#and will already had feelings for him so he just logically assumed ‘oh. he must be my bf’ and mike didn’t correct him

[lecliss]

I'll never be able to take the theory that Vincent is Sephiroth's real father seriously cuz I cannot stress enough how important I think it is to the plot that Vincent wanted to fuck Lucrecia and did not get to.

[wolveria]

The Anomaly Archives - Reality #003

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Sex pollen, non-consensual drugging, dubious consent, noncon, mutual noncon, vaginal sex, cold!049

AO3

SCP-049 was a wonderful subject to work with.

You didn’t really work with him, as such. You watched him perform his mysterious surgeries, scribbling in his leatherbound journal as you observed from the security of the room adjacent. He was fastidious, intelligent, and above all, polite. At least, when you gave him instructions through the intercom, he obeyed with a pleasant, “Very well, Doctor.”

You weren’t a doctor, but you didn’t correct him. He knew of your credentials from when you’d introduced yourself roughly a month ago. 049 was a new SCP in your rotation, and he was a nice change. You already had so much new data to work with, as something had sparked the SCP from his lethargic state soon after you assumed your new station.

Logic would dictate you were the introduced variable that stirred him from his dormancy, but you doubted it. A new researcher was... well, nothing new. As far as you could tell, you simply had good timing.

Still, the anomaly paid close attention to your presence. The glass was mirrored—so you’d been told, you’d never been inside the chamber itself—but the way he gazed at it, straight to where you sat before the monitors, left you feeling exposed.

Despite the unsettling attention, your hard work paid off. Just on the other side of the door was the anomaly, currently being restrained and secured in the interview room. Dr. Puli had finally acknowledged your progress and allowed the interview, despite his reservations.

You didn’t understand his hesitancy. SCP-049 was a relatively tame anomaly, and your new methods had helped placate him further. Sure, he wasn’t technically allowed any human subjects, but no one would miss the corpses from the morgue. They were tagged to be destroyed, and it would have been a waste of resources.

“Are you ready?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your mostly empty cup of coffee. They must have upped the caffeine concentration; you’d been jittery all morning after taking your first sip, sweat dotting your forehead as your skin prickled with heat. You reminded yourself to cut back the next morning.

“I am,” you said to your boss where he stood beside you, facing the interview room. There was a second door to the right that led to the observation room.

“Good. Because I, uh... won’t be able to sit in on this one, unfortunately.”

You eyed his apologetic smile, spotting the frustration underneath.

“Oh? Why not?”

“We have a couple of humanoid transfers and I’ve been asked to oversee it.” Dr. Puli glanced toward the two doors, releasing a breath. “But I know you’ll do well. And if anything goes wrong—not that it will—you’ll have all the help you need. Our new Site Director will be observing, and he wants things to go smoothly.”

You nearly choked on the coffee you’d brought to your lips.

“The Site Director is here?”

“Yes, he... asked to sit on it. It sounded like he was impressed with your progress. No one else has been able to get the anomaly to engage, let alone cooperate.”

You gave a nervous smile. At least no one seemed to be mad about those bodies you designated for 049’s use. Still, the news put a damper on your excitement. Dr. Puli wouldn’t say what happened to the last Site Director, and no one else would speak about him either. Your interactions with Leahy had been sparse and rare, but you hadn’t had a problem with him.

But his replacement, Site Director Johannson, was another story. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s judging by the white hair, but there was nothing grandfatherly about him. When he looked at you, you got the sense he wasn’t seeing you at all.

Your assessment of him didn’t improve after you’d been requested to wear a very specific ensemble for this interview. No one had asked you to wear a skirt before, and you felt like progress had been set back a good 50 years.

A radio chirped to your left, belonging to one of the guards where it was clipped to his vest. He clicked on the microphone and spoke to his counterparts inside.

“You’re clear,” he informed you, though his head remained stiffly forward.

“Wish me luck.”

You handed Dr. Puli your empty coffee cup when he held out his hand for it.

“You don’t need it, but... good luck.”

He gave you one last smile and stepped away, your two escort guards moving at your back. It was overkill, in your opinion, but you wouldn’t wave off the extra security. You didn’t plan to make the same mistake your predecessors did, underestimating what 049 was capable of simply because of his disarming presence.

There was nothing very disarming about the SCP waiting inside. The door slid back to reveal the dark form sitting at the table, his shoulders hunched, and his head bowed. His mask lifted upwards so quickly it was almost a jerk, his eyes focused on you like a large hawk spotting a mouse in a meadow.

You frowned at the unusual behavior but continued forward, your tablet held against your chest as you entered the interview room. The Class III Humanoid Restriction Harness was in place, two extender bars connecting the collar around his neck to the grips of the two guards who flanked him. Even sitting down with his wrists shackled to the table, they weren’t taking any chances.

Typically, you would be at ease in the SCP’s presence, but something had clearly agitated him. You assumed the guards had been rougher than necessary, leaving the poor entity ruffled and misused.

You sat at the table opposite of 049, laid the tablet flat on the table, and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions today. Is it okay if I record this interview?”

The SCP stared at you, but his grey eyes seemed fixed on the wall behind you.

“SCP-049?”

“I would not suggest making a record of what is about to transpire, but I fear that decision is outside your control.”

It was your turn to stare. His words were low, grinding in his throat as if it was difficult to speak, and his gaze was on you, too sharp and jagged.

“SCP-049, are you feeling all right?”

One of the guards behind you clicked his radio, but you heard nothing else, indicating he had switched to his headset. Behind the glass, the weight of stares were heavy on you, a reminder that your position was on the line.

There was a crinkle of chains as 049’s folded hands shifted on the table.

“Are you?”

The question brought you up short. The way it was presented was fairly neutral, but this level of stubbornness was unlike him.

“SCP-049, if you are unwilling to cooperate for this interview, then you will be escorted back to your cell.”

“No. I will not.”

He leaned forward, chains pulled taut at the movement.

“Neither you nor I will be leaving this room. Not, I suspect, for a while.”

You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, and then fell into shocked silence as the two guards at his flank unhooked the extender bars. Without explanation, all of the guards turned away, opened the doors on their respective sides of the room, and walked out.

All you could do was watch, frozen until the room was emptied of all but you and the SCP.

You leapt from your chair, tablet forgotten as you swiped your keycard in front of the reader. It didn’t so much as beep. You pounded on the door, calm professionalism forgotten as panic crawled up your throat.

You went to the mirrored observation window next, banging your hand against the surface so hard it wobbled, and then you stared at your reflection. Your forehead was beaded with sweat, your hair already damp, and heat sufficed your skin.

“You are feeling the effects.”

You met 049’s reflected gaze in the mirror.

“Of what?”

His head tilted, as of the answer was obvious.

“Of what they have given us both.”

Your mind immediately backtracked to earlier that morning and the unusually bitter coffee some tech had handed you before the interview. You’d heard of things like this happening before, mostly through sensationalized rumors after someone disappeared, but you never thought it would happen to you.

You and the SCP were caught in an experiment, exposed to an unknown chemical, and the results would be documented.

049 must have glimpsed it in your eyes, the hollow dread eating away the pit of your stomach. The SCP yanked through his chains, the links scattering across the floor like spilled jewels from a broken necklace. He rose to his feet, broad shoulders blocking out the light behind him, his beaked mask dipped as his gaze burned through you.

You bolted to the far corner of the room, but the entity was right on your heels. He grabbed a fistful of your coat, yanked you backwards, and slammed you sideways into the closest wall. Your scream was choked off from the hand wrapped around your neck.

Your struggles to escape were as fruitless as a bird slapping its wings against the side of its cage, his fingers as unyielding as the bars. He glared down at you with that same predatory focus, and you were so terrified of what he would do that your mind took several long moments to catch up.

049 gripped you with direct skin-to-skin contact, and you were still alive. That shouldn’t be possible. No one understood why his touch was lethal, or if he had control of it. Perhaps this answered that question.

But his eyes narrowed and searched your face, as if he too was stumped by the situation. You weren’t given a moment of reprieve; 049 pulled you way from the wall, readjusting his hold so it was on the nape of your neck, and he shoved you down onto the interview table, bent over its edge.

An animal noise was ripped out of you as he followed you down, his torso pressed against your back, his metallic, rasping words in your ear.

“You have been betrayed, Doctor,” he said low enough that only you could hear. “Though I do not believe you were sent in here to die by my hand. After all, what would be the purpose of dosing you if the expectation was for this experiment to be done on a corpse. Of course, these charlatans conduct nonsensical and disturbed tests and call it science; I would not be surprised if necrophilia was on the agenda.”

His tone was almost conversational, as if you weren’t trembling and gasping in his grip, the gazelle trapped under the lion. You winced as he leaned closer, belatedly remembering he couldn’t actually bite.

“They must already know you are… special. This does not bode well for you.”

You agreed with that—none of this looked good. Had you done something to piss off someone up the ladder? Or was this Johannson getting rid of Leahy’s hires to make room for his own?

You supposed it didn’t matter, you were here now, and your only real focus was on trying to ignore the ache between your legs, made worse the longer he leaned on your back. You pressed your forehead against the cold metal of the table with a desperate attempt to remain still, but your body was traitorous, swayed by the drug that had been slipped in your coffee.

049 let out a strained breath as you lifted your hips and rubbed against him, desperate for friction through the thick fabric of your skirt. You’d never worn a damn skirt to work before, had never been required to, and now, you were almost grateful for it. Every second that passed made your skin burn hotter, and you whined low in your throat. You would do anything to make it stop.

049 released his hold on your neck; he no longer needed to worry about you running. His hands trailed along your sides, the touch curious, and when he reached the hem of your skirt and pushed it up to your hips, you arched your back in anticipation. You were aware of the mirrored observation window, but it was a thought at the back of your mind, nowhere near as important as the promise of relief.

The SCP surprised you by flipping you over, your back now flat against the table as he loomed over you. He reached under your skirt and pushed your underwear to the side, his fingers sinking deep inside with one smooth motion.

The back of your head banged against the table as you bucked against his hand, and your legs naturally found their way around his hips. He plunged deeper, his fingers squeezed between your tight walls, and when his thumb found your clit you lost the sense you had left.

“Please,” you begged for something you weren’t sure he had. Previous researchers hadn’t found evidence of any sort of genitalia, but they hadn’t exactly been looking. Even if all he had were his fingers, you didn’t care. You just needed something. Anything.

But he removed his fingers, kept your underwear pulled to the side, and something unmistakably phallic prodded your cunt.

You pressed your heels against the small of his back, the head of his cock breaching you not enough, and he snarled in response. Fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, he hauled your hips off the table and slid inside you with a single thrust.

There was no air in your lungs to scream with, and honestly, oxygen didn’t seem a priority when it felt like he was going to split you in half. You didn’t know if it was the drugs or the fact you were dripping wet, but it didn’t hurt—in fact, it only ached when he stopped moving.

You sensed a similar restlessness from him, even as he paused to take a breath, he couldn’t hold still, his hips rubbing against yours. Your fingers dug into the thick fabric of his arms as he held your hips at an angle, beyond words and even thoughts at this point.

049 pulled back only a couple of inches before thrusting in again, as if he couldn’t bear to not be buried in your heat. Your fingers increased their grip, and 049 gave an irritated growl at your impatience, snapping his hips forward in answer. You let go of him, pleasantly boneless as he decided to stop testing the new sensations and started to fuck you in earnest. He thrust forward in the same movement of pulling you to him, like you were a thing he was using to chase his own pleasure.

You throbbed around his cock at the idea of being used like his personal toy, and you weren’t sure you could blame it on the drugs.

049 changed his angle, laying almost flat on top of you as he hitched your legs around his waist. Your hips were on the table again as his pace slowed, but the deeper thrusts hit a spot that wound you tighter with each hit.

Your breath staggered and small whimpers escaped. Able to remain silent for most of it, you couldn’t now as you gripped him like a vice.

A litany of French expletives spilled out of him, and the harsh sounding vowels and the loss of control behind them shot straight to your gut. You wrapped your arms around his chest and clung to his back, desperate for something to hold onto, and then you crashed over the edge.

You buried your face in his shoulder and gave a wordless cry, scratching your nails into his thick hide. And still 049 continued to thrust, fucking you as you continued to throb. Something large and warm pressed against your entrance, and you didn’t know what it was, only that you wanted it inside you.

049 hissed and grabbed your thighs, forcing you still when you tried to push back against the barrier, and then he groaned and shuddered. He remained inside you for a moment before he abruptly pulled out, come spilling onto you in thick, white ropes.

The remainder spilled onto the floor as he aimed downward away from you, and you caught sight of the bulbous knot at the base of his cock before he covered himself with his outer robes.

The SCP was trying to catch his breath, and you were doing the same, your thoughts still fuzzy and distant, as if a part of you didn’t want to go back to reality yet. But 049’s eyes were focused and clear, and to your surprise, gazed at you with regret.

“I… did attempt to avoid ejaculation inside you, but I fear I may not have fully succeeded.”

His attention drifted to the door, and at the reminder, you pulled down your skirt and winced at the mess between your legs.

“Why?” you asked as you sat up and tried to collect what was left of your dignity. There wasn’t much to find. “What’s it matter at this point.”

049 turned his focus back on you, his eyes grim.

“Your Foundation may lack humanity, but everything they do is with the intention of an outcome. And what, pray tell, is the outcome one would wish when breeding two assets?”

Two assets? Breeding?

“That’s not… not what this is.” You shook your head. “You’re wrong.”

049 rose to his full height, dwarfing you where you sat on the edge of the table.

“I rarely am.”

He reached forward and took you by the chin. Though it was a gentle gesture, you still trembled at the touch, and the unreadable coldness of his pale eyes.

“And if I’m correct, then we’ll be seeing much more of each other.”

“N-no. This has to be a mistake.” You didn’t believe the words even as you said them, and tears collected unwillingly at the corners of your eyes. “Doctor Puli wouldn’t let them—”

“He would, and he has.”

049 released you and leaned in, so close his mask brushed your neck.

“You’re one of us now, my dear.”

You closed your eyes and the tears spilled down your cheeks. 049’s arms went around your shoulders, and you were too tired to fight it, and you leaned into the embrace. The muffled footfalls of guards outside the door signaled you wouldn’t be alone for much longer, and 049 tightened his grip.

Possessive.

Next Entry

[farshootergotme]

I know it wasn’t your intention but be careful with claiming Bruce having a personality disorder or having narcissistic personality disorder because people with trauma can get easily mixed up with disorders like that. Also, if you’re going to purpose the idea of Bruce potentially having it do handle it with care. It’s already a disorder that is heavily demonised by media and has many misconceptions about it.

Hell, as an autistic person, we also get mixed up with disorders like that, due how it is a spectrum and some of us come off as quite cold and unfeeling at times. Like I have a lot of empathy for people but I struggle to show emotion with my face. Now, I am no expert so feel free to correct me on things, if I have gotten something wrong or have misunderstood something.

Honestly, I feel Bruce is at the mercy of the writers but also time period as well really and how media tends to not write mental health very well in general like Bruce most likely has childhood trauma and ptsd due to his parents dying in front of him and seeing their corpses. It’s the same with some of Batman villains as well, they’re meant to reflection of mental health at least in modern interpretations it depends but it’s rare to see there mental health problems handled with care or how Gotham made them this way.

Now, I am not saying all of Batman villains need to be reformed but Arkham itself is about trying to rehabilitate them. Because at Batman core he believes in compassion and genuinely wants to help people. Does he always do it well no but god damn he tries.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying Bruce is a saint and cannot do bad things or make mistakes like seriously this man puts me through the wringer on if I want to strangle him or not. God, being both a fan of Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne as character is me fighting a never ending battle with myself in my brain. Oh god and then you have all the eras of the characters as well ahh. So many soft reboots and retcons, gosh don’t you just love superhero comics.

Golden age, sliver age did a soft reboot,Bronze Age pre crisis did some soft reboot while also doing full reboots to other characters, post crisis probably a soft reboot again, new 52 a full blown reboot, rebirth a soft reboot while also back tracking and now 2020 anti reboot which basically killed rebirth and 52 and brought most of 85 continuity I don’t know. That’s comic logic baby.

Sorry, If I am accidentally coming off as rude, but I get a little concern when people talk about mental health and mental health disorder in general due to how much misinformation there is about it. With comics it really also depends on the writer and they view Batman in general. To me, I feel Bruce core much like Richard is empathy and compassion but he struggles to show it, he is more actions speaks louder then words guy. Seriously, his terrible communication skills drives me insane sometimes. Free feel to disagree with me, after all this just my opinion at the end of the day. Still love your posts though mate even if I don’t always agree with everything , it is still nice to see your perspective and takes on things with both characters. ☺️

Hey, no need to apologize! Is good to call people out on this type of thing with all the spread misinformation and demonization there is about disorders and mental health.

It wasn't my intention to use the term so carelessly or imply Bruce must be mentally ill or an evil person, but I'm sorry if I made it sound like that.

I assume you're talking about the part in my post about golden child/scapegoat Dick Grayson in which I mentioned I had a thoughts about Bruce possibly having BPD? I promise you I didn't do it with bad intent.

BPD is not inherently a disorder that makes someone evil or a worse person than others. People with this disorder struggle with maintaining stable relationships and many self-destructive habits. It's not a topic I take lightly, but it is still true that I consider possible that Bruce deals with many of the symptoms included in this disorder.

If I ever make a post about it I will make sure to mention not to use it to self-diagnose or demonize it when the character with said possible diagnose has acted in negative ways towards others.

And I'll say that I've read multiple articles about the disorder and searched talks about personal experiences of people diagnosed with the disorder before all this, so even though I'm not an expert I'm not just throwing the term around.

Again, sorry for mentioning it so casually.

Thank you for telling!

[wellofhavoc]

Hello I just want to thank you for being the only person on here with consistent hawk and dove content (especially on your art account). They are my special little guys and your characterization of them is SO GOOD. I’ve read some of your tags about the Mordru/Hector/Unity stuff and I’d love to hear your thoughts about it if you’re comfortable. Hank haters be damned 💙💙💙

Oh thank you so much! I'm really glad to be here for anyone who is looking for content. I don't fill the fanfic niche quite yet, but that can be fixed with my Many Thoughts- so thank you for asking to hear them and in advance: I'm Sorry.

[TW for mention of SA during The Conception, the rest doesn't mention it.]

A Quick Guide

For the sake of simplicity when talking about this with my friends who didn't read all of this comic stuff, I've built a list of shorthand that makes things easier for people listening. Since this is written, I won't have to use ones like "Dawn" and "Donny" but I feel like some others being explained here could help. I also have headcanons I'll explain my reasons for in some areas, but in others it's just how I deal with the MANY retcons that surround the whole "Monarch/Extant/Mordru" nonsense.

The body Hector Hall possesses- the actual, lost child of Hawk and Dove- is "Dector" Hall [because it's funny and simple.]

"Mordru" and "Hank" as one body are known as "Extant" and it's my general belief that Hank started with more control that he gradually lost over time but Hank never stopped fighting the control Mordru had over his powers and his body.

Dawn did die in the moment "Monarch" killed her, but then Mordru simply revived her in the hand-waving fashion most villains get to just do that when he wanted to have their child instead.

The point of the Unity project wasn't just to have a baby, but for Hawk and Dove to decide to have a baby. This means that Dector is not a true Unity and, in my opinion, doesn't have full access to the Hawk and Dove powers, just the propensity for a balance between Order and Chaos.

The Conception

The only part I've ever hesitated to share is my feeling on how Hank and Dawn would process their trauma regarding Hector's conception because I largely think Dawn would handle it by: Not Handling It and Hank would probably immediately try to process his feelings by finding a target for his aggression only to be faced with one simple fact: The JSA and Dawn already killed him.

There's also the less simple fact that Hank probably wouldn't immediately assume Dawn knew as much as he did about the time he was under Mordru's control considering she was dead for a portion of the time, asleep for a lot of it, and just not physically present for much of the stuff Mordru did as "Extant." This means that he feels bad not talking about it because- even though probably one of the first conversations since Blackest Night [when he was resurrected] was about the whole "baby thing" was about the assault so he knows she knows- he convinces himself that he IS keeping how BAD IT was from her and that that makes him just as horrible and that he "must have actually gotten some satisfaction out of it." At the same time, he doesn't feel like he can bring it up to her again and again without making it seem like he WANTS her to be traumatized, because all he actually wants is a conversation he doesn't feel the right to ask for.

All of this to say that I want to include Hank's perspective on the assault without CENTERING him because I do think Dawn's experience with being killed, being assaulted, and her lost motherhood that she never asked for [and in my opinion, never saw for herself] would absolutely wreck her but Dawn has always been the type to bottle up and focus on the "practical." She would try to "get over" her feelings without processing them because... what is the logical point in doing the work when she can just skip to the pay off? Obviously the answer is that that's largely not how emotions work, but she wouldn't care, but not realize that she's not handling it as well as she thinks. Sure she could talk about it with Hank, but she would understand it upsets him and wouldn't see any benefit to bringing it up or letting him talk himself into the ground about it.

The main issue is that they both hold themselves to an impossibly high standard: How they see each other. They would both probably come to the conclusion that the other one is FINE so they should be FINE and that's not only not how feelings/trauma works but it's also not true.

If I had a season of a TV show or five issues to delve into their dynamic post-possession, I think it would take a third party to maybe cross that line for them and ask how they are regarding that specific blip in their history or likely privately ask one of them how it's affected their relationship and open their eyes to the fact that their partner is definitely not taking this as well as they seem to think they are. Maybe then they could actually start unpacking Hank's known horror of his time as Mordru's puppet and Dawn's unknown horror of their lost time and how she was used.

Dector Hall

Of course there's still one person we haven't addressed in regards to their feelings. Some people forget that this was a character- or at the very least was intended to have character at some point.

When Hector visits with the other Fates inside of the helmet at the barbecue, there is an implication that someone is missing from the party outside of Mordru. Hector's subconscious is lined with pictures of Hawk and Dove before he was forced to reconcile with the fact that this body was their child.

Dector was a child sacrificed to the mantle of Doctor Fate- to be a vessel for Hector Hall- for the fate of the universe and then forcibly aged. If it wasn't Hector, it would have been Mordru, after all. It's just an incredibly sad thought, and considering this child seems to have been either conscious enough of the circumstances of his birth to know who his biological parents are. He was a PERSON, isn't that fucked up?

Wish the comics had more to say about these implications- but I sure do!

I fear a lot of them won't make sense outside of the story I've elaborately crafted in my head- but a lot of things I like to think about stem from me thinking about how it would feel from behind the eyes of someone not quite a friend and not quite a stranger to watch your mom leave in search of someone to belong to and someone that she can take care of while you're so small and without the voice to ask for her to turn around and really look at you.

Dawn and Motherhood

I think Dawn's feelings about motherhood would be complicated. I think Dawn is a caretaker, but helplessness scares her. She likes responsibility. It makes her feel good, and she likes to be trusted and needed.

But helplessness frustrates her. We can see this with Ren freaking out about Copperhead and Dawn telling her to calm down because "people are watching" while Hank just keeps consoling her. She's not a robot, but she isn't good with high emotions- she thinks the insurgence on Druspa Tau must be totally born from Hank or M'shulla because she knows the logic behind the decisions regarding population and resource control, doesn't think to check in with Ren until she starts avoiding her because SHE knows she's not hitting on Hank and thus doesn't see why Ren should be upset, her immediate reaction after Terataya and T'charr confess their plans for the future of Hawk and Dove and kiss in their bodies is to ask if she and Hank should fall in love as if it's that simple.

She was also still getting her associates in college in her early 20s when she was killed/abducted, so something tells me "I'm ready to have a baby" never crossed her mind.

But she had one, and it's the last purpose Tarataya and T'charr laid out for her and Hank before they vanished. Crossing that off of her list and no longer needing to justify a possible romantic relationship she wasn't ever really interested in: What's next?

I do feel she would have a sense of loss, though. How could she not think about those possible futures she saw from Waverider and how she felt watching and living in them?

I think Dawn could be happy as a mother if she had time to prepare for it, but that's definitely not the case here. I don't think Dawn is a very warm person, but she still cares about other people. That means I can't believe she doesn't have SOME emotions about the person Hector has warped into his new body. Even if Dector isn't conscious at all- which he definitely was at at least some point between the writers- it would be hard to separate the logic of this body being a shell from the emotion that that shell was a human being that grew inside of her- that she met with different faces in a sea of different futures and in one of those worlds held in her arms.

Unity

I have plans- so many plans- I will one day sit down and properly start "Hawk and Dove: Revenge" a long-form fancomic where I hope to explore a full AU. This will also include the Don Revival AU and my ideas on other unexplored or half-explored Hawk and Dove concepts [The War Council, Revisiting Druspa Tau, Holly and Dawn's relationship, Holly Granger Character Arcs, power evolution-] but for now-

Unity!

She doesn't have a canon name- only known as "Dr. Arsala," considering this was 1. Never meant to be a canon ending for Hawk and Dove, just another possibility but this one being born of both of their futures if they survive to the future together and 2. In a book FULL of alternate children- sons and daughters, brown, black, and blonde haired- we can assume "Dr. Arsala" is just another "what if?" an example of the kind of person a child of Hawk and Dove could be.

Still she's a GREAT character- a mouthy neurosurgeon who is as direct as she is crafty. That's why I choose the more literal interpretation- that she was their future in a universe ruled by Monarch. Of course, that universe can't really exist now and Hawk and Dove are loosely implied to only be a "One in a span of different universes" kind of deal, meaning one Hawk and one Dove per each cluster of timelines since there is only one Chaos and Order dimension across those timelines [See the Phantom Zone for a better idea of how that works- it's too much to explain here- the idea is that Druspa Tau, the Chaos Dimension, and the Phantom Zone are their own dimensions separate of multi-universe theory, meaning that for however many infinite Earths exist, there will only be one Hawk and Dove per that cluster.]

Of course, due to the nature of INFINITE Earths being infinite- it stands to reason that- in theory- there could exist multiple Hawks and Doves... they'd just be from Universe Group B instead of another dimension in Universe Group A- just like there being a possibility of other Phantom Zones and maybe even a group of universes without ANY Hawks or Doves either because there is no Chaos or Order Dimension or because T'charr and Terataya never met or simply ran off together.

All of this to say, there's plenty of room for A Unity to exist out there somewhere, and I would love to see her get to replant a world on Monarch's scorched ground.

More than that, I'd like to break down her feelings on her mysterious conception- did her mom cheat on her dad? Did Sal know about it? Did Hank and Dawn knowingly have this child as a last resort against Monarch? Is she a weapon?

Personally, I think what we see of our Doctor is that she has Dawn's tendency toward the practical in high-stress situations, but that she has Hank's heart. From both of them, she has their sense of duty. I think that means she'd understand if she was conceived with the sole purpose of saving the world, and from there struggle with how that makes her feel or if she gets to have feelings. It's not as though the people responsible for her being alive would be around to talk to her about why they did what they did or to apologize for putting so much onto her.

She is the last hero of Earth in the future, too. If she rewrites Monarch's mind into something useful, he will still only be a weapon- no one that she can relay information to or discuss her place in the world with. Without Monarch's iron fist in place, there would definitely be a new wave of people trying to fill a perceived power vacuum. Just because she was strong enough to beat an inflated dictator doesn't mean that taking over his world and rebuilding it will be easy, nor does it mean that more intense threats will be just as easy to handle. Sharp claws and a sharper mind are good weapons, but they aren't the only thing she'll need against any possible underground revolts that might fear the last Meta Human might be a WORSE dictator than Monarch was.

Of course, we'll never get to see her tact or how it would stack up to these new types of foes, but this is about my thoughts and this is what Unity makes me think about.

There's also the cosmic implications- what would magic users previously removed from the now VERY dangerous, Monarch-Ruled dimension think of its new caretaker and her power source? The War Council? So many possibilities for a future never meant to be in canon.

I think even if she got everything she wanted- full Utopia- she's not the kind of person to not like having a project. Maybe she'd have to take her services elsewhere, and we'd get to see the Doc make a few house calls.

Conclusion

Thanks for reading my rambles, however much you did. I am very grateful for the excuse to dump my thoughts out like this.

[gleefullypolin]

Stacy's Tipsy Musings: Battle of the Stans Round 3 Penelope

We are back for round 3 of Stacy's Tipsy Musings: Battle of the Stans Version

Yes you heard me, it's when one side of the ship screams louder than the other about a certain opinion. Well I wanted to tear those opinions up one by one and see what a Polin Stan thought about it.

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun, I'm not trying to start a real fight here! These are just personal opinions that I feel come from one side and should really be looked at from the middle more. Peace love and shipping!

Round 1: Penelope| Colin

Round 2: Penelope | Colin

On to the Final Round

Penelope Stans Round 3:

Apologize or Grovel

Colin didn’t do enough to earn Pen’s love in S3. Pen should have had sex with Debling in order to even the score with Colin since he was off having sex with other women which was very ick, and he owed her an explanation about his sex life because that was just gross.

This is a tough one. And not just because it involves Regency era norms that I don’t exactly like or enjoy but because after getting upset about one person’s sex life we do a double flip and ask for revenge sex. I get whiplash following along so try and keep up but sorry if I lose you.

So, let’s break it down bit by bit. First off Colin didn’t do enough to earn Pen’s love. I’ll start there and say…Colin already had Pen’s love at the start of S3 sooooo I could just stop and say KO! Done! But I won’t because I know we mean the apology.

So many people felt the apology didn’t give them what they wanted. He didn’t beg for her forgiveness. Alright, so he told her he was sorry, he wasn’t the same person he was the year prior. I understand to a point, he didn’t explain why he said it. However, I would also like to point out that he may not even remember saying it so there is the possibility that he has no fucking clue why he said it, so the boy’s only explanation is holy shit, I’m not that idiot anymore.

After that he literally tells her he’s in love with her. Oh wait, that wasn’t what he meant? Sorry he was so lost, because what other woman would he have said those words to? He literally gave her a love confession! Pen was flitting those lashes at him, and he was smiling like a fool. The guy was an idiot from the first episode and had no idea. But he offered to find her himself…I mean a husband and we were off to the races.

Now let’s get into the evening of scores. Because I don’t get this part. It’s regency and we know men were meant to frequent brothels as a means to wetting their wicks, not being green, experience, not falling for the first chit they fell over, it was a means to an end with the men of the ton basically. We don’t have to like it, but it was what was done. It was what his brothers did, and so it became what Colin did.

Somehow because of that, Pen needed to revenge sex Colin with Debling. So, ruin herself with a man who clearly told her he would never love her. Of course, this would mean she would then have to marry Debling or be consider ruined so I’m not sure where the logic was going because let’s be serious here, rules are different in this era, and no one is paying attention to any of this.

The next matter is Colin needing to explain himself to Pen about all his conquests. I will push back here and say how do you know he did not. They have had conversations on screen about the women in Paris. We got literally 3 instances of Pen either reading or discussing other women with Colin. How many happened where we did not get to watch them? Why must we assume that every conversation they have we are privy to? If they showed us 3, I would assume they were comfortable discussing it when we aren’t there.

Thus, I will say they have already discussed this, and the matter is closed.

Polin Fan Knockout Punch: Colin chaotically interrupted a dance with a courting couple on a night when it was known by the ton that said couple were getting engaged. He disrupted that proposal causing her to leave on foot. Colin chased her carriage down on foot in sight of the ton, he got on his knees and professed his feelings for his best friend who reciprocated his feelings. After making those feelings physically known to her, he proposed marriage to her which she accepted. He stood up to her mother, professed his love to her, made love to her in their new home. Found out that she was Lady Whistledown, while dealing with feelings of extreme betrayal and confusion he married the love of his life with a smile on his face, he danced with her at their wedding breakfast with desire in his eyes, he then stood by her as she announced to the ton that she was Lady Whistledown in front of the Queen of bloody England. He found her immediately after to tell her that he was proud of her and was happy to stand by her side because she was his purpose. The then took her home, fucked her madly and created Lord Featherington. Colin “My Wife” Bridgerton has earned the love of his wife.

[builder051]

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies

—————-

Chasing Ghosts. Warning for drug mentions/implied drug use. Meant to be stupid and funny.

—————-

James sits at the table. He presses his cheek to its cool surface and wraps his arm around his head. He should go, he thinks. Somewhere. Not here. Or at least turn off the light.

The logical thing to do is plant himself in the bathroom and wait out his seasick headache. The thought of the bathroom sends James’s throat up to throb behind his clenched teeth. He won’t be turning off the light. He won’t be moving at all.

“It’s bad?”

Steve seems to have materialized in the kitchen. James doesn’t know how long he’s had an audience. He’d taken his hearing aids out a while ago. With his echolocation gone and his eyes hidden, James knows he’s a sitting duck. Not that Steve would ever hurt him. Well, not on purpose. He sometimes gets a little rough when administering first aid.

“Eh,” James says to the inside of his elbow. “You probably know better than I do.”

“Mm,” Steve muses. James imagines him stroking his chin in contemplation. “You have a headache and feel like you want to hurl?”

“Yeah…” James pauses to draw in a shaky breath. “I don’t know. When, I mean. If.”

“You never do know.”

There’s a scraping sound and a vibrating sensation as Steve pulls up a seat. James bites his lip. He’d rather taste blood than bile.

“I mean, I can guess. I can try to help. Hold your hair. Or a mop.” Now that he’s close, James hears the uncertainty in Steve’s voice.

“Yeah. Try consulting your magic 8 ball or something. ‘S as good as anything else.”

Steve gives a quiet laugh. “I would if I could.”

“Wait, what?” Tasha’s running up the hallway, her words going from muffled to sonorous. James pretends he doesn’t suppress an instinctive swallow. He can’t acknowledge what doesn’t exist. Logic bends as James’s head makes a particularly strong throb. He’s losing his grip on reality. He must be. Tasha awake and moving at this hour on a Saturday morning? James assumes it’s still morning. It was morning when his mild headache turned to extreme vertigo and sent him tilting toward a chair.

“Oh, hey, Tasha.” Steve says.

James forces out his own sound of greeting.

“Who has an 8 ball?” Tasha speaks quickly, tripping over her words. She’s probably on an upper already. Hopefully her very own, very legal Adderall. She has absolutely no need for cocaine.

“Nobody,” James groans. He lifts his head just enough to give his sister a scathing look. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a bathrobe that hangs far to low in the front.

“I heard you—“ Tasha starts.

“No.” James shuts his eyes and bows flat to the table again, this time cooling his aching forehead.

“It was, you know.” Steve sounds slightly embarrassed. Maybe because he won’t leave the bedroom in just boxers. Whose dignity he’s still pretending to protect, James will never ask.

Steve clears his throat and goes on. “Like, the toy kind? Where you ask it a question and shake it?”

“Oh.” Tasha’s disappointed. She recovers in a beat and says, “I had one of those once. As a kid. It was dumb. It wasn’t right about anything.”

“I was thinking about ordering one on Amazon.” Steve puts too much positivity into his tone. The man will do anything to avoid a confrontation.

“If you really want one, just give me a few bucks. I can have it by tonight.” James sincerely hopes she’s joking. Well, not joking, exactly. He hopes she won’t do it, whether to spite him or any other reason.

“That won’t be necessary.” James sees Steve’s gluey smile projected onto the backs of his eyelids.

“Might help your headache.” Tasha pokes James in the shoulder. He grunts and swallows frenetically, determined not to lose control.

“Tash…” James sighs. “Just leave it.”

“If you say so.”

Silence briefly ensues, then a cabinet opens and the sink starts running. Then the table jiggles again as Tasha joins them. She sips her water, then casually asks, “What question were you going to ask, anyway? The 8 ball?”

“Oh.” Steve laughs.

“You can tell her,” James says, then breathes deeply and focuses on the feeling of his nose squashing as he rests his forehead directly against the hardwood.

“It was, um,” Steve warms himself up. “We were going to ask, uh, whether or not James is going to puke.”

“Hm.” Tasha sets down her glass. “Well, duh. You could’ve just asked me.”

“What sayest you?” Steve gives James the floor. Which he may or may not be about to soil.

James has reached his limit. If he speaks, if he so much as acknowledges his turn in the conversation, his jaw will unhinge and everything will fall to pieces. He steels himself and clenches his abdominal muscles as much as he can. “Yeah.” It comes out in a gasp that’s probably inaudible as he takes off in a rush toward the bathroom.

[dee-dee-monster]

Then Out of the Aether - (Ch. 9)

Summary: Neither of you want to be at the party in the first place, but it turns out pretty fine. Things are said.

Warning: None.

A/N: Multi-chapter slow burn. Henderson!Reader.

< Click here to find previous chapters >

When Lindsay called you this morning and told you she wanted to go to a party….you had assumed she was joking. 

Who could blame you? The two of you are not regulars at the house parties some of your school mates throw. Oh, you usually hear through the grapevine which house is hosting for a given night, but you don’t actually go. 

Newsflash: she hadn’t been joking. 

You’d shown up at Noah West’s house a few hours ago. Lindsay has already made multiple beers disappear, and she is in the living room mingling and laughing with a small group. 

Good. 

Cool. 

That’s great. 

She’d said she wanted to “get out of the house” and “let loose,” which is probably normal, right? Healthy, even? (Okay, maybe you aren’t suppose to consider chugging a beer healthy, but she’ll be alright.) 

That’s why you are here. 

And by here, that means you are playing wallflower.  You’re tucked away at the edge of the room near a hallway that leads to a bathroom and, ultimately, out to the garage.  It has allowed you to have a glimpse of who is coming and going, and there’s a quick avenue to slip away if you want to. 

(It is possible you’ve over-thought the entire situation and your placement in it, but honestly it’s better to be safe than sorry.)

A fresh flash of sound bounces in down the hallway, signaling the garage door has opened – there’s two beer pong tables in action out there. You glance toward the sound out of habit. 

Then you do a double take when you process the familiar flurry of curls and distinctive leather jacket. 

“Henderson!” Eddie looks as surprised as you do; he even forgets to make your name into any sort of pun. 

“Hey,” you feel relieved to see him. 

“Hey,” he mocks while he looks you up and down. Almost like he’s assuring himself you’re there.  “You didn’t mention you had weekend plans – the hell?!” 

He laughs a little, though it’s a happy thing. Surprised but glad. You can tell.

“Oh, and you did?” you figure fair is only fair. 

Eddie rolls his eyes at this sound logic. 

“I’m here on business,” he stage-whispers. 

“...really?” 

He gives you a skeptical look.

“Come on…” 

Riiiiight. Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense once you have a second to consider. 

Your classmates might not want to hang out with Eddie, but they’ll buy off of him. Of course they will.  Somehow you just hadn’t pictured that means he’d show up at one of these parties. 

“Oh”

Eddie chuckles. 

“Look…speaking of – I better go find West. He said he’d be out back,” his gaze travels toward one of the sliding doors. There is a bonfire going in the backyard. “You’ll wait right here?” 

“Sure”

You don’t tell him you haven’t moved far since taking up this spot. 

You watch Eddie pick his way easily through the crowded living room.  Along the way he notices Lindsay and pauses briefly. He cocks his head and glances back at you with a subtle point of his finger. 

You nod. 

He nods back like he gets it. You figure he does – he always seems to. 

Then he’s sauntering across the patio to fetch the host. They walk away from the people around the firepit and turn their backs. Their arms move and bump a bit. 

It’s a brief exchange, and you aren’t sure which of them looks more pleased with themselves when it’s over. You hope it’s Eddie. Knowing that these people don’t actually want him here, you hope Eddie overcharged. Or tacked on a delivery fee. Or…just something. 

Logan West and his friends don’t deserve Eddie, that’s for sure. 

“You okay?” Eddie is back soon enough, chin tilted just so. 

“...yeah.” 

You’d gotten caught up in some resentment, and your face must be doing something strange. But Eddie takes your answer at face value and gives it up. He twists and throws himself up against the wall beside you so the pair of you can survey the room together. 

“So…Lindsay’s going through, uh, a whole thing, isn’t she?” he watches her swaying to the music.  

“Yeah,” you cringe. “Afraid so…” 

He’s never asked before. Just accepts it when you mention she’s stressed or that she needed a girls night, etc. Not for lack of caring, you think. He’s just someone who understands that shit happens. He doesn’t need the gossip for proof, which you appreciate because Lindsay is pretty private. 

“...sucks.” 

“Mmhmm…but I’ll keep an eye on her,” you shrug. 

You don’t mind too much. Obviously you’re not excited to be here, but you’re always willing to help Lindsay out. That’s never the question. 

“I get it …and it’s your lucky night. Now you’ve got another friend in here who isn’t a douche,” he juts his thumbs at himself. 

“Seems presumptuous that the guy who invented the Douche Chart gets to rank himself…” 

And, thus, you spend some time engaged in hushed conversation about what guests are or aren’t the absolute worst. 

“You want a smoke? I have a little leftover…” Eddie reveals once the pair of you have lapsed into companionable quiet. 

“Not tonight, thanks …I’ll go outside with you, though,” you doubt Lindsay needs to literally be watched every second. 

She’s currently kneeling by the coffee table where people are starting to play Flip Cup.

“Nah, just offering ….can I get you a refill?” he makes his next offer and gestures at your empty Solo cup. 

You haven’t been drinking from it in quite some time.

“I don’t think so…” 

“Just want the rest of mine?” he wiggles his, which is less than half full at present. 

“Thanks, I’m alright…” 

“No you’re not — this party blows,” Eddie scoffs.”I know you’re not a party girl, but if you want to really test the waters, I’ll take you to a better one some time…” 

You pretend you’re not charmed as hell by the idea of him taking you to a party.

“Oh? You think you know where the good parties are?” 

“Well, obviously,” he holds out his arms to grandly indicate himself. “The secret is to go literally anywhere that’s not full of seventeen year old fucks who only care about sports and teasing their hair and going to the mall or…what the fuck ever,” he waves at the frivolity around you.

Uncharacteristically, he’s keeping his voice down. 

Maybe he’s doing that for you. Or, alternatively, maybe you’re self-centered. 

“...and where would I find such a party?” you egg him on. 

“You head out of town,” he tells you, and you both laugh. “Go where people don’t know you and don’t assume much. It’s like a fresh slate…gotta find the college parties where everyone is trying to get over their shit,” his hand gestures get more exuberant. 

You snatch his elbow to stop the waving around. 

Eddie snickers at you. 

“You’d make out great in a place like that…” he finishes. 

You mull that over, and you’re not sure how you feel. How exactly did he mean that comment?

“...so you’re worried I’m, like, lonely and innocent?” 

Why had you said it like that? Why had you asked at all?!  You’ve only had one measly beer, for Christ’s sake!

Because it shouldn't matter – you know it shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter if he thinks that. And, yet…you find you don’t want him thinking that you are needy. Or out of touch. Or. Just. Niave, or something. 

“No! ….or…um. I don’t know?” he hedges with a side-eyed glance and a shift of his weight. Kind of like he’s not exactly happy with this trajectory, either …which comforts you, honestly. “I’m just saying. You could pull in the right crowd, ya know? Like. If you wanted to, obviously.”

Hmm. That feels …more complementary than patronizing, maybe. 

“I’d pull, huh?” 

Your sly look seems to make his shoulders relax. 

“Yeah. Yeah, a college crowd would be good for you, I think. Better than…” he trails off and nods his chin at the living room. 

You briefly study those assembled, and you have to hope Eddie is correct. 

“A college crowd…” you echo him and are happy to find this doesn’t make you squirm like most college topics do. “Is that what you do?  Find your fresh slate at college parties?” 

“I’ve gone out with Rick, yeah. No one really questions you on campus…” 

You have never met of even seen ‘Reefer Rick’ but you’ve heard about him around town. 

“Hmm…and do you pull while you’re there?” 

You shouldn’t have asked that, either!  You do not want to know. Except for the part of you that sort of definitely does…

Eddie coughs in surprise, and he blushes.  Shifts his weight around. 

“Me?  Um…huh, I…well,” he shrugs. “I get more interest than in Hawkins, I guess.” 

“That’s good” 

“Is it? I mean, yeah,” he chuckles at himself. 

“Yeah…” 

His discomfort has you smiling.

“...I’m going to go grab a refill. You sure you’re good?” Eddie points at your cup again. 

“I’m sure” 

He heads off to the corner where a keg has been set up. Then you see him take a detour to the kitchen. There’s a spread of various snacks there – maybe he’ll bring back some chips or something. Or you could abandon your post and just go join him to grab a plate….

“Hi”

You jerk in surprise when someone stops beside you. 

“Hi…” 

Jake Matanski.  He’s a grade below you, but you know him. A little, at least. Not enough that you would have expected him to bother to come say hello, though. 

“You don’t want to come play?” he uses his beer to point at the game in the livingroom.

“Oh. No, not for me…” 

Your eyes glide to the kitchen and find Eddie watching across the counter. He gives you a little smile, then flashes a thumbs up, followed by a thumbs down. Are you supposed to indicate one or the other to him? And how, exactly? Ugh. 

“Aw! Why not?” Jake laughs despite the lack of a joke. 

“Well, uh…no drink,” you wave your empty cup. 

“Oh!” he nods quickly – maybe too quickly. “We can fix that – come on!” 

Jake heads for the keg, and you automatically take two steps to follow…but you don’t even want to, right?. And he’s not paying attention, anyway; he’s already winding past the couch…

So you have an out!

You hustle to the kitchen instead. 

“Wow – quite the ditch act,” Eddie starts clapping. “Five stars.” 

“Excuse you. What happened to coming right back?” you kick his ankle. 

“How was I supposed to know you weren’t having fun…” 

You echo his words mockingly, to which he only laughs a little more. 

You ignore it and start rustling through a nearby cooler for a Coke. You hadn’t noticed the alternative drinks earlier. 

“So…turns out it’s kind of like a repeat rFriday night in here,” Eddie gestures to the chips and candies all poured out into separate bowls. 

“And I didn’t even have t-–”

“Hey – lost you!” Jake pops into the kitchen, faltering in surprise when he spots Eddie. “Hey…” 

Eddie lifts his cup in salute. 

Jake doesn’t return the gesture. He flickers his gaze back to you. You rase your can in a similar fashion, which he also doesn’t react to. 

“I came to find a drink – I don’t really want more beer...” you explain.

“Sure! Cool. Yeah. There’s whiskey around here somewhere if you want. I’ll–” 

“I’m good” 

He makes a face but ultimately shrugs like ‘cool-man-more-for-me-then!’

“So are you coming?” 

“No. I’m good,” you repeat this part. 

Jake makes a face of ill-comprehension. Sways in his feet.  Then he looks to Eddie. 

“...I think she’s good, dude,” Eddie shrugs like he’s clueless. 

“Lindsay said you’d want to come join...” 

Hah. 

Welp, she’s drunk. 

“That’s nice of her, but I’ll pass…”

“Um…yeah. Alright. Alright…” 

Jake lingers for a few more awkward moments and then shuffles away with a handful of snacks.  A little trail of M&Ms drop behind him. 

“Do you think you broke his heart?” Eddie asks with faux-concern and blinks wide eyes at you. 

“Oh I’m sure”

He shrugs and kicks the dropped M&Ms out of his way. 

“Never know …couldda been true love…”

“You’re hilarious”

You watch in the other room as Jake returns to the group none the worse for wear.  He is a nice guy …drunk and clueless at the moment, but generally nice enough anytime you’d crossed paths.  Maybe you should’ve at least participated in a little more conversation with him ….but he’d been ruining your ultimate plan of going unnoticed at this party. You’re normally so good at it. 

Well. Mostly. 

Your eyes slide to Eddie, who is an exception. 

He’s eyeing the living room, too, while he munches on some BBQ chips.  You make a mental note to get some at Bradley’s next week…is that silly? How you’re keeping tabs on what he likes so you can make him happy?  

That’s pretty normal friends stuff …it just doesn’t feel like friend stuff. Not with Eddie. 

You’re still having very non-friend feelings…which. Yeah. Is ridiculous considering he’d essentially just told you how and where to go to pick up guys. Other guys. Like you needed the advice. Which you probably do, but that’s a whole different thing … …he’s not supposed to have noticed that.

“I’m not, you know,” your defensive thoughts flare to life before you’ve thought it through fully. “You know,” you continue when Eddie turns a confused look at you. “Lonely and…”

Eh. 

Do you want to repeat it? 

Too late.

A slow smirk grows over Eddie’s face. 

“...lonely and innocent?” he finishes with a smile. 

Ughhh. This suddenly feels like a conversation that does require that weed after all …but you’d started this. 

“Mmhmm”

You stare at each other for a minute, and you know you’re blushing. 

“Well? Do tell, She-nderson,” Eddie cocks a hip on the counter and leans in. “Color me fascinated.” 

“There…was a guy…” 

Shit, now your story feels childish. 

“...from Hawkins?” he pulls a scandalized face. 

“No” 

“Ah. Makes sense…” he waves his hand all go-on-go-on. 

“...this feels stupid now.” 

“Bullshit,” Eddie throws up his hand. “Get me hooked just to leave me dangling — spill.” 

You laugh. 

“Alright, yeah – he’s a family friend. Or, you know, the son of a family friend,” you clarify. “We’ve gone on small trips with them for years and would go camping together a couple times every summer…” 

“Summer Love?” Eddie beams, and you worry he’s on the verge of a musical number, so you squash the notion. 

“No. Not in love…just…” 

“Summer lust?” he nods like this is just as good. 

“A little. Also …curiosity?” you laugh. “We…wanted to see what the big deal was?” you try to explain the general infatuation that had come over both of you. 

“That’s …scientific,” Eddie is trying to suppress a snicker, which is gentle of him.

“Sort of, yeah,” you go ahead and laugh. “We figured we were friends and trusted each other. So it was…nice.” 

Well.  Maybe not at first. It had been awkward and mechanical and you’d laughed in each other’s faces. And aso gotten flustered…and a little embarrassed, honestly. 

But then the two of you had figured out how to make it fun.

“...nice is good,” Eddie’s smile feels genuine, not mocking or condescending. 

You’re still blushing, though. 

Because this story is true and, yeah sure, maybe it means you’re not “innocent” …but that still doesn’t mean you know what to do with the boy in front of you. 

If he even wants you to do something with him…

Sometimes you think he does. The way he looks at your sometimes. The way he’s so interested in what you say and what you do. The way he so easily includes you… but that’s just it. It’s so easy for him. Like it’s habit. Like he’s just a nice guy and maybe you’re overthinking the whole thing. Just seeing what you want, that sort of thing. 

“Yeah,” you agree to get back out of your own head. “It was.” 

“So? – what happened with Romeo after?” 

“Romeo,” you scoff.  “He went to college last Fall…” 

“And are there love letters stashed under your pillows?” 

“No. He didn’t even come home over the summer, so no camping trip …he stayed on campus to take a class. And spend time with a girl…” 

“Aw, booo. Horrible ending!” 

“Shhh….it was just an experiment,” you shush him. “Besides…” your cheeks flame afresh. 

“...what?” 

“Nevermind” 

“What?! No. Tell me … … did you not get to have an orgasm?” he asks with some seriousness.

Good! Your cheeks can’t get any hotter now!

“No, I know how to – ugh!” you slap his arm. 

Eddie doesn’t bother to jump out of the way. 

“What? I had to guess! Come on…” 

“...his dad walked in on us the last time.” 

Eddie’s responding laughter is sudden and loud…and entirely expected. You flap a hand at him to make him pipe down. 

“Well, that’ll ruin it, huh?” he continues chortling. 

“Pretty much….” 

Only after Mr. Prince caught you did the pair of you have trouble making eye contact.  It was probably for the best Chris had stayed over at OSU….though admittedly you were a tad disappointed at the time. Kind of.

“What did your mom say? Wait – how does she still trust you so much?” Eddie sputters. 

“...no one told her.” 

Mr Prince had been stern but ultimately flustered and too embarrassed to say anything to your mom or, as far as you now, his own wife. 

Eddie cackles a little more. 

“...always a surprise, HendHerSon…” 

You roll your eyes. 

“No offense,” he adds, smile wide. 

“Whatever…”

But you’re a little pleased, all things considered.  Lindsay knew that story, naturally, but it was kind of fun to share an illicit secret with Eddie. 

“...what about you?” 

Eddie blanches, “what about me?” 

“Your first time ….come on. Are we not sharing?” 

He snorts. 

“I didn’t agree to that” 

“Lame, Munson…” 

He sighs and scratches at his chin. Studies you…and suddenly you feel inadequate.  Like your story is boring and…well, it kinda is. It definitely isn’t rock-and-roll. 

Eddie sighs again. 

“It was fun…but not as sweet as yours…” 

Sweet feels like it should be a diss, except his tone ensures that it’s not. 

“Well…as long as it was fun” 

He barks a short laugh. 

“It was” 

You’re happy to see he’s pink in the cheeks. 

The two of you fall quiet, then. Maybe because there’s not a lot of tame places for the conversation to go at the moment….

You do end up outside with Eddie a while later so he can have a smoke.  The cold of the night and the fact that the bonfire has been ill-tended has sent more people inside, so it’s not very crowded. 

In other words, it’s perfect.  

The music inside is still audible. In fact, Eddie is bopping to it right now and softly singing some of IntoThe Groove. 

“I thought you only liked Corroded Coffin’s version…” 

“Prefer,” he emphasized. “ I prefer ours….but I don’t live under a rock..” 

Eddie bops a little more enthusiastically just, you think, to prove a point. He even jostles your shoulder with his. “Cut it out,” you laugh him off and, involuntarily, your eyes dart toward some of the other people on the patio. They don’t appear to be paying attention. 

“Screw them,” Eddie mumbles, but you hear him just fine. 

“Yeah…” you feel a little foolish he’d spotted you. 

“Their opinions aren’t shit,” he shimmies closer, his chest pressed to your arm. 

“I know that”

“Then who cares what they think? Fuck them,” Eddie is oddly quiet but insistent. “They don’t matter.” 

“I know. I…” you consider how you feel about a majority of your classmates these days. “It’s not that I want them to approve of me or like what I do….I just don’t want them to notice me either way.” 

It’s easier that way. You’re happier; certainly calmer. 

…does it also prove you’re a giant loser? 

And could Eddie even understand? Eddie who lives out loud and shoves people’s banality in their face if offered a chance… 

Hmm. 

Eddie makes a considering face and leans out of your space to take a drag of his cigarette. 

“...there’s a difference,” you tell him. 

“Yeah,” he nods slowly. “I get that… …you should be seen, though.” 

There he goes! There he goes just being himself and saying things so casually like his words don’t hit you straight in the chest. 

You should be seen? 

You should be seen …what a flattering and somehow terrifying sentence he’d managed to string together. 

“Oh yeah?” you realize you have to say something, and that’s all you manage. 

“Mmhmm…” Eddie catches your eye. “You’re endlessly fascinating. I’m always trying to tell you…” 

And what should you even say to that?

 

Luckily you don’t have to figure it out. 

“You know,” Eddie seems to forget the music as he relaxes into the corner of the house where you’re hiding from the breeze. “Sometimes I have this crazy idea… …” 

“Okay,” you lilt your tone like a question so he knows he’ll need to be more specific.

“No, like…it might be legitimately crazy,” he shifts closer at your side and keeps his cigarette dangling down by his leg. “Incredibly wild, even…” 

You snort. 

“Alright. And?” 

“And if it’s crazy…that’s fine. Tell me so. Be brutally honest,” Eddie leans back so he can smack himself in the chest. “I’ll be able to take it…” 

“...getting a little nervous,” you confess even though, over all, you figure this is going to be something silly. 

“No, no – no nerves,” he shakes his head, ruffling his curls. “Just honesty. Promise?” 

“Sure”

“Promise?” he holds out a pinky. 

“Yes,” you laugh and loop your finger into his. 

He squeezes tight and uses the hold to make you lean in ever so slightly. 

“Sometimes …I think that I really want to kiss you…”

Oh.

Your heart swoops in excitement, and you somehow feel frozen…like you’re found out. Seen.

…and apparently this feeling takes too long to process. 

“...you’re freaking out,” Eddie leans back with a little nod. 

He’s still smiling, but there’s a tilt to his eyes that isn’t usually there. For as much as you always feel Eddie can read you so well, you have to admit you’ve gotten good at reading him, too. 

He’s worried. 

“I’m not!” you hurry to assure him. “Or maybe I am” – (you totally are!) – “But in a good way …”

“...yeah?” 

“Yeah”

“Oh thank fuck,” his shoulders loosen. “You had me going,” he sighs and lifts his cigarette for a last little drag before tossing it to the ground. “Not crazy?” he glances up to you. 

“No…not crazy…”

He tries poorly to contain a grin. You smile back. 

And all he does is watch you. 

Which is fine….

But confusing? 

“Do you…” you snort and roll your shoulders. 

“What?” 

“...are you not thinking about it right now?”

Because that swooping feeling hasn’t left your chest, and you are very much thinking about it. 

“Kissing you?” he chortles. “No, I’m thinking about it…I think about it a lot, actually,” he laughs a little more. “But I can’t right now.” 

Oh?

“...you can’t?” 

He chuffs and crosses his arms. 

“Right after I asked permission? No. It was kind of lame, if you didn’t notice. I can’t just go on and kiss you tonight…” 

You laugh to keep yourself from complaining. 

“It’s gotta be better than that. Gotta build the anticipation, ya know?” he grins along. 

Doesn’t he know the anticipation has already been building? For weeks? Months, probably… 

“Besides. Uh. Kissing the school Freak in public isn’t the best way to keep people from noticing you…” he eyes you carefully through his hair once he tells you this. 

And. Yeah.

Maybe he’s not wrong.

But Eddie’s the exception. 

“...you’re not a freak,” you tell him instead. 

His smile curls up higher on his face, but his eyes dart away.  Bashful. He does that more than one would think. You should probably say something more. Something reassuring. Should double-down on your assertion that he’s more than just some outcast in your eyes or –

One of the sliding doors to the patio opens, and someone stumbles out back.  You look over, and of course you recognize Lindsay. Of course it’s her right now. 

“Hey,” she takes a step in your direction, one hand on the glass door for stability. “I don’t think I feel great…” 

Shit. 

. So. Miss Lindsay has the world’s worst timing! Eddie shouldn’t be annoyed. He knows that, okay! It’s good she came and found a friend, blah, blah, blah. 

But shit was getting good with you out on the patio! Hell, the whole night had been a gold mine of quiet laughter, telling stories, and you choosing him…so sue him if he’s salty for it to end so abruptly. Gah!

Annoyance aside, he’d helped you get her out to your car, and now he’s following you home to make sure you can get her inside, too. You’d tried to tell him he didn’t need to, but Eddie knows a thing or two about drunk people and he knows Lindsay isn’t going to be in any better shape in 20 minutes. 

Indeed. She isn’t 

Eddie half-carries her up the front steps and steadies her while you unlock the door. She’s shuffling and mumbling all the way through the livingroom and down the hall despite you ‘shhhh-ing’ her. 

Eddie wonders if Lindsay has ever had a hangover before because woooo-boy, she sounds like she’s going to tomorrow. 

Soon you’re all piling into your room. 

Your room!

It’s a riot of color, and Eddie fucking loves it. 

He helps you deposit Lindsay on the bed and then starts surveying the place.

Not that he’s been picturing your bedroom (lie! He totally has) but he’d expected a soft place where you could be quiet and focus. Not because you’re boring or anything…just because you like calm and ease.

Joke’s on him. 

He should’ve known. The room makes so much fucking sense because it’s filled with your art.  Paintings. Drawings that look like they’re filled with colored pencil – others with markers. Sketches. Some collages. There’s a flimsy easel in the corner with some kind of work-in-progress on it. Your desk houses a clutter of sketches along with your math textbook, and he recognizes some of your “inspiration photos” propped up. 

Including the two he’d taken! 

Which is fucking weird because they aren’t great. He can feel his cheeks getting warm, and he twists a lock of hair and forces his eyes to look elsewhere…

A painting of a vase filled with blood red roses that appear to be melting catches Eddie’s eye, and he’s not even a flower guy. 

‘There’s beauty in the macabre and morbid, too,’ you’d once told him. 

Yeah.

“Eddie can you grab the trash can…” 

Ah shit. 

He’d been mostly ignoring you talking Lindsay into going to sleep, but she’s sitting back up now and you have a hand on her shoulder to keep her from listing sideways. Eddie snags the small garbage by your desk and shoves it in front of her. 

“M’fine…” 

“Take a few deep breaths just in case,” Eddie advises. 

“M’not gonna be sick…” 

Oh she’s going to be at some point. 

No doubts there. 

“Just in case, Linds…” 

“I’m not!” 

Awesome. An argumentative drunk. 

“Shhh….” 

“I jus’ wanted to have fun,” Lindsay throws her hands over her face. 

…or maybe a weepy drunk? 

“You did, Linds…” 

“I did?” 

“Totally” 

You manage to get her to start those deep breaths, then.

“Hey, what’s g—” the door to your room creaks open. “Eddie?” 

Dustin is standing in the doorway in sweatpants and a Gremlins t-shirt looking utterly bewildered to see his friend in his house after midnight. 

His eyes go wider once he surveys the rest of the room. 

“What the hell? Is she… …drunk?” he takes a guess with less than his usual confidence. 

“Shh!” you shush him with an angry wave of your hand. 

Eddie yanks Dustin into the room by the sleeve and  closes the door quietly behind him. 

“Yeah, dude – just be cool,” Eddie leads by talking softly.  

“Sure, yeah,” Dustin schools his face like this is, in fact, old hat. 

Except for the way his eyes keep darting back to Lindsay in surprised interest. Little Henderson is precious like that sometimes. 

“She’s fine”

Which, of course, is the moment Linday finally hurls into the trash can that she was so confident she wouldn’t be needing.. 

“Aw – sick! Ugh, s–”

Eddie clamps a hand over Dustin’s mouth before you have a chance to angry-hush him again. Just to be safe, he hustles him out the door and across the hall to the other room with a light on. 

“What happened to playing it cool?” Eddie chides as he closes the door behind them. 

“Vomit is gross,”Dustin defends himself. “Why do people even drink?”

Woof. That feels like a conversation fraught with landmines. 

“...I dunno, man.” 

Dustin scoffs. 

“Were you drinking?”

“I had a beer” 

Or two. But that’s not Freshmen level business. 

“...were you guys at your place again?” 

Now that Dustin isn’t distracted by drunk Lindsay, his eyes are narrowed and he’s looking a little too shrewd for Eddie’s liking. 

Ugh. 

“Nah, not this time. I just ran into them…” 

“Ran into them where?” 

“Whoa, what’s with the inquisition?” Eddie tries to brush him off and starts getting a good look around. 

Unlike your room, this one is about what he’d have expected.  Lots of nerdy tchotchkes Eddie wouldn’t mind a second look at. Some photos. Some shit that looks like it’s made from Erector Set pieces. 

“Ran. Into. Them. Where?” Dustin insists. 

“Just some party out at Loch Nora,” Eddie sticks with the truth. 

It’s easiest to keep straight. Besides, it’s actually kind of hard to lie to Little Henderson. He’s a stickler for the details. Best to only bend the truth if necessary. 

“Ew – with those kids?!” he goes full judgmental.

Hah!

“Aren’t you still in love with Harrington? He’s, like, King of the Fancy House Brigade,” Eddie reminds him. 

“He’s different,” Dustin jabs a finger into the air. 

Ugh. 

“So I hear…” 

And Eddie still can’t quite make that compute, honestly. You’ve backed up your brother’s claims, but it’s just not right. Not natural.  It doesn’t fit.

“...so what were those two doing at a party anyway?” Dustin gets back on track like he is wont to do.

Little fucker. 

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just hanging out…” 

“...did you invite them?” 

Oh, that’s rich! And is there an accusation in Little Henderson’s tone? Eddie isn’t sure how to feel about that. Not for nothing, but Dustin generally acts like he likes Eddie more than you (it’s a crock, but he goes out of his way to give the impression).  

“Nope. Total coincidence” 

Dustin is looking him over. Scrutinizing. Then he eyes the door like he wants to barge back across the hall and check this against your story. He doesn’t. He’s too busy thinking, apparently. Calculating. 

In lieu of further questions Eddie keeps perusing. 

A large Walkie Talkie by Dustin’s bed catches his interest, an–

Dustin clears his throat. 

“What are your intentions with my sister?” 

Come again!

Eddie spins to find Dustin is wearing a stern face now, and he has both arms crossed over his chest. Ooookay. Mission failure. Definitely left him to his thoughts for way too long. 

“Christ…” 

“I’m not stupid, you know” 

Yeah. 

Yeah, okay. That’s fair. 

He’s not stupid. Maybe Eddie should’ve been expecting this.  Actually. Scratch that.  He sort of had been expecting some sort of fuss after Dustin found out you were hanging at his place with him and the guys. He’d assumed it would be something along the lines of “Ew, man – why?!” 

He hadn’t expected an actual interrogation. Nothing…protective? Is that what’s going on here? Because Eddie could take Dustin – easy. Surely Dustin myst recognized that.

“I know you aren’t, but –”

“Good,” Dustin cuts him off. “Because I see what’s going on. And…well. Y ou know how much I like you and respect you…” 

“C’mon, dude,” Eddie appeals with a sigh. “Don’t say anything that’s going to embarrass us both…” 

Please. Just no. 

Don’t do it. 

Dustin thrusts out a palm before Eddie can protest further. Glares up at him. 

“This is my job…now are you going to shut up?” 

Ugh. 

Fucking fine. 

“Sure” 

“Thank you. Now. As I was saying,” he plows on in a very Dustin-ly and self-important fashion. “I like you…and you are much cooler than her, so frankly I don’t know what you’re even thinking…” 

“We’re–”

“But,” Dustin overrides again. “Family. Ya know?” 

Uh. Sort of. 

“Yeah”

“Good. Because she’s still my sister, and boring or not – I choose her” 

That’s actually pretty cute.

“...over me?” Eddie can’t help but heckle. “Over D&D?  Over Hellfire?” 

Dustin looks pained about it, truth be told. 

“Yes…which is why I’m telling you to be nice. That’s all I ask. It shouldn’t be too fucking hard.” 

“Jesus Henderson…” 

Going hard now. You know…by Freshie standards. 

“Things don’t work out?” Dustin shrugs theatrically. “Fine. Young love. C’est la vie…” 

“Now we’re in French?” 

Maybe Eddie has rubbed off on the little dingus too much. 

“Just be nice about it,” he ignores Eddie entirely. “Because if you disrespect her or hurt her or make her cry … …I will have to make you disappear.” 

Eddie waits, but Dustin seems perfectly serious about this declaration. 

Which is some harsh shit. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. 

“...you know I could beat the snot out of you, right?” he checks because it feels imperative to have that highground. 

“See, you’d think so…but I’m a scientist,” Dustin smiles innocently. Too innocently. “Which means I could do it – if I wanted to. You wouldn’t ….even…see. It. Coming.” 

Whoa. 

“Damn…” 

And, ya know. It’s not like Eddie is quite buying it, but still. Respect for even going there. 

“Science,” Dustin wiggles his fingers in a tah-dah way. 

One last flourish. 

“...for the record, I do respect her,” Eddie throws that on the table. “I like her a lot, and…well. I don’t know what we’re doing yet, b–”

“Ew, don’t,” pretense falls and Dustin pulls a face. 

Eddie grins. 

“What? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say after that?” he waves his hand at Dustin. “The Shovel Talk, or whatever?”

“I dunno,” the younger boy shrugs. “My first one…” 

“Yeah? You practice it, big guy?” Eddie ruffles Dustin’s hair. 

He grumbles. 

Eddie takes that as a “yes” and he’s not sure why he feels a little proud. 

“...did I do okay?” 

Ugh! This dork is the best. The absolute actual best. 

“Yeah”

“Yeah?” he smiles wide. 

“Uh-huh…started off a little warm and fuzzy there, but you pulled it together. Got fuckin’ dark…” 

Dustin chortles and Eddie can’t help joining him. 

“Seriously, tough,” Dustin’s proud glee disappears without warning. “Don’t be a dickwad.” 

Eddie wavers, too. 

“I hear you…” 

“Cool,” Dustin’s smiling again. 

“...we good?” 

“Yeah. Totally.” 

“Good. Now. Tell me – is this Little Susie?” Eddie inches toward the photo on Dustin’s desk. 

Dustin doesn’t mind, and they kill a few minutes talking about her and some little radio they’re trying to repair together long distance. 

Eddie excuses himself once the radio talk winds down. It’s late and he should probably just make sure you girls are good and head out. 

He knocks lightly on your door before letting himself in. 

“Hey,” you come to meet him near the door. 

Music is playing quietly, and Lindsay is curled up on the edge of the bed in a hoodie she hadn’t been wearing earlier. 

“She’s alright?” 

“Mmhmm – thanks for distracting Dustin…” 

“Sure, sure” 

Eddie shoves his hands in his coat pockets. He wants to keep inspecting every inch of your room, but it’s definitely time to bail. Besides, e might get an invite back if he keeps playing his cards right.

“It’s weird,” you whisper, and he finds you watching him. “That you’ve never been in here before…” 

“I was just thinking that,” he grins. 

“I’m so comfortable at your place, and this is only your second time over…” 

Something warm seeps through Eddie’s chest when you say this. Nevermind that he could have guessed you like his place since you keep coming over…it feels grounding to hear. Like this evening is natural.

“Well, I’ll be back,” he promises. “...and I like your room.”

Your eyes alright, and you nibble at your lip to try hiding the smile. 

“Thanks...” 

“Is your mom gonna flip about…”  he casts a last glance at Lindsay.

“I don’t think so,” you look over at her, too. “I was safe and drove her home. She might lecture a little, but…she feels for Lindsay. And she’d kind of rather be a soft place to land instead of another adult me and my friends need to hide from. You know?” 

Soft place to land. 

No wonder you have a knack for spotting those. 

“That’s good…” 

Then you’re ushering him out, and Eddie tries not to think it’s a bummer. 

“Thank you for helping,” you speak at a normal volume once you’re both outside on the front stoop. 

“Ah. Yeah…wasn’t anything…” 

He’s met far more annoying drunks. Plus, he’ got a little insight into your world for his trouble. Not much to complain about. 

“Sure it was …I’m glad you happened to be out tonight. 

Fuck but so is he. 

Who knows when the right moment would’ve come up to confess this crush he’s harboring. In a way…he thinks he’d known you would be on the same page. The looks you share. All those conversations. It just felt like there had to be something more. Right? 

He just hadn’t wanted to risk a chance he’d been projecting. Seeing what he wanted just because he’s so into you. Getting caught in his thoughts, of which he has so many

“Me, too,” he smiles. “All the gin joints in all the world, or something, huh?” 

“Look at you – that’s not even a horror flick,” your smile is playful. 

“Ha-ha,” he mock-laughs along. “I’m more sophisticated than I look. 

“Yeah, I guess you are…” 

Ooof. The way you’re looking at him, your eyes crinkled and biting at your lip again… he could frame that. 

Nope! Don’t be weird. 

“Well I guess I’ll get g–” 

 Before Eddie can back off of the front step, you lean in …loop a finger in his wallet chain …and tug him forward.  He looks down to watch you do it and obeys your light pull easily. 

Then his vision is all clouded up in you.

You step forward to meet him in those last inches. You’re craning up. Your face is right there. 

In his space. 

In his air. 

He knows what’s coming. 

Somehow your lips on his still manage to feel like a surprise. 

You bump against him, so Eddie flattens his hand against your back to steady you before his mind even wraps around the facts. 

You are kissing him. 

On the mouth. 

Not the hair or hand, which he had snuck in before. Half-joking moves. Cheap. Fucking bullshit in comparison. 

You are warm and soft and – fuck. 

He’s not even kissing you back?!

Eddie’s circuits come back online, and he presses into you just before you retreat. He follows your warmth when you lean back to stand flat. 

Your eyes look big this close up. They’re dancing. 

“...that was okay?” 

“Was it okay?” his eyes widen. 

What a… what a ridiculous question! Why would you ask? Maybe his stupid face is doing something it shouldn’t. 

“Well…I hoped it wouldn’t be lame as long as I was the one to start it,” you grin. 

Lame. 

Oh! So you’ve got jokes right now. 

Eddie drops his forehead onto yours and heaves a breathy chuckle. 

“Not lame…” 

“No?” you beam. 

“Uh-uh..” 

You tilt your face up to steal another kiss – only it’s not stealing, right? Eddie is ready this time and moves with you to slot his mouth against yours.  When your lips part, he licks in. Eager now. 

(Well. Eager always.) 

You hum in response…a moan, maybe.  Are you moaning? 

Jesus H. 

He tightens his arm around your back to haul you closer and clenches his fist into your sweater. His other hand is cupping your jaw.  Keeping you close. 

So close. 

He knows you can’t get carried away on your front porch of all places, but damn. Damn it, there’s no such thing as close enough. 

“Definitely not lame…” you mumble against his lips, ducking your chin just enough to catch a breath. Two. 

Eddie is sure he has no need for such trivial shit as air. So he only nods mutely and tilts your face back to kiss you more. 

You’re smiling. He can feel it. 

He smiles back despite this most serious business. 

“Eddie…” 

“Hmmm?”

“...you were leaving. Remember?” 

“You stopped me” 

You laugh. Then your hands wind further around his waist, lighting his spine on fire as your fingers crawl up, up, up…

Yes, this is totally your fault.

The porch light flashes on and off several times, and you both jolt. 

“...tell me that’s Dustin and not my mom…” you squeeze your eyes shut.

Sure as shit. 

He can see Dustin’s face pressed up to the window. He points to Eddie, then drags a finger across his neck. 

Eddie smirks because it’s hard to find Dustin’s warnings at all intimidating when he’s busy being so fucking delighted.  Besides, he is being respectful – you’d started this; he’s just reciprocating the gesture. 

“...kiss me again and he’ll go away.” 

You snicker as he pushes his hand up your jaw and into your hair, but you let him tug you in for the kiss. 

Probably a last kiss. 

For now, that is. Eddie has big intentions to pick this up again ASAP. 

If the warm slide of your tongue against his made his nerves funny, it’s nothing to the way you suck a little on his lip when you pull away. That zings straight to his gut …and lower. 

Oh yeah. 

Real big plans. 

“Christ. You’re gonna kill me…” 

“Never,” you whisper. 

Hah. Sure. Tell it to his hardon, babe. 

He has half a mind to shove one of your hands to the crotch of his jeans to prove it.  To make sure you know just what he’s going to die from …but that’s just his dramatic side talking. 

Think of other shit, dirtbag. 

Of Vecna. 

Of Lucas’s basketball team. 

Of Jake Matanski trying to get you a drink…

Yup. That does it

“So you say,” Eddie keeps his disagreement simple as he lets his hands slide from around you. 

You crank your neck to quickly check over your shoulder for Dustin, but he’s already disappeared. 

“I’ll kill him slowly when I get inside,” you promise when you turn back around, all innocent eyes even as you vow retribution. 

You haven’t removed your hands from him yet, and you sadly realize it now. You step back. Some heat leeches off of Eddie when you do. 

 It should be illegal. 

“Nah, don’t – it’ll fuck up my campaign, ya know?” 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” 

Eddie laughs because: fuck no!

Buuuut he doesn’t think he’s supposed to mention Dustin’s little chat – at least, not yet. Not unless it becomes trouble. Dustin’s threats had been at least half funny, but there had been a true sentiment behind it all…and Eddie is pretty sure he respects it.

“Well...you kissed me again, so it’s not like he fucked this up or anything. I think we can let him live.” 

“...this, huh?” you grin. 

Eddie nods and takes that first step off the porch now. 

“This…” 

They can hash out the details of that later.  For now, he’ll just drive home thinking about your mouth. And your other soft parts all pressed up against his front. 

“Goodnight”

“Night” 

If he maybe, possibly does a little hop-skip to his van, well.  That’s entirely his business. 

[ohwynne]

TIMING: Before Rhett kidnapped Ariadne, and recently after the vampire kidnapping, so like early August. PARTIES: Rhett @ironcladrhett & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: Emilio's apartment SUMMARY: Wynne wants to drop off some food at Emilio's door, but is surprised when Rhett opens the door. The two meet officially. It's cute. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Food was one of the basic requirements, so it seemed only logical to Wynne that they continuously flocked to creating it in moments of crisis. Despite their appetite being hard to find, they still had that incessant need to busy their hands. To do something. And there wasn’t much that worked except getting in that tiny kitchen and creating. To remind themself that they were alive, because they needed food, because they were around people who needed it.

After an evening of stress-cooking their way through the empty hours, they were left with containers of thick, aromatic soup that they now had to get rid of. Not that they were lacking. Some of them were stuffed in their fridge, for Zack, Arden and Sully, as well as the steady flow of visitors. And then a few were carried through the hallway towards Emilio’s door past sundown. 

They weren’t sure if they should knock, or if they should just leave it with the note they’d already written. In their hesitation, they loitered, thoughts stuck on Emilio. Revisiting memory, twisting themself in doubt and crouched in front of that door, they ended up looking more like a paranoid thief in the night than a kindly neighbor. When it opened, they jumped up, tupperware clattering against the floor. Wide eyes met those of a stranger – one with a large beard and a lot more height than they had. “Oh!” Eyes flicked to the apartment number. This was the right one. “Evening.” Wynne tried to push the containers to the side with their foot. “I was just … dropping off some things.”

—

Half the time, Rhett didn’t even announce that he was coming over, instead surprising Emilio , sometimes to the slayer’s chagrin. Didn’t bother him when his little brother bitched, though—was his damn right to drop in whenever he wanted. Not like Emilio had anything to hide, anyway.

Tonight had been one of those nights, with the warden feeling unusually down and out and craving company, even if that company gave him hell all the time. But Emilio wasn’t home when he got there, so he just shrugged it off and figured he’d hang about until the man got home, assuming he must have been out cracking a fucking case or whatever the hell it was he did with that side business of his. 

There was a sound outside the door, and after a few seconds of waiting for his brother to enter without results, the warden clicked off his phone screen and pocketed the device as he got to his feet and walked up to the front door. Opening it to see a young person crouched there with tupperwares in their hands was not quite what he expected, and it showed in the surprised expression that settled over his grizzled face. They jumped up from the floor, dropping the container in the process, but it remained shut, thankfully. 

Brow raised, Rhett let his gaze dance between them and whatever they’d dropped. “Literally, I see,” he joked, letting a smile spread across his face. There was no buzz in his head warning him of the presence of fae, and as he thought about it, those containers looked familiar. “You must be… the one always bringin’ food over, eh?” Shit, what was the name Emilio had used…? “.... Wynne? That right? M’Rhett.” He stepped back, gesturing for them to come in. “Go on, then. Just me here right now, ‘fraid. Milio’s out doin’... god knows what. Waitin’ for him to get back.”

—

The other smiled and Wynne forced themself to breathe a little easier, to not feel the need to turn on their heel and scatter to the door of their own apartment. Not every situation was one where they were a deer in headlights. Not every kind stranger could be a vampire with the potential to rip open their neck the way Zane had. And besides, this person came from Emilio’s place. Emilio, who they trusted intrinsically by now.

And yet the instinct of fear hadn’t fully left them, blood pumping in their ears and their fingers feeling somewhat useless as they moved to pick up the containers. Wynne became very aware of their bare throat now as they raised to their full height again, fingers digging into the plastic of their tupperware. “Yes, that’s me. Wynne. Always bringing over food.” 

So this was Rhett, the brother that Emilio had spoken off as they’d discussed their own family. I don’t know if you’d like him, he’d said, and Wynne thought of that statement as the other introduced himself, inviting them into the space they had entered only a handful of times. Their M.O. was just dropping the food on the doorstep, after all, knowing that someone would pick it up sooner or later.

“His brother, right?” They gave a polite smile and moved into the apartment, looking at the tall, bearded man over their shoulder. Funny. He reminded them a bit of Rhys, and not just because of the similarity in name, but that beard too. Wynne glanced around the empty space, feeling like an intruder as they tried to look as normal as possible when approaching the fridge. “Is Perro not here? And that’s okay, I tend to just … drop it off. Not in that literal sense. I’m … skittish, I guess.” They tried to tack a laugh onto that statement as they opened the fridge door while balancing the previously-fallen meal.

—

“Ah, mentioned me, has he? Sure he only had mean things t’say,” Rhett responded with a snort, knowing the way his brother talked about him to others… These days especially. Something between them had changed, he just couldn’t figure out what exactly it was… aside from the obvious. They’d lost their family, sure, but this wasn’t that. He’d spent enough time with Emilio after the fact to know that they’d still shared a strong bond, even if they were both miserable. But since they’d been apart for a couple years, since he’d found his little brother here in this godforsaken town, even that had felt different. 

He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t much to do about it. It wasn’t like either of them were about to open up about their feelings. They didn’t do that kind of thing.

“Oh, the mutt’s here, somewhere. Sleepin’, I assume.” He and the dog didn’t exactly get along, they merely tolerated one another. Plus, if the animal needed to go out and Rhett didn’t take it, it would take a dump on Emilio’s floor, and that would be funny. 

“Skittish? Guess that makes sense, in a place like this.” Whether he meant the sketchy, dilapidated building or the general aura that was Wicked’s Rest was anyone’s guess. Cocking his head to the side, he crossed his arms over his chest as he watched them put the food in the fridge. “... how’d ya meet Milio, anyway? He never told me.”

—

“He said that you were brothers. Because you grew up together.” And that Wynne wouldn’t like him, which kept nagging at the back of their mind, because that had been such an off-hand comment and thus far, the bearded hunter had done little to make them dislike him. To be fair, this interaction had only lasted for a minute or so and their standards were rather low.

They nodded. “Oh, cute. He’s a funny guy.” Not a mutt. Or maybe he was, but that wouldn’t be something Wynne would use in a derogatory way. 

After closing the fridge (it was easy to fit the food in there, considering the lack of anything in there), they turned towards the other. Emilio had explained he was a hunter too, so maybe there was no need for beating around any bushes. Still, they felt a little uneasy trying to recall the initial meeting with Emilio.

“Well, I was hiking in the woods. And there was something behind me, and it was ustras? They were onto both of us, so we kind of kept running when we came across each other, and then he set them aflame.” They shrugged. “I mean, after I stabbed it. A little. And then after we found out we were neighbors.” Wynne wondered if that was a good summary. “And we kind of kept interacting after that.”

—

“Aye. Met ‘im when he was knee-high to a cricket,” Rhett explained rather unhelpfully, though he did wear an affectionate smile as he said it. “The rest of that clan, too. Good family. Good people.” His thoughts threatened to turn to his sister-in-law and his niece, so he cleared his throat and pushed through the memories. “Stayed with ‘em a good long while in Mexico.” Twenty years, give or take. He’d thought his road had ended there. He’d nearly let go of his obsession with finding Mariela. 

Nearly.

“Ustras, aye? Choice.” He laughed. “Ya stabbed one? Good on ya! Everyone oughtta keep stabbin’ utensils on ‘em at all times, I say. Never know when y’might run into a beastie.” He eyed Wynne, looking curious. Obviously not fae, and if they were chummy with Emilio, then surely not undead. Probably not a shifter, or they’d know better than to hang around a hunter. Unless they were a really stupid shifter. 

He hoped not. He liked them.

“Well! Good tah meet ya officially, n’ I’m ‘fraid you’ll be seein’ my ugly mug ‘round here quite a bit more,” he chuckled. “By the by, food you cook’s fuckin’ aces, mate. Dunno if Milio ever told ya, he ain’t mannered like that.” He paused. “He always ends up givin’ me some,” he added, not wanting them to think he was eating all of it. Even if he kind of was… him and Nora, anyway.

—

They blinked at that. Family, he said — that insinuated there had been more people there, ones that Rhett too knew. Wynne thought about the wife Emilio had spoken of, of the few hints they’d gotten of his childhood. “Must be nice to see each other again.” They punctuated their statement with a bit of a smile. They imagined Iwan coming here, to Wicked’s Rest and then they told themself not to think about such stupid things. “Have you been in town long?”

Eyes widened in surprise and they found themself echoing that laughter, partly out of nervousness and partly because there was something infectious about it. “I mean, he did all the other work, it was just in the foot but — I guess it felt good.” Wynne thought about the knife they’d lost when the vampires had cornered them. “It does seem smart. Ever since he got me one I’ve had to use it a few times. This town’s just full of weird things, huh?” He probably knew about all that more than them.

“It’s nice to meet you too s—” The sir was omitted, as it felt very much out of place here. “Rhett.” Wynne beamed at the compliment, shrugging. “It helps me relax. And I don’t know, I kinda owe him, and he seems like he needs it, right? I figured out he was sharing a while back, so I just make more. But thanks.” Their lips tightened. “I mean. Appreciated.” Not that the other was fae — they just didn’t want to seem like the type who kept using that word despite all the warnings. 

—

Seeing Emilio again in this town wasn’t exactly what Rhett would call nice, but he couldn’t expect anyone else to understand that. It hadn’t even been nice to find him back in Etla after days of tracking him from the scene of the massacre. He’d been relieved, sure. Relieved but fraught with grief, and anger, and… too many things to really process at the time. And this year, stumbling upon his little brother in a place he’d never have expected to find him was neither a warm reunion, nor a reunion that either of them seemed to want. Not… not in the way folks would assume, anyway. Rhett knew it was challenging for him to be around, now. That it was a reminder of things lost, and that Emilio’s desire to get himself killed taking out the rest of those vampires was made far more complex by the warden’s presence. 

So no, it wasn’t nice, per se, but that wasn’t something Wynne needed to know. 

“Aye. Been a real hoot,” he answered with a soft smile in return. “And yer damn right ‘bout that. Critter count in this place ain’t like nothin’ I’ve ever seen. Sure, human folks outnumber ‘em a great deal, but still. Ya normally get, what… a handful in any given town? This place be a damn breedin’ ground fer trouble.”

“Aye, that he does. Dunno how he fuckin’ gets around with the way he eats… or doesn’t. Pity. I do got methods fer trickin’ him into it, though.” There was a pause, and he gave them a curious look. “You been in town very long? Wonderin’... if ya work somewhere in the neighborhood, mighta seen someone I’m lookin’ fer, actually.”

—

“It does seem like there’s a lot more in this town,” they said, trying to sound like someone who had definitely lived in a normal town before. And they had, just not for more than a few weeks at a time. Wynne’s hand moved to their neck, tracing their stitches. Trouble seemed right. Whatever they’d had at home, there had never been vampires. Or creatures wanting to eat fingers or honking so loud they could make you pass out. “Emilio said you were also a hunter? That’s pretty cool.” 

It was hard not to think of Iwan now, the concept of him showing up in town. If he did, it would most likely be bad news — but Wynne couldn’t help but imagine it anyway, a reality where just he showed up. No agenda. Just an embrace and reunion. They wondered if he was mad with them, for having left, but then Iwan had always gotten on better with their mother and even the cousins. One thing they did know: he’d be welcomed in their place, the same way Rhett seemed to be in Emilio’s.

“What kind of tricks? I like to think me dropping off the food helps, but I’m not sure.” They shrugged. “Since January, so not that long? I work at one of the coffee shops, though — a Latte to Love? A lot of people come through there.” Wynne tried to give a small, confident smile. “Who’re you looking for?”

—

Ah, so they were privy to all that, then. “Cool?” he asked, a little surprised. That wasn’t the typical reaction. “Ahh… sure! Fanged bloodsuckers ain’t really my specialty, though. More suited fer huntin’ fae. Tricky little shits, they are. Not a good idea fer regular folks to deal with ‘em… other hunters, neither. Use your own mind against ya, they will.” He tapped a finger to his temple, smirking. 

“Turnin’ it into a competition usually works,” he explained. “Little shit’s always lookin’ to out-do me. Classic lil’ brother rubbish.” Thinking for a moment, Rhett knew it was probably a long shot, but… “Well, her name’s Mariela,” he explained, picturing her in his mind and finding it to be… unpleasant, to put it nicely. “She’s ‘bout… this tall,” he motioned to something resembling five foot three, “has dark hair n’ eyes that look almost golden.” A beat. “Would look somewhere between thirty n’ forty, but mighta had someone with ‘er that was closer t’you in age.” Fae aging was different, of course, and there was no doubt in his mind that Mariela would, at this point, look much more youthful than he did. “She had a birthmark on ‘er neck, pale spot that looked kinda like Maui.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anyone like that ringin’ a bell?”

—

Oh, so he was a hunter for fae. Wynne thought of the few fae they knew – Teagan, Cass, Regan and maybe that Sián woman – and wondered if they should be more wary of them. If they should warn them about this hunter. They also thought of Beau. He seemed malevolent. “Oh, right. There are different types, right? Of hunters. I don’t really think I’m equipped to deal with any of them. Vampires or fae.” But they could befriend the latter, though that went unsaid.

Iwan and them had been competitive sometimes, Wynne recalled. He’d often outsmarted them, but they had always been the fastest, on land and in water. “Ha, brothers, right?” The comment was devoid of anything, but it was something. “I don’t think it’d work for me, though. To try and compete.” 

Their brows creased in thought as the other went on. They saw a lot of people at work, and though not a lot of them stood out, there were a few that stuck in their mind. The memory of a young mother with a child about their age with golden eyes did resurface now. It had been at the beginning of their job, and they’d asked a ton of questions Wynne couldn’t answer — which was probably because they remembered. Failure stuck to them like permanent glue. “I made a drink for a woman with that name, yes … in February? I think. She was, um … asking about the State Park? I was very new to town, so I didn’t know, but she kept asking things about it. The things that were there. And there was someone my age, who wanted to know about … something called a secret menu, which we don’t have.” Apparently that was a thing, which they thought was ridiculous. Not relevant, though. “My colleague helped her with the questions, ‘cause I didn’t really know.”

—

“Aye. Slayers like my idiot brother, rangers, n’ wardens.” He lifted a brow. “Careful ‘round wardens, kiddo. We’re a weird bunch,” he warned in good humor. His good mood seemed to fade a bit as they confirmed their interaction with Mariela, or who they assumed was Mariela—not that long ago, asking about the state park. Made sense, if she was looking for an aos sí to hide in. And she had someone with her, someone young. Curious. The answer, of course, was obvious, but things as they were, Rhett left enough room for the possibility that it was just a friend or caretaker. He wasn’t entirely sure how well he’d handle the alternative. 

“Mm, that’s helpful. ‘Preciate it. Well, don’t let me take up anymore ‘ah yer time,” he conceded gracefully, for once in his life. “Will let the ol’ grouch know ya dropped off more vittles. And… I appreciate what you’re doin’ for him. Don’t tell him I said that, though. Got a reputation to keep, n’ all.” It wasn’t clear if he was joking or not, so Wynne would probably do well to just honor his request. Anyway, the most important thing on his  mind right now was sampling some of that food they’d brought… then maybe scouring the state park for the afternoon. Priorities! 

[psychewritesbs]

When Opposites Attract, part 2: Turning Point

Listen. Gundam Seed, Athrun and I are all having turning points. 

For Athrun, he finally gets some character development. 

As for me and Seed? Well we’re making peace with each other because I must admit that I like melodrama. I am soooo not above melodrama. So I am going to go ahead and stfu about Gundam Seed’s melodramatic plot because... 

Here I am... because #blorbo. 

It is, after all, a known fact that I have a tendency to self-insert my own psyche into male deuteragonists with black hair and green eyes. It’s like my brand.

This time I’m nitpicking at GS episodes 26-30 for juicy asucaga and individual character development. I am officially insufferable...

So the last time we saw Athrun and Cagalli together in a scene they were parting ways in much different terms than when they first met each other. Having humanized each other after exchanging names, Athrun and Cagalli parted ways most likely assuming their Gundanium Alloy chance encounter was a once in a lifetime kind of encounter.

Meaning, they likely thought they’d never run into each other.

Oh but little did Athrun and Cagalli know that the 8 writers in the Gundam Seed writing staff had #plans for them and that they would bend the plot as needed to unfold their potential as the fantastic ship that they are.

Athrun

And so it is how In chapter 26 we get the very melodramatic exchange between Athrun and Kira meant to remind us that these two kids are really good friends. And, you know, this all happens just before they try to kill each other.

So in this little exchange we get to finally see the internal conflict that Athrun is having around this whole situationship with Kira. 

Part of the reason this conflict exists is because Athrun is not just a soldier, but is also incredibly and stupidly single-minded. 

Basically, Athrun is told by his superiors that “enemy = bad, must kill”, and Athrun goes “understood, enemy = bad, must kill.”. No questions asked.

But again, that’s one of the things I like about how Athrun is written. 

This kid has an ease with “logic” and mechanics that does not necessarily translate into the realm of “irrational emotions”. This is ESPECIALLY poignant because, since he’s been a soldier most of his life, he’s used to being told what to do and to blindly following those directions.

The thing to keep in mind is that it’s not just that the military suits Athrun’s personality. It’s a bit more complex than that as he’s also following in the steps of a distant father figure whose approval he might seek unconsciously. 

So in a sense, the military = dad and it makes me feel like there’s something very Oedipal at the core of Athrun having to defy his father.

Athrun has been told he MUST kill the Strike’s pilot if he wants to protect the PLANTs. 

But at this point in the story, Athrun has not begun to think for himself or to wonder whether blindly following directions is the smartest thing to do.

So when Cagalli approaches him and Kira in that scene, Athrun literally and symbolically turns his back on his heart and walks away from them. He leaves Kira behind because not only does he see the world in neat boxes where everything can be easily explained, the logical course of action is that Kira has chosen the wrong side of the war and that makes him an enemy by default.

Enemy = bad, must kill.

Any other narrative outside of this statement is uncharted territory that Athrun has been encouraged never to consider by the mere fact that he’s a soldier.

Now, I did love how dramatic this interaction is for asucaga. As soon as Athrun notices Cagalli is headed their way, he turns around so as to not be seen. After all, she had expressed to him already that she didn’t want him to hurt others with his Gundam... which is totally what he ends up doing.

So he walks away totally emotionally constipated torn between his heart (which he can’t comprehend because it’s illogical) and the blind obedience that is and/or has become part of his character.

Athrun has the kind of cold logic devoid of “conscience” that can be very dangerous. But as Athrun opens up emotionally and starts questioning both his logic and the authorities he was taught to obey, Athrun symbolically introduces the idea of the heart as “Conscience”. 

But alas, we have not had enough character development for that because most of the budget was spent animating boob jiggle in the openings, smexy shower scenes, and Kira crying. 

No mam/sir/whatever label you prefer. We’re halftheway through the show and Athrun has had about as much character development as a goldfish. No offense to goldfish.

So before Athrun can get to that turning point, well... in a fit of rage after witnessing Kira killing Nicol... Athrun does THE #thing...

Enemy = bad, must kill. 

And this is where we leave things off with Athrun before he meets up with Cagalli, who is going through some actual character development, once again.

So let’s look at Cagalli’s growth and where she meets Athrun in the middle as she becomes his impetus for development.

Cagalli

A number of things.

First, I have to add a very important quality about Cagalli I did not mention before. Even though I love calling her a Princess (because she is a literal Princess and behaves like one), the fact that Cagalli chose to go out and learn about the world beyond the safe confines of her lifestyle is so metaphorically Siddhartha.

Siddhartha is a Prince who is better known as Buddha for renouncing to the worldly riches available to him so that he could learn about the world and seek enlightenment. 

Not saying Cagalli is enlightened per se, but rather that she represents that budding light of consciousness that comes from expanding one’s horizons.

And I absolutely loved how when her father told her “you don’t know anything about the world,” and Cagalli basically said “watch me!” and put herself in circumstances that grew her as a person.

In episode 27, Turning Point, in an attempt to dissuade her from joining the Archangel as they battle ZAFT forces, this time her father challenges her to try to think of the causes of war instead of focusing on the symptom--fighting.

Clearly her dad’s words encouraged the kind of introspection that led to choosing not to join the Archangel like she initially intended to. But this wouldn’t have been possible if she had not been changed by what she’s seen. 

Is fighting going to get anyone anywhere when all that comes from it is an endless cycle of hatred and death, thus feeding into the cycle of senseless conflict?

When she finally understands this, she decides to stay behind. The Goddess of Victory is grounded until further notice because the writers needed Cagalli to be the one who rescues Athrun she has to think through how to end this war without fighting.

This is how thanks to that thick ass plot armor, Athrun and Cagalli have their second “fated” encounter.

The thing is that now that Athrun has done the #thing, he is finally ready to start to ask himself what he wants to fight for (as opposed to someone telling him who and why to fight) precisely because he came to realize that his logic led him astray--and the one who shows him the new way is Cagalli.

“Kira was a crybaby”

Cagalli rescues Athrun and brings him abroad her Orb ship where, unlike Dearka abroad the Archangel, he is treated with utmost respect as Cagalli’s guest.

Something that even Athrun snarks about remarks.

Honestly, this interaction was a pain to get through because it’s so over the top melodramatic... But HEY! The power of #blorbo and #otp compelled me so I march on.

Anyways...

Athrun is emotionally distraught--he’s like on “crazy person distraught by grief” mode. 

It’s kind of interesting to see the difference in how Athrun and Kira react differently to their trauma. Kira cries and Athrun represses.

As @ikuzeminna​ rather eloquently put it, Athrun is emotionally constipated af and acts accordingly.

So Athrun gets all Snarky McSnark and taunts Cagalli because he probably expects that she’ll liberate him from his misery through death. After all, don’t we all just kill people out of hatred?

NO ATHRUN, NO! 

Someone, please! Give this boy some character development.

Ok but in all seriousness, this IS Athrun’s turning point. This is the moment when all of what he thought was true about the world starts to crumble under the weight of a decision he made that he wished he had not made. This is the conflict at the crux of his sense of self also idk if I used this last sentence properly, it just sounded cool.

And my favorite part about all of this was Cagalli almost beating the crap out of him for the lame ass answer he gave about his reasoning for killing Kira: 

Enemy = bad, must kill.

And that’s one of the themes I love about asucaga--they push and challenge each other to be better. 

In other words, Athrun’s realism grounds Cagalli’s idealism the way Cagalli’s idealism inspires Athrun’s realism.

It is then that, after telling Athrun to quit being a dumb crybaby for not stopping to think for himself, Athrun and Cagalli find common ground again in the most unlikely of places: the mutual agreement that Kira cries way too much.

And so it is that by the time they go their separate ways once again, Athrun and Cagalli have changed each other. 

For Athrun who just killed his “bestest of friends”, this is the moment when he has to face his past choices. In their brief time together, Cagalli showed him how one can make the difficult choice not to take revenge out of hatred and instead love one’s “enemy”. She opened up Athrun’s mind to look beyond its logic.

For Cagalli, this interaction served the purpose of showing her exactly what her dad was trying to teach her--look for the causes of war. This lets her know that if she wants to end the war, then she needs to go after that senseless hatred.

So it is that as they say their goodbyes...

All he can think to say is “you’re weird” and sort of thanks her... this is what romance is made of guys! I swear does he not have social skills or something? What is wrong with him?!

And Cagalli is like “thanks dude, I’ll take that as a compliment? I guess...” and gives him that necklace because we need an object that he can use to pine over her. 

Win for the writers and their thick ass plot armor.

Woo hoo! I am finally able to move on to the next episodes... I am almost to the kiss scene. Almost there!

Thanks for reading my shitpost! Over analyzing Gundam Seed is lots of fun precisely because the writing is hit or miss. 

[moodyvalentinestories]

Direction – Thirty-One | Hunt x HWU MC (Danielle)

Summary: Danielle and Hunt continue their conversation.

Words: 700+

Notes: He he he, I’m back! Hello hello hello! Not dead! Still here, still writing. ‘Sup? P.S. Working on the next part already, so hopefully you won’t have to wait nine months until the story continues. Oopsie.

❥ Previous Chapter: Thirty ❥ Moodyvalentine’s Masterlist

There was a knock on the door, and Danielle immediately assumed it was Chris, who was checking in on them to see whether they were both still alive. When he opened the door, however, Chris had a rather grim expression on his face. “We’ve got a problem. And by we, I mean you guys.”

Just then, Hunt’s phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and Danielle could catch a glimpse of his screen just long enough to see the caller ID – Priya Singh. Uh-oh. That could not be good news.

Hunt told her to stay quiet and picked up. Danielle couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but she was pretty sure she could make out the words disgusting and bastard.

Priya hadn’t called his personal number in several years, and the fact that she was calling now could only mean one thing: something horrible had happened, and Thomas was certain he knew what. Very reluctantly, he picked up the phone, and was immediately greeted by a slew of insults.

“Thomas, you disgusting bastard. Have you lost your bloody mind? You can’t be that stupid, you—”

“Priya,” he interrupted her, not willing to subject himself to this much longer. “Could you perhaps tell me why you are insulting me this time?”

As if he didn’t already know. It must have leaked. Chris coming in, telling them they had a problem, and now this? The photos that he was sure must have been taken of their kiss earlier that day were out there now. He knew they were.

And, still, when Priya confirmed just that, he was shocked. “You have to ask? You’re fucking a student, Thomas.”

“Former student, first of all,” Thomas said, then quickly added, “And I’m not fucking anyone.”

“Oh, sure you aren’t. How long has this been going on? Centaurus Lost? Earlier, even? The photo from Sundance? She’s a child, Thomas!”

Danielle must have heard that last sentence, which wasn’t surprising since Priya had practically shouted it, and chimed in. “I’m twenty-six, thank you very much. Most definitely not a child.” Thomas glared at her, which had the desired effect of her shutting her mouth. She was not helping the situation.

“She’s with you right now?! Are you-- oh, God, I hope you’re wearing clothes. Please tell me you’re not--”

This time, it wasn’t Danielle who said something, but Chris, who very unhelpfully said, “Nope, I’m here, too. Nothing shady going on.”

Thomas sighed and put the phone on speaker. If everyone was going to join the conversation, either way, he might as well.

“Oh, great, the other boyfriend’s here, too,” Priya groaned.

“Hey!” Danielle exclaimed. “Neither of them is my boyfriend, okay? Now, can someone please tell us what exactly we’re dealing with here?”

“Does nobody here have Google alerts for their name set up? Check TMZ, or any other gossip site for that matter,” Priya said exasperatedly. “Thomas, I’ve called a board meeting to see what we’re going to do about this. Expect an invitation to an official hearing soon.”

Thomas gasped. He knew she was far from a friend these days, but he would not have expected her to be so quick to judge. “Priya, nothing happened when she was a student. This is none of your—”

“I’ll be in touch,” she interrupted him, then promptly hung up.

Thomas buried his head in his hands and let out a long sigh. His life, his career, everything was over. And it was all because he couldn’t keep his feelings in check. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He knew, logically, it wasn’t Danielle’s fault. He knew he shouldn’t be mad at her – and he wasn’t, he was mad at everything right now – but despite all the talking, and the mutual understanding that they would handle this together, the reality of it was a different beast entirely.

“Thomas?” she ventured, lightly touching his arm. He flinched, and she immediately pulled her hand away.

He took a deep breath, then told her, as calmly as he could, “I’m sorry, I need-- I need some time. Please, I--”

Danielle looked quite unhappy with that answer, but she nodded. “I understand. It’s okay, I’ll… I’ll be just across the hall in case you need to find me.”

Tags (let me know if you wish to be removed from this list because it’s also 9 months old lol):

@trappedinfanfiction​​ @oneemofungirl​ @alleksa16​ @hopelessromantic1352​​ @silversparrow1112​  @alj4890​  @lilyoffandoms​

[apoapsis]

@ebonyforged​ said,

". . . Siebren." She's not sure if he ever notices that she has come into their room until she speaks up, so she calls out his name before approaching from the side, just to be sure. Compared to normal she feels pretty. . . awkward. It doesn't help that she's already dressed up and made up pretty to go out later, fully intending to drink enough to forget what today even is. Makes the whole thing appear like something it isn't. She clears her throat a little too formally, like she's about to recite something. "I have something for you. It's from Sigma. I'm just the delivery girl." She holds out the gift bag to him, classically pink with red hearts and white tissue paper covering the contents. That, she did choose, since Sigma wasn't able to help with that part. The demon looks away, like this isn't somehow affecting her. Her face feels warm. "I also added something. Caramel fudge. You'll see." She flicks her gaze to glance at Siebren, then away again.

"So yeah, happy Valentine's day. From Sigma. And from me."

                   In truth, he does not know what to make of such a display. On one hand, it’s very evident that she’d only do this on SIGMA’S behalf-- in fact, she even claims as much. And that made perfect sense-- strange, but it was logical. Of course SIGMA would request as much, or so he assumes. It didn’t seem very likely she would opt to directly inquire as to what should be gifted to SIEBREN-- in reality, even despite his demand for “offerings”, he really didn’t expect her to abide by that rule, as no one ever did.

On the other hand, however....

                    It’s extremely hard to ignore her attire, in addition to the way she seems so reluctant to even meet his gaze. Surely such behavior would be reserved for SIGMA-- and yet the awkwardness of her gestures and words strikes him as strange. Classic, nearly textbook displays of infatuation... but he can’t seem to place why or even where it is coming from; he highly fucking doubts even a shred of it is felt for him-- but then... why does she behave in this way? It’s as though everything the demon did was arbitrary and illogical.

“... Oh? That’s--... Huh...“ He’s genuinely taken aback, trying to recall whether or not SIGMA had ever actually attempted to gift him something, let alone for a holiday-- let alone using another person as a delivery service. It’s so weird! Then again... It’s... actually quite sweet that his counterpart would opt to act in such an arbitrary way just for the purpose of getting him a gift when he could not physically gift it to him.

                   Even sweeter of Ebony for entertaining such whimsy. She didn’t have to do any of this for either of them-- and yet...

Wordlessly, he opts to inspect the parcel instead, trying to ignore the obnoxious print on the bag as he discards the tissue paper onto his desk to pull.... What appeared to be another set of clothing. So... it really was from SIGMA.... Something “nice” for him to change into when he did not want to wear the stupid jumpsuit or the uncomfortable standard issue TALON wear. It means a lot more to SIEBREN than she may realize-- SIGMA might, but given how attached he was to his jumpsuit, even he didn’t fully realize what it meant to have something else to wear, to feel good about himself. Normal, even. Upon pulling the folded clothing out and placing it upon the desk as well, the little, individually wrapped pieces of fudge are left at the very bottom-- one of which are selected, unwrapped, and placed upon his tongue thoughtfully.

                    “... Ah, this reminds me of hopjes, in a way...!“ He muses aloud, appreciating the wash of sweetness that floods his senses as the fudge melts in his mouth. Although it’s merely a fraction in comparison to SIGMA’S cloying, syrup-like joy, there’s a distinct easing of the atmosphere around himself. “He must have told you I like caramel... I cannot remember the last time I had the opportunity to partake in any kind. Too busy...“ It’s subtle, but there’s the faintest curling of the edges of his lips as they quirk into a hesitant, reserved smile.

“... It was-- ah... Very thoughtful of you... Of both of you..“ There’s a long moment of hesitation that follows-- but, ultimately, he steps closer to her after plucking another candy from the bag. It’s offered out to her kindly, though after she accepts it, SIEBREN leans down so that he can press a chaste kiss to her cheek. It’s light and fleeting, but there.

                  “... Thank you. I... really do appreciate it, Miss Ebony-- SIGMA does, too.“

[colorfuldreamsmkg]

The Villain Must Die | Crimson | Trial 2.2 | RE: Suzie, Erika, Lau Fei | ATTN: Johan

Crimson didn't like this one bit. People were flinging accusations around now, casting suspicion like it wouldn't mean the end of someone else's lifeーand for as much as whoever killed Takuma had bloodstained hands, they couldn't forget Hitome so easily. The expression of one about to die. Even a villain has standards, or maybe they're more sentimental than they'd like to think. "No surprise my hands are bigger there," they address Lau Fei first after falling quiet for the pawholding. Damn, if only this weren't the middle of a murder trial. "I mean...ain't it possible that someone could use a size bigger than their own, though?" When attention is turned towards the tall painter once more, they can't help but look up. "Hey, hold on... I do doubt the old guy did it either. He ain't in any state to fight, plus I doubt he got the brains to think of this." If Jed killed Takuma, it would've probably been in a straight out brawl. "But that doesn't mean it was necessarily the beansprout either. The killer coulda picked up a respirator after noticing the scentーand he might've not been even conscious enough to hear what was goin' onーand, look, let's not be too rashー" What a change in attitude from before, huh? Jumping to his defence now. Sure, they know all too well how much Maria means to him, ...oh, is that it? That's why. They were so upset with Johann precisely because they understand. They can see the line of thinking that would lead him to weigh the value of lives on a scale. Distanced from the world, rejected and refused, breaking yourself for the one person you can find solace in. They see the logic in it, and they hate that fact. Things shouldn't have to be this way, where you have to pick and choose which sacrifice is more acceptable. Wasn't that why they'd been sent to that goddamned Saw trap together? Most of all, they... Ah. Hm. They don't want to see Johann die. All this time, Crimson has been keeping their tone calm. They hadn't once raised their voice; even as they'd spoken up at Johann, it'd been in tranquil fury. Ironically for their energy on stage, they've always been rather aloof otherwise. After all, people are already inclined to view them as the bad guy and assume the worst; what more do they need to do? Show any vulnerable emotion and you'll be made to regret it. They're a villain, and villains don't show weakness. Or, they aren't meant to. They aren't allowed to, because they'll immediately be looked down upon for it by those who proclaim otherwise.

...That's been proven time and time again, and here is no exception.  "...I get you're angry 'n all and yer totally allowed to be, let's just..." How strange. A hint of a waver in their strong voice. "Right, there's a way to solve this. The killer must've had a struggle with 'em. Like I mentioned before, Takuma's footprints were in the paintーand there was skin under his nails." Their eyes shift over to Johann, looking for something, anything, to provide hope. Pathetic of an idol who's meant to inspire the feeling, isn't it? "So he must've injured whoever it was. You just gotta show you're not injured, y'know?" Come on. Put more strength into that voice. Be more confident. You're the big bad wolf. "You're recovering. It ain't easy, I know that. But you've got this. You gotta prove it wrong, Johann."

[how2many]

1-Ball 👅

1-ball x fem reader(smut)

 

  After a long work week, you decided to head down to the local casino to spend the little bit of money you have left after paying your bill this week. It wasn't the best choice, you should be saving up, but your boredom and need for having a fun night overshadowed the logical side of your brain. After a short commute you eventually were met with the sight of the casino you'd be spending your last few pennies at. Once through the door, you head to the bar to get a few drinks in you before waltzing around, taking ganders at the big spenders even bigger gamblers spending their time here. You take a seat at one of the bar stools and order yourself something nice, you deserved it.

  As you were drinking and people watching, your eyes landed on a man, or what you'd assume is a man due to his physique, he was bent slightly over a pool table, likely in the midst of a match. For some reason… He Intrigued you, perhaps it was his odd outfit choice, or maybe it was the air about him that lured you in. You decided to stop ogling at this mystery man and go back to drinking, not wanting to deal with the awkward confrontation you assume you'd have if he caught you. Once you finished your drink, you were about to pay when.. Wait.. Oh my god no… you don't have enough, this has GOT to be a joke.. A cruel joke at that. Suddenly you feel a presence behind you, it was him.. The mystery man you were staring at. 

  HUH?? You must be seeing things wrong.. Did he seriously pay for your drink? ‘Put it on my tab’ he said to the bartender, you couldn't believe this.. It felt like something out of a movie, but no it was real. He turned his head to most likely look at you, your eyes widened and you definitely looked shocked. “Play pool with me.” The mysterious man said bluntly, not beating around the bush at all. You swallowed a lump in your throat before responding. “Um.. Play pool with you..?” You said hesitantly and honestly a little confused too. “Play pool with me, I paid for your drink, so play pool.” he said bluntly once again, not letting you wonder about what he means. Why did he want you to play pool with him? You thought.. Eventually after thinking about it for a moment; you actually just couldn't deal with him looking at you anymore,or what felt like him looking at you. You spoke up. “Um.. Sure, I'll play pool, though I've never really played pool..” “I'll teach you.”

  And with that he taught you. He had led you over to a pool table in a more closed off place, it looked like a private pool room only wealthier casino goers would use, soon setting everything up and handing you a pool stick. You were a little nervous, usually not one to just.. Learn something new in front of someone, it was a little embarrassing, would he think you're a loser or something?? Once he lifted the triangle that held all 8 balls, putting the white ball down in place, and finally stepping to your side, he handed you some pool chalk to use on your pool stick. You grabbed it and hesitantly rubbed it on the tip of the pool stick, it felt a little.. Weird and sensual with him looking at you, or so it felt, you wouldn't know because of the mask he wore. Once everything seemed to be set up, the game started.. He allowed you to break, meaning the pressure was on, you stood in front of the pool table, lining up your shot. Right before actually doing something, he sighed. “Your posture is wrong, you won't get a good shot.” He said blankly, though you could hear slight annoyance tinged within his voice. You froze, dammit.. This was already bad, now you were making mistakes?? “oh.. Uh, sorry.. “ you mumbled, your face heating up in embarrassment. “Want me to help? “ he asked, stepping closer. You nodded, waiting for directions. 

  He placed a gloved hand on the small of your back, then his other on your arm. God he was too close, but honestly? You didn't mind, sure he was a stranger, a kinda hot stranger. After he adjusted your posture with the pool stick, he then adjusted your actual posture. Using his hand on your back to make you lean against the pool table, he then used his free hand to get you into position to actually shoot. This was insane.. You couldn't hide your flustered expression at all right now, the way he was pressing against your lower back was making you feel fuzzy, you thanked every god that made such an event happen in your very dull life. “Ok, you are good now.” He stated, moving his hands off of you. You took a deep breath before making your shot, surprisingly you managed to get 4 balls in the holes, most definitely thanks to his assistance. A smile graced your lips at your victory, though you were sure he could manage more, it still felt nice. After making a few more moves, it was a tie for who would win at this point. It was your turn right now, all you needed was to get the ‘8’ ball into the hole and you'd win, after lining up your shot, you hit the ball.. Though wait.. It missed the hole, fuck.. 

   He scoffed, now it was his turn.. You knew he was good, you were surprised you managed to keep up with him this long, but that didn't matter right now, all that was in your head, among other things, was hoping he'd miss too. He lined up his shot, pulling his pool stick back, letting the slick material of the pool stick slide between his fingers in an almost calculated manner. This was it, the tie breaker, he took a deep breath before making his shot, the white cue ball hit the black ball, making it bounce off the side of the pool table, you assumed he'd miss being as it was an almost impossible shot but.. -HE MADE IT!!?? You were lowkey upset, how in God's green earth did he make that shot.. You could hear him let out an exhale once the ball landed in the hole. You stood up straight, being as the game is over now. You set the pool stick down against the pool table and turned to face him. “That was a good game, good job man.” You say, smiling slightly, while it did lowkey upset you he won, you didn't wanna look unsportsmanlike, so you gave him a smile. 

  The pool stick in his hand shrunk into itself, so it was custom? Goodness this man plays a lot.. He then turned to you, letting the bottom of his now very short pool stick rest on the edge of the pool table. “What's your name?” He suddenly asked, tilting his head slightly. Huh? Your name? Well that was nice, he wanted to know your name. “Oh right..” You say, soon telling him your name, he repeated it a few times, though it was only a mutter, like he was trying to see how it felt on his tongue. He then took a few steps over to you, now leaning his hip against the pool table, tilting his head down to look at you. “What do I get for winning?” He asked, letting the pool stick lay against the pool table as he crossed his arms. Huh? You were supposed to be giving him something for winning?? He must know you were pretty poor right now, being as he had to pay for your drink.. You then look up at him, a small frown on your face. “um.. I don't know, I don't have any more money.. Sorry.” you said sheepishly, looking down at the floor rather than at the 1 on his mask. He sighed, now he was looking around the pool room, seeing a few drunk people passed out nearby, but there wasn't anyone awake to see what was to occur. The room was relatively closed off, though there was the possibility of someone walking by. He then leaned down slightly. “I don't want money, I want you.” he said softly, calmly letting such debauched words slip from his lips. 

   You were at a loss for words, he wanted you? You probably knew what he meant.. But you? All you did was play a game of pool and lose. You could feel his eyes on you though that mask as you let his words sink in, you swallowed a lump in your throat before responding. “You want me..? You want me to do.. What exactly..?” he tilted his head back, sighing before turning back to look at you. “I want to fuck you, it's my prize of choice.” He stated blankly, though there was a hint of annoyance, he thought he was clear with what he wanted. Yet again you were shocked, you took a deep breath, actually multiple deep breaths because this was unbelievable. Once you assessed the situation, you responded. “Oh.. Uh really..?” “I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to.” He muttered, moving a hand down to tap against the pool table edge. 

  And that's how you got here, pressed face down against the pool table you lost at not long ago, he had your legs dangling over the side as he stared down at you, you were still wearing too much clothes for his liking, he started unzipping the back of your dress, slowly sliding the zipper down until it reached the bottom. He lifted you up so he could remove the fabric, soon dropping it to the floor next to him, now he stood there admiring the view. He brought a gloved hand up to your waist, letting it trail down your hips until he reached your ass, letting his gloved fingers feel around the lace of your panties as he hooked a finger around the material and dragged it down, soon letting it pool at your bent knees. This was way too arousing than it should be, you literally didn't know this guy, what his job was, what his intentions were, hell not even his name.. But god did he know how to rile you up. He let his hand smooth over your thigh before lifting it up on the pool table, he dragged your underwear down the rest of the way before letting it drop too. He let his hands explore your lower half, feeling his hands slowly creep up to your warmth before he finally rested them on the backs of your upper thigh, he was so close to where you wanted him.

  One of his thumbs pulled the fat of your ass back so he could see what he's made of you, what he's done without barely touching you. You couldn't handle this, not only did you have to be on edge with what he was doing, but he didn't even close the door! Anyone could walk by and find the two of you getting up to something no good, but he didn't seem to care as he finally made contact with your aching warmth. He pressed two gloved fingers against your clit, he didn't move them as to watch how twitchy you'd become at the contact. Suddenly, with his actions, you slightly jolted against the pool table, immediately pushing a hand against your lips as to not let out the groan of pleasure he brought out of you. You slightly squirmed against the pool table as he now began rubbing tight circles against your most sensitive spot, now you had to bite your hand or else you'd alert the entire building of the wild things happening within this private pool room. Once he felt like he teased you enough, he pulled away, a small audible whine left you at the loss of contact, though much to your surprise, you'd be getting a lot more contact. 

  You felt him fumble behind you with something, soon a package was ripped and dropped to the floor, he didn't seem to care about the mess he was making. that's when a hand gripped your hip, dragging you slightly back towards him, you felt his tip prodding against your opening, he dragged it around your entrance, teasing you even more, only letting the tip of his cock pierce you before removing it, letting it trail down to your clit before pressing against it. You were actively clawing against the felt fabric of the pool table, how on earth were you supposed to keep quiet when he did that!! He sighed, he figured you had enough and now brought his tip back against your opening, he pushed his hips forward and began slowly bottoming out within you. Once fully inside he braced both hands on the edge of the pool table and stood there for a moment, not only letting you get accustomed to the insertion, but also giving him a moment to enjoy you sucking him in. Eventually he grew bored of the nonexistent pace and withdrew his hips, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before slamming back in, setting a calculated pace as he fucked you into the pool table under you. 

  You really tried holding in your noises, but you couldn't, a few rogue whimpers left you at his movements inside you. You had only ever gotten railed once before, and that was a long time ago.. All you could do was keep your noises to a minimum and take what he gave you. He had angled his thrusts differently at one point and you couldn't hold the wail in, he quickly leaned forward and cupped a hand over your mouth, stopping you from letting anything else spill out. Though now with his new found position, he was even deeper, you could almost feel him in your stomach! He resumed his pace from before, though now it felt more personal because you could hear the quiet, almost silent grunts and groans that would leave his masked lips. Eventually he pulled out for a moment, standing up straight before flipping you over, he grabbed the underside of your knees as he dragged you back down to the edge of the pool table. You could now see his dick, he thankfully wore protection before entering you, your eyes would trail down his cock, looking at all the prominent veins that littered his length. He scoffed at your glances and lined himself back up, pressing his cock back into you as he braced his hands on your hips, soon drawing his hips back once he had bottomed out and thrusted back in, resuming his previous pace. 

  You couldn't take much more of this, he was pressing against every sweet spot within you, mashing his cock against each spot with ease as he brought you closer and closer to your release. He brought a hand up to your tummy, seeing as his length had made a small bump appear due to the position, he chuckled lightly behind his mask before pressing down, you immediately threw your head back and gritted your teeth. Fuck this guy knew what he was doing, you could feel your release approaching even faster now. He continued his brutal pace within you. his thrusts were losing calculation, he was close you thought. He leaned down, letting you be face to.. Mask with him? As he spoke up. “This huh.. was the best..winings I could have ever ngh.. gotten tonight, thanks.. “ he mumbled in between small groans, his thrusts grew sloppier, his breathing grew quicker and more labored, but he refused to cum before you. He brought a gloved hand to your clit and drew circles against it, hoping this would push you over the edge so he could reach the edge. 

  And it did, you threw you head back once again, biting your bottom lip so hard it almost bled as you came around his cock, letting the translucent fluids soak the latex around his length as he gave a few more sloppy thrusts, he couldn't hold his orgasm anymore now that he felt the aftershocks of yours around him. Just feeling your insides twitch and spasm around his lenght brought him to the edge, spilling his release into the condom rather than inside you. He slowly pushed his hips against you more as he rode out his high, slightly overstimulating you in the process. Eventually he stilled within you, letting out a shaky sigh as he withdrew from you. You couldn't believe what just happened, you played a simple round of pool and then you got fucked on the same table. Once he re-dressed you and got himself situated, he stood there, watching you catch your breath. He leaned a little closer and muttered something, his name. 

  “1-ball, I want you to moan that next time I win against you at pool.”

[wow-cool-robot]

Episode 1: Gundam Rising

oh hell yeah the gundam 79 theme rules

quick flash of some kind of wmd killing millions, if not billions of people sick synth-disco playing over the credits narrator: the principality of zeon is killing millions, slaughtering civilians in their homes and using weapons of mass destruction like none seen before. this war is now a stalemate, and something must come soon to break it before humanity wipes itself out cheesy title card music plays

i knew gundam by reputation, but the very frank depiction of war still threw me off a little. it goes hard! you get children weeping over their parents dying bodies, but also the show sounds Like That and looks Like That

why does char look like that? i assumed there would be other people who had masks or whatever, but it seems like it's just a thing he decided to do?

this was clearly not made to be watched on anything other than a 16 inch crt tv, and it does not look too good blown up in 1080p. also, animation quality not great. clearly not expected to be much of a money maker. it's charming though, and it's far from the ugliest show i've ever seen.

feel bad for mr. ray though. (did the show tell us his name? if so i've already forgotten) his goal in building gundam was so children wouldn't have to fight (though admittedly his logic there is a little shakey. just assuming that it'd win them the war and then there'd be peace forever?), and now he's dead at the hands of his own son who is now the single most important combatant in the war. i mean, i assume. maybe he's just a guy doing his own thing and the war is won or lost through events completely unrelated to him.

[yuesya]

Found a little snippet from that early brainstorm I mentioned:

.

Shiki opens her eyes.

The world blurs into focus around her and she blinks rapidly a few times, attempting to clear her sight. It doesn’t work very well. Things clear up, yes, but everything still looks wrong, no matter how many times Shiki blinks her eyes. No matter where she looks, no matter which way she turns towards, there are a multitude of strange red lines stretched out and sprawling over everything, everywhere.

The blankets atop her body. The table by her bedside. The vase that sits by the windowsill, every flower swaying gently in the open breeze–

“Oh, my. You’re awake!”

Shiki startles, spinning around. There is an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway, smiling at her. He’s wearing a doctor’s coat and holding a clipboard in his hands, and there is a kindly expression on his face.

His entire body is crisscrossed and marred by these strange red lines, too.

Shiki’s fingers twitch involuntarily. She can’t stop staring.

“How are you feeling?” the man asks, voice gentle. His long white coat flares out behind him as he strides forward, readjusting his grip on his clipboard. The clipboard, too, is covered by jagged red lines. “You’ve been asleep for quite awhile, Gojo-chan.”

The young girl blinks, then casts the doctor a puzzled look. Gojo-chan?

“I’m not…” she falters. Why is it so hard to speak? Her throat is strangely dry, raspy. The doctor is quick to pass her a glass of water, which Shiki accepts cautiously. Her fingers tentatively trace over the glass filled with broken red lines. “Um, my name is Nanami Shiki.”

“Nanami?” Now, it’s the doctor who blinks in surprise. He stares at Shiki for a moment, bewildered, then glances down at his clipboard. “… Your father’s name is Gojo Arata, isn’t it?”

“Nanami Arata,” Shiki corrects.

The doctor stares at her a moment longer, then lets out a low, considering hum. “Well, I wouldn’t dare make any presumptions on the internal matters of the Gojo clan, of course. But the Gojo clan has been paying for your treatments over the past year, so I’d assumed that… well, it doesn’t matter anymore at this point, I suppose.”

Shiki doesn’t understand what the doctor is talking about.

“Where’s my dad?” she asks instead. “A-and my mom?”

The doctor goes quiet again. “… I’m very sorry, Go– ah, Nanami-chan. Your parents… have already passed. You’re the only survivor from the incident.”

She shakes her head vigorously. “They’re not dead!”

Nanami Shiki is supposed to be dead. This, she knows. Nanami Arata and Nanami Shizuka are both supposed to be dead as well. But Shiki isn’t dead, somehow, so doesn’t this mean…?

“They’re not dead,” Shiki repeats again, patiently. Because, “I’m not dead, so they can’t be, either.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how this works, Nanami-chan,” the doctor sighs. “… I understand if you’ll need time to process this. You’ve just woken up from a year-long coma, everything must still be very disorienting for you.”

Shiki blinks, slow and uncomprehending. Why can't the doctor understand what she’s saying? Shiki is dead, but she clearly isn’t. By the same logic, her parents should still be alive as well.

“How are you feeling?” the man tries, abruptly changing the subject. “Is there anything unusual? Does it hurt anywhere? I’ve already passed on the news that you’re awake to your family –well, your relatives– so they’ll be here soon to take care of things.”

Relatives? What relatives? It’s always just been Shiki and her parents –oh, and Kento-ojichan. But Shiki hasn’t seen Kento-ojichan in a long time. Mom had mentioned something about a boarding school in Tokyo, which sounded really cool! But she hadn’t looked too happy about it and neither had Dad, so Shiki hadn’t asked too much about the topic. Kento-ojichan would be coming home for the summer, anyways, and that was something to look forward to.

Gotta ask, how do you characterize your ocs? Do you have a really detailed list about what makes Shiki tick? Or do you have this one sentence idea about how a character works and just go from there?

I just keep a general image in mind of what kind of person the OC is, and the writing takes off by itself from there! That's pretty true for any character that I write in my fics, it's just my interpretation of how they would behave or react in different situations.

In the initial brainstorms for Shiki, I actually played around with Shiki's character being more innocent and childish, as expected of a younger kid. That was eventually scrapped for various reasons, though.

[rafescoke]

All I Ask ; Rafe Cameron (Part 2)

masterlist

#Part 2

#Part 1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself in the arms of her best friend’s brother after finding her boyfriend cheating on her

Warnings: Swearing, cheating, hella angst, JJ being an extreme asshole

A/N: you guys are truly amazing. thank you so much for the countless amount of love & support for my last works, i love you! 

p.s, my request box is always open! go ahead and drop any ideas bae

“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re okay?”

(Y/N) emitted a laugh, her eyes focusing on the road, but her mind was somewhere else. She cleared her throat, “Um, I don’t think so.”

“Want to talk about it?” he said, and she noticed the grogginess behind his voice. She felt bad now, knowing that she had woken him up, but she was desperate for someone.

She couldn’t go to the pogues; her only friends, not when they knew. They knew all along about Kie and JJ but they didn’t try to talk to her. She thought about Pope, how he had looked so nervous around her since a month ago and how she had thought of it as nothing more than anxiety for his new upcoming scholarship application.

(Y/N) groaned, tightening her fingers around the steering wheel. Why had she been so naive? Why couldn’t she realize the signs sooner?

“Are you okay?” Rafe asked, suddenly jolting up from his bed when he realized how quiet she has gotten. Ever since they got close 4 years ago, there was never a long silence between them as (Y/N) always has a random topic to discuss about. He would tell her that he doesn’t care, but he truly likes the new information she’ll give him.

Like how the word ‘who’ is the oldest English word in the world. 

“Like, the owl?” he asked, scrunching his face. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, licking the slowly melting ice cream, and Rafe had a sudden thought of stealing her snack.

“No. God, you’re stupid. It’s who.”

“Yeah, the owl,” he grunted, thinking hard. (Y/N) looked at him with her bored eyes again, and Rafe took a quick glance at the dripping ice cream.

“No, Rafe, that’s woo. I’m talking about who.”

“You should write it.”

Rafe watched as she used her pointer to write the word ‘who’ on the table using her ice cream. Rafe laughed, finally understanding the joke, and he smiled wider when she returned a grin.

“No,” her voice croaked, and she could feel her tears slowly rolling down her red cheeks. God, she felt stupid. Why would she cry over stupid stuff like this? She had told Rafe before that she couldn’t understand why Bella Swan was too sad over Edward’s flight, saying how Bella had Jacob all along to help her get over him. Rafe rolled his eyes at this statement, muttering something along the words of ‘this is a movie’, ‘Edward is hotter’, and ‘Jacob look like that cashier guy at the hardware store’.

But she understood everything clearly now because she too, felt like staying in her room for the rest of her life. 

“What happened? Do you need me to pick you up?” Rafe asked again, finally standing up from his bed and walking towards his bedside table to retrieve his car keys. He rubbed his eyes, still so tired, but he wanted to make sure she was safe.

“It’s alright, Rafe, you don’t have to pick me up, it’s just, um-” she took a deep breath, “Can I come over?”

Rafe stopped in his tracks, not sure if he had heard her right. He waited for a few seconds, “Huh?”

“Can I come over?” (Y/N) bit her lips, making a turn towards the road heading to Figure 8 from the Cut. The road was deserted, and she looked at the dashboard to check on the time.

2.43 a.m.

“Yeah, sure, um, when are you coming? I just have to wait for you, so you know the new passcode of the backdoor.”

“You guys changed it already?” she asked, and she was surprised to find a smile creeping onto her face. “When was the last time I came over? 2 months ago?”

“9,” Rafe muttered, “But it’s okay. I’ll wait for you, okay?”

“Okay,” she released a breath, “Thank you, Rafe.”

“Yeah,” was all he said before ending the line.

Maybe she did missed him. 

When she arrived before the white building of the Camerons’ household, she could see a figure sitting on the front porch, bending over something that (Y/N) assumed to be a phone.

Rafe was mindlessly playing Candy Crush, just starting on his third level when he heard a car door being shut. He jumped to his feet, ready to greet the girl, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the state of her.

She was still in her party clothes, her (H/C) hair in a messy ponytail and her makeup all smudged. He tried to think of a joke, wanting to lighten up the mood, but his deed was interrupted when she finally had him in a tight hug.

“Whoa,” Rafe exclaimed, putting his arms around her waist. He let her stayed in that position for a few more seconds, liking the warmth, and finally parted after he cleared his throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“I, um-” she sighed, not looking into his eyes. “I got cheated on.”

Rafe was glued to his spot as he watched her wiped her tears with her sleeve, looking down to her glittery blue slippers. He couldn’t remember the amount of times he had prayed for his (Y/N) and JJ to call it off, but he didn’t hope for any kind of cheating to occur.

“I’m so sorry,” Rafe said, pulling her into a hug again. He rested his chin against the top of her head, letting the scent of strawberry wafted into his nostrils. (Y/N) cried against his chest, her face all scrunched up, and when she pulled away for the second time, she noticed the tear stains on his shirt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she rushed, trying to remove the stain using her fingers even though she knew it was impossible. She was too tired to think logically; she felt like laying in bed and watching Love Island until the day she dies.

“You’re still stupid, even when you’re all fucked up,” Rafe sighed, but he watched her from the corners of his eyes in case his words had struck her, but she looked like she understood the joke. She smiled weakly, pulling on the hem of her dress that had rode up down.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling her by her wrist as he guided her through the backdoor to his room. He showed her the new passcode proudly, mouthing how it was his birthday date this time, and (Y/N) had emitted a small laugh.

Screw maybe, she did missed him.

“And still a mess,” she sighed, plopping onto Rafe’s blue bedsheet as she took a look around the room. The painting of a random boat in the middle of an ocean was still askewed, and his trash can were piling up. She made a face, pointing at the cause of disturbance.

“You have to clean that.”

“Sorry I couldn’t let you stay in our five stars suite, ma’am,” he said, finding an old t-shirt in his cupboard. “You know, since you barged in this hotel at this time, all there’s left is the 3 stars suite.”

“You’re calling this a 3 stars suite?” she laughed, tilting her head to one side. “Rafe, this room can’t even be rated.”

“Whatever,” he pulled out a yellow t-shirt, putting it aside before looking for a new pair of boxers. “Is your room still pink with that weird strawberry pound cake smell?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, crossing her legs. She was glad there were no crumbs on the bed, or else she would rather sleep in her car. “And that smell’s great. My sensory organs are blocked by all the dust you’re collecting in here.”

Rafe grinned, liking how she was back to her old self, and handed her the pair of boxers and the yellow t-shirt. (Y/N) muttered a quick thanks, her feet lightly padding against the carpeted floor towards his bathroom. She closed the door, leaning against the sink, watching her reflection in the mirror.

She did look miserable, and her eyes were all red and puffy. She always hate how puffy her eyes would get after a nice session of crying, having to endure the pain of soothing it down again. 

She shook her head, not wanting to spend anymore time thinking about JJ or Kie or the pogues who had betrayed her, and tried to reach for the zip of her dress. After a few good tries she sighed, relaxing her cramped arms. The familiar yet uneasy pain coursed through her veins, and without wanting to abuse herself anymore, she turned the doorknob.

“Rafe? Can you help me?”

“Huh? Yeah,” he came to the door, closing his eyes before he halted right in front of the object. “Are you naked?”

“No, can’t seem to be, too. Can you help me unzip?”

Rafe opened his eyes, feeling his heartbeat quickening, and with trembling hands, slowly unzipped her dress and stopping directly at the curve of her bottoms, silently admiring the view. 

He cleared his throat, shaking his head at the childish behaviour he just found himself in. “Yeah, done.”

“Thanks, Rafe,” she smiled, and turned to close the door again. Rafe listened to her breathing in the bathroom for a few more seconds, knowing how hard she was trying to ignore the aching feeling eating off of her. He wished he could take her pain away an make it his, knowing that at least he’ll have an excuse to snort more coke to ‘forget the pain’. 

When she got out of the bathroom, Rafe had to stop himself from drooling over her in his shirt and boxers. She always look good, but she had never looked better in nothing but his yellow shirt and his boxers. 

Rafe closed the light, remembering how she hates sleeping with any form of light either it’s tiny or big, and settled himself on the sofa. He wanted to give her space, not wanting to rush anything, knowing how tired she must felt from all the things she had to endure today.

“Rafe, we’re not 10. You can sleep on the same bed as I am,” she sighed, turning to face the other side. Rafe stood up, thanking the gods above, and settled for his new room.

“We never sleep in the same bed before,” he said, pulling the covers to shield himself from the cold. (Y/N) snorted at this statement, still not looking at him or even turning to face him.

The closest thing they have done to sleep right next to each other was in the car during a road trip, and when they woke up, they were both throwing disgusted faces and pretending to vomit.

“Stop it, you guys look stupid,” Sarah groaned, giving them a quick look over her shoulder. Rafe pulled his middle finger from under the blanket he was sharing with (Y/N), causing her to snort and struggling to hide her laugh.

. . .

“So yeah, that’s how you hit it.”

“You’re bluffing,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, taking over the club and watching the small hole in the distance, squinting her eyes. She took a step back, licked her teeth, and gave Topper the club back.

“See? I told you I’m right!” he exclaimed happily, clasping his hands together. He returned to the game, focusing on his goal, and hit the golf ball.

“That’s fine, I guess,” (Y/N) announced when he came back to the resting area, “For beginners.”

Rafe snorted, downing his mineral water before handing Topper the same bottle. Topper grunted at him, muttering how it’s unhygienic, but he took a full swing of it anyways, being so thirsty after sitting under the sun for hours long.

“We’re glad you’re back with us, (Y/N),” Topper smiled, removing his cap and fanning himself with the clothing. He opened his mouth to say something, but when he looked at Rafe’s expression, he quickly shut his mouth.

He wanted to ask her if she ever missed their old clique when she was with the pogues, but Rafe knew better. It had been 3 weeks since the incidence, and she had been doing so well in coping with the situation. They had been inseparable ever since, always attached to the hips everywhere they go; he couldn’t let one tiny mistake slip that can cause her another breakdown.

“Hey,” Kelce jogged to them, smiling apologetically at Rafe and Topper before placing a quick kiss on (Y/N) ‘s cheeks. (Y/N) smiled, knowing how sweet and gentle Kelce is, almost glad he still does the same thing to her even after they had not been hanging out for a year.

“You’re not dressed for the occasion,” Topper rolled his eyes, “And late. We’re already packing up, man.”

“I know, but I’m wondering if you guys would like to listen to Cage The Elephant this evening by the beach,” he explained, still heaving from his previous activity. He had drove straight from his home to the country club after getting 4 tickets to the show, excited to show his friends what he had gotten for her.

(Y/N) snorted, throwing her arms into the air. “Fuck off, Kelce. There’s no way they’re coming down to Obx.”

Kelce sighed, taking out his phone before showing her the proof in his photos. (Y/N) grinned, trying to contain herself, and looked at Rafe who seemed to be smiling as well.

“Thanks, Kelce,” she laughed, pulling him into a hug. They made her happy, and all the negative thoughts she had about them during her brief friendship with the pogues suddenly evaporating into the air. She squealed, jumping wildly, and she swore she has never felt this happy before.

Just them four. Like the old times.

Four hours later, (Y/N) took a step back when they arrived at the beach, the memory of what happened three weeks ago suddenly rewinding in her head. Rafe noticed how quiet she had been, and pulled her aside while Topper and Kelce went to check on the stage.

“Are you okay?”

(Y/N) bit her lips, nodding. She ran her fingers over the penguin charm Rafe had gotten her a week prior, saying how it resembles him when he sees her. (Y/N) rolled her eyes at him during that surprising moment, touched yet confused at the story behind the penguin charm.

“Okay. Do you need a drink?” he asked again, staring into her eyes. She shook her head, wetting her lips and putting on her usual smile. Rafe grinned at her, muttering how she’s doing so good, all while guiding her towards their two other friends.

“(Y/N)?”

(Y/N) turned to look at the source, not thinking much. She almost fell to the ground when she saw the person responsible, but Rafe still had his arms around her. He turned to check on her again, but followed her gaze when he noticed she was staring at the opposite direction.

“What the fuck?” Rafe yelled, pushing JJ’s chest with so much anger that he toppled over to John B. Sarah yelped, pulling Kie to her side, watching as her brother walked towards them furiously. 

“Chill, man, I just want to talk to her,” he said, taking a deep breath. He noticed the crowd starting to notice them, and his eyes landed on a certain girl who was held up by Topper and Kelce, both asking if she was okay.

“Fuck off, pogue,” Rafe said, his eyes stern as he stared over JJ and his group of friends. “You have nothing to say to her.”

As he turned to return to his friends, his chest heaving from the near-fight he almost encounter with JJ, he bended to (Y/N)’s height to check on her state. Her eyes were glassy, her face red.

“So you’re fucking them all now like a whore?” JJ shouted, loud enough for everyone else around them to gasp, and some already had their phones out. (Y/N) was shocked at this statement, frozen on her feet, not knowing what on earth would make JJ say that to her.

He was never mean to her, even when they had a fight. He yelled at her sometimes, sure, but she had been the one yelling first. He never called her anything of that sort, not even during sex, where she had given him her full consent.

“You’re crazy,” she muttered, her lips trembling. “Go to hell.”

“No, no, because it has always been easy for you, right? You broke up with me, got on with Rafe, leave your own friends and come back to the country clubs?” he laughed, and she flinched at his words. If JJ had meant the pogues as her friends, then he was totally wrong.

“Fuck off, pogue,” Topper stepped out, and before he could finish his sentence, JJ landed a full punch on his face, causing him to fall onto the ground with a thud.

(Y/N) screamed, getting to his side as Rafe returned JJ’s gesture. Topper laid on the ground with his nose starting to bleed, causing (Y/N) to panic while she rummaged through Rafe’s backpack he had left on the ground for clean tissues.

Topper groaned, keep wanting to get up, but (Y/N) held him in place, not letting her friend go and hurt himself more just for her. She cried while she tried to wipe the blood, hearing the fight behind her.

“Fuck you! You stupid pogue! You should be in jail like your dad!”

Something cracked in JJ as he yelled something back in pure anger. He punched, kicked, slapped and hit Rafe who was already on the ground, spitting blood.

“JJ! That’s enough,” Pope pulled him back, trying to contain the wild animal as he thrashed to escape. He yelled more curses at Rafe while Pope tried his best to pull him away, obviously not done with hitting the boy laying on the ground.

(Y/N) cried, running towards Rafe’s side, cupping his face and looking into his swollen eyes. She groaned when Rafe’s laugh filled the air, not believing how he was still joking in a state like this.

“I’m okay,” he said, his breath ragged. “Don’t cry. I’m okay.”

Rafe stood up slowly and looked at the direction of the still thrasing JJ, hearing his muffled shouts with his arms around (Y/N) ‘s waist. He held her close as she sobbed into his shoulder, still trembling.

“Let’s go home?” he asked, and (Y/N) didn’t need to be told twice to follow him into his car. As disappointed as she was that she didn’t get the chance to see her favourite band, she wanted to take care of Rafe, who had been there since the day she found out about Kie and JJ.

The clock struck 12 in the morning and the grandfather clock in the living room chimed as Rafe groaned, feeling a certain girl with trembling hands and tired eyes gently wiping a cotton pad across his cut. 

“Fuck! I said slowly,” he grunted, closing his eyes to decrease the pain. (Y/N) bit her lips, trying to concentrate all the while trying to contain her laugh. He hissed again when she dabbed on his cut, this time with his fingers gripping tightly around her wrist.

“I said slowly.”

“I’m doing it slow, asshole,” she smiled, and felt him softened when she finally threw the last cotton pad. She pulled the covers to his chin, fixing the front part of hair before going to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she came back, she found him still awake with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

“I really need you to sleep,” she sighed, “To heal your pretty face.”

Rafe grinned and though (Y/N) tried her hardest not to smile back, she couldn’t deny the warm feeling settling in the pits of her stomach. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

There was no use denying it anymore.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, getting into the space beside him. “Even when you are all fucked up.”

(Y/N) could sense his smile even when she didn’t look at him, knowing how soft he usually end up being when she compliments him. She turned to look at him.

“Are you serious about not wanting a girlfriend?”

Rafe turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised. His insides exclaimed happily, liking the way his words had struck her. He meant what he said, but that statement didn’t apply to (Y/N). 

“Why?”

“Just asking,” she shrugged, and made a move to touch his cut. He hissed, feeling a sharp pain soaring in him, but she looked so peaceful trying to figure out his wound.

“You can kiss them to make them feel better,” he grinned, and watched as she groaned, trying to hide her face against the pillow. Rafe laughed, and turned the lamp beside him off, knowing that he shouldn’t push it and leave her be.

Just as he was about to drift into a peaceful sleep, he felt her soft lips against his, to which it was quick and gentle before she pulled away, giggling.

“4 years.”

“Huh?” (Y/N) questioned, still smiling from the kiss she just initiated a few seconds ago. She couldn’t contain herself; he looked so peaceful, so sweet, and so handsome. She didn’t know why she hadn’t kissed him sooner.

“I waited for that since 4 years ago.”

“Now you’re just pushing it, Rafe.”

Rafe grinned against the darkness, and felt his heart soaring. “Can we kiss again?”

“Tomorrow,” she stated, and Rafe laughed.

Tomorrrow. The next day. Next week. 

He didn’t care - as long as he will finally have her by his side. 

-

add yourself to the taglist!

@kayleea122 @joselyn001 @okayshoto @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @im19yearsold @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @clearbolts @flossy2929 @drewstarkeyluver @lovelyxtom @unfortunatekiwitrash @Mellifluouszayn @noonesafe726 @hhishho @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @hvrcruxes @scottybitch @asimpwriter @opierdalacz @anaisaxsalva @dangerdolns @starxqt @obxlovelys @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @amaya124 @made212 @topshaggerwillne @gabiatthedisco @adriee16 @eggirl @ms187 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @milkywqze @raeslibrary @24-martie @kookypogue @cooper8224 @darklingbrekksov