Seokjin slides a hand under your shirt, massaging the muscles in your back as he does, and stands to his full height.

"Let me know if it hurts," He says softly. His voice is a whisper against your ear and it's never sounded quite so wrecked or beautiful. "I'll stop, okay?"

"If you don't get inside me in the next five seconds, I will go ask Jimin and Snow if I can join them in their kinky hot tub," you growl.

He curses quietly and thrusts his length inside you. Neither of you are quite prepared for what it feels like, and the moment he gets buried to the hilt, he stills.

"Shit, Pumpkin, I'm not gonna last long," He mutters. You can't even manage words. The stretch is absolutely blissful, just on the right side of painful when paired with the sting of your still-tender ass. He's the perfect height for this, too; perfectly lined up without either of you having to try very hard.

He pulls almost entirely out, leaving just the dusty pink head you remember inside. There's not even a chance to whine at the loss, because before you know it, he's slamming back in.

Seokjin's pace is erratic and harried; there's no smooth strokes here. You're both in too much of a rush, too drunk on the pleasure to want anything but release.

Hands move along your skin, one lifting your shirt so he can pepper kisses along your spine while the other reaches down to gently tweak your clit.

It takes three swipes of his finger to have your knees shaking with the power of your orgasm. You clench around him and he stills. You can't think, your brain is absolutely fried at this point; all you know is the feeling of him inside you and the disappointing emptiness when he pulls out.

Warmth hits your back and Seokjin's moans echo in your ears. You're almost afraid to turn around, afraid this is some hyper-realistic dream.

"Shit, hold on, let me clean this up," he says, panting. You can hear him moving through the kitchen and when he comes back, something cold and wet slides along your back.

You wait patiently as he cleans you up. He wipes away every instance of cum and chocolate from your skin - though he looks a little disappointed to be doing so, which you file away for later.

"God, that's so much fucking cum," You say, wrinkling your nose at the mass of wet wipes he tosses in the trash while you fasten your pants once more.

It's just in time, too, as Jimin and Snow come in from the hot tub, smiling and giggly with each other.

"Ah," Jimin says, looking between you and Seokjin. "I did lose a bet. Damn, she's gonna be so pleased with herself."

You glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. The two of them disappear to get dressed in actual clothes, and you and Seokjin set to work plating the cookies and treats he'd made.

You can't stop the fond look at the rolling pin every few minutes.

Later, after you discover Cat and Hobi have arrived safely and you make sure they actually eat the plates set aside for them, you're on the hunt for Seokjin. He's disappeared somewhere and it's almost time for the countdown.

You finally find him - where else - in the kitchen, making a horrified face at Namjoon.

"What? It was good," Namjoon says with a frown. Seokjin just waves him off and Namjoon shrugs, grabbing a couple glasses of champagne and heading back to Slick.

You sidle up to him as close as you can get and he wraps an arm around your waist like it's second nature. It's surreal, that the man you love is pressing a kiss to your temple and handing you a mug of cocoa.

"I'm glad we talked," He says eventually. You hum your agreement; you aren't looking at him, just staring down into your cocoa as you absently stir it with a candy cane, but you do lean into him ever so slightly. "Remind me to bake Jimin a cake."

"Why? What's he done to deserve a cake?"

"He helped me out earlier, while I was cooking dinner. Helped me figure out how to say what I needed to, that sort of thing."

Your face shoots up as your heart clenches in your chest. "Jimin," You echo. "Jimin is why you decided to talk about your feelings." Seokjin just nods, eyes wide and not understanding why you have murder in your eyes.

"I'm gonna kill him so hard-" You say, already setting your mug down and turning to go find that short gremlin and skin him alive. You don't get two steps before a hand comes to rest on your shoulder, heavy but gentle.

Seokjin pulls you closer to him, a smile playing on his lips as he does. "Why would you want to kill Jimin for that, Pumpkin?"

"Because!" You exclaim. "Jimin's the only one that knows that I-"

The words tangle in your throat, cloying together into a ball you can't seem to unwind. You're too used to choking it down. You don't know how to say it.

"That you love me?" Seokjin finishes. You can't bear to look at him, huffing slightly as you turn to stare out the kitchen window at the snow-covered trees beyond.

Seokjin's hand glides down your arm to wrap around your own, tangling his fingers with yours. With a grace you tend to forget he has, he brings them both upwards until he can press a soft kiss in the center of your palm.

"Jimin isn't the only one that knows that, Pumpkin," He says quietly. You can feel your ears burning, a pleasant contrast from how it's usually him embarrassed and red.

"Whatever," you grumble, giving up on your mission to brutally murder one of your best friends. Seokjin laughs, loud and squeaky and wonderful, and pulls you into another hug.

"I love you too," He whispers. "Now, let's go join the others. I believe you owe me several years of kisses."

"You wish," You mutter half-heartedly. He hands you your cocoa and pats your still-sore ass with a wink.

"That's a great move."

"Really?"

"Yes." There's a pause as she waits for you to remove your fingers from the piece. "If you want to lose."

You offer her a weak glare that she ignores as she studies the board.

"I'm glad that you and Seokjinnie finally got things figured out. It was very cute to watch, but it was getting a little ridiculous, you know."

She moves a piece, and you squint to try to help you figure out her strategy.

"Right, it had nothing to do with your bet with Jimin," You say sarcastically as you move another piece. You eye her, one finger still remaining on it, to try to figure out if it's what she expected.

"Of course not," She says as you remove your hand. "That was merely a bonus." She immediately lays a piece, gaining even more of an advantage than she already had.

"Well then," You start as you lay another piece, "I'm sure you know all about Jimin and his neighbor, and Star and Tae I don't need to tell you anything about Yoongi or Cat or Jeongguk, either, probably."

Her fingers hesitate over the piece she's picking up, and her eyes narrow at you.

"Ah, don't be so cruel. You're supposed to respect your elders, you know."

"Alright, Granny Park," You say with a rare grin as you glance to where Seokjin is baking a ‘sorry we fucked in your kitchen’ cake and decoration some sugar-free cookies for her. "What exactly do you want to know?

2K notes · View notes

musical-chick-13 · 4 years ago

Note

And Theon bc I love him

WHAT A COINCIDENCE I LOVE HIM TOO (this answer is gonna be a combination of books and show)

Send me a character and I’ll tell you the following:

• Did they live up to their potential? / In what ways was their potential unachieved?

-I would say yes. The only negative I have about his general arc is his death (which, see below). But Theon from the very beginning was, though not a particularly nice person, still relatable. Feeling othered, wanting to be accepted by an immediate environment that doesn’t accept you, isolated from and ostracized by your family, and the tension that comes between serving the different types of familial relationships in your life. Theon has no idea who he is, tossed aside by his blood family for not growing up with them and being “soft,” aka sort-of moral and having emotions that aren’t selfish rage or smugness (which, yep, that second part is a mood, see: my entire childhood and how no one wanted to be around an “emotional” “soft” child). And from there, he spirals out of control in a way that, while certainly not admirable by any stretch of the imagination, is still understandable in the context of the narrative and his characterization. And from there, after going through hell and quite literally losing himself (even to the point of straight-up denying rescue), he builds himself back up gradually, to the point where he expressed extreme regret for what he’s done, helps an innocent woman escape a truly horrifying situation, acknowledges that his family is generally garbage, and (in-show b/c again books aren’t finished), helping to restore his sister to power, rescuing her after his PTSD relapses while confronting Euron, and ultimately opting to protect the Starks come hell or high water in order to genuinely atone for what he’s done. He is no longer conflicted because he wants to do the right thing, and that right thing is defending the kingdom from the White Walkers and making sure Sansa and Bran are safe. And it’s no longer about fulfilling a duty or finding a family to fill the void. Because now he has found himself. I will contend that Theon has one of the best, most nuanced, most organic redemption arcs of all time. I will forever be grateful that I got to see that piece of storytelling unfold.

Although, I would love to know what he thought of Dany. A missed opportunity, that.

• How they negatively and positively affected the story.

-Positive: His arc of identity and finding where your loyalties lie ties into the overall theme of “How do you find yourself in a world where goodness, authenticity, and honesty are often punished and increasingly rare?” And it proves that governmental politics aren’t the only defining factors in decisions: familial politics can be just as difficult and dangerous, which adds yet another rich, complicated layer to the overall story. He has a genuine, honest-to-Drowned-God redemption arc, which is...not really present anywhere else in the story (no, Jaime is not on a Redemption Quest, I will die on this hill). But I think the biggest draw of Theon’s presence is that it deconstructs the whole “Character Revenge Fantasy” idea. He does bad things. We want him to be punished. But not like that. No one deserves that. How far is too far? What does retribution really look like? Given how easily that idea can be abused and go off the rails, is retribution even something to strive for? What is the point of using extreme violence/torture/mutilation/breaking someone’s psyche when it doesn’t really accomplish anything? Isn’t atonement and genuine justice a better option? It certainly was for Theon. He could only piece himself back together and do anything meaningful once he was out of his abusive environment. All of these are imporant questions that are posed by his existence in the narrative.

-Negative: Idk if I have much to say here. My biggest problem is his death (see below), but that’s not really a negative story effect so much as...being disappointing and narratively irrelevant. I gotta say, his introduction via his sister was...really weird. I genuinely have no idea why GRRM wrote that. It never came up again or had any kind of narrative ramifications and kind of cast a strange, uncomfortable light on his relationship with Asha/Yara for the remainder of the story. I can ignore and enjoy their later relationship it if I don’t think about it too hard, though, so I guess I’ll chalk it up to GRRM having a Bad Idea.

• What my favorite arc for them is.

-All of it?? Theon’s journey is kind of...one big arc, which is why I think it works so well. He has this overarching redemption plot which spans the entire series and informs every decision he makes (for good or for bad, depending on where in the aforementioned journey he is). The redemption arc isn’t bogged down with side plots or other pieces of narrative clutter, meaning it has time to grow and, thus, be gradual and realistic. If I had to choose a specific point, it’s probably when he tries to reintegrate back into society via supporting Yara. Gaining the Iron Islands’ support for her ruling, spiriting away with Euron’s fleet, and ultimately rescuing his sister after her capture. He can’t just go back into society. He’s scared. He has really bad PTSD. But he recognizes that putting his home in good hands is something bigger than just him because it’s Yara’s home, too. I just...I really love family relationships, y’all.

• What I think of their ending.

-I’m not really sure how I feel about this one. I get that the series is GrimDark™ and that people who make the right choice and fight for good die all the time, but Theon dying just felt...wrong. To me.

And, like...I get it. It makes sense to parallel his original descent into villainy (cemented by executing those two boys and pretending they were Bran and Rickon) with him dying to protect Bran himself. It ties into the whole very common trope of completing a full redemption arc by committing a completely selfless act at great personal cost. It’s kind of like the whole Missy thing in Doctor Who (which...hoo boy, that post is coming, make no mistake), where selfishness is directly opposed by making the ultimate sacrifice with no motivation for personal gain. And the fact that the last words he ever heard were “You’re a good man?” I cannot even begin to describe how much that makes me sob. But...honestly, I’m really tired of this idea that redemption has to end in death in order to be achieved or “complete.” I think it’s much more poignant to have a redeemed character live to help build a better world. Because what’s the point of telling people to be better if the “reward” is death? No one’s going to want to reform themselves if they think that’ll be the result.

I think the thing that Bugs Me™ the most is that Theon never really got to have a moment of peace when he was alive. Sansa gained the North’s love and at least had a secure childhood. Ned and Cat were happily married for years. Arya had parents who loved her and a good relationship with Jon. Jon fell in love with Ygritte and found his Night Watch Bros, and Robb (in show verse) had some very happy moments with Talisa. Davos put great stock in what he considered fulfilling friendships with Stannis and Shireen; Brienne was treated respectfully by Renly, Catelyn, and Sansa; Missandei and Grey Worm had each other and their friendship with Dany, who herself had many personal successes in her quest for the Iron Throne and saw the death of her abusive brother. Cersei even had moments with Jaime (who himself had several notable military victories and at least some time with Myrcella, as well as being gladly and deeply in love, however dysfunctional that love was), times when she successfully fought off enemies (including her dad), and some sweet moments with Tommen, as well as a huge victory via blown-up sept at the end of season 6. Theon was treated as a second-class family member by the Starks his whole life by being “traded” to them as a condition of war resolution AS A BABY, is immediately disparaged and mistreated by his immediate family when he tries to return to them, makes terrible decisions that almost cost him his conscience completely, is brutally tortured by Ramsay, is on the run with his sister from Euron almost immediately after, and has a PTSD attack that ultimatly results in him having to launch a rescue mission. And then he fights ice zombies. And then he dies. He never really...got to be happy at all? There was never any kind of “win” for him. Not even survival. The narrative couldn’t even give him that.

TLDR: Theon’s death seemed less shock-value-y than others (like, for example, Shireen or Missandei or, heck, Melisandre even), and it isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen. It’s narratively-informed and it makes sense as an emotional through-line, but, ultimately, Redemption Cemented By Selfless Death is a tired trope, and I honestly thought this story (which...you know...serves as a deconstruction of common fantasy tropes/book tropes in general) was better than that.

• When I wish they had died. / If I think they should’ve died.

-So here’s where we get personal™ kids.

So, it’s no secret that I am...severely mentally ill. I’ve talked about expression/presentation of mental illness in regard to Cersei a lot on this blog, and how that (as paradoxical as it may seem) helped bring a sense of comfort and emotional resonance to me. Theon, post-Ramsay, has, I think, a very clear case of PTSD. Theon is one of the few characters I’ve seen where his mental illness isn’t the cause of the bad, violent, dangerous choices he makes. It only takes root after he has made the decision and conscious effort to better himself, and it, rather than demonizing him, serve to humanize him. His trauma didn’t define him. And although a PTSD attack led to him unintentionally losing Yara to Euron’s capture, he makes every effort to rescue her, a goal he does end up achieving. It is so rare I get to see a character who goes through these things, successfully fight them and come out with positive qualities at the end. Like...switching topics a bit here, Jaime going back to King’s Landing to (try to) escape and ultimately die with Cersei made sense to me because, as Jaime says, he is a hateful man. He never made much of an honest effort to be anything else. And he never truly wanted to be good; he just wanted to be liked. He wanted to adopt some personality that would make him feel less disconnected from the rest of the world. But Theon...genuinely feels remorse for everything he’s done. He makes a concerted effort to do everything in his power to improve the lives of people he believes are good and deserve to be safe. So, just...killing him off in a Completely Selfless Sacrifice (like...you know how a lot of mentally ill people put themselves through suffering-like OCD rituals, bottling feelings, self-harm, even suicide-in a misplaced attempt to “help” or “protect other people”) seemed antithetical to everything we saw of his arc.

Ultimately, with such a humanizing, empathetic portrayal of trauma and mental health struggles, seeing Theon be killed off just...pissed me off. I am so tired of seeing mentally ill characters die. I really want to believe that I can live through and thrive in spite of the things that afflict me, and I get example after example of characters not being allowed to do that. It feels awful, quite frankly. And it makes hope that much harder.

I also just feel like...there was nothing the story gained from his death? I get the thematic parallels as mentioned earlier, but it didn’t really move the story forward in any significant way. It didn’t motivate other characters to do anything, it had no political ramifications, it didn’t serve to contribute to any kind of happy ending or commentary on society, it just...was sad. Again, I thought this story was better than that.

#theon greyjoy #got #my son #mental illness in media #meta #redemption arcs #tw: self harm mention #tw: suicide mention

11 notes · View notes

douxie-casperan · 4 years ago

Text

[Skrael is @ice-demigod-skrael, Douxie is myself and the following is a direct c/p with a smidge more readable format of our DMs as we might have gone on a bit of a tangent. This has been us the past couple of hours. Enjoy!]

[Heart of Glass AU following Douxie finding out the Order, despite him being under their wing since being forced to flee Camelot, has not given up their plan for using the Genesis Seals to create a reset and brutally fix the balance. Needless to say it did not go down well.]

Douxie: “Were you hoping I'd take out Merlin for you? Was that it?"

Skrael: "We only ever wanted to ensure your safety."

Douxie: “By lying to me, you know exactly what he did before I was left with a literal disability for life?”

Skrael: "Your mind needed only to think on healing, Hisirdoux; you did not need to worry about something such as this!"

Douxie: “Case you missed it somehow, I still live here! It's not a balance if you wipe everyone out that's a reset! You two were telling me I was doing good helping out in the small ways I could without anybody realising who it was and I'm just supposed to just say alright jobs done time to get in line and get wiped out with everyone else because in the end the best beings are only as valuable as the worst?“

Skrael: "N-...no. No. You were doing good. You were helping the balance! It was good work- but fixing it entirely is not your job, Hisirdoux- it is mine. Let us do our own work, Hisirdoux. Please. You do not need to concern yourself with it! We were born for this role; we will not push it off on someone we care about! Because we do care about you, Hisirdoux; we never wanted to see you hurt! You were never going to get wiped out, Hisirdoux; you were always safe with us. You were always safe with us. I swear it."

Douxie: “What kind of person is able to easily pick favourites and say this person isn't worth it? You could hate my girlfriend, oh that makes her "bad" now wouldn't it? Every single life out there has potential to do good things and many of them actually do and don't kick everything aside to watch it burn because they have the choice and last time I checked there was one person who deliberately set things out of kilter long after he stole from you, you're practically saying his sins belong to everyone for the virtue of existing since then! I could have easily been one of them, how many people like me are out there that are just going to be snapped out of existence but because they're a number and not real enough to matter?” Douxie: “Plus... She's going to feel them all gone like a light switch, even if you don't give a damn about anyone else does she deserve that too?”

Skrael: "Hisirdoux, please-- if there were another way, we would take it! We can save whomever you want us to save, Hisirdoux; it is not all or nothing. Your girlfriend can be spared. But, you must understand; magic will be lost if the balance tips any further toward humans. We need to cull them before you and all magical creatures suffer something more permanent than imprisonment, or being beaten back into the shadows. There are fates worse than death, Hisirdoux, and I don't think you want to experience them."

Douxie: “They said culls about us too remember? All for the greater good, just a few sacrifices and spare the lot, send them forth and you'll go free.” Douxie: “You sound like he did.”

Skrael, as if he's been slapped: "Wh-...I am nothing like him Hisirdoux- I would never harm you the way he did. Please, see that. He was... cruel, and he used you, Hisirdoux. I kept you safe; I protected you. I didn't force the weight of the world on your shoulders- you were a boy! A young boy! You never should have had so much pressed upon you! I was only ensuring that you wouldn't have to feel that again! You do not deserve what happened to you. Not again. I will not take part in doing that to you, not like he did."

Douxie: “Then what makes anybody else deserving of it? Because you said yourself I didn't and yet it happened anyway getting spared to be thrown under the next and he lied about what was actually going on too. You've had time, just like he did, you said nothing, just like he did.”

Skrael: "It was not your responsibility! You didn't need to know!"

Douxie: “Yeah heard that before too.” Douxie: “So you gonna go full circle and take something else as well? I mean it's such a similar plot line already and broken my trust so why not take away something else I can’t get back, yeah? I'm sure you can think of something.”

Skrael, once again recoiling: "I...I would never, Hisirdoux. I told you this. I would never. You know this... right?" [A hand, outstretched, reaching for Hisirdoux, his boy, his son] "You... You are safe, here. I will never hurt you. I will never take from you."

Douxie: “More than you already have, you mean? For whatever little it's worth, I never have told anyone. Guess I was the better one on keeping promises... It's the least I could do for everything you've done for me but this? I can't pretend it's okay, I can't do what he did.”

Skrael: "Hisirdoux please... Don't do this-"

Douxie: “Do you think I WANT to?! I wasn’t the one who just threw everything back in my face while knowing, knowing what I'd already been through and knew how I felt about it! A well lived lie is still a lie, I just stupidly thought you were better than that.”

Skrael: "...I-... I am. Nothing I ever- my love for you was not a lie, Hisirdoux. It wasn't. You can- I can swear it, on my own life, my own soul, my own arcana, Hisirdoux. You are my son. My love for you has never been, and will never be a lie."

Douxie: “And yet didn't stop you lying to me did it? You can’t pull a greater good on me I've heard it all before. Different century and it's the same garbage.” Douxie: “I'm tired.”

Skrael: "Just... Let me make this right, Hisirdoux. Please. "You can rest, here, Hisirdoux. You can rest, now. And in the morning, we can make it right. I can make it right."

Douxie: “But you won't because if 900 years didn't change your mind why would it now? Like I'm this close to breaking my no swearing rule here if you can't tell.”

Skrael: "Then do it. Swear at me. Do it. Let me feel your hurt; let me have it, Hisirdoux. And when you have said what you wanted to say, I will do anything you tell me to do, anything that will make this better."

Douxie: “Is what would even slightly do at least something not sinking in?” Douxie: “As much as I hate that old man he had the same thing about only my way works, you can chuck anybody aside as long as the intended goal works. You're basically different sides of the same coin happy to damn anybody who doesn't fit what you want and lo and behold in both cases it's me having to call it out for what it is!”

Skrael: "Hisirdoux, I can't- I wish there was another way. You must believe me; how badly I wish something else was available to us, but we have tried everything. Nothing will save magic but the erasure of some, even just some humans. They will be the bad ones, Hisirdoux; we can ensure it. We can ensure that it is those who hurt you, who hurt magic. We can make it so that those who go are the ones who deserve to go. Even you must admit that there are irredeemable humans who walk this earth! You, of all people, must know that!"

Douxie: “Are you seriously trying to play that card on me? That doesn't mean I want to play God with their lives, I don't get to decide who deserves what happens to them, nobody does. The only way you can seriously make things worse if you randomly came out with the fact you had the King squirreled away for a rainy day or something equally ridiculous because that's how bad you sound right now! I don't care if it's the age difference perspective or whatever the heck it is but it doesn’t change the fact it's not right! And I'm tired of being constantly lied to, I genuinely thought here was better but knowing that it mattered but only as long as it didn't interfere with culling like the humans, the magical, everything like nameless cattle.” Douxie: “I... I just, I've had enough. I'm genuinely willing to give you guys a chance to realise that making things worse won't make things better, but I can't stand here and watch with the vain hope you will. I really wanted you to be better but everything feels tainted.”

Skrael, whispering, hoarse: "Please... Please, no. Not you, too. Hisirdoux... Please."

Douxie: “...I don't know where she is, if you're wondering, I really don't. I've tried a few times but I've never had any luck and she never told me her reasoning either but I think I can guess what it was but then, knew about that too, huh? I really don't want to but if I stay here - it's, it's not you two I'm worried about it's me. I did something stupid before and look what my grand prize was? But then it's all anybody sees me as isn't it, just a stupid kid who doesn’t know any better and hey maybe they're right! I don't care, I'm just tired of those claiming they know best and think it's better to treat me like an idiot and expect me to be fine with it because I only matter what I matter otherwise I should be in a corner somewhere with my mouth shut where nobody will notice.” Douxie: “You can do everything right and still lose, that's the saying isn't it? It's all I ever do, at least give me this one decency and try not to stop me even if you're not willing to give me anything else.”

Skrael: "...is there nothing I can do to make you stay...?" Skrael: "No words I could say to make things alright again?" Skrael: "...Is there nothing left for you here? Truly?"

Douxie: “Was I right about Nari? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

Skrael: Mercy, even now? "...you are."

Douxie: “Might be something worth thinking about... I'm gonna miss everything but I guess it started with just Archie and me with everything out to get us may as well return to our roots. It won't be happy and it'll be an outright miracle if I don't breakdown in the next few hours but at least he’s never tried pretending to be anything other than what he is and right now that's what I want more than anything. I hope the two of you make the most of the second chance, I've got that really bad habit of trying to do the right thing in the end and I'd think I'd rather be forced to spend a day in a room with him where I wasn’t allowed to do anything than have it come to that.” Douxie: “Take care of yourselves, alright? You might have lied about something as big as this but I never did, I cared too much to try.”

Skrael: "Hisirdoux, ah... One last, if I may- one last thing. I will never forgive myself if you do not hear it one last time. I cannot stop you leaving, but perhaps... Though the circumstances are... Less than ideal... Perhaps you were never meant to remain with us forever. A son is, often, meant to eventually overtake his father. We may not see eye to eye on this topic, but know that no matter what... Nothing will ever shake this fact from truth: "I have always been, and will never not be, so, so proud of you. You are going to do great things, Hisirdoux. Even if I must see them from the other side of history."

Douxie: “....” Some asshole who probably does not deserve it whatsoever is gonna get a damn hug because everything hurts and he doesn't want to break down crying because he was already struggling but after that Douxie: “Guess I did something right, huh?”

Skrael cupped his jawline, staring him in the eyes: "Of course you did. You always have. I never doubted you once."

Douxie snorts: “Doubt it with how much got blown up in the early days, partial ambidexterity doesn't count for much when you're down a hand.”

Skrael has a smile cannot hide pained eyes. But he smiles nonetheless: "Even then, I did not. Believe what you will, Hisirdoux, but this, I would not ever lie to you about. We cared for you from the moment you crossed our threshold, and you will be cared for even as you pass back over it, now. Forgive an old, ancient heart for asking, but, do you have everything you need, as you move on from here? Is there anything-- anything at all-- I can do for you, this one last time."

Douxie: “Are you seriously trying to dad-mode me right now?”

Skrael, smiling: "...old habits."

Douxie: “Just think you won't have to keep explaining about human food cluttering the place, be a novelty after this long. But I think you're forgetting how used to being on the road we are, I'll blitz the apartment and that'll be it. All traces gone.”

Skrael: I'll miss it... He does not say and his smile fades "Yes. I suspect you will be very good at... evading us. If you- if you wish, however... We will not look." It breaks his heart to say it, but he means it. "We will let you live your own life. How could we possibly begrudge you that?"

Douxie: “If you do actually get it into your heads it's a bad idea, you might have better luck, just saying. I'm only good at it because I've had a lot of practice from standing out too much. Customers can have redemption arcs, don't see why nobody can when there's still a chance to do the right thing.”

Skrael looks serious as the grave: "...I cannot promise that, Hisirdoux." Something like regret does color his voice, however.

Douxie: “No, but don't want you assuming I think otherwise, I might get called naive about it but I don't care. My truth is what it is.”

Skrael: "...I know." Another soft, proud smile, though like before, his eyes are untouched by it, reflecting only sadness. "It is one of the many, many, incredible things about you." He floats up, and places a gentle kiss in the boy's hair, holding him close for one moment more. And then he releases, and turns his back, unable to hide now the frost that has stuck to his eyelashes. "Now... Get going. Before you stay forever." It is an attempt at a joke. It does not land, he thinks.

Douxie for just a moment looks reluctant but does nod and goes to leave before a pause: “Tell them the truth, all of it. If anybody figures out what you're planning if you do still want to go through with it, it won't be from me... But the good ones when they do won't even think of second chances. Not everyone has the luck of an ill-deserving old man.”

Skrael turns, showing him his sincerity, and says, "...That much I can swear. Honesty about the plan... To those who guess, or those who ask. I can swear it. On my arcana, I do swear it." He says, and the words are not delivered lightly. There is a flash of blue in his chest, and as it fades, he turns his head away, staring at the floor. The one image he does not want, cannot force himself to see, is that of Hisirdoux properly leaving.

There is the sound of footsteps leaving and regardless of if it's seen or not a salute is still given as is tradition with send offs and him with the added bonus is he's struggling he really is. Douxie: “Thank you for being my second chance, might have been an even weirder family than my first? Second? One but, I don't think I could have had one better and I wouldn't even be able to say this right now if none of you had.”

#Heart of Glass

10 notes · View notes

roughentumble · 4 years ago

Note

I would like to hear.. your silence of the lambs series opinions......

series as in, the new clarice tv show that's out? haven't watched it yet. series as in, those old movies that feature anthony hopkins as hannibal lecter? surely!

fair warning, i probably dont have anything new to say that hasnt been said before, considering these are all long since classics, and my thoughts might be a little disjointed.

it's difficult to sum up opinions about it on the whole, since the movie quality honestly varies so wildly, and as i recall basically every single movie had a different director lol. also like, there's definitely a reason silence of the lambs stood out as The hannibal movie that got talked about and went into The Annals Of Film History n' all that. there's something about jodie foster's performance that's particularly electric(though that could be nostalgia talking, i suppose)

the opportunities she had, as an actress, to really show emotion on her face, like the claustrophobic close-ups we got were really intimate and interesting, added to the sense we were getting into her head. that HANNIBAL was getting into her head. i've already used the word intimate, but really, the long drawn out conversations/monologues between her and hannibal are just that-- intimate. you have to have stellar performances to pull off that much dialogue, and shots that intensely focused, where a face takes up so much of the screen. but it works! because hopkins and foster are fantastic actors, and jonathen demme is a good director.

there's a reason a lot of people didn't like the switch to julianne moore, and i would say it isnt entirely moore's fault. ridley scott, for one, is simply a different director with different ideas of shot composition, which changes how the character feels pretty drastically when the style so heavily informed your feelings for her. but also, in general, the film just kind of approaches clarice from a different angle, which is pretty bumpy territory to go into on the tail of switching your lead actress. not only is moore just really different from foster, but we've gone from this kind of invasive intimacy with hannibal probing her in confined spaces, to her being on the chase. in particular what sticks out to me is a chase sequence where she's trying to find hannibal in a crowded mall.(i think it was a mall?? its been a minute since i last watched the film haha) despite how the crowd might lead to a sense of claustrophobia, these are wide open shots with lots of spinning and movement, no time for introspective face journies. it's a chase in a totally different sense than before, and that i think is major difference in tone. which isn't to say it's a bad choice, or a loss, or that it's worse, just that it's fundamentally very different material that moore was given fo work with. of course her performance differed from fosters!

i still think jodie foster did it better, but some folks were too hard on julianne moore. if anything, hold beef with the writers and new director for pivoting tonally(although, dont do that either, i think it was an interesting shift. the scene with her and hannibal, where hannibal fries up that dude's brain was SO GOOD, i loved loved loved the return to a twisted sense of intimacy for that scene, and a few others, and that sense of return wouldn't have hit the same were the whole movie to follow the same tone as demme's work.)

also quick sidebar, when i watched hannibal(the movie from 2001) i was BLOWN AWAY by realizing, in retrospect, just how absolutely perfectly micheal pitt nailed the role of mason verger in hannibal(the tv show). vocally, he sounded almost identicle to the og performance, WHAT!!! major props, i love micheal pitt. so cool

manhunter 1987 or whatever year it came out is garbage and we dont talk about it. it was physically painful to watch. my poor mother made us stop watching hannibal movies for the rest of the day because it literally put her in physical pain. it's so 80s i want to vomit. do not recommend.

red dragon was pretty good, and if you entered the series of films armed only with knowledge of hannibal nbc, gave some really fascinating context to some of the events therein. edward norton's performance was fine-- didn't blow my mind, but i do love to watch him on screen. anthony hopkins' portrayal of a free hannibal, on the run, who still can't help but taunt the police and stick his nose into investigations was shockingly compelling, despite how much of a cliche trope that's become in recent years. can't say i recall anything interesting to say about the directing, but it certainly doesnt hold the same intimacy of the previous films-- but then again, we've lost the intimate character of clarice, swapping her out for graham(who simply isnt as close, or interesting, or compelling, when he isnt on nbc and shaking like a wet chihuahua)

hannibal rising, the last film in the series, was very very very bad. BUT, unlike manhunter 198whatever, it managed to be fun about it! lots of very goofy deaths and things to make you roll your eyes, stupid character motivations and odd acting choices. but it seems aware, on some level, that it's the last and the silliest of the entries into this particular film series, which earns it some good will. whether or not its worth a watch comes down to how much you're willing to consume everything with the name hannibal on it, and whether you can abide by a hannibal that isnt played by sir anthony hopkins.

OK. ok. we're getting to the end of my thoughts here, kids. i prommy.

it's also, despite every single part of it that i enjoy and that brings me joy, almost unforgivably racist and transphobic. the weird exotification and obsession with asia(and japan in particular), especially when none of those elements felt important or relevant to the story was consistently shocking, and consistently present in essentially every single hannibal movie, ESPECIALLY ones that dealt with his childhood. it didn't ever feel like a natural part of the story, where they happened include people from another culture or anything, it felt like the author's fetish. i never truly understood how these reoccuring themes and symbols were meant to tie in with the rest of the story, even after an entire film set in the past, showiing hannibal's childhood and how he came to live with a japanese woman. it was weird! it was uncomfortable! it was bad! even hannibal nbc couldnt make it not weird. i'd love a hannibal movie with a japanese person in it who WASNT treated really, really, really weird. but i dont think i will ever get that.

and like. wrt transphobia-- do i even need to say it? buffalo bill's been talked to death. we all know the issue there.

if a japanese person, or a trans woman, came to me and said "shawn, everyone says its a classic, but i cant bring myself to watch [insert hannibal movie here]" i would not blame them. it isnt the whole movie, but its enough to feel real bad, scoob.

its not enough to make me fall out of love with silence of the lambs, or hate hannibal(the film, god thats a confusing name), or even hate the film series, but its something that deserves tl be talked about. i've heard lots of discussion on the transphobia, but basically none on the racism, which is a real shame. sometimes it feels like no one else even noticed it, and it really leaves me floundering, because its like-- its RIGHT THERE and its so weird and bad. thomas harris, what the fuck

OKAY I THINK THATS ALL MY THOUGHTS FOR NOW?????? i could maybe come up with more, *shrugs*, but i'd need more time at least.

summary:: very problematic, and not because he eats people. but overall some of the films are fantastic, and silence of the lambs does hold a special place in my heart. and even if i didnt like it nearly as much, i'll defend hannibal(the film with julianne moore) till im blue in the face, because even if it didnt quite capture lightening in a bottle it still brought some interesting things to the table. decent enough movie series with enough variation in film tone and quality to make watching them all in a row enjoyable, because it keeps things from getting stale. (could probably have done with SOME consistency tho, lol, they were really flying by the seat of their pants. they had hopkins and that was IT, only thing that carried over from production to production lol)

#im exaggerating wrt that last line abt hopkins #they couldve had other people in the staff that worked on multiple films in the series #i havent looked THAT much into it

5 notes · View notes

lawonderlandwriter · 5 years ago

Text

So here is all that has happened and all that I know and all of my thoughts on this intra-ship-tag war. For anyone who cares to read.

I hadn't written a new fic in a while. Not since Season 8 was airing, so I was not really aware of what was going on until one fic in particular where Jon has an abusive past, started getting negative attention. Most people will know which fic I’m talking about (for the purposes of this post, I’ll refer to it as FIC1).

I had come across the fic randomly and skimmed it, deciding it seemed interesting and I would read it fully when I had the chance. Then I saw the hate the fic was getting and I read it fully immediately. I thought the fic was incredibly well written and wasn’t in any way a Jon-hate fic. Some parts of the fic I even was a tiny bit uncomfortable for the way it portrayed Dany, but I was too interested to let those parts get to me and I have since kept up with it and plan to read it until it’s conclusion.

When I saw the hate on FIC1, I posted about it. How I thought the fic didn’t deserve the hate it was getting and how I thought people were casting judgement without really reading it, just commenting based on what they had heard about it and the author.

This got me some hate but I stood by my fellow author.

This was when I first heard of the “Discord” group.

Everything I knew about the discord was hearsay as I am not and have never been involved in it. I heard the discord was all men who stanned Jon Snow and hate-commented on any fic they didn't like and had been policing the tag since basically the S8 finale. As I had seen hate comments on fics with my own eyes, I had no reason to question this.

Especially when fics began showing up in the tag of Dany getting raped in response to each time FIC1 would update. Comments on those fics were sarcastic and crude and supportive. I have never used A03 as a social media platform so I was not and still am not very familiar with usernames.

More accusations flew around that those responsible for these fics and fics that plagairised FIC1 stemmed from the Discord. I had no reason to believe otherwise (but I also had no reason to believe it was all Discord people either which I should not have so readily believed).

More fics were posted by authors I read and respect and more hate was flung around. Again, the Discord was blamed, perhaps* wrongly. My prejudice against this supposed discord group grew.

Then I started writing “Queens Always Have the Last Word” (QAHTLW). At first, the response was positive - everyone seemingly hates Sansa. A few complained I wasn’t changing Jon’s general S8 demeanor which annoyed me. I had made it perfectly clear in the tags that the story would focus on Dany - and I had already written a fic for Jon where he was the star and got the last word. This was her turn.

I did not and still do not consider it a Jon-hate fic or that the fic is an attack on Jon’s character in any way. I kept Jon essentially close to his S8 self but added a bit more to him - additions I thought were positive.

But my fic was somehow labeled “Jon Snow hate.”

Some people in comments on my and other fics have said something about S8 fics being “serious” fics, hence why I guess my QAHTLW was labeled “Jon hate.”

For one, this to me this seemed an incredibly arbitrary rule and it still seems incredibly arbitrary. That S8 fics HAVE to be “serious”. Why is it just S8 fics?

For those wondering, my understanding of a “serious” fic is a fic that HAS to feature Jon and Dany as being 100% equal to each other and the narrative HAS to treat them as 100% equal and be kind to both of them.

If a fic is not considered “serious”, it is okay for Jon and Dany to not be 100% equal or treated equal by the narrative - one example of “non-serious” fics in the Jonerys A03 tag were harem fics.

At least, that’s what I’ve been told by commenters - harem fics are okay to be in the Jonerys tag on A03 (even though they are incredibly unequal in regards of who gets to sleep with who) because apparently “no one takes them seriously.”

This is what I have been told: “No one takes harem fics seriously.”

So, because of this new standard set forth by people who either had been policing the tag, or people trying to explain the motives behind people policing the tag, a line became drawn.

Those of us who don’t write or read harem fics, we (I, rather, but others likely as well) began to see this line as “Jon Snow stans” and “Daenerys stans”. Because it’s highly unlikely many Dany fans would want to read fics where Jon just gets to smash everyone in ASOIAF.

So then I had a pretty damning encounter with someone in the comments of Chapter 4 of QAHTLW. The hate started off right out the gate:

This comment was a lot of things at once. 1) It cemented for me this weird divide between “Tumblr” (“Tumblrinas” as some call us) writers and “others” (I assumed all the “others” were Discord users). 2) It cemented for me that all the “others” were exclusively Jon fans, due to the accusation here that I don’t care about Jon, and 3) it was the first time I had been told to literally stop writing and leave to community.

I reacted immediately. The encounter was petty (yes, I was petty too, fully admit it) and went on for several comments. Then my hate commenter responded with this:

I had seen that “reeeeeeee” before. Just a day before actually, here on Tumblr. It wasn't a post of mine, but a response to one of my mutual’s posts. The person who reblogged with the “reeeeeeeee” comment left a nasty note about Dany going crazy - it was clearly a comment meant to be offensive to Dany stans. I reblogged said post and blocked the user who had made the “reeeeee” comment.

So because my hate commenter on A03 used the same language as the Tumblr reblogger, I called him out on it, thinking I knew who he was. We went back and forth on that for another round of comments, and then he sent me this:

1) The user claims he is not the same person from Tumblr, 2) he admits to being in the “Discord” group, 3) He admits the Tumblr user I had blocked posts things from Tumblr to share with the Discord group for the purposes of making fun of us, and 4) he admits to using a “throwaway” account on A03 in order to avoid being banned by the site, should his comments get reported.

Because of this encounter, I felt I had enough information to pass blanket judgement on the Discord group. To me, because of this person’s comments, the Discord was a place where male Jon Snow fans hung out and talked shit about Dany stans from Tumblr.

And because this person had said things from Tumblr were shared (and laughed at) on the Discord, and because the very next day I posted a link on my Tumblr to QAHTLW, I felt I had made a connection.

To me, it seemed like this hate comment stemmed from the Discord and was encouraged because of my reblogging of the Tumblr post.

These comments on my fic felt like retaliation for something that had happened on Tumblr.

It felt calculated. It felt systematic. It felt purposeful. It felt really fucking creepy.

I reported it to A03.

A little while after the encounter, I got a final comment from this person. He had deleted his “throwaway” account and whatever other account he had been using, leaving me this on anon:

While I did think him a jerk for all the things he had said, I can respect this. Thank you whoever you are for realizing you were being a bully. My comments to you were rude as well, I know.

But he admitted his fault in instigating the argument and said he would stop. So, I can only say, respect.

Still, though one person had left this “tag policing” behind, it had opened a can of worms. Again, he had admitted to the discord sharing and laughing at shit from Tumblr. And so far as I knew, he only found my fic because of the Discord (may or may not be true, but that’s how it came across to me at the time).

My view of the Discord was lowered further.

Then, another "problematic” Jonerys fic was posted. We’ll call this FIC2.

I didn’t think anything of it, honestly. I really, seriously didn’t.

It was by an author I love to death so naturally, anything she writes, I excitedly reblog. Which I did. I didn't do so with any kind of snide remark, I wasn’t thinking about the fic’s treatment of Jon (because I didn’t think the fic would treat Jon badly...and it didn’t), I didn’t think about the other characters this fic involved. Nothing.

I was seriously just fucking reblogging a fic from a friend, and then of course left a generic “loved it, this was hot!” comment on the fic on A03.

And I got hate for that. Surprise Surprise:

This is two comments from, I’m assuming, two different users. Both were on anon. Once again, we were called “Tumblrinas”.

But a new level to this creepiness was added.

Someone started using my name on A03 as their anon name.

(The above comment thread has since been deleted but I screenshot it before the delete because I wanted to report to A03 - using someone else’s name and/or misrepresenting another user is very much in violation of A03s Terms of Service).

So that was the first fic this happened on but this person from FIC2 has since been going on all kinds of Jonerys fics on A03 leaving more comments, calling himself “LAStoryWriterAlex’s Rules and Regulations Enforcer.”

This was on another “problematic” fic (I won’t call it Jon hate because FFS it’s NOT Jon hate!):

Along with leaving a sarcastic remark about how I and my “crew of miscreants” apparently have now made a rule that “you can only leave praise in comments”, this person also called the fic he was commenting on “garbage”. So, rude.

Then he left this on a RAPE fic:

He did not call the RAPE fic “garbage” and even used “please” and “thank you”.

Because this all seemed to stem from my reblog of FIC2 on Tumblr, I again assumed that this person, my “rules and regulations enforcer,” was from the Discord and had only seen my reblog of FIC2 because someone had snapshotted it and shown it to the Discord.

I admit, it was wrong of me to assume this. I have no way of knowing if this person is from the Discord or not. But because of my last encounter, and as this was another thing that seemed to start from Tumblr, this is what I assumed.

Then I posted my Dandry fic, Retrograde.

You all know what happened with that.

In all honesty, I didn't write this to “piss off the incels”. (I also apologize for calling the entire Discord incels. I now know a few of you and realize this was a mistake). I wrote this fic because the idea came to me, it excited me, and once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. I was having fun with it. I’ve never shipped Dany/Gendry before, but since 8x04, this fic was always an idea in the back of my mind and I himhawed with writing it, mostly because I was busy with other things, but I worked on it. And when I got the first chapter done I posted.

And all hell broke loose.

At first I had anon commenting enabled, but then disabled it because I just couldn’t fucking take it. It was exhausting.

I got kind comments, I got neutral comments, I got rude comments, I got people arguing with each other in the comments, and then I got just fucked up comments -

Comments about me, my family, my weight:

In short, my parents should have aborted me brutally, my mother is a dirty whore, I’m cancer (not the zodiac sign I’m guessing), and I’m allegedly fat.

I admit, the fat one got to me. I’m not fat, never have been overweight. But I do occasionally obsess about my weight, so that one got a reaction from me and I know, I know it shouldn’t have. But I made note anyway, of the fact that all my profiles are linked and there are pics of me in existence online that prove I’m not fat - I wanted to prove I’m not fat. My vanity got the better of me and so invited people to find pictures of me. Which had certain consequences I’ll discuss in a moment.

I also got fucked up comments about Gendry and Dany - Dany in that apparently she’s a whore, and Gendry because he’s an uneducated bastard. Which, way to go elitist scum. I really don’t feel bad about saying that. These comments are elitist and misogynistic. Really makes me wonder what people would think of Jon if the show hadn’t made him legitimate. Would they all still stan him then? Do they only like him because he was heir to the throne??

Anyway, that as just the first two pages! (There were more supportive comments than not - I think) but there are now 8 pages of comments. So you can only guess what the rest of those 8 pages contain.

I got all kinds of anons on Tumblr because of this. Some who supported my fic - thank you - and others who spewed the same kind of drivel from A03. I’m a whore, cunt, dumb bitch, awful writer, etc.

Then, because I had exposed myself and made note of all my profiles being linked (which I had initially done so friendly A03 people could find my Tumblr if they didn’t already connect the two), I started getting anons commenting on, of all things, my fucking forehead, which apparently is larger than normal? Whatever, fuck you, I think I’m adorable, so there.

I got an anon recently talking about the connection myself and others had made between the Discord and the revenge rape fics.

I agreed with anon in my response, that it was wrong for me to blame the Discord for fics like the beastiality fic in the tag. I pointed out however, that people were not attacking that writer the way they’ve been attacking me and others.

Again, it was wrong of me to assume all people in the Discord were leaving the hate comments. I admit that and I apologize for it.

But I have proof (above) that at least one of the people policing the tag was from the Discord. And I have since had reason to believe some in the Discord still police the tag and do so quite hatefully.

I was thinking about this most recent anon a lot since I got it and answered it. And then today when I was cursing the tag...

I came across one of the Modern Targcest fics.

And I saw red.

I clicked on the A03 “Collection” and skimmed through. Many of the fics were ones I had already seen/skimmed or read. But looking at the collection as a whole, I got an impression of the tag.

And yes, I admit, my impression did not apply to all fics. And even the fics it did apply to, I should have never called out.

I wanted to make a point, and I went about it the wrong way.

The point I had wanted to make was that all the people policing the tag were hypocrites because these DubCon fics (some are less consensual than others) had relatively low engagement compared to my fic which was 100% consensual.

This still is something that bothers me, honestly, though it is through no fault of the authors of these DubCon fics.

I just really hate that those fics are left relatively in peace and a fic like mine is not. Do I want those fics to get more hate? No. I just want the hate on mine and others like it to stop.

But I did go about it the wrong way.

Certain people felt I misrepresented certain fics when I made THIS post. I roped all the fics into one category, and made an assumption about them all and that was wrong.

Also, some people thought by making this post, I was saying that these authors “like” rape or are real life rape apologists, which was not my intention either.

I still believe some of these fics are on a rape-spectrum. I’m sorry, that’s just what DubCon is. Not all of these DubCon fics are rapey, but some of them are.

And it’s fine if that’s what you want to write and read. Really, it is. As I’ve stated, fanfic is a SAFE place for people to explore taboos, like rape and incest. Just because we read and write about it, doesn’t mean we would ever do it in real life. In fic, it’s fine though.

And I apologize if my post came off as kink-shaming. Not my intention.

Again, my intention was merely to point out the discrepancy in reaction to these fics because to me, a DubCon fic is more problematic than a cheating fic. My opinion. You may not share my opinion.

Really my intention here was for people to realize that, if you can turn a blind eye to DubCon (something I find pretty problematic), then you should also be able to spare the same courtesy to other fics, like cheating, cuck, or “Jon Snow hate fics” - (and it’s always someone’s opinion whether or not the fic is truly Jon Snow hate).

If Dany fans can make it through the tag without commenting on some of the more extreme DubCon fics, and through the Harem fics, then Jon Snow fans should be able to make it through the tag without commenting on the cheating and the cuck fics. (and if Jon Snow fans can pass the harem fics and not think anything of them and not hate comment, they should be able to pass by the cuck fics too!!) - cuz I don’t want people to assume I’m accusing all Jon fans of liking those harem fics. Probably many of you don’t. But if you’ve left hate on a cuck fic, but not a harem fic, that’s hypocritical. It really is.

If you’ve policed the tag and harassed an author for “punishing” Jon in their fic telling the author that they’re not really a Jon fan or not really a Jonerys fan, but you haven’t done the same in a harem (or similar) fic and stuck up for say, Dany, claiming the author isn’t a real Dany/Jonerys fan, you’re a hypocrite.

Because as I’ve pointed out, Jon and Dany aren’t at all treated the same or equal in those kinds of fics.

This isn't to say those fics are wrong, or shouldn’t be written, or don’t belong in the tag. It’s just to say if you give them a pass, you must also give a pass to everyone else.

You can’t just pick and choose which “unequal” Jonerys fics are allowed and which aren’t.

Which S8 fix-it-fics are allowed and which aren’t.

Which fics are “serious” and which are “non-serious”. (Many of the harem/breeding fics have Jon/Dany as the main pairing!)

Which are written by “real” Jonerys fans and which aren’t.

You don’t get to just make shit up.

Yes, some Dany stans are angry at Jon and want to punish him in their fics for S8 and make him sit by and watch while Dany hooks up with Daario or resurrected Drogo or Gendry or whoever.

Some Jon stans want Jon to breed Missandei and Sansa while still being married to Dany because they want to make Dany barren in their narrative even though in actual ASOIAF canon, she’s probably not.

It’s called, Deal with it.

Again, no one here is on the “right” side. No one should be policing the tag. Period.

Also, side note, no one should be insulting authors looks or using the public photos authors use as a way to harass them. This isn’t only happening to me. If we post photos of our lives, it’s because we want to share with people. It’s not an invitation for you to use that against us. Don’t be fucking creepy. And if you know if someone being fucking creepy, tell them to stop!

#I think my rant is done #Did I cover everything?#are people going to come after me with pitchforks for this one too?#fandom wank #over it

130 notes · View notes

boarix · 4 years ago

Text

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XIX

Harbinger

Trigger Warnings: canon violence/language/gun, drug and alcohol use.

Bloody Mess Warning!

Please Enjoy!

Infamy stared after Wraith and Radiance as if in a haze. With their back to Harkness, they were caught completely unaware when he tackled them to the ground. The large man seemed oblivious to his own injuries while providing the glowing one some of their own. He sobbed for breath as he pummeled Atom’s Assassin; striking them repeatedly about the head and face.

“This was you! I lost them…” his breath came in ragged gasps, “all because of you! I lost them both! They trusted me with their friends… my friends! YOU’VE KILLED THEM BOTH!” Exhausted, he fell off of the ghoul and groaned into the mud.

Infamy’s mind was elsewhere it seemed. They allowed the beating and after it was over they climbed to their feet and walked slowly to where Sun of Atom lay. Not bothering to avoid the grisly remains of Marie, they simply stepped on or through the piles of the young woman’s digestive tract: trailing loops of purple-grey small intestine behind them after it caught on their boot. They crouched over the sad and crumpled form of their fellow glowing one and placed a hand on his brow.

Harkness made an attempt to get to his feet but only succeeded in flopping over onto his back. Panting, he struggled to pull his shirt up and over his head before wadding it into a ball and pressing it to the worst of his multiple knife wounds. Looking around he saw what Infamy was doing and a sudden flare of hope stirred within him “Can you… I’ve seen glowing ones revive…”

“No. There isn’t enough brain left.” They rose to their feet and paced back to him, “His light has gone out in any case.” Placing their knuckles on their hips, Infamy leaned down to glare at him, “What do you mean I’ve killed them?” Sweeping a hand through the air, they gestured to the bodies lying in the muddied turf, “Do point out the general’s corpse. I know it may be hard considering how popular a hangout this area is for dead folks. Don’t see her? Hmm... Did you miss the part where that spectacular glowing creature swept Wraith away?”

“Fuck… you…”

“She took all my ferals too… that beautiful bitch!”

“Why are… you still here?! Fuck off already!”

They snorted in amusement then turned and leisurely walked to the shipping office. A moment later they returned with Wraith’s med kit and tossed it to a very surprised Harkness.

“What?! Why?”

“Where? When? Who?” laughing mockingly, they roughly pulled the cloak from one of their collective; shaking it so the body fell to lay face down with limbs askew. They then folded the garment into a makeshift cushion and sat on it, “Can’t have you expiring before my questions are answered. Now, can we? Hahaha!”

Harkness injected himself with Med-X then a stimpak. Rummaging in the bag, he also found a derma-fuse and a small bottle of disinfecting alcohol. Pouring some onto clean gauze, he winced as he wiped at the gash along his ribs. He popped his chin to the cloak’s former owner, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d treat a loyal follower like garbage.”

“Tch,” They waved a hand dismissingly, “their light has returned to Atom. The meat sack is unimportant. Besides, it’s hot and wet out here and I have a particular loathing for swamp ass.”

As Harkness did his best to mend himself he could feel the ghoul watching him. It annoyed the shit out of him, “What makes you think I’m going to answer any of your fucking…”

“Did you ever ask him?” Their lip curled in amusement, “Sun. Did you ever ask him about your light? Or, did you assume that you must have one. After all you are alive, right?” Their voice deepened and came as the lowest of whispers, “Are you alive, Harkness?”

“I will not play, Infamy.” His eyes mirrored the iron in his voice.

“You’ll play. After all, you’ve curiosity of your own to quench.” They brought a hand up under their chin, propped their arm on a knee and bat their eyes at him, “Don’t you want to know how I knew where you were? Hmmm? Don’t you want to know ‘why now’?”

“No. I figure… you heard Sunny… or one of you did. Why are you so interested in Wraith? What is she the Harbinger of?”

They made an indelicate noise and waved a hand dismissively, “It’s not her I’m interested in any longer. I imagine she was the Harbinger of Death for Sun of Atom…”

“NO!” Furious, Harkness pound his fist on the ground, “You fucking… uncaring monster! It can’t be as simple…”

“Wraith is up to Atom. Whether or not she’s ‘The Harbinger’ is up to the Mother of the Fog and I don’t pretend to know their Holy Plan. And I’d be careful thrashing about and opening your wounds, brother; you’ve only got so much of that red fluid left.”

“Red fluid?! It’s blood, you fuck! I am alive and I have blood!”

“I’m a monster, remember? I know nothing of blood as my veins are filled with ichor. Ha!”

Harkness struggled to his feet. Walking on unsteady legs, he went to Sun and with some difficulty, gathered the ghoul into his arms, “If anyone was Death’s Harbinger it was Marie.” He carried his small burden to the office and set about arranging him; folding him in his robes as if he was swaddling an infant.

“Marie…” Infamy watched from the doorway, their voice dripped with loathing, “complete buffoon. Utter garbage.”

“Well, you listened to her and came up here, so who’s the bigger idiot?”

“The trouble at Crater House, the loss of Kingsport Lighthouse and the babbling of High Confessor Tektus is why I came. Though, I suppose Marie’s whining about false prophets needed to be addressed as well… she did know the area…” They shrugged, “Oh, well. She’s not going to be spreading hysteria any longer and all those who followed her around will go back home and follow Atom instead. As they should.”

Harkness slammed his fists on the floor, “Oh, well? All’s well that ends well?!” He rushed the ghoul but couldn’t catch them and fell out of the door and landed on his knees, “People are dead! You killed and maimed people based on false information!”

They shrugged again, “They are not important. Who was that glowing one? Where did she come from? Does she speak? She seemed more than feral…”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

“Would Wraith’s little boy know? Should I go and ask him? Oh, I like him. Very, very much.”

Harkness started to shake with rage, “If you set one rotten toenail in that settlement, MacCready will destroy you.”

They paused and a flicker of real fear crossed their face, “Oh… the sniper. If I’m not mistaken, he was a demon of Morningstar’s, at one point… Little Boy was no slouch in a fight either, and there are probably dogs, Dragoons and a super mutant…” They spun around; holding their arms out and twirling like a child, “I suppose I could just follow her… Although, that might be dangerous; wouldn’t want to get ensnared like Wraith.”

“I get the feeling, if she wanted you, she would have taken you.”

The ghoul’s eyes narrowed, “I am a Master of Infamy. A Necromancer! Atom’s Assassin, of course… well… hmm… perhaps you’re right. Oh, well. Maybe I’m not her type. That’s up to her, I suppose.” They blew Harkness a kiss and turned away toward the hole in the fence, “Try not to miss me, big boy.”

“For the last time; go fuck yourself!”

“Delighted to. I’ll be thinking of you!”

The loss of blood made Harkness’s journey back to Sanctuary a long one. He had left Sun’s remains along with most of his own gear, locked in one of the shipping company’s trailers. He went the long way around: avoiding the road and using a Stealth-boy to pass through the gate unseen. Nearly overwhelmed by exhaustion and grief, his invisibility wore off as he stood on the grass in between Wraith’s office and the clinic. Blinking into view, he looked back and forth, trying to prioritize.

As it happened, Danse had just glanced out the window and saw a vaguely familiar, very bloody man standing on the lawn. He assumed he was a member of the Minutemen and immediately went out to help, “Are you alright, soldier?”

“Oh. Hi, Danse. Glad to see…” Harkness trailed off as he lost consciousness and sagged into the other man’s arms.

“THIS IS TOTAL CRAP!”

A meeting had been called as soon as Harkness had regained consciousness. Bear, the Valentines, Danse, Curie, Cait, Lloyd, MacCready and Sofie had all gathered in Sanctuary’s Radio Freedom broadcast center. The leaders of Goodneighbor, Diamond City and The Castle were all listening in, and had been voicing their opinions on what to do next over the radio.

“MacCready, please stop yelling…” Sofie stood up to put her diminutive form between the sniper and the object of his ire.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HER?”

“How would I even begin to do that?” Harkness’s emotions were oscillating between anger and sadness and he would have very much liked to bellow back at him, but every time he took a deep, preparatory breath, he felt a sharp reminder that he’d been repeatedly stabbed. “I had just watched her literally rip another human being in half. With very little effort, might I add?” He looked unflinchingly into the other man’s eyes, “She and I weren’t super pals, but I was really starting to like her. I had begun to know her. I saw her when she went for Marie. Even before that glowing one took her, she had already gone feral. Her eyes were nothing but burning rage. If I had tried, she would have killed me too.”

“We are facing the fact that Wraith has now become… a potential threat… We cannot allow her to hurt anyone else.”

“No,” MacCready took a deep shuddering breath, “you can’t possibly believe that, Sofie.” He cast about in disbelief, looking for allies in the sad eyes of his friends. “I know she’s… gone a little… she’s always come back though! Hancock! Tell them! You’ve brought her back. Tell them how you…”

“That’s right,” Danse leaned forward eagerly, “aboard the Prydwen. Wraith told me that she had lost control,” He swallowed and closed his eyes, “and that it was you who…”

“No. I couldn’t. It wasn’t me…” Hancock was barely audible.

“We need to find her. If we can hold her somehow, maybe it’ll… wear off?” Piper’s question was pleading.

“We’ll mobilize the Hounds and the Dragoons.” Preston had been silent up to that point; unhappy to be the pro tem general, “Even Wraith can’t rip through metal. Can she?”

“I agree,” Nick Valentine had been standing in the doorway, facing away south, “We need to try…”

“And what then? How many people will she kill or injure in the effort to capture her?” Sanctuary’s head settler hated what she was saying even as she said it, “She’s surrounded by feral ghouls. One of whom is potentially the most powerful glowing one we have ever encountered. We have to find her, yes, but we should be considering…”

“YOU CAN’T BE THINKING OF KILLING THE PERSON WHO SAVED US!”

The ghoulett clenched her fists and tears stood out in her eyes, “You think I want her to be killed?!” She took several deep, shaking breaths, “We must think how she would feel knowing that people were hurt on her behalf. We must do what’s best for all…”

“WRAITH IS WHAT IS BEST FOR ALL!”

“MACCREADY!” Hancock’s voice crackled over the radio, “I’LL BE DAMNED IF I LET HER DIE!” Then, softer, “Robert… I don’t know if I can reach her but…” The deep breath he took was audible, “On the airship… I took some heavy-duty chems just to keep up with her. I was jacked on Psycho jet, Ultrajet and Buffout, but it still wasn’t enough to stop her. You wanna talk about rippin’ through metal?! She shrugged me off like I was a bloatfly! And when I kept at it she… she went for me like I was the enemy. The only way she made it back to the vertibird was cause she was chasin’ me. When the Prydwen blew, our ship got caught in the shockwave and we went down like a wet sack of shit. As soon as her feet were on the shore, she was off again; splashing after the BOS survivors around the airport… snarling.” He paused and cleared his throat, “Sorry, Danse. I know that’s gotta be rough to hear…”

“I… Please continue.”

“I was hurt pretty bad; Maxson got his licks in and the crash was rough. There was fire everywhere. Even the water was burning, but I still tried to go after her. She did one of her crazy judo throws though, and dropped my ass in the drink. I thought for sure she was gonna drown me. Deacon was tryin’ to pull her off me and she hit him so hard, I think I saw stars. He got up, bloody as hell, and was calling her… to her. He was sayin’, ‘Please stop! You’re going to kill us.’ and she just… it was like a switch got flipped. She blacked out and don’t remember a thing. Told everyone that I saved her but, it wasn’t me… it wasn’t me…”

Quiet descended as the group somberly digested the ghoul’s words. Harkness quickly put two and two together and came up with Harley = Deacon. He also decided that he very much needed to return to the Capital Wasteland as soon as possible.

“Shark cages,” Sturges’s unmistakable voice chimed in from the Castle radio, causing everyone to flinch at the broken silence, “at the Nahant Oceanological Society. They were strong enough to hold a great white, right?”

“Why on earth would anyone want to trap a big pale shark?”

“Waaay off subject, Lloyd!”

“I meant for Wraith, naturally. We find her and like Mayor Wright says, maybe whatever that feral did to her will wear off, cause last I checked, Deacon ain’t exactly local these days.”

“What about Infamy, Harkness? What further action can we expect from them?”

Wincing, he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, “Honestly, Danse, I don’t think they are going to be a threat to Wraith’s settlements any longer.”

“I call malarkey on that one.”

“No, Mayor Wright, I think the main force will already be on their way back to the Capital Wasteland. As for Atom’s Assassin… they seemed fascinated by Radiance and left to…”

“Can we please get back to Wraith?! Like, now!” MacCready’s patience was all but gone.

“What about the Glowing Sea? You said they headed south.”

“I don’t know, detective. I… they could be anywhere…” Harkness closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Okay,” MacCready clapped his hands together, “that’s close enough to a plan for me! Me, Danse and the Dragoons will suit up and stomp our way down to the Glowing-est Place on Earth while the Minutemen fetch us a cage to everyone’s favorite berserker in.”

“I’m goin’.” Bear stood and nodded at the group, “I’ll go get my hammer. Assuming we are leaving soon.”

“I shall go as well.” Curie lifted her chin and her eyes dared them all to contradict her.

“Curie, what about the syringer?”

“That’s a great idea, MacCready. Thinking like a true weapons master! You can load it with Pistol Whipped…”

“What is this? ‘Pistol Whipped’?”

“It’s what we’ve been callin’ that sleep aid you and Wraith were working on.”

“Of course, you’ll be going too, Nick.” Ellie clapped her hands together as if the choice was made.

Valentine gave his wife a stricken look, “I can’t very well leave you here…”

“You most certainly can! Wraith is my friend too, and I want the best detective in the Commonwealth out there looking for her.”

“You can wear my armor, Nicky; it’s a real classy chassis. I’ll put my people on it too. I gotta rearrange some things before I go runnin’ around, but in the meantime, I want to be notified as soon as anybody lays eyes on her, you feel me?”

Her voice was like a white-hot needle through Wraith’s head. Wordless, it was nevertheless meticulously specific. The instructions held a weight that was all but crushing. Pain surrounded and penetrated her whenever Radiance spoke, but in the voice’s absence there was only confusion and fear. She didn’t remember who she was or what she wanted. All that mattered was Her.

The Metro tunnels were dark, but somehow Wraith found her prey. She knew that everything living, apart from feral ghouls, must be destroyed. She swept through the raiders and monsters like a poisonous vapor. Unseen by most save for the moment of their death.

There are powerful fighters even amongst the raiders. And these grizzled veterans of turf wars and skirmishes over inter-gang pecking order posed a serious threat to Wraith. So reckless and lost, she took risks she might not have taken and wouldn’t retreat even when outnumbered. Were it not for Bear’s armor she would have been killed. As it was, the lack of self-preservation often resulted in injury.

After she cleared a location, Radiance would immediately come and find her. The glowing one held her in her arms, healing her wounds and filling her mind with a blazing light.

Following behind, Infamy tested the range of Radiance’s influence. Several times the ghoul came too close and the mental assault dropped them to their knees while they fought to keep their free will. The vast horde of ferals that had been gathered in the Glowing Sea, that Infamy had intended to set against the Minutemen, now swarmed around the glowing queen and did as she bade. Frustrated but determined, Atom’s Assassin persisted. They kept telling themselves that they should be powerful enough to pull ferals away and were growing fearful at their complete failure to do so.

While Deacon stared silently out the window of his Tenpenny Tower office, Harkness’s chin dropped low to his chest. He had finished his debriefing moments before and now in the ensuing silence the exhausted agent was in real danger of falling asleep.

“You called me ‘Deacon’.”

Harkness’s head snapped up, “Oh… Did I?”

“Yes.” Deacon sighed, “I guess it would be pointless to contradict you at this point, huh?” Turning, he crossed the room to his desk and after shuffling a few papers aside, picked up a holotape and held it out to Harkness. “Take a few days to recover before you start on this.”

After accepting the tape, Harkness continued to hold it out at arm’s length. Maintaining eye contact, he lifted a brow, “What’s this?”

“Your next OP.”

“What… what are you…?”

“This one should be a little more routine. That being said, I still want you…”

“What do you mean my next…?” He continued to hold the holotape out and away from himself. Now when Deacon interrupted him again, he bobbed his whole arm up and down as if using the device to punctuate his ire.

“You’re finished with your last mission. You debriefed me. I’ve been debriefed. I stand debriefed.” As Deacon spoke his volume increased as if he was trying to drown out Harkness’s arm waving, “I’m pants-less before you!”

“God DAMN it! What about Wraith?!”

“What about her? I’m sure the Commonwealth branch will be able to…”

“Don’t, boss…” Harkness lowered his arm and let the tape fall on to the floor before bringing hands up to his face. When he spoke his voice was muffled, “please don’t. Don’t pretend like you don’t care.”

“I don’t. Wraith is someone else’s problem. I can’t afford to be distracted by her.”

Harkness launched himself to his feet and rushed Deacon. He stopped just short of the other man so they stood nose to nose, “I think you fucking care quite a bit.”

The phrase sent Deacon’s mind back to a similar conversation he had had with Hancock and he chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. “She… has a way of getting under your skin, doesn’t she?”

“I think she’s a pill.” Harkness sagged, turned and all but dragged himself back to the couch, “She’s violent, moody and… she cares deeply for her people. She puts her own safety at risk to help others. Strangers even. She’s very brave and is a brilliant, terrifying fighter.” He smiled helplessly up at the other man, “I don’t know whether I want to take a bullet for her or shake her.”

Deacon remained very still and silent as he tried to concoct a lie that would end the immediate conversation and put the subject of Wraith to bed. Even as he stewed, he knew that he didn’t want to ignore Wraith’s plight. “Even if I wanted to help…”

“Which, you do…”

“…what do you expect I’ll be able to do?” All trace of humor had fled from him and Deacon’s tone was almost accusatory. He returned to the window, and frowning at his reflection, resisted the urge to break the glass.

“Governor seems to think you’ll be able to snap her out of it.”

Deacon scoffed, “Ha! ‘Governor thinks…’” He shook his head, “The situation is different; this is not of her own doing. This ‘Radiance’ creature has her… entranced. This isn’t the berserker we all know and love. No. We’ll all turn to dust long before she calms and returns to her senses.”

“Since when have you adopted such a defeatist’s attitude? Why wouldn’t you go? Why not try?”

“You’ve only had a small taste of what she’s capable of… I definitely can’t fight her.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. Why is she so physically strong?”

Deacon frowned, “I don’t know… exactly…”

“So tell me vaguely.”

“Let’s say… she’s one failed step in the march toward the ultimate super soldier.”

“That’s a hell of a stumble.”

Deacon heard the creak of the sofa springs as Harkness rose and came to stand behind him. He could see the large man’s chest reflected in the window glass, and his arms as he crossed them over it. He let the silence drag out for as long as possible and when he finally spoke he let the full weight of his ire carry in his voice, “I’ll ask again; what do you expect me to do?”

“Retire and go back.”

Deacon spun about, his face a storm of anger, “I don’t get to do that.”

“I don’t see why not. Morningstar never meant for you to have to stay here.” He turned and went to sit at Deacon’s desk. “I’m thinking I’m your replacement. I’ve had enough of field work for now, and with everything you’ve set in place, this job could almost be easy.”

“Easy…?” Deacon’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“I know you can help them. Wraith needs you, Deacon.” He folded his arms behind his head and set his feet on top of the desk. “We don’t.”

“For the last time; what do you think I can do?!”

“Call her name.”

Hancock’s snores could be heard throughout the Old Statehouse. His feet were up on his desk and his head was tilted back over the top of his chair; the awkward angle accounting for the great volume of his log-sawing. And yet, his granddaughter was completely undisturbed. She was in what he called tree-frog mode: perched on his chest with limbs drawn in and chin tucked. He had one hand gently cupping her back and so the tiny infant was perfectly safe riding up and down with his deep, rhythmic breaths.

He was exhausted:

Several months had passed since the meeting and Wraith was still missing. The excursion to the Glowing Sea provided very little clues to her whereabouts. While there, Danse, as the ranking Minutemen officer, met with Mother Isolde and informed her of her daughter’s death. During the meeting she spoke on how a vast horde of feral ghouls had pass very near to the Crater and that they seemed to be moving northeast.

“Normally such a thing would be noted as odd but not concerning. This… even we at the Crater, Atom’s holy ground, couldn’t help but feel threatened.” She lowered her head and touched her finger tips to her temple.

“I am very sorry for your loss…”

“It is not only that… forgive me but I have been having headaches…”

Soon after, MacCready had parted ways with Danse and the rest of his squad to escort Valentine and Curie back to Sanctuary. Leaving almost as soon as he returned, he stopped in Goodneighbor to collect Hancock and the two set out to follow up on leads from the ghoul’s network. There had been witnesses that spoke of a mass exodus of raiders and other unsavory types, fleeing the Mass Pike tunnels and the various MTA stations around the city. Like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Hancock was most concerned about the reports coming in from Postal Square, “That’s part of the Blue Line. I know there’s blockages between there and the Third Rail but…”

When the duo finally found a raider to question, they couldn’t be sure how much of his terrified babbling was chem induced.

“It was a deathclaw! But, like a little one. Not a baby, just real small. Not real small, more like it was people sized. And the ferals! They were all runnin’ and hoppin’. Glowing ones everywhere! I had ta run and hop too. The voices in my head got LOUD! Oh my head, oh… Mayor Hancock… you packin’? You haulin’, man? Cause, I could need some Psycho, man. My arm skin tryin’ to crawl away from me, boss.”

“Sorry, pal. I’m light these days. It’ll be winter soon, why don’t you head over to Goodneighbor? So long as you mind yerself, you’ll do alright.”

“I don’t mind… don’t mind takin’ what I need from your dead…”

The raider never finished. As soon as he went for his knife, MacCready had pulled a sidearm and blew his brains out through his ear.

Danse returned to Sanctuary just before the first snow. His time spent in his power armor much improved his mobility and stamina as the support the suit provided proved to be a surprisingly efficient form of physical therapy. Despite this, he found himself at a trough in his mental recovery. The inability to find his friend and save her, like she had done so many times for him, was incredibly crushing. On several occasions, Curie would lose track of him and find him standing in one of Sanctuary’s fields in his power armor, having completely worn down a core. Calling to him repeatedly, she would stand in the cold until he regained his senses and followed her slowly home.

Strong’s reaction seemed to be the most out of character. The super mutant became strangely quiet and after he returned with the hounds from the glowing sea, took to picking up and carrying around any of the mutant canines that happened to be available. Cait overheard him whispering to Gracie, appearing to be reassuring himself by talking to her, “Alpha is still with Strong. Strong feels small human friend. Alpha won’t wear out like other humans. Alpha will come back. As soon as ghoul is dead…”

Martha Daisy Hancock had been born early. Fahrenheit had become gravely ill in her last trimester and Dr. Amari had called for Curie’s aid. Diagnosing her with pregnancy induced liver disease; she had been able to convince the mother of a dramatic course of action and thus, performed her first C-section to great success. In turn, Amari made the journey to Sanctuary a month and a half later to help deliver Ellie and Nick’s son, John Emiliano; whom everyone called “Jack”.

MacCready and Hancock had continued to scour the bowels of the ruins, going tunnel by tunnel, with little to no rest for the entire winter. The decision to abandon his search when Fahrenheit became sick nearly tore the ghoul in two. Now, he threw himself after every new rumor, no matter how vague, like a starving dog on a scrap of meat.

Now, not even bothering to knock, Fahrenheit opened the door to the mayor’s office and followed closely by MacCready, strode purposely to Hancock’s desk. She reached out, intending to take her daughter from the ghoul’s arms, but stopped herself after briefly considering the consequences. After all, they both were finally sleeping…

MacCready had no such compunctions and deftly plucked the baby from his arms. In almost the same motion, he substituted a small bag of beach sand and stepped back, grinning triumphantly.

“There’s no way…”

Hancock sat bolt-upright, “Oh!” Blinking owlishly he stared at them for a moment before looking down at the sack he was cradling gently in his arms. His mouth set in a scowl, he growled at MacCready, “You asshole.”

MacCready chuckled, “Aww, man, don’t curse in front of the kid!” His laugh turned into a pout, “I really thought that was gonna work… been carrying that stupid bag forever.”

Hancock’s face softened as soon as he heard him laugh. It had been a while since the young man had shown any inclination toward cheerfulness and it made the ghoul feel better to hear. “You’re lucky I love ya, stealing my baby…”

Fahrenheit loudly cleared her throat before turning to MacCready and holding her hands out expectantly. He in turn, backed away while sticking his lip out even further.

“Give me a few minutes! At least until she starts crying. I’ve hardly gotten a chance to hold her… since… well…”

She relented and went to set herself on Hancock’s couch. “Hancock, I just got off the radio with Garvey… General Garvey.”

Hancock immediately stood. His brow knit, he clenched his hands into fists and advanced on the door. When he spoke his voice shook with barley suppressed rage, “How could he? How dare he?”

Fahrenheit stood up as well and positioned herself in the doorway to block the mayor, “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go and give him a piece of my mind! That’s where!”

“Oh, no you’re not!” She pressed a hand to his chest and was a little surprised when he didn’t back down. Determined, she pushed harder and locked eyes with him, “If you go now you will say something hurtful to a man whom you greatly respect.”

“It wasn’t just him, Hancock. They had a meeting and decided to follow Wraith’s notes.”

Surprised, Hancock whirled on him, “So, you’re okay with them removing Wraith from command?!”

“I didn’t say that,” MacCready let an edge creep into his voice, “I said that it wasn’t all on Preston.”

“Oh! I see!” He threw his hands up, “So it’s okay because it was decided in fucking committee!”

“NO! It’s okay because Wraith essentially TOLD THEM TO DO IT!” MacCready’s eyes flashed at him.

“They simply made official what has been their reality for the past few months, and Preston will do a fine job of it. Despite his age, he has years of experience and has learned a great deal from his time with Wraith.”

“His age? Pretty sure he’s older then you…”

She shot MacCready a glare, “Be still.”

Hancock whirled from the doorway and uttering a guttural sob, surprised them both by beginning to cry. Filled with anger and grief he was barely able to speak, “I can’t stand that they’ve given up on her… that they are following her Will… that she’s… she’s…”

Martha began to cry even as her adoptive grandfather and MacCready passed her to Fahrenheit before wrapping his arms around Hancock.

“Don’t, man. She’s not dead!” His own voice thick with impending tears, he squeezed him tightly, “We will never give up!”

Fahrenheit made an attempt to calm the infant while frowning at them, “Queenie is adaptive and powerful. I share in MacCready’s optimism and am almost positive she’s still alive.” Returning to the couch, she offered her daughter a breast, leaned back and closed her eyes. Hancock wasn’t the only one who was exhausted. “We need a better plan. Something actionable.”

MacCready and Hancock politely turned their backs and went to seat themselves at the mayor’s bar, the former reaching over the counter to grab a bottle of whiskey. He poured two portions and was surprised when the ghoul declined. His concern grew when Hancock set his brow into the heal of his palm and muttered something about “headaches”.

“You’re like, the fifth person I’ve talked to today who has a headache.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I just need some Mentats and I’ll be right as rain.”

MacCready, unconvinced, continued to frown at him, “You’re sure that’s best…”

Hancock chuckled, “Sez the man who just drank a fifth of whiskey.”

“Oh… right.” MacCready reached out and gently grabbed the back of Hancock’s head and pulling him in close, bumped their foreheads together much the same way Wraith would.

They stayed together this way for almost a minute before Hancock leaned away, smiling, “Ya know, I think that might’ve helped.”

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes at them, “Absolute mush.” She stood and patted her daughter on the back, “A plan, gentlemen; where do we go from here?”

“I got a idea, actually…”

“Well, be gentle with it. It’s in a strange place.”

“Ha ha.” Now it was MacCready’s turn to roll his eyes, “You remember that one vault that was down in Quincy Quarries?”

Hancock growled, “Yeah, I remember. There was a Vault-Tec scientist there who’d turned ghoul. The place is massive. Wraith tried to set up a whole settlement down there; it’s fully powered and everything. She gave up though. Folks told her it was like livin’ in someone else’s grave…”

“Exactly! It’s completely abandoned but probably fully provisioned and fortified. Not to mention the entrance is right in the middle of one of the most irradiated places in the Commonwealth.” He smiled and swept his hands out across the bar, as if revealing the answer to all the world’s problems, “I can’t imagine a more perfect place for a mass of feral ghouls to spend the winter.”

“That’s actually… hmm, that’s not bad.”

MacCready’s triumphant smile returned and he beamed at her, “Now I know she sealed it off, but…”

A sudden commotion in the stairwell outside interrupted him. They could hear raised voices and the thundering footsteps of several men running up the stairs.

Fahrenheit reached the door just as a Watch member had raised a fist to knock and narrowly avoided getting knuckled in the face, “Report!”

Staring stupidly for a moment, the ghoul shook himself, stammering awkwardly, “Cap… Cap’n Fahrenheit… Mayor Hancock… I… it’s bad!”

“Now what?!” Hancock pushed himself to his feet and quickly crossed the room.

“There’s some drifters going crazy! Two… two were in the Rail and…”

“Show me!”

It was bedlam in the streets of Goodneighbor. The Neighborhood watch fought to subdue residents who, only moments before had been calm and peaceful. MacCready and Hancock separated as soon as they were at ground-level. Each picked a target and rushing to help pin the snarling, apparently feral, ghouls without killing them.

“Knock them out if you can!” Fahrenheit stood on the balcony and called instruction to her subordinates. “On your three o’clock, Coach!”

“Then… oof… what?!” MacCready caught an elbow to the ribs, “You don’t have a jail here. Where… Ow! Goddamn it! This guy just bit me!”

At that moment, Magnolia, face pale as a ghost, rushed to Hancock’s side, “There’s a glowing one in the Rail! I think… I think… I think it’s Her!”

Thank you for reading! Like what you’ve read? Looking for more? Please see my master link: pinned post and tagged as Wraith in the Ruins. As always, any questions/concerns/comments please feel free to send me an ask. I look forward to hearing from you. =^..^=

#wraith in the ruins #fallout fanfic #fallout fan fiction #fallout 4 #fallout companions #john hancock #rj maccready #maccready #hancock

6 notes · View notes